#using her enchanting of numbers for money. i can respect that

[disastress-i-guess]

Sooo excited I get to spend all of today painting.

[samathuvam]

"Spirited Away: A Magical Journey into the Spirit Realm"

"Spirited Away," a captivating masterpiece by Studio Ghibli and Hayao Miyazaki, weaves a mesmerizing tale that transcends the boundaries of traditional animation. The film follows the journey of Chihiro, a young girl trapped in a mysterious and enchanting world ruled by spirits and magic. This firstly was suggest by brother who is personally a anime fan and after seeing this movie i like to decode what was my understanding by seeing this anime Chihiro's transformation from a timid, insecure girl to a courageous and resilient heroine mirrors the film's underlying theme of self-discovery and growth.Chihiro learns valuable lessons about identity and the importance of inner strength.This fight between capitalism/greed and spirituality/contentment is also shown through the differences between twin sisters Yubaba and Zeniba. Through appearance and power they are equally powerful. But Yubaba is a businesswoman who is only busy making money, even willing to enroll a child into her workforce only to make her money. Throughout the movie Yubaba is mean to everyone and it is clear that she doesn’t respect her workers. This is even symbolized through Chihiro’s name being changed to Sen which means 1000. It is a metaphor for how she views her workers as just numbers who are there to make her money. 1000 Yen is also the lowest number on a yen bill, so in Yubaba’s eyes Chihiro is worth the least of all. Zeniba is very different though. Zeniba lives in a cottage in the forest and has a very modest lifestyle. She spends her days knitting, casting spells and has a very slow and contented life. She also is very kind and helpful to Chihiro, makes a protection hairband for her and helps her to find out how to help Haku. She also offers No Face a place to stay which means he finally has a friend. Zeniba is a metaphor for a non-materialistic and more contented life and a life in Unity with nature. The first time we see her she looks very menacing and it seems like she is just as dangerous as her sister. Later though we learn that she is actually very nice. She was mean at first because she wanted to take back her seal that Haku stole. But she wasn’t greedy, she just wanted back what was rightfully hers. This could be seen as a metaphor for why we should respect nature. Nature can be cruel and dangerous if disrespected (in this case by capitalism because Haku stole from Zeniba for Yubaba). But if we show respect to nature it will take care of us and provide for us. "Spirited Away" explores profound themes such as environmentalism, the consequences of human greed, and the resilience of the human spirit. The narrative's richness lies not only in its fantastical elements but also in its ability to resonate with universal truths. This timeless classic continues to enchant viewers worldwide, leaving a lasting impact on the anime genre. "Spirited Away" is more than just an animated film; it is a transcendent experience that invites audiences to explore the magic within themselves and the world around them.

[taelme]

treacherous

genre: regency!au (with some tweaks ofc), kind of secret romance, painter!johnny, marquess!johnny (mild angst, a lot of fluff im telling yall this was self-indulgent)  pairing/s: Johnny / Reader (ft Jaehyun and oc (reader’s sister)) word count: 26k+ (love language strikes again)  tw: brief mentions of a parent’s death, mentions of food, reader has a tense relationship with her mom? mentions of religious imagery  summary: in your search for love in a material world, you find the acquaintance of a poor painter and discover what it means to feel safe to trust, to be vulnerable, to love—and everything in between a/n: very self indulgent!! (this technically can be read as a standalone but reading enchanted before this can help with context!) was definitely zoning out during my lessons thinking about this johnny.... can yall tell im in love? may have died many times writing this ... definitely was difficult to edit because i was giggling throughout as though i wasn’t the one who wrote it. themed on treacherous but i’d love to hear if you found any other tswift song easter eggs inside!! happy reading  read on ao3

There were many rules any supposed self-respecting or ‘well-bred’ gentleman and lady had to abide by in the world you lived in—rules that ensured the protection of a culture, that shaped character, that cultivated virtue. You were very well-versed in such rules, having been fed every conduct manual your mother could get her hands on from the time you were able to read. 

You would internalise all that you’d read, taking the words seriously and living by the advice given, moulding yourself into a daughter who was perfect as and when you were judged by the book. Perhaps that was what your mother hoped, that her daughter would agree to being mothered by conduct books. 

Of course, that wasn’t quite the case. You read them, surely, but whether you lived by them was an entirely different matter. 

The first thing to note, a lady like you was expected to wait to be introduced to a gentleman, and never introduce herself.

“Would you stop fidgeting? How impossible is it for you to just sit still for a moment?” your mother clicked her tongue in distaste, her voice soft enough only for you to hear, but her tone no less cutting. 

You glanced at her blankly, shifting in your seat once again before turning your gaze back to the field before you, the crowd of people around you waiting for the races to start. Frankly, the appeal of a race for you lay in watching the horses, how gracefully and strongly they galloped, oblivious to the money being placed behind their speed. 

But you knew why you were here, it was hard for you to forget. 

“It’ll be nothing short of a miracle if anyone finds you desirable with your horrible manners to show for yourself,” she huffed, turning to your father who was sitting beside her for some sort of support, only growing more annoyed when she saw that he was otherwise unbothered by your fidgeting. 

“Spare her, she’s still new to all of this,” he murmured. 

“Her sister wasn’t like this when she first debuted,” your mother retorted, earning a sigh from your father.

Your sister, who was now away on her honeymoon with the viscount she married. As much as you were happy for her, you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss the support she gave you, especially during times like these where it seemed you would be caught in the crossfire of your mother and father’s disagreements. 

“Are they not both ladies? You have to stop treating her like she’s still a child,” your mother murmured harshly, making you shift in your seat uncomfortably, “the sooner you do that, the easier this whole process will be for all of us.” 

Now, you couldn’t hide behind the fact that you were young. You were out in society, expected to be looking for a marriage partner, but you still found yourself feeling intimidated by the number of people here knowing that they weren’t looking at you as anyone other than a lady to be married off. 

Thankfully enough, you spotted a familiar face (or they spotted you), your gaze landing on a family friend, a bachelor named Taeyong under the tentage next to the spectator stand. 

“I’m… going to say hello to Taeyong.” 

Your mother hadn’t acknowledged you with anything but a huff, so you took that as a greenlight to leave, straightening your posture in an attempt to make it seem as though you weren’t completely intimidated by the crowd of men you were practically walking into. 

Nodding your head at Taeyong in greeting when he met your gaze, he flashed you a smile. 

“My lady,” he bowed with extra dramatics, earning a grimace from you, “it feels oddly refreshing to be seeing you in a place like this.” 

“How so?” your eyebrows lifted, gaze flickering briefly to notice the man standing next to him, taller than Taeyong and much taller than you, giving him a small nod in acknowledgement. 

You knew it was more socially acceptable for you to focus on conversing with Taeyong and not acknowledging the man, since it would have been an obvious fact that he and Taeyong were of different social standings. The man’s dressing was that of a typical man of the working class, compared to Taeyong’s more expensive fabrics, with special tailored tailcoats and frills in his shirt. In spite of this fact, you couldn’t help your gaze from wandering over to the man even as you spoke with Taeyong, something about the way he carried himself making him seem as though he was the one of power between the two of them. 

It was a confidence and sureness that you weren’t used to seeing, different from the air with which the viscount Jung Jaehyun carried himself. For the viscount, there was always an air of tension in his slightly aloof demeanour. The man standing next to Taeyong now didn’t seem tense, instead, he possessed a calm confidence. You weren’t sure why it intimidated you more. 

“I’m more accustomed to seeing you in your home,” Taeyong huffed, “I guess this means it’s your first season?” 

You nodded, glancing again at the man next to Taeyong, who wore a curious expression on his face, observing you as you spoke with Taeyong. 

“And my last, if I'm fortunate enough,” you joked, even if you didn’t mean it. 

You glanced briefly again at the man standing next to Taeyong, averting your gaze when you met his confident stare, Taeyong’s huff of laughter distracting you just briefly. 

“I’m sure the season will be forgiving to you, you’ve always had a rather sweet disposition,” he assured you, eyebrows lifting as he shifted his body just slightly to gesture to the man next to him. 

“Oh, right. May I introduce you to a friend of mine who just moved into the town? He’s a painter, a very talented one at that. Miss Y/N this is Mr Suh. Mr Suh, this is my family friend, Miss Y/N.” 

The man gave you a polite bow, “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said with a polite smile. 

Your head tilted in surprise, not having expected the lilting voice to have come from a man whose presence was anything but gentle. 

Taeyong glanced between you and Mr Suh, momentarily distracted when he was approached by a man who had greeted him loudly, immediately rattling off into a discussion on the horse race. 

Almost about to leave to find your way to the lemonade, you heard the lilting voice again. 

“Who are you betting on?” he asked nonchalantly, and with the way he looked ahead as he talked, it would have seemed as though he wasn’t talking to you from the outside. You wondered whether it was intentional. 

“Me?” you asked, turning to look up at the man’s face, seeing him tear his gaze away from the horses to look at you, a soft smile gracing his features as he did. 

He nodded. 

“Am I supposed to be betting on one?” you asked in spite of everything you knew and read from the conduct manuals. You didn’t need Mr Suh to tell you to know that you weren’t supposed to be betting on anything, regardless. 

Mr Suh’s eyebrows lifted, taking his lower lip between his teeth before letting it go, “Well,” he began, “I suppose you shouldn’t. But the stakes are what make it more entertaining, aren’t they?” 

You scrunch your nose up in disagreement, shaking your head. 

“I would beg to differ. Sometimes things are best enjoyed without too many expectations.” 

Mr Suh hummed, clasping his hands behind his back, the stance somehow making him seem even more confident, you could almost imagine him dressed in formal wear attending one of the balls your sister spoke of the previous season. A man like him would be hard to miss in a crowd. 

“What makes you say that?”

You shrugged, your gaze flickering over the way the sunlight was shining on him through the little holes in the tent above the both of you, casting a pretty glow on where it touched his hair, his skin, his hazel eyes that held the mischief of a cheshire cat to them. 

“I suppose when you leave less room for expectation, you also leave less room for disappointment,” you hummed, watching in borderline awe as he let out a huff of laughter. 

“Not that I don’t agree with you, because trust me, I do. But humour me, pick one and we’ll see who wins,” he offered smoothly, with the same confidence that made you feel as though he were drawing you in, as if his simple proposition was enough to spark your desire for some excitement in what you otherwise assumed was going to be a boring day. 

“And if you win? What happens then?” you asked, earning a thoughtful hum from Mr Suh, lips pursing in thought as if he hadn’t already thought of what he wanted. 

Mr Suh’s lips parted, as if having reached a moment of realisation, ��You’ll grant me the honour of getting you a glass of lemonade.” 

“And if I win?” 

Mr Suh grinned, “Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it?” 

You hummed, “Alright then. I pick number two.” 

And you watched, as the race began, as Mr Suh watched with a serious gaze as the horse you chose had run neck in neck with his, the way number two had begun to pick up speed halfway and you knew you would prevail as the winner by a landslide. Funnily enough, Mr Suh didn’t feel the slightest bit bitter about losing, curious as to what you had in mind for your reward. 

It was amusing to you, to see the way the many people standing in the tent had either gushed out yells of excitement or frustration as the race ended, Mr Suh’s expression looking still as calm and confident as he turned to face you. 

“Have you decided what you wanted?” he asked, “I’ll still get you a glass of lemonade, since it’s a hot day after all.” 

You followed next to him as he walked towards where the staff were serving refreshments, paying for a single glass of lemonade and handing it to you, an expectant look on his face as he awaited your reply. 

“You said you were a painter, is that correct?” you began, earning a tilt of the head from him, wondering where you were going with this. 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Could I pay a visit to your studio one day? You know, to see some of your paintings?” 

If Mr Suh was surprised at your request (he was), he hadn’t shown it, simply looking at you with the same curiosity in his gaze, giving you a nod. 

“You’re more than welcome to come by. I’m located near the flower shop by the market, the old space that used to belong to the… the wine merchant,” he told you, and with how much you frequented the market, you instantly knew the space he was referring to, already mapping out a route in your head that would allow you to visit his studio after you ran your errands on Monday. 

Somehow, you couldn’t get used to the way he held your gaze, something about it making you feel as though you were frozen in your spot, unable to look elsewhere yet feeling as though you were too shy to return the same attention to him. 

“I’d better be going now, wouldn’t want to worry my mother,” you fumbled out an excuse in your flustered state, giving him a nod before you’d left promptly, sipping on your lemonade in an attempt to cool the warmth in your face and neck. 

===

Another thing worth noting, is that a lady like you is often placed in a very delicate situation. You may be distinguished by a kind of calculated attention to gain your affections, while it is impossible to know whether this attention will end in a serious declaration. 

You didn’t manage to visit him once the week started, busy with your own errands that occupied your first few days of the week. 

The next time you saw Mr Suh, it almost seemed like you were being guided towards each other. It was an odd moment on that Wednesday morning, something compelling you to look up from the yellow sunflowers you were talking to the old woman running the store about, turning your head to the right even though you weren’t quite looking for anything, your gaze coming to land on the man that you were almost hoping you would chance upon while in the area. 

Seeing the way his eyebrows lifted in recognition, you gave him a small nod to signal that you were acquainted with him, a smile gracing his features as he stood before you. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he remarked, earning a strangely shy smile from you, surprising yourself at the way you reacted towards him. 

You hummed, “I’m here often, actually,” you admitted, your gaze flickering briefly to the sunflowers you were looking at before, your finger touching one of the soft petals absently. 

“Is that so? Do you like flowers?” 

You shrugged, “... the simple answer would be yes.” 

Mr Suh surprised you with the way he’d gasped lightly, eyes widening with a hint of exaggerated dramatics, his hands in his pockets as he leaned over slightly, “Well, now that you’ve said it like that, you’ve gotten me curious about what the complex answer would be.” 

You weren’t sure what came over you, or what was compelling you to go against your mother’s wishes of not entertaining men who weren’t those you danced with at balls. 

Perhaps it was the way he conversed with you so smoothly, or the confident way he held himself, or even the way it seemed as though there was something inexplicable drawing you in through his gaze, telling you there was more to him than he was letting on. As if it would only  continue to nag at your curiosity if you didn’t explore it. 

“It is an answer I would easily offer to you if we were in a more conducive space,” you huffed in amusement, gesturing around to the various other market stalls, the grocers and the merchants yelling and ringing their bells as they bartered off their products. 

Mr Suh felt it too, the strangest feeling in his gut that made him feel as though he were being prompted to get to know you more. As he looked at you now, in the silence of the flower shop with the old woman giving him a knowing look, he couldn’t deny that he was curious about your intentions, about what you could possibly be thinking by being so willing to acquaint yourself with a poor painter like him. It was oddly refreshing, and he could safely say you were the first lady to still treat him with such attention and respect after coming to know his social standing. 

“Would you like to claim your reward now, then? I was just about to head back to my studio, we could have some tea before you head back?” 

You frowned, knowing very well that as much as you would like that, you couldn’t very well do that now. 

At the sight of your frown, Mr Suh sucked in a sharp breath, “Poor timing?” 

Pressing your lips into a firm line, you nodded, “Unfortunately. I have to be at the church, I was supposed to get the new flower arrangements done for the altar and all…” 

Mr Suh’s eyebrows lifted, nodding in understanding, it seemed there was even more he was curious about you now. 

“Will you be playing the organ for the mass today too, dear?” the old woman asked, earning a hum from Mr Suh when you gave an affirmative nod. 

“You know how to play?” he asked, earning an insistent hum from the old woman. 

“ Very well , in fact,” she told him, and somehow you felt a strange sense of bashfulness under the praise of the old woman, though it wasn’t as if you were a stranger to hearing it from her. 

Somehow, the fact that you were in the presence of Mr Suh as you heard it reminded you of the feeling you got when you were younger and your parents were entertaining guests, insisting that you play a piece for them. The feeling of all their eyes on you that filled you with the want to run off into your room, the only time you’d relaxed slightly was when you would centre your focus on the piano, the music being the distraction from their gazes on you. 

The way Mr Suh looked at you, his curious gaze, somehow filled you with this sort of almost-panic, a panic that came with being so focused on, a sudden feeling of being exposed. 

You didn’t have to worry about this with your family, knowing they were all focused on their own worries to pay such delicate attention to your affairs. Mr Suh, however, his gaze was intense, though it did not seem to possess the same intention to nit-pick like your mother, or the insistence of your father’s, or distraction of your sister’s. His could only be described as unadulterated curiosity . 

“I’d love to hear it one day,” his lips curled into a small smile, “perhaps you could grant me the honour of hearing you play while I complete a commission at my studio.” 

You huffed. Somehow the prospect of being able to be involved in the creation of art in such a way enticed you, and it left you feeling excited for the day to come. 

“I would like that,” you told him, turning to the old woman and giving her a small nod to signal that you would like to take the flowers you ordered now. 

“Would you like to take the ones for home now?” she asked, earning a shake of the head from you. 

“No, thank you. I’ll come by later to collect those,” you told her with a smile, turning to Mr Suh and giving a small bow. 

“I should be heading off now.” 

Mr Suh huffed in amusement, “That sounds familiar,” there was a hint of mischief in his tone that made your lips part, a small scoff leaving you. 

“Are you teasing me?” you couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped you, earning a smile from him. 

“I mean no menace,” he continued, shaking his head, “I should be off as well…” 

He let out a small sigh, the soft smile lingering on his features, “It was nice to see you here.” 

You huffed, wanting to say more, but settling for a simple nod. 

“When would be a good time for me to come by?” you decided to ask, earning a shrug from him. 

“Whenever it suits you, I’m usually in the studio by the afternoon,” he spoke, earning a tilt of the head from you, prompting him to continue, “okay, how does Friday afternoon sound?” 

You nodded, “Perfect.” 

Bidding him goodbye, your breath hitched at the way his tone had lilted with the same calm confidence as he addressed you, your brain replayed the way he’d addressed you, wondering how his voice could make your name (something you figured you would have been so used to after all your years of living), sound as though it were being spoken to you for the first time. 

You turned and left before you could tempt yourself to stay longer and forget about the flowers in your arms waiting to be displayed, though even the sunflowers seemed to twirl around to face him. 

The giddiness fluttering within you remained as you sat by the stone bench preparing the flowers, the sound of the gentle flowing water of the fountain you were sitting beside somehow reminding you to still your heart, lest you get too carried away with the excitement you felt from your interactions with Mr Suh. 

As you fixed the placement of one of the sunflowers, you let your gaze wander to the elderly woman who was a few benches away from you shaded underneath a large tree, looking at the arrangement of flowers you’d placed at the foot of one of the statues.

Observing her expression as she gazed at the flowers, you wondered what she was thinking about, what she was here for, perhaps even what she was praying for. You knew you weren’t a stranger to it even as you observed her, you had been here many times; out of desperation, out of boredom, out of joy, out of hopelessness. 

You liked the freedom that came with being here, how you could essentially stay undisturbed due to the unspoken understanding that those who came here sought out that same solace and peace you did.

It was more of an escape at first, from the confines of your house and the myriad of books waiting to be read and re-read again. You weren’t sure when it started becoming a place you wished to return to willingly, like an escape you sought out because it became less of an escape and more of a shelter. 

There was vulnerability and protection you found in being alone, in the thought that even if no one was being attentive to you, maybe a higher power was. This thought always pulled you into deeper reflection, it made you struggle with how comfortable and uncomfortable you were in this vulnerability. How perhaps you were comfortable with it because it wasn’t exactly tangible, yet how uncomfortable you felt with it because you knew that this desire for vulnerability, to be seen, known and loved in such a way was something that resonated deep within your soul, and perhaps it was never tangible to begin with. 

Done with the main arrangement meant to be the centrepiece at the altar, you got up, dusting off your dress. Picking up the basket, you made your way down the aisle of the church till you were at the altar, placing the basket delicately onto the marbled floor before something compelled you to take a seat there on the floor of the aisle, looking up at nothing in particular. 

“Do you recognise the painting?” 

You turned your head in the direction of the sound, seeing the priest walking over to you from your left, earning a hum of confusion from you. 

Gesturing above you to the direction you were staring in previously, he gave you a small smile, “You were staring at it, were you not?” 

Turning your head to fix your gaze on the painting, you saw that it was a painting of a raging sea, a boat in the background with many people on it, but a man, and another who you assumed was the Lord on the water, the man looking desperate as he clung on to his saviour. Yet somehow, the way his saviour held him, you could sense the safety, the security present in his hold. 

“Do you recall? That man, Peter, walked out onto the water when the Lord called him.” 

You frowned, nothing about it made any logical sense, to put yourself in such a position of vulnerability, subject to drowning, subject to the harsh currents of the waves willingly . 

“Why did he do that?” was all you could ask, reminded again of this vulnerability, and whether as you looked at this painting, you could see how there was protection in this vulnerability like you had felt before. 

The priest could only huff in amusement, a deep sigh leaving him. 

“Would you like the simple answer?” he asked, earning a sheepish smile from you. 

“Would it be wrong of me to say yes?” 

Shaking his head, the priest turned his gaze back to the painting, “Love.” 

He did it for love?  

Perhaps the answer you wanted really wasn’t for something tangible to begin with, you figured, because you felt his words resonate in your heart. 

How willing were you to be vulnerable? And what were you willing to be vulnerable for? 

“That sounds more like the complex answer,” you huffed, your hands fiddling with the fabric of your dress, picking off leaves that had stuck onto your dress while you made the flower arrangements.

Your words had only earned a laugh from the priest, the elderly man giving you a shrug. 

“I suppose simple doesn’t mean simplistic.” 

Sighing, you nodded, knowing you would be left pondering his words for the next God knows how long . And it was true, even as you played the organ for the mass that day, as you left the church grounds to make your way back to the flower market.

Even as you were greeted by a bouquet of hibiscus flowers the old woman said Mr Suh had left for you, the thought continued to stir your heart. His simple bouquet, which sparked a far-from-simplistic longing in your heart. 

Were you willing to be vulnerable for something like love? 

Perhaps only time would tell. 

=== 

The third rule, a lady like you was not to engage in any activity that could give rise to gossip. A young, unmarried lady like you was never to be alone in the company of a gentleman outside of family and close family friends. Other than during a walk to church or to a park in the morning, a lady like you was not to even so much as walk outside without an appropriate companion.  

“Where are you off to so early, Miss?” Your lady’s maid had asked in a hushed whisper, passing you the little biscuits you asked for her to help you retrieve from the kitchen without your mother noticing. 

“To church,” you smiled, earning a surprised hum from her. 

“I suppose this is the message you would like for me to relay if anyone were to ask for your whereabouts?” her tone was knowing, a hint of a smile playing at her lips as she handed you the makeshift bag she made using the cloth used to wrap your biscuits. 

You smiled, nodding at her as you let out an exaggerated wistful sigh, “I cannot express how thankful I am to have you here. You’re an absolute breath of fresh air in this house.” 

She huffed in amusement, shaking her head at you, glancing around the kitchen before lowering her voice to a mere murmur, “Will you be back late?” 

You shook your head.

“I’ll be back in time for tea, I’m going to visit a painter.” 

She gasped, a deadpan tone to her joking as she brought a hand up to cover her mouth, “Need I get the chemicals ready to soak your dress when you return?” 

You rolled your eyes in good-nature, a giggle leaving you in your embarrassment. 

“I won’t make a mess of myself this time, I promise,” touching her arm, you told her with as serious a look as you could muster, earning a deep sigh from her. 

You supposed it was warranted, she’d known you since you were a baby, it was only right that she’d grown accustomed to your rather clumsy nature. 

“I’d rather you not make promises you can’t keep, Miss.” 

“I’ll be good, I promise ,” you grinned, fighting your laughter as you saw her expression dripping with scepticism. 

“I do miss your sister dearly, she was never one to keep me on my toes like you do. I’m always fighting for breath these days when I talk to the madam,” she let out a wistful sigh.  

You huffed, already beginning to walk out of the kitchen, “Don’t miss me too much when I’m gone,” you waved, practically brisk walking out of your house and beginning on the route you had planned in your head since the day of the races. 

Saying you were going to church wasn’t a complete lie. And it was important to note this, because you weren’t a very good liar to begin with, so details like these helped. 

Walking into the church grounds, you’d initially planned on just walking through it as a shortcut to the market, but you couldn’t deny the little anxiousness within your heart that came with your excitement. Frankly, you weren’t sure what you were expecting from your meeting with Mr Suh later, though you knew there was a need to maintain a level of secrecy about it.

Perhaps it was the guilt from this secrecy that compelled you to make a little detour, sitting on the same bench you saw the elderly woman sitting at the other day. 

Only when you were sitting in the same position as she was, you realised how different it felt to be sitting right in front of the little grotto. It felt much more like you were up-front instead of still having the pseudo-security of being a little further from the little altar. 

Somehow, you found yourself listing out in your head the various things you’d planned on doing today, imagining (and perhaps hoping as well) that while you went about these things, this higher power would be watching over you, protecting you as you went about your day. The thought served to comfort you, and you found yourself feeling a little less nervous about seeing Mr Suh. 

You wouldn’t have known that Mr Suh was equally if not more nervous than you were, finding himself agonising over which flowers he wished to gift you when you were to arrive. 

The way the old woman mending the store was looking at him wasn’t helping much either, with her knowing looks and watchful gaze as she observed the flowers he leaned towards. 

“Are you planning on getting them for Miss Y/N?” the woman finally asked after she seemed to have enough of his indecision.

Mr Suh nodded, “I was wondering if you could advise me on the meanings of the flowers?” he asked, earning a smile from the woman. 

“My dear, there are far too many flowers here for me to advise you on all of them now. Perhaps you could tell me what you wish to convey, and I could help you pick the right flowers accordingly?” 

Mr Suh hummed thoughtfully. He didn’t want something too forward, or something that would make you wonder what the special occasion was. At this point, all that was coming to mind was the image of your smile that he wished to have the honour of witnessing again. She does have a lovely smile. 

“Yellow tulips, then!” the woman offered gleefully, making Mr Suh’s eyes widen. He was glad Jaehyun wasn’t here, he didn’t think he would be able to recover from his slip-up so easily if that was the case. 

And so yellow tulips were what you were greeted with when you’d arrived at the studio, barely shutting the door behind you before you were greeted by the bright yellow that you found eliciting a smile from you without even noticing. 

“Are these for me?” you asked, the nod he gave you making you stretch your fingers in your gloves before you accepted the flowers from him, noticing the lack of gloves on his hands. 

“They couldn’t possibly be for me, I don’t think my smile is worthy of being compared to sunshine.” 

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise, feeling warmth travel to your face and neck as you averted your gaze. 

“I’m… flattered to know you think mine is.” 

That seemed to elicit a smile from him, rivalling his words from before with the way he was beaming at you, a little giggle leaving him.

“You can set them aside here in the meantime, I was just in the middle of working on a small piece,” he told you, taking the flowers from you to set them in a makeshift vase. A little cup with dried paint on its mouth and exterior filled with clear water. 

“What of?” you glanced at the canvas on the easel in front of a tall stool, not being able to distinguish the markings on the canvas, seeming to be in its early stages of creation. 

Waiting for his reply, you took the opportunity to look around the studio. It was cleaner than you expected it to be, with how it was left unoccupied by the previous landlord for as long as you could remember. 

You noticed the carpets over various parts of the floor, the patterns resembling the ones you had at home. There were various tables around the room, used more for temporary storage than for display, housing various sketches on loose pieces of paper and card. Even so, the sketches were of various landscapes and nature. 

There were no statues here, contrary to what you expected, mainly bowls of fruits and flowers that you assumed were for still-life paintings or sketches. It wasn’t furnished anything like you imagined a typical painter’s studio to look like. You’d expected more statues of human figures, more artwork of people or portraits. The most life you detected in the room other than him and the bowls of fruits and flowers was the piano sitting at the side of the room. 

He stood in front of a tall easel that rested on a large cloth over the carpet to catch any mess that could ruin the rug. Next to the easel, there was a small table with his palette, and a little glass jar he used for water, a set of what you identified as watercolours next to the jar. 

“Your expression is making me curious. Penny for your thoughts?” 

You hummed, shaking your head when you decided against voicing out your thoughts. You wouldn’t want to risk offending him. 

Mr Suh seemed undeterred, simply tilting his head at you curiously, “What seems to be stopping you from telling me?” 

Daring yourself to glance at him in surprise at his forwardness, you shook your head, “No, no, I just… I don't want to speak out of turn.” 

Expecting him to simply nod and move on to another topic, you were even more surprised when he huffed in amusement, dismissing your worries with his gentle gaze. 

“I can assure you, I won’t expect you to bear the consequences for my feelings.”

Walking over to the tall easel where he stood, you pressed your lips together and mustered whatever courage you had to be honest with your thoughts. Something about his reassurance told you it was safe to allow yourself that much in this space. 

“I was just thinking that… your studio doesn’t look like what I expected it to look like,” you began, earning a nod from him, prompting you to continue, “I expected… more… you know, life .” 

Mr Suh’s expression remained calm and confident as always, as if he’d expected you to have pointed it out at one point. 

“I understand why you may think that,” he huffed with a smile. 

“Was it intentional?” you asked, “the focus on landscapes?” 

He nodded, his gaze fixed on yours, the attentiveness he offered to you once again feeling foreign, yet somehow reassuring. 

“I don’t do portraits. And I know it sounds foolish, considering they make more money than paintings of nature and whatnot. But it’s somewhat of a… personal philosophy , I suppose.”

Sensing your confusion, he huffed in amusement, continuing, “I find there is much more life to be found in nature that we overlook. When we’re not so concerned with… you know,” you met his gaze again, the same captivating feeling rendering your attention only fixed on him, “material things.” 

You nodded, his words striking a chord with you, remembering the many conversations you had with your sister on your worries about your debut, about whether you would be accomplished enough, presentable enough, respectable enough. When the desire, that intangible desire that resonated within you remained; the want to be seen, known and loved for your soul, unaffected by money or status. 

“It’s hard to be unconcerned with that in this society,” you huffed, earning a nod from him. 

“I suppose a lady like you has no choice but to be concerned about it,” he murmured, earning a sigh from you. 

“I wish I didn’t have to be.” 

Mr Suh gave you a soft smile, “At least… you don’t have to be while you’re here.” 

You hadn’t noticed you were smiling, something about his words making a wave of relief wash over you. Like a breath of fresh air, to hear that he wasn’t expecting you to be your mother’s daughter while you were here. The little invitation behind his words was enough to make you want to laugh. You were almost wondering why you’d felt so nervous to come here just a while ago. 

Making your way to the piano, you took a seat in front of it, still failing to stifle your smile, turning to him with a nod. 

“I… I’m afraid I like that offer a little too much.” 

And so that was what the studio became for you, a place where you were free to be alone yet share in the company of another, to allow for the creation of art within the space that you came to realise held more life than you initially thought. 

There was life found in the sound of the music that filled the walls, life found in the way Mr Suh’s brush would dance over the canvas, bringing colours alive with his fluid movements, life found in the little sparks of excitement and understanding when you would glance over at each other ever so often. 

“I like that piece the most,” Mr Suh told you as you were preparing to leave, holding out the last honey biscuit to him for him to take. Pinching it between his fingers, he popped it into his mouth. 

“You do?” 

He nodded, swallowing the last of the biscuit in his mouth as he smiled, “It happens to be my favourite.” 

Something about that knowledge made you see the piece in a different light, not having expected him to choose that of all the ones you played that day. 

Something about it was almost ironic, the meaning of the piece being to cast away earthly pleasures for a greater, spiritual love. It made you think about whether the intangible desire in your heart resonated in his as well. 

Unfortunately, that little moment was cut short when Mr Suh had taken out a small pouch that jingled in an all-too-familiar way, reminding you of your father’s study. 

“What’s this?” he set the pouch in your free hands, taking the empty cloth used to hold your honey biscuits and folding it neatly for you. 

Mr Suh hummed, “Take it as… pin money. I wouldn’t have been able to complete those paintings without the beautiful music you played.” 

Before you could refuse, he shook his head, “I insist, really. If you won’t accept it for the music, accept it for the biscuits.” 

Narrowing your eyes at him, you huffed, taking the now neatly folded cloth back from him. 

“You’re not going to take it back regardless, aren’t you?” 

The grin he sent your way was enough to make your knees feel weak. 

“You’re a quick learner, Miss Y/N,” he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers.  

Again, the feeling akin to a gentle brushstroke on canvas, unassuming, yet permanent with the way the colour stood out against the white. 

“Will I be seeing you again soon?” he dared to ask, and you found yourself almost breathless as you searched for an appropriate reply. 

“Do you wish to?” 

Mr Suh wasn’t sure what came over him either. It was akin to an inner knowing, a gut feeling, an unmistakable intuitive feeling that told him not to fight the fact that he was drawn to you, the fact that he wanted to know you more. So, he decided not to fight it, as risky as the decision felt to him. 

“I do, if you are consenting.”  

You huffed, amusement in the way the smile played at your lips, nodding at him. “Then you will see me again tomorrow.” 

It became an unspoken agreement of sorts, for you to visit him in the mornings until it was time for you to return home for tea, blaming your happiness or giddiness on a particularly blessed time of prayer, or the time you took to get back home on the time you would ‘stay back’ in the church grounds on your own. 

Though your father didn’t mind, always having excused you whenever it came to matters of religion, your mother didn’t like it. She wouldn’t hesitate to express how she felt it wasn’t necessary for you to be devoting so much of your time to going to church when you had better things to do, like brushing up on your piano playing, refining your needlework skills or reading and internalising more conduct books. 

They wouldn’t know that the real reason behind your departure from home lay behind the (now many) flowers pressed between the pages of your many conduct books. Each one attached to a special memory of Mr Suh’s bouquets he gifted to you during your visits, the arrangements handpicked by him and unlike any you’d seen or made before. 

Though it was no secret that Mr Suh enjoyed your company and conversation, there was always a little nagging in his head that would return every now and then. It was as if its purpose was to remind him of who you were in society. It would return whenever he heard gossip in the market the morning after a ball, or chatter from bachelors in a local bar. It served as a  reminder that no matter how close the both of you were getting, you were still a lady, who could be subject to such gossip and chatter if you weren’t careful. 

“You’re risking your virtue each time you come out here to see me, you are aware of that right?" He spoke, while you were engrossed in sifting through his various sketches, finding ones to display on the walls of his studio. 

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, holding up a sketch of a tall, sturdy-looking tree planted by the water.

"And what is virtue to you, the man who keeps inviting me here?" you hummed.

Mr Suh narrowed his eyes at you, albeit amused at your witty reply. 

"I meant without a chaperone."

You sighed, almost instinctively assuming the disposition you would when you were being nagged by your mother. 

“I think it’s a little belated for you to be telling me this,” you muttered, still distracted by his sketches, your hands reaching up over your head to see what it would look like higher up on the wall. 

“Miss Y/N,” his tone was firmer than usual, insistent for you to pay attention. 

“Hmm? How do you think this would look up here?” you thought out loud, not having noticed him getting up from his stool to walk over to you, his hand reaching out to pin the paper you were holding against the wall with apparent ease, making you come down from your tip-toes. 

Turning around, you were shocked at how close he was, your eyes widening and taking a step back. 

“Are you listening?” 

In your surprise, you sputtered out whatever made sense to you in your head. 

“Right, yes. Chaperoning.” 

This had only managed to earn a quirked eyebrow from Mr Suh, “Yes… chaperoning …” 

“You understand the need for it, don’t you?” he continued, insistence in his tone. 

You huffed, “Don’t you think we’re past that by now? My parents are too caught up with whatever their latest worry is. If anything, they're relieved I'm finding something to occupy myself with. I’d only be a nuisance if I remained at home.” 

Mr Suh relaxed his arm, grasping the sketch in his hand as he lowered his arm to his side. 

“You’re avoiding the point. How can you be so sure that you trust me?” His eyebrows furrowed, seeming as if he were in disbelief that it was possible. You didn’t understand that. 

You shook your head. 

“I’m not,” you met his gaze, his eyes that shone a beautiful hazel in the sunlit space of his studio, “that is up to you to show me who you are, and up to me to be discerning about it.” 

His gaze softened, making you feel prompted to continue. 

“I am very aware of my stand in society, if that is what you are asking. But didn’t we agree? That this would be a place where that doesn’t matter?”

Mr Suh’s expression was pensive, his lips pressed into a firm line as he searched your gaze for something unknown to him, “Forgive me, I am simply concerned for you. It would do you no good to be seen with a man like me.” 

You sighed, ducking down to take the sketch from his hand and glancing at it, the sketch of the tree planted beside the water. 

You let out a huff of amusement, “Be kinder to yourself, Mr Suh. I’m not being forced to be here. Your company has been more enjoyable than any man I have come across.”

Sensing he was taken aback by your words, you decided to change the subject. 

“You have many sketches of places I have never seen before. Were they all places you’ve visited?” you asked, using a simple glue to attach just the top of the sketch to the wall, not wanting to ruin it if you decided you wanted to take it down. 

Mr Suh cleared his throat, “Yes, they were all from my travels, or some of the places I remember visiting.” 

Humming, you picked up the other sketch you planned on displaying as well, amusing Mr Suh  (and perhaps making his heart flutter) with how seriously you regarded his sketches, even if most of them were done on a whim. 

“They seem like lovely places. What made you come here, then? I wouldn’t say this area is as lovely as what I've been seeing in your sketches.” 

Huffing, Mr Suh’s tongue peeked out to wet his lips, a relaxed nature in the way he watched you go about your movements, “My father passed. This was uh… his birthplace.” 

At that, you turned to face him, tilting your head at him as your gaze softened.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” 

Letting out a huff of laughter that bordered on bitterness, he shook his head in dismissal, “There’s no need to be sorry. We were not that close.” 

Frowning, you let out a small sound of disagreement. 

“It’s not a crime, you know? There’s no rule that says you aren’t allowed to grieve simply because you weren’t close to him.” 

Mr Suh felt a little wave of comfort reach him at your words, comfort that he didn’t realise he needed until the words left your lips and graced his ears. It left him feeling strangely grateful. Not just for your words, but for your heart which allowed you to feel so sensitively for others. 

“Thank you,” was all he could muster, earning a soft smile from you. 

“What was your relationship like? You know, to your father?” you dared yourself to ask, sensing that it would do him some good to talk about it. 

“He was strict with me when I was growing up… actually, he was a rather quiet man, a contrast to my personality. I always found I was more similar to my mother, more… expressive,” there was a gentle smile on his features at the mention of his mother, something about it making you want to hear more. 

“I was more comfortable talking to my mother, and naturally she was more involved in my activities and whatnot while I was growing up… it’s a bit strange now that I think of it. Even while she called me her own little nicknames and terms of endearment, it felt more comfortable for me to hear that as opposed to my own name, only my father called me that. But even though that was the case, it still felt awkward hearing it from him.” 

You nodded, your attentiveness prompting him to continue. 

“I don’t regret it, though. It wasn’t as though we had a bad relationship, it just felt… a bit more formal, less playful than the one I had with my mother.” 

“That’s what matters, I suppose, that you have no regrets,” you shrugged. 

Mr Suh nodded, “That’s what I thought, as well. My duty now is just to… carry on, I suppose.” 

You nodded. 

“Awfully wise of you,” you quipped, earning a smile from him. 

“Of course, I thought you would’ve known that about me by now,” he teased, earning an eye roll from you, though there was no menace behind the gesture. 

You huffed, “I can only imagine what you were like as a child,” you murmured, your imagination getting the better of you. 

The look on his face made it seem as though he were recalling his childhood, huffing a small laugh as he shook his head, “I don’t think I’ve changed much, to be honest.” 

The honesty of your next words surprised you.

“You must’ve been the loveliest little boy, then. I’m sure of it.” 

The smile you received in return was new, tinted with bashfulness unlike the usual calm and confident exterior you were used to seeing. He averted his gaze, poorly stifling his smile before looking back at you and shaking his head. 

“You’ve got a dangerous way with words, Miss Y/N,” he sighed, though his smile lingered on his features. 

“Of course, I thought you would’ve known that about me by now,” you recalled his words, using them to tease him in the same lilting way that he did, though he was sure the effect you had on him was much worse, his laughter bubbling out of him without restraint, his hand reaching out to grab the table next to him in a poor attempt to steady himself. 

You were growing to like it, this honesty that was growing in how the both of you were showing up to each other. Honesty that wasn’t hidden behind etiquette rules or social ‘do’s and ‘don’t’s. What you and him were experiencing with each other felt authentic, unfiltered. 

Sure it may have been frowned upon, it may have been deemed risky or dangerous, but in moments like these where all you could focus on was his smile and the way it warmed your heart. Conduct books be damned, looking at him now, you couldn’t find it in you to care. 

=== 

Another important thing for a lady like you to note, is that whatever your views are in marrying, you should take every possible precaution to prevent their being disappointed.

“How was yesterday’s ball?” 

You grimaced, your playing slowing down, the melody taking a more melancholic turn,  “I’d rather not talk about that.” 

“Was it that terrible?” he laughed, busy with sorting aside his tools and paints. Today was more of an ‘inventory day’, it seemed. 

You groaned, stopping your playing altogether, “Perhaps it would’ve been more bearable if you were there. Then at least I wouldn’t have to torture myself listening to countless men tell me how much they preferred a demure, quiet young lady with better birthing hips than I had.” 

Mr Suh didn’t bother trying to hide his amusement, letting his laughter bubble out freely as you tried to make your glare firm, though the more he laughed, the more it helped you find some sort of amusement in the memory. 

“I think your hips are fine,” he spoke, though the moment the words left him you could see him press his lips together firmly, a laugh threatening to spill out.

Scoffing, you couldn’t help but laugh as well, “My sister would perish if she heard you say that.” 

“Perish because I’m right? Though, I’m not so sure I could say the same about you being demure or quiet, unfortunately,” he told you knowingly, making you scoff. 

“I’d like to argue with you, but even I can’t argue with that,” you sighed, turning your body on the cushioned seat and closing the lid of the piano so you could lean against it. 

“Has there really been nobody trying to… court you?” he asked, more out of curiosity than out of an actual want for you to say that there has been. God knows he didn’t want that. 

You sighed, bringing one arm up to rest against the top of the piano, using your gloved hand to support your head as you looked at him busying himself with sorting out what he could keep and what needed to be disposed of. 

“It’s… difficult to explain. I know eligibility is one thing, background, status, wealth, the lot ,” you huffed, gesturing with your free hand as you spoke, something you were sure your mother would’ve chided you for if she was here, “but it's awfully difficult to grow attached to any of these men… they seem to have an image of me in their minds that they aren’t willing to compromise.” 

Mr Suh looked up from his paint, sensing your frustration that you were struggling to keep hidden, deciding to sit on the stool and show that he was listening, his hands finding their way to his pockets once again. 

“It’s as though I’m not allowed to be anyone else other than the perfect wife they’ve conjured up in their heads… how can you expect me to want that? To… to want to feel lonely in a conversation? To want to just constantly feel underestimated and misinterpreted . When I think of marriage, of a life with someone…” you glanced at him, averting your gaze to the floor, “I think of offering them my heart, but I don’t think of doing that to be met with money and a loveless house in return.”

You turned your head, adjusting it so you could support your head more comfortably, holding Mr Suh’s gaze as he looked at you, an understanding shared in his silence that you never appreciated more. 

You knew that within this unspoken understanding, you had to acknowledge that things were different here from how they were at the ball. Now, as you were in this space, under his gaze, you weren’t underestimated, you weren’t being ‘sheltered’ from anything deemed too much for you. Mr Suh let you be yourself here, receiving you graciously as you were, and you were starting to truly appreciate that. 

“The marriage market is truly lonelier than it seems,” he sighed. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“Nothing, just… from what you tell me. Am I mistaken?” 

You huff, shaking your head, “Definitely not. I’d be better off having more stimulating conversations with a priest than any of the men I spoke to last night.” 

Mr Suh couldn’t help the laughter that escaped him at the image you put in his head, “A priest? Not even me?” 

You rolled your eyes, “That goes without saying, it’s obvious I much prefer talking to you.” 

Mr Suh couldn’t help the way his heart felt like it slowed at your words, the way it felt like he was finally taking a deep breath after a while of not breathing. It was refreshing, seeing someone so honest and unashamed of their feelings and thoughts like you were. He found he had come to like that about you. Very much. 

“Speaking of priests, do you really go to church in the mornings? Or is that just limited to an excuse you use to sneak off here,” he gave you a teasing smile, making you huff, shaking your head at him. 

“I do, sometimes.” 

“For the flower arrangements?” he asked, recalling the time you had met at the flower market. 

Shaking your head, “Not just for that. But that wasn’t how it started.” 

Mr Suh hummed, his eyebrows lifting as he prompted you to continue. 

“It’s… well, it sounds a little funny but I used to wander around the neighbourhood as an excuse to leave the house… My parents never really noticed because they were busy with my sister’s debut and family business affairs at the time, but my father would always excuse me if I said it was to visit the church,” you huffed, “I liked it, actually. There was something so… peaceful, about the church grounds.” 

“I suppose it didn’t feel like I was just wandering around whenever I went there, because I could see all sorts of things and people… people in their desperation, their hope, in their vulnerability… somewhat like I was when I was watching them,” you averted your gaze to the vase of white lilies that sat on top of the little round table he had near him, reminding you of your sister, “there was a period around last year, if I recall correctly. My sister was going through a difficult time, and I was worried sick about her… my role in the family was always to just occupy myself with my own whims and fancies, to be kept out of the loop because they were afraid I couldn’t handle the truth of things. But I knew what was happening.” 

Mr Suh nodded, “Did something happen to her?” 

You nodded, “The family was at risk of being in debt because of a man my mother was trying to marry her off to while she was in love with someone else, who we weren’t sure was ever going to return to town. Honestly, the situation didn’t seem very hopeful at the time, and I had to just keep pretending I didn’t know what was happening when I was in front of my parents.” 

“It was scary, to see how she almost married into a lie.” 

Glancing at Mr Suh, you were surprised to find his gaze still on you, attentive, patient, reassuring. You shifted in your seat, your hands in your lap as you fiddled with your fingers and your gloves. 

“It grew difficult, obviously, to be always finding ways to feel useful and overcompensating at home because I felt so helpless, so I would go off to the church as a sort of escape, you know? A place where I didn’t have to be ‘doing’, a place where I could just… feel what I was feeling.” 

Humming, Mr Suh nodded, “It was safe there,” he commented, earning a nod from you. 

“I suppose my loitering grew obvious,” you huffed in amusement, “because one day the priest just came up to me and asked me if I was alright, you know, if there was anything I needed.” 

“So, I told him how I was feeling—again, I’m not very sure what compelled me to do that, but it felt natural, I suppose, since I felt safe there—and I asked him what a person in my position could do. And he told me something really interesting… he said faith is nothing without trust, and … at the heart of trust is to be vulnerable. That was all I could do, to let myself be vulnerable and trust that what I was doing for my sister was enough, even if I didn’t feel like it was.” 

Mr Suh nodded, your words seeming to resonate with him again, the similar desires within your hearts to be vulnerable and be protected and loved in this vulnerability that came with baring your heart and soul to another. 

“I suppose that was how it started, because it made me realise that I wanted that. I was busy telling myself that I couldn’t because I would feel helpless, but I wanted to allow myself to be who I was, to feel all that I felt and be seen in all of that, and to know what it is like to be loved for that, to be supported in that. But… I suppose that is the dilemma I have found myself in,” you laughed, “searching for all of that in a place as ruthless as the marriage market when I couldn’t even seem to find it from my own parents.” 

The questions continued to circle in your head as you looked at Mr Suh, wondering what he was thinking after hearing your tiring monologue. Your mother always told you you had far too many words, no man would be bothered to listen to you. But for some reason, you hoped that if anyone were to, Mr Suh would. 

“Miss Y/N,” he began, the gentleness to his tone paralysing you again, as if grasping you by the shoulders and forcing you to look at him, “I cannot promise you much… but you make me want to promise you all that I have. Even if it is this modest space, I want to promise you that it is safe for you.”

Somehow, that was enough for you.   

A warmth had flooded you, sending warmth to your eyes, a lump forming in your throat that made you feel as though you were dipping your fingers into the depths of this vulnerability you were entering with him. 

You gave him a soft smile, your unspoken expression that it was enough.  

Somehow, that was enough for him. 

Straightening up in your seat, you let out a deep sigh, “But you are right, I can think of far much more excitement to be found elsewhere than debutante balls.” 

Mr Suh quirked an eyebrow at you, not minding the fact that you changed the subject so abruptly judging from the amusement in his smirk, “Is that so? Enlighten me.” 

“Perhaps I shall write a scandal sheet!” you exclaimed, even if you didn’t mean it. 

Always quick to bounce off of your words, Mr Suh scoffed, “You don’t need an excuse to write about me.” 

Not being able to help the laugh that bubbled out of you, you gasped, “How did you know? I already had an article prepared: ‘ Local painter is too flirtatious for his own good’ .” 

Mr Suh laughed, getting up from his stool to make his way over to the little table sat against the wall, your curiosity getting the better of you as you made your way over to where he was, peering over curiously at the various bottles of things he had on the table. 

“What are these for?” 

Pointing at the little bottles he had, labelled in a scrawl you weren’t focused enough to decipher, he spoke, “These are bottles of pigments. I don’t have an assistant or an apprentice or anything like that, so I usually like to make my oil paints myself since I only need them in smaller quantities at a time. It’s quite therapeutic actually.” 

“Is it difficult to make?” 

Sensing your curiosity, Mr Suh smiled, a certain playfulness to his gaze, “Nothing you can’t handle. Do you want to try?” 

Excited by the offer, you nodded, seeing him start to bring out the various things you would need, lifting a granite slab you were sure you would’ve had difficulty lifting onto a long table behind you, followed by another block of granite that was long and flat at the bottom, looking somewhat like a cone but without the sharp edge of it. 

Taking out two small bottles the size of his palm, he made his way over to you, “This is what gives it the colour,” he pointed at one of the bottles, opening it to reveal an earthy brown colour. 

“There’s others, but I wanted to make this one, so I suppose you could help me with that instead.” 

You nodded, eager for him to get on with explaining the process to you, bubbling with excitement from how long it’d been since you got to do anything involving paint. 

“I’ll help you add the oil, and then you can start to use the muller to work it into the pigment.” 

“I’m sorry, the what?” you furrowed your eyebrows, earning giggles from Mr Suh. 

“Perhaps I should just show you, I think that would be better. But before I do that,” he stopped himself, turning to his easel and picking up the apron that hung from its side, your eyes widening as he held it by the neck, “May I?” 

You nodded, wordless as he draped the apron over you while facing you, his gaze intent and maybe even slightly amused at your expression as he let his hands find the strings at the sides, your breath hitching as he reached them around your waist to tie them in a loose knot behind your back, his proximity sending shivers down your spine. Trying to calm your nerves, you took off your gloves, setting them onto the table. 

“There, you may proceed,” his tone was teasing as ever, letting you continue as you folded the oil into the paint using the little paint knife like how he had shown you before. His hands had moved with practised and controlled strength, unlike yours, who simply enjoyed the sensation and malleability of the paint. 

“You can use the muller now,” he pointed at the block of granite that sat on top of the slab, sitting on the stool near you and watching you as you worked. 

Under his gaze, it didn’t feel as though he were watching because he didn’t trust you with the pigment, but quite the opposite, as he watched you with a relaxed demeanour, a hint of a smile playing at his features. 

You weren’t sure how long you were working the muller into the paint, but you were definitely developing a newfound respect for whoever did this as a job. Though you did see why it was therapeutic, you felt weak as you heaved the muller around, wanting to laugh as you imagined how you must look. 

“What an honour it is, to have the diamond of the first water making oil paint for me,” Mr Suh lilted, making you huff, using your forearm to dab at the sweat that formed on your temple, continuing with the rhythmic movements you were growing used to. 

“You’re awfully mistaken, I’m not the diamond.” 

Expecting him to tell you he was joking, you should’ve known Mr Suh had an equally, if not more dangerous way with his words than you did. 

“Is that so? The queen’s judgement is clearly not to be trusted, then… I know that much as I’m looking at you now.” 

Your breath hitched, recovering quickly as you continued your movements, lifting the block to scrape the paint off the edges and collect it on the slab so you could continue to work it in. 

“Are you teasing me?” you scoffed, laughing in spite of yourself. 

Mr Suh, however, remained sincere, the slightest of smiles on his face, “Not in the slightest bit.” 

You weren’t sure how to react, his words flustering you to no end, but you spoke your mind nonetheless. 

“You’re funny, saying that to me while I’m performing an act like this. I can’t imagine how un-ladylike this must look,” you huffed, amused in a way that made Mr Suh smile without knowing. 

“Not quite, something about the way you do it is very… graceful,” he hummed, “perhaps you would have to be in my position to understand what I mean.” 

Turning to face him, your eyebrows lifted in scepticism, “Let us swap places, then. Though, I doubt it would be the same. You’re much more experienced than I am.” 

Always agreeable to your little suggestions, Mr Suh stood up, making his way over to you as you padded over to the stool he sat on before, watching him pick up where you left off. 

Your only thought was that he was right. He was right, he was absolutely right. 

Watching him as he mulled the paint, you found yourself captivated once again, if he thought you were graceful, you wished you could show him what he looked like. There was a certain seriousness he tapped into the moment he stepped up to the table, the gravity with which he regarded his craft, the sincerity he put into it. It attracted you, quite simply. 

Your gaze wandered over to his arms, his hands, the strength they held, making the block of granite look much smaller than when you held it, you figured. It was strength, in its most gentle, practised form. A strength that did not destroy, but that created. 

Something about that thought added to the feelings you associated with the studio, that it was a space of safety, unlike the many debutante balls and soirées you attended. You were starting to wonder if it was the space that made you feel that way, or the presence of Mr Suh within it. After all, it was him that encouraged you to be honest, to be yourself, to try things because he believed you were capable. 

In short, you felt seen. 

“Are you alright?” you hadn’t realised you were staring, Mr Suh tilting his head at you curiously. 

You shook your head, clearing your throat gently in an attempt to conceal your embarrassment, standing up from the stool and stretching your hand out to him. 

“Can I try again?” 

He smiled, already stepping aside to let you take your place at the table.

===

Other rules to help a lady like you squelch the possibilities of romantic passion included forbidding the use of Christian names, paying compliments, and any kind of intimate contact.

“What’s this?” you touched a leatherbound book, secured closed with a string around the middle that sat on the table where you’d placed a fresh vase of salmon coloured roses from Mr Suh. 

Mr Suh turned around from where he was standing at his easel, setting the piece of charcoal in his hands down when he saw what you were looking at, quickly making his way over (borderline stumbling) as he took the book gently from your hands. 

You had grown comfortable with each other, having no qualms about entering deeper conversation, about embarrassing yourselves with each other, revealing deeper parts of yourself to each other, so it was safe to say that his reaction confused you. 

“Is it your diary?” you asked, eyes lighting up with a hint of mischief that Mr Suh found hard to remain firm against. 

Giving you a huff, he held the book behind his back with one arm, “It might as well be.” 

“So, it's not a diary? A notebook, then?” you asked, almost feeling like you were playing a game with how naturally your guesses were coming out, the childlike side of yourself resurfacing and making itself comfortable in Mr Suh’s presence. 

He nodded, “it’s my sketchbook.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him slightly, “... that I am not allowed to see?” 

Swallowing thickly, Mr Suh huffed, a hint of embarrassment in the way he averted his gaze just briefly, looking back at you and shaking his head. 

“What you ask of me… is not as simple as you make it seem,” he began, letting out a small sigh, “I would be baring my heart to you, quite plainly.” 

You weren’t sure why the thought of that made you wonder just what was inside his sketchbook. He insisted himself that he did not do portraits, so just what sort of sketches could be within that book that made him so hesitant to show you? You wondered what sketches could possibly hold pieces of his heart so clearly that he felt the need to protect it in such a way. 

“Is that such a horrifying thing?” You asked, genuinely curious, “you seem to have no problem flaunting it on your sleeve.” 

At your words, Mr Suh let out a huff of amusement, his lips pressed together as his expression turned more serious, almost speechless as he shook his head. 

“Not quite… you’ve been the only one able to see it thus far,” his words came out in a soft murmur, solidifying the thoughts that wavered in your heart. 

It was almost like a declaration of intimacy, something stirring within you at the reminder that your relationship with Mr Suh was more than just acquaintances, solidified by friendship and understanding, but entering into much more. 

You shook your head, “Only because you have dared to show it to me.” 

The look on Mr Suh’s face was unreadable, as if he had a million thoughts circling his mind that prevented him from settling on one emotion. And there you stood, oblivious to the fact that he was experiencing that same paralysing feeling of not being able to focus on anything other than you. 

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I cannot show it to you yet,” he sighed, sounding more disappointed than you were. He should’ve known you weren’t one to dwell on it, though, respecting his wishes. 

“I understand,” you assured him, “Well, if you won’t let me see your sketchbook, what will you let me see?” 

Mr Suh’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, a soft smile gracing his features, humming in thought. 

“I suppose I could draw something for you now?” he offered, earning a smile from you as what you supposed was a reckless (genius) idea came to mind. 

“Could you draw it on me?” 

Mr Suh’s lips parted, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him or whether you’d actually said what he thought you did. 

“Hmm?” 

You nodded, “I said I want you to draw it on me.” 

Whether it was bold or reckless, you wouldn’t very well put a label on it at the moment. What you did know, however, was that this was definitely going against anything a ‘respectable lady like you’ should have been doing. It was different, you felt, from simply asking if he could draw you. It was like you said, a kind of vulnerability and trust you were willing to offer to him, for him to print his art onto your skin, something only the both of you would be able to see. 

Mr Suh’s throat felt dry, looking at you blankly and keeping his volume lowered because he felt as though his voice would give, “Uh… where, where exactly would you want it?” 

You debated on your options as you looked at him. You wanted it somewhere where you could keep it hidden, where your mother wouldn’t be able to see it as easily.

You knew that ruled out your hands and arms, since your mother’s gaze was always scanning you during mealtimes and when you played the piano, when your hands and arms weren’t hidden by your gloves. 

Your only other thought was to have it on your ankle, since that would be somewhere only you or your lady's maid would ever see, your mother didn’t very well pay attention to little details like that when it came to you, as long as what was noticeable wasn’t out of line. 

“Sorry, I realise I didn’t bother asking you if you were comfortable with it first,” you huffed, giving him a sheepish smile, feeling your heart stop at the smile he gave you. 

“Believe me, Miss Y/N, if I were uncomfortable with it, I would have told you by now,” he huffed, amusement in his smile as he retrieved his inkstand and quill. 

Only when he sat on the rug in front of you did you realise just what you had gotten yourself into, something about the proximity between the both of you was tempting. It felt close, yet in a way that made you desire to be even closer to him, both in the literal and figurative sense. 

Swallowing, you shifted in your seat, glancing up at him with a nervousness that wasn’t quite present just moments before. 

“Have you decided where, or what you would like me to draw?” he asked, crossing his legs as he leaned his palm against the floor to support his weight, the same calm confidence that made you feel shy under his gaze. 

You nodded, “On my ankle.” 

You watched the way he glanced at said ankle, covered by your stocking and your foot that was still covered by your shoe, blinking up at you before nodding. 

“Somewhere… only I get to see.” 

At that, Mr Suh smiled, “And is there anything in particular you would like me to draw?” 

Now it was your turn to smile, already excited to see what he would come up with, what he would associate with you. 

“I’ll let you decide that.” 

His eyebrows lifted, the image coming to mind almost immediately. 

Giving you a nod, he had barely registered what you were doing as you removed one of your shoes, averting his gaze and pretending to be busy with his ink as you started to remove one of your stockings, his gaze landing on the ribbon garter you had used to hold it up, tossing it aside as you worked on removing the silk stocking. 

Mr Suh let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, looking at his fingernails and then at the ribbon again, at your face and then at the stocking you now tossed aside next to the ribbon, unsure where to place his gaze out of respect for you. 

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to your now uncovered leg peeking out from under the hem of your dress. 

Nodding, he reached one of his hands out to grasp your ankle, the feeling of the warmth of his hands on your skin surprising you, your breath hitching just slightly and hoping he hadn’t noticed. 

You lifted your foot off of the ground to help him, surprised when he’d set your ankle on one of his thighs, understanding that the angle would make it easier for him and more comfortable for you. 

Mr Suh let out a small huff of amusement at the way you’d flinched when the quill had touched your skin. 

“Sorry, it was a little ticklish,” you huffed, the unfamiliar sensation distracting you from your nervousness slightly. 

You heard him sigh, his gaze still trained on whatever drawing he was working on.

“Miss Y/N,” he began, the tone with which he said your name making you soften, almost forgetting about your nervousness as you looked at him, humming in response, “I do hope you are not as willing to offer yourself to just any man in such a manner.” 

Your lips parted in shock, bashfulness creeping up on you again as you huffed, trying to mask your embarrassment with your words, “Do you suppose I should only make such an offer to you?” 

Mr Suh glanced up at you, detecting the little hint of challenge in your tone, his hand resting on where he was holding your ankle to keep it steady, his thumb smoothing over the skin unconsciously (or consciously, you wouldn’t have known). 

“My honest answer?” he spoke, his gaze searching yours with that same calm confidence of his, “is yes.”

Your stare was blank, in spite of the many thoughts racing in your mind. 

“You can rest assured, Mr Suh,” you murmured, suddenly feeling disappointed at the fact you did not know his first name, feeling as though addressing him so formally sounded off in a situation like this, “you are the only one I would trust with myself like this.” So intimately. 

Mr Suh poorly stifled the smile on his face as he tilted his head down, continuing with his drawing as you tried to calm your heart. 

“Actually, if you don’t mind me asking…” you murmured, swallowing as you mustered up your courage in spite of your shyness, “what is your first name?” 

Mr Suh replied naturally, as if not giving it a second thought as you felt the ticklish feeling of the quill against the delicate skin of your ankle. 

“Youngho,” he murmured. 

You hummed, clenching your fist to prevent yourself from shifting from the ticklish feeling.

“Youngho,” you echoed, feeling the ticklish feeling stop almost instantly. 

You felt his grip on your ankle tense before relaxing, looking up from your ankle and blinking at you slowly, his expression unreadable but rendering you speechless with how he was looking at you. 

Letting out a shaky breath, it didn’t register to you why he was so taken aback, your mind racing to the conduct books, wondering if it was because addressing him by his name like this was too intimate, too personal. Only then did your mind recall the conversation you had about his father, figuring that must have been why he seemed so shocked. 

“Sorry,” you blurted out, “I forgot about what you said about your father—” 

“No, no,” Youngho shook his head, reassurance in his expression and his tone, “... I want you to call me that.” 

Your eyebrows lifted, feeling as though something was being unlocked between the both of you, as if now it wasn’t just dipping your fingers into the depth of what you both desired, but stepping in, fully knowing what you were getting into with the action. 

“Will you call me by my first name as well?” 

Youngho nodded slowly, “Do you want me to?” 

You nodded, not even being able to find it in yourself to be embarrassed at how quickly you responded. 

“I do.” 

Youngho hummed, “then I will, Y/N .” 

Somehow, hearing it like that, spoken so delicately, spoken so intentionally by him, it was as if he were giving you more reason to fall in love with hearing your name again. 

It felt like it had been ages ever since you had heard someone call you by your name, hearing it felt foreign, yet it felt right, as if it was the only way you wished to hear it. Like a declaration of love. 

Letting go of your ankle, he gestured with a small (even slightly bashful) smile that you could take a look. With all the eagerness you’d been struggling to restrain, you pulled your leg closer to yourself, your smile growing when you spotted the delicate looking sunflower on your skin. 

“I like it very much,” you murmured, appreciating the delicate look of it, yet how it held a meaning that was anything but. 

Youngho simply smiled, “I’m pleased that you find it to your liking.” 

This time, Youngho wasn’t sure why he couldn’t take his gaze away from you as you wore the stocking over your leg, watching as the little sunflower got covered by the silk fabric that was eventually smoothed over your leg to just over your knee, the way you picked up the pink ribbon garter, tying it around the hem of the stocking with practised, routine movements. 

Youngho brought a hand up to the collar of his shirt, fixing his suspenders out of a need to fidget, to distract himself from his want to know what the silk ribbon would feel like in his hands, to distract himself from the feeling of the distance between the both of you. Yet not being able to feel as though it was a certain reverence that was keeping his gaze on you. 

Once you were done, you smoothed your dress over, standing up with a small grunt, your legs feeling sore from sitting in the same position for so long. Youngho stood up as well, though he kept his gaze averted, knowing it was about time for you to return home for tea. 

“I should be leaving now,” you spoke to fill the silence, drawing his gaze to you, not being able to smile at how flustered he looked, as much as he was trying to hide it. 

Youngho nodded, “Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Be safe on your way back.” 

Seeming to have composed himself, Youngho brought a hand up to run his fingers through his hair, giving you a tight-lipped smile. 

You nodded, taking your little purse and taking slow steps backwards, reluctant to leave even though you knew it would only be a short while before you got to see him again. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, opening the door for you. 

Turning to give him a smile, you nodded, “Goodbye, Youngho.” 

That day when you’d returned home, a giddy smile on your face and your heart thumping wildly like a protagonist in one of your sister’s romance novels, you couldn’t help but replay your interactions with Youngho in your head. 

A part of you wondered why you hadn’t asked him for his name sooner, because now it was all that made sense. The simple man you had come to know, who was genuine, observant, perceptive, sweet, honest. That was Youngho to you, that was what made sense to you. 

Even as you lay in bed that night, thinking about the little sunflower resting on the skin of your ankle, you were sure anybody else would have thought you were going crazy, but it replayed over and over again in your head. 

Youngho. Youngho. Youngho. 

Your little mantra of love. 

===

Another rule that was essential to remember, was that a gentleman might take the arm of a lady like yours through his, to support you while out walking. But he must never try to take your hand, even to shake it friendly-like. If he did, you must immediately withdraw it with a strong air of disapproval, whether you felt it or not. 

Something you greatly appreciated about Youngho was that he was never one to be afraid of getting his hands dirty. 

Surely you were the same, out in the garden digging up earthworms as you were a child even though your mother would yell at you that you were going to get your dress dirty. But overtime, as they clamped down stricter on their rules and as you grew more occupied with the various accomplishments they desired for you to build, you had to forego certain things that would get in the way of that. 

Things like painting. 

As much as it was a common accomplishment for a lady like you to have, your mother had always viewed it distastefully, saying that the way you went about it was far too messy. So you’d resorted to other means of creating art, like your flower arrangements. Those, she would excuse, since they were deemed ‘useful’ for the house, so you figured you had come to cling to it as a way for you to express that desire within you to create, to appreciate beauty in such a way. 

When you had told Youngho this, you should have known it was only natural for him to have offered you the opportunity to paint again. He was quick to give you the space, laying out large cloth on the floor to protect the rug, even going to the extent of asking you if you would be more comfortable working on the piece on the easel or on the floor. 

So that was how you ended up standing in front of the canvas, apron wrapped around you snugly as you let yourself enjoy the freedom of letting your body move without much thought. 

“You’d put me out of business if you sold your paintings,” Youngho huffed in amusement, one of many praises he’d offered to you when he saw you painting.

“I doubt so,” you muttered distractedly, frowning slightly at your painting. 

You huffed, turning slightly and picking up your fan from the little table that was next to your hip, making a last-ditch attempt at making the paint dry faster using the breeze you created with your fan. 

Deciding you had other ideas, you set the fan down on the table, looking at your painting and trying to execute your idea. 

For some reason though, it was growing frustrating as the paint didn’t seem to move like how you envisioned it would. Youngho seemed to sense your annoyance (though it was quite obvious through your frustrated huffs), turning his gaze away from his own canvas to face you with a hum. 

“What’s wrong?” Youngho asked, already getting up to make his way over to you, peering over at your painting from behind you. 

“I can’t seem to get it to fan out the way I want it to,” you sighed, “my brush isn’t big enough for it.” 

Youngho’s gaze on your painting was intent, seeming to be thinking from his own perspective, shrugging as he turned to you. 

“You’re free to use my hand as your brush,” he offered, his nonchalance making you pause to process his words. 

“Are you sure?” you asked, earning a nod from him. 

“Really, I’m sure,” he reassured, waiting patiently as you dared yourself to grasp his hand with both of yours. 

Youngho almost wanted to laugh, thinking of the time he had let you mull the paint, how you insisted that your strength used to mull the paint was much less than his, yet he had never felt it so strongly till now, in the firm grip with which you grasped his hand. 

An ever present strength in gentleness that he’d come to associate with you. 

You could practically feel the warmth radiating from his body with how close he stood behind you, with how he let his arm rest against yours as you moved it with ease. 

It was almost amusing to you, how when you used his hand to smear the paint, it looked exactly like how you had pictured it in your mind. It made you wonder if all along you’d grown used to observing him, how he paints, that it was natural for your mind to picture how he would make his mark on your creations.

“Perfect,” you murmured, gaze appreciating your painting, trying to ignore the tension within your body that came with being in such close proximity with Youngho.

Turning to face him, your hands still clasped around his palm and wrist, his soft skin a contrast to the sturdiness you felt as you held his hand, his soft features a contrast from the intensity of his gaze when it met yours. 

It seemed your thoughts had a mind of their own, as you let your gaze wander from the hazel of his eyes, to the deep black of his hair, to the dusty pink of his lips. 

Conduct books be damned, none of them warned you about him. 

“For some reason…” you began, your voice barely a murmur as you shifted your gaze back to meet his, watching how his gaze had flickered to your lips briefly, as if trying to catch himself, “no matter how close you are to me…” 

Youngho shook his head slightly, his lips parting to speak, “It never feels close enough.” 

You nodded, unsure what other words could express your heart better in this moment, feeling him lean in, the warmth of his breath tickling your lips, feeling as though it was a ghost of his kiss that was being pressed against your lips. 

You weren’t sure if you were breathing, the only thing on your mind being the little mantra of love you had for him beating in your heart, supplying you with courage, supplying you with even more affection for him. 

Feeling his lips brush against yours ever so slightly, you clutched his hand tighter in your grip, hearing him huff, a smile gracing his features.

“Are you teasing me?” you whispered. 

Youngho shook his head, watching as your eyes had fluttered shut so naturally, as his breath fanned over your cheek, “Not in the slightest bit.” 

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against yours, softly, yet with insistence. Letting go of his hand, you let yourself make use of the courage coursing through your veins, bringing your hands up to cup his face and feeling the slight stubble under your palm, the action making him stumble forward slightly. Youngho’s hand reached out quickly to find purchase on something and ended up on your fan, the traces of colour from your painting now smeared against the once white and spotless accessory. 

You weren’t sure what you were doing, but it felt as though he did, with how he led the kiss, bringing his paint free hand up to touch the small of your back, pulling you gently towards him. 

So, you let yourself follow, follow the way his lips moved against yours, follow his movements that brought you closer to him, follow the way your head tilted up at the touch of his hand. 

You allowed him to spoil you, to fill your mind with only thoughts of him, with the little mantra that would repeat and that you wished to repeat for as long as your heart could feel for someone, for him. 

Youngho. Youngho. Youngho.

You hadn’t realised how much you were leaning into him, with how secure it felt for him to be supporting your weight like this. It didn’t even cross your mind to feel embarrassed at your lack of experience in this area, he never let you feel any of that, not with how he kissed you with such intention as though you were the only one he’d ever loved and would ever love.

It was a strange feeling, solidified by his kiss, to feel desired and even more loved. It wasn’t one or the other that you sensed in the way he’d deepened the kiss, in the way his paint covered hands had grasped your hip to hold you close, because as much as there was desire, there was love you felt in the way he cradled your face, in the way he let you melt into him with the promise that you would be supported. 

In that moment, you knew that regardless of his background, his wealth, his occupation, you were willing to give your heart to him. Only Youngho.  

=== 

A lady like you should have considered this common sense, but you must never confess your feelings until absolutely convinced of a man’s intentions.

Youngho was finding it hard to keep his heart from fluttering as you led him behind the church grounds, your hand grasping his firmly as you walked before him, familiar with the route in a way that only came from experience. 

It was interesting to him, he found, the feeling that stirred within his heart as he looked at your proud smile once the both of you had reached a little pond, its circumference marked out by big stones lined up against one another, and wildflowers decorating the grass. In this case, your actions definitely spoke louder than your words— a girl who couldn’t lie to save her life, willing to take such risks for him, someone only revealed to her as a poor painter. 

He remembered what he told Jaehyun, when the viscount was persuading him to meet the sister of the girl he loved. He remembered telling Jaehyun that he didn’t think love was going to be in the cards for him, but looking at you now, he knew he was wrong. The girl he was looking at, pointing at the little frog that swam past you in the pond and tapping his arm to get his attention, was love in all he had come to discover it to be. 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you drawled, gesturing around you at the empty open field, taking your seat next to the pond with Youngho following suit, the two empty glasses and bottle of wine in his hands clinking gently as he did so. 

“It’s beautiful,” Youngho gushed with extra dramatics, earning a huff of laughter from you, “how did you discover this place?” 

You shrugged, smoothing over your dress as you made yourself comfortable, “I told you, I spent a lot of time wandering around.” 

“Well, it was time well spent, indeed,” he smiled, his nose scrunching as he let the glasses lean against his knee, removing his gloves and setting them aside before getting the bottle open. 

“Where did you say that was from, again?” you asked, ever curious. 

Youngho paused briefly, glancing at the bottle before pouring some into each of the glasses. 

“Italy,” he said, “They import wine here, actually. The wine merchant? Do you recall? The one that was the previous landlord of my studio, he’s the owner of the winery that produces this wine.” 

“Wow,” you huffed, “Wonder why I’ve never seen much of it before.” 

At that, Youngho couldn’t help but laugh, looking at you sceptically, “You speak as though you’re an avid drinker.” 

Embarrassed by his teasing, you scoffed, though the smile on your face lingered, “I suppose I could have come across it in my time at home, you know, snooping around in my father’s study.” 

Youngho nodded, a patronising smile on his face, “Yeah, yeah, I suppose .” 

Removing your gloves, you’d set it next to his on the grass, accepting the glass from him with a small murmur of thanks. 

Sniffing the red liquid, you couldn’t help but glance up at him for some confirmation that it was supposed to smell like this, or what to anticipate its taste to be. 

“Go ahead, try it,” he nodded reassuringly, bringing his own glass to his lips, sipping the wine in a way that made him seem all-too-accustomed to such tasting. 

Taking a sip, you swallowed, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows and a mustered smile, earning a bout of laughter from Youngho. 

“I’m guessing it doesn’t suit your tastes?” 

You shook your head in disagreement, “No, no, It’s just… interesting ,” you hummed, taking another sip and seeing his eyebrows lift as you did so, endearment written all over his features. 

“I shall have to get used to it, I suppose.” 

And get used to it, you did. 

It was in this very pursuit of ‘getting used to it’ that you found yourself growing much more unfiltered (or at least, more than usual). 

Your head had started to feel heavy, Youngho offering for you to rest your head on his lap, and you did so gladly, looking up at him and enjoying the feeling of his fingertips tracing your features lazily, as if committing them to memory, wondering if a sculpture would do you justice when it was made by his hands. 

“Your eyes are really pretty in this light,” you murmured. 

It’d been long since you stopped drinking, Youngho taking the liberty to finish your glass for you while you lay your head on his lap. 

Youngho almost sputtered around his drink, setting the glass down onto the grass and turning to look at you with a teasing smile.

“If this is you ‘getting used’ to the wine, I find it hard to have any complaints,” he laughed, “you’re smiling at me more than usual, and that’s saying a lot.” 

You brought your hands up to cover your mouth, though it didn’t do anything to conceal your smile, laughter bubbling out of you as you shook your head. 

“This is unfamiliar to me, but I find I cannot help but smile at you. It’s as though my body is moving in its most honest manner.” 

“It’s honest, that’s for sure,” he reassured, earning a hum from you. 

Reaching a hand out towards one of his hands, the one closest to you in your eyeline, you watched him switch the hand that was holding his wine glass so he could let you have his hand, wondering what exactly you were going to do with it. 

Frankly, you weren’t sure either, bringing his hand close to your face and daring yourself to press a gentle kiss to his palm, the smile that followed making Youngho’s eyebrows lift, his smile mirroring yours. 

You let go of his hand, letting it rest on top of your face and shutting your eyes, though it was amusing to him, the way he could feel the outline of your smile against his palm.

You noticed that Youngho grew more serious after a few drinks, a certain sleepiness taking over his gaze as he looked at nothing in particular. The both of you enjoyed the silence, aside from the sound of nature, the sound of the both of you just existing in that place, it was a peace you couldn’t quite describe. You couldn’t deny that the silence gave room for your thoughts to wander, your excitement for your sister’s return bringing with it all your fears about what would proceed from her return as well. 

“My sister is to return from her honeymoon soon,” you said, “I am sure she and her husband have plans to hold a private ball once they are here.” 

Judging from the absence of a smile from your face now, Youngho hummed, moving his hand just slightly so it rested against the side of your face now, his thumb rubbing soothingly over your cheek, warmth radiating from him to you. 

“You don’t sound very happy about that.” 

You shook your head, “I suppose it’s because I’m not.” 

Glancing up at him, you let one of your hands cover his, touching the skin of his hand in drowsy patterns, with no desire in mind but to feel him. 

“I’m sure their search for a suitable husband for me will only intensify once she returns,” you sighed deeply, eyebrows furrowing as you frowned. 

“Husband,” Youngho echoed, something akin to a mix of a sigh and a groan leaving him. 

“Dear husband ,” you drawled, as though you were calling someone, grimacing as soon as the words left your lips, meeting Youngho’s amused gaze and feeling the smile grace your features again. 

“You know, I never once heard my mother call my father anything other than his name before,” you recalled, shifting slightly where you lay so you could see Youngho better. 

Youngho hummed, nodding, “Me neither. I suppose maybe I was too young to notice. Either that or perhaps they saved the terms of endearment for when they were alone.” 

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape in realisation. 

“You’re smart, I never considered that.” 

Youngho could only laugh, his hand smoothing over your hair affectionately, “Do I get a reward, then?” he asked. 

Youngho suddenly leaned over so he was close enough to you that it made you shut your eyes, opening them up again with a huff when you felt him press a kiss to your forehead instead, pulling back with giggles leaving him that made it hard for you to remain annoyed. 

“How cruel of you,” you huffed, earning a dramatic gasp from him. 

“Cruel? What an inappropriate descriptor of me,” he smiled. Perhaps he was right, that smile was anything but cruel. 

“What would you call your wife?” you asked, practically thinking out loud at this point. 

Your question surprised Youngho, but he was always sporting your various trains of thought or rambling, and it was no different this time. 

“That depends… on her personality, how I feel towards her,” he glanced at you as he finished speaking, averting his gaze back to the field as you felt his thumb continue to caress your cheek. 

“So, it would change from person to person?” 

Youngho hummed, “I suppose it would.” 

You were starting to realise the truth behind the phrase ‘liquid courage’, your gaze firm on Youngho with your next words. 

“What if it was me, then? What would you call me?” 

Youngho met your gaze, looking almost pensive for a moment as he felt the peace you described about the church grounds, the peace in his heart that came with your presence, and all the love you brought to him with you. 

“Beloved,” he spoke, again, as though he was calling your name, and as if you were hearing it in the only way you wished to hear it, “I’d call you beloved.” 

“My beloved,” he said with finality. 

In that moment, in that little declaration of who you were to him, it was as though you were being reminded of what you seemed to have forgotten. In being declared his beloved, you were worthy of love, you were loved as you were, regarded dearly even in your fear of not being useful or helpful. 

In short, you felt known. 

It was true, Youngho was not cruel. What was cruel was the reminder that your mother would never approve of him, what was cruel was the fact that once your sister returned, you were going to be thrown into whoever’s arms your family deemed fit. What was cruel was that you knew whoever they were, they weren’t Youngho. 

Your eyebrows furrowed, averting your gaze from his face. 

Youngho was feeling the effect of his words, knowing very well for himself that he was in far too deep now. But even despite this knowledge, he didn’t want to come out. He wanted to bury himself in all that he was feeling, to solidify the fact that when he thought of a wife, only your face came to mind, only you made sense to take that place. 

“Do you think it would have been different…” he glanced at you, searching your pensive gaze, “you know, if we had met under different circumstances.” 

“What circumstances?” you hummed, attentive in a way that made Youngho feel even more certain about his words. 

“As nobility.” 

The seriousness of his tone would’ve made you laugh under any other circumstance, considering it was completely hypothetical. But perhaps it was your pensive mood that made you consider his words more seriously, wishing they were the reality you were in. 

You frowned, shaking your head, “It’s never crossed my mind, but… I’m sure I would’ve been drawn to you the same.” 

Turning to brace a hand on his thigh as you sat up, letting his hand fall back onto his lap as you met his gaze, mirroring his seriousness and sincerity as you spoke the truth of what you felt. 

“I’m sure of it,” you repeated, as if hoping it was getting through to him, “nobility or not… you’re you .” 

Taking his hand in his, you fiddled with his fingers, interlocking your fingers, moving them just enough so you could press the tips of your fingernails against the pads of his fingertips. 

Glancing down at your hand in his, he let out a deep breath, looking back up at your face. 

“Do you mean that?” he asked, needing to hear the confirmation from your own lips. 

You shot him a look, a hint of a smile playing at your lips. 

“You know I’m not a good liar,” you reminded, a certain shyness overcoming you as you struggled to hold his gaze, something about the intensity of the way he was looking at you flustering you to no end. 

Youngho huffed, a hint of amusement in his features that let you know he was about to say something to tease you. 

“And you know I would believe anything you say to me when you say it like that.” 

You sighed, daring yourself to bring one of his hands up to your face, letting yourself lean into the warmth of his palm. 

“Youngho,” you began, and Youngho was sure just in how you said his name, there was all the sincerity he searched for, all the vulnerability of yourself that you were showing to him. 

“To be a lady and for me to be like this with you... I need you to understand what this means for me… I need you to understand all that I am risking, and know that I find it worth risking for you.” 

As the words left you, you felt unbearably exposed under his gaze, Youngho’s silence making you want to reassure him, your hand that covered his on your face rubbing the back of his hand gently. 

"Do you believe me?" you murmured. 

Youngho didn’t know what to do with all the love he was feeling, so he did what felt natural to him. 

He let his hand pull away from your face, pulling you close to him so he could wrap his arms around you, cradling your head in his hand, letting out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. 

“I believe you.”

In his arms, you felt the protection around your vulnerability, the intangible desire in your heart manifesting in the way you felt a sigh leave you, leaning into his embrace. 

=== 

And importantly, a lady like you should have a sacred regard to truth, for lying is a mean and despicable vice. 

Padding down the stairs on another morning, a few days after the night in the field with Youngho, you were going about what became your new routine, heading to the kitchen, ready to retrieve your share (and Youngho’s) of honey biscuits from your lady’s maid before you would head off to his studio. 

Except, today was different. 

You should have known something was off from the sympathetic looks you were getting from the staff since you came out of your room, not thinking much of it until you found your lady’s maid in the drawing room, seeing her slip a little pamphlet in your hands with an urgency that unsettled you, your gaze barely landing on the title before you heard your mother’s voice. 

“You,” your head snapped around at the sound of her tone, knowing almost instantly that the sinking feeling in your gut was not unfounded, “I believe we need to have a talk.”

Your gaze landed on your father who stood behind her, stoic and almost apathetic-looking as he simply stood there. 

With how angry your mother  seemed, you were surprised she was even talking to you at all. But as for your father? You felt it was worse, to be constantly searching for his gaze and not being met with it, as he fixed his gaze elsewhere. Following your parents up the stairs, your heart began to pound harshly as they entered your room, feeling as though its pounding stopped entirely when you saw your painting lying on the floor. 

“Is it true?” she asked, earning a frown from you. 

You glanced at your father, who had taken his place behind her, simply looking blankly at the floor. 

You frowned, “Is what true?” you dared to ask, watching warily as her jaw clenched. 

“It aggravates me how you still have the ability to act nonchalant,” she bent over, grabbing the painting so harshly that it made you grimace, “have you been acquainting yourself indecently with that painter ?” 

The way she spoke of his occupation was as though it was a crime, but that wasn’t your concern at this moment. You wondered how she knew, or how you should react, but like you said, you were never a good liar. Your expression alone was enough to give it away. 

“I want you to stop this immediately. You will not ruin your prospects, your reputation, your virtue, for a man who is not worth considering,” there was spite in her tone, the way she spoke about Youngho unnerving you. Though it all still didn’t answer your question of how she came to know about him. 

Your lips parted only to close again, unable to find the words you wished to express to her. 

“He is a good man,” was all you could muster, the scoff you received in return making you cower, feeling warm tears prick at your eyes. 

“Anyone can be a ‘good man’ ,” she told you, “being a ‘good man’ does not provide you financial security. Being a ‘good man ’ does not guarantee you a house. Being a ‘good man’ does not excuse recklessness.” 

You half expected your father to step in, to tell her to go easy on you. Or to try to soothe her temper so her words would become less cutting. But none of that came, even as you looked desperately at him for some signal that he would step in to help you, you continued to be met with the image of your father looking as though he had better things to be done elsewhere, dissociated from whatever was happening. 

You weren’t sure what hurt you more, the feeling of helplessness that overwhelmed you or the fear that it was only a prelude for what was to come. It felt as though you were being made to choose between disappointing your family or losing and disappointing the man you loved. Neither of which you wanted, but you knew you weren’t going to have much of a choice. 

“I forbid you from seeing that man again. You will not leave this house if it is not for an event,” your mother spoke, tossing your painting onto the floor and leaving without another word, your father following silently behind her. 

You didn’t realise you were crying until you felt your tears touch your lips, bringing your hand up to wipe your tears away and realising then that you were still holding the pamphlet your lady’s maid gave you. 

Bypassing the mocking title, you continued to read. 

It should have been obvious to you when you read your initial next to ‘Lady’, reading on in spite of yourself. 

‘... seen with a local painter in a position that shall not be described… Considering her sister’s success in marriage that elevated her to a viscountess, it must come as a shock to anyone for her to have looked much lower for her own marriage partner… a fling like this is surely only good for temporary excitement…’ 

You stopped reading, setting the pamphlet aside and burying your face into your mattress. 

How you missed your sister in a time like this, though you had no idea how you were going to explain this to her when she returned. 

You would soon find that your mother would do all the explaining for you, filling your sister in on all the details she’d procured from the scandal sheet while you were simply too upset to do any explaining for yourself. Frankly, the only thought on your mind was that you hoped Youngho wasn’t worried, since it had been weeks since you had stopped visiting his studio. 

Your sister’s husband, the viscount Jung Jaehyun, wasn’t helping either, insisting that he had a friend of his that he felt would be a suitable marriage partner for you. Your sister seemed to agree, casting sympathetic looks your way whenever the topic of marriage came up, but insisting in her own gentle way that perhaps it would be for the best to move forward. 

It was difficult to hear about how much property he had as the owner of a winery, his wealth or even his penchant for the arts because the only thing on your mind was the man with little to his name, sitting in his studio waiting for you to arrive. 

There was nothing left for you to do, not with how your mother wouldn’t speak to you or acknowledge you directly, not with how your father seemed to want to pretend nothing had ever happened to begin with, not with how you weren’t allowed to leave the house if it was not for social events now. It seemed the choice you were being handed on a platter was to be a good daughter, the product of all the conduct books you read; as helpless as it made you feel. 

===

You figured this was a rule you should have regarded more seriously, but a lady like you should remember that infallibility is not the property of man, or you may entail disappointment on yourself, by expecting what is never to be found.

Perhaps the higher power that was watching over you decided that things weren’t quite over yet.  

Because as you stood in the makeshift ballroom of your sister and her husband’s new house, the drawing room they had converted into a ballroom space for dancing and hosting, you couldn’t deny the way your stomach churned with anxiety at her husband’s excitement, insisting that his friend was to arrive soon. 

You were sure you’d tuned out the noise at one point, finding it hard to ignore the way you were feeling giddy (and not in a very good way), wanting nothing more but to be at home away from any potential suitors that weren’t Youngho. So, it was safe to say you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you when you saw the man walking in with the viscount. 

Dressed in clothes that looked even more elaborate and expensive than those you saw on Taeyong at the races, or even those the viscount adorned now, walking with the same air of calm confidence that you’d practically memorised by now. 

The same black hair, hazel eyes, dusty pink lips that grew clearer to you the closer they came to where you stood with your sister. 

None of it made sense, he shouldn’t even have been able to be here. 

You weren’t sure you were breathing, face to face with the very man that hadn’t left your mind for what seemed like forever. Your little mantra of love began to repeat in your head, as though it were natural for your heart to respond in such a way, desperate to let him know that his presence was felt. 

Youngho. Youngho. Youngho. 

You barely noticed how Jaehyun had introduced him, drawn back to the present moment with your sister’s voice ringing in your ears. 

“It is rather relieving to finally be able to put a face to the faceless Marquess,” she huffed in amusement, “it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Suh.” 

Marquess? 

You frowned, eyebrows furrowed and your gaze firmly fixed on Youngho’s. The marquess they had told you about for the past week, who had recently inherited all the property of his father who had passed, property including a winery. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what an arduous task it was to get Johnny to agree to attend today’s ball,” Jaehyun laughed, making your frown deepen, your sister being able to sense that this was more than just a displeasure that you felt towards the Marquess. 

Youngho’s gaze was apologetic, which had only served to upset you even more. You were trying to process all that was happening, but couldn’t shake the mixed emotions you were feeling all at once. 

Turning to you, your sister nudged you lightly, “Is something wrong?” 

You managed to tear your gaze away from Youngho, turning to your sister and taking in a deep breath, though it didn’t feel like you were breathing at all, the air not seeming to satisfy your lungs and making you feel as though you had to try again. 

“I need to get some air.” 

You started walking, but you weren’t sure where exactly your destination was. All you knew was that you were hyper aware of the fact that Youngho was following you and you didn’t want to be caught with him alone outside the building, not wanting your mother to be even more upset at you. 

It would’ve been amusing if the situation was different, feeling as though you were playing a game of cat and mouse as you tried to out-walk him in the confines of the drawing room. Youngho’s strides were always much bigger than yours, though, so you should have known that it was only a matter of time before he would have caught up with you.

“May I have the honour of a dance with you, Miss Y/N,” he spoke firmly, loud enough that the lady next to you had turned to you with an expectant look, wondering why you were taking so long to respond to him. 

It was unfortunate, how in a situation like this, you couldn’t exactly go against the etiquette rules you loved to flout. You knew that for as long as you were in this room, you had to acknowledge the truth that as long as you were not spoken for, you had no choice but to accept his offer to dance. 

You settled for a small nod, keeping your gaze low as you accepted his hand and let him lead you to where the other guests were dancing. You barely had time to adjust before you had to react quickly to the song, following the choreography with ease and perhaps even being slightly annoyed that Youngho was even better at it than you were. 

“Please say something,” he pleaded, making you shake your head, still keeping your gaze on anything but his face, not knowing what your heart would make you do if you were to meet his attentive gaze in this space. 

“No,” you muttered, “I’ve been too rude to a marquess all this time.” 

Youngho was barely able to stop himself. 

“Y/N, please.” 

Your head snapped up at the sound of your name, tears welling up in your eyes as Youngho’s expression softened. You felt his grip on you tighten, steadying you, the same unspoken promise that you were supported even when you felt like your body would give at any moment. 

It didn’t make sense to you in your head. 

Someone like Youngho, who never underestimated you, who was always attentive to you, who read you like an open book and never held it against you. You didn’t think he would ever treat you like how your family did, hiding things from you, viewing you as a little child who was incapable of handling grown-up matters, confining her to her childish duties of pleasing others and arranging flowers. It was an awful feeling that came with the thought that Youngho, of all people, would ever subject you to such humiliation. 

“Why did you lie?” you frowned, swallowing thickly though it did nothing to the lump you felt in your throat, “did you think I wouldn’t be able to handle it? Did you find some kind of pleasure in making me a fool?” 

You scoffed, blinking harshly, “As if I haven’t had more than my fair share of that Young— Your Lordship .” 

Youngho frowned, “Why are you calling me that?” 

You sighed deeply, feeling breathless from both the choreography and your sheer emotion. 

“Is it not your title?” 

Youngho shook his head, more out of dismissal than denial, “What happened to ‘even if we met as nobility’? Did that mean nothing to you?” 

Your lips parted, offence in your gaze as you scoffed. 

“I’m upset, but do not think for even a second that I did not mean every word I said to you,” you told him, a firmness to your tone that made Youngho regret his words, “unfortunately, I cannot say the same for you.” 

Youngho paused, a tense silence falling between the both of you that contrasted the cheerful music echoing around the room. 

“It was not personal,” he murmured. 

You frowned, still unable to place what you were feeling, unsure how to convey it to him in a way that would allow him to understand why you were reacting this way. 

“It is always personal. How could you…” you averted your gaze, shaking your head, “how could you compromise me—”

“ Compromise you?” his tone was incredulous, eyes widening in shock, “I kissed you.” 

Clenching your jaw, you huffed, “Forgive me, truly, for finding it hard to see things for what they are. Forgive me for allowing myself to expect .” 

Your words made Youngho recall your meeting at the races, perhaps some things were best enjoyed without too many expectations . He begged to differ, though, he just wasn’t sure how to let you know that he was ready to give to you whatever you asked for, whatever you were expecting from him. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, frustrated at the environment the both of you were in, at the lack of privacy he felt here, at the way it prevented him from showing you and telling you all that he truly wished to, having to settle for pathetic apologies and pointed looks. 

You let out a sigh, “Just answer me one question.” 

Youngho nodded quickly, humming to prompt you to continue. 

“Were you ever planning on telling me the truth?” you asked, training your gaze up to meet his once again and trying to distract yourself from the way your heart still swelled with love for the one you gazed upon. 

“The day after that night at the church. I was going to tell you then,” he answered, sincerity in his tone, in the way he looked at you, in the way he held you. 

The day the scandal sheet was released.

You nodded, hearing the music come to an end as you let him go, feeling his hands slip from you reluctantly. 

Turning your head, you met your mother’s gaze. 

Youngho noticed the way you had tensed up and increased the distance between yourself and him, returning to the daughter raised by conduct books that your mother was pleased with. The ‘respectable lady’ that would continue to fight her urge to yearn for her love’s touch and search for his gaze in the crowd for the rest of the night. 

=== 

When considering marriage, a lady like you needed to make sure that arrangements offered equitable compensation as it were, for all involved and no one, including the extended families, was being shorted in the exchange.

“How was the ball? Surely it wasn’t so bad after all, wasn’t it?” Jaehyun asked, earning a sigh from Johnny. 

“No, it was the most horrendous torture ever imaginable,” he deadpanned, finding it hard to focus on the boxing match that was happening in front of him, wondering why Jaehyun decided to bring him here of all places. But he figured he wouldn’t have minded being her under any other circumstance. 

Wincing at the fighter who had taken a particularly bad hit, Jaehyun folded his arms across his chest, “Shame, though, I thought you and Miss Y/N would’ve gotten along particularly well.” 

Johnny frowned, “What makes you say that?” 

Jaehyun shrugged, his gaze still following the fight, “You know, I heard from her sister that she was involved with another man… a painter, if I recall correctly. And her mother didn’t seem to approve because of his status or something along that line…” he trailed off distractedly, earning an expectant hum from Johnny. 

“And?” he prompted, impatient now to know what was said about his and your relationship. 

“Oh, right. Yes, so we figured that it would be better to present her with some other options, you know? We thought introducing her to you would help her move on from it, but she’s been off ever since the day of the ball. Her sister says she’s never seen her like that before, going from being so insistent to so… emotionally detached from it all.” 

Johnny hummed, something in him feeling as though he needed to prepare himself to receive a piece of bad news, judging from the way Jaehyun sighed. 

“But I suppose her mother has worn her out,” Jaehyun sighed, “she’s been recommending another man to Miss Y/N, one she claims is more reasonable… you know, dowry-wise and all.” 

Johnny frowned, “Didn’t anyone try to dissuade her?” 

Jaehyun frowned, “I suppose that’s the thing, she hasn’t protested to it herself… my suspicion is that she’s afraid of disappointing her mother.” 

For some reason, Johnny couldn’t wrap his head around it, “And did you try to say anything?” 

Jaehyun shot Johnny a knowing look, “Believe me, I’ve tried. Miss Y/N was the one that told me it was alright.” 

“She did?” Johnny frowned, earning a huff from Jaehyun. 

“Do you see that man over there, standing by the table?” Jaehyun nudged Johnny, gesturing to the direction of the table with a nod of his head, Johnny’s gaze landing on a man who looked twice your age, counting money from bets he’d won in his hands. 

“That’s the man who is courting her,” Jaehyun told him pointedly, observing Johnny’s reaction carefully as the latter’s gaze stayed fixated on the man, a slight furrow to his eyebrows as he watched him.

Jaehyun continued, “His status is similar to theirs, so it does not require much of a dowry, which I suppose is what her mother’s so agreeable about. But… I think you can understand what I mean when I say I cannot seem to warm up to him.” 

Johnny watched the way the man’s gaze had followed a woman who had walked past him to get to her seat in the spectators stand, something about the way he looked at her unnerving Johnny, growing uncomfortable at the thought of the man looking at you in such a predatory manner. 

“And she has no complaints? About him courting her?” Johnny asked, still staring down the man as though he were trying to burn holes into the man. 

Jaehyun was growing frustrated, wondering how long Johnny was going to deflect the issue at hand with his questions. 

“Don’t you think you would be better off asking her yourself?” 

Johnny tore his gaze away from the man, staring blankly at Jaehyun with his lips parted slightly.

“My time away did not make me a fool, Johnny. It was obvious the moment I saw how you reacted to each other at the ball,” Jaehyun rolled his eyes, “do you suppose there were any other painters in town named Youngho that didn’t work in their own homes?” 

Johnny was at a loss for words, starting to understand why Jaehyun decided to bring him to a random boxing match at mid-day. 

“How long more are you going to spend sitting here and pretending you’re okay with it?” Jaehyun hummed, “you helped me before, and honestly, I’d be more frustrated with myself if I let you carry on like this.” 

Johnny’s gaze shifted to the fighters, then to the man, then back to Jaehyun, unsure what his course of action was going to be but knowing that he wanted nothing more than to go to you now. 

“Her parents are here. I suggest you go now, I can buy you some time,” Jaehyun told him smoothly, and Johnny wondered if this was how he must have looked before when he was aiding Jaehyun with his own love troubles. 

But there was no time for him to dwell on that now, already getting up and leaving as fast as he could to the address Jaehyun had told him. 

“Miss Y/N, you have a caller,” your butler informed you as you were in the middle of playing a piano piece in your drawing room, stopping yourself in embarrassment when you realised it was the piece Youngho told you was his favourite.

Though you weren’t exactly sure why you were embarrassed, it wasn’t as if your butler knew that. 

“Who is it?” 

“Lord Suh, Miss,” your eyes widened as the words left him, standing up from the piano and adjusting your dress, your hand coming up to your face, making sure there was no sleep in your eyes as you nodded at your butler. 

“Okay, you can send him in. Thank you.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when Youngho entered, though the scene had come to mind many times before. 

You imagined him coming into the room with a dramatic profession of apologies, and another scenario where you imagined him to come to you with a sombre expression on his face, pleading with you to forgive him. You would be lying if you said you didn’t even imagine him simply coming to the room and kissing you, but of course, that was a little far fetched. 

What you surely didn’t anticipate was for Youngho to enter the room, a determined look on his face as he met your gaze, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“Are you thinking?” he asked. 

Taken aback by his words, you tilted your head at him, confusion written all over your features. This definitely was not something you anticipated in your daydreams.  

“What’s there for me to think so urgently about?” you asked, watching as Youngho brought a hand up to press it against his forehead, letting his hand drop to his side. 

Shaking his head, he pressed his tongue in his cheek, a small huff leaving him, “Do you really want to wed that man? You cannot possibly be in love with him, you barely know him!”

His tone was insistent, bordering on desperate, a contrast to your still solemn expression, something you were falling back on in the hope that you would not start crying. 

“My mother knows him well enough.” 

Youngho sighed, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips, and you struggled not to let your gaze linger too long on his lips, shifting your gaze to look out of the window. 

“It is your marriage, Y/N. Not your mother’s, nor your family’s,” he spoke, softer now, but with all the same insistence as before. 

“Is it really?” you frowned, “aren’t all marriages these days purely business? When you marry someone, you’re marrying their family as well—weren’t you all too aware of this? Surely, this was why you chose not to tell me you were a marquess, was it not?” 

Youngho frowned. 

“That was not why I did not tell you. It was never about business to begin with,” he shook his head, pained to see your hurt being expressed in such a way, yet still unsure about how to voice out his thoughts. 

“You may take me for a fool, Youngho, but I know for a fact that you are anything but,” you folded your arms across your chest, breathing in deeply though it didn’t seem to satisfy you again, breathlessness creeping up on you, “what makes you think I am any different? How can you be so sure that I will marry this man for love?” 

Youngho’s expression turned even more serious at your words, holding a certain confidence to it that intimidated you, knowing you could never hide from him as much as you were attempting to do so now through your words. 

“I don’t believe you’d marry without it,” he spoke firmly, more as a statement, a fact. 

It made your mind go blank, knowing he was right. 

You shook your head slowly, your gaze hardening in an attempt to remain firm, “Whether you believe me or not, that does not change the fact that he has made his intentions clear. He is offering money and stability. My family can afford the dowry. I am in no position to refuse.” 

Perhaps you would be able to if he did something, you wanted to add. But somehow in that moment, you were afraid. The past few weeks have been a reminder to you of the helplessness you feared, the kind where you were unsupported, left to flail around for yourself not knowing what you were doing. 

This hardening of your gaze, of your words, of your heart, they were your last-ditch attempt at protecting yourself from that feeling of helplessness you were starting to grow familiar with in the past few weeks. You did not want to grow familiar with it, not for the rest of your life. 

“That man does not deserve you,” Youngho frowned, the way he looked at you with such sincerity making you avert your gaze, his attentiveness becoming too much, as if he was unlocking the part of you that yearned, telling you the things you needed to be reminded of. 

“I did not choose him based on how much he deserves me,” you muttered. 

“That’s because it wasn’t you choosing him at all,” Youngho shot back just as quickly, making you sigh. 

“I know,” you murmured, your voice barely above a murmur as you felt your body yelling at you, telling you to take deeper breaths even though with each breath you took, it didn’t feel like enough.

You were starting to feel like the room was growing suffocating, frustration and longing and everything in between overwhelming you, “I do not have a choice—” 

“No, but you do,” he insisted, “you do have a choice. You can reject him and no one would blame you.” 

Your words were coming out faster than you could process now, only being able to focus on the boy in front of you and the way your heart felt like it was aching for that protection, that assurance, that Youngho allowed you to know. 

“And then what? Disappoint my family by saying no to the one thing they let me do?” you huffed, exasperated, “lose my parents’ trust because I wasn’t honest with them for once in my life?” 

Youngho sighed deeply, “What about love—” 

“And what about honesty?” You said, trying to breathe deeply but the ache in your chest made it difficult to, your fists clenching around your clothes as if trying to lessen the way it felt like you were being crushed. 

“Is that what you are ready to settle for, then?” Youngho’s tone was disbelieving, as if baffled that you were willing to sacrifice your needs and wants so easily, “mindless flattery from a man who is only honest about the fact that he sees you as a prize to be won?” 

Youngho regretted his words the moment they left him, seeing how you were leaning on the piano for balance, shaky breaths leaving you as your eyes welled up with tears once again. 

“I know!” You blurted, “... I know,” your hand came up to wipe your tears harshly, the other hand still gripping tightly onto your clothes, “It is not flattering to be desired… whilst not being loved.” 

Youngho couldn’t help himself now, moving without hesitation as he rushed over to where you were, his hands coming to grip your shoulders, letting you lean on him as he pulled you into his arms, your hands letting go of your dress weakly and falling to your sides as you let yourself remember what it felt like to be enveloped in this protection, in this support. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his hand coming up to rub your back soothingly, his hold unwavering as he waited for you to calm down. 

“Why are you doing this to me, Youngho?” Your voice was muffled through his clothing, your tears falling freely now as you cried, his hands still comforting you as he sighed. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry for upsetting you, I didn’t mean to.” 

You frowned, daring yourself to pull away from where your head rested against his chest, looking up to meet his gaze, still wrapped in the security of his arms. 

“I’m upset… yet I don’t quite think that’s the word I’m looking for. I’m… at a loss,” you told him, seeing him press his lips into a firm line as he nodded at you slowly, prompting you to continue. 

“Having to listen to you tell me not to marry a man we both know I have no true desire to marry, that I have no affection for… it’s… Here I am, feeling chained to my guilt as a daughter yet not being able to find any part of me that is truly satisfied in making up for my guilt in this way, or fulfilling my ‘duty’ as a daughter through this obedience.” 

You swallowed, averting your gaze to glance at Youngho’s collar before bringing your gaze back up to meet his eyes, the same hazel glow in them that made you feel as though he were the sun and you were simply a sunflower, gravitating towards him. 

Youngho guided you over to the sofa near the piano, letting you sit down, one of his hands still placed protectively over your hand, something you very much appreciated, serving to ground you almost.

“I… I didn’t know what to think, you just stopped showing up and I hadn’t heard from you, I was… I was worried. And to suddenly hear that you were being courted by this man, I just couldn’t help myself,” Youngho admitted, though there wasn’t a trace of regret in his tone that he was here. He didn’t regret this. 

You sighed, the memory feeling almost fresh in your mind as you recalled it. 

“My mother wouldn’t speak to me for weeks after she found my painting, after she read what they said in the scandal sheet. Do you think I like having to be in this position? To desire to be loved by the both of you but to feel as though the two are mutually exclusive.” 

At that moment, it felt as though you were laying your heart bare to Youngho, feeling as though you were the man in the painting you saw in the church, stepping out of the safety of your boat into the raging waters because you saw the one you loved, because you heard them call you to step out, and so you did. Willing yourself to be vulnerable for this love you felt for Youngho. 

“I was upset because… well, how can you even think of asking me if this is what I want? How can you think that for a second I would want to trade you in for a man who cannot possibly compare to you?” you frowned, bewildered that he could ever think such a thing. 

“How could you think for a second that I would want to settle for that man’s corrupt desire?” you murmured, searching his gaze that you saw was growing more insistent. 

“Well, then, what if you had both? What if you had someone who both desired and loved you with their entire being?” 

You shot him a pointed look. 

You knew Youngho was one that enjoyed speaking hypothetically about things, but you didn’t think now was exactly a perfect time to be doing so. 

Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, you huffed, “Youngho, discussing hypotheticals is not going to make this situation any less real.” 

How could you explain this to him? It didn’t matter if it was someone who desired and loved you, you were only wishing that someone would be him. 

Youngho shook his head, eyes wide as if he were sounding out a new idea to you for his art piece, making your eyebrows lift in curiosity. 

“I know, but what if you already had someone who loved you? What if they were in front of you right now. Would that change your mind about proceeding with that man?” 

You frowned, “Youngho, would you just speak plainly with me? What is it that you are trying to say?” 

Youngho’s lips parted, huffing in amusement in spite of himself, gathering up the rest of his heart to present it to you. 

“I don’t know how much plainer I can get than…”

Youngho’s eyebrows lifted slightly, an almost pleading look to his gaze as you felt his hand squeeze yours gently. 

“Y/N, do you not see that I love you deeply?” 

There it was, the grip that caught you before you could sink into the raging waters, the security and safety that enveloped your vulnerability. 

Perhaps the question you were meant to ponder all this while wasn’t really ‘how willing were you to be vulnerable?’, but ‘how safe did you feel to be vulnerable?’. 

The answer was simple to you now as you looked at him. 

Simple, but far from simplistic. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” you told him, watching how his expression softened, his hand over yours grasping onto you tighter. 

“If it’s the money your mother is worried about… I don’t care about a dowry,” he blurted, thinking off the top of his head, the sudden mention of a dowry making you laugh at the absurdity of it. 

“I know you don’t, you never had to,” you scoffed, still recovering from your amusement that he would think you cared about such a thing. 

Youngho’s eyebrows lifted slightly in question, more curious than challenging. 

“Does that fact upset you?” 

You hummed, bringing one of your hands to cover his, running your thumb over the skin of his knuckles in a way that made Youngho melt. 

“How do I explain this to you, Youngho?... You don’t care about a dowry? Quite frankly, neither do I,” you let out an amused huff, “I find myself unable to care about anything other than the fact that it was your hands, your eyes, your heart… that it was you who… let me know what it feels like to be immortalised.”

“It has ruined any chance of me considering anyone else, because if I am to be immortalised, if I am to be conveyed into art, if I am to be vulnerable, if I am to be held... I want it to happen by your hands,” your tone was firm, all the love that swelled in your heart finally making its way out of you and trying to reach his, “your hands and no one else’s, Youngho.” 

“Even now with the knowledge that you are a marquess, that fact has no weight on my decision to love you because I did not fall in love with a marquess . I fell in love with you, your soul. " 

Youngho didn’t think he was breathing. All he could focus on was your voice that rang in his head, sweeter than any melody you played on the piano, sweeter than any sound he had heard, laced with love and painting vivid colours on his heart. 

“I only ever have the privilege of one answer for the suitors I’m presented with… but it was an answer I was only ever willing, or hoping , to offer to you,” a hint of a smile played at your lips, “so, forgive me, for not caring about the dowry either.” 

Youngho’s lips parted, not finding himself thinking about his words carefully, simply letting his heart go before him in his words, his own love desperate to make its way into your heart and make a home there. 

“I brought something for you,” he began, using his free hand (simply because he did not want to let go of your hand) to reach into his coat, pulling out the leatherbound sketchbook you recognised from before. 

“Remember how I told you it was never about business to begin with?” he spoke, earning a nod from you, his fingers absently toying with the string of the worn sketchbook. 

“It’s because… I’ve seen how fickle people are. How they change the moment they find out you are of a certain status or possess certain wealth. It made me cynical for a long time,” this time, you couldn’t find it in you to look away, his gaze that was searching yours was far too beautiful to miss, “I didn’t trust people’s intentions because most of the time they really were only interested in my money or my family.” 

You nodded, prompting him to continue. 

“It’s why I never liked doing portraits,” he admitted, “they always felt cold . It was… overwhelming to me; the idea of immortalising a creature so fickle, so tainted by power and money. You could never really see the person for who they were, only the things they wanted to show off.” 

“So,” he let out a deep sigh, “I told myself that if I ever met someone who could see me as just a poor painter, with little to nothing to his name. Just me, with nothing but myself to show off, and love me in spite of that… then I’d consider. I know it doesn’t change the fact that I lied to you, but… I can’t say I regret it because you proved me wrong.” 

You felt your heart ache, wishing you could express to him just how much love you had for him, how much love he had been missing out on all this while. You wished to hold him in it for as long as you could. 

“You were the first,” he murmured, “to truly see me.” 

He pushed the sketchbook towards you, lifting your hand slightly to let it rest on the leather. 

You recalled his words, how showing you his sketchbook would be him baring his heart to you, and somehow the thought made a wave of emotion wash through you. This was his way of stepping out of the boat, rushing to you after your heart called out to him, willing himself to be vulnerable for love. 

“This,” he gestured to the sketchbook, and perhaps implied much more, “is yours now.”

Letting out a deep breath, this time his confidence showing in the firmness of his tone, the surety of his gaze, “I’ve come to realise that… it was always yours.”   

Letting go of your hands slowly, with all the reluctance in his being, he stood up, nodding resolutely more for himself than for you. 

“I should be taking my leave now… I… hope I’ve made my intentions clear.” 

And you let him leave without another word, watching as his figure disappeared out of your door, past the sunflowers in your garden that looked as though they too were reluctant for him to leave. 

Directing your gaze back to his sketchbook, you fiddled with the string, almost hesitant to open it out of a sheer want to treat it delicately. 

His sketchbook, his art, his heart that he declared was yours now, that was always yours. You saw it clearly once you undid the little knot that kept it closed. 

You saw it in the drawing of your hands on the piano keys, in the drawing of the view of your back as you walked away from him at the flower market, sunflowers peeking over your shoulder to look at him, in the drawing of your hands clasped in front of your dress holding the bundle of cloth wrapped around the honey biscuits. 

You continued to flip the pages. 

The image of your side view, playing the piano in his studio, the image of you tending to the flowers that he gave you, the view of you mulling the paint from where he sat on his stool. The view of you holding his sketches above your head as you decorated his studio. 

It was as though you were seeing yourself from his perspective, ridden with a certain affection and yearning that felt so intimate to be looking at in such a way, knowing it was his hands that had conveyed you into this… permanence. It was sureness found even in the strokes of graphite against paper. 

You dared yourself to continue to flip the pages. 

You noticed that there were even more drawings now, multiple drawings of the same memory, as if you were watching the moment happen before your eyes again. 

An image of your stocking halfway up your calf, your hands grasping it firmly by the hem. Another image of your hands around the delicate pink silk ribbon garter, in the middle of untying the garter. An image of your leg with the little sunflower on your ankle, another image of just that same sunflower alone. 

An image of you in the field with him that night, the mouth of the wine glass touching delicately against your lips, an image of the little smile you mustered after tasting the wine. An image of the smile that hardly left your face that night as you looked at him. Next to the image of your smile, a drawing of tulips. An image of his view of you as you lay your head on his lap, looking up at him, almost embarrassing you as you saw how much affection you could detect in your gaze even then. 

An image of your hand clasped around his, almost being able to remember the feel of his fingertips under your nails as you pressed them gently against his skin. An image of your eyes shut, lips gently parted, wildflowers peeking out from the grass next to your shoulders and his thigh as you waited for the feel of his lips against yours. 

The detail of your features in watercolour as you flipped the pages almost made you feel as though you were looking at a mirror. There was nothing cold about what you were looking at, but instead all the warmth that came with your soul and his, reflected on the paper. 

The whole sketchbook was filled with you, and in it, him as well. All the love he had for you in every line, in every shade, even in the pressure of his pencil against paper, in the colours that made his sketches come alive. This was his heart, for your eyes only. 

In short, you felt loved. 

Perhaps, this was it. The intangible thing you sought, love, made tangible in Youngho. 

=== 

Dancing was tricky business, as you knew. And a rule that you couldn’t help but call to mind now was that if a lady like you were to dance more than twice with the same man in the same night, or furthermore refuse to dance with any but him, you were basically announcing to the world that the both of you were engaged.

It was all that rang through your head as you stood with your sister as the viscount had just returned with drinks for the both of you, slipping off your gloves to accept the drink as you trained your gaze on where your mother was a little far off from you, seeming to be in an intense conversation with Youngho. 

“What do you suppose they’re talking about?” you whispered harshly to your sister, anxious as you watched from afar. 

Her laugh caught you off guard, turning to her with wide-eyes. 

“What else do you think they could be talking about? You don’t suppose they would be engaging in such a fervent conversation about paintings, do you?” her tone was sarcastic, laced with amusement as you frowned, huffing. 

Sure, as you watched Youngho, he looked relaxed, radiating the same calm confidence as he spoke to your mother, even smiling while your mother’s expression remained almost surprised. 

You figured that was a good sign, right? As opposed to if her expression was sour. 

“I’m trying to read his lips,” Jaehyun murmured, “but I’m absolutely certain he just said ‘you have nothing to worry about’.” 

Your eyebrows lifted. Of course it would be Youngho, saying that to your mother of all people. That was almost as good as pointing at a table and demanding for it to get up and walk.

Your mind was absolutely racing as you saw her nod, already making her way towards you, with Youngho following a few paces behind her. 

Reaching you, you exchanged a look with your sister before turning your gaze towards your mother. Jaehyun stood beside her, looking on with evident amusement at the scene playing out before him. 

Letting out a tired sigh, she lowered her voice to a murmur. 

“I do not know what it is about you that has seemed to have caught his eye,” she looked as though she were in disbelief, “But the young man was so insistent on getting my approval for him to pursue a marriage with you. Judging by his demeanour, his background, I find no complaints.” 

Your eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise, glancing at Youngho who stood behind her with a certain sense of pride that glowed within you. A pride that came with knowing that this was who he was— insistent, charming, sincere— and that did not change with his social status. 

“He insists that he has already asked for your permission, is that correct?” 

You tore your gaze away from Youngho, meeting your mother’s gaze with a firmness unlike Youngho has ever seen you show your mother, his own little pride glowing in his heart as he watched you. 

“He has,” you told her, “and I have granted it to him.”

Your mother’s eyes widened just briefly, surprised at your tone, yet feeling as though she should have seen it coming at the same time. 

She simply let out a breath through her nose, nodding. 

“Then I expect you to see this through,” she told you, as though it were an instruction, “for a man with his status to be looking so favourably upon you, it is a miracle , if anything. Do not ruin this opportunity.” 

You couldn’t help the smile that played at your lips, amused at the way your mother had no idea who Youngho was, and that she would continue to have no idea that he was the same Youngho she was forbidding you to see just weeks before. And you intended for it to stay that way, yours and Youngho’s little secret. 

“Oh, don’t worry, mother. I definitely won’t.” 

Turning to give him a sweet smile, Youngho felt his heart jump in his chest as he extended a hand towards you, asking you for a dance with such politeness that it almost made you laugh. 

Following him onto the dance floor, you assumed your positions so naturally that it was a given that anyone who looked in from the outside would be able to tell that the two of you were well-acquainted.

And as you started to dance, somehow, it felt like Youngho was the only one you could focus on in the room. 

Youngho. Youngho. Youngho.

Your little mantra of love began to echo once again with each beat of your heart, begging to reach his heart that you almost didn’t notice yourself saying his name. 

Youngho smiled, a certain knowingness to his playful gaze. 

“Yes, my beloved?” 

Your lips parted, poorly hiding the way the words had sent warmth all through your body, the feeling of his hand pressing against yours as you waltzed, the intimacy of the choreography and the way he was looking at you making your head spin. 

“Beloved?” you echoed, implication behind the word making you lean into him unconsciously, burying yourself in the security you felt in his hold. 

Youngho let out an amused huff that turned into a giggle that bubbled out of him, “You sound surprised. It is no secret that I love you, Y/N.” 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“My head is spinning,” you admitted, earning a dramatic gasp from him, giving you a playful sheepish look. 

“Sorry, perhaps I dressed too nicely today,” he drawled, the teasing lilt of his tone making your smile grow. 

“Are you teasing me?” you scoffed, your smile removing any possible trace of menace. 

Youngho pressed his lips together, the softest of smiles on his face. 

“Not in the slightest bit.” 

Feigning a glare at him, it didn’t last long the longer you held his gaze, the both of you poorly stifling your joy as little giggles threatened to escape you. 

“I’m not going to impose on you,” he began, sounding breathless from barely having recovered from his bout of giggles. 

“That’s questionable,” you took your chance to quip, earning a scoff from him. 

“All I’ll say is, I’m going to ask you for a third dance. And what you choose to respond with is entirely up to you.” 

Your tongue peeked out to wet your lips, the gesture making Youngho’s gaze shift briefly from your eyes to your lips, evidently having to force himself to bring his gaze back up to your eyes, looking at you with all the affection you wished you could immortalise in a painting. 

Nodding at him, you let yourself enjoy the rest of the dance with him, smiling until your cheeks hurt. And you let it continue as he asked you for a third dance, the both of you not giving it a second thought as you continued to relish in each other’s presence, in each other’s touch, in each other’s love. 

Oblivious to the murmurs and gossip that the both of you were inciting, you were only able to focus on him and him on you, protected and enveloped in the love you both shared no matter how exposed you felt in the room, just as how it should’ve always been. 

Conduct books be damned, here you were, simply a lady in love. 

[remakethestars]

CABIN 7 — APOLLO

Headcanons.

❝There ought to be more drama, I think. A musical crescendo. Confetti.❞

— Jess Cooper, I Am Still Alive

Headcanon masterlist.

Oh, boy — this is my cabin, y'all; buckle up! 😁

Not all Apollo kids are good at everything their dad's good at, okay? I sure as heck can’t paint or play an instrument. 

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of violence?

They run an underground tattoo parlor.

That's where Will & Butch got their respective sun & rainbow tats.

Apollo kids with lyrics tattooed into their skin.

Rick says there isn't much by way of décor inside, which is f*in' B.S. Apollo's the god of art; those walls have been graffitied Tangled style.

🎶 i'll paint the walls some more — i'm sure there's room somewhere! 🎶

The east wall is covered in a landscape of a sunrise, & the west has a sunset (because the sun rises in the east & sets in the — yeah, I'll see myself out).

The north & south walls & the ceiling are white, though, because it really brightens/opens up the space (C7 has the 2ⁿᵈ most campers under C11 because Apollo's a slut; things can get a little crowded in the summer).

When there’re celebrations, the artistically inclined kids bust out the face paint. Especially for the younger campers.

The artistically inclined are the ones that paint the camp beads for the end of the summer. Despite the numbers, it doesn’t take them as long as one might think.

Rick said the ceiling had cedar beams, but we're not gonna do Cyparissius dirty like that. Cypress wood is good for building; the beams are cypress. You know what? F*ck you — the whole dang cabin's cypress!

There’s a massive, potted aloe vera plant by the steps that gets moved into the C4 greenhouse in the winter. It’s one of those old ones — because everyone knows the old aloe plants work better for burns & blisters than these sh¡tty new ones. (It’s constantly getting broken off to heal burns & stuff.) 

Rick said there are potted red & purple hyacinths in the window & yellow flowers from Delos. That's true.

I'd say the flowerbeds around the cabin are full of healing plants, but I feel like they'd be better off around the infirmary for obvious reasons.

I do feel like there's a laurel tree planted outside C7, though, because Apollo's a pining b¡tch.

And there's an actual infirmary building, okay? Rick's kinda inconsistent about that. Sometimes he says "infirmary," sometimes he says the Big House is running over with injured, & apparently there's a cot dead center for injured in C7? B.S.

Or maybe I've just read too much fanfic, and the authors don't get it right?

Either way, there's an infirmary building with surgery & delivery rooms. One floor. Locker room for C7 kids to store their scrubs & sh¡t.

They go for yellow scrubs, though, because orange C.H.B. scrubs make them look like escaped convicts.

Fun Band-Aids™

They give out little orange stickers with laurels around the edges that are like I voted! stickers, but they're injury-specific.

I got my leg(s) reattached! & Percy Jackson shot me in the butt! & I ticked off Clarisse! & I made out with an Aphrodite kid in the poison ivy! & I fell off the lava wall! & I got pranked by the Stolls!

After a war or just when there’re a lot of campers in the infirmary, there seems to be a constant flow of Apollo kids singing one hymn to their father in unison to heal someone.

Sometimes, an unconscious camper wakes in a cot & thinks they’ve died & gone to the wrong afterlife for a moment because their singing sounds like angels. 

The medically inclined wash their hands like surgeons. 

Kind of germophobic?

They also go around tying surgeons knots in everything.

In the summer, they’re walking Banana Boat sunscreen & after-sun aloe lotion dispensers.

The medically inclined also have the world’s sh¡ttiest handwriting.

They have to work hard to fix it if it bothers them. 

Can check your vitals & run a blood test just by touching you.

A lot of them casually touch their loved ones (at least, the ones that aren’t in C7) every morning to check their vitals & see how their health’s doing.

They do it subconsciously every time they touch someone & don’t notice it until they pick up something’s wrong.

They can do this for themselves as well. Though it may not be as accurate? And they take daily vitamins depending on what they need.

Organize their lives via pill box (never lose an earring).

Fight surgically. Every blade in their hands becomes a scalpel, & every time they’re going in for a kill against an armed anthropomorphic monster, they slice the tendons in its arm required to grip its weapon to disable it before going in for the kill.

Back to C7, it’s got a little porch with a porch swing. The kids sit on it sometimes & teach people how to play instruments.

They leave the porch light on at night when they’re waiting for one of their siblings to come home from a quest.

Jumping into the depressing sh¡t, they never found Michael’s body, so they only presumed him dead. They leave the porch light on every night now, hoping he’ll come home.

Apollo kids are afraid of the dark. They use the buddy system after the sun goes down. 

The cabin’s central light fixture is a papier-mâché sun that’s been charmed to glow when someone sings 🎶 clap on 🎶 & stop glowing when someone sings 🎶 clap off. 🎶

The curtains are a gold fabric. They’re only closed at night. Because, again, C7 kids are afraid of the dark.

The Wikipedia says Apollo kids are cursed to be afraid of snakes (I assume by the Python Apollo killed). I feel like they’d burn a lot of aster leaves then. I read somewhere it was said by the Greeks to ward off evil spirits & snakes.

They play Go Fish with their tarot cards. They’re really good at tarot games.

Hand-drawn tarot decks featuring figures form Greek myth.

There’s a target on the back wall they practice throwing cards at. They can throw them in combat for a distraction with terrifying accuracy. 

There’s a Magic 8 ball that’s passed around on the Winter Solstice (the longest night of the year), when — as a headcanon I’m sure I’ve read somewhere has indicated — they’re up all night.

Crystal balls are allowed. However, they must be covered with a cloth or placed in a box when not in use because they’re double-convex lenses, & we don’t want another incident like the fire of 1993.

Sometimes, they make little predictions throughout the day other campers may find disturbing. Such as whipping around and catching a stray arrow without warning (spidey sense?). Or cutting you off when you’re talking about someone moments before they walk into the room.

There’s a tea cart in the corner. Because tea is good for healing & they’ve accumulated an addiction.

The cart has a radio on it that’s always on at night because a lot of C7 kids can’t sleep without noise. (Inspired by @sugarandspiceandkindanice.)

Most of the time, it’s on a nearby country station that actually plays good country at night. But sometimes they switch channels — especially when there’s a new kid settling in & they could use the comfort.

There’s a portable record player there too. The shelves under the cart are full of C.D.s & records.

I’m sure I’ve read a headcanon somewhere that they sing every morning while getting ready for the day. That’s true.

The number of times it’s been “When Will My Life Begin” from Tangled is disturbing, though. 

🎶 seven a.m., the usual morning lineup! 🎶

Luke said in The Lightning Thief C11 is up at 07:00 & breakfast is at 08:00, I think, but we all know Apollo’s waking his kids up when the sun rises. 

A lot of the time, someone will just start out with whatever song they have stuck in their head & everyone else will pick it up.

Sometimes, this leads to members having the aforementioned song stuck in their head for the rest of the day.

Even the people who aren’t musically inclined will sing along, as they’re usually drowned out by the music kids that get really into it.

So sometimes those not-music kids will find themselves singing by themselves during the day years later & are surprised to find — they actually sound good?? Or at least not bad??? And it’s because singing is a learned skill & they picked it up.

I’m sure I’ve also read a headcanon somewhere that they sing “Look Down” from Les Mis when they have to do menial chores, but I'm adding “It’s a Hard-Knock Life” from Annie, “Whistle While You Work” from Snow White, “Happy Working Song” from Enchanted, & the Smurf song.

They break into song all the time.

Lee was glaring at Tantalus once & made the mistake of saying, “Sometimes, I wish —” and the entire cabin broke out with “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

🎶 — i'd never been born at all! carry on, carry on… 🎶

As mentioned in at least The Lightning Thief & The Lost Hero, they spend a lot of time playing basketball. You can bet your butt they do a rendition of “Getcha Head in the Game” from High School Musical every time there’s a new camper passing by.

They have a sister named Jubilee, and every time someone greets her — "Hey, Jube!" — the entire cabin breaks into “Hey, Jude” by The Beetles.

🎶 hey, Jube! don't make it bad. take a sad song & make it better… 🎶

Sometimes, if there are two campers that really need to get together, C10′ll commission C7 to sing “Kiss the Girl” from The Little Mermaid (or the same song with different pronouns, obviously). 

It’s usually a capella unless someone happens to have an instrument on them.

Rickrolling. 

The “Macarena.” 

Apollo takes clandestine recordings of their jam sessions & distributes them professionally. Whatever money’s made goes directly into their college funds or they periodically find it under their pillow tooth-fairy-style.

There’s a lot of denim because the artistic members like to paint on the backs of jackets & the pockets of jeans.

A lot of them have excellent aim with most projectiles, so they toss stuff to each other a lot. This results in them being oddly in sync, so they can catch something from another sibling without warning & without looking like Sam & Dean Winchester do in Supernatural. 

Their life looks like a Dude Perfect trick shot video. 

It also results in some funny looks when they hurl things halfway across camp to each other. Namely, the whistling Nerf football. 

C7 is two stories. The second story has paint on every wall. 

The east wall upstairs has arrows mounted that got Robin Hooded along with a little tag with the name of the C7 kid & the date it happened.

They also have arrows mounted from the first bullseye if there’s a member being taught. 

Lots of musical instruments & art supplies up there.

There’s an old T.V. up there. They have all of Bob Ross’s show on V.H.S.

C7′s south wall (ground floor) holds the door to the bathroom on one side & a door leading to the stairs. 

It also hosts framed photos of Charlotte, Lee, & Michael.

Instead of saying “shoot,” they say “loose.” For everything. Instead of saying “Shoot!” when they drop something, they say “Loose!” 

It's kinda one of those things — like your friend starts saying something & you just integrate it into your vocabulary subconsciously.

They like to play a game where you shoot an arrow straight up & try to catch it as it comes back down.

That sounds really stupid on their part, but it actually comes in handy when someone tries to shoot them in combat & they catch the arrow, dumbfounding whoever's attempted to skewer them.

The cresting on their arrows is in Morse code of their nickname (·—— ·· ·—·· ·—··). They can take one look at an arrow & tell what’s whose.

And the paint color of the cresting tells them what kind of arrow it is — bullet tip, broadhead, explosive, etc. 

Every bunk in C7 is made with hospital corners. No exceptions. The kids who aren’t medically inclined learn because all the beds being made the same way makes it look cleaner for inspection.

I can’t decide if Apollo kids have really good eyesight so they fit the Hawkeye bill or if they’ve all just read — Apollo’s the god of knowledge — & painted so much they’ve messed up their eyes.

The number of times one of them has used bowstring wax on an art project in a rush instead of glue is hilariously large.

I use String Snot, and it comes in a container that looks like a glue stick.

A lot of them wear bracers all the time.

When the time it takes to sling one’s quiver onto one’s back, grab one’s bow, knock an arrow, & draw is so long, one really doesn’t have time to also strap on their bracers before rushing out of the cabin to threaten a giant bronze dragon.

Not to mention if they use a recurve, they’ll also have to string their bow.

And a number of them do use recurves due to the abilities to both knock multiple arrows at once & to restring in the field.

Bows with risers coated in golden, reflective paint & limbs painted with artistic strokes.

Trick arrows are their jam. C9 is constantly being asked for new arrows.

Explosive arrows, sonic arrows, grappling hook arrows…

That’s another saying they’ve all taken to: “___ is my jam!”

There’s a bookshelf or reference material on Apollo for new C7 kids (as Rick’s indicated), but the rest of the case is full of medical journals & textbooks & books on art & poetry & divining the future.

A lot — if not all — of them have either gold flecks in their eyes or central heterochromia.

Freckles across their noses & shoulders & on the tips of their ears. Tans. Sun-bleached hair. 

Long, nimble fingers perfect for playing musical instruments.

Either they hate the winter because the sun's out for less time (so you’ll find them walking around with blanched skin & faded freckles & with both a hoody & a parka on), or they’re perfectly fine with winter & are used by everyone around them as walking space heaters. 

They spend a lot of time with Castor & Pollux. 

Rachel sits at T7. She’s practically an Apollo kid at this point. 

While her cave was being renovated, she stayed in C7.

Their dad’s the god of truth; none of these M.F.s can lie worth a sh¡t. 

But, by the gods, they can tell when you’re lying.

And they take it as a personal insult. That you (A) would dare do something as immoral as lying in the first place & that you (B) would dare to insult their intelligence in such a way because you thought they couldn’t tell.

C6 & C7 are both known for reacting outrageously when their intelligence is insulted (see: chapter 10 of The Battle of the Labyrinth). 

The more civil of the reactions of a C7 kid being lied to is cursing the liar to tell the truth, which I believe they can. 

They can curse you to speak in rhyming couplets; they should be able to curse you to tell the truth.

You mean to tell me none of these kids have created a functioning Lasso of Truth yet?

This one's really long. 😅

A lot of people fancast Sam Claflin as Apollo, but I'm going with Ross Lynch. 'Cause I do what I want. 😎

Visit my Apollo cabin Pinterest board or my headcanon masterlist.

DISCLAIMER ━━━ These headcanons are what I consider to be canon in my fanfictions. They may be others’s headcanons I’ve subconsciously filed away in my noggin. If one’s yours and you want it removed or credited, please send me your post and let me know.

[ace-trainer-risu]

what are your fave diana wynne jones books that aren’t howl’s moving castle??

Oh whattt a lovely and fun question which I was definitely not secretly hoping someone would ask!!!! Yay!!

Hm okay so, not specifically in order, probably my top fave Diana Wynne Jones books would be:

Deep Secret! Deep Secret is not just one of my favorite books by DWJ but one of my favorite books full stop! It’s so good. Basically, the premise is that there is an infinite series of interconnected worlds, some of which have magic and some of which don’t, at the center of which is a vast interdimensional magical empire. Magic in the multiverse is overseen by an organization of magicians called Magids and there must always be a specific number of Magids in existence. When Rupert, a young Magid living on Earth, discovers that his mentor has died (ish) he becomes unexpectedly responsible for finding and training the next Magid, which is extremely inconvenient timing for him because the aforementioned magical empire is on the brink of civil war and chaos and its his job to stop it. And also almost all of this takes place at...a science fiction convention. It’s amazing.  I have read this book minimum four (probably more) times and every time it’s absolutely delightful and hilarious. I would like to go to the sci fi convention in this novel more than anything. It’s such a good read and its one of her few novels which is specifically aimed at adults, so I would EXTREMELY recommend it. Plus the romance in it is extremely good...not exactly enemy-to-lovers but more like ‘annoys-the-shit-out-of-each-other’ to lovers.  (**One note about this one...there’s a few very briefly mentioned side characters who are gender noncomforming and even tho they are actually portrayed very positively, it’s not necessarily ideal and 100% respectful (basically the protags comment on them being very beautiful and nice but also keep trying to guess their “real” gender). Additionally there’s a different briefly mentioned side character who is fat who isn’t portrayed very nicely. Both of these are brief incidents, just wanted to provide a warning for them)

Dark Lord of Derkholm - Okay this one is weirdly hard to summarize but it’s about this magical fantasy world which has been taken overy and is being used as a tourist destination by a non-magical world (heavily implied to be Earth) for people who want to role play at being in a classic high fantasy story, including fighting and killing THE DARK LORD...who is really just a random magician pretending to be evil. The inhabitants of the fantasy world do not enjoy this and are trying desperately to stop the tours, but unfortunately according to a magical oracle, their best hope of stopping the tours is this year’s Dark Lord, a hapless farmer magician named Derk, and his, um, eccentric family consisting of his glamorous wife, seven children (of whom five are griffins and one is a bard) and a simply improbable amount of magical animals. And also there is a very good dragon.  I think Derkholm is so great as a novel b/c it’s a very funny, loving but sharp, parody of high fantasy stories...but a lot of the time parodies only function as parodies but not as good stories in their own right, you know? But this novel completely functions as a story too, and in fact the first time I read at maybe age nine or ten, the high fantasy parody went completely over my head...but I still loved it. I also really love that this novel is very accessible to all ages, I think I enjoy reading it as an adult just as much as I did as a kid, which is rare.  For anyone who has read Howl’s Moving Castle but nothing else by DWJ and isn’t sure where to start, I think this is a great place to start. (TW: There’s a brief, non-explicit scene which has implied sexual assault.) 

Fire and Hemlock - This may be the most controversial one since it features a romance with a significant age gap where the two characters meet when one is a child and the other an adult. And I fully agree that that’s :/ and normally that trope is NOT my thing but it doesn’t come off at all creepy in this story imo, and if you think you can deal with that then this is a very weird, atmospheric, cool book about storytelling and fairy tales and growing up. The short summary (this is another hard to summarize one) is that as a child, Polly encounters and strikes up a friendship and correspondence with a young man, Tom, which mainly consists of the two of them jointly making up a silly, ongoing fairy tale type story...but things get weird when parts of their story start to come true in real life.  I’ve only read this one twice but it really stuck with me and in fact just describing it here...really makes me want to read it again!

The Chrestomanci Series - So all of the above are either specifically aimed at adults or a general audience whereas the Chrestomanci series is aimed at children, mainly a middle grade type audience. And tbh I started reading them as a kid (fond memory - I bought an omnibus of the first two with my allowance money...b/c it had a cat on the cover!) so I don’t know what it would be like to first read these as an older teen or an adult. BUT. Honestly they are really good and would be a quick read so I do still recommend them. There’s seven overall, with th seventh being a collection of short stories, and they’re only semi-chronological so the reading order isn’t vital. My recommended order (b/c this the order I read them in, haha) is Charmed Life, The Lives of Christopher Chant, The Magicians of Caprona, Witch Week, The Pinhoe Egg, Conrad’s Fate, and then Mixed Magic you can read whenever you want so long as you read it after Charmed Life and The Magicians of Caprona.  So the very core premise of it is not dissimilar to Deep Secret - there’s an infinite series of worlds/universes and there’s a magician, called the Crestomanci in this case, who is responsible for making sure magic isn’t abused across the multiverse. The Chrestomanci is an extremely powerful enchanter who has nine lives, and the novels are various semi-connected stories about the adventures of Chrestomanci as an adult and child. Chrestomanci is a title so it’s not always the same person, but for the majority of the stories it is the same guy and he’s...the best/worst...He’s this extremely handsome, charismatic, powerful enchanter who is very good at his job, loves his wife a lot, wears very beautiful clothes and makes, um, questionable life choices and is very annoying to everyone. I’ve thought about this very hard and I believe that he’s what happens when you take a fundamentally chaotic good person and make him do a fundamentally lawful good job; yes, he’s going to do it and do it well, but he is going to do it in the most chaotic, ridiculous way possible, and he IS going to die at an ALARMING rate, doing things that would not normally kill a person, such as playing cricket and trying to catch stray cats. He also, as previously mentioned, frequently wears very dramatic silk dressing gowns with elaborate embroidery, which the protag of Charmed Life finds deeply alarming.  It’s very odd to me how these books don’t seem to be well known, because the Chrestomanci books were some of my absolute favorite books as a child. I still have my omnibus editions of the first four novels and they are very worn and very beloved. And it’s so WILD to me that I don’t think I have ever talked to someone who also read those as a kid! Like I’m not saying those people don’t exist, I’m sure I just haven’t met them, but that’s so weiiirddddd to me. If I bring up Tamora Pierce or Garth Nix or other authors of weird, eccentric children’s fantasy novels to other avid childhood consumers of fantasy, people usually know what I mean, but Chrestomanci and its just..crickets. Is it b/c she’s British? Anyway all of the Chrestomanci books are very degrees of good, but if I had to pick a favorite, I think, controversial choice here, it would be Conrad’s Fate. Particularly in terms of recommendations to others, Conrad’s Fate works as a standalone and, unlike the other books in the series, it’s aimed more at a YA audience, so if you wanted to read a Chrestomanci novel without getting into the whole series, that’s a good way to go. It’s about a boy, Conrad, who is told that he has a terrible, possibly fatal Fate awaiting him unless he goes to work as a servant at a wealthy, and weird, estate neighboring his town, at which place he encounters things including color changing livery, an extremely annoying teenage Chrestomanci, and the greatest liminal space house EVER. It’s like a combination of an upstairs/downstairs Downton Abbey type social drama with bizarre fantasy shenanigans. How could that not be good??

Also as Honorable Mentions - A Sudden and Wild Magic and The Time of the Ghost. A Sudden and Wild Magic is fun b/c it’s one of her few works aimed specifically at adults and it’s (gasp) a little bit NAUGHTY which I was very surprised and delighted by when I read it. (This may seem like an unfair statement considering that Deep Secret fully has an orgy in it, but Rupert is so fundamentally unnaughty of a character that he completely unnaughtifies the whole novel, whereas Sudden and Wild Magic embraces being a (little bit) naughty.)   The Time of the Ghost on the other hand is weird and haunting and creepy and atmospheric. I only read it once but it’s one of those novels you just think about periodically and go “wait what the fuck that was a weird novel” (Also known as the “Garth Nix” effect) 

[helaintoloki]

Hi! Could I request #27 from your prompt list with five hargreeves? Thank you! 💗

warnings: slight language, lots of fluff

*#27: “i like your company” // taken from this prompt list

The enchanting voice of Stevie Nicks drifts through the air of the desolate diner and lulls you into a warm, comfortable state of peace. The heat from your mug of hot cocoa rises past the rim and heats your cool cheeks, and Five watches you curiously from across the way as you fight off the sense of fatigue that begins to encompass you. It’s much past your bedtime, but you don’t mind; this isn’t the first time Five has called upon you in the middle of the night, and it certainly won’t be the last.

“Want some coffee?” Five says, subtly pushing his cup an inch closer to you, but you decline his offer with a small shake of your head. “It’ll help with the fatigue.”

“If I drink that now I’ll be up all night,” you argue with a sheepish smile. “Two hours of sleep before school is better than none.”

“Shit, I completely forgot tomorrow’s Monday,” Five curses almost guiltily, his eyes narrowing at your remorseful figure from across the way. Why are you sorry for him dragging you out this late on a school night? “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I knew you’d make me stay home if I did and try to reschedule,” you shrug indifferently. “And our weekly escapades are the only thing keeping you sane as of late.”

“You can say that again,” Five murmurs with a harsh sigh that drowns out as soon as he brings his mug to his lips for a drink of coffee. You watch as he brings his cup back to the table, slender fingers wrapping around the white porcelain in a tight grip. “You know, I was never really much of a coffee person before this. My dad hates caffeine, just like he hates when we’re late to a mission or when we go through his things.”

“I think most parents hate those kinds of things.”

“No, it’s different,” he says with a furrowed brow, his gaze hyper fixated on the black liquid swirling lazily in his cup, “it’s like you’ve let down the entire world just for forgetting to tuck in your vest or leaving your shoes untied. Some of us have it worse than others, but none of us are normal. No, we’re extraordinary, and he expects nothing less.”

A thoughtful hum leaves you then as digest the information given to you in the form of Five’s casual rant. You don’t know much about Reginald Hargreeves or Five’s siblings— he refuses to bring you over and subject you to his dysfunctional family. You’re the one normal thing he has, you haven’t been tainted by the hands of the Umbrella Academy, and he wants to keep it that way for as long as he possibly can— and all you know is what you’ve gathered through his rare and short lived moments of vulnerability. He doesn’t have it easy, and you always do your best to help ease the weight of the world that weighs heavily upon his shoulders. His leather for your lace, as Stevie Nicks so beautifully puts it.

“Why don’t you talk to someone who understands?” You ask sincerely, not because you don’t enjoy his company but because you wonder if you are enough to help soothe his ailments. It’s true when he says you don’t understand, and you’re not offended because you know you never will, but maybe you’re not the right person to be sneaking off with in the middle of the night. He spoke frequently of his sister Vanya, the powerless runt of the superhero litter, and it crossed your mind to ask Five to bring her to your next outing. But before you could even open your mouth Five shrugged, refusing to meet your gaze as he rubbed the corner of a sugar packet between his thumb and index finger.

“I like your company,” he offers lamely, but you don’t miss the redness that blooms along his cheeks. “You listen, and even though you don’t understand you try to. And, I guess you’re different in the good kind of way. I don’t have to be Number Five around you. Just Five.”

“I’ve always loved this song,” you say suddenly, purposefully trying to change the subject because you know Five hates being vulnerable and he’d rather die than have it become a whole thing. He gives you a grateful smile, you know him better than anyone, and lets out a small breath through his nose.

“Can’t say I’m familiar with this one.”

“It’s Stevie Nicks, dummy. Leather and Lace.”

“I’m sure Luther has one of her records somewhere in his room,” Five says with a faint smile.

“I respect that,” you giggle. “Sounds like he has good music taste.”

“I think you’d like him,” Five says, and he leaves it at that. You both know you’ll never get to meet him, and for now that’s okay with you.

“The first time I saw you I knew with you to light my lights somehow I would get by,” you hum softly, gaze glancing out the window before settling upon Five. “It’s a pretty song, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Five nods softly, a far off look in his eyes that lets you know he’s not all there, but perhaps somewhere else. Somewhere better where he wouldn’t have to hide you away, where he could see you without the cover of the night. Wishful thinking, something he only ever seemed to indulge in when you were present.

He sighs then, the kind of sigh that lets you know your night together is coming to an end, and before you can even reach for your money Five is pulling out a crisp ten dollar from his pocket and setting it on the table. There’s no point in arguing over who pays the bill, especially since Five always wins, so you instead opt for grabbing your jacket and following the boy out into the streets.

Stevie Nicks drifts through the open door and trails behind you, but then the doors swing closed and your magical moment is over.

[jennbabeyy]

Cinderella.

A/N: I’m back !!! This is a long one but I hope y’all enjoy it as much as I did. If you want the full experience, listen to Mac Miller’s song “Cinderella”. Thank you for reading 🥰

-

“I been waitin' all night for this moment I been waitin' all year for this moment I been picturing you takin' off your clothes for me I been literally curvin' all these hoes for you”

Angel swore he didn’t do relationships but there was something about her that drew him in from the very first time. She was innocent, pure and beautiful. He knew that she had men coming after her just by taking one look at her.

He was at a corner store with some of the Mayans collecting money that the owner owed Bishop when he saw her. She was with her friends, never once laying her eyes on him. But Angel swore she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and it would be a shame if he didn’t at least get her name.

It was a whole 20 minutes before Ez dared Angel to ask for her number, which he did.

She wasn’t easy to break through, but when the Mayans left the corner store , Angel left with a giant smile on his face and her number safely tucked in his pocket. The rest of the guys were throwing jokes at him but Angel was on top of the world, nothing could bother him at the moment.

It had been a few weeks later when he finally invited her to the party Bishop was throwing for one of the guys. He kept going back and forth oh the idea of inviting Y/n but eventually Ez convinced him.

It was tough but Angel convinced her to come through, and in the back of his mind he wonders if maybe this will be the thing that scares her away. Not most girls can handle the club life and Angel was nervous to see how she would fit in with his extended family.

The guys though, they thought it was funny that Angel would barely pay any attention to the girls that lingered around the clubhouse. Only 3 weeks of texting with Y/n and he was smitten. Any other girl around him didn’t seem to exist and that was new for him. He once welcomed the girls that tried to give him attention around the clubhouse, now they were just a bore to him.

The girls that tried to sit on his lap that night, he would dismiss them, not taking any chances. Y/n would be arriving soon and all he wanted was to be with her.

None of the guys ever saw Angel act this way about a girl.

“Been here every night for weeks at a time You in my dreams that's why I sleep all the time Just to hear you say I love you, just to touch you, just to leave you behind”

Ever since that night, your relationship moves at a pace that excites Angel. He hasn’t been in a relationship for a while but he knows this wasn’t like anything else. It’s smooth and easygoing, something that Angel never really dealt with in his life. But he finds himself enjoying every second he can get.

This morning, Angel doesn’t know if he’s dreaming or not but he hears the shower going and Y/n comes to mind. She loves taking showers in the morning before he even wakes up. It’s an inside joke between the both of them that it’s the only time she has without Angel and how much she takes advantage of it.

The water turns off and Angel hears the rustle of her movements as they bring him out of his sleepy state. He barely opens his eyes and sees her figure dress in his shirt that fits way too big on her.

A small smile appears on his face, when he realizes that her clothes are dirty and are mixed with his in the hamper. She hasn't gone back home for about a week but Angel doesn’t mind, he loves seeing her in his clothes.

He closes his eyes once again, the sleep coming back to him. It used to be hard falling asleep but ever since Y/n came into his life, he’s embraced the feeling of sleep. He dreams now but they are all filled with her. She’s his own very angel. Sometimes it’s hard for him to distinguish what is real or what is a fantasy.

Angel hears her humming as she picks up the clothes he’s left behind last night, and he swears that’s what lures him back to sleep.

Her sweet giggles fill his ear and he feels her smooth hands caress his cheek. Letting out a sigh, Angel realizes this is his favorite kind of morning.

The last thing he remembers before drifting back to sleep, is her whispering “I love you.”

This is what love is, Angel thinks as he drifts off to sleep.

“Daddy told you, better bring your ass home Cinderella better get your ass home Man I swear the parents just don't understand“

Her parents weren’t huge fans of Angel. Ever since he had picked her up in his motorcycle, he clearly made out the judgement on their faces. Though Y/N never let her parents come in between their relationship, deep down Angel was scared one day she would come to her senses and leave him for someone better. He even feared about how much her parents actually liked his brother better than him. It took him a while to get over but it still crept into his mind from time to time.

Most nights Angel enjoyed the company of his girl along with a nice movie night. Tonight was no different, after having a semi food fight with Y/N, they were both freshly showered watching a comedy movie. It wasn’t a movie that interested him but it was her turn to pick one and Angel was more than happy to just lay with his girl.

It started with just a simple text, which had interrupted their argument about which cereal was the best. He stayed quiet knowing that it was her dad, always making his way in between them even if he was nowhere near them.

A small sigh escaped Y/N’s mouth, though she hid it quickly with a smile. A kiss made his worries fade away just for a minute before it was interrupted again.

This time a call and Angel knew their peaceful night was coming to an end. No matter how old both Y/n and Angel were, he still respected her parents and if he wanted a future with Y/N he would have to put up with it. So he did.

“Baby, just answer” Angel gave Y/N a small push, nodding his head towards her phone at the end of the couch.

“But its movie night, and we said no phones. Plus he just wants to continue to say snide remarks now that he knows I’m here with you.”

And Angel knew it, but he kept his mouth shut. No matter what he didn’t want to cause a drift between Y/N and her dad.

Fuck he loved her. And if he had to put up with her dad, he would because to him Y/N was worth it. Every snide remark, he could take it as long as he had her by his side.

She was his future and her parents would just have to get used to seeing their daughter with him.

“We started on the bed and then we moved onto the floor I thought you was an angel now you yellin' to the Lord”

Angel couldn’t believe he had been together with Y/n for about six months. By the time their anniversary comes around, she has moved in and Angel swears that it was bound to happen since the first night she spent the night over.

That night, he planned a date night with the help of Coco and Ez. Both of them never wasting the chance of being able to tease him about being whipped. And he was proud to admit it, Y/n was the first girl to ever change his life and he couldn’t believe an angel like her wanted him just as much.

By the time Y/n arrived home, the entire floor was covered in red petals that led to their bedroom. The candles on the ground lit the way and Angel could see the happiness appear on her face. She had no idea he would even do something for their 6 months. He had made sure she was out of the house for the entire day. He even had to pay Letty extra to make sure Y/n would stay away until he was ready.

It’s this moment he realizes that his favorite thing to do is surprising her and watching the way her face lights up.

She’s dressed in his favorite, a flowy sundress. But he swears she looks good in just about anything. His favorite look would be her wearing his t-shirt and he gets to see that every day she goes to bed.

Angel is enchanted with the way she is, how she moves, how she makes him feel.

She makes him feel loved.

She’s his very own angel.

Throughout the darkness, he watches her eyes shine beneath him. She looks beautiful to him as she comes undone right in front of him.

And Angel swears it’s the best view he’s ever seen.

“You used to tell me all the time I ain't your type Now you always wanna spend the night Now I'm doing everything you like“

Angel lets out a smile as he watches Y/n bond with his dad. Ever since he introduced the two of them, he noticed the way she perfectly fits with his small family. His dad had welcomed her in with open arms and Y/n always made sure to have family dinners every Friday if possible.

And his dad had given a nod of approval for the first time in Angel’s life.

Letting his eyes roam over the most important people in his life, Angel thinks back to the day where he met the woman that changed his life.

A small laugh threatens to escape his mouth as he remembers her fiery temper, the day he tried to ask her out properly.

It had taken a while to convince Y/n, she took one look at him and had made Angel work for it every single day.

Now almost a year later, Angel finds himself doing most of the things Y/n loves to do. She’s an artist, a talented one if you asked him. And of course he was 100% biased but his girl knew her way around a paint brush. They sit in their backyard on a blanket as the sun sets, her favorite wine opened. He sucks at anything that involves art but just watching her while she works makes Angel feel at home.

And he just admires her, watching as she mixes colors in front of her. He feels like she’s the artwork but to his surprise she painted him, capturing the intimate moment between them.

Her very own muse.

It’s their thing now, something he looks forward to but also something he keeps to himself. There’s no way he would let his brother or best friend know about this, he would be teased for life.

“Yeah, but I still respect the game

Every time I’m out of line

You always set me straight

The sex is great, for heaven’s sake

I need it everyday”

It’s a first for Angel but there’s rarely any fights between the two of them throughout their relationship. He had always been used to the constant fighting when he was seeing someone or even just used to the constant toxic negativity with the other person. But with Y/n, there’s none of that and if a fight would happen he still respected her because he knows that at the end of the day he still loves her no matter what.

Angel never once finds himself looking for another woman’s company when a fight breaks between the two of them. He may spend the night at Coco’s but early the next morning Angel is back at home making breakfast for her. It’s his own way of apologizing for what he did wrong.

He knows when he says something out of line, Y/n will be the one to always tell him what’s good. When the club shit gets too much to handle, and he brings home the stress, she makes sure that they work through things together. They’re a team, it’s the first thing that pops into his head when he’s away from home doing work for the club.

Everything changed when Angel finds himself making decisions based on her. It's a first for him. He’s no longer by himself, he has a girl to think about too.

And after the fighting is done, the make up sex is amazing. Angel looks forward to it even when he’s too angry to talk to her. Even when she feels frustrated every time he gets a call from Bishop during an intense argument. It’s something that’s always on the back of his mind. Once everything is made up between the two of them, he leads her to the bedroom. And sometimes they don’t even make it.

 He’s addicted to her.

“Never gonna find nobody better, all my life”

[beetlebitchywitch]

So hi! I wrote this fic back in December as part of a Secret Santa with the Dante’s Inferno AU crowd, and I got @neitherworld! And since some people are being RUDE and claiming self-shippers are just too cowardly to ship Beetleb@bes, here’s the fic I wrote of her OC Bambi and Movie Beej on a special night at Dante’s to show how fun of a character she is. Enjoy!

WARNING: Mild nudity, some sexy stuff, I’d say rated M but not fully NSFW

Like any normal night at Dante’s, the bass was thumping so heavily Bambi could feel it rattling her posture collar. Her eyes scanned the show floor, catching Madame’s gaze for only a moment before she was off to scold a random ghoul for getting too handsy during his lapdance. Up on the stage, Mal was winding around the pole in a way that enchanted everyone in attendance, though the way Lorelai’s wings glittered under the spotlight as she danced her famous “feather fan” number drew just as much attention. She grumbled good naturedly under her breath as she turned back to face the bar- honestly, those two had such natural moneymakers, and here she was stuck with a stupid jello neck. Whatever, her tits made up for any lack of “exotic” flavor. Speaking of flavor, the bright pink cocktail on the bartop was calling her name, set down gently by Niphera with a soft smile. Bambi squealed, bringing the drink to her lips before pausing for a moment, sending them a sly smile.

“NiNi, what’s in this exactly?” she asked, thrumming her perfectly manicured nails against the bartop. She knew how much her...electric personality could overwhelm them, so she tried her best to keep her energy to herself while holding a conversation with them.

“Nothing that will get you too drunk for your next set,” they chuckled, wiping down a glass absentmindedly. “You know Madame doesn’t like it when you perform after drinking too much.”

“Oh, what does she know?” she huffed, the cocktail sloshing a bit as she crossed her arms. “I happen to think that a little liquid courage makes my performances even better!”

“Perhaps. Or it could be like the time you yakked in a mafioso’s lap and had to use a week’s earnings to pay for his dry cleaning.”

Just the memory made Bambi pout even harder.

“Stupid prick, demon earns 20 times what I do shaking my ass by dealing in some shady shit and he has the nerve to take money outta my paycheck? And now I have to get cut off like some little baby impling.” She sighed deeply. “Whatever, this shit looks tasty anyway. Thanks, bubs.”

“Anytime,” Niphera said softly, getting back to pouring their next order of drinks. “Besides, it’s the least I could do on your birthday.”

Bambi’s eyes widened above the rim of her glass, which she excitedly put down with a beaming grin.

“My birthday? Goodness, how ever did you know about that?”

“Well, let’s see,” Niphera said with a sarcastic, but good natured bite. “Could it have been the notes under all of our pillows reminding us of your birthday? Or perhaps the sash you’re wearing right now that says ‘Birthday Girl’?”

Ok, so maybe Bambi could be a bit over the top. So she wanted a little extra attention on her special day, ain’t nothin’ wrong with that!

“Well, I’m glad my gentle reminders worked! Because today is my day and if I wanna celebrate it by getting wasted on Netherbooze and taking my top off, then that’s how I’m gonna do it!”

“Your top’s already off, Bam.”

She looked down, and then paused.

“...So it is...my bottoms then!”

With a heavy sigh, Niphera moved to the other side of the bar without a word, an unspoken cue for Bambi to leave them alone. Their relationship was odd, but Bambi did her best to make it work and respect their boundaries...most of the time. Sighing, she turned back to her drink, taking a few messy gulps and giggling when she could feel rivulets of booze trickling down her neck and between her tits. If anybody was watching her, they were sure getting a good show.

“Well hey there, little fawn. Ya sure seem to be enjoyin’ yourself.”

Bambi froze, her happy grin immediately turning to a small scowl. Of course he would be the one to show up looking for some tail and interrupting her night.

“What do you want, Juice?” she asked absentmindedly, “Can’t you see I’m a little busy?”

“Oh yeah, sure as hell can, sugar tits. I gotta admit, of all the fine specimens in this place, you sure do have the nicest rack,” he rasped, pulling out a slim cigarette and lighting it by setting the tips of his fingers on fire. He took a deep drag, holding it for a moment before letting out a hard cough, not even hiding his amused smirk when the smoke blew into Bambi’s face, causing her to break into a coughing fit. She glared up at him even as her lungs spasmed, questioning whether a slap to the face or a knee to the nuts would be more fun for her.

“Well,” she interjected, letting out her last few coughs. “You sure know how to treat a lady, don’t you?”

“Come on now, babes, I don’t see no lady here,” he said with a grin, taking another puff of his cig and thankfully blowing it behind him. “But I do see a smokin’ hot broad in need of a good time.”

“Since when do I have a good time with you?” she retorted, sticking her tongue impishly. She was exaggerating, of course- her and Beetlejuice had plenty of fun teasing and playing cat and mouse before retiring upstairs for a quickie, but tonight she was not in the mood. She was tipsy, she looked drop dead gorgeous with her tits out and smothered in body glitter, and she felt like a bad bitch, so she wasn’t about to let some shambling corpse turn her into his pet for the night. She turned back to her drink, fully intent on ignoring him completely until he went off to hump some other unlucky girl’s leg. After a few moments, when she could still feel his presence behind her, she grunted in annoyance, turning back around. “Ain’t anybody ever tell ya it’s impolite to stare, stunad?”

“Ooh, I didn’t know the little deer had claws,” he laughed, only infuriating her more. “Besides, ya ever known me to be polite? Remember who you’re talkin’ too, babes.”

God, she was getting so fed up with this conversation. She was not gonna let some lousy, rancid, good for nothin’ ghost ruin her big night. She turned her stool towards him and shot him with a withering stare, which infuriatingly only seemed to amuse him further. She was about to give her a piece of her mind when- “Well, would ya look at that. Didn’t realize I was talkin’ to the birthday girl.”

Her eyes widened, them flitting down to the sash practically crushed between her tits.

“Yeah…what’s it to ya?” she asked warily. Her and Beetlejuice had clearly never been fond of one another, so she doubted he had anything good up his sleeve for her, and goddammit she just wanted to enjoy her fucking birthday! “I swear to Satan, Juice, if you pull any funny shit I won’t even have to call Ivan, I’ll rip that pencil you call a dick off from between your legs myself.”

While she hoped she sounded even the tiniest bit threatening, she was met with a bellyaching laugh from the ghost with the most, causing her to pout and cross her arms indignantly.

“One helluva performance, dollface, but ya don’t gotta worry. Not even I would pull any tricks on a lady’s birthday. In fact…”

She watched with a difficultly admitted curiosity as he began to rustle around his filthy coat, cringing only slightly when puffs of dirt floated to the floor as he aggressively searched his multiple pockets. Seemingly finding what he was looking for, he rustled around for a few seconds more before pulling out-

Oh.

“Holy smokes,” Bambi murmured in awe, staring at the absolutely stunning diamond ring clutched between Beetlejuice’s fingertips. With a high pitched squeal, she bounced up and down on the stool, reaching out to snatch the ring from him and slide it onto her finger. “A little snug, but damn that’s one helluva rock! Juice, what-”

“Least I could do, since it’s your birthday and all, kid,” he said dismissively, looking...sheepish? Bambi smirked, grabbing onto the lapels of his coat and pulling him in close, noticing how his eyes immediately fell to her exposed tits now that there was only a foot between them, wide with shock that she was actually seemingly coming onto him.

“Is that all you wanted to give me for my birthday, BJ?” she asked sweetly, her words so laden with honey that you’d think they were in a beehive. Immediately, his demeanor flipped from shock back to his typical shtick, growling softly beneath his breath as he wrapped both arms around her waist, reveling in the softness of her skin.

“I can think of a million things I could do to that pretty little body that’d make this birthday one you’d never forget, little fawn,” he growled softly. This close, she could smell the musty dampness of him, though it never perturbed her, letting out a tiny squeal of a giggle as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Just one question, Juice,” she whimpered teasingly, letting her tongue drag lasciviously across her lower lip. She could feel the ache in him as he held her close, but it was always her MO to tease before letting him have her...if she would let him have her.

“Anything, doll,” he assured her, clutching her waist tighter with desperation. “Ya wanna go topside and wreak some havoc? Come home covered in blood and fuck while we’re all messy? Come on, babes, say the word and I’ll have ya back before Madame can notice yer gone.”

“Mm, that does sound nice,” she mused, sliding one hand down his cheek and chest before walking her fingers back up slowly, daintily, feeling his need for her increase with every gentle touch. “But BJ, I gotta know…” She cupped his jaw and pulled him in close, her lips hovering above his ear as she spoke with the softest whisper. “...Is the rock real?”

She had her answer just by the way he stiffened in her arms. Fucking cheapskate.

“Now hold on, babes, ya don’t understa-”

Before he could even finish his sentence, she was out of his arms and grabbing the last half of her drink, splashing it in his face without a care. God did it fill her with power to see him standing there, floundering with booze dripping down his skin and suit and taking a layer of grime with it. She smirked, hopping down off her stool with her typical bounciness.

“Find some other pussy to give herpes to, Juice,” she quipped happily, as if she hadn’t just threw her drink in his face. “If ya wanted a cheap slut, you shouldn’t have come knockin’ on my door...I’m keepin’ the ring though. It may be fake, but hey, so is half of me!”

And with that, she was back off to the floor, sliding up a pole without a care in the world as the crowd cheered around her, and Beetlejuice just continued to stare. She knew he’d get her back for this someday, but for now, she had to say that, either living or dead, this was the best birthday she’d ever had.

[sporadic-writer]

Age is but a Number

Sebastian Stan x reader

No warnings other than a swear or 2 and the age gap thing

��•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You began working for Marvel in about 2015. At that time you were 17 pushing 18. At 18 going on 19 Civil War was your first full film, but it worked because you were playing a character who was older than you actually were, but needed to look young. Your character was also Bucky's love interest. Well, sorta.. In the comics you were, but the movies had a slower build, more subtle. Regardless, the producers had you both hang out before filming to gain a sense of familiarity. He was cool and you both got along quite well. He liked how you didn't act as young as you were. You liked how funny and down to earth he was. A lovely friendship built as time went on.

But here you were, 5ish years later, dealing with press stuff for Avengers: Endgame. You were 22, managing college with being an actress, and trying to have a life with your friends still. You loved being a student and having this job, everyone was cool with you doing most of your filming and work during your breaks. Yet, it still could get overwhelming. Luckily, Sebastian and you had always remained close. He helped you manage everything and deal with the intense world of acting. As you got older, he noticed how well you handled everything. Yes, you still acted like a 22 year old girl at moments, it was normal. But most of the time you always seemed older and more mature despite being the youngest cast member. He respected you, and even grew to like you. The media caught on about how you both hung out more outside of set. Obviously, dating rumors and notes of the age gap spread out and around the world. Yet, neither of you stressed about it or let it get to you. Brushing it off, both of you went about life as usual. Neither of you talked about the relationship possibilities. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you liked seeing some fans point out details about how he acted in a flirty, or different manner around you. It added to your girly fantasy of you being with someone like Sebastian Stan. Things never really shifted between you guys until a Jimmy Fallon appearance with Mark Ruffalo.

Walking backstage with the two men you turned and looked at Sebastian. “Your ass nearly got us fired! Not in a single trailer, yet you almost blew a plot point. I know we don’t know if it’s true or not, but still! When we come back for the game, I am not taking blame if something goes to shit.”

Mark looked between you guys, “The fact that I held up better than you is sad dude. Thank God Y/N jumped in. But how is that the topic you are focusing on? Don’t look at me like that. Jimmy brought up you guys being a thing now that she isn't seeing Tom's friend anymore and I felt your hands stop messing with each other behind me on the couch! You froze! Just admit you like each other. We’ve seen it all but confirmed since the kiss that got cut in Infinity War.”

You both stopped and you looked to Mark, “We were messing with each other. So what? Then he brought us up so we focused on him. And that kiss was only a casual peck for the scene. Shut up man, I’m gonna wait in the green room for the game. I hope it’s that film noir truth or lie game! I wanna see what they dug up on me haha!"

You walked off and Sebastian kept his eyes on you until you turned the corner. “She didn’t deny it did she? That she likes me?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.. You’re over 30! Just grow a pair and talk to her.”

He hesitated, “She’s 15 years younger than me... I've known her since she graduated high school."

“What’s your point? Blake Lively is 11 years younger than Ryan. Jay-Z is 12 years older than Beyonce. George Clooney and his wife are 16 years apart. No one cares if you both like each other. Hell, Nick Jonas just married a woman 11 years older than him.” Mark looked at him like he was an idiot. “You like the girl, we all do. Go for it! She wouldn’t say no.”

“Really??” Mark simply nodded. Next thing he knew, he was heading to your green room.

He knocked and heard you say come in. You were sitting comfortably on the couch, scrolling on your phone and munching on snacks left by Jimmy and the crew. You looked up and said hey to him. He didn’t speak back and you looked up at him again. “What’s up man? You look like you saw someone get stabbed by the main curtain. "

He laughed a little and made eye contact with you. “Nah, I feel just a nervous though.”

You put your phone down, sat up, and looked up at him. “You were fine out there. What’s going on?”

“We get along really well right? And we have a lot of fun hanging out and talking right?”

“Yeah of course. What are you getting at here Seb? You’re being more random than usual.” You smiled at him in a questioning manner and invited him to sit next to you.

“Wow this is harder than it seemed in my head. I was just wondering if you would want to maybe, I don’t know...” He doesn’t really look at you, just the floor and rubs his hands on his pants. Suddenly, it seems to click for you.

“Wait. Are- are you asking me out?” You smile as you see him nod, still not really looking at you. “Hell yes I’ll go out with you. Since when are you so nervous to ask a girl out? You told me how you asked Jennifer Morrison out easily after meeting her.”

“Yeah well she wasn’t my friend first, and she isn’t 15 years younger than me.”

“Oh. That isn’t an issue is it? I mean well clearly not, you just asked me out. Hell Ellen and her wife are like 15 apart too." A knock on your door interrupted you. A guy with a headset on came in and told you to go to the main stage area for the game. You nodded and said you would both be out soon. You turned back to Sebastian and put your hand on his knee. “I would love to go out with you. Let’s just skip the awkward actual going out parts for the first date. Let’s do something slightly more serious than when we just hang. Sound good?”

“Yeah, damn you’re easier at this than me. But that sounds good.” He took note of how you said first date. The hope of more lingered. He stood up and held his hand out to help you up. Grabbing his hand he pulled you up and hugged his arm around your waist. Then the two of you met Mark and Jimmy and played Drinko much to your excitement!

SKIP TO THE DATE

You looked at your phone and remembered that Sebastian told you to just come in when you made it to his place. He insisted you come over and he could cook you dinner. Between all the press things, a dinner was a great choice. Neither of you had a home-cooked meal in forever. Plus, he wanted to show off. So walking in, you clutched the bottle of wine and tried to remain calm. 

“Sebastian?” You called out your heels clicked as you looked around. You could faintly smell something being made. Considering you saw no kitchen, you walked upstairs. The sight before you was adorable. He was dancing around to some music while stirring something around in a pan. He turned and saw you smiling as you watched him, but he also stopped dancing. “No don’t stop on my account.”

“Ha ha how clever. Sorry I didn’t hear you come in.” He took the bottle you brought and took your coat off for you. You thanked him and he laughed at the bottle. “Barefoot? Really?”

“Hey it isn’t pink is it? I had to pay some tuition bills yesterday, less funds than I anticipated. Figured this was better than nothing. Plus, my mom told me it’s rude to come to someone’s house for dinner empty handed.”

“Aren’t you such a lady. But I’m just messing with you, you brought it, so even then pink would have been fine. I’m just finishing this up, so you’re right on time. As long as I never drink peppermint schnapps again I’ll be fine. Mixing that with hot sauce, clam juice, and grape soda was horrible.” 

Looking at the kitchen area, you smiled. “Ha yeah I lucked out. Sunny D, whipped cream vodka, grape soda, and mountain dew? Hell I’m pretty sure I had that last semester at a Halloween party. But forget the gross stuff. Whatcha cooking? Creamy garlic shrimp, one of my favorites. How did you know?”

“I know you.” He said it so surely. And the bastard had the nerve to wink. Make you flustered. Well, two could play at this game.

You walked to get a couple glasses for the wine, making sure you sway your hips as you went past him. From your side eye you saw him check you out. “Like what you see old man?”

He didn’t even try to hide it. “I do. You look good Y/N, you always do.” As you went back to sit down and pour some wine for you both, he sat a nice plate of food in front of you. He went next to you and told you to dig in.

Taking the first bite let out a small, appreciative moan. “Holy shit. This is fantastic! I’m serious. Thank you for this. I’ve never actually had a guy cook for me, so really, thanks.”

“No need to thank me. Just keep going out with me.” His smile was so sweet. You just simply said of course.

"Can't say no to that." You smirked at him to the side of you as you both ate.

Once dinner was finished and cleaned up by the both of you he suggested you move to the living room balcony.

"Wait, you said a specific balcony. Do you have more than one?" He laughed as you both walked out. Wine glasses full with his better stuff after finishing the Barefoot you brought.

He stood next to you enjoying the view. "Yes there is another connected to the main bedroom."

"Wow. And I thought my campus apartment was fancy. This sure beats dorm furniture and faulty heating."

He chuckled, looking at you as you looked out at the city. "Why do you live on campus? I mean, you can afford a nicer place to finish school."

"Yeah but I cover rent for my roommates who truly depend on me for campus living so they can keep their scholarships. Going off campus would screw them over. Plus, I have too much money anyway. They wouldn't let me help with their tuition, so rent'll do." As you spoke you continue sipping the wine. It was enchanting and sparkling to see the lights of the city.

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?" You pondered as to what he could mean.

He turned fully to you and you did the same. He looked at you earnestly. "Stay normal when being a Marvel star? You balance getting a college degree and doing press tours world wide. I only do this and sometimes cannot stand it."

Shrugging you spoke, "Eh it isn't always easy. But managers and people working out schedules around my schooling have really helped. Plus, my folks, friends, and you guys have really helped. Especially you." You brought the glass to your face to hide a blush forming.

Sebastian pulled you by the waste, closer to him. You looked up and smiled at him. "Hey I was forced to be with you when we were younger. Only fitting I actually shaped you properly for the biz and so I wouldn't hate you." Ah that charm you fell so easily for. "I'm kidding. I like you for soo many reasons. I'll tell you them on the second date."

You put your wine glass down. "Good. I will love to hear those then. Because right now I don't wanna talk that much."

He laughed lightly. "Are you trying to make out with me Y/N? Ah darling, here I thought you were mature!" His hold around you tightened as you smiled.

You sighed as you ran a hand over his really toned pec. "Yeah.. mature. Not blind!" Your heart fluttered at the way he looked at you. Luckily, no more words were exchanged on the balcony til a while later when the sun finished setting.

[missjanjie]

Like a Million Dollar Bill | Jessence

Title: Like a Million Dollar Bill Summary:  Jaida has recently come to terms with being a widow after her husband suddenly passed under totally normal and not at all suspicious circumstances. As the sole heir, she also suddenly finds herself richer than she could ever imagine. But she doesn't stay a lonely widow for long, as one night at her friend's lounge brings a woman into her life that might even be more valuable than her fortune. Word Count: ~3.2k Relationship(s): Jessence (Jan Sport/Jaida Essence Hall) Rating: E Notes: this is my submission for the black girl magic fic challenge so a note for that is the title is from the song 'million dollar bill' by whitney houston. also big thanks to @janssports for beta-ing

Read on AO3

-

“That finalizes everything, Mrs. Whitham, and again, I am so sorry for your loss.” The man from the probate court shook Jaida’s hand before she got up to leave.

Jaida did her best to maintain the miserable expression she had on through the funeral. She thought about the disdain she felt when the man used her married name, how desperate she was to regain her sense of individual identity. She was free, only if she played her cards right. But this was a long time coming, to say the least. “Thank you so much, sir.” She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief before leaving the room.

Sitting on a bench in the hallway was her younger sister, Heidi. She got up and took her hand. “You good?” she asked gently, coming off as nothing more than the concerned sibling of a grieving widow. But the look in her eyes reminded Jaida that she knew. She knew it all. Someone had to, lest the burden of keeping a secret became overwhelming and came out to the wrong person.

And Jaida continued to play her role, standing upright and swallowing thickly, because she was just struggling to stay strong. “I will be,” she said with a tremor in her voice.

“Who did he appoint as the…” Heidi furrowed her brows as she wracked her brain. “What’s the word again? For the person that’s gonna transfer his funds to you?”

“Executor,” she answered. “And it’s his sister, lord help me.” She sighed. Her deceased husband’s family had never been fond of her - due both to the twenty-year gap that existed in their relationship and outright racism. The only upside to that was no one outside the family took their complaints very seriously, but that didn’t mean she was at all happy to have to deal with her. “Anyway, I’m gonna go to Shea’s lounge tonight. She’s got a new singer, should be cute. You wanna come?”

Her sister shook her head. “Naw, I gotta get my ass up early to finish packing. Gonna take some time to move into that fancy-ass mansion.” She chuckled. It might not have been the best time to be visibly excited, but she was so thrilled to get herself and her dogs out of her one bedroom, seven hundred square-foot apartment.

“Suit yourself.” Jaida shrugged as she pulled her coat on. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

------

The lounge Shea owned was chic, calm, a place Jaida would probably still frequent if it wasn’t her best friend’s pride and joy. It was the type of place where she could dress up to go to, without feeling like she had to be on her best, most reserved behavior. And after all of the day’s events, she just wanted to relax, entering the club and making a beeline to her friend.

“Hey, I’m so glad you made it!” Shea beamed, hugging her tightly. “Just wait until you see our new act. She’s fresh out of university with a fancy musical theatre degree, and the bitch can sing. It’s fucking angelic, Jaida.” She didn’t mention Jaida’s husband’s death at that moment. While she didn’t know exactly what happened, she knew how miserable Jaida had been, how there hadn’t been any love between them in god knows how long. She knew how poorly he treated her and that his death probably wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Jaida chuckled, walking with her to the bar while Shea ordered them a couple of drinks. “Damn, you really hyped her up, I’m gonna just take your word on it,” she assured, taking a sip of her drink when the bartender placed it beside her.

“Just come on, her set’s about to start,” Shea threw some money down on the counter and pulled Jaida along to one of the velvet couches so they could sit and watch.

Jan walked onto the stage, the spotlight framing her perfectly. She wore a strapless wine-red dress that just hit the ground and was tailored perfectly to her body, accentuating her curves while giving her an air of elegance one would expect from an upscale lounge singer. And her voice was as enchanting as Shea had talked it up to be and then some. There was no doubt that every patron of that lounge had their attention fixed solely on the stage.

“So, what do you think?” Shea asked once the first song had ended.

Jaida grinned, her gaze never breaking away from the singer. “I think I’m in love,” she retorted.

Her friend looked at her and let out a soft laugh. “What, are you following in your husband’s–may he rest in peace–footsteps? She’s twenty-two.”

“Bitch, I’m forty, not eighty. This is a new chapter in my life, who’s to say I can’t include a hot twenty-something in it?” Jaida scoffed.

Shea finished off her drink. “You know what? I respect that. I’ll introduce you two once she’s done,” she decided.

And true to her word, Shea took Jaida backstage once Jan’s set was over. “Wonderful job, darling,” she said as she walked in. “Jan, I’d like you to meet my dear friend, Jaida. We met when we were both in college, so, back when we were about your age.”

Jan looked at Jaida, tilting her head. “Well, how’s that possible when you’re clearly not a day over twenty-five?”

Shea rolled her eyes. “Oh lord, I’ll leave you guys to it,” she said and left the two of them alone.

Jaida chuckled. “Don’t you worry about her,” she said to Jan. “But anyway, you really were fantastic out there. That fancy college degree I keep hearing about did you well.”

Jan smiled, absentmindedly twirling her hair around her finger. “Why thank you. With all the debt it plunged me into, it better.”

The older woman clicked her tongue sympathetically. “Shit, how far in the hole are you?”

“About thirty grand.”

Jaida glanced around, then sat down beside Jan. “Listen, don’t go telling nobody, but I got you. I’m a couple days away from coming into a lot of money, like, well into seven figures.” She didn’t give a specific number because she wasn’t entirely sure how it all worked, but she could hire someone to explain it to her.

Jan’s eyes went wide and her jaw hung open. “A-Are you sure? I mean, thank you, that’s so kind. But if you don’t mind me asking… How’d you come into that kind of money?”

“Inheritance,” she replied, biting back a smirk.

“That’s just… incredible. If there’s anything I can do to thank you…”

Jaida waved her hand, brushing the suggestion off. “You don’t have to do anything. But I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to let me buy you a drink when you’re done for the night.”

Jan fluttered her eyelashes and shifted closer to her. “Of course, I was hoping this might be a little more than a random philanthropic act.”

This brought a feeling of relief to Jaida, the last thing she wanted was for Jan to feel obligated to express romantic or sexual interest in her. “I’ll see you on the other side, then,” she hummed as she got up and returned to the lounge, ready to watch Jan on stage for the rest of her shift. The only time her gaze broke was to text her driver to be on his way.

And once it ended, the two of them reconvened at the bar, with Jaida ordering them both a drink. “So, have you always been a singer?” she asked casually.

“Oh yeah, since I was four.” Jan chuckled. “At the end of the day there was just no other choice for me.”

“I like a girl that knows what she wants out of life,” Jaida mused, taking the glass once it was set down in front of her and sipping from it.

Jan smiled, lips just barely pursed around the rim of the glass. She sipped slowly, then set it down as she looked at her. “Then tell me,” she prompted, “what do you want?” She leaned ever so slightly closer, a sultry air lacing around her words.

Jaida smirked, pointedly looking her over. “Something about five-foot-four, brown eyes, voice of an angel…” she listed, voice trailing off as she spoke. “You know, something along those lines.”

Jan set her glass down once it was empty. “You better be taking that something back to your place then,” she replied simply.

“I intend on it,” she hummed. “You ever been in a Rolls Royce?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one.”

Jaida grinned, leaving cash down for the bartender before getting up. “Come, Ralph is waiting out back for us.”

Jan tilted her head as she followed. “Ralph?”

“My driver. I inherited the staff as well, but they all liked me better anyway.” She chuckled as they went outside and stepped into the car, exchanging casual greetings with the driver.

While Jan did try to keep her attention on Jaida, she was distracted by how luxurious and pristine the car was, and when they pulled up to Jaida’s house, her eyes went wide. “This is where you live?” she gasped softly.

“Not too shabby, huh?” Jaida hummed as they got out of the car. “A lot of the staff lives here, no point in having a bunch of empty rooms. And my sister’s moving in tomorrow,” she explained, leading her inside.

Jan was trying her best to listen, but taking in everything around her meant her focus was being pulled in six different directions. It reminded her of her first time in Manhattan — everything was big and shiny, but she didn’t think she could touch anything yet. The first thing her hand felt was the railing of the spiral staircase she was following Jaida up.

“And this is my room. It could do with an update, I ain’t gonna lie. But she’s comfy and spacious, can’t really complain.” Jaida hummed. She had been the one that had pushed for such a big bed, and although she was quick to adjust to sleeping in it alone, she was more than happy to bring in new company. She turned to see that Jan had taken off her shoes and thrown herself onto the bed, sprawled out on her back and giggling softly to herself. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

“Sorry, it just looked so inviting. I couldn’t help myself,” Jan replied, sitting back up.

Jaida smiled as she toed out of her heels. “I’m not mad, you look good in my bed.” She hummed, letting her eyes rake over Jan’s body.

“I’d look even better up close,” she cooed, beckoning Jaida closer with a curl of her finger.

“You know, I think you’re right.” Jaida chuckled as she crawled onto the bed, then on top of Jan, straddling her waist as she kissed along her jawline.

Jan tilted her head back, baring her neck as Jaida’s lips traveled down it. A breathy gasp slipped out when Jaida began littering her neck with hickies until she finally moved up to kiss her properly.

Jaida kissed her hard, deeply. It was the first kiss in years that made her feel so alive, that made her keep going back for more because the taste of her lips became instantly addictive. Her fingers tangled in Jan’s hair, pulling her head closer while her free hand unzipped the younger woman’s dress.

Jan wiggled out of her dress, not wanting to have to break away from Jaida to take it off properly. Her hand wandered across Jaida’s back until she felt the metal of the zipper under her thumb, then unzipped the dress in a swift movement.

When they did have to come up for air, Jaida took another look at the girl beneath her. “You always wear lingerie like this under your work clothes?” she teased, her finger tracing along the outline of Jan’s lacy, strapless bra.

“It helps me stay in the zone. You know, the soft, sultry lounge singer.” She hummed, walking her fingers up Jaida’s arm. “And it seems to have worked,” she added, her fingers stopping on Jaida’s bra strap and playfully tugging it down.

“Guess you got me there,” Jaida murmured, pressing another kiss to her lips as she unhooked her bra and tossed it aside. Her hands glided forward, cupping Jan’s breasts with her thumbs massaging her nipples at a teasingly slow pace, smirking when it elicited a soft moan. She trailed her lips back down Jan’s neck, to her collarbone, then between her breasts.

Jan’s back arched up, body already yearning for more touch, and whimpering softly when she felt Jaida’s tongue swirling around her nipple. Her thighs instinctively parted as soon as Jaida pulled her panties down, but she was past the point of feeling any sort of embarrassment - she knew what she wanted and was ready for it.

And who was Jaida to do anything but give right in? After finally undressing herself, she nudged Jan’s thighs apart with her hand, then gently traced her finger along her folds. She eased one finger in first, curling and pumping it slowly, her eyes trained on Jan’s face, watching her get more and more worked up. “That’s it, good girl,” she murmured as she worked in a second finger and built up her pace. She looked down with amusement when she saw how Jan was thrusting her hips forward, as if she was trying to fuck herself on her fingers. “And so eager,” she teased.

“Just love the way you make me feel, Mommy,” Jan purred in a way that sent chills up Jaida’s spine.

Jaida smirked and leaned over to kiss her. “Cute,” she murmured before moving down between Jan’s legs and, before Jan could offer any response, she replaced her fingers with her tongue, thrusting it and swirling it around.

“F-Fuck!” Jan gasped out sharply, hips pushing up again. Her hands gripped the comforter beneath her, knuckles turning white from the tightness of her hold.

And Jaida was only encouraged by that. Her tongue moved steadily and swiftly while her thumb rubbed at her clit. Her free hand kept her balanced by gripping onto Jan’s thigh, which helped keep Jan in place as well.

Jan was trembling and moaning, her body was red hot and she could feel her pulse racing. Her eyes squeezed shut and her hips bucked up despite Jaida’s grip. “A-Ah, fuck!” she nearly yelled as her orgasm hit.

It was only after Jaida was certain Jan was fully spent that she came up for air. “That good, baby?” she cooed, running her hands up and down Jan’s body.

Jan felt like her soul had left her body, feeling completely numb and utterly spent in the best possible way. “So good,” she breathed out. Once she regained the ability to remember how to move, she sat up. “Let me take care of you,” she whispered, and was already pushing Jaida onto the bed before she could get an answer.

Not that Jaida would’ve ever dreamed of objecting. She laid back with her legs propped apart to give her room, and tried her best to watch her, but the second she felt Jan’s tongue against her pussy and easing its way in, her eyes fluttered shut and her body shuddered in pleasure. She supposed it didn’t surprise her that Jan was talented any way she used her mouth, but god, that girl was an overachiever.

And Jan was nothing if not eager to please. She didn’t let up for a second, not until Jaida came as hard as she had, and even after that, she lingered for a moment, just in case. Then she moved back up Jaida’s body and kissed her sweetly.

Jaida hummed contently and wrapped her arms around Jan. “That was so good, baby,” she praised gently, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before shifting so they could be under the covers. “Think you’re about ready to call it a night?”

Jan nodded, letting out a soft yawn. “God, I’m gonna sleep so well tonight,” she murmured as she nestled herself against Jaida.

“I sure hope so,” she retorted lightly as her eyes closed.

------

The housekeeper let Heidi in that morning, and Heidi didn’t think much of it. She knew her sister had never been a morning person, and they never did set a time for her to come over. Considering she didn’t need to bring any furniture, the transition to moving in was easily handled by herself, with some help from the security guard - she could only go up and down that long staircase so many times with arms full of luggage.

Once she was more or less settled in, Heidi went back downstairs to go into the kitchen with the intent of raiding Jaida’s fridge for some breakfast. What she didn’t expect to see was a white girl in one of her sister’s silk robes leaning against the counter and drinking coffee. “Now who in the fresh hell are you?”

Jan was unphased by this. “I’m Jan,” she answered. “You must be Heidi, Jaida’s told me so much about you.”

“Well she ain’t tell me shit about you, so my question remains unanswered,” she said bluntly.

“Right, that makes sense, since we just met last night,” Jan mused. “Anyway, I know you’re just moving in and stuff, I’ll go let Jaida know you’re here.” She finished her coffee and put the empty mug in the sink before going back upstairs, happy to see that Jaida was a little more awake than when she’d left. “Your sister’s here, by the way,” she said as she sat cross-legged on the bed.

Jaida sat upright. “This early? Damn. Well, I better make myself decent and go talk to her,” she said, getting out of bed and throwing on a t-shirt and sweatpants. “I won’t be long, boo.” She kissed her cheek before she made her way downstairs.

“You got some ‘splaining to do,” Heidi said as soon as Jaida came into her line of vision. “Now, who was that pretty little thing wanderin’ around here in next to nothing?”

“Jan’s the new singer at Shea’s lounge. Listen, I know it was fast but… I don’t know how to explain it, there’s something special about her. We had this connection that I just know is more than intimate.”

Heidi stared at her blankly. “Do you hear yourself right now? It hasn’t even been a month since the funeral and you’ve got a co-ed up in your room.”

Jaida sighed. “Look, I’m not planning on flaunting her out and about yet, but I’m not gonna deny myself just because the dirt on his grave is still fresh.” She chewed her lip. “This is the first time I’ve been happy in years, Heidi. I need you to let me have this.”

Her sister was quiet for a moment. “You really think this girl’s gonna make you that happy?”

“I do.”

“Then I won’t stop you.” Heidi gave in without any more resistance. “Just don’t go mixing any of that white powder into her drink, she seems real nice.”

Jaida rolled her eyes, then quickly glanced around to make sure they were alone. “Don’t you worry, arsenic milkshakes are off the menu.”

[artificialqueens]

Like a Million Dollar Bill (Jaida x Jan) - Joley

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note: this is my submission for the black girl magic fic challenge so a note for that is the title is from the song ‘million dollar bill’ by whitney houston

“That finalizes everything, Mrs. Whitham, and again, I am so sorry for your loss.” The man from the probate court shook Jaida’s hand before she got up to leave.

Jaida did her best to maintain the miserable expression she had on through the funeral. She thought about the disdain she felt when the man used her married name, how desperate she was to regain her sense of individual identity. She was free, only if she played her cards right. But this was a long time coming, to say the least. “Thank you so much, sir.” She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief before leaving the room.

Sitting on a bench in the hallway was her younger sister, Heidi. She got up and took her hand. “You good?” she asked gently, coming off as nothing more than the concerned sibling of a grieving widow. But the look in her eyes reminded Jaida that she knew. She knew it all. Someone had to, lest the burden of keeping a secret became overwhelming and came out to the wrong person.

And Jaida continued to play her role, standing upright and swallowing thickly, because she was just struggling to stay strong. “I will be,” she said with a tremor in her voice.

“Who did he appoint as the…” Heidi furrowed her brows as she wracked her brain. “What’s the word again? For the person that’s gonna transfer his funds to you?”

“Executor,” she answered. “And it’s his sister, lord help me.” She sighed. Her deceased husband’s family had never been fond of her - due both to the twenty-year gap that existed in their relationship and outright racism. The only upside to that was no one outside the family took their complaints very seriously, but that didn’t mean she was at all happy to have to deal with her. “Anyway, I’m gonna go to Shea’s lounge tonight. She’s got a new singer, should be cute. You wanna come?”

Her sister shook her head. “Naw, I gotta get my ass up early to finish packing. Gonna take some time to move into that fancy-ass mansion.” She chuckled. It might not have been the best time to be visibly excited, but she was so thrilled to get herself and her dogs out of her one bedroom, seven hundred square-foot apartment.

“Suit yourself.” Jaida shrugged as she pulled her coat on. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

——

The lounge Shea owned was chic, calm, a place Jaida would probably still frequent if it wasn’t her best friend’s pride and joy. It was the type of place where she could dress up to go to, without feeling like she had to be on her best, most reserved behavior. And after all of the day’s events, she just wanted to relax, entering the club and making a beeline to her friend.

“Hey, I’m so glad you made it!” Shea beamed, hugging her tightly. “Just wait until you see our new act. She’s fresh out of university with a fancy musical theatre degree, and the bitch can sing. It’s fucking angelic, Jaida.” She didn’t mention Jaida’s husband’s death at that moment. While she didn’t know exactly what happened, she knew how miserable Jaida had been, how there hadn’t been any love between them in god knows how long. She knew how poorly he treated her and that his death probably wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Jaida chuckled, walking with her to the bar while Shea ordered them a couple of drinks. “Damn, you really hyped her up, I’m gonna just take your word on it,” she assured, taking a sip of her drink when the bartender placed it beside her.

“Just come on, her set’s about to start,” Shea threw some money down on the counter and pulled Jaida along to one of the velvet couches so they could sit and watch.

Jan walked onto the stage, the spotlight framing her perfectly. She wore a strapless wine-red dress that just hit the ground and was tailored perfectly to her body, accentuating her curves while giving her an air of elegance one would expect from an upscale lounge singer. And her voice was as enchanting as Shea had talked it up to be and then some. There was no doubt that every patron of that lounge had their attention fixed solely on the stage.

“So, what do you think?” Shea asked once the first song had ended.

Jaida grinned, her gaze never breaking away from the singer. “I think I’m in love,” she retorted.

Her friend looked at her and let out a soft laugh. “What, are you following in your husband’s–may he rest in peace–footsteps? She’s twenty-two.”

“Bitch, I’m forty, not eighty. This is a new chapter in my life, who’s to say I can’t include a hot twenty-something in it?” Jaida scoffed.

Shea finished off her drink. “You know what? I respect that. I’ll introduce you two once she’s done,” she decided.

And true to her word, Shea took Jaida backstage once Jan’s set was over. “Wonderful job, darling,” she said as she walked in. “Jan, I’d like you to meet my dear friend, Jaida. We met when we were both in college, so, back when we were about your age.”

Jan looked at Jaida, tilting her head. “Well, how’s that possible when you’re clearly not a day over twenty-five?”

Shea rolled her eyes. “Oh lord, I’ll leave you guys to it,” she said and left the two of them alone.

Jaida chuckled. “Don’t you worry about her,” she said to Jan. “But anyway, you really were fantastic out there. That fancy college degree I keep hearing about did you well.”

Jan smiled, absentmindedly twirling her hair around her finger. “Why thank you. With all the debt it plunged me into, it better.”

The older woman clicked her tongue sympathetically. “Shit, how far in the hole are you?”

“About thirty grand.”

Jaida glanced around, then sat down beside Jan. “Listen, don’t go telling nobody, but I got you. I’m a couple days away from coming into a lot of money, like, well into seven figures.” She didn’t give a specific number because she wasn’t entirely sure how it all worked, but she could hire someone to explain it to her.

Jan’s eyes went wide and her jaw hung open. “A-Are you sure? I mean, thank you, that’s so kind. But if you don’t mind me asking… How’d you come into that kind of money?”

“Inheritance,” she replied, biting back a smirk.

“That’s just… incredible. If there’s anything I can do to thank you…”

Jaida waved her hand, brushing the suggestion off. “You don’t have to do anything. But I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to let me buy you a drink when you’re done for the night.”

Jan fluttered her eyelashes and shifted closer to her. “Of course, I was hoping this might be a little more than a random philanthropic act.”

This brought a feeling of relief to Jaida, the last thing she wanted was for Jan to feel obligated to express romantic or sexual interest in her. “I’ll see you on the other side, then,” she hummed as she got up and returned to the lounge, ready to watch Jan on stage for the rest of her shift. The only time her gaze broke was to text her driver to be on his way.

And once it ended, the two of them reconvened at the bar, with Jaida ordering them both a drink. “So, have you always been a singer?” she asked casually.

“Oh yeah, since I was four.” Jan chuckled. “At the end of the day there was just no other choice for me.”

“I like a girl that knows what she wants out of life,” Jaida mused, taking the glass once it was set down in front of her and sipping from it.

Jan smiled, lips just barely pursed around the rim of the glass. She sipped slowly, then set it down as she looked at her. “Then tell me,” she prompted, “what do you want?” She leaned ever so slightly closer, a sultry air lacing around her words.

Jaida smirked, pointedly looking her over. “Something about five-foot-four, brown eyes, voice of an angel…” she listed, voice trailing off as she spoke. “You know, something along those lines.”

Jan set her glass down once it was empty. “You better be taking that something back to your place then,” she replied simply.

“I intend on it,” she hummed. “You ever been in a Rolls Royce?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one.”

Jaida grinned, leaving cash down for the bartender before getting up. “Come, Ralph is waiting out back for us.”

Jan tilted her head as she followed. “Ralph?”

“My driver. I inherited the staff as well, but they all liked me better anyway.” She chuckled as they went outside and stepped into the car, exchanging casual greetings with the driver.

While Jan did try to keep her attention on Jaida, she was distracted by how luxurious and pristine the car was, and when they pulled up to Jaida’s house, her eyes went wide. “This is where you live?” she gasped softly.

“Not too shabby, huh?” Jaida hummed as they got out of the car. “A lot of the staff lives here, no point in having a bunch of empty rooms. And my sister’s moving in tomorrow,” she explained, leading her inside.

Jan was trying her best to listen, but taking in everything around her meant her focus was being pulled in six different directions. It reminded her of her first time in Manhattan — everything was big and shiny, but she didn’t think she could touch anything yet. The first thing her hand felt was the railing of the spiral staircase she was following Jaida up.

“And this is my room. It could do with an update, I ain’t gonna lie. But she’s comfy and spacious, can’t really complain.” Jaida hummed. She had been the one that had pushed for such a big bed, and although she was quick to adjust to sleeping in it alone, she was more than happy to bring in new company. She turned to see that Jan had taken off her shoes and thrown herself onto the bed, sprawled out on her back and giggling softly to herself. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

“Sorry, it just looked so inviting. I couldn’t help myself,” Jan replied, sitting back up.

Jaida smiled as she toed out of her heels. “I’m not mad, you look good in my bed.” She hummed, letting her eyes rake over Jan’s body.

“I’d look even better up close,” she cooed, beckoning Jaida closer with a curl of her finger.

“You know, I think you’re right.” Jaida chuckled as she crawled onto the bed, then on top of Jan, straddling her waist as she kissed along her jawline.

Jan tilted her head back, baring her neck as Jaida’s lips traveled down it. A breathy gasp slipped out when Jaida began littering her neck with hickies until she finally moved up to kiss her properly.

Jaida kissed her hard, deeply. It was the first kiss in years that made her feel so alive, that made her keep going back for more because the taste of her lips became instantly addictive. Her fingers tangled in Jan’s hair, pulling her head closer while her free hand unzipped the younger woman’s dress.

Jan wiggled out of her dress, not wanting to have to break away from Jaida to take it off properly. Her hand wandered across Jaida’s back until she felt the metal of the zipper under her thumb, then unzipped the dress in a swift movement.

When they did have to come up for air, Jaida took another look at the girl beneath her. “You always wear lingerie like this under your work clothes?” she teased, her finger tracing along the outline of Jan’s lacy, strapless bra.

“It helps me stay in the zone. You know, the soft, sultry lounge singer.” She hummed, walking her fingers up Jaida’s arm. “And it seems to have worked,” she added, her fingers stopping on Jaida’s bra strap and playfully tugging it down.

“Guess you got me there,” Jaida murmured, pressing another kiss to her lips as she unhooked her bra and tossed it aside. Her hands glided forward, cupping Jan’s breasts with her thumbs massaging her nipples at a teasingly slow pace, smirking when it elicited a soft moan. She trailed her lips back down Jan’s neck, to her collarbone, then between her breasts.

Jan’s back arched up, body already yearning for more touch, and whimpering softly when she felt Jaida’s tongue swirling around her nipple. Her thighs instinctively parted as soon as Jaida pulled her panties down, but she was past the point of feeling any sort of embarrassment - she knew what she wanted and was ready for it.

And who was Jaida to do anything but give right in? After finally undressing herself, she nudged Jan’s thighs apart with her hand, then gently traced her finger along her folds. She eased one finger in first, curling and pumping it slowly, her eyes trained on Jan’s face, watching her get more and more worked up. “That’s it, good girl,” she murmured as she worked in a second finger and built up her pace. She looked down with amusement when she saw how Jan was thrusting her hips forward, as if she was trying to fuck herself on her fingers. “And so eager,” she teased.

“Just love the way you make me feel, Mommy,” Jan purred in a way that sent chills up Jaida’s spine.

Jaida smirked and leaned over to kiss her. “Cute,” she murmured before moving down between Jan’s legs and, before Jan could offer any response, she replaced her fingers with her tongue, thrusting it and swirling it around.

“F-Fuck!” Jan gasped out sharply, hips pushing up again. Her hands gripped the comforter beneath her, knuckles turning white from the tightness of her hold.

And Jaida was only encouraged by that. Her tongue moved steadily and swiftly while her thumb rubbed at her clit. Her free hand kept her balanced by gripping onto Jan’s thigh, which helped keep Jan in place as well.

Jan was trembling and moaning, her body was red hot and she could feel her pulse racing. Her eyes squeezed shut and her hips bucked up despite Jaida’s grip. “A-Ah, fuck!” she nearly yelled as her orgasm hit.

It was only after Jaida was certain Jan was fully spent that she came up for air. “That good, baby?” she cooed, running her hands up and down Jan’s body.

Jan felt like her soul had left her body, feeling completely numb and utterly spent in the best possible way. “So good,” she breathed out. Once she regained the ability to remember how to move, she sat up. “Let me take care of you,” she whispered, and was already pushing Jaida onto the bed before she could get an answer.

Not that Jaida would’ve ever dreamed of objecting. She laid back with her legs propped apart to give her room, and tried her best to watch her, but the second she felt Jan’s tongue against her pussy and easing its way in, her eyes fluttered shut and her body shuddered in pleasure. She supposed it didn’t surprise her that Jan was talented any way she used her mouth, but god, that girl was an overachiever.

And Jan was nothing if not eager to please. She didn’t let up for a second, not until Jaida came as hard as she had, and even after that, she lingered for a moment, just in case. Then she moved back up Jaida’s body and kissed her sweetly.

Jaida hummed contently and wrapped her arms around Jan. “That was so good, baby,” she praised gently, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before shifting so they could be under the covers. “Think you’re about ready to call it a night?”

Jan nodded, letting out a soft yawn. “God, I’m gonna sleep so well tonight,” she murmured as she nestled herself against Jaida.

“I sure hope so,” she retorted lightly as her eyes closed.

——

The housekeeper let Heidi in that morning, and Heidi didn’t think much of it. She knew her sister had never been a morning person, and they never did set a time for her to come over. Considering she didn’t need to bring any furniture, the transition to moving in was easily handled by herself, with some help from the security guard - she could only go up and down that long staircase so many times with arms full of luggage.

Once she was more or less settled in, Heidi went back downstairs to go into the kitchen with the intent of raiding Jaida’s fridge for some breakfast. What she didn’t expect to see was a white girl in one of her sister’s silk robes leaning against the counter and drinking coffee. “Now who in the fresh hell are you?”

Jan was unphased by this. “I’m Jan,” she answered. “You must be Heidi, Jaida’s told me so much about you.”

“Well she ain’t tell me shit about you, so my question remains unanswered,” she said bluntly.

“Right, that makes sense, since we just met last night,” Jan mused. “Anyway, I know you’re just moving in and stuff, I’ll go let Jaida know you’re here.” She finished her coffee and put the empty mug in the sink before going back upstairs, happy to see that Jaida was a little more awake than when she’d left. “Your sister’s here, by the way,” she said as she sat cross-legged on the bed.

Jaida sat upright. “This early? Damn. Well, I better make myself decent and go talk to her,” she said, getting out of bed and throwing on a t-shirt and sweatpants. “I won’t be long, boo.” She kissed her cheek before she made her way downstairs.

“You got some ‘splaining to do,” Heidi said as soon as Jaida came into her line of vision. “Now, who was that pretty little thing wanderin’ around here in next to nothing?”

“Jan’s the new singer at Shea’s lounge. Listen, I know it was fast but… I don’t know how to explain it, there’s something special about her. We had this connection that I just know is more than intimate.”

Heidi stared at her blankly. “Do you hear yourself right now? It hasn’t even been a month since the funeral and you’ve got a co-ed up in your room.”

Jaida sighed. “Look, I’m not planning on flaunting her out and about yet, but I’m not gonna deny myself just because the dirt on his grave is still fresh.” She chewed her lip. “This is the first time I’ve been happy in years, Heidi. I need you to let me have this.”

Her sister was quiet for a moment. “You really think this girl’s gonna make you that happy?”

“I do.”

“Then I won’t stop you.” Heidi gave in without any more resistance. “Just don’t go mixing any of that white powder into her drink, she seems real nice.”

Jaida rolled her eyes, then quickly glanced around to make sure they were alone. “Don’t you worry, arsenic milkshakes are off the menu.”

[skelebae21]

Baisemain [G!Papyrus x Reader] By nixdex on DeviantArt

Baisemain - A kiss on the hand Ever since you had met the tall skeleton monster, you had been absolutely charmed. W.D. Papyrus was the definition of a gentleman. Everything he did screamed elegant, from the way he walked to the way he talked. He treated everyone with utter respect and kindness. Even if he happened to find himself in a sticky situation, he kept his cool. Like the day you had met him. You had been making your way home from a late night shift, calmly walking down the streets in the middle of the night, enjoying the cool but pleasant air. Not cold enough to freeze in your thin jacket and scarf, but still enough for your breath to fog when you breathe out. And of course, your night was ruined when a man quickly took a grip of your messenger bag, trying to rip it from you. But jokes on him, since you were always prepared. Never let your guard down in a big city, especially during night when you're alone. Number one rule of survival. While you were having a tug of war with the mugger -him being armed with a knife, yet only being bark and no bite-, your knight on a white horse arrived. Papyrus had calmly strolled up to the two of you, tapping the man's shoulder to get his attention. Your mugger had quickly let go of your bag, making you stumble back and land on your butt, like the graceful princess you were. At first you had been startled by the tall monster, he was a skeleton after all. But as soon as he opened up his mouth to speak, you had calmed down. “I believe it is not very polite to try and steal a young woman's bag without her approval,” the skeleton’s voice was so smooth that for a moment you forgot you were being mugged. Was it even possible to have such a smooth voice? If he had been your teacher in college, you might have paid a bit more attention in class. Completely missing the exchange of words between the two men -as you were too busy staring at the skeleton-, you were quite surprised when the mugger started to cry while your saviour gently patted him on the back. Your mugger, who introduced himself as Mark, had apologized to you through his tears, his voice breaking so much it was painful to witness. He explained how he lost his job and his wife took away his children, kicking him on the streets, and he was desperate for money. Feeling sorry for the man, you had quickly fished out a 20 (dollar/euro/etc.) and handed it to him, which only made him cry more. After the gentle skeleton also had provided him with some extra cash, you had given him directions to a homeless centre, one that you at times visited to do some volunteering in the kitchen. As soon as the man began walking in the direction you pointed out, you turned to the monster before you, smiling kindly at him. “Thank you so much for your help, how can I repay you, Mr....?” “W.D. Papyrus,” the man introduced himself, holding out his hand for you to take, which you did. “And there is no need for repayment, it was the right thing to do after all.” You almost missed what he said, seeing as you were very busy admiring how smooth his bones were. Which sounds creepy yes, but they were very smooth. Did he use lotion? You were even more surprised when he lifted your hand up, him also leaning forward to gently press his teeth against your knuckles. After a long conversation with you shuttering about needing to repay him for his kindness, you were able to convince him to join you in a café the very next day. Whether it was him accepting defeat or him taking pity in your flustered state, you would never know. And that was how you got to know the gentleman named, W.D. Papyrus. And it was only downhill from there. You found yourself enchanted with everything he did. His relaxed features when he was enjoying a book in your company, the way he held his cup of tea, how he lectured his brother in the most caring and calm way possible -which you found fascinating, since when you lectured your siblings, it usually ended up in a hair tugging war-, and oh dear god did you love the way he said your name. He had the most interesting accent, one that you couldn't pinpoint even if you wanted. You once asked him about it, and he said it was from a language among skeletal monsters, one that he rarely used nowadays. You often found yourself staring at his face. You tried convincing yourself it wasn't creepy, but deep down you knew you should be ashamed for not being able to rip your eyes away from him. Sans caught you once, and you had never seen anyone look as smug as he did in that exact moment. Your eyes would trail along the two cracks on his face, one above his right eye, and the other one under his left one. The thought of them being in pain was scary, since you really didn't want anything to be able to harm such a pure person. Sometimes you tried to imagine where he might have gotten them, but then quickly remembered Sans also had them, which either meant it was a family trait or both had done something idiotic to cause so similar injuries. But then again you couldn't imagine Papyrus doing anything stupid, so it must have been Sans’ fault in that case. “Papyrus,” you called out his name to get his attention, which you did “can I ask you something?” The tall skeleton looked at you for a moment before he placed a bookmark in his book and resting the literature on his lap. The two of you were seated in one of the sofas in his and Sans' huge Victorian house. You often found yourself reading with Papyrus, just enjoying the other’s presence and a good story. Other times you would enjoy a coffee or tea together, or even take a walk. You were a calm pair, both finding more enjoyment in a quiet afternoon over a bar trip with a bunch of friends. “Of course.” Papyrus answered as he had his attention turned to you. Nervously you placed your own book on the coffee table, shifting around as you gathered courage to ask what had been nagging in your mind for a long time now. “Do...” you started before rethinking your words “Do they hurt? The cracks, I mean.” you toyed with your fingernails out of nervous habit, hoping you didn't ask a sensitive or too personal question. Hearing a small chuckle next to you made you relax ever so slightly, knowing he hadn't taken any offence in your curiosity. “They do not hurt, there is no need to worry over them.” Papyrus assured, and as you looked back up at him, you could see he actually found your worry amusing. Once again nervous, you swallowed thickly before speaking once again. “May I touch them?” you could see Papyrus’ eyes widen slightly, making you regret your question. You were just about to stand up to make a run for the front door to escape the awkwardness, when you felt a gentle touch on your hands. Glancing down, you saw a skeletal hand with a hole in the middle of the 'palm' carefully gripping your hands which were resting on your lap, lifting them up to his face. He placed your palms against his cheekbones, giving you a small nod to tell you it was alright. With his phalanges still holding their contact with your skin, you moved your hands to trace alone the cracks, finding them very interesting. Your eyes were glued onto the dark lines, as if your stare alone could fix them. “They are not an injury, no need for worry, my dear.” Papyrus spoke, as if reading your mind. “So it's a family trait then, not Sans accidentally making something explode in both of your faces.” you answered, seeing Papyrus chuckle at your joke you gave a mental pat on your shoulder. “Indeed. Our father also had cracks on his face, just like Sans and myself.” your (e/c) eyes moved from his face to his hands, which were still placed over yours. Carefully turning your hand around in his, so you could gently take hold of his phalanges you studied the hole in the middle of the metacarpal as well as part of his carpals bones. You wondered how it was possible for his fingers to stay in their rightful places, even when the bones aren't intact, his phalanges and metacarpals simply float in their spots. “And these?” you spoke quietly, as if a loud voice would ruin the moment. “Also family trait.” your eyes darted to his, asking the unspoken question “And no, they do not hurt either.” he reassured with a gentle smile on his face. He and Sans were capable of quite a lot of expressions, keeping in mind that they were only bones. Could bone even flex? It shouldn't, right? “Then how...?” with your fingers you gently brushed against the empty space in his palm. “Magic.” he chuckled, watching you with adoration as you studied his hands. With gentle movements Papyrus took hold of your hand again, bringing it to his teeth in the same manner as on the day the two of you met. But instead of pulling away after one skeletal kiss on your knuckles he moved on to press his teeth against your wrist, and then slowly making his way up along your arm. As your brain crashed from overheating, you could do nothing but watch the act with a beet red face. Papyrus didn't seem to mind at all as he continued to slowly get closer to your neck. With each new kiss the hair on your neck stood on it's ends, until finally, Papyrus reached your neck and pulled away, only enough to look at your face. “May I kiss you, (_Name_)?” his voice was still so quiet and smooth, if only the slightest bit rough. Not trusting your own voice, you nodded rapidly, your face heating up even more. With another gentle chuckle Papyrus leaned closer to your face, his eyes closing as he did so, and placed his teeth against your lips. You didn't even know if it counted as a kiss, as he didn't have any lips, but it still made your heart beat dangerously fast and butterflies flutter in your stomach, but you ignored it as you closed your own eyes and pressed slightly closer to him. A bright light and the sound of a shutter startled you enough to make you jump and pull away, breath uneven and face red as a tomato. Both you and Papyrus turned your heads to look at the source. Standing nonchalantly in the room with you was Sans, a cigarette in between his teeth and your beloved polaroid camera in hand, a new picture being spit out from the camera. He took it out from the machine and waved it a couple of times before looking at it. “I should get into the photography business.” Sans spoke, placing the picture on the coffee table before leaving, your camera still in his hands. Taking a peak at the picture you covered your face with your hands, muttering how embarrassed you felt over the whole situation. Papyrus on the other hand took the picture and studied it closely, a fond smile on his face. His other hand reached for one of yours, clasping them together and once more bringing your hand to his teeth for a Baisemain.

[polar-stars]

Some Notes on what the grown-ups are up to...(Part 1 | SnKimiko Related)

So hey, I am not quite tired yet but too tired to draw so welp, I guess we’re doing this instead. 

Honestly, recently I’ve realized that I haven’t really explored the careers the canon characters pursue within in my Next Gen Fanfic. Which is mainly because I honestly haven’t thought that much about it but rather only ever held some rough ideas. There’s reasoning to that but that mainly has to do with myself but I don’t have to get into that in detail now. It’s a lot about the fact that I’m still a pretty young person with not the best understanding of how the world works yet...but I’m working on it!

So meep, I thought I could write down some actual notes for some info regarding what the canon characters are up to when “Shokugeki no Kimiko” takes place. I’m still a little unsure about them (so don’t be surprised if I eventually change things up later), so I’d gladly appreciate feedback honestly! 

Anyway, that lengthy intro aside...let’s get into it, I guess ; 7 ;

-

Megumi 

Megumi Aldini-Tadokoro, formerly just Tadokoro, lives in her hometown in Tohoku and took over the position as it’s head-chef after her mother retired. The news that a Totsuki graduate, and not just any graduate but a former Elite 10 member, took over the Ryokan certainly drove a lot of people to the place. 

Megumi’s wisdom regarding hospitality and her outstanding talents in the culinary field ultimately improved the tourism of the region immensely. The Ryokan is praised for the traditional Japanese atmosphere, exquisite food and, of course, the welcoming atmosphere and the warmth with which the guests are welcomed with. 

Given that her priorities are certainly the customers and building a relationship with them even if it is for only one day, Megumi always resigned off from opening another restaurant. She can’t be at all at the same time after all and in her mind it would make everything less personal. However it’s at a time where Megumi already earned a name for herself and instead of mocking her decision as “too limited” or “not enough vision”, she’s respected by the culinary world. 

Despite the fact though that the Ryokan is her prime focus, she does help out her husband Isami with new recipe ideas or other advice for the Trattoria-Aldini-Branch whenever he asks her. She does help out in the restaurants themselves as well, once or twice a year. Which is always made out to be a great deal. 

She often gets invited to various hotels throughout a year and occassionally, she’ll take the offer and arranges a special banquet for one night for the hotel’s guests to enjoy. It’s certainly always an event to behold and something that every hotel, she’s served so far, wears with pride. 

She’s mother to three children, two sons and one daughter. The oldest son, Hiroshi Aldini-Tadokoro, is a current higschool first year in Totsuki and a member of the 115th Generation. Her two twin-children Nino and Maja Aldini-Tadokoro still visit a primary school in the local area. They will be part of the future 119th Generation of Totsuki. 

Takumi

Takumi Aldini lives in Tuscany and is the head-chef of the original “Trattoria Aldini” where he grew up in. But it’s not just that...

With the help of his business-knowledgeable wife Ikumi and of course his loyal brother Isami, Takumi build a successful brand out of the Trattoria which expands all over the world, having restaurants in almost every noteworthy city. It’s, additionally, kept affordable. It’s not something that the normal middle-class man can eat in each and everyday but it certainly is something he can go to once in a while. 

Takumi is managing the restaurants within the West, so mainly Europe and America. (Isami is taking care of the restaurants in the East) 

At the same time, the original Trattoria keeps him busy as well given that as the first and original Trattoria it has a bit of a cult-status and is on every tourist’s To-Do list that comes into the area. Whenever Isami and his family come over to Tscany, things become even more lively as many foodies would kill for the opportunity to see the infamous Aldine-Family and especially the Mezzaluna-Siblings in action. 

Takumi has one daughter with Ikumi: Mika Aldini, a student of Totsuki’s 115th Generation. 

Alice

After her cousin Erina vanished alongside Soma, the Totsuki-Empire was eventually laid into the hands of the so-often-overlooked Alice Nakiri, making her the new headmistress of Totsuki once Senzaemon retired. 

There were a few doubtful voices regarding Alice’s Election as new head of this enormous branch, as so many had always pictured Erina in that position. But over time, these voice where shut down as Alice managed to fulfill her job pretty well. Some of her strategies or ideas might sound eccentric or unconditional at first, but there’s always logic and a certain wisdom to them. Also, Alice always had a great understanding of what she wants and how to get it which does make her a solid, cunning and to-beware negotiator.

She also does a lot for the intellectual part of Totsuki by expanding it’s library, funding research projects in fields other than strictly cooking, diversify the range of languages taught on Totsuki...etc. 

As her profession as Totsuki’s headmistress consumes her quite a bit, Alice was only able to open two restaurants: one in Tokyo, called “Snestorm” and one in Copenhagen, called “Yukidoke”. Both are reservation-only places where she serves her experimental and unique culinary ideas. Snestorm is more focused on Western ideas, so to speak, while Yukidoke is more Eastern-orientated. 

She has two twin-daughters with her husband Ryo: Lola Nakiri and Mona Nakiri, both members of the 115th Generation of Totsuki. She and her family definitely remain the apex of Japan’s culinary landscape. They host a yearly Summer-Ball which is one of the grandest, biggest and most anticipated events for any person worth their salt within the culinary industry.

Akira

With the reputation of having survived Totsuki and ending up amongst the 10 best students backing him up, Akira opens four highly-successful restaurants over the years between his graduation from Totsuki and the current timeline of “Shokugeki no Kimiko”. Currently, he’s outlining plans for a restaurant in the US.

His first is called “Sona” and is located in Tokyo and also known as Akira’s “main restaurant” so to speak. Over the years it has grown into a small palace and its one of pricey but also praised restaurants within the city. Quite a few rich ladies would die to have their wedding taking place there, as one certainly feels like some sort-off Mid-East royal stepping into the place. 

The second is called “Signum” and is located in Singapore. What’s special about this restaurant is that the menu changes drastically every year. The concept is basically that each year, Signum serves a different kind of cuisine. One year it’s Thai, the other it’s Indian, then it’s Turkish, then Malaysian and so on. Akira announces this year’s menu on each New Years Party hosted by the Hayamas in Sona.

The third is called “Solaris” and is located in Kairo. Akira got inspired to open it, because of his son’s enthusiasm regarding travels to Egypt. It serves mainly all different sorts of curry but also various specialities of Mid-Eastern cuisines. 

The fourth is called “Lilac Garden” and it’s the first one to not start with an “S” and this one is more dedicated to his daughter. It’s located in Herakleion on Kreta. It’s honestly a bit more of a café and has a truly beautiful pavilion that offers an enchanting look on the sea. What’s noteworthy is that the entire place is decorated with all sorts of flowers. 

Aside from being busy with restaurants, Akira does actually time to time support Alice’s more academic advances in Totsuki by teaching seminars. It’s a rare occurrence but whenever he does, a broad number of students come rushing. 

He also found himself a little hobby in a little side-business as perfumer. Originally, he only wanted to construct a perfume for his wife Hisako as a little surprise for an anniversary and ended up thinking: “Why not make some money out of this?” While the perfume for Hisako of course is a Hisako-Only-Creation that will never make it into the public hands, he did bring 3 other perfumes to the market that sell pretty well. 

Akira has two children with Hisako, a son and a daughter. The son, Akio Hayama, is part of the 114th Generation and a member of Totsuki’s current Elite 10. The daughter, Kaori Hayama, is part of the 115th Generation as well as it’s valedictorian. 

[kaiju-z]

Following the victory over The Traveling Gentlefolk and the celebration of the evening, the Cultbusters had come together to the home of one, Nelatha, where Amelia Zephyrine made her choice to remain in Crystalgate, having achieved personal goals that she had aspired to get done. After a seemingly unanamous acceptance of this decision, Luctan revealed to Nel and Malak his true appearance, after a long time of hiding.

With the intense fight, celebrations and revelations having come and gone, the party prepare for the next step of their journey and whatever life has in store for them onward in...

Seon Adventures Episode 29: STONKS AND SHARES!!!

It is the day after the tournament and each of the Cultbusters find themselves on a journey of preparations, conscious and subconscious of what’s to come.

First up, Mournimar Da’Vir~!

The Tiefling Ranger, accompanied by his trusty Dire Wolf, Morgan Da’Vir, headed off to a familiar face for a familiar ask. Specifically, the horned naturalist went to Delemmak and ordered himself a new armor and melee weapon, while Delemmak’s half-orc apprentice worked the forge, under the scruffy elven man’s instructions.

After some measuring and fitting, he was left with certain options. Mythril like chainmail in one category and a special studded leather armor with fuzed in metalic paddings. Mournimar would take the latter, for a combined 600gp, for base price of 400 and improvement price of 200 gp.

As for a weapon, the madlad, who once bought a nail bat from Delemmak wound up with the option of a magical blade. A rapier of sorts, with Elven writing on one side. Thanks to his knowledge of Elven, due to his herritage, he is able to discern the lyrics to “All Star” by Smashmouth.

Elven, turly a beautiful and magical language.

Following the purchase of this 250gp weapon, Mournimar would then find himself, alongside his animal companion, roaming the streets of Crystalgate and walking across the bridge, before taking note of something in the water.

A bottle of sorts. Curious, and much to the confusion and fatigue of an elderly woman that witnesses him do so, he jumps over the edge and lands in the shallow water, taking a closer look at what is revealed to be the bottle that was attached to Luck’s wings, which in turn were attached to that hellish contraption.

Still attached to said wings. Apparently this being where Kit’s disposal of the wings had led to.

Watching from dry land, after a “dramatic” fight with the straps of the contraption, Mournimar would see the wings drift away. 

(Coincidentally, did you know what Luck and the wings’ favorite style of swimming was? Butterfly B))

With this out of the way and opting not to share his findings with Luctan, Mournimar would carry on with the day, until reconvening back with the party in their new mannor.

Luctan’s day goes a biiiit differently, compared to the rest.

Following long pondering after the tournament and a near sleepless night, due to the situation he found himself in with TTG and Amelia’s sister, Sabrina, Luck had made a list of activities to keep his mind off of what was supposed to be a simple vengeance quest.

The streetdumb tiefling in disguise would begin by precuring supplies, tools, materials and work on building something he had never, until recently, thought he’d ever want to make: a shrine. 

Not for any god, but for a worshipper of a god. With hard work and determination, as well as a bit of an imagination, Luctan would construct a shrine to Keemis, for Malak.

He felt it the least he could do, given the work Malak had put up for them. And all their shenanigans until now.

From there he heads to Peppery Pete’s, buying the party a number of potions. Out of habit, he buys five. Each of the Greater Healing Variety. Beyond that, he would get something else, in a glass casing.

The Catharsis Poison. Worth 250gp, A deep red, runny potion. Tastes like bad wine. Upon drinking, the drinker will sweat profusely, followed by intense vomiting, crying, urination, and diarrhea for 3d6 minutes. If the drinker survives, they lose all emotional attachment for 2d4 days.

After much complimenting being thrown Pete’s way, by Luck, the red tiefling would ask his business partner about where he may perhaps percure a tattoo of the magical kind. Given directions, Luctan would find himself at the home/establishment of a tattooist Elf with a floofy beard.

A real pro of 300 years, Luck would essentially be in safe hands, as long as he was good with the gold and tite with the toughness.

For the next 6 hours Luck would have to bite into his black tanktop shirt and grit and, occasionally shed a few tears, as magical golden and purple ink was fused to his chest’s skin.

By the time it’s over, the butterfly-wing esque pattern is infused into his flesh, perfectly and with no diseases! OR sepsis! (DARN!)

Mark of the Elvenkind:

Size:

Medium

Location:

Any

Intricacy:

Average

Power:

Low

This mark imbues its wearer with the benefits of Fey Blood, granting them immunity to magical sleep and advantage on saving throws against being charmed.

Feeling safer from the magical mind control of others, Luctan would pay his tattooist and dress back up. After which he’d continue to the next part of his work:

INVESTMENTS!

Meeting with Delemmak and then Father Eldod, the Dragonborn, Luctan would invest high quantities of gold into each’s respective field. In one way to aid his favorite people in Crystalgate and in another way to make money in town, while the party was away on adventures.

The grattitude in each man was evident as in one case, Luck was helping his colleague and his daughter, Glashta, who’s mother works as an Accountant (Orccountant, if you will). While in the other he was aiding a kindly old Dragonborn, with whom he had made one of the deepest connections two people could make. Personal. Intimate: THE LOVE FOR ARCHITECTURE!!!

And as he’d leave his greatful, tearful friend, Luctan would again make the “Call me” sign with his thumb and pinky.

As day gave way to night, Luck pondered on possibly hiring a butler for the Party’s Mannor. But he wasn’t fully sure on how to handle such a task yet, given that any previous “help” he had working under him did not do so of their own volition...

So put that one in the “LATER” category, as Luck would bring himself, with a package under arm, to Nel and Amelia’s place.

After formalities are out of the way, Luctan presents the package, put together with wrapping paper and rope, purple clumps coming out from a few openings. Amelia would accept said parcel and in turn pass to the tiefling a gift she had been holding onto, herself, for the longest time.

Wrapped in paper, there would be flowers. They’d be dried up, but still put together Gladiolus (Gladioli?). Flowers, famous for often being given to gladiators (hence the name).

The gladiolus flowers symbolize honor and remembrance,as well among many a other qualities: Strength of character, faithfulness, sincerity and integrity, Infatuation and never giving up. A number of these qualities deemed fitting by the blue Genasi, for the red Tiefling.

In turn, from Luctan’s gift to her, Amelia would become the owner of a purple jacket. Identical to Luck’s jacket, from the early days of their adventures, with the notable put togetherness of the sleeves.

And an item, stuffed in the inner pocket of the jacket: Luck’s Blink Dagger. Still in mint condition, too.

The two talk then. And hug it out and then part ways, promissing to meet again, later on, whenever time allows them.

ALL WHILE THIS WAS HAPPENING, THOUGH!

Malak had come earlier to Nel and Amelia’s place, earliest of all.

Welcomed inside, Malak would make an offer of enchanting an item for Amelia, as a farewell present to her. After much searching, she would pick her seashell necklace out and give it for this enchantment.

Using diamond dust and the right incantation, as well as tracing his fingers over the necklace, the Death Cleric would spend a while, infusing a spell into the item. An hour after the casting, Malak would create a Necklace of Sending for Amelia. With a bonus password for personal usage only. Chosen by Amelia, the password is “Alexander”.

Thankful, she in turn would give him a fitting present. Her Keemis necklace, the one with the magical enchantment on it. With a bit of effort, she manages to place it over his head and onto his neck, asking only that he keeps the party safe. Determined to wait for their return.

Malak wishes the two of them a nice life together. A happy life together.

Amelia confides in him her worries. In 25 years of life, she’s never been so close to death and she nearly died twice with them. It’ll shake anyone and gives appreciation. She knew the time to leave was coming. And with the success at the tournament, it was the fitting moment to step back from the spotlight and reasess her life, now that she had Nel, Archie and Sabrina.

Malak takes this into account and Blesses Amelia, as the torch gets properly passed.

With this done, Malak preps himself and his know how to build himself a shrine to Keemis! Preferably in the garden! So he walks on back to the house. And following a note, he finds Luctan’s gift for him there, as it is.

(Much laugh is had ooc.)

The Cleric would approach and take position in front of the shrine, lighting up a pair of small flames atop the offering plates. One flame black. Another White.  Sick.

Speaking of spotlights and gifts! Belli Narah takes the stage and begins her busy day by Sending a message to Bardy Scott, asking him where he got that Thaumaturgy Stone from! "I bought it from Peppery Pete and you can too!” is the answer she gets in turn.

And to Peppery Pete’s she goes, buying herself a stone for 50gp. Which she narrows down the price of to 45gp, for advertisement purposses.

Words are said.

Jokes are made.

And the intricacies of adventuring life get debated between the two, before Belli parts ways for now and carries onto the Nature’s Bounty cafe.

Where she meets Guinnevere. A bald human woman, with a raven on her shoulder.  Why does she meet her? Because Belli demands to speak to the manager.

Why?

Because she wants to get a membership. Why? As a gift for Amelia, of course! Big money is paid as Belli goes all out for the Air Genasi Monk, Getting her a card with  50 visitations free of charge.

The chummy bard goes beyond the gifts, interestingly enough! For she also suggests the addition of a gift shop for customers and passer bys. So into it, she is, that she follows her rich kid instincts and makes...

Investments! She makes an investment in the establishment! STONKZ ARE BEING PUT IN!  100 gold is being placed in the investment... um... corner? Is that where you put investments?!

After gruelling and hilarious (ooc-ly) discussions on Familiar shapes, Belli heads off home, with the rest of the party, where they discuss in what order they are to do their work.

Luctan brings out the potions, handing a Greater Healing for each of the three and quickly realizing half-way into pulling out a forth that there are only 4 of them and thus, he had bought one in exess.

Putting it away, the quartet talk shop, with Luctan (with Mournimar’s aide) elaborating on their adventure in stopping their first cult. And the crystal ball involved. The visions there in and the specifity of Lake Stren in all this.

The four ultimately agree on an order of solving the cases:

Lake Stren > River’s Job Offer >  Lucius Bennett ‘s Offer.

Luck’s personal quest of regaining limbs was to be on wait for now..

As the group carry on conversations on what to do in the meanwhile, before making contact with the clients in the morning, Malak raises the subject of the shrine Luck had made for him in the garden. He would have much preferred to make it himself, as it was his deity and his worship...

But he is ultimately greatful to the tiefling for the work he put in. Luctan sharing that it felt the least he could do for Malak, after the priest’s kindness towards the party.

Then the idea gets brought up for a late night house warming party!

Belli takes to the task quickly and enthusiastically and makes calls to family and friends!

Confirmed guests from the Sending are Sabrina, Ficus, Kit, Pete and Samson. Bob Narah confirms that he’ll get the kids and enough alcohol for a cheeky 50.

All out of slots, the Bard goes old school and heads to the home of Nel and Amelia, becoming the last person of the party (currently) to visit the two that day. She makes with the knocking and is welcomed inside by a pajama’d up Nel, quite surprised with how everyone’s coming in order again and again.

Before the announcement of the party, she hands the fellow half-elf bard a knitted hat that she had made for her, which Nel accepts. With the excitement of that one relative that keeps getting socks for Christmas.

Being pointed to Amelia, Belli elaborates on the evening’s imprompty party (cut back to Luck as he uses some magic to light up candles and stuff with Purple Flames).

Weary of going out at this time, now that she was with Nel, Amelia asks for the level of the party, who else would be there and the like.

“Super casual.” is Belli’s answer as Nel, having heard the word “party”, immediatelly would switch outfits like in a cartoon, magically wearing an evening gown and ready!

“How’d you do that?!” Belli would ask, shocked at the sudden change.

“Showbusiness, Darling!” is Nel’s answer.  Nel is always ready.

Like Luctan and Malak before her, Belli too would then have a heart to heart conversation with Amelia, over the Air Genasi’s departure from the party. Truths are spoken. Amelia feeling herself an outsider in the group, with how the others had bonded. And felt herself unappreciated in the time, having closed herself off to some extent.

The alchohol during the time she traveled with the group was no incident. It was a coping mechanism.

With adventuring done, she had made the decision to cut down on the drinking.

Belli would, in turn,apologize for making Amelia feel unwanted and unapproached. She’d cry, genuine tears of remorse for not being there for her enough.

The two would hug it out then.

Mad respect.

(THERE ARE EMOTIONS! I AM SOBBING LIKE A FUCK AS THEY HUG!)

With Belli handing Amelia the card from Nature’s Bounty, Amelia would deliver a gift in turn to Belli. Flowers for the bard, as well. This time, specifically for Belli, Chrysanthemums.

Parting ways, until the party, Belli would visit one more person to offer them a spot on the guest list:  Doreen. The head of the orphanage. And after some successful chatting, Doreen would join in.

And the party would follow next...

Previous Episode / Next Episode

[cloudphillips]

One

Seungwan should've known better than to wager against Sooyoung.

  Considering the Slytherin girl's penchant for mischief and deception, it should've been enough incentive for Seungwan to know that something fishy was going on. But even her long history of pure bad luck and gullible tendencies didn't prevent her from taking the bait. Now she had to sneak around the halls of Hogwarts in the middle of the night concealed under the invisibility cloak to search of the fabled Room of Requirement.

  She could've been lounging in the Ravenclaw common room right now writing her essay in Transfiguration and or sneaking into the kitchens to teach the art of Muggle baking to the house elves she befriended but no, she just had to lose a stupid bet.

  And now, she had to pay for the price. 

She descended from the winding steps of the Grand Staircase and followed the directions leading to the castle grounds. The rational part of her brain screamed at her to Turn back! You're breaking school rules! Retreat before you get expelled! But the other side of her, the small, miniscule and barely-there prideful side of her refused to be cowed. She will not back down from this. Seungwan didn't want to give Sooyoung the satisfaction of knowing that she was a coward all along.

  By the end of the corridor, the young Ravenclaw stopped dead in her tracks when the Gray Lady fluttered pass the solid walls. Their gazes met and those lifeless eyes seemed to see past the magic veil of her invisibility cloak. Seungwan briefly wandered if ghosts were immune to its enchantments. Thankfully, the Gray Lady ignored her existence and continued haunting the halls of Hogwarts. Once the coast was clear, Seungwan resumed her task.

  Any normal person could pretend and claim about finding the Room of Requirement but Seungwan was such a bad liar so there was no way she could've successfully pulled a deception of this magnitude from Sooyoung. The girl was an experienced bullshit detector and any attempts of manipulation from Seungwan would be for nought.

  Besides, Kim Yerim, a young Gryffindor and Sooyoung's evil partner in crime, threatened to jinx Seungwan's flying broom and burn all the books she owned if she ever chickened out. In the end, the Ravenclaw decided that she couldn't risk it.

  Lurking behind the statue of a grotesque gargoyle, Seungwan blew off whisps of her blonde hair that obscured her vision as she studied the intricate patterns carved on the walls in the hopes of revealing a concealed passageway. Hogwarts was full of hidden rooms and other enchantments. Many of its secrets remained undiscovered and it would take her centuries to uncover all of them.

  There was an unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing along the halls and she hastened her pace. "Nox!" After extinguishing the light from her wand and ensuring that her entire body was hidden underneath the cloak, Seungwan waited with bated breath when she saw the hunched figure of Filch emerge from the Great Hall. His beady eyes scanned the empty corridor, searching for anything suspiciously out of the ordinary. He entirely missed the young Ravenclaw's silhouette standing beside a knight statue and decided to make a quick stop to his office. He found it pointless to patrol the school and catch rule-breaking students without the aid of his precious shackles.

  Seungwan released a sign of relief. She was not getting caught today. No sir!

  She poked her head out from the cloak, checking to see if he really left the vicinity and cheering internally when he did. Seungwan was really pushing it now. The number of school rules she was breaking must be horrendous and her best friend Joohyun would be so disappointed, especially when she finds out that the invisibility cloak she lent to Seungwan had been used for illegal purposes.

  Seungwan knew that she was a bad friend, taking advantage of Joohyun's kindness and lying just to achieve her ends, but a lot was at stake here and she couldn't let the devil duo win. She couldn't let them taint Ravenclaw's immaculate reputation by allowing the spread of rumors regarding her cowardice. Seungwan would rather die than bring shame to her house.

  The young Ravenclaw sucked in a deep breath and steadied her resolve. She needed to find this Room of Requirement as soon as possible so she could return to her common room and be done with it. She still needed to read Gilderoy Lockhart's Voyages with Vampires goddamnit!

  "The light drives away the void that has long blinded my eyes upon your arrival." Seungwan nearly jumped in surprise when the portrait of a dark-haired woman, wearing a white Grecian dress and resting casually on a rustic bench then holding a cluster of grapes within the palm of her hands, called her attention. The title Embodiment of Love and Beauty: Aphrodite was carved on the base of the portrait's golden frame and it sparked a recent memory of the Greek Mythology book Seungwan was reading a few days ago. "Come yonder and whisper the melody into my ears-" Aphrodite leaned closer to get a better look at the blonde girl. "-the reason why a darling rose like you lurks in the darkness of the night."

  Wow. The Ravenclaw was amazed. Who knew that Aphrodite could be so poetic? All the books she read never mentioned how the goddess had a way with words. She could give Apollo a run for his money.

  "Uhmm.." Seungwan was bewildered because she thought she was doing a great job of hiding. Apparently not, because she was clearly caught by someone, even if it was just a mere painting. "I was hoping to find the Room of Requirement." The greek goddess ruefully shook her head, tendrils of raven black locks swaying with every movement, and made such a simple act look so elegant.

  Aphrodite seemed refined and ethereal and for some reason, Seungwan noted an akin likeness between the goddess and Joohyun.

  Huh.

  "My lovely rose. Forget such trivialities and allow me to bask in your sweet presence." Aphrodite purred as she batted her eyelashes coquettishly at the innocent girl. The goddess seemed to have taken a liking towards the young Ravenclaw. "You wield the brilliance of the sun within you. Are you, perchance, an offspring of Apollo?" And when Seungwan shook her head no, the deity continued singing her praises. "No matter. I will not let such things hinder us. For I will pluck all stars in the sky and weave them into garments only befitting of your radiance."

  The blonde girl didn't know what to do with the sudden attention. She was flattered, really, that the Goddess of Love and Beauty found her worthy of her affections but Aphrodite was a portrait and Seungwan was just not into her.

  Seungwan thought of ways on how to gently turn the goddess' advances down without offending her. Sure, Aphrodite was a portrait and held no real power over her but all deities, even ones immortalized in paintings, had enormous pride and easily get injured at the smallest of things.

  "I wish to fulfill your wishes O lovely Aphrodite! But my heart is torn and I simply cannot." Seungwan decided to lay it thick and flatter the goddess. The sooner she escapes this predicament, the sooner she can continue her task of finding the elusive room. "For I am a mere mortal unworthy of your affections. Our becoming is never destined and the Sisters of Fate would drive us apart." At times like these, her greasiness was put to good use. All those instances of playfully flirting at Joohyun was paying off.

  "We simply cannot be." She whispered brokenly to elicit a dramatic effect and successfully rendered Aphrodite into tears. Who knew that Seungwan had a knack for theatrics?

  A part of her was guilty for pulling this cunning move and manipulating someone, even if that someone was just a portrait, but she couldn't deny the rush of excitement it gave her. She was starting to know what it felt like being a Slytherin.

  "Alas! You speak of the truth, my darling rose, and my heart has come to accept this. Forgive me for forcing my unwanted affections upon you." The goddess wiped away the last of her tears and gathered her resolve. "Allow me to amend my offenses and aid you in your endeavors." Aphrodite bestowed her godly blessings upon the blonde, which was completely unnecessary because the deity was a painting and she wielded no real power, and Seungwan just obeyed because she wasn't raised to be rude. "You seek of a place which is hard to find. A room that comes and goes."

  That piqued the young Ravenclaw's interest and she leaned closer, eager to learn what the deity has to say. Aphrodite smiled fondly at Seungwan before stating a cryptic message. "It only ever appears in times of great need."

  Their little chat was interrupted when familiar voices sounded down the corridor. "I think someone's down here!" One of them said and their footsteps quickened. The young Ravenclaw panicked and spurred into action by hiding behind a marble pillar and covering herself with the invisibility cloak. She waited with bated breath and clutched her wand tightly as she prepared herself for an unwanted confrontation.

  Seungwan thought she heard the distinct sound of a cat purring and upon glancing down, she was caught paralyzed by the sight of Mrs. Norris glaring at her nastily. The feline's beady yellow eyes sent tendrils of fear to her spine. For a moment, she wondered how the animal could see her through the veil of the enchanted cloak. Did felines have a heightened sense of sight that they acquired the ability to detect invisible objects? "Shoo! Please go away." Seungwan tried her best to treat the cat with as much courtesy as possible because even though Mrs. Norris wasn't the most well-liked among the students, considering she was Filch's pet, but she was still a cat and Seungwan respected all animals, no matter how evil.

  Mrs. Norris had other intentions because her hackles rised and lunged to attack the young Ravenclaw. Those razor-sharp claws sank deep into her leg, slightly drew some blood, and effectively tore her trousers. The blonde was unable to stop the groan that escaped from her lips when she felt the stinging sensation.

  Crap!

  The voices became louder and the young Ravenclaw barely had time to control her agonized breathing when two figures emerged from the dark hall. Upon getting a clearer look on their features, Seungwan stifled a groan and cursed the universe for playing a sick game on her.

  It was her friends. Seulgi and Joohyun.

  Both of which were Prefects.

  Prefects who were patrolling the halls of Hogwarts late at night.

  Prefects who, if they somehow caught wind of Seungwan's rule-breaking, had the authority to take away house points and report the said girl to the Head of the Ravenclaw House.

  Just her luck.

  "There's nothing down here Joohyun." Seulgi directed the tip of her wand to cast a beam of light upon the dark corridor. Joohyun told her earlier that she heard some noises in the vicinity and accompanied her friend to investigate. "It's just Mrs. Norris hissing at nothing in particular." Seulgi nodded at the said feline, who was busy glaring at an empty spot behind a marbled pillar, then turned to regard her friend skeptically.

  "That's odd." A minute ago, she thought she heard someone whimpering as if they were in pain. Thinking that a person was injured, she hurried over to check it out, only to find nothing. Did I miss something? Joohyun thought as she squinted her eyes to thoroughly examine the dark hall. She found the cat's actions quite unusual, hissing at the wall and clawing at the empty space as if provoked by the air, but she chalked it up to weird animal behavior. She shook her head and acquiesced. "It must have been my imagination."

  "Do you want to rest? I could finish patrolling if you want. We've already checked most of the castle anyway." Seulgi asked her friend in concern. Being a kind person that she was, it's quite expected of her to ensure her friend's well-being, even if it meant sacrificing her own. Maybe her good-nature just comes with being a Hufflepuff.

  "No, I'm fine." Joohyun declined her offer and adjusted the green scarf wrapped around her neck. The cold air felt like freezing shards that bit her skin but she shrugged her uneasiness off and remained impassive because she didn't want to inconvenience Seulgi. "Let's finish this."

  She gritted her teeth when another blast of the chilly night air hit her face. Joohyun longed for a personal heater, probably in the form of a blonde Ravenclaw Muggleborn whose bright smile put the sun to shame.

  "Last stop, the Dungeons." Seulgi shivered anxiously when she uttered the word. She aimed the light down the spiralling staircase that led to their intended destination and huddled close to Joohyun partly for warmth and mostly for reassurance. The taller girl felt uncomfortable with dark and creepy places. She had gotten used to the warm and comfy atmosphere of the Hufflepuff common room and stifling areas like the Dungeons made her quite nervous. It was a good thing she had her Slytherin friend to accompany her.

  Joohyun furrowed her brows, took one last look at the dark halls, before reluctantly following Seulgi to continue with their patrol.

  As soon as the Prefects were out of sight, the blonde released the breath she'd been holding and quickly shrugged off her cloak to check the damage that evil cat had inflicted.

  Sure enough, her trousers were torn and there was a trail of blood that stained the rainbow-colored socks she borrowed from Seulgi. Crap! The socks were ruined and no amount of Scourgify could remove those bloodstains. Seungwan used to stock her luggage with numerous bottles of bleach for cleaning purposes but her supplies dwindled after that one particular incident which involved diving under the black lake for some experimental research in Care of Magical Creatures and trying to befriend a Giant Squid for extra credit.

  How was the blonde supposed to know that the Giant Squid’s way of showing its trust and getting its stamp of approval was to squirt stinky black ink all over her body?

  How was she supposed to know that, by that simple and disgusting gesture alone, she was already adopted into the squid community?

  Squid ink was difficult to remove, mind you, and it left Seungwan smelling like seafood the whole week.

  And that was the story of how she used up all her bleach.

  If only there was some magical equivalent of the 7/11 convenient store in the wizarding world so she could restock her supplies.

  Oh well, can’t have everything, can we?

  Mrs. Norris poised for another attack and that was enough incentive for Seungwan to run for her life. It was quite ridiculous that she was being terrorized by a cat but in her defense, Mrs. Norris was a demon incarnate. No amount of reasoning would work around that feline so with the influence of her self-preservation, the young Ravenclaw took off. If she were to die, she didn’t want it to be caused by something stupid like being clawed to death by a cat. That’s just ridiculous. She’d be rolling over her grave if that were to happen.

  Seungwan dashed along the winding halls of Hogwarts and ignored the burning sensation on her wound. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her sane now and she tried to remain composed while a murderous cat followed her wake. She took a series of twist and turns and ran until she could no longer hear the sound of screeching and purring.

  The Ravenclaw stopped short to catch her breath and shrugged off her cloak to wipe the sweat off her face. She had never been more exhausted in her entire life and that was a great indicator that Seungwan needed to do more cardio. It made her wonder if this dare was worth risking her life for. She contemplated of backing out but the mocking laugh of Sooyoung and the sinister grin of Yeri, along with the images of broken brooms and burning books, flashed into her mind and her resolve was back full force.

  She’d come this far. Might as well get this over with.

  She will not live like a coward. Not today Satan!

  But as soon as Seungwan regained some courage, it quickly dwindled when she realized that she was lost, like, really lost. It seemed like she stumbled upon an old abandoned classroom by chance.

  Scrolls of spare parchment and splinters littered the floors, unused desks and chairs were stacked haphazardly behind the dust-covered blackboard and marbled statues were blasted into pieces. The windows were smashed and the walls were scorched. It’s as if someone lit the whole room on fire and left it burning for centuries. A few Dementor dummies were broken beyond repair and some of its parts fell to ashes.

  Then something caught her attention.

  Standing far back into the room and partially covered by a worn red tapestry, there was an ornate and fairly ancient-looking mirror. The base had a clawed foot that served as a support and the gold borders that framed its edges were inscribed with a foreign and probably dead language.

  Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi

  Due to the fact that she was a Ravenclaw and she had a natural tendency to be curious, Seungwan walked close to inspect the object. She tried to decipher the hidden meaning behind the carvings and moved until her silhouette was reflected in the mirror.

  She looked like a hobo.

  Due to all the running she had to do, her short blonde locks clung to her neck in sticky waves and sweat dampened her skin. Her robes were askew and trousers were torn. She looked like she took a jolly night stroll at the Forbidden Forest but got attacked by an Acromantula.

  Her disheveled appearance reminded her of the time Ravenclaw had a Quidditch match against Gryffindor. It was a pitch-black stormy day and she strayed off the pitch trying to catch the Golden Snitch. She was struck by lightning and landed on the Whomping Willow really badly. Ravenclaw won the match but her broom was pretty wrecked and she was out of commission for nearly three months.

  Seungwan tried to smooth out the unruly bangs that covered her eyes when the image shimmered and her appearance changed. Suddenly, she wasn't the only person reflected in the mirror anymore.

  Standing before her were her friends and all sported cheery expressions on their faces. They looked older and more refined. Gone was the childlike naivety in their eyes and it was replaced with such wisdom that only comes after long years of being exposed to the world and meeting different people.

  Each of them portrayed their dream job. Sooyoung was now a fierce Auror. There was a certain fire in her eyes as she casually draped an arm over a Yerim, who appeared to be the youngest Head of the Ministry of Magic. The Gryffindor girl sported the same mischievous smile and it seemed like she still retained her penchant for troublemaking. Seulgi clutched her latest edition Comet 2500 and posed elegantly like the famous Quidditch player that she is. Joohyun was staring at all of them fondly. A small contented smile graced her lips as she stood as the new Headmistress of Hogwarts. Meanwhile, Seungwan had the professional badge of a Mediwitch and cradled in her arms an award from St. Mungo's hospital for her tireless efforts in curing magical maladies.

  There she was together with the people she held dearly to her heart, looking happy and contented, serving as pillars of support for each other and carrying with them an unbreakable bond formed by long years of friendship.

  Everything she desired and all she had been dreaming about were right before her.

  "What are you doing here?"

  Seungwan jumped in surprise when she heard the familiar bone-chilling voice that could only belong to one person.

  Joohyun.

  Judging from the stern expression she was sporting, the Slytherin Prefect was in her no-nonsense mode and she didn't look quite happy catching Seungwan red handed. "Sneaking around the castle at night is forbidden." Her tone sounded accusatory and the Ravenclaw fought hard not to squirm under her intense gaze. If glares could kill, the blonde would be dead right now.

  So much for not getting caught.

  "Sorry." She offered a lame apology, suddenly finding her shoes very interesting. Oh look! There’s a drop of blood staining the laces! She really needed to get some bleach.

  When Joohyun's left eye twitched in annoyance, it didn't take long for Seungwan to break like a dam and quickly spun a tale of how she got into this predicament. "I lost a bet to Sooyoung! I really didn't want to break the rules but Yerim threatened to jinx my broom and burn my books if I chickened out!"

  Joohyun remained indifferent the whole time the blonde Ravenclaw pleaded her defense. Her gaze landed on the invisibility cloak that was discarded to the ground. The one she lent to Seungwan. “Is this why you borrowed my cloak? To use it for illicit purposes?”

  “No! I mean- Yes!” Seungwan slapped her forehead. She was running out of excuses to tell. It seems like she can’t bullshit her way out of this situation. “I just wanted to find the Room of Requirement and Sooyoung said it can only be found at night.” The blonde sighed in defeat. Even she sounded crazy to herself.

  “Didn’t anyone warn you not to play Sooyoung’s games? Anyone in their right minds wouldn’t fall for her tricks.” Joohyun furrowed her brows. How could anyone be that gullible?

  “I know! I can be pretty stupid at times!” The Ravenclaw was ready to rip out her hair and throw herself out the window. There would be fewer stupid people in the world and she would  be doing the universe a favor. She groaned and stared helplessly at her amused friend. It’s good to know that the Slytherin found entertainment in her misery. “Why do I always make bad life decisions?”

  “Honestly? I also ask myself that question.” Then Joohyun noticed the blood gushing on Seungwan’s feet and rushed to her aid immediately. “What happened? Who did this to you?” She forced the blonde to sit down on the floor while she inspected the wounds. Thankfully, it wasn’t that deep and didn’t require a complicated healing spell for it to mend.

  “It’s nothing really, just a scratch.” Seungwan tried to shrug it off but Joohyun remained persistent and vigilantly scanned her from head to toe to check if she’d been hurt anywhere else. Once the Prefect was certain that the blonde was relatively unharmed, except for her bloody feet, she proceeded to softly blow air upon the wound in an attempt to soothe the pain. Seungwan blinked twice. Her heart hammering against the cages of her ribs and she had difficulty swallowing the lump in her throat.

  There was something about the way Joohyun tenderly cradled her injured leg and traced featherlight strokes on her skin. Her hands were gentle, reverent… cautious. It’s as if she was taking great care not to break Seungwan with her touch. Their gazes met and Seungwan somehow stopped breathing. Something shimmered in Joohyun’s eyes, a message held secret deep within her soul, and the young Ravenclaw couldn’t quite decipher it.

  Without taking her stare off the injured girl, the Slytherin Prefect took out her wand and cast a healing spell. “Episkey.” Joohyun whispered under her breath, eyes transfixed on those soft lips, itching to get close…closer.

  Seungwan could barely feel the wound closing nor the pain waning. Joohyun was looking at her intensely and she didn’t know how to handle it so she asked a rather dumb query. “Is there something on my face?”

  That effectively broke Joohyun out of whatever trance she was in. The Slytherin girl cleared her throat and stood up. She helped the blonde girl to her feet but refused to meet her eyes so she looked everywhere until she gazed upon the ancient looking mirror. Her curiosity was piqued. "What's this?" Noticing the foreign language carved on its golden frame, Joohyun moved closer to examine it. She wondered aloud.

  "Erised?"

  "Okay, this might sound crazy but I have a theory. Hogwarts is a magical school whose mysteries are still left unsolved. This might be one of those mysteries. You do know that the school never runs out questionable objects." Seungwan voiced out her ideas and it didn't take long for her to start pacing. Her hands making wild gestures in the air as she tried to put into words the thousands of possibilities her brain concocted.

  "I think this mirror shows the future." The Ravenclaw declared with such certainty and paused, eyes narrowing as millions of other thoughts swam into her head. "But how far into the future does it show? Maybe not too far." She shook her head and continued pacing.

  The Slytherin Prefect stood back and watched the blonde mutter a thousand things per minute. It's like her mouth couldn't keep up with her brain so she compensates by rambling about nothing and everything at once. It was only during times like this that Joohyun would get a glimpse inside Seungwan's mind. The younger girl was usually insecure about being a chatterbox, always carefully watching her words and actions around people. If it were up to her, she'd listen to Seungwan all day. Her thoughts were like lyrics Joohyun would gladly spend her life composing into a song.

  "What do you see?" Her internal musing was interrupted when the Ravenclaw stopped pacing and regarded her with an inquiry. Solving mysteries had always been Seungwan's obsession and the Prefect could tell that she was in her element. Joohyun could see it. The way the flames of curiosity burned in those brown orbs and the eagerness to discover the unknown transformed her, giving her an aura of confidence that rarely showed itself.

  Seungwan was glowing and it took her breath away.

  It took Joohyun a few moments to gather her thoughts. The effort to calm her pounding heart was futile for the blonde proved to be quite distracting so she focused all her attention to both their reflection in the mirror instead.

  "I don't see anything." Joohyun furrowed her brows and regarded the blonde in confusion. What was so special about this mirror? It certainly didn’t look so magical to her. Maybe Seungwan was mistaken?

  "Are you sure?" Seungwan was bewildered. If her theory was correct and this mirror showed the future then why couldn't Joohyun see anything? She gestured for Joohyun to try again since she was desperate to prove her point. “Can you please look again?”

  Joohyun was unamused. It was pointless really. It was just a regular mirror. There was nothing magical about it. Why can’t the blonde Ravenclaw see that? She crossed her arms and glared hard at the reflections on the mirror, particularly at herself for always giving into Seungwan’s wishes. “Have you forgotten how mirrors work?” A minute has passed and she still found nothing in particular.

  "I only see us."

  The dejected look on Seungwan's features tugged at Joohyun’s heartstrings and the Slytherin Prefect volunteered to stare back into the useless mirror for an hour. Yes, Joohyun was a mess. She was a HUGE mess. She could barely make rational decisions when it came to Seungwan.

  The blonde shook her head and declined the Prefect’s offer. "Maybe it's just my imagination."

  Seungwan grabbed the abandoned invisibility cloak on the floor and dusted off the dirt before wrapping it snugly around Joohyun to keep her warm. Then she grabbed the raven-haired girl’s hand and guided her out of the room. Her mind running a thousand miles per minute, still trying to make sense of the mystery she witnessed.

  Meanwhile, Slytherin girl kept glancing at their intertwined hands, wondering why their fingers fit so perfectly with each other and thinking about how she didn't want to let go.

  Not now, not ever.

  And deep down Joohyun knew, that she wouldn't mind being cold if it meant that Seungwan would always keep her warm.

  ***

  Seungwan never did find the Room of Requirement and the following day, she had to face the music in the form of Sooyoung's offhanded Honestly? I'm even not surprised. I've heard rumors that the Room of Requirement only ever shows itself to people of worth and, no offense, you are not such person. What surprised me more was that you decided to go along with the dare. I was expecting you to back out since I knew that you could be a chicken at times.

  Or Yerim’s cutting What the heck? You're the top of the class! The smartest witch of our age! Out of all the people, you had the best chances of finding it. But I guess we really do cannot have it all. Seungwan didn't know if she should be flattered by the fact that Gryffindor held her with such a high regard or be insulted at the insinuation that she was a failure.

  Anyways, the blonde Ravenclaw retreated to the library to lick her wounds and pass the time by doing some light reading. She came across an interesting passage in the book that left her reeling with questions.

  The Mirror of Erised

  An ancient magical mirror made before the end of the nineteenth century by an unknown creator. It shows the deepest, most desperate desire of one's heart, a vision that has been known to drive men mad.

  Below the paragraph was a portrait of a familiar ornate mirror. Seungwan squinted to examine it closer and gasped in shock. It was the exact same one she found last night; the same mirror that appeared in her dreams countless of times. There was no mistaking it. The foreign carvings along its golden frame were identical. She read the passage again and again and stared at the portrait until her vision blurred with images of the reflections she saw.

  Joohyun being the Hogwarts Headmistress.

  Seulgi became a Professional Quidditch player.

  Her own self was a lauded Mediwitch.

  Sooyoung training as an Auror.

  And Yerim as the youngest Head of the Ministry of Magic.

  It made sense now. The young Ravenclaw already putting together the pieces of the puzzle. Seungwan was close to solving everything but there was still one thing that remained a mystery to her.

  How come Joohyun only saw them both?

[isolaradiale]

FANTASIA QUEST BOARD

Within the main cities of every kingdom a single board was erected in the respective city squares. Upon it rest a number of quests to undertake for profit and for glory.

Wh--? QUESTS Y’ALL!

Are quests mandatory for the event? Not at all! These are just for if you’re looking for something a little extra to do, or if you’re interested in any of the reward offerings. 

How do I cash in on my quest reward?  Contact the galaxy blog with the quest name and a link to the thread in question. We recommend giving any posts related to the quest a unique tag. To qualify for the reward your thread must meet the following requirements:

you must write out completing the given task

if writing as a thread you must have at least four posts each of at least 150 words per reply

if writing solo as a drabble, the drabble must be at least 500 words

the quest must be completed without using powers that would make completing it too easy (ie. one shot kill abilities during a monster hunting quest or item detection abilities during treasure hunting quests)

How long do we have to complete these quests? There will be a two week period following the event’s end for you to finish any quest threads. However all of the starters must be made before the event’s part 2 formal end date.

Can I take as many quests as I want? No. A single character can take up to three quests but no more than that.

YELA ALORA

A MOSS-T DANGEROUS TASK | 20,000 DUST The local apothecary has run out of chordamoss, a type of moss that grows on the backs of the large gators in the swamps. The gators are too hostile for the apothecary herself to gather it, so that’s where you come in! One bucket of chordamoss should be enough.

A REALLY GOOD BOOK IS BETTER THAN EVERYTHING | MAP OF THE KINGDOMS There’s a rumor that there’s this really good book in the Unholy’s territory and it’s being kept guarded by one of them. One of the scholars really wants it for their collection and is willing to give a reward to anyone. Your reputation with the Unholy will probably decrease a lot, but if you’re not aligned with them, that’s probably a reward too!

BAMBY, THE SECOND | FIRST AID KIT L & 10,000 DUST A strange woman approaches you one day, clad in a green robe. She tells the tale of a sacred tome, the second of two, known only as 'Bamby, the second'. Without any chance to argue against her, you find yourself quickly pushed out the door by her hand and constant encouragement. All you know is that the tome is somewhere within the kingdom...

AIRAISAL

RABID RABBIT | 100 STARS The forested region of Airaisaval has been overrun by a booming population of Binge Chungi, a rabbit monster species that can grow up to the size of a cow. They have dangerous strength and especially sharp teeth. Though herbivores, the damage they do to the forest is extreme. Due to the danger they pose one Binge Chungeous corpse will net you 100 stars once turned in -- though you can only claim the reward once. 

SOUNDS FAEK | 50 STARS Residents have reported new dirt paths showing up in the forests, twisting and turning at random and ending in large circular clearings. The paths are outlined with various mushrooms. Swarms of small wisps commonly appear from these circles and venture too close to the town, shocking and harming people if they come across them. If you clear out the mushrooms, they should go away. Hopefully.

QUEEN ALEIDA LOOK, IT’S THE GOOD KUSH | 4,200 DUST Queen Aleida has requested some medical herbs. Please collect some and drop them off at the guards in front of the castle grounds. Thank you!

PLEASE IGNORE THE NAME, DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT | FIRST AID KIT L Scholars at the Enchanted Armory and Transformative Academy of Science and Studies have requested the aid of adventurers to venture into the forest of Airaisal to study the magical properties of the plants residing deep in it. Please procure a sample and return within three days.

PLEASE FIND MY CHICKENS! | PANASTAR It seems a delightful young woman within Airaisal has lost all eight of her chickens. Since she's allergic, she can't touch them without getting hives. Instead of asking just WHY she has chickens, then, in the first place, you should just go and get the nice lady's chickens for her. She'll reward you, if you do!

OPALARIAN EMPIRE

WOMEN WANT ME, FISH FEAR ME | 50 STARS & AN ENDLESS SUPPLY OF FISH There’s a fishing contest happening in Opalaria and one of the contestants fell to an illness, so they need someone to take their place! It’s simple - catch the biggest fish! Feel free to team up with a partner if you want to and split the prize! Try not to capture any merfolk and sirens, though - your reputation with them will probably not be so great.

BIG BULLY BEAT DOWN | 100 STARS & FREE DRINKS The Thieves’ Guild is known for collecting its debts in any way it can, and that includes roughing up the shopkeepers who don’t pay on time. An innkeeper has asked you to disguise yourself as a bar patron, and protect her from the hounds of House Karliah. Proceed with caution--these are trained criminals, and aren’t above using magic to put their point across. Take him down or scare him off, and the innkeeper will give you a small portion of what she saved up.

MEDICINE RUN | PANASTAR & 8000 DUST Oh, good, you're available to help! Just what this woman needs; she needs this special medicine delivered to one of her friends. The bad news is that not only is the journey lengthy, the path is littered to the brim with bandits of all kinds! Do you dare make the journey and help this woman out?

XALPHINA

DRAGONS DON’T MAKE GOOD SPOUSES! | 14,072 DUST A village has lost their beautiful maiden to a dragon, which holds her up in a tower deep in the forest. The suitor isn’t all too happy about that and needs help! Get a reward and the title of Knight!

I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU SAY, IT’S TRUE LOVE! | 16,237 DUST A village girl fell in love with a dragon, and ran away from her old life to live with her in her tower. However, the village keeps sending these assholes to come and 'rescue' her. Find a way to keep the wannabe knights away forever to protect true love!

WITCHES BE TRIPPIN’ | SPIRAZON GROCERY DELIVERY A Faekin witch in Xalphina has been playing vicious pranks on the locals. It started out as harmless, but now someone could really get hurt! She’s only a young girl, so please just try and talk her out of continuing her pranks.

NONSPECIFIC

I’VE GOT A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU | 32,474 DUST An old man pays you to keep watch over his house at night because when he sleeps, he swears he hears the rattling of bones outside his window and the scratching of skeletal fingers. Kill the skeleton and get a reward and some sweet good reputation!

SPOOKY SCARY SKELETON | 54,124 DUST You wouldn’t ruin the fun of a skeleton, now would you? It’s not doing anything bad by rattling his bones, now is it? Here, just take this bag of dust and leave it alone. Be warned, though - people probably won’t like you all that much if you do this, but the money is pretty good...

A PRETTY FUN GUY | HERO’S CLOTHES ( JUST SOME REGULAR OLD CLOTHES ) A pack of sentient fungi have come to life and have been wreaking havoc among the fields from which they sprung unprompted. Please make hasty work of them before there isn't mush room left for growth!