#which at least in my part of the world happens often around mid-May. So

[purlturtle]

YOTP 2023 - May - "sunshine"

January, with an explanation | February | March | April

“Christina would have loved a day like today.”

Myka looked up. Helena was standing at the porch door, looking out over the sunlit lawn. She still didn’t volunteer details about Christina often; it felt like a gift. Myka gave a soft smile back. “Yeah?”

Helena nodded, eyes far away. “She’d run, and laugh, and try to catch birds, bees, and butterflies, but ‘only to see how soft they are, mummy!’”

Myka walked over, looked, envisioned a small, dark-haired girl romping through Leena’s yard: easy. She touched Helena’s hand, an offer of companionship; Helena took it immediately, and held on tight.

(on AO3)

[stagefoureddiediaz]

What do you think it might mean to have Eddie wearing Buck's blue henley (or a copy of it at least) from 2x01 in the upcoming episode?

Hey Nonnie

I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about seeing Eddie in that blue Henley!! For starters it is definitely the same blue Henley Buck wears in 2x01! Eddie just doesn't wear blue all that often (18 times out of 140+ non uniform costumes!) so the fact that we have him wearing blue and not only blue but a blue Henley we've seen before on Buck is an interesting choice and hints at a couple of things. We of course need to remember we have no idea which scene/scenes this Henley is appearing in and who those scenes will be with and that may have an impact on why this particular Henley was chosen.

Firstly we have the scene we saw Buck wearing this blue Henley - in season 2 - he gets home to find Maddie in his shower having mistaken her for Abby, we have Buck cooking for Maddie and having a conversation about lying low/ hiding out before Buck shows her a picture of Abby.

The most interesting and probably important part of the conversation is the 'Eat, Pray, Love'  section. The idea that Abby is out exploring the world, but actually exploring herself and getting in touch with herself on a sexual level. Its especially interesting when we think about Buck comparing himself to Ana in season 5 because; Abby had a serious relationship which didn't end on her terms, she then dated Buck (having been pushed into it by Carla) to get herself back out there before leaving to escape and find herself. its implied that Abby slept around a bit before meeting Sam and finding her happily ever after with him.

Its interesting how that concept kind of ties in pretty well with Eddie's own dating trajectory - his relationship with Shannon didn't end on his terms, he dates Ana to get himself back out there (having been pushed into it by Bobby) and now we've got him going on a few dates as he figures himself and what he wants out, before in theory finding his version of Sam (cough Buck cough) and getting his own happily ever after.

Eddie dating around and actually discovering himself in a romantic and possibly sexual sense - something we've been give enough clues in canon to know hasn't really happened before now. Whatever his dating life is going to look like in the next couple of episodes (cough Marisol cough) its going to be about him exploring rather than settling down in a serious relationship - the settling down comes after the exploring in the same way it did for Abby.

The other side of the coin is the Eddie wearing blue. Like I said, its not a colour we see him in often, In fact we only see him wearing blue (other than his uniform obviously) a few ties - I'm including denim shirts in this 

2x04 - dark denim shirt -Eddie is with Abeula in hospital - Carla comes in with Chris 2x07 - Navy blue suit - touring Durrand School - light blue denim shirt - Shannon comes round to discuss Christophers new school 2x10 - light blue marl tee - Eddie and Shannon have sex and Chris comes home 3x03 - light blue denim shirt - Eddie drops Chris back off at Bucks post tsunami 'Theres no one I trust more with my son than you' scene 3x04 - (more teal than blue but I'm including it) Chris wakes from a nightmare 3x09 - navy blue tee - Therapy with Frank - post fight club 3x12 - dark blue waffle sweater -Eddie gets called to Christophers school - meets Ana 3x18 - light blue button up shirt - Mays graduation party 4x08 - mid blue denim shirt - Eddie introduces Ana to Chris as his girlfriend 4x14 - navy blue tee - Hospital - the Will scene 5x10 - navy blue shirt with dot pattern - Chris wakes from a nightmare 5x14 - light blue/lavender long sleeve tee - dream sequence in kitchen with Chris 5x17 - white henley with a blue shirt over the top - Christophers bedroom - conversation with Buck and then in Texas seeing family 5x18 - navy blue shirt with dot pattern, blue blazer -HenRen vow renewal 6x08 - dark blue distressed tee - Eddie helping Chris get ready for his school dance 6x09 - dark blue shirt - Eddie asleep on his couch 6x13 - Blue check suit for the Poker game

The thing I hope you're picking up from these occurrences is how much they are tied to family. every single one of the scenes when Eddie is wearing blue represents a key moment in Eddie and Christophers family life and how it is developing. Central to it all is Chris as all of the scenes are connected to him in some way even when he isn't present (perhaps especially when he is not present) even the scene in Franks office in season 3 is about Eddie not wanting Chris to end up like him, while the shirt and blazer worn to HenRens vow renewal is very much focused on strong family dynamics - especially his dynamic with Chris as we see in the flash forward/back scene.

However, in season 6 we have started to see the blue break away from being quite so tied to Chris and family dynamics and be a bit more focused on Eddie from 6x09 - its interesting that we see this split happen when Bobbys voiceover is talking about the Santa Anas coming to an end and the city resting before the cycle starts again. Eddies arc in that episode is about Eddie 'separating' himself from Chris - becoming more than just a father (and firefighter) and because the editing ties that scene to Buck and the blue check suit worn to the poker date connecting so heavily to Buck seeing where this next blue shirt is worn is going to be interesting.

Its because of this use of blue on Eddie that I'm inclined to think that the reuse of this Henley is more to do with it being blue and therefore about some key moment in the Diaz family dynamic/ the Buck and Eddie dynamic than it being connected to potential eat pray love experiences, although its entirely possible that both concepts are valid and correct in this case as we do have Eddie wearing Blue in connection with Ana (and with Shannon although she was less of an eat pray love thing!).

Until we know more about which episode its is definitely for and who else is in the scene its impossible for me to parse out meaning as I haven't seen the script and so much of what I glean from the costumes the wardrobe team put the cast in is derived from the text - which is the same way the Costume designer would make the decisions they have about the costumes we see on screen. Without that text for context, I really am only guessing as to the meaning of a costume and I'll always lean more into colour theory than I would anything else which is why if pressed I'm more inclined to think that they are reusing the Henley for the simple reason that its a Henley in blue. Eddie wears a lot of Henley's - its a key part of his wardrobe - and if they needed a blue one, why spend more money when you already have one in stock (I would have different feelings if it was Buck rewearing it rather than Eddie being seen in it for the first time, then it would definitely be about connecting the scenes) especially when Buck doesn't wear Henleys any more, so I am more inclined to lean towards it being worn in a key moment for the Diaz family/ Eddie and Buck's dynamic in some way over the eat pray love connection because of the Eddie in blue of it all.

Sorry I can't really give you a more focused answer than that, I just really have so little context to go on because even the bts gives us no vague context to work with!!!

[less-than-three-3]

octopath traveler 2 - a masterclass in developing a sequel and an instant classic

I think that in games, when developing a sequel, it’s not uncommon to see a team take feedback and make changes that try to make it more widely received. Often, I feel that in that endeavor it’s easy to lose sight of what made the original game uniquely tick or feel like it did. Don’t just take my word for it (though what games I feel fall into this category can be controversial), it’s something that Sakurai has often mentioned before, for example.

Octopath Traveler II is a master class in how not to fall into that pitfall, and not just one of the best sequels (most improved award), but I think one of the best turn based RPG’s to date, at least by modern standards. I think it’s probably not a game that’s for everyone’s taste, but if you go in without expectations, I think it’s hard to ever really be let down. Likely spoilers below (especially end-game spoilers), but I’ll try to leave them to the end.

Before digging into the sequel though, I just want to briefly touch on octopath 1 in 2023. Something that I think about a lot is Scott’s retrospective on 3D World (I ain’t timestamping this one sorry), specifically, that 3D World was given a good bit of flack on release because it felt like it was “taking 3D mario into a bad direction” when, in a post-Odyssey world, we can really look back and really appreciate 3D World for what it is, and not judge it for what it isn’t (watch the whole video, it’s a great retrospective). 

All this to basically say, I think a lot of the flack that octopath 1 got was kind of in the same vein. People really wanted it to be what it wasn’t. It’s not a Final Fantasy or Dragon Quest, where you get a ragtag team of misfits banded together on a big journey, maybe with small individual branches along the way. It’s 8 very differently motivated individuals who just kind of pick each other up and just happen to help each other do their thing. The exp sharing and party system I can get being annoying, but I don’t think it’s really more than just a minor annoyance at worst, and I can get behind it being good to push the player to experiment with team composition (your leader gets somewhat overleveled but I really never found it that much more broken than synergies you get by mid-game). In another game that I love, Ruined King, they do have full party exp share, and while I loved experimenting and moving parts around to make different comps, I definitely felt that is very self-motivated, and the game doesn’t have too much in place to force you to move people around besides required character segments. Random encounters... I get complaining about it, but again it feels like idiot-proofing the level curve, because so often I see people in games with “walking encounters” just never ever fight them and then complain about being underleveled and having to “grind”. 

This might feel like an odd rant to go on, and yeah it is partially just me getting on my damn soapbox and saying “octopath 1 was good actually”, but it’s important as context for why I find octopath 2 to be such a brilliant game (and because octopath 2 gives a new appreciation for these elements). I love the RPGSite review because it sums up this angle really well:

“As I mentioned previously, Octopath Traveler is meant to be a structurally open game that values player freedom. The overall arrangement of eight individual characters with eight distinct storylines may not fit the more traditional and expected structure of a unified JRPG party and a unified goal, thus some concessions are made in order to fit that vision in terms of character dynamics.   Maybe it took falling in love with the SaGa games - which share some common components - for me to begin to understand what Octopath was trying to do all along, but I think this was the right direction to take the sequel in. I'd rather not see Octopath change dramatically and risk its identity in order to conform to expectations it doesn’t try to meet. If you’re looking for linear, story-driven, party-centric RPGs, there are an abundance of them.”

Don’t get me wrong - I’m not saying the original is perfect. I found some of the stories not that interesting (or maybe I just never gave them a chance!), and certainly the character interactions were a little sparse and unimpactful. But that’s where octopath 2 really shines beyond its origins, because I think the entire cast is absolutely wonderful, and their interactions, both in their paired quests and side-banted, ooze character. There is certainly a disparity between characters because they are all such different people, but as you get through chapters you can definitely feel them warm up to each other and get to understand each other’s perspectives. It’s such a breath of fresh air because in the original I felt like a lot of them were kind of just, one character asking the other for advice, and then they give it? And the structure of the chapters is so varied in the sequel, including how and when to use path actions (the night/day system helps a lot), when in the original it definitely felt a bit cut and paste.

I don’t even know where to start with the characters and their stories. I guess, like with Live-a-Live, I’ll just list them from my least favorite to favorite, but just know that I loved all of them.

8. Agnea - her motivations really kind of felt the most octopath 1 out of everyone, and not necessarily in the best way? I mean, she’s pretty much like Tressa, who I love don’t get me wrong, but it is just strange to me that, throughout every single chapter, it never really, like, felt like there should really be conflict? It’s a weird way to put it, but she is pretty much just going to become a star, and that sure is the journey she goes on. I don’t even really think she has many foreshadowing moments, but I might have just missed those? She’s super adorable and lovable and brings everyone cheer, and her story is very much the lighthearted one, so I suppose it fits. I don’t know, it just didn’t fully click for me. Great member of the party, I just wasn’t the most invested. Part of it may also just be that it feels like so different from Prim, who was easily one of the best characters from 1.

I think that is literally the only vaguely negative one I have, and I didn’t even really dislike her story, I just was least invested in it lmao

7. Throne (I will be leaving out the accent sorry I’m lazy) - I think the premise and split path and internal and external qualms are interesting, but I just kinda felt like it was Therion-lite. The final twist... sure is a twist of all time. I’m not in love with her story in retrospect, but it was like good enough moment to moment. Kinda like Lycoris Recoil, thinking about it.

6. I guess Osvald is 6th? These rankings past 8 are definitely pretty wishy washy. His character and story and motivation is just. anguish. Everything sucks (for Osvald). Harvey sucks. At every step you think you cannot get more upset at the situation and it just keeps on getting worse. How. Incredible.

5. Ok I fucking love Partitio but I would be remiss to rank his story too highly, because he is just god’s gift to mercantilism. He can do no wrong. There is no growth. But he’s really fucking charismatic and funny so it totally makes sense. It’s also really funny that he is the most socialist merchant ever, and he takes down the chains of capitalism and their absurd contracts and loopholes and then that final boss fight is just so awesome. I love Partitio.

4. Hikari also goes in the middle for just being A Political War Drama (I love those). He’s pretty much simba. But like, a dark, fucked up version of simba. I don’t know if I have that much else to say about it, that pretty much is everything. 

3. Castti is really really interesting. Piecing together lost memories felt a little cliche to start, but the story being put together and the final few turns of the story were absolutely gut wrenching and my god what an incredible story. She is the mom of the group, and I don’t know if she was really that much more.

2. Temenos is a really interesting cleric character, and a huge departure from Ophilia (for the better). He is pretty much just Sherlock, from Sherlock. He can really be an asshole, and it’s really interesting to see this kind of angle, and not in a “church bad” trope, but in a “church good? but we need to fix the church?”. I would probably be mobbed for not mentioning Crick. So I have. I cannot talk about Crick without massive spoilers. If you finished his story you know why. Great character, great story.

1. Ochette may not belong up here but she is by far my favorite character what a fucking idiot I love her dearly. Just too stupid to live. There are like, a maximum of two things on her mind, ever. Her arc is great. She is voiced by Yuffie Kisaragi, the best character in FF7R. I am biased. This is my write-up. What are you gonna do about it.

Speaking of Live-A-Live, I can’t help but think Team Asano working on that remake helped reinvigorate some notable improvements in this sequel. Obviously the Octopath games have a lot of flesh and blood from Live-A-Live to begin with. But the final chapter of the game felt very reminiscent of that of LAL, both in terms of literal story structure, but especially with the worldbuilding and foreshadowing dropped throughout the game. I will spare many of the details, but I really liked the way that the foreshadowing is much more apparently integrated into events, major and minor, in each character’s story. 

The combat system being pretty much the same, but with an extra new gauge, is great, because the original combat system was already really great. I truly think that if you have complaints about the break/boost system, the game probably just is not for you. I vibe with it, I get it, I love it. Latent powers just add a new extra layer to how to approach turn planning and break timing. Such a small change that adds so much.

Class rebalancing/skill changes were also very noticeable for the better. I feel like a good amount of people must have complained about access to aoe because good aoe is pretty much a premium now, unless your name is ochette (and even then you really have to look for it) or osvald (scholar privilege, ig). Support skills shifting around makes for different dynamics in approaching battles, and I especially love the new hidden classes, specifically Inventor, though Arcanist and Conjurer are neat too (though Arcanist gets really broken... but it’s ok because merchant is a pretty weak class otherwise?). My only real complaint is that I wish you could refund/re-allocate JP in some way, and that’s just because I love experimenting with class combinations.

The day/night system giving pretty much 2 of every “ability” per time of day makes pretty much any comp good for just roaming around town stealing getting to know the townspeople. Having time-specific passive abilities is a neat function, but I think there is definitely a good amount of room to build upon this. A very great seed planted for a future game. There will be a future game, right?

Being up to level curve was only really a struggle for one level jump, I think it was right before chapter 3, but I think they make patching up those last couple levels really easy with all of the exp boosting tools they give you, and really early (I had not equipped them because I thought it was only for the equipping character - no, they’re bonuses for the whole active party - and that’s probably why I got a little behind). Otherwise just going through chapters, traveling from one place to another, exploring the side dungeons, the natural leveling pace felt, well mostly unnoticeable, which I think is the best place for a leveling curve to be? 

Dungeon design strictly in terms of explorability is nothing mindblowing, but it more than makes it up with the visual and sound design. Even now 2DHD still looks fucking wonderful and I wish so badly for the DQ3 remake to come out and other 2DHD games to come out. And yes, the music is incredible. I feel like often people just mention the battle themes, and yes, they go hard, but with both Octopath 1 and 2 every single environment has such unique sonic character. I don’t necessarily know if the best town themes come close to my favorites from the original (Orewell my beloved), but just the sheer variety in character, instrumentation, and composition is very much still ever-present, and I wish Yasunori Nishiki many many more opportunities in the future because he is genuinely one of the greats. Even better, though, like in any good musical design, is when the sound just cuts out. There is nothing more unsettling, especially in a game with such a lush soundtrack, than silence. Every such moment is incredible. I could literally make an entire separate essay on the sound design of these games (I have), but I won’t gush on and on here. 

Octopath Traveler II is a game that really really plays into its strengths, and even while it successfully patches up most of of its original’s actual weaknesses, it is very much its strengths that continue to really shine. It is an RPG experience unlike any other out there, and if it’s one you are keen to experience, you will have a wonderful time. This is one of my favorite turn-based RPG’s, followed closely by Team Asano’s own Triangle Strategy, and I think it still has incredibly high potential to continue to iterate on its niche. I absolutely think this will be one of the more influential games of the genre for the future - a modern classic, while still feeling solidly rooted in its inspirations from the SNES golden era. 

[aelaer]

Hey, there! For the ask game: 😎, 🎬, 📗, 🌻, 🎁?

PS, I've been a fan of your works since forever <3

Ugh I was mid-writing this and tumblr ate it :( I want to say "thank you so much!" and also ask how long forever is, because I'm definitely in the fandom-old category these days with my 20 year fanfic anniversary coming next year :B But seriously, whether it's 10 days or 10 years, it is super appreciated <3

Now let's try this again. From this post:

🌻 How often do you read your own fics? Pretty often! If I'm in the middle of fanfic-reading nights (which come on-and-off throughout the year) and I don't see anything new interesting, or don't feel like reading an old favorite, I'll go to one of mine that scratches the itch I want itched. I definitely write what I want to read, for the most part. There's only a couple fics that are exceptions for exchanges as experiments and pushing my own boundaries.

📗 Do you want to write something outside of fanfiction? If so, what about? I may be in the minority of writers that have been writing for several years (at least I think I am), but the answer is actually no. Lord knows my dad has asked me several times over the years why I don't, and the answer simply is that I enjoy playing in other worlds that happen to be currently under copyright. I enjoy expanding on worlds that already exist rather than creating one fully from scratch.

I mean if I really enjoyed Wizard of Oz or the original Sherlock Holmes it might be different, but dealing with the publishing world is also a serious pain in the ass and I'd rather just keep writing as a fun hobby as opposed to something I depend on income for. My creative side definitely burns out, so I find having my creative stuff such as art and writing as hobbies rather than job-dependent good for my artistic health in the long run. Any aspiring writers/artists here should keep that in consideration as they go into school and then the job world; it's not always a bad thing to keep your passion as a hobby. Depends on your personality!

(I definitely prefer the stability of my current job!)

🎬 If a movie or show were based on your fic, which fic would you choose and who would you fancast? Oh this is a cool question. Uhhhh. Yeah, the Earth-197320 series, which is basically one long fic split into sections as I find time in my life to write it (the final part has like over 40k written or something like that, so it's coming along!) Everyone in the MCU is still cast as they were. I don't have too many OCs in the fic and I'm terrible at fancasting - for OCs in the past I usually start Googling lists of actors and actresses of the right heritage and/or age range and go from there.

There are a couple though, most of which are seen the most in the still-unpublished last part, but they all make at least one appearance earlier in the series. So I'd need an eastern Asian woman around 40-60, a Hispanic or Hispanic-passing man from 35-50 (Latinx appearances vary quite a bit!), and a black woman probably 30-50. But I don't know actors/actresses well enough without really doing deep dives into these profiles, which I've only done for one fic that basically co-starred the OCs xD

😎 What fics do you prefer on a scale of canon compliant to wildly original? Varies for each fandom. For the ones I read most in:

LOTR: Canon compliant/canon gap-fillers. There's a lot of years to fill in. The occasional canon divergence works for the really, really, really good authors. Minor canon divergences like "dead Gilraen early on" for Aragorn is fine. The one exception to this rule is modern AUs where the characters slowly relearn their past selves or have to act like, the heroes their past selves are. I wonder if those fics are still around... it popped up here and there in the mid-late 2000s. If they are, I should download them from ff.net before the site is wiped off the face of the earth.

BBC Sherlock: Really went with "anything goes" in this fandom. I found myself enjoying wild AUs the most than any other fandom here. That said, the top of the top list still tend to be canon gap-fillers or canon divergences, even though the AUs were quite a lot of fun.

MCU: Canon-compliant or canon divergence (especially after Endgame haha). I do not tend to prefer huge world AUs (like no superpowers) or fusions (like they're students at Hogwarts). I find that a fic can still be wildly original while still being canon compliant/canon divergence. A great example of this is Signature Move, my favorite MCU fic. It's canon until after Endgame then goes into a fully original story that turns canon divergent, but still feels more original than most "high school" or "high fantasy" fics. If I cannot recognize the character anymore from his core personality, I grow less interested in the character. I can go on this topic for *ages* though, aha.

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share? Here's another one. I literally wrote this snippet in the wee hours to scratch an itch that like, there's no other fics that exist out there to scratch it. It's another one of those "this probably won't ever get completed/published properly" fics.

Also, the snippet's called "yet another kidnapping" because I've written this trope a stupid amount of times. It's not my fault it's such a fun way to make characters meet.

----

When Tony woke up again, there was another man in his cell.

Under the single dismal light bulb he couldn't make out much of his features. He sat in the corner, slouched, a head of dark, tangled hair shot with strands of grey obscuring his facial features. His clothing was dirty and, in a word, weird. It looked like he was wearing some sort of long Ye Olde Tunic that went to his thighs. All blue, too. One leg lay out in front of him while his head and arm rested on the knee of the other. Interestingly, there were metal bands on his wrist, slightly lit by a small green light on each of them. He wondered what those were for.

The man didn't acknowledge him as he pulled himself into a sitting position. Maybe he didn't hear him and realize he was awake. "Hey."

The man didn't lift his head. "Don't talk to me."

What the hell. Of all things he was expecting his cell buddy to say. "Well, that's rude."

The man didn't reply and, fine, if he wanted to play that game Tony was happy to oblige. He didn't need this asshole to figure a way out of there.

…..scene break cuz i didn't write the filler...

When he looked back at the man, disbelief was written all over his features. "You're real?" he whispered. 

Tony snorted in disbelief. "Seriously? Of course I'm real."

The man pulled himself to his feet, slow and unsteadily, and walked closer. As he came into the light, Tony could see that his pupils were blown wide. 

"Jesus, what're they giving you?" he asked.

"I don't know," he said. He swayed, then lowered himself to the ground again, now just a few feet from him. "I keep seeing things. I thought—I  thought you were just another hallucination."

"Nope. Tony Stark in the flesh," he said. In the light, he could see the cuffs even better—and the man's hands, which were heavily scarred and slightly shaking. They were older wounds, though, that was clear. "What's your name?"

"Stephen. Stephen Strange."

What a name. But he wasn't a completely heartless bastard and he wasn't going to mock his drugged out cellmate, who was looking at the wall as if there was something worth looking at there. "What're you in for?"

Stephen blinked and tore his gaze from the wall. "What?"

Drugged out of his mind, right. "What do they want with you?"

"Ah. My ah, my powers."

An enhanced human; he figured it was something along those lines with those cuffs. "And what are those?"

Stephen muttered, "Go away," swatting at something only he could see, then said, "Magic."

Tony waited for his answer for another three seconds before realizing that *was* the answer. "Magic? Like 'You're a wizard, Harry' magic?"

"Sorcerer," he said as he swatted the air again.

Was there a difference? He didn't think he'd get a clear answer currently. "Right," he said instead. "And what exactly does that entail?"

"Uh, lots of things."

He waited. Nothing. "...like?"

-----

And that is all that may ever exist of that. For whatever reason, I really, really enjoy Stephen Strange meeting various Avengers AUs. Especially if it's mid fight or in less-than-perfect circumstances for one side. I tend to make that side Stephen because I'm biased and I find the idea of this super powerful guy appearing harmless at first until a Big Reveal absolutely hilarious. I will read seemingly-harmless-until-provoked Stephen + anyone until the end of time. Sadly it's not a genre heavily explored.

[astaroth1357]

How Often They Worry about MC…

For those who don’t know, I have a little dog named Charlie and she is a large portion of my world. There's no need to be alarmed, my dog is fine, but there are days where I hold her and all I can think about is how much I worry about her health down the line… I suppose we often do that for the people we love, particularly the ones who may not last as long as we will. Take that as inspiration if you'd like.

Lucifer 

Near constantly. 

If you tracked his blood pressure on a grid, you'd see it start to continuously rise about when he decided they were worth having in his life.

Lucifer is the eldest sibling to a whole crew of brothers so he's no stranger to worry. He worried about his brothers when they were young, he worried about them after the Fall, and he still worries about them now (even if he's less open about it).

But a part of him knows that his brothers can handle their own, at least to varying degrees. The MC, though? He's far less sure…

They've proven rather resilient, but also headstrong and reckless. Neither of which are good things to be in a place this dangerous...

If Lucifer isn't careful, he can catch himself staring at a wall or window just wondering where they are and if they're doing alright… If he called them every time he had a passing worry, their inbox would be full by the end each week.

He holds himself back because he doesn't have the time to constantly protect them, but that doesn't stop him from sending a text once or twice a day. They better respond or he'll start (secretly) panicking.

Mammon

He forgets their mortality from time to time, but every time he remembers it hits like a ton of bricks…

Mammon is a pretty "in-the-moment" person. He doesn't spend a lot of time dwelling on the future, but whenever he does the thought of losing MC always comes back to him again and again.

Like. It's gotta happen eventually, right? They're human, humans die, hell they don't even live that long to start with!

The MC can always tell when Mammon's getting worried because he'll get uncharacteristically quiet and pace around or hover by them…

Every little injury or strenuous task will suddenly seem like too much to him as well. 

If they need to carry some boxes, he'll carry them all.

If they have to jog to class, he's carrying them. 

If they so much as get a papercut, he'll have a heart attack.

It's not very hard to get Mammon out of these funks - he really does want them to reassure him that they're okay - but he's never going to get fully over it…

Not until he can steal whatever top secret immortality formula Solomon must have used anyway… He'll get it off that bastard eventually.

Leviathan

Thinks about it so often he has to actively try not to just to get any peace…

He dodges his fears for MC like a protagonist dodges lasting consequences. Every time he feels one creeping up, he's always got a distraction waiting…

"Hey where's MC at? I hope they didn't fall into the riv-OH HEY CHECK OUT THIS NEW GAME!!"

"What are they doing over there…? That looks hard, what if they bre-WAIT DIDN'T MY FAVORITE VOICE ACTOR JUST RELEASE A NEW PODCAST???"

"What if the MC dies tomorrow and they leave me all alo-DEVIL FIGHT 200! YOU CAN'T BEAT DEVIL FIGHT 200, LET’S BREAK MY HIGH SCORE!!"

Cut him some slack, his psyche cannot handle the idea of losing them on top of everything else he grapples with every day.

If, on the rare occasion, he does let himself fall down that rabbit hole he becomes extra clingy and practically begs MC not to leave his room… like ever. He'd bubble wrap them if he could.

Anytime they get really hurt or really sick he refuses to leave their side even if it means he has to awkwardly sit on the floor. He just needs to be able to glance at them every so often to be sure they're alive… Still breathing?? Phew…

Satan

He worries, preps, rationalizes, then worries again…

For Satan, knowledge is power and every scrap of information he can learn about MC is more power he can use to keep them safe and healthy.

Yes, he will want their medical history. Yes, he's going to need a list of prescriptions. Family members too. And no, you do not get a choice.

He'll read up on as many things as he can - pawn medical journals off of witches and get magical alternatives from Solomon.

The cycle usually goes: 

1. He's lying awake at night because he just heard about some terrible bacteria that makes human's skin peel off or something.

2. He does all the research he can on this bacteria, its treatment options, best prevention methods, etc.

3. Gets right about to break out the rubber booties for MC to wear around, then realizes they have a very slim chance of catching said bacteria since it's only native to incredibly remote parts of Indonesia.

4. Feels instant relief that MC will probably not catch flesh-eating bacteria and can finally sleep again…

5. Hears of some other human medical horror from Solomon and starts to worry…

It's a vicious cycle indeed… But at least he's getting a lot of medical training. Soon enough he'll be the Devildom's version of a human vet (which I guess is just a doctor, come to think of it. 🤔)

Asmodeus 

Lives so "here-and-now" that he doesn't remember often, but when he does it's always heartbreaking…

Asmo usually tries to worry about things as little as possible. It’s bad for the skin, you know? But when the MC is involved, all of that goes out the window.

Like how a delicate blossom eventually wilts in the snow, the MC is bound to leave them in time… Usually there's supposed to be something beautiful in that kind of tragedy, but perhaps he's just too close to them to find any romance in it.

The thought of their death gives him breakouts and anytime they get hurt or sick he's the first brother to offer them comfort. Every time.

Because he doesn't feel like he's as physically strong as he brothers, he tries to make up for it by minding their health in other ways. Anything to keep his MC strong and beautiful as always!

If Asmo is in a worrying mood, then he may also compensate by trying to take the MC out to a party or some fun event. Why sit around worrying by himself when he could be making memories with them now, right?

Beelzebub

It comes in waves, mostly at night.

When your thoughts throughout the day are mostly, "I wish I wasn't so hungry," it doesn't afford you a lot of time to think about much else.

In a way, it's a good thing since he experiences a lot less stress. But those worries are still there and they mostly plague his dreams…

Beel doesn’t feel hungry when he's sleeping, so a lot of his fears will make themselves known overnight. An injured or dying MC is often in his rotation of nightmares though, of course, he'd rather it not be…

After having one of these dreams, his first instinct is to always make sure the MC is okay. If they're with him, he'll hug them and check their heartbeat. If they're somewhere else, he'll go to them or shoot a text.

He has woken up without realizing his nightmare was all a dream though, and usually it's up to Belphie or MC themselves to console him while he cries… It's so heartbreaking, sweet boy just puts a lot of pressure on himself to be sure they're safe…

When he worries, it's like they're the most beautiful and expensive China set in a room full of bulls and hammers. If he could tape them to his side, he probably would. He gets scared for them that much…

Belphegor 

More scared about it than anyone else in the House.

Despite his calm demeanor, Belphie is truly afraid of losing his loved ones beneath the surface… He's already lost one of his most dear siblings before, going through that again may just break him.

Unfortunately, he's also felt just how fragile the MC is firsthand... He's not even the strongest of his brothers, yet he was able to snuff them out so easily… Who's to say someone else won't try?

Like Beel, MC's death is a recurring nightmare for him but he can usually shake off his dreams fairly well, if not change them mid-sleep. More scary is when something is actually wrong with them or they're not feeling well.

Belphie always sets his inner laziness aside for the MC when he can. If they get sick, he'll usually be right along with his family to take care of them - even if he has to skip school to do so (not that he cares about class anyway).

When he's worrying about them, he tries to play it off at first, but soon enough they'll notice him acting overly concerned and losing sleep… Best to calm him down before he starts getting cranky.

[melis-writes]

Victoria being constantly horny for Sonny

Ah, if it isn’t the direct consequences of Victoria’s AU actions back in New York… 😅 Victoria should have listened more closely when Sandra and Lucy Mancini were going on and on about the sexual charm and dick size of this man. 💀💀

It’s one thing to feeling horny, exploring your arousal and heightening it and another to feel sexually frustrated, excited—letting your libido go wild but neither of those things cover what it’s like to crave your husband’s brother so much so that your pussy throbs and tingles at the very idea.

The feeling—the desire—the arousal towards it is wrong; you know this, your mind knows this, but your body wants otherwise.

Your body wants to be teased, pleased, fucked good, satisfied five times over—it has no concept of morality or rules. It wants what it wants and it seeks pleasure, nothing to be ashamed of.

But there’s everything to be ashamed of because the want which has quickly become a need isn’t towards your own husband, but to your brother-in-law.

You already lived through a lifetime of internal guilt when you had that one night stand with Sonny back in New York, but it takes two to tango and it almost unsettled you then because you can remember how comfortable and willing you were to give yourself to Sonny.

You weren’t feeling so guilty then—moaning, squirting, losing count of how many times both of you came, letting Sonny fuck and lick all your holes.

You may not want it to come to mind now, but when you were holding Sonny’s head against your pussy and he was eagerly trying to catch your squirt and cum in his mouth, you most definitely weren’t thinking about Michael but of how Sonny would make you cum next.

Above all else, that was a night of changes. Some things changed forever, others did temporarily, and the rest stayed the same.

What didn’t change was your love for Michael—romantically or sexually. He was still your husband, your soulmate, and your sex lives aren’t affected by your one night stand or how intensely horny you’ve gotten over Sonny.

Michael is a whole different world to you alone, and the sex you two have is sexy, erotic, borderline euphoric whether the two of you make love or are sloppily fucking.

Sonny on the other hand is nothing like his little brother. Sonny always fucks hard and sloppy. He loves getting dirty, kinky and messy—nothing is off limits for that man. Sonny fucks nasty, and he only gets worse when he’s craving you in specific.

Why not have both? It’s hard to think straight when it feels as if your pussy has a heartbeat of its own, wanting oh so desperately to be fucked.

Convenience and opportunity are another story. Sonny lives in the estate just next to yours—he’s always on the Lake Tahoe compound and he always has plenty of time for you marking convenience, but the real opportunity comes at hand because of Michael’s business trips or meetings away from home happen so often.

“Oh my God…” You murmur, exhaling shakily as you enter Sonny and Sandra’s estate.

You wish you could just look up and see Sandra and the children there to greet you, but you wouldn’t have exactly stepped a foot in here if you didn’t know for certain Sandra and the kids were in Reno for the rest of the day.

“Mrs. Corleone, hello.” One of the maids pops out of the kitchen, snapping you back to reality. “Are you looking for Sandra?”

“Uh no, actually.” You fix up a smile, “I was wondering if Santino is here?”

“Yes, Mr. Corleone is upstairs.” The maid nods happily, scooping up an empty laundry hamper.

You give her an appreciate nod but only continue to take small steps around the estate until you see with your own eyes that the maid exits out the front door and walks towards the central family estate—leaving you alone in here.

You can hear Sonny’s footsteps coming from his bedroom upstairs and you waste no further time in coming up the stairs knowing Sonny’s not expecting you.

Part of you wants to catch Sonny mid-shower or at least half naked in his bedroom, so you don’t bother to knock but open the bedroom door as if it was yours.

Sonny stands by the window, enjoying a cigarette while leaning the side of his body against the wall.

Expecting Sandra or just about anyone else, Sonny’s eyes light up with surprise when he sees you and then intrigue as he notices the half flustered, half frustrated look upon your face. “Vic, hey.”

“Cut the bullshit, Sonny.” You mutter, closing the door shut behind you. “You owe me answers and you owe them to me now.”

“Answers?” Sonny chuckles, confused. “Over just what, exactly?”

“Come on, don’t do this to me.” You shake your head with a sigh, walking up to him. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Mm, no.” Sonny purses his lips, amused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about but whatever it is…” He reaches out his hand, playfully pinching your cheek. “It’s got you all hot and bothered.”

“What?” You try to hide back your surprise from how easily Sonny read your body language.

“Aw, baby, come on.” Sonny rolls his eyes playfully, “it’s not the first time I’ve seen you like this. Yeah, rosy cheeks, hot skin, that look in your eyes and not to mention…” Sonny points down to your thighs, “clenched legs. What—did Mike leave you feeling unsatisfied?”

“Shut up.” You glare back at Sonny. “That’s neither true nor funny. You don’t know why I’m here.”

“Actually, I do.” Sonny winks, throwing his finished cigarette out the window. “You think you’re the only woman whose walked up to me like this saying they want to talk? Why do you think I don’t sleep around anymore, Vic?”

“Because of Sandra,” you admit, feeling another tinge of guilt hit you. “Because you’re married to her and this is wrong—”

“What’s wrong, exactly?” Sonny smirks at you, knowing you’re playing right into his hand. “My wife lets me fuck around all I want. If I have permission, so what’s wrong about that?”

“It’s wrong for me.” You point out with a scoff. “And you know that. We should have never—look. If Sandra lets you fool around so much—”

“I don’t.” Sonny shrugs his shoulders. “Not anymore and I haven’t for weeks.”

“Great,” you say back sarcastically, “Santino Corleone hasn’t slept around for a few weeks, that’s a big accomplishment.”

Sonny laughs, shaking his head. “Lovin’ the sarcasm, Vic but c’mon—I haven’t touched Sandra since before New York.”

“What…?” Your cheeks flush scarlet as your eyes widen. “Why?”

“Meh.” Sonny appears nonchalant about it, “it’s not that big of a deal to me. I don’t get off to one orgasm a night, Vic. I don’t want Sandra anymore.”

“But—” You begin, but Sonny interrupts you.

“And if it was so wrong and immoral, then why would you be in my home—in my bedroom—knowing my wife and children aren’t home?” Sonny grazes his tongue over the front of his teeth. “Hmm? Come on, baby.”

Sonny takes a step towards you, closing off the space between your bodies.  “How much longer are you gonna be mad at me for? You know I didn’t do anything to you…” Sonny hooks his fingers into both sides of your skirt’s waistband, moving his hands towards your back to cup your ass while pulling your skirt down. “Nothing you didn’t want me to do, isn’t that right?”

Stunned, you breath hitches with Sonny so close to your face and you neither move nor stop him—giving Sonny the greenlight to snatch down your skirt with your panties.

“I can tell when you’re craving my cock, Vic.” Sonny breathes hotly against your lips, slicking a finger over your soaked clit before showing you how wet his finger has gotten.

“Sonny…” You breathe out, cringing from shyness and embarrassment as Sonny sucks his finger clean.

“Enough with the morality lesson, baby.” Sonny spanks your ass harshly, nudging you towards his bed. “Don’t have to make this any more ironic than it is. Complain and whine about my cock, then beg for it.”

“Who said I’m begging?” You mumble, crawling on top of the bed.

“You aren’t right now…” Sonny watches as you turn around, spreading your legs open entirely for him on the edge of the bed.  “But you will be.”

You refuse to reply back to his remark, feeling as if you’re going to burst from arousal and embarrassment having yourself spread open for a full view to Sonny.

“You’re so fucking wet that it’s getting all over the bed.” Sonny approaches you, throwing off his leather belt and pulling down his trousers. “See that…?”

“What?” You whimper, glancing down at your pussy as you hold your thighs open.

“Aha.” Sonny chuckles, spreading your pussy lips open with both thumbs, noticing how your clit is pulsating and contracting. “Come on, I know you feel that. You gotta…” Sonny leans down, sloppily kissing over your clit with tongue.

“Oh!” You cry out, noticing the throbbing sensation is only getting worse.

“Yeah, baby.” Sonny smirks, licking his lips before letting his ten-inch, erect cock spring free from his briefs. “Now you’ll beg.” He moves closer to you, pumping his cock in his hand. “You’ll beg because you want this so bad no matter how much you keep denying it.”

“Stop teasing me.” You bite down on your lip, feeling more wetness trickle between the folds of your pussy from just the sight of Sonny’s cock.

“Soon you’ll walk in here—” Sonny rests his shaft against your clit; the tip of his cock touching above your belly button. “And you’ll already be naked. You’ll get on the bed without me even telling you, won’t you?” Sonny slides his cock down, beginning to penetrate you.

“Ohhhhhhh fuck, f-fuck—” You moan shakily, pushing your hips up against Sonny’s. “Y-yes, yes, yes…!”

“This won’t get any better for you, Vic.” Sonny chuckles, gripping onto the bedsheets and beginning to thrust every inch of his thick cock inside of you. “But oh baby will I make you feel so good everytime.”

[starshipsofstarlord]

Conference Room

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | Bucky gets a surprise when he realises that things that were looked down upon, and people were often disgusted by in his day and age, are wanted in this one.

Warnings | includes smut, blowjob, cum facial, Bucky being an insecure bb, swearing

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Everyone filed out of the meeting room, one by one disappearing into the maze of the compound. Bucky watched you with tender eyes, slowly following behind, as you headed for the door.

But instead of passing though the threshold, so that you could make your way on route to the kitchen, in order for you prepare yourself a well deserved drink after sitting through the small conference, you closed the door, and pushed down the latch.

The action itself made Bucky stop in his footsteps, and fix you with a confused expression. He wasn’t sure why you had locked the two of you in here. Only moments ago you had been on a group call with Fury, and now that he had signed off, all of you had been free to leave.

But that freedom that all the else had fled feebly towards, served a much different price to that for which you specifically had in mind for him. “Sergeant Barnes, I think the two of us need to have a little talk; our ears only.”

Bucky gulped, remaining upon the spot that he was stood in. He racked his mind for reasons that you would want to do this here, and not in one of your bedrooms. It would only make things more difficult for when he left the scene, heartbroken by you cutting him off, and finally pushing him away.

It was inevitable that it would happen somewhen; but it was too early. Things were finally running smoothly, he felt content and happy, and as though he were making a good difference to the world, which is all he ever wanted. However, it appeared that all of that was about to come tumbling down at his feet, in the same very moment.

The two of you hadn’t been dating too long, just short of three months. And during that time, the pair of you had never once gotten obscenely intimate. So in your case, as he viewed it, you really had nothing to lose. But he couldn’t pin point as to why you were dressed in a sly smile, and creeping ever so steadily towards him as though you had a surprise.

“Doll.” He spoke softly, thinking that it would be the last time he had the opportunity to describe you with that pet name. From the way that he addressed you, your expression quickly became more innocent and happy.

As you got closer to him, you wrapped your arms around his middle, leaning forwards and pressing a kiss upon his material covered chest. “Baby.” You greeted him, moving to his lips next, and pressing a fluid peck upon them.

“What are you doing?” He unsurely asked, his voice cracking in the meanwhile, and his face scrunching up into a confused frown. Your hands rubbed down his chest, and plucked the band of his trousers, over again in a repeated motion.

Sucking your lip into your mouth, you looked up into his sky blue eyes, reading them for any signs of him being affected by your actions. Rather than feeling aroused, it seemed to make him confused, which was not at all your intention.

“You seemed tense Buck.” Your hands raked their way back up to his shoulders, soothing any apparent tightness that were held within his muscles. “I thought maybe... I could help loosen you up.” Fluttering your eyelashes at him, Bucky lightly groaned, rubbing his lips together as he mulled over what the pair of you could possibly get up to in this room.

His hands went down to the button of your jeans, but lightly, you slapped his hands away, doing the same to him, and undoing them. As your fingers toyed with the zip that helped the denim be adjustable to his size, your other palmed him through the blue material. “This is about you James. I want to make you feel good.”

Again, he swallowed his own saliva, he paid the utmost attention to your every movement, completely compelled with how you tossed your hair to the side by simply moving your head. “You want me to suck your cock, I promise I’m good at it.” A giggle erupted from your mouth, and Bucky clasped your chin in the feather light grip of his vibranium hand.

He pulled your lips to his, warming them up before slipping his tongue inside. It had been a long time, though he hated to admit it, since he had done anything even slightly sexual, and a part of him was afraid that he wouldn’t last long.

But the other was excited, back in the forties , blowjobs weren’t often digressed. The idea had always appealed to hun, however no dame had ever wished to dirty their knees before him, and take his sufficient length down their throat. It pained him a little, knowing that like most people he had encountered through his life, that they would take from him, but never return it with an ounce of kindness.

He’d perceive it as a dream come true, the woman that owned his entire heart, independently wanting to pleasure him in such ways that were looked down upon in his day. “Are you sure?” He pulled away, desperate for some clarity on the matter.

“Yes, of course I am.” You smiled, drawing him in for another locked lip session. After a minute or two of tasting his tongue, you trailed your direction down, running down his chin, and then his neck, until you completely dropped to your knees, rutting your hand against his growing cock.

Right then, from that image alone, Bucky swore that he would die. That innocent expression that was entailed upon your face had him mentally cursing, and he couldn’t help but groan to himself in a relaxed manner as you pulled his jeans down to his ankles, leaving only his boxers as the final barrier.

Lightly, you pressed a kiss to where you guessed his tip to be through the cotton, gently running your tongue down the shaft, and lower down to where his balls were stationed. “Y/n, please stop teasing.”

“Tell me Bucky.” Your fingertips cascaded up and down his v line, warming him up to what was to come(pun intended). “Have you ever been sucked off before?” His heart rate picked up, as he furrowed his eyebrows.

“How did you- that punk!” He said in reference to Steve, realising that he must have let the detail slip to you. But he couldn’t be made really, if the captain hadn’t digressed his secret to you, then he may have waited longer to experience the enthralling and dirty, as it had been known to be, engagement.

Without any pressure, you pressed your teeth upon his cock, dragging his attention back towards you. “Now that is no way to talk about your dear friend, I’d say he did you a favour.” He was getting ready to grumble in his Bucky manner, but was hit with your gasp as you suddenly pulled his boxers down, his dick slapping upwards, having your entire focus.

Reaching forward with a hand, you wrapped it around the mid section of his shaft, your palm hardly fitting around his girth. “It’s so big.” You gaped at the sight, moving your hand up and down to gouge a reaction out of the super soldier above you. His head leant back, his eyes screwing shut as he realised just how sensitive he was. He felt like a virgin all over again.

An obscene and loud moan was pulled from his mouth as you ran your tongue up his shaft, humming at the taste of his intimate skin. With the encouragement of his lie noises, you directed his tip towards your lips, rubbing it upon the cushioned flesh, before sinking him halfway in your mouth.

“Holy fuck!” He exclaimed, reaching down and on instinct entangling his metal hand in your loose hair. As though you were doing nothing, you innocently looked up at him with wide doe eyes., although he could feel you hollowing your cheeks around him, as you began to bob your head.

Only then did he realise how experienced you must have been within this department, for he noticed how you didn’t struggle nor gag the slightest around him, and it appeared that you were enjoying it as much as he was.

One of your hands planted itself on the thickness of his thigh as your other found homage with fondling his balls. His chest rapidly moved as he felt every slither of your tongue around him, and as you pulled slightly back, you began dipping it in the line of his slit.

“Baby, slow down, or I’m going to cum.” With his words heard, you took him out of your mouth, wrapping your hand around his saliva soaked rod, and began pumping him rapidly. For a moment, he swore his head was going to explode as he saw you stick your tongue out, awaiting his load that was soon to be delicious.

“Cum Buck. Want you to cum for me.” It was impossible for him to hold back any longer, and thus, his seed flew over the expanse of your tongue, whilst the rest spurted over one side of your face. “Hmm.” You mumbled, swallowing that of it that you caught, and scooping a swipe into your mouth.

“I swear to god that I’m in love with you.” He spoke breathily as you stood up, both of your faces flushed from the activity. He pulled you in for a few pecks, to which you could do nothing more than stare into his oceanic pools.

“Well that’s encouraging.” You laughed, reaching down and tucking his softening cock back into his boxers and jeans, giving it a loving pat before pulling away. “I love you too Bucky Barnes; always.”

“The conference room though, really?” He asked with a bemused laugh, causing you to shrug. “You’ve got to walk out of here now.” He said, motioning to the mess on your face.

“That is something that I didn’t think of.” You responded, your eyes darting a around the room, until your eyes landed on the box of tissues that Tony had brought in at the start of the meeting. Thank Thor for his cold! “Grab me some paper towels from the corner would you babe?”

He sent you a pleased, and you’d say very satisfied smile, before stepping back, and heading in the direction of the desk, picking a few sheets out of the cube, and walking back to help you clean up. He felt like he at least owed you that much.

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

The Glitch

I get the Broken Reality au is a haha funny joke but there’s been some legit great art for it and since Butterfly is over and I haven’t gotten into the groove of my other projects yet, I decided to try some flash fiction of my interpretations. Note that this is very small and informal; I used whatever idea came into my head over the course of an hour or so instead of the weeks of planning that go into my usual fics. This was an experiment for fun. But if people enjoy the concept, I may be tempted to expand on it.

Credit to @lollitree @moonpaw @gentrychild​ @owlf45​ and @cyber-phobia​ (I’m sorry if I missed someone I lost track of how many people were involved in this mess).

Content working for reference to infant death.

Please enjoy!

The city shut down for a typhoon warning.  Thunder rumbled in the distance.  Dark clouds blocked the sun so much that by mid-morning it still looked like it never bothered coming up.  And yet the humidity made it too hot for coffee.  Inko didn’t know how to feel.  Work would have been a good distraction.  But she didn’t want any coworkers or clients to see if today got to be too much.  And it was already shaping up to be.  She caught herself making two plates of food for breakfast.  

Inko sat alone in the kitchen.  She couldn’t bring herself to finish her own plate.  Sickness set in fast.  The food had been cold for a long time before she summoned the strength to get up and throw it away.  Then she stood over the open trash can a while, debating whether to try and hold it together, or just throw up and get it over with.  She eventually managed to keep her stomach steady enough to go back to her bedroom.  There was another trashcan in there anyway.

A sound stopped her.  From her office.  The distinct sound of something heavy falling onto the carpet.  Right as she walked past the door.

Please not this again…

She opened the door with her eyes closed.  Her mind conjured a familiar image.  A bedroom full of books and hero posters.  Bright colors and personal touches.  A child’s room.  Inko opened her eyes to her drab home office.  Some of the older case file binders slipped off the pile again.  She really needed to sort those into storage. Not today though.  She didn’t bother to pick it up.

Inko walked faster than normal the rest of the way to her room.  She doesn’t want to face the temptation to search for old toys she remembers storing in the empty closet.  Or search the walls for scuff marks from action figures tossed into them she could always see even after the walls were painted. She hid her planner on a tall shelf and put the ladder away to make it that much harder to go through it over and over looking for doctors’ appointments and school events she knew were coming up.  Finally reaching her bed brought no comfort.

Of course she knew today’s date by heart.  She hadn’t put it on a calendar in the fourteen years since she used to look at it every day.  Inko stuck her head under her pillows, as if they could block out the silent noise of her memories.  Memories of before, the time even when she was by herself, she was never alone.

Fifteen years now, today.  With a shuddering gasp, the tears finally came.  Thunder crashed outside.  It’s not fair!  Why is it still this hard after this long?  Phantom kicks in her belly joined the growing ice there.

The hardest part was she still felt like that sometimes.  Like she wasn’t really alone.  Inko didn’t believe in ghosts, but the lost of what could have been was more than haunting enough.  She felt it watching her.  Judging her. Waiting just long enough for her to settle down into a peaceful, content existence before it reared up to plague her heart all over again.  Cliché hauntings like spooky faces in the mirror or blood coming out of the drains would have been preferable.  Those would be generic enough not to remind her directly.

Rain started outside.  Her phone lit up with a notification she ignored in time with a thunderclap.  The storm was getting closer.

Maybe I should call Hisashi, the thought crossed her mind.  Maybe he’s going through this too.  She bit her lip bloody.  Her frustrated memories weren’t in question like the others.  Probably not though.  I don’t want to talk to him anyway.

Hisashi had been stuck in the denial stage of grief, which often came off as him acting like he didn’t take hers seriously.  Not a year, not even half a year looking back, after they came home from the hospital, he wanted to try again.  

“We can’t let mourning hold us up forever,” he said.  “And it’s not like we lost a once in a lifetime opportunity!  We’ve got at least another twenty years to keep trying!”

But we did lose him! she had wanted to scream.  Still did, years later.  Why didn’t he understand?  He was your loss too!  Inko wanted for the next roll of thunder, then shouted.  

“I don’t just want any baby!  I want Izuku!”

The lights went out.  The temperature rose five degrees instantly when the ceiling fan stopped going.  The rain stopped.

Power outage.  Inko sat up with a sniffle.  Turns out the notification was a warning about roving blackouts.  Of course.  Oh well. I wasn’t really in the mood to cook tonight any-

Thunder boomed even louder than before, making her jump.  Then another.  Lightning flashed outside at the same time.  It was right on top of her.

What?  I thought the typhoon wasn’t supposed to make landfall until later toni-

Another crash.  It vibrated through her bones.  Then another. The lightning lit up her whole room. Except for a shadow on the wall. Inko jolted to look, holding her breath, and found only her own shadow in the next flash.

“I’m such an idiot…”  She went for her phone again.  For peace of mind, she decided to use her data to check if an evacuation order went out. Or any updates at all really, since the weather came so much faster than the news said.  “Nothing,” she sighed annoyed.  “I hate being alone for weather like this…”

A new notification pinged.

[Mom]

Inko blinked rapidly.  The message remained.  All of her insides turned inside out in an instant, and she started crying again. Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke? No one ever got a chance to call her that.  She touched the note to open it, but nothing happened.  No app or source was displayed.  Nor did it go away after a few seconds like normal.  

“Wha- What’s going on?” she wept.  In a mix of sorrow and rage, she wound up to chunk the device across the room.  But she froze.

Outside her window, floating against the pitch-black sky, were two small orbs.  Perfectly circular and glowing.  Watching her. She didn’t dare move.  

Another ping.  She looked without moving.

[I’m sorry]

“…  What?”

For a moment, all the sounds in the world dropped out.  They all came back at ounce.

Lights flickered.  Both the ones inside and the lightning going outside.  Multiple strikes laid on top of one another.  No relief.  Thunder pounded over and over like a drum solo.  It shook the whole building.  Inko ran into the closet away from the window.  She slammed her hands over her eyes but it didn’t help.  Her terrified cried were whispers to the screams of the storm.

A child’s scream.  She heard it. Each flash of light came with a cry. The distinct sound of a little boy calling out in pain blended with unyielding nature.  It came from every direction.  Every hair on Inko’s arms stood up in fear.  She felt the charge in the air.  But she had to go out.  Her baby was crying for help.

She burst from the closet into the living room.  All the lights and appliances turned themselves on and off.  The TV showed only static between its flashes. Something drew her too it.  The storm was deafening.  It pounded through her head like a heartbeat.  The beats got faster.  The static flashes started to look like a face.  Her usual caution was abandoned as she fell to her knees and touched the screen.  The snow cleared for a single instant.  Just long enough to look like the blank eyes from the window.  She felt the heartbeat there too.

Then it stopped.  All of it. The noise and lights all went quiet and dark.  The TV went completely cold in an instant.  Inko, stunned, palmed over it looking for something.  Anything.  The pulse. Warmth.  A burnt fuse or faulty wire.  But nothing.  The rain started again.

She pulled her hands back to her lap.  Her heart was still racing and tears kept flowing down under her chin. She looked around.  Everything in the living room and kitchen looked the same. No sign of the earthquake-like convolutions the whole appartement experienced only minutes ago.  Inko combed the entire space for evidence.  An object knocked off the shelf.  A picture frame fallen from the wall.  The notifications.  Toys in the closet or scuffs in the wall.  Still not a sign.  She even stepped outside her door to check the sky.  Only light rain and shattered thunder, just like the news said the day before.

There was only one thing out of place.  Back in her bedroom, the bottom drawer of her nightstand hung open.  Inko had to steal herself before approaching it. There were only two things in there: a little green blanket, and a picture of the ultrasound.  The most recent one from her last appointment. The doctor said he was doing fine.

“Izuku…” she whispered to it in her hand.

She remembered the squealing little bundling being put in her arms for the first time.  The first time he smiled at her.  Teaching him to walk, then immediately launching into play.  Him coming home with bruises and scrapes after the kids at school were mean to him, and crying in her arms.  Then, him coming home with his first real friends in a long time. She made them all dinner. Katsudon.  That was Izuku’s favorite.

Only she didn’t remember.  The same way she didn’t really remember the toys and scuffs.  Those were fantasies.  Daydreams of what could have been.  She just thought about them so often they felt like memories. Especially today.  It was his birthday after all.  They’d fade back into vague dreams by tomorrow.  They always did.  

And she would be left with reality.  The silence.  The cold, still little hand between her fingers.  Soft cheeks without blush.  Eyes that never opened.  Clutching him too tight to her chest, knowing the second she let go he would be gone for real and it would all be over.  

But it was never over.  Inko went through this same torturous song and dance every year for fifteen now.  All the guilt and dread would subside slowly over the next one, until it all came back at once.  Just like this.

At least it’s done for now, she tried to reassure herself, climbing back into bed. It still wasn’t even noon yet.  Plenty of time for another breakdown.  Hopefully the next one won’t be, feel, as loud.  She sighed heavily into her sheets.  This sort of thing can’t be normal.  I should really try therapy again.

Against her better judgement, she kept the blanket out, and clutched it to her chest.  Static electricity pricked her fingers.  With her other hand, she reached across the bed, and tried to imagine someone else there. Not Hisashi, never him anymore.  Izuku.  He was fifteen and happy, but the storm was making him nervous so he came to lay beside her.  She remembered it like it was now.  If she closed her eyes, she could feel his warm, soft skin, with a healthy, if a little anxious heartbeat just underneath.  The mattress warped as he sighed.

“We’ll be okay.  It’s just a little rough weather,” she promised.

“Okay, Mom,” Izuku answered quietly.  “…  I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”  I’ll start trying to get myself together tomorrow.  For now, let me have this.

Izuku didn’t respond for a while.  “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.  Happy birthday.”

[hhjs]

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary  —   Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

 You accept it. 

 For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

 Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all. 

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour.  Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe.  While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him. 

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell. 

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

 Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose.  You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger  stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

 You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night.  See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart. 

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.”  he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

 “I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

 Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've  passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side. 

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous. 

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it. 

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say. 

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

— 

Kiss underneath a mistletoe. 

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right. 

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different.  Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

  Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

 He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

— 

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh.  Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

 Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you?  "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."  

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know.  Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

— 

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of  honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear,   "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

[jimlingss]

Black Waltz [2/2]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 [Finale]

➜ Words: 13.6k

➜ Genres: 70% Fluff, 30% Angst, Butler!AU

➜ Summary: When your parents pass away in an accident, a family secret is revealed. The only person you can trust and rely on is your personal butler, Kim Taehyung.

The train whistles.   A moment later, the wheels are rolling against the steel rails. It starts slow, a gradual chug like a meander through the street that builds up and races past the town.   You rest your throbbing head against your propped up hand, enduring the nauseating nature of the train. Each breath you take is shallow and you feel your skin warm underneath the pads of your fingers. At the same time, it feels cold and the blanket does little to help.   You haven’t eaten much, not like you could even stomach it now. Taehyung keeps fretting over you — you can tell with the way he glances at you every so often, how he takes your suitcase from your hands, how he asks if you would like tea. You’re too weak to argue with him and insist you’re fine.   So you stay quiet, knowing that soon enough, you’ll be home.   And you bear it for six hours.   “My lady?” Taehyung’s brows furrow and you merely nod as he helps you off the carriage. The coachman is paid and thanked and you’re taking Taehyung’s arm for the walk up the slope to the estate.   “When we get home, draw a bath for me, Taehyung.”   “Will do. You should rest—”   “Y/N!” There’s a shrill shriek of your name that aches your head and you lift your eyes to find your aunt and cousin at the black gates. Aunt Marie grabs fistfuls of her red skirt and stomps over to you. “Where did you go for so long? None of your maids let me inside the house.”   “Good,” you exhale and narrow your eyes at the two of them. It takes each of your laboured breaths to speak. “I thought I told you never to step onto the estate again.”   “Y/N, please.” Hoseok comes forward. “I have something important to talk to you about.”   “Can it wait another day?” You’re about to brush past them, but your aunt doesn’t let you.   “Your father would be disappointed in how you treat your only family, Y/N. You’re not a young child who can throw a tantrum anymore, do you understand the consequences of any of your actions? Yet you have the audacity to try to sever our family ties—”   “Her ladyship has spoken.” Taehyung steps in front of you, shielding you with his larger body. “If you wish to speak to her, come another day.”   Your aunt’s teeth grit and venom-laced words are spat out, “How dare you speak to me this way! You’re a mere butler!”   “Stop.” You grab onto Taehyung’s arm, lids becoming heavy as the seconds pass. But most of all, you’re dizzy. It’s hard to keep upright. “Sto..p.”   “A guard dog!”   There are shouts, but the sounds are intelligible as if they’re farther away from them. As if you’re at the end of a tunnel. Your vision dims, black closing in from all angles to the center of my eyes.   The noise of hitting the ground never comes. Taehyung’s caught you in his arms.   //   When you come to, you’re laying in your bed, dressed in silk sleepwear with the covers wrapped around you. You’re weakened, sweat slipping from your forehead and shivering from chills.   “Miss. Arden.” There’s a doctor looking down at you and once Taehyung hears him call you, he rushes to your side. “Miss. Arden? Are you awake?”   The old man is noisy and you muster the strength to lift your hand mid-air. Taehyung immediately knows what you want and helps you sit upright. You lean on your weight on him. “What happened?”   “You fainted,” he murmurs.   “It’s good to see you’re alert.” The doctor smiles and leans down to his briefcase. He must’ve been called by Taehyung. You hear the clacking of bottles. “Luckily, your illness doesn’t seem to be smallpox. Vicious illness that is. Past the age for scarlet fever as well.”   You wonder if you’ll die. You know your health has never been the greatest. “Is it measles?”   He shakes his head, continuing to ruffle through his belongings. “Fortunately, you don’t have a single rash which tells me it’s not one of the sicknesses out there. Ah! Found it.”    Your eyes dart to how he places a bottle on your bedside table and he closes up the latches on his suitcase. The doctor then takes a seat on the chair beside your bed. “Can I ask if you’ve been...anxious recently, Miss. Arden?”   “Why?”   “I suspect the symptoms are arising from your mind.”   Your brows furrow. “You think I am putting on an act and falsifying my condition?”   “Not quite.” The old man smiles. “I believe the anxiousness and stress from your environment is most likely worsening your naturally weak constitution. Many of my fellow physicians don’t believe that such physical ailments can arise by the mental, but I for one…” He taps his temple. “...think the mind can be quite powerful.”   The doctor takes his suitcase. “I have given you medicine to help with the dizziness and your fever, but you must rest, Miss. Arden. If you wish to live a long life to be as old as I am, you must rest, rest, and rest. And perhaps….have a change of scene.”   He offers a kind smile, but before he can leave, you call out to him. “Please keep this a secret. Unless you want to bear the consequences.”   He nods, still with a warm expression. “I understand.”   The doctor leaves and for once, Taehyung doesn’t see him out. He stays right beside you and the room simmers into a quietness. After a beat, you’re moving, shifting the sheets from your body. But he stops you, placing a hand over your hand. “Where do you think you’re going?”   “My aunt and cousin were here, weren’t they? Something may have happened while I was gone. I should at least write a letter to Min Yoongi and find out if the company—”   “Didn’t you hear what the doctor said? You need rest.”   “He was speaking nonsense. There’s no illness that comes from the mind, Taehyung.”   “He’s one of the best doctors in Trulia,” he deadpans, guiding you down against your will. Taehyung pulls the blankets up to your chin. “So stop being stubborn and listen to him. Nothing will happen if you rest.”   You’re too weak to get up on your own and struggling to only make you more weary. You resort to scoffing at him, eyes pointed in a glare. “You’re stepping over the line, Kim Taehyung. You are supposed to obey my every word.”   “Then punish me.”   You huff out at his challenge. He wants to act like you won’t.    But Taehyung can be even more willful than you and he wins when your eyes start to droop. You hear him tell you to ‘sleep’ and like magic, you fall into a deep slumber.   ...   Unbeknownst to the two of you, Jane is creeping outside the room behind an ornate vase, having eavesdropped on the conversation through the crack of the door.    That night, when not a soul is in the corridor, the girl slips from her room and creeps out of the manor. Her steps quicken down the path leading to the black gates, holding a flickering oil lamp in hand to illuminate the way.   There, outside of the bars separating the world from this estate, is your aunt shrouded in the darkness.   “She’s ill. The doctor said the sickness is from her mind.”   The thin lips of the older woman curls and she snickers before it breaks into a full laugh. “It won’t be long before she’s sent to a madhouse then.” She looks at the maid. “Very good. You’ll be greatly rewarded for this.”   “Thank you, madam.”   //   For the coming days, Taehyung doesn’t allow you out of bed except in times for a bath. If it were anyone else, you’d reprimand them. You hate feeling like a child. You despise being coddled like one. But Taehyung is Taehyung and even he knows that you won’t go against him for long.   Sometimes you wonder who the real master and servant is.   “The cook made you porridge. I told them not to add in any thyme. If you don’t want it, I’ll ask them for something else.”   “It’s fine.” You know Taehyung won’t leave until he sees you eat, so leaning on the headboard, you deadpan to him, “Feed me.”   The corner of his mouth tugs. “If you insist.”   He holds the silver bowl, lightly blowing over the spoonful before it carefully meets your lips.   “It’s bland.”   “Too much seasoning will upset your stomach and you won’t be able to take your medicine.”   “I want that doctor dead.”   Taehyung smiles. “If that’s what you’d like, mistress.”   He blows over another dreadful spoonful and extends his arm. Your lips part to eat and he watches you with a tender expression.   “The household funds need to be looked at.”   “I’ll take care of it tonight.” He feeds you another spoon.   You swallow it gingerly. “The company?”   “I sent a letter to Mr. Min. Your cousin’s taken bigger means to try and take over, but as you let Mr. Min deal with it as he chooses, your cousin went away after a police report was made. It’s been quiet for the past few days.”   “He’ll be back,” you sigh when the spoon is at your mouth, but Taehyung doesn’t give up, so you part your lips. He makes sure to carefully wipe the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “And my aunt?”   “She hasn’t returned. I’ll send her away if she does.”   “I need to speak to Detective Jeon.”   “Then I’ll set up a meeting in the week.”   Once you’ve finish the porridge, Taehyung smiles and leans in close to briefly press the back of his hand to your forehead. “What would I do without you, Taehyung?” you murmur, gazing at him.   “Nothing would change. I’d find you anyhow,” he says. “Now sleep.”   You nod and lay back down with your stomach warm and full.    Your lashes flutter shut and Taehyung slips out with the tray in hand.    Taehyung knows you’ve gotten better. But he needs to keep you from being upset, from having to lash out. And he’ll do whatever it takes.    After all, he doesn’t know how much longer your body or mind will be able to take it.   “B-Butler Kim?” He’s stopped in the middle of the hall as Rose rushes to him. He’s always been able to pick her out in the house. Rose is the shortest and youngest, but also the one who tries her hardest — you weren’t wrong in choosing her.   “What’s the matter?”   The young girl’s voice drops into a whisper. “There’s a man at the front gates…”   He nods, posture straightening, steps becoming firm. The end of his tailcoat slices through the air in his strides and he makes it to the kitchen before walking right out of the manor to the front.    There, Jimin and another maid are at a loss of what to do. But the moment they see Taehyung, there’s almost an audible sigh of relief.   “Butler Kim!” Your uncle is on the other side of the gate, exasperated. “There you are! Tell these servants to let me in! I only want to see my poor, sick niece!”   Taehyung moves his head towards the pair and they take the sign to scurry away while they have the chance.   He opens the latches of the gate and the older man’s eyes light up. But instead of being let in, Taehyung slips out. “My apologies, her ladyship isn’t taking guests at the moment.”   “Guests?!” Seokjin is entirely offended. “I am her only uncle!”   “If there is any message you would like to relay, then please let me know.”   “No, I must see her in person.” He shakes his head adamantly and then dabs the area underneath his eyes with his hand. “Poor, poor, Y/N. I hurried here the moment I heard she was sick. I am the only uncle she has and she is my only niece. Who else will care for her but I?”   Taehyung’s arms are placed behind his back. No one sees the way his white gloved hands curl into tight fists.    Yet he maintains a bright smile. “I’ll let her ladyship know that you send your best wishes then. Although...I’m afraid she may not be able to take your words to heart after you sent a man to try to kill her.”   Seokjin’s eyes widen in shock. His mouth drops. He staggers back.   Taehyung’s height towers over him, his smile frightening.   “Y-You!” Your uncle flounders. “You have no proof!”   “But there are witnesses,” Taehyung bluffs with an unconcerned hum. “I’m sure that man would tell you, right? I may have thrown him off the train, but I believe he is still alive and unfortunately, only severely harmed. But I must say, sir, that you chose the wrong person. He confessed it was you quite easily. Who knows what he would say to policemen.”   The older man is flabbergasted, lurching backwards away from Taehyung as if he’s a monster. Seokjin almost falls down, but grips the brick half-wall as leverage.   “The only reason you have yet to be arrested is due to her ladyship’s utmost compassion. But I must say her tolerance is wearing thin and mine,” Taehyung chimes, “no longer exists!”   “T-T-T-This is outrageous! Outrageous, I say!” Seokjin frantically turns around and hobbles away. He glances over his shoulder and flinches when Taehyung waves.   Taehyung then turns on his heel and closes the gate, strolling back into the manor.    For some reason, he doesn’t think he’ll see your uncle for a while.   //   The next day, there’s a knock at your door while you’re seated at your round table, out of bed against the doctor’s orders and much to Taehyung’s dismay. “Come in.”   A certain maid peeks her head inside. “My lady.”   “Jane.” You perk with a smile. “What is it?”   She grins and enters. “I wanted to ask if you’d like anything.”   “I’m fine, thank you. On the contrary, how are you? Is everyone in this house treating you well?”   “Y-Yes.” She dips. “I’m doing well, my lady. Everyone treats me fairly.”   “Good.” You look at her carefully through sharpened eyes. “If I may comment…”   “Yes?”   “You are quite pretty,” you praise and Jane blushes with a modest ‘thank you’. “It’s not often I have someone so attentive by my side, good work. I’ll call on you when I need you.”   “Yes, my lady.” Jane smiles and leaves.    On her way out, she passes by a familiar doe-eyed man beside Butler Kim in the hall. Yet neither man speaks a single word and as she turns the corner, pressing herself to the wall, the door slams shut. There’s not even a muffle or sound.    She curses underneath her breath and leaves before someone catches her.   “I’m sorry to hear you haven’t been well, Miss Y/N.”    Detective Jeon approaches you, taking off his top hat.    “Yes, well, I’ve been getting better.” You look over at your butler who already has his brows knitted together seeing you up. Your expression warms. “Will you get Detective Jeon and I some tea, Taehyung?”   He bows with a hand over his chest. “Right away, mistress.”   Taehyung swiftly leaves as Detective Jeon takes a seat across from you, placing his briefcase down. “I received your letter. I’m sorry to hear Arthur Kahl wasn’t who you were looking for.”   “What’s done is done. Do you have anything new?”   “Unfortunately I don’t have any leads at the moment. I’m still in the process of tracing your parents’ history and seeing if there is anything unusual.”   “If you ever need something, let me know. I am still willing to pay a generous sum for your services.”   He nods and his doe eyes pin onto you as he leans back into the chair. “I must say there is one thing I am curious about.”   “What is it?”   “If I may pry…” He folds his hands together, brown irises sparkling. “What is your relationship with Butler Kim?”   Your brow cocks. “He’s my most trusted confidant.”   The answer comes to mind without trouble. Taehyung is the only person you can rely on. The person you come to if you have trouble. The person who you know will always be there.    He is your person.   “Is that all?”   You don’t know where he’s trying to get at and your eyes narrow. “Why are you asking?”   The corner of Detective Jeon’s lip curls, melting into a pleasant expression and overly boyish smile. “It’s in a detective’s nature to be curious. It’s the reason I’m good at my job, Miss. Y/N. I just find it unusual considering butlers and mistresses aren’t as close as you two are.”   Your face remains stoic. “What are you implying?”   “You probably know perfectly what I’m implying.” With the vase of flowers set on the table, he leans over to fiddle with a petal.   Detective Jeon doesn’t seem the kind to double-cross you, or at least he would never risk his professional name to spread rumours about your private affairs. He seems to be genuinely curious, so you entertain him. “Since my parents' abrupt passing, I’ve succeeded my father’s position and become the head of the Arden house. I’ve also become the target of countless.”   “With power comes unwanted attention,” he chimes as if he’s seen it many times.   “People are trying to kill me, use me, dispose of me every second of each hour. I won’t endanger anyone unnecessarily. I have to look further than such frivolous emotions.”   Detective Jeon lets go of the flower petal, appearing more amused than before. “Funny. He said something quite similar.”   You frown, not sure what he’s talking about. “Did he also tell you to get out and stop poking your nose into things you’re not getting paid for?”   The man laughs. “Will do.”   He takes his suitcase, tips his hat as a goodbye and opens the door. He passes by the man that the pair of you were just talking about, and grins. “Looks like I won’t be needing that tea, Butler Kim. I’ll come back when I have new information to share. Until then…”   Detective Jeon strolls down the corridor and Taehyung looks at you. “That was quick.”   “Never mind him.” You beckon your butler over with a single gesture. “Taehyung.”   “Yes?”   “I’m hungry.”   He smiles. “What would you like to have, my lady?”   //   The Arden manor is distinct. Not just because of its sheer size and that it sits on a stretch of green behind black gates. Or that it’s hidden on an uphill climb away from the bustle of the city.   The roof is steeply-pitched, arches pointed and the front-facing gables are laden with a wooden trim. Each part of the house’s exterior is narrow with sharp edges. It was built many years ago, yet it looks like it’ll be decades before it falls apart. Rather, much of the colour has washed away from the stone.   The interior is no different, frequently decorated in dark oak or shades of maroon, from the carpet to the walls. Sunlight does little and candlelight only casts more shadows from the flickering flame.   The only real colour on the estate is the gardens outside.   “Jimin!”   The gardener looks up, holding shears in hand. “What are you doing here, Rose?”   Said girl is precariously balancing a silver tray in hand, but she still manages to grin. “I’m bringing tea to her ladyship. I just thought I’d take the path outside. What flowers are you trimming?”   “Oh just pruning the rose bushes of the late madam’s.” His expression softens. “Lady Y/N doesn’t seem to care much for it, but that doesn’t mean I can let it become messy. This is the least I can do.”   The twelve year old admires the older man’s earnest personality. Jimin seems to genuinely like flowers and tending to them. “When will they bloom?”   “Surely in the next few weeks and when they do, it’ll look beautiful.”   She can imagine it already. “Would you like me to bring a snack for you later?”   Jimin’s eyes become enlarged in delight. “Really?”   Rose nods with an enormous smile. “There’s leftover bread and cheese in the kitchen.”   “I...I couldn’t. Isn’t that for her ladyship?”   “She wouldn’t mind,” she insists. At the Arden estate, she’s eaten better than she ever did back at the orphanage. Butler Kim’s quite kind as well. He doesn’t mind what’s taken from the kitchen as long as there’s enough for you which everyone makes sure there always is.   “Well alright then.” The gardener eases. “But you shouldn’t leave her waiting for too long!”   “Right!” She hurries along before the tea gets cold. “I’ll come back later!”   Jimin waves and Rose enters through the other door, up the stairs, and down the corridor. She almost spills the teacup at one point as it’s rattling against the tray, but she finds her balance and knocks.   “Come in.” The door opens and you look up from your desk.   The phonograph in the corner of the room is playing a muffled symphony of violins and trumpets. It sounds beautiful, an entrancing melody that makes her stuck in her spot too long before she snaps out of it.   Rose ducks her head and comes over. “Butler Kim told me it’s time for your afternoon tea.”   “He really is bothersome,” you sigh, putting down the document. It hasn’t even been ten minutes since you entered the study. You’re not sure what the point of trying to work is when he’s constantly distracting you with excuses of teatime or insisting it’s time for a walk.   The young girl smiles. “Butler Kim just cares a lot, my lady.”   “I know.”   She places the porcelain teacup down, and her hand is shaky as she tries to pour the tea. It splashes on the outside saucer and she flinches, but you don’t say anything.   “Do you like it? The music.”   “It’s nice.” She admits, “I never got to listen to music much before.”   “You can come in any time to listen if you’d like.” At your offer, Roses eyes become rounded and your mouth tugs. “If all your duties are done, that is.”   “T-Thank you! I will!”   You sip on your tea while your eyes flicker down to your paper. Then you set the cup down and direct your attention to the girl. “Do you know how to read and write, Rose?”   Her cheeks burn in embarrassment as she shakes her head. “I know the letters but that’s all. Even then, it takes me a long time.”   “Bring that chair over then.”   The young maid is surprised, but follows your instructions, dragging the chair beside you. You smile at her, not wanting to admit that it is nice to take a break. Or that it’s pleasant to help someone as well. “Write out what letters you know for me.”   She nods and awkwardly grips the fountain pen.   “You’re missing a stroke. Right there.”   “Right here?”   “That’s right. There. You have it.”   A grin spreads into her face. “Can you teach me how to write your name?”   “Mine?” Your brows lift yet she bobs her head twice.    You’re not sure how much time passes, how long the two of you are wrapped up, cowering over the desk with pens and papers as the handles of the clock ticks away. But then Taehyung’s peeking in through the gap of the door with a softened expression and he reluctantly knocks.   “My lady,” he interrupts. “Lawyer Kim is here.”   “Let him in.” You turn to the twelve year old girl who’s visibly disheartened and your hand strokes the top of her head gently. “If you have some time, then practice. Next time I’ll teach you how to write your own name and maybe we can read a book together?”   “Next time?” She’s easy to read. You can see the way excitement washes over her, how she lights up as you nod and you watch her in endearment as she scurries away with the promise.   //   Each morning the mail is handed to Taehyung by one of the maids and he sets it on your bedside for you to go through. But today as he’s walking to your room and shuffles through them, he sees a fascinating letter from a man named Mr. Mark Carter. His brow quirks and he opens it. It’s not uncommon to go through your letters considering he writes most of your replies these past few days.   But instead of being business related—   To my dearest, Arden Y/N, My thoughts have been full of you in the past days. You are as beautiful…   Taehyung rips the page before any more is read. There’s no need for you to waste your time.   “Taehyung.” You call from the corner as he enters and he promptly places the letters down. He pockets the shreds of the love letter and attends to you.    Taehyung helps you get dressed in front of the mirrors, his long fingers nimbly tying your corset before he’s draping the champagne gown over your frame. “You really shouldn’t be out of bed.”   “It’s been two weeks since we came home, Taehyung. Do you expect me to stay bedridden forever?”   “I could handle all of your affairs for you.”   “I know.” You turn around to face him. “But I don’t want you to.”   “I wouldn’t want you to faint again.”   “I won’t,” you tell him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “And even if I did, you’d be there to catch me, no?”   Taehyung swallows hard and you freeze when he suddenly reaches out. His arm extends and he gingerly tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Taehyung gazes at you tenderly. It’s much too intimate. “What would be the point if I don’t see you into your old age?”   The pad of his thumb draws down your jaw before he lets go.   You smile softly, skin tingling from his affectionate touch. “Would you still be attending to me if I were in my old age?”   “Of course I would be.”   “Wouldn’t you want to be married at some point, Taehyung?” You move past him to the vanity, taking your brush through your hair.   He watches you for a moment before he approaches and steals the brush from your hand. He proceeds to your hair gently, the way he knows you like it best. “Who would I be married to?”   “I could find you a good match.”   “And risk not being there when you might need me?”   You look at his reflection. “Then how long do you plan to be beside me then?”   “Always,” he answers.   Taehyung’s gaze is fixed onto yours through the mirror, his eyes softened, hands grasping the strands of your hair. Your breath hitches in your throat as something squeezes inside your chest.   You swallow hard. “Taehyung.”   The corner of his mouth curls into a sly smile. “Hmm?”   “What’s…” He’s such a handful sometimes, but you know to him you’re two handfuls. “….that noise outside?”   “I think that’s your cousin crying.”   “And why is he crying?”   “He wants to meet with you. Don’t worry. It’s handled. He tried to climb the gate but Jimin used his garden rake to push him off.”   You sigh, pitching the bridge of your nose. “Just let him in. I’ll see him.”   It’s easy to tell that Taehyung is reluctant and even surprised at your defeated response. But unlike your uncle and aunt who have some shame, you’re sure Hoseok would be there day and night sobbing on the ground. There wouldn’t be any good done if outsiders start to take notice.   You leave to the parlor to have your morning cup of tea and surely enough, Hoseok runs in while panting. You sort of wish he would’ve knocked over the statue by the archway. That way, you could make him compensate you with his life’s fortune. It would be a funny story to tell in the future, but alas.   “Y/N! Finally! F-Finally! Those servants of yours...they almost killed me!”   “They were following my instructions.”   He’s dejected and plops down on the sofa, frantically shaking his head. “I know that Uncle Seokjin, my mother and you aren’t on good terms, but please hear me out.”   The taste of earl grey lingers on your palette. “You want to take over the company.”   Hoseok’s spine straightens. “Y/N, Uncle Eugene would’ve wanted someone in the family to take over. I don’t understand how an outsider could be the head of the company!”   “Don’t bring my father into this,” you snap. It’s easier to be direct with your cousin since he’s younger than you are. The idea of disrespect doesn’t have to play a big role in your confrontation. “He’s dead. It doesn’t matter what he wants now. What are your qualifications?”   “What?”   “How are you deserving of the job? How do you expect to run an entire company? What have you ever done in your life that you would be able to do those things?” you question with your arms crossed. Hoseok opens his mouth and then shuts it. He knows it himself. The fact of the matter is— “You’ve accomplished nothing. If you want the job so much, then interview for it and start at the bottom and learn.”   Hoseok stands up abruptly. “That’s not what Uncle Eugene would’ve wanted—!”   You’re forced to your feet. “Don’t speak about my father!”   “But—!”   You grip your temples that’s beginning to throb. Your head aches and you’re becoming dizzy.   Taehyung immediately notices and comes to your side, but you wave him off. “Bring him out.”   Hoseok is escorted by Taehyung. The former sighs lowly and walks away without putting much of a fight. Dragging his legs. Shoulders slugging. It’s not like you wanted it to be like this. Your idea of family was never an image of distrust or exhaustion. But this is what you were born into.   Taehyung comes back after he’s left. He searches your expression sternly and shoulders your weight when you lean on him. “This isn’t good. You should rest.”   “I know.”   But as you take his arm, more noises come from the other room. In particular, it’s a familiar voice that can only belong to— “Y/N!”    Aunt Marie stomps inside with Jane trailing behind her with a distressed expression.   “What is the meaning of this?”   Jane winces at your tone. “I thought...I thought since you let in—”   “I heard you were ill,” your Aunt cuts her off, holding her head high. She must’ve run into Hoseok outside, but she makes no mention of it. He must’ve ignored her. “It was only right that I come see if the rumours are true for myself.”   “Well you’ve seen me, now you can leave. I’m not taking guests at the moment.”   Her mouth opens, but Taehyung’s eyes fix on her, holding an intense stare. “If you’ll excuse us. Jane, please lead out Mrs. Arden immediately.”   “R-Right away, Butler Kim.” The maid bows her head and your aunt scoffs, not bothering to follow you. She stays in her spot, insisting on keeping an utterly offended expression.   The room empties.   “That dog of hers watches her too closely.”   “Don’t worry madam,” Jane quietly whispers with a growing smirk. “He won’t be able to save her this time.”   The older woman snorts. “You remember what I told you?”   “Of course. They won’t see it coming.”   She hums a low note. “Be careful. That guard dog is perceptive.”   //   The kitchen is filled with a flavorsome aroma, but it’s a frenzy as the grandfather clock chimes throughout the manor. The cook is rushing all over the kitchen with the kitchen maid, throwing in the potatoes and finishing the beef stew. Even Jane is beginning to become nervous as she watches them. That damn son of a bitch butler won’t be happy if your dinner is delayed a second and she still has to put it in.   There can’t be any more delay.   “Here it is! Finally, done!”   The cook ladles the stew from the pot into the bowl and Jane finally moves before another maid can. “I’ll take it up for her ladyship,” she loudly volunteers.   “Go quickly!”   “Wait! I have to add the parsley,” the kitchen maid shouts.   In the disorder, no one notices how Jane looks both ways and slips a vial out from her apron pocket. It’s uncapped and the clear liquid poured in, dissolving right into the broth. But by then, the kitchen maid is already pushing her aside to add in the parsley.   “There we go.”   Jane disguises her smirk and swiftly takes the tray. She begins to head down the corridor.   But as she turns the corner, she nearly collides with Butler Kim. Immediately, the maid dips her head with an apology and he takes the tray from her. “There it is. What took so long?”   “The cook had trouble.”   Butler Kim turns and strides down the hall. The corner of her mouth pulls.   Jane doesn’t notice how Taehyung looks down into the bowl for a moment.   With the deed finally done, she makes her way to the small dining room next to the pantry meant for the workers to gather and eat. It’s perfect. It won’t be long now until things start to happen and she gets her reward.   She smiles to herself before she’s abruptly interrupted— “Did something good happen, Jane?”   The maid doesn’t know where the voice is coming from until she looks down and sees the twelve year old who she doesn’t even remember the name of. But looking at her big eyes and hearing her nosy question annoys her. Jane snaps, “It’s none of your business.”   The young girl flinches and quiets.   What Jane doesn’t expect is how minutes later, Butler Kim returns with the tray in hand and the food untouched. The colour immediately drains from her face.   “Is there something wrong?” The cook bumbles over in alarm.   “Her ladyship isn’t hungry,” he informs and Jane breathes a sigh of relief, but is still disappointed. She curses inside her head.   “I see.” The cook sighs. “What a shame, it was the first time I tried to make this kind of stew. I thought I would be able to get her ladyship’s opinion.”   “It would be a waste to dispose of it then.” Butler Kim smiles. “Everyone come give it a try.”   Several turn their heads at one another, visibly confused at his unexpected offer but they happily follow along with his instructions. The kitchen maid is eager, anticipating their responses, and spoons are quickly passed around.    But Jane stays frozen on her spot and the butler’s sharp eyes quickly take notice.   “Is there something wrong?”   “I...I don’t think I’ll eat, sir.”   “Why not?”   “I’m not...feeling well. My apologies. I’ll retire to the quarters—”   “Surely a spoonful wouldn’t hurt.” Taehyung stops Jane before she can move to the doorway. Everyone’s eyes are pinned on them and she’s suddenly presented with a wooden spoon and a bright smile. “Don’t you want to give your thoughts to the cook so he may improve his dishes to her ladyship?”   “I—”   “It’s a part of your duties to look after her ladyship, is it not? That includes testing her food.”    “Well—”   Taehyung scoops a spoonful of the stew’s broth and it’s forcibly brought to her mouth. “There’s no reason why you should refuse.”   “Stop—wait! NO!” Her arm comes out to bat at it away from her. “It’s poisoned!”   The spoon clatters on the ground and the bowl shortly follows. It shatters, shards of porcelain spraying across the floor and the yellow liquid splattering against the wall. There are gasps and Jane’s breath heaves in and out of her chest. Sweat is gathered at her hairline and she feels the scrutinizing eyes of the entire household pinned on her.   Butler Kim cocks his brow. “How do you know that?”   “I...I…” Jane fumbles with her words, heat rising in her face, colour fading from her lips.   “This is actually a new bowl from the pot.” The corner of Taehyung’s mouth curls. “I would never offer what was supposed to be her ladyship’s to anyone else. So why do you say it’s poisoned?”   She opens her mouth, incoherent words stuttering out, but as she turns her head, searching for an explanation, some sort of excuse, her eyes meet Rose’s.   Jane’s arm instantly extends and she points at the twelve year old. “I saw her put something suspicious into her ladyship’s food! I didn’t know if I saw it correctly, so I didn’t want to say anything. I-I didn’t know she could be capable of doing such a thing….”   “What?” Rose’s eyes enlarge, tears gathering at her lashes. “No! I didn’t!”   “Liar!” Jane screams at her, height looming over the girl. “How could you deny it in front of Butler Kim! Do you have no morals?!”   “Please.” Rose looks at her and then him. “I didn’t do anything like that! Please believe me!”   “What is all this noise?” The shrill cries are intercepted by you entering the room. Jane dips her head as Rose looks to you with pleading eyes. The others ease, knowing you’re here.   Taehyung comes beside you, arm stretched in case you step onto the glass. “One of the maids just admitted something no one else knew.”   “I didn’t do it,” Rose whimpers.   You look around the room and sigh tiredly. You pitch the bridge of your nose and then wave him off. “Leave it be. Surely it’s a misunderstanding.”   “Understood.” Taehyung puts his hand over his chest and bows.   “I’m feeling tired. Bring me to my room, Taehyung.”   He nods and offers you his arm.    Two maids move to clean up the mess as Rose tries to reason with others. Jimin comes to her side, but Jane continues to glare at the young girl. There’s sweat built at Jane’s hairline and her heart is lodged in her throat.   It was close. Too close.   //   For the next few days, you’re afraid Taehyung is becoming more distrustful than you are.   Much to your dismay, he has a bite of your food and a sip of your tea before you get the chance to each time. It’s not as cute as when he did it as a kid — back when he was just trying to get a taste of what he could. Now he’s doing it because he’s overly suspicious.   The last thing you want is for him to become your taster and does in fact become poisoned. There’s not much of a point if he dies and you’re still alive.   But once you make your complaint, he resorts to making all of your food for you, not allowing a single person in the kitchen or to touch your dish. You don’t want to tell him that his cooking is more delicious than the cook’s for fear he’ll continue and overwork himself to death.   “You’re really such a handful,” you mutter, looking up at him.   Taehyung’s brow lifts, wondering where that was coming from.   The pair of you were burning the midnight oil as you were looking over this month’s household expenses and what is left of your personal wealth. He didn’t want you to be here doing work, yet couldn’t protest after your insistence. But in truth, you can’t look over it properly with your mind preoccupied.   You hate seeing Taehyung this way — excessively anxious, on guard, needlessly gluing himself to your side whenever he can. It’s enough that you’re already like that. But you suppose that’s the humorous part. He doesn’t like it when you’re like this either.   You feel like this house is making you both lose your minds.   “Taehyung.”   “Yes, my lady?”   You weakly wave him over. “Carry me to bed. I’m tired.”   “Understood.”   Taehyung leans down and collects you in his arms, an arm beneath your knees and the other around your backside. You lean on his shoulder with your arms looped around his neck, nestling close to him.    He walks to the door, briefly opens it and strides down the hall that’s without a maid or servant in sight.   “How long do you think this will last, Taehyung?”   “What do you mean?”   “Us. Being so afraid and anxious.” You wonder how long you’ll have to be fighting against your relatives and outsiders, if you’ll ever be left alone, if that day will ever come. “Even if I find my older sister or brother, then what?”   “You don’t need to be anxious. I’m here.”   The corner of your lips softly tug and you look up at him through your lashes. Taehyung’s brown irises meet yours in the warm candlelight lamps on the walls. “And let you bear all of my hardships? How could I let that happen?”   “Then don’t bear it all alone.” The timbre of voice is husky. “You can rely on me too.”   “I already do. More than you know.”    If you had no one to truly trust, you would’ve been lost long ago. Taehyung is your saviour.   “You don’t need to worry about what happens afterwards. I’ll go where you go.”   “And if I have no more wealth to my name and I’m unable to pay you?”   “You don’t need to pay me a single cent for me to stay by your side.”   Your gazes meet and his steps slow. It’s much too intimate, and you notice the way his eyes flicker to lips. For a moment it feels like the distance is closing between you and you brace yourself as a kind of sweet anxiousness is sewn inside your chest. But you aren’t afraid.   Then, as your lashes flutter….Taehyung turns away.   His Adam’s apple bobs inside his throat.   Nothing is spoken as the door to your bedroom is opened and closed, and he lays you down onto the bed. “If there’s nothing more you need from me, then rest well, my lady.”   “Taehyung.”   “Yes?”   Your irises connect. There’s pause. A tenseness to the air.    But then you wave him away.    “Never mind. Good night.”   The lights are blown and he leaves while you tug the covers to your chin for warmth.    You’re unaware of how once the door shuts, Taehyung’s back presses against the surface. His eyes close tight and the hands that held you tenderly crumple into fists.   He almost allowed his own desires to overcome his duties to you.   //   The following evening, Rose sits alone in her small room and sighs to herself.    She’s happy that she was brought here to work on the estate. It’s all she could’ve ever wished for — a kind mistress to work for, friends she never knew she’d make, and being able to sleep comfortably with a full stomach. But she didn’t know it could also be this hard.   She really didn’t try to harm you. Why would she when all you’ve been to her is generous and all she waits for are the hours when she’s allowed to sit beside you and taught how to read and write. But she can tell some of the other girls don’t believe her.    She isn’t sure what to say or do to clear her name.   Rose stumbles to her wardrobe and reaches towards the back. Hidden behind a lilac handkerchief is a golden pocket watch. Her thumb runs along the shiny surface and she exhales.   “What should I do, mom?”   The twelve year old doesn’t see the older girl in the hall, chewing on the nail of her thumb, anxious of what to do and how to gain back your favour. And Jane’s eye incidentally turns towards the gap of Rose’s door as she passes.   “What are you doing?”   The door slams against the walls and Rose jolts, startled.   Jane’s eyes dart to the pocket watch. “What is that?”   “It’s nothing!” Rose’s arms jerk behind her back, but it’s too late. The older girl stomps towards her and rips her arm back. She cries out and Jane snatches the golden watch from her grasps.   “You stole this, didn’t you!”   “No! Give it back!”   “Then how do you have something so expensive?! You stole it from her ladyship!”   “I didn’t!”   “Liar. There’s no way you would be able to afford something like this. Your hands are sticky, aren’t they?” A smirk spreads into her cheek. This is it. The way she can gain your trust again. “You’re going to get thrown out tonight on my watch.”   Rose cries as she’s dragged down the hall. She struggles but it’s futile against the older’s strength. Another girl intercepts, asking what’s going on, but Jane pushes them aside.   She’s taken down the corridor, all the way to the study. “Say goodbye to your job, little girl,” Jane mocks and then knocks on the door.   It opens it at your command and Taehyung immediately steps forward the moment he sees Jane yanking Rose’s arm and the latter sobbing. “What is the meaning of this?”   Jane lets go of the twelve year old who has streams of tears staining her cheeks and steps forward. She allows the pocket watch to drop in her hand, holding it by the chain. It catches the light and looks like it glows. “My lady, I just caught this maid stealing from you. I had to report it immediately.”   Upon seeing the pocket watch, you teeter to a stand. The chair screeches against the floorboards.   “Bring it here.”   Taehyung takes it and hands it to you.   It’s a perfectly round contraption, the cover golden, reflecting against the candlelight. But it’s without any engravings, designs or even ridges on the surface. You flip it open to find handles ticking away as seconds and minutes pass. Strangely, on the inside, opposite of the clock is a picture of a beautiful woman you don’t recognize. Most of all, you recognize the surface is worn and there are a few scratches.   Taehyung watches you. Your voice is kept quiet, a mere breath that releases from your lips—   “Where did you get this?”   Jane opens her mouth but your glare flickers to her and the words die on her tongue.    Rose is the one who pipes up, hands scrunched into her dress’ skirt, head ducked down. “It...it was my mother’s.”   “I have a pocket watch like this,” you tell her, rounding the desk and flipping the watch in your hand. “I can tell this is from my father’s company too. At least with the way the handles are crafted and the numbers are written. My father always liked his watches a certain way.”   You continue, “He also never made many golden pocket watches. Certainly not ones without any engravings. It’s much like mine.”   A rush of air escapes Jane’s nose. The corner of her eye moves to the twelve year old who’s quivering in her spot. She is done for.   You step forward, inhaling a breath. “But my pocket watch is cracked.”   Jane’s breath instantly hitches in her throat. Your eyes are pinned on Rose’s face. “I sent Taehyung to fix it for me months ago.”   The pocket watch is not a copy, but a sister to yours.   “Is this really your mother’s?”   Rose nods with a sniffle, unable to understand where this was going.   Taehyung comes beside you, having already caught on to your suspicions. And you lean on him, swallowing hard. “Then if that’s true….you may be the one I’m looking for. You might be my sister.”   “S-Sister?” Rose’s eyes grow wide and a tear hanging off her lash rolls down her cheek. “I….have family?”   It’s all lining up inside your mind and your brows knit together, but you don’t allow it to sink in. Not when you notice Jane’s mouth dropping, how she takes a step back.   “Where do you think you’re going?” you deadpan, turning your head to the older maid and she flinches.   “My lady—”   “You’re fired. Pack your bags. The carriage will take you away.” Your voice drops an octave. “And don’t think of leaving to tell my aunt what you heard here tonight.”   “My lady!” Colour drains from her face. “I...I don’t know what you’re talking about!”   “Do you really think I wouldn’t know about you poisoning my food?”   Jane careens backwards while you take a step forward. “I was framed!”   You ignore her plea, eyes narrowing in on her. “Did you really think I would let go of an attempt on my life so easily?”   She’s frightened. You can tell by the way she shakes.   “Did you think I didn’t know how you would sneak out in the middle of the night to meet my aunt outside those gates?” You loom over the conniving girl. “I knew it from the moment you stepped foot into this house and knocked on my door. Did you take me for being a fool? I let you stay so I could keep my eye on you.”   Jane falls down, back against the wall and puts her hands up to protect herself.    You knew the entire time. After all, you and Taehyung don’t keep secrets from one another. It’s easy to fit the puzzle pieces together that way.   “Taehyung.”   His hand is placed over his chest and he bows. “Yes, my lady?”   You swivel on your heel. “Take care of her for me, will you?”   He smirks. “Of course.”    //   “The story fits,” Detective Jeon tells you as you flip through the documents detailing his findings. “Her mother grew up in London but went to Middlesborough to find work in 1868. The same summer your father went to Middlesborough for work. She passed away during childbirth. ”   You can still remember that summer — you were eight and it was the first time your father left for three whole months. You spent your summer with Taehyung and his father.    “How did she end up in Lennox?”   “The orphanage she was left at shut down seven years ago and the orphans were brought to other orphanages in Trulia. In this case, it was St. Andale’s.”   Your father must’ve found out, maybe through a letter the woman sent, perhaps someone told him. But it doesn’t matter. It’s enough to explain why he would donate so much to the orphanage and how she has a twin pocket watch to yours.   You wonder if your mother knew. If she did, she probably wouldn’t have said anything. It’s not like your father tried to bring her home either. Maybe that’s the reason he left everything to her, maybe he felt a sense of guilt and this is his way of repenting and making up for the neglect.   “What do you plan to do now,” Detective Jeon asks.   You turn your head to him. “Do you think I’m going to kill her?”   It goes quiet and the corner of your mouth curls.    You answer your own question. “No. I won’t.”   Perhaps it’s the sympathetic part of you, but she has no part in this. She has no blame.   You always imagined your sibling to have lived a happier life than you, blessed with their ignorance, without the burden of status. Yet, there to receive the wealth you have spent so long protecting. Perhaps it was envy and anger that conjured such an image in your head. But you didn’t expect your sibling to be worth feeling sorry for. She and her mother were abandoned, and she’s been without family her entire life. It’s harder this way — you can’t be angry at her.   The only person to blame is your father.   “I’ll be sending you over a generous sum as promised. Thank you for the work you’ve done.”   The detective smiles boyishly and tips his hat. “Any time. My services will always be available whenever you need it, Miss Y/N.”   “Hopefully I won’t,” you quip back at him. “I’m quite tired of digging into people’s histories.”   “The secrets never end.” Detective Jeon’s doe eyes twinkle and Taehyung sees him out.   Once all said and done, silence fills the room and you find yourself once more at a loss of what to do. It’s not like you had a plan to begin with. You merely wanted to find who your brother or sister was and get to them before your relatives could. Back then, you didn’t know if you wanted to try to cut them from the will or give everything to them. And now, you still don’t know.   There's a timid knock at the door that interrupts your thoughts and the knob turns. The gap remains small, but you see Rose peeking in.   “Is there something the matter?”   She wears a nervous expression, gripping fistfuls of her dress and she hesitantly steps inside the room. “I...just wanted to see you.”   You’re sure this is as hard for her to get used to as it is for you. She never had a family and you never considered your relatives family. Even when your parents were alive, they were distant. To you, family has always been Taehyung.   You never expected you would have a younger sister.   “Follow me.”   Rose’s head whips up as you brush past her and her steps struggle to keep up as you move down the corridor. You turn the corner, come to the door on the left and enter. “Do you know what room this is?”   She’s been in it many times. It’s where she poured tea, where you listened to music and where you taught her reading and writing. “It’s your study…”   “No. It’s our father’s study.” The words are odd on your tongue. You’re not sure if you’ll ever get used to it. “He used to work in here whenever he got home from work. If you wanted to look for him, he would be here.”   If you shut your eyes, you can still see him behind the desk, never once looking up.   Rose steps forward, able to look around more carefully than when she was just a maid. Her eyes trace against the books on the shelves, the clock on the table, the stacked papers and pens.   “Is there something you want to know about him?”   “Wh..what was he like?”   You lean against the wall, humming a low note. “Everyone called him a respectable man. He was good at what he did. He worked hard, so much so that he never ceased his work. But he was an aloof father.”   The young girl nods slowly and turns around. “Do you hate me?”   You look at your half-sibling, eyes dimmed, expression stoic. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be honest with her. “I did.” She flinches and you look away. “I always imagined I would hate my sibling, but unfortunately, I can’t hate you now that I’ve gotten to know you.”   A cold laugh emits from your mouth and never reaches your eyes. “Funny how fate works that way.”   You stroll to the fireplace, arms hugging your body. “The same day my parents were buried in the ground was the same day I received the will. It promised all the assets, the wealth, the company to you. Do you know what it means to be the inheritor of the Arden family?”   You swivel on your heel, eyes fixed at the twelve year old. “It means people will be coming after you. They’ll speak sweetly, let you hear everything you could ever wish for, and then stab you in the back. Some are more honest than others, but you could potentially fall in love with someone kind and generous, and find out years later it was all a front.”   Her eyes grow wide and you continue, “A maid who saved you today could poison you tomorrow. People are greedy and will do anything to get a step up in life. If there’s anything you know best, it’s the pain of being poor, abandoned by everyone and how desperate that could lead someone to be.”   “I...I don’t want to inherit anything.”   “You have no choice. That’s the way it is.”   “Then what can I do?”   You inhale a deep breath, not sure how to answer. But then your mind strays to a certain man with dark hair, a warm voice and a lean frame who never fails to be by your side. “You find people you can trust.”   “I trust you,” she says within a beat and it startles you. She didn’t blink, didn’t even need a second to think about it. It’s spoken with a kind of sincerity that you aren’t used to from others.   “That’s foolish.”   If there was anyone she should be afraid of, it was you. She’s the black sheep, the illegitimate child, the one who stands in the way of you gaining everything. There are numerous reasons why you should get rid of her and no reason why she should trust you. Yet—   “I don’t think so.” Her gaze is shy but earnest. “You treated me well from the beginning before...all of this.”   “That’s precisely why,” you point out in a cold tone. “I didn’t know who you were. I could just as easily turn my back on you.”   Still, Rose gingerly smiles. Her eyes crinkle and her cheeks puff out. “I have a feeling that won’t happen.”   Your stoic expression wanes away into guilt. She’s naive. But you wonder if it’s such a terrible thing that her world is so rose-coloured when you know what it’s like for everything to have turned gray.   //   Without needing to look up, you can tell Taehyung entered the room. Who else would have permission to come and go without knocking than him, and the way he shuts the door is always soft, his steps even quieter. Your ears are always listening for those small noises.   “Where did you go?”   “I went to pick up the pocket watch from the repair shop. They sent notice that I could come get it.”   “This late at night?”   “Were you waiting for me?”   You can hear the sly smile on Taehyung’s lips and when eyes flicker up towards him, you’re not wrong.   “No.” It’s a lie and by the look on his face, he knows it too. “You’re the one who said you would always be by my side, so I was curious to see you gone.”   Taehyung is amused and you turn your head away from him. “I only left for an hour.”   “You should’ve sent Jimin.”   His smile softens as he approaches with a box in hand and places it on the rounded table you’re sitting by. “They said it was important and if possible, I should come soon, so I thought I would go myself in case something happened.”   “What was it?”   Taehyung gestures for you to open the box. It’s the pocket watch your father gave you in his will and it looks exactly the same as when you first received it. It’s heavy in your hand. “They said while they were repairing the cracked glass, they found out the clock of the watch can be pulled open. There’s a compartment at the back.”   You look up at him, eyes meeting and you pop the front open to the ticking time that’s precise to the second. True as they said, with a bit of effort, the clock opens. And out falls a folded square paper, no smaller than a coin.   Your hand quivers as you rush to unfold it. The letter is aged. It crinkles beneath your fingertips.   You swallow hard, finding your father’s handwriting.   Dear Y/N,   Recently, I went to the funeral of an associate of mine. He was an old friend from back then and helped with the company when it was just myself and your mother. It’s a shame he passed away. Lawyer Kim also has come to ask me about creating a will. I fear I have gotten much older than I realized. Someday, you will come to be surprised at how quickly the years go.   Your mother and I briefly discussed what we wanted for you when the time comes and we are no longer here. It truly made me realize how much of a burden things will be. Your mother reminds me that you have always been a strong child and I must agree. I hope when the time comes and your mother and I are gone, you will know that we have always thought about you.   Arden Eugene    It isn’t an apology letter. It serves little explanation for why things are the way they are.    Your father never makes mention to the half-sibling you had to search for, doesn’t tell you why he left everything for her, doesn’t apologize or express remorse about being so distant.   But the words are sincere, every sentence his own, filled with his spirit. Your eyes sting painfully as the sound of his fading voice echoes in the recesses of your mind and a lump lodges in your throat.   Taehyung softly calls to you and you feel the warmth of his arms.    He’s by your side as you cry.   //   There’s much for you to think about in the days that follow. You’re not sure how many times the grandfather clock chimes and rings throughout the house, how often someone asks you if you’d like to eat something or drink. Of course, Taehyung is the one who always draws your attention and pulls you from your thoughts, insisting that it’s time to go to bed or you should take a walk outside and look at the roses that have bloomed.   Taehyung always takes care of you when you need him most.   And somehow, the spitefulness sewn deep inside of you has lessened. You can feel it when you look around the manor, when you peek outside to the land of the estate, when you wake in the mornings. An exhaustion you thought of as permanent has begun to diminish.   More importantly, you start to worry how you’ll protect Rose. She’s nothing but a scared child and you can only hide this secret for so long. Soon enough, they’ll turn the target onto her.   “Must you protect her?” Taehyung asks.   You know he doesn’t want you to take more onto yourself, to bound yourself to responsibilities that may not be your own. Just as you’d like Taehyung to be free and unrestrained, he wishes the same for you. And it is tempting. To leave her for the wolves, to save yourself, be without obligations, but...   “Yes. I finally found someone stronger than me to continue carrying the Arden name, Taehyung. She can shoulder this burden with me and one day, she’ll be even more powerful than I am.”   It’s simple to assume that she’s an obstacle, in the way of you achieving everything, a smudge to your existence. But after being wrapped in thoughts, you’ve come to understand that the burden of being the sole heir has been lifted from your shoulders. You don’t have to worry if your fragile state ever worsens. With her here, the uneasiness of the future has disappeared.    “Call for Lawyer Kim tomorrow.” The corner of your mouth tugs. “I have a plan.”   He smiles and bows his head. “Understood.”   Your eyes meet again and you place your chin in your palm, arm propped on the table. A smile pulls on your features. “Taehyung.”   “Yes, my lady?”   “How far are you willing to help me?”   “I’ll do anything,” he answers without needing to blink.   Taehyung’s loyalty is undying no matter how many times you ask, but it's been too long since you’ve teased him. He looks far too calm and composed these days for your liking. “Then if I ordered you to strip naked and dance in the city square?”   “I would refuse since it would tarnish your name.”   You scoff lightly and he grins. “If I told you to hold my hand?”   Your arm stretches out towards him and Taehyung closes the distance, coming to cradle your hand gently while he dips his head. “I would be honoured to.”   “What if I wasn’t wealthy, would you still be here?” you ask, voice softening.   “I would.”   “How long are you going to stay here for, Taehyung? I don’t expect you to waste your entire life here.”   His smile is tender, gaze affectionate. “I don’t think it’s a waste at all.”   You scoff again and let go in favour of lifting your arms to squash his cheeks together. His rounded eyes blink and his lips mimic a fish’s.    But rather than a fish, he’s very much like a puppy. Your puppy.   “You know how to sweet talk too well.”   Taehyung’s eyes are the shade of umber. Yet in the candlelight, they warm into a deep hue of honey that you find yourself tempted to stare into for hours on end. Or until midnight when the grandfather clock will chime throughout the manor.   Your hands drop and you lean in to press your lips against his cheek in a soft kiss. You pull away a second later, eyes nervously flickering to him. Taehyung’s visibly taken aback and you clear your throat, diverting your vision elsewhere.    “Carry me to bed.”   It’s just a few steps away — you could walk. But he doesn’t make a single complaint, arms coming to loop around your shoulders and the back of your knees with ease. Taehyung strides over and lays you down on the soft bed, but before he can get far, you tug on the sleeve with a steady command.    “Stay.”   “It wouldn’t be proper.”   “It doesn’t matter.” You muster more of your strength to pull him and he smiles.   “Very well.”    You let him go to blow out the candles and he tugs off his coat, draping it over the back of the chair. You realize it might be uncomfortable for him without his nightshirt, but he doesn’t once protest, so you watch as he loosens the top buttons of his shirt and the ones at his wrist.    You don’t know why you feel so nervous all of a sudden. From time to time, the two of you slept in the same bed as children. But you suppose it’s been a long time since you were children.   The sheets of the bed shift and the bed dips with his weight. You turn your head, vaguely able to see his silhouette with the moon’s cool light coming through the curtains.   You grip the edge of the covers. “Taehyung?”   “Yes?”   “Shall we tell scary tales?”   You savour the sound of his laugh. “So you can’t sleep and I’ll have to be here for the next few nights?”   “That doesn’t sound so bad,” you murmur and turn your body fully to face him, hand pressed underneath your head. “Taehyung?”   “Yes, mistress?”   Your brows furrow and you deadpan, “Call me by my name.”   It’s silent. His breath hitches and you nibble on the bottom of your lip. When you first met, he called you without restraint until he was taught otherwise. It’s been years since you’ve heard the syllables of your name with his husky timbre.   “Properly,” you add.   “Y/N.” Taehyung shifts his head to look at you in the comforting darkness. He enunciates it carefully, in a murmur, as if he’s afraid there won’t be another chance. “Y/N.”   Your chest warms and heat is brought to your cheeks.   The quietness simmers and your lashes flutter, eyes becoming heavier and heavier. “You don’t have to worry about my reputation or tarnishing my name, Taehyung.”   “I don’t want to cause you harm in any way,” he says.   “I know.” Your fingers come out to gently brush the strands of hair away from his forehead. “But soon, we won’t have to be under the scrutiny of so many or worry what will happen tomorrow. Those things will cease to exist. When that happens, will you still be by my side?”   “Of course.”   “Then it’s my promise to you.”   He smiles faintly, trusting in your promise. “I’ll be patiently waiting.”   The two of you doze off and fall asleep. Throughout the night, Taehyung’s arms reach for you and you nuzzle into him for warmth. It’s the best sleep you receive since you can recall.

The room is large.   You’re not sure if it’s because all the furniture is being taken, or if it’s from the bright sunlight coming through the windows now that the heavy curtains are gone. Perhaps it was always this large and the clutter was simply too much.   “Please watch the vase.” Jimin, the good-natured man, is fretting over the men. “It is very expensive!”   You never liked this house much. It’s always been dark. The wallpaper is a deep shade, black trim that matches the hardwood. Every inch of this place is ridden with wealth, the golden chandeliers, the ornate carpet to the glass cabinets full of antiques. It’s quite unnecessary.    While each room is filled with memories — from your childhood spent with Taehyung chasing your giggles and your parents striding in and out of rooms — you’re glad to leave it all behind.    You can finally let it go and free yourself from its binds.   “Y/N!” There’s a stampede, the familiar voice of your dearest uncle. You come to the entrance where your aunt and cousin are fervently following after him. A maid has a panic-stricken face but you lift your hand, allowing her to be dismissed. They must’ve seen the movement, heard the news. “What is happening?!”   “I’m selling the land.”   Your aunt steps forward, mouth fallen agape. “What?!”   “I’ve decided this estate has gotten old.” You stand tall, arms behind your back and for once your stoic expression is marred by a smile. “Trulia’s not where I want to be anymore either.”   Hoseok’s brows are furrowed deep enough to wrinkle permanently. “How?!”   You look at Uncle Seokjin. “It might be time for you to reconsider who your favourite niece is.” You turn to beckon Rose over who’s peeking out from the corner of the other doorway. “It’s okay. You should meet them at least once.”   She approaches timidly, dressed in a fine pink gown that only wealth could buy and your relatives furrow their brows in confusion. She steps beside you and you finally give her a proper introduction. “This is my younger sister, Rose.”   “Hello. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”   Aunt Marie’s eyes widen. “Impossible.”    “No. It actually isn’t.” You squeeze your sister’s shoulder and she glances at you with a small smile. “I managed to find her and I’m handing all the assets and the land to her as planned. I should fulfill my parents’ last wishes, no?”   The surrounding furniture continues to be lifted and taken out by the shuffling workers to be sold and auctioned — from the paintings to the sofa. All you’ll have by the end is a suitcase packed of some clothing and the pocket watch your father gave. You don’t need anything else.   “But it’s still not possible.” Hoseok’s voice quivers. “She’s not married and of age!”   A man you know well interrupts, coming from the dining room. He clears his throat and everyone turns to regard the suited lawyer. “It is quite possible.”   Your aunt meets him within a single stride. “Lawyer Kim! Explain this immediately!”   Lawyer Kim shifts uncomfortable in his spot, putting his weight from one foot to the next. “Well, it wasn’t particularly complicated, but Y/N, here, has become the legal guardian of her younger sister, thereby, allowing her to collect the inheritance. She can liquidate, remove, expand or withdraw as she chooses. That...includes selling the estate and moving elsewhere.”   Aunt Marie swivels on her heel and practically seethes, “She is still unmarried!”   “We’ve gotten married.”   It’s a husky timbre with a certain warmth to the tone that speaks. The room spins around at his voice, commanding the attention of each person, old and young. But Taehyung’s eyes are met with yours and the corner of his mouth is quirked as he descends the stairs, hand skimming along the banister.    For a second — the thinnest handle of the grandfather clock being taken away ticking — no one breathes.   But then Uncle Seokjin breaks out into laughter. Aunt Marie abruptly turns to Lawyer Kim to confirm what was just said. “Is this true?!”   “Yes, I was there as a witness. They wedded three nights ago at the church. It was a brief but intimate ceremony, I must say.”   Your aunt is completely appalled. She blanches, features crumpled and her head slowly turns to face you as if you’ve committed the greatest sin. “You really dared to marry a mere butler? Y-You should be ashamed of yourself! What would your parents say, Y/N?! What would they do?!”    “It doesn’t matter. They’re dead,” you state blankly. “And he is more reliable than any man I would ever come to know. I would appreciate it if you would treat my husband with more respect. He is a member of the Arden family now.”   Taehyung comes to your side and you take a glimpse of him, a small smile emerging on your lips.   Aunt Marie shakes her head, violated and exasperated at your presumptuous behaviour. “I have no words...absolutely...no words. How dare you.”   “I learned from the best.” You smile at her. “Sometimes you must do dire things when the circumstances call for it. Am I wrong, Aunt Marie?”   But really, this is far from dire. You feel like this is the best decision you’ve made since your parents passing. It will be a new start. All the workers will be paid generously for their time spent here. You know many are sad to part, but they’re happy to see you lively again — at least that’s what Jimin told you as he held his hat to his chest and smiled gently.   “And what about the company?” Hoseok rushes to ask.   You shift to him. “There’s no one more suitable than Mr. Min to carry on. So I’ve sold it to him. I trust that he will do great things with the company and he’s promised me to do so as well.”   Hoseok instantly pales.   Your Uncle comes forward with feigned worry. “Where are you going?”   “I haven’t decided. But it will be a place where you’ll never be able to find me.” You want to go far away to a place where no one knows your name. Where they’ll be no scrutiny, no newspapers. Where you’ll be free of the responsibilities that have plagued your mind and made you ill.    “If you wish to contact me, you’ll have to go through Lawyer Kim first,” you deadpan. “I can’t assure my letters will be frequent as I’ll be somewhere distant, where no one will be able to take advantage of my precious younger sister until she becomes of age and naturally marries. They’ll inherit it together without worry that the relationship was built on greed. I’ll make sure I see myself to that.”   You look at your aunt directly. “I’ll ask as well that you not try to plant someone under my roof as I’ll find out.”   Her mouth draws open, face reddened. “You ingrate!”   Her hand raises, arm extending back. But before she can slap you like she wants and knock your head to the side, Taehyung snatches her wrist. He’s faster than anyone can blink and he clutches her back, glare boring into her skin.   Her teeth grit and she rips back her hand to her chest.   You turn on your heel, looking out the window. “I hope you don’t take this all to heart. I’ll always wish the best for you, Aunt Marie, Hoseok, Uncle Seokjin. That’s what my father would’ve wanted.”   Your aunt shakingly exhales, “I can’t believe this.” At the same time, Hoseok collapses against the wall, entirely stunned and your uncle presses his hand to his forehead.   Your hand comes onto Rose’s shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. You look at Lawyer Kim who smiles and then your smiling eyes meet your husband’s.   Today’s the brightest morning since you can remember. The grass is verdant, air is crisp and the sky is a strong shade of azure with the sunlight piercing through the wispy clouds. It’s noisy, but you don’t mind so much.

The train whistles.   The wheels are rolling against the steel rails, chugging along. There’s a bustle inside the cart, families and lovers sitting together, children rushing past. But you watch the storm of verdant out the window, the fields and trees flashing by.   You’re not so sure if you’ll stop at the first platform or the second. But when you do, you’ll take your packed suitcases from overhead and be on your merry way, disappearing into the crowd.   Your eyes stray from the window to the pocket watch in hand. You’re loosely holding the golden chain of the watch, studying it as it swings back and forth. It’s like a clam, but without any engravings, designs or even ridges on the surface. It’s heavy, perfectly new and polished, the time precise.   It’s your most prized possession.   It brings memories of the times your father did look up from his desk at you, when your mother would turn with a smile, how that manor allowed you and Taehyung to run through its halls.   Rose is asleep across from you, eyes shut and breaths leaving her parted lips. She’s much too unguarded, but you’re not sure if that’s something you should try to change or protect.    She tired herself out after being excited to leave Trulia. It is her first time leaving the country after all and she was practically pasted to the windows with wide eyes. You’re happy that you can be here to watch her. It’s still difficult for you to get used to the fact that she’s your sister, but you’re sure with time, she’ll become one of the most important people to you. She is your family.    With a soft smile, you stand and slip the pocket watch into your pocket.   You walk down the cart of the train to the door. It’s heavy to open, but once you do, the wind whisks through your hair and Taehyung turns around.   The three of you chose to sit at the end of the train where there’s a proper place to stand outside and watch the tracks fade away over the curves and horizon. But there isn’t anyone out here aside from, probably because of how chilling the wind is.   You wrap the shawl around you tighter.   “What are you doing here?” Taehyung asks with furrowed brows. “Aren’t you cold?”   You shake your head and join his side at the railing.   He looks at you. “Are you feeling nauseous?”    “A little at the beginning, but it feels a lot better today. Maybe I’ve gotten used to it.”   Taehyung smiles, traces of relief on his expression. Your eyes gaze into the profile of his face, from the dark strands of his hair brushing his forehead to the slope of his nose and the dip of his cupid’s bow. Sometimes you wonder if you’re in a daze, but you realize you married this man.   You held Taehyung to the promise that he would do anything for you. And in return, you’re fulfilling your own promise — by going to a place where you can be together. Where it won’t matter what he was or who you are.   “I didn’t marry you just to get the inheritance, Taehyung,” you tell him while looking ahead at the passing trees. “It was a way to protect everything I care about. Including you.”   His soft smile is heard in his voice. “I know, my lady.”   You shift on your heel, facing him with a hardened expression. “But that’s not all. I married you, Taehyung, because I wanted to go somewhere new with you and escape the titles that have bounded us to our duties. I don’t want to be treated as the lady of the house anymore. I want us to be equals.”   Taehyung sighs lightly and steps closer to you until your bodies are practically pressed together. He has no hesitance. There’s no longer a worry of anyone watching. “That’s impossible.”   Your face falls.   He continues, “I’ll always feel a need to serve and protect you, Y/N. My father left me with that responsibility. It’s a part of my legacy to care for the Arden family.”   You desperately search his expression. “Then is it impossible to be together? Everything that we’ve gone through together. All this time. Everything that I did — is it really impossible?”   “It isn’t,” he murmurs in a warm voice that you’re taken aback by. Taehyung’s face softens and he lifts his finger to gingerly brush away a strand of hair that tickles your cheek. “Those two things don’t have to conflict. And if that’s what you wish for, then I’ll follow you until the end.”   The corners of your lip tug. “Is that a promise?”   “It is.”   You hold out your hand. “Then join me in making my wish come true.”   Taehyung smiles and his plush lips kiss against your knuckles, swearing his loyalty to you. Not just as a butler, but also as your husband.   The two of you gaze at one another as you lean into him and Taehyung’s arms hold you. It feels warmer than you could’ve imagined and it’s all because he’s here by your side forevermore.   The train rides off into the distance until you’ve blended into the scenery.

[tyb1]

If It’s The Right Thing To Do.

Part 1

Words: 2118

Character: Seth Clearwater 

 Note: let’s imagine your Sam’s little sister 

Series List

Dialogue prompt: “What? Why would I want to go over there? If I go over there Sam would smell vampires all over me. Aren’t you guys traitors anyway.” I scoffed, I was two seconds away from hanging up the phone on him since they did leave me behind.”

*this is my first twilight imagine so be nice :)*

I stretched every muscle in my body to grab my phone that was sitting on the desk by the bed. I looked at the caller ID but it was from a number that I didn't recognize. My mom always told me not to answer those calls but I did anyway. I had the sudden urge to be bold today.

"Hello?" I rolled back on my bed to finish the stale popcorn that was at least 3 hours old.

"(Y/N)!" the voice spoke frantically over the phone. "(Y/N)....is this (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!"

I sat up on the bed trying to stop my heart from beating out of my chest. The voice sounds panic so it caused me to be panic. The voice from the phone sounded so familiar but I couldn't put my finger on it.

"This is she....why?"

(Y/N)! This is Jake! Listen, I need you to make your way over to the Cullens house!"

"What? Why would I want to go over there? If I go over there Sam would smell vampires all over me. Aren't you guys traitors anyway." I scoffed, I was two seconds away from hanging up the phone on him since they left me behind.

I heard Jacob huff over the phone. Then the phone sounded like someone grabbed a piece of paper and started crumbling it over the microphone. I lay back down on my bed the anxiety in my chest slowly fading away. "Listen Jake I don't have time for games I-"

"Shut up the hell up Jacob! (Y/N)! It's Leah, get your ass over to the Cullens now!" And just like that, the phone hung up without any explanation as to why I have to go to the Cullens.

I sat my phone back on the desk. There was no way in hell I could go to the Cullens. For one Sam wasn't on patrol tonight and two he would smell them on me if I ever decided to come back. "Those are two good reasons for me to stay in tonight." But why would they call me to come over to the Cullens when they knew for a fact I wasn't allowed near them........."

Seth

I jumped from my bed throwing on a hoodie and some pajama pants. I could barely maintain my breathing, There was something wrong with Seth I just felt it in my soul. Something bad probably happened to him and I wasn't there to prevent it.

I slowly walked out of my room seeing that all the lights were off. The door to Sam's and Emily's room was slightly opened. The sound of Sam's snores filled the air. I slowly closed the door then crept down the hallway to the keys.

"We only have one chance to let's make the most of it," I muttered to myself, I grabbed the keys from the shelf while trying not to step on the wood that creaked. I quickly made my way to the back door closing it softly.

"Okay, now the easy part is over." All I had to do now was get in my car and drive to the Cullens. What I was doing right now could coat me all the respect the pack has for me. If I stepped off this property Sam could label me as a traitor right along with Jake, Seth, and Leah.

"It's now or never if Sam hates me for what I'm doing so be it. Seth needs me right now." I mustered up all my courage to drive off the reserve. The drive to the Cullens was so agonizing. The only thing I could think about was the fight that caused us to be distant. We've never fought and when we did we'd make up instantly. This time I was the cause of it, his heart broke in front of me and I did nothing about it. I never meant to say the harsh words but I wanted him to hurt just like he was hurting me.

*Flashback*

I ran behind Seth as he ran behind Jacob. He claimed that he was leaving my brother's pack to join Jacobs pack because "it was the right thing to do". At first, I thought he was being delusional but now that I'm running after him I knew he was being serious.

"Seth come back!" He stopped running causing me to bump into his toned back.

He grabbed my shoulders trying to turn me back towards the reservation."No (Y/N)! I have to do this, go back to Sam!"

I bit his hand then shoved him away."I'm not staying there unless you're with me, Seth!" He shook his head then ran farther into the woods.

"Seth if you leave me then I'll never forgive you!" I began to cry then the cries became sobs. I watched him through my blurry vision as he stopped mid-run. I knew if he stepped foot off the reserve onto the Cullens I would never see him again. Sam would ban me from ever seeing him again because he turned his back on the pack.

Jacob appeared behind a tree watching the whole situation."Seth, are you willing to go against your family, the pack, and your sister?"

Seth turned to Jacob with fire in his eyes. "If it's the right thing to do."

"You'd even turn your back on (Y/N)?"

Seth turned to me, staring into my eyes. It was like I didn't recognize him anymore. Those bubbly brown eyes of his were no longer the same.

"Like I said if it's the right thing to do."

My whole world stopped. Hearing those words come out of my lover's mouth felt like someone just gutted my heart out. My heart was telling me to say one thing while my brain was telling me to say another.

"Seth Clearwater, I hate you!" The words felt so wrong but so right at the same time. I turned my back to him so he wouldn't see me cry anymore.

"You don't mean that (Y/N)! You love me!"

I turned to him with pure hate in my eyes. "I can't love someone who's dead to me."

I ran as fast as my legs could take me. I heard him running after me screaming his voice cracking every time he called out to me. I never looked behind he was a traitor now and he said it to the world, his back was now turned on me.

*EOF*

I wiped the tears from my face as I drove farther off the reserve. Seth and I bond was stronger than any other relationship in the pack. We went from friends to lovers to enemies by force. Now I have to face him. It'll be the first time we've spoken in 2 months.

I got out of the car with my heart pounding profusely. I looked up at the house, Jasper, and Emmet stood at the door to greet me. I nodded to both of them then made my way to the living room. Jacob was sitting on the couch nervously shaking his leg while Bella was pacing back and forth. A piercing scream came out of nowhere. Everyone turned their attention upstairs to where the scream came from. I knew something was up when I saw Rosalie with a guilty expression on her face.

"What happened......why did that sound like Seth?" I didn't bother to sit nor make friends with them. I walk straight into the living room each step I took became bolder and bolder. I sat there staring at them but no one was talking so I decided to make my way upstairs where the scream came from.

Jacob ran to grab me before I could make it to where Seth was. I turned to glare at him as he tightened his grip around my arm."(Y/N)! Wait! Don't go up there not just yet....wait until Carlisle gives us the clear."

"Then tell me what happened to him, Jake."

Jacob sighed, "Listen Bella and I got into an argument things got a bit out of hand and Seth got hurt."

"How did Seth get hurt?"

"Bella accidentally threw him into a tree."

I shot a glare at Bella. "How do you accidentally throw someone into a tree!"

"(Y/N) I honestly didn't mean to. I'm so sorry I don't know what else to do." Bella walked over to me with an apologetic look. The glare that was cast upon my face never left.

I looked around at all the Cullens and Jake "None of you tried to stop her. You just let her throw someone who is so innocent and pure into a fucking tree."

I left without saying another word to them. The journey to the room felt so long but yet it was so short. I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans before I knocked on the door. I heard groans from the other side of the door. My heart sank when I heard him scream again. The door opened revealing Carlisle and Esme, they were both smiling sweetly at me.

Esme hugged me which I gladly returned back. "(Y/N) it's so good to see you. I'm sorry that we had to meet again in unfortunate circumstances."

"I know, I would come to visit more often but my brother would have my head." I began to shift uncomfortably on my feet. I tried to peek behind them but Carlisle's tall built body blocked my way.

Carlisle coughed, "We're trying to make him as comfortable as possible but you can have a minute with him." He stepped aside letting me into the room. "We also gave him some morphine to ease the pain so he may be a tad bit sleepy."

I nodded my head before I entered the room. My gaze was fixed on the floorboard. I was too scared to look at him.

"(Y/N), I'm so happy to see you."

I gasped when I saw his bruised chest. I ran over to the side of the bed where he laid. The little skin that was showing was now purple, blue, and swollen the rest was covered with bandages. I went to touch his arm to comfort him but he pulled back screaming out in pain."Seth! Are you okay? Oh my god look at your chest!"

"(Y/N) you actually came!" I could tell from his eyes that he was still in disbelief that I was standing in front of him.

"Of course I would come." I began to run my hair through his hair trying to make him as comfortable as possible. I sat down near him being careful not to touch any of his body parts.

"I'm tired (Y/N)...please stay here until I wake up."

I jumped from the bed staring at him as if he had lost his mind. "There's no way I can stay here without Sam knowing that I am missing Seth, I have to go back."

He placed his bruised hand on top of mine trying to intertwine them. Seth had a genuine smile on his face, "Don't go, stay here. I'll deal with Sam once I wake up."

I sighed as I looked back and forth between the door and Seth. I didn't want to leave him but I couldn't afford Sam coming out here dragging me back home. Everyone would look at me with disgust if they smelled the Cullens on me.

"Seth I honestly don't know if this is the right thing to do."

"Trust me (Y/N) it's the right thing to do."

I laughed at his corny remark. I knew without asking him, that was our way of making up since the fight. Seth rolled the blankets off of him ushering me to get under. At first, I wanted to reject but I knew he would somehow convince me that it was okay. I rested my head on the pillow that was next to his. I immediately relaxed once I felt the heat from his body come upon mine.

Seth sighed, he tried to roll over to face me but I placed my hand on his cheek to stop him.

"What are you trying to do?"

He grunted, "I'm trying to apologize for what I said two weeks ago."

I placed a chaste kiss on his lips, he laughed sweetly then kissed me back.

"I guess I'm forgiven."

"I could never be mad at you Seth Clearwater."

If I was being honest with myself I was actually contradicting myself.  At first, I was really mad at him. I even went as far as to rip up our pictures. Now looking back I actually regret everything I said to him and did. "Seth I'm sorry too, I should have never said the things I said."

He laughed, "It's okay, I could never be mad at you (Y/N) (Y/L/N)"

[nocapesdahling]

As the World Falls Down - Chapter 3

Helmut Zemo x Gender Neutral Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Chapter Summary:  In which you have a plan to save yourself and Alena, but have no idea if it’s going to work. Either way, you have to try.

Rating: Mature (17+)

Chapter Warnings/Tags: Slow Burn; Angst; Misunderstandings that lead to angst; Established canon character deaths; Did I mention angst?

A/N: We have reached the end of Part 1 and the Age of Ultron arc. I hope you’ve enjoyed it so far, and would love to hear your thoughts. 

Chapter 3: Beneath a Fallen Sky (Age of Ultron) - Part 1

Word Count: 2.4k

You made sure Alena was strapped in tightly on your chest and that everything was in place. With time running out and Novi Grad continuing to rise, it was as good as it was going to get. You needed to move now. You had your prototype boots and gauntlets, which should allow you to fly. You hoped they would at least. Your main consolation was that they worked during testing, even if that had been in a controlled environment.

You had always admired Tony Stark, being something of a child prodigy yourself and starting college at a similar age to him. When you had first seen the Iron Man suit, your first thoughts had been of awe like any person who got a glimpse of Iron Man. Yet most people probably didn’t think what you had thought later, while considering the technology behind the suit and how to go about making your own.

Well, if he can do it then why can’t I? How hard could it be, really?

It turned out to be a bit more difficult than you’d thought, but you had developed something after much trial and error. However, you hadn’t tested anything in the open air yet. The previous test was only a short one to see if your prototypes would work and you had hovered a few feet over solid ground at most. That was why your plan only had a 65% success rate, but you had confidence in your technology and hope. In Sokovia, you couldn’t get far without hope.

You noticed the air getting thin as the city continued to rise, so you fitted Alena with an oxygen mask. You had a tank available in your apartment for squad emergencies, and were amazed how many times it had been used in the past. Your squad got into the oddest situations. There had been Andrei’s mission with the diplomat and the ice cream swimming pool and Mila’s with the yacht and the hammerhead sharks. All classified of course.

You digressed. There were more important things to consider right now, even as you wondered how your squad would take the loss of their handler when Helmut told them. You knew that it would hit them harder than they would ever admit. They emulated Helmut’s stoicism when in the field and today was still a mission, even if it was unlike any other. The destruction of one’s home was not something any of them had encountered before. If you couldn’t be there, then you hoped your gadgets would help to protect them today and in the future. You planned to be there.

You clipped the oxygen tank to your tactical gear and hoped that it wouldn’t unbalance you too much. You would need all the balance you could muster if this plan were to succeed.

Once you were as ready as you could be, it was time. The city had to fall at some point and you wanted to be in the air when it did as the height it had reached would cause a destructive impact radius. You brushed a kiss to Alena’s head, seeing her little feet kicking and knowing that she was awake.

“Not the best timing, little one. This might be a bit scary, Alena, so I wanted you to know that I love you. Already. So much. I think I loved you as soon as I saw you. Wish us luck, my little Alena Heike. We’re going to need it.”

With that and the realization that you had reached the edge of the city, you took a deep breath, taking one last glance back at the city that had been your home for most of your life. Then, you braced yourself, stepped off the edge, and flew. Well, you took a moment to stabilize yourself as the only other time you had done this was in a local park in the middle of the night and then you had grass to land on not open sky. But then, you flew.

You flew like the birds you had admired for their freedom and grace and like Iron Man. Tony Stark had nothing on you. You let out a joyful laugh, forgetting your circumstances for a moment. You forgot the swarm of robots on the other side of the city, the fact that your home was in the process of being destroyed, that you may never see Helmut again, and that you weren’t sure if you and your baby would get out of this alive. Nothing else mattered at that moment because you were flying.

Then you were shocked back to the present as to your disbelief the city began to freefall, plummeting quickly and devastatingly towards Earth before exploding mid air. You could see from where you were that it looked like Iron Man and Thor had blown it up somehow, but you couldn’t understand why the Avengers hadn’t been able to stop it from falling in the first place.

Why hadn’t they been able to save Sokovia? They had saved New York. It didn’t make sense. The world had painted them as infallible. These were Earth’s heroes? They did not look so “Mighty” now.

The debris began to land too hard and too fast. It looked like it would impact more of the surrounding area than you had anticipated.

You gasped in horror, the tears freezing on your cheeks. If a building was hit with debris of that size, then the result would be catastrophic. You worried immediately for your squad and Helmut, turning on your earpiece with frantic movements even as you unbalanced without one of your gauntlets.

You tried Helmut. You tried Ana, Branko, Claudia, Andrei, and the other members of your squad. No one answered.

The base wasn’t that far away, not when you calculated the radius of the debris. It would be difficult, but you could make it there. You had to make it there. You needed to know.

You flew above and around where the debris was falling and jerkily made your way towards the base, still not as smooth as you wished you were or as fast as you wanted to be. You arrived to the sight you hoped not to see.

The base had been hit by a large piece of debris from the city and was collapsing in on itself. You landed as smoothly as you could a distance away and caught yourself on a tree, falling to your knees. No one could have survived that.

Helmut was gone. Helmut Zemo was dead.

Your chest hurt and your vision was blurry as your mind whirled.

You had survived, while Helmut had died. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. You would never see him again.

How did this happen?!, was your last thought before slumping backwards into a faint.

In your horror at the base’s collapse, you had forgotten the existence of its reinforced underground bunker where technology did not work and where your entire squad including their leader, Colonel Helmut Zemo, waited for the dust of Novi Grad to settle. Very much alive and in quiet mourning for their lost Q. They would exit through the tunnels a few hours later, coming out miles away from where you collapsed.

In fact, you wouldn’t recall the bunker’s existence until a little over a year later and by then it would be too late.

---------------------------------

You awoke in the hospital. It took you a moment to realize what had happened and where you were. With that, came the realization in your mind that you would never see Helmut or hear his deep voice calling you his Q ever again. Despite the gaping hole in your chest and your desire to let yourself be numb, you needed to find Alena. You gasped and sat up too quickly before falling backwards out of dizziness.

You breathed in and out to calm yourself the way you often had as you assisted your squad in the completion of missions, and clicked the button to raise the bed as you looked around the room. You were in a gown and had no idea what had happened to your gauntlets and boots, but hoped they had been destroyed in the landing.

You heard Helmut’s voice in your head as you pinpointed the potential exits and any possible weapons.

“The first step, my Q, is to always survey your surroundings. Get your bearings and be prepared for anything. Be prepared to fight, but also to run if necessary. There is no shame in running. Running can save your life and I, my darling Q, would much rather see you alive .”

You smiled bitterly before letting it fade. You were not in any shape to run at the moment, and Helmut was no longer there to advise you. Your memories of him would have to suffice.

As you surveyed the room, you glimpsed your pack in the corner of the room and what looked like your highly damaged prototypes alongside it. There next to your bed was a crib and laying inside was Alena, who looked clean, like she had been changed, and who was sleeping soundly.

You let a small and real smile touch your lips. She was safe. You were safe. Both of you were alive. Helmut was not.

No, you couldn’t let yourself think of it. Not now. Maybe, not ever.

You pressed the call button for the nurse, hoping this was a real hospital and not some elaborate plot. It looked real, but one could never be sure.

“Finally awake, are you? Good, I’m glad to see it. I was beginning to worry about what might happen to your daughter.” The nurse said in rapid fire Sokovian as she bustled into the room.

“Yes, thank you. How long have we been here and where are we?” You had to clear your throat multiple times and even then your voice came out as a rasp.

The nurse poured some water into a cup, drank it, and then offered you some as well. “You probably do not remember, but you were rescued three days ago. You have been awake sporadically, and even then you were groggy. That is why you do not remember. For your second question, you are in a hospital in the Czech Republic. We are taking care of multiple Sokovian refugees.”

“But you are speaking Sokovian?”

The nurse frowned and leaned closer. She looked like she wanted to pat your hand or hold it. You were glad she did not. “Sokovia is gone. This time for good. There were not many survivors. My mother was Sokovian. I thought a familiar language might be of comfort to you. It has been to the other survivors we’re treating.”

You attempted to read her face and her eyes like Helmut had taught you. She drank the water before giving you some, which was a point in her favor.  She also did not look like a plant and you let yourself relax a bit, but kept your guard up in case you were wrong. You knew that Novi Grad had been destroyed and the devastation the debris must have caused, but it was hard to believe that your country was gone. It had been failing for years, but it was still yours. Yours, Heike’s, Carl’s, Alena’s, and Helmut’s. Now, it would only exist in the memory of its survivors.

You pushed the thought of Helmut aside for the moment, but at the thought of Heike and Carl you knew what question needed to be asked. “Have they released a list of survivors?”

“Not yet, but I do not want you to get your hopes up.”

You hated to think that the nurse was right, that Heike and Carl were also gone. They had been miles from the city however, so you had to hold on to hope for their sake. You could not consider never seeing Heike’s hair in the sunlight or Carl’s smiling face again. They were part of your family. You needed to find out what happened to them. “Please let me know as soon as they release the list.”

“I will, dear. I will.” The nurse gave you a pained smile that looked more like a grimace. “Now, we got your name and identification from your pack. I was in charge of your admission papers, and did not include any reference to your military rank to be safe. Sokovia is gone, so I did not want it to make you a target. What you were wearing alone looked like it would draw some attention.”

You nodded and thought briefly, knowing that had only happened because the nurse had ties to Sokovia. She was showing honest care and concern in the best way she could, and you appreciated it. You had been correct in her not being a plant then. You pictured Helmut’s smile when you told him that you were putting his training to good use, before remembering that he was…

You couldn’t bring yourself to think the word. You had to keep it together. You couldn’t falter now. Not when Alena was counting on you.

You realized the nurse was still waiting for some kind of answer. “Thank you. A civilian life might be just what I need.”

The nurse smiled back, “Yet, we have no information on this little one. I have a birth certificate here to fill out. You are one of her parents, yes?” Alena continued to sleep in her crib, oblivious to the world around her.

“Yes,” you swallowed and rapidly thought of how to answer the next question that you knew was coming.

“And her other parent?”

“He died in Sokovia,” you felt a tear roll down your cheek. You wondered if you were prepared to continue. Saying it out loud made it real.

“I’m sorry to hear that, dear.” The nurse did pat your hand this time in commiseration before withdrawing when you tensed up. “Would you still like to put his name on the certificate?”

You steadied your breathing and hoped that when (you couldn’t bring yourself to think if) you found Heike, wherever she may be, that she would understand. You knew that you could not regret this decision. It felt too right for that.

“Yes,” you responded haltingly. The words seemed to catch in your throat. “His name is… Helmut Zemo and our baby’s name is Alena Heike Zemo.”

End of Part 1 - To Be Continued in Part 2: Burn it to the Ground…

A/N:  I know this chapter was angsty, but I hope you enjoyed part 1 of this fic. Part 2 will not have as regular updates because Part 1 was pre-written, but I’m working on it. Thank you all for reading!

[evanescentjasmine]

Writing Egypt and Egyptian Characters: Rusty Quill Gaming Edition

I’ve finally caught up with the Cairo arc of Rusty Quill Gaming, which I was anticipating and dreading both. Fiction set in my country usually reduces it to a caricature of itself, especially when it takes place in the Victorian era, but considering everything they’ve said in their metacasts I was hoping Rusty Quill Gaming was the exception.

It wasn’t. 

I’m aware the game world plays fast and loose with history and setting, but the problems in this case are more than just inaccuracies. However, because I want to help fic writers and artists be able to portray Hamid and his family well, this resource will be split into two parts. The first part will tackle details I’ve been asked about with regard to the setting; it may touch on things RQG went wrong, but I’m writing it primarily as a resource for artists and writers. The second part will be my criticism of RQG, and why I found the Cairo arc actively harmful. This includes discussions of Orientalism and some racist text.

I should also preface this by saying I’m not a historian. Everything I say in this resource is a combination of what I grew up with and what I remember from school, supplemented by Google and guesswork. I’ll be explaining my thought process throughout, which can help you see what’s actual history and what’s my extrapolation.

Part One: On Egypt

Historical Context:

Figuring out the history of Egypt in RQG terms is a bit complicated, so bear with me because this will take a while. 

In real-world history, Egypt was a Roman then Byzantine province from 30 BC to around the mid 600s AD, at which point the Arab conquest swept through and Egypt became Muslim. 

What this means is that when the Meritocrats took down Rome and took over the world, Egypt was still a Roman province. That gives us a several hundred year gap before the Arabs that may have maintained the same culture? Or morphed a little back to some pre-Ptolemaic Ancient Egyptian, given their Meritocrat, Apophis, is named after a great Pharaonic serpent?

Either way, given Hamid’s name and the fact they live in Cairo, the city built by the Arabs, we can assume the Arab conquest still happened somehow, despite having a Meritocrat in Egypt. Maybe a Meritocrat out there is Arab and settled in Egypt for a bit with or before Apophis? Maybe it took a couple-hundred years for the Meritocrats to get all the previous Roman areas under control? Maybe there was a whole war and the Arabs won and settled and eventually they got to a truce or got absorbed into Meritocratic lands?

Many Muslim dynasties ruled throughout the period from the mid 600s to the 1500s. Given the lack of Islam in this world, probably the Arabs were unified by some Pre-Islamic deity/deities and brought them over as well, because I refuse to just sweep everything under the broad Greek God rug. 

In the 1500s, another Muslim dynasty took over--this time, from outside of the country, which is why it’s considered separate from all the rest. At this point, Egypt became part of the Ottoman Empire until the 1800s, which is when the Mohammed Ali dynasty started to try and secede and rule independently. And there was a brief blip of the French occupation for two years around then as well.

And, of course, we can’t forget about British colonisation, which started in the late 1800s with a veiled protectorate.

Presumably, since France and Britain are also Meritocratic and it seems like Apophis is currently ruling, we can disregard everything from the Ottomans onward. This changes, or should change, a ton, because Ottoman rule informed a lot of things from fashion to slang to nobility and so on. 

What we’re left with is most likely a Cairo that is still Arab but with much more Pharaonic influence, as Apophis is in charge, as well as continuing Greek influence due to the Gods. I am not a Coptic Christian, so I cannot speak to how these changes in history and religions would affect the Coptic language and culture, but no doubt it would still be around.

There would also be a bigger, more long-standing connection to other Meritocratic countries. This explains why Hamid was British-educated and so many people speak such good English without a British occupation to create the power disparity that would make that necessary to rise in Egypt and such a mark of status. 

However, this presents several confusing and contradictory aspects of the world building:

Why doesn’t this go both ways? Why aren’t there people in England and France who know Arabic or are influenced by Egypt? All we get is that the Tahan family are big. That’s it. If these countries are equals, it sure doesn’t look like it.

If Apophis is pharaonic and Ancient Egyptian culture and knowledge are so ubiquitous...why would they hollow out a pyramid to put a bank inside? It’s a tomb. It’s made to bury dead kings in a way that follows possibly still-existing cultural and religious beliefs. It’s the equivalent of someone building a bank inside a mausoleum. It’s bizarre.

Relatedly, if Ancient Egyptian culture and knowledge are so ubiquitous, why is Carter mentioning the Rosetta Stone? Why would the knowledge necessary to translate hieroglyphics have been lost? 

I mention these questions so fic writers can keep them in mind while writing and, of course, it’s entirely possible to create a workaround. For example, maybe the Rosetta Stone is supposed to be translating something else, like an ancient hidden magic?

Describing Cairo:

I want to make one thing very clear: Cairo is not, despite Alex’s description, like Vegas. While we do certainly have hotels and casinos, to reduce the city to only that is very harmful for reasons I’ll go into at the end of this resource.

Cairo is a very old city with a mix of architectural styles and is very heavily Muslim in real life. In Arabic, its tagline is often “city of a thousand minarets,” so clearly RQG Cairo will be fairly different. Given Apophis’ influence, Ancient Egyptian styles might be more prevalent in Cairo, but very likely not in the form of pyramids unless those pyramids were for the dead. In real life, some buildings do incorporate Ancient Egyptian flavour, usually just in the form of lotus columns or hieroglyphs. These would only be found in public institutions, however,  or, frankly, tourist-bait. 

Residential buildings tend to be clustered very close together and, since it’s an old city, streets are crowded and winding as the city keeps building on itself and spilling out of its previous bounds. Estates do, of course, exist, but I’d suggest against using Bryn’s example of Alhambra as a setting for the Tahan home. Alhambra is a palace fortress in Spain and, although it’s Andalusian and therefore influenced by Muslim architecture, it’s very different than anything in Egypt. It’s as absurd as saying a posh British character lives in a house that’s basically Versailles and leaving it there. I’ve included images of some Egyptian residential estates below, all from the 1800s to early 1900s.

And here are some photos of Cairo in the 1800s:

As you can see, not quite Vegas.

A fic set in Cairo can certainly still have the Cairo strip with all the casinos, since that’s an aspect of canon, but a place like that would probably be geared more to tourists and foreigners than locals. So long you’re aware of this while writing, and that Cairo would exist beyond it, you should be fine. It might also be worth having characters explore the actual city.

Weather:

The stereotype is that Egypt is just hot and sand year-round. It isn’t. The further south you go, the hotter it will get, so that Upper Egypt (which is in the south, yeah), is hotter than Lower Egypt, which is where Cairo and Alexandria are. Alexandria, by virtue of being on the Mediterranean, has fairly cold (for us) and rainy winters and mild, humid summers. Cairo gets very occasional rain and has harsher summers but is also dryer.

And, of course, a thing to remember is that even in the depths of the desert, the morning might be quite warm but the night will be quite cold as well.

Sandstorm season (called khamaseen) takes place from April - May but in the middle of Cairo it’s more of an annoyance than anything else.

Language:

Since they speak Arabic, it’s important to note that spoken Egyptian Arabic is very different from written Classical Arabic. Egyptian is a mishmash of Arabic, Coptic, a bit of Greek, and a bit of French (and, in the real world, some Turkish too) all smashed together. Accents differ from city to city, and Cairene Arabic is best known for the fact we pronounce the letter jeem as geem (so all soft Gs are turned into hard Gs) and tend to replace the letter qaf with a glottal stop.

This means that a Cairene wouldn’t be called Jamal, they’d be Gamal. A Cairene would pronounce burqa as bur’a.

Since religion plays a big part in language, RQG Egyptian Arabic may be a bit different. For instance, the greeting most people associate with Arabic is “Assalam alaykum” but that’s very specifically Muslim or at least associated with Islam, and might not have been as wide-spread given...y’know, that Islam doesn’t exist. I’m not saying it’s incorrect to use, just explaining the context.

Alternatives could include “Sabah/masa’ el-kheir” which means “Good morning/evening,” and “Naharak/Naharik saeed” which is, “May you have a good day.”

Fashion:

Although this didn’t really feature in RQG, I’ve received a lot of questions about the period’s fashion and honestly it’s my favourite thing ever so I probably would have touched on it anyway. I’ll only go into broad strokes, as there are plenty of regional variations and, again, I’m no expert 

Women

Egyptian women covered their heads and sometimes their faces not out of religiosity but out of a cultural expectation of modesty. This may well have come about as a result of the Arab/Muslim cultural majority, as to my knowledge this wasn’t the case in the Greek and Roman periods, but women of all religions covered their heads so that would likely still be the case in RQG’s Arab Egypt.

This isn’t with the hijab we know today. It may have been a cloth or kerchief tied over their heads and then the melaya laf (which is larger cloth, almost a sheet) that they wrap around themselves and over their head, as follows: 

The black face-covering was called a burqa or bur’a (not the same as a Muslim burqa, which serves similar modesty functions but is a separate thing) or a yashmak and may have been opaque black, white, or netted, such as in this picture:

Underneath the melaya they would be wearing a long, loose, patterned dress:

Upper class Egyptian women tended to wear Western dresses with a white yashmak that covered their faces and heads. A yashmak is Turkish, however, and without Ottoman influence this style and name might not have caught on in Egypt.

Men

While the melaya laf and yashmak have disappeared from Egypt, the traditional men’s gallabeya and ammama, or turban, are still seen widely today. The gallabeya (or jellabiya, outside of Cairene Arabic) is a long, loose garment with wide sleeves and no collar. It’s in muted, neutral colours, usually lighter ones like white or beige in the summer and navy blue or grey in the winter. You’ll have seen examples of it in the pictures of Cairo above, and here’s another one: 

Middle to upper class men and civil servants, however, tended to wear English suits with a tarboosh, or fez. Since fezzes were also a result of Ottoman rule, RQG Egyptians might not wear them.

And yes, impressive moustaches were also very much the fashion.

Names:

The running joke is that Hamid’s name is unnecessarily long, but my name is longer, and I don’t think that’s particularly unusual. We don’t usually go around introducing ourselves with all of them, admittedly, and I’m not sure whether Hamid does this as a way to indicate he’s overly fancy or because Bryn doesn’t realise it, but four names is not long. My ID boasts five, and I know of at least one more.

Arabic naming conventions use patronymics for all children, regardless of gender. What this means is that my name and my brother’s name is identical except for our first. 

Mine is Jasmine + Dad’s name + his dad’s name + his dad’s name + his dad’s name

And my brother is also First name + Dad’s name + his dad’s name + his dad’s name + his dad’s name.

Egyptians do not typically have last names, but an important family may all choose to identify under a name and use that as their last, such as the Tahans. In my case, I use my fifth name as my last name and introduce myself in everyday life as Jasmine Fifth Name. Notably, my brother does not, and goes by First name + Dad’s name instead. This isn’t unusual. On paperwork, however, we still have the same name.

Additionally, Egyptian women do not take their husbands’ last names in marriage, nor do children take any of her names. 

I’m not sure why, according to the wiki, Hamid’s sisters seem to have taken their mother’s name. Following Arabic naming conventions, they would all be First Name Saleh Haroun al Tahan, and their father would be Saleh Haroun al Tahan. A possible workaround might be that halflings have their own naming conventions that mean daughters have matronymics and sons patronymics. 

A note to podficcers: please google name pronunciations beforehand because Alex and Bryn’s are actually often wrong. Ishak, for instance, is not pronounced Ee-shak. It’s Iss-haaq or Iss-haa’, because of quirks of the Egyptian accent I mentioned earlier.

Part Two: Criticism

I understand it can be difficult to portray a country different from yours with accuracy. I understand the RQG crew will not have had the perspective on Egypt and Cairo that I do by virtue of living here. I do also acknowledge that I’m sure none of this was actively malicious or on purpose.

But it doesn’t have to be on purpose to hurt, frankly, and given how often the RQG crew have talked about their responsibility with a game that’s intended for an audience, I expected better. Bryn has spoken about not wanting to fall into stereotypes for Hamid and, to be fair, by being a non-religious fancyboy Hamid does neatly avoid the religious zealot and the noble (or ignoble) savage routes. Unfortunately, he falls into another, which was hammered home by the portrayal of Cairo and the Tahans as a whole.

Our first glimpse of Cairo, after the sandstorm clears, describes it as “basically Vegas,” with hotels and garish casinos catering to the rich all along the “Cairo strip.” From then on, our only other images of Cairo are vast estates and a pyramid in the desert. 

The only named Egyptians we meet are the Tahan family, who are introduced through an absurdly lavish estate compared to the palace fortress of Alhambra, a gambling problem that apparently runs in the family, murder, and corruption, as the head of the family who has already covered up a crime for one son then turns himself in to protect the other.

Then, to top it all off, Hamid is apparently utterly incapable of understanding why letting his brother get away with murder is an issue until the paladins point it out.

Do you see the pattern, here?

I understand this was aiming to be a criticism of the rich and powerful, but the fact remains that the Tahans are the only representation of Egyptians we get. While this may not be harems and hand-chopping levels of Orientalism, the image presented is of Cairo as a den of excessive wealth and vice, and Egyptians as corrupt and immoral.

This isn’t new.

The Middle East and North Africa (as well as India and China and everywhere else considered “the Orient”) has often been tied to images of wealth and overt splendour, usually hand-in-hand with the Oriental despot and corruption. This view went beyond just fiction and influenced the policies with which we were ruled. 

Cromer, Consul-General of Egypt, wrote books called Modern Egypt. He had this to say about us:

“The mind of the Oriental, on the other hand, like his picturesque streets, is eminently wanting in symmetry. His reasoning is of the most slipshod description. . . . They are often incapable of drawing the most obvious conclusions from any simple premises of which they may admit the truth.”

In his opinion, our inability to follow logical reason led to us being inherently untruthful and, therefore, immoral. Similarly, British statesman Balfour was of the belief that:

 “Lord Cromer’s services during the past quarter of a century have raised Egypt from the lowest pitch of social and economic degradation until it now stands among Oriental nations, I believe, absolutely alone in its prosperity, financial and moral.”

Egypt was under British colonial rule from 1882 - 1952.

You can see, I hope, why a storyline focused on an Egyptian family’s corruption in an Egypt characterised almost entirely by its casinos and one lavish mansion was very uncomfortable. The fact Azu was one of the people trying to explain morality to Hamid keeps it from sliding into a clear East vs West dichotomy, but the fact remains this is a British show featuring British players and this is the story they chose to tell. 

The rest was just salt in the wound, really. 

I expect mispronounced names and pyramids and jokes about camels in most media, but rarely do the makers of said media then go on to pat themselves on the back for doing their “due diligence” on a metacast about sensitivity.

I see weird naming conventions and mispronounced names and “basically Vegas” and “crocodile steak” and “camel’s milk froyo” and I do not see due diligence.  

I see a setting that barely looked past Cleopatra and I do not see due diligence.

I see a storyline that shows only excess and immorality and corruption and I do not see due diligence.

I see a disregard for me and mine, and I do not appreciate it. 

Literature I’ve referred to in writing this criticism:

Orientalism (1978), by Edward W. Said

Orientalism in the Victorian Era (2017), a paper by Valerie Kennedy

Orientalism in American Cinema: Providing an Historical and Geographical Context for PostColonial Theory (2010), a thesis by Samuel Scurry 

Popular Culture, Orientalism, and Edward Said (2012), an article by Robert Irwin

[creativeashproductions]

Lost Time II // Luke Patterson

Summary: Weeks after discovering his greatest joy Luke visits his former girlfriend to make up for the lost time. Unable to do it alone his band gives their support to find her and stand by his side as he faces his greatest regret.

Warning: Talk of death, allusion to homophobic parents, teen pregnancy and angst

Words: 3.1k

The book Midnight Club by Christopher Pike came out in 1994 but to fit this fic the book came out in 1993. Also, Alex’s last name will be Mitchell in this.

*For the sake of the story the time frame has been altered, it takes place in the mid-2000s. Also! I tried to make the reader as generalized as I could to make sure that everyone can relate. The reader is Alex’s sister, for inclusion that can be biological, adopted, half or stepsiblings. I want to make sure all people can be the reader.

A/N: Jesus I love Ben with my entire heart and I am a cruel person to have ripped Luke and Ben from each other before they had a chance. Enjoy!

Part One

Masterlist

Los Angeles, 1993

A sunny summer day spent outside reading a new book that had come out recently nestled in your hands under the large tree. The tree that had many tire swings before your parents caved to get a swing set. Now the tree was a companion on lovely days providing shade under the hot sun.

Alex was at band practice with the rest of Sunset Curve in the garage, or studio as Luke deemed it. More often than not, you would be in the studio watching them rehearse, but things changed, things had gotten more serious with Luke in the past six or so months. Plus, Bobby seriously was someone you wanted the least amount of time spent with.

“Hey.” Luke sighed, dropped on the faded blanket you had settled on. Raising one finger, you finished the page before placing the bookmark in.

“Hi.” You grinned leaning in as he pressed a kiss to your soft lips, “Used my Chapstick again?”

Luke hid his face in the crook of your neck, “I’m addicted to it, or it’s just your lips.”

He snuck another kiss before nudging you to adjust lay against his chest between his legs, a familiar position. One where you could read a book, and he could wrap his one arm around you while he wrote in his songbook with the other. God, you loved the boy with your entire heart.

“How’s the book?”

“It’s okay.”

“What’s it about?” Luke asked, wrapping his arms around your midsection.

“Five terminally ill teens living in a hospice tell scary stories every night. They all made a pact together that whoever died first would have to try to contact the others.” You sighed, dropping the book beside you to rest your arms on his.

“Sounds depressing.” Luke hummed, pressing a kiss to your neck, “I can think of more exciting things to do.”

“Over my dead body.” Alex snickered walking passed the young couple on his walk to the house. Reggie following after him with a laugh of his own; it was still odd to see Luke so loved up.

“I was talking about going to a concert!” Luke called out as his friends entered the Mitchell house, leaving the couple alone.

“You totally were not.” You spoke already knowing the answer as Luke nodded his head, “It’s a shock he lets us be alone.”

Turning to face Luke, you couldn’t help the blush that grew from the soft look in his eyes that you had only noticed after he asked you out. The boy had had a crush for a long time even if it was awkward given the previous thing he had with Alex.

“He’ll have to get used to it.”

“So, have you gotten a gig at The Orpheum yet?” You asked, shifting again to nestle against his side content to spend the time there in the backyard.

“Nah, we booked some smaller venues, but we’ll get there. I know it.” Luke was completely confident that one day he would be playing in the most popular venues. The other thing he was confident was his relationship.

“Where will I be?” You spoke looking at the recently turned sixteen-year-old boy who had quickly become the most important thing in your life. Never expected to fall in love with Alex’s ex-fling.

“Cheering us on. Have to have my number one supporter and wife because she’s been there since the dream began. The dream just expanded?”

 “Wife?” You breathed.

“I’m not dating you just to date. I’m dating you because when I dream of my future, you are right there next to me.” Luke admitted caressing your cheek the pad of his thumb, “Wherever in the world, we find ourselves I want you there.”

“What about kids?”

“We’ll have as many as you want. Or however many we are lucky to have.” Luke breathed growing more excited as he finally revealed his ideas and firm belief, “Of course I want to be married first. After The Orpheum I want the next thing to focus one hundred percent on is a wedding that you deserve and-“

“Ask me.”

“What?”

“Ask me.” You raised to your knees cradling his face in your hands, “That’s what I dream of too. Having a career but something that lets me travel with the love of my life and my chosen family.”

“It’s not how I want…I want it to be special and romantic because you deserve it.” Luke adamantly spoke, pressing his hands on yours still resting on his face.

“Luke. I love you. Just sitting here like we are is special and romantic.”

“Will you marry me?” Luke whispered, leaning to press his forehead on yours. The orange beanie tickling your skin.

“Yes. As soon as I turn eighteen.” You didn’t care if you had two more years to wait. As long as Luke was by your side, you didn’t care about how you got married just as long as you married him.

Los Angeles, 2004

There are times that Reggie knows that the last thing people need is his goofy personality and jokes. When Luke returned from wherever he had gone, it was evident that something had drastically changed since the last time they had seen him.

“Luke?” Reggie gently spoke hesitantly moving to the boy curled on the couch, sobbing into his hands. Reggie had never seen Luke like this before, not even when it cemented that they had died and Luke’s future with Y/N shattered in a moment.

“Reg-“ Alex poofed in next going stock still at the distraught teenager. His eyes widened as he quickly made his way to Luke, “What’s wrong?”

“I-I saw Y/N.” Luke choked out, shaking his head, “I knew it would hurt, but it felt like I died again. Like I literally watched my hopes and dream just shatter before me.”

 Alex was quiet taking in that Luke had seen Y/N. Alex missed his sister with everything in him, but Luke had plans.

“How is she?” Alex whispered, grabbing the hands of one of his best friends in the entire world. The one guy he had wholly trusted with his sister’s heart.

“She looks so good. God, it’s been nine years for her but only a few weeks for me. She’s more beautiful than I remember.” Luke breathed, raising teary eyes to meet Alex and Reggie’s concerned expressions, “I also saw Ben.”

“She got married?” Alex questioned surprised, “Please tell me it isn’t Bobby. I don’t think I could stomach that.”

“His name isn’t Ben and he probably tried after deciding on a respectable time for it to be okay-“

“Reggie.” Alex hissed motioning him to stop talking while Luke knew that Bobby had had feelings for you, he didn’t think he would try anything.

“I don’t think she’s married, but Ben is definitely a big part of what I missed out on.” Luke sighed, picking at a loose thread on his jeans, “I’m sure you know that in the three years, I was actually alive and with her that things happened.”

“Things like…?” Alex trailed off having a feeling he wouldn’t want to know about whatever Luke was hesitant to announce.

“Um…well we were, I am in love.” Luke grimaced at how odd it was to word his feelings for a girl he had died while planning a future, “in relationships you show affection in particular-“

“Okay as you struggle to finish that I will.” Reggie spoke, turning to Alex, “Luke and Y/N as a couple were having sex.”

Alex’s eyes went wide at the blunt statement that he never wanted to hear again in his life because you were his sister! He didn’t need to even think of anything to do other than the kissing he sometimes walked in on. He knew already but didn’t want to know either.

“I died, leaving Y/N pregnant! Which I didn’t know about.” Luke shouted poofing to the other side of the garage when he saw Alex’s fist start to clench. He poofed to the loft when Alex appeared to his last place, “C’mon man!”

“You knocked my sister up!”

Reggie’s mouth dropped at the physical aggression that Alex was showing because Alex was more peaceful and non-violent.

“I didn’t know! He’s eight!” Luke yelped when Alex grabbed him in a headlock, “Dude! I didn’t know! We were gonna get married when she turned eighteen! I love her, man!”

Reggie pulled Alex away from the lead guitarist before a fight happened, and even though part of Reggie wanted to see Alex fight…he wanted Luke here as well.

Alex was quiet, “What does he look like?”

Despite the agony of not being there for his son Luke launched into a description of the little boy.

With a white lie out of Julie’s mouth, she had gotten the address from Emily and Mitch for Luke and Alex. The address led to a small house with pretty flowers and a bike in the front yard; the place where Luke’s son had been growing up in since he was two years old.

Julie’s fist raised, knocking on the white door listening as footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. The door opened, revealing a little boy with startling green eyes that he inherited from his father.

“Benjamin Lucas!” You huffed turning the corner with a frown, “You may be eight, but you are still not allowed to open the door alone!”

The little boy slouched at the greeting before his eyes met three boys behind the Peurto Rican pretty girl.

“Oh my god. He looks just like you!” Alex hissed to Luke unable to remove his gaze from his…his nephew. His attention pulled to the woman his sister had grown to be.

“Julie, right?” You spoke gently tugging Ben closer to you, “Can I help you?”

“Yeah.” Julie nodded, mumbled a thank you as you welcomed the girl into the small home you had made. It was small but perfect, “Did he get stitches?”

“Oh yeah! I guess you were there when he got hurt.” You nodded, moving a book from the couch for Julie to sit down. Your attention was on Ben as he went to the corner to play with toys, “He did. He’s kinda like my brother and his dad in that way.”

 “Oh, god.” The overly familiar voice snapped your attention.

Sitting on either side of Julie were exact replicas of three boys that tragically died back in 1995, everyone froze. Even Ben looked up from the tension.

“Mama?” Ben asked, furrowing his brow.

“It’s okay Ben. Can you go to your room?” You asked, staring pale at the two people that you hadn’t noticed before. They hadn’t been visible to you at the time until they sat beside Julie. The scampering of feet and the gentle closing a door left you alone with four people.

“She can see us.”

Mutely you nodded at Alex’s statement slouching into the couch in shock, “What is happening?”

“I found a CD in my garage, and I played it. Out of nowhere, Luke, Reggie and Alex literally appeared in the room. They’re ghosts.” Julie spoke softly, “I’m not sure how I can see them, but I can.”

“Wow.” You breathed leaning back into the couch, unable to tear your gaze from the three boys, “Let me guess. Your first order of business was haunting the hell out of Bobby?”

Bobby, Trevor as the world knew, had lived up to your predictions of him being a lowlife rat boy. If you didn’t have Ben, you would have gone after him, but you couldn’t risk what little you had at the time.

“He stole our songs,” Luke grumbled crossing his arms so like you remember from years ago. He was still the passionate, caring musician you fell in love with so quickly.

 “I know. I tried everything but with Ben…it was too hard, but hey he’s gotten little success from his new stuff. Guess he didn’t think of how stealing songs wouldn’t pan out.” You shrugged, twisting a ring on your finger that Luke gave you a few weeks after the spontaneous proposal.

“So Ben?” Alex questioned, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees with great interest in the new topic.

The tsunami of happiness broke through the heavy fog of sadness when your favourite subject came around. Talking about Ben could go on for years you swore with the amount of love for him.

“His name is Benjamin Lucas Patterson. He’s eight years old and obsessed with music, they say playing classical music helps with mental intelligence. Still, he wouldn’t settle unless I played rock.” You laughed glancing over your shoulder at the closed door, “He adores Bear in the Big Blue House and Dragon Tales. Not fond of Barney or Sesame Street but he’ll still watch it.”

The guys ate it up listening to every detail of a little boy they missed even if they only recently learnt about him. Reggie was silent listening to your stories of the young boy.

“His prized possession…come with me.” You gestured turning to head to the bedroom, “I didn’t ask for a lot of baby stuff, just the essentials and anything someone could make. Sunset Curve. You guys were significant to us, so I wanted Ben to have that.”

Ben was settled playing with the cars by his toy chest barely glancing as four people came together. Julie decided to stay in the living room. With a hand, you grabbed the blanket Ben absolutely always needed. It was a homemade blanket made entirely out of clothing—one of Reggie’s flannels, a few shirts from concerts with Luke and clothing that Alex loved.

“Y/N,” Alex spoke, brushing his fingers over the worn material touched at the action of doing something so little yet powerful.

 “I’m going, to be frank. After you died and I went to your fun-“ the word choked you as if you were back in 1995 sitting beside your mother wearing that black dress; a dress you burnt in the bathroom tub, “Mom found the test in my room. Rookie mistake. They weren’t thrilled about the baby and who the father was.”

“They kicked you out?”

“And Luke’s parents immediately welcomed me into their home. I owe them a lot, and Emily made this for Ben, she may not have approved of the band, but she knew it was important, so she wanted Ben to have a piece of his father’s greatest joy.”

“Mama? Can we have burgers tonight?” Ben asked quietly from his toys, “Can they stay for supper?”

Ben was shy with new people, but once he got to know someone, he was just like Luke with his bubbly and passionate personality. He was the spitting image of Luke with his hair and eye colour, but he got your nose and skin colour.

“If they want to.” You smiled, reaching over to pull the eight-year-old into your arms only wanting him to never grow up.

Alex, needing a break from the grief, wandered to a picture hanging on the wall that was a shadow box with his very first drum sticks. Underneath was Reggie’s old necklace that had to be replaced. Lastly underneath was the very first pick Luke used for the first song the band had performed.

“I’m Ben.” The boy spoke, meeting the eyes of the newcomers, “You’re the band that passed away, right?”

“Yeah. This may be confusing but Ben this is Alex, Reggie and Luke.” You replied, brushing his bangs away from his eyes. Ben returned to his quiet nature before looking at your eyes.

“That’s my family, right?”

In perfect sync, Alex and Luke started silently crying at the little boy’s words wishing that that night had never happened. It seemed at the time the right way to start the new chapter with one last street dog.

 “Yeah, baby.” You cleared your throat nodding along to the innocent words your son spoke before he was wandering out of the room, “One hour of cartoons young man.”

“I’m gonna go.” Reggie spoke gesturing after the boy, “I wanna watch Cartoons.”

Reggie poofed out of the room following the little boy out of the room, leaving three sad people. The room was heavy in loss, so sad it could choke a person.

“Does Mom and Dad have anything to do with him?” Alex asked as the boys covered their grief by wandering around the bedroom. Taking in the pictures of Ben from throughout the eight years, some with you or with his paternal grandparents. Few had Alex and your parents.

“They moved a few months after you died.” You admitted, “After the way they reacted to Ben I didn’t want him in that environment. We get Christmas cards and calls on his birthday, but I don’t have the time to travel.”

Alex nodded vividly remembering the way they reacted after he had told his parents that he didn’t like girls. It was challenging since Dad was always excited for the family name to be passed down, he didn’t see that the name could continue no matter who Alex loved. Mom was more open but stepped in line with her husband instead of her hurting son.

“I’m sorry.” Luke blurted stepping closer to you, allowing you to see the ocean of tears and pain swimming in his tortured gaze, “I shouldn’t have gotten that street dog. I should have stayed with you, you weren’t feeling good.”

“Things happen for a reason, Luke.” You sadly reminded the boy, “I wish it didn’t happen, but it did, and I’ve learned to live with that. Ben has a wonderful family and a good life.”

“He knows about us too,” Luke spoke, thinking back to barely half an hour ago when Ben acted as if he knew Luke all his life. God, Luke wished he could have seen everything.

“I have videos of Ben if you want to see them.” You offered the boy, “There’s a television in the den where Ben has his baby book, and the home videos if you want. You can stay in there all you want.”

Luke nodded, playing with his fingers, “I’d love that.”

“If you want to be alone, I can take Ben for ice cream. You can have the whole house to watch alone.” You graciously offered the boy you would always love and believed before that you would see him in decades after your own death.

Luke silently nodded following as you took him to the den where it had a child-sized guitar and floor to ceiling bookshelves. A television was tucked in the corner with a video camera stored on a shelf with a VHS player. In a sealed container, the home videos were kept safe along with the baby books.

“I’ll be back in a few hours. It’s nice to see you, Luke. Really.” You told the now younger boy keeping his eyes on the opened bucket. A bucket that held all the firsts he had missed out on a little boy he had loved since first seeing him in his family home weeks ago.

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[phoenixyfriend]

I’ve been trying to figure out the best obi wan ship. They all have one slightly problematic thing this way or that. I’ve landed on the idea of obi wan and an equal is pretty top tier. But then I saw a picture of Coran from voltron. Coran and Obiwan might be a disaster but also both are dad shaped, both are bad ass, both are ginger, both have an accent. I think it could work. But another part of me is like Coran is just obi and jarjar mashed together. At the very least they hooked up.

Hey I just had restaurant ramen and Starbucks and actually feel like a human being so let's do something unnecessary but funny. I'm taking this as a challenge, anon.

Also IMO Coran has more in common with C3P0 than with JarJar

So obviously, both of these happen in Big Space, but the difference appears to be density. We see about the same complexity of culture and species interactions, but Voltron covers more galaxies. It's vaguely implied that Earth, at least, is the only planet with sapient life in the Milky Way.

I think the way I want to play this out, culturally, is that the Voltron area of the universe covers a much wider, but much more sparsely populated area, while the SW-verse is just the one very densely populated (in part because apparently humans just went Literally Everywhere) galaxy, where they didn't necessarily bother with developing the tech to go to other galaxies (except Rishi, which only sort of counts) because they haven't really even charted out their own yet. It was never contacted by the Voltron side of things because [checks notecards full of excuses] it's really far away from Altea and all that, and the Force shielded the galaxy from Galra interests because Reasons.

All this to say that the two franchises didn't interact until after the Voltron plotline was already over. We'll say it went mostly canon, except Allura survived because uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh fuck that.

We'll say that this is mid-TCW, you know, before Obi-Wan is a bundle of repressed traumas and bad coping mechanisms that's lost almost everyone he's ever loved to the dark side through death or corruption. He's still (mostly) okay! Anakin's not dark (or at least, not as dark as he could be; Obi-Wan doesn't know about the Tuskens), and Ahsoka's still in good standing and most people are alive and--and okay the army is a massive ethical violation he hates with his very soul and he misses Qui-Gon and Anakin's keeping secrets and pulling away from him every day but He's Fine, Guys.

He's Fine.

In comes a ship from not Wild Space, but beyond that. Intergalactic visitors, from the direction of the deeply concerning Force bullshit they felt a few years ago. Translation tech is decent enough on both sides that they get to talking pretty quickly. The explorer is actually a member of the Blade of Marmora, who gets the absolute most basic info (approximately this many inhabited planets, approximately this many trillions of sapients in the recorded galaxy, basic structure of the government for the past however many years, most recent conflict, etc.)

BoM person is like "cool, okay so you guys are really well set-up so I'm just gonna head back and kick this up a few rungs of the coalition ladder because this is way above my paygrade, I'll make sure you get some diplomats who can maybe help out with the whole galactic civil war situation as neutral parties."

The Voltron Coalition does send a diplomat! They, uh, also send Coran, who isn't technically a diplomat, but he's high-level.

The thing is, okay, that Coran is mostly just... passably competent at things. He's a jack of all trades, master of none type. He knows a lot of things, actually, but his practical knowledge in high pressure situations tends to be up in the air. He knows how to fix the Castle Ship and various technologies, but all of that info is ten thousand years out of date. He was a competent fighter at one point but these days his back gives out. He's very knowledgeable regarding intergalactic politics but, again, that information is ten thousand years out of date. He's also a little prone to social gaffs in dicey situations (e.g. the inciting incident in the Voltron Show episode where he misses the single day with clear skies), but puts in so much goddamn effort to make things happen.

In this manner, he's like a warped mirror of what Obi-Wan is and could be.

THAT SAID

Coran is actually really good with teenagers, and specifically with training them.

And Obi-Wan... isn't.

Obi-Wan's snarky and snippy and sassy, and he's decent enough at teaching and he's great at being a jokey friend and all, but he's not necessarily very good at emotions. And unfortunately for Obi-Wan, the teenagers he spends the most time with are Really Full Of Emotions. He tries, bless him, but he's just... he doesn't respond well to emotional conversations at the best of times.

His son-figure saying "You're like a father to me" leads to a response of... radio silence. Guys. That's not the mark of a man who knows how to talk about his feelings with the people he cares about.

In swans Coran with the various other diplomatic envoys of the visiting extragalactic community. The entire situation is really leading to a lull in the war because nobody wants to risk pissing off this clearly well-funded, well-powered third party. As a result, many of the High Generals can interact with the envoys, even if they spend quite a bit of time eyeing the Separatist representatives on the other side of the room, because clearly Everyone Needs A Seat At This Table.

It's a very tense situation.

Obviously, Coran is exactly the weird uncle that goes around telling plausibly-exaggerated stories about Weblums and Yalmors and Balmeras. I'm going to say at least one former Paladin is there, maybe Hunk. Hunk's fun, and also very willing to help Coran make friends and seem Amicable instead of Distant by correcting some of the exaggerations. There's a nice, calm atmosphere in a bubble around Coran and his nonsense, and it's a weird situation but arguably just... you know. It's good. He's good at making people feel safe around him.

Cue the hissed argument between Skywalker and Kenobi. The actual cause of said argument isn't important, just the fact that, in a dark corner where they're less likely to cause a PR issue, Anakin and Obi-Wan are having it out. Anakin's maybe twenty, still a lanky ragebaby, all that fun stuff. Obi-Wan is a the endpoint of every too-young brotherdad. He's thirty-six but feels like he's sixty-three. He's tired, but trying so damn hard to still connect with Anakin and just--just--

Obi-Wan gives himself a few minutes to calm down before following Anakin. He doesn't even remember what they were arguing about, really, but he has to mend the bridge before it frays even more than it already has. If Anakin goes to Palpatine for advice again, he's going to... do something. Obi-Wan isn't sure what, but he just has to fix this.

What he finds is... well, Anakin did end up going to vent to a man of an earlier generation who acts like a slightly eccentric older relative, but it's not Palpatine for once.

The goofy, slightly abrasive but mostly charming, brightly-colored representative of the Voltron Coalition is standing in the little balcony that Anakin's made it to, listening as Obi-Wan's recently-knighted padawan vents. The man nods and makes noises at the appropriate times, and then asks questions that are... maybe a little too accurate.

"You said that you view him as a father, that he raised you after you left your mother."

"Well, yeah, but he doesn't think I'm ready, or--"

"No parent ever does."

"...my mom thought I was ready to become a Jedi."

"I can't speak for your mother," the representative says, "but the princess of my people, Allura... I half-raised that girl from the beginning, and after the destruction of Altea, we were all the other had left. I watched her lead battles and bring life to planets, trying to rebuild a universe out of the ashes of what we'd left behind... I saw the evidence with my own eyes, and I still, every time, I worried for her."

"Why?"

"I worried that she'd be hurt, that she wasn't ready, that she'd make a decision she regretted. Often, she did, and I had to help her back up, and while she's always come back, stronger than before... she is the closest thing I have ever had to a daughter, and I will always worry for her. Every parent does. Do you think, perhaps, that your own Jedi Master, that you consider a father, may worry because he looks at you like a son? That it's not that he doesn't trust you, but that he doesn't trust the world around you?"

Obi-Wan feels his heart in his throat.

The conversation continues in that vein. While Obi-Wan can't say he likes the fact that this stranger is putting words in his mouth, if only as hypotheticals, he can't deny that there's a part of him that relaxes as Anakin does, as every frustrated fresh-knight question gets a measured elderly-steward response that's angled to consider the interpretation that favors Anakin and Obi-Wan in equal measure. Every word encourages Anakin to talk things out and lay boundaries and express his frustrations to Obi-Wan in the plainest words possible.

There's a story in there, more than one. The representative tends to go off on tangents, ones that Anakin sometimes finds interesting and sometimes just resigns himself to. Mostly, though, it goes well, and Obi-Wan... well, he's always been 'a nosy little bastard,' according to quite a few people.

(In his defense, the terms they'd used about Quinlan's 'investigative personality' had been quite a bit stronger.)

He eavesdrops to the end, and Anakin doesn't notice at all. Obi-Wan's not sure if he should try to address Anakin's lack of awareness of the world around him. He's not technically Anakin's master anymore. The comment may be taken as a criticism of his worth and capability, rather than a sincere desire to see his padawan not die.

He approaches the representative instead. He intends to introduce himself. Instead, the first words that tumble out of his mouth are:

"How do you do it?"

The man--older than he looks from a distance, more wrinkles than the bright hair would suggest, but not quite elderly yet--turns and lifts a brow. "Hm?"

"I'm sorry, I'm--" Obi-Wan grimaces. "I'm Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. The young man you were just talking to is my former padawan, er, my former apprentice. I've been finding it harder and harder to speak with him over the past few years, and it seems that every interaction we have leads to an argument. How do you... manage that? I can't get him to listen to me at all."

"Ah, teenagers," the man sighs.

"He's twenty."

The representative pauses, and turns to him. "Are you the one he says raised him? The father?"

"Well... yes, I suppose that's one way to phrase it," Obi-Wan says, eyes darting to the side. He doesn't know how to explain the whole attachment situation to someone who barely knows what a Jedi is. He has even less of an idea of how to explain his own broken ability to speak of emotion, the parts of his mind that Bant clucks over and attributes to his own complicated relationship with Qui-Gon. "I had custody as his primary guardian from ages nine to nineteen and was the primary individual for handling his schooling, health, and general upbringing."

"That sounds to me like a very convoluted way of saying you were his father in all but name."

Obi-Wan grimaces. "I'm not exactly old enough to be his father, and I wasn't exactly the person he was supposed to learn from; I was the... back-up option."

"It seems he cares for you very much."

"He didn't have much of a choice," Obi-Wan says, with the kind of helpless smile and awkward shrug he's long gotten used to sharing with people when they ask. "And I assure you he'd have been happier with the man that was meant to teach him."

"I'd say that the 'would have' in this situation is much less important than what is," the representative says. Obi-Wan probably should have paid more attention to his name. "I wasn't in a position to define my relation to Allura or her father in the way that truly suited our situation, by... oh, tradition, social norms, public relations, take your pick. I was a very well-regarded official, of course, but I wasn't royalty, not even nobility, and I certainly wasn't wasn't legally or publicly part of the family. But for all the limitations there, I was still able to find ways to tell her and her family what they meant to me, and they in return. Your apprentice cares for you very much, and I'm sure you care back, but I'd hazard quite the guess that you've no idea how to tell him that."

"I... I shouldn't," Obi-Wan says. "I'm fond of him, of course, but I've no wish to smother him, and to simply say it would be undignified. I imagine he'd laugh in my face."

The representative raises one eyebrow and takes a sip of his drink.

"Master Kenobi," he says carefully. "Might I suggest you go find your young man, tell him you love him, and perhaps give him a hug?"

Obi-Wan's face flares red. It's been years since anyone short of Yoda has spoken to him like that.

"I'm not a child," he sniffs, trying to angle enough away that the blush isn't as noticeable. He's damnably prone to such things. "You're not that much older than me."

The man laughs, and Obi-Wan lifts his glass to his lips in a futile attempt to hid the embarrassment a little more. "Oh, not counting the stasis, I've well reached the age of six hundred and twenty-four, my boy!"

Obi-Wan chokes on his drink.

The man laughs a little more, but thumps him on the back until he's breathing normally again.

"Yes, most of the humans I've told have had quite the reaction!" the representative assures him. "But yes, even with the times adjusted to what any given local year is, I am significantly longer-lived than most species."

"No kidding," Obi-Wan manages. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and looks over at the representative. He takes in the wrinkles and bright eyes, and says, "Well, I must say you look very well for a near-human of such an age. I can only name one person in that category that has managed better, and I haven't seen her since I was a child."

"I shall take that as the compliment it's intended to be," the representative says, twisting the edge of his mustache and beaming.

The man is... well, goofy, really, and quite a bit older than Obi-Wan had thought, but he's quite the charmer. Obi-Wan faintly compares him to a few different people in the back of his mind, but nothing quite fits. For all that the man is quite the jokester and--going by some things he'd seen from the corner of his eye in the main party--a master of physical comedy, the representative is actually more competent than he looks, and for all his visible age, not bad to look at. He is also, seemingly, an expert in dealing with teenagers and young adults, something Obi-Wan himself is... decidedly not.

He really should go speak with Anakin.

And there's a war to fight.

He doesn't really have much time, even with the recent lull.

He's in no place to be looking at the clean-shaven jaw and wondering what it would feel like under his lips, or to let himself consider whether this man would be the kind to have an hours-long discussion as to the narrative forms common in other galaxies, and whether they have anything paralleled to those in Obi-Wan's own, or if this man would show the same enthusiasm over teas that he'd shown over the hors d'oeuvres inside.

He should... really go find Anakin.

"I suppose it's time to find my padawan," he says, more to fill the air than anything. "Er... thank you, both for speaking with him, and for speaking with me."

"Not a problem at all, Master Kenobi!" the representative says, and Obi-Wan realizes that there's one last thing he may have... forgotten.

"This is terribly embarrassing, but I don't believe I caught your name?" Obi-Wan says.

"Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, at your service!" the man says, with a sweeping bow. "As you can imagine, most simply call me Coran."

"Then I insist you call me Obi-Wan," he says, and before he can stop himself, "Might I bother you with an invitation to a shared tea time? You seem a knowledgeable fellow, and I'd appreciate the chance to... eh, pick your brain, shall we say."

It's not the smoothest come on he's ever put out there, or the most easily interpreted, but... well. Perhaps it's for the best. He's rather often found his tastes going in irresponsible directions, and it'll be much easier to brush this off without diplomatic incident if there's room for Coran to politely ignore the less platonic options.

Obi-Wan hopes he doesn't.

It's very selfish of him, but a dalliance with an older gentleman... well. He does, perhaps, make such irresponsible decisions, even now.

"I do believe I'd enjoy such a thing!" Coran enthuses, grabbing Obi-Wan's hand and shaking it in large, effusive movements.

Oh, this is a terrible idea, Obi-Wan thinks, even as he exchanges comm numbers and says goodbye.

Still.

He likes the idea of having at least a little fun, sedate or less so, while they have some time to themselves.

[azazelsconfessional]

((so i was gonna open up my askbox again but I got distracted doing this and watching streams i think idr what i did the past few hours, buuut there's something I need to cover first, especially since there are so many new people around! Hello! Especially since so many of you are playing OCs/MCs.

Don't worry, it's a tip to hopefully help you along! It may get a little long, especially as I try and provide examples. . .but hopefully it'll help.

I'm gonna talk a lot about OCs but this applies to canon characters too a bit. It certainly helps.

Tl;dr, you should have a character profile page.

(also remember that tumblr mobile doesn't really have direct access to Pages made with the Pages function on desktop, so you'll have to link them manually in your pinned or description or host them on another site(I used Google Docs in the apst) or in a regular post(this makes it very easy to lose as a forewarning) for maximum accessibility!)

(rules pages are also really really handy if you have alot of resteictions.)

So, in general, OCs have a bit of a lower reception rate in rp. Idk if that'll be the case here with MCs because they're, well, the main character. Housamo is also a series that lends itself well to OCs pretty well, especially non-human ones, but I figured I'd warn for that.

BUT. That doesn't mean you shouldn't play an OC! It just means there are things you need to keep in mind!

Think of all of the OCs you've seen--you all seem to be fun and wonderful people, and your characters are surely interesting. But. . .if you don't tell anybody about them, nobody will know what's going on or where to start, which makes asking questions a little hard, right? That's easier to work around with MC characters--we've played the game, we know the story, we know the characters, so we can figure out questions fairly easily based on that alone and go from there.

But with other OCs, especially those that don't represent charactera from mythology or fiction like many other characters in housamo do, there's like. Nowhere to start. We may see a face or some dialogue, but otherwise we don't have a frame of reference.

That's where a profile comes in!

Azazel-mun, I don't want to share all of the info about my character at once!

What if I don't know everything about my OC yet and want to figure it out along thw way?

The profile doesn't have to be super detailed! At most it shoule include things like the character's name and age and probably things like their location, profession, grade in school or place of work, etc., and anything you'd notice on the surface like their apperance. It's never a bad thing to include a description of their personality too, or a small section about their history/background. Little things that even you should probably know, too.

You can also section your profile off a bit into things like "surface info," "meta info," "things you could easily figure out about them," etc. That way, no one can spoil themself. Making lists like this can help you think these things through if you haven't already as well.

Let's use Azazel, a character that you probably know already, as an example here. I don't have a profile set

Name: Azazel

Species: Fallen Angel; Capra Therian - an anthropomorphic Goat (?)

Gender(pronouns): Male(he/him)

Age: difficult to calculate; several thousand years old?

Apperance age: hard to say, he's not human. Adult.

Origins: banished from his home world of Eden, has been in the human world for several thousand years

Profession: Priest of dubious denomination, most likely Catholic or Protestant; teacher at Daikanyama Academy; de facto head of the Missionaries Non-Profit charity Organization; supervisor of the Aoyama Missionaries

Role & Rule: Watcher; Revelation - allows him to see anything within the territory of the Aoyama Missionaries and anywhere the pages of his Artifact see

Apperance: Azazel is a 5'10"(180cm) tall, anthropomorphic goat of ambiguous breed, with fawn fur all over his body and lighter fur on his head and around his neck. He has brown, riged horns which curve out and back. Though his eyes are often closed, when opened they're red. He always carried around a leather bound bible with an eye on the cover, and is never seen without several chains on his person, although only the one(s) around his neck can be seen unless he's undressed.

He wears a black priest's cassock with a maroon sash and a capelet of the same color, with the same eye as on his bible on the shoulders of the cape, and brown dress shoes. The front of the robe is always open to expose his bare chest and the chains beneath.

Personality: Azazel is kind and doting, very fitting of both a teacher and priest, although his openly flirtatious, lustful, and secretive nature causes others to distrust him. He doesn't mind this at all. He has a strong adoration for humans, and values love in all of its forms more than anything. He's a bit of a passive person, often being unmotivated but working hard regardless, and seems to prefer to watch others and the world go by, although he won't decline most invitations to take part in it. He is always aware of anything that happens within the extensive territory of the Missionaries, and seems to know and see just about everything about anyone he meets, from their surface to their soul. . . .

If you know Azazel, or take note of some of the wording or question marks, you'll note I didn't explain everything(although I may have shared more than you want to.) This is just a bare bones exampe of how I do my profiles--but it can get even more bare!

I'll do two this time, a more vague version of Azazel's, and another that obscures information all together, using the same or a similar format to the above.

Name: Azazel

Species: anthropomorphic goat

Gender(pronouns): male (he/him)

Age: unquestionably an adult

Origins: Eden

Profession: Priest; teacher; head of a charity NPO; member of the Missionaries

Apperance: Horned goatman of slightly above average human height. Light brown fur, blond fur-hair, red eyes. Wears priest robes and a gold chain around his neck and chest. Carries around a bible with an eye on it?

Personality: Kind of eerie, but friendly and affectionate. A little flirtatious, especially towards humans. Seems to know everything about people for some reason?

Compare it to the one before--see how I've left even more things off or left things ambiguous while still sharing what's necessary or surface level? However, it's also not as engaging or as informative as the other one where I gave more information.

As someone who plays him, profiles like this aren't as helpful for me lol since he knows so much about everyone and everything, having a lot of details helps me play my character!

Now, as helpful as this is, this is also a character you probably know. So how about I do this with an OC? Normally I'm extremely detailed in my profiles and such, especially for OCs, sharing headcanons and ideas for relationships between characters. But, again, I'll try and show how you can show some info while leaving some up to people to ask about to later be filled in.

Name: Kezia

Faceclaim/Art Source: [this is where you would put where you get the art for any icons you use--if you draw it yourself, say so; if you use official art from a series, credit the name of the character and the series; if you use picrews, link the specific picrews. DO NOT USE ART YOU HAVE NOT BEEN PERMITTED TO USE. DO NOT STEAL ART. IF YOU CAN'T FIND THE CREDIT, ASK SOMEONE TO HELP YOU, DO NOT JUST SAY THAT IT ISN'T YOURS. DO NOT USE ART YOU HAVE NOT BEEN GIVEN PERMISSION TO USE OR THAT ISN'T FROM A SERIES OF SOME SORT.]

Species: Human

Gender(pronouns): Female (she/her)

Age: mid 20's~early 30's?

Apperance age: older than she looks?

Origins: Tokyo?

Profession: Professor; Witch

Apperance: A fidgety woman who looks older than she is. She looks anxious and confused as often as she looks curious and confident. Wavy light brown hair. Often carries around schoolbooks and is never alone, always with a Rattus Therian and often with a Nyarlathotep.

Personality: seemingly anxious, but curious and exploratative nonetheless. On the awkward side, but can still keep up with the Nyarls that accompany her. Gets into trouble when she gets ahead of herself in exploring and learning about the arcane, but her Rule allows her to disappear easily.

History: Has always been curious about magic and attempted to run through a Gate when they began to open up. Performed a summon and brought a certain transients to Tokyo and recieved her familiar and the magic to use her Rule as a result. Currently teaches at a college. She stumbled into a certain someone while attempting to explore time, and became a fan ever since.

That tells you a fair amount, doesn't it? Even for someone you don't know? It may even raise some questions that you could ask. At the same time, it doesn't tell you that much, and that can be as much of a hindrance for coming up with questions as saying too much can. It's really up to you what's too much and too little. Here's a more detailed version! Some things have been left vague or confusing in such a way that they could be filled in after being revealed through asks and play. That way, people are encouraged to/given ideas of what to ask--and you can still share things in the long run.

Name: Kezia

Faceclaim/Art Source: [N/A]

Species: Human

Gender(pronouns): Female (she/her)

Age: mid 20's~early 30's?

Apperance age: somewhere in her 30's, maybe even a little older

Origins: Tokyo, with some sort of connection to at least one other world

Profession: Professor of [?] at [?] Academy; Witch

Role & Rule: [?] & [?]

Artifact, Summon, Familiar?: Always accompanied by at least one Nyarlathotep and some sort of man-rat? She also carries around a book that's labeled as a Grimoire, but it's rare for someone to be both a summon-user and an Artifact-user. . . .

Apperance: A fidgety older woman wearing a labcoat and a witch's hat. She looks quite stressed and has trouble sitting still. Her ashy brown hair is thin and a little wavy, with some strands of gray. Although she often squints, she doesn't wear glasses. She carries around a lot of books relating to maths and sciences and one labeled 'Grimoire' decorated with arcane symbols from Gehenna and Old Ones. She's always accompanied by at least one Nyarlathotep and a very short, bearded man who can best be described as a brown rat therian with a human-like face. Sometimes there's a normal rat on her person or in her pockets.

Personality: Kezia is a fidgety and anxious magic practitioner. She's very curious about other worlds and has been since the Gates appeared in this Tokyo since she was a child, however she has been pursuing magic before then. She often appears somewhat confused about or fascenated by even her usual surroundings, but, at other times moves through the world with confidence even in unfamiliar territory. She also likes rats and other rodents, and as such will often avoid felines and birds of prey. She has a tendency to disappear, seeming to walk through walls despite assuredly being alive.

She's a little bit awkward with people, but somehow keeps up with Nyarlathoteps nonetheless. She's a good teacher, once she figures out how to explain things in ways others can understand easily, but can be a bit difficult to follow and flighty up until then. Aware of this, she's rather patient, if a little down on herself at times. However, she most often simply has her mind elsewhere. Despite this and the company she keeps, she's relatively sane. . .most of the time.

She shares a name with a witch from the world of Old Ones who made a pact with Nyarlathotep, believing him to be the Devil. . .and the ratman always at her side uses the same name as that witch's familiar as well. It's. . .probably just a coincidence. . .who would rightfully make a pact with Nyarlathotep?

History: Kezia is an adult human from this Tokyo before the apperance of the Gates and construction of the Walls. She's explored various witchcraft pursuits since she was a child, with what was originally a mere imaginative curiosity and fascination. After the arrival of the Gates when she was still young, she snuck over the fences built around one and attempted to go inside the massive pillar of light, which she attributes to the reason she often seems to struggle with her vision. Several years later, she performed a successful summon and she recieved her familiar, Brown Jenkin, transformed into a somewhat therian form from one of her pet rats, and was given some powers from Nyarlathotep. She has no discernable control over any of the chaotic creatures, however they seem to spend time around her regardless.

At present she's a professor of a subject that interests her at a certain college. She's had other dangerous run-ins due to her excitement over the arcane and "darker" arts, but doesn't seem to show any signs of stopping. However, after an incident in an attempt to explore time itself, she encountered a certain guardian of time and feels reluctant for once to explore it further. . .although she's become quite a big fan of his.

. . .i ran out of steam amd kinda lost track of where i was going. idk if that helped at all really. But maybe it did! I hope it did. You don't need to use any of those things exactly by any means, but that's the kind of thing you usually see in profile pages. Basics like someone's name and birthday and age and apperance and a little about their personality, maybe some history. Oftentimes things like powers and weapons and the like. Interests, hobbies, ways they could be intereacted with, etc. Just stuff that'd help you know the character.

I write everything in paragraph form, but everyone is more than welcome to use a more script format. I love making profiles, myself--it really helps to think about the character and details about them. Normally I make really, really detailed profiles, but maybe I'll try and be more simple about it this time around. depends on how i'm feeling.

I know this seems weirdly hypocritical given I don't have one but when I first made this blog there were like four of us including myself. I didn't see the need for a rules or profile page because I didn't anticipate that there'd be so many of us or, like, people from other fandoms or who aren't familiar with certain characters. I'll rectify that soon hopefully. But I figured I'd pass along this idea/knowledge to others.

. . .I'm gonna go reopen my askbox now. Feel free to send asks again, ask about this, etc! You can send me an IM too if you want. I'll properly close up the guest event tomorrow. I'm real tired rn lol so idk how much i'll get done, but i usually do things super late at night my time, so i have some time to pull my shit together haha))