#you?! was it not clear what my very straightforward sentences meant to say?

[tardis--dreams]

Sent my coworker a long message about my work schedule next week and he fucking copy and pasted it into chatgpt to get a summary ㅠㅠ

[robininthelabyrinth]

Initiative - aka NMJ and JYL get engaged - ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2

Jiang Yanli’s first engagement had been announced when she was three and a half years old – there had been a big party, festooned in color, exquisitely and meticulously planned out in advance, and she’d been obliged to stand on stage next to a baby in a cradle that had done nothing but cry and spit as all the adults around her congregated and congratulated each other on the excellent match.

She hadn’t enjoyed that at all.

Her second wedding announcement was simultaneously more casual and more noteworthy, and she enjoyed it tremendously. 

Madame Jin had sent several invitations to Jiang Yanli to come visit Lanling in advance of the hunt planned for Phoenix Mountain, speaking of how beautiful it was and how much she looked forward to seeing her good friend’s daughter – talking about she’d always regretted how Jiang Yanli had been obligated by circumstances to take shelter at the Unclean Realm rather than in Lanling City, although she’d been pleased to hear from her son that she was doing well – all the right sort of words. The words might have been more welcome if Jiang Yanli hadn’t known that Madame Jin was still intent on securing the marriage she had arranged.

If she hadn’t been engaged, she would have accepted the invitation, hoping to form an alliance for her sect through a close relationship with Madame Jin even if she didn’t have one with Jin Zixuan (no matter what Madame Jin hoped), but as she was, in fact, engaged to another – even if it hadn’t been formally announced – it would be inappropriate to go. So she instead played ignorant and responded graciously, protesting that she couldn’t possibly impose, that the rebuilding at the Lotus Pier needed her, but that she would of course be happy to attend the hunt alongside the rest of her sect.

She arrived at her brother’s side, smiling all the while.

Her second engagement was announced like this: Sect Leader Jin, using his newly legitimized son as his mouthpiece, had brought forward some ghastly ‘entertainment’ that involved shooting at helpless prisoners, tied up in chains. Jin Zixuan had complied, but Wei Wuxian had marched out and disrupted everything by showing off to a ridiculous extent – Nie Mingjue, who had been watching with a black face full of rage but unable to speak due to propriety, had started applauding very loudly and very enthusiastically – and Sect Leader Jin had ordered the prisoners taken away.

“Well, then,” he said, clapping as if he had impressed himself: as if they hadn’t just been subjected to a powerplay under the guise of hospitality, as if everyone would be over-awed by his might now that they had seen him abuse the helpless while they were all forced by the rules of etiquette to say nothing or else risk carrying the blame for trying to start another war. “Absent anything else, we should proceed to the hunt itself, where await you only the finest of prey and the sharpest competition among your peers.”

For the further display of the power of the Jin sect, he meant.

“Actually,” Nie Mingjue said, interjecting in a moment in which Sect Leader Jin had paused to take a breath so that it was technically not an interruption, “there is one thing. A request, in fact.”

Sect Leader Jin’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he maintained his false smile. “Of course, Sect Leader Nie. What can I do for you?”

“I’m getting married,” Nie Mingjue said. “The bride is Young Mistress Jiang, of Yunmeng Jiang, and I would like –” He raised his voice to overcome the abrupt explosion of talk that had erupted. “– I would like to have her accompany my sect in today’s hunt. I hope that doesn’t interfere with your plans for a competition between the sects?”

There were those who said that Jiang Yanli’s chosen husband was bad at politics, and they might even be right. But it didn’t really matter in the end if he’d thought of the idea on a whim or if it’d been a prearranged plan by Nie Huaisang, who was cleverer than he liked to let on to people, Jiang Yanli’s future husband had still wiped away in a single sentence all memory of the farce they’d all just endured and of the hunt that was yet to come, ensuring that the only thing anyone would remember about today was the shocking news of the engagement of the leader of one Great Sect to the sister of another.

(And if everyone remembered that at the last celebration hosted by Sect Leader Jin, he had proposed to resurrect the marriage between Jiang Yanli and his own son, instead, forcing her to publicly demur on vague terms…well, that just made it all the more satisfying.)

Now it was Sect Leader Jin’s turn to scowl and glare, and Madame Jin’s expression looked no less thunderous, but in the end Jiang Yanli got to go with the Nie sect on the hunt.

“You know I’ll only slow you down,” she said to Nie Mingjue, who snorted.

“No more than Huaisang will,” he said, and if his face was stern and his voice gruff then she still thought she detected fondness and humor beneath it. “Besides, it’ll be a good opportunity to measure you.”

It turned out that he meant that more literally than she might have thought.

Jiang Yanli was promptly whisked away to the back of the Nie retinue by a small cadre of Nie disciples, men and women both. She was presented with a number of training sabers shaped out of wood and made to hold them in a variety of positions as they murmured things about stability and reach and balance as if they really, truly thought that she would actually use the saber they were preparing for her.

“This one,” Nie Jiahui, a steely older woman with silver in her hair and fierce eyes, eventually announced, and the practice saber Jiang Yanli had been waving around was taken away. She was then presented with one that was twice as heavy, for “practice”.

“Do you always practice with something heavier than the actual thing?” she asked, and Nie Jiahui nodded.

“Strengthens the shoulders,” she said, curt but not standoffish. “Have some candy.”

Jiang Yanli blinked, but smiled and accepted the offer. It was licorice, which she liked.

“Do you often carry candy with you on night-hunts?” she asked, listening to the sound of fighting from up ahead. Every so often, a disciple or two would trot by carrying the corpses of larger and larger creatures, slain in the fighting; it seemed that the Nie sect was not, in fact, being slowed down in the slightest by her presence.

Of course, she also wasn’t being tended to as if she were their chosen lady, either, as she might have otherwise expected – all pomp and flowery language, Nie Mingjue by her side at all times to show her around as if they were on a pleasure stroll – but in all honesty that would have been a little bewildering. It was very much not the Nie sect’s character, all practical and straightforward, and she found that she preferred it that way.

“It’s important to have something to replenish energy,” Nie Huaisang said, having dropped back to join them from the front. He looked tired and grumpy, but his saber appeared to have been put to some work; he immediately climbed up into the carriage that people were taking turns riding and started cleaning it. “And licorice candy clears the lungs.”

“Clears the lungs?” Jiang Yanli asked.

“It’s good for more than that,” Nie Jiahui said. “But that’s one of the uses, yes. Do you ever feel like your chest is too tight, especially when you move too much? Leading to coughing, shortness of breath, your lips turning blue?”

Jiang Yanli blinked. “Yes,” she said. “But that’s just because I was born with a weak body.”

Nie Jiahui scoffed and Nie Huaisang laughed. “Good luck with that,” he said cheerfully. “I was born with muscles that didn’t keep their tone: too flexible, incapable of gathering strength, requiring more energy to do less, making me twice as tired twice as fast – even sitting up straight can be a struggle in some extreme cases, though luckily not mine. And do you think that helped me one bit in getting out of saber training? It did not.”

“Early childhood intervention is best,” Nie Jiahui said. “But the next best is starting today. I’ll show you some low-impact exercises that you can start working on to strengthen your shoulders and stomach, as well as some balance movements to center yourself and improve your posture – that way, by the time your actual saber is ready, you’ll be able to take it through one of the basic routines.”

“I’m happy to learn whatever you have to teach,” Jiang Yanli said, ignoring Nie Huaisang’s dramatic cry of ‘And here I thought you’d be on my side!’ “I only regret troubling you.”

“Not at all,” Nie Jiahui said. “It’ll be good to have someone watching the Sect Leader’s back on night-hunts.”

Jiang Yanli felt a surge of terror and excitement in her belly. “He would trust me with that? You would trust me with that?”

“I did tell you that you’d need to keep up with him,” Nie Huaisang said mildly, and it was true, he had, only she’d assumed it was a bit more metaphorical. “You don’t have to fight or even walk too much, if it doesn’t suit you – my grandmother was lame in both her legs from a childhood illness, she rode everywhere, scariest woman I’ve ever met by far – but you do have to be there. Someone needs to be able to tell my brother to stop. Someone he’ll listen to.”

And wasn’t that something of a thrill to think of?

Jiang Yanli wasn’t someone anyone listened to – not her parents, not her brother, not her sect disciples. She’d always been the one who comforted them afterwards, who supported them; she made them food and tried to convince them to be kinder to each other, and sometimes they even tried for a while before getting into another tiff. They would kill for her if she so much as hinted at it, tear down the sky for her, but it was more in the nature of indulging her rather than actually allowing them to guide her.

Yet here was Chifeng-zun, a war hero and a sect leader, one of the most powerful men in the world, a man admired by men and sought after (even if only in their hearts) by women, and his family was telling her that he would listen to her.

“If you say so,” she demurred, but they insisted, and by the time the hunt was over Jiang Yanli was surprised to realize that she hadn’t needed to resort to sitting on the carriage more than twice the entire time.

“We’ll send Auntie Jiahui to the Lotus Pier after today’s hunt is done,” Nie Huaisang chattered cheerfully in her ear as they headed back towards Jinlin Tower. “She’ll work you through your paces, believe you me, and all the supplemental things, too – making sure you eat the right thing, take medicinal baths to improve your meridians, apply massages to loosen your joints…those parts are nice, actually. Take care of your body as you would your saber, take care of your saber as you would your wife! That’s how the saying goes. Trust me, you’ll be regretting the whole thing soon enough.”

Jiang Yanli didn’t think she would. “You seem very confident that A-Cheng will allow you to do as you please, even in the Lotus Pier.”

“I’ll tell him it concerns secret Nie sect marriage rituals,” Nie Jiahui interjected. “When two women are involved, men tend to run away when the words ‘marriage’ and ‘secret’ are combined.”

Sadly, she was probably right.

“Show me those exercises again,” she requested, and Nie Jiahui climbed up on to the carriage to show her the ones she could do even while sitting down.

Jiang Yanli might never have had the opportunity to strengthen herself before, and she was moderately certain that she wouldn’t have too much success now, as the various tricks Nie Jiahui had taught her were largely body refinement, barely reliant on qi, and her cultivation was still as low as ever.

But she was good at devoting herself to learning something when she wanted to, and as soon the hunt at Phoenix Mountain was over and they had shifted over to the various feasts and meetings that Lanling Jin had planned for the rest of the week, she began her efforts at self-improvement in earnest.

The weak body her mother had always despaired of might always be weak – Nie Jiahui had been quite blunt on that subject, making it clear that nothing she was suggesting was some sort of miracle pill, and furthermore that there was nothing wrong with being weak as long as she made an effort (Nie Huaisang had been the recipient of several pointed looks there) – but Jiang Yanli was determined to at least demonstrate that she was trying.

A gesture of good faith, perhaps. Some small show of initiative.

Nie Huaisang had said that Nie Mingjue appreciated her initiative.

“A-Xian,” she called one morning, only a few days later. “A-Xian, are you going out for a walk? Let me come with you.”

“You’ve gone on a lot of walks recently,” Wei Wuxian laughed, but allowed her to take his arm as they walked into the crowd. “Do you like Lanling City so much?”

“It’s the exercise I’m after,” she said, smiling at him. “The Nie sect is a martial sect, remember? I’ll be going on more night-hunts in the future, if all goes well, and I’ll need to keep up.”

“Oh, but surely they’ll bring a carriage..? I don’t know if you really need to go on night-hunts –”

“I want to! It’ll be nice. Don’t worry about me so much, A-Xian –”

Wei Wuxian was shaking his head, smiling, and he wasn’t looking where he was going; perhaps that was why he bumped into the young woman.

But then she looked up at him, and he looked down at her, and he froze.

“Wen Qing?”

[studythenight-away]

Hello! As finals season (aka 5-research-papers-due-in-a-week season) dawns on many of you, I thought I would share the process I used to write papers in college. This made writing long research papers much less daunting (but can also work on shorter papers). I really hope this helps some of you who feel stuck. Especially during these ridiculous times, when you're stuck at home and might have other uncontrollable factors affecting your mental health, a clear framework of what to do could be helpful. Good luck, my friends! You got this.

About me

I graduated college in 2018 with degrees in Political Science + International Studies and will be starting law school this fall. I wrote nearly 20 15 to 25-page papers, never earning below an A. I loved researching about my topics but hated writing. It's tedious, takes so much time, and everything I write sounds bad at first. Plus, I was a terrible procrastinator so most of these essays were written in under a week. Talk about stress.

Over time I found a process that worked for me, one that made churning out a paper seem straightforward, like going through a factory line rather than this terrifying concept of writing 10,000 words. It kept me sane without decreasing the quality of my work (or more importantly, how much I learned!) 

I'm thinking about making a short video to show this in action… let me know if that could be helpful!

Step 1: Research

How you organize your research is a key step in keeping you sane. Usually I'll have a pile of 20 books in my dorm along with dozens of JSTOR tabs open on my laptop, and that can get overwhelming very fast. Right now just focus on collecting ideas, not developing an argument or even an outline! As with most research papers, you could be starting with little to no background information on the topic, so it is still too early to be thinking about an argument.

Put all your research in one document

Open up a new doc: this will be the heart of everything. For a 15-page paper I usually end up with around 14-18 pages of typed research, 10 pt font, single spaced, tiny margins. This seems like a lot, but essentially all I do is type up anything I read that seems relevant to my topic, so luckily this step does not require that much brain power. Just type type type!

Use the table of contents

Find the chapter(s) that are actually relevant instead of skimming through the whole book. Time is of the essence here!

Use Zotero, cite right away

You can also use easybib or whatever you're used to, but keep track of your sources. I like Zotero because I can keep a log of all of my sources and copy the footnote or bibliography version whenever needed. Before you even begin reading, cite the source and copy it into your research doc. This will save you so much time later when you have to put in your citations in the actual paper. 

Here is an example of what my research doc looks like:

Full citation is my heading for each source just so it’s crystal clear

I ignore all typos (I don’t think there are any in this part though, go me!) because my head is buried in the book just trying to get all the info down

I always start with the page number so I know what to cite when I go back

Create a shorthand 

While typing up research, you might think of something that the author didn't talk about that you'll want to write in your paper. Or perhaps a few sentences already start to form. Put them all in one place, with your research, so you know what source you'll have to cite to then lead into your idea. I type "!@#" before anything that is strictly my own idea so I'm never confused. It's fast and stands out.

This is an example: the two bullet points above are evidence from my source, which made me think of this argument I could make, which I noted with “!@#”

Step 2: Read Your Research

Now that you have all your information, go back and read through it all. Every time you read about a new theme/person/event, write it down somewhere. You may come up with a list of 20+ different ideas in your research. No matter how small, as long as there is something about it, write it down. Each of these mini themes is going to end up being a paragraph in your paper or combined with another mini theme. 

Once you’ve made your list, look for larger overarching themes. In the paper I’ve shown you, I had mini categories like “political party x” “religion” “labor groups” “little organization” and “hierarchy.” When I looked back I though, hey these are all groups and how groups are working together, so they each became their own mini paragraph under the subsection of “Alliances.”

As with most research paper structures, I try to find three general themes/subsections (like an extended version of that 5-paragraph essay we wrote in middle school). It makes the paper less messy and also makes sure I’m not covering things that are beyond a reasonable scope.

During this step, you are also searching for your thesis. It won’t be your final version. As you fill in your outline in the next step you may make slight changes. But this is definitely when you start thinking about it.

Step 3: Outline

We’re ready to outline! Once I’ve collected all my different themes and organized all my subsections and paragraphs, it’s time to fill in that outline. I start a new doc just for the outline and take advantage of google doc’s headings function to make a clear document outline.

Here comes the fun part, I read through my research one more time, this time copy and pasting all my research into each section of the outline. The document outline in google docs makes this easy because I can just click on each subheading to get me there (super helpful when you’re dealing with 15+ pages of research).

Here is what it looks like:

Let’s say I need to add something to my outline about labor groups. Boom, labor groups. Also, the typos are really abound here haha

Step 4: Write the Paper

Okay, I get it, easier said than done. BUT! You already have everything set up. Your outline is essentially just a list of your paragraphs and all you have to do is paraphrase, cite, and create a topic sentence. And that’s how you should think about this: you’re essentially transforming bullet points into sentences and adding footnotes. 

In high school my English teacher introduced us to Sh*tty First Drafts for creative writing, but honestly the same applies to research papers. Sometimes I’ll even have phrases like “wait no that’s not what I meant but basically...” and when I go back to edit, I realize that what came after “but basically...” is fine! And I keep it. So just start typing.

How do you cite while you write? Because we’re trying to get a constant stream of writing going, inserting proper footnotes after each sentence you type is too bothersome. I usually split screen with my outline and my paper so I just copy and paste a few words from my bullet point into my footnote, like so:

(This is from a different paper about cluster munitions.)

Step 5: Edit the Paper

I work best when I print out my first draft and make all edits in red pen. I feel more productive and can visually see where I want to move sentences and what I need to change. The more red there is the better I can feel the paper getting. (Whether or not that’s true doesn’t matter. We’re trying to stay motivated here!) When it’s all digital I don’t really see the progress. Plus, once I finish all the red, I get another moment of passive brain work, where all I’m doing is transferring edits rather than thinking. And at this point in the process, that kind of relief is much welcomed. 

The good thing about this process is there’s not usually a need to cut entire paragraphs or pages because the paper you end up with is just a formalized version of your outline. Because you started with such a detailed outline, the cutting and editing now is just to refine your word choices and get rid of the “but basically”s. You’re almost there!

Step 6: Replace your citations

Now it’s time to go back and replace your footnotes with actual citations. Zotero makes this easy because in Word you can just insert and add the page number, and it’ll automatically do “Ibid.” for you when needed. Ctrl+f in the original research doc to quickly find the source.

Step 7: One More Read-Through and Submit!

Congratulations!! You’ve got a fully-researched and well-backed paper! Of course, even though the process is straightforward, it’s still a lot of work. In ideal situations I would start researching two weeks before the deadline, but if need be, I believe I’ve done this all in three miserable panic-filled days as well. 

Please message me if you have any questions at all! I really hope some of you find this helpful! Good luck!

[zarara]

something else?

pairings: dense!diluc x traveler!reader, a little kaeya x reader moment plot: read it and find out (pls my brain is laggy but one day i will write a summary) genre: fluff, angst perhaps note: i am apparently capable of writing fairly straightforward stories

if there was anything in the world you would pay to have an endless supply of, it would have to be tea… though the idea of infinite mora sounded as interesting, you were sure your talents in combat would make sure you didn’t find yourself broke or clueless like zhongli.

it’s just that tea was perfect — coffee was a close contender but the bitter aftertaste always found you having to pile it up with more sugar than healthy. tea also had no aftermath on your already deranged sleep schedule. it tasted sweet but rich, it was efficient, and it was warm.

you usually enjoyed your daily cup of tea in the solitude of your chambers but today you were making an exception because kaeya, your superior and over-the-top flirt of a friend, insisted you take your evening snack with him at the tavern.

“there isn’t even a snack provision at the tavern! it’s a tavern for archon’s sake!” kaeya is great at ignoring your complaints as he pulls you into the seat next to him.

“i asked sara to bring some honey roast over for us,” kaeya winks at the young man handling the counter in lieu of an order and you hurriedly pipe up a “tea for me please!”

“now, would you please stop your whining, you baby?”

your mouth drops open, “i’m the baby? you were the one begging to take me to drinks instead of helping me finish that pack of hilichurls!”

“i did mention that i got rid of that abyss mage for you when you weren’t looking.”

“i don’t understand you, kaeya,” you take hold of the cup that the man behind the counter sets down, “but anyway, what is it you want from me?”

kaeya smirks over his glass of dandelion wine, “ah, quite straightforward, aren’t we?”

you kick his shin ungently, “let me ask again: what do you want?”

kaeya takes a sip and becomes uncharacteristically quiet. in fact, he doesn’t even comment when you keep staring at him.

“kaeya…?”

before you can continue to investigate what’s up with him, you hear a familiar voice behind your shoulder.

“well, what have we here?”

“diluc!” the red haired man takes place of the young man who looks relieved to not have to bear witness as a bartender.

“hello, y/n, how do you do?”

you smile, the warmth in diluc’s voice going unmissed, “i’m just fine, although a certain someone has taken it upon themselves to ruin my ritual of tea and silence.”

kaeya props a hand around your shoulders, “i’m just repaying you for getting rid of all those gnarly hilichurls.”

whatever was bothering kaeya a moment ago seems to have disappeared, especially in the presence of his arch rival, diluc.

diluc calmly reaches over to lift kaeya’s hand off your shoulder as if it’s the corpse of a slime he’s picking up and hurls it away. “please, kaeya, i thought you didn’t pursue women who’d clearly expressed their lack of interest.”

“and i thought you were too superior to everyone else to stick your nose in their business.”

“well,” you butt in before the two can actually slit each other’s throats, “i thought it was reasonable to agree to work under jean but i guess we all have things we’re wrong about, don’t we?”

diluc’s expression dampens into something like sadness when you mention your overworked state but you brush it off by chugging the rest of your tea. “oh, before i forget,” you rummage through your meagre backpack before removing a package, handing it over to kaeya, “this is for you.”

kaeya looks perplexed, looking between you and diluc, and slowly places a hand on the package, “for me?”

“a client painted the scenery from luhua for me because i found his paintbrushes and supplies, and i know you like your souvenirs, so you can have it.”

“....” kaeya is still speechless and diluc has you pinned with a look of suspicion.

“but why would give it to him?”

“because i go to luhua way too often already and i know kaeya is usually stuck around monstadt so…”

“that’s incredibly sweet of you, my love,” kaeya regains his senses and as you stand up to leave, he pulls you into a hug.

“you’re welcome, boss,” you smile as you pull away, “anyway, i must be on my way.”

“do you think the traveller is with someone?”

maids at dawn winery sure do love to gossip.

“with her looks and strength, for sure! my bets are on master diluc.”

okay, look, you didn’t meant to eavesdrop on them but they were right there when you came out of the washroom. you were going to walk out and pretend like you hadn’t heard them but hearing diluc’s name shook you.

“no,, what about mr kaeya? i heard they hang out after long, tiring quests all the time.”

“but she and master diluc love to discuss-”

all righty, time to evacuate.

“!!”

you manage to keep a poker face as you throw the door open in their faces and stride past them, making your way to the room with diluc.

you quickly dash in, closing the door behind you. you knOW your face is flushed so you turn away from diluc.

diluc frowns. that’s weird. why are you hiding from him?

he rises from his chair, “y/n? is everything okay? are you hurt?”

“y-yeah, i’m just embarrassed.”

you feel yourself being turned around by two big hands on your elbows.

diluc’s concerned eyes meet yours and you almost melt into a puddle of slimy plasma because he’s so hot even though he’s just worried.

“you’re red. why are you red?”

“...i’m fine.”

as if he’s aware of your flustered state, he moves closer to your face in order to look into your eyes which makes a new batch of blood flow to your face.

“y/n, you need to tell me what’s wrong. is it a fever? i can call—”

“nO! it’s nothing. just—!” you break away from his (very intense) hold and move away into the room for fresh air. “stupid me.”

“no way, she did not!”

diluc is immensely frustrated with venti. he has the most unusual reactions to everything diluc says and usually he doesn’t give a shit, but this is about you and your weird state yesterday, so yES he gives a shit!! >:-(

“yes, she did. i’m telling you she did. why are you—”

“oh, i heard you, i just can’t believe that the calm and strong little traveler would lose her cool and around you of all people!”

“heY, what do you mean? i’m perfectly fine as a person to lose one’s cool around.”

yep, diluc has no idea what he’s saying.

it’s just

he thinks the world of you

he really, really likes spending time with you (even when you guys are just talking about the fatui’s next move! or how you found new cool ways to take down an abyss mage!)

you’re so sweet and you don’t take his words for what they’re not. you’re not taken aback by his bluntness and you’re able to make him laugh.

what more does he need in life

well, apparently, venti because he has no idea what to do after you suddenly left the dawn winery that day.

“ugh”

“you’re really worried, huh?”

“was that not crystal clear by now? i came all the way to windrise to talk to you!”

venti chuckles his annoying chuckle

“okay, okay, i’ll help you,” diluc sighs as he waits venti to go on, “here’s what i think: she likes you back.”

..

what

diluc.exe has stopped working

man just blanks out

short-circuits, fireworks, malfunction — you name it.

“diluc?”

“no.”

“what do you mean, no?”

“first of all, why did you say ‘likes you back’? i- i don’t like her or anything. and secondly, no, she does not like me.”

“i’m going to pretend like i didn’t even hear the first part. about the second thing, here’s a question for you: why?”

“because she likes kaeya!”

venti pauses, “i was not aware there was another contender. diluc, you bastard, tell me all the details next time.”

“does this mean she just hates my guts?”

“no, it just means she may or may not like you. back.”

“i told you—!” venti stands up breaking off diluc’s sentence midway, brushing grass off his palms.

“take her to dinner or something tonight and ask her.”

“ask her? ask her what— wait, where are you going, you stupid bard— ASK HER WHAT?”

life is hard for a traveller

you’ve just managed to finish delivering grilled fish to a jack who wants become more manly when katheryne sets you thREE more commissions saying there was a crazy influx of requests suddenly.

you barely manage to uproot two hilichurl camps, and by the third quest, you’re quite dead inside. if only some rogue eye of the storm wasn’t terrorizing civilians.

you’ve gotten in a hit or two in when you skip over a stone and fall right on your face

“fUCK!”

shit

ouch

ouch shit

that hurt

you manage to twist around and keep the eye away with a half-earnest windblade attack and try to sit up.

damn it, is this the pitiful way you die? dammit, you at least wanted to drink your evening tea—

a flash of fiery thunder catches your attention

is that…?

“y/n! stay where you are!”

yup, it’s diluc in all his dark knight hero glory. he finishes off the stupid green eyeball in less than three fire-charged strikes.

you sigh in relief, falling back against the grass.

“hey, hey, hey,” diluc enters your field of vision, red strands falling into his face as he leans down to cradle your head in his lean arms, “where did you injure yourself?”

you tremble a little as you try to lift your foot, “a-ah, my right foot. i twisted my ankle probably. thanks for fi—”

“shh-shh, you’ll have plenty of time to thank me. come on, can you sit up?”

you grab his wrist and prop yourself against his chest so that you’re practically in his lap.

“that’s great, let me take a look at—”

“mhm!! don’t move. please,” you can feel diluc’s breathing tense behind you as you lean into him, “i think the eye hit me while i was down- my neck— ah, fuck—” your hand comes away from your nape soaked in red, “it’s bleeding.”

“it’s all right, you’ll be just fine. just get comfortable and i’m going to lift you up. think you can manage?”

you nod as one of diluc’s hands comes to rest under your knees, folding them and the other tenderly embraces your upper back.

“tell me if it hurts too much.”

he heaves the both of you up and the shock stings your exposed neck a little but you’ll survive.

everything is beginning to become blurry so you lift your hand to feel diluc and meet his chest. despite everything, you smile, aware he’s speaking because you can feel him vibrating but the words are all mushed up and you can feel yourself slipping away.

even though usually you would panic at feeling your consciousness fading but right now, it’s okay because it’s diluc who’s holding you and you know it’s him because just before the black collapses on you, you hear him.

“you’re fine, kitten.”

“—up! y/n, it’s me.”

mhhm, what a sweet voice. so soft and melodious.

“y/n, i can see you smiling in your sleep,” the voice comes closer, “come on, everyone’s really worried.”

the world materializes in front of you as you fight against the closing of your heavy eyelids. “barbara?”

“y/n! you’re alive!”

“i am?”

why would you not be alive?

…

oh

right

the eye

stupid thing

wait a minute,.,.,.

you remember diluc saving your arse.

oh righT

that’s because he did!

he—

he was holding you?

you were in his lap????????

wait a minute!! that sounds wrong

“am i dreaming?”

“really, of all the people you know, do you really see yourself dreaming of me, traveller? last time i saw you, you wanted to steal the holy lyre from—”

“y/n!!”

holy shit

that’s the voice of your saviour

noo

noo

stop the clock

you’re not ready to meet him!!!!!!!

“ah, it’s master diluc! he was so worried about you the whole time you were dead— i mean, asleep,” you redden as the tall man appears in front of you, “kaeya had to force him to leave and get some food but—”

“ahem!” diluc cuts barbara off with a strong clearing of his throat and she throws him a look before standing up from your side.

“i guess i’ll leave you two alone then!”

“wait, barbara, you should stay—”

and she’s gone.

you slowly look up to face diluc

“how are you feeling?”

“much better,” he sits next to you and you smile, “thanks to you.”

diluc frowns as if remembering something unpleasant, “i really wish you wouldn’t just bear all the load.”

“you found out from…”

“kaeya mentioned he hadn’t seen you around the town square as he usually does and when i went to speak with katheryne, she said she’d had no choice but to send you off on extra commissions.”

you look down, “i’m sorry. i wanted to ask someone to come along but everyone seemed busy and—”

“you never checked up on me though,” you bite your lip, “i would have known.”

“that’s- that’s because you’re always busy, what with the winery and your dark knight—”

“y/n,” you stop speaking with a pout and diluc raises your chin with his finger, “promise me you’ll tell someone next time things get so overwhelming. tell me, i’m never going to be occupied enough to not help you out.”

you blush agaiN

stupid kind diluc

“thanks, diluc.”

“and you can stop feeling sorry for me.”

when you look at diluc he looks he’s just caught you red-handed.

“what—”

“i wanted to help you,” you nod, “what’s more, i think i quite enjoyed it.”

“enjoyed. . . carrying an injured woman to safety? you might have a saviour complex, diluc. or perhaps, some sort of a kink.”

you expect diluc to lash back with a defensive retort but to your absolute and complete surprise, he smirks.

the man smiRKS

he’s all ;)

“oh? i won’t deny that,” your stomach suddenly feels queasy all over again as diluc inches closer (and you’re wondering in your head WHEN DID SATAN, OR WORSE KAEYA, POSSESS THIS MAN?!), “but while we’re on the topic of kinks and enjoying ourselves, you seemed to quite like sitting in my lap.”

“diluc!” your exclamation is one of disbelief because you cannot believe that diluc, the man who has never once made an inappropriate joke around you, is openly accepting that he has a kink and is accusing you of having one.

“what? am i wrong? when i tried to move, you stopped me immediately.”

“y-yeah, i did, but—” you’re trying with all your heart to defend your actions but diluc has managed to come close enough to tap his fingers against your outstretched knee. “it was— you were warm and my neCK was bleeding. was i supposed to just die out there?”

“i suppose you’re right, i am warm.”

“exactly.”

you seemed to have dodged a disaster because diluc is distracted by the cuts on your knee and the bandage around your ankle. his slender finger dance down your shin to touch the fabric of the white material tied tightly and he gently holds it.

“does it still hurt?”

“i don’t know, i haven’t tried walking.”

“do you wanna?”

you nod eagerly and diluc offers his hand but before you can be tempted into taking it, you cross your arms.

“why should i hold your hand?”

“because we need to first test if you can even walk without help.” diluc looks confused and you decide that whatever demon possessed him moments ago is long gone.

“correct answer,” you take his hand, and slowly stand up.

“hmm,” your right foot hurts a little but it’s better than you imagined. you tell diluc that.

“that’s a relief,” you reach the door of the empty cathedral and diluc puts his hand on the door, “would you like to take a walk?”

“is diluc around?”

“ah, he said he’ll be back in five. he’s personally delivering some paperwork to the acting headmaster.”

“alright, thanks!”

you’re excited!! it’s friday and today, you and diluc are going aLL the way to liyue to get dinner and stargaze as a post-dinner activity. diluc said he was friends with xiangling who’d always wanted him to come and try her dishes out sometime and he’d asked you earlier if you’d be interested to join him.

of course you were. it sounded like a date! in fact by the way you had spent all afternoon choosing the deep maroon skirt and contrasting white blouse, you were convinced to view it as a date.

“y/n, i apologize to have kept you waiting,” a breathless (and dashing) diluc appears by your side and you smile.

“no problem, diluc, i heard you were doing some important work.”

the both of you leave the tavern, “not exactly important, but let’s just say that while i may not be interested in the knights of favonius, i do value my life somewhat.”

“jean’s scares you, too, huh,” you laugh.

it’s not like diluc is realizing this for the first time but: you’re beautiful

like yeah, you have great hair and dazzling eyes that are bright when you’re happy and a dangerous smile but in the night, in this ethereal lighting, you’re taking his breath away.

“this place looks so fancy,” you’re seated across from him as you play with the ends of your hair. “when i come to this inn, i usually remain on the periphery but wow, this is quite impressive.”

“well, xiangling did say she got pretty famous as a cook around here.” diluc feels dazed especially since half his attention is occupied by how adorable you look.

the night progresses like this; diluc captivated by your blinding beauty and you trying to wrap your head around the fact that you’re on a daTE with diluc.

“oh, hey, look, it’s a silk flower!” you run over to the short, maroon plant, plucking a few flowers out, “xingqiu was telling me how much he loves these.”

he kneels next to you, smiling, “they are quite the pleasant plants.”

“they sorta remind me of you.”

“me?”

diluc touches the stem as you play around with the buds, “yes. for starters, you’re both red. and you both smell nice. you make wine, these make clothes. and if you think about it, wine is the silk of alcohol.”

his fingers collide against yours in the quaint flower, “that’s an intriguing comparison. wine and silk. . .” before you can pull away, diluc takes hold of your hand, pulling you up after him.

he can feel you stiffen a little and then mold back into place, your tiny hand squeezing against his bigger one. the road has become quieter as you travel further from the inn, and more stars start to peek out from the sky.

“thank you for taking me out to dinner, diluc.”

“thank you for having dinner with me, y/n.”

you suddenly giggle a little as if remembering a memory. “what’s funny?”

you look at him and then back down, biting down on your lip — a terrible habit really but especially terrible right now, because it only draws his attention to the soft pink lips he was trying not to look at the whole night (which was made even harder when xiangling decided to serve you the spicier dishes).

“that time you saved me from the eye, you called me something right before i fainted.”

diluc smiles fondly, “kitten?” he is pleasantly surprised when you giggle again, cheeks tinting the loveliest pink. “what’s this? could it be you enjoy being called kitten?”

you squeeze his hand slightly, “maybe…”

diluc’s heart almost gives out on spot

he’s sO whipped for you it hurts physically

“y/n—”

before he can say anything else, you pull him ahead with you because well,,,, you’re embarrassed

“come on, we should go stargaze before it gets too late.”

diluc smiles and allows you to drag him to the clearing at the edge of a cliff.

“i remembered this cliff from one of my adventures,” you plop down onto the grass and hesitantly, diluc follows

“hmm, it’s very peaceful here. i’m going to have to note this down as one of my future hideouts.”

you grin, “don’t reveal that to me. i might end up following you here and you won’t have any of your good ole introspection time.”

your tone is teasing but for once, diluc feels that his needs for alone time are being acknowledged by your light-hearted threat. he shifts closer, heart on the verge of bursting.

“i like you, y/n,” it comes right out of his mouth, clear and loud, the way diluc always dreamed of confessing but never managed to nail during his endless practices

you, on the other hand, are at the risk of a heart attack. you don’t want to pretend to be clueless and dense — diluc did ask you out for dinner when he could be spending the evening doing something more intellectually enriching — but at the same time, you feel like you can’t be sure enough

because it’s diluc!! he’s so complicated, he has so many layers

“you like me?” you keep your gazed fixed on the stars above just so you can mask your disappointment in case he clarifies that he likes you but, of course, as a friend who easily gets in trouble and happens to be around his tavern all the time

but inside diluc’s head are alarms. literal ALARMS. red, blaring alarms.

“i- you have no obligation to accept my feelings or give me answer but i’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time now. i really like you in a way i didn’t think possible. you’re so kind and funny and you make profound judgements about people, without being swayed by the biases that surround them and you’re so brave. but i know you have many men courting you and you did seem to have a soft spot for kaeya so this is—”

“i like you, too, diluc.”

diluc.exe has stopped working part 2 the finale

no more brain cells for him

“diluc?”

“you’re being honest?”

“of course i am. i’ve liked you ever since you took down that abyss mage with me. i don’t know how i’m expected to not fall for the dark knight hero.”

despite his dislike for the nickname, diluc blushes and you laugh at his small adorable smile

but the next moment it’s as if a switch has been flipped and suddenly his flustered face turns into a look of lust

his hands are on your waist, pulling you close until you can feel his hot breath against your lips

your hand comes up his face, tenderly cupping it and your lips crash

diluc groans against your lips when your other hand gingerly finds his hair and to say the least, you are extremely attracted to the sound of him groaning, low and deep

“come closer,” your plea is almost petulant as your grip on his hair tightens. diluc lifts you into his lap, arms around you

but he suddenly pulls away and it kills him to do so because you are a sight to behold, lips redder than ever, mouth half open, and breath heavy

“what in the fuck—” your dismay is clear as you frown at the concerned expression on diluc’s face, “hey, what’s wrong? did i—”

“why did you give kaeya that gift?”

for a moment you think you must be dreaming because it would be absolutely ridiculous if the man stopped your make-out session just to ask you—

“i mean, why not… me?” diluc’s voice has become small, gaze averted as if he’s scared he messed up

you sigh, bringing both your hands to cup his face, squishing his cheeks slightly to make him look at you

“listen, diluc, i have no feelings for kaeya. he’s just one of my nicer superiors and i wanted to thank him for being understanding. and i meant what i said that day — it genuinely reminded me of how he’s stuck around the favonius headquarters.”

diluc processes what you have to say and then, after a few silent beats:

“he’s only nice to you because he’s into you.”

“diluc, will you please just make out with me?”

you pull him back into a kiss and this time, he returns with more passion, one hand boldly cupping your ass and you can’t help but shiver at the sensation of his warm hand

you begin to reach under his shirt when you realize something

“wait, diluc,” you sit up, twisting to look up at the sky, “we were supposed to stargaze. you seemed so excited about it, you even called it the post-dinner activity.”

diluc caresses your arm as he slowly restores the distance between you, eyes on your lips.

he whispers against the nape of your neck, “i’m sure we can think of another post-dinner activity,” his fingers graze your stomach, “right, kitten?”

[writingforyourpleasure]

IHTCW part II

Genre: NonIdol!AU, SummerJob!AU

Part II of

Pairing: OT7 x Reader - focus Yoongi x reader- Namjoon x reader

Summary: You do car wash as a summer job each year. But this year , 7 new employees are added to the mix.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: angst,fluff,smut

______

So apparently taehyung idea worked … which to say the least surprised you a lot.

Everyday since the photoshoot , with the boys , which was two weeks ago now. For which you took the pictures not wanting to be sexualized by some creeps, a ton of groups of girls were coming in and out at every hours of the day , sometimes even going as far as several times a day , apparently not only men could be sexualizing the other gender and be a creep about it. But the boys knew from the start that they’ll be sexualized and were strangely okay with it.

Even you had a hard time not finding them extra hot while doing the photoshoot , you were lucky they staid clothed because you would have been a babbling mess if they did.

Ever since that day you worked much longer than before at the gaz-station being overcome with those new clients. Which meant you were less at home than normal.

Which created a lot of disputes between you and your romantic partner. Tonight had been the last drop for you. They insulted you , so you took the first bag you saw and got some clothes you found not bothering to check what it was and to show it down your bag to take of on your bicycle, getting as far away as possible from this place , you used to call home.

But you really had nowhere to go to be honest. Like most of your friends were living on campus or gone back home to see their relatives for the summer break.

So you drove where you mind took you and it was at Namjoon’s house strangely. You only been there once to help him and the rest of the guys move into this new loft they shared, in was pretty big for students but you figured they had rich families or at least one of them to help them out.

You knocked on the windowed door of the loft trying to make yourself heard but still not wanting to disturb anyone’s sleep surely one of them would still be up right ?

Blue hair came into view and something overtook you , you didn’t cry no. You didn’t need to.

You tears had dry out years ago , right now you wanted to bask into a moment of serenity with whoever could hold you and it was a good thing Namjoon was the one holding you his presence making the silence around you so comfortable and easy to bask into.

You needed this. After what felt several minutes you turned to glance up at him a question on your lips but too tired to ask hoping he would come up with the sentence by himself, he did.

“Do you got a bag to sleep-over ?”

Still being your silent self , too tired of the screams, words and others you made a light sign at your backpack on your bicycle, he understood and leaved the comfort and softness of the hug to go get it for you.

He showed you the way into the house passing by a living room in which Jungkook was sleeping uncomfortably on the couch while facing a lightly blue screens playing some credits of a film .

Namjoon made a shush movement to you, before showing you his bedroom door’s , you remembered from last time.

You entered and the place seemed very calm and like a resting place for your fuzzy mind.

You went to thank Namjoon but saw him going out of his bedroom.

“Were are you going?” You said with a small voice , like a kid getting scared of the monster under their bed.

“I leave you my bed and I’ll took the couch not to disturb you , you look like you could use some sleep.”

“Ple-please don’t … don’t leave me ?” You asked making silent doe eyes over him .

His breath was shortly cut before exhaling and giving in your request . He spread out his magnificent body over the bed and you softly made a sign to ask permission for a cuddle .

He showed you into his chest and for once since a long time your night wasn’t visited by screams and insults. But rather a deep voice and pretty laugh and some blue smoke over it.

The next morning you wake up early , way too early. The harsh 6 am from Namjoon’s alarm clock was staring smugly at you , you tried you really did but no matter what you couldn’t seem to go back to bed . So you leaved the bed and warm embrace of Joon’s arm around you to put a pillow in his arms instead of your frame. With what you hoped was the smallest sounds you tip-toed to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water unfortunately for a dark figure was waiting for you causing a high pitch from your lungs joined by the cold stare of the shadow. You heart start to come back to life once you saw that in front of you for no other than Yoongi, looking at you like you grew to heads.

“Sorry didn’t mean to scare you, I mean it’s not like I’m the one standing in your kitchen at 6 am unannounced .”

“Christ Yoongi, you have no idea how much you scared me .”

“Well didn’t think it’ll be that soon I’ll hear you scream because of me.”

You rolled your eyes trying not to look like a deer caught in headlights , it wasn’t really your taste of humor but you knew he just tried to lighten up the mood.

“Subtle as ever , I see.”

“I prefer to be cash with someone who I feel attracted to.”

What? He had to be kidding, or were you dreaming and in reality still in Joon’s arms?

“I fear I did not quite get that.” You swallowed a big breath trying to shake your frozen state away.

“Too bad I hate repeating myself” He winked at you . You stood still blushing and you were thanking the lack of light in that moment, not wanting to be teased further by him.

“So what’s up? Why are you doing in my kitchen at 6 am ? Were you missing me that much?”

It kinda shocked you how this very calm man was being so straightforward something you never thought him to be .

But soon enough a sour expression painted your face remembering why you were here in the first place.

Even though the lack of lights Yoongi saw that.

“Do you want me to help out?”

“There’s nothing to be done , I’m afraid.”

You sighs as you made your way to the sink to serve yourself a glass of water.

“Are you sure?” Yoongi was now right in front of you caging him between his two arms on each sides of your hips while they were resting against the sink.

“I-I don’t-“

“I really want to help you out , I’ll be happy to.” He whispered getting closer to you.

“I don’t get it, what-“

“Do you want me to kiss you?” His lips were a few inches away from yours and you could feel the light scent of his morning shave hitting your nostrils as you took a deep breath in.

“Do you want to kiss me?” You asked not leaving his lips from your glance as he licked them purposefully .

“I was thinking I made that point pretty clear.” At that you lashed out your anger on his lips not, giving him a minute to catch on before colliding your lips on his.

There was something pretty aggressive from you directed towards him, well not him really more to the world and how unfair this all was but you had the sensation that he could get it, that he was somewhat as torn up inside as you were . He responded to the kiss pretty fast . But to your shock his kiss wasn’t rushed at all on the contrary it was barely a peck before he moved away from your lips.

“No matter what brought you here, selfishly I’m happy it happened.” And before you knew it his lips find yours again, just caressing yours , being awfully slow, where yours were being more insistent and wanting to speed up. But the clashing of the both were mixing quite well to your delight.

They was something in the way he wanted to calm you down that was very much needed, as if he was saying sorry to your scars and broken heart, as if he could convince your heart to throb once more for someone new , where you were screaming for violence , he was moving in your wounds trying to stitch them up. He was being so calm and overall confident in the good care he was putting you through that might had thought he could be the cure to it all if you hadn’t been so lied to and putting through toxic relationships for so many years before meeting them.

His long skinny fingers found the hem of your shirt delicately brushing it up over your head , standing aside for a few seconds taking in your braless state in admiration and lust .

He licked his lips once again , his expression looking as blank as ever.

He oh so calmy took off Namjoon’s sweatpants falling on his knees, facing your crotch.

Needless to say you were intimidated to found yourself naked in front of the clothed man.

You yelped when he took a lick at your core and an overdramatic sigh at your taste. You were feeling all the blood leave to your head in that instant, your eyes struggling to stay open when is cold breath fanned over your glistening folds of his saliva.

In over just a minute he was making out loudly with your pussy making it clenched at all the pervert sounds the two combined were making.

The obscene sounds of your whimpers and the sounds of Yoongi’s flat tongue against your core were echoing through the walls of the kitchen, and even if your mind was being transported to another place as the fearless moves Yoongi’s tongue was making you try to resist your instincts to close your legs opting against it , and opening them wider for Yoongi hands to roam against.

This truly was the best cunni you ever had. For once your partner wasn’t afraid to use all of the strength he had to satisfy you and without much help you were cumming against his tongue, he hold you in place as your hips buckled against his face.

That’s when the light of the kitchen lightened up to reveal your fucked out face and Yoongi’s wild hair from your hands scratching up against his scalp.

A blushing Taehyung was standing in the hallway leading to the stairs.

In just over a few seconds you were a babbling mess meetings Taehyung’s shocked eyes.

That’s where something you never expected happened right in front of you.

Yoongi got up licking exaggeratedly his lips to stand in front of him and kiss him hungrily.

[srbachchan]

DAY 4831

Jalsa, Mumbai                   May 20,  2021                 Thu 9:14 PM

Birthday  - Ef Gopi Sheth .. Ef Aish TVM .. Friday, May 21 .. our greetings and love on this special day .. be safe be well and be protected .. ❤️��

A dear friend sent me this article .. I thought it was a very good read and so thought of putting it here :

Write Tight

What is poetry? Etymology provides more questions than answers.

T. S. Eliot, who once famously called National Poetry Month the cruelest, was also one of many to point out the hopeless semantic tangles that ensue because “poetry” has two opposites. Poetry can be the lined stuff, often with rhymes, as opposed to sentences and paragraphs; poetry can also be the good stuff, as opposed to the plodding or simply informational. But if good prose can be poetic, a novel can be “pure poetry,” and poems can be prosaic, then it’s not clear what anyone is talking about, really. Or rather, it’s clear except to theorists trying to come up with definitions. Poetry is what’s thrilling, while a poem is that poor thing with eleven readers, eight of them members of the poet’s extended family.

Etymology doesn’t help—it only highlights that the apples and oranges here are how the thing is made and how it moves. Poetry is from the Greek poiein, “to make”: a poem is something made, or in English we would more naturally say crafted. Yet everyone agrees good prose is well crafted, too. Prose means, literally, “straightforward,” from the Latin prosa, proversus, “turned to face forward” (whereas verse is all wound up, twisty and snaky, “turned” in every direction except, apparently, forward). Yet we all know that poems can be clear and direct, too, especially when they’re songs.

Sidelining sonnets and quarantining quatrains in the poetry ghetto does produce a certain clarity. But of course it also creates problems when translating from languages that gerrymander poetry differently. In German, for example, writer is a word even more literal than the English “someone who writes”: it’s Schriftsteller, a put-down-on-paper-er (Schrift = “writing,” stellen = “to place, to put”). Autor is a word used a bit less often for pretty much the same thing, unlike in English, where there’s a difference: author expresses a professional and financial identity (there are no “unpublished authors,” unless maybe the manuscript is finished and the contract is signed), while a writer is someone pursuing an activity (published or not, paid or not, read or not).

And then there’s a Dichter, usually translated “poet” but meaning a creator of poetry in the grand sense. The verb dichten means “to write poetry, ” and a poem is a dichten-ed thing, a Gedicht, but dichten means more generally to write poetically and well. The good stuff. The writer as hero of the spirit. How do you say that in English? We don’t have heroes of the spirit.

At least not according to Grimm’s German Dictionary—the equivalent of the Oxford English Dictionary, and started by those same Brothers Grimm who brought us “Little Red Riding Hood.” It gloats that dichten means “to create poetically, filled with a higher intelligence,” and that “the word does not exist in French and English: they work around it with s’adonner à la poésie, faire des vers; to compose a poem, to make verses, to versify.” The OED can fire back all it wants—pleading that dight had “an extraordinary sense-development” in Middle English from its original “senses of literary dictation and composition,” to become “one of the most widely used words in the language”—but its efforts are in vain. From that whole extraordinary range of meanings we use exactly none anymore.

“To understand the word,” Grimm’s poetically goes on, “we must go back to an earlier time …” Dichten originally meant to write something down so it could be read or sung, something that had already been worked out in the mind (from the Latin dictare, “to say, to dictate”). It swerved into meaning the mental working-out, too, the originating creative act. A sixteenth-century saying already plays on the same double meaning that causes ambiguity in English: “A good enough rhyme-smith, but hardly a poet” (Reimschmiede genug, aber wenig Dichter). But from there, the word left the confines of verse. In German, you can still call someone a poet in the grand sense without consigning him to the poetry ghetto.

So what is a Dichter in prose? I have caved on occasion and translated Dichter as “poet,” in cases where the character in question may or may not be a poet (e.g., Robert Walser’s story “Letter from a Poet to a Gentleman”), or happens to be a poet even if that’s not really the point. Goethe was a poet, so the title of his autobiography, Dichtung und Wahrheit, can be translated as it usually is, Poetry and Truth, even though the book is not particularly about verse as opposed to other forms. His topic is actually Imagination and Truth, but imagination set down on paper. To put it anachronistically: Creative Writing and the Truth.

Sometimes, though, “poet” risks being downright misleading. A twentieth-century German writer named Uwe Johnson, known as the Dichter der beiden Deutschlands (the Dichter of both East and West Germany), wrote only prose. Call him the “poet of both Germanies” and people will think he’s a poet. He is more like “the voice of divided Germany,” or even “the bard,” despite being neither a songwriter nor Shakespeare. In English, we can get the grandeur (voice) or the job (writer, author, novelist), but not both.

There are cognates of dichten, from the same Latin dictare, but they never took on the same soaring spirit in English, at least since the demise of dight. Very much on the contrary. Our closest cognate, indite, “to put into words, write, compose, give literary form to,” was more or less completely swamped by what was once the same word, indict, “to write up charges, bring legal action against.” (Probably under interference from indicare, “to indicate, give evidence against”; and indicere, “to declare publicly,” compare Italian indicere, “to denounce.”) To translate Dichter as “inditer” won’t do. Even our least sarcastic Dichter is sarcastic about that: “Perhaps my best moments I never jot down; when they come I cannot afford to break the charm by inditing memoranda”—Walt Whitman.

Coincidentally, dicht in German also means “tight,” as in watertight or airtight (from Old Norse þéttr, apparently completely unrelated etymologically to dictare), and the verb dichten is also “to seal, caulk, make impermeable,” as well as “to make more dense or compact.” Ezra Pound played on the pun in his second most well-known slogan for what poetry does (after “Make it new”): dichten = condensare. An imagist manifesto in twenty characters: to write poetry is to condense and supercharge language. (Pound attributed the equation to the poet Basil Bunting “fumbling about with a German–Italian dictionary”; actually, Bunting knew what he was doing, and wasn’t exactly fumbling. Pound = condescendere.)

This may not be a less ambiguous definition of poetry, but it is a good challenge for the Dichters in our midst, in poetry or prose. Don’t just make it new: make it tight.

with admiration for the ones that read and feel read ..❤️

Amitabh Bachchan

[poptod]

Pull the Stars Out of the Sky (And Gift Them to Me), pt. 2 (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: The more you learn about why he’s keeping you there, the less you want to be there. Yet, there are parts of you that are becoming more comfortable in his presence.

Notes: I was a little worried, rereading the first part, that ahk being that affectionate was unrealistic for human behavior, but then this dude did exactly that to me n holy shit. okay. now i have a basis for my writing WC: 5.7k

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As dusk began to claim the land, the thick scent of cooking meat and boiling beer began to drift from the city, a mouthwatering combination that quickly reminded you of your own hunger. The Pharaoh wasn't starving you purposefully––or at least you didn't think he was––but he had left you tied to his bed with no chance of escape. Your stomach bubbled as you stared out at the distant city, past the river and to the mirage of a horizon.

You tried to swallow, but your tongue cracked against the roof of your mouth. It had been a while now since you'd had anything to drink. As much as you hated it, you would have to ask Ahk for something to drink and eat when he came back.

Tugging at the restraints only worsened the burn around your wrists, your soft skin chafing against rough rope. Again you tried to swallow, muscles moving around nothing as you did, aching from misuse. You weren't sure if you should await his return with excitement or dread––yes, his return may herald food and water, but you were more at his mercy than ever before. Merely the fact that he knew of your existence set you on edge.

Outside the locked room, murmuring voices passed by, muted words accompanied by soft footfalls. You watched the door expectantly, but no latch clicked and no one entered.

A couple more groups passed by in the same manner before you stopped looking to the door. Instead you tried to focus on the city––if you squinted hard enough, you could see the moving heads of the market crowd thinning in the coming evening. How far away their life seemed and how you longed for it as never before. Very rarely did you ever take to idolizing or wanting things, as material possessions didn't ever interest you, and you were perfectly happy with the way your life was proceeding. Not anymore, of course. You wanted nothing more than an out for this. Terror didn't quite describe it––more of a quiet dread.

The click of the door caught your attention and you whirled around, eyes wide as they met the unfortunately familiar eyes of the Pharaoh. You hated to use his name. Too personal. He adored you, though––used your name often, smiled when he saw you.

"It's good to see you safe," he said as he approached you, a large and ornate tray in his hand. Once he reached the bed he knelt on it, setting the tray aside as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"What's that?" You asked, motioning with your chin towards the tray. He brought it back to his side, pulling off the clay lid to reveal a wealth of fruit, bread, and wine. As if on cue your stomach growled, sparking a small chuckle from him.

"I realized you haven't gotten much to eat or drink since you've been here, so I thought you might enjoy it," he said, leaning forward further to untie your hands from the bed.

The moment he announced it was for you, you reached for one of the rolls and bit into it. Unlike much of the food you had during your life, it was soft, practically melting in your mouth as you chewed on the sweet flavor. It was, in a way, somewhat similar to what you imagined clouds would taste like.

He, in his naturally unsettling nature, watched you as you ate but did not partake in his gift. Halfway through the three plums you wondered if perhaps he had poisoned it, but considering how overprotective he was you didn’t consider it likely. If anything he would drug you into submission, and while that wasn't favorable outcome, it was a more lenient fate than poison.

"What kind of work did you do before you came here?" He asked. Your chewing gradually slowed as you looked to him, once again reluctant to inform him on yourself. But you swallowed, took a breath, and spoke.

"Small jobs," you said. "Favor for favors."

"Come now, I'm sure there's more to it than that. I'd like to learn about you," he said softer, as though his past cruel actions had not left blisters on your skin. You looked at him in contempt, let it simmer around him before you reluctantly continued.

"I travelled around a lot. People would ask me to do these favors for them––hunt the creatures taking their children, fix their roofs, crawl down the well to get the dead birds out, and in return I would have a meal and a bed for a little bit. Just a day or two. Didn't want to stay longer than that anyway," you said, trying to concentrate more on your food and less on his stare.

"How many towns have you stopped in?"

"I never counted," you said.

"Then how long have you been doing this for?"

"About as long as I can remember. Why are you keeping me here?"

He paused, taken back for a moment at your straightforward question.

"I told you, you're safer –"

"No," you interrupted him. "Why – why do you feel the need to keep me safe? You don't know me and I have been anything but kind."

This time he paused for longer, truly debated his words before he spoke them, and only answered when you raised your eyebrows expectantly.

"It's not like me," he finally said, deep and almost curt as his voice cracked. "My officials have been giving me strange looks for it, actually. I freed my slaves but kept you here... of course they'd have questions."

He looked down at his fidgeting fingers, trying to swallow through the lump in his throat.

"I don't know why, but..." he turned back to you, eyes meeting yours as he raised his hand to cup your face. You stayed stock still, trying not to give a single thing away. "... I want.. to keep you. There's something about your presence, the way you carry yourself, that draws me to you. In a way you remind me of a lot of the spark I.. I lost, sort of. It's not your responsibility to make me feel better, I want you to know that. I just have a deep appreciation for your presence. I feel as though I might get better when I see you."

That was, undeniably, one of the strangest things you'd ever heard about yourself. You could barely process what he was saying, an ineptitude of yours that only grew when he touched you.

"Do not steal my freedom for your own benefit," you whispered, just barely verging on fully speaking.

"I know," he said, and the guilt was clear on his face. Not that it mattered––no matter how guilty he felt or how wrong he knew his actions were, it meant nothing without the actions to back it up.

The silence that built up between you was broken not by sound but by movement. Ahk reached for one of the tiger rolls, sticky with the sweetness of sun-dried dates, and held it up for you. Confusion took you for a moment, quickly followed by hesitation as you realized he was trying to feed you. Himself.

Fucking –

You took a deep breath, calming the enraged thoughts in your head before you gingerly opened your mouth. Gently you bit into it. The bread of it squished, filling your mouth with a sweet, thick taste of honey, dates, and nuts. You chewed slowly before you swallowed.

"You're strange," you said.

"You're not the first to tell me that," he said with a grin. You smiled back, curt and polite and meaningless, but he still seemed to enjoy it.

"How long will you keep me here?" You asked, but with the quiet volume your voice cracked in the middle of your sentence.

"In my room? Or in the palace?"

"Both."

"Well," he glanced to the side uncertainly, "in my room until I am assured you won't run away, and in the palace... um, you shan't need to leave the palace without me. So I suppose you leaving the palace would coincide with when I do, or when you ask me. I'm perfectly happy to take the time to take you outside every now and then."

"So... never," you said, crossing your arms.

"Oh, don't be upset now," he said softly, leaning closer to you as his hand came to rest on your cheek. He led you to meet his eye. "You'll be alright. I know it seems like a lot, but you get used to it eventually. I speak from experience."

While curiosity did seize you for a moment, it dissipated at the sight of his wandering hands. As his thumb began to stroke your cheek, the other drew up your thigh, up your chest before it landed on the sensitive skin of your neck. He looked at you, tried to hold your eye as he touched you but you didn't dare look up. Instead, you stared at the edge of the bed, wondering what ideas he had in store for this evening.

"You are beautiful," he murmured, taking in every inch of your complexion. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"I don't really talk to people," you answered quietly.

"Why not?"

"Never really interested me," you said.

"Then you're an opposite of me," he said with a growing smile. "I adore learning about others, about myself... and I think it'll be quite the adventure getting to know you, as well."

Not if I can help it, you thought, but you refrained from speaking the truth. Instead you nodded vaguely, still withholding eye contact.

"Are you tired?" He asked, tilting his head to the side.

"A little," you said through a hoarse voice.

"Finish the food you want," he said, pushing the tray a little closer to you. "Then we can sleep. I've had a long day, so I'm tired myself."

He's had a long day? You thought. Try attempting to escape a kidnapper and then failing ten feet. And being tied to a bed for several hours, you added on at the end, bitterness tainting your thoughts.

There was nothing you could do now––not with him in the room, not so late into the night. As much as you loathed to return to the position of the previous evening, you let Ahk move you as he pleased, accepting a more gentle touch over the forceful movements that appeared in your disobedience's wake. The sheets rustled for a good minute or two before he found a comfortable position, arms encircled tight around your waist with his face buried in your hair.

It wasn't a position you were particularly comfortable with, and you certainly didn't enjoy it, but the panic that had so fiercely seized you no longer plagued your sleepy mind. Discomfort, sure, but not panic. He would not hurt you. He would not force you into anything but staying with him, and while that fate may have been an unpleasant one that you'd rather not endure, it was better than the cruelties he could legally unleash upon you. And, you supposed, he wasn't horrendous looking. With his eyes fluttered shut and soft breaths leaving him, he was quite serene.

Almost... pretty.

You shifted back down into the position he pulled you into, settling your back against his chest. Once there he tucked you under his chin, arms tightening ever so slightly, before a long sigh was followed by satisfied silence.

You took a deep breath. Rose. Rather exotic. The only reason you could identify it, was because the you'd only smelled it one other time.

Wind brought you to stir, a brisk chillness that grew goosebumps on your skin. You grumbled unpleasantly, curling back into the one source of heat you had; another's body. It took less than a second for you to realize exactly where you were––cradled in the arms of the Pharaoh. Continued consciousness brought about another realization, as well. He was petting your hair. Again.

Opening your eyes, you found a decent amount of light in the room, and turned to find the morning sky.

"Morning," he mumbled, but made no effort to move. You struggled for a moment before giving in with a huff.

"Can I get up?"

"May you get up. And no," he shifted closer to you, "just a minute longer."

True to his word he soon released you, though still didn't make any attempt to get himself out of bed. He stayed sprawled on the mattress till the cool breeze became too much to comfortably bear. At that point he curled up, wrapping himself up in the sheets you left.

"Ugh," he groaned, "is Naguib here?"

"No," you said, eyes flickering to the door for a split second.

"Naguib??" He said, this time much louder, and scuttering came from behind the large doors.

"My King," Naguib acknowledged, gently shutting the door behind him.

"Why, in the name of Amun, is it so cold today," he asked gruffly, though entirely unmenacing.

"Piye says a wind from the eastern lands will be coming in for the next several days," Naguib said.

You watched from your seat against the wall as Naguib opened an expansive wardrobe, flicking through the various clothing till he found what satisfied him.   "It's far too cold, I live here for warm weather," Ahk continued to complain thoughtlessly, burying his face in his pillow.

"You live here because you can't rule a nation from an oasis," Naguib said, flipping a long skirt in the air to rid it of wrinkles.

"Speaking of the kingdom," Ahk said as he rolled off the bed and onto the floor, "how's it doing this morning?"

"You have court this morning on –"

"The embalmers from Thebes?"

Naguib nodded.

"God damn it," Ahk mumbled. "Why can't we ever have those meetings in the afternoon? Why is it always in the morning I have to hear about the rotting bodies?"

"Don't ask me, Sir. You planned the court hearing," Naguib said, helping the Pharaoh to his feet and promptly dressing him in his robes.

While the servant fit the beaded collar over Ahkmenrah's shoulders, he glanced to you, to your little space in the corner where a rug had been set. Chill bit at your fingers, forcing you to hide them between your thighs, though even those were beginning to turn cold. Egypt was the furthest north you'd ever been.

"My King, if I might make a suggestion?" Naguib asked quietly, straightening out the long cape. Ahk nodded, and he continued. "Maybe take your.. um, Amoke, with you? It's going to be pretty cold all day and you haven't got any blankets or curtains."

"Hmm?" Ahk said as he turned back, first to Naguib, before his eyes flickered over to your huddled form. Though you felt his eyes on you, you did not look up.

The two of them muttered amongst themselves for a little while longer before Ahkmenrah was fully prepared for the morning. Only then did the Pharaoh approach you, offering his hand for you to take. He gave his reasoning clearly––today would be chilly, and being tied up to a bedpost probably wouldn't do your already-present wounds any good. You didn't truly want to spend the day with him, but there was very little argument when the only other option was shivering all day.

Torches lined the hallways you walked down, illuminating the corridors and their storytelling paintings. Some were familiar, ones that had caught your eye, while others escaped your waking memory.

"Tonight we shall be staying in a different room," Ahkmenrah declared, placing his hand on the small of your back as though he was leading you. "One more deep inside the palace, where we keep the fires."

"Where are we going now?" You asked, looking up at him.

"To court, unfortunately. But breakfast first."

You sat at a table the likes of which you'd never seen; dark, glazed wood that stretched down the entirety of a dining hall, whose end you could barely identify in the dawn's awakening. The Pharaoh sat at the head, and you to his left on the long end of the table. Upon being seated, two servants brought out several different trays, setting them out in front of Ahk. Each of them had their own theme-sort of food––fruit, meat, cheeses, breads, a cup of beer and a plate to set it on. He was quick to notice they brought no plate for you, and quietly requested one.

The two of you ate in relative silence for a couple minutes before Naguib joined, sliding in across from you. At first your eyes went wide––rarely had you ever heard of a servant joining the head of the table, but with one glance to the Pharaoh, your anxiousness dissipated. He didn't appear to mind. Slowly you turned back to eating, eyeing the two men every now and again.

What strange people, you thought.

When you were first told you would be attending court, your instant imagery of the room was the throne room––wide arches overlooking the city, confirming the ego of the chosen Pharaoh, who would always believe himself above the lives of those he ruled. Instead, as you stood at the tiny threshold of the court, high ceilings towered above you in spirals and painted stars, long pillars calling from the marble and pooling on the crystalline floor, where your reflection sat stunned below you. Already people lined the sides of the long hallway. At one end sat the raised floor of the throne, accompanied by a few smaller seats, and at the other end were large, wooden doors allowing the light of the sun to come spilling into the room.

Eyes trailed after the Pharaoh as he took his seat, and by proxy the attention of the public fell on you, the unnamed, poorly-dressed stranger in tow. Naguib came up behind you, whispering in your ear to stand at the side of the throne, and to remain behind it at all times. Without thought you obeyed; this would be a long day, and it was one of the less demeaning rules to follow.

As the court was called into session, more servants came out from behind the throne, carrying sticks of fire with which they lit the beacons placed on either side of the room. The doors soon shut to keep out the unnatural chill, leaving much but the throne in shadow.

Every now and again you glanced to Ahk. He practiced much of the image you'd come to fear––the confidence, the succinct use of words, without a smile so much as occurring to him in thought. When he looked to you, though, in tiny moments where eyes were more trained on criminal testimonies rather than the Pharaoh himself, a familiar warmth filled his expression, and he would gift you a tiny smile. Each time you inhaled sharply and turned away––holding eye contact was a little much for you today.

Murmurings in the crowd grew steadily louder till you finally recognized the extra voices as coming from outside. Your fingers clenched into fists, staring at the doors as Ahkmenrah conversed quietly with his advisors.

As you suspected, the doors swung open, a soldier entering with subordinates behind him. He grew nearer to the feet of the throne, soon gaining the Pharaoh's attention along with your recognition. You'd seen this man before––your breath caught in your throat when you realized it was the same soldier who locked you up, and he was glaring at you with a menacing glint in his eye.

"My King," he said, bowing before he mentioned anything else. "I am Thaabit, I oversee the shipping complex in northern Memphis. A few days ago we lost one of our inhabitants. We have been searching, and... we discovered they made it here."

Ahk raised a single brow, scanning the man intently.

"Are you referring to Amoke?" He finally asked after painfully stretched silence.

"Yes, the slave beside you," he said with a nod, turning to you.

"I am not a slave," you said firmly, but Ahk silenced you with a raise of his hand, turning dully back to Thaabit, who was still bowed on his knees.

"Did they commit any crime?"

"Trespassing, for one," Thaabit said. "Not even citizens of Egypt are allowed in the complex, and I believe Amoke is from Mali. And without a legal card for travel and trade."

Ahk took another minute to process the man's words while you sweated beside him, your bottom teeth grinding into your skull.

"What do you suggest I do then?"

"Return them to the complex, of course."

He laughed––the Pharaoh, stone-faced and cruel, belted out a laugh in front of the whole of court. Wide eyes stared at him from the crowd, as did yours.

"Amusing," he said. "I'm not doing that."

"But my King ––"

"Silence," the Pharaoh commanded, and the soldier readily obeyed. "Anyone else to accuse Amoke of wrongdoing, or attempt to harm them in any way, will be punished henceforth. I'll let you off with a warning, Thaabit, as you did not know of this rule––but do not ask after them again, or you will be the one being sent shackled to Punt."

You watched from your spot in the shadows, watched the soldiers' deteriorating will, crumbling from a once-tall chest to hunched shoulders and a twisted, nervous expression.

"Yes, my King. Thank you," he said, much softer than any of his other words, and left with his spear gripped tight in his fist. Breath once taken from you returned in a relieved sigh.

"Thank you," you mumbled, half-hoping he wouldn't hear.

"Of course, my dear," he said, though didn't turn to you. "Anything for your safety."

He remained in a quiet mood for the rest of the day. Throughout dinner you tried to gauge his thoughts, to dig into what was on his mind, but there was little you could do without speaking. He didn't seem in the right mindset for a conversation, and you didn't want to open your mouth anyway.

"I enjoy taking you places," he said out of nowhere as the two of you strolled down the halls. "It's... cathartic, to see you smile during a long day."

You couldn't recall ever smiling today, but you didn't mention it. Instead you let his words sit for a moment before asking a question.

"Where are we going now?"

"I have to overlook our honey trade for the evening, make sure the transport and storage goes according to plan. Usually I'd have Piye do this, but... well, they're overlooking a ceremony tonight."

The sun had, somehow, already set behind the low mountains of the horizon. It was one of those rare times where you were surprised by the time of day––most days, you were outside all the time, and could easily predict the time of sunset. Being cooped up in the palace led you to this confusion, and for you to shiver from the chill wind of evening.

Like most Egyptians occupying the city, you were dressed in very light clothes, gifted to you by the King in lieu of your dirty outfit. While he conversed with the honey farmers, you wrapped yourself up in your arms and scanned your surroundings.

You stayed close to the small, outside door leading into the cellar, the open arch followed by lowering steps. Here the ground was pure, soft sand, unoccupied by buildings or citizens. Though you couldn't see the Nile, palm trees and small bushes surrounded you in little groves. The only movement came from the farmers and the Pharaoh. Tall, clay vases sat in a special cart, piled on top of each other with large corks stuck in the top.

"Perfect," Ahk said, counting the golden rings in his hand. "Safe journey to you."

"Thank you, my King," the main farmer said with a bow. He made a sign to the others, and they began to lift the jars into the cellar with great, careful effort.

"Most Pharaohs had their honey grown and harvested near the palace, for convenience," Ahk said once he stood beside you, his voice quiet for only you to hear. "I've found that the best honey is a little ways down the river––it's worth the payment for the delivery. Do you like honey?"

"I've only tried it a few times, but yes," you said.

"Mmm, I think you'll like this then," he said, smiling.

It wasn't long until the many jars were placed in the cellar, and the farmers were set off back in the direction of home. Ahk led you by your shoulder down the steps, where the air grew cooler yet, and the scent of fermented wine hit you strong.

"I believe we have some extra rations of sweet cakes down here," he said, leaving your side to search the rows of jars and pots. You watched from afar.

"It isn't necessary t-"

"Oh well of course it isn't necessary," he grinned, "but it is nice, isn't it? If you have wealth, why not enjoy it from time to time?"

You hummed acknowledgement but weren't sure whether you agreed or disagreed with his statement. Nonetheless, he continued his search, only returning to you when he found a sealed jar of the hard cakes. He paused in front of you, chest to yours as he smiled softly down at you. Gentle pressure of his fingers on your bare arm nearly had you flinching away, but he kept you in place, scanning you like a prized belonging.

"If I have you," he murmured, brushing the hair out of your eyes, "why not enjoy you from time to time?"

You could almost feel yourself go pale, but the Pharaoh just beamed and kissed your forehead, leaving your personal space with that small prize.

"Come now, Amoke," he said, calling you over to where the large jugs of honey were stored.

He handed the two biscuits in his hands to you, kneeling to work at the oversized cork. As it twisted, a soft hissing sound began to come from it, and slowly but surely it popped out of the vase's neck. Once he set the cork aside, he reached for a long stirring stick and dipped it into the golden honey. It dripped down sweetly as he drew it out.

"Hold this," he said.

The two of you switched positions, with him now carrying the biscuits and you holding up the stick of honey. He held the cakes out, letting thin strands of honey pour onto the top of the bread, breaking into thinner rivers that dripped back into the pot.

Once he was satisfied, he held the cake up to your mouth, letting you gently bite in as the stick in your hand went limp. While you slowly chewed, he closed the jug and set away the stirstick.

"Good?" He asked, biting into his own cake.

"Very," you said after much deliberation. It was almost too sweet. You liked it quite a lot, but you didn't want to tell him that, just in case it would inflate his ego.

"There is a great many of dishes I think you'll enjoy. I doubt you'll have had any of them before, if what you say about your past is true," he said, leading you out of the cellar as you both finished with your biscuits.

You'd almost forgotten his earlier words, but they quickly came back to you when he took you to a different bedroom. True to his word––deep inside the palace, where a fire was already stoked, lighting the room with warm light that flickered and danced with the shadows. Drapes of purple and pink fell from the ceiling, their curves leading to the image of the sky goddess, Nut. The bed was dressed in gold and blood red colors, blankets and pillows overflowing the mattress, while burning incense hung from the middle of the canopy.

Ahk took your hand and led you deeper into the room, pulling you to the center while he closed the door behind you. A lock clicked, but unlike the previous times, you didn't jump. By now you must've already expected him to lock it.

"I want you to be perfectly honest with me," he said, still standing behind your back. You froze, your posture straight as you stared straight ahead. "I won't punish you."

That's comforting, you thought to yourself, bitterly.

"How did you find yourself in that complex? Were you looking for something?"

"Is that what's been bothering you all day?" You asked through a tight throat.

For a moment he was quiet, and your heart was seized with fear, until he chuckled low and soft.

"Perceptive little thing, aren't you?"

"S-sorry, sir," you stammered out.

"No need to apologize," he said, and the heat of his words brushed the back of your neck, followed by a tracing finger as he circled you to face you. "Now answer me."

You could barely breathe, conscious thought more out of your head than ever before. Piercing eyes settled upon your own, staring through the walls you built between yourself and the world, devastating your shaky facade of safety.

"I thought I recognized one of the captives," you said, barely audible above the fire. Though your eyes fell from his gaze, he continued to stare. "It was a girl I met when I was younger. I played with her for an afternoon, and... she was begging with your soldiers. I couldn't leave her there, even if she wasn’t the girl I met."

He remained silent, waiting for you to continue.

"She is going to be turned to a slave, isn't she?"

"I'm afraid so," he murmured, almost sorrowful. Almost. "How did you escape?"

"They aren't very smart, your guards. It wasn't hard. Just had to wear down the restraints and leave when they were sleeping," you said with a shrug.

"And how did you end up in my room?"

Now he asks, you thought, internally rolling your eyes.

"It's... a long story," you tried, but your avoidant nature was caught quickly by the Pharaoh.

"We have all night," he said, stepping closer yet. "Unless you want to retire to bed already."

One glance to the small bed and you froze––not yet. You weren't mentally prepared quite yet.

"I got mistaken for one of your servants and I was herded into the palace by a guard. I managed to split off from the group, but you have patrols in the hallway, so I hid in the first room I found," you answered.

"I'm glad you did, then," he said softly, raising your head by a finger beneath your chin. "You are... perfect. Intelligent, passionate... beautiful. I am overjoyed to have met you in this life."

"As opposed to another life?"

"Yes, well," he chuckled, "the sooner the better, right? Take a seat, dear."

His hands held yours as he led you to the fireplace, pulling you to the carpeted floor. Piles of pillows and blankets surrounded you, accompanied by the ferns of palm trees hanging above you from the ornately painted vases, one on either side of the fireplace. As he moved to take a seat, you expected him to sit beside you or across from you like a normal person. Instead he placed his knees on either side of your hips, trapping you beneath him as he reached for you, pulling his fingers from your hands to your jaw.

You shivered from his touch and he laughed––cupping your face as he lovingly brushed the hair from your face.

"Sensitive, are you?" He asked in a teasing manner, clearly delighted by your reactions. You on the other hand hated it, and blushed brightly.

"It's only because I don't like people touching me," you said, turning away from Ahk. He was having none of that; forced you to look him in the eye, lips ever so slightly parted as his gaze fell to your own lips.

"Unfortunate," he said, sure to keep quiet in the small space between you. "I think you have touched me once, but I enjoyed it very much. You have nice hands."

It was obvious he expected you to touch him, to give into his questionless request. But you didn't. You barely maintained eye contact and your hands remained rooted behind you. Subdued irritation tugged at his smile, and to satisfy his need that you wouldn't willingly gift, he dipped his face into your collar, nuzzling his nose beneath your jaw and wrapping himself so tightly around you there was no space at all between the two of you.

He stayed like that for a couple minutes. When it became clear to him that you would not return the affection, he adjusted himself further, wrapping his legs around your torso as well and pressing the side of his face to your own. Like this he could easily tilt his head and kiss your cheek, which he did do inbetween playing with your hair and breathing your scent in deep.

"Mmm," he hummed softly, "you are a wonder of the Gods."

You didn't have the space of mind to tell him you don't follow his religion.

He pulled away, his hand still resting on your cheek, and said, "I will do anything to protect you. Know that, alright? And I will do anything in my power to keep you happy."

"I am not a person whose affections can be won with gifts. I'm sorry," you said, stating a simple truth.

"No, I didn't think so. You didn't seem the type. But I will grow gardens in your name. I will commission art of anything you like, and it shall be painted on the walls of the city. I will make you a God in my peoples' eyes."

A god? Your expression must've given away your alarm, as he smiled and explained himself.

"They listen to my every word. If I should say the night is day and the day is night, so it will be written... and so will you be remembered," he murmured, words spoken against your lips as he dipped in to kiss you. "A God for all of time."

[tamhrayis]

I remember someone asking me if I know @kasumi_kasa on Twitter (my answer is yes) and I saw the latest tweets about Omukuji. From Kasumi’s explanation they are fortune telling cards, so I would like to give my interpretations on EMA’s cards as they have “Excellent luck” (Daikichi).

Eren

From Kasumi’s translation, the advice (?) for Eren was “If you keep your heart honest and strong and believe in everything, the future will eventually open up for you”.

I think this advice is very relevant to Eren’s current state as he is in the debate between his selfishness (do whatever it takes to achieve his personal “freedom” and simply move forward) and selflessness (fight for the freedom of his people and friends). Eren needs to understand what exactly his heart wants and be honest with himself (did he do everything for himself or his people, or it’s both?).

I am not quite sure what “everything” means, because...well...it’s everything, but it might be believing in goodness and badness of both sides (World and Paradis/Eldians).

Wish: When the time comes, it will come true.

The sentence itself is quite ambiguous, because it can be interpreted differently, but I think it might mean two things:

1. Eren’s wish to exterminate all the titans will come true (especially if Ymir helps him).

2. Eren’s goal to become the “villian” to eventually end the cycle of hatred and all the past mistakes (again, breaking the curse and exterminating the curse will contribute into it).

3. His actual intention might be revealed (POV and the reason like in ch.131).

Expected visitor: It’s coming.

Expected visitor is present in all EMA’s predictions (?). So both 3 will see someone or something (depending on what “it” means). It might be Mikasa, but we still yet need to know how exactly she should come as these predictions were made after ch.138.

Missing thing: It’s near you.

This one is very interesting. What is the thing that Eren thinks he misses (in terms of what he doesn’t have)? Freedom. Eren has been chasing freedom since he was a child, but did he find it? No and I don’t think he will find the “freedom” he is searching for, because Eren himself doesn’t know what exactly his “freedom” is.

As a child, his “freedom” was seeing the outside world from Armin’s books. As a teenager, his objective slightly changed to getting revenge on titans and then, eventually, seeing the ocean and world.

But was he when they finally reached the ocean? No. Eren was upset, because the presence of an even bigger enemy meant that his freedom is nowhere near unless he destroys others. But does destroying the world mean that Eren will finally be free? No. Why? Because Eren himself doesn’t know what he is chasing. Freedom for him is something that he has never experienced and blindly has searched for until he became a slave to his idea of “freedom”.

Eren thinks that freedom will give him happiness and he will be happy only when he achieves it. But the problem is that the more he “obeys” his idea, the more unhappy he becomes. Now, he almost lost everyone who sincerely believed and fought for him.

This sentence says that Eren’s happiness (a.k.a his “freedom”) was always near him. And that’s his friends and Mikasa. Eren needs to free himself from his own “master”, which Eren created and that’s his superficial idea of freedom.

This idea is worthless, because it doesn’t bring anyone actual freedom and happiness. It broke Mikasa’s heart, hurt Armin and killed so many innocent people. It totally doesn’t worth it.

But another missing thing could be Mikasa and as it’s coming, it could also imply that Mikasa will come to him again (like...she kinda did in ch.138...?)

Game and match: Restrain your ego.

Eren’s ego is what used to cause him to fight with bullies, fueled his desire to get stronger and be free from Mikasa’s protection, and now pushes him to move forward, because Eren doesn’t want to lose (bringing iconic “If you win, you live. If you lose, you die. If you don’t fight, you can’t win”). Yes, he does want to be stopped (and was by someone), but even like that, he still continued to fight (he even turned into a colossal to fight Armin).

But since, in Armin and Mikasa’s cards, it’s written “win”, Eren has nothing to do, but to respectfully give us and tame his ego.

Study: Study with peace of mind.

This one is a bit unclear to me (and when I translated it, it showed “learning” as another possible translation), but if it’s related to learning something, maybe Eren will need to learn to give more importance on the present and learn to live in the moment rather than living in his thoughts, past, future, guilt.

If we look at ch.90 and ch.123, when his friends were having good time at the beach and Marley, Eren was wandering in his thoughts thinking about how cruel and uneven the world is, and how he wants to get revenge on it.

Even in ch.138, when he and Mikasa were living alone, far away from everyone, Eren was still consumed in guilt and responsibilities.

If Eren doesn’t restrain his ego and free himself from his “master”, he will never learn how to live a peaceful and happy life he secretly desires about.

Mikasa

So moving to Mikasa. The advice for her was “Do what is right and help those who are lost and you will be better”.

This one is pretty straightforward. Mikasa opposed the person she loves and chose to fight Eren to save humanity from destruction. In general, Mikasa’s character is about saving people and she values human life the most as she almost lost hers back in time. Even though, Isayama said that staying with Eren for Mikasa is a good thing and if she didn’t have strong morals (she would follow Eren), she can’t give up on saving other people’s lives.

Wish: You will get what you want. Don’t let your guard down.

The first part is clear as Mikasa will reunite with Eren and hopefully have a life with him, but the second part is quite interesting. So I think it might suggest that even though Mikasa loves Eren and wants to be by his side, she shouldn’t let her desires overpower her morals. Again, coming back to ch.138, Mikasa chose to run away with Eren and let her selfish wish to be with him take over her. She chose to stay away from fighting and let others’ lives to be in danger.

Mikasa needs to continue sticking to what she believes in and do the right thing to get what she wants.

Expected visitor: It’s coming.

Same as I said in Eren’s part.

Missing thing: It’ll be late, but it will come.

This sounds intriguing, because what exactly can come late? I think it might be related to her wish and desire to live a peaceful life as it might come slowly...? (If we take into the account that Paradis will probably still have some issues to deal with and peace won’t come instantly).

On another note, Eren’s arrival can be late too (in some ways..?), so it’s also plausible to say that the missing thing for them is each other.

Game and match: Win.

So since Mikasa is a part of alliance, they will “win” (even now they kinda did by stopping colossals) and Eldians (probably) will be viewed as saviors (though on island they are traitors as the majority of population was pro-rumbling).

Love: There’s happiness in this person.

Mikasa represents love, freedom and pride and as the statement suggests, there’s happiness in her. What Eren actually needs is happiness, so EM things again.

But even like this, I won’t say that Eren will instantly will become lucky and forget about his trauma. It will be a long learning process (as his card said), but Mikasa will greatly and positively influence his adjustment to a normal and peaceful life (especially since they will very likely live in mountains and as Grisha said in “Lost Girls” he thought that fresh air will positively help Eren’s anger issues).

So the presence of Mikasa, fresh air and calm atmosphere will help Eren learn to live in the moment and cherish what he has without going for something that doesn’t properly exist.

Armin

The advice for Armin is “Make a decision before and you will move forward, work diligently and you will be happy”.

It’s heavily related to Armin’s new role in life, 15th commander of Survey Corps and the position suggests, Armin from now is responsible for the lives and decisions of his subordinates. Of course, for now because of his inner struggles and doubt, Armin isn’t happy about his career advancement, but if he surrounds himself with good and diligent people, and gain some confidence, he will overcome his current problems.

Wish: Two wishes won’t come at once.

What are Armin’s wishes? His first wish was to travel the outside world and explore the unknown with Eren, but as he himself said in ch.131, that wasn’t quite what they dreamed about.

However, Armin still wants to believe that there’s still a world that they don’t know about past the walls (might be a reference to the miracle that Uri was talking about).

So going back to peaceful times and exploring the world definitely won’t come at once (he still has duties and issues to deal with), but slowly and surely will.

Expected visitor: It’s coming

Same as Mikasa and Eren.

Missing thing: It’s in a high place.

This one has 2 potential meanings:

1. Armin misses Erwin and Hange as they were his previous commanders and he would want some guidance from them. Even now, Armin (as a newly assigned commander), he thinks how these two would handle this situation (especially Erwin).

2. The other thing that Armin (possibly) misses are the good old days that both three of them wanted to go back. After all, every character somehow wants to have a peaceful life with no war and hate. So saying that this thing is in a high place might mean that it won’t be easy to achieve and they will still need to deal with negotiations etc. But it will come eventually.

Game and match: Win

Same as Mikasa.

Study: you will overcome difficulties

I am really glad about this one, because it means that Armin will overcome his insecurities and doubts, and will gain his confidence! Again, I am heavily manifesting a talk between him and Levi, so seeing him overcoming his flaws and becoming a great commander is more than anything I could ask for Armin *cries*.

The links to the translations:

Eren, Mikasa, Armin.

[boxoftheskyking]

It’s my birthday so I’m doing a fun thing

Stolen from @deputychairman​ bc it looks like a good time and I miss writing

List the first lines of your last 20 stories. See if there are any patterns and choose your favorite opening line!

(I’m not counting my little Tumblr fills)

There are bodies in the creek bed.  (Pick Up Every Piece, The Untamed, 2021 WIP)  I dig it. Economical, sets up the recurring image, sets up a question

It’s meant to be redemption, or at least a chance in that direction. (Something Good, The Untamed, 2020) A little clumsy, but I also tend to start with a series of short sentence so it’s better in context. Does set up the question.

He does still love life on the road, even after three years. (Something for Yourself, The Untamed, 2020) Pretty straightforward, not super hooky

Nina doesn’t expect to arrive on deck first. (Continue to Continue, Six of Crows, 2020, WIP) Man, I do have a pattern of short little establishing lines

On a typically cold early morning in October, Daryl talks to himself. (A Man Asks for Help, Letterkenny, 2018) I do like this one. It’s followed with an “Or, rather” which I slightly regret, but I do like this fic

PLEASE BE ADVISED, the notice on the door to the mess hall reads in clear red print. (The Mountains and Hills Before You, Star Wars, 2018) Good setup of a question, if not the central question

Steve, if pressed, would say that they are fine. (Fourth of July, Stranger Things, 2018) I like this bc it feels very evocative and also Steve is always pressed poor thing

Caleb would never hurt him. (Ye Shall Receive, Turn, 2017) aw I miss Caleb and Ben. I think there’s some good tension here. Again with the choppy little babies.

Ben comes back to see him off, which he appreciates. (The Sticking Place, Turn, 2017) I do so much “clause,” comma “which”—I gotta work on that 

“I don’t like it.” (Resurrection, Turn, 2017) I mean, typical.

“One month,” says Jesper, kissing Marya’s knuckles. (Delay, Six of Crows, 2016) I mean he’s a sweet lil boy, and it does set up a question

The guy who comes into the pub looks every inch like a potential client. (The One Where There’s a Kid, Leverage, 2016) This one I was trying to do as similar to an episode in my style, which was very to the point and script-like, not much emotion

Adam wakes up on Saturday morning in his own bed, which is the first disturbing thing. (Friday, Raven Cycle, 2016) Nice setup of a question and also a recurring image. Nice use of “disturbing” since that’s the overall tone of the piece lol

The crack of the bat is the first sound of summer. (Summertime, Teen Wolf, 2012-2016) Boom, bam, classic, doesn’t get better than that, ultimate my-style opening. THIS IS IT

It’s a Resistance-friendly bar, one that attracts all sorts but the fights are never too bad and the drinks are probably not poisonous. (Interlude: In Flashback, Star Wars, 2016) mehhhh too long and not hooky enough

Poe and Snap were gone a month longer than planned this time, narrowly avoiding capture on a sparsely populated planet hardly bigger than a moon. (An Old Song, 2016) It’s decent setup but I wish it gave more preview of the tone of the piece you’re about to read. 

“It’s not going to show us the actual future though, right?” Blue sounds more hesitant than Adam expected. (Impossible Things, Raven Cycle, 2015) This was so long ago! I so rarely actually start with dialogue, which is wild bc that’s like all I ever write.

Two weeks after the funeral, Calla sends everyone out of the house on various contrived errands. (Dissertation: in fragments, Raven Cycle, 2015) I kind of wished I’d started this with a line from the dissertation out of context to knock the reader a little off kilter

“No, no, no, no.” (A Thousand, Thousand Years, Raven Cycle, 2015) Suits this fic, actually, quite well.

"What's on the docket, Wonderboy?" (Wonderboy, Maze Runner, 2014) I think it’s classic, it works, it’s hooky, not overthought

[binniebutter]

Too Late

Pairing: Lee Chan x Reader, Jeon Wonwoo x Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, e2l au, hogwarts au

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: a couple of swear words

Summary: “He was too late”... “She was too late.”

a/n: This is for my secret santa @samuelkimz​ i’m sorry it’s so late, and i’m also sorry because there is not a lot of fluff in here if any

“Lee Chan!” All heads in The Great Hall turned in the direction of your voice. Except for one, belonging to the bane of your existence. Lee Chan, who often goes by Dino, was currently laughing his ass off at your demise. At the sight of you two everyone went back to what they were doing, used to yours and Chan’s altercations by now.

“W-what? I-I didn’t even d-do anyth- HAHAHA,”he couldn’t finish his sentence as his laughter bubbled up again. And you did have to admit, you would be the same way if you were in his position. Laughing so much that your stomach would start hurting. you’d probably take pictures too if you were being honest.

“Oh so your foot just so happened to move in between the tables right as I was walking past you, Lee? And is it just a coincidence that that made me trip and drop all of my bloody food huh?” If this had been anybody else you wouldn’t dare speak to them that way. But of course, it's Chan, your well-known enemy.

Lee Chan, Slytherin seeker and one of the most popular boys at Hogwarts. He and 12 other boys make up Seventeen, a group known for not only their good looks, but also their talent. They were the it boys of magic. Everyone wanted to either date them or be them. You, you wanted neither. You just wanted them to leave you alone. Well, except for your best friend Seungkwan. Speaking of the devil…

“Ok Y/n how about we don’t commit a murder today. Come now, there’s no use crying over spilt potion.” It was a good thing that he had come at that time seeing as you were 5 seconds away from punching that douche in the face. Seungkwan led you away from Chan, towards the Gryffindor table. He gave you his food to eat, claiming that he was on another diet.

“Again, Kwannie. You need to eat! Here let’s share this Steak and Kidney pudding!”

“No, I can’t-”

You shoved a spoonful into his mouth anyway.

“What a prick,” you scoffed under your breath. As you were preparing to stand up again a pale hand came into your view. Slowly you looked up and came face to face with Jeon Wonwoo. Your breath hitched as you met his eyes. He was stunning, maybe not as handsome as Chan but stunning nonetheless. 

What are you saying you dingbat. Did you just call that idiot handsome!?!?

What are you saying you dingbat. Did you just call that idiot handsome!?!?

Wonwoo clears his throat and it isn’t until then that you realize that you had been staring at his face for a little too long. You blushed and took his hand, feeling a little insecure about your weight.

“Thank you Wonwoo,” you said in a small, timid voice. This is how you usually are. Quiet and shy, but Chan really brings out the worst in you. You look down, blush still prominent on your face, and it was only then that you realized your books scattered across the floor. 

You let out a groan as you fell to your knees and started to pick up the textbooks one by one. As you were about to pick up your potions book, a hand beat you to it. The same hand that had helped you off the floor. He’s pretty nice for a Ravenclaw.

After gathering all your books, you stood up and rushed towards The Fat Lady, muttering a quick thanks to Wonwoo on the way. 

“Caput Draconis,” you all but rushed the words out, an even more urgent feeling to get in your bed overcoming you. Once inside the common room, you headed up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Bursting into your room, you flopped down into your bed, not even bothering to take your robes off before you fell into a deep sleep.

“Y/n come on! Let’s build a snowman!” A voice called. One that you’d definitely heard before but you can’t put a name to it.

“I can’t, it’s too cold!” Is that…your voice. It definitely is but you don’t remember ever moving your mouth.

“It’s not that cold, you big baby.”

“But I’m your big baby aren’t I,” your voice responded. 

“Y/nnnn,” the voice whined, “Wake up.”

“Huh?” that voice. Where have you heard that voice from?

“Y/n, wake up. Wake up.” Isn’t that...

“Wake up you bloke! It’s suppertime.” 

Chan.

After your rude awakening, you and a couple of girls were walking to The Great Hall. They were all gossiping about something you could care less about and you were pretending to listen. But your mind was elsewhere. You kept going back to your dream. Was that Chan’s voice? And were you guys dating? God, you got a headache just thinking about it.

“Y/n? Were you even listening?” Seulgi asked you. She was nice and you kinda feel bad because you were, in fact, not listening.

“I-I’m sorry? What did you say?”

“I asked you if you have a date for the Yule Ball? We all do and we’re so excited!” you know she meant well. You did. But it kinda hurt knowing that you don’t have a date to the ball and that you probably would never get one.

Before you could answer her, someone else did from behind you.

“Yes, she does. Well, if she’ll allow me to take her?” You slowly turned around and, for the second time that day, came face to face with Jeon Wonwoo. Jesus, he’s everywhere. He let out a little chuckle at your expression which you guess was a mixture of confusion, surprise, and skepticism. “Well? Will you be my date to the Yule Ball?”

You weren’t an idiot. You know that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity because for as long as you have been at Hogwarts, no one has ever been Jeon Wonwoo’s date to a ball. No one. You turned to look at the girls who were all sporting looks of jealousy, except for Seulgi. You turned back to look at Wonwoo, who for some reason was way closer than before. You let out a nervous giggle.

“Uh, s-sure Wonwoo. I’d love to be your date to the Yule Ball.”

You let out a deep breath before going down to the Gryffindor common room. Your dark blue dress was flowing behind you as you walked down the stairs. You’ll admit, you looked great. Seulgi was nice enough to help you with your makeup, which you were extremely grateful for. You probably would’ve poked your eye out if you had attempted it yourself. As you made it down, wolf whistles could be heard from your friends. You rolled your eyes before making your way over to them, slightly wobbly because of your heels. 

“Damn ma, you look good,” one of your friends, Yeonjun, said upon your arrival.

“Shut up,” you replied while rolling your eyes.

“I’m serious, Wonwoo won’t be able to keep his off of you.”

Which was true. He told you himself a little while later at the ball while you were slow-dancing. 

“You look really beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.” He chuckled before leaning closer to you to whisper in your ear.

“Come outside with me.” You looked at him, confused, before slightly nodding your head. He held out his hand for you to take and you did, your other hand holding up your dress so that you don’t trip. Neither of you noticed a pair of eyes watching you leave the room.

Once outside, you took a seat on a bench, glad to be out of that stuffy room and off of your feet. You were definitely going to have blisters tomorrow. Wonwoo sat next to you, planning his next move. He decided to just be straightforward.

“Hey Y/n, look here for a second.” And the moment you did, you were met with a pair of soft lips on yours. Your eyes widened as you froze, not believing that the Jeon Wonwoo was kissing you. After a few seconds, Wonwoo pulled away from you. He searched your eyes for any sign that you liked him back but saw nothing. He frowned and moved back in to kiss you again, as if that would make you like him, but was stopped by your hand.

“W-what was that? Why did you just kiss me!?”

“I like you, Y/n. That’s why I asked you to the ball so that I could tell you fo my feelings. Do...do you like me as well?” You frowned at the question. Wonwoo was nice, he always has been. And there’s no denying that he’s attractive. He’d be a very good boyfriend. But, while Wonwoo was kissing you, all you could think of was one person. Chan.

“I’m sorry Wonwoo, but I like-”

“Chan,” he finished for you. “Yea, I figured. You should go to him. Go get your man,” he said with a wink. You giggled at the action before thanking him and running back inside. Wonwoo watched you run inside, his heart sinking into his stomach. 

He was too late.

You rushed back to the ballroom, being careful not to trip. You burst through the doors, which may have been a tad dramatic but you didn’t give a bloody shit, looking for your target. You pushed through people, looking frantically for Chan, bumping into Yeonjun on the way.

“Jun! Do you know where Chan is!?!?” You yelled over the music.

“Chan? As in Lee Chan???” You nodded. “He’s right there,” he said pointing to somewhere behind you. And you wished that you didn’t turn around. Because there was your enemy turned crush snogging a girl against the wall. You hadn’t even noticed that tears were running down your face until Yeonjun asked if you were ok. You sniffed, turning to him.

 “Yea, I’m fine.” Lie

She was too late.

this sucks bye, also justine I swear to god I’ll write fluff for you.

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Hiding From the War We Claim to Fight For

Dick Winters x Reader

Chapter 2- Like Darkness Drawn to the Night

Summary: Dick considers how to make ammends while you are reminded of your position in the Airborne

Warnings: ANGST AGAIN, some backstory, more internal monologue than any of you crazy cats asked or signed up for, nix being a smug little bitch, some wildly inaccurate and made up military rules, my usual nonsense

Title and Chapter name taken from The Hollow in Retrospect by Corey Kilgannon

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dick’s fingers hovered over the keys of the typewriter, fingers starting to shake from inaction as he stared at the row of blank paper waiting to be filled.

How anyone could write reports all day was beyond him.

 He’d rather relive each and every scorching run up and down Currahee while under enemy fire than compose another sentence, let alone an entire document. More than anything, he wished he could just write in the straightforward, bullet point style that SInk and Nix’s intelligence reports came in.

Briefly, Dick wondered if it was this difficult for everyone else in the military, or if he was just uniquely inept.

 Whenever he saw you writing reports, your fingers danced over the keys like a concert pianist. You made it look easy.

The thought of you brings back the sour feeling in his stomach, an anxious nausea rolling over him like a rogue wave. His blood was both too hot and too cold in his veins, the sight of your heartbroken face carved into the inside of his eyelids.

 “You made me part of it…. You stood there and did nothing to stop it.”

 He couldn't deny your accusations of negligence, even though every fiber in his body ached to reject such claims. When had he lost that part of his humanity? Where had it gone? He’d had it in England, he knew he had still felt it in Normandy….maybe it was after Hall died? 

Had he left it on that hillside in Sainte Marie du Mont, as he watched the city down the way exploding in fire and fury?

 It scared him- to think that he hadn’t even felt the man he’d been slipping away.

Had it been obvious to anyone else?

Had it been obvious to you?

 Forcing himself to refocus on his report, he reread the last part he’d written and frowned. He’d reached the part in his report of the October 5th report that he’d been dreading: the part where you got hurt….

 When the men had brought Alley back from the Crossroads, Dick had thought them lucky that only Moe had sustained injuries- serious ones but non-life threatening.

It hadn’t been until Joe Liebgott suddenly looked around in fear and asked if anyone had seen you that Dick realized that this wasn’t just a matter of re-securing a border anymore.

It was a body retrieval.

 He hadn’t even had time to get angry or scared or confused as to why you were out so close to the frontlines before he’d gotten whatever men he could together to retake the Crossroads, his sense of duty and obligation taking over his more emotional mind and giving it a purpose by way of distraction.

You weren’t in the dike where Liebgott had assumed you’d fallen, something that provided little comfort for both Dick and the men who’d grown to love you like a sister. While no body usually meant that there was still hope of life, the fact that you could’ve very well been taken squandered any such optimism.

No body, no answers.

 When Dick had thrown himself off of the dirt road and slid into the dike for cover, it had been your whimper of pain that had brought life back into his body. Somehow, he’d managed to get his hand over your mouth before you could make much of a sound, your eyes wide and bright in the dark as he stared down at you in relieved wonder.

 You must’ve been laying out in the cold for at least an hour, your calf bleeding steadily as you shivered in the damp muck of the grassy slope. As carefully as he could, he’d rolled his body over yours in a desperate hope to offer you some warmth, his heart going a thousand miles a minute as he processed the fact that you weren’t dead- that there was still a chance of you making it out of this alive.

 “Are you hit?” he asked as quietly as he could, watching as his breath moved the hairs that had fallen loose around your face like some gentle breeze.

You nodded, knocking your left knee against his leg to indicate where you had been injured. He realized he still had his hand clamped over your mouth and lifted it up slowly, worried that you might make another pained sound and give away your position.

“Not bad,” you hissed, your jaw tight as you tried to keep your voice quiet. “Bad ricochet…. Moe? The guys—?”

“Safe.”

 You’d let out a sigh of relief, swallowing a few times before seeming to refocus and process what Dick’s being there probably meant.

“A truck with three men passed about six minutes ago,” you sighed, and Dick could feel your hands move from your sides to slide between both of your stomachs to start pulling at your belt. His face went red and he quickly rolled off of you, eyes wide at the insinuation of the act before realizing that you were trying to give him something to make a tourniquet out of. 

 He knocked your lethargic hands out of the way and helped you slide it from your belt loops, wrapping an arm around your waist to unclip your holster that was inhibiting the belt’s release. 

“Just you?” you had asked, exhaustion from blood loss beginning to stain your voice.

Dick sighed a ‘no’, looking back the way he’d come from before looking back down at you.

“I’ll be back,” he had promised, looping the belt around your leg and securing it just below your knee. “I’ll come back, okay?”

Your hands took the tail of the belt from his and pulled, your face drawing in pain as you nodded.

“Go, go!”

 He stops typing, his mouth feeling dry and his hands feeling clammy.

It made him uncomfortable to think that you’d been angry with him even then, that you’d been angry with him for a long time and he hadn’t even realized it. You’d been so brave, squeezing your eyes shut as he and Tab poured sulfa powder on the wound and muffling your cries of discomfort into the palm of his hand as you held it to your mouth.

Dick wondered briefly if you’d ever let him touch you again, even if it were only to save your life.

 You meant more to him than he cared to admit or think about. You hating him hadn’t changed that.

When you’d brought up the kiss you two had shared in England, you’d used the past tense- ‘the feelings I had for you’.

Selfishly, Dick supposed that he’d automatically assumed that you were still harboring your affections for him- that you would wait until he felt comfortable enough to share his own feelings of mutual admiration and that things would easily fall into place.

It made him feel stupid. It made him feel foolish.

He wondered if this was how you’d been made to feel after Alderborne.

If so, he had more to apologize than he thought.

 Make amends the voice in his head whispered. Do your job and make it better.

He didn’t know what that meant, not really. He didn’t know how to even start.

What he did know? He couldn’t do anything until he finished this report.

So, leaning on his sense of duty, he brought his fingers to the keys and began to clack away.

 ~

 Dick’s report felt heavy in your hand as you waited for his orderly to alert him to your presence, anxiety churning your stomach like a storming sea. It took far too much effort on your part to maintain your professional facade these days, and judging by the noticeable tremble of the papers in your hand, your mask was starting to crack. Even Sink had made a remark about how on edge you seemed, doubt clear on his face when you tried to brush his concern off as nothing more than homesickness.

 You should’ve known better than to try and lie to Robert Sink, he’d known you too well and too long for you to get much past him. It didn’t happen often, but you could swear that there were moments where he looked at you like you were still the messy-haired little girl who played war in the woods with his children after holiday meals- his eager-eyed niece who would climb into his lap and beg for him to recount the far off adventures he’d just returned from.

 Now that you’d had a chance to share one of these adventures with him, you wondered if he regretted indulging your fascinations. You doubted he’d ever tell you either way. 

That was just the sort of man he was.

Those were the sort of men you now surrounded yourself with.

 When you tried to imagine one of your future nieces or nephews crawling into your lap and asking you for stories, you were alarmed by the fact that you had unintentionally imagined Dick sitting by your side.

 Before you fully process why that had been where your mind went, Zielinski returned and gave you the go-ahead to enter the office.

 You felt an instant shot of relief when you saw that Dick wasn’t alone, the presence of Lewis and Harry calming your frayed nerves significantly. While you knew in your heart that Dick was not a bad person, that he hadn’t done what he did maliciously, you still weren’t sure what to make of your anger towards him.

 The moment you step in the doorway, Dick shoots to his feet and for a moment you think he’s about to stand at attention. Briefly, you wonder if Zielinski had accidentally told him to expect Sink coming in- and if the way Harry and Lewis start to confusedly copy his formality, they are just as confused as you are.

 But you knew Zielinski hadn’t mentioned Sink. You’d been right next to him when he’d said your name.

That made your face feel hot for a reason you didn’t dare explore right now.

 Everyone in the room stands awkwardly and stares at each other for a second, and with a confidence you didn’t truly have you attempt to break the tension.

“Uh- at ease, gentlemen?”

 Harry snorts a laugh at that, plopping back down with Nixon following suit. You don't miss the look Nix shoots Dick’s way, but you aren’t able to decipher it. Maybe that was for the best.

 “Well, would you look at that?” Harry says with a beaming smile. “Look who’s decided to grace us with her presence this morning.”

You roll your eyes at that, giving Nix a quick nod in greeting before fixing Harry with a look as you walk further into the room. 

“Oh Harry, when I decide to grace you with anything you’ll know it.”

He shoots you a wink as Nix huffs a laugh at the interaction.

You can feel Dick’s eyes on you, and when you turn to face him you feel your easy smile tighten and you give him a nod.

 “Sir.”

“Y/L/N.”

 The air between the two of you is thick with unspoken tension, stained with guilt and frustration and the remnants of affection that made the feeling all the more painful. You could see a similar trepidation on his face, your throat feeling tight as you choke back all of the things you wish you could say.

 Lewis, clearly feeling the awkwardness as well but kindly not letting it linger, quickly breaks the silence.

“You want to sit, Y/N? Heard you got shot at the crossroads….”

 Dick’s eyes flicker to your leg and then he’s quick to reach over and rip his coat off of the wooden chair to the left of his desk. You sigh a laugh, mumbling a quick ‘thanks’ before carefully lowering yourself into the seat.

“I think I fall somewhere in between shot and grazed, but yes you heard right—”

“Oh yeah!” Harry adds, leaning into the sill of the window as he crosses his arms across his chest. “Lucky you weren’t at CP. heard they got hit pretty bad….”

You feel your mood darken slightly at the reminder of Holly’s death. He was a good man. All of the men who had died that day were good men.

“Yeah,“ you mutter as brightly as you can. “All things considered.”

 You clear your throat and look hesitantly at Dick.

“That’s uh, actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

You hand him the file in your hand and give him a nod of thanks when he comes closer so you don’t have to get up. 

 “Sink’s hoping he can get you to rewrite the report on that—”

“Oh?” Dick’s pale brows furrow as he looks at the paper to see that it is indeed his report on the crossroads. “Was something wrong with it? Did I miss a signature? Was it too vague—?”

“No, no!” you interrupt, having heard through the grapevine how hard he’d worked on it. “Nothing like that! It’s um, the opposite, actually.....”

 Dick frowns at that, and you hesitate for a moment while you try to find the right words to express what Sink needed fixed.

“Sink, um, was hoping you could rewrite some of it. Specifically….” You look down to pick at an imaginary thread on your pant leg. “he needs a report that doesn’t include the fact that I was there—”

You feel his eyes on you, and the room is unbearably quiet as you clear your throat and continue to look anywhere but Dick’s direction. You catch Nix’s gaze, and you can tell he knows what you’re getting at.

“I…” Dick begins, his voice quiet. When you see Harry’s head turn to look in his direction you do the same and catch him looking at Nixon as well. “I’m not sure I understand…”

 Harry, never one to stay still for long, chooses this moment to pop to his feet and announce that he’s getting himself some coffee. You all mumble your own acknowledgments to his intention, and he saunters off like a kid who was just told he didn’t have to stay for detention. 

 When Dick’s eyes fall on you again, you begin to tap your fingers on your thigh nervously.

“Well, I’m still technically just an orderly, at least on paper, so—”

 “—So having you injured in the line of duty is a direct violation of your service agreement.” Lewis interrupts, saving you from your tongue-tied stupor. Dick’s frown deepens, and when he looks back at you you nod in confirmation. 

“What he said,” you say with a bitter taste in your mouth. “It’s just a minor adjustment, otherwise it’s a perfect report, Dick—”

He holds up a hand, narrowing his eyes as he processes what you and Nixon have just said. Once upon a time, you would’ve found the look on his face endearing and it would’ve made you smile. 

But not right now. 

 “That doesn’t seem right.” he finally settles on, smoothing a hand over his already perfectly combed hair before setting his hands on his narrow hips.

 You couldn’t agree more. It wasn’t right.

You’d implied as much to Sink when he’d tasked you with getting Dick to amend the report earlier than morning, a strange embarrassment bringing tears to your eyes at the notion that the simple mention of you ruined an entire report. 

 Were you such an intolerable figure that by simply being referred to in an official document brought into question the credibility of a successful engagement? 

 Sink, giving you a look that you recognized from your childhood moments of petulance, had clapped a hand on your shoulder and given it a familiar squeeze.

“It isn’t fair, you’re right about that. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but the powers that be just ain’t ready for someone like you- not yet. Don’t take it to heart. You’re smarter than the lot of ‘em.”

 “The terms of my service are pretty clear that I in no way should be anywhere near combat,” you heard yourself parrot hollowly. “Colonel Sink is just trying to keep me from getting sent home—”

 “But you were shot.”

 The ferocity in his tone surprises you, and when you see him angrily shaking his head from side to side you send Lewis a pleading look.

Taking the cue perfectly, Nix stands up again and clears his throat as he elaborates on your behalf.

 “If she’s shot back at CP, that’s one thing. It’s where she’s supposed to be as an orderly. But If she’s shot ‘in the line of duty’, she’s considered an active servicemember- and active service members who get wounded are eligible for a Purple Heart, which would make her a soldier—”

 “—and then you’d have the right to a soldier’s pension.” Dick finishes Nixon’s sentence, his jaw working as he looks ruefully at the report in his hands.

 Nix snaps and points a finger at him. “Bingo.”

 Your frustration from earlier has begun to boil your blood again, and your feet nearly itch with the need to leave the conversation and the suffocating feeling of the office.

As you push yourself up to stand, Dick and Nix move to help you- only stopping at your assurance that you’d got it under control.

Looking back at Dick, you fix him with a look that you hope conveys the importance of what you’re asking.

 “I was able to buy you an extra two days, but the sooner Sink gets it the sooner he gets off of your back about it.”

Dick nods, tossing the pages down atop all of the other paperwork on top of the desk.

“Yeah, understood.”

“Hey, Dick—?”

 Something in the set of his shoulders gave you pause, and you realize you aren't really sure what else you wanted to say to him. 

Sorry I called you a monster? I think I was angrier at myself than anything else? I don’t think you’re a bad person at all, and I am sorry if I made you think that I did?

 But you can’t say any of those things- not yet and not with Nix here.

So you settle on another tight smile and a nod.

“Thank you. I know it’s….you’ve got a lot going—”

 The strained smile he gives you back tells you that he feels it too, that he knows there is still an ocean of unresolved conflict between the two of you. That he is just as sorry about it as you are.

“Don’t give it another thought. I’ll take care of it.”

 With a final nod, you murmur a goodbye to Lewis and leave the office

~

 The moment you are out of earshot Nix smirks like the cat that ate the canary.

“Told you she still liked you.”

“Shut up, Lewis.”

 Dick hoped his friend was right.

~ ~ ~

HELLO MY SPECTACULAR STARFISH HERE’S SOME MORE NONSENSE AND FEELINGS FOR YOU TO DIGEST! I TOTALLY MADE UP THE RULES AS TO WHY READER CAN’T BE IN LE REPORT SO PLZ DONT YELL AT ME I’M SENSITIVE OK I LOVE YOU BYYEEE!!!

Taglist: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain​ @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​ @teenmagazines​ @liebgotttme​

[fortheloveoffanfic]

The Arrangement

John Wick x Reader (A/n- a pretty tame chapter by comparison.)

Masterlist    The Arrangement Masterlist 

Warnings-  SMUT/NSFW, light bondage, d/s, vaginal fingering

Selfish Prayers 

~11 months ago~

The powder blue wrap dress with the generous neckline, capped sleeves and lace at the hem, ending mid thigh was one of her nicest ones. Of course, she owned a couple evening gowns for functions held at the bank, but they were hardly the type of dresses that she'd wear on a date, or whatever she was meant to be having with John Wick. He hadn't specified what exactly the reasoning for inviting her to dinner was, his exact words had been, "I'd like to take you to dinner, I'll call you with the details." 

He hadn't been the one to call though, instead, it had been his assistant, quickly telling her that she could meet John or rather, Mr. Wick, at the lounge of a popular five star hotel in Manhattan. The days leading up to that Friday had been nerve racking, though exciting. They'd been flirting before then, or at least, she thought they had. John was a man of very few words, and Y/n herself had never been too forward, but when he called for her boss, they'd usually spend well over fifteen minutes on the phone before she put him through. He'd ask about her day, make passing comments about how lucky her boss was to have her as his secretary and even fished around to see if she was single. John had more so made his interest increasingly clear on the night he'd prepped Y/n to testify on the matter of her boss's alibi. They'd been at his office well past midnight, he'd ordered them dinner and between the way John had coaxed her to relax through affectionate touches on her shoulder and his insistence to drive her home after they were finished, it was clear that he had taken a liking to Y/n.

Y/n couldn't deny it, she'd been intrigued by John from the moment she'd met him. He was the strong, silent type and exuded power, though, she supposed that it shouldn't have been surprising; he was one of the most powerful attorneys in the state, being one of two name partners at a well respected firm. And despite his seniority in comparison to her, he was alluringly attractive too; the textbook definition of tall, dark and handsome. It was one of the many things that had prompted her to accept his invitation and one would have to be blind to say that they didn't see his appeal. But Y/n? She was anything but. 

Though, that Friday evening, when she got to the private lounge, she hadn't realized that she'd  be walking into far more than she expected.

"I like to think of myself as a straightforward man," was what he'd said right in the middle of their meal, "And the last thing I want to do is mislead you, Y/n."

With a deep, shaky breath and a brief sip of her red wine, Y/n's eyes widened and she nodded slowly, wondering where he could possibly be taking things, "Okay."

"I think you're a remarkable woman," he noted, "In fact, I can't recall ever meeting anyone quite like you," at that, heat rushed to her cheeks and John smiled faintly before continuing, "Which is why I'd like to make you an offer."

His phrasing threw her and Y/n perked her brows, "An offer?"

"Yes," he determined, clearing this throat, "I have  no interest in…..what you'd consider a conventional relationship, I usually prefer to engage in an…...arrangement." He stopped to gauge her reaction, though Y/n didn't think he could gather anything more than confusion from it. 

"I don't understand," she finally admitted with a nervous chuckle. Was he implying that he wanted to hire her as an escort of some sort? 

"I have very specific tastes, needs," with a punctuating sip of his drink, he explained, "In plain terms; I'm looking for a submissive. Usually there are private clubs for this sort of thing, but you…..I like you."

She'd never been in a relationship like that and Y/n wasn't sure how she should respond. Her lips quivered in indecision and thoughts swirled around in her mind confusingly. Finally, she managed to choke out one simple sentence, "I don't think I follow."

With a sigh, not one of annoyance, more like one of relief, that said he was grateful that she hadn't rejected him just yet, John clarified, "I prefer an arrangement, a contractual one, where you would be my submissive, not my girlfriend. I'd be happy to outline what that means, if you're interested."

Without hesitation, though, merely out of intrigue, she blurted out, "I'm interested."

Regarding her curiously, John nodded, "Alright. It would be exclusive, of course. And it's very simple really; I would be your dom, and you'd come when I ask you to-"

"For sex?"

"Among other things, but yes. You're entitled to your limits, and I'd respect them. We’ll discuss it more if you agree."

"You said among other things, what are the other things?"

"Occasionally, for client dinners or functions, you'd come with me, to keep up appearances and things like that. But otherwise, there would be very little…….emotional obligation. I wouldn't be your boyfriend, is what I mean." The entire thing felt so impersonal that Y/n might have forgotten that they were meant to be on something reminiscent of a date. 

"You're overwhelmed," John determined after a couple minutes spent with her in silence. Surprisingly, he reached across the table for her hand, and when he looked at her then, she felt, in the most cliché sense, special. Not like she was the only girl in the room special, because she was, but in a way that had her convinced that even if the room was filled, she’d be the only person he wanted to look at. Perhaps that was the one thing that had sold her, she'd made her decision already. "I understand if this isn't something that you want."

"Would you be mad if I said no?" She glanced at his hand over hers, reluctant to reach the moment where he'd pull away. 

Tilting his head, John furrowed his brows, "No, but I would be disappointed," quickly realizing himself, he shook his head, "But my feelings shouldn't force you to make a decision. This will only work if you want it too."

Gnawing on her lip, Y/n offered him the answer they both wanted, the decision she'd made from the minute he touched her, "I want it. But I've never been a….."

"A sub," he finished for her, "That's okay, I can teach you," lifting his hand off hers, he leaned over smoothly, caressing her cheek tenderly, and then shifting a loose curl away from near her eye. The mood had changed significantly, suddenly becoming more intimate and Y/n quickly came to the realization that they were having dinner at a hotel for that very reason. He'd already decided what would happen if she said yes. "That's what doms are for sweetheart."

Y/n's breath hitched, the sound leaving her lips agape and contained in her throat. "Is this what it'll be like?"

Quirking a smirk, "Sort of. I'll take care of you, you'll want for nothing and you'd be the only woman I treat this way. There's still a lot to work out, I'll have the contract sent to you by tomorrow afternoon, but right now, I'd like to see if we're compatible."

Temporarily disposing of her demure disposition, Y/n's eyes sparkled wickedly, "You mean you want to fuck me?"

Taken aback by the change, John chuckled, "Yes," he stood from his chair abruptly, coming to help Y/n out of hers, "Come on." Leading her with a hand low on her back towards the elevator through the lobby. 

He'd withheld his words until the were secured safely inside the reflective box, his large palm slipping suggestively to the curve of her ass and his breath hot on her ear, "Tonight is just a trial run, but the next time you speak like that in public, you won't be able to sit on this," he smacked her harshly, causing Y/n to yelp and jump, "For the rest of the evening. Understood?"

Eager to please him, she nodded vigorously, "Yes Mr. Wick."

"Good girl," he praised, pecking her cheek, "And you can call me Sir," he hummed.

Shifting her head to meet his dark, consuming gaze, Y/n dragged her lower lip through her teeth, "Yes, Sir."

Even if she shouldn’t have expected anything less, Y/n was stunned upon entering the presidential suite. It took a man with tastes as refined as John's for a room like that to be rented for merely a handful of hours. Sucking in a breath, she looked around, letting the sight of reflective marble floors and exquisite French furniture under bright white light sink in. She’d never been in a room that nice, and being there in John’s attractively imposing presence was intoxicating. It felt as if she’d been thrust into a movie, it couldn’t have been real anyway, men like John simply didn’t handpick girls like her.

“What’s wrong?” He seemed hyper aware of every shift in her mood, not letting anything slip by him.

“Nothing,” she swallowed thickly, advertising her stare to the floor, “It's just…..why me?”

Knitting his brows, he urged her closer, “Why not you? It’s like I said, I think you’re a remarkable young woman; beautiful, intelligent and perfectly charming.”

“There are lots of women like that,” she scoffed, “And you could probably have anyone of them.”

“You’re right; I could. But I don’t want them, I don’t give a fuck about them,” he delivered firmly, “I want you," his voice dropped to a low, husky whisper, "There’s just something about you,” John leaned down, capturing her lips, “I don’t know what it is yet, but I’d like to find out. Come,” he urged, leading her to the sizable bedroom, where a series of large windows allowed city lights to illuminate the room. The chandelier over head was also on, though dim enough to not corrupt the mood. 

“Are you on birth control?” Was the first question that he asked as they entered and John left her side, headed towards the nearest end of the room as  heat rushed to Y/n’s cheeks. He was brazen and unafraid to say what he had to, and do whatever he wanted. “I’ll know if you’re lying, so be honest.”

Blinking quickly, Y/n clumsily debated whether or not she should answer, eventually offering, in the softest peep, “Yes, I’m on the pill.”

“Do you take it every day?” John caught how wide her eyes went, easily brushing off her embarrassment, “We need to be open and honest with each other if we want this to work. And I’m only asking because I wouldn’t want any……” children, “Accidents.”

Stiffly, she nodded, confirming, “I take it everyday.” Of course he’d want to know, the man didn’t even want a girlfriend, why would he want to risk getting someone pregnant?

“You need a safe word, something simple, that you can remember when you’re uncomfortable or if I take things too far. Nothing that’s easy to miss and you have to remember it; something like a color or an object. Do you have anything in mind?” John was in the process of removing his watch and shrugging off his suit coat near the dresser as he spoke, leaving Y/n standing near the bed.

“A color…..” she mused absently, gazing down at her dress, “Will blue work?”

He’d already moved on to taking off his belt, following up with his shoes afterwards, “That’s perfect. You’ll speak when I ask you to, and you’ll cum only when I permit it, understand?”

“Yes Sir,” she offered meekly, not really sure on where her eyes should fall, opting to let them follow him around the room, observing in awe as John moved with fluidity, from the arm chair to a table laid out with drinks. 

John was finally sat on the bed, clad only in his pristine white dress shirt, stripped tie and black slacks, drink in hand as he carried on with the basics, “Like I said, it’s your first night, so we’re just working things out. But after you sign the contract, every time I invite you to my bedroom, you’ll wait on your knees, palms on your thighs and your head down. In your underwear. You don’t touch me unless I tell you to, and if I touch you in a way you don’t like for whatever reason, you use your safe word. Tell me your safe word again.”

“Blue.”

“Good,” John hummed, taking a sip of his bourbon, “Now, take your clothes off.”

The command startled her and Y/n inhaled sharply, “What?”

“Strip,” he ordered nonchalantly, “Do you need help with the zipper?”

“Uh….” Fumbling for words, Y/n shook her head, “It’s at the side,” she breathed. She couldn’t recall a man ever being that forward with her, and she’d certainly never been ordered to get naked right in the midst of what she thought to be a conversation. Downstairs, her quick witted boldness had come easy, but upstairs, when the moment had actually arrived, Y/n couldn’t resist the urge  to retreat into herself. 

Simply nodding, John kept his gaze on her, watching intently as she floundered around his simple order, sighing heavily when Y/n hesitated. He was patient though, his tone still even when he pressed the issue, “When I give you an order; you listen. And there’s no reason to be shy. You’re a beautiful woman Y/n, let me see you.”

Sucking in another unsteady breath, Y/n reached for the hidden zipper on the side of her dress, blinking quickly as she gave it a gentle tug. “More confidence,” he suggested, nodding for her to continue. 

Straightening her back, she carried on with the zipper, letting her delicate fingers graze her exposed skin as she did. With the side undone, the garment seemed to hang on her shoulders awkwardly, though it wasn’t for long as Y/n was soon reaching for the lacy hem, pulling it over her head as gracefully as she could to reveal her simple, white, lace and silk lingerie. The set wasn’t too racy; seamless lace panties with a matching bra that boasted bands of silk at the top. She could easily tell that the sight was having an effect on John though, it was evident by the growing tent straining against his zipper. “See?” He mumbled, laying a heavy palm over his crotch, “Beautiful. Bra next.”

Reaching behind herself, Y/n searched for the fastenings of her bra, the thin fabric rough against her fingers. When she finally found it, she fumbled with it for less than a handful of seconds before she was slipping arms of the smooth straps. At the sight of her breasts, full, perky, and nipples peaked with arousal, John took a long sip of his drink, giving his member a squeeze.

Her panties were the next to go; thin fingers hooking in the waist, shimmying them down her legs, leaving her completely disrobed as she stepped out of them. “Keep your shoes on,” John leaned over to discard his empty glass on the nightstand. Spreading his legs; he invited Y/n to stand between them, the four inches of her heels allowing for him to be in the eye line of her stomach. “Undo my tie, slowly.”

Gulping, thrilled by the idea of finally getting to touch him, Y/n let her nimble fingers edge the knot near his neck loose, savoring every second of it as she undid it. “Now give it to me,” she laid it in his open palm, “Turn around. Does this make you uncomfortable,” he held her wrists firmly, tightening his single handed grip when Y/n wriggled her hands. 

“No Sir,” Y/n peeped, suppressing a shiver when John replaced his calloused touch with the rich fabric of his tie binding her wrists behind her back before guiding her at the hips.

His lips were hot over her navel, feverish kisses making their way lower at a leisurely pace as one of his hands slipped between her thighs. His thumb pressed on her nub, rubbing in circles as his pointer spread her slick moistness around. “You’re so wet already,” John muttered.

His digits worked her slowly and in the interim he nibbled on her satiny skin of her stomach, leaving dark bruises. John kept her against him with his spare palm splayed on her lower back, the only thing that kept her up. Y/n’s short breaths were ragged and whiny, and she fought against the fabric restraining her hands, eager to thread her hands through his perfectly maintained raven mane. The knot he’d made held though, only serving to bruise and burn her skin with every fretful twist.

A lewd whine seeped from her lips as his fingers moved inside her, the way he’d curled them slightly accentuating their every move. They were so pleasurably rough and so stocky that they offered to stretch her in the slightest bit, “You’re so fucking tight,” he grunted, “You think your tight pussy can take my cock Kitten?”

Y/n’s response was a half hearted moan, her coherence wavering and her stance growing shaky. His thumb, still working her clit, pressed down firmly and when John felt her start contracting around his fingers, he slowed his pace, “Not yet,” he growled lowly, biting down on her skin, surely leaving marks. 

Removing his soaked fingers completely, John drew her attention, locking his eyes with hers as he sucked them clean. “Do you want to taste yourself?” He stood without warning, their proximity so limited that his member pressed urgently against her thigh. 

The kiss was far more intense than the one they’d shared upon entering the suite, John’s tongue boldly moving past the barrier of her teeth, the slightly salty taste of her arousal still evident on his tongue as it swirled erotically around hers. Palming her cunt, John swallowed up her sounds eagerly, “One day I’m gonna eat this pussy out so fucking good, that you’ll cum all over my face.”

“Sir,” Y/n groaned, the plea muffled by John’s lips still on hers.

“Shh,” he urged, turning them before guiding Y/n to the bed. She fell back against the sheets, hair skewing her lust-blurred vision. He’d started undressing; starting with the plastic buttons of his shirt, and Y/n struggled to shake some hair out of her face as she watched; propped up on her elbows. 

John was undoubtedly a sight to behold; broad shoulders and obviously firm biceps with a sturdy physique. On his shoulder, she spotted a tattoo; a large cross, and some more ink peeked out from his back. Y/n hadn’t taken him for the type to have a back covered in ink, though she was quickly learning that he was a man of many layers. Briefly, she wondered what his tattoos meant, though, the thoughts were fleeting as his pants and pale blue boxers fell to the floor.

Her jaw hung slack and words escaped her. If Y/n hadn’t realized it before, she was certainly well aware of the sheer magnificence that was John Wick by then. His manhood stood proudly out of a groomed, dark bush, a clear bead gathered on his swollen, rosy head. Her sex throbbed excitedly and a fresh wave of moisture gathered between her thighs, and Y/n would be lying if she said she wasn’t eagerly awaiting a time where she could put her mouth on him. 

The hunger in his rich stare was evident as he crawled on top of her, his firm shaft teasing her as it brushed Y/n's arousal. Sinking his arms into the mattress, John started at Y/n's lips, journeying towards her jaw and consequently down the column of her neck. The evidence of John's presence would surely be littered across her skin by the end of the night, though Y/n supposed that his lingering nibbles weren't without intention.

Yearning to feel him, she arched her back, huffing despondently when he hastily grabbed her hips, shoving her back onto the bed. "Patience," John barked, burying his face in the valley of her swollen breasts. His shortened beard burnt her skin, weaning a hiss from her lips and Y/n craved more. She wanted to feel that pleasurable roughness all over her body, have John mark her 

Not releasing his firm hold, John's tongue flicked over her pebbled nipple, eliciting an audible shudder from Y/n. Then, when he closed his mouth over the top of her boob, only to gently drag his teeth along the sensitive skin, goosebumps raised along her arms and legs and Y/n’s eyes slipped closed. Her body resisted his grip, hips fighting to buck forward fruitlessly, the desire for John intense and burning. “We’re gonna have to train you to hold still,” he lifted his mouth to her ear, his hot breath fanning her skin, “Or just keep you tied up,” he bit her lobe before sucking the spot behind her ear. 

Depraved moans filled the room, and John finally reached between them, lining himself up with her entrance before pushing into her, all at once. Y/n’s eyes flew wide open and a hollowed groan parted her lips as John stretched her so wide it burned and she swore she could feel him nestled deep inside her. As patient as he was, so Intune with maximizing the slow build to pleasure, John was proving to be almost selfish once sheathed between her sensitive walls. He rolled his hips aggressively, burying Y/n into the disarrayed sheets. Each thrust evoked a profane yelp to accompany his low, rumbling grunts. The searing heat gathered in their skin and above her, though blurred vision, she could make out his clenched jaw and bared, gritted teeth framed by sweaty hair sticking to his face. 

As he moved, Y/n’s toes clenched in her shoes, the heels pressed into the plush sheets and every time his bulging veins dragged against her and the slight curve of his cock. At some point, he grabbed one of her legs, harshly draping it over his shoulder, allowing him to go deeper as her other leg lay crooked on the sea of fine silk. “Sir…” she hitched, incoherent and squeezing her eyes shut as he drilled into her, his balls consistently assaulting her cunt. 

A rumbling growl escaped through his gritted teeth and it wasn't long before John was bending his head, ravaging her neck mercilessly. “So fucking tight,” he gnarred as her body upwards. His sloppy, open mouth kisses and suckles on her were searing and his rough touch, occasionally dragging along her sides, only to once again settle on her hips, were like holy fire lapping at her silken skin. 

Y/n’s wrists protested against John’s tie, the fabric surely leaving bruises to match the rest he was giving her. Every sensation was intensified; the way bulging veins on his girth rubbed her walls, the heat from the pads of his fingers sunken into her damp skin, and the coarseness of his groomed beard brushing and burning the column of her neck. John was a skillfully selfish lover, if one could even call him that; a lover, and it was hard to ward off the crest of gratification that was creeping up on her with each roll of his expert hips. “I wanna feel you cum,” he mumbled between little bites and nibbles, “Let me feel you cum babygirl.”

Her short, hitched breaths grew quicker in succession and the knot in the coil in the pit of her stomach was wound so tight that it was close to snapping. “Please,” she whimpered, her sinful prayer was hoarse and she closed her hands in on themselves, feeling her nails dig into her palms. John bucked his hips violently and Y/n’s heel dug into the mattress just as a  perverted cry left her mouth agape and jaw slack. Writing beneath him, she tossed her head to the side, feeling messy strands fall over her face, sticking to her skin. 

“Look at me,” John demanded, riding through her high, getting close to her face. She could almost taste the bourbon on his breath and his chest was pressed to her swollen breasts, pinning her to the bed. “I want to see you,” he continued, “I wanna see how sexy you look when you squeeze my cock with this pretty little cunt.”

Shifting her head, Y/n regarded him through dilated pupils, his image hazy and white spots dancing on her vision as raw pleasure coursed through her veins like fire. Even as she came down, from her high, John proved relentless, pounding into her with unwavering vigor. Sloppy noises joined their vulgar moans and grunts and between her thighs felt sticky with her juices  and soon after her first, Y/n could feel her second orgasm mounting. If it weren’t for the restraint holding her hands back, the knot done so tightly, her hands would have flown to his back, nails sinking into John’s skin.

Her second wave of pleasure crashed over her unexpectedly, leaving Y/n gasping loudly for breath as she arched into John. Simultaneously, his movements went stiff and rigid and John’s heavy grip on her hip went tighter. “Fuck,” he huffed, the word contained low in his throat, features, contorted in ecstasy shrouded by dark hair matted to parts of his face. Bursts of his hot product sprayed against her drenched, pulsating walls in silky ribbons. John bucked his hips in an unmanned rhythm, struggling to keep pace as they fell over the edge. 

Her legs trembled with pleasure and the thick air around them was stifling, befuddling sense and intensifying innate sensations. Ragged, broken words threatened to break her stretch of audible inhales, but they never quite made it and as damp skin almost melted into one. It was hard to hold his gaze with his forehead pressed to hers, his hair ticking her face and their breaths shared as John’s ajar lips hovered over hers. 

Mere minutes after it was over, John detached himself, pecking Y/n near the side of her forehead when she winced as he rolled off her. Swallowing thickly, she eyed him as he seemed to gather himself faster than she could, eventually scooting off the bed, confident enough to approach the drink tray near the wall without slipping into an inch of clothing. As Y/n shuffled around, guarding her modesty with the soft sheets, the fabric feeling weightless on her smooth skin, she winced again as she turned to catch a good look at John. It was all definitely gonna hurt the next day, but for a man like him, the pain was worth it. 

With a glass of water in hand, he approached the bed, easing in next to her before offering Y//n the glass. Mumbling a shy thanks, she brought the thin, tall glass to her lips, where the color had faded. “So?” She sighed hopefully, between brief, quenching sips, “Are we compatible?”

Gazing down at her, John got closer, propping his weight on an elbow before reaching over to tuck a stray lock behind her ear, his large palm lingering on her cheek. “I don’t know,” he squinted, though, just barely, as he regarded her with an indecipherable expression that was hypnotically irresistible. There was something about him, a darkness that resided past those whiskey eyes that thrilled her, it was magical, alluring and she ached to learn it. Discover the man behind the tailored suit; serve him, please him. “You tell me,” John offered.

Leaning into his touch, Y/n resisted the urge to close her eyes. Could it really be as easy as that? In the end, he’d let her choose? And if that was the case, who could ever refuse John? It was completely new to her; unchartered territory and certainly a decision that would warrant far more thought, still she made it impulsively, knowing that even with a weekend’s worth of contemplation, she’d always come up with the same thing. Because even with everything in between; contracts, rules, specifics, it all came back to the simplicity that had led them to a hotel room in Manhattan, he wanted her and she wanted him. “Yeah,” moistening her lips, Y/n restrained her smile, until it seemed that John would let one of his own slip as he came down to kiss her slowly, “I think we’re compatible,” she returned quietly us as his hand tangled in her tresses and his lips found hers.  

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[evandearest]

The Garden of Eden | Part IV: Betrayal

Pairing: James March x reader (you) | ~Part: (4/4)~

Summary (Part Four): Warnings are to be remembered, although most stored away for future use only to be forgotten. Cycles repeat to teach lessons; to warn of future events. Threats may remain even if not for the blind eye to see. However, ignorance might be the biggest threat of all.

Warnings (in this part): murder, blood, death, poison, religious twists, dark themes

Word Count: 5,018 (haha this part ended up with the most words... to end it off I suppose!)

Notes: This is the last part of the Garden of Eden! I just want to say thank you to all who read - especially @etoile-writings , for supporting me. Please go check out her series Adam and Eve, as it is a literary masterpiece and she deserves so much recognition.

I have seriously had so much fun writing this - it really has been my pleasure. I also want to apologize to all those who may have been waiting for awhile for the final part! Disclaimer: I tried my best to edit the grammar and everything in this but this is the best I could do! I hope there’s not many mistakes I may have missed. Please ask any questions and give me all your comments about this finale - I’d love to hear any and all thoughts! I also hope everyone is safe, healthy, and happy :) Feel free to send in other requests, whether it be AHS or Supernatural.

Also a heads up - keep a look out for the final review and analysis if you are interested. It is still in progress but it should be out within a couple of days at best.

A few side notes - the Countess and James are still legally married here, as they are in the show, but in this situation it is only because they haven’t gotten the chance to divorce. This part may seem to have very long sentences, but I just wanted to let you guys know that it is a writing technique that I used to create mood, tone, and theme. That’s all, thanks!

Tag List: @etoile-writings @haileyybird @ietss

Something about the young couple in the bar had your mind reeling. Their hands remained interlocked on the table, both of them staring at one another with all the joy and adoration that only true love can bring. Their relationship was new and exciting. The honeymoon phase was always so perfect. You remembered how that had felt with James; so invigoratingly energizing. It was enough to make you feel as if you ruled the world; love blinding a vision of truth. It was, for many years, what you had considered paradise to be.

Paradise.

You realized now that it never had been perfect with you and James. There were so many things standing in the way, so many hidden threats. When you were younger, it had been your parents and their obsessive need to marry you off like an object to a rich man. Even as he had began his journey to success, James’ social status as new money hadn’t seemed good enough to them. When you had first gotten back with James only just around a month ago, you had thought that you’d conquered everything. You had been blind to the truth which was right in front of you once again. You should have expected some kind of change in James. It was inevitable, after all that time spent apart.

But now, however, right at this present moment... well, now, everything was out in the open. Now, you and James truly understood one another. Now there really was nothing in your way. You could see no obstacles ahead, no threat, so long as James was by your side. All you saw was James, and all that clouded your mind was your admiration and devotion to him. He was your everything; your soulmate, your leader, your God. He had dragged you from the fire and brought your paradise back to you; good, true, and everlasting this time around. Your precious Garden of Eden, controlled by none other but you and your God.

Your God; who had been the utmost of clever in his recent schemes. He’d been outraged when he did it, but it wasn’t to say that he wasn’t brilliant. He was of excellent prosecution; his statement out in the open and clear. A Sunday morning: police finding piles of dead bodies compiled with numerous copies of nothing other than the book of God himself. It was sadistic and morbid, but it was perfect. It was everything that James needed to say. He was on the verge of something momentously renowned.

Once James was finished, no one would ever forget his message: religion was the worst thing to happen to society. It controlled the will of man, when truly nothing in creation could stop anything. Everyone was put equal on the Earth to sin, to live in the most pleasurable way.

It was the entire reason Adam and Eve had been cast down. They were sinners, except the garden was a place controlled by God’s rules. They had wanted to control their own lives, so God banished them to Earth. James, however, had created his own paradise; his own Garden of Eden. He had climbed so far above all other men that he now controlled the garden. He had to prove to others the ridiculousness of holiness--for all were meant to sin. Religion was, essentially, suppression. To some, it may seem horrible, but to you, it was art. A simple expression of belief that most didn’t understand.

Voices floated into your ears, startling you out of your thoughts. Soft echoes through the lobby of your beloved’s name piqued your interest, your feet immediately carrying you to the railing without much thought. You left your drink on the bar’s counter--still full, but long forgotten. Your eyes landed on four men clad in black suits, shiny gold badges on their shoulders reflecting light from the chandeliers above. You scanned the area, noticing a certain maid standing close by, listening in, much like you were.

“We have suspicion based upon evidence that Mr. March was involved in the murder this past Sunday. We have already taken the time to get a warrant for his arrest,” one of the officers explained to the receptionist at the front desk. Time seemed to take a standstill, your heart seeming to stop completely as your brain registered the man’s words. No, this couldn’t be happening.

The cycle was repeating again. They were trying to tear you apart again.

You didn’t understand how this could’ve happened. He said he was careful, and you could never see James making a mistake with something this important. He was detail-oriented, his brain practically ran off of the certainty of perfectionism. He would never let a small mistake ruin everything for him.

The entire empire he’d built, and everything you’d rebuilt, was about to be destroyed all over again.

Your body seemed to catch up with your mind as you sprung into action. You twisted around, your feet pushing you forward only to come to a halt at the close proximity of the once unknown presence behind you. Your eyes widened, a sharp breath escaping your lips at the stop you made compared to your sudden momentum. You stared into the eyes of none other than The Countess, clad in only the most extravagant clothing and makeup.

“That’ll be a hard one to get out of,” she said, although her face was seemingly expressionless. You stared at her, your frenzied brain jumping to the first conclusion you could make.

“Did you...” you trailed off, your breathing suddenly heavy. James couldn’t have made the mistake, so that means that somebody else had to of given the police some kind of tip in order for them to seek James out. The woman standing before you was quite possibly the number one suspect. “Did you do this?” Your voice held tones of disbelief and anger.

Would Elizabeth really go to such extent when she hadn’t even expressed a major disliking? She hadn’t talked to you at all since that first time, in fact the only interactions you’d had with one another were passing glances. She’d seemed to have just steered clear of anything to do with you or James. You had no idea what she had thought, but you had supposed that she didn’t care about you and James, otherwise she would have spoke her concerns. Had you been wrong about her? Could a simple mistake end it all over again? Elizabeth scoffed, her face hardening.

“Oh God no...” she said wryly, a small sarcastic grin forming on her lips as she looked at you quizzically, “what would I get out of it now? As I am still his present wife, I don’t need James dead to use his money. And besides, now that he has you he no longer bothers me.” She was smug as she spoke to you. She grinned, all teeth and mischief, her eyes sparkling. “It’s a winning situation for the both of us if you ask me.” She paused, her grin falling slightly as her gaze wondered off to peer down into the lobby.

“I could bet I know who the rat is, though,” She said, turning back to you. “I��m wagering it’s his loyal minion. That poor woman has been in love with James since the beginning of time.” She paused, her eyes intense as they rested on your face. “And based on your expression you think so too.” She smiled at you and then turned, walking slowly away from you. “Good luck,” she called back to you without turning around, your eyes watching her back as she went.

You stood contemplating her words for a moment. Elizabeth was smart and straightforward, and from what you could tell if she had a problem she would speak her mind. And what she had said made sense. Miss Evers was in love with James, but her love was unrequited, and that’s why she constantly seemed at odds with you. She could never even have a chance to be with him, so long as you were around.

Your feet carried you quickly as you raced to the elevator. The police were still conversing with the receptionist, but you knew it was only a matter of time before they found out where James was. You recalled a conversation you’d had with him in the morning, concluding that he had to be caught up attending to his hobby.

The police would find him in his office, in the middle of his business, and it would all be over. He would be taken from you once again.

You didn’t even knock upon arriving; you opened the door and closed it quickly behind you. You turned to face James, in all his blood-covered, god-like glory. You took in the scene of James’ office quickly, your eyes tracing over every detail. A large bin sat in the center of the room, a rugged corpse contained within it. James had been busying himself with pouring a substance over the body, of which could only be acid, as it had sizzled upon impact with the dead man’s skin. At your arrival, James halted his methods in confusion.

Several items were scattered across the floor, one of which catching your interest. The glass of the vase; a damp spot surrounding the area where the unaltered mess remained. The roses remained too, the petals wilting from lack of nourishment. You paused, your mind trying to puzzle out their unmoved position. Miss Evers had to have been in here since last night, so why wouldn’t she move them? She might have been scheming, but she was extremely adamant on being neat when it came to James’ specific rooms. You couldn’t see her ignoring it, and yet here it was sitting puzzlingly. You were caught off guard for a reason not entirely known to you. Something about their appearance had you alarmed, a string of words suddenly ringing out in your head; perhaps a memory brought to the surface.

“If you betray the rose, the rose no longer profits you.”

The old woman was suddenly prevalent in your mind, her warning dawning upon you, your heartbeat stuttering at the looming echo of her words. James was waiting for you to explain yourself--the police were coming--Miss Evers had betrayed you--everything you and James had worked so hard for was crumbling down around you. Your heartbeat was fast, the pulse beating quickly, perhaps the reason for the pounding in your head.

You looked James in the eyes, studying his features. He was so handsome--even before you knew him, that day in the garden when you had first seen him--you had marveled at his beauty. And that was before he’d become such a man; his features sharp and masculine, beautifully sculpted by the gods. His dark brown eyes and hair, so dull yet so prominent--a symbol of his darkness. You could stare at him for eternity and never bore, your love for him everlasting.

And yet, here you were at the end with no escape, hell a threat once again hanging above your heads, looming just around the corner. Just a few more minutes and everything would be over. Just a few more minutes and you’d be lost again, stranded without your guide; your purpose--your God.

“James,” you gasped, stumbling slightly as you made your way to him. You’d just managed to get to him before you fell over slightly, your arms reaching out to grasp onto his tightly. He caught you, keeping you level as his face filled with concern. The pounding in your head was intense, beginning to drown out your thoughts and quicken your breath.

“Darling, tell me--what is it?” James demanded, his voice panic-stricken. He lifted your chin to look you in the eyes, his widened orbs meeting yours with intensity.

“I-it’s--the- the police,” you barely managed to get the words out, clinging onto James like he was your lifeline. Nothing seemed right; your thoughts suddenly taking too long to form into words, your breathing heavy, vision blurry, and it was becoming much harder to stand. What was happening? You stared into James eyes, shifting all your focus into him. “They’re here to arrest you.” One hand gripped his arm firmly as you brought the other to rest upon his cheekbone, leaning chest to chest as your body began to collapse into him. He held you steady, forever the one and only thing to truly support you. “They’re going to take you from me,” you sobbed, an onslaught of tears overcoming you. “Again,” you cried quietly, gasping for air.

The door opened, your heart skipping a beat at the intrusion, your mind going straight to the thought of the police. Your eyes landed on Miss Evers instead, confusion settling on you once again. She’d gotten what she wanted, hadn’t she? Why was she here now, to prove something? You wished you had the strength to question her, to say anything, but everything felt heavier and heavier as more time passed.

“Tell me,” James barked at her just as she’d closed and locked the door, “what in all creation is happening? Speak right this instant, and quickly.”

“The police are here,” Miss Evers explained, James grip on you tightening as you leaned onto him for support. He glanced down at you, worry glinting in his eyes as you just barely managed to look up at him.

“Darling,” he whispered, “what is happening? Are you ill?” A moment of silence passed as you tried to respond, your mouth opening but no words becoming audible. A moment of silence passed, the only action being James assessing you. Your words couldn’t seem to form, a burning spreading through your entire body. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt. You began to wonder yourself if you were somehow ill.

“It was supposed to be me!”

The maid across the room suddenly shrieked, desperation clouding her judgement as she flung her arms up in the air. “I was the one for you!” She sobbed, stumbling slightly as an expression of hurt formed upon her face. “I always loved you, and these women--they never did! They used you, and I always cared!” James eyes widened, shock coming across his features. He stared at the woman, contemplating her words.

“But you never saw,” the woman said sadly, her head hanging in shame before her face went emotionless. “And so I did the only thing I could.” She looked at him, dead in the eye, a type of malice suddenly overcoming her. “You’d be surprised how easy it was.” Her eyes settled upon your frame, your head moving slowly to get a glance at her. You stared, blinking rapidly as your vision faded in and out. You could barely comprehend what she was saying, but you felt as James’ breath quickened. It was taking all of your willpower to stay awake--you needed to, for James.

“What?” he stated, his voice deeper than you’d ever heard it, a rage within his eyes even you had never seen before as he stared at her. He was tense, as hard as a rock, glaring daggers at the woman who had seemingly betrayed him.

“I--,” Miss Evers hesitated, obviously intimidated by his fury, but decided to continue. “I’ve found that you have a secret stash of cyanide in the bar.” She faltered once again, her eyes shifting away from James and to the floor. “I wanted us to be together, and she-” she pointed at you, “-she was always in it for the money! They all are, all but me!” She burst into tears, falling onto her knees in hysterics. Your eyebrows furrowed as you racked your brain to gather all of the information. She poisoned you at the bar. You remembered brief flashbacks of the one tiny sip you’d taken of your previously forgotten drink.

James seemed to be shaking as he gently moved you to sit in a chair by the wall, turning away from you for only a moment. Your eyelids began to flutter as sleep beckoned you, visions of James’ movement around the room the only thing to hold your focus. A loud pop suddenly reverberated off of the walls as it rang out, causing you to sit up slightly from your slouched posture, your eyelids flying open to search for the source. James stood over the body of his betrayer, smoking gun resting within his palm.

You felt so weak, your thoughts jumbled, unable to focus on only one. Only now you knew it wasn’t just an overreaction. You’d only taken a mere sip of the drink from the bar, but you supposed now that it had been enough for the poison to go into effect. You wondered briefly how she’d gotten the cyanide into the drink in the first place, and exactly how much she had put in for it to have such a potent effect on your body.

Your eyes traveled to her corpse, and to the fresh blood splattered across the wall from the headshot. You blinked, barely registering what had just occurred before you. You were too dazed to process the incident, even if you understood what had occurred subconsciously. Relief was the only thing you felt; relief for one less thing to worry about standing between you and James.

Eyes shifting slightly to the left, you stared at the browning roses, the sweet old lady’s warning once again echoing, a distant memory brought to the surface of your mind. James crouched in front of you, suddenly the only thing in line of sight, his lips moving but you couldn’t hear his voice over your own in your head. The roses were dead. You left them on the floor. You betrayed them for--

You sprung up once again as a loud banging at the door shocked you back into your senses. James glanced briefly at the door before turning back to you quickly. He pulled you out of the chair, holding you up and close to his chest as he stroked your hair tenderly.

“James,” you just barely whispered as he shushed you.

“I know, darling,” He said reassuringly, pulling back to look into your eyes. “It’s all going to be okay, dear. It’ll all be over before you know it.” He smiled charmingly as you nodded weakly, holding tightly onto the cloth of his shirt to maintain stability. And you believed him in that moment, as he always seemed to find a way.

One way, or another.

You rested your head on his chest, closing your eyes as the pounding on the door increased. Or maybe it was the pounding in your head; at this point you couldn’t decipher what was real and what was just a figment of your imagination. Cold metal pressed against the skin of your temple, your brain too bleary to question it. Mere seconds passed as you contemplated moving, but suddenly it was as if everything had settled away. James’ warm body faded from your grasp.

-🤍-

Your eyelids fluttered open, eyeballs moving back and forth as you tried to become familiar with your surroundings. You recognized the familiar room immediately, for it was your bedroom when you had first moved into the Cortez. You felt strange. Zen, almost, but maybe that was just because the pounding was gone. You felt... disconnected. It was the most out of touch with yourself you’d ever felt.

You climbed to your feet from the floor, thoughts running rampant at what was unknown to you. Where was James, how did you get here, how long had you been here, and why did you feel so cold? Flashes of what seemed to be both years ago and only moments ago clouded your mind, filling you with dread. Scenarios of what could be frightened you and sent you into a state of panic, pushing you forward.

Out of the room you went, through the quiet and empty halls, searching, searching, searching--no fixed destination ahead except something, anything, that could lead you to your James.

It seemed that days had passed before you finally found the lobby of the hotel. Navigation through the building was proving to be much more difficult than you remembered. Why was it taking so long?

The lobby was sparsely populated, unlike the usually crowded area that you were used to. You glanced around, noticing only a few people in the bar, the receptionist, and someone asleep on the sofas. Your feet carried you to the hotel entrance, pushing the first door open, the sunlight peeking through the opaque glass surprising you. If it was the daytime, then why was the hotel so empty? On ordinary occasions people came and went like flies; the Cortez was a hotspot in the city of Los Angeles, after all. Your hands reached out to push open the door to the outside, the metal handle of the door cool against your skin, and then suddenly nothing. In front of you was the door no longer; profound confusion coursing through you as you stared at the walls of your bedroom once again. You had been there one second, and in the next it was as if you had been teleported back in time.

And so the cycle repeated for what seemed like years; many times set adrift through the halls, eventually to the lobby where the sunlight no longer shone through the windows and unusually few people inhabited. You were reaching forward for the handle of the first door for what seemed to be the hundredth time, only to freeze at the call of your name from a familiar voice.

“Y/N.”

Your name sounded of honey dripping off his tongue. It was like hearing that voice for the first time again. All your worries deflated and anxieties subsided--for you had found your God once again. You turned to face him, to see his face--the face you had longed to see for what felt like years but may have been minutes. You still didn’t entirely understand the detachment from your body you felt; it was as if you no longer had a life source, no blood running course or lungs cycling air. You felt out of place and trapped at the same time.

Just as your hopes had soared, they plummeted at the sight of the bare lobby. Emptiness sat instead where you had expected James to be, crushing all sense of direction. You wanted to cry, to scream, to tear the hotel to shreds with your bare hands. But just before you gave up all hope completely, your eyes caught on the tiniest of details.

Barely noticeable, unless payed close attention to; unless already a prominent object in one’s mind. Small, dainty, white petals lay scattered in high correlation, leading on to an unknown but obviously specific destination. You treaded lightly as you followed the path closely, afraid any disturbance would somehow make them disappear.

Unease settled through you, possibly just a usual feeling as of late, but considerably appropriate when meeting the isolate hallways once again. You began questioning your sanity; was this just yet another repeat in the cycle? You’d been lost for so long, was this just another loop? What was the energy here, and why did it not feel like you and James’ beloved Cortez, the place you called home? You felt like you were stuck in a punishment of some kind; a purgatory; a hell.

And at last, you arrived; the room in which this cycle had began, or ended. The office of James Patrick March: Room sixty-four. You paused, contemplating, before making a bold decision and gripping the handle, opening the door and entering the room. There you stood in what was once James’ office, now empty of most furniture, only few items remaining. And there it remained: the vase on the table in the center of the room, petals leading straight to their source.

Inside sat the very white roses themselves, southern California glory and all. They looked just like the ones in that very first garden: huge, bright and beaming, petals spread with all the beauty and radiance of nature and purity. And just behind them stood their God; the master of the garden who held the utmost control in his realm. Your God, who’d saved you from hell; who’d broke all cycles.

The feeling you felt at sight of James did not fail to excite you just the same as it had on that first day years ago. Something about his presence next to yours soothed you, for you knew that he was still there, that he hadn’t been taken from you, that no matter what had happened you were still okay so long as he stood next to you.

You rushed forward and into him, basking in his embrace. His arms wrapped around you, but the challenge once again presented itself: an unignorably apparent absence of warmth. It’d been just before you’d first woken up what seemed like years, or maybe just hours ago, that you’d been in his embrace just the same, his warmth seeping into you and igniting your soul as you had faded in and out of consciousness. But now, you couldn’t feel it. You felt his body wrapped around yours, but nothing inflaming, the detachment from your own warmth just the same. It was missing, a shell of a comfort that used to always be present; something you had gotten entirely used to, for to be absent of warmth was to be dead...

You gasped, pulling away from James to look him in the eyes, the reality setting in and the drunkenness fading away. Your mind was becoming clear, all clarity suddenly bestowed upon you.

“James, are we...” you froze in panic, for it felt as if you didn’t have lungs, the normal rise and fall of the simplicity of breathing gone... the feelings of life were all gone...

And it clicked.

“James,” you whispered, your eyes tracing over the details of the room. The blood stains on the floor and walls were the only evidence of foul play left. You felt strange, for people didn’t normally expect to see the place of their death after the fact. Realizations settled over you as you stared at the room, just as you had initially when entering to warn James of the police, the truth of the events that had happened finally dawning upon you. In your poison-induced state of mind, it’d been hard to realize. You had been dying, the poison slowly but surely shutting your body down. You’d barely processed it when James had held the gun to your head and pulled the trigger, ending your pain.

“Yes, darling?” James replied to you, bringing you back to your conversation. You stared at him longingly. Although you didn’t entirely understand why you were still here, or the concept of the afterlife, you were glad to have James next to you. A moment of silence passed as you tried to pinpoint what you wanted to ask him exactly.

“I have so many questions,” you said, deciding to just speak your mind. You furrowed your eyebrows, blinking rapidly as you tried to sort out your thoughts. “I-I’m so lost, James.”

“Of course you are, dearest,” James said reassuringly, his hand brushing the stray hairs away from your face. He stared at you sadly. “I’m terribly sorry for all that happened, you must feel perplexed beyond understanding my dear.” He paused, his eyes traveling over your features as you stared up at him, listening intently. “This was simply my only choice, darling. You were succumbing to the poison’s grip long before I finished your pain. Miss Evers...” He trailed off, his jaw clenching tightly. “Nevermind that. I came to a conclusion upon the authorities’ arrival, and that was that if I was damned to be put away I might as well flee with you, my queen... it was the only right option.” He smiled down at you softly.

You smiled right back at him, your love for him the only warmth left inside of you now that you no longer had your body to call home. You basked in the feeling of being close to him as he pulled you to his chest, his lips leaving a soft kiss against your scalp. Even if you didn’t feel warmth, simply the love you had for him was enough. He tenderly stroked your back, calming your nerves. It amazed you how he could ease your mind so easily, if only just a little. However, you couldn’t shake your thoughts away. Sure, you could just let it all go, but the truth of the matter was simple.

Your entire life had been a cycle. A cycle of undeniable foolishness; you’d been ignorant of the truth for all of your living years. Oh, how it angered you. You hated something truly for what seemed like the first time in your life. You hated yourself; you’d let yourself believe false truths just to live in an illusion that you thought was happiness. You were naïve. And ultimately, that was what had ended you.

You’d ignored all warnings and left the roses to wilt, betraying the one thing that had always been on your side. You’d ignored all threats and committed yourself to making paradise in the land of the evil; it was simply impossible. The Garden of Eden wasn’t a place for the living. It was a place of freedom, and so long as you’re living, you can never truly be free. For in life, one threat always remains: death. You could never truly be protected. You could never truly have paradise.

But with James, in the Cortez, in the paradise he’d created for you... even death didn’t stand a chance. It was a gateway to greatness; a place where nothing truly stood in your way, where no threats were great enough. You couldn’t be harmed, or imprisoned, or separated here; you were finally utterly invincible; real Gods. Hell and Earth were no longer a threat. It was your true paradise that James had promised you.

Your Garden of Eden.

---------

Series Masterlist: The Garden of Eden Series

Main Masterlist

[bangtae-sohotddaeng]

we’ll be counting stars | k.th. | 3

(^ gif cred: ON THE VOYAGE | pinterest)

pairing: idol!Taehyung x publisher!Reader

rating: nc-17 (for language and themes)

summary: You’d sworn off love and relationships forever. You were here to do your job - work with the biggest boyband of the world. Not forge friendships and...and whatever it was that you and Taehyung were building up with these sneaky glances. It was, to be very fair, your Chief Editor’s fault that you’d landed in this mess. Maybe you should quit your job? Maybe you should quit life -

Oh, he was staring again, and did he freaking lick his lips?

warnings: swearing (reader’s got a potty mouth) + this is set like 5 years in the future + reader has emotional issues, she's a relationship phobe + mentions of weed

genre: so much ANGST ugh + fluff + comedy + some crack

words: 5 k

note: hey, y'all. so last month i went on a new year's trip to my boyfriend's city (yes, covid has forced us into an ldr, fml) and got too occupied in all the celebrations and reunions, and this got delayed. also, you might have noticed how the chapters progressively grow wordier, lmao i'd been confused. but i think i've found the perfectly comfortable number now. expect this length from now on. thank you for reading~💜

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gimme feedback, much much appreciated!

You were, to be very honest, a complete mess at this point.

You hadn’t been quite certain as to what to expect when you’d picked Jungkook’s name out of the bowl in your office, but you could say with certainty that it hadn’t been even close to this. 

This boy was brimming with ideas! You hadn’t been able to get a single sentence in the midst of his own enthusiastic chatter, with words and ideas folding and layering all over each other. All you had done was nod, mumble words of agreement and appreciation—that you were pretty sure he didn’t even hear—and type it all. Freaking typing. So much typing.

So basically, the entirety of yesterday spent fussing over the repertoires to ensure that the list of tasks for the first set of three weeks were well-constructed had led to this—not being able to so much as tell him about the questions your team had so meticulously framed! You felt irked, amused, exasperated, exhausted, and at the same time, really fucking lost. 

How were you supposed to interrupt him without disrespecting him? You didn’t have a great amount of tact and usually just cut to the chase. Which was generally an appreciated quality in your profession, because no writer wanted to be just lathered with compliments to later find out his work was actually bullshit that no one wanted to read. But this situation was different. You felt pressured, nervous and out of your element. Because you really had no idea how to respectfully stop this guy from making a mess of all your hard work.

He was Jeon freaking Jungkook of BTS, for God’s sake!

How could you shut him up?

You were both in Jungkook’s personal studio in the BTS dorm. The boy was seated on a couch across the coffee table from your own, literally swimming in a trillion size bigger t-shirt and some loose sweatpants. His hair floof-ed all over the place as he spoke, bubbling and bursting with enthusiasm. Which he was doing a lot of. Speaking, that is.

For the better part of two hours now, you’d been listening to him go on and on about what all he wanted to include in the book. Your fingers were nearly cramping with all the typing, but you’d promised the guys no recorders and you didn’t wanna miss anything he said. But it was freaking difficult with the speed he was going at! 

And also with the mess and reluctance in your own head. You were used to pulling the reins with writers. This situation was making you feel incompetent.

You hadn’t even touched your list, yet. What would your teammates think of you if their very team leader failed to finish with the assigned data collection and messed up the team’s hard work? Ugh!

Currently, Jungkook was having you make a list of all the people he needed to talk about in the book.

“And there was this boy my age, Ji-Hyun, he was so much better than me at everything! It is him, truly, that I credit my overachieving traits to. I had to work so, so hard—oh! Please also note down Mun-Hee’s name! She was the best dancer in my entire school. So… wait, where was I?” He looked up at you with wide big, round eyes.

You opened your mouth to speak—was this when you asked him to shut up? It had to be, right, because this was the first time he’d actually prompted you to speak. 

You meant to take your shot, but then stopped. You blinked. Looked back at your laptop. Blinked again. 

You were so confused, right now. “Uh, Ji-Hyun was better than you—”

“Oh yes!” Jungkook exclaimed, launching off into a detailed story about how and in what respects, exactly, this guy was better than Jungkook.

You shut your eyes. This had gone beyond “taking notes” and was quickly turning into Jungkook enthusiastically reminiscing his childhood and freaking telling you tales about it. And he seemed to be enjoying himself so thoroughly, looking so adorable, that it felt very wrong to ask him to stop even when you tried to avoid the added pressure of him being a whole ass idol.

But you had actual work to do. And you were leading a team. You couldn’t act so unprofessionally.

In hindsight, maybe you shouldn’t have told the boys that this was going to be like “making friends.” Jungkook seemed to have taken it too literally.

Biting down on your lip, you cleared your throat. He didn’t acknowledge it. Sighing, you shut your laptop. “Jungkook?”

This time, he stopped mid-word, looking at you with his lips rounded in a pout, sparkling eyes turning into saucers. 

Now, you were in no way attracted to the guy, but you really could not deny how freaking cute he looked in the moment. 

“All okay?” he asked, looking at you and then the shut laptop on your lap.

You took a deep breath, winced a little, and then shook your head. “No, Jungkook. We need to pause…” You had to stop speaking when his face crumpled. “Whoa…um?”

Jungkook slumped in his place, shoulders sinking. “I’ve been giving horrible ideas, haven’t I?”

Your eyes widened. “What? No! Absolutely not! That isn’t the case, I was…”

He wiped his face with both his hands before looking at you with really sad eyes, all enthusiasm from some time ago washed away. “Then what? You can tell me, it’s okay.”

Now. You prided yourself to be a practical human being who strived to be as straightforward in her life as possible. But right now, you really could not stop yourself from lying your way out of this one. You decided to blame it on the fear of upsetting a client, and not the impossible-to-control empathy that Jungkook’s doe eyes seemed to naturally draw out of people. 

“I just need a coffee. It’s been a while, my hands need a break. And my brain’s kinda overwhelmed, too,” you expertly lied, relaxing when Jungkook’s eyebrows lifted.

“We’ve been sitting here for long, haven’t we?” he said in an almost guilty tone before standing up. “And I didn’t even show you around the dorm!”

You tried to tell him how it was really not necessary, not to mention a bit too personal and…not what you were here for? But he was already moving towards the door and beckoning you along.

“Come on, let’s drop by the kitchen and then we’ll take a walk around the property!” he enthusiastically announced.

You stood up and followed him out of the room, awkwardly trying to ignore the two bodyguards that had stood as still as mannequins while you were in the room and then started to follow Jungkook wordlessly as you left.

The walk to the kitchen was a short one, and the place was, unsurprisingly, not empty.

Your team members along with their partnered BTS members had been assigned one particular space in the dorm, each. According to the email you received last evening, the kitchen was supposed to be used by Simon and— 

“Taehyungie-hyung! Are those chicken burgers?” Jungkook excitedly rounded the kitchen island to peek into the paper bag Taehyung was fiddling with. “They smell so good…”

You looked from Jungkook’s face that was awash with childlike excitement to Taehyung’s, and your breath caught when you found his eyes already trained on you. While you struggled to formulate a coherent thought at the intensity his eyes seemed to be emanating, yet again, his lips slipped into an easy smile.

“Hello!” he greeted you cheerily, bowing his head.

You, dazedly, bowed back and dragged your feet up to the island, standing across from the two guys. “Hey,” you mumbled in English.

His smile widened further to show his teeth. “Food?” he asked you in English, nodding at the burger Jungkook was pulling out of the bag.

You shook your head. “No, coffee,” you responded in Korean, earning raised eyebrows from him.

“I hate coffee.”

You smiled, this time. “You’re missing out.”

“Can I call you by your name?” he asked out of the blue, and you did a double take.

“Uh…yes?” you stammered. “Yes, of course Taehyung-ssi.”

“You should call me Tae.”

You swallowed, continually nodding your head like a damn puppet. “Yes. Tae. Sure.”

“I’m bac—boss?” 

You twisted on your heels at the familiar squeak. “Simon, hi,” you mumbled, professionalism slipping over you in the blink of an eye at having a member of your team in your vicinity. “Where did you wander off to?”

Simon seemed to be sweating a bit, and you really couldn’t really tell why. You’d just asked a simple question. 

Maybe you’d become too scary…

“Just the loo,” Simon responded with a forced giggle. 

You nodded, giving him a long look and observing how his smile grew progressively weirder. Then you turned back to the island. And nearly choked.

Taehyung’s fringe hung over his eyes, making his eyes look that much more hooded. His lips were twisted up as he watched you.

Oh, dear God, did this guy have a crush on you or something? But how? Why? 

He was a bonafide Greek God, and you were…well. Not.  

And needless to say, he was literally not allowed to have a crush on you. Or anybody else, for that matter. It was against BigHit’s policies. According to what you’d read, the boys were to wait out one more year, as of now, before indulging in any sort of romance.

You were, by contract, also bound to not encourage any such advancements. Not that smiling at you could be considered one, to be honest. He could very well be trying to make friends, and you could be reading too much into it.

You decided to stop thinking so much.

“You want to eat something?” Jungkook asked as he handed you a cup of brew.

You smiled and shook your head. “I don’t eat at work. None of us do.” You eyed Simon and he nodded with his gaze wide. “Disturbs the momentum.”

“Hey, you shouldn’t consider this strictly work,” Taehyung spoke up in that deep ass voice of his, startling you. “We’re also making friends, here. This is also not your office, but our home.”

And then he grinned at you with all of his teeth. You felt your cheeks heating up.

This was not going according to plan. 

You were panicking.

Flashing Taehyung a close-lipped smile, you stepped away from the counter. “Um, Jungkook?” you mumbled. “D’you guys have a pool in the house?” 

Jungkook looked surprised but as enthusiastic as ever. He nodded, his hair bouncing all over. “Come on!”

Throughout your walk around the house, you had tried to slip in ideas from your first three week’s layout to Jungkook that would fascinate him enough to make him at least want to hear them out. And, you’d proudly like to claim, it had worked.

Jungkook had heard your plans and had even asked you to pull the list up on your laptop to have a look at it. And henceforth, you’d made tremendous progress.

And now, at nearly nine o’clock of the night, you and your team were taking your leave for the day. 

You had exchanged brief words with all the members to see how they found their partners. Currently, you were conversing with Yoongi.

“ARMYs know a lot about all of that,” the guy said, referring to his life before BTS. “But there’s still a lot that they don’t. I talked to Nathan about all of it, we made notes. I’m really excited about the book.”

You gave him a professional grin. “I couldn’t be happier! Nathan’s got a really innovative mind. I’m sure he’ll make this a good experience for you.”

Nodding, Yoongi wished you a good night and bowed. You bowed back, moving away from the building and towards the vans waiting to drive you back to your hotel.

Jimin flashed you a wide grin as you got into the car. “Have a good night,” he wished you, shutting the door like a gentleman. Then he peeked and waved at Areum, your team member assigned to him. “See you tomorrow, Areum-ssi!”

Namjoon followed suit with a hand forwarded through the window for you to shake. “How did today go for you?” he asked you in English, causing Hoseok to elbow Jungkook, probably asking the younger to eavesdrop. Jungkook’s eyes met yours, though, and the two of you shared a covert giggle. “Did we meet your expectations?”

You smiled, formally. “It was… a good introduction of sorts, I’d say. Highly informative. Moderately productive. And we didn’t have any expectations, per se, but my team really loved you guys. We’re super excited to be working with you.”

You looked around yourself, prompting the three team members seated with you to nod in agreement. “Likewise!” Namjoon nodded at you, his smile turning his eyes to crescent moons.

“Thank you. How was your experience with Sana?” you asked him, nudging the girl sitting next to you.

Namjoon grinned with his teeth. “Amazing! She’s really compassionate and driven. Today’s session was interesting and felt comfortable. I’m eagerly looking forward to more.”

You secretly exhaled in relief. Sana had been the one person on your team that you’d been the most worried about. It was good to learn that she’d managed to impress Namjoon despite her initial nerves.

Next to you, she gave a short, very professional chuckle, and leant by you to nod at Namjoon. “Thank you, Namjoon-ssi.”

“Have a safe journey and a good night,” Namjoon wished you before peeking into the car. “Bye, Sana! See you tomorrow!”

You waved at the boys and their manager as your van started to move. You looked behind to check that the other one, carrying the remaining three members of your team, was following closely behind.

“What a day!” Simon exclaimed from his seat opposite you.

“You can say that again,” you mumbled, massaging your temples. “And what was up with you? You looked really wound up when I saw you in the kitchen.”

Simon took his glasses off and rested his head against the back of the van’s seat. “Let’s just wait it out, boss. I’ll tell you later if I absolutely have to. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

You frowned, but let him be. 

Today was just the first day. If you stuck to your schedule, you would have a hundred and twenty five more of these before this project was done.

You could do it.

Right?

You, as it turned out by the end of the first week, could do it. The same couldn’t be said about Simon, though.

On Saturday night, barely an hour after you’d all retired to your rooms after dinner, Simon sent an SOS to the group chat. The six of you were in his room within a minute.

“You look physically okay,” Nathan, the only other guy on the team, mumbled as he squinted at the bespectacled nervous wreck. “What’s up?”

“I can’t do this anymore!” Simon blurted out.

All eyes immediately landed on you.

You did a double take. “Come again? You can’t do what anymore?”

He sighed, shrinking into himself as Riya, another member of your team, sleepily sat on one corner of his bed. “You can’t quit the project, Si,” she mumbled, patting his shoulder. “You signed a contract.”

Simon’s wide eyes met yours. You raised your eyebrows.

“Then—then I need a different partner.”

Sana clicked her tongue. “No can do. We’ve all worked on our homeworks. No one’s gonna sacrifice theirs for you.”

You agreed, so you stayed quiet when Simon looked at you in hopes of a counter.

“I can’t go into another week, please! It’s…” Simon trailed off with a helpless expression on his face.

You sighed. “Everyone, out.”

Your team trickled out of the room, tossing curious glances and hushed whispers your way.

“What is it?” you questioned Simon when it was just the two of you.

“He’s too intense. I have a huge crush on him.”

Your jaw fell open. “Dude… I… what? You have a fiance!”

He exhaled. “Yeah, he cheated on me.”

You drew a sharp breath, shocked. “Oh. Oh, my God, what? What the hell’s been going on with you, I’m so sorry, Simon. Are you…okay? When did you find out?”

“I’d been suspicious for a whole week, hoping it’d turn out to be a lie.” He sighed. “Guess not. But, don’t worry.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll deal with it, no big deal. It’s happened before. I’ve done it before, too, that’s not the issue. The problem is that, right now, this is all making me wanna kiss Taheyung. What the fuck do I do, boss?”

You sympathised with the guy and felt responsible, in a way. After all, you’d been the one that forced him to propose to his boyfriend so that you could bring him with you on this project. If only you knew what kind of a toxic pair these two were! Goddammit. 

But, this guy was really telling you he couldn’t focus on work properly because he wanted to kiss Taehyung? For real?

What a guy.

“Get a fucking grip, Simon, what else?” you exclaimed, throwing your arms up. 

“No, I can’t. Don’t you think I have tried, already? Please take me off this project before I fuck things up for all of us and the company.” He shut his eyes, rubbing his face with both his palms. “And I’ve also, technically, broken the contract, so… Ask Boss to send someone else in.”

Was this happening for real? You were caught between wanting to smash the glass vase kept next to you over Simon’s head, and hurling yourself over the balcony.

You inhaled deeply, then exhaled. You could, realistically, do neither of the above. So you thought clinically and professionally, and made the sound decision to burden your boss with this mess instead of trying to sweep it under the rug by yourself.

“Fine.” You cleared your throat. “Take a break tomorrow. I’ll have a word with Manager Woo, he’ll talk to Taehyung. Tomorrow’s a Sunday, so I’ll be calling Boss for the first weekly check-in. I’ll ask her if something can be done to replace you on the team.”

Simon nodded with a grimace, which may have been his attempt at trying to smile.

You retired to your room on heavy feet. How could things go south in a week? You had barely begun and a buckload of bullshit was on you already.

Exhaling, you opened your laptop to leave a mail for Manager Woo. Quoting a personal emergency, you drafted an apologetic letter stating Simon’s absence tomorrow and asked the man to forward your apologies to Taehyung as well. At the same time, you were also mentally seasoning yourself for a possible confrontation with Taehyung when you went in tomorrow. 

You’d just put your laptop away when your phone rang. Frowning, you lifted it up, only to silent the ring with a groan.

Ever since you landed in Seoul, your best-friend cum roommate back at home had taken to giving you a call every single night. Even when you didn’t pick up. Ever.

Every morning you would text him an apology, and every night he would call again. It’d been a week to this pattern, now.

Why was he doing this? You’d made it abundantly clear that you weren’t going to get roped into any kind of affair with him—emotional or physical. What did he want, now?

For a second, you wondered if he was maybe only just concerned about your well-being in a foreign country? But then you dismissed it, immediately. Why would he? What had you ever done to deserve his—or anyone’s, really—concern? You were a bitch to the majority of people in your life, without trying and even meaning to. Why would anyone give a fuck about you without ulterior motives, right? 

Lying back on your pillows, you looked at the ceiling.

You’d been absolutely horrible at treating people with compassion and care for the majority of your life. You were always labelled either too prudish, too selfish, too career-oriented, or plainly, too narcissistic by people around you.

And, strangely enough, it never bothered you. 

But that didn’t mean you had not cared about anyone, ever. You had. Too much too, once upon a time. But what had that left you with? Expectations and hurt. 

So then, wasn’t it better to not care at all, and not expect at all? You never got hurt, this way.

Sighing, you rolled over to your side, tugging the covers up to your chin. Lifting up your phone from the nightstand, you turned it to silent.

An unread message was displayed on the locked screen:

Looks like you went to bed early again, lol. Hope you’re safe, warm and relaxed. Have a good day at work tomorrow xo

You sighed, yet again. You did not need anyone’s hugs and kisses for your day to be good. Why couldn’t people take a hint?

Shutting your eyes, you tried to get some sleep.

You were absolutely not surprised when, barely an hour into a fierce discussion about his school life, you and Jungkook were disturbed by a knock on the door. But Jungkook was, and jumped at the loud rapping, his wide eyes flashing to the door.

Your back being to the doorway, you looked at the boy expectantly to inform you of the intruder. Not that you didn’t already know.

Jungkook didn’t say anything, though, and simply kept looking behind you with raised eyebrows and rounded eyes. You sat very tightly wound up, contemplating whether to peek around the sofa’s high back or to stand up, when a deep, heavy voice enunciated your name. 

You stood up, slowly, pulling on a professional frown of very minute concern on your face. You willed yourself to act surprised when your eyes met a timid looking Taehyung’s. And, you actually slightly were, too. Why did he seem so shifty and nervous?

“Hello, Tae,” you wished, formally bowing to greet him.

He bowed back, licking his lips as he stood back straight up. “May I please borrow you for a few minutes?”

You twisted on your heels to look at Jungkook. It took him a few seconds to focus on your stare and recognise the question. “Oh! Sure! Of course! I’ll be here, I’ll wait.”

Nodding in gratitude, you stepped out of the studio to join Taehyung in the lounge area attached to the kitchen.

“I know what you would ask—”

“Have I not been cooperating well with Simon?” Taehyung cut you off with a question you were not expecting.

You frowned. “What makes you say that? He had a personal emergency today, Tae, that’s all! I’m sure he must be having a great time working with you.”

Taehyung sighed. “You think, or you know?”

How were you supposed to answer that? You bit your lip, trying to read Taehyung’s eyes, but the collar-bones peeking above the wide neckline of his oversized, brown t-shirt kept distracting you. On some level, you could understand what Simon must have been facing. But! You were all supposed to be professional adults and quell any unprofessional thoughts and not foster them!

You turned your face to your feet, not missing the wide-legged, knee-length shorts Taehyung wore. You mentally cursed yourself.

His sigh floated over to you. “I hope it isn’t something I did. I know I can seem a bit overwhelming sometimes and uninterested at other times, but… I am excited for this project and I really want to give it my best, too.” His eyes looked pained when you met them again. You softened. “Please tell me the truth.”

You drew in a breath. “It’s just as I told you, Tae. Simon has to sort some issues out in his personal life. And what makes you think you’re too overwhelming or uninterested? Did Simon say something?”

“No, no!” Taehyung immediately shook his head. “I just…speak from previous experiences. I don’t collaborate with people that well. I tire them out. And Simon… I don’t think we like each other’s approach very much. I feel like he doesn’t really agree with my ideas, just goes along out of courtesy.”

Your lips turned downwards. “I’m sure it’s none of that, Tae. Absolutely positive. And if worse comes to worst and the two of you actually aren’t able to work together, we will arrange for a switch-up so that you’re able to work comfortably.”

Taehyung seemed to perk up at that. “Switch-up? Will you work with me?”

You narrowed your eyes. He seemed a bit too keen about wanting to work with you, didn’t he? You could very clearly recall your first meeting and how he’d seemed to wane when you told him you were paired up with Jungkook.

Curious.

“We’ll see how it unfolds. But as of now, I am partnered up with Jungkook and you’re fretting over nothing. Simon will be back tomorrow, and things will get back on track. I promise.”

You hoped.

Taehyung nodded, excusing himself to visit the kitchen and you took your leave and came back to an eagerly waiting Jungkook.

He stood up the moment you entered the room. “Is everything okay? Hyung looked sad.”

You honestly had zero idea as to what to tell Jungkook. Pursing your lips, you slowly nodded in contemplation as you made your way to your seat. “He’s not working well with Simon,” you honestly told him.

“Oh.” Jungkook’s lips rounded, forming an adorable pout. “Taehyung hyung has a very artistic soul,” he said, taking you by surprise. You leant forward to listen in with interest. “He tends to get awkward and insecure about his ideas and conceptualizations. They’re usually off-beat and hard to work with, but they’re amazingly creative if you look at them like an artist. Not everybody has the right vision for those things, though. Maybe that is why Simon is…” Jungkook trailed off with a shrug.

You bit your lip in consideration. Taehyung’s words echoed in your head. 

‘I don’t think we like each other’s approach very much.’

Maybe they really were mismatched, outside of Simon’s immature, unprofessional, god-awful behaviour, too.

“Hey, could we add him to our group?” Jungkook suddenly asked, confusing you.

“Huh?” you very eloquently responded. 

He gave a small giggle. “Hyung. Could he work with us? We have been pretty efficient, and you certainly seem to have an artistic vision.”

You smiled. “Thank you, Jungkook, that’s really flattering. But also, no, I don’t think we can do that. The contract we’ve all drawn has a couple of strict clauses and one-on-one sessions is one of them.”

Frowning, Jungkook nodded in acceptance.

The two of you resumed your discussions from before, but the vigour and drive was now lessened to a great extent. You, especially, couldn’t stop worrying. You were the leader of the team, after all.

Sunday night brought in the awaited conference call with your boss. 

Looking at her excited, smiling face on your computer screen, you couldn’t help but dread the news you were about to break to her.

“So. How is it going?” Your boss rubbed her hands together, wiggling her eyebrows. “How is Sana doing? You were quite wound up about her, if I remember correctly.”

“You do remember correctly. There’s good news and bad news,” you responded with a grimace. “Which one first?”

Your boss pursed her lips. “Don’t wanna immediately spoil my mood, so, the good one please.”

“Sana has been doing fantastic. She’s been nothing short of professional, and according to what I’ve seen and heard, Namjoon is really pleased with her,” you relayed, smiling when your boss sighed in relief.

“Okay, so that’s out of the way. What’s wrong?”

You sighed. Better rip the band-aid straight off. “Simon has a huge crush on Taehyung and feels like he broke the contract. He wants to leave.”

You watched quietly as your boss choked on an inhale, coughed, had some water, and sat back down to blink at you with a blank face. “These words must not leave your room. Or Simon’s. None of the BigHit staff must catch a wind of it.”

You groaned. “Please don’t ask me to work through this, boss, please—”

“Work through it, Y/N!” your boss cruelly cut you off. “This is such a tiny, little, manageable thing! Resolve it.”

You gawked. “You literally just choked—how is this little, boss?”

“Counsel Simon. Ask him to push through. Threaten his employment with us, if necessary.”

It was your turn to blink at her, owlishly. “And? That’s it?”

Your boss shrugged. “And if it doesn’t work out, swap him with someone else on your team.”

You sighed. “This is all such high school, teen flick bullshit. What the hell.”

“I know, hun. Which is why I’m asking you to manage it. And I know you can. You’re my favourite, Y/N.” Your boss nodded at you with a solemn look. “I have believed in your capabilities since day one. It’s time to make them shine.”

You nodded, dumbly. The back of your mind was hinting at an inkling that you were being manipulated by flattery, but the forefront was basking in all the praise and could really not be bothered.

All you had to do was keep the whole thing hush-hush from the BigHit people and keep Simon in line, right? You could manage that.

Bidding your boss goodbye, you rung up Simon.

“Hey, boss.”

“You’re coming with us tomorrow and you’re gonna be a fucking professional like you’re supposed to!” you barked into the phone. “Bottle up your feelings, or eat them—I don’t care. You’ll do the job you were here for, and you’ll do it right.”

There was a long, suspended silence at the other end. And then a sigh escaped Simon. “I don’t think I have a choice. Fine, I’ll try.”

You put your phone to silent and shut your eyes, knowing you’d receive another call tonight and that you won’t pick up tonight, either.

You lay back in the bed, gearing up for tomorrow.

If worse actually did come to worst, and Simon sent everything down the rabbit hole, who would you make him swap places with? All of you had built really amazing rapports with your assigned partners in just a week. No one would be willing to start over.

If it came to it, would you have to? Would you be able to?

You could maintain professionalism a hundred times better than Simon, that much was certain. But you and Jungkook had been working so well! And who was to say Simon wouldn’t cause trouble with Jungkook, too? 

You let out a whine, beyond mad at the situation this guy had landed you in.

But you’d have to navigate out of it, somehow. This was the biggest project of your life so far—the first ever you were heading. You would ensure everything worked out at the end.

You would tie all the loose ends and make it all work. You would.

(You literally had no choice.)

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Tags: @tangledsparkles​ @hoefortaeshands​ @getmemyfries

[forevercloudnine]

pre-new 52 scarebat ship meme

 (I actually have no idea what to call this period of comics. The dc wiki calls this the “New Earth” universe... it’s like, everything after Jason Todd was retconned out of being a circus acrobat up to Flashpoint. Anyway like a month ago I asked @heroes-etc​ to send me questions for this version of scarebat from this ship meme but then forgot that I did it because I got distracted by other ships. Sorry Jonathan...)

4. Who can’t keep their hands to themselves?

Bruce does DO physical affection — I mean, how many comic panels do we even have of him making out with Catwoman on rooftops — but he’s not especially forthcoming with it. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that his love interests are more likely to instigate contact than he is, especially when that love interest is a villain like Selina or Talia (can you even IMAGINE him trying to take them off guard in a fight by grabbing their face for a kiss? Because I cannot).

He does occasionally instigate affection with his children/proteges, though usually it’s in instances where they obviously need comfort. Bruce isn’t always great at handling complicated emotional situations, but grief and trauma is something he understands very intimately, and he never hesitates to physically reassure people who are in that kind of pain.

In situations where someone isn’t in the active process of being traumatized, he’s less forward with physical affection. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll reject it if it’s instigated — depending on who you are, of course. I’m guessing he wouldn’t put up with hugs from random members of the Justice League. Superman is his best friend and he would probably try to wiggle out of 90% of Kal hugs if doing so was physically possible. Most of his loved ones don’t really spring physical affection on him unless they need it or it’s an especially emotional moment, however. It’s not really Bruce’s primary love language. 

Jonathan seems even less physically affectionate than Bruce, though obviously doesn’t have a lot of opportunity to demonstrate how he feels either way. Master of Fear offers the only example of him expressing explicitly romantic affection that I know of (unless you count his terrorizing Becky Albright in New Year’s Evil as physical affection, which... might be how he’s thinking of it...?), and it’s entirely instigated by Sherry Squire. He does ask her to the Halloween party, but she’s the one who takes him down to the furnace room for some “one-on-one” time and tells him to kiss her. 

He also notably does not actually get a chance to kiss her, mainly because the whole thing was a prank meant to humiliate him. This might be why he doesn’t try to instigate anything similar with his next crush, Dr. Linda Friitawa (again, unless you count Becky Albright, but I can’t find New Year’s Evil to read anywhere so my only knowledge of his interaction with her comes from Tumblr. I’m like 80% sure he was supposed to be interested in her romantically, but asking someone to do supervillainy with you isn’t the most direct way to express attraction, so I’m taking that as more obliqueness from Jonathan).

He never expresses any direct romantic interest in Linda, but at the very least he clearly cares about her more than he cares for most people, since he, like. Defends her in conversation and apologizes to her for things that aren’t even his fault. Which means a lot, coming from a sociopath with no regard for human life. They do hold hands at one point, but Linda reaches out to him first, and he waits to see if she’s going to back away from his reciprocated touch before he reaches for her other hand. 

He never instigates anything further with her, possibly out of fear of rejection. Unfortunately, it turns out that this was a good call, because Linda was only pretending to be nice to him while Penguin was paying her to experiment on Jonathan without his knowledge. When Batman figures out what they’re doing, she immediately fucks off and starts dating Black Mask.

Even more unfortunately, his 45 seconds of hand holding with Backstabby McMad Scientist is probably the only mutual physical affection Jonathan has ever experienced in his entire life, so honestly I have no idea if he would be more into it as a concept if it was offered to him more often. He’s clearly willing to return physical contact when it’s initiated by someone else, so maybe it is something he would seek out in an actual relationship? He DOES get handsy with Bruce when he has Batman tied up sometimes. 

9. What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other?

Trip out on fear toxin, both of them, hands down. There are few things more embarrassing than, as Jonathan aptly describes it, being “reduced to whimpering quivers” in front of your enemy. Especially an enemy who’s presumably jotting down notes on your worst fears, since Batman/Scarecrow fights tend to just be competitions in who’s more frightening.

11. What do they hide from one another?

I mean, obligatory mention of the fact that Bruce hides things from absolutely everyone (with the possible exception of Alfred, because Bruce trusts him as completely as he is capable of trusting anyone, and also because it’s really hard to hide things from a parent whose involved in every aspect of your life and already knew you before you developed your pathological need to obfuscate your feelings and intentions).

As Wonder Woman pretty aptly describes during the Tower of Babel arc, even Bruce’s closest allies are never going to hear the full story from him. So it’s deeply unlikely he’d ever be 100% truthful with a supervillain, even if they got close AND Jonathan reformed. 

But it’s notable that Jonathan’s fear toxin has actually given him a more honest look into Bruce’s psyche than he would ever purposefully give to people who aren’t close family members. And by “close family members” I again pretty much just mean Alfred. Unfortunately for Bruce, nothing forces emotional transparency like mind altering drugs. Fortunately for Jonathan, nothing forces emotional transparency like mind altering drugs! Not that I’m recommending that anyone drug a romantic partner into being honest with them. But Jonathan is a trained psychiatrist, so I assume his psychological know-how combined with insights gleaned from the dozens of “sessions” he’s had with Batman in the past would leave him more prepared than most to decipher the mystery that is Bruce Wayne. (@heroes-etc: riddler is SEETHING.)

Jonathan meanwhile is more than capable of putting together a clandestine scheme, but in respect to himself he’s actually pretty straightforward. Though his driving motivation in this continuity gets more and more complicated over time, from the early 90’s “I just like fear” to the early 2000’s “my Granny tortured me with birds when I was a child and now I’m obsessed with inspiring the same fear and submission she forced on me onto others,” what doesn’t change is his willingness to monologue about it to anyone who’s listening.

Also, anything that Jonathan is unable or unwilling to go into detail on, Bruce is more than capable of puzzling out himself. In Scarecrow: Year One he successfully tracks down Jonathan’s old home to recover and read through Granny Keeney’s diary, and after Scarecrow’s Master of Fear origin was published, it’s clear that Bruce has done his research on Jonathan’s childhood. There’s even a (presumably unintentionally) hilarious scene where Bruce pauses mid-rescue of a man that Jonathan has kidnapped and traumatized with fear toxin to lecture him on having bullied Jon in high school.

Is this really the time, Bruce???

(@heroes-etc: oh 100% he nailed that timing.)

13. When do they realise they should get together?

Well, circling back to Tower of Babel, it’s revealed when Ra’s al Ghul has Talia steal Bruce’s contingency plans for defeating the Justice League that Bruce has “borrowed” Scarecrow’s fear toxin in case he has to take down Aquaman.

This was back when Scarecrow had a number of different toxins that induced different phobias, or made people hallucinate hyper-specific nightmare scenarios (such as “being eaten alive by roaches from the inside,” for some terrible reason). Batman notes in his contingency files that Scarecrow has already done the work for him; presumably Jonathan had already designed a formula to induce hydrophobia, so all Bruce had to do was steal a vial of it from a crime scene.

(The sentence “Why not make him incapacitate himself... perhaps through fear?” alone is like 90% of why I think these men would get along like burlap on fire if they ever actually cooperated on something. Also, unrelated, but the polaroid of Jonathan he has in the Aquaman file is weirdly adorable.)

Bruce’s plan for Arthur is incredibly effective, and notably also Bruce’s only contingency that isn’t either inherently lethal or a ruthlessly sociopathic betrayal of emotional vulnerabilities that had been revealed to him in trust and friendship (RIP Kyle Rayner).

(Notably, Bruce’s plans for Kyle and several other leaguers directly involve using their worst fears against them, even without a fear toxin conveniently tailored for this purpose. Bruce just really likes using fear as a weapon against people.)

After Tower of Babel, Bruce obviously needed to create new contingencies, since the whole point is that they were secret plans that no one could see coming. In canon, Bruce goes on to create the A.I. satellite Brother Eye for this purpose (which backfires even worse than his first set of contingency plans, because of course it does). But I think an interesting alternative could have been Bruce tapping Jonathan for more toxin strands tailored to taking down the Justice League. If Bruce Wayne offered to pay Scarecrow’s way out of Arkham in order to develop formulas that could neutralize the world’s most powerful superheroes, is there any way that Jonathan would turn him down? I mean, obviously he would plan on betraying Wayne at some point, and Bruce would similarly be working against Jonathan’s best interests. But maybe if they set aside their “who’s scarier” dick measuring contest to work together for once, they could come to recognize their shared passion: scaring the shit of people.

Also, the Jonathan in this continuity really likes books. And you know what’s a reliably sustainable source of books that can’t be confiscated by the authorities? Dating Bruce Wayne. The manor alone probably has an insane amount of rare books that have been hoarded by his family over the years. It’s like a weird reversal of the Beauty and the Beast, where the rude rich guy who gives a library to the love interest he may or may not have technically kidnapped is the pretty one.

21. Where do they get nervous about going with one another?

If they were dating, I’m guessing Jonathan wouldn’t want to go anywhere in public with Bruce at all. Bruce Wayne is a celebrity bachelor, and celebrity bachelors get a lot of attention, and people who take celebrity bachelors off the market get a lot of NEGATIVE attention. The public reaction to Bruce settling into a committed relationship with anyone would be the kind of weirdly resentful gossipy judgement that the girlfriends of famous princes or actors or musicians always get from tabloids and entertainment television, but in Jonathan’s case it would be a million times worse. Not just because he’s a supervillain, because if there’s any town that would expect its most eligible bachelor to eventually date a supervillain, it’s Gotham. But more specifically because “ugly social outcast” is one of Scarecrow’s most enduring character traits. Not exactly the traditional trophy wife. And though Jonathan’s Scarecrow identity seems to distance him from a lot of the shame he suffered growing up, I’m guessing that the kind of spiteful vitriol that would follow him anywhere he accompanied Bruce would at the least bring back some very unwanted memories.

Bruce probably doesn’t have the same discomfort Jonathan would with being seen together in public. He doesn’t care if people think Bruce Wayne is insane or lacking in judgement as long as they don’t think he’s Batman, and I’m sure he’d find a way to spin “dating a man who prefers to dress exclusively in burlap” into something appropriately characteristic of playboy idiocy. But while he'd definitely respect Jonathan's wishes to stay out of the public sphere, he would probably enjoy any opportunity to bring Scarecrow into Gotham high society, since his presence would definitely shake up a party, and Bruce is generally extremely bored at any social event where he doesn’t have anyone to snark with. And with Jonathan’s scathing wit as entertainment, Bruce might one day fulfill Alfred’s wish and actually make it through an intermission sometime.

I’d say that Bruce would be nervous about taking Jonathan out for “field research,” but I’m sure it would be one of Scarecrow’s requirements for any long term collaboration, so it’s something that he would have to get used to pretty quickly. He would probably endeavor to keep Jonathan away from anything that could retrigger his less healthy behaviors. On the other hand, it’s not like Bruce does that for himself, so it stands to reason that he probably wouldn’t be able to successfully control Jonathan in that regard either. 

It doesn’t help that one of Jonathan’s primary motivations in villainy is his childhood, which is... exactly the same thing that Bruce is fixated on. A significant portion of Scarecrow: Year One is the two of them waxing poetic about how similar they are in this regard. 

Relating to this, even though it might be a terrible idea, I don’t think Bruce would be able to resist encouraging Jonathan to reconnect with his mom. Bruce would never recommend for someone like Cassandra to seek out a relationship with her father, but if someone he cares about has a LIVING parent who WASN’T abusive to them? It seems unlikely that Bruce wouldn’t advocate for reconciliation. Jonathan’s dad obviously never cared about the teenage girl he knocked up or their bastard child, but Karen Keeney is a different story. DC Holiday Special ‘09 makes it clear that Jonathan was taken away from her against her will, and she’s spent a significant portion of her life wracked by guilt imagining what the woman who abused her was doing to her son.  

Ultimately she attempts to commit suicide because she feels personally responsible for every terrible thing her son has ever done, which is tragic because really she’s the only member of the Keeney family completely blameless in the creation of the Scarecrow. In Scarecrow: Year One Jonathan clearly resents her for leaving him and moving on to have another baby that she actually did keep, which I would call a really paranoid case of jumping to conclusions if it didn’t seem extremely likely that Granny Keeney told him his mother didn’t want him and left him to be tortured on purpose.

(Side note, it is REALLY weird how young Karen Keeney is depicted in Scarecrow: Year One. At times her son looks older than she is, and it doesn’t help that her second born child is an infant for some reason. Even if Jonathan is only thirty years old here, then unless she had him at younger than fourteen, she should already be in her mid-forties. Why did she only have a second child so late in life? The implication with her abusive husband is that she ended up getting trapped in a bad relationship for survival when her family kicked her out as a teenager for disgracing the family by having Jonathan. It would make way more sense for her child with him to be at least in elementary school. Also the scene would have been way more interesting if Scarecrow’s sister was old enough to talk.)

Thankfully Deadman manages to convince Karen to hold on to life long enough for someone to call 911, and she ends up surviving the suicide attempt. But were Jonathan ever to reform, it seems like reconciliation would be really healthy for both of them, since miraculously Karen still seems to care about Jonathan despite everything he’s put her through, and they’re both clearly still suffering from the after effects of Mary Keeney’s abuse. 

Bruce would be enthusiastic about this prospect for obvious reasons, although he would presumably still be nervous about the possibility of everything going terribly wrong. And even if everything went perfectly right, he would STILL be nervous, because everytime Jonathan goes to see his mother there’s a chance that she will mention the time that she kissed Batman full on the mouth. And that is not information you would ever want your psychologist boyfriend to know, unless you want to be mocked with Freudian buzzwords for the rest of your natural life. 

(...This would also count as a thing that Bruce hides from Jonathan.)

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 21

of the wwx emperor au that still doesn’t have a damn title

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

Time becomes fractured and uneven.

Wei Ying is pressing his hand to the wound, the arrow in between his fingers, slick with blood. Dozens of hands are descending around him, attempting to help. A-Sang is clutching a handful of his robes, his fingers cold against Wei Ying’s skin. His face is snow white. The delicate flesh under his terrified gaze is bluish gray, the color of an overcast sky. Wei Ying knows he is screaming for Wen Qing, but he can hear nothing over the roar in his ears. He sees the flash of Jiang Cheng’s robes out of the corner of his eye. A wad of purple cloth is being pushed underneath his hand, blood immediately coloring it black.

People are trying to move him away, but he refuses to let go. Only when Nie MingJue takes a hold of his wrist, does he relinquish the pressure on the wound, letting him take over. He sees Wen Qing’s red robes, and her tight, furious expression. She is shouting orders he cannot hear. A-Sang is being lifted. He is being carried inside.

Jiang Cheng is in front of him. He does not speak, but Wei Ying knows. That expression on his face, the thunder and lightening, the eager fury, his fists clenched so tight that the skin is red from strain. He knows what Jiang Cheng wants to hear.

“Find them,” Wei Ying says, “Kill them. Bring me their head.”

Between one heartbeat and the next, Jiang Cheng is gone. There is a trail of blood leading to the palace entrance.

He does not remember following the blood. He does not remember crossing the familiar halls, but he must have done so, to find himself in A-Sang’s chambers. A pale hand clutches his, short nails digging into his flesh, breaking the skin. He can feel no pain.  

The arrow had gone almost all the way through. It has to be pushed further in. The tip has to be broken. A-Sang’s screams are blood-curdling. The moment he finally loses consciousness is almost a relief.

He sits on A-Sang’s bed and holds him, while Wen Qing cleans the wound and sows the skin back together. It is devastating, how light he feels in Wei Ying’s arms, as if all of his bones are hollow.

Wen Qing says he will be fine. She says nothing major was damaged. She says he was very lucky.

No one, not even Nie MingJue, is addressing the obvious. A-Sang was in Wei Ying’s seat. A-Sang was hurt because of him.

Wei Ying thinks, disconnectedly, that A-Sang will be furious he only got to wear these robes once. They are utterly ruined. He wants to cry, but he cannot. There are too many people here, watching him carefully, waiting for something.

“Your Majesty,” Nie MigJue says, “we cannot delay any longer.”

He has not the slightest idea what those words mean. Had the man been talking to Wei Ying all along? It feels as if everything around him is happening under water, muffled and slow. The only thing that is starkly present, inescapable, is the bandage around A-Sang’s shoulder, blood already seeping through.

His blood is everywhere. A smear of it on the pillow, on the bed covers, on the delicate silk canopy.

Wen Qing touches his arm.

“You can let him go now,” she says gently, “Granny and I will get him cleaned up. Let him rest.”

Is Granny here? Wei Ying had not noticed her arrive. He sees her now, putting away the needle and the thread, folding the unused bandage.

Wei Ying swallows heavily. His throat feels raw.

“His sleep robes are in the trunk at the bottom of the bed,” he rasps, “He likes the gray silk with the green flowers. When he does not feel well.”

“I will take care of it,” Wen Qing says, “They need you outside. Go now. I will come and find you if anything changes.”

It takes him a few moments to be able to stand up, but Nie MingJue waits patiently, hovering right by his shoulder, in case he cannot manage on his own.

Now he can feel pain. His ribs are throbbing. Every muscle in his body feels too tight, as if on the verge of tearing. There is a dull pain at the back of his head.

A-Sang’s receiving chamber is crowded. Shijie and uncle are there, and Nie ZongHui, and ten men of the Emperor’s guard. Inexplicably, Jin GuangShan is there as well, Jin ZiXuan and two other disciples by his side.

And all three of the Lan Sect members, all three kneeling, their heads bowed.

“What--?” Wei Ying says.

He is still covered in blood. He can feel a streak of it drying on his face. Shijie looks as if she wants to cry.

He should have cleaned up before letting her see him.

Nie MingJue is talking, and it takes Wei Ying a few moments for his mind to catch up. Instant fury rises in his chest, sharply clearing the fog.

“Ridiculous!” he snaps, interrupting the man mid-sentence, “They are not at fault. Get up.”

“Lan QiRen has inspected the arrow,” Jiang FengMian says carefully, “He has admitted that it belongs to the Lan Sect. The spiritual signature of the arrows forged in Cloud Recesses cannot be duplicated by an outsider.”

Wei Ying is not listening. He is reaching down to lift up Lan Zhan, but his hands are still covered with blood, and Lan Zhan’s robes are still white and spotless.

“Get up, Lan Zhan,” he says instead, “Sect leader Lan, please stand up. Lan XiChen. None of you are at fault.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Jin GuangShan says, “the Lan Sect has a history of assassinating the rulers of Shan Dynasty. Is your decision to absolve them a little too hasty?”

His fury is a dark mass in his abdomen.

It would be so easy, to give in. So easy, to have Jin GuangShan removed from his presence forever. One order, two words. Nie MingJue would not hesitate.

“The Lan Sect knew,” he says, voice tight with suppressed rage, “long before the competition started, that the Emperor was not going to be in his seat. They knew exactly where the Emperor was going to be, and they could have had him killed a thousand times over without anyone noticing. Someone is clearly trying to eliminate the Lan Sect in any way possible, and your stupidity is helping them.”

Jin GuangShan’s face turns white. Wei Ying does not know what the man reads in his expression, but he seems to realize that this time, he has gone too far. In the next moment, he is folding to his knees.

“Please forgive my impertinence, Your Majesty. I meant no harm. I was only worried about Your Majesty.”

Jin ZiXuan and the two disciples are kneeling as well, and Wei Ying wonders about the political repercussions of individually kicking each one until they are forced to crawl out of the receiving chamber on their knees.

“High Councilor, since Sect Leader Jin wants to be helpful, please find him something productive to do. Somewhere that is not here.”

Jiang FengMian hastily pushes the Jin Sect out of the receiving hall, but Wei Ying does not see them leave.

Lan Zhan is standing in front of him. His cool expression, usually so difficult to read, is no longer there. In its place, there is a mix of worry, and sadness, and inexplicable guilt. For a moment, it looks as if he may reach out. His fingers twitch, then settle.

Wei Ying feels his fury shiver apart, fracturing into a thousand sharp pieces. He wants to take Lan Zhan’s hand. He wants it almost as badly as he wants the head of the man who had hurt A-Sang.

“Your Majesty,” Lan QiRen says, “If I may have a moment of your time. In private.”

Wei Ying exhales heavily.

He wants to sit somewhere in silence, and just breathe. But he cannot.

He can hear shijie asking MingJue if she can go in now, to see A-Sang. She touches Wei Ying’s shoulder lightly as she passes by, both a warning and a comfort.

“Nie ZongHui,” Wei Ying says, “Please escort the Young Masters back to the Peach Blossom Pavilion. Double their protection. If someone looks at the Lan Sect in a way you deem suspicious, arrest them. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Wei Ying turns to Lan QiRen the moment the others are out of earshot. The man pulls out a small piece of folded up paper from the sleeve of his robe, and hands it over.

“This was waiting at the Peach Blossom Pavilion the night we arrived,” Lan QiRen says.

Wei Ying unfolds the paper, leaving bloody fingerprints over its surface.

The note is simple and straightforward:

“The Young Masters are in danger. Leave the Immortal Mountain.”

He frowns at the script. The characters are clumsy and crooked, as if written by a child.

“Why did you not bring this to someone’s attention earlier?” he asks.

“Your Majesty,” Lan QiRen says dryly, “If I brought each threat against the Lan Sect to your attention, you would have no time left to run the Empire.”

Wei Ying gapes at him. Was that a joke? Out of Sect Leader Lan?

He looks around, but no one else is there to witness this. No one will believe him.

“I would like the permission to take my nephews back to Cloud Recesses,” Lan QiRen says.

Wei Ying feels his heart plummet.

He folds the paper carefully, and tucks it in his own sleeve.

“No,” he says.

“Your Majesty--“

“No,” he says again, his stomach twisting, “the danger may follow you there, and if you leave, I cannot protect h-- I cannot protect you.”

“It is likely that your attention has caused the danger in the first place,” Lan QiRen says, his voice hard.

Wei Ying swallows heavily, his throat raw.

“You may be right, but the answer is still no. It has been a long and trying day for all of us,” he says, before Lan QiRen can offer any other argument, “You may go now, Sect Leader.”

Lan QiRen looks furious, but he bows, and leaves without another word.