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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years ago

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Little Border Town

Summary: It begins with a man and a woman, as it always seems to. One lives in France and the other lives in Italy, technically, but they’re also neighbors. Various issues arise between these two and they can’t ever seem to see eye to eye on anything. Will they ever move past their petty fighting or is the little town they live in doomed to only gossip about what Harry and Y/N are fighting about today?

AKA: Harry and Y/N are neighbors that fight all the time, the whole town wants to know when they’ll just fuck.

Featuring italrry as well as mustachrry! and running italrry... I hope y’all like! this is just part one, so much more is in store so pls let me know what you think :) lots of love - first fic that’s not named from a quote said in the story I’m shook!! the growth, the range...she has it apparently! side note: i had to change the gif from italrry/mustachrry bc something is whack with the formatting and either the keep reading or the title keeps disappearing so i tried some stuff to resolve it *sobbing*

Word Count: 8.5k | Warnings: swearing, mentions of relatives death, bickering, otherwise tame for now?

Pt. 2

There’s a little town that straddles the border between Italy and France. It’s just a little ways from Nice on the French side and Ventimiglia on the Italian side. The population is rather small and the tourists who come are usually either returners or are very very lost. One street you’re in France and the next you’re in Italy. It can be confusing to newcomers, but the locals love it -- for the most part. These streets are easily delineating as French or Italian by the little country flags that hang above all the shops or in the windows.

It’s a coastal town with cobblestone everywhere and bright painted buildings. The water is a soft blue and the wind barely ever brings any waves greater than a foot high. There’s a shop for everything and it seems to be frozen in the past from the outside, thankfully if you step into the tiny bed and breakfast there is wifi. The sun almost always shines down on this sweet piece of paradise, the winter does however bring gusting winds and thunderstorms. Those storms rattle the little town and afterwards you’ll find the residents picking up the pieces that have fallen off the shops.

Now, this little border town, with its streets separated by French and Italian customs, well almost all of them, it seems imperative to mention. There, in the exact middle of the little town, is one street that is split down the middle, half in France and half in Italy. The locals from the French and the Italian sides love that street the most because it has this certain dynamic spark of change that brings them together, makes them unique. Except for two locals that seemingly hate this street. These two locals aren’t actually true locals either. They both moved there a couple years ago.

Harry, from the Italian side, owns the shoemaker and repair shop. He hailed from England and moved to the little town when his great uncle, Joe, had sent him a letter pleading for him to take over his shop so that he could retire. Harry, ever the traveler, hopped on the next flight out to Italy and then traversed by train and bus until he reached his Joe’s home. Like most of the shops, there was a living space above the shop area. Harry lived there with Joe until he passed away a few years back leaving Harry to tend the store alone. He didn’t mind too much, being left there alone. He had always loved Italy and to get to live in the countryside in a little cobblestone town and own a shop was a dream come true. After living there for two years, he had bought a sailboat that he would take out when the shop was closed. He also had bought himself a motorcycle that he would ride to the next greatest city if he was ever in dire need of more of a nightlife as a 26 year old. He loved it, his own slice of paradise… except for his thorn in his side.

Y/N, from the French side, owns the bookstore, which carries lots of vintage books and records. She had moved there after college. In school, she had studied French and taken a year abroad in Paris and had traveled down to Nice for a month. While in Nice she had made a few friends and one of them had come from the little border town. They had insisted they all go there for a weekend. When Y/N stepped foot onto the street she now lived on a few years before, she fell in love. Seeing the little Italian and French flags in the windows and potted plants with a view of the sea had been so endearing to her.

She was drawn to the bookshop and had chatted up the old French woman who ran it. The woman had reminded Y/N of someone but she couldn’t quite place her finger on it. It was strange for her because she often found these connections with older people, she felt like she had known this woman her whole life. Y/N went back into the store the next two days she was there to talk to the woman again, Marie, she had learned. Before she left the little town she left her number with Marie and kept in some contact with her. After about a year though, their communication fell off. Y/N was sad but understood that life can be busy for people and that she obviously wasn’t the most important woman in the little border town bookkeeper’s life. Or so she thought. In the middle of the summer after she graduated college, Y/N was backpacking through Iceland and got a call from who she assumed was Marie. She was ecstatic and answered the call immediately. Sadly, it wasn’t Marie, instead a friend who had been given her will to execute. In her will she had left Y/N the bookshop. Her reasoning was similar to why Y/N had liked Marie so much, she said that Y/N had reminded her of her sister who had died unexpectedly in her teenage years. Being so far from home at the time and completely consumed with love and loss, Y/N had agreed to take over the shop without any hesitation.

She got home and informed her parents of her choice and moved to the little border town as soon as she could. She lived in the little area above the shop that Marie had also gifted to her and she tended the shop downstairs. The living area hadn’t really been cleaned out and Y/N had found an old collection of vinyls in the corner of the bedroom. As much as she wanted to keep them to herself, she thought it would be a good addition to the shop and had made a section for records in memory of Marie. She loved France and the coast, she bought a little car and would drive to Nice every so often or to the more sandy beaches along the French coast. It was quiet and different from the life she had maybe expected, but taking over a bookshop because a kind stranger had gifted it to you as one of their dying wishes wasn’t something Y/N could ever turn down. Her soul was too sweet. At least it was for most people, not for her neighbor though.

Her neighbor was the shoemaker, Harry. Their shops lived against one another even though he was on the Italian side and she was on the French. They were located exactly at the split between France and Italy. With less than a foot between the buildings, they saw a lot of each other. On their first interaction, Y/N had seen too much of her neighbor, meaning she had seen all of him. Their shops were similar to track homes, meaning they were built completely the same only mirrored. This meant that the windows of their bedrooms matched up exactly, she wondered who had thought that was a good idea after her first night. When Y/N had first moved in it was August, she left her window open and without the shade down to let as much fresh cool air in as possible. With her jet lag, she had found herself wide awake at about three am. Pacing around her room in the pink silk tank dress she had decided to sleep in, her eyes froze on her window - or rather, who she saw through her window. The light from her room and the moon were strong enough to illuminate the tanned and tattooed skin of the naked man in the room next to her. He held a bowl in his large hands that he seemed to be spooning cereal into his mouth from.

His half-lidded eyes flickered to the light coming from the place next door. The bookshop had been closed all summer and no one had been living in the upper area for a little longer than that so he had gotten into the habit of leaving his window open. He was half drunk after stumbling his way home from the tiny bar down the street. He had decided a naked cereal run would be a good idea to tide over his cravings. But upon seeing the girl wearing lingerie a mere two feet away from him, separated by the screens on their open windows, he realized that wasn’t actually true. His eyes widened only slightly as he saw her, his drunkenness allowing him to keep his blushing to a minimum. His drunken confidence kept him from covering himself as he lifted a single brow and made a salute with his spoon hand before going back to his bed.

She stayed at the window for a moment after the naked man disappeared and then quickly ran back to her bed. She shut off her light and tried not to think about everything she had seen. She tried to not think about his toned arms that flexed as he moved around his food, or the tattoos that lined every part of his body (the tiger and ferns seared into her mind specifically), or his tousled chestnut hair, or his searing green eyes, or the full mustache that held a little milk from his cereal. She tried, she really did. But how was she supposed to face her neighbor ever again after that. Maybe he wasn’t her neighbor, she reasoned, maybe he was an acquaintance her neighbor had just spent the night with. That wouldn’t be better! Her hands grabbed her other pillow and shoved it over her face trying to force herself to go to bed.

The next day, she had been working out front of the bookshop, beginning to repaint the windowsills of the shop with some navy paint she had found in the back to give it an updated look. It was early and she hadn’t expected to see anyone at all. Her jet lag still ailed her and caused her to be up bright and early. This was her second run in with the shoemaker, this time though, both to her dismay and joy, he was fully clothed. He wasn’t watching where he was going and almost toppled the both of them over as he left his store front, locked the door behind him, and then set off down the street. His large body, covered in short black running shorts and a mesh grey tank top, bumped into her almost immediately. He was still fiddling with his music on his phone as he began his run. She jumped back and dropped the paintbrush from her hand. She yelped as his body collided with hers and he stopped in his tracks. His eyes scanned her and took in the light wash cuffed jeans and moss ribbed tank top she was wearing. They widened when he recognized her face, the expression of shock similar to that of last night when she had seen him in his bedroom. He smirked and took out one of his earbuds. She grabbed her paintbrush from the ground as he extended his hand to her.

“I’m Harry,” his hand is greeted with hers. He speaks to her in English and she decides it’s probably best to follow along with whatever someone else began with. She worried that she’d run into a lot of Italians who didn’t know French or English and she’d have some trouble. His eyes flicker to the bits of blue already littered on her hands and in her hair.

“Y/N.” She nods, avoiding eye contact with the man she had already seen too much of. At least he’s not your neighbor’s lover, he’s just your neighbor. She also notices how he doesn’t apologize for running into her.

“You were spying on me last night,” his hand returns to his side and his smile quirks up again as he watches her face flush. His nicely groomed mustache twitches, trying to contain his laughter.

“I was not!” She finally looks up at the taller man and takes in his tanned face that is even more attractive in the morning light and up so close. The hat he wears is funny, a blue trucker’s hat that read “If you ain’t a fisherman, you ain’t shit!”, and she would laugh if she couldn’t already tell he was going to be extremely annoying.

His smirk continues and he barks out a laugh. He removes his sunglasses to really look at her now. “It’s alright, I work hard for this,” he gestures to his body, “glad someone appreciates it. Just means I’ll need to be installing a shade now, I guess.”

“You don’t have a shade and you walk around your room naked?” She ignores his first bit of conversation. She can’t think about his body or how it had looked last night. She sets down her paintbrush and folds her arms across her chest, trying to figure the man in front of her out.

“No… but it’s not all my fault. You had your shade open too! Who’s willingly up at that time of night anyway? I was just fixing myself a snack after the pub.” He raises his brows triumphantly at her, feeling confident that he has gotten the upperhand in the conversation.

She narrows her eyes at him as she finally registers that his accent isn’t Italian or French. He’s British and she wonders what he’s done to get himself in this little border town. He also seems to own the shop beside her since he locked the door behind him. He was peculiar, but she couldn’t dwell on what she thought about him since he had just accused her of being a peeping tom.

“Someone is up at that hour because she just moved and has terrible jet lag and can’t sleep. The place has been completely closed up for months and I needed to get as much cool air in as possible before the hot day. That’s why I was up and that’s why my shade wasn’t down.” She stands up straighter and rolls her eyes at him, muttering something in French to herself about annoying men. She smiles to herself when Harry doesn’t seem to understand. He obviously can tell she said something, but he doesn’t know exactly what. He could understand a good bit of French and he could speak some, but if someone spoke quickly and quietly, like she had just done, he wouldn’t be able to make it out. He figured it was something rude, though, with the way she sounds and begins to turn from him.

“Are you here to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Well, welcome to the best place in the world. It was so nice, two countries couldn’t decide who got to keep it and decided to split it.”

His arm sweeps out around him, gesturing to the street around him. She smiles up at him before following his arms movement. His arm had more tattoos than she had realized from her eyeful last night. She noticed the intricacies of all the black ink and again she had a million questions that she had to keep to herself. He was arrogant, conceited, impatient and a little bit odd and she knew all of this after barely one conversation. At least they could agree on one thing, they loved this town.

He looked back at her after scanning the street and saw her smiling in wonderment at everything around her. This brought a fleeting genuine smile to his face, knowing she was happy to be there. He had known Marie and was sad to see her go less than a year after his great uncle. He had always thought that Marie and Joe were both secretly pining over each other. Constantly stopping into each other’s shops and waving from their windows at each other, but Joe had always shaken his head at Harry when he mentioned it.

His smile faded when her eyes came back to his fac face face. Her smile disappeared as well. “Right, so, see you around…?” He said, already forgetting her name. She scoffs when she realizes what happened and then repeats her name. He nods curtly before replacing his sunglasses and single airpod and starts running again. She calls after him, “Thanks for the apology!” and then mutters to herself, “le con” knowing she shouldn’t shout that down the street where other people speak French. He doesn’t hear any part of it, his music up high enough to drown out the sounds of the world.

Y/N settled into the bookshop fairly easily, but she never failed to mention how unhelpful Harry had been:

“Yes, well, it’s been going pretty good...except for this one man. Well, I’d hardly call him a man - a boy. My neighbor, actually, he owns the shoe shop...no, nevermind that, he practically made it his mission to make my move the hardest thing in the world...Harry -- yes, that’s his name, Mama… well I don’t know, It’s just Harry. - it doesn’t matter! He’s been in my way at every turn… yes, both physically and metaphorically...I’m not kidding! And I’m not being dramatic… Well, It was nice talking to you. Love you, talk soon.”

That was her first telephone conversation with her mother since arriving in the little town. Maybe ten days after she arrived. Naturally, she had it in the downstairs area of her home, the bookstore. And naturally, Harry had wandered in, to discuss one of their shared planters, and overheard her entire side of the conversation and gathered the rest from his own imagination. When she had laid eyes on him after setting down her phone, she rolled her eyes at the smirking Chesire cat look on his face.

“You would be the kind of man to eavesdrop, hm?” She restacked a group of books that were already in order.

“Thought I was a boy?” his smirk remained on his face. He strided closer to the counter she stood behind.

“Like I said...What can I help you with?” Her voice drips with venom as she finally turns her eyes to look at Harry. His smirk still remains on his face now that she is making eye contact with him. He’s clad in a t-shirt that has some baseball team on it with burgundy corduroy flared jeans. She notices the strain of the shirt over his chest and biceps and avoids the scoff of how vain he must be to keep himself in that good of shape for tending a shoe store in the South of France, or rather Northern Italy…

“Right, Thought I’d pop in and tell you that one of our planters is shared. So you’ll have to talk to me before replanting anything. I noticed you coming in with tulips the other day.”

“The ones on the front of the street?” He nods as her head turns to glance out the front window. “Why the hell do we share a planter?”

“Because, my late great Uncle Joe and Marie fancied each other.” Her eyes went wide at his words, trying to think of Marie having a crush on someone. “They were never together, never admitted the fancying, but they always did the planters together. They each had one of their own and then bought the third together, said it made sense to make the shops look nice...I know it was just so they had more to tend to - together.”

She hums, taking in everything that he said and how his eyes shine slightly just at the mention of his uncle. His voice had perked at the story he had just spun for her and she smiles thinking about the idea of love and loving someone so much that you’re content with simply planting flowers together. It seemed really old-fashioned to her, but it also brought even more charm to the town she now called home. Romance was still alive here, or so she hoped.

“Okay, I’ll make sure to let you know when I’ve decided what flowers I want to put in there.” She turns around, assuming the end of the conversation and getting back to work. She doesn’t really find a reason to entertain Harry anymore than necessary. Like she told her mother, he was constantly in her way or being naked in his room, something she had chosen to leave out of her conversation with her mom.

“You’ve misunderstood me. Maybe my English is getting rusty, I rarely speak it since everyone else knows Italian.” She flips around at his rude comment, eyes alight with fire once again. “If you want to replant anything, which I don’t understand why you would, the flowers I put are wonderful, we’ll have to discuss it. It’s not you just telling me you’ll be doing it. We own it equally and I won’t let you bulldoze my hard work.”

“On a planter?!”

She sticks on a sickly sweet smile as she tries to refrain from laughing. “I guess the countryside really can make some people enjoy the simpler things in life…” With that she walks to the back of the shop, leaving the stunned Harry to see himself out of it. When the little bell rings, her stifled laughter can be heard among the books.

It doesn’t matter what it is, Harry and Y/N are able to make a fuss about anything and the whole street, if not the whole town, had quickly figured that out. No one had a problem with Y/N, they welcomed her with open arms. Marie had told the entire French side and a good amount of the Italian side how wonderful and tenacious she was. How Y/N reminded Marie of her sister and upon meeting her, many agreed. But the first time Harry and Y/N had a public row, at the bakery in the center of town, on the French side, everyone was quick to realize that there was bound to be trouble between the two. It was a stark contrast to the loving comments and endearing looks the previous owners had always engaged in when they were still alive. This fight was maybe a few days after the planter business and Y/N had tried in the following days to get him to change the planters to no avail so she was in an especially pissed off mood towards Harry.

“Could you be taking any longer?” Y/N rolled her eyes as she stood behind her tall neighbor, her foot impatiently tapping a beat against the stone floor.

Harry stood hunched in front of the display case, scanning for exactly what he wanted and desperately trying to remember what he had come here for. He was a bit more dressed up that day, his mother had been coming to visit him for the first time in a while and he wanted to look nice and have a special treat for her when she arrived. His trousers were a deep navy that matched the navy of the stripes on his sweater vest, the blue pinstripes of the button down underneath was a slightly lighter shade, but blue nonetheless. He had rolled up his sleeves past his elbows, showing off his various tattoos and sinewy arms. As his eyes scanned over the case again, he ran through his mental list and bit at his lip, knowing he was forgetting something. He barely even heard her drawl out her insult, the tapping of her foot eventually getting his attention due to its faltering.

She straightened upright from her hip jutted position when he didn’t even bite at her unkind words. Her foot stopping its melody. As she was about to give another go, Harry turned around and she gave him her full look of displeasure.

“Country life requires a bit of patience. I doubt you’ve ever had to wait your turn in your life, but you’ll have to get used to it here.”

Her eyes roll instinctively. She noticed that they seemed to do it just at the mention of his name or the sound of his voice. She had always thought herself a lover of the British accent, citing Downton Abbey and various famous musicians - Freddie Mercury, George Harrison, Elton John, etc. - as members of that little island who were formative to her identity, loving them for their talents as well as their accent. Yet with Harry’s deep meandering British voice, she found herself wishing to be anywhere but in its presence. She found that he took so long to ever get out an actual full thought and when he did it was barely coherent. He also never failed to let his sarcasm or smugness drip into his tone, causing her to audibly be aware of the smirk on his face even if she couldn’t see it. The image flashing across her mind no matter what.

“You’ll have to let me know when you’ll be here again…” His eyebrows quirk at her odd response and it’s her turn to smirk up at him. She’s already satisfied with her quip even though she’s only gotten half of it out. His mouth opens to question her, but she finishes her thought. “That is, so I can plan around you. If I have to alot a whole day to the boulangerie just waiting for you… I’ll never get settled.”

Harry scoffs and a fleeting expression of actual offense flashes across his features before turning around to finish his order. The others in line and the worker are all equally wide eyed and she hears some hushed whispering behind her, but it’s in Italian so she can’t make it out. The worker eyes Y/N as she rings up the rest of Harry’s chosen items. The worker smiles softly at Harry, feeling for the man she had known long enough to know that he wasn’t as rude as he was being with Y/N. She was also taken aback at Y/N’s response, but hadn’t seen her be rude otherwise so she had to assume it simply had something to do with the man.

When Harry is all set, he turns to leave and pass Y/N again. His eyes narrow and his words once again are turned nasty. “I wouldn’t mind if you never got settled,” he said before muttering something in Italian under his breath and leaving the store. She assumed it to be nasty as she eyed the couple behind her giggling, before walking to talk with the worker.

She shook her head trying to rid herself of her cold exterior that she kept having to conjure up for Harry. Now smiling, she asks for her items in French, happy to be speaking the language that brought her so much joy rather than English which seemed to be reserved only for Harry now. She hadn’t gone to the Italian side very much yet and the people she had met over there so far had spoken French to her once she had introduced herself.

As the worker finished with Y/N’s order, she asked in a hushed tone, in French, “How do you know Mr. Styles?”

“Harry?” Y/N guessed, not actually knowing Harry’s last name until now. The girl behind the counter smiles quickly before nodding. “Mon voison” she sighs and contains the accompanying eye roll when she sees the girl blush at the idea of being neighbors with Harry. “He’s a brat,” she continues and the girl laughs lightly before saying, “I think he’s rather sweet… not bad to look at either.” She looks out the window of the shop wistfully, like Harry’s still there and Y/N whips her head around, afraid he knew that she was talking about him. Thankfully, he was gone and Y/N laughs to herself when she feels the anxiety that had gripped her for a moment dissipates. Shaking her head at the girl, she grabs her items and change from her before making a break for the door.

It was soon after that incident that Harry and Y/N’s squabbles became notorious throughout the little town. Drama wasn’t common there and any sort of excitement was the talk of the town. It made sense that this was snapped up by the gossipers from the French and Italian sides alike.

Anne, Harry’s mother, was stopped the next day, when she was out for coffee and Harry was still at the shop, and was asked why her son was so angry at the new bookshop owner. She thought it made sense for her to drop into the bookshop next to her son’s shop after hearing that. Walking into the shop, she was greeted with the smell of lavender and the sweet melody of a love song. She immediately smiled at the charm of the bookstore, feeling like there was a bit more life in it then there had been the last time she had come in. Harry had told her that Marie had passed, but not that someone new had taken over and she was eager to meet them, especially now that she had been told about the town gossip.

A messy haired, but bright eyed Y/N came trotting out of the bookshelves at the sound of the door opening. A smile beamed on her face when she saw the mature brunette woman standing just inside the doorway. “Bonjour! Bienvenue!” She greets as she smooths some of her unkempt hair. Y/N had been digging around the back shelves of the store searching for a specific book one of her other customers had asked about yesterday. And much to her dismay, she wasn’t being very successful. When the woman only says “Bonjour” and makes no inclination that she plans to speak more French, Y/N believes it’s safe to assume she’s a tourist and switches to English. “Can I help you?”

Anne laughs happily to hear English and walks over to the counter that Y/N had walked behind. “Yes, Hi! My son lives here and I’ve just come to visit him. He didn’t tell me someone had taken over Marie’s shop.” Y/N perks at the name of Marie and she smiles sincerely at the woman now. Not quite a tourist, yet not quite a local, she noted for herself.

“Yeah, I’m Y/N. I was a friend of Marie’s, so to say, and she left me the place.” Pausing, Y/N turns over the vinyl that had just finished side A, and then returns to her place at the counter. “I’m still really new, but it’s a small town. I don’t know of many other people who weren’t born here who live here, though, who’s your son?” She rests her elbows on the counter and leans on them while staring at the kind woman. She had noticed the British accent, but hadn’t connected the dots yet. It wasn’t uncommon for people to have a British accent when they spoke English so it didn’t necessarily mean she was from England. But maybe Y/N should have noticed the light eyes and brown hair, maybe that should have been an indicator as well. Or the way she had said ‘my son’ and nodded in the way of the shoe shop. But no matter what, it came as a shock when the woman with the coffee in hand said what she said next.

“My son is your neighbor! He runs the shoe repair shop. His great uncle, my ex-husband’s uncle, left it to him a couple years ago.” Y/N’s eyes widen so much so that she has to blink a few times to assure herself they haven’t popped out of her head.

“Harry...is your son?” She speaks slowly and Anne smiles at the girl. She nods and Y/N nods back, taking the news in. He has a mother...she guessed she should have expected that. It had been unlikely that her theory of him being sent straight from hell to make her life just like it was accurate.

“Here you are mum! What are you doin’ in here?” Harry rushes through the door when he sees his mother inside from the window. Y/N rolls her eyes on cue, but still notices the soft adoring look on his face while he gazes at his mother. She supposes she can concede that he isn’t the spawn of satan now. His look hardens when he turns to Y/N, who has straightened up to her full height upon his arrival.

“I was just meeting the new bookshop owner, Y/N!” She looks between Harry and Y/N. “What’s this about you being angry with her?” She asks more to Harry, but Y/N hears easily. Harry’s eyes flash at Y/N and her eyes widen once again, but shrugs to Harry, having no idea where his mother had gotten that idea.

“What did you say-”

“I didn’t say anything! I’d just realized she was your mother right before you walked in!”

“It’s true. Someone said something about it to me at the coffee shop. Of course, I didn’t even know the book shop even had a new owner, so I decided to come by.”

“It’s nothing, mum,” Harry insists.

“Harry and I...we just don’t exactly see eye to eye. But, I’m sure we’ll warm up to each other eventually,” she easily lies through her teeth, knowing she really couldn’t see herself ever being friends with this prick. “Feel free to look around the shop, it’s not exactly to my liking yet, but then again, I am just getting settled. Otherwise, you two should enjoy your time together. I’m sure it’s not often you can make the time to journey all the way out here.” She smiles sweetly at Anne, choosing to ignore Harry completely.

“Thank you, Y/N. Harry can be an acquired taste for some, but just below that exterior of his, he’s a giant softy.” Harry groans at his words, Y/N’s smile only grew.

“Au revoir! Good Day!” She calls when they leave the shop rather swiftly. It seemed to her that Harry was desperate to get his mother out of the shop as soon as possible, while Anne was happy to browse and look at what had been changed in the shop.

Their early unhappy encounters were now months ago. But encounters of a similar caliber happened at least once a week. It’s hard to avoid a neighbor who you seem to find anything they do to be an annoyance, even their existence. They saw each other around town and at their shops and in their bedrooms. Even though they didn’t particularly like each other, hated was actually the correct word, the drawing of the shades was a near impossible task with the heat that plagued the little town between August and Mid-October.

They had fought over who could leave their shade open and who couldn’t because Harry believed only one of them had to close it to maintain privacy but then he wouldn’t settle on an agreement on taking turns closing shades. Y/N argued that they could both leave them open if he would agree to stop walking around his room naked all the time, but he refused that as well, at first. He conceded after a week of having his shade drawn that he would wear boxers. Therefore, practically every night, Y/N and Harry would see each other before bed since they actually seemed to have the same sleep habits. Sometimes she would have to yell at him to close his window if he came home with a guest and he would yell at her to turn off her light if she was reading or watching television in bed too late.

Thankfully, it was approaching the end of October and the weather would begin to change. There wouldn’t be a reason to have the window or shade open and they at least wouldn’t have to see each other right before bed.

This morning, Y/N is up early, she found it amazing to wake up early here, something she had never done before this little border town. It was teaching her new things about herself and changing her, but she liked it. In deep forest green flared pants and a long sleeved rainbow striped shirt, Y/N is watering the planters in front of her shop as well as the little ones attached below the windows. It was always a little cool in the mornings, but she had checked her weather app and seen that it was actually going to be the first cold day of the season. The first cold day since she had arrived actually. As much as she liked the sun, she also loved fall and winter, so she was excited to experience them for the first time in the little border town.

She smiles to herself as she moves around gracefully. In her back pocket, her music plays softly, Paul Simon sings lovingly to her. She hums along and moves to deal with the planter at the edge of the sidewalk. But she’s foiled by a man she seems to think about far too much for how much she says she dislikes him. Harry jogs back a half step upon realizing he has run into her yet again. One would assume that one of them would either change their routine or know to step out of the way or really just be a little bit more aware of their surroundings with how many times this has happened since Y/N’s arrival. Of course, their stubborn personalities actually require them to be unrelenting in this area of their lives as well. Much like the shade debate, the who was in the way of who debate is still majorly undecided.

“Oi!” He looks down at his shirt and it has a substantial wet spot on it. She had spilled some of the watering can’s contents.

“Excuse you!” She says simultaneously, not realizing she’d gotten water on him.

“I’m not the one who just threw water on someone.”

“Neither am I. You ran into me, it’s not my fault you never look where you’re going.”

“You’re just always in my way. This has been my route for ages, I’m not going to change it just because you moved in next door.” His hands fly around in annoyance and anger.

“You’re unbelievable!”

“Well! I can’t stand you!

“Clearly!” “Cleary.” They’re both huffing out insults that don’t seem to really be going anywhere. Harry has straightened his posture for once and she actually finds his true height slightly intimidating. They both breath for a moment, finding no other words to fill the tranquil morning silence that they had just disturbed.

“Are we ever going to have a conversation where we’re not at each other’s throats?” She sighs, feeling upset that the nice Fall day was suddenly ruined for the rest of time just because of this.The bickering with Harry was tedious and she couldn’t keep going like this. Being in a completely new place and running a small business was hard enough as it is. Something snapped in her just then, hoping to squash a part of her life that is causing her stress and exhaustion.

Harry’s expression falters, his eyes losing that glint of angered passion for a moment, he wasn’t expecting that response. It wasn’t necessarily mean, it was more like she was resigned. Simply done with the conversation. He felt his anger and annoyance slip away rather quickly at her question. She sees his mustache twitch, which she realized happened when he was either amused or confused. She didn’t think what she said was funny so she presumed he wasn’t sure what to make of what she had just said. Her head tilts to the side and waits for his response. Her watering can falls to her side now, making herself a little more comfortable and leaving only a small amount of air between her and Harry.

“Tired out already? Thought you were more of a competitor than that.” He mirrors her by tilting his head as well.

“I didn’t realize we were in any sort of competition.” She stepped forward and straightened her posture a little, feeling challenged by the tone he had taken. She may have a kind and soft exterior for most, but she was nothing if not fierce in her core. She was an Aries afterall. She wondered what Harry might be, she wasn’t super into astrology, but she was sure that he wasn’t an Aries. Aries were fiery and passionate and were very unwilling to admit defeat, so he had just hit the exact right note to keep her from squashing their now long-standing quarrel.

“We’re not. I just thought I had met my match, guess I was wrong.”

He looks off in the distance to be nonchalant, like he wasn’t trying to bait her even if that’s exactly what he was going for. Sure, he found her annoying, for whatever reason. But he had realized when she had posed the question, that he hadn’t had this much excitement in a while. Nothing and no one really challenged him in the little border town, his work was easy enough, money wasn’t tight, friends were easily made, and partners for the night were easy to find. He didn’t dislike any of those facts, truly, he counted himself lucky and was overjoyed that he lived there. But the verbal sparring he engaged in with Y/N fulfilled a need he hadn’t realized was going unsatisfied. He would never admit it, but she was often a highlight of his day. Getting into a little quarrel with her brought a smile to his face when he recalled it later. The bird she had started to flip him before bed made him genuinely laugh. He liked it, so when she seemed to want it to end, he did what he knew would make her change her mind. Tease her.

“I see...bonne journée, cul.” She decided to bid him farewell, knowing he didn’t plan on apologizing any time soon. She turned her body from him and Harry understood enough French that she had ended the conversation with a “good day”. He also knew that she had called him an “ass” as well. His brows raised for a moment at the insult before giving a flicked salute in her direction and jogging off for his morning run.

For some reason, after a moment of knowing Harry had gone she glanced up in his direction and watched his retreating figure. And for some reason she found herself looking back down at the flowers and smiling to herself. Somewhere inside her she was glad Harry hadn’t given into her veiled request to stop fighting. It was a strange sensation because as tiring it was to bicker with him, she feared if they stopped then they would stop talking at all and her heart panged at the thought. She didn’t know why and she didn’t care to know why either.

The bell of the book shop chimes and Y/N pops up from behind the counter. She had been crouched out of sight trying to organize the books of notes on customers Marie had left that Y/N had only just found. She hadn’t realized the cabinet existed in the counter so when she accidentally slid it open she was a little taken aback. Still, she was quickly distracted by the new customer. Her cream collared shirt was unbuttoned to where her collarbone and decalotage were on display, some gold medallions hanging around her neck today. Her worn light wash blue jeans were barely visible behind the counter due to her height. In her hair was a classic red bandana, pulling back her hair out of her face save for the strands that worked themselves free on their own accord.

Her smile was wide, happy to see the first customer of the day as she pinched at her shirt to make sure it was in place. Her posture slumped immediately when she realized that her first customer wasn’t a likely customer at all, instead who else but Harry. A mischievous glint in his eyes as he strolled in and right up to the counter. He leaned his large body down to rest his head in his hands and look up at her. He crossed one ankle over his other, getting comfortable as he stared wickedly up at her.

She wet her lips and took a step back. It was her first look at him today, apparently missing him on his morning run. Maybe she should have thought something of that after their encounter yesterday, but she didn’t. Like most days, his trousers were high waisted, Gucci likely - how he afforded them, she had no clue - and his usual shirt had now been accompanied with a striped red, black, and yellow open cardigan. His hair looked wet like he had just taken a shower, most of it was pushed up but a few strands fell over his large forehead. His mustache looked freshly trimmed and the rest of his facial hair had yet to leave any shadow after his obvious shave.

“Harry.” She says definitively, regarding him with even contempt.

“Ice Queen.” He levels, eyes narrowing.

She scoffs immediately. “At least give me something original...or accurate maybe. I may not like you, but ice queen? Hardly.”

He genuinely chuckles at her quick response and nods, agreeing easily with her for once. “You’re right. It was weak, I’ll admit. Feel like you need a nickname though, thought something really rude might upset you.” He smirks cheekily. His agreement doesn’t make her feel like she’s won at all, unsurprisingly.

She rolls her eyes at his comment. “Care to let me know why you’re gracing me with your presence today, Mr. Styles?” Moving around the counter, she begins to walk to the back of the shop, assuming Harry would follow her if he needed to. He apparently did and walked after her after realizing she wasn’t coming back.

He gives a half-laugh, “Yeah, I came in for a new record. I saw you decided to restock them...thought I’d pop in. It’s easier to get them here than order online...Curtain-hater.” He adds the name as an afterthought.

She glances at him from the bookcase she’s standing at, her eyes shifting to meet his. A smile fades into her features as she can’t contain the giggle at his new attempt at a nickname. She then wrinkles her nose, “That isn’t good either, but proficient try, I guess.” She gives him points for actually relating the name to her in some way, but it still doesn’t incite any anger in her which she knows is what he is going for. She probably should question herself why she’s helping Harry to nickname her something rude, but alas, she doesn’t. He nods solemnly, knowing she’s right again. He needs to find a nickname for her and he doesn’t know why, but he’s glad she seems alright with him giving her one, so long as it is fitting.

Her body shifts from the bookcase over to the boxes she had gotten to hold the vinyls. She had a small collection since the place was small overall, but Marie’s old collection had sold successfully so she had restocked afterwards, this time choosing some of her personal favorites.

“I’m not sure of your taste...I know you bought Marie’s Ella Fitzgerald album last time.” She sifts through the records, trying to find something she thought he might want. Like she said, she didn’t know what he liked, but she prided herself on knowing music and as an owner helping a customer, she wanted to please Harry. She knew he liked Ella from his previous purchase and she knew he liked Marvin Gaye in the evenings when he had guests - how very cliche she would add. “I mostly got in 70’s/80’s rock...Elton, Queen -”

“Got any Paul Simon?” Harry cuts her off and she looks at him surprised. Her fingers stopped when she looked up at him, their tips placed on the peaks of the albums covers. “Thought I heard it here the other day?”

Her face perks up at the mention, she loved Paul Simon. “That was on my phone, but I do actually. Well, it’s Simon & Garkunkel. I can order something from just Paul Simon whenever I have to order again if you want?” Their gazes are holding each other’s, her fingers still rubbing over the pointed edges of the two albums she had between her hands. Harry’s watching her and leaning against the table the boxes sit on.

He nods after a moment. “That’d be great.”

“You’ll have to tell me which records of his you already have so I can order something new for you.” She grabs the Simon & Garfunkel album and flips it to Harry so he can look it over.

He regards the Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme cover reading over the fine print with all the tracks listed on the bottom right. “Thanks,” he mutters out after another moment of silence. It was rarely this quiet between these two, so it was different. “I’ll take it, Shrimp.”

“Oh my god!” She gasps before bursting into a fit of laughter. He had actually made her laugh and his eyes widen at the sound, almost confused that she hadn’t scoffed. Her laughter was far louder now then the half-hearted chuckle she had given earlier, which really was probably just another scoff. This laugh was loud and unbridled, but melodic and fun. In the back of Harry’s mind, he noted that he liked it. The first bullet point on a list that was likely to grow. “That works, just the perfect amount of rude. I love and hate it at the same time.” She finishes before walking back to the front. Harry saunters after her, pleased with himself.

“I’d like to say I wasn’t looking for your approval, but I guess I sorta was,” he ponders out loud as she takes the record back from him to type in the correct spelling into her relatively new computerized system. She twists her mouth to the side of her face to refrain from smiling anymore and then hums. Her eyes flit back up to Harry’s triumphant smile and for once she doesn’t want to slap it off of him.

“People-pleaser…” She prods him easily. His smile falters only slightly, not out of unhappiness, but of borderline jealousy.

“How do you come up with that so easily? It just rolls off the tongue,” He asks seriously, confused by the woman before him. This time she laughs as she hands him back the record and a copy of his receipt.

“I’m well read, that usually helps, but maybe it’s just my intrinsic wit that gives me an edge,” she raises her brows slightly, before beginning to walk off now that their exchange is done. She’s surprised she doesn’t want to rip her hair out after that encounter, but she figures she should simply count her blessings. “Au revoir, trouser-boy!”

He rolls his eyes as he turns on his heel and exits the shop, amused rather than annoyed with the bookkeeper.

enjoy! lmk what you thought :) part 2

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #once the slow burn ends #harry styles angst #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #enemies to lovers!harry #enemies to lovers #slow burn #the france italy one is a fever dream au #little border town #not proofread at all

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crystaltrinket · 3 years ago

Text

you put a move on me - Naruto - Uchiha Sasuke/Hyuuga Hinata - drabble series for SasuHina Month 2021

Summary: Rogue-nin Sasuke holds Hinata captive after an act of robbery goes awry.

[Rating: G-T? | Prompt: A Tribute To Your Favorite Fanart/Fic | Word Count: too many to count at this hour | Warnings: None]

Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31

Author's Note: Whew! Honestly, I had half of this done yesterday and worked on the rest today. Please forgive any mistakes. I relied on Google docs to correct my grammar.

I don't have a specific favorite SasuHina art or fic, so I just put together my favorite elements in SasuHina fic. Hope that works. This part is a little bit longer since I included 10 Omake pieces from Hinata's POV. Part 31 is wayyyy at the bottom but follows directly after Omake 29.5.

I hope you enjoy! And I hope to see you again next year ;) @sasuhinamonth

Omake Part 1.5 - 100 words

Hinata could feel herself moving. She willed her eyes to open but her body didn't obey. 'Am I dying? Is this death?'

She heard a low voice curse. Hinata tried to remember what happened before her vision went black. She remembered dressing in her finest kimono, getting into the palanquin and heading toward the country's borders to meet her new civilian husband. And then...

'Ah, yes,' she thought. 'The bandit murdered my clansmen in charge of handing me over to my new prison.' Red eyes came into her mind. Red eyes that could only belong to one clan.

'Uchiha Sasuke.'

Omake Part 7.5 - 100 words

Hinata steeled herself against her captor. She's no fool. She heard the rumors of his strength. Hinata figured the only way to deal with him was to pretend she was talking to another elder. Her clan head voice was something she perfected before she was cast away.

They rarely talked during their travels. But when he asked why she continued to follow him, she wished he kept silent. She was sure he could hear her heart beating loud in her chest.

Remembering her clan voice, she lifted her chin and answered.

Her shoulders almost slumped in relief, hearing his laughter.

Omake 10.5 - 100 words

Hinata could tell he was lying.

She can't imagine he accepted his clan's massacre so easily. To live without hearing their voice, seeing their smile, feeling their touch. Hinata's heart clenched.

She knew herself how the loss of a loved one can affect a person's psyche.

Unfortunately, O-bon festivities don't allow a grieving person the impact of acceptance.

Still, she doesn't pry and lets him rest. Her eyes wandered to him laying beside her on the hillside. Without his perpetual frown, he looked peaceful.

Hinata closed her eyes and exhaled.

She wished she could feel as peaceful as Sasuke looked.

Omake Part 12.5 - 100 words

She repeated those words to herself after Sasuke's team found out she was a missing-nin. Hinata shut her eyes, unwilling to cry. She couldn't give up her freedom now.

'I don't want to go back.'

Hinata felt a light tap on her shoulder. Sasuke was ready to go.

He said nothing to her on their journey. He didn't mention where they were headed to his teammates either.

She half expected him to desert her. The other half hoped that he wouldn't leave her.

At night, she repeated those same words to him. His eyes were understanding and she felt relief.

Omake 17.5 - 100 words

Hinata softly cursed. Of course her plan to lure the ANBU team away didn't work. Nothing ever worked in her favor.

She bit her lip, trying to figure out the best course of action to save Sasuke. Hinata grinned, seeing the telltale sway of long brown hair.

She deactivated her bloodline and made herself comfortable in her position. She waited.

Hinata was ready to confront them and rescue Sasuke at sunrise. But a commotion entirely not her own, brought them out ready to strike. Seeing her opportunity, Hinata revealed herself. Chakra blazed at her hands.

"I'll fight you for him."

Omake 22.5 - 100 words

Sasuke's breathing steadily became regular as she talked about their former village. She continued a little more even though he was already in deep sleep. Hinata glanced over her shoulder to peek at him. Carefully, she turned to fully face him.

Hinata studied him. Memorizing every line from his travels, the eyebags from lack of sleep, the face that she grew accustomed to seeing everyday.

She felt tears drip from her eyes. 'I can't believe I was so foolish.' Hinata hid her face in her hands. Her shoulders gently shook as she tried to maintain composure in Sasuke's sleeping embrace.

Omake 25.5 - 180 words

Frustration bubbled inside her. Karin and Suigetsu, sitting across from each other, continued to argue despite their shared goal. Hinata sat adjacent to them, anger simmering underneath her calm façade.

"Hinata-sama," Juugo came up behind her, carrying a tray of tea. He placed the tray beside her and took his place, sitting behind her.

"Thank you, Juugo-san," Hinata took the lone cup. "Had I known it would be like this, I would've left myself."

"Sometimes, they need a little help." His voice lowered. "If you know what I mean, Hinata-sama."

She hummed thoughtfully and sipped from her cup, testing the temperature.

"This is very good tea, Juugo-san," Hinata placed it back on the tray.

The large man bowed his head, smiling. "Thank you, Hinata-sama."

The other two continued to argue, their thumping rattling the tray.

Hinata moved swiftly, her fingers deftly touching their chakra points.

Stunned, the two bickering teammates fell on the ground.

"What gives?!" Karin yelled. Suigetsu sneered at her from his position.

Hinata calmly retrieved her tea. "Now, I have your attention. Let's talk about rescuing Sasuke."

Omake 27.5 - 100 words

Juugo's birds flew up in a tree, ending their journey.

"Tell Juugo-san, thank you," she whispered.

Hinata felt her blood coursing through her veins. Her fingertips tingled in trepidation.

They couldn't afford to risk Sasuke's strength. She knew who he was up against.

She snuck around the prison, evading the guards surrounding the perimeter. Hinata scaled the prison wall to reach the roof. She quickly found the ventilation shaft.

Taking a deep breath, she concentrated her thoughts on locating Sasuke's chakra signature.

'There!' It was weak, but it was his. Gritting her teeth, she made her way down the shaft.

Omake 29.5 - 172 words

Hinata knew Sasuke felt the same. The village was too quiet, too accepting of their vagrant ways. It seemed all too convenient a vacant house was available. With the previous owner having died alone, it was an opportune moment for them to move in with the village's blessing.

Months soon turned to a year. Sasuke's teammates came and went as they pleased, leaving Hinata with Sasuke.

She found him in the cold, practicing his kata. He moved fluidly going through the motions ingrained in his body.

She didn't want to bother him, but she knew better than to leave without notice.

"I'll be at the market," she called out. He paused mid-form to walk over to her. Seeing him in front of her, Hinata noticed his breaths were visible from the biting cold. "Is your kata keeping you warm?”

He smirked. "Aa." His eyes studied her as he tucked stray hair behind her ear. "Don't take too long."

Hinata felt her face warm up as she looked up to his face. "Aa."

Part 31 - 632 words

She went through the market, politely greeting everyone who knew her. Here, she was Hana and he was Makoto, two people not quite married but living together.

The market was a little busier during this time of year. The village was preparing for their annual snow festival. Hefting her groceries in her arms, Hinata left to return to her home.

"H-Hana-san!"

Hinata turned at the sound of her alias. A young man came up to her out of breathe. "Oh, Shigure-kun! H-How can I help you?"

The young man blushed. "I-I wanted to help you with your groceries. To carry them for you, I mean."

"That's kind of you to do, Shigure-kun," Hinata smiled. "But I'll be alright." She took a step towards the pathway to her home.

"Please, allow me," he reached for one of the bags. "I'm not surprised Makoto-ji-san isn't here to help." The young man scoffed. "He never seems to help you."

Hinata slightly turned from the boy so her groceries were out of reach. "I don't mind. Makoto-san doesn't need to help me."

"Hana-san, I -- " the young man stopped, his eyes frozen in fear.

Hinata looked at him confusedly, before feeling familiar chakra behind her.

"She said beat it, kid," Sasuke growled.

Shigure regained his composure and looked straight at Hinata. He took a deep breath and bowed. "Hana-san, I want to say that I like you and I hope to see you at the winter festival!" He straightened and turned his eyes to Sasuke. "Makoto-ji-san," he said through clenched teeth and bowed his head. "Good day to you."

Hinata looked between the two males, caught in a gridlock.

"I'm not going to repeat myself," Sasuke said menacingly. Shigure nodded again and stiffly turned on his heel to leave.

A few days later, Hinata found herself at the winter festival, admiring the fresh snow on the plum blossoms and the ice sculptures carved by the village's artisans. Beside her, Sasuke walked with a hand on the small of her back, eyes roving around for the troublesome boy.

"I don't think Shigure-kun will come around, don't you think?" Hinata giggled behind the thick sleeve of her kimono.

Sasuke grumbled. "He won't if he knows what's good for him."

Hinata grabbed a hold of his sleeve. "Come, let's enjoy the festival."

Hinata pulled him around the village, visiting artisan stalls and eating sweets to her heart's delight. Sasuke showed no interest but indulged her whims.

Hinata's teeth started to chatter as they continued with the festivities. She felt Sasuke wrap his arm around her shoulders.

"Come, maybe the weeping plum blossom tree will provide some insulation." He guided her towards the pink flowered tree covered in snow.

"Isn't it beautiful, Sasuke?" she said in awe. She gingerly touched a low hanging branch causing some snow to fall.

"Aa," he answered. "Absolutely beautiful."

Hinata turned to see him gazing intently at her. "Sasuke? Is something wrong?"

Sasuke blinked and turned his head away. He shoved his hands into his kimono sleeves.

Hinata stepped closer to him, using him as a way to shield her eyes from the passing villagers. She activated her Byakugan.

"Sasuke, I don't see anyone tracking us..." Hinata blinked away her bloodline. "I--"

Hinata's arms folded against Sasuke's chest as he wrapped his arms around her.

"I was going to wait a little while longer," he whispered in her ear. Hinata felt her heart pound at the warmth of breath on her ear.

"Wait for what?"

Sasuke gently pushed her away to place something in her hand. Hinata gasped, tears welling up in her eyes. His fingers came up to wipe them away.

"Marry me, Hinata."

Hinata looked up, seeing a small smile on Sasuke's face.

"Yes," she gently smiled, bringing his face closer to hers. "Yes."

#shmonth2021 #sasuke x hinata #sasuhinamonth2021 #sasuke uchiha/hinata hyuuga #sasuhina #drabble: you put a move on me #creator: crystaltrinket #day 31

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anxiousstark · 4 years ago

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Angel Eyes | Mitch Rapp

Warnings: Mentions of blood and injuries. But it’s all fluff.

Word Count: 1471

A/N: Again, credeits and thanks to @og-baby-ob14 for giving me this beautiful idea for Angel Eyes as I didn’t know what to write with this song!!! Coming later than what I’ve expected, but it’s almost 11pm and I’ve been crying since 5pm, don’t mind me.

BIG MASTERLIST | MIATCHEMBER | KO-FI

"Can you stop obsessing over someone you are probably not going to see ever again?" Your friend rolled her eyes as she took her lunch off her backpack. Both of you were on your break, not having much time before you both would have to continue taking coffee or tea orders. "This city is big, and he could have been visiting or travelling."

You sighed, discouraged but knowing your friend was right. "I just want to see him one more time." You bit your lower lip. "At least to thank him for saving me."

She studied your face. "You also said you don't remember anything." She took her apron off, sitting down again to continue eating her lunch. "Just his eyes."

"I'm sure I could recognize him just by seeing his eyes again." You sounded sure, maybe too sure. "I know I don't remember anything else about him. But I do remember his eyes." You looked into the distance. "He has hazel eyes, but they had something that made them look a little more golden!"

Ava glanced at you. "Babe," She finished swallowing her food. "I don't want to make you feel depressed, okay?" She wandered closer to you, sitting beside you and holding one of your hands. "There are millions of men out there with hazel eyes."

You sighed again, remembering everything that happened. Two week ago, you had decided to take an early shift as one of your workmates had to fly back to their country due to some personal problems.

At 5.30 a.m you were making your way to your job, walking as quickly as possible as you were in charge of opening the cafe. Someone with a covered face tried to take your backpack, and as an instinct, you fought back. While doing your best to keep your bag with you, the person who was striving to rob you, ended up pushing you a couple of times.

You hardly recollected how he started to insult you, demanding for your hands to lose their grip on your bag. You still fought because everything you needed was inside that bag; your keys, money, phone, etc. The thief must have grown tired of you, and the next thing you remember was a rapid movement of one of his hands, something sharp scarring quite close to your left eye.

A man had noticed what was going on, and as he witnessed the thief run away with your belongings, he followed him. Some other people had discerned how you were standing in the middle of the street, rubbing the left side of your eye. They must have noticed the blood as a couple of them rushed to you, calling an ambulance.

Next, Hazel eyes were glancing deep into yours. Your vision was blurry because of your tears, but you had noticed that it was the man who followed the thief. The hazel-eyed man was holding your backpack, and he quickly checked your eye before leaving as someone seemed to be calling him. You never got the chance to thank him.

Coming back to your senses, you noticed that your break was over. You sighed, going back to your job while placing a big smile on your face for the costumers that you will attend.

A little girl was being carried by who you assumed was her mom. She offered you a shy smile while the mother encouraged her to ask for what she wanted. After the little girl whispered that she wanted something sweet and purple to drink, you knew what to prepare. The mother just asked for a warm latte.

You couldn't resist the little girl's smile and shiny eyes, gifting her a cookie she seemed to be eyeing since she entered the shop with her mom.

"Good morning," A raspy voice snapped you from your own world, noticing a new costumer in front of you. "May I get my order?"

You quickly nodded your head. "Good morning, sir." You placed another smile on your face. "What would you like to get?" You mentioned to the menu behind you. And just looking at him, you knew he was a coffee person, probably taking it as dark as possible, no sugar, no colour.

"Mmm," He scratched his facial hair. It seemed like he had shaved recently. "I would like some hot chocolate with cream on top."

You were surprised by his order, and even more, surprised because you had been wrong. You were never wrong. "What size would you like?" You grabbed three different cups, showing them to him, but before you could explain the sizes, he pointed to one of them. "Alright, sir. Would you fancy drinking your beverage here or would you prefer to take it with you?"

He glanced around, seeing that there weren't many people inside due to the early hours of the morning. "I would like to drink it here." He pointed to a table, knowing that you would carry his warm chocolate as soon as it was prepared.

As he walked away, you started preparing his drink while at the same time taking two more orders. When the warm chocolate was ready, you generously dripped some cream on top of it.

Wandering to his table, you noticed his liking. He had picked the farthest table at the cafe, next to a window, and his sunglasses were still on.

"Here it is," You softly placed the warm drink in front of him with some napkins in case he would need them. "Enjoy your drink, sir."

As you were turning around to walk away, you couldn't help but peer at him as he was taking his sunglasses off. Then, you stopped dead in your tracks. It was him. God, you sounded like some crazy person, but it was him. He was the hazel-eyed man who had followed the thief, giving you your backpack. He was the man you wanted to thank.

"Staring is rude," He cleared his throat after sipping the warm chocolate. "Is your eye okay?"

You walked closer to him, being examined by his eyes as you sat in front of him. "I-I lost some peripheral vision in my left eye." You informed him, still getting used to the lack of peripheral vision as the knife had scarred deep within your skin.

He grumbled lowly. "I'm sorry about that." You glimpsed at him with a confused expression. "I, Uhm, I've been trying to find you as I wanted to apologize."

"Apologize for what?" You were so confused by his words.

"I jog every morning," He started. "I noticed that there was something wrong when I saw you, but the thief's back was facing me, so I didn't see that he was wearing a mask." He bit his lower lip. "I kind of just stood there, waiting for something that would tell me that I had to run over and help you." He met your gaze. "I didn't notice until I saw him pushing you around. When I got closer, you were already bleeding, and he was running away. so I wanted to apologize because I didn't act sooner."

You chuckled. "There were some people around, and they didn't do anything until they saw me bleeding. Some others just walked by while staring at me." You offered him a tiny smile. "You brought my backpack back to me." You sighed, feeling nervous under his deep stare. "And I was trying to find you too because I truly wanted to thank you for saving me. It could have been worse."

He chuckled. "Well, Uhm, that doesn't make me as crazy as people made me think I was for wanting to find you to apologize and see if you were alright."

"Did we have the same thoughts in different bodies?" You laughed. "I was trying, well, I wanted to find you too." You scratched your neck. "But everyone told me I was being crazy and-."

"There are millions of people in the world." He continued. "And maybe you were a tourist." He rolled his eyes with a big smile on his face.

"And I only remembered," You continued to be interrupted by the man. However, both of you said the same thing. "The colour of your eyes."

You glanced at each other with wide eyes. "Wow, that's crazy." You smirked, seeming bewildered. "I-," You blushed. "I only remembered your hazel eyes."

"I'm Mitch Rapp," He offered his hand for you to shake. "And I only remembered your eyes too." Both of you chuckled, flustered and foolishly smiling at each other.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have Angel Eyes?" You both asked at the same time, puzzled by how connected you both were. Thankfully, it wouldn't be the last time you would see those Angel Eyes. And it wouldn't be the last time Mitch Rapp would see yours.

Taglist: @og-baby-ob14 - @siwiecola - @linkpk88 -

People in bold means I can’t tag them.

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dulafer · 3 years ago

Text

TWIN REVENGE

This is an old one, just thought I’d share..... Its of my shortest stories. Any feedback appreciated - [email protected]

REUNION

I’ve always been the odd twin out. Will and I were both named William C. Witt with the only difference being our middle names – Charles and Conner. I’ve never liked being called ‘Willy’ while William preferred ‘Will’. Growing up, our parents couldn’t tell us apart - we even have the same birthmark on our chins.

I’ve always been jealous of Will for being the favorite. Many times, I’d answer to my brother’s name on purpose or force Will to swap places with me. The first time I was Will was when he was failing algebra in 9th grade and didn’t want our parents to find out. We swapped places so I could take his tests. My condition was that I stay as him for the day – soaking up my parent’s adoration and love. Will was definitely our parent’s favorite which pissed me off the older I got, often lashing out for attention. In high school I started impersonating my brother to get him in trouble. Sometimes, I would get caught because my brother would have an alibi with friends backing him up, or I’d would slip up wearing my hair differently or some other little detail.

By our junior year, I started hanging with another group of friends and dealing drugs. My reputation for trouble followed me as my ‘business’ grew. Will knew what I was up to because people would mistake him for their dealer. Weeks before graduation, the principal caught me selling drugs red handed, thanks to a tip from Will. Since Witts are a powerful family, Dad worked a deal to allow me to graduate on the condition that I spend the summer in rehab. The deal was made and the day after graduation, Dad drove me to the rehab center. I lasted a week before escaping and never being seen again.

My drug pals smuggled me out of Los Angeles to northern California. San Francisco was the perfect spot for me. With my college age looks, I blend in on local high school and college campuses where my business grew exponentially. I wear the college gear that fit the campuses I was working daily. I’ve always been thrifty with my earnings and always a light user myself so I saved my money for a future free of drugs. When I can, I sit in on college classes, mostly political science since my father was always drilling politics into Will and I.

Will on the other hand, was the perfect son. He attended college for political science, becoming a staunch conservative. But Will wasn’t always perfect. After two years in college, he dropped out and was hired at Prager U as a campus correspondent to interview students and follow trends. Will quickly picked up a fan base nationally and within months was buying a condo and new car – with the help of a proud rich father. Will travels the country giving speeches, interviewing people and blogging.

Mom and dad have all but forgotten about me. I faked my own death and changed my name when I heard my family was looking for me. It was convincing enough that the Witts even had a funeral for me.

CAMPUS LIFE

I’m at Stanford University working my regular ‘route’, supporting my boys with product. A few girls spot me, come running over and one screams. “Oh my god, Will! I’m your biggest fan.”

I wonder why they’re calling me Will and fawning over me? “Hi, thank you so much.”

“We can’t wait to hear you speak. You going to do a ‘man on the street’?” the other one squeals.

“Sure am.” Not knowing what that is even. I see one of my boys coming over for his weekly stash. “Excuse me ladies, I’m meeting an old friend.”

Tyler comes over with his usual swagger carrying his backpack. “Do I have competition bro?”

“No, not at all! You know you’re my main man.” We do his frat’s handshake. Anyone watching us would see us both in Stanford gear and just assume we’re students. We take a seat on a nearby bench, talk business, two minutes later, he’s leaving with my backpack full of drugs.

I walk around campus, wondering about those two girls calling me Will. When I get to the campus hub, I see my face plastered all over the board. The flyers reads ‘Will Witt, Prager University, Topic: Campus Diversity’. I pull one off the board, fold it up and place it in my backpack pocket. I’ll be damned, my little brother in town. I have to see this for myself.

I get home and study the flyer, find the Prager U site and start watching my brother’s videos. We’re so alike with our political beliefs – neither of us have fallen far from our father’s tree. We both have the same attitudes and beliefs as good old dad. He even sounds like dad did, around the dinner table our entire life. I then log into his Instagram account, using Will’s password he’s been using for a decade. I’m getting envious of my brother’s life – he’s still the golden boy and I’m sure dad is super proud of him. He’s traveling all over the world thanks to this Prager gig. On top of that, he’s become famous on Fox and other mediums for being very articulate and full of energy.

As I watch him, I’m getting very envious of Will. I’m as smart and talented as my brother. I could have been the favorite son, the celebrity. ‘Should be, could be, will be.’ I think to myself. That should be my life.

The next day, I head to a theater supply store and buy a fake belly, beard/mustache and some make up. I’ve got to see my brother in action today. Will is scheduled to do a ‘man on the street’ interview on campus this afternoon, then the speech later tonight.

I show up for his man on the street interview but hang way back, out of sight of Will. With my disguise, I’ve gained 50lbs, a full beard, sunglasses and wearing a tie dyed hoodie. I watch and listen as Will, his producer and camera man set up everything. I record everything with a shotgun microphone - hearing the back and forth banter between Will, his cameraman Gavi and Mike, his producer. That evening, I attend the lecture in another disguise just to be safe. I’ve haven’t seen Will in over two years but he’s still the same arrogant Will in private. In public he’s very friendly and charming. As I’m listening to Will speak, a plan starts to formulate in the back of my mind. Willy is already dead to the world, so why not become Will. It’s not like I’m inexperienced in doing it. It would always piss Will off when I would steal his identity and fool his girlfriends. While he was taking a shower, I would get dressed first, take his clothes, phone, car and pick up his girlfriend who was clueless. Will would be pissed but I would apologize and he would forgive me. One time Will called his girlfriend while I was impersonating him and couldn’t convince her that he was actually Will – I was that good.

I start tracking my brother via his emails, calendar and social media. Will is flying from Los Angeles to Washington for a week, with Turning Point USA to promote Prager U and himself. Our parents will also be gone on vacation to Europe for months, with plans to hook up with Will in London for lunch and a show in a month.

MOVING TO LOS ANGELES

I need to formulate a detailed plan. Will has lived the good life long enough, it’s my turn now. I start with cleaning up my life here – telling my friends that I need to disappear again. They buy it easily as it has happened before. I clean out my bank account – about $1m, and drive to Hollywood where Will lives.

I rent a furnished apartment across the street from Will’s condo. It’s perfect – from my living room and bedroom, I can see his entrance and garage. I keep my fake beard and baseball cap on all the time, and only use the back entrance to go anywhere. On his departure day, I watch him being picked up by an airport service and confirm his flight took off on schedule. I head to my bathroom and remove my beard and hide my longer hair under a baseball cap. The condo manager gladly provides ‘Will’ with a spare key when I tell him I lost mine.

Will’s condo is very nice with an open floorplan. There’s 3 bedrooms and 3.5 baths. The lower level is a 2 car garage, lots of storage, a large video recording studio and utility room. His silver Porsche 911 Cabrio is parked next to a motorcycle. On the wall is some leather gear, boots and helmet. The 2nd floor has a large living room with exposed brick walls, huge flat screen, fireplace, bar, gourmet kitchen with top end stainless steel appliances and a personal office. The 3rd floor is all bedrooms with a huge master suite with large bathroom and large walk in closet. The one spare bedroom is sparsely decorated with just a bed, dresser and chair. The other bedroom is mostly empty. It’s a great ‘crib’ but I’m certain daddy helped pay for most of it.

I get to work quickly with my plans. I try to check out his studio’s computer but its password protected and I can’t get it to unlock. This isn’t a problem after I plug in a thumb drive with keystroke tracker and some other tricks. In a minute, I gain access to all his computers and social media accounts. The password was his usual password but backwards.

His iMac Pro is a wealth of information – full of his unedited videos, speeches and even a digital diary. I thought he stopped doing a diary in 11th grade but apparently not. He updated it just this morning before leaving. I’m sitting there for hours reviewing his life since I left. His comments about my death and funeral are cruel to say the least. He blames me for fucking up life with my death, how mom & dad are glad it’s over and they’re all better off. Even my father agreed with him. That’s fine by me, they won’t miss Will at all when I take his place.

I decide to spend the night here and continue my studying. In his basement studio there is a green screen, professional video cameras and teleprompters set up in one corner which he uses to make his cutesy videos. I turn on the equipment, click on a file and up pops the words to his last blog on the teleprompter. On another display in front of the green screen pops up the empty stool where he sits. On the stool is a remote I believe is for controlling everything. I plop my ass down, face the camera, and see myself, or Will on the display in front of me. I fuss with my hair to give me Will’s prominent cowlick, press ‘record’ and the words start moving for me to perform. “What’s up guys, Will Witt for Prager U” I repeat his performance, then delete file before passing out at 2am, after seeing his posts on landing in Washington DC.

LOOKING THE PART

My brother prides himself on his hair, especially the huge cowlick that he’s proud of. According to his calendar, he had a haircut a few days before leaving for Washington. I make myself at home taking a shower, and pulling on some of his clothes – dark gray skinny jeans, t-shirt, jacket and his black high top converse sneakers. I’m missing his clunky watch and ring he wears all the time, and also his rope crystal necklace he’s been wearing since he was 15. The one time I was with one of his girlfriends, not having that necklace on, gave away my identity. I jump in Will’s Porsche and find a salon with a great google rating. I ask for my usual and show her pics from two days ago. They’re very close up and detailed. In half an hour, I’m smiling at Will in the mirror, running my hand through his cowlick.

Back home, I pull in to the garage and before I can close the door, some pretty little thing is running over to me.

“Will! Hey there, I’m glad I caught you.”

“Oh hey, you caught me.” I smile and act surprise.

“Tammy and I are having a party tonight.” She hands me a flyer ‘Jen and Tam’s Big Party’.

“That sounds like a blast, ‘Jen’.” Hoping she’s the ‘Jen’ on the flyer.

“I was just going to slip it in your mailbox. Thought you were going to Washington or someplace exotic again.”

“My DC trip was postponed, so I’m here.” I give her a typical Will smile.

“Washington’s lost is our gain. You have to come. Besides you can crawl home if you get drunk like unlike last time.”

“I’ll try my best but super busy here.” I chuckle with her, not sure what she’s referring to but Will’s diary will probably help me remember some of it. I’d love to go but there’ll be lots of iPhones around and plenty of pics/videos posted on social media.

A friend sent me a lot of WiFi HD fiberoptic video cameras and microphones to bug my brother’s place. I place a few in each room then sync them to my iPad. Walking from room to room I test them all for activation. It takes all day to hide them properly. Later on, Will’s latest VLOGs and antics from Washington start appearing on his desktop.

His video reminds me how different our styles are. Will was always conservative dresser while I went for the grunge look. His videos confirm his tastes haven’t changed at all except becoming more expensive. I’m making myself at home – it’s going to be my future home soon anyway. With my new haircut, it only takes a little of his gel to look exactly like him.

It was always fun turning myself into Will when we were younger, it’s still a turn on now. I print out some pics from his PC files, showing various outfit he’s worn. I’ve got to nail his ‘look’ perfectly for my future life. There’s one of him in a sharp black suit, white shirt and black tie playing a piano, with a red lapel thingy at a Prager U gala a month ago. We both took piano lesson but I was always a little better.

It’s easy finding the outfit in his very organized closet. He took it off, left the lapel pin in and probably hasn’t worn it since. There’s a video of the gala in his files that I watch, providing me glimpses of his shoes and watch. I strip out of his jeans, and into the outfit. I couldn’t find his watch – it’s probably in Washington on him but I slip on his pinky ring and a different watch from his jewelry box. Back in the studio, I start a new file – Prager Gala, pretending that I’m Will being interviewed about the night’s events. I sit on the stool, hit record and adlib the event starting with Will’s signature “What’s up Guys” intro, including flashing his two fingers. Being Will is all very natural for me. I’m up half the night learning the equipment, checking out his videos and closet. I just need a few weeks of studying him before I replace him.

To access his cell phone, a friend puts me in contact with a local guy who clones Will’s iPhone. It costs $2000 but I now see his text messages, calendar and listen to his voicemails. I can also listen in on his calls while he’s talking to people. I can’t speak to them, and they can’t hear me but it’s perfect timing. With him in Washington, his entire life is going through his cell phone, providing me with up to the minute information. He’s working on his schedule for the next few months. With access to all this, I’m learning who his coworkers are, listening to work conference calls, what they’re working on and what Will’s job entails as Prager’s ‘social media influencer’.

Will has a spare set of keys for our parent’s place so I visit just to see what changes have been made while I’ve been gone. The most obvious change is the lack of pictures of me. Their mantel has no pics of Will and I together. It almost looks like they have only one son – that I never existed. Everything else is pretty much how it was three years ago. As I was leaving, Mrs. Tarantolo, their neighbor sees “Will” and comes running over to say hello. She thought it was sweet I was keeping an eye on their place while they were away “Such a good son.” She claims to be my biggest fan and hasn’t missed any of my videos. She’s clueless about me, as she should – when even our parents couldn’t tell the difference, I’m not worried about anyone.

My week consists of listening, watching and reading everything he’s up to. I take his Porsche out to grab lunch or dinner to remote places so I’m not seen by anyone that could know him. A few times, fans mistake me for Will and I sign autographs using “What’s Up Guys”. They’re thrilled and its harmless fun for me.

The week flies by and I return to my apartment across the road. I return the spare condo key to the manager after making a duplicate of it. On schedule, Will returns via LAX shuttle service. My surveillance system works perfectly as he moves around his condo. I see him taking a shower, changing into sweats and working in his studio. His buddy Mike arrives later with pizza and they brainstorm in the studio about their next VLOG and ‘man in the street’ topics. Listening to their banter helps me learn the lingo and their personal relationship.

Will has not changed a bit since I left Los Angeles – same old anal retentive asshole. It’s fun watching and learning about him. He’s still an avid runner, and like clockwork, he does five miles around a nearby park most mornings. Prager U is just a few miles away and he’s there daily unless he’s traveling. He has a new girlfriend he casually hooks up with but it’s not serious, so that’ll be easy. He writes about meeting her in his diary. He’s got his work schedule planned for the next few months and I know enough to handle it. After a few weeks, my gut is telling me I’m ready to be Will Witt.

Will’s next major trip is to London for a scheduled Turning Point USA promotion/MOTS and speech at Oxford University – same as he did at Stanford. My plan is to replace him when he arrives home. This gives me another 10 days to get up to speed with his life. I watch him pack, see LAX shuttle service pick him up and confirm his plane took off as scheduled. I make myself at home but keep a low profile, rarely going out.

Between his phone and computer, I’m kept busy 24 hours/day just keeping up with his life. He’s definitely a video freak, not only recording content for Prager but also everything else like his hotel room, what he had for breakfast, his shopping excursions. I can’t wait to wear his new $7000 bespoke suit he purchased during his shopping expedition on Saville Row. I listen in on his phone calls with our parents, his friends and girlfriend Lisa. This helps me get up to speed with what’s going on in his life. Mom & Dad meet Will for lunch at his hotel, then go to see Hamilton. There’s plenty of selfies and videos to make his life mine. He’s spending a fortune on food, wine, clothes, cigars and trinkets.

A few hours before he returns, I’m armed with chloroform, truth serum and various knock out drugs. I hide in his bedroom, ready to pounce with a heavily soaked rag of chloroform. It’s almost enough to knock me out just holding it.

HONEY I’M HOME

The door lock jiggles and Will enters, plopping his luggage inside the door. He makes a beeline to kitchen and opens the refrigerator. He’s there quite a while before I hear him dragging his very large suitcases up the stairs. I’m crotched in the corner, behind the door as he struggles to get both bags through. The perfect moment happens when one of the bags get stuck in the door jam and I hear him say ‘fuck’. In a split second, I pounce and have the chloroform soaked rag over his nose and mouth. A split second after that, he almost falls to the floor as I catch him. I drag him out into the hallway, and finish putting his bags in the bedroom.

“Welcome home Will, have a good trip?” I look down at him passed out and ask.

“Awesome trip man, had fun with the TP USA team, saw Hamilton with the parents, and hit up lots of pubs and cigars. I’ll have to show you all the pics I took.” I respond to myself in Will’s typical enthusiastic lingo.

I drag Will to the empty bedroom and start stripping him. Of course, he’s in a sport coat and tie to travel. It’s so ‘Will’ I think as I carefully remove everything from him, amazed at how alike we still are. I strip off my old sweat pants and t-shirt and put them on him. I pull him up into a metal chair I anchored to the floor, then handcuff his hands and feet so he can’t move an inch. I kneel down next to him, grab his face, then rotate it side to side to check his appearance close up. My sideburns are about a quarter inch too long so I head to my bathroom and trim them to match exactly.

I carry ‘my’ clothes back to my new bedroom and slowly start my transformation into Will. I love pulling on the outfit he’s been wearing all day—his sweat and scents mixing with mine. Everything is still warm as I put on his black briefs and socks. His charcoal dress pants fit perfectly as I pull them up. His shirt has gunmetal gray cufflinks and is monogrammed on the sleeve with our initials ‘WCW’. I pulled the black lace up shoes off his feet without untying them. I wiggle into them, tuck in my shirt and fasten my belt. In the bathroom mirror I put on his tie using the same technique dad taught both of us. I pull on his cool black sport coat with large dark gray plaid patterns. There’s a video of him wearing this outfit for red carpet Oscar interviews. I check his breast pockets, locating his iPhone, keys and wallet. Tucked inside an outside pocket are his glasses. Slipping on his ring, leather wrist band and watch completes my transformation into Will Witt. I adjust my hair using his Cremo hair cream—Will is always fussing with his hair. Staring in the mirror, I only see Will Witt, just as he was traveling first class earlier. I grin at myself as I adjust my shirt cuffs and admire my looks. I do his usual MOTS intro flawlessly – “What’s Up Guys”. From this moment on, I’m Will Witt and no one will have a clue I’m not.

My iPhone buzzes in my suit pocket, it’s Will’s girlfriend, Lisa calling.

“Hey Lisa, I just got in the door babe.” I answer watching myself in the mirror, smiling and playing Will flawlessly.

“I thought you would be, I’ve missed you so much Will.” She whispers seductively.

“Same, may I take you out for dinner?” I ask as charmingly as Will does, remembering their conversation from a day ago, and Will promising dinner and a surprise.

“I would love that.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up at 7, Let’s dress up and go someplace nice. I’ll wear a suit and tie.” This gives me the afternoon to get settled into my new life.

“Okay Will, can’t wait.”

“Bye Babe.” Will’s cutesy name he uses for all his girlfriends.

‘It’s show time’ I think to myself. I head back to my brother who’s finally starting to stir from the chloroform. I start slapping his face and he becomes more aware.

“Wake up Willy, Willy wake up.” I say playfully.

He looks confused, slowly recognizing me, his eyes bug out, then starts to struggle. “But you’re dead?”

“Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. Don’t struggle bro, you’ll only hurt yourself.” I laugh at him.

“What’s going on Willy? Why are you in my clothes?”

“From now on, please call me Will and they’re now my clothes. I just got back from London and I’m really jet lagged.” I stand proudly, straighten my tie then reach into my breast pocket for my new wallet.

“Asshole, what do you think you’re doing?” he yells and gets pissed as he’s now fully awake.

“Well, remember when you planted drugs in my locker, turned me into the school principle and ruined my life?”

“Yeah, that was a good one! They all bought it too. Got rid of you for good.” He laughs.

“Well, laugh all you want. I’m borrowing your life.”

“You’ll never get away with this. Whatever you are planning, won’t work.” He predicts.

“Well I’m taking Lisa out to dinner tonight to celebrate my return. In other words, I need pussy but Will doesn’t talk like that. Let me rephrase it – I’m taking my girlfriend out for dinner and hopefully make love to her. Better?” I leaf through my wallet checking it out, pulling out the debit card. “Bro, is your PIN still 8991? I may need some cash for my date. You only have a $40 in here.”

By the look on his face, I know he never changed is PIN. “Thanks bro, just needed to confirm that.”

“She’ll know you’re not me, don’t even try it.”

“Bro, you’re talking to the guy who fooled all your girlfriends in high school. You’ve been dating her for what? About 6 weeks after meeting her at Jen’s last party where you got wasted and don’t remember getting home.”

“You’ve been reading my private diary?”

“Well, you could say it’s my diary. So, I was just reviewing my life for the past few years.” I laugh at him. “Which brings me to a new issue – where should I take her for dinner, and do afterwards?”

“Fuck yourself.” He yells.

“Bro, I’m hoping to fuck her, not myself. You don’t want me to do something brash, ‘unWill like’ and ruin your relationship do you? I bet she doesn’t even know you have a twin brother, am I right?” I laugh at him.

“Willy, what are you doing? Just untie me and I’ll forget this ever happened. I promise.” Trying to soften me up.

“Let’s get this straight, for the time being, I’m Will Witt, you’re nothing, don’t call me that again.” I yell at him. “Now, you’re going to help me be you or I’m going to really fuck up your life. You know I can do it. If you lie to me, there will be repercussions. Do not test me.”

“Okay.” He responds defeated.

“Okay, what?” I demand.

“Okay Will. Lisa loves Italian and there’s this little family owned restaurant called ‘Papa Joe’s’ near her house. She loves it and so do I. That’s where I was planning on taking her tonight. I always get the ‘Lombardo’ dish with an ice tea of course.” He answers defeated.

“That’s good information bro, I really appreciate that.” I watch his face and have always been able to tell when he was lying. “What after that? What are her limits? I need everything to be you with her. Give me the full history.”

He proceeds to tell me everything I need to know about Lisa – at least I hope so.

“Now I need details about my job. I know where you work, and what you do but more details about the people, office layout, where your office is and how I get in?” He gives me looks that could kill. “What’s up guys?” I mock him with his catch phrase.

“My work ID badge gives me complete access anytime. It’s in the front pocket of my backpack. I have an office on the second floor, just left as you get out of the elevator. My name is on the door. You can’t miss it.”

“What do you do when you first get there, in the morning? Routine? Pals? Coffee? conference room? Where do you go for lunch? I need it all Willy. You don’t want me to mess up your perfect little life, do you?” I subtly threaten him.

Once I pump him for everything, I grab the bag from the corner, pull out a needle and inject him. He screams at me for about two minutes then become docile. I walk him to the bathroom and order him to relieve himself. Once secured back in his chair, I give him dose of Midazolam that will keep him out for 12 hours and put a ball gag in his mouth. I shut and lock the bedroom door, head back to my master bedroom finishing my unpacking.

I slip easily into Will’s routine. My shirts and suits will go to my cleaner per the receipts in the Porsche, the rest go into the washer. Carefully tucked inside his luggage is his new Saville Row Huntsman, a few new dress shirts and the Big Ben charm I bought Lisa in London. I can’t help but try on the new suit, admiring the fit and material. I head downstairs and see Will’s work backpack he has with him all the time. I take it down to the studio office and start going through the content…. A few cameras, my passport, iPad and MacBook Pro. There’s a printout of my next Prager assignments and hand notes he made in the margins. I find his work ID, clip it to my suit, repack his backpack and head to the office.

A DAY IN THE LIFE

I’ve followed Will to Prager U but have never stepped foot inside. I pull into an empty parking lot, and park in his assigned spot. Will says no one is ever there but he sometimes goes in to get a jump on Monday. My ID badge opens the main door. I easily find his office and make myself at home. On the wall I notice the signed photograph of Reagan that dad treasures and wonder how Will has it. I plop my backpack on the chair next to my desk and start exploring. I open my MacBook and it starts syncing with the LAN. I easily log in and upload my videos as Will does after all his events, according to his logs.

I explore the entire building and everything is as he described – Boss’ office, video production, media center, studio, executive conference room etc. I confidently walk around taking in the names of my coworkers. In the men’s room, I smile at Will in the mirror and clean out my coffee mug.

Back in the office, I settle into my desk and go thru my drawers, check my work email and respond to some. I hear someone coming up the stairs, calling my new name, approaching my office. I recognize it immediately as Will’s producer and friend – Mike.

“In here.” I yell out to him.

He pops his head around the corner. “Welcome back, how was your flight?”

“Uneventful, good to be home but jet lag.” I casually answer.

“My flight yesterday was delayed an hour from Chicago but not too bad.”

I heard their last conversation before Will took off this am, and continued it. “I’m good with the final edits from MOTS, just uploaded it so Alexander can add the graphics.”

I pull up the video, knowing Will made a few cuts on the flight over, and show it to him.

“You’ve been busy man, looks great. You want to grab lunch?”

“Sure, you drive and pick.” I can’t resist the thought of testing my ‘Will skills’.

Mike takes me to ‘In & Out’ for burgers. He doesn’t suspect a thing, readily accepting me as his friend and coworker. We talk about the trip, work and future trips. I feel as if I was actually there. He drops me off and I head back to my office and continue to familiarize myself with everything for a few more hours.

My big test will be ‘my’ girlfriend Lisa. I stay in Will’s slick outfit, donning his favorite Ray-Bans for the drive. She’s waiting for me outside and jumps into my car. Her unexpected full tongue kiss surprises me but I quickly adjust and give her full tongue back. We make out for a minute then I take her to Papa Joe’s. Will was telling the truth, Lisa lights up as I pull in front and valet the Porsche. I use my brother’s pics, diary, blogs and text messages to talk about my London trip. When desert comes, I spring the Big Ben charm on her. She leans in tenderly, kisses me deeply and invites me to spend the night.

At her place, we strip and jump right into bed. In minutes, she’s moaning as I work her pussy, slowly penetrating it with the tip of my head. She starts moaning softly ‘oh Will, oohhh Will’ making me harder, pushing deeper into her as she climaxes. I explode in her, then collapse onto my back as she curls up under my arm and we fall to sleep. She wakes me up with a blow job and homemade pancakes – Will’s favorite she notes. I’m not a big pancake fan but eat them eagerly as Will would. I’ve replaced Will completely and now have his sexy girlfriend.

DAY TWO

I check on Willy when I get home and he’s starting to stir. My schedule today calls for video editing at Prager U with Gavi and Mike. I take a quick shower put on an outfit that screams ‘preppy conservative’ – which isn’t difficult as that’s all Will has in his closet, making my job easy.

I pop my head in to the bedroom and see that he’s wide awake.

“Morning sunshine.” I cheerfully say.

“Let me the fuck out of these straps now!” he mumbles as I remove the ballgag.

“Sure thing, but first a little shot so you can take a dump and eat a little something. Hungry?”

“No, don’t drug me, it’s a fucking weird feeling.” He pleas.

“Sorry man, I can’t chance you getting free and having a fake Will running around.”

“You’re the fake Will, ass wipe.” He screams.

“Hmmm Lisa and Mike didn’t think so. I ran into Mike in the office yesterday while uploading my latest VLOG and MOTS video, then had lunch with him. He’s a good friend of mine. Oh, and Lisa… Damn did I hit her sweet spot last night as she moaned my name softly in my ears. She really loved the Big Ben charm I got her and the ‘Big Will’ I gave her. I think I’m in love bro.” I grab my crotch so he knows what I’m talking about.

“You fucking bastard!! Fucking asshole!! You’ll be caught. You can’t slip into my life that easily.” He screams.

“Now, now, Willy. Guess you didn’t notice the video and audio bugs I installed throughout my new condo or the keystroke tracker on your computers. I’ve been catching up with you since Stanford. Your condo manager was gracious enough to give me a key after you lost it.” I run and grab my iPad and play some of the videos for him, then I show him the cloned phone and play his last conversation with Mike.

“Guess I don’t need this cloned phone any longer. I have to admit, you’re quite the busy person. Your phone never stops ringing and beeping but don’t worry, I’m keeping up.”

“Fuck you Willy! When I get free, you’re going to jail or worst.”

“If you get free, which I doubt. If you haven’t noticed, you’re bolted to the floor. Oh, don’t worry, I’ll have new carpet installed at some point. Nice thing bro – between my bank account and yours, I’m quite wealthy with a lot of future potential. In fact, after this gig, I’m thinking of running for office. Dad would love it and back me financially.”

He mutters. “Fucker.”

“Hey bro, don’t worry, I’m taking good care of your life. Enjoying it immensely, especially Lisa. She really knows how to wake me up but I’m not big on the pancakes.”

He thrashes back and forth in the chair screaming more obscenities at me.

“Bro, seriously, how do I look? Do you approve my work outfit? I’ve noticed this sport coat is one of your favorites. Oh, and my new suit from London fits great and feels incredible. I just had to try it on.” I taunt him while adjusting my shirt sleeves and checking my watch.

“What are you doing here?” he quietly demands.

“Well the drug career pays quite well but is extremely dangerous. After seeing you at Stanford, I decided a career change was necessary. Don’t you agree it’s a good career move?”

“You’ll never fool them for long. There are things only I could know. You’ll tripped up. What about mom and dad?”

“Are you serious?” I laugh out loud. “Mom and dad could never tell us apart, you know that. I did visit the house while you were in London and from the pictures displayed, it looks like I, Will, am an only child. They’re the least of my worries.”

“Oh, they’ll know you’re not me.”

“Why would they? Just look at me bro. I was always a better you than you, when I wanted to be. I do have to get fully up to speed with my new life, friends and girlfriend but that’s what all my new drugs are for. I kind of like your style so I’ll only wear what you already have in your closet. I’m enjoying your preppy style. I think I’m rocking the Will look, you have to admit it.” I tug on my sleeves not interested in his rants.

“What about work?” He counters.

“Oh bro, that’ll be easy too. I’ve watched all your videos – the work and personal, edited and unedited. I taught myself iMovie to edit my MOTSs for uploading. I’ve seen you brainstorm with Mike on MOTS topics and question. It’s amazing how we even think alike politically. I’m ahead of schedule for today. Like the anal person you are, I was in the office all afternoon while you were sleeping. I cleaned out my scummy coffee mug, organized my desk and left a note for Alexander on the graphics I’d like to see before the end of today. I can’t wait to meet the boss, have been a fan of his for years.”

“You can’t be me!” He slumps his shoulder in deeper defeat.

“I am you, no one will have a clue I’m not.”

I inject him with truth serum and a powerful muscle relaxer. By the time I come back with breakfast, he’s docile and defeated. A few protein bars, quick trip to bathroom and he’s safely secured again. The truth serum is remarkable. I have a totally different discussion with him.

“Hey bro, how do I look? You like?” I spin around to model my outfit.

“I’ve worn that exact outfit before I think.”

“Thank you, now see, it wasn’t too hard to be nice, now was it?”

He spills his guts to me about all his coworkers, and what he thinks of them. While he’s drugged, I hit him up on family issues and his feelings towards me. He basically threatens to kill me and will since I’m already dead. It’s been on his mind since he woke up chained to the chair. I snicker to myself, knowing he’s the one who’s days are numbered. It’s almost time for work today, so I knock him out for another 12 hours.

My first day of work is a breeze. I visit Alexander and review the graphics I want. Mike and I review the schedule and brainstorm future MOTSs and VLOGs. Will has the easy part and probably makes the most money. Prager’s staff writes his MOTS questions and helps him with upcoming speeches. He provides the topic, they handle it from there. Will was good enough to do my outline for his University of Texas speech next week. I turn them in and talk to Marissa, our content producer. I have the best gig – I just need to be the hip preppy conservative face of Prager U and get to travel all around the world.

When I’m leaving Marrisa’s office, I run into Dennis Prager, the president of Prager University. He puts his arm around me and leads me back to his office.

“Will, good to see you, how was London? I just saw your rough video and it’s great”

“Thank you, Mr. Prager. London was great.” I respond and his face immediately looks puzzled.

“Since when am I Mr. Prager?”

“Dennis, sorry it just came out. I’m still out of sorts with jet lag and the British are so formal.” I try to recover.

“I understand boy, plus you probably had too much wine and cigars I’m sure.”

“I sure did. I brought a few Charatan Robustos back with me” I chuckle knowing their conversations about them and using them to solidify my identity.

“And you’re not sharing? Will, Will, Will, how could you?”

“I’ll bring them in tomorrow.”

“Let’s grab lunch son.”

I can’t believe I’m having lunch with Dennis Prager. He’s thrilled with ‘my’ work, wants me to do more TV appearances like Fox & Friends but also liberal networks. My ratings are through the roof. I talk about my London trip, showing him pics of my parents and selfies I took. We talk politics, going back and forth on issues. We get back to the office and I easily fit in and learn the ropes. By the end of the day, I’m very pleased with my new life. I pass on happy hour claiming I’m still of out sorts due to jet lag.

CHECKING IN

Back home I check Willy. He’s awake but groggy.

“What’s up guy? How was your day?” I ask cockily as I strut in.

“How do you think, you sick fuck.”

“So sorry to hear that. My day was awesome. My latest VLOG and MOTS are killing it. I had lunch with my friend Dennis and he wants me to do more TV spots. It was probably the best day of your life, I mean my life.”

“My life! You fucker, my life.” He screams with pure rage.

“Wow bro, you smell. We’ll have to get you a shower but first I need to change. Be right back.”

I run to my closet and throw on a pair of running shorts and a Prager t-shirt. I keep my cell phone on me as it’s been going off all day. When I get back to Willy, he starts yelling at me.

“What are you up to? Did you get me fired? The truth, you owe me that at least.”

I laugh. “Now why would I mess up my career bro?”

“It’s my life and career. You’re going to pay for this you fucking asshole.” He continues to rant.

“I’ve had enough of you already.” I grab the ball gag, shove it in his mouth and he starts thrashing again. My phone rings, it’s Mike calling.

“Hey Mike, What’s up?” Willy’s eye light up watching me.

“No, I’m fine, it was just jetlag and you know me…I tried all the beers and cigars in the pubs…Yeah buddy…thanks for your concern.” I hang up and look at Willy. “Hey that Jetlag excuse will be good for another few days till I get the groove completely.”

He starts mumbling again but the phone rings again with Lisa calling.

“Hey babe, how was your day?” I sincerely ask. Willy starts squirming and getting louder.

“Hey babe, hang on, I’ve got my producer calling.” I put her on hold, walk over to Willy and gut punch him with all my force. I impale him and he shuts up.

“Sorry babe, did I thank you for last night?...Oh yeah, I’d love to but I’ve got a lot to catch up with…My parents are coming back Wednesday from their European vacation and we’re suppose to do dinner Thursday? Would love for you to meet them….Okay… love ya.”

“Bro, see how easy this gig is for me? I still need you for some additional information like the combination to the safe in your office.” He stares at me but is keeping quiet. I grab my little box of drugs and mellow Willy out. A quick shower, shit and change of clothes and he’s back in his chair. I feed him a sub and water that he quickly inhales.

“Now Willy, what’s the number to my safe?”

“Go fuck yourself.” he mumbles.

“Willy, you know I could give you some truth serum or beat it out of you.”

“17858” he spits out as in disgust.

I head down to his safe and open it up. Inside is a gun, his birth certificate, social security card, and a stack of other seemingly important papers. I grab it all and take head up to review with Willy.

“Nice Glock Willy, let’s review what’s in my safe and why it’s there. Some quality bonding time. Most of this I know but the rest?” I ask nicely.

“My contract with Prager U, noncompete, mom & dad’s will, my will, some stocks dad gave me.”

I leaf through it, reading it all and ignoring Willy. In between docs, I feed him some granola bars from the kitchen. I play with the unloaded gun in front of him, on purpose. I’ll have a use for it soon.

“Ok brother, more work questions. There’s ‘PR shots’ on calendar for tomorrow afternoon. What’s with that?”

“Joel, our CMO set them up. It’s just ‘glamour’ pics for his new marketing campaign.”

“Oh, so that’s what my new suit is for I’m guessing. The email to Joel saying you’re all set after you bought it?”

“Yeah, please don’t fuck things up for me Willy. I’ve worked hard this past year.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m Will.” I gut punch him again.

“I’m sorry Will.” He cries in pain.

“That’s better Willy. So, tell me what to expect.”

“Easy, take suit to work, some of my shirts, ties and jewelry. Collette in our makeup will take care of the rest. Just smile and do what they tell you in front of the camera.” he answers, still in pain.

“Shoes?”

“The black derbies I had on yesterday, I bought for shoot specifically, wanted them broken in. Doesn’t matter though – they only shoot from waist up.”

“Now that’s more like it. Don’t fight me, help me so I don’t fuck up your life.” as if he’s ever getting it back, I think to myself.

“Yes Will.”

HANGING WITH FRIENDS

“Now, my friend Tommy wants to go out tonight, grab dinner. What would ‘Will’ do?”

“He wants to do 71Above – it’s the highest restaurant west of the Mississippi. Tricia, his friend is host there and can get us in. Very high end, suit and tie required.”

“That sounds great.”

“Yeah, he’s picking me up, I’m paying.”

“I’m paying!” I correct him. “What were you going to wear?”

“There’s a black Tom Ford suit with a red lapel pin on it, I’ve only worn it once for a few hours. White shirt and any tie.”

“Oh yes, my outfit from the Prager gala where I played ‘blue moon’ on the piano. What tie, what shirt?” I demand.

He looks at me shocked. “There’s a new gold paisley tie, white spread collar shirt with cufflinks.”

“Why thank you brother. I better go and get ready.” I shove another granola bar in his mouth.

I easily assemble the outfit he was going to wear. After all my spying, I’m sure I would have selected something as tasteful. I skip the gold paisley and decide on a ‘men in black’ look, almost exactly as he had on at the gala. A quick shower, 20 minutes with my hair and another 20 to dress and I’m still 36 minutes early for Tommy.

“How do I look Willy? Now be honest.” I ask walking into the bedroom.

He checks me out head to toe. “You look good Will. You’re wearing my good watch?”

“My good watch brother, remember? You wore your smaller ring at the gala but I stuck with what I had on coming back from London. I think I looks great. Went with the gold black onyx cufflinks. And dude I even had my name embossed inside the suit, sweet!” I open up my jacket.

“You’ve been watching my videos.” He realizes.

“Of course, and reading your diary, all the way back to when dad drove me to ‘New Starts’ and abandoned me. I’m good Willy, been watching you for a month.”

Just then my phone rings in breast pocket. I pull it out and see it’s Tommy.

“Now keep quiet Willy or you know what’ll happen.” I warn him as I answer. “What’s up Tommy? On your way…yeah early is good, I’m ready… Okay, that sounds good, see you soon.”

“Please don’t drug me bro, I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

“Sorry Willy, can’t take any chances. Besides, Tommy mentioned about having a drink when he gets here. Sounds like it’s routine for you guys. What does he drink?”

“Rum and Coke, lots in the fridge just for him.”

I grab the knock out needle and give him a dose. He doesn’t fight me at all.

“Why thank you bro. I’ll see you later tonight maybe, if you’re awake.” I laugh as I leave and lock the door.

Tommy walks in without knocking, making his way to my bar as I make my way down the stairs. He sees me and lifts the glasses.

“The usual?”

“Sure, sounds good to me.” he’s right at home, grabbing the rum and coke.

“Cheers!” he hands me one, we clink glasses and swig.

I follow Tommy’s lead the entire evening but I know enough about Will to discuss his trip, girlfriend and work. Tommy talks about his auditions for a few movies and a commercial. Sadly for him, I’m a bigger celebrity than he is, as a few people ask for my autograph while waiting to be seated. Tricia has seats for us right next to the window with the best view of LA. It a fun night as a few of Tricia’s friends join us. It’s easy playing Will and his friends. I have everything put on my tab. Thank god he has an early audition for a new Marvel movie, so we leave and I’m home by midnight.

MORE WORK

I’m up early but Willy is out cold still. He looks like death, probably from all the injections and being upright on the chair for days. Not that I really care as it gives me more ‘Will Time’. To keep in character, I put on some of his work out gear, grab my iPod and do my usual run around the park. I work up quite the sweat but it probably helps with all the alcohol Tommy and I consumed. I check on Willy and he’s now awake and not happy. A quick injection allows me to get him relieved and toss him in the shower. He’s not putting up any resistance so I give him breakfast, leave him in the tub but making sure to securely handcuff him to a grip bar. I take my morning shower in the same shower so I can keep an eye on him.

Willy is so beaten that he’s stopped resisting completely and is cooperative even. Believing that by helping me, I’ll get what I want from him and leave him to his old life. What he’s doing is sealing his fate faster. Once I no longer need him, we’ll head up to my parent’s cabin in the mountains and he’ll be fertilizer.

After I towel off, I sit on the toilet seat next to Willy.

“How you feeling Willy?” I ask trying to sound concerned.

“Please Will, can I stay here in the tub all day? I promise I’ll be good.”

“I think I can do that but you have to be knocked out. But sure thing. Tommy is a fun guy bro. He sure loves his rum & cokes. We had a blast. I think he was hurt that women were coming up to me for my autograph but not him.”

“Yeah, that’s happened before when we’re out.” He looks really down.

“What is it bro? you look sad.”

“What do you think? I’m chained up and I can’t believe people are falling for your act.” he gets a little feisty.

“Come on bro, how could they not think I was anybody but Will Witt? Don’t worry, no one suspects a thing, so we’re good but I need your help with today’s schedule – sorta of ‘what would Will do’ session just to make sure I don’t fuck anything up for you. Okay?”

“Sure Will, it’s what I live for.” he responds sarcastically.

“How do you come up with the topics for your MOTSs?”

“Who do you think? Dad, you know how opinionated he is. When we had dinner in London, he rattled off six topics for me to cover and things he’d ask these snowflakes.”

“Ah I thought you sounded a lot like dad when interviewing people. That explains the notes on your iPad. By the way, I’m having dinner with the rents Friday night, having them meet Lisa.” I just smile at him. “Now about today’s pics, what should I wear? ‘What would Will wear’?”

“We’ve been through this – my new bespoke suit.”

“Exactly what you’d wear today – into the office and for the shoot. I’m just trying to help you Willy.”

“Dennis is always pushing for me in more suits and ties, to be taken more seriously outside the campus forum. Keep it simple – black button down shirt, my charcoal brooks brothers suit. For the shoot, the bespoke of course and take all my new dress shirts and ties, many pairs of cufflinks. I love my gold paisley tie, the one you wore last night. Hopefully you didn’t ruin it.”

“No, I went with a black tie, so the paisley is fine.”

“There’s a large suit bag in the back of my closet that can hold everything you’ll need.’

“I have to tell you bro, I’m gaining a real appreciation for your closet. My tastes have really matured in the past months. What’s with the glasses though?”

“They’re for eye strain bro, giving my eyes a break now from the contact lenses. I also wear them for important interviews or meetings where I want to look more mature and smarter.”

“Well your glasses and contacts work great for me too. My eyes have been changing but I never had them checked. Now, what about the shoot? Who’s going to be there? How does it work? What does Will do?” I press him.

“It’s a larger version of my down stair studio. Someone will come get me when it’s my turn, take me to changing room, then make up, then to the set – green screen. It’s easy really. There’ll be people in and out all day long.”

“People like who?”

“Candace, Charlie Kirk, Dave Rubin, Guy Benson and many others. It’ll be a few days of craziness.”

“Nice! Do I have any nicknames or personal things with any of them? Like, how do you address Candace? or Charlie?” He stutters and hesitates. “Spill it or more drugs. Besides, you don’t want me to fuck up anything with your friends now do you?”

“Candace is ‘Candy’ jokingly, she’s getting married in a few weeks.” He continues with the others. I’ll use the information but it sounds childish – something a more mature, evolving Will would never use. I’ll phase that nonsense out.

“Good to know. Thanks. I’ve got to get ready for work.” I grin at him.

Dennis Prager alluded to my evolving image during lunch and that I should be wearing more conservative outfits. I agree completely with the boss and love the image. With that in mind, I ignore Willy’s suggestion and go ultra conservative. I remember a beautiful light blue shirt with white contrasting collar and cuffs that ‘I’ve’ worn a few times. It would be ultra conservative with my gray Brooks.

In Will fashion, I lay out my work outfit on the bed, adding all the details. When I’m satisfied, I pull it on my underwear and socks, pull on my pants. After I add the belt, I pull on the Brooks shirt. To keep with the Brooks theme, as Will likes to do, I select the Brooks tie that he wore previously. The whole image screams ultra conservative and looks great. I add white gold cufflinks, his smaller ring and gold watch. I pull on the jacket and stare at myself in the mirror. I put some gel in my hair then fix it exactly as in the pic I found in an old MOTS video. Oh, almost forgot my tie clip. He’s famous on Instagram for his tie clips? I clip one on and it completes my image. I flash a Will smile and fingers. “What’s Up Guys?”.

I must have nailed the look because when I entered the toilet, Willy’s mouth dropped. In the bathroom mirror, I admire myself, tug on my cuffs and adjust my tie. I don’t say a word.

“Well aren’t you Will Witt.” He comments snidely but I ignore him for a few more minutes as I run my hand thru my hair.

“Who else would I be?” I turn around to face him. “What’s Up Guys, Will Witt for Prager U.” flash my peace sign to him, pretending I’m holding a microphone.

“Probably a better choice for today. No pocket square Will?”

“Oh shit, totally didn’t notice.”

“In drawer under jewelry box.” He answers me without even asking. I run to his closet, find a nice silk white one neatly folded in a square. I tuck it in my suit pocket and check myself out in the mirror quickly.

“Better?” He’s silent.

I pull out his preppy glasses and put on and off. “Glasses, no glasses?” I look at him.

“I don’t care, up to you.”

“Know what, think I’ll have pics taken both ways. I think they make me look older, which would kill my ‘frat boy’ image on college campuses but might help me with the older generation.” I turn to look at his expression but he looks broken. “I love this suit bro, it fits me great. I made sure the knot was right by noting the length of the tie, and location of stripes. Not used to wearing one, almost forgot the tie clip – my fans would have blown up over such a faux pas.”

“True, they watch everything I post.”

“Ok bro, I need to get to work, busy day ahead. I’ll probably be late tonight because Mike wants to do Furley’s for happy hour. I’ll let you in the bathtub so you’re comfortable but how about something to help you sleep?”

“No don’t do that please, I’ll be good.” He begs.

I ignore him, grab the needle and knock him out for the day.

I jump in my 911 and head in for another day in the life of Will Witt. The suit bag weighs about 30lbs and takes up the entire seat of my 911. Everyone accepts me and I keep learning more and more. The lingo is coming naturally to me. The routine of emails, small talk and understanding my role is easy.

I hang my suit bag and jacket on the back of my office door, grab my coffee mug and ease into the day. Just before lunch, Nicki, one of the film staff comes for me – it’s my turn. I’m seated in in one of the dressing rooms, in a makeup chair, in front of the mirror. Collette comes in all smiles.

“Will, you’re looking great.”

“You too, so let’s get started. I’ve got a lot to do today on top of these pics.”

“There’s something we’d like to do different this time.”

“Oh yeah? That sounds ominous.”

“Well, how about we cut your hair some?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that Collette, it’s my signature, my “conservative with the best hair”.” Sounding uncertain for effect.

“Well, I was talking to Dennis and Joel, and we feel you should be the focus, not your hair. We’re not talking about shaving your head, just toning down the cowlick some. If you don’t like, it’ll be back in a few months.”

I think about it for a minute, running my hand through my cowlick, looking at Will in the mirror. I’ve seen videos where the wind destroys his giant flop, part of his gig but in the end, I nod in approval and let Prager U redo my image.

The ‘Will’ PR shoot was so simple, but time consuming. They brought in some famous stylist from West Hollywood to cut my hair – it took an hour! They went through my suit bag and laid out a number of outfits but didn’t question my taste. They took multiple pics of me in 5 different outfits including what I wore in this morning. I was there for hours. At the end of the day, we head to Furley’s as planned for happy hour. I left on my new suit and last outfit I was photographed in. What a happy hour – hanging with Charlie Kirk, Ben Shapiro and other famous conservatives was incredible. Thanks to Will’s unedited interview videos, I knew exactly what small talk he had with a number of these conservative celebrities and played them perfectly.

When I get home, my first stop is to taunt Willy still tied up in bathtub.

“Hey bro, this suit is simply amazing. You were right, the shoot was really easy, except for having to change every 20 minutes. Like my haircut?” I tease

“What did you do to my hair?”

“Willy, remember, it’s my hair. It’s a shorter, more mature, conservative cut. Everyone loves it. I still have the best hair of any conservative. I texted it to mom and she loves it too.” I open up the iPhone and scroll thru pics from the shoot, then laugh and leave to change into sweats. Following the same routine, I inject Willy, help him to bathroom, feed him and put him to bed. In just a few days, he’s totally changed from being in control to being dependent. He’s definitely a shadow of himself but I’m now casting his shadow.

Every day as Will gets easier as I seamlessly take over his life. I’m sure I’ve slipped up a few times but since no one knows Will has a twin, who would suspect me? Wednesday at work was incredible. I helped with the rest of the PR shoot, chatted with all of my new conservative friends. I especially liked talking to Dave Rubin and Candace Owens. I had dinner with everyone that evening and it went really late. By the time I got home, Willy had wetted himself. I was so pissed that I shoved a hot pocket in his mouth, hosed him off and drugged him heavily.

On Thursday Gavi and I do a man on the street, at Santa Monica Pier. I nailed it – quickly picking up Will’s attitude and methods. It was easy after watching all his videos from the past year. Back in the office I sit down with Gavi, edit his video and work with Alexander to add the graphics.

Willy is awake when I get home. His eyes scan me from top to bottom then he starts yelling through the ball gag.

“Hang on Willy.” I pop out the ball gag.

“I hate you Willy and I’m done playing your game.” He spits and hits me on my shorts.

I gut punch him with all my force, then inject him to keep him docile. “Now Willy, we’ll get you on the potty and fed quickly. I don’t have a lot of time, Lisa and I are going to dinner at mom and dad’s. I really like her.”

I get Willy settled, take a quick shower and head out to pick up Lisa. Dinner is a breeze as Lisa is the center of attention. There’s no discussion of Willy at all – just about me and how proud they are of everything I’m doing. As I expected, they were totally clueless I wasn’t their precious little Will. I have to admit, it felt great being home. I showed Lisa my old bedroom and got a BJ on Will’s bed. It was like old times, like his other girlfriends I fooled. Mom and dad announced they’re heading to Hawaii to celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary and ask me to watch the house while they’re gone. More time to get reacquainted with my new life as their loving son Will. I spend the night at Lisa’s but get up early to take care of things at home, then work.

Willy is awake and pissed more when I check in on him.

“Morning Willy.” I cheerfully announce.

“You’re Willy asswipe.” He yells back.

I gut punch him with all my force. “Don’t make me repeat myself Willy, now who am I?”

“You’re Will, Will Witt.” He’s barely able to speak, I hit him so hard.

“Now that’s much better Willy. Let’s get you to the bathroom and fed.” I inject him and continue talking while it takes effect.

“So, mom and dad love Lisa bro. I think she’s really falling for me. She gave me a BJ in my old bedroom. Sadly, your old bedroom is now a workout room with no trace of you at all. I showed Lisa my swimming and track trophies, tried on my old letterman jacket and gave her the whole Will Witt history. Can you believe mom and dad are celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary? I can’t!” I lay it on thick as the caring son that Will is.

“Fuck off.” The mumbles.

“Oh Willy, don’t make me hurt you more.” I warn him. I can see the drugs have kicked in, and start untying him. Just as I loosen the last night, Willy tries a fast one on me, trying to tackle me to the floor. I’ve wrestled him too many times and know his ‘plays’ and another gut punch and I’m dragging him into the bathroom. A quick shower, shit and breakfast bar and he’s good for another 12 hours.

Once he’s secured, I jump in shower and prep for another day in the office. Fridays are so routine with a team strategy meeting for upcoming projects/videos/content. This is followed by lunch and office time till happy hour at Furley’s. After happy hour, I meet Lisa and a bunch of her friends out for more drinks and dancing, then back to her place.

END OF THE ROAD

I’m up early and skip out of Lisa’s, telling her I have some chores to do for my parents and I’ll be tied up all weekend. Willy is awake and thrashing about trying to get loose. I enter the bedroom smiling, and clap my hands.

“Willy, good news! Road trip bro! We’re going to the cabin to take care of some things for Dad. I thought you’d enjoy it.”

He stares at me, blood shot eyes, a week of facial hair, looking like crap. “Good, could I sleep in one of the bunk beds?”

“Sure thing bro, then we’ll talk about next steps here.” He calms down, feeling better, probably thinking he’s getting his life back. He’s not.

I drug him, give him a shower, get him dressed and fed. The next morning, I get him ready for 4 hour trip to the cabin. The dosage I gave him should keep him out for most of the trip. I pack some clothes and fishing gear in case I get the urge. We leave at 5am to avoid any traffic.

He sleeps the entire journey and I don’t stop once. I’m careful to drive the speed limit to not attract any attention from state police. I pull up to the cabin before 9am. There’s no one around, no one on the lake even – all peaceful and quiet. With Willy securely tied up in the car, I walk around the cabin inspecting the place, reminiscing about our family outings and fishing trips. In the rear about 500 feet from the house is an old well that’s been dry for years. Dad has been talking about filling it in for safety for years, but never did. It’s the perfect place to hide a body.

When I get back to the car, Willy is stirring. I help him out of the car and walk him inside the cabin.

“Will, untie me please. My arms and wrists are killing me.” He pleas.

“Sure thing.” Knowing he’s drugged still and couldn’t run anywhere or harm me.

We walk out to the back porch and I hand him a coke and sandwich. He sits on the step eating and enjoying the partial view of the lake. I laced the coke with enough fentanyl to kill him – he’ll just pass out and die peacefully.

“So what’s the plan Will? I guessing this is it for me. Am I right.” As he takes a large chug of the coke.

“Yeah that’s about it Willy. You won’t feel a thing though, you’ll just fall asleep. Hope you enjoyed the coke, no after taste?”

“Nah, it tasted fine. You know I need a few cokes a day to keep the energy up.”

“Yeah, it’s a habit I’ve had to adopt. You know Willy, I’ve always been a better you and this life is perfect for me. Don’t worry, I love my new life and have seamlessly integrated into it. I’ll take good care of it.”

He’s in a daze now, the drug is kicking in. I help him up and over to an Adirondack chair near the fire pit. He puts his head back and starts breathe erratically. Within minutes he stops breathing. I waste no time stripping and dumping him in the well. I grab a shovel and start shoveling dirt into the well until I can’t see any evidence. For good measure I add another foot of dirt on top of that.

I’m exhausted after that, take a shower and dress in clean clothes. In town I grab a bite at Palmer’s diner – a dive with good food. As I’m sitting there finishing up with a piece of Apple pie, Rob Decker, an old friend of me and Will come up to me. He’s a local who owns a few small businesses, most inherited from his father.

“Will! How are you man? Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” He grabs my hand and shakes it hard.

“Rob, good to see you! Dad asked me to check on the cabin and I needed a break from LA. I’m heading back to tomorrow.”

“Dude, got your gear?”

“Of course, was going to try the old creek before heading home.”

“I’ll join you, heck, even Tommy will go. He’ll be thrilled to see you. He was talking about your videos on Facebook.”

“Sound great Rob, stop by tomorrow morning whenever.”

Back at the cabin, I start a campfire and relax. Once it’s burning good, I grab Willy’s clothes and toss it all in. I have an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and freedom now. I have a few beers and watch the fire slowly burn out. Sunday morning Rob and Tommy show up at 6am. They don’t even mention my brother Willy even though we were all friends growing up. We have a blast and they want to come to the big city and party with me soon.

I fly back late Sunday afternoon and clean up my condo – unmounting the chair, smoothing over the holes in my carpet, cleaning the bathroom and tossing out the rest of Willy’s clothes. I call Lisa and invite her to my place tomorrow night for dinner and love making.

Monday morning I’m in full Will Witt mode. I wake up and take my run, shower and fuss with my hair for 20 minutes. In keeping with Dennis’ wishes, I up my conservative appearance to match my new haircut. My new bespoke Saville Row suit anchors my identity as the only Will Witt. It’s teamed with my favorite blue Brooks Brothers shirt with white contrasting cuffs and collars. I pair it with my new shoes and favorite tie I’ve worn a few times. Joel loves my new attitude and appearance. At lunch, I pull a typical Will move – I escape to a nearby restaurant, hang out and work on my schedule as is habit.

Life is great now. I have tons of friends and fans. Prager U is very lucrative and I’m in demand across the US and world for speaking appearances. No one suspects I’m not Will. I love the notoriety and acceptance. I even love my preppy wardrobe and new style. It’s grown on me and I’ll maintain it.

#twin #imposter #transformation #revenge #straight sex #stolen identity #evil twin #twin swap

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ibijau · 4 years ago

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Suyao’s happy evil life in Japan, because I think they deserve that / also on AO3

warning for jgy having some very condescending views about Japan and its culture

The damn house wasn’t even haunted, Jin Guangyao thought as he performed the ritual. It had been abandoned for a few years, certainly, and it had a certain creepiness still clinging to its walls as a result, but that was nothing that a good deep cleaning and more recent furniture couldn’t solve.

Not that Jin Guangyao would say as much. If the tradition in Japan dictated that abandoned houses had to be cleansed before they could be used, he’d do just that. Business was business, and it wasn’t impossible that a pre-emptive ritual ensured no future ghosts would appear there. And even if one did, he’d come up with something, blame it on the family, on some fault in the landscape. It wouldn’t even be a lie. This house’s fengshui was a complete disaster… but he wasn’t being paid for that, and he didn’t particularly like this lord. The man had made disparaging comments against Su Minshan more than once, and Jin Guangyao had made note of that.

He wasn’t about to do Awata no Seimei any favours. In fact, Su Minshan and him had already agreed that they’d make the man pay more for the exorcism, even though they didn’t particularly need the extra money, not the way they’d done their first year. But then, in that first year, they wouldn’t have dared to aggravate someone as high ranking as Awata no Seimei, supposing they could even have gotten such a patron in the first place.

It had been hard, that first year, but neither of them were the sort to give up just because things weren’t easy. Besides, they’d had to survive, if only to spite the enemies they’d left behind.

Inflamed at the memory of that shameful flight, Jin Guangyao stomped a little harder than strictly necessary, which appeared to catch the attention of his spectators. Good. Let Awata no Seimei think he was working hard to purify that house he’d bought, it would justify the higher price.

It was mid-morning when Jin Guangyao decided he’d put on enough of a show and could announce that the house was now safe for ordinary humans. As soon as he stopped the ritual, Su Minshan rushed to his side, offering some cool tea, one of the local types that Jin Guangyao had become so fond of. As he drank, Jin Guangyao realised he was parched. It was still early enough in the day, but the heat was rising fast. It would soon be unbearably hot and damp, making Jin Guangyao regret that he’d wasted so long on this empty ritual.

“Master Kin Kouyou, what a splendid ceremony,” Awata no Seimei said in a too deferential tone that Jin Guangyao despised for reminding him of his own. “You have my thanks for your help, I could not have asked anyone else. Truly, there is no one else who would do as well as master Kin Kouyou.”

Jin Guangyao shot him a cold look. Before he could try guessing what Awata no Seimei might want from him next, Su Minshan came to stand between them, arms crossed on his chest, towering over the nobleman.

“Zongzhu just conducted this ritual for your house,” Su Minshan barked. “Please understand how draining this is, the house had been left untouched for many years, and there were traces of a fox spirit in there.”

Well, there were fox droppings in one of the bedrooms, Jin Guangyao thought, biting his cheeks not to grin. He couldn’t laugh in public, not when he was supposed to be exhausted from his great fight against evil, but the look of horror on that noble lord’s face at the mention of a fox demon was priceless.

“Of course I am grateful to master Kin Kouyou,” Awata no Seimei said. “I will make no further requests today. Then, regarding the master’s dues...”

“Don’t bother Zongzhu with that either,” Su Minshan snapped. “Come see me tomorrow, and I will deal with the payment. Zongzhu isn’t to be disturbed with such trivial matters. Zongzhu needs to retire now, unless you have any real reason to keep him here.”

Awata no Seimei didn’t. Between Jin Guangyao’s growing reputation now that the emperor himself had hired him and Su Minshan’s attitude, those nobles knew to keep conversations short. It had worried Jin Guangyao, at first, the way Su Minshan couldn’t bother being polite to these people, but in the end this played to their advantage. People expected foreigners to be a little odd, and the locals seemed to enjoy knowing that however talented those two Chinese cultivators were in magic arts, at least they had better manners.

Having finished their business with this old house, Jin Guangyao and Su Minshan headed back home. Awata no Seimei, quite generously, offered them the use of a pair of kago, which struck Jin Guangyao as rather suspicious. The man definitely had to have another service to ask of them, and probably one they wouldn’t enjoy performing. An onmyouji he’d become friendly with had warned him that some of those important people could become overdependent on divination and rituals, and Awata no Seimei seemed just like the sort who would ask the heavens what he should have for breakfast.

It sounded very annoying, Jin Guangyao thought as he stepped onto the travelling chair, but until Awata no Seimei actually started making requests, he wasn’t above taking advantage of the man’s generosity. The less he had to walk in this heavy, wet heat, the better. And he could tell that Su Minshan was getting uncomfortable, scratching his chest often. Summers were hard on him here, especially with his condition.

Eager to distract the other man from his discomfort, Jin Guangyao started chatting with him while their kago were carried along the streets of Heijou-Kyou, asking what else they had on their schedule for that day.

“Music lessons for the disciples this afternoon,” Su Minshan said, hands clenched over his knees in a futile effort to resist the itchiness. “Aside from that, nothing much.”

Jin Guangyao hummed, letting his gaze rest on the scenery. He’d been told that the city had been modelled after Chang’an, and many people had asked him if it looked as good as the original. Having never visited the capital at home, he always had to invent some polite lie about Heijou-Kyou having its own grandeur, but privately he wasn’t impressed. The original was always better than a copy, except in one specific case… and that case was sitting on a kago next to his own, suffering because of this country's climate.

“Minshan, take the rest of the day off,” Jin Guangyao said after a little while. “I’ll deal with the music lesson, you should have a fresh bath and rest. You’re really feeling bad today, aren’t you?”

Su Minshan looked away in shame, but nodded shortly. If it had been possible, Jin Guangyao would have reached out for him and taken his hand to comfort him.

“I’m fine,” Su Minshan said. “There’s no need to trouble yourself, I can take care of the disciples.”

“And I’d rather you take care of yourself,” Jin Guangyao countered. “I like teaching them, anyway. They’re good children.”

About half the disciples they’d recruited for their new sect were sons of minor nobility, because that paid, and because it never hurt to have connections. But a few were youth of genuine potential, who had in them the making of true cultivators, if they applied themselves.

The noble boys only came to study some of the days, and were sent back to their parents after lessons. The true disciples lived in their house, so they could be taught proper cultivation without inducing jealousy in those spoiled little princes who would never even come close to forming a golden core. Two of those boys Jin Guangyao had straight up bought from their family, something he couldn’t decide how to feel about. But they’d have been wasted as peasants, and they were grateful to their masters, and…

And Jin Guangyao wondered sometimes if this was what it had felt like for Nie Mingjue, picking the lowest person he could see and bringing him higher than others. Knowing you could change someone’s life was a potent drug, and it made Jin Guangyao want to fight to maintain their current position, so he could keep doing it. He’d been on the receiving end of pity for so long, he quite enjoyed being the one who could bestow it upon others at last.

“Do take the afternoon off,” Jin Guangyao insisted. “And I’ll send Haruto to buy some refreshing treats. He’ll be so happy to be of service to you, don’t refuse him that pleasure.”

“But…”

“Don’t refuse me the pleasure of spoiling you, either,” Jin Guangyao said, and with that Su Minshan could only nod meekly, defeated.

They reached home soon after. A light lunch was served to them, after which Jin Guangyao ordered that a bath be prepared for Su Minshan. Haruto and Minato, the two peasant boys, acquitted themselves of that task before going to prepare for their afternoon class. Jin Guangyao too went to prepare, but only after making sure that Su Minshan had everything he needed, and that the room they shared wasn’t too unbearably hot. Mostly, he enjoyed having someone to fuss over, something Su Minshan always resisted a little out of some fear he’d be relying too much on Jin Guangyao and become a burden.

A ridiculous notion. Out of everyone Jin Guangyao had ever allowed close to him, Su Minshan was the only one whose company had never once felt like a weight on his shoulder. Right from the start they had been equals, their temperament matching, as well as their hunger from more than the world was willing to give them. Jin Guangyao's few loved ones had all held him back, Qin Su with her unfortunate parentage, Lan Xichen with his principles, Jin Ling with the threat he represented... but Su Minshan had always been the perfect person to stand at Jin Guangyao’s side, and now they could do so openly.

The afternoon lesson passed quickly. Due to the humid heat, the boys were a little less attentive than usual, but then again so was Jin Guangyao. He was only too happy to free the boys for the day. Jin Guangyao only took a moment to send Haruto, his favourite student, on a few errands, while he went to do some accounting.

He’d been carefully managing their finances since they’d arrived in this country, and finally things were looking up. Jin Guangyao hoped that in a year or two they might buy a small house in the mountains, where he was told summers were fresher. Hopefully, he might get parts of the expense dumped onto some idiot prince or other, in exchange for teaching one of their dull witted sons. Back at home it wouldn’t have worked, because people understood money couldn’t buy cultivation, but here… here, any idiot with gold to waste thought they would learn magic.

It was fine to scam these people, Jin Guangyao told himself. Taking advantage of powerful men was nothing at all like those people who had sold his mother fake cultivation manuals. He wasn’t hurting anyone. Or at least, no one that particularly mattered.

When Haruto returned, Jin Guangyao took it as a sign he’d worked enough for the day. He thanks the boy for his effort, and gave him a few of the just purchased treats to share with the other disciples. The rest he took with him as he went to the room he shared with Su Minshan. As always he knocked on the wall to announce his presence, using a certain code between them so Su Minshan would know he didn’t need to cover himself.

When he came in, Su Minshan was sprawled inelegantly on a futon, and desperately fanning himself, his ruined chest glistening with sweat. He looked so miserable like this, though his face lit up when Jin Guangyao put down a box on their low table, and opened it to reveal some fresh shaved ice.

“I could kiss you,” Su Minshan said, all but crawling to the table.

“I hope you will,” Jin Guangyao retorted, picking some of the shaved ice with a spoon so he could feed it to the other man. “I also have some cold noodles, and some rice wine.”

“You are a god among men.”

Jin Guangyao laughed, and started chatting about their students, the ones in which they placed true hope, the ones who were there only for their parents’ fortune. Su Minshan was delighted to hear they might be able to buy a secondary house. With his thousand holes curse, heat and humidity were particularly hard on him, sweat and friction chafing his skin nearly to the point of bleeding sometimes. They really needed that house in the mountain, Jin Guangyao decided. He'd start looking very soon, and maybe drop a word to one of his richer patrons to ask for advice on such a purchase.

For now though, the two men enjoyed their shaved ice, then moved on to some delicious cold noodles. The local food was different from the one back home, but it was something they'd both taken to rather well, unlike that blasted climate. Then, after eating, they started drinking their wine, and the two men found themselves chatting about the place they would always call home, even if they should live in Japan for a thousand years.

“I wonder how A-Ling is doing,” Jin Guangyao mused, staring into his cup of wine. “Poor boy, he must have run the sect to the grounds by now, unless someone more competent got rid of him.”

“Maybe your enemy killed him,” Su Minshan retorted. “If they couldn’t get you, at least they’d get your next of kin.”

Jin Guangyao grimaced. “Probably. After all, they got Qin Su and that little idiot Mo Xuanyu, why not Jin Ling as well? Unless…”

“Unless?”

Jin Guangyao hummed thoughtfully. “I’m still wondering who it could have been,” he said. “I had my enemies of course, but there aren’t many who could have been bold enough to come after me like that. They all hated me of course,” he added with a joyless laugh. “But hate is not enough to go after a man who will slaughter your sect if you stand in his way. It takes a certain type of man to stand up to someone like me.”

“Could have been Lan Wangji,” Su Minshan predictably suggested. “Righteous prick, he didn’t particularly like Nie Mingjue, but he’d avenge him just to feel morally superior.”

“The fact that his lover was brought back certainly is suspicious,” Jin Guangyao conceded, sipping some wine. “And he never particularly liked me, either. To be fair, I don’t think he likes anyone, except that murderer. Still, I’m not sure he would have let Mo Xuanyu kill himself, he does have principles. No, I have another theory.”

“I’m listening.”

Jin Guangyao smiled, and poured more alcohol for both of them, letting the liquid flow as slowly as possible, allowing the suspense to rise a little before he dropped his bomb.

“Jiang Cheng,” he then said.

Su Minshan blinked a few times, frowned, then severely nodded, glaring at his cup of wine.

“It would make sense. Good way to make sure you don’t get rid of his idiotic nephew.”

“Our idiotic nephew,” Jin Guangyao corrected, who had put too much effort into becoming a Jin to disown his last direct relative, even if the boy really took more after his other uncle. “And everyone knows he’s obsessed with finding Wei Wuxian, right? I wouldn’t put it past him to just take things in his own hands and bring back the man who killed his sister, just for a chance to kill him himself, once he was sure no one stood in the way of A-Ling’s inheritance. Too bad he didn’t count on Lan Wangji. Ah, I almost wish I could go back and check on conferences now, it must be quite the show.”

The thought of Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng, who had always hated each other, forced to act half polite even though they both wanted to lock down Wei Wuxian and keep him to themselves… it might have been the wine, but Jin Guangyao couldn’t help chuckling a little. He was so glad that he didn’t have to deal with that sort of mess. For this alone, he was almost grateful to his mysterious enemy.

It was an odd feeling, actually, but Jin Guangyao had come to enjoy his life here, in this foreign land. It wasn’t as good as home, nothing compared to the near absolute power he’d held back then, but… but his eyes fell on Su Minshan, naked from the waist up, looking in a rare good mood, and he smiled. There was definitely something to be said for this simpler life they had here. There was so much less scheming to be done, fewer enemies to deal with, and Jin Guangyao was finally free from the looming menace of Nie Mingjue’s resentful head hidden in his secret room.

Life here really wasn’t so bad.

“You know who it could have been?” Su Minshan asked, grinning like a fool, his cheeks flushed from the heat and the wine.

“Who?”

Su Minshan beamed, the way he usually did when sharing a nasty story about the darker secrets of Gusu Lan.

“Think about it. Someone who would have wanted to avenge Nie Mingjue. Someone who might have been able to wander around in other sects without attracting attention to collect information, because nobody cares what he does. Someone who Mo Xuanyu might have met before, who was there when Wei Wuxian came to Jinlin Tai to accuse you…”

Jin Guangyao, who had expected his lover to blame Lan Xichen, burst out laughing.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, Minshan. Really? You’re accusing Nie Huaisang now?” Just saying it out loud, Jin Guangyao laughed louder. Nie Huaisang had never had a single idea of his own in his entire life, and didn’t even get along with his brother when he’d been alive. Su Minshan might as well have blamed a very stupid dog. “That poor boy, I bet he would have taken my defence to the end. I almost miss him, you know.”

“No you don’t,” Su Minshan retorted, which made Jin Guangyao laugh again.

“I do! Ah, Minshan, let’s get a cat and call it Huaisang.”

Su Minshan scoffed, and reached out for the wine, only to find they had already finished it. It was probably for the best, if they were so drunk that they could consider the possibility of Nie Huaisang being their secret enemy.

“It’d have to be a fat cat then,” Su Minshan grumbled, stretching in a way that called attention to his chest. It was funny, Jin Guangyao thought sometimes, how he should have been disgusted by the effects of the Thousand Holes curse, but wasn’t at all. “ And one too lazy to even run after mice, or do anything but sleep in the sun, or else the name won’t fit.”

“Minshan, you’re so mean,” Jin Guangyao fondly said, taking the other man’s hand and pulling on it, wanting to go to bed now and enjoy some more this very mean-spirited man he was lucky enough to share his new life with. “Please, never change.”

#suyao #jin guangyao #su she #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #evil boyfriends heck yeah #living in evil domesticity #jau writes

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slashscowboyboots · 4 years ago

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The Stars Are a Part Of Us: The Brains Of This Outfit

This my “Almost Famous” inspired groupie fic, with appearances by @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands (Celestia/Alessia), @sexcoffeeandrockandroll (Absinthe/Amy) and @no-stone-no-bone (Velvet), plus yours truly as Karen. This is a pretty dark fic, with VERY mature themes and smut. Cross-posted on AO3

Tag list @izzysdenimjacket @no-stone-no-bone @sexcoffeeandrockandroll @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands @smokeandmirrorz @sodalitefully @roger-taylors-car @lost-in-the-80s @whisperess33 @shawolat @80snikki @rumoured-whispers

Warnings: Underage sex, drug use, drinking, implied violence. 18+ ONLY

1987

This must be her.

Izzy sat up straighter, watching as a short blonde shuffled toward the back of the bus, a huge bag on her shoulder and carrying a pillow in her arms. She didn’t notice him sitting in the next to the last seat, and she flopped down on the one behind him, setting down her pillow and leaning against it, then rifling through her purse till she found a book.

Bella Donna. The most beautiful one of all. She certainly was pretty, he thought, with her long blonde waves and huge blue eyes. She dressed like Stevie Nicks’ runaway progeny too, all ruffles and lace and faded jeans, although instead of Stevie’s platforms she wore a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots.

I’ve never seen a groupie play hard to get, he chuckled to himself. She must be something else. Watching her turn a page, he noticed her full lips pursing as she read the text. He couldn’t make out what the title was, but he could see a long-haired bare-chested hunk and a bosomy babe spilling out of her bodice in a passionate clinch on the cover.

Oh, shit, she’s reading romance novels. Probably wants me to seduce her.

Izzy didn’t think he was quite up to that.

87 had been rough on him so far. Getting busted on a possessions charge (thankfully, it hadn’t included a “with an intent to sell,” although that had been exactly his intention), sentenced to rehab and now on probation, with orders he continue to be piss tested on the road.

It was a miracle he was allowed to leave the country, but his lawyer (who was far too good to be in his pay scale, Izzy noted) argued that his client’s ability to earn a living shouldn’t be hampered by his arrest. (The fact that his paying profession had led to his arrest wasn’t lost on him either.) To his amazement, the judge had agreed, and Geffen, desperate to recoup their investment and make a little scratch before the band killed themselves, sent them with The Cult on a tour of Canadian hockey rinks. Woo hoo.

Just before the tour started, he and Niv were approached in a shitty dive by a curvy brunette introducing herself as Absinthe and claiming she was one of the Road Wives.

“Heard of us?” she asked, coyly batting her eyelashes.

Izzy took a sip from his Coke and nodded. Yes, he’d heard of all of them. The Flying Garter Girls, the GTO’s, the Road Wives. All conglomerates of groupies who traveled with bands and made life on the road even more colorful and chaotic.

“Of course you have. It’s an honor to travel with the Wives.”

Izzy rolled his eyes and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke from his nose. “And you’ve selected us, I suppose.”

Absinthe smiled, the contrast of her crimson pout with her white teeth and skin visible even in the dim light. “We have. Our leader Velvet has chosen Axl as her traveling companion.”

Niven smirked, and Izzy raised his eyebrows. “Has this already been decided?” he said quietly.

Those red lips formed a tight line. “No. Axl said to take this up with you. ‘Izzy has the final word,’ he said.”

He took another drag, and she leaped at the opportunity to speak. “There’s uhh, four of us, and Celestia has picked Slash, and I,” she smiled, and Izzy swore he saw devil horns poke out of her dark hair, “I settle down with no man, but I’ve spent time with your drummer and won’t mind repeating that experience.”

He flicked his ash from his cigarette, bored disinterest on his unsmiling face. “And Duff is married.”

She swallowed, then nodded. “Yes, Duff is engaged, and has cordially informed us he will not require our services. Shame, there’s a tree I’d like to climb again and again.”

Izzy lit a new cigarette with the end of the first one and ground the butt out, then leaned forward on the table and said, “Shame, because I say no to the whole shooting match.”

The whites of her black-lined eyes became enormous. “Wait, you haven’t heard who’s with you.”

“I don’t care who’s with me,” he said, in a quiet but firm voice. “I’m on fucking probation and I don’t need any more headaches. And I damn sure don’t need four chicks we have to babysit.”

“Hear her out,” Niven snickered. “I gotta hear about the whore that wants you.”

Absinthe licked the front of her teeth. “Bella Donna. The most beautiful one of all,” she said softly.

Izzy shook his head. “Nope. I’m not traveling with anyone fucked up or underage.”

“She’s 21. And she blows a gasket over drugs.”

Niven elbowed Izzy. “She sounds right up your alley, mate.”

Izzy shifted in his seat, rolling the end of his cigarette in the ashtray as he chewed the inside of his cheek.

“She and I went to school together, and we’re older than the other girls. We keep them in line. They will not cause you any problems on the road. You have my word.”

Izzy slid his eyes to Alan, who shrugged. “Canada’s cold, Izz.”

Absinthe smiled.

He still wasn’t convinced. “She doesn’t use? Cause I’ve never heard of a groupie who didn’t.”

She shook her head. “Reads us the riot act if we do. She smokes weed every now and then, but I don’t even think she’s done that in the last six months.” She batted her eyes, sensing his interest. “Drinks the occasional beer, but she’s normally our DD.”

Izzy sighed, then downed the last of his Coke. “All right. One fuckup, and I don’t care what it is, if one of you broads even breaks a nail, your asses are heading home. Put that in the tour budget Niv, four bus tickets back to LA if any of them get the hiccups.” He stood up. “I’m not joking.”

No, a seduction was not something he was up to. Maybe a quick fuck when the bus got dark, if she loosened up a little. Normally, groupies sucked you off as a way of saying hello, but this one had tromped on past him and buried her nose in a book.

Honey, is that any way to welcome your man?

He leaned over the bus seat, carefully studying her. She wore a moonstone ring on one hand, a crystal ball set in a pair of hands ring on the other one, and gigantic sparkly hoop earrings. He didn’t especially understand this Stevie Nicks fixation, but if memory served, she’d fucked her way through Fleetwood Mac and the Eagles, so as long as Rhiannon here didn’t wear a chastity belt, it was fine by him.

He tilted his head and asked, “Aren’t you going to say hi?”

Her eyes darted up from her page, then back down. “Hi.”

He had another great view of the top of her head. “Is this any way to act?”

She turned a page, her eyes not leaving her book. “I wasn’t aware I was a bother.”

Since Izzy’s arrest, patience was not something he had large reserves of. “Are you really going to do this?” he snapped.

Her eyes met his then, and he had a second to register how long her eyelashes were before he realized how irritated she was. “Do WHAT, may I ask?” she growled, her voice hard.

Izzy was thrown, but he shrugged it off. Maybe this is foreplay to her. “Why aren’t you in my lap right now? Daddy’s had a rough day.”

She went completely, utterly still, then asked, “What?”

A little voice in his head (something he heard much more frequently now that he was sober) told him something was off, but he blurted, “You’re my whore and I shouldn’t have to beg you to blow me.”

He watched her cheeks flush, then the sides of her neck, and he belatedly realized that this was someone you didn’t piss off. To his relief, she didn’t reach into her purse, but instead slammed her book shut and gritted, “Who told you I was your whore?”

“Well, I see you two have met,” Absinthe said, smiling as she sat down next to her.

“She did,” Izzy said, tipping his chin up, not taking his eyes off the blonde.

“Amy Louise, do you mind telling me what the fuck is going on?” She glanced up at Izzy. “Are you telling people I’m ‘Bella Donna the wonder groupie’ again?” Closing her eyes, she muttered, “Because you know how much I hate that.”

“Ahh,” Absinthe answered, “well, possibly. But you really should get to know Izzy.”

Her eyes darted back to him. “I’m good,” she snapped. “I think I know all I need to know.”

“What’s the hell’s that supposed to mean?” he growled.

“It means what you think it means.” She turned to Absinthe. “You are going to stop calling me ‘Bella Donna’ or I am going to make you stop. You got that?”

“Yes.” Shoulders slumping, Absinthe stood up and walked back to the front of the bus.

Izzy watched as the blonde laid her forehead on her palm, then reached into her bag and lit a cigarette with trembling hands. She looked up at him. “Did you get that, Hoss?” she said in a tired voice. “I’m not ‘Bella Donna,’ and I’m definitely not your whore.”

He nodded, then a small voice said, “Sissy? Is that my Sissy?” A younger girl with brown hair sat down next to her, and she immediately hugged her, then laid her head on her shoulder.

“I love you, Sis,” the younger girl said.

“I love you, too, Celly Belly.”

“Who’s that?”

“That’s Izzy.”

“Hi, Izzy, I’m Celestia.”

“Hi.”

“Izzy, this is my sister, Karen.”

“We’ve met,” Karen said icily.

“Why don’t you like him? He’s cute.”

Karen looked at her sister in horror. “He’s a drug dealer.”

“Former,” Izzy said.

“And a junkie.”

“Also former.”

“He has a girlfriend.”

“Nope, she left me when I went to rehab. For another guitarist with better drugs.”

“He’s cute. You should bang him.”

“Celestia. That’s not why you sleep with people.”

“Yes, it is,” Celestia and Izzy said in unison.

Karen rolled her eyes. “That’s not why I sleep with people.”

“Have you talked to Steve?” Celestia asked.

Karen breathed out a sigh. “No, not since he took up with that model. Catriona.”

“Steve is an idiot,” Celestia said, lighting up a cigarette. “I heard their record is multi platinum.”

“Yeah, they brought Mutt back.” Karen said. “When you sell that many records, that’s when the models show up.”

“Yeah.” Celestia blew out a plume of smoke. “Did you bring your hat?”

Karen crossed her arms and slumped in her seat. “Yeah.”

“Yay!” Celestia squeezed her. “ I know you don’t want to be ‘Bella Donna’ anymore, but I love it when you are.” She looked up at Izzy, who was still watching them. “I bet he could make you forget Steve.”

“I’m good.” Karen tightened her arms and scowled.

“Sissy, please be nice to Izzy.”

“Why?”

“Because I really like Slash. And Izzy will make us go home if we don’t behave.”

Karen looked at Izzy, then Celestia. “You really want to stay?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Celestia?” a voice called. “Baby, where are you?”

Celestia said, “I gotta go. I love you, Sis.”

“Here,” Karen said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a handful of condoms. “Don’t fuck him without one. I don’t want any more doctor’s visits.”

Celestia tucked them inside her waistband of her microshorts, then kissed Karen’s cheek. “I’m not going to get in trouble again, I promise.” As she stood up, she smiled at Izzy, then squealed, “Slashy!”

Izzy lit a cigarette and smirked at Karen. “Well, that was just absolutely fucking touching, but you twats are hitting the pavement the first stop we make.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Oh, yes, you are.”

Karen narrowed her eyes. “That girl is 16. Velvet is 17. And you’re planning to take them into another country to have sex with them, which the last time I looked was a criminal act.”

“Not if we dump your asses out before we hit the border.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Well, you’re not. I’m on probation and I don’t need this bullshit.”

“Yes, let’s talk about that. You do realize any of these girls, myself included, though I wouldn’t, can at any time say, ‘He raped me?’ ‘He hit me?’ Now for anyone else in this band, that would be any given Tuesday, but for you? You have a lot more to lose.”

Izzy’s eyes widened.

“I mean, Absinthe told you I was your whore, and obviously that’s not true. We’re liable to say just anything.”

He shifted in his seat, feeling a chill run down his back.

“Where are we stopping anyway? McDonald’s? There’s always a cop there with nothing to do. Maybe he’ll have time for a damsel in distress.”

Izzy swallowed. “What do you want?” he gritted, knowing she had the upper hand.

“You can show us ‘twats’ a little respect, for starters.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he spat. “Your ass is chapped because I was a dealer.”

“Hoss, don’t make me play my ace. Cause I have four of them, and I ain’t on probation.”

He ground his molars together. “What else?”

“We stay, and you provide us with basic human necessities. A place to sleep, food, and shelter.”

“And?”

“Take us backstage.”

“That’s a given.”

She shrugged.

“Then what?”

“Then your band runs around with empty balls and everyone is happy happy happy. ‘Cept you, you’re on your own with that.” She crossed her arms. “And I make sure no one is a headache. You’ll never know we’re here.”

“Can I believe you?”

She directly met his gaze. “Yes.”

“How do I know that?”

“I’m not a liar. I’ve been honest about everything so far.”

Why didn’t I meet you first? It would’ve saved a shitload of time. “Why are you here?” he snapped.

“Because your band has a body count, Stradlin.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“Todd Crew. Slash shot him up, did he not?”

Izzy took a deep breath. “He says he didn’t.”

“Do you believe that?”

“What I believe is none of your fucking business.”

“I heard he did, and Todd died in his arms.”

Izzy lit a cigarette and looked away. “We, ah, we were all gutted when he died.”

“Well, my baby sister is sleeping with Slash, and I want to make sure that is an isolated incident.”

Izzy took a drag. “It is. None of us are on smack anymore. Slash just drinks now, and I can’t do fucking anything.”

Karen met his eyes. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not entirely swayed by your testimony.”

He shrugged. Even though she was judgmental and unforgiving, he could see where she was coming from. If he had a sister, he’d shit himself if she took up with Slash. Or any of them.

She must be the brains of this outfit. She hates us all.

Karen shot him one final filthy look, then dug a Walkman out of her purse and closed her eyes, resolutely shutting him out.

Izzy sighed, then his eyes landed a few seats ahead of him. Duff had pledged undying fidelity to his fiancee and planned on recreationally drinking instead of fucking, and had already passed out cold, snoring loudly against the window.

I don’t have that option, Izzy bitterly thought. It wasn’t even that he wanted to drink or raise hell anymore. His rehab stint had opened his eyes to how close he’d skated to the edge, and just when he felt like he’d finally made it back to the land of the living, Todd had fallen into the abyss.

There’d also been the unspoken question, Is Slash going to be charged with murder? The band had closed ranks and called all the lawyers, and in the end, no one was indicted. Guns was already on thin ice for Axl and Slash’s separate arrests for statutory rape, and Izzy’s incarceration was the final straw. The brass at Geffen was adamant: One more strike, boys, and your asses are done.

He titled his chin up and blew out a plume of smoke. He hadn’t had many plans for this tour, but he had expected to spend it in the arms of a submissive woman. Sex hadn’t been forbidden by the terms of his probation, not yet anyway, and he’d been, well, enchanted by the idea of a babe who didn’t get fucked up and yet was enthusiastic to do his bidding in the sack. He could slap himself now for believing such a creature even existed.

He stole a glance at Karen, whose head had slumped forward. Even in her sleep, she looked weary, beautiful but worn out. He realized now, if Absinthe’s description was right, she was just a nice girl looking after her sister, and Celestia’s taste in men must be exhausting if Slash was any indication. Izzy felt his ears growing hot as he thought about how aggressively he’d approached her, even though he’d been promised she was a sure thing. Demanding she immediately hop on his dick wasn’t what he considered finesse.

Fuck, how am I going to get laid now? That thought was punctuated by a hushed moan from Slash, and Izzy wanted to pound his head against the seat in front of him. He’d just have to hope that somehow Canadian groupies were very willing yet went to church frequently.

Damn, woman, you’re sure you won’t change your mind about me? I can be romantic if you want me to.

Can’t do much about me being a dealer though. That ship already sailed.

He heard Karen stirring behind him, and turned to watch her stretch out and cover herself with a blanket. Since he expected to be wrapped in her arms, Izzy had packed away his own covers, so he buttoned his denim jacket and crossed his arms, sleep mercifully arriving quickly.

#izzy stradlin x oc #izzy stradlin fanfiction #guns n roses x oc #guns n roses fanfic

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96thdayofrage · 3 years ago

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How lawmakers block progress and maintain oppressive policies

Many lawmakers, especially in the South, fought to maintain the nation’s founding principles of white supremacy.

In Alabama’s Dallas County, more than half the population was Black in 1961 but fewer than one in 100 Black citizens were registered to vote due to daunting poll taxes and other measures meant to disenfranchise Black voters.

Across the South, registrars could selectively ask Black voters to read part of the Constitution, then decide whether the text had been read to their liking, said Carol Anderson, an African American studies professor at Emory University in Atlanta.

As such, they had enormous power to block people from voting, Anderson said.

A modest civil rights act passed in 1957 had enabled the Justice Department to sue states for voting rights violations but put the onus on people whose rights had been violated, requiring them to challenge systems designed to keep them down, Anderson said. By 1963, a federal report examining 100 counties in eight Southern states found that Blacks remained substantially underrepresented at the polls.

Selma, the seat of Dallas County, became an important battleground as tensions escalated. A local judge stifled demonstrations by declaring public gatherings of more than two people illegal, drawing a visit from Martin Luther King Jr. and thrusting Selma into the national spotlight.

Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, Southern legislators repeatedly derailed civil rights-related proposals while chairing key committees, said David Bateman, an associate professor of government at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York.

“Their control over these committees allowed them to gate-keep the agenda,” Bateman said.

Images of officers attacking voting rights activists – including then 25-year-old activist John Lewis – on a Selma bridge with clubs and tear gas in March 1965 helped sway public support. Days after the so-called “Bloody Sunday” incident, President Lyndon Johnson pressed lawmakers to pass broad voting rights legislation. The Voting Rights Act of 1965 banned literacy tests and other discriminatory practices while requiring federal approval of proposed voting-eligibility standards before states could implement them.

Today, Bateman said, as increasing voting restrictions continue to disproportionately affect people of color, “there’s every reason to believe voter disenfranchisement campaigns will persist.”

The U.S. Supreme Court in 2013 reversed a key part of the landmark Voting Rights Act, allowing states to alter voting rules before obtaining federal consent. This summer, the court issued a ruling that disqualifies votes cast in the wrong precinct and only allows family members or caregivers to turn in another person’s ballot.

At least 18 states have enacted laws making voting harder this year, according to the Brennan Center for Justice at New York University. In Montana, legislators abolished Election Day registration. Florida curtailed after-hours drop boxes.

Georgia shortened absentee ballot request periods, criminalized providing food and water to queued-up voters and made opening polls optional on Sundays, traditionally a day when the Black vote spikes as congregants vote after church.

“We still have not dealt with anti-Blackness in this society,” said Anderson, of Emory University. “We’re really looking at the same pattern, the same rhymes.”

In September, Democrats introduced an elections and voting rights bill that would expand early voting options, identification requirements and access to mail-in ballots while allowing Election Day registration.

Police have long upheld racist laws, often with violence

As Blacks demanded equality during the civil rights movement, they faced hostility not just from fellow civilians but from those entrusted to protect and to serve.

In 1961, Freedom Rides occurred throughout the South as activists challenged Southern non-compliance with a Supreme Court decision ruling that declared segregated bus travel unconstitutional. The campaign met with often ugly resistance: In Birmingham, riders were attacked by a Ku Klux Klan mob, reportedly with baseball bats, iron pipes and bicycle chains.

Within the mob was an FBI informant who told the agency of the impending attack, but the agency did nothing, reluctant to expose its mole. Two decades later, a U.S. District Court judge excoriated the FBI for its inaction.

“The FBI was passively complicit,” said Diane McWhorter, author of “Carry Me Home: Birmingham, Alabama, The Climactic Battle of the Civil Rights Revolution.”

The attack occurred with the blessing of Alabama public safety commissioner Eugene “Bull” Connor, who told Klan leaders that police would wait 15 minutes before stepping in.

Paul Butler, a law professor at Georgetown University in Washington, D.C., said he sees the links between the police violence of Birmingham and “Bloody Sunday” and the tanks, tear gas and rubber bullets employed at today’s Black Lives Matter demonstrations.

“We have John Lewis and others marching on that bridge protesting police brutality, and they get attacked and beat up by police,” said Butler, author of the book “Chokehold; Policing Black Men.” “And last summer, throughout the country there were marches on police brutality – and at these marches, police attacked the people protesting police brutality. The parallels are clear.”

People of color continue to be disproportionately affected by fatal police shootings, with significantly higher death rates than whites over the previous five years, researchers at Yale University in Connecticut and the University of Pennsylvania reported last year. “So it’s unclear whether change is actually occurring,” Butler said.

Critics note the police presence and brutality faced by Black Lives Matter protesters during the unrest following Floyd’s murder – the open-source database Bellingcat found more than 1,000 incidents of police violence – in contrast with the relatively unprepared force that was unable to stop hordes of mostly white Donald Trump supporters from breaching perimeter fencing and entering the U.S. Capitol during the Jan. 6 insurrection.

“There has never been a time when policing of public speech hasn’t been racially biased,” said Justin Hansford, executive director of Howard University’s Thurgood Marshall Civil Rights Center in Washington, D.C. “With the civil rights-era protests, most people understood that they were standing up for core American principles as opposed to Jan. 6, where they were trying to stop people’s votes from being counted.”

A USA TODAY analysis of arrests linked to the insurrection found that 43 of 324 people arrested were either first responders or military veterans; at least four current and three former police officers now face federal charges.

Education leaders have maneuvered to keep segregation, hide racist history

Education leaders have also at times sought to stall progress.

Two years after the Supreme Court’s landmark 1954 decision ruling segregated schools unconstitutional, Virginia Rep. Howard Smith took the floor to address his colleagues.

There, he introduced a document signed by 82 representatives and 19 senators, all from former Confederate states. The so-called Southern Manifesto called for resisting desegregation and blasted the Brown decision as an abuse of judicial power violating states’ rights.

The gesture demonstrated how deep resistance to desegregation ran in the South. The next year, Arkansas Gov. Orval Faubus summoned the National Guard to prevent nine Black students from entering Little Rock’s Central High, in defiance of a federal order.

“After the ruling comes down, you have massive resistance in the South,” said Sonya Ramsey, an associate history professor at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. “You have school boards saying they’re not going to do it. You have government officials saying they’re not going to do it. That’s a system.”

Resistance came in many forms, she said, from committees formed to study the matter in perpetuity to policies that allowed whites, but not Blacks, to transfer schools.

Some institutional leaders did make positive strides, Ramsey noted, even if for economic reasons. While many Southern cities resisted desegregation efforts, officials in Charlotte, North Carolina, eager to promote the area as a progressive business climate, constructed a districtwide busing plan designed to have schools reflect the community with the help of Black and white families and local leaders.

But institutional ills continue, Ramsey and others say – in charter schools now struggling with diversity, in faulty school funding formulas and in ongoing debates about what students should be taught about slavery and racism. Bills limiting how educators can teach about racism have been introduced this year in at least 28 states.

A 2018 Southern Poverty Law Center study of educational standards in 15 states found none addressed slavery’s justification in white-supremacist ideology nor its integral part in the economy; furthermore, the report noted, a separate survey found just 8% of high school seniors identified slavery as the Civil War’s cause.

“It’s fear of the unknown and of disruption,” said Donnor, of William & Mary. “And seeing that the status quo is no longer acceptable. One of the major parallels is in the hostility of the pushback. If you peel back the layers, you can see the similarities.”

News media shapes how Americans view race

The news media has throughout the nation’s history helped Americans understand racial issues – for better or worse.

In 1962, after James Meredith tested federal law to become the first Black student admitted to the formerly all-white University of Mississippi, the station manager of Jackson’s WLBT decried the decision on-air, saying states should make their own admission decisions.

Station officials strongly supported segregation, rebuffing calls for opposing views, avoiding civil rights coverage and notoriously blaming technical problems for interruption of a 1955 “Today Show” interview of attorney Thurgood Marshall. Ultimately, after repeated complaints to the Federal Communications Commission and a crucial federal court decision affirming public input in FCC hearings, the station lost its license.

“These are the stories we weren’t taught in journalism school,” said Joseph Torres, co-author of “News For All the People: The Epic Story of Race and the American Media.” “They (civil rights groups) were saying, it’s a public airwave, and it’s not being fair to the Black community.”

Black media stepped up to offer different perspectives of mainstream narratives or provide coverage that wasn’t otherwise there. When 14-year-old Emmett Till was lynched in 1955 by two men who would ultimately be acquitted by an all-white jury, Jet magazine published a photo of Till’s mutilated body that helped kickstart the civil rights movement.

While some white-owned media such as Mississippi’s Delta Democrat Times and Lexington Advertiser condemned segregation and violence, others such as Jackson’s Clarion-Ledger held to the status quo. Gannett, the parent company of USA TODAY, purchased the newspaper in 1982.

“Had the Clarion-Ledger taken a leadership position denouncing atrocities going on in front of their faces, the state would be farther along in terms of getting past some of the pain,” said Mississippi Public Broadcasting executive editor Ronnie Agnew, who served as the newspaper’s executive editor until 2011.

In 1968, the landmark Kerner Commission, appointed to investigate the unrest that had exploded in national riots, faulted the media in addition to longstanding racism and economic inequalities. “The press has too long basked in a white world looking out of it, if at all, with white men's eyes and white perspective," the commission’s final report read.

“They made it absolutely clear that the white press had done a terrible job of covering civil rights,” said Craig Flournoy, a journalism professor at the University of Minnesota who has critiqued the Los Angeles Times’ “incendiary” coverage of the 1965 Watts riots, for which the newspaper won a Pulitzer.

Flournoy said the Times relied heavily on white police and white elected officials for material. In one particularly egregious example, he said the newspaper, having no Black reporters on staff, sent a young Black advertising staffer into Watts to dictate dispatches by payphone, but his notes were repurposed into sensational stories that exaggerated the supposed Black threat.

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sciencespies · 3 years ago

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In 19th-Century Gibraltar, Survivors of a Deadly Virus Used 'Fever Passes' to Prove Their Immunity

https://sciencespies.com/history/in-19th-century-gibraltar-survivors-of-a-deadly-virus-used-fever-passes-to-prove-their-immunity/

In 19th-Century Gibraltar, Survivors of a Deadly Virus Used 'Fever Passes' to Prove Their Immunity

Survivors received “fever passes” that certified their immunity, allowing them increased freedom of movement at a time when a substantial portion of the population was being held under strict quarantine. Photo illustration by Meilan Solly / Photos via Wikimedia Commons, courtesy of Lawrence Sawchuk and Lianne Tripp

In August 1804, a shopkeeper named Santo entered the gates of Gibraltar, unaware that a pernicious virus was coursing through his blood. He had taken a trip to neighboring Spain, where, it seems, his skin was pricked by a mosquito carrying yellow fever. Within a day of his return, Santo had fallen ill—the first documented victim in Gibraltar of a disease that would wreak havoc on the Mediterranean fortress town during the early years of the 19th century.

Over the course of just four months in 1804, yellow fever claimed the lives of more than 2,200 people in Gibraltar, an estimated quarter of the permanent residents and military personnel who lived within the fortress. This epidemic was followed by four others, fueling repeated bouts of fear and despair. Time and again, residents watched as their loved ones and neighbors succumbed to an illness that, in its severest forms, causes an alarming litany of symptoms: jaundice—a yellowing of the skin and eyes that gives the virus its name; black vomit; bleeding from the eyes, nose and mouth. Health officials tried to stamp out the disease but didn’t understand how yellow fever was transmitted. It was only at the turn of the 20th century that the Aedes aegypti mosquito was revealed to be a vector of yellow fever, silently transmitting the virus as it flits from person to person, sucking up its meals.

Illustration showing the development of yellow fever in a patient in Cadiz, Spain, in 1819

Wellcome Collection via Wikimedia Commons under CC BY 4.0

But authorities were quick to recognize one important truth: People who contract yellow fever and survive are not vulnerable to subsequent infections. Today, this concept is known as immunity; in the 19th century, the term “non-liability” was used. By Gibraltar’s fifth epidemic in 1828, an innovative measure had been put in place to accommodate those with protection against yellow fever. Survivors were granted “fever passes” that certified their non-liability, allowing them increased freedom of movement at a time when a substantial portion of the population was being held under strict quarantine.

This concept resonates today, as countries wade through the Covid-19 pandemic and grapple with the challenges of easing lockdown restrictions while the virus continues to mutate, infect and spread. As part of their reopening plans, some governments and businesses have mandated “vaccine passports”—documents, either digital or paper, that prove vaccination status—to ensure that only those with a high degree of protection against Covid-19 are able to cross borders and access certain public spaces, like restaurants, movie theaters and concert venues.

Documents testifying to an individual’s good health have long been deployed during times of rampant sickness. As far back as the 15th century, travelers could carry “health passes” certifying that they came from a location free of the plague. According to a recent paper published in the journal BMJ Global Health, however, the earliest evidence of passports showing that the holder is immune to a disease comes from Gibraltar 200 years ago.

“Having this passport gave you the freedom … to be able to do something that was almost normal, and that is to move about somewhat freely,” says study co-author Larry Sawchuk, an anthropologist at the University of Toronto Scarborough whose research focuses on the population health of Gibraltar and the Maltese Islands.

1828 yellow fever pass for 14-year-old Anna

Courtesy of Lawrence Sawchuk and Lianne Tripp

Located at the southern tip of the Iberian Peninsula, Gibraltar is a small strip of land dominated by a soaring promontory—the famed Rock of Gibraltar. For hundreds of years, this slip of a territory was coveted by diverse nations for its strategic location next to the Strait of Gibraltar, the only route into the Mediterranean via the Atlantic Ocean. Gibraltar was occupied by the Moors in the eighth century C.E.; captured by Spanish forces in 1462; and taken by the British in 1704, during the War of the Spanish Succession.

When yellow fever first struck in the early 1800s, “the Rock,” as Gibraltar is known colloquially, was a closely guarded garrison town under the absolute authority of a British military governor. Residents lived within the walls of an imposing fortress that had been built, modified, damaged and repaired over centuries of tumultuous history. Police surveilled the population, and the gates of the town were constantly guarded by soldiers. Permits were required to leave and enter these gates, which opened at daybreak and closed at dusk.

“Under that sort of system, the citizen had absolutely no rights,” says study co-author Lianne Tripp, an anthropologist at the University of Northern British Columbia who studies health and disease in the Mediterranean in the 19th and 20th centuries. “They had to do whatever was needed to be done to serve the fortress.”

In spite of the restrictive nature of life on the Rock, Gibraltar was an important trade hub and a pulsing, crowded, cosmopolitan town. People from Italy, Spain, Morocco, England and other diverse locations flocked to Gibraltar, drawn in by its free port and the promise of year-round employment that couldn’t be found in the nearby south of Spain, where jobs tended to be seasonal.

1803 map of Gibraltar

Public domain via Wikimedia Commons

The virus that would come to plague the fortress likely originated in the rainforests of Africa, making its way to the Western Hemisphere via ships carrying enslaved people in the 17th century. Yellow fever eventually spread to Europe, possibly hitching a ride on trade ships coming from the Americas. A 1730 epidemic in Cadiz, Spain, killed 2,200 people and was followed by outbreaks in French and British ports. Yellow fever may have been introduced to Gibraltar in 1804 by someone coming from Spain—Santo, perhaps, or another traveler who escaped the notice of medical authorities. When it breached the walls of the fortress, the virus found a perfect storm of conditions that allowed it to proliferate to devastating effect.

The colony was, for one, notoriously overcrowded. Its residents, many of them impoverished, packed into the fortress, living in “patios,” or multi-tenant buildings that shared an open common area. “You’d have a room with ten people in it, and they would sleep in that room, and they were separated by about two inches,” says Sawchuk. For Aedes aegypti mosquitoes, which do not fly particularly long distances, these dense urban conditions served up an easy smorgasbord of human hosts. Late summer heat and humidity also provided ideal temperatures for the insects to thrive, and an ample supply of standing water offered plenty of breeding grounds; no springs or rivers run through Gibraltar, so residents relied on rainfall for drinking water, which they collected in buckets and jugs.

Most people in Gibraltar had no previous exposure to yellow fever and thus no immunity against it. The virus usually causes mild flu-like symptoms, but some patients who seem to recover enter a toxic second phase that kills up to 50 percent of patients. In Gibraltar, the dead piled up so quickly that coffins could be produced fast enough for only one out of every four bodies. Corpses were heaped onto carts that trundled through the town, a haunting reminder to the living that they were surrounded by death. But the carts couldn’t keep up. One journal from the period records a young woman “throwing her dead father out of the chamber window,” perhaps knowing that his body would likely not be collected anytime soon.

1828 yellow fever pass for 17-year-old Juan

Courtesy of Lawrence Sawchuk and Lianne Tripp

The epidemic slowed its fatal march through Gibraltar once cold weather set in and yellow fever’s bloodsucking vectors died off. Local authorities who had been blindsided by the virus established a Board of Public Health and were ready to act when a smaller series of epidemics broke out in 1810, 1813 and 1814.

One significant measure involved the creation of a quarantine encampment on the isthmus between Gibraltar and Spain, an area known as the Neutral Ground. The site was established in 1810, quickly and secretly. In the dead of night, authorities rapped on the doors of households affected by yellow fever and forcibly escorted the sick to the Neutral Ground. They stayed there, sequestered in tents and monitored by guards, until the epidemic had waned.

Later, in 1814, a cohort of civilian volunteers was enlisted to keep track of the population’s health. Every day, the volunteers went door-to-door within the fortress, making note of residents who were sick and those who remained vulnerable to the virus. These observers recorded overcrowding and uncleanliness and doused homes that were affected by yellow fever with lime and hot water.

Some of these protocols were quite innovative. Tripp notes, for example, that the practice of conducting door-to-door surveys during public health crises is typically associated with John Snow, a physician who mapped out cholera cases in London in the mid-1850s, nearly three decades after Gibraltar’s last yellow fever epidemic. Still, authorities on the Rock were basing their management strategies on two incorrect theories of yellow fever transmission: They believed the disease spread directly from person to person or that it dispersed through foul air emanating from rotting filth. It is largely coincidental that, after the first epidemic in 1804, Gibraltar managed to avoid a second severe epidemic for nearly 25 years. Factors like ample rainfall, which was used to cool feverish bodies, may have done more to temper yellow fever deaths than quarantines or sanitization efforts, according to Sawchuk.

Map of the Neutral Ground, where yellow fever patients—and later those susceptible to yellow fever—were quarantined

Courtesy of Lawrence Sawchuk and Lianne Tripp

Despite officials’ best efforts, yellow fever returned to the fortress in fall 1828 with a virulence that recalled the first epidemic, ultimately killing more than 1,600 people. As the crisis raged, health officials decided to tweak one of their key management protocols. Instead of quarantining the sick in the Neutral Ground, they ordered all those who had not been infected by the virus to immediately relocate to the encampment, along with the rest of their households.

Scholars cannot definitively say why this change in policy was made, but it required a “formidable” level of contact tracing, write Sawchuk and Tripp in their paper. Authorities relied on meticulous house-to-house surveys to identify and segregate people lacking immunity from those who had survived past epidemics. The measure was likely life-saving for reasons that officials wouldn’t have understood. Unlike the densely concentrated town, the Neutral Ground wasn’t filled with barrels of standing water where mosquitoes could breed. Windy weather on the isthmus also kept the insects away.

Not all of the 4,000 people relocated to the encampment needed this protection. Some had survived previous epidemics but were carted off to the Neutral Ground because they lived in the same household as an individual who had never been sick. The Neutral Ground wasn’t a particularly pleasant place to be: “You’re living in a tent or a shed,” Sawchuk says. “There’s no escaping everybody looking at you, hearing exactly what you’re saying. For four months … that would drive me a little crazy.” Life in the encampment would have been terribly dull, he adds. Those quarantined at the site were kept from their jobs, their friends, the bustle of the town—until authorities began issuing passes that allowed yellow fever survivors to travel in and out of the encampment and even reside in the town.

Only two such fever passes are known to survive today. Housed in the Gibraltar National Museum, they are printed on small squares of yellowing paper, with blank spaces for a physician to fill out the patient’s name, age and religious affiliation. The documents belonged to a pair of teenagers, Juan and Anna; their last name is difficult to decipher, but they were likely siblings. Juan was 17 and Anna was 14 at the time of Gibraltar’s last yellow fever outbreak. A physician’s signature certified that each had “passed the present Epidemic Fever.”

1878 illustration of soldiers returning from Cuba being fumigated to protect against yellow fever

Public domain via Wikimedia Commons

Experts don’t know how many fever passes were issued in 1828, but the fact that the documents were standardized and printed suggests there were “a good number of them,” says Tripp. The relief that came with obtaining one of these passes, particularly considering that residents were not afforded the luxury of quarantining in their own homes, must have been palpable. “[Fever passes] gave you the freedom to escape the monotony of living in this encampment,” Sawchuk says.

Modern vaccine passports are a comparable measure intended to ease restrictions for those with protection against Covid-19. But the case study of Gibraltar does not provide easy answers to the thorny questions raised by the vaccine passport system. After all, 19th-century Gibraltar was clearly not a free state. Even prior to its spate of epidemics, citizens’ movement was controlled through permits required to enter and leave the fortress. Fever passes may very well have seemed like business as usual to residents of the garrison town.

Today, by contrast, vaccine passports have caused considerable hand-wringing among ethicists, policy makers and citizens. Proponents argue that the documents allow individuals to safely return to gathering indoors, which comes with numerous benefits, like reuniting families and reviving the global economy. But good-faith critics have voiced concerns that the passports violate civil liberties and open the door for “chilling” invasions of privacy and surveillance.

Many of the fundamental mitigation strategies that we put in place have been around for hundreds of years.

Another fear is that vaccine passports worsen existing inequalities both within countries and on a global level. Requiring such documents for international travel “restrict[s] the freedom of people in low- and middle-income countries most because they have the least vaccine access,” says Nancy S. Jecker, an expert on bioethics and humanities at the University of Washington School of Medicine who authored a recent paper on vaccine passports and health disparities. She adds that domestic vaccine passports are also problematic because they have “unfair and disproportionate effects” on segments of the population that do not always have equal access to Covid vaccines, like low-income groups and racial and ethnic minorities.

Jecker does not broadly oppose the idea of a health pass; for domestic travel, she supports a “flexible” system that allows people to show proof of vaccination, past Covid infection or a recent negative test. “There’s a lot of emphasis in my field [on] this notion of respect for individual autonomy,” she says. “And it’s really not the value we need right now as a standalone. We need to balance it against other values like public health.”

Officials in 19th-century Gibraltar wouldn’t have been particularly concerned about striking this balance, and both Sawchuk and Tripp acknowledge that the colony is an imperfect model for contemporary pandemic management strategies. “It was a different time,” Sawchuk says, “a different disease.” But the researchers believe it is important to reflect on Gibraltar’s historic epidemics, which show that key experiences during times of public health crises are repeated across the centuries.

“Many of the fundamental mitigation strategies that we put in place have been around for hundreds of years,” says Tripp, citing the examples of quarantines and health passports. “The idea of immunity has been around even before we understood how diseases were transmitted. So when we talk about unprecedented times, [today] really isn’t that unprecedented.”

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bluekaddis · 3 years ago

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How do Rein and Alistair rule their kingdom? Are they strict on laws? Are they lenient rulers? Are they sympathetic to the poor? Do they hate Mages?

Forgive me if this was asked before but I’ve been thinking about this with my own Warden and now I’m curious about others now. Also as always flawless work!

Hi! Thank you for such an interesting ask! I’m sorry that it's taken me so long to answer it. I just have too many thoughts and headcanons on how Ferelden could've changed between events of DA:O and DA:I and I lost track of the time writing them all down. 😶

I would say that Rein and Alistair are strict when it comes to enforcing their reforms for Ferelden. They do not have an easy task - Ferelden had barely started to recover from the years of occupation when the Blight began. When Rein and Alistair took over the crown, the country was under the threat of famine. Many villages were destroyed, their crops tainted. Denerim and a few other major cities were seriously damaged and Ferelden became an easy target for another invasion as half of its army was dead.

It was no time to play nice with the nobles, it was time to act. Ironically, the dire situation that the country was in, was obvious even to those opposing the new king and queen, and the protests were not as widely spread as one could imagine. Still, a few not-so-successful assassins and conspirators lost their lives during the first ten years of Rein and Alistair’s reign.

Here are some more important changes they've introduced:

- a royal decree was announced throughout Ferelden that any volunteer who decides to restore an abandoned farm and after a year manages to achieve a set amount of yield from it will be granted the rights to that farm. Any citizen of Ferelden, regardless of their race and social status, could apply for this task. As, in accordance with the Fereldan law, any freehold chooses the bann to whom it pays allegiance (and a head of every freehold can be elected bann by others) it was a great opportunity for the underrepresented people of Ferelden to gain some independence and political power. After Alistair named Shianni the first Bann of Denerim's Alienage, some city elves started to believe that they may have a chance to follow her example. Many succeeded and in a matter of a few years the influx of elves moving to the Fereldan countryside has lead to the situation in which many Ferelden villages have a larger population of elves than humans. A few small bannors with elven leaders were formed too (though they are not very politically powerful just yet, as human noble houses more often than not were not interested in alliances or trade agreements with elves). Immigration to Ferelden has grown, not only among elves but also surface dwarves and human peasants,

- elves were granted the right to carry weapons. They were also officially allowed to join the military and the city guard. The jurisdiction system was reformed to ensure equal rights of people of all races. It does not work perfectly and elves are still often treated unfairly, especially in places far away from the royal hand of justice. A few years after the Blight, the first elf in Ferelden was accepted to study law at University of Denerim and soon a few others followed,

- the sea trade with Free Marches and the land trade with Orzammar developed, while the land trade with Orlais worsened. The mountain trade routes have only been fully restored by the Inquisition when Skyhold became an important fortress on the border,

- what could be spared from the tight budget was spent on education. The court hired specialists from other countries (including Tevinter) and sent them to travel across Ferelden and share their knowledge to speed up the restoration of the country. Children are now encouraged to attend local schools for at least a few years. Now it is not much, but Rein and Alistair still hope that during their reign there will be new schools and even universities built across Ferelden and that soon Ferelden will no longer fall behind other countries,

- after the Blight, the necessity of having mages work outside the Circle was so clear that not even the Chantry could avert their eyes from the truth. The mage reformation is going slowly (to the monarchs’ frustration), but a few small compromises have been reached. The Chantry now allows small mage units to be transferred from the Circle to the cities. At first this rule applied only to Denerim, with Wynne as the royal enchanter, but with time every major city in Ferelden has began to host mages. The city mage unit consists of a Senior Enchanter and up to five assistant adult mages. Their duties include aiding the hospitals and assisting with restoring the land from the effects of the Blight,

- upon the Chantry’s request, each mage unit in the city is accompanied by a Templar unit of a similar size. The tension is still present as the templars can report any “suspicious” mages and request their transfer back to the Circle,

- after long negotiations with the Chantry, mage children up to age 13 were finally allowed to study in the city under the supervision of a local Senior Enchanter so that they have a better chance to stay connected with their families and learn the basics of magic in a more friendly environment. Unfortunately, the compromise was not perfect - afterwards, teenage mages must still spend at least 5 years in the Circle and go through the Harrowing. The same conditions apply to any mage who wants to work outside the Circle. The Harrowing is still required of every mage, except for those volunteering to be made Tranquil. As the Chantry is still guarding its independence from the country’s jurisdiction, the situation of Circle mages is not much better than it was under Irving and Gregoir’s rule,

- Circle mages working in cities slowly gain access to foreign spell books. While they're technically forbidden, the dangers of being caught with the wrong book - despite the Templars' supervision - are low,

- the Chantry still does not allow the Tranquil to work away from the Circle's control. They do not want to share the profits from the Tranquil's work,

- the fate of the apostates has not improved much, though not for lack of trying. Technically, under the new agreement, they could be hired outside the Circle but only after serving 5 years in Kinloch to “prove that they are worthy of trust”. Almost no one accepts those terms. Apostates still chiefly live in hiding, join the Mages' Collective or try to work as mercenaries,

- Grey Wardens are quite popular in Ferelden. The travelling units of Wardens are a welcome sight as stray darkspawn still appear above the surface. Queen Rein herself is often seen in the field with her most trusted companions,

- the first serious attempts at trade with the Dalish clans travelling through the Brecillian Forest have been made - in the first year after the battle of Denerim Alistair invited Sabrae clan to organize a trade meeting. It was agreed to take place in the outskirts of Brecillian Forest and last three days. King Alistair attended it personally to show his support for the Dalish (and to help prevent humans from assaulting or robbing the Dalish). During the event there were a few incidents where the royal guard had to intervene, but fortunately no one got hurt. Human merchants, at first, were interested more in getting close to the king and gaining his favor than anything else but they soon realized that the quality of Dalish products is simply astounding. The Brecillian Solace Market (as it was named) soon became an annual event,

- unfortunately, there is not much money left to spend on the military and the country's defenses. It is something that bothers Rein very much as even she has to admit that if Orlais wanted to attack again, Ferelden would be too weak to defend itself. It may sound cruel, but she gladly accepted the news of the conflict between Empress Celene and Gaspard...

...and then Dragon Age: Inquisition happens.

#rein cousland #alistair theirin #ferelden #headcanon #ask #thank you for asking!#BUT ALSO #thanks Karolina for proofreading you save my life

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orangegreet · 3 years ago

Text

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

“Through the kitchen here is the back staircase. You are to use this and the servant’s entrance at all times unless accompanied by the children, of course.” Alina nodded, following behind the red head obediently.

“Pardon, Miss Safin, but I wondered that I have not been told—when I am to meet the children?” Alina hovered by the door to the servant’s quarters.

The Housekeeper turned her large eyes on the governess, “Now you are arrived, I am sure Lord Kirigan will send for them. You will excuse us, I am sure, but when the last governess resigned, it was rather…abrupt. The children were sent to stay with their aunt in the city for a time.”

“Surely their father would not wish to be parted from them while they remain so young?” Alina chastised, sounding out her identity as the penniless orphan more clearly than if the Housekeeper had not already known her origins.

Miss Safin allowed her an indulgent smile, “Perhaps that is the case in some households.” The Housekeeper directed Alina through the corridor and into the main kitchen.

“Marie, put on the kettle, please.” Marie paused in front of the scales she was using to weigh flour and looked curiously at Alina while she filled the pot.

Miss Safin had taken a seat at the long table and gestured to Alina to sit across. “It was not made clear to you in our exchanges, Miss Starkova but a governess at Blyth Fell will be expected to carry a little bit more responsibility than in a typical London manor.”

“More than teaching the children?”

“Quite. Lord Kirigan is rather…private. Preferring to keep only a handful of servants to carry out the needs of the estate. Ivan, for instance, you met on your way in. He was acting as coachman today but that is simply because he travels with Lord Kirigan and acts as his valet as well.”

Alina’s brow furrowed. “And my responsibilities, Miss Safin?”

“We do not employ a nanny, Miss Starkova. It is expected that in addition to teaching the children, you will log a fair bit of time chaperoning them on outings or around the grounds. Putting them to bed can be a shared activity. At times, Nadia enjoys helping but it is expected, now you are arrived, you will carry out these tasks graciously—without complaint.”

“O-Of course. That will be no hardship.” Alina felt confused.

Was room and board and wages for a few extra servants too much a strain on the estate? Surely they would have alerted her before she would board a sinking ship.

The Housekeeper eyed her, seemingly guessing exactly what she was thinking and smiled. “You do display your emotions quite clearly, do you not, Miss Starkova? You should learn to remedy that around the children.” Marie set the steaming cups in front of them both.

“Thank you,” Alina said, flushing at the reprimand.

“To answer your unvoiced question, you will find that your wages are nearly triple those of a standard governess. We all carry the weight of the estate to varying degrees. As such, Lord Kirigan appreciates and compensates us for our efforts.” The Housekeeper sipped her tea.

“I wonder then at why it would be so hard to keep a governess employed, Miss Safin?” Alina asked.

The other woman did not meet her eyes.

Neither did Marie who had been listening quite openly to their conversation just a moment ago but who was now resolutely fixed on scooping flour. Her overly cautious manner was wasted as white powder puffed and rained across the counter.

*******

The Lord scowled out the window as he sipped from the crystal tumbler.

Alina Starkova.

“Miss Safin. Ensure Miss Starkova is allotted three square meals a day and that she eats them in full. Her visage is…wan, to say the least.” He squinted down at the grounds. “It is highly displeasing.”

Catching the expression on the face of his Housekeeper, he scowled, “The children will hardly be attentive to a governess who looks as though she dithers constantly on the edge of death.”

The young Housekeeper bowed her head, “Indeed, sir. I will see to it at once.”

“Have you found out yet how she has come to be educated?”

“Sir?” The Housekeeper asked.

“To be educated. Someone must have sponsored her scholarship. At the very least she would have required a recommendation to be educated in Weymouth.” The Lord turned to look at his subordinate.

She shook her head, “No, my Lord. I gave her a tour and went over the expectations of her position in the house and then she…”

“She what?” He asked, sounding far too interested in the minutiae of the lives of servants for a man of his position.

“Miss Starkova expressed an interest in gardening, sir. She left our meeting to take up the task of weeding.” His Housekeeper sounded on the verge of laughter.

“Weeding?” Bewilderment muddled his features and he looked again out the window, locating her at last in the stone-walled garden off the kitchen.

Even from the distance he could see the plain blue sleeves of her dress were drawn up to her elbows and the dark earth had stained her hands and apron.

Lord Kirigan watched her face, unsure at what he was seeing.

Was she…talking? To whom?

Why should it be his concern?

The Lord bit off his command, “Find out who took an interest in her, what patron endorsed her education. And why. Then report back to me.” He said, unable to tear his eyes away from the strange woman taking up residence in his garden.

*******

It would take two weeks for the children to return home from their stay in London and so Alina filled her time as Genya instructed. Lending a hand with the housekeeping. Readying the nursery for the children. Dusting in the library and putting away stray books.

The staff was quite short of what would typically be required for a manor of this size and yet, everything was maintained well enough.

It helped that, according to Nadia and Marie, the cook and head housemaid, Lord Kirigan had never so much as thrown a dinner party.

No extra rooms to be done up and then striped down. No extra mouths to feed. No one to impress. The Lord himself had a modest pallet, much to the chagrin of Nadia who longed to show off more skill and flare than was ever requested by a Lord who took his dinner alone in his study.

Mr. Kostyk too, whom Alina learned was an associate and business partner to the Lord of the manor. A man who lived and worked at the estate but who did not attend to normal mealtimes.

He opted instead to let whole days pass by while he worked if not for the attentive nurturing of Miss Safin who left a tin covered plate at the door of his workroom morning, noon and night. Alina had yet to see his face.

That Lord Kirigan entertained no one in a house of this size was unusual but Alina did not mind. The fewer the strangers around, the better.

The East wing was largely untouched and Alina found that several of the rooms were turned down with white sheets draped across the furniture like spirits or otherwise locked altogether.

Explorations of the grounds yielded far more interesting discoveries. Sergei was the general groundskeeper for the estate in addition to his duties at the stable and, at times, driving the coach.

Without the help of a few others to handle the work of the orchard and surrounding lands, most everything was overgrown save a small portion of the garden which was regularly tended and held Nadia’s selection of kitchen herbs and vegetables.

It would have been correct for Alina to ask Ivan, the Butler and Valet, whether she could fix up a portion of the garden for her own seeds and herbs.

However, his countenance was quite foreboding and she did not want to be denied. She pulled Miss Safin aside on the second morning to inquire the possibilities. “I’ve already begun the weeding and could finish the work before the children arrive. It will not cut into my regular duties.”

“I suppose that will not be a problem so long as you do not expect Sergei or Nadia to maintain it.”

“Of course not, Miss Safin. They are my plants and I would prefer to tend to them myself, in any case.”

The Housekeeper nodded and then put a hand on Alina’s arm to stop her hasty retreat, “What is the purpose of these herbs, exactly?”

Alina flushed, “Medicinal purposes mainly…”

The Housekeeper stared, wondering if the governess intended to expound.

Alina decidedly pressed her lips together and then blushed again.

“Very well, Alina. Carry on.”

Seeds were some of the few possessions which Alina had carried across the country on the back of her poor, departed pony. Upon her initial foray into the garden, she found that Nadia kept rosemary and thyme in plenty, which was quite pleasing.

After weeding on the first day, Alina had cleared enough of a plot to plant sage, lavender and chamomile, bee balm and catmint.

The catmint she ensured would be contained within a small stone outcrop of it’s own lest it thrive and creep over the other plants as it was wont to do.

Scouring the grounds and surrounding wilds she found elderberry bushes, wild onions and nettle. Near the wall at the back of the garden she uncovered lamb’s ear alongside some withering dill and fennel plants. She dug around in the dirt and planted a handful of garlic cloves.

It was the wrong season to start most of them but Alina sang as she planted.

Songs taught to her by her loving babulya who knew all the correct words to say to plants—and to people—to make them well. To make them thrive.

Songs and words which were foreign in this country but which were inscribed into her brain from a young age and would not be unwritten. She sang to her garlic and to her little seeds and then to the withering dill too.

When she was done she turned to the house, her eyes falling on an upper window where the afternoon sun glinted and gleamed off the panes in a merry light blur. She looked up in awe and more words fell from her lips though she did not know their purpose.

Babulya taught her to trust her instincts and so Alina spoke the healing words to the little glass window reflecting the sunlight back to her and she smiled.

A short bar of reverence was sung to Alatyr, as babulya taught her to close always with a prayer to the source of all healing in the world, and then she was done.

*******

Inside the manor, a certain Lord who kept vigil at the window of his study remained tucked in shadow, cursing the shattered crystal and spilled laudanum which littered the floor where he stood a moment ago. Where he had been looking down at the tiny, strange woman he had invited into his home.

The one who smiled up at him as if she sensed his gaze. Did she know she smiled up into the face of a monster?

Perhaps he should have had her stand alongside him while he shot her pony. That would have been a more effective message if she did not.

He would need to ask Genya if his new governess kept any other pets.

*******

The first couple weeks Alina spent nearly every afternoon and free moment nurturing and cultivating in the garden. Cataloguing the collection already growing. Pinching back buds where appropriate.

She sang to them all and despite the onset of autumn, they thrived under her attentions.

Time in the garden was a well-loved though grueling ritual. So much so that keeping her eyes open past the end of the dinner bell was a hardship.

Although, she strived to be engaging at the table for at dinner she was in the company of the other servants and after many lonely years in Weymouth, she ached for companionship.

Marie and Sergei were easy and amiable with her. Nadia was direct in her commands but enjoyable to work for when Alina assisted her and Tamar in the kitchens. Tamar herself was standoffish but gave the occasional sound of approval when Alina did something correctly.

Alexei and Maxim were sweet and boisterous, respectively. Alexei, the only real footman in the house and Maxim, appropriately assigned to tend the horses. His wild nature a natural match for the beasts in the stables. Both gentlemen spent their mealtimes keeping Alina entertained and awake over her food.

It was Misha, the shy, quiet young man, who intrigued Alina most. He ate his meals seated at the far end of the table. His one very stiff leg propped always on the chair to his left.

His responsibilities around the house were quite a mystery to her and something was present in his countenance that, while at once familiar, simultaneously kept her from feeling at ease enough to ask directly how he served the Kirigan estate.

Though Misha was silent, Alina often felt his attention peaked and was certain he was absorbing everything that was said around the table.

Ivan and Genya (for the Housekeeper granted Alina permission to call her Genya after the third day) were the most reserved. Ivan sat at the head of the table each meal, one imperious brow raised as he took in the conversations around him.

Genya smiled indulgently here and there. Occasionally offering a smooth comment which poked fun at Maxim and had the whole table smiling. Mostly she was quiet and watchful.

One eye on the calling bells in case someone was needed. Alina sensed that though she was in a position of authority, she had not found or perhaps had not desired friendship.

She whispered quietly to herself a few words for the redhead.

*******

It was a good thing for Alina that she found sleep so well at night those first couple weeks. She was not up to hear the shrieks which would undoubtedly have vexed her.

Would not recognize the distinct footsteps of someone who stopped just outside her door. Someone who pressed an ear to the wood and listened for movement inside.

These noises which would have made her question the merits of staying.

For, once she met the children, Alina knew whether they were little cherubs or miniature demons, she would be unable to part from them unless forced from the house by entities beyond her control.

Call her an orphan but abandonment just was not something she would be able to stomach.

*******

The strangest part—well no. The most troubling part then of these two weeks…

Alina absently picked at her fingers while she thought. Her face twisted with consternation as she stared into the fire in the small parlor. It was late in the evening. The first night on the estate that she had been unable to sleep.

The children would arrive tomorrow. Her little charges. Alina was excited to begin, excited to see her education put to work and make herself useful. Curious to know whether they would like her right away or whether it might take time to earn their trust. Their respect.

Their affection, perhaps.

That was not something she should care about—years spent alone in the world had hardened her against openly desiring such a gift. And yet, she could not help but feel nervous to meet their judgement all the same.

Then again, perhaps they would be like their father?

There it was at last. The circling thought which had started her on her path and seemed to loop back into her every train of thought like some inevitable cross rail. The Lord himself.

Alina had not seen the Lord of Blyth Fell directly since the carriage ride.

Glimpses of him disappearing behind a door or rounding the end of a hall could be caught—his black tails flying behind him until he was out of her sight.

She had not seen his face directly. Had not had another opportunity to inspect the dark eyes which had so plainly scrutinized her upon her arrival.

Alina had tried not to think of him. Tried not to remember him in his haughty disposition and presumption. Tried not to linger overlong on the way he had looked at her in the carriage. Frustrated, distrusting, mocking. Curious, too. Perhaps just as curious as she was now about him.

As if just dwelling on his being for too long had conjured him up, the clock struck midnight and the door behind her was open and he was there.

Alina jumped at the quiet greeting.

Lord Kirigan walked around the sofa and set his candle on the little trestle table beside the armchair. The governess moved to get to her feet, not waiting to be dismissed.

“Please, Miss Starkova, do not leave on my account.” Lord Kirigan pulled a pipe from the trestle drawer and began to fill it.

“It is not on your account.” Alina said. Her tone had an edge to it—something she could not seem to soften now he was here. Now he was bandying about with a looming authority. His very presence rattled her and she could not explain why.

“I am fatigued and wish to retire.” She cleared her throat, “Sir.”

He smirked at his pipe, glancing up at her briefly while he resumed his tamping. The infinitesimal second where his eyes caught on hers sent a tingle down her arms.

“Indulge me, please, before you go, Miss Starkova. I fear I have been derelict in my duties as your employer these last few days and I should like to know how you are getting along here at Blyth Fell.” He finished his pipe at last but did not light it.

“Very well, my Lord. Everyone has been quite gracious while I settle in. Alexei in particular has been helpful and available to explain the proper manner of things to me when Genya is not accessible.”

Lord Kirigan narrowed his eyes. “Indeed.”

The pipe popped into the crook of his mouth and he looked every bit the dark, menacing Lord from the carriage ride as he brought a flame close enough to light it. “Well then. I’m chuffed to bits to hear it.”

His tone was distinctly snide and Alina glared in response. Why must he rile her otherwise good, sensible nature?

“At your leave, my Lord. I should like to retire now, it is a big day tomorrow, after all.” Alina brushed her hands down her skirt and curtsied.

“Another moment, if you please, Miss Starkova.” Lord Kirigan puffed and blew a ring of smoke from his mouth.

Alina grew anxious, she swallowed and her voice was raw, “Yes, my Lord?”

His gaze hovered on her face. He looked curious again. Then frustrated.

“Just what is it you are up to in my gardens?” Alina jumped at the sudden harshness of his tone.

“I-I am simply planting a few things, sir.”

“What ‘things’?”

“Just..well, herbs mostly, Lord Kirigan. I spent some time in my youth learning about the medicinal properties of some herbs and flowers. I thought since…well it is something I have to offer—to contribute. And the seeds were my own, I did not use anything I should not have and Miss Safin agreed it would be fine for me to do so but if it is displeasing to you then I will—”

“You will what? Rip them all back out of the ground?” He cut off her runaway thoughts.

She was almost breathless. Beneath her own trepidation, anger was lurking and she clenched her teeth.

Would he be so cruel? A chuckle as she mourned the loss of her pony and now a demand that she un-sow the seeds to which she was so diligently tending? Rip them from the earth before they had a chance to see daylight even?

The Lord eyed her, waiting for her to response.

Alina closed her mouth, her head held high.

“With respect, my Lord, that would be a waste.”

Shock splashed across his face and the next second he was obscured by another puff of smoke.

The smoke cleared and he was smiling, his eyes bright even as he parried her statement, “Would it? Herbal medicine—sounds like little more than witchcraft to me, Miss Starkova. Witches are not well received in these parts. Particularly under this roof—or haven’t you heard the rumors?”

His gaze was sharp on her, searching her features for any sign of understanding but Alina only felt confused.

“Rumors, my Lord? No.” She shook her head and redirected her appeal, “What I would do is not witchcraft at all. Please, sir. My learning and experience has taught me quite a lot about using herbs to heal. Minor ailments mostly. Small things…”

Alina began to pick at her fingers, losing her thread, “possibly insignificant to some b-but I would like to be of service and this is a skill I have to offer.”

Kirigan watched her fingers, his own tightened over the arm of his chair as he did.

“Very well then, Miss Starkova. You may keep your little sprouts.”

Her face brightened with relief and the Lord devoured the image of her before forcing himself to return to the fire.

“To bed with you, then. The children will require tending to for the length of the day and I will expect you to put your best foot forward with them.”

“Of course, my Lord. Goodnight.” Alina said, flushing as she hurried from the little parlor.

She paused as she went to close the door behind her.

It could be called greedy, the way she raked her eyes over the esteemed Lord Kirigan. However, she could not look away as he, unaware of her stare, allowed his shoulders to loosen. Alina watched him as he pinched the bridge of his nose and then swept a broad hand down his face.

Her words from the garden bubbled up to her throat and she mouthed them to herself.

Trust the instinct, Babulya had always said, it finds and blesses only a few. Perhaps it will chose you and you will be a vessel for it’s light, Alinushka. Perhaps...

A song of reverence for Alatyr uttered under her breath as she turned away, departing for her room.

It was lucky that she had spent the better part of the evening in the little parlor, deep in the west wing of the big house.

For on this night, the shrieking from the east wing rang through the corridors of servants quarters, saturating the chilly air and Genya resolved that Alina would have to be moved into the bedroom beside the nursery.

Otherwise, she would surely leave. Someone as bright, as hopeful as she could not hope to withstand the dark secrets of Blyth Fell.

#darklina #darklina fic #darklina fanfic #alina x aleksander #alina starkov #aleksander morozova #grishaverse #the grisha trilogy #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone #shadow & bone #darklina server #haunted #eventual smut #eventual hea

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leggomylino · 4 years ago

Text

A Floral Memoir | Yang Jeongin

-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ--ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ--ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-

Genre: Nostalgic, drama, bittersweet, angst, fluff ending

Pairing: Yang Jeongin x fem!reader

Au: Flower shop au, friends to lovers au

Word Count: ~3.9k

Warning(s): None! c:

A/N: This was supposed to just be a blurb/timestamp but I’ve been heavily influenced by fictional prose from my Fiction 101 class so...this happened. :D | Masterlist linked down below and in bio!!! <3 | For Nana, who loves Yang Jeongin; and, for all the wonderful writers of @skzwriternet. Thank you all for being so supportive and kind. God bless. 🎔

Tag List: @hanniiesuckle17 @distrikt9 @hanstagrams @hyunsunq @smolboiseavey @jisungsjheekies @iluvlix @moonlit-han @stay-nctzen @yangomangos @stayndays @cotccotc @skzctnightnight @multi-stan-present @dreamy-dreamies @yunhoesss (If you’d like to be added, please let me know! Comment, ask, or DM me!!! ^^)

ღ Stray Kids M.List | M.List ღ

-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ--ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ--ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-

There’s this flower shop down the road from your house that you’re used to going to. It’s one of those hole-in-the-wall places, the kind that never stand out unless you’re actively looking for them. The brick’s chipped, covered in vines, and the sign out front is hanging by a stem, the slanted posture threatening to drop dead over the next teenager that pursues vandalism; still, to you it’s never unrecognizable, no matter how many years of wear-and-tear or lost du jour go by. To you, it’s the most beautiful place in the world: not for what is shown on the outside, but for what lies there within. What it stands for, represents.

This is the local flower shop of 129 Poppy Close Lane. And it is the place you grew up in, blooming alongside Yang Jeongin.

Jeongin had been your best friend growing up. The two of you did almost everything together: ride bikes, watch movies, play in the park. Feed the ducks, hop around like frogs, climb trees. Hide in your mother’s laundry basket in order to jump out and scare the daylights out of her-- which only backfired once when she nearly had a heart attack-- to which you vowed never to do ever again. Instead, the two of you set your sights on the neighbor’s son, a boy of roughly similar age named Kim Seungmin. But that always seemed to backfire as well. Kim Seungmin was simply too smart.

The day Innie’s parents-- that was your nickname for him, sometimes I.N.-- the day his parents announced they’d be buying out a crumbling furniture store, the two of you had been so excited. Think of all the beds you could jump on! All the sofas to tackle! The pillow fights! The two of you could make the largest blanket fort in the history of blanket fortresses!!!

...Instead, those dreams were crushed like petals pressed between pages. You weren’t getting a mattress playground; they were opening a flower store.

A flower store? But aren’t flowers free? Don’t they grow outside? The two of you prodded and pestered Jeongin’s parents until they ran out of answers to give, and instead only replied with “you’ll see” and “just wait.” But if there was one thing the two of you hated doing, it was waiting. Why did you have to? Wait for what?

...Time flies when you eventually forget about the thing it is you have to wait around for, too occupied curling toes beneath blankets by a roaring fire or towering blocks into Lego houses. After a few days of lazing around with Jeongin at your house and a short afternoon bike ride through the park, at last the shop of flowers was revealed to you. And it...was…

...Okay. Colorful, vibrant, definitely eye-catching, at least back in those just-starting-out days. But you still didn’t get it at the tender age of ten. Of course you’d heard of flower stores before, but the point escaped you. Couldn’t you just grow your own for free? Couldn’t you just ride to the park and take some from the woods? Why would you sell something you could obtain for free? Who would waste their allowance on that?

Jeongin was different. You remember looking over at him, standing to your right, and seeing his face alive and bursting with more color than the shopfront. The way his eyes sparkled as he took it all in, the pride that seemed to blossom in his smile and the way he carried himself. Straight, tall, and happy, just like the sunflowers waving outside the window. It was off-putting to say the least, but you felt gratified just watching him elate and gush his excitement. So you upheld that same excitement, too.

Years went by of the two of you hanging out in that place; Little Fox Flowers, it was called. Appropriately named for the son of the two owners who spent their days happily snipping away sadness and making the lives of all its customers just a bit brighter. A place where all the local college-bound kids would apply for part-time jobs in order to live out their novel fantasies, hoping for a quiet place to smell the roses after a long day of notetaking and hide behind the hollyhock to study.

They were always kindly denied. After all, the shop was a family business: just Mr. and Mrs. Yang, Jeongin, and you, who had been considered the daughter they never had since you were six. And, eventually, Kim Seungmin, who won everyone over with cake and the “look-at-how-responsible-I-am” presentation. He was responsible, no one could deny: the way he’d always turn you and Jeongin in before you could commence danger-inducing experiments.

And then, at fourteen, it was the three of you. You got paid, of course-- just scarcely minimum wage, but that was alright, because Mr. and Mrs. Yang always bought you lunch or dinner every other Friday. And the mean apple pie and best empanadas baked by the kind elderly couple who worked just across the street was to die for. (A side note: you’d find out two years later this was the place Kim Seungmin got his cake recipe from in exchange for helping fix a leaky faucet. The devious scoundrel.) The three of you worked and worked and studied and worked, spending perhaps too much time learning the wildest things about each other, things you were surprised you never knew of Jeongin, things you’d never guess about Kim Seungmin (you didn’t refer to him as just Seungmin until you were sixteen).

Jeongin was a fan of rock music. Kim Seungmin enjoyed more than a good book and ratting out his neighbors. Jeongin actually studied flowers in his free time, more than just what he learned passively working in a floral shop. Kim Seungmin was actually a prankster himself.

They learned things about you as well: how you preferred sunrises to sunsets, how you collected music boxes, how you kept a diary the two of them would never get to read, and now that they knew about it, were no longer or henceforth ever allowed in your room. This brought joy and laughter the color of fresh-sprung poppies to their faces...and a curious tint of rosehip to the cheeks of Yang Jeongin.

You distinctly remember the way he stared at you, two seconds too long before he looked away, to the flower arrangement before him, a smile never leaving his face. Spooked, you buried yourself back behind the front desk, occasionally peeking at his reflection through the storefront window.

-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-

At seventeen you’re all sweating bullets over SATs and TCIs and ACTs and every other stress-fueled test that exists in the better education realm. The three of you are taking turns quizzing each other and flicking foreheads or slapping wrists after getting an answer wrong. When the owners announce they’re heading home to finish up errands and get dinner started, you take turns in the final few store hours managing the front desk: two cramming backstage, one holding the reins out front. It’s in solitude that Seungmin tells you he’s decided to go to Harvard University, and possibly Yale if he finishes with a 4.1 GPA. At this you want to smack him, but at the same time, tell him not to go. It wouldn’t break your heart to see him go, but what’s wrong with your local university? Or a university just an hour out of town?

He tells you it’s something he’s always wanted, and heartily decided, so you take his hand in yours and wish him the best. It’s not a problem; Harvard and Yale aren’t too far away.

The real problem arises when they switch, and with Seungmin running the front desk and helping late-blooming customers, it’s Jeongin who tells you he won’t be going to college at all. “I’ve decided to travel,” he says. “I want to explore new cultures. I want to hear other kinds of music. I want to see other types of flowers.”

At this, you deadpan. Blink a few times, just to make sure that registered. “You...want to leave the country?”

“It’ll sort of be like studying abroad-- hey, maybe that’s what I’ll do. Study abroad. I’ll be able to see lots of things that way. There’s a program that can accept me right away if I apply before midnight.”

“Jeongin…”

You frown. You can’t help it. Jeongin? Leaving you behind? You aren’t about to lose both of your best friends; especially not Jeongin, who to you was Innie, I.N., the boy with the messy black hair and slightly bad attitude, and many other things.

His stare says everything for him, his smile drooping like perennial flowers. “You don’t like the idea.”

It’s not a question; it’s a statement. “That’s not true. I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to.”

He gets up, leaving the room. There’s an odd sense of finality as he exits.

“...I’m gonna see if Seungmin needs any help.”

“......”

You wince a little, even today, recalling the way he soft-slammed the back door. It was the last time you saw him, for the span of three long years.

-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-

It goes by too fast. Before you know it, you’ve reached the big two-O. Twenty is that odd age where you’re not sure about anything. Are you an adult? Are you still a kid? What age group do you fit into? What are you even doing with your life?

You’d chosen to major in botanical science. The flowers of the shop had ended up placing their roots into you. And being the sentimental gal that you were, you could never find yourself tearing away from your roots-- it was how flowers wilted and died.

So when Yang Jeongin reappeared on the shop porch one morning, looking fresh as a daisy, you could hardly believe your eyes. He must have been put in one heck of a vase of Miracle Grow and holy water to have survived away from the garden for so long. At first, you’re ecstatic to see him-- at first. But then you remember what he did to you: the way he just walked out of the breakroom, clocking out without you noticing, not answering your texts, ignoring your calls, only to find out the next day he’s insanely hopped onto the morning train and booked a flight for Beijing. Part of a study program, his parents said. Very last minute, they explained. We’re so sorry, they lamented.

The only means of contact you’d received were a cloying box of exotic chocolates and a note from Jeongin that first year, along with a music box you couldn’t bring yourself to ever listen to. It ended up thrown into your closet, shadowed in a great tub with all the other ones. The note said something along the lines of an apology and explained he’d lost his phone during a boat ride that first week, and the strict program he was enrolled in didn’t allow him to contact friends; only immediate family. He’d had to lie to his advisors and tell them you were his adopted sister, which you suppose wouldn’t have been a lie once upon a time. After that, you’d only get an awkward “Jeongin says hello,” from his parents, who felt just as uncomfortable about the estranged situation. They’d assure you he was doing well and just going through a phase. He was angry. He acted irrationally, just the one time. They knew how important this was to him. He’d come back around, he really cared for you, after all.

Seeing him now made your head spin. You had to grip the cash register nailed into the hardwood so you wouldn’t fall over. “You’re...You’re back. You’re here. In the shop.”

He dropped his bags near the front door as if the place was his second home. Just like it always had been. “I’m back. Here. In the shop,” he repeated, an urgent longing in his actions.

The smile he wore never left his face as he rushed over to you...then paused, fearfully, his hands frozen in an awkward state of half-reaching and half-retreating.

“Y/n…” He sighed, his breath a multitude of years lost. “...I’m sorry. I have no right to walk in here like nothing happened. You have every right to be angry. Are you angry?”

That was a good question. Were you angry? You should have been. You had every right to be, just like he said. This may have been his family’s store, but it was your second home, too, and you may as well have been a part of the family; you had every right ignore him or tell him to get out, to scream and demand answers, or even to cry and weep like the weeping willow tree out back.

Instead, you felt nothing. And everything. It was too much, so much strange emotion and Twilight Zone madness packed into a single punch that you smiled and simply replied, “I’m fine. How can I help you today?”

It came out sounding like you were the one asking for help. Jeongin seemed to catch wind of this too, distressed eyes staring into yours as if seeking a hidden entrance through the new roadblock to your mind. For the longest time, the two of you didn’t say anything.

Things got really awkward when Seungmin showed up on one of his monthly visits-- he ended up going to Harvard, but he still visited you every month and bothered to keep in touch-- and sensing the tension after a surprised gasp of excitement, uncomfortably shuffled to the back of the room with the excuse he’d get to work on the shop’s monthly revenue, assisting with the finances as part of his accountant training (a side gig to his major in criminal law). What resulted with the silent clicking of the door was the clicking of your own.

You clocked out, texting Seungmin the location of the shop’s spare key and asking him to do you this one favor. Then to meet you downtown for a slice. As you swung onto the Vespa your parents had given you on your nineteen birthday, you observed Jeongin, in the shop’s reflection, through the rearview mirror, as he stood there, absorbing and deploring his loss.

-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-

It’s now midday, a few months later, and you haven’t seen or spoken to Yang Jeongin since. Even if he did live down the street, in your mind he’d been cast from the garden, turned into fertilizing soil. He hadn’t tried to contact you since, and neither had you found yourself hovering over the call option, only to toss the phone away with an agitated moan. You didn’t know how to overcome the foreign distance between you two, or at least you hadn’t...until today.

Today, well, you still didn’t really know how to go about it. But despite your temporary closure to any and all things Yang Jeongin, you did a lot of thinking about that day, when he’d just shown up out of nowhere, sprouting like the happiest weed on the planet, fearfully trying to patch things up. It wasn’t forced or out of pity or selfish guilt. It was as true as the blue roses you’ve had to convince more than a few customers were not spray-painted or artificially made. Jeongin had made a big, unlike-Jeongin mistake, one lasting far too long, but it was still the first (and last; you’d be sure of that). There had to be more to the story than what appeared above the ground.

You should never judge a rose for its petals, Mrs. Yang once told you. It may still be blooming.

You’re parking your bike in its usual place in front of the store, locking it to the bike rack Mr. Yang had installed-- your Vespa got destroyed while letting Seungmin take it for a joyride-- and you push open the familiar glass door, the sweet chime of the old silver bell singing overhead. Jeongin looks up at you from around a middle-aged man at the register, his voice falling an octave late.

“Welcome i-- ...n.”

It’s that same awkward tension all over again, but you try to smile through it, for friendship’s sake. After holding open the door for the parting customer, you make sure the door is locked before nervously wringing your hands halfway to the counter.

Jeongin takes your actions in alarm, bracing himself against the register as you had just a few months prior. Funny how times change. “...What’s going on? What are you gonna do?”

...As if you were going to rob or beat him. You’d thought about doing so with one of the giant sunflowers, three month before, but would never risk harm to the flower. ��I…” A sigh. “...Can we talk?”

There’s an arrangement waiting for pickup or delivery sitting at the edge of the counter. Jeongin stares intently at the wooden space before casting his gaze to the flowers. He lifts them, crossing the bouquet over his face to the other side. You’re not entirely sure what he’s doing until he hands the bundle to you. “I can’t leave the shop right now...could you make this delivery for me? The address is on the tag.”

“......” You accept the bouquet awkwardly. “...Uh, yeah, sure.”

“I’ll clock you in, so you get paid.”

“No...don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.”

He nods, slowly, just barely managing an unstable means of eye contact. “...Thanks.”

And so you walk out of the store, unlocking the door and hopping onto the shop’s delivery vehicle. It’s more a less like a Vespa, just older and a bit outdated. Securing the flowers in the protective shell container (a basket with a clear, wind-resistant lid), you snapped on the helmet and started the engine, making a hard right into the street.

It occurs to you as you're driving that you didn’t bother to look at the address in your haste to escape an uncomfortable situation gone wrong. So much for talking things out and tackling your problems head-on. That really worked out well. You squint beneath the afternoon glare reflecting off the lid, but the address is written so tiny and messily you have to pull over and open the basket in order to get a better look.

279 Blueberry Street.

You just about dropped those flowers, gripping them a bit too tight so that a few stray thorns poked your fingers. 279 Blueberry Street was...well.

It was Jeongin’s address.

...You had no idea what was going on, but intuition told you it was something fishy, something planned and arranged just as carefully as this cliché arrangement of red roses and baby’s breath. Typical and predictable, just like the old Yang Jeongin.

You’d bite. You drove the scooter across town and into your neighborhood, parking in the drive behind Mr. Yang’s Nissan. You remember taking many car trips around town and into neighboring cities in the backseat, Jeongin at your side, dropping fries and Cheerios and frozen yogurt all over the protective mats and onto each other. With a frustrated huff, you scurry to the front porch.

Maybe this is a crazy coincidence. Maybe Mr. Yang ordered flowers for his wife. Maybe Mrs. Yang got flowers for her husband. Maybe they both ordered them for Jeongin, as part of a gift to commemorate something you were once, for the first time in your life, unaware of. Or maybe you’d read the address wrong. Maybe it was Bluebell Street or Bellberry Street or something entirely different, and you were delusionally tripping because, hah, what else had been new over the course of the past few months...few years. Maybe...maybe--

A warm light envelops you as the door swings open, and you’re instantly hit with the nostalgic scent of fresh lavender and spring-time strawberries. The candles that Mrs. Yang loves to buy.

Jeongin’s eyes are strained, but there’s a new warmth about them that feels familiar. Like a withered blossom sprouting back to life. He’s no longer dressed in his work apron and usual uniform; instead he’s freshly showered, wearing Church clothes, his dark hair still wet and tangled to a messy frame around his face. There’s a comb stuck to the back of his head, and following your stare he removes it with a sheepish chuckle, tossing it somewhere towards the living room and attempting to tame wild curls in a more presentable manner. He smiles, tenderly.

“You made it...I was worried you’d think it was a mean joke.”

“Well…” You consider. “I almost did. But there are infinite possibilities out there, right?”

His smile blooms. Taking the smallest rose, he checks it for thorns before tucking it behind your ear. “Yeah,” he says, “There definitely are. Come in, please...there’s a lot of things I need to apologize for. Starting with the whole disappearing for three years and...yeah.”

You supplement his cringe with a frown, then thinking about the ridiculous letter, imagine him beneath flickering candlelight, frantically scrawling down a horrifically worded letter in secrecy. You think about him in Barcelona nervously pacing between bustling touristy streets and getting lost or ripped off and wanting to scream at the stupidity of his actions and lack of Spanish. You imagine him in a woodshop in Berlin, flipping through a dictionary and pointing to words he can’t begin to pronounce and the amount of frustration cooked up from having to go through five woodsmiths until he found one that spoke just a bit of a broken language he understood, and the funny game of Pictionary that probably followed.

You laugh, shoving his shoulder on the way in and hurrying into the kitchen for a vase. After placing the display on the counter, you grab his collar, kissing his cheek.

His face burns the shade of chrysanthemums, wide eyes wondering what it was he did to deserve such a reaction. To you, he had more or less abandoned you, after all.

But you know better. You’ve known Yang Jeongin since you were five years old; when he knocked over a bottle of glue onto your summer dress after trying to hand you the paper flower he’d made. When things seem bad, they’re never personally intended. They’re never what they really seem. And you should have remembered that, too.

He spins you around now, and the two of you laugh, laughter echoing down the cream-colored halls all the way to the back garden. Back to a simpler time; a time when the two of you were just kids, pushing each other on the big oak swing and tackling each other in mud, smiling amongst the flowers.

It’s the place where you and Yang Jeongin reside, never again apart, for the rest of your days. ✿

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ashleyswrittenwords · 4 years ago

Text

Subtleties of a Suitor (Part 2 of 2)

Summary: Pre-calamity AU where Zelda’s powers awaken in time, but not everything is back to normal after Calamity Ganon is defeated.

Note: This has NSFW themes (such as sex and really disgustingly sappy fluff), tread carefully!

------------

Later in the day, the Labrynna royalty retired to their chambers early. Understandably, due to their long travels and eventful day. Prince Tyrion had been among them, apologizing vehemently for cutting her explanation of Guardian mechanics off and bidding goodnight from Princess Zelda’s study. It was more of a workshop with all the gears and equipment lying about. The sun almost entirely over the horizon through the tall windows.

Zelda sighed when he was far down the hallway and allowed her shoulders to relax. The disadvantage to entertaining royalty were the constant expectations. The Princess was consistently on her guard with speech and posture that talking turned into an exhaustive sport. She absently stared at the detached Guardian sensor she had been showing him, although she wasn’t ignorant to his straying eyes and his bored gaze.

The door to her study made her jump as it opened loudly and her immediate thought was that Prince Tyrion had left something, but it wasn’t him.

“I’m surprised to see you alone,” Link said, genuinity in his tone.

She shrugged, a tad put off by his presence. “His Highness was tired before I dragged him here. My interests seem to put him to sleep.”

“I’m sure you showed no mercy,” he jested.

“Oh, surely not. He did yield to his bed.”

He matched her grin, but she let it devolve into a cough quickly after. She was all too aware of his footsteps crossing the room where he sat in the stool Tyrion had left vacant.

“Did you need something?” Zelda asked, defaulting into formality out of nervousness.

“Actually,” he started, weighing his words as he spoke. “His Majesty wanted me to see if Prince Tyrion was willing to join him for dinner since his family retired.”

“Oh. Seems that won’t be the case.”

“No,” he reached to scratch the back of his neck. Link’s eyes drew to the sensor on the table and his brow furrowed. “When did you get that?”

Tension in Zelda’s face relaxed and an involuntary smile graced her, “A month ago. I recovered it from Hyrule Field. Do you remember when Ganon’s malice began extending across the ground and the Divine Beasts began to act oddly?”

He nodded astutely, “I do. It was when that Guardian attacked us.”

“Well, I want to know how the malice infiltrated it’s mechanics. Since the sensor is where it operates from, I might be able to find something.”

Unabashedly, she began to ramble on about circuits and Sheikah technology. Topics that Link has heard hundreds of times, but he spurred her on. Most times he nodded at her points, smiling as she did, other times he asked questions that launched her into an entirely different science.

“I don’t get it,” he said, leaning on his hand.

“What?” she followed up with the full intention of explaining her points better.

“How he could get tired of you. I don’t understand that.”

Zelda blinked owlishly.

He shrugged and straightened at a realization. “I forgot that your father is waiting on me.”

“Unless that’s an excuse and you’ve gotten tired of me.”

His eyes widened when he stood, “That’s not the case at all, Zelda, I swear to Hylia.”

“I know,” she laughed, “Can you tell him I’m heading to bed, too?”

“Of course,” he said, sobering from her laughter. “Goodnight.”

When he left, she felt a warmth that hadn’t filled her in awhile. She found that she missed that feeling desperately. Zelda wondered if he felt that too. Her legs straightened as she stood and she allowed herself a long moment to stretch. A large sigh filled her until her eyes spied something that hadn’t been on the stool before.

Link must have left it.

It was a small paperback book that looked worn with use. The pages were rounded from being carried around often and she picked it up.

The title was “The Conduct of Courting” and everything made sense. His behavior must be off recently because he’s involved with someone else. I would have realized it faster if I had thought about it. Why else would he suddenly have the gall to be so preformative during court?

Then I realized it must be someone important. The visit a couple days ago is evident that he’s courting, and possibly betrothed to, Princess Aurra. This entire time must have been a show of sparing my feelings. It makes sense why he acted so casually around her. At the duel, he could have easily been looking at Aurra and not me.

Thus why Father invited him to dine with us for supper. Since that night, it’s become a regular event. From a political standpoint, it makes sense. Their marriage would be incredibly advantageous and agreeable. Princess Aurra wouldn’t be inheriting the throne and it’s typical that royal siblings marry nobility and now Link has a proper title. Sure, he’s in the army, but he’s elevated enough to attend our court. Why not a princess too?

Zelda paused, feeling anger rising in her. No, it wasn’t anger, but it hurt just the same. Sorrow built up from the pit of her stomach. She was tired, too, as this was the last day before the Labrynna royal family left for their home country. Maybe if she marries Tyrion, Link would be her brother-in-law.

No, wait, that made her feel sick to the stomach and exponentially worse. In a series of flurried words, she ended her diary entry.

Andthat’sfantasticforhimandIshouldbethrilledforhisfuture.

KindestRegards,

Zelda

She didn’t include a heart this time.

A knock at the door caused her to slam her journal shut with a jolt. She groaned. The ink hadn’t dried yet. With perhaps too much force, she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. That’s it, she was simply tired and will attempt to seem presentable.

Unceremoniously, she rose from her seat and opened the door a crack. The sight through the doorway made her want to scream.

Link opened his mouth before an odd look crossed him. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine,” she said, not fine and positive that red rimmed her eyes. Zelda allowed the door to open enough to fit her frame. Hopefully it politely communicated her desire for his goodnight wishes to end swiftly.

“You don’t act like you’re perfectly fine,” he deadpanned.

The mixture of annoyance, anger, and sorrow built up around her throat and beat down her previous inhibitions. She crinkled her nose and spoke curtly, “It would have been nice if you had told me about your courtship.”

He stayed silent under her searing gaze until, “I… thought you would be happy about it.”

So she was right.

The Princess swallowed dryly. That wasn’t the response she was expecting, but maybe he assumed she had recovered fully from their affair. After all, it had been months since. Three months where it was now apparent no progress had been made. Zelda straightened.

“You misunderstand me. I’m thrilled.”

Link tilted his head in the way he did when he was confused. “You don’t seem thrilled.”

Then, he paled and watched his feet.

“I mean, we can call it off if you’re opposed. I just assumed…” he said with pain tinged words.

Zelda winced. She hadn’t thought her opinion had that much impact. It was obvious he was happy with Aurra and here she was, angry at his good fortune.

“No, Link, I,” she faltered and placed a hand on his arm. “I didn’t mean it that way. I apologize. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Slowly, he shook his head, “Uh… are you sure about that? I must have misread something or misinterpreted. I want you to be happy for yourself, not just because I was.” He was miffed for reasons that escaped Zelda altogether.

Now, she was just as vexed. “No, no what I think doesn’t matter. I’m only happy that you managed to rebound from what we had. In a solid relationship there are only two people that have meaningful input: you and her.”

“Wait, what?”

“I said, in a solid relationship-”

He shook his head, “No, Zelda, who do you think I’m courting?”

Her mouth fell closed and she looked at him as if he had two heads. “Princess Aurra.”

“Oh, Hylia,” he breathed out, putting a hand on his chest.

Zelda’s brows knitted together. “Am I wrong? Oh gods, I’m wrong. Who is it? Is it… the maid you always get along with?”

“No.”

“The woman who hit on you at court?”

“Gods no. Zelda-”

“Are you sure it isn’t Princess Aurra? She’s very pretty.”

“Yes,” he was laughing now. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Her shoulders slacked, “Stop laughing, Link. This is serious. I don’t know why you’re mocking me.”

“I understand and I’m sorry,” Link reasoned, attempting to bite down on his lingering smile. The grip on his arm tightened. “I thought about what you told me when you wanted… us… to end.”

Zelda watched his boyish smile upturn at the thought. So, her rejection was what caused him to look elsewhere.

“Of course, it made sense. Though I was beyond heart broken, I knew you were right. You always are,” Link pried her hand off his arm to hold it. “I took your father’s promotion. In that time, I felt worse than I ever had being away from you. You had told me the King would never approve, but I asked anyway.”

His fingers traced over her knuckles as he spoke. Green eyes widened and she could barely whisper out, “You did?”

He nodded with a short smile, “I did. And I was terrified. I told him about how I felt about you and he went so quiet that I thought he’d hang me. Then he asked if you loved me and I told him you’ve said so many times.”

Tears she had been holding back surfaced for an entirely new reason. Zelda’s face scrunched up and she held a hand under her nose. With a trembling lip, she bubbled out, “What did he say?”

“He said that as long as you still held those feelings, I have his blessing.”

She retched her hand from his grasp and flung them around his neck, bursting into a sob. Link buried his head in the crook of his neck and hugged her tightly as she cried.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I should have told you.”

“So… So…” she sniffed between her attempted words, falling into a sob and back. “So you’ve been courting me this whole time?”

She felt him nod into her.

“You love solving mysteries and I know you like surprises. I’m so sorry.”

“Are you kidding me?” she pulled back, a wide and watery smile met him. His princess was a mess. “This is the best surprise I’ve ever gotten.”

They sank into an embrace once more as reality fell onto her. Never was she so happy to be so wrong. Together, they stood like that in the hallway for a long moment. Zelda breathed him in all over again, her subconscious somewhat hesitant to dive headfirst back into the bucket of emotions that had been pooling for months.

“Zelda.” She heard him say, feeling his voice against her ear.

Full of reluctance, he pulled her away for a moment. His eyes met hers and his movements were small, but they were all too familiar. Link’s hand moved from her waist to her jaw and looked at her like she was the last thing he would ever see. It was so intensely reminiscent of their first kiss that her throat threatened to close up for the second time.

“There’s no Calamity,” she said with a sweet smile.

His thumb drew circles on her skin and he looked down at her with an emotion like no other.

“No,” he finally whispered. “There isn’t.”

Without intention, they drew closer. Her mouth tugged further upwards, “I can be with you.”

Link’s response was pressing his lips to hers and she fell into them easily. His hands cradled her head and pulled her impossibly closer. A whimper from deep within came from her and he swallowed the noise without care. The sound of someone approaching down the hall gave a jumpstart to her heart, but she was too intoxicated with him to respond with reason.

Awfully, his lips pulled away and in her ear, “Someone’s coming.”

His voice, gods his voice, was thick and almost raspy.

“Let them.”

All he did was let out a low laugh and let the heat of his fingers sear through her nightgown. The echoing footsteps were growing louder now.

“Can I spend the night with you?”

It could be her guard. It could be a servant. It could be the Prince.

“Please.”

Just like that, he heaved her into his arms with arm around her shoulders and the back of her knees. She yelped, falling into laughter as he hurried into the room and shut the door behind him. The closing hinges signified their safety and he peered down at her with pure adoration.

“I love your laugh.”

Zelda already had her hands in his hair, bracing herself for a bruising kiss. For a moment, his arms faltered and she thought she’d fall, but they tightened around her instead. When she parted her lips, he invaded her senses so greatly that she moaned in the ecstasy of feeling something she thought she’d never get the chance to feel again. Disbelief, overwhelming amazement, inexplicable happiness.

A groan against her lips sparked a deep burning in her stomach that made her sigh. Link’s tongue was gentle against her mouth. He wasn’t hesitant, but savoring and it made her want to cry from the simple fact that they were here.

She fell onto the bed with a light bounce and watched him remove his tunic, seeing skin tanner than when she last saw it. Emotion welled in her chest and a dry sob made her heave.

“I missed you,” she nearly whined. Her brows drew together as he dipped down to capture her lips again.

He parted shortly, “I missed you.”

Zelda’s hands felt down his shoulders, feeling everything from the smooth skin to rough scars and loved it all. She wasn’t blind to know that she was hopelessly attracted to him. The day where he sparred held a night where she held that memory while pretending her fingers were his, trying to resurrect the moment where they truly were and he whispered small encouragements in the nights where she doubted herself too much for his ears.

“I thought about you every night.” She gasped a gasp as smooth as the sheets she laid upon when his hands felt up her thighs.

His mouth laid claim to the side of her cheek and breathed hot breath over her ear. Link’s grip increased when she shivered. “In what way?”

Her nightgown had long hiked up to her hips. As he laid flush against her, standing between her parted knees, she wrapped him in an embrace that coaxed him to melt into her.

“Sometimes like this.” She smiled softly, sweetly enjoying his warmth and the fact that - yes - this was okay and he was hers.

Then she rolled her hips against his clothed crotch, the sudden friction making Link groan against her neck. Breath hitched in her lungs, the sensation so much better than she remembered.

Zelda sighed from the pleasure, “Sometimes like this.”

Link rose to swiftly catch her in a slow kiss that clouded her mind. His lips moved against her in slow waves, giving hints of what she knew he was capable of. Carefully, slowly, he took her hips and ground down against her heat. Zelda moaned and Link pulled away to watch her face. The warmth in her sparked and she tried to fill the space he left with her hips, and much to her frustration, he held them down.

Then, he looked upon her with reverence in his eyes. His kiss-swollen lips upturned to whisper hints of his mischief. Wheat blond locks were coming undone around his face and he was perfectly kissable if he were to let her.

Barely audible, she frowned and voiced her grievances. “Why’d you stop?”

The hints turned to undeniable devilment. “Can a man not watch his…” then his brow furrowed and he looked above her head. “It’s not suitor, right? Suitress?”

Her nose wrinkled at the word. “I don’t recall vying for your hand.”

“You don’t?” he gasped, extending his arms so that her view of his disbelief was clear. “Because I distinctly remember your many tears over how it was impossible for me to be with you.”

“Link!” she fumbled to the back of his neck, but there was no avail to her tugging. “I had the purest intentions!”

“Oh yes,” he sighed. “To turn me away so you could accept Prince Tyrion’s proposal.”

“Link! I wouldn’t have done that when I still loved you!”

“I can’t help but notice you’re using past tense, Princess.”

Zelda squirmed out of his grip and further onto the bed. Curiosity danced in blue eyes as she felt along the hem of her nightgown. Innocently, she tilted her head and let her long hair pool to one side. The change in tone was immediate.

“You know, Hero,” she leered, pulling her gown to her hips. His gaze followed it, searing up her thighs with his amusement. “I could have you arrested for spreading such slander about me.”

The fabric balled up between her fingers, inching to reveal her lacy white panties. Despite herself, she smiled when he placed his knee on the bed to follow her. It was hard to ignore the way his hard stomach flexed with his movements. Her gown tightened further in her fists and her innocent smile widened; his attention rapt to her suddenly revealed curves. Link’s mouth formed her name.

“Or perhaps…” Zelda bit her lip as his hands tried to coax hers to move faster. He was close enough for her to kiss his neck and breath out, “You would like me to show you my love?”

She couldn’t help the bout of giggles when he pushed her against the pillow and explored her exposed stomach. His smile was hidden from view, but it was in his words.

“Gods, I adore you.”

Zelda lifted her arms as he yanked the gown off, careful to avoid snagging her hair because he had done it before. She had always been somewhat self-conscious of her body. And now as her nipples hardened to the chill that tended to eternally linger in her room, she could only be reminded that there wasn’t the need to visit holy springs that required a certain amount of labor and that she didn’t feel the incessant want to leave the castle when there would be a man who wasn’t Link alongside her.

Surely, she had her fair share of sweets after Calamity Ganon.

The insecurity brought her hands to rest on top of her tummy and a thick blush to sweep up her neck. Link, however, didn’t pause for one second and planted a firm kiss to her collar bone.

“Is this okay?” he asked, enveloping her hands in his and enticing them from her body.

Zelda nodded, but followed up with an audible, “Yes.”

The way he touched her was both cautious and bold, kneading the flesh of her hips in a way that made her shiver. His fingertips surfed up her skin to her breasts and he tasted the heartbeat at her throat.

A million sweet nothings vaguely reached her ear as he felt the skin before the waistband of her underwear. Link didn’t allow breath to stay long in her lungs and she lifted her lips in the hopes he would be merciful. It should’ve been expected when he drew away.

“Please,” she breathed, reaching for the buckle of his trousers only for him to pull in back against the pillow above her head. “It’s been so long.”

Love was in his eyes when he came up from her neck. Link worried his bottom lip between his teeth and the sight turned her stomach in the best way. He searched her face and seemed to consider her words before deciding on a, “No.”

There was no time for her to respond because he wasn’t done with that special spot on her neck. He laved his tongue over the places he nipped at and she had no problem leaning her head away to make more room for him to work. Zelda bit down on her back molars to swallow a moan when she realized his intentions; he had never dared to do this to her before.

“You’re- you’re going to leave a mark.”

All he did was hum against her throat while her breath hitched as he palmed over her clothed folds. The hint of the pressure she so desperately needed was applied. Link paused his sucking, groaning at her wetness. The sound burned the need brighter at her navel. His movements grew hesitant, as if at war with himself before disappearing down her all at once and wrestling her panties from her body - a struggle due to how entangled her long legs were with his.

Cheeks already flushed grew darker as she watched him watch her. Link sunk low with eyes of blue fire, any signs of mischief dashed for determination. Anticipation burned with a fire she hasn’t felt for months and the way his hot breath smoothed over her navel.

The back of hers knees rested on his shoulders and he licked slowly up her cunt, making her head hit the pillow and a low moan dredged from her throat. Instinct brought her hands to his hair, but she refrained from pulling by using what was left of her sanity. The flat of his tongue made her fingertips tremble, further threading to graze his scalp.

Her chest heaved his name with the vulgar sounds and she could dimly hear the sound of his trousers falling off the bed. Impressions of his fingers pressed deeply into her upper thighs. Her Hero worked her like he did most things, with purposeful motions that made her lose all reason and allowed short gasps to escape her as he hummed a smile against her.

“Link,” she repeated, need and warning in her voice. Blue, blue, blue gazed at her. She hadn’t even noticed the absence of his dominant hand that had long left her thigh for what was between his own legs; his shoulder and arm making suggestive movements. It was as if Link did this for his own pleasure rather than her own. The thought snapping the coil that had been building with his tongue.

This gasp was different, sharper, mixed with his name and words even she couldn’t decipher as she shortly visited the heaven he took her to. Even enduring her climax, Link held her tighter. When she fell slack against the cushions and he finally released her, a well of emotion surged in her breast.

In a slight daze, she sat up and pressed a languished kiss to his lips, already wet. His arms securely circled her and she parted with knitted brows. Zelda’s lip trembled when concern crossed him.

“What’s wrong?”

Zelda held his face in her hands. A rosy glow was on her cheeks and warmth filled her breath as his eyes tried to decipher her thoughts.

“I love you.”

It barely registered to her that they were both naked. If anything, there was rightness in his soft azure gaze and the way their bodies touched beyond the intent of seeking pleasure. There was a slight lift to Zelda’s shoulders and his forearms fell on either side of her torso so Link could bear more of his weight. “That’s all,” she said. “I love you; I missed you.”

With a grin, he snaked his arms around her and buried his head within the crook of her shoulder. Strands of hair tickled her ear and his soft breaths pulled a series of giggles from her. Link’s embrace strained her laughter, only to cause more to burst from her chest.

He echoed her with murmured words, drawing soft circles on her shoulder blades. Zelda sighed into his arms and simply enjoyed his voice. As lovers entangled, every movement was languished. Time didn’t exist.

But she didn’t oppose the kisses that were now peppering her cheek. The fervent compliments from his lips conjuring a deep blush across her face that he tried to kiss away. It was a fruitless endeavor, of course, as it only permeating further on her skin as they touched one another in the way only familiar lovers could.

Their love was made in soundless motions. Learning one another as if three months were three years. It had been an affair that was born of fleeting touches and an impending expiration. It was a haunting kind of love that tended to plague more than pleasure. Now they had so much longer than months, a whole lifetime if they wished.

That was the fact they reassured one another in breathy laughter and loving embraces.

Time drew on with or without them and as she peered at him over the pillows of the morning dawn, she saw him looking back with a happiness she could only pinpoint in her heart.

“I’ve spent all this time convincing I would go on without you,” she said, almost mournfully.

He spoke unabashedly, because nothing was left to hide in the state they were in. “You could have,” he smiled a smile that mirrored her tone. “And I was fully prepared to walk away at the door.”

He gathered her loose hand in his. “I don’t have much to offer,” he spoke with a languished grin, “I have a modest home and will inherit my family’s farm.”

Zelda watched him with an indescribable softness. A sleepless night brought a misty haze over her, but it couldn’t stop the thrumming of her heart. She didn’t need to voice her answer if he had been asking because the simple picture of them living modestly was one that made her curl into his side.

Eventually, he would need to leave before anyone would find out he was in the Princess’s chambers. They would need to arrange a formal announcement and the idea of a public wedding was another beast that needed to be slain.

But for now, Zelda let the morning bring its own subtleties of what subsequent mornings promised.

#GROSS #zelink #zelda #link #zelink fanfiction #fanfiction #loz #legend of zelda #legend of zelda: breath of the wild #loz fanfiction #ashleyswrittenwords #subtleties of a suitor

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themysteriousphoenix · 4 years ago

Text

Letters From the Past

Newtina Week Day 3: A journey through time. (Newt and Tina go to the past/future or someone from the past/future visits them.)

Now at just over 100 years of age, Newt and Tina receive a surprise. A long-forgotten letter from Queenie, years after her death at the hands of Grindelwald.

TW: Character death mentioned.

Newt climbed the ladder of his old, beaten case, a stack of yellowed correspondence in hand. He was nearly half-way through cleaning it out after decades of research. It was time to move on, pass the case onto the next generation. His son and grandson would be taking over his work soon, though Newt felt a bittersweet clench in his chest whenever he thought about it. He was proud that they had created something wonderful between them. He worked for over eighty years to make the world better for creatures, to educate other wizards about them. He had seen protective orders, ordinances, and treaties written in dozens of countries around the world to improve their living conditions. He was proud of the work he had done. His son had continued at his side and branched off into herbology and potion testing, trying to find alternative ingredients for common potions that would not harm creatures.

Now his grandson, Rolf, had expressed interest in taking on the family business. He was currently traveling, studying creatures, plants, and whatever he fancied at the moment. He called himself a Naturalist because he was fascinated by all things in nature and yearned for the discovery of new things. Newt saw a lot of himself in his grandson. It was when he wrote to let them know that he had met a wonderful girl who he would be bringing home to meet them soon, and that he thought she might be the one, that Tina said it might be time to pass on the case.

Newt knew she was right. There were few things that Tina wasn’t right about, come to think of it, but it was still difficult to think of his case being in the care of another, even if that person was Rolf.

Newt pushed himself up and over the lip of his case, recalling how he used to run up the rickety ladder and out with ease. How fit and young he had been at thirty, though he never realized it. Time had been kind to Newt and Tina, but their bodies were not what they used to be. Years of hard work, injuries, and physical labor had seen to that.

“What do you have there?” Tina asked as she stirred the soup on the stove with her wand, her keen eyes trailing down the page of an old, stained cookbook. She glanced up at her husband as he emerged into their kitchen and placed the pile of parchment onto the table. The light from the window over their large farmhouse sink made her still-dark hair shine. Gray streaked through the soft locks that were currently pulled back away from her face into a plait that hung loosely over her shoulder. Newt still found that there were moments when she would still take his breath away, even seventy-seven years after their first meeting. He was a lucky man.

“Letters mostly,” he replied, his fingers flipping through a few of the pages on the top of the file. “I haven’t seen them in years, most are from the thirties, I’d say.” He sat down with a small grunt and leaned on his elbow, sorting the papers into piles. Tina finished adding ingredients to their dinner and joined him at the table, picking up the top piece of parchment off the pile.

“Oh, Thes,” she said with a sad smile, tracing his name with her fingertip. Newt looked up and nodded, his eyes flashing back to the paper before him.

“I know. I think most of the people these letters are from are dead now. It’s…”

“It’s hard to get old,” Tina said, finishing his thought. Newt nodded, his eyes not leaving the parchment in front of him as he read. They had both lost so much over the years, so many people that they loved and cared about, but they had lived a good life together and he wouldn’t give up the family they had created to change anything in their past. It was still heartbreaking to think that neither of their siblings had lived to see their niece or nephew grow up, even though it had been more than half a century since they had been put to rest.

“Who is that one from?” Tina asked, pulling a faded, lavender envelope from the stack.

“Mr. Worme.” Newt flipped the letter over and read the few lines on the back before placing it gently onto a pile. “It was congratulating me on my seventh edition and updating me on its progress and publication.”

“Oh, goodness. That must have been in thirty-six? Thirty-seven??”

“Thirty-five,” Newt corrected her with a smile, pulling another envelope from the pile. “They all sort of run together. I can’t keep track of the dates myself.”

Tina flipped the unopened envelope in her hand over and she stilled, her eyes growing wide. Newt noticed her change of mood immediately.

“What is it, Love?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he pulled the envelope from her fingers gently. He flipped it over to see the writing on the front. “Is that…?”

“Queenie.” Tina’s eyes were wide and tears were brimming in their chocolatey depths. Her sister had been a tough topic for years. Tina, though she knew that Queenie had made her own tough choices all those years ago, still carried guilt with her. She still blamed herself for driving her little sister into Grindelwald’s circle, and later, for not being able to save her when she tried to run from it. Her death stung, far more than watching Theseus fall in the final battle, far more than the peaceful death that Jacob had seen at the age of 90 a few years back. Hers had been the hardest by far.

Taking the envelope back, she stared at it for a few more moments. “It’s not opened...and it’s addressed to you.”

Newt shook his head, confused. “I don’t remember that one at all. I would have remembered if she had tried to contact me, it would have stood out. It happened so infrequently that…” Newt stood and walked around the table, lowering himself into the chair at his wife’s side. “Do you want to open it?”

“I- I think so,” Tina mumbled, her gathered tears breaking through her lashes and cascading down her cheek, “I...no. You open it. It’s addressed to you.”

“It’s for you, though. You know it is.” Newt’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder, his fingers passing lightly over her upper back in a practiced motion. “Do you want me to read it to you?”

With a sniff and a nod, Tina passed the letter over to Newt who opened the wax seal carefully and pulled out a letter on matching stationary. He watched as Tina pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes before leaning on the table and watching out the window, listening. Unfolding the letter, Newt looked at the familiar handwriting with a pang of sadness and something akin to a long-held frustration and anger. He cleared his throat and began to read.

February 12, 1934

My dear Newt,

I know that you will be surprised to hear from me. You may not want to, and if that is the case, then I understand. I have done things that make me ashamed beyond explanation, and for that, I am truly sorry. I left Teenie, and I can never go back to the way things were. I did that, and I have regretted it ever since. I thought that what I was doing was right, but over time I have realized that Gellert was not truthful or forthcoming with his goals. Thank you for being the family for her that I could not be. Thank you for loving her the way that she deserves to be loved.

I heard the news of your first child in the Daily Prophet. Congratulations. I am so happy and proud of you both. You will be wonderful parents, she is a lucky little girl. I wish that I was able to meet her, but I fear that it might never happen now. Please give her a kiss from her Auntie Queenie with love.

I am leaving Nurmengard tomorrow. I know that there are several Aurors on watch and correspondence is being checked. I do not know if Tina’s correspondence is among those, they keep any information about Tina a secret from me, even now. I didn’t want to take a chance and have this letter be intercepted. I figured sending a letter by no-maj post to you would be safest.

Please, tell her how sorry I am. I made these choices and I take full blame for my actions. She has been my everything since we were children, and she will continue to be my everything until the day I die. Tell her that I love her. She deserves nothing but the best in life, and that is all I hope for her. Tell her that I would be by her side right now if I could do this all over again. I’m not sure if I will make it to England or not, that is where I am trying to go. If I do, I will be in contact again. If I do not, please forgive me for what I have done. Not only here with Gellert, but to you both. Especially to Tina. I know my sister, and I know that she has probably tried to take responsibility for what happened in Paris. Don’t let her live her life thinking that she was responsible, Newt. She wasn’t. It was my choice that led me here.

I hope that I can tell her these things in person soon. Please be watching for an owl from me in the coming weeks. If the worst should happen, I am sure that you will hear through the Ministry. I am running, not because I am scared, but because I know that Gellert Grindelwald is a manipulator and a liar. I cannot stand with him any longer. I know that I will face prison time when I arrive in England, but I will do what I can to help the resistance working against him.

I am sending love to you both, and I hope that you will allow me to see you soon. I will be in touch. Please also share these sentiments with Jacob as I have no address for him. I don’t know where he is and I will probably never see him again, but I only wish him happiness. I hope he can forgive me someday.

All my love and devotion, always,

Queenie

A pause followed Newt’s reading, interrupted only by Tina’s choked sobs as she clutched her handkerchief to her face. Newt stared at the letter in his hand, the other resting along Tina’s back and trying to soothe her with a light touch. He realized that he was also crying as tears began to blur the words before him. Clearing his throat, he removed his glasses and used his shirt sleeve to dab at his eyes.

Tina sighed and looked up at Newt, her eyes were red and tears still streamed down her face. He set the letter on the table and thumbed the tears away from her slightly-wrinkled face, cupping her cheek lightly as he had done thousands of times before. She leaned into the touch and then her face buried itself into his shoulder as her arms wrapped around his waist. She seemed to be calming now as she took deep, steadying breaths.

“She never made it,” Tina mumbled into Newt’s shoulder, her despair heavy in her voice. Newt closed his eyes and held her close.

“I know.” He shook his head as he laid the letter down and wrapped his other arm around Tina, surrounding her. She continued to cry into his shoulder, her sobs and hiccuping breaths growing farther apart as she calmed. She took deep breaths and Newt played with the wisps of hair that had escaped their confines at the nape of her neck. “I can’t believe you found that letter. I never knew it existed.”

“I know,” she responded, pulling away from him and wiping the remnants of her tears away with her handkerchief. “She sent it by muggle post, it probably got mixed in with the fan mail. The purple envelope saw to that.” They both laughed, softly and awkwardly in the solemn moment, as they thought back on the piles of fan mail that had arrived over the years from witches of all ages and walks of life. Thankfully, it had tapered off after a couple of decades and they were left in peace with only scholarly letters of interest scattered here and there.

“Thank Merlin I never get rid of anything…” Tina snorted and shook her head, dabbing at her eyes once more. She inhaled deeply through her nose and then released her breath through her mouth, her face downcast as she twisted the cloth in her hands absently. “How are you, Love?” Newt asked softly.

“I’m… okay,” Tina whispered without looking up. “Surprised, sad, angry… happy to hear from her… I don’t really know how I feel right now.”

Newt nodded, picking the letter up and looking at it again. “That’s completely understandable. It’s a lot to take in after so long. I wish we had seen it sooner.”

“I wish Jacob had seen it,” Tina continued, and Newt hummed in agreement.

“He forgave her long ago.”

“I know he did. He was so… good.” Tina said with a wistful smile, her eyes closing at the wash of memories. “He deserved closure too, though.”

“Do you feel that this was closure, then?” Newt asked carefully.

“I- kind of? Maybe a little.” Tina said, her voice hoarse after her burst of emotions. “I’m glad to have it. I’m… I’m glad that she ran for the right reasons. I wish, so much, that she would have made it to England. She could have been…”

“She would have been a part of our family again, even if she would have been in prison. She always was in a way.” Newt watched as Tina’s dark eyes rose to meet his, they were bloodshot, and tears still threatened to fall, but they were still as bright as they had ever been. “I always considered her family, even if she was never here.”

“I know you did. You never had to, but you did.” Tina leaned forward and hugged Newt properly. “Thank you.”

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair, and he felt her arms tighten around his back.

“I love you, too.”

Tina pulled away and used the heel of her hand to brush an escaped tear from her cheek. She lightly, gently grabbed the letter and envelope from the table. Folding the letter carefully, she slid it back into its home and tucked it carefully into the pocket of her long, woolen sweater.

“I’m going for a walk,” Tina said, standing slowly from her chair. “I need a bit of fresh air, I think.”

“Right,” Newt agreed. “Do you want company?” He knew the answer already, but he wanted to make sure she was okay after the shock she had just received.

“I don’t think so,” she said, a small forced smile crossing her face, “I think I need a bit of time alone to think.” Newt nodded and Tina bent down to place a light kiss on the top of his head. “Keep an eye on dinner for me?” she asked as she made her way to the door.

“Of course, I’ll take care of things here.” With a nod, Tina slipped through the door and began to walk up the path. Through the window, Newt watched as she paused to pull the lavender letter from her sweater pocket and pull the letter out. She continued walking toward the pasture, her eyes trained on her sister’s final words. He smiled at the sight, thankful that Queenie had been able to pay her sister one final visit with her words from the past, even if it had come years later than intended.

Thanks for the visit, Queenie, he thought, hoping that wherever she was now, that she was finally at peace.

#newtina #fbawtft #newt scamander #newtina fanfiction #tina goldstein #newt x tina #fbatcog #post-cog #fantastic fanfiction #ashley writes #newtina ff #newtinaweek2020

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