#even though she didn’t have any children or grandchildren attending

[una-don]

I honestly cannot remember if I have posted this here already or not but the light was catching it really well so if I have, have another.

This was done by my neighbor in the house I grew up in. Her family gave away the art she had done before they took her back to Japan, and one of my family members got this for me as a gift.

It’s so beautiful, and apparently it was also one of the few paintings she had like this. Most were based on her experience in living in Hiroshima after the bomb dropped. In that context, it’s always felt even more precious.

[kohakhearts]

whats yr headcanon about gary's parents?

ok confession: i don’t really have specific headcanons about gary’s parents except like. They’re Dead JFKDFJDKXJ but i have some ideas about gary’s childhood that would relate so i can share those!

probably 80% of my headcanons are actually derived from texts that were at some point at least considered canon in some respect (not necessarily canons derivative of the anime specifically - while their character Trajectories are very different, game/anime/manga counterparts are still fundamentally The Same Character imo. which means blue’s lore from any other source is free real estate for my garyisms :p). first one is pokemon zenshou, which says that gary/blue and daisy’s parents died in a car accident.

then, there is takeshi shudo’s novelization. which says that gary, though he lived with his grandfather (presumably), attended school in a different town/city. at this point, it’s only conjecture - but my thought on this is that by the time his parents died, gary was already in school. and some people have pointed out that it seems probable too that his parents wanted him enrolled in a specific school (e.g. a private school, or just a more academically streamlined one). and that makes a lot of sense to me! tangentially, i taught in a school like that - and yeah, most of the kids are the children/grandchildren/etc. of professors, administrators, dentists, lawyers. a lot of them commute from one end of the city to another, upwards of like. 2 hours one-way. and as someone who actually grew up in the middle of nowhere where there was only one (1) school everyone in the town could even go to, that was a weird experience, culturally. so i think it makes a lot of sense for his family to want to keep him at the school he’s already at.

personally, i always read that as a “not wanting to take him from his friends” thing - but i also don’t think he had many, if any, friends in school. especially not after he’s moved away and has to commute that far. so it makes me think that his parents either didn’t talk much to professor oak about gary, or didn’t know much about gary’s school life. my guess is the former. i expect they were actually fairly involved in his academics (whether or not they were involved in anything else, it’s hard to say, but i have no reason to think he wasn’t deeply loved - honestly probably a bit spoiled - by his parents, even if they did also push him to do well at school). i don’t know what kind of work they did, but i don’t think either of them would have been researchers (if they had been, i think this would have been an easier decision for gary to make. instead, he struggled with feeling like he didn’t measure up - to his grandfather. it seems to have little to nothing to do with his parents).

i also don’t know what i think of his parents’ backgrounds generally. i expect at least one of them is from cerulean city based on professor oak’s teaching background there (and he’s not very old, so it would make sense that he started a family there and then moved back to pallet town later). but as for gary (and his sister - i know she’s not in the anime, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t exist. dengeki pikachu is based off the anime and daisy (well. may) exists in that. so everything else going on in that manga aside, i’ll claim it lmao), i think they’re from viridian city. don’t know what happened in the in-between, but i just think like. blue has a relationship to viridian city - he becomes the gym leader - and arguably so does gary, à la os064, so i like the idea of him having grown up at least partially in viridian city. having gone to school there. etc.

so with the school thing, i think gary’s parents died when he was probably around 7 years old, maybe even 8. this isn’t entirely inconceivable - the one true “childhood friends” scene we get is a flashback from ash in ag in lights, camerupt, action! where he remembers the last time he watched a movie. they LOOK younger in the flashback, but he actually just says that it was sometime before he left on his journey. so them being like. 8 or 9 there isn’t a crazy leap. otherwise, all their history is like…obviously meant to be shortly before they get their first pokemon. that doesn’t mean they’re not childhood friends. it just means they didn’t know each other necessarily when they were really young children.

re: gary’s sister, my headcanon is that since she’s older than him, and takeshi shudo stipulates that age 10 = adulthood in the pokemon world, she doesn’t move to pallet town when their parents die and instead decides to go out on her own. in my big gary study fic i’ve been writing since i rewatched the os, i had her move to cerulean city to train to attend a school for pokemon breeders (based on daisy’s aspirations to be a breeder and then a groomer). so that’s another reason why i think gary was around 7 when his parents died: it doesn’t create a huge age gap between him and daisy but still justifies why she’s absent in the anime.

i think that’s pretty much all i’ve got? would love to hear other people’s ideas or expand more on something here though!! thanks for asking! :’)

[saulweissberg]

availability / @bloodbuzzfm setting / bubbe edna's house (and saul's childhood home), bridgeport, connecticut. timeline / saturday, august 10th, 2024 at 4:35 pm before the annual country club end-of-season soirée.

he hadn’t given micah much of a choice. not really. saul hadn’t threatened his son or demanded that he come along to his grandmother’s house, but he made it nearly impossible for micah to refuse. saul bought a plane ticket in advance, set to fly out a few days after saul himself would be returning to the east coast, so micah couldn’t say he didn’t have the money to buy a ticket (as if saul would ever tell him about a family event and then not offer to pay for fucking anything!). then, he heaped on lots of guilt. he reminded micah that he hadn’t seen his cousins in months and his bubbe was almost eighty—which horrified saul to think about after losing his father so young and edna would’ve protested, proclaiming that she felt like she was in her prime and didn’t need anyone to fuss over her—so he better get in as much time with her as he could before the inevitable happened. 

by some sort of miracle, it had worked! micah had joined the weissbergs for the annual country club party that edna perlmutter weissberg insisted on her children attending since she was made the chairwoman over forty years ago. though she had officially retired ten years ago, it was clear to all members of the club that edna still had influence on the board, and she’d be damned if the biggest party of the season—a farewell celebration of summer!—would be missed by her children. or her grandchildren. there were of course many other events and parties that the club held, but summer had been his father’s favorite season, so this annual holiday for his immediate family had become a tradition shortly after the elder gideon died. saul was ecstatic to have his son join them, not only because he, as much as terry and micah thought he didn’t, valued all the time he could get with him, but it was also a relief not to hear edna and levi give him shit for not bringing micah along with him all weekend.

it was just a few hours before they were all supposed to head out to the club. edna was in the kitchen, attempting to help her personal chef finish up her famous lemon bars that she brought to every club party since reagan was in office, and the sounds of meatloaf’s bat out of hell album floated up the stairs and followed saul down the hallway to his old bedroom. levi had been sent out on a errand to pick up some last minute items for the party, while eliana had joined her grandmother in the kitchen, evidently singing along to the cd playing (because edna refused to use some new fangled app on her cellular device when she had a perfectly good cd collection!) from what saul could hear as he moved further down the hall. young gideon had taken his laptop to the backyard and forbid anyone from bothering him as he ‘pondered his sophomore novel and where the story would take him’ which was really code for he didn’t have a second idea for a book and his agent was getting increasingly frustrated with him. that just left micah.

whenever he came back to his mother’s house, the very house in which saul and levi had grown up in, he always insisted on sleeping in the guest room. his childhood bedroom held too many memories for him to comfortably sleep, much too easy for him to fall deep into his memories of his father or get distracted by a box full of mementoes from high school that would keep him reminiscing until the early hours of the morning. saul and levi had shared a room until they were twelve, insisting on sleeping in the same room until suddenly it was imperative that they have their own spaces and they would absolutely just die if they were forced to share a room any longer. even then, the twins often spent all their time together, only parting at bedtime… unless they were locked into some petty fight over a girl or who ate the last bag of pizzarias chips, but their arguments barely lasted a whole day and they were back to being best friends by morning. after saul left for college, though, he had trouble staying in his childhood bedroom without some eerie sense of malaise overwhelming him. like it was a reminder that he would never be a kid again, and he had done a mighty job of fucking up the kid he did go on to have.

a kid he fucked up in a room that made him feel like a kid. the closer he got to his bedroom door, the more his heart started to thud within. the moment he approached the door, he felt faint, forcing himself to bring his fist up to knock on the door. “mikey?” saul called, voice shakier than he wanted. he pushed the door open and stuck his head into the gap between it and the frame.

his childhood room was revealed to him the more he pushed the door open; edna frequently redecorated other areas in the house, but when it came to her sons' respective bedrooms, she hadn't touched a thing since they both left for college. it was a shrine to saul's long ago youth. the pixies poster he bought at a basement pub concert in boston during junior year of high school still hung over his bed; a promotional picture of tom cruise in risky business cut out of a magazine was still taped to the mirror above his dresser; framed pictures of the young saul with various family members and friends were placed about the room; even his star war figurines that he hadn't touched since he was in middle school were lined up on a bookcase in the far corner. he would never be a child again and this room was just mocking him, rubbing salt into the wound of aging.

saul gulped before speaking. “are you going to be ready in a bit? the party doesn’t start until six but bubbe insists on being there early. make sure it’s all set up to standard.” and by that, he meant edna’s standards. g-d forbid they pass out philly cheesesteak potato skins like last year!

[ein-schnee-sturm]

Canon Divergence & Worldbuilding

Nicholas Schnee was a Polar Bear Faunus with a non-visible trait — hair-like fur covering most of his body, as well as simply his sheer size. For both love and a foothold in Atlas, he married Duchess Wilhelmine von Adalbrecht; the only child of her family’s main branch, with historic ties to Atlas’ former Royal Family. As a show of goodwill and love, she took her husband's name, and after the wedding christened her home as Schnee Manor.

Wilhelmine and Nicholas’ only child, Willow, was also born a Faunus; her trait being a Snowy Owl's ear tufts, which blended into her hair when it was down or not otherwise tied out of her way. Although Wilhelmine and her parents were accepting of Faunus, the reality of their world was that most weren't; Willow grew up knowing to be both proud and cautious of her heritage, telling only those she knew could be trusted.

Trained in the use of a sword since she was olde enough to hold the weapon, Willow dreamed of being a Huntress, which both of her parents supported. (The title of Duchess was worth only what stock old aristocrats gave it, and Nicholas could easily run the Company until Willow was older.) Atlas had no Combat Schools, but the young woman was just as well trained; Academy Exams would be easy.

Then, at sixteen, she saved Jacques Gele from a massive — possibly Elder — Boarbatusk. Falling for him was easy; he charmed her, and even though her parents were a bit concerned, letting him have her was easier still. At seventeen, instead of enrolling at Atlas Academy, she was both a new mother and a new bride. (She told herself it wasn’t a shotgun wedding; her parents disagreed.)

When Willow was twenty-two and Winter was five, Wilhelmine died, and Nicholas was diagnosed with Dust Lung. Having been close with her parents, her mother’s death broke something inside Willow, leading to what had been only drinking at dinner or social events turning into drinking most of a bottle throughout the day. After that, Winter was mostly raised by servants, spending as much time with Nicholas as his illness allowed.

By the time Weiss was born five years later, Nicholas was on his last legs, and Jacques had shown his hand. (The Company was already his, so he didn’t need to bother with pretense, anymore.) Save for during her pregnancy, Willow’s drinking had steadily increased, as she considered it her only means of coping with everything happening around her… even if she didn’t know her oldest child very much.

Aside from a wet nurse for the first year, Winter took it upon herself to essentially raise Weiss, with the help of the kind butler — Klein; — who Nicholas had hired as his health prevented him from being with his beloved grandchildren more and more. For as long as they could, the three worked together to shield Weiss from the ugliness of their family as much as possible.

Despite her drinking, Willow still made something of a token effort — sometimes attending recitals and concerts, joining the family for dinner from time to time, etc. — but said efforts were few and far between. The more abusive Jacques became, the more her children grew into strangers, the worse her father’s illness got, the more she drank. And then she discovered her third pregnancy.

Perhaps a misguided part of her thought the baby would fix things. Whatever it was, Whitley was born early, due to the trauma of Nicholas sudden death. (Given how much she loved her parents, Jacques’ sneering logic that she should’ve been prepared just made it that much worse. The trauma of said death triggering premature labor almost made Willow almost gave up, but a mixture of love and guilt kept her alive.

Whitley was named by his older siblings; Weiss didn’t know any better, and Winter hadn’t been raised to care about the Naming Rule of Wilhelmine’s family. With their mother withdrawing completely into the bottle after that, a cataclysmic fight between herself and Jacques the final straw, once again Winter was left to fill Willows shoes. But Winter quickly realized a problem.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place — enroll at Atlas Academy, and come back to get her siblings when she legally/safely could vs staying to directly shield them, and try to get them out with no safety net when she was legally of age — she spent a year agonizing over the only two options she could see. In the end, she chose to enroll in the Academy, in the hope that she could secure outside help.

The day she left, taking only the clothes on her back, a massive fight between herself and Jacques broke out. When he couldn’t make her budge with screaming and threats of far worse than just the physical abuse she was used to, he sneered that a real woman wouldn’t want to do something so barbaric. Rather than retaliate verbally, Winter had dropped her aura, and pulled out a switchblade.

She let the gash from cheekbone to cheekbone across the bridge of her nose bleed for a full five minutes, before allowing her aura to heal it. After that, and everything else, Winter probably should have been expecting that Jacques would launch a smear campaign against her; he loved throwing public tantrums, after all. Disowned, and thus almost completely cut off from Weiss, her first year was a special kind of hell.

The second was worse. A misunderstanding that got blown out of proportion ended with Weiss severing contact completely, leaving only the few tidbits of information Klein could covertly send her to let her know that Weiss was alive and doing as well as possible. The first news she got was of Weiss having some kind of episode, which resulted in the younger Schnee being half blind. Winter never forgave herself for it.

Graduating at the top of her class, with the highest honors the Academy had seen in at least a decade or more, Winter was immediately ranked Lieutenant when she joined the Atlas Military. (Whether it had something to do with the rigorous “extra credit” missions General Ironwood sent her on, or the fact that she’d forced herself through officer school at the same time, she didn’t know.)

Keeping her head down and devouring every task and mission assigned to her with ferocious dedication accelerated her rise through the ranks. Some of the brass questioned promoting her so quickly, but not even they could deny that she went above and beyond in getting excellent results (and they were often out-voted anyway). At twenty-six, the General tasked her with a new mission: Care for the dying Fria, and come the Winter Maiden.

To learn that magic and a shadow war existed was one thing; to actually wield such power was another entirely. The only thing that broke her razor focus, was receiving a sudden call from Weiss a few months before the start of the new school year. Hearing that Jacques had fused a Geist with Nicholas’ old armor was infuriating (how dare he desecrate Opa’s memory like that?!), hearing about his “test” for Weiss nearly made her crack her Scroll.

Although Winter couldn’t do anything about the years between them, what she could do was dip into her savings (which she very rarely used, as the Military provided what she needed, for the most part) and take Weiss to buy some clothes that were more to their comfort — clothing that made them feel like themself, rather than Jacques’ little painted doll — starting with a binder.

Then she saw them off to Beacon.

[heartshyuck]

Pairing: Jisung x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst,slow burn, strangers to lovers au, first love, early 1900s au.

Synopsis: Lavenders symbolise purity, silence, devotion, serenity and grace. All endearing characteristics of the gorgeous boy, you met in the fields of purple.

Placed in the late 1930s , just before World War two starts, you flee from your family who are forcing you into a marriage. You lie low in a small village where you meet Jisung in a field of lavenders.

Word count: 23k lmao

Warnings: female reader, misogyny and very backwards ways of thinking, forced marriages, world war two + historical inaccuracy for progression of the plot, drinking

a/n: this is the longest fic i have ever written and honestly it was a mission, it took about a month to write and I am genuinely so proud of it and really happy with it. Please don't be scared by the length but when I say slow burn, I really mean it!

Your legs seem to be moving on their own, feet hitting the ground at a steady and fast pace, you don’t look back and can’t seem to see what lies ahead but still you run until your lungs burn, run until the bitter metallic taste is at the back of your throat where bile threatens to rise. You run until finally your legs collapse, knees hitting the ground, grazing them and it’s the slight sting of the sediment seeping into the cuts that stop you from passing out. You’re not sure how far you’ve ran or how long you’ve been running, you don’t know where you're running to but you have to escape. 

Escape the life they’ve laid out for you, the one they’ve planned without your input, you can’t live a life where everything is set out, where ’everything is expected and perfect. A life where you’d get married at 18 to a stranger who was of a worthy social class, attend formal lunches with the wives of your husband’s work colleagues and host dinner parties and occasionally large balls in a manor that always felt empty no matter how many paintings you bought to hang on the never ending amount of walls, no matter how many more bookshelves you tried to fit into one room, a place that you’ll always hate. Then to have children by 20, as many boys as possible of course to then not have any say in their upbringing and watch nurses tend to them, your husband educate them and then watch them get married, meet your grandchildren and when you’ve reached a respectable age, death will meet you in your sleep and you’ll be mourned and then forgotten. A life filled with regret, a constant numbness, no fulfilment and no meaning.

You saw your mum live that life, a smile that never quite reached her eyes, always plastered on at any given moment as she walked around the large hall with a glass of nothing but champagne in hand greeting the hundreds of guests that you were never able to comprehend how she managed to remember them all. She never spoke unless spoken to, never put in any input and always obeyed your father even when you could see the frustration bubble up inside her as her eyes glinted and her jaws tightened with the urge to say something.

She would buy gifts upon gifts and shower you in expensive luxuries, spoil you in riches as a form of love and yet it always held another meaning behind it. There was a slight sadness in her eyes as she passed a gift every birthday,christmas and any other reason she found, almost as if she was saying sorry for the life you were going to live and how she’d use these moments as blackmail for when that time came. You’d overhear her quiet sobs when you would sneak around the house late at night, read letters she received from someone you didn’t know and how they wished for her life to get better and for her to find happiness in a world where happiness didn’t exist. You saw your mother cry when your father died, eyes bloodshot red in fear rather than grief. Her life was now uncertain and that's when you decided that you couldn't live an empty life, regretting choices and wishing for death to come to you first.

Your father had always made sure that you would receive a proper education, one where you'd read hours upon hours of the finest English literature, works of science and learned of the past and present politics. He always said "a lady should know about the world around her but should never venture off on her own" you hated that phrase but it was better than what you overheard your friend's father saying to her when she asked for him to explain the concept of communism, "a women does not need to busy herself with politics, for your brain could not even begin to comprehend it" he announced with his nose high up in the air as if he had just said the most inquisitive statement known to man. It baffled you how one could even think that, let alone truly believe it enough to announce it so stupidly in the open, it was obvious that women were capable of understanding concepts like politics, maths and science for you were living proof.

You did better than your brother at grasping algebra, better at them with understanding Versalius's "De humani corporis fabrica" and it didn't take your friend long to understand Karl Marx's theory on communism once you explained it to her. It angered you that this was dismissed especially when your brother soon went off to universities for they had outgrown your father's enormous library and knowledge, there was no more he could teach them but there was still much to learn and you yearned to do the same but as you approached a suitable age for marriage, your everyday classes on Shakespearean English, Tudor monarchy, Greek mythology and Italian art had now been replaced with sewing, crochet, dining etiquette and the differences between napkins, white laced ones for formal lunches, gold embroidery for important dinners and regular silk for everyday use, you'd recite to your mother and the many maids who were on standby.

You've left that world now, left the bustling streets of industrialised London where a black smog always hung around the air and the smell of burnt rubber that stung your nose, you always hated both. Though you grew up in a large estate where there seemed to be a never ending amount of land on the outskirts of London, you never were allowed out to explore. Only allowed out with your mother to pick out fabrics in the markets, surrounded by military men that guarded the general's wife and daughter but now you were alone, no guards, no mother and no black smog to block your view of what lies ahead, only the sun and the ocean sky, clear of clouds as you breathe in fresh air that cleanses your lungs from the toxins that hang in the city air, surrounded by vibrant lavenders that arrive with a strong, sweet smell of pollen which you welcome to replace the bitter rubber your sense of smell only seems to know.

You close your eyes and bask in the warmth of late August , the sun gleaming down on you, rays striking against your skin with the wind between the strands of your hair, blowing the lavenders and they slightly tickle your arms. You’re not sure how long you were in your euphoric trance but you weren't ready to leave yet when the dark shadow was casted over you.

Your eyes lazily open and beauty lies ahead, the sun gleaming behind him, lights him on flames and he burns with a presence so strong you can see it as his aura swirls around you, engulfing you. His features,strong and yet his eyes are soft and even as he's turned away from the sun they sparkle infinitely as they hold the brightest stars, his stare pierces through you and it makes your gut clench as you feel small under his gaze but you don't turn away, daring him to continue staring down on you, well that's what you tell yourself as you can't help but get lost in the beauty of his eyes. His face wears a worried expression, his hand out forwards for you to take and place in his and it takes you a while to realise he's trying to help you up, even longer to comprehend the words that leave his mouth, as you just watch his cherry red lips move. You're dazed and for the first time you're not thinking straight, your legs won't move to carry you back up onto your feet but your hand instinctively moves towards him and your own mouth gapes open as it does, and again he repeats himself emphasising the words as his eyes widen further “are you feeling well?” you stare blankly at him, no response until you feel the burning sensation of his hand in yours. A heat that sends shocks through every nerve, it runs through your bloodstream lighting you on fire and as if you were burnt you pull back, shaking off the dizzy spell you rise to your feet, your body finally responding to your screaming brain. A sense of relief washes over you as the fear of losing your mind slowly seeps out as the haze in your mind clears, until your eyes meet his again. “Really y/n, not for a boy” you cry out in your head as your mind seems to be lost in awe looking at him.

You shuffle uncomfortably and it’s just now you realise how much of a mess you look as the embodiment of beauty’s eyes fall down. Your expensive dress torn up, what was once a full sangria and silver ball gown was now rags that wrapped around you with the bottom half missing as it stopped just above your knees, an uneven hem due to the rough ripping which took all of your strength, the white net underneath was visibly stained a brownish yellow, the cuts on your knee not being the only thing the dirt seeped into  but his eyes don’t even seem to stop there, they didn't even seem to notice, only meeting a piece of paper that lied on the floor. He reaches down for it, his eyebrows perk up slightly before handing it back to you.“You dropped this” he avoids eye contact, continuing to stare down, his hand abruptly extends out in front of him and he clears his throat, adding to the excruciating awkwardness between you and you wince at the sudden sound.

“Oh thank you..” you can hear your voice waver and crack and for the first time in your life, your voice isn’t confident, seems like a day full of firsts, your mother would’ve been proud if she saw you acting like this, like a lady she would have put it. Quiet, reserved but really it was just a suffocating stiffness that lingered in the air.

“Jisung” he completes your sentence, a small, shy smile appears on his face as his eyes look at everything but you, the letter still in his grasp he shakes his hand at you slightly urging you to take it. Your fingers brush past his ever so slightly as you take the letter back into your possession, a spark is sent through you and your fingers twitch, as if wanting more but you stop them from moving any further, your eyes slightly widen as you catch yourself falling so easily and if Jisung catches the weird expressions on your face, he chooses to ignore them not saying anything. “You are not from around here, are you?” His voice is light and airy as he speaks softly, as if you were made of glass and any harsh tone could break you, you can’t tell if it’s because of the immense awkwardness or because of the pity he must feel seeing you in such a state. You hope it’s the former and decide that’s what it is, when he starts playing with the edges of his white shirt.

“No I live in London” the words die as soon as they leave your mouth, you used to live in London, you don’t anymore. This only adds to Jisung’s awkwardness and it reminds you no matter how beautiful he is, he’s only just a boy who’s probably around your age. So you smile at him, letting out a small breathy laugh in hopes of lightening the mood, it works as he visibly unstiffens. “Used to” Jisung doesn’t press on the matter any further, doesn’t ask anymore questions, just nods. The unsettling atmosphere sets in once again and your incapability of standing in silence for more than a second, you clear your throat "do you know where this address is?" your tone light and airy, you sound almost clueless and it’s now you realise the true meaning behind every etiquette class, the role of the women is the domestic war, the war on power. For one to rise they must make powerful allies and that’s what this voice is for, to obtain the power of a man and trick them into helping you; so you're glad when Jisung takes the letter back into his grasp and examines the writing at the front, it’s worked.

“I’ll show you the way” and you nod with a slight smile as a thank you, Jisung leads the way and you follow soon behind, with his face no longer in my sight you can finally observe the rest of him. Judging by his height and build, seems like he comes from a well off family. Though there wasn’t a day you felt hungry, you weren’t blind to the outside world no matter how hard your parents tried to shelter you from it. The world is living off rations but the wealthy still have access to more, Jisung must have some sought of status or most likely works for a household with high status considering it seemed like he was running errands, why else would he be in a field full of lavenders and it’s only reinforced by the fine silk that flows as wind rushes past you. Somewhat similar to the material that makes up your gown, or what’s left of it, it’s an expensive material imported from colonies in the empire. He walks with no flaw and so you guess he didn’t serve in the war, meaning he has to be around your age; this new life is exciting and scary, you’re not sure what you want yet but you certainly wouldn’t mind if the boy in the lavender field stuck around for a while.

Jisung’s steps slowed and soon came to a stop outside a large estate, it was nowhere near as big as your parent's manor but comparing it to the small petite houses in the village you could just about see; it definitely was the biggest house in the village. You turned to thank Jisung, mouth slightly opened as the words were prepared to leave until you saw him pull out a key and a heat rose up your neck onto your face, in both slight embarrassment and excitement as you realised that Jisung must live here and your mouth couldn’t help but confirm your thoughts, “do you live here?” you blurted quickly with a slight lift in your tone, which you hope wasn’t too obvious in exposing your excitement.

His eyebrows rise, a small smile appears but he doesn’t answer your question, continuing to unlock the doors and allows you to step in first, a women who barely makes it past Jisung’s shoulders calls out to him, embracing him as she tightly wraps her arms around his waist, Jisung leans back slightly as a way of hoping to loosen her grip as his face scrunches up in pain as the struggle to breath sets in but there’s a constant smile on his face right until he peels her off. It’s then she punches him in the stomach, making him crouch down below her, holding onto his stomach.

“How many breaths must I waste in having to tell you to make sure you fulfill all your duties before you head to the fields'' she nags him and a smile is brought to your face at the violent display of affection, you guess he must be a part of the service team that works for the master of this house, which was exceptionally beautiful in the inside; much bigger than what it lets off from the outside, your eyes can’t help but linger elsewhere and observe the hidden beauty in all the small intricate designs. “Young master” the lady continues to punish him for his action and you head whips around at her words, she hasn’t even noticed you but Jisung’s eyes are constantly on you watching your expressions change as more as more information is being released to you, a smile appears on his face and at first it seems like a smirk but soon you notice the constant pink dust across his cheeks and you realise he’s embarrassed. There’s a strange feeling in your chest, a warmth that spreads and has you clutching your fists as you think at how adorable he is, your eyebrows furrow and you shake both the thoughts and the smile off.

Finally after what seems like hours of you staring at Jisung but in reality was no longer than a few seconds, the petite woman turns to you and acknowledges your presence,  her eyes widen in surprise and she rushes to your side. “Oh lord, my dear child are you okay?” she grabs your hands and ushers you down the hall into a secluded room that takes up a big portion of the ground floor of the house.

The kitchen, filled with plenty of workers,busy hands and food; she shouts at a maid to move a few things around and to make some space for you around the small table that holds vegetables and freshly cut meat. There’s the smell of spices that are definitely too exotic to be from these lands, parcels with German writing and several people cooking dishes you don’t recognise.

You're pushed down onto a small wooden chair that slightly rocks and it is by far the most uncomfortable place you’ve ever sat but you don’t dare complain even after the minutes pass and your legs begin to ache. The maids ran around you and even as you left that world behind, you still somehow ended up in the same position and then you realise it’s the fine silk you wear that sets you apart, the rows and rows of pearls around your neck and rings on your fingers. They don’t ask any questions, just wiping away at the dirt on your legs; the same women at the door pouring a type of alcohol over your cuts and it stings drawing out a hiss from you, “sorry” she whispers and blows slightly on the irritated skin. The kitchen quiets down and the other maids exit, leaving you and the same women who scolded Jisung, she didn’t bother to ask him any questions and quickly sent him away to carry on with the work he didn’t finish, she doesn’t ask you any questions either for it’s not her place to ask. 

She wraps bandages around your knees and your eyes wander around, landing on a picture of her with three little boys, you recognise the smallest to be Jisung, she catches your eyes and smiles “the masters, when they were little devils” she remarks making you and her both let out small laughs, “though they aren't much better now” she smiles fondly as she continues to wrap the bandages, you see love in her eyes and can tell that she raised them.

“The smallest is Jisung, am I correct?” you ask just to confirm your assumption, she nods and smiles, “i can tell by his awkwardness, it’s radiant even in pictures” you scoff and she laughs. "Who are the other two?" Your curiosity seemingly has no end.

"The tallest is master Jeno and the one in the middle is master Jaemin" she says as she cuts the bandage. You take note of their names and match it to their appearances though you assume they've probably changed quite a bit. The tallest, Jeno has crescent moons for eyes as his smile pushes them up, it's adorable. The middle, Jaemin also has a bright smile, probably the prettiest you’ve ever seen but Jisung still stands out the most to you, maybe it’s because you’ve seen how he looks now; the change is definitely visible, he’s grown much taller and into his sharp features. He's definitely handsome, epitome of beauty but by the way he timidly walks you’re not quite sure he knows it.

“Will these do, ma’am?” her hands hold onto a set of clean clothes and you only nod at her as you take the clothes from her hands, calloused and rough from years of labour. "Please just call me y/n" you tell her trying to remove your status and she only nods in return. "And what may I call you" you ask her.

"Daphne" she replies and you notice that she smiles at you, a full smile nothing quite like you've seen before and you'd like to think this what a smile should look like. Genuine. Instead of all the small smiles you recieved, the ones with hidden agendas and meanings, the ones because of who your father was, the one because of your status, name, title, money and a persuasion for your hand in marriage. So many smiles yet none truly considered one. God you hated that life.

"Now y/n let me show you to a room" she leads you out the room and you follow her upstairs, all the maids rushing back into the kitchen after you have left. She turns left and right and you find that the upstairs is far more complicated to navigate, with many different rooms. When she finally reaches a long corridor, she stops to point at the room that awaits at the end. "That will be your room ma'am" and before she even could finish her sentence properly, "y/n" you correct her and she only nods, giving you a soft smile as an apology."Please call for me if anything isn't to your liking" she says and just as she's about to step away, ready to leave you to get comfortable.

You call her back, "Daphne, can you please tell me who this is" you lift up the small blue letter that leads you here to this address, to finally put a name to the mysterious woman who only seemed to want the best for you and your mother. She takes the small letter from your grasp, examining the small font that's slowly fading due to the number of years it's collected dust. Her eyes widen as she reads the letter, her head snapping up to look at you, her lips parting slightly as if her jaw threatened to drop.

"My god" she says as she continues to read, shock written all over her face, "this is from the master's mother, dear" she tells you and you join her in shock as your jaw hangs a lot more obviously in shock. "She worked for your family when she was young" she continues to tell you and the ripples of shock continue to pulse through your body. Your mother and her are good friends from what you've gathered, reading all the letters you found. Yet your mother never even allowed you to mix classes, always telling you to stick with your own people, people who can pay for your time, literally. Yet here she was being friends with a woman considered below her, even considering sending you away to her. The hypocrisy is what shocked you the most, for you didn't think your mother could build relationships if it weren't for a social advantage.

"Can I meet her?" you ask, excited until you see sadness seep into her eyes, she looks down and she shuffles slightly. Her eyes glossy with tears threatening to fall and your own shoulders droop down and a frown is formed on your lips. "I'm sorry" you apologise but she shakes her head and wipes her eyes slightly.

"Don't be silly, you didn't know and it's better you found out through me anyways." She tells you and you're glad that you found out through her too, you don't think you would've been able to handle it coming from Jisung. "If you do not mind me, but when did she pass" you ask carefully as to not break her.

"Last May" she tells you and you hear sadness in her voice , as it slightly cracks and you release a deep sigh as to rid your body from the contagious mood. With that she hands the letter back into your hand and leaves you to wash up, "Dinner will be ready soon, please wash up" she urges you to go into the room.

You walk down the corridor, steps heavy as your heart grieves for Jisung and as you're reminded of your own father's death, though he planned on marrying you to a stranger you didn't love and never truly wanting you to live happily. You loved and still love him with every ounce of your being, all making grief an impossibly hard process. For your heart hurt and your mind could not comprehend why.  Your eyes stung with tears and your hands trembling with pain and still the mind was questioning why you felt sad. Then the guilt blooms, hovering above you, for this man raised you and cared for you and yet you question your grief as you sit by his deathbed. Yet you remind yourself that questioning your grief is better than not feeling any at all, you remember looking over towards your mother who wore black and instead of grieving her husband's death, she felt grief for her widow status that crushed her social status, for who was she without her husband.

So as you remove the many pearls and diamonds around your neck, gifted to you by your mother, you’re reminded why you left that life behind. You won’t be defined by your husband but by what you have achieved and for who you are. Yet you leave on the thin golden chain with a single pendant on your neck, as a reminder for where to come from and how far you’ve travelled. It was a gift from both your mother and father, the one gift you like to think wasn’t used as a symbol of your wealth to attract men in asking for your hand in marriage, the simplicity of this necklace led you to believe that this was a genuine gift of their love.

Changing out of your ball gown or the remainders of it, you feel anew. Stripping out of your old skin and into much comfortable and humble ones, you feel as if your new life is finally starting and though it’s far from what anyone would have wanted for your life to be like, it’s what you want. You’ve been here for just under an hour and instantly you're on cloud nine, floating to where only the sun is. The rays dancing on your skin and euphoria runs within your veins, this is life.  

You’re not sure how long you’ve been in a daze but soft knocks on the door is what awakens you and you're quick to open the door, not wanting to leave the person on the other side waiting but you’re met with a fist, that seems as if it malfunctions as it goes down by the side of the same person who seems to waking you out of all your dazes recently. Jisung stands there awkwardly, legs crossed and hands behind his back, he stutters as he says “dinner is...um.. It is awaiting” and with that he cuts himself off, rushing the words out of his mouth and quickly turns around, rushing downstairs.

You can only smile at him, how was someone allowed to be that cute. Following soon after him you enter into the dinning room, the smile on your face completely wiped off by the shock of two other men sitting around the table. Your back straightens as your body stiffens, by habit, you’ve been taught to look most confident when caught off guard.

“Sit here y/n” Daphne takes out the seat opposite of Jisung and next to a man you don’t know until he smiles your way, you recognise that smile and it’s still as pretty as it looks in the picture hanging in the kitchen. You smile back at him as you make your way by his side and take your seat.

“Hello, I’m Jaemin” he turns to you, dropping his fork and it clatters as it hits the plate, a beautiful smile across his face and you finding it comforting to think it hasn’t changed at all. He then lifts your hand to his lips, placing them softly on your knuckles all whilst keeping that damn smile held across his lips and staring straight into your soul, heat rises up your body slightly thrown back and he can see the shock in your eyes . Your well crafted facade cracking. His eyes are still boring into yours and you can’t move, stuck looking into his eyes, hands stuck to his until a kick. Coming from across the table, a force hits Jaemin’s shin causing him to yelp, instantly turning away from you and dropping your hand, you notice a small smile on Jisung’s face as he tries to conceal his laughter. You turn to look at where such a force came from, fierce strong features and an intimidating stare yet when he turns to you crescent moons appear, his aura changing immediately and the child in the portrait comes to life. “I’m Jeno” his voice is soft yet clear and all you can do is smile back before replying simply your name “Y/N” you tell him and he nods your way. 

Thinking that silence would now set in was foolish of you, for you should’ve guessed Jaemin isn’t the type to let there be silence and looking back now you could definitely tell he was itching to ask you so many questions. “I guess you have already met Jisung” he turns to you again and you only nod, looking up at the tall boy in front of you but he only stares at the soup in front of him but you know he senses your gaze as he twitches slightly in his seat, holding himself back from looking up and directly into your eyes. “He is not usually this quiet, he will warm up to you soon” Jaemin apologises on behalf of Jisung yet he grimaces at the words that leave Jaemin’s mouth but you smile at Jaemin ignoring Jisung’s expression.

The rest of dinner is filled with small talk between you and Jaemin, him asking you your favourite colour and trivial things like that, you discussed different authors and scriptors to which Jeno also chimed in on the conversation, both very impressed on your knowledge though you aren’t sure if they were impressed because you were a woman or genuinely impressed by the vast knowledge you had accumulated over the years spent in your father’s library however you brushed that thought aside, carrying on with the conversation, eyes drifting to Jisung at times who just sat there playing around with spoon, twisting it between his fingers instead of daring to look at you let alone to add to the conversation. Finally as Daphne takes away the plates, Jeno stands up dismissing himself from the table, “It was a pleasure to meet you Y/N, I hope you stay a while it was fun having you” he tells you with those same moons for eyes and you thank him for his hospitality “It was a great pleasure to meet you too, thank you for allowing me to stay” you say them at Jeno and Jaemin but they’re mainly directed to Jisung who brought you here.

“If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to tell me” Jaemin smiles, a hand on your shoulder as he stands next to where you sit and you only nod at him, he then comes to your ear, lips so close you feel them brush against the shell “Jisung will come around, I’m sorry if he’s making you feel uncomfortable” he apologises on his behalf for the second time that night and you wave him off with a smile. You could already tell that Jisung is shy and awkward but it’s not confused for hate or resentment, he simply doesn’t know how to act around a female and it’s clear the way he trips over his words and his very own legs but to be fair they are very long.

After everyone left the table and made their ways to their own rooms, you too made your way to bed. Laying there you think back to how far you’ve come, a few months ago this all would have been nothing but a dream and now it’s a reality and the euphoric feeling you imagine is everything and more. Freedom is worth anything is what you’ve learnt, the freedom to live your life the way you want. To be in control of all your decisions, living with the consequences but not a single shred of regret because you chose it and therefore it must have been for a reason. It’s new and exciting but so scary as the colony of butterflies bloom in your stomach, all the possibilities panning out in your head and for some reason as you drift off to sleep that night, you see Jisung in this future of yours.

The sun shined in through the sheer curtains of your room, sunlight dancing on your skin and the warmth made you feel alive as it tingled. The house was quiet and as you look out the window you realise that even the Sun has still yet to wake fully, still sleepy rising out of the horizon. The birds chirp and the lavender fields roar as the wind dances but there in the middle of it all is a figure. Jisung. Your eyes light up and your legs are quick to move, still in your nightgown, hair in a mess you rush to meet him there. The stairs creak as you step down them slowly, as if a child trying not to get caught, you try your best not to wake a soul.

Once out the door you run out towards the purple sea, the cold morning air refreshing to the midday humidity that sticks your clothes to your skin, instead the wind blows through you and you feel free as all boundaries and confinements are washed away but then it hits you, causing your legs to halt. Jisung barely knows you, how weird it would be for you to run up to him at the break of dawn? Very weird you decide as you slowly make your way back to the house, hoping to not make any noise that might draw his attention your way.

Stepping back inside, your back against the heavy wooden door you let out a deep sigh as your eyes fall closed in relief. Thank god he didn't see you, you think to yourself as you just stepped into the living room and your heart dropped down to your stomach, lungs stopping as you see him there. Jisung flicking through a book, his eyes come up to meet yours which are blown out in shock as you stare between him and looking back at the door, his lips fold into a line and you practically see the questions forming in his mind as he scratches the top of his head.

“Good Morning” you say with a smile but the embarrassment isn’t covered well, eyes everywhere but his. He softly replies with a mumble you’re unsure if he actually said anything back or if you just made it up but as your eyes land on the book in his hand and all thoughts are banished. You rush round the table, Jisung’s eyes wide now as it’s his turn to be shocked as you sit down beside him, taking the book out of his hand to have a look at the title. “Ah a classic” you say as your fingers run over the title and Jisung only nods at your words. “Is it your favorite Shakespearean play?” you ask in hopes of starting up conversation, all you get in return is nod of the head but that does nothing but urge you to talk again to fill the silence. “I like Hamlet but i think Macbeth is my favourite. The best character being Lady Macbeth, a strong ambitious women” you state and Jisung only laughs at this causing you to turn back to him.

“She had lost her mind” he laughs again and you smile

“Yes but as a woman she exerts power and it’s not really seen much in female characters in stories and real life” you tell him, explaining how a woman like her is admirable for her strong spirit.

“Yes but doesn’t Shakespear describe her to have a masculine soul that within a femine body, he is saying the ambition and power are masculine and therefore is she really a good embodiment for strong powerful females?” he argues back, questioning you and you can’t help but smile.

“But he uses her and the witches to plant the idea of murder in Macbeth’s head, he shows that they are powerful and can achieve what they want through manipulation which he explains to be a women’s method, they are in control of the men and it shows that if it weren’t for social confinments that they would pursue their ambitions for themselves, is Macbeth really the one in control?” you question him back and he smiles

“You win” he laughs and pride is struck through you, there’s no feeling quite similar to winning a debate but there's sadness at the bottom of your gut as you remember and miss your brothers who you would debate with until frustrations would burst out of you all and it leads to punches being thrown around.

“Let me guess, you hate Romeo and Juliet” he expects you to say yes and you know it’s because he probably thinks their love for each other is shallow but you can’t say you do.

“I don’t actually, aside from the whole love at first sight, I somewhat relate to it” you tell him eyes staring at him but unfocused as you think back to how your own life was in comparison to Juliet’s, “the being forced into something you don’t want and dying for your freedom, in this case her freedom was Romeo but i don’t think he was the only reason she chose to flee, I’d like to think ran away for herself and to allow herself her own choices in life” and then silence as Jisung took in your words, a perspective he had never really thought about, the story was always solely based on romance but then again he had never been put in the position of being forced into something so life changing such as marriage. Jisung couldn’t begin to comprehend how it felt to be used so obviously for social gain and being stripped and deprived of anything else that would hinder that.

 Sensing stiffness in the air, you had to do something about it, you finally got Jisung to actually have a conversation with you. “Still Macbeth is the best” and again you manage to get a laugh out of him. The sound is so sweet that angels come down to listen to it, the heavens split open at the first bubble of laughter that leaves his mouth and your eyes light up as your body tingles with pride for causing it, you’re addicted to it and you're itching to hear it again. You need to hear it again.

The moment is cut off though with the entrance of Jaemin and Jisung’s eyes avert to his brother greeting him a good morning as quietly as he did to you and Jaemin sleepy replies in a yawn, rubbing his eye  before sitting down opposite you. “Morning y/n” he greets you and you smile before greeting him back, turning back to Jisung to hopefully start up the conversation again. “So what else are you reading?” you ask and your eyes light up as you scan over the many books on the table before you.

“Oh y/n, you know how to read!” Jaemin jumps up, it wasn’t expected for someone to be literate to the extent they could read Shakespeare or any higher educational scriptures, unless of a high class, let alone a women but your father taught you all he could and then you leached off your brothers who were lucky enough to be sent to school but Jaemin had already been aware of this “Yes my father taught me” you tell him and he nods rapidly.

“Yes I know, I just thought you’d like to know that there’s a library upstairs if you ever get bored and want to read something” he tells you and excitement bubbles up inside you and the instinct to run up there and have a look at their book collection is something far harder to conceal then it should be and Jaemin laughs at your eagerness. “Jisung could use someone like you, he’s always trying to get away from his studies” and you hear Jisung let out a nervous laugh as you turn towards him, completely offended.

“You have the privilege of being able to study and you want to run away from it” you gasp and it causes Jaemin to laugh again but this wasn’t a laughing matter, you were completely serious. You would die to be in his position and something about the way Jisung holds an apologetic look makes you think he knows you would.

“I guess you’ll just have to be with him to help him study” Jaemin offers a solution and your eyes light up at this, the excitement running through your veins. You all know exactly what that means, yes it’s babysitting Jisung to make sure he gets all his work done but it also means you get to study whatever he’s learning and expand your knowledge as far as you can. Jisung seemed hesitant at first but after seeing how you visibly lit up at the suggestion he couldn’t help but agree to take you along with him when he had to study.

After breakfast Jisung led you up to the library, it was a large room filled from ceiling to floor with books, the sight alone made you dizzy with excitement, as you stepped in the beloved smell of old books filled your senses and your hands instantly rushed to run along the spines of every book. Your eyes sparkled as you looked over each one and Jisung watched as fascination completely engulfed you, he couldn’t stop watching as you pick out a book, couldn’t take his eyes off you as your eyes skimmed the blurb, he was mesmerized by what he wasn’t too sure of. His eyes didn’t seem to be able to move on from your figure until you turned to face him, time stood still as he watched more and more of the bright smile that was held across your face be revealed to him, you were beautiful. Once met with yours, his eyes scrambled away as they always do and he was quick to turn around and seat himself at the desk that sat in the centre of the room.

You too situated yourself on one of the more comfortable chairs, opposite to Jisung, you watched him begin to write, his head slanted and both arms splayed out on the table, he was the height of beauty and grace, the gods carved him from marble, so ethereal Aphrodite herself was jealous of his perfection, Apollo envied his grace. Though you were here to study, read as many books time allowed you, your eyes were distracted and little did you know they were distracting Jisung as well. Your gaze causes his breath to halt, his hands to sweat and pink dust to decorate his skin. You were dazed, stuck in a trace of his beauty and had to do something to get out of it, you clenched your hand; nails digging into your palms, pressing hard to wake you. You forced your head to the side, eyes looking at the bookshelf once again but your actions caused Jisung to look up, you can feel his stare on you and a shiver is sent through your spine, too scared to look back at him, afraid you’ll be pulled back into his trance.

“You have a lot of German books” you say, hoping your nervousness isn’t obvious and just to be sure you get up and head towards the books. You feel him staring at every step you take and you just pray you're the only one that can hear the loud thumping of your heart against your ribcage as a colony of butterflies bloom in your stomach. Fingers tracing over the German writing on the spine of each book, you try to distract yourself from him and try to compose yourself once again but then his voice echoes through the room, deep and smooth it sends shivers rippling through you.

“My father was stationed in Germany” he tells you as his eyes finally move away from your figure, a sense of relief washes over you as he continues to write once again. Yet you're still too nervous to turn around, too nervous to look at him, he who is the epitome of beauty.

“Still?” you ask, filling in the silence as you pull out another book, examining the words on the front cover but you instantly regret it as Jisung’s eyes fall back onto you.

“After the war he was assigned a higher position in the Rhineland and then after they were dismissed he was asked to stay along the French borders'' he tells you and once again your curiosity gets the best of you and you ask him another question. If you remember correctly, it’s been 10 years since the dismissal of the troops in the Rhineland.

“So when was the last time you saw him?” and instantly you regret the words that leave your mouth, your curse yourself a million times over. Jisung’s silence is all too overwhelming and your chest grows tighter as guilt takes over your body and just as you’re about to apologise, he answers

“He visited last year” Jisung simply states but you can hear the strain in his voice, the pain he’s tried his best to cover yet it seeps through and your glad you can’t see him right now because you couldn’t bare to see the sparkle in his eyes fade slightly as you remember the passing of his mother, that most probably led to his father returning back home. Silence settles again and your frozen by the shelves, the air so heavy it feels as if weights were holding you down, your mind hazy as you space out and as the common pattern goes, Jisung wakes you out of the depths of your mind with a voice as smooth as honey, it provides a comfort that sends shivers down your spine.  “He’ll be back soon though, he’s officially been discharged for retirement” he tells you as if he can feel your stiffness and out of the corner of your eye you see he’s giving you a small comforting smile, just to make the air seem a little lighter.

Time seems to fly past as you both sit there, Jisung’s hands busy writing away as he refers back to scriptures and your eyes busy as you read up on German politics and the structure of the Weimar constitution, that revolutionised democracy, the sun was now high in the sky as noon approached. You didn’t even notice until Jisung let out a loud yawn, arms above his head as he stretched and let out mumbles of how you should stop for today or at least take a break. You only nodded in response as you stretched your own limbs out, you had ended up curled up in the chair with your legs tucked away as you leaned into what you were reading. Jisung couldn't help but smile as he looked up occasionally to see your eyebrows furrowed as you read and he can't help the soft laugh from escaping his lips now as he watches you stretch. "And what is it that you find so funny?" You question him, eyes narrowed but your lips are clearly fighting back a smile and the sight of it flusters Jisung, stammering over his words ``N-Nothing" he answers and you let out a small smile to let him know you were only kidding.

As you both leave the room, you can't help but follow Jisung "and what is it you do after you are done studying?" Your question startled him as he visibly flinched at the sound of your voice and he mentally tells himself to get used to your unquenchable curiosity. "Except for picking lavenders" you tease. He lets out a soft laugh, the same sound you've been itching to hear since this morning.

"Nothing much" he tells as he makes his way down the stairs. Following him down, he makes his way towards the drawing room, sitting himself down in an old velvet chair, you place yourself beside him in a matching one. Your eyes peering over towards his hands that pull at needle and thread and you’re astounded by the sight in front of you, a male who knows how to sew is as rare as diamonds, as impressive as gold. Jisung continuously stuns you, his nimble fingers work diligently as they pull the thread to make patterns across the once plain cloth.

He can feel the burn of your stare on his hands, his chest tightens and his nerves are lit on fire, he is hyper aware of every wander of your eyes. His mind clouded by the mere thought of you watching him, his mind so fixated on impressing you, for a reason he’s not sure of, he doesn’t pay much attention to the needle any longer; a mistake he realises once the sharp point collides with the soft skin of his index, drawing blood. He flinches back away from the sharp contact as you leap forward to cup his hand in both of yours. Pressing your thumb against his finger, applying pressure in hopes of stopping the seeping blood, you slightly blow upon it to relieve it of any pain but Jisung can’t feel any pain not when your overwhelming heat rolls of you and radiates on to his skin, with every touch sparks fly on top of his skin fizzling underneath and seeping into his bloodstream. A fluttering blooms in his stomach and Jisung has no idea what this feeling is, it’s new and exciting. He craves it as his eyes drift to your worried face and once your eyes meet his, the emotion is buried by the overwhelming nervousness he feels engulfing him, his cheeks flush and his breath is caught in his throat. He pulls away from you and quickly stands “I’ll” he pauses thinking what to say next “I’ll get a bandage” he spits the words out as soon as his mind comes up with the excuse.

“I’ll get it, sit down” you stand up and ready to head towards any one of the maids that could help you but your steps are interrupted by Jisung’s voice once again.

“No it’s fine, I’ll get it” he blurts out, hand stopping you as he places in front of you, your head moving back on reflex, and with that Jisung runs out the room; feet moving fast as his left hand tightly wraps around his right index.

You sit there for what felt like forever waiting for Jisung’s return but in reality it was no more than 10 minutes, you were never one to hold patience. So you rose to your feet, eager to find the tall boy that let awkwardness roll off of him. Heading to the direction you saw Jisung turn, you make your way to the familiar kitchen, many busy bodies work their way around preparing for dinner as the clock is nearing sun fall. Your eyes wander the familiar walls with the same pictures you stared at upon the first day of your arrival, until they stopped on the figure they seeked. There he stood by the wooden table that just about reached his waist. He poured flour into a bowl, followed by two eggs and your eyes watched his every moment again and as if he could sense you, his rose to meet you once again. You smile because it just comes so naturally when with him and he smiles back, how could he not?

Inviting yourself in, you step closer towards Jisung, “A cook too” you say, you’re impressed and it’s evident in your voice.

“It’s a basic necessity” he says yet there’s a pink coating that dusts his cheeks, you know he’s flattered by your words despite his own.

“Basic necessity?” you question as you sit down, legs crossed, on an empty wooden chair just by where he stands “I guess I should learn” you state nonchalantly, not expecting the reaction it would provoke from Jisung. His head snaps to turn to you, his eyes searching your face for any indication that you were only pulling his leg, that this was only a joke but those indications never showed because this wasn't a joke, you were serious.

“What? Does a girl have to know how to cook?” you question him in a scoff, an eyebrow raised as you question his thoughts that control his expressions.

“No they don’t but I can be surprised, I know you are surprised I can” he rebuttals, calling out your hypocrisy but to this you only smile, you were glad Jisung could stand his own ground, it wouldn’t be fun otherwise.

“More impressed than surprised” you state, earning a smile from Jisung once again, you pat yourself on the back each time you manage to pull out that sweet, healing smile that seems to wash all worries away.

“Who’s to say I’m not impressed” he questions you once again and continues to mix the batter, adding more ingredients, again you smile at his words and Jisung feels his heart flutter at every stretch of your lips. He craves to see it more.

“Can you teach me?” your question catches him off guard and his eyebrows leap up into the soft brown hair that covers his forehead, “what I’m not totally hopeless, I’ve read a book on it before” you pout. Laughter rings through the air as Jisung has doubled over, unable to hold in the snorts and his breathing unsteadies as your words register in his head and this only makes your pout more prominent and your eyebrows knit together.

“I’m sorry” Jisung laughs out as his eyes fall onto your expression but he can’t hold it in, a few bubbles of laughter spilling out as he tries to calm his breaths, his eyes glossy as tears threaten to fall and you try to fight back your own laughter as the corners of your lips slightly perk up. “Did you say you read a book on cooking” he can’t even get through the sentence without laughing but he’s quick to reign it back in to allow you to answer.

“Yes” you say proudly, head still held high and Jisung bites down on his lips as the splutters of laughter threaten to escape again. “It’s obviously not the same thing but I’ve read basic methods” you state in defence.

“You make it sound like science” he scoffs at your words and you roll your eyes at his.

“Is it not, the mixing of substances to achieve a product. It sounds like alchemy to me” you explain your thought process and Jisung nods in agreement. Though you can tell he has something to say.

“Alright then, let us say cooking is science” he begins and you raise your eyebrow in questioning as to where this is leading “reading a method for an experiment is not the same as doing the experiment, there are things that are not accounted for, practical errors, measuring errors. The method tells you what to do but not how to do it” and before he can even finish his sentence properly you jump up, startling him slightly as he flinches back.

“And that is where you come in to teach me, guide me through the experiment” you plead but it sounds like he doesn’t really have an option, you’re practically telling him. He sighs but he has to give, how could he not when you're giving him your sweetest smile and when your eyes are practically begging him.

“I’m surprised you want to learn” he questions you “I thought you’d avoid anything that would have been forced upon you” he explains as he hands you an apron.

Your smile extends ear to ear as you take the apron from his hands, tying in behind your back you explain your sudden want to learn “Yes but I’m choosing to learn, this isn’t about adding another quality of a wife to my resume. This about extending my knowledge and as you said it is a basic necessity.”

Jisung only nods at your answer as he hands you another bowl, some ingredients already placed inside “follow after me” he says as he cracks an egg and pours it’s insides into the bowl and then turning to you he see you struggle, knocking the egg against the table softly you try and mimic his actions “Did the book not mention eggs?” he laughs and so does Daphne who observes close by as you send him glares that wish him death.

“Like this” he says as he places his hands over yours, guiding you but your eyes aren’t focused on the egg in your hold, you’re focused on Jisung who’s so close, too close. You feel his breath on the side of your neck and goosebumps arise on the surface of your skin as shivers are sent down your spine. The scent of cotton, jasmine and of course lavenders invade your senses and blur your mind. You can’t help but stare at Jisung, perfection personified as he concentrates on explaining how to assure no shell falls into the batter. Yet the words enter one ear and exit the other as you watch his lips move, your eyes stuck and it’s only when his eyes move up to meet yours does he also realise the little space between the two of you. His hands still holding onto yours, his eyes move down. Slowly they trace the features of your face, the bridge of your nose, the dip of your cupid’s bow and then they stop at your lips. His breathing halts, his heart skips beats as it dances in his chest and when he feels unbearable heat take over him he forces himself away from you. Quickly flinching back, his warmth leaves you, he clears his throat and turns from your gaze that still stares, he continues showing you what to do and no more words are exchanged as the heaviness in the air sets in.

Many weeks go by where you and Jisung spend all your mornings in the library, which had now become your favourite spot in the house, you look forward to picking up a new book every morning, look forward to watching Jisung so focused on his work, telling him all about what you’ve learnt and occasionally sparking up a debate but you also find yourself staring out the window wishing for the sun to only raise itself higher and higher as you wish for midday to arrive, to run away with Jisung down into the kitchen where he continues to teach you how to cook, some days he would take you into town to pick out fresh ingredients or some days into the drawing room where he attempts to teach you how to sow. After a few failed attempts, your patience wearing thin and much blood being drawn from your fingers, you give up on sewing however cooking is a much greater achievement and the outcome was worth every bit of it. The smile on Jisung’s face every time he’d taste something he’d liked, every time you remember a part of a recipe and every time he would sit down at the dinner table and Jeno or Jaemin would compliment your cooking. He felt immense pride in you and it fostered a love for cooking within you.

Other days when the weather prohibited it, Jisung would take you out into the lavender field. You’d sit in between the rows and rows of purple, picking at the prettiest ones.The sun high in the sky, august warmth embracing you as the wind blew over the roaring fields, dancing between your hair. “Look I learnt this from a book” you sit beside Jisung, his head snaps up and his attention is on your fingers now as they twirl the thin stems in and around each other to form a knot. “Purity, silence, devotion and grace are what a lavender symbolise” you begin to tell him “and you Jisung” you place the intertwined lavenders behind his ear, he’s visibly flustered as his cheeks turn hues of pink and it only urges you on “are exactly that” you whisper to him as if the lavenders had ears and could hear your confession, for these words are for Jisung’s only.

Jisung’s eyes widened as each word that was revealed to him, his heart thumping in his chest and his mind set on fire as chaos engulfed him. His thoughts scrambled and instantly his mind went to countless different possibilities as to what those words meant but looking up at you his mind cleared for he only saw beauty. The beauty your eyes held, as they sparkled infinitely each time they skimmed over the countless words on a book, the beauty your smile held when someone complimented your new found cooking skills, the beauty in your voice each time you called on him as the new found nickname “sungie” which caused his heart to melt, the beauty you held in the way you carried yourself never letting anyone put you down. Jisung adored you in every way, embers in his chest that grew into a flame, which spreads through his entirety burning all. A blissful pain sits at the core of him, aching, he longs for you but do you long for him? Is he but a fool to fall in love with a stranger, the stranger in the lavender fields. Is he a fool for falling in love with you? Is this even love? His eyes fixated on your lips, he examines the curve of them, the colour, their beauty. As if they were magnets he’s drawn to them, slowly inching himself forward, so close he could feel the warm air that made it past them.

So close and yet so far is he to you, the sweet smell of lavenders is dizzying, the sunlight burns your skin but against Jisung’s it only illuminates his, he glows. The urge to place your lips on top of his, eats away at your skin, the want crawls under and down your spine, shivers resonate throughout your body as he nears. The world falls away, the slight buzzing of bees fade, the tickles of the grass dissipate and you only feel Jisung. His presence, the brush of his knee against yours and the warmth that radiates off him. Your heart stops, you stop breathing, anticipating what’s about to happen next until suddenly Jisung’s head snaps to the right and reality comes flooding in as you hear both your names ringing and ripping through the air. “Jisung! Y/N!” Daphne shouts and Jisung jumps up answering for both of you “We’re coming!” Left completely stunned you sit there, mind in chaos as your embarrassment engulfs you. Your eyebrows furrowed, you think to yourself how you could allow for yourself to fall into his spell. What were you thinking? That’s the problem, around Jisung you can’t think, everything happens on pure instinct and desire. Then as if you had rewinded time, a shadow is casted over you, a hand is placed in front of you to take and as he did on that first day, he snaps you out of your daze. “Are you feeling well?” he asks in that same soft voice. Your hand twitches to move towards him and it takes everything in your power to stop it from falling into his grasp once again.

“Fine” it comes out much colder than you expected it to as you rise up to your feet on your own, his hand is left hanging awkwardly to which he slowly closes before placing it behind his head as he bites his bottom lip and your eyes can’t help but fall on them again, they which were so close and yet so far. “Let’s go” and this time you lead him out of the lavender field.

The walk back to the house is silent, the same awkwardness that hadn’t made an appearance in so long settles in the air, it’s thick and heavy and you can feel it weigh you down. Upon arriving back to the house, a carriage awaits outside, a military emblem on the back and your heart drops, eyes widen and your steps stop. “It couldn’t be” you let out at barely a whisper.

But the slightest sound from you is enough to have Jisung’s head snap up towards you, for he’s been waiting for you to make a sound, any sound to rid this atmosphere. "What is it?" He asks also hushed, his eyes follow yours and there it leads to the carriage, a smile rips through his face and he runs ahead.  Confused you rush your steps but the anxiety building up in your chest stays, the lump in your throat is still hard to swallow.

“Y/N!” Jaemin calls you whilst waving his hand eagerly, calling you to come quickly and as you step closer the constraining feeling in your chest dissipates as the figure that steps out of the carriage is an unknown one to you. You stand by Jaemin’s side, who radiates excitement off him and you can’t help but smile as the little boy in the picture is standing right before you, the same eager stance and pretty smile that even the sun envies. The man exists and immediately pulls Jeno into an embrace so tight and you swear you see Jeno’s eyes sparkle as tears threaten to fall. Jisung is much less subtle at concealing his tears, he sobs into the man’s shoulder and it’s only then you presume this is their father. Jisung’s eyes are red and he sniffles as his father let’s go of him and your heart clenches at his adorableness. Jaemin is as happy as ever, hugging his father as tight as ever, eyes closed in pure bliss. You’re smiling like a fool as the heartwarming scene unfolds in front of you, so busy looking at the happy smiles and the stray few tears that are still running down Jisung’s cheeks you don’t notice the new acquaintance step in front of you until he clears his throat and you jump to meet his gaze.

“You must be Y/N” he smiles extending his hand and you place yours in it, shaking it. “I’ve heard a lot about you in all my son’s letters” your eyes widen and your turn to the three boy, Jaemin with that damn smirk on his face, Jisung avoiding your eyes and as always finding his shoes much more interesting, thank god for Jeno who offers a comforting smile assuring it’s all good things. “Sir you’ve raised three fine men, who have all welcomed me” you bow your head in thanks and he smiles once again.

“I couldn’t possible take any credit for it, it’s all thanks to their mother and Daphne of course” he turns from you to her and she pulls him into an embrace “Thank you for looking after them” he says barely audible but Daphne catches it and just as softly replies “but of course”. As everyone heads inside you wait until Jisung is by your side to start heading in as well, “Crybaby” you whisper with a teasing smile you nudge him with your elbow, he scoffs as he’s wiping his tear stained cheeks but he can’t help smile back at you.

Seated around the dining table, as always by Jaemin’s side and opposite Jisung, their father sits at the head of the table and more food than ever is being served tonight in celebration. You’re much more quiet tonight despite Jaemin continuously making sure you feel involved in the conversation, you’re eternally grateful for him. “So Y/N, why did you leave home?” their father asks so casually it almost goes unnoticed by the boys but Jisung almost chokes on his water, Jeno’s eyes widen and Jaemin almost immediately tries to shut down the conversation “Father” he gives him a pointed look, jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowed as he shakes his head.

“Jaemin, it's okay" you smile towards him, "freedom i suppose sir" you answer the question and Jisung's father squints his eyes, as he lets out a hum in acknowledgement of your answer. "Even after all your family has done for you?" He continues to question "you come from the family my late wife used to work under, am I correct?" And you simply nod "yes I do".

"The late General's daughter" he states "I wonder if he's turning in his grave at this moment" Jisung's grip on his silverware tightens and you notice his knuckles turn white and once again Jaemin's stare is begging his father to stop as Jeno looks over to see how affected you are by his cruel words. You don't falter though, you know what you've done can seem selfish but it was necessary "I'm sure he is" you laugh out "but he's always known I'm never one to listen" you continue to pick away at the food on your plate and you can feel all there gazes falls onto you, as you look up Jisung’s eye bore into yours as he mouths a soft “sorry” to you and you smile back at him shaking your head.

“I assume you’ve run from marriage” Jisung’s father starts up conversation again and you only nod as an answer “Are you against marriage?” he asks and it’s if he wants tears to fall from your eyes as he keeps pushing where he knows it’ll hurt. “Of course not but I would like to pursue a higher education or experience the world first” you explain, still keeping your calm.

“You think a woman is capable of doing such things?” he asks again and it’s this question that really makes your skin crawl and your jaw tighten. Questioning your methods of gaining freedom is one thing but looking down on all women and claiming them unable is one you can’t stand for. “I think we are very capable, I think the suffragettes have made that very clear and sir didn’t you work with the Weimar Government, they were the first government to allow women to vote I would think their initiative would have rubbed off on you” and he only smiles at your answer.

“I was stationed in Germany and worked under the Weimar Government up until their collapse, you’re correct” he begins to tell you “I have to tell you that I agree with your view, I’ve seen much that women are capable of doing” he says and your eyes widen at his words “I think what you did was brave and admirable, my three boys could learn from you, I hope you can lend Jisung some of your courage” he smiles at you and your jaw still hangs as does everyone else's around the table and as you look up to find pink hues invading Jisung’s cheeks once again, if you didn’t know any better you would have thought it were always like that regardless. You nod at their father before answering back “I think I’m the one who’s learning a lot form Jisung sir” and the shades of pink darken

The atmosphere had lightened again somewhat although the topic on war was not a light one at all, as their father expressed his worry about sending his three sons off to war and how in ruins the country would be again, worry sat in your chest. Jeno and Jaemin are strong all physically, emotionally and mentally but Jisung is the sweet boy who wouldn’t hurt a bee. “What do you think of the current situation of our country Y/N'' Jeno taking you out of your thoughts, you head snaps up to him “I think the war is unavoidable despite our economic stance, Germany has already invaded Czechoslovakia and it’s only time before they invade Poland meaning our involvement in the war is definite whether we want it or not'' the table falls silent as they process your words and it’s not until Jisung’s father begins to nod and expand on your thoughts but you zone out as you watch Jisung fiddle with the knotted lavenders you had gifted him and your lips can’t help but curve.

The next morning a book awaited you on your vanity, a scarlet red cover with gold print, you ran your fingers along. “Sonnets'' it read and as you flicked open to the first page, familiar handwriting appeared “A collection of my favourite - Jisung” a smile spread across your face as it usually did when your thoughts ran to Jisung. You sat down flicking to the first poem “Sonnet 18” a giggle escaped your mouth and like a schoolgirl already aware of the beauty Shakespear's arguably most famous sonnet holds, the giddy feeling of butterflies blooming caused your heartbeat to quicken and a heat to rise.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:

Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And too often is his gold complexion dimm’d:

Annotations surround the poem as Jisung highlights and picks out certain lines. The second line is underlined and next to it he writes “Though you are lovely, temperate is definitely up for debate” he teases and you scoff at his words. You read on and lines four and five are underlined and his annotation reads “The eye of heaven is you who shines gloriously throughout the day and yet too often you allow yourself to dim. Don’t.”

And every fair from fair sometimes declines,

By chance or natures changing course untrimm’d;

By thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

“You are my eternal summer, your beauty is one that isn’t possible to vanish, it’s infinite unlike summer which collapses in winter” you read on as lines nine and ten are underlined.

Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

The the final annotation as the last three lines are highlighted, Jisung says “Your beauty shall remain eternal so long as my heart beats, so long as i live and breathe, so long as my eyes can see your beauty, I only seem to think of you now as i read this poem and in this poem the memory of you shall live on” you heart beats erratically in your chest, you’re breathless as his words halt your breathing. Forgetting such simple acts as thinking and even breathing seem to be a regular side effect in the presence of Jisung, just the mere thought of him. Your palms grow sweaty, your heart clenches reading over the words again and again, you pinch yourself. For this moment, seems like nothing but a dream, your heads in the cloud, you're living in the heavens. The feeling is suffocating, your own throat is closing in on you, the pain in your chest spreads like wildfire, your whole body aches with admiration for him. Yet the constant question looms over your head, what does he really mean by this? Is his feeling the same as yours? Or is he portraying the beautiful friendship you both have built over the weeks? One thing is sure and it’s that you can’t ruin that, can’t let the heavy air seep in once again and weigh you down.

The days folded out as normal, Jisung’s presence still as overwhelming as ever but you couldn’t help but find serenity in it, he was soft spoken yet his silence speaks the loudest for him, his grace and beauty as  were one to be envied by all but you were nothing more than grateful for being able to witness it day after day, it were as if he had walked out of your dreams. The stolen glances, lingering stares as he smiled or laughed, he stole your heart and he wasn’t even aware it was his anyways. Sitting opposite him, you stare not caring if he or anyone catches you for your far past the point of holding any shame and allowing your eyes to do as they please.

"I have something to announce" Jeno suddenly speaks up, breaking the silence, all eyes turn to him and he audibly gulps. You’ve never seen him so nervous, fiddling with his silverware you almost mistook him for Jisung. He clears his voice before speaking, taking in a deep breath he prepares himself for the words that are about to leave him, “I am to marry” he says quickly waiting for a response, an outroar, a gasp and maybe a few tears but none of them come.

“About time don’t you think” Jaemin laughs out causing the rest of the table to release small giggles at Jeno’s expense, “You have been all giddy and heart eyes at that girl in the village since we were all but five- OW" Jaemin's face twists in pain, hands rushing to his shin as he's cut off by a harsh kick. Jisung and you burst into laughter not being able to hold it in any longer.

"And what are you two laughing at" Jeno punches at Jisung’s shoulder, immediately causing him to halt his laughter as he rubs his shoulder “Well brother, it’s not like it is a secret. Even Y/N knows” and you giggle again as Jisung enlightens Jeno on his obvious swooning.

“What?” Jeno’s eyes widen as he turns to you and you can’t help but laugh even more. “We visited the village and your eyes were stuck, Jeno you walked straight into Jisung” you burst out laughing as you recall the memory. Once the laughter, the teasing, the amount of huffs that leave Jeno quiet down your left with comfort, a bliss that you’ve never felt before, a smile that just won’t leave your face. It’s a beautiful feeling and you wish to memorise it for if numbness overtakes your body, you can relive this exact moment of the solace you found in those around this table.

“Is that three out of the four of us in love?” Jaemin smirks as he lifts his glass to his lips, looking around the table, Jeno scoffs at his words but confusion is written all over you and Jisung. Did Jaemin know that your heart only seems to beat for Jisung? How did he know? Who was the other person? Was it Jaemin or Jisung? If Jisung, who did he love? The questions ran through your mind in circles and it only spewed more questions to follow, your head was spinning stuck in the spiral of curiosity, but curiosity always killed the cat.

But cats have 8 other lives right? That is what you had decided later that night, sat beside Jisung on the stone wall, letting curiosity take over you - slightly. Your legs dangled, swinging them back and forth, whilst Jisung’s gaze was set on the crashing waves of purple as the moon pulled them back and forth; yours were stuck on him. The moonlight illuminated, captured his beauty in a way the sun couldn’t, it seemed the goddess of the moon saw greater beauty in Jisung than Apollo could ever begin to understand.

“I could not fail to realise that sonnet 23 was not amongst your favourite” your eyes darting out towards the fields as his turn to you, “It’s one of my favourites” you tell him.

“I’m sorry to disappoint but do you not think it’s a bit cliche” he laughs and your eyebrows shoot up in slight disbelief “and sonnet 18 is not” you scoff, finally meeting his eyes.

“Sonnet 18 is beautiful” he argues and he swings into you, nudging you slightly, rolling your eyes you nudge him back “Sonnet 23 is just as or dare I say more” and he smiles slightly, eyes turning back to the night sky, the clouds running over the moon and Jisung is left amongst the stars. “How so?” he dares to question.

“It is, for one, far more romantic” you begin “the thought of one loving you with so much passion, so unconditionally that it can not even be professed by words yet the love they feel is so strong they need an escape, to tell that person what they can not truly express fully, to let them show you how much they love you. To hear with eyes as Shakespear so beautifully put it” you nudge him again and he looks down at you, a smile as radiant as the sun,moon and stars combined graces you and again Jisung has stolen your heart in complete silence

“Yet what I love about Sonnet 18 is that it is not too romantic, that the love that Shakespear professes can be for a lover or a friend, he speaks of all the imperfections of summer yet still he loves it, he describes the person he loves as someone who defies all the imperfections for in his eyes they are perfect imperfections when it comes to them” he nudges you back with a slight giggle but you can’t return his happiness for you have been stung as his words seep into your mind.

“Oh for a friend” you whisper, he hears your words but not the sadness behind them as he continues with that bright smile “and that is why it was so perfect to give to you” his words are daggers to the heart, piercing through, it shatters and the fine pieces scatter throughout you and the sadness seeps through every fibre, cell and atom of your body.

“Are you feeling well?”he asks and worry sweeps the smile off his face as he finds the glossiness of your eyes, the slight redness as well as the unusual silence from you. “Fine” you answer jumping off the stone wall, “Just tired” you say looking out to the goddess of the moon one last time, unable to turn and look at the art she admired most. “Goodnight Jisung” you say as you turn back to the house, not sparing him a glance for he stole your heart and then broke it. 

Though that night your tears mixed with moonlight until Morpheus took you to dream and then the next morning tears mixed with sunlight as Apollo pulled his golden chariot, with swollen eyes and a throbbing head you promised this wouldn’t affect the beautiful friendship that had bloomed. Jisung may not love you the way you would like but he still loved you, as a friend. The mere thought of the word stung, another aching rippled through you and your bones quacked.

Many dusks and dawns had passed and since,you’ve managed to create some distance between you and Jisung but as once said distance makes the heart grow fonder and you curse whoever uttered such truth. For every stolen glance and accidental touch seemed to make your dormant heart beat with every intent of being heard as it rose to your throat, suffocating you.

Jeno’s upcoming wedding being the greatest of all excuses to run away from the burning presence of Jisung, for you would flee to the village with Daphne and pick out materials, help Jeno’s fiance pick flowers, handwrite invitations with Jeno and accompany Jaemin on whatever errands he had been sent to do. No one questioned how you decided to spend your time, other than of course Jaemin who couldn’t help but let his curiosity lead the words that spewed out of him, to which you told him he’d regret someday.

“Just tell me Y/N” he groans as he carries the large basket of apples “Why spend your time with me instead of Jisung” he continues to pursue the answers you deny him of.

“Maybe because, and I dare to say, I like your company more” you pinch his cheek and laugh at the pout that forms on his face “What answer are you looking for Jaems, what would you have me say?”

“I want you to say you are helplessly in love with my brother who is just as in love with you however both of you are too busy quoting literature that is up for interpretation rather than professing your feelings because you lack the courage to do so” you freeze at his words and he also comes to a halt, turning towards you his eyes, sympathetic “you both are as obvious as Jeno” he lets out a small laugh.

“He does not love me Jaemin” your voice stern as you try to convince one who believes in fairytales, your steps quicken and he chases after you “and how exactly do you know?” he questions, curiosity endless.

“He said so, he said he gifted me Sonnet 18 as a friend.” You scoff at the absurd word that causes so much pain and you say it with spite everytime.

“Like I said he lacks courage and as my father said you, Y/N, can help him gain it” he tells you, eyes wide with hope and you admire Jaemin for being a hopeless romantic and you only hope he meets someone who completely fulfills his ideology of love.

“I don’t think I possess such courage anymore” you break it to him for Jisung has broken your heart once, how can you have the courage to allow him the chance to do it again.

Jeno’s wedding arrived much sooner than expected, as the weeks rushed past in much haste as the many busy bodies prepared for the beautiful evening and as hard as you tried to separate yourself from Jisung, the universe liked to disrupt those plans. To the place it all started, so close yet so far apart, you stood rows away from Jisung picking only the prettiest lavenders as per Jeno’s request. The air was thick and heavy despite the August breeze that ran through the fields, an unfamiliar heaviness sat between you two for even as strangers you were far more comfortable. Maybe it’s due to the curiosity you held back then, for the boy in the lavender field, beauty that wasn’t done justice by the word but now that you know him, adore him and are in love with him and now that your heart belongs to him but his not to yours. There’s a void left for the seeping awkwardness to fill, an uneasiness sat in your gut and every moment was excruciating to bare as your heart pains at every beat that belongs to him who does not seem to care.

“Lavenders wouldn’t be my first pick for a wedding” he speaks up first, the silence with you was something he wasn’t used to, you always made sure to replace it with continuous talking and contagious laughter and now that you weren’t, it didn’t feel right to him but you only nod in response not entertaining his thoughts any further. Jisung preferred silence, his thoughts more coherent, his emotions understandable, the silence was comfortable and not overwhelming but with you he couldn’t stand it, mind always wondering what you were thinking, what you were feeling, he needed to know. 

So he carries on speaking, “If it were up to me, Irises and carnations” he expects an interrogation, your endless curiosity asking why that would be his pick but it never comes. So he continues speaking, giving you the answer you didn’t ask for “Irises mean faith, fitting for a lifelong vow” he laughs as he looks over to you stoic expression, cutting off his soft laughter he again begins to speak “and carnation, white ones that symbolise-”

“Eternal love” you cut him off, turning to him, finally speaking yet your tone is monotonous and there is no emotion evident on your face. There’s slight fear in him and it rises, a lump forming in his throat that he can’t quite seem to swallow “Exactly” he choked out, voice strained.

You let out a breath that seemed to be weighing you down, you couldn’t let him continue talking about the meaning behind the flowers, your heart couldn’t take it for aching stops momentarily and instead it flutters and swoons across your chest but then reality hit and it shatters all over again, the pain shooting through your bloodstream.

“Are you feeling well?” he asks as he always does and you answer “Fine” as you always do, even though you both know it’s a lie but he doesn’t push any further as always. The longing feeling for you to look at him and spill all your worries and feelings to him is so great but he doesn’t want to push you to nor does he expect you to trust him with that vulnerability when he himself does not have the courage to do the same back to you.

“I’m going to leave after Jeno’s wedding” you announce working up the little courage you have left, if you say it out loud then you’ll have to follow through. “Thank you for everything” you brace yourself to meet his eyes once more as you turn. “What? Why?” concern so evident in the way his voice wavers, eye glossed over as tears threaten to fall.

“I left to seek my own happiness in life, to make a mark on this Earth yet instead I ran from relying on my family to relying on you and yours” again your voice is completely void of emotions, yet every part of your body was screaming. Longing for the warmth, solace and peace you had found here and it’s at this point you curse yourself for memorising that bliss for all you will do is miss it.

“Did you not feel happiness here?” he screams out, harsher than he expected as he voice comes out rough and broken and you stand there eyes wide for this was the first time the pure,silent and serene boy that stands in the lavender fields has allowed so much emotion to course through his body and you can tell by the way he shakes, the way he struggles to breath and the shock that immediately washed over him upon hearing his own voice raised “I’m sorry” he mumbles in a heavy exhale.

“Thank you for everything Jisung” you offer him a smile as you leave, avoiding his question, leaving him standing alone in the lavender fields.

Leaving the basket of lavenders with Jeno, you rush up the stairs and only when behind the safety of your door do you allow the tears to come streaming down your face, sobs escaping and you hold your mouth to conceal them as you take deep shaky breaths to steady your breathing. Your whole body aches and shakes as it mours the end of your stay, the tears cloud your vision and as you lay down to ease the heartbeat in your head, you cry yourself into a slumber. Even as the dreams swirl around you, pulling you into the unconscious, reality never truly slips away, it haunts you as even in the world you build you can’t stray away from it. The ability to dream of anything further isn’t a possibility, he doesn’t love you and that’s the reality. Why bother dreaming of something that isn’t meant to be. Yet you can’t help but dream of him. His eyes, his smile, his warmth, the pink dust that always decorates his cheeks, his laugh and his existence.

In your days you are held hostage by the daydreams, the what ifs. It felt like you had loved him in every lifetime, you wonder if any had got it right? Had any been loved by him? Your body lies stiff, falling in and out of consciousness but your mind never leaves him. Days go by but time becomes nothing but a construct, eating only becomes a chore.

“Y/N?” a soft voice calls as the door narrows open, a steady stream of gold shining in. You don't move, your head feeling like it's weighed down but you can easily identify the soft voice that speaks. "I brought you something to eat" the footsteps near you, the heavy thuds vibrating through your head. Your eyes peek open to meet Jaemin who crouches down beside you. He moves the few stray strands of hair behind your ear, noticing the wet glimmer of your cheeks he wipes away the tears that stain them.

"What's wrong?" He whispers as if any harsher tone would break you, as if you weren't already broken. You shake your head as your only reply, voice too weak and broken to speak up. You would love to talk to Jaemin, to spill all your worries and heartache but this is a pain too painful to speak of. His hands hold onto your cheeks wiping away any of the stray tears that still fall. His warmth is comforting but it only makes you yearn for Jisung’s more.

Jaemin doesn't leave you that day, he sits by your side in silence. He holds your hand and wipes away your tears, he doesn't attempt to mend your heart, he just sits beside you as it cries out the pain. "It will heal, it will mend itself" he whispers to you as you drift off into the unconscious once again.

It’s the constant knocking at your door that drags you out of the depths of your slumber, pulling you back, the light that streams in as the sun is about to set and you wonder how long you have slept, what time it was and what day it is. Then another knock calls your attention from the window and Daphne steps in “Y/N” she says and her voice is high in surprise as she examines the puffy redness around your eyes. “I was expecting you to be already awake, it is almost time to head to the wedding” she chooses to ignore the wet stains on your silk pillow, choosing to bite her tongue. You choose not to answer her back afraid your voice was raspy and would break, you crawl towards the edge of the bed and swing your legs over as you make your way to the chair that neatly holds your gown for the night, the night that has finally arrived,your last night.

You can see her face change, each one expressing the internal turmoil within her as she questions whether or not to say something. “Just say it Daphne '' you sigh out in a weak smile as you change into the many layers that need to be placed under the gown.

“Ah well” she begins nervously as she fiddles with her loose strings of her apron, she stutters and stumbles over her words but you’ve been taught patience by Jisung as he’d do the same.You smile at the memory of him stuttering, blush across his cheeks as he got nervous causing him to stumble over his words more. You loved seeing him so flustered, loved seeing him progressively become so comfortable around you he never stuttered, became so confident and articulate it was as if he became another person but the same dust of pink never faded but the more you think of him the more it pains and your heart swells as it aches. “You see y/n” she finally spits out as if she had been wrestling the words “If this is your last night, would you not want to leave with a loving memory?” she asks nervously. 

“So it seems word has travelled” you let out a small laugh as you turn to her to pull the strings of your gown and as her hands move to tie knots she laughs as well “Nothing gets past me” and her nervousness visibly dissipates. No more words are exchanged as she helps you ready for tonight, no more words are needed as she sees you slip into the depths of your mind, thinking of what your next act is.

As she places the same pearl necklace you wore the day you came here around your neck, clasping it, she finally turns to leave and through the mirror you see her hesitate but she turns back around a smile across her face “It was a pleasure to meet you ma’am” she says with teary eyes “Y/N” you correct her as you rise quickly, wrapping your arms tightly around her and from the corner of your eye you see Jisung standing at the end of the hallway, witnessing the goodbye he run back down stairs. You saw the glossiness of his eyes and though you would love to leave as a happy memory, would he allow it?

You nervously make your way to the drawing room, there he sits in a black suit, his hair neatly styled yet it looks not much different to everyday. He should not look this good but he does because he is the epitome of beauty. He is beauty personified. You let out a deep breath before you step into his line of view, preparing yourself for whatever is to come next. “Jisung” you call softly but he refuses to look up at you, you can hear him sniffle and his breathing is heavy and you almost could trick yourself into believing he loved you the way you loved him. You sit beside him and take his hand in yours, rubbing small soothing circles by the knuckle of his thumb you attempt to speak, “I am leaving” you choke out,the words are stuck in your throat and he rips his hands away from yours, turning completely with his back towards you. You sigh once again, “Let’s me leave with good memory” you beg, voice small and shaky. This was not the y/n Jisung first met, not the y/n he knows now and definitely not the y/n he fell in love with for you were never one to speak so quietly, yet here you are broken. So he puts away his own selfishness to feel sadness, anger or whatever pulsing emotion that runs course throughout his body.

He turns back to you, eyes glossy and a pout on his lips as he raises a long string of black silk. “I cannot tie it” his voice breaks slightly and you can’t help but smile at his cuteness. You take the silk from his hand and wrap it against his neck, slowly weaving it in and out of itself, you form a knot. “Learn this from a book?” he teases and you can’t help but scoff and roll your eyes. Falling back to where you were with Jisung was never hard, falling in love with him all over again was never hard. “my father taught me” you say as you pull the silk slightly causing his head to jolt forward. A smile perks at his lips as he lets out air from his nose as a form of laughter and you don't realise the lack of space between you two until you feel it brush against your skin and you near closer, eyes drawn to his lips. Your breathing stops and your heart sporadically jumps around in your chest, beating louder than ever.

Jisung’s eyes are closed as he waits for your lips to be placed upon his but they never come and his eyes jump open at the sound of Jaemin’s voice, your warmth escaping him. So close and yet so far, his eyes land on you who’s now moved as far as possible from him. “Y/N, do you know how to tie a tie?” he walks in looking down at the balck silk he holds around his neck but he cuts himself off as his eyes rise to find you and Jisung awkwardly sitting beside each other. “Oh am I interrupting?” he asks in a chuckle as he raises an eyebrow and you shoot up onto your feet, making your way towards him “No not at all” you wave your arms as if it would convince Jaemin. You grab onto both ends of the silk strand, repeating the same movements as earlier and looking down at the silk you can practically feel Jaemin’s smile that beams from above. You weave the string in and out of itself and pull tight around his neck causing Jaemin’s head to pull back “OW '' he huffs out in a pout, you pat down his tie and with a smile as gleaming as his was a mere moments ago, you apologise. 

“Oh y/n you know how to tie a tie, thank god” Jeno rushes in with his father soon after him both holding the same black silk around their neck “Does nobody in this house know how to tie a tie” you laugh in disbelief. “Our mother used to do them,” Jeno whispers as your hands make their way up to form the same knot you’ve made twice already. He thanks you silently with a sweet smile, those crescent moons you adore showing up.You move on to their father, tying his tie neatly and much more carefully than the rest. “Thank you for everything, y/n” he bows his head to you and you whisper “It’s nothing” shyly. “It’s been a pleasure having you become a part of our family” he continues and his words are like a stake to your heart, the same aching reappearing as nothing fails to remind you of your departure.

“Thank you for welcoming me bu-t'' you're cut off instantly 

“no buts y/n, you are family” Jeno interrupts and if it was anyone else you don’t think those words would have held such meaning for Jeno is a silent lover, showing his affection through sweet smiles, concerned looks and kind gestures; he was never one for words of affirmation. So you smile, ignoring the tears that prick at your eyes, ignoring the deep breaths that leave Jisung and the solemn sadness on Jaemin’s face.

“We need to go” Jaemin looks down at his pocket watch, as always sensing the tension in the room and ready to dissipate it, he urges everyone out the door and as you’re about to step out, a warmth engulfs you as Jisung catches your hand in his. Turning back you are met with a smile but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes that hold a sense of sadness as they glimmer in the setting sun.

Hours after the sun had sunk into the horizon, the moon well into its reign, music rang through the center of town as everyone gathered to celebrate the new chapter of Jeno’s life. A ceremony so beautiful, you were sure you witnessed true love when Jeno’s eyes set on his bride that walked the altar.

After all the tears, it was finally time for the bubbling of champagne to intoxicate your bloodstream and to allow the music to take control of every swayed movement of your body. Standing under the yellow dimmed lights, Jisung glew a gold you didn’t know existed but easily was the prettiest you had ever seen. His cheekbones high and lips painted pink, golden flute in hand and silk tie loosened you could easily say he was the prettiest here, outshining all. For Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty lived through him, simple acts such as greeting guests left you stunned. Eyes chasing every movement of his, from the way his hands moved as he spoke, to the way he smiled once seeing an old friend, the way he laughed softly in conversation and when his eyes travelled back to you when he thought you weren't looking.

And to pull you out of that trance was none other than Jaemin, “Would you and Jisung stop exchanging lover eyes and dance already” he whispers as he places himself beside you, you scoff at his words and slightly nudge him with your elbow.

“Are you so bored that your eyes follow mine?” you question and his simple and instant “Yes” make your eyes roll as far as possible but you can’t help but smile. “When will you find your own love story? This is one hopeless”

“So when were you planning to tell me you were leaving after tonight” his words don’t come as a surprise, nothing goes past Jaemin but it still doesn’t fail to make your every movement halt as guilt overtakes you, turning to him you begin to explain “I was going to tell you as soon as the night was over, it was unexpected I promise” you say softly.

“I don’t suppose i can change your mind in any way?” he asks hopefully, still with the knowledge he wouldn’t be able to. You shake your head slowly, unable to say the words that will so obviously ruin the both of you but Jaemin is never one to sit in sadness, always being his priority to make you feel better. 

“Would you allow me this first dance?” he bows down asking for your hand and with that you place yours in his, placing a soft kiss to the knuckles he pulls you into the center of the floor. Legs moving to the beat, Jaemin’s hand on your waist he guides you through the waltz, breaths heaving and smiles plastered on your face he bends down once more to place a kiss on your knuckles as the music dies down declaring the end of the dance, a sad smile spreads across his face and he whispers “Goodbye” against your skin, looking up to meet your eyes who hold nothing but despair. Yet the hardest is to come when you turn and automatically your eyes find Jisungs, who just happened to be looking your way.

You offer him a smile before heading towards him “And why are you not dancing, I’m sure plenty of girls are just about dying to be your first dance” you tease him and he laughs along with you, hands rising they scratch the back of his neck as he prepares to confess to you “I actually do not know how to dance” he spits out fast hoping you don't catch his words but you do. Eyes widening and mouth agape, you let out a gasp 

“Jisung you do not know how to-” you're cut off by his hand on your mouth as he looks around to see if anyone has heard the sentence about to leave you. 

“Quietly, I think the whole of London can hear you” he says in a whisper still looking around. Removing his hand, you roll your eyes at his antics.

“Let me teach you” you whisper back and he turns to you, eyebrow raised as he assesses how good of a dancer you could be.

“I am not entirely sure, who did you learn from? A book?” he teases, still completely in character until you shove him and his laughter comes spilling out “You used the joke once already” you roll your eyes 

“I was taught by trainers actually, do you forget I was to be wed” you scoff at his assumption and rise to your feet, hand extended for Jisung to take. He stares at you, watches the way the light bounces off your skin causing you to glow, your eyes glimmer, smile bright and the confidence and charm you carry in inexplicably attractive as you stand under the moon, offering to be Jisung’s first dance and it’s here he decides you’ll be his last.

The moment his hand is in yours, you drag him straight to the crowd, the music is quick to start and you waste no time in giving out instructions. “Place your hand on my waist” you order

“Your what?” Jisung’s eyes are wide as he cluelessly asks

“My waist” you repeat again, emphasizing each word and you drag his hand up and place it on your waist for yourself. Then putting your own hand on his shoulder, you pull him a little closer. “Just follow my lead” you reassure him as you witness the petrified look on his face.

“Left foot forward” you say to him as you move yours back, “Right foot forward, feet together” you continue to guide him through the dance as you spin around the room, ‘Now left foot back, right foot back, now feet together” you repeat the sequined dance around the room, music thumping through your body and you convince yourself it’s that you feel and not the heavy beats of your heart as the space between you and Jisung seems to close more and more. As he leans in so close you can feel the air that leaves him, fanning over you. You look up and his eyes are set on you, only adoration is held in them and Jisung thinks it’s now or never as he tries to fully close the gap between you two, to place his lips on yours but then you let go, head turning to the right “Now we switch you” you say as you land into another man's arms, repeating the same steps you did with Jisung moments ago with another. So close and yet so far is all Jisung can think whilst his eyes watch you twirl about the room.

Once finally back in his arms, the music seizes and he’s forced to remove himself from you. You can’t help but smile at him as he looks down at you, breathing heavily with a flush of pink to his cheeks yet he seems to be gleaming in the buzzing sensation of a waltz. The air is heavy with sweat and alcohol, the room is filled with chatter and loud laughs but that all falls away once you look at Jisung. So you dance to every song as if you were the only two people to exist, for this was your last night and this was your last dance.

Endless glasses of champagne later your dancing feet carry you outside, the cool summer nights air washes over you, clearing your mind of the foggy mist of alcohol yet the coolness of the moonlight is overwhelmed by the warmth of Jisung’s presence as he stumbles next to you, tripping over his own legs he lands in your arms. “I think you drank a little too much” you laugh down at him.

“No I am perfectly fine” He quickly stabilizes himself, straightening out his clothes and you can only smile as he shakes off your support. “If you say so” you turn to the night sky, looking up to the moon who you haven't had the courage to face since. The wind rushing past you, crickets croaking and the stars blazing across the sky, your legs about to give way as the alcohol circulates your body, you find purchase on a stone bridge, Jisung following soon after you. The water trickles down under you, the calming sound washes over you and the solace you so missed seems to make an appearance once again as you allow yourself to surrender to Jisung’s presence. Silence sits between the two of you but it’s not the one you wish to fill, insead you choose to let it engulf you not wanting words to taint this moment. Your last moment.

Jisung however doesn’t think he can hold it in anymore, the liquid courage is just about enough for him to declare his roaring love for you, a flame that won’t go out no matter how far he pushes the idea of you away. He wasn’t sure if this was love but the ache in his chest all these days proved it could be nothing but love. The longing to be by your side as you found happiness, found your own way into this world and to watch you become who you want, is unbearably strong. This is his only chance before the goddess of the moon takes you away with her, for when the sun rises, you'll set into nothing but a memory. So here Jisung turns to you, staring at your beautifully carved features, moonlight highlighting every perfection; deep breaths he calms his nerves. Adrenaline rushing through every nerve, he finally builds the courage and out the words he never knew would feel so good to pronounce “Y/N I love you” it comes out in a whisper but by the way your eyes widen, breathing halts, Jisung knows you’ve heard.

“Jisung you are drunk” you laugh off

“Drunk lies are sober truths” he says in all seriousness, his eyes are begging for yours to turn to him and so you give in to their silent cry. “I’ve loved you from the moment I met you, for I thought soulmates were nothing but a fairytale until mine spoke to me upon laying eyes on you. I denied my feelings towards you, for I didn’t know if it was love I felt for you or not but I do. Love, adoration, affection and warmth. The moon only looks beautiful with you under it, the sun only shines with you beside me.” he professes and the sincerity in his voice strucks you, for every fiber of your being longs for these exact words but can you believe him?

He inches closer, his scent and warmth trapping you in a trance and you can’t find it in yourself to back away as he moves towards your lips, his breath mixing with your own, the flush off his cheeks that are illuminated by the moonlight. Everything is perfect except he’s drunk. Though your heart screams for you to close the gap, place your lips on his and kiss him until he’s breathless, your head scream the opposite, move back, wait till the morning when his head is in the right place, don’t allow him to make a mistake that’ll hurt you and when were you ever one to not listen to your mind. “You are drunk”  you whisper to him, so close he can almost feel your lips move against his, flinching back, ignoring the cry of your heart that desires nothing more than to feel Jisung’s confession. Jisung’s eyes open to find you pulled away, for once again he was so close yet so far.

“We should return” you jump up, step fastening back to the crowds of people who were still dancing and laughing. Jisung’s hurried footsteps rush beside you, his hand holding onto your wrist, he pulls you into him. Arms wrapping around you so tight, he’s afraid you’ll pull away and that he’ll lose you. You already pulled away from him once, you’re not sure you have the power in you to do it a second; so you let him hold you. His face hidden into the crook of your neck, he speaks into your skin 

“Love for you fades the exhausting hours till Kingdom come, for even then my soul only speaks of you, my heart only beats for you. Let me love and let me give, for both are infinite” he confesses once again.

Your arms instantly wrap around his figure, you allow your love to course through your body to his, you hope he can feel your heartbeat, the steady pace that keeps you alive for his existence, and him only. For without him what was the purpose of living? You stand there under the moonlight, red strings wrapped around you, Eros’s arrow shot through you, and hold onto each other.

Walking back, hand in hand, smiling like fools. The air smells sweeter, the world seems brighter as your heart skips a beat every now and then “In all honesty” Jisung breaks the blissful silence, his voice deep and smooth and it sends shivers down and through you just as it did the first day. Once your eyes are on him, giving him your undivided attention he continues “I lacked the courage to gift you Sonnet 23 but I wanted to” he tells you “Promise” he makes sure you believe his words and you can’t help but smile.

“You still lack courage, this is the alcohol’s courage” you tease him, swinging your arms back and forth as you walk on. He giggles at your comment because he knows it’s true, if it wasn’t for the liquid courage he doesn’t think he would have been able to confess to you but he’s glad he has because if he hadn’t, would he ever get the chance to?

“So will you stay?” he asks, voice hopeful and eyes pleading as he pouts, in hope it would convince you but you didn’t need anymore convincing, for if you want to follow happiness and happiness just so happens to follow Jisung, who were you to seek for more elsewhere. “Perhaps” a smirk makes it way up your lips as you give him vague answers. “I will take that as a yes” he laughs out, holding onto your hand a little bit tighter, to ensure you really weren’t going anywhere.

Love is a complex feeling, one that causes an unbearable amount of pain; as if your chest had been slit open, heart pulled out and crushed. An aching pain resonates throughout your whole body, endless tears and you don’t think you can live to see another sunrise yet it’s euphoric in every way. From the tingling sensation at just the sight of your love, the shivers, the heat that takes over, the trance you left in as their words hypnotise you, the warmth of their presence and sweet scent. In Jisung you found peace,solace,serenity and love.

“Jaemin” Jisung calls out as he can just about make him out in the distance “Y/N said she has decided to stay” he shouts out like a child, excited he’s jumping up and down and you find yourself smiling and laughing again, for with Jisung it’s the only thing you seem to be able to do. Yet as you draw closer to Jaemin and the guests he happens to be wishing a farewell too, your smile and heart both drop.

“Y/N” one of the two men calls out as your figure becomes more apparent to them, disbelief held in their voice as they call out to you. Jisung and Jaemin eyebrows shot up in shock, eyes widening as they wonder how you are acquainted.

“How do you know our y/n?” Jaemin asks, always being the first one to dissolve the awkward silences, the men are taken aback clearly by the way their jaws hang slightly.

“She is our sister” the taller stutters out, your blood rushes cold as the words leave his lips, what would happen now? Would they allow you to just roam free? You thought for a second before you mentally scolded yourself, they would never allow that. They will force you back. “I am not returning” you spit out, not beating around the bush, you get straight to the point.

“But you must, mother is left worried" he tries to grab onto your wrist but you move back not allowing him to get a hold on you.

"Worried for me? Or that the season is almost finished?" You question him and guilt is evident in his eyes as your question takes him aback.

"Don't be silly" your younger brother tries to calm you, "we just want you home" he tries to convince you.

"I am perfectly fine on my own" you stand your ground even though you see the frustration in your older brother, creep closer and closer to the surface "I have no intention of returning" you continue to press forward.

"Do you not feel shame, what would father have to say?" He dares ask. Shame? The word linger in your head for you to wonder if your brother truly knows the definition of the word or were all those years at Oxford a waste. For how had this brought shame upon you or your father, how does a want for purpose,happiness and freedom lead to shame?

"For if father was alive, this problem wouldn't have occurred. He would have listened" you hissed, jaw tight as you teeth clenched and the words slipped out through the small cracks.

"How naive of you to think'' he laughs and finally latches onto your wrist, holding tightly he's prepared to drag you to the carriage until another holds you back. Jisung’s hand holds onto your arm, pulling you back, looking back you don’t think you have never seen such fierce eyes. A red you never thought you’d see engulf Jisung, he’s not prepared to let you go. "Let go" your brother's voice is stern as he clenches his jaw yet Jisung doesn't budge.

"Jisung this isn't our place" Jaemin whispers, defeat in his voice and he is right. What say do they have in this? If you don’t even have a choice, who are they to decide but then again you are certain a man’s opinion will most definitely be heard by your brother over your own anyday. “Let go of her,” Jisung threatened.

Your brother couldn’t help but scoff at his words “She belongs to me, I am her blood and she holds mine and my father’s name” his grip tightening around your wrist as he pulls you towards him once more, your eyebrows furrow and you wince in slight pain, Jaemin instinctively flinches forward before stopping himself, getting involved will just make it worse he reminds himself. You smile at him weakly in hopes it can put him at ease but as both your arms are being held hostage, both cuffs tightening as the seconds go by not one daring to back down.

“She doesn’t belong to anyone” Jisung spits back “She is free to do as she pleases and she chooses to stay here” he continuously argues in hope of changing his mind , yet what can he possibly do? Now that they have found you, what is left for you to do? They will not let you live on how you wish, they will not leave without you and even if they didn’t take you tonight, they will come back for you. It’ll only cause chaos, you will again become a burden on someone else. “You do not own her” he repeats.

The words you so despise form on your tongue and as you open your mouth to say them, Jisung’s eye beg you not to. He knows what's to come and even as every ounce of your being screams and cries as the words are spoken, you let them leave you regardless. “Let go Jisung” voice weak, shaking.

“But you said you would stay” his voice shaky, encased in sadness, his grip weakens but his hold stays, unable to let you go once he’s finally got you but you were always a dream to him, one that never seemed quite real and though you mixed with reality, almost coming true, he was but a fool to believe you could be his.

“I said maybe” your voice quiet, breaking a promise you didn’t make, breaking his heart and breaking yours that was just put back together.

“She said for you to let go” Your brother interrupts, a smirk on his face that Jaemin has a dying need to punch off but he retains himself. Jisung lets go of you hesitantly, his hand still lingering onto the skin of your forearm and you take in his touch one last time. He watches you leave, tears falling from his eyes for you were so close yet so far.

The tears from that night, months ago, have yet still to dry for every living and breathing moment is lived in agony, longing turning into nothing but numbness as it engulfed your being and became you. Days and nights merged, smiles are a forgotten act for it felt awkward even attempting. The large manor is silent, it perfectly resembles the void in your chest. You live as a ghost, sleepless nights and empty days your mind always occupied with the thought of Jisung.

His eyes that held the universe, his warmth the sun envied, his smile were solace was found, his laughter that was contagious, voice that was soothing, beauty unmatched, the gods were both proud and envious of their greatest creation. The years went by and yet the image of his is as clear as ever, preserved in your memories, you live on in your dreams that can’t escape reality. So close and yet so far from each other.

You sit in the empty rooms, walls bare for the art never compared to Jisung’s beauty, you never found art that could express the definition of art as well as Jisung did. Each time looking at Jisung you found a new feature to adore, hidden beauties that appeared when the moonlight hit his skin, features highlighted by the golden rays of the sun. No art seemed to do that, no art seemed worthy of showcasing.

Your library remains empty, clearing it out of all books, you couldn't bear to look at one again. For everyone of them taunted you with the memory of him. The way he used to sit in the center of the room, arms sprawled out on the desk, his head so close to the paper as he would write. Your eyes would follow every one of his movements, so distracted you would forget about the heavy book in your hand. Yet now with a book in hand, your eyes search for distraction. Yearning to find him, to make the pink blush, that you so missed, appear as he couldn't take your stare any longer. The adrenaline of when his eyes suddenly come up to meet yours, the scrambling of his when you catched his stare. You missed it all.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day” the performer begins, as you sit around the large table for dinner. Your every movement halts as the words leave his mouth, your mind runs back to the lavender fields, into the small room at the back of the house, finding the scarlet red book. “Thou art more lovely and more temperate” he continues on but no you are not temperate. Your heart aches, your eyes sting and a wave of nausea over takes you. Your fist smash into the table, legs standing up, you push the heavy velvet chair back

“Stop!” you shout, voice hoarse and broken, you can’t help the tears that roll down your cheek. You can’t help the way your whole body shakes upon hearing those words, you can’t help but miss him. The whole room stares at you, a heavy silence settles, the only sounds are your whimpers as you sob in your palms, falling to your knees. Their eyes lingered, terrified. No one dared to speak to you first, let alone the events of the night. Afraid they would cause you to break down once more but they failed to see it was they, who stole happiness away from you, stole freedom and ripped your heart out of your chest. You wandered aimlessly through the many halls, staring out of windows you wanted the sun rise and fall, watched the goddess of the moon shine down on the earth yet neither held the beauty they did when Jisung was by your side.

Summer has come to find you once again, those who say time heals have never been broken. Time doesn’t heal. Time forgets, the world may move on but you do not, you cannot share the same ecstasy the birds sing, the happiness in summer flowers, For now you hate flowers, you hate how their beauty and meaning are only reminders of your longing.

“How about lavenders for the drawing room ma’am, I’m told they are your favourite” the maid asks, her mission to make you smile, to rid you of the constant tear stained cheeks; nothing but a failure is awaiting her. Just the mere thought of lavenders causes your skin to crawl, for nothing symbolises him more than the vibrant violet. Yet you turn to her, a weak smile and you nod because maybe the scent will help ease your heart and just maybe you’ll find serenity in them once more.

Though days were long, summer left in a hurry for now autumn was here once more. The leaves had already begun to brown and the vase filled with lavenders, which sat upon the grand piano, had wilted now - their scent and comfort decaying with them.

And soon followed the day, the world knew would soon be coming, had arrived upon us, September 1st 1939:

“we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.” you read Winston Churchill’s words in the papers, war has arrived. The heavy ring sits on your finger as you stare out the window reminiscing the day you were watching the carriage be prepared and though it is your two brothers and the Earl’s son leaving you can’t help but let your mind imagine Jeno,Jaemin and Jisung, For the war will take them further away from you, to barren land filled with death, guns pointed at them, bombs dropping at anytime. Though the war has imprisoned many,taken from others, you thank it’s timing for it has liberated you momentarily. The Earl’s son waved goodbye to you and though you raise your hand to send him off to a war you’re not sure he’ll return from, you have no intention of calling him your fiance whilst he is gone and if he returns you have no intention of calling him your husband. You pity him in that memory.

“Ma’am” a voice calls out to you, you don’t recognise who it is for every voice sounds the same but regardless it pulls you back to the world of the present for the war was already well into its sixth year. Though your body is here, your heart and soul never left Jisung for he had stolen that long ago. You turn to find a small envelope, blue like the ones that found you happiness. “To y/n'' the handwriting is familiar but to you all letters were painted the way Jisung’s hand did, for your eyes can simply not forget but it is what the letter contained that brought a soul into your lifeless shell.

As an unperfect actor on the stage

Who with his fear is put beside his part,

Sonnet 23 with annotations is what your eyes fall upon, the second line underlined it reads: “With great courage I put aside this fear to confess to you such words that I cannot express on my own.” Your hand runs over the lines, the smell of gunpowder but there is a scent that you so long for. The scent of lavender still lingers onto the parchment which ripples under your clutch. .

Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,

Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart;

The next lines highlighted “For this feeling was just as strong as rage yet it was where I found peace, my heart weakened at the sight of you and from that moment onwards it belonged to you.” A smile naturally took over you, the flutter in your chest an ecstatic feeling you forgot.

So I for fear of trust forget to say

The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,

And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,

O’ercharged with burden of mine own love’s might.

O, let my books be then the eloquence

And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,

Who plead for love and look for recompense

More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.

O, learn to read what silent love hath writ.

To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.

“Know that I cannot express the words my soul speaks, for we are worlds apart so allow the empty words of the English language, attempt to convey my love. Look not at my words only but at the way the fool I make in your presence for my mind is clouded with you, heart beats for you and soul yearns for you. For you are my sonnet 18 as a friend and sonnet 23 as a lover.” Tears fall unnoticed, for you hear his voice so clear in your head, for six years you waited for a single word from him and here he has gifted you a sonnet between lovers, so how could you possibly love someone else.

“Yours forever Jisung, the boy who waits in the lavender field”. You sob as you read those words, a fresh new wave of tears staining the parchment as the longing to be in his warmth and comfort is washed upon you as if it were that day you were forced away from him. Opening a wound that never could fully heal.

Waiting is a virtue of love, it proves your love, for it feels equivalent to death and yet you still wait but there is a point in time where you can wait no longer, where you must stop waiting and strive for love now. At this exact moment, it is time. For you are ready to give up the world to run to Jisung, to find the beauty in the moon once more, to find solace in the sweet smell of lavenders once more, to find the warmth of the sun once more, to find happiness once more. For happiness was the only reason worth living.

You're not sure how long you’ve been running, legs moving on their own, you don’t look back you’ve learnt never to look back, never return. As the metallic taste at the back of your throat rises, oxygen running thin and your legs almost collapse from exhaustion. It’s as if you jumped out of the past, gown torn at the train station, you’re left in rags but it’s different this time. For before you ran to find your happiness and now you run to where happiness lies. In a field of lavenders.

Every fiber of your being pulses with the need to see him, hear him, touch him. To feel his warmth once more, to have his voice send serenity through you, to see his eyes again and to smell the sweet scent that lingers around him. You’re not sure what souls are made of but whatever it is yours and his are the same. For your heart yearns for him, desperate, it aches every living second of everyday without him. For a life without love, is a life unlived.

The rows and rows of purple are in sight and there in the middle of it all stands him, waiting. Jisung doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is, he can tell by your footsteps, your breath, your scent and the sudden ease he feels. You are there. Yet he does anyways for the memory of you has haunted him for the past 6 years, on the battlefield, in the barracks, he would only see you, only hear you but he couldn’t touch you; for you were merely a dream mixing with reality.

But here you are standing in front of him, Your expensive dress torn up, now rags that wrapped around you with the bottom half missing. He smiles as nostalgia washes over him, was this real or were you just a fragmented memory. Was he simply remembering happier times, a time where you were in his grasp. “Jisung” you call out, voice soft and unsure, a hand reaching out for his own, to make sure what you saw in front of you wasn’t a hallucination, a cruel trick your mind played on you. Slowly a warmth overtook your hand, sparks sent through your skin and into your bloodstream and the beating of your heart returned. Tears formed but never fell because one of you needs to be strong, Jisung sobbed as he fell into your embrace, gripping onto you. “Never leave again” he chokes out, breathing heavy and uneven. “Promise me” he whispers into your hair.

Pulling him back to face you, his eyes are red and puffy yet they burn with passion, his cheeks stained with tears but the pink dust is always still there, you smile at him closing the gap and finally placing your lips on his. The taste of salty tears invade your mouth and your lips move against his and he kisses you back, placing his hand on your cheek he pulls you closer, thumb brushing over the top of your cheekbone. Your knees weaken and you grip at his shirt, desperately clinging to him as your knuckles turn white, as he kisses you with passion overflowing with each soft movement, sincere and full of the love he can't express through words. The scent of lavender is overwhelming and intoxicating, you press yourself against him. Your lungs burn as he kisses you breathless, sparks flying into your bloodstream and unbearable heat takes over whilst your lips move as one. Pulling away, chests heaving as you pull in as you regain all the oxygen you exchange, Jisung places his forehead on yours, his cheeks pink and in between breaths you whisper against his lips “I promise” and again he pulls you in, lips crashing on yours.

This is your first love, it may not be your last but it will be the one you remember most, for it taught you how to love, it taught you the struggles of love and it taught you to feel loved. In search of fulfillment and meaning, you weren't looking for love but it found you and soon after fulfillment and meaning came in the form of a boy in a lavender field.

© (jisungiest) 2021. All Rights Reserved.

[ahankar1610]

What do you have on Cedrella and her sisters?

Cedrella Weasley née Black

Tbh, I was stunned that our dear Arthur's mother is a Black, and it was never bloody discussed.

I had seen thousands of fic which discuss, Potter family history, the Black family and even Malfoy family 🙄, even the random DE's family history is discussed and our own Weasleys, the main family of whole HP series.

Though I have main headcanons on Cedrella, I can add some on Callidora and Charis.

Callidora

The eldest of Arcturus and Lysandra Black. She's the one with the cold personality, yet she was warmer to her sister only (later to her husband Harfang).

She's the one who maintains order. Cedrella was three years younger than her, yet she adored her the most. Charis was five years younger than her but Callidora always wants to keep her out of trouble.

She married Harfang when she was seventeen. She was in her last year when they were betrothed. She hated Harfang and his stupid jovial attitude. They were engaged because of the business deal which was created between the Blacks and the Longbottoms. It took her a year to warm up with Harfang. It didn't took her long to fell in love with him. They both had a happy long life after that.

Cedrella

She was the favourite daughter of Arcturus, sharp, intellectually smart and a little arrogant.

She shares good bonds with both of her sisters and was the prefect in her fifth year.

She was always fascinated Septimus. She used to be bewildered how someone can be so happy even with small amount of money Weasleys inherited.

She start spending time with Septimus and it didn't took them long to fell in love.

Cedrella didn't wanted to leave her family, so Septimus formally went to Arcturus to ask for Cedrella's hand for marriage. He faced nothing but humiliation from the Black family.

After this debacle, Cedrella's marriage was arranged to the heir of Rosier family. Cedrella left her family and eloped with Septimus, she got blasted from Black Tapestry.

Her first born was Patrick, second was Bilius and third was Arthur.

Her family never accepted her, though Longbottoms and Weasleys had good relationship, Callidora still refused to have any contacts with her.

The other pureblood families also didn't left any chance to taunt her or sneering at her whenever she crosses pass with them. Treatment of their mother led Arthur and his brothers to despise the house of snakes.

Septimus died in 1980 during the first war, the Lestranges were the ones who attacked him but Cedrella knew who were the ones who planned this attack.

She wrote a letter to her parents and sisters, berating them as she had lost her love because if their pettiness. The letter left Arcturus full of grief and regret on his death bed.

Cedrella lived more, happily pouring all of her love to her grandchildren. Ron and Ginny are too close to her heart (sorry, I can't help it 😅) as Ron was born not long after Septimus' demise. Ron also loved Cedrella as she was the one who taught him chess, she also gave him grandpa Septimus' chessboard which she kept with care.

Cedrella died in 1986, with her whole family around her, who this time loved her more than her past family can ever.

Charis

Charis was always the one who recieved the adoration from both of her sisters.

She was always the naive one who always thought that pleasing her parents is the main motive of her life.

She always acted the way her parents wanted, tried to look like Callidora because her parents loved how Callidora dresses. Kept her demeanor like that if Cedrella because her father always said that Cedrella is the perfect lady of Black family.

She was married to Casper Crouch at the age of sixteen, her marriage was fixed earlier because Black family cannot suffer another daughter betraying their beliefs.

Charis hate Cedrella, it doesn't matter that she still cries when she remembers herself playing dolls with her elder sister. She should be like Callidora who never shows any kind of emotion which relates to their long lost sister, though she can still remember how Callidora longingly gazes at the empty seat during Christmas, which was once used to be her sisters'.

Charis cannot be there when her father was dying. She got to know about Cedrella's letter from Callidora. Callidora died not long time after their father, their mother of course died after her wedding and they blamed Cedrella and still felt disgusted with themselves. Callidora handed her the letter she once wrote for Cedrella, she wanted her to give this letter to Cedrella if she ever got the strength to do so, because Callidora herself could never do that.

Charis waited until she heard of Cedrella's death. She attended her funeral. She lived on with regret and remorse. She heard of the war, the fate of her nephew Bartemius and his son and was heartbroken that again one of her kin died for these beliefs which ended up in breaking them.

Charis was ill after the end of her war, her children who were settled in New York asked her what they can do for her. She asked for her only nephew, Arthur, and to hers' and her children's surprise, he came. She apologized for everything and handed him the letter and asked him if he can read it to all of his family so her sister might hear their apologies.

Charis died in December of 1999. Arthur and whole Weasley clan attended her funeral, showing their forgiveness.

[nikethestatue]

Spy Games

Elriel Month - Day 3

Spying

Spying Lessons

Elain, the pretty, polite, courteous sister, who spoke well and moved gracefully, was also one who was never considered with any seriousness by anybody. Not her mother, not their weak, gentle father, not the imperious, sharp-tongued Nesta, or the self-assured, determined Feyre. However, she was a merchant’s daughter, and she was as sharp-eyed, as Nesta was sharp-tongued. 

She inherited the trait from their father--he was always able to spot a deal, or a weakness, a loophole and he used it to his full advantage when making deals. She watched him, and learned how to use her words, how to compliment and smile, how to appear innocent and helpless, while seeking favors and looking to get what she wanted. It worked. It worked with everyone--it worked with Nesta, worked with their servants (when they had them), and when they didn’t, and had nothing, Elain always managed to charm someone at the market for an extra apple, a couple of bread rolls, or a swath of cloth. Even Lord Nolan was not immune to her charms, and even though there were better offers from others, he encouraged Greyson to court Elain, despite her family's ‘reputation’. Elain loved Greyson, but she also watched and noticed. She saw groves of ash trees, the number of sentries patrolling the walled estate, and how many guard dogs there were. She didn’t even try, but she noticed...and counted...and remembered.

Nuala was good. Smooth and discrete, she’d never be suspected of keeping tabs on Amren. Though Amren was a vengeful Angel of a young god in her previous life, and she probably knew what Nuala was doing. Yet, Nuala was not so good as to suspect Elain. Because Elain knew as well. It came as a surprise, but it was apparent to Elain that Nuala closely monitored Amren, as well as Varian, when they were around. 

They were making lemon cakes in the kitchen--Elain and the twins. Baking and cooking--many assumed that that’s what Elain was good for--the kind, tidy, domestic Elain. What no one, except for one person, was privy to was that these chores quieted the roaring in Elain’s head. They silenced the visions, cleared the pounding in her skull, gave her a sense of normalcy, even if for only a little while. 

“What do you think Varian reports to his High Lord?” the question startled the twins and they exchanged quick looks.

Elain’s face remained placid, as she busied herself with grating lemon zest. “Do you think they laugh?” she chuckled. “Our court is dramatic, to be sure.”

The twins were silent. 

“Is it wise though,” she continued, uninterrupted, “to have a representative of another Court so closely entwined with the affairs of the Night Court?”

“The High Lord trusts Prince Varian,” said Cerridwen, her voice neutral.

“Perhaps.”

Elain stirred the zest into the custard and there was silence, the twins assuming that the conversation was over. 

“Does Azriel?” she suddenly asked.

They stared. 

“Does Azriel trust Varian?” she pressed.

“The lord,” began Nuala, but Elain interrupted. “Not High Lord,”

“Lord Azriel,” corrected Nuala, “does what he must to keep the Night Court safe.”

That explained everything.

“Could Azriel use another pair of eyes and ears?” Elain didn’t even know where the offer came from. Perhaps, it stemmed from the desire to be useful, to offer something of herself that so few knew that she even possessed. She turned to the twins and stared them down, her gaze unflinching.

“Teach me,” she pleaded. “Teach me what you know. What and how you do it. Please.”

“Lord Azriel may not approve,” countered Cerridwen softly.

“Let’s not tell him,” whispered Elain,

“Lord Azriel will know.”

“Eventually. I am not asking you to lie to him,” she added quickly, sensing that this was the reason for their hesitation. “Just don’t tell him. Not yet. Teach me, a little something, and then I’ll decide if it’s for me. Please. I,”

“Fine,” said Nuala. Cerridwen gave her a silent look of admonishment and surprise, but did not argue. Perhaps that would come later. “We’ll teach you the way he taught us.”

“Yes!” Elain’s brown eyes sparkled with excitement. Goodness, she hadn’t felt this excited in….well, forever.

The lessons were not what she expected, but she did not question them.

There were no weapons, or peeking through peepholes, or breaking locks.

At first, it was a little bit boring even. Odd requests, such as making conversations with random faeries--in the park, on the street, at the markets. The twins would point out a fae and order Elain to go and start a conversation. It lasted for weeks, and she even grew frustrated, thinking that they were just humoring her and these ‘lessons’ were nothing but a game. Until one day, Nuala told her to obtain specific information. She pointed at an elderly male Fae and requested, “Approach. Come back with the following information--did he serve in the first War, what rank, does he have children, how many, and what is his favourite breakfast?”

“What?” Elain stared in confusion, but Nuala’s face remained inscrutable. 

“Is there a problem?” asked Nuala. Her tone of voice...well, the tone was very much Azriel’s.

Elain shook her head and said, “no”, before crossing the street and approaching the male fae.

The realization that she could do this was thrilling. At once, she understood why she spent all those weeks approaching and making conversations with all those fae. She found ways, ways to ingratiate herself to them, to mark something small, but unique to each one, and then weave a connection around that tiny tidbit. It worked every time. 

The elderly male fae had a small, but noticeable limp. This was Elain’s opening. He was hauling a basket of groceries, and she approached gently, offering help. Oh, he couldn’t possibly trouble such a pretty lady. And she was a High Fae to boot. No, no, thank you, he could manage. Not a problem at all, she was walking that way anyway. What was he making for dinner with all those vegetables? Oh, soup? Did the wife send him to the market? Oh, a widower? So sorry. Were there children to assist? Three? That’s good that they helped out…

“He was a Captain in the Third Legion during the first War. He is a widower, with three children--two male, and one female. Three grandchildren as well. He usually eats leftovers for breakfast, because he is too lazy to cook, but his favorite breakfast are almond croissants from the Brea Bakery,” reported Elain.

A small, satisfied smile touched Nuala’s lips.

So the lessons continued. She was ordered to obtain more detailed information, and in places which were harder to access. She did. Sometimes, she failed, but rarely.

In addition, Cerridwen began training her on walking. 

Walking? 

Walking.

“Make your presence unknown,” she explained and Elain only nodded. Sure, she would learn to walk, if that’s what was required. She learned how to roll her feet in such a manner that they were completely silent with every step that she took. Learned how to notice her own body, its presence, and the space that it occupied. And learned how to make it unknown. How to melt into shadows, stand near someone and have them be unaware of her, sneak quietly into rooms and spaces. It took a month, maybe longer. Meanwhile, she learned other tricks. How to swap papers, how to pull documents with a flick of her wrist, how to read upside down (very difficult). 

“Could you take this to Lord Azriel please,” Cerridwen handed Elain a folder. 

“Um...yes, of course,” Elain took the folder, a bit surprised that Cerridwen couldn’t deliver it herself, but by the time she was going to ask, Cerridwen had disappeared.

First things first--Elain didn’t know where Azriel was.

The River House was enormous, so she started with Rhysand’s office, but it was empty. She peeked out into the garden, but only saw baby Nyx and his nanny, who was attempting to contain Nyx on a picnic blanket, and failing. Elain smiled. Nyx crawled like a fiend and made an aggressive beeline towards the fluffy peonies. No doubt, they’d be trampled and pulled soon enough. Especially, if the nanny wouldn’t take her eyes off the handsome delivery male who was standing by the gate and flirting with her.

Elain closed her eyes. Smell. Sense. They haven’t gotten that far in their training yet, but Azriel’s scent--oh, she knew it well. The most delicious scent to ever hit her nostrils. The one scent that she craved and hungered for above all others. Even in this huge house, she could isolate Azriel’s scent, as it rose above all others, at least for her. The strongest trail led to Azriel’s bedroom, which was unsurprising, even if he did not spend much time here anymore. He and Rhysand met to discuss matters of state, and then there were the mandatory ‘family dinners’ that Azriel attended. They used to be obligatory, but after the last Solstice, they became mandatory, by order of the High Lord. 

No, Azriel wasn’t in his bedroom. She followed the scent down the hallway, past the drawing room, then up the side stairs. Ah. She should’ve guessed. There was a terrace that overlooked the garden that Azriel favored. Sometimes, she thought that he observed her from there, when she tangled with weeds and seeds. But that couldn’t be. Not after the fiasco during the last Solstice and him pulling away from her with no explanation. A momentary lapse of reason on his part.

She spotted the spread of his wings. A smile touched her lips. How things were different before, when he was so comfortable around her. When he’d come and sit with her in the garden, sunning his wings, doing his work, both of them enjoying each other’s company without the need to talk. All of that somehow crashed and burned, and she didn’t know why and how to bring that intimacy back.

“Azriel,” she said, “Cerr,”

Azriel flinched and whipped his head to her. His eyes blew wide at the sight of her, standing in the doorway.

“Elain...Phhh, you startled me….” he muttered hoarsely.

And the Spymaster of the Night Court shifted with discomfort. 

She had surprised him. 

“Sorry,” she murmured and handed him the folder. “I apologize. Cerridwen asked me to give this to you.”

He was still staring at her, as if processing what had occurred. His hazel eyes raked over her body, settling on her feet for a few moments. It was like he was trying to discern how she managed to approach him so silently.

“Umm, thank you,” he said and opened the folder. It was empty.

Neither one said anything to each other, and Elain turned and stepped back into the house, her cheeks flushed.

As she hurried down the hall, Cerridwen and Nuala both appeared in front of her, grins plastered on their lovely angular faces.

“What?!” she snapped. 

The grins widened.

“There was nothing in the folder!” she exclaimed, irritated.

“No,” agreed Cerrdiwen. “But you passed the first phase of your training.”

“You surprised Lord Azriel.”

[lady-plantagenet]

Anne Beauchamp outlived her husband and both her daughters, survived decades of civil war and was known to be an intelligent woman and a loving wife - how are there not more books about her?!? She's prime tragic heroine. Cecily Neville too tbh. Whenever she is depicted she's usually a cold hearted villain or a complete side character - I need Anne Beauchamp content or I'm going to start sobbing lol

Girl GIRL please tell me who you are we need to TALK. I like ‘controversial’ historical women who show signs of pragmatism and the nasty portrayals of Anne Beauchamp in history, though terrible, have contributed to my interest in her. Sure, she outlived many (though legally dead) but that is by no means the only evidence we have of a strong character.

It is interesting to note that some historians eg Pollard have pointed out how she was a central character in the cultivation of ‘Warwick the kingmaker’. The bear and the ragged staff were after all her ancestral emblems, she also may have influenced him into participating in the Beauchamp family’s chivalric culture (Guy of Warwick) and cultivated him into her father’s political successor. Richard Beauchamp and R Neville were by no means wells acquainted and she would have been the gateway to this. John Rous himself described her as being like an Earl herself implying she was an active matriarch. She commissioned the Beauchamp Pageant (one of the most significant bits of history and 15th century art that we have) and may have had a hand in the Rous Roll!

There was this post on Facebook stating that the idea that Anne B and Warwick were always together is a myth, however, the user failed to recognise that Anne having a seperate household was common among noblewomen of that day (Isabel, her daughter had the same yet she was never recorded to have lived elsewhere but Warwick Castle with her husband or anywhere else they went). Anne followed Richard to Calais where she is recorded to have always greeted him ‘lovingly’ with outstretched hands when he would return from whatever he was doing *cough* piracy *cough*. She allegedly hated the place. She is a woman who had such trouble bearing children, having had a miscarriage in 1453, yet was an enthusiastic participator in the childbirths of others. It is heartbreaking to wonder whether she did this because she felt like she could gather more knowledge about the process that way. After her lands were seized she gave up at nothing asking virtually every lady at court to intercede for her and her inheritance to no avail. Any heartfelt language about her late husband is omitted from these letters (perhaps strategically as Karen Clarke noted) and the lack of clemency showed to her makes one wonder whether her contemporaries considered her guilty by tight association for Warwick’s deeds.

You are right - an intelligent woman and loving wife indeed!! Cecily Neville is another bastion of great medieval ladyship (particularly during her career as King’s Mother) but at least now there are some novels that cast her as something else but a tragic heroine eg Garthwaite’s ‘Cecily’. The only Anne B content we have is ‘wife to the Kingmaker’ by Sandra Wilson and while it is a hoot and a half it is frankly a ridiculous book. Her reputation as a cold hearted woman may come from the lack of evidence of her involvement with her daughters. After 1471 she never saw Isabel again and most likely didn’t even attend her funeral. She left her surviving grandchildren completely out of her will and even while allowed more freedom during Henry VII’s reign she did not appear involved in their future. Not to mention her flight to Beaulieu Abbey (which tbf I think too much is made out of this but still). As for Anne Beauchamp content, I have nothing to reccomend in the way of literature or scholarship except for the fact that the novel I am writing about Isabel, George and Warwick has her as one of the main POV characters (two chapters already written in her POV and a third coming soon on AO3). All hail our 16th Countess of Warwick!

This is a picture I took last week from my trip to Warwick Castle

[prorevenge]

My Grandmother Put Greedy Preachers In Their Places .... Twice .... Even After She Died

TL/DR - My grandmother generously served her "Bible Believing Christian" church for almost 50 years, without asking anything in return. But when she became elderly, disabled and homebound, her church acted like she did not exist - until she was in hospice care and literally on her deathbed, when that church showed a sudden interest in telling Grandma to, "Remember your church in your will". She waited until exactly the right moment, in front of exactly the right audience, to expose these greedy assholes for what they were.....twice.

My grandmother was a member of a large conservative "Bible Believing" church for her entire adult life. This church, which I'll call BigWhiteChurch, was a member of a large Evangelical denomination. BigWhiteChurch was located in a prosperous suburb of a large city in the Bible Belt of the Deep South of the USA.

Grandma was very active in BigWhiteChurch. She worked in the nursery every Sunday morning, helped cook hundreds of church fellowship breakfasts and dinners, accompanied her children and grandchildren on dozens of church retreats and choir tours, taught Youth Bible Study on Sunday nights and was very active in supporting Home Missions, as well as helping with other youth programs. She always tithed, and often gave extra for missions and special offerings.

Grandma's greatest talent was making other people feel important. I've seen this first-hand many times. Although I belonged to a different church, I often visited with Grandma, and when I did, I usually went to BigWhiteChurch functions with her. I've seen her single-handedly cook breakfast for dozens of BigWhiteChurch Youth, a task which took over 2 hours, even in the church's large kitchen. Then, after the meal, she asked the group for a round of applause for the high-school student leader for, "Doing such a great job of organizing the Prayer Breakfast".

I remember that, on a BigWhiteChurch youth retreat at a rural Church Camp, she drove most of the night to go back to the city and retrieve a big box of evangelistic materials, that one of the Assistant Pastors (whom I'll call AssPastor) had forgotten and asked her to get, in time for our morning program the next day. His boss, the Senior Pastor (I'll call him PompousPastor), never found out that AssPastor had screwed up or that Grandma had fixed it for him. AssPastor never even thanked Grandma. Even though I was a child, this bothered me so much that I asked her about it. She said that she didn't mind at all; she told me her reward would be that those materials, "Would help children find Jesus".

Grandma's service to her church ended abruptly at the age of 73, when she broke her back in a car accident. Afterwards, for the last 10 years of her life, she was homebound and could not go to church because of this injury and declining health due to old age. Her mind was just as sharp as ever, and her faith remained sincere, but her body wore out a little more every day.

During those 10 years, she made many efforts to reach out to her church, its leadership and her church friends, inviting them to visit her at her home, etc., without success. Every one of these invitations was declined or simply ignored.

Near the end, when she was in home hospice care, she decided to plan her own funeral. She and my Grandpa called her church and asked for the Senior Pastor, PompousPastor, whom she had known for over 30 years, to visit her so that they could plan her memorial service, which she and Grandpa wanted to be held at the church.

PompousPastor was too busy, but AssPastor stopped by a few days later. According to my Grandpa, here's what happened at that meeting, with my Grandma literally on her deathbed:

Grandma, Grandpa and AssPastor discussed her funeral for a couple of minutes. Then AssPastor started pressuring her to, "Lay up your treasure in Heaven" by, "Remembering your church in your will".

Grandpa told him firmly that, "This is neither the time nor the place to discuss her will."

They went back to discussing the funeral for a few minutes. Then AssPastor steered the conversation back to Grandma's will, with liberal injections of how badly "her" church needed "her support".

Grandpa told him several times that it was inappropriate to talk to Grandma about her will or the church's financial needs, because she was terminally ill and in an enormous amount of physical pain. AssPastor would agree and briefly talk about the funeral, but would then go back to talking about the church's financial needs, heavenly rewards, "Where your treasure is your heart will be also" (Matthew 6:21, Luke 12:34), etc.

My Grandma started crying.

To put this into context, Grandma was more than a "Steel Magnolia". She was "Titanium Coated With Diamond Wrapped In Kevlar". She rarely ever cried, and never EVER cried about herself. Not one tear when the doctor told her that her back was broken so badly that she would never walk again, nor during the following 6 months in futile rehab. She would shed sincere but well-managed tears at funerals and while visiting family members in the hospital when they received bad news. She would cry to console others, "Weep with those who weep". But nobody - not Grandpa, not her daughter (my mom), nor any of my uncles or Grandma's siblings - ever remembered her crying for herself.

My Grandma was sobbing uncontrollably.

Grandpa, a retired steelworker, ex-Marine Sergeant and Korean War combat veteran, physically grabbed AssPastor and "escorted" him out of their house, not too gently.

Contrary to everyone's expectations, Grandma lived another 6 months, mostly because of sheer force of will. Eventually, though, Grandma passed away and we held her memorial service at the funeral home, not BigWhiteChurch. PompousPastor and AssPastor were conspicuously absent. In fact, there were no "Professional Christians", from BigWhiteChurch, at the service at all, not even in the audience.

To start the service, Grandpa stood up at the podium in front of the crowd and said, "Some of you may have heard that I dis-invited PompousPastor and AssPastor from this funeral service. This service is not an appropriate place for me to give you my reasons for doing this, although you all know me and so you know that my reasons are good ones. Also, my wife asked me to exclude them."

"This funeral service may be different from other funerals that you have attended. It is going to be an "open microphone" funeral. Everyone who wants to say something is invited to come up here and describe your friendship with my wife, tell a story about her that is worth remembering, or anything else that you want to say that will honor her memory and bring comfort to everyone here today. I have asked several family members to prepare statements, but you don't have to have anything prepared. Please, if you want to say something, come up here and do so."

There were about a hundred people at the funeral service; at least a third of them eventually stepped up to the microphone. The service, which we had planned to last about 30 minutes, lasted for over two hours and, as best I can tell, not one person left early. There was laughing, crying and hugging, three of her grandchildren played some of her favorite songs on the piano and guitar, we all joined hands and sang her favorite hymns.

Afterwards, dozens of people told my Grandpa that it was one of the most comforting and uplifting funerals they had ever attended. More than a few remarked that, "Funerals are better without preachers anyway", or something similar.

REMEMBERING HER PASTORS AND HER CHURCH IN HER WILL: THE ONE-TWO PUNCH

A couple of weeks later, it was time to start distributing the bequests in Grandma's will. Although Grandma and Grandpa dearly loved each other, they had separate wills because, she told my Mom, "That makes it easier for us to respect each other's turf", and because their lawyer had recommended it. Nobody thought that my grandparents were wealthy. They had lived in the same small but charming house in a prosperous, well-maintained suburban neighborhood for the past 50+ years, and had worked hard and lived modestly. But it was rumored that they had a very nice nest egg.

Of course, there is no legal requirement for anyone to attend "The Reading Of The Will", or to even have a "Reading". Modern telecommunications and near-universal literacy have made this quaint custom practically extinct.

But "The Reading Of The Will" was a tradition in our family because it was one of those events that gave our close-knit, extended family an excuse to get together. We never had "Family Reunions". They were too difficult to schedule for our large family. But we got together at birthdays, holidays, funerals, baptisms, etc., so that if you attended several of these, you would see just about every one of your cousins, aunts, uncles, and even great aunts & uncles who were Grandma's and Grandpa's siblings and in-laws.

With this family tradition in mind, many of our family members' wills often contained very personal bequests of items that had little cash value, but were the departed family member's way of telling their loved ones that they wanted to share a cherished memory with them one last time.

As an added incentive to attend, the family rumor mill had been buzzing with speculation, encouraged by Grandpa, that Grandma's will contained some "surprises".

The "Reading" was held in a conference room at a lawyer's office. Unsurprisingly, the attendees included my mom, as well as aunts, uncles, great aunts, great uncles and many of the grandchildren.

We were all surprised, however, to see PompousPastor and AssPastor from BigWhiteChurch. They informed us that Grandma's lawyer had told them that Grandma's will had bequests not only for BigWhiteChurch, but also for them personally.

Maybe it was just our imagination; but my siblings, cousins and I couldn't help noticing that these Preachers appeared to be actively salivating over their good fortune at Grandma's generosity.

Grandma had a large family, so a sizeable number of beneficiaries were named in her will. The lawyer's conference room was a bit smaller than an average middle-class living room. Extra chairs had been brought in, every seat was filled and people were standing in every remaining space.

There was barely space for all of us. Grandma's lawyer suggested that PompousPastor and AssPastor sit in chairs which were in the front of the room, next to himself. Since there was a large table in the room, this meant that the lawyer and these two Preachers were the only ones who were directly facing everyone else. Although the Preachers were gratified to be physically next to the center of attention, they did not notice, as all of the rest of us quickly noticed, that these seats made it easy for everyone else in the room to watch them closely, and practically impossible for them to leave the packed-to-more-than-overflowing room before the entire meeting was over, because they were farthest from the room's single door, and there were almost two dozen people standing or sitting between them and their only path to escape.

The bequests were quite generous, but pretty much what we had expected. Grandpa kept their house, its contents, their retirement accounts and everything that remained after all of the bequests had been satisfied. Children, grandchildren and several local charities received nice, but not extravagant, amounts of money. Several sentimental items were named and given to various friends and relatives.

Grandpa was first beneficiary listed in the will. But, after him, all of the other bequests were arranged in order of increasing worth. They started with sentimental items, which had very small cash value. Then each grandchild received several thousand dollars, then each son, daughter, brother, sister, niece and nephew received a little more, then several local non-profits received very nice amounts, etc.

Bequests to BigWhiteChurch, PompousPastor and AssPastor were (almost) the last ones listed in the will. They listened politely to the other bequests, but with steadily growing anticipation, as they noticed the exponential upward trend in Grandma's largess.

When Grandma's lawyer got to the BigWhiteChurch and Preachers' part of the will, he said, "This is a bit unusual, but before I announce these bequests to BigWhiteChurch, PompousPastor and AssPastor, Ms [Grandma's name] requested that I read the following statement to everyone present."

He opened a letter that was written in Grandma's own handwriting...

"For the past 10 years, NOT ONE person from BigWhiteChurch has ever called me, come to visit me or sent me a note to tell me that they cared about me. Not one minister, not one deacon, not one of the church women, not one of the church members who I worked with for all of those years, loved dearly and thought were my friends. I worked very hard for you when you needed me, for many, many years. But when I needed you and your church, you all pretended that I didn't exist."

"I only got one visit. When I was dying and I invited PompousPastor to come to my house and help me plan my funeral."

"This was my last attempt, after many attempts that I had made over the past 10 years, to reach out to my church and Pastor, whom I still loved dearly even though they had made it clear that they did not love me. If only I could have my funeral at my church, maybe some of my church friends, whom I had not seen in a decade, would come to the service to see me one last time. And I know they loved to hear PompousPastor preach, so if he preached at my funeral, maybe they would come to my funeral to hear him, even if they would not have come to see me.

But PompousPastor couldn't find the time to visit me, or even call me to tell me whether or not he was willing to preach at my funeral. AssPastor came by my house, but he didn't want to talk about my funeral. He just wanted me to, 'Remember his church in my will'. That's all. Just, 'Remember his church in my will'".

"It was then that I realized that I had allowed my church to break my heart for one last time. But that was the last time. The VERY last time."

"AssPastor did not know it when he visited me, but Grandpa and I had already prepared my will, long before his visit, which did include a double tithe - TWENTY PERCENT - of my ENTIRE ESTATE, for what was now my former ... FORMER ... church ... BigWhiteChurch.

This amount was [named the amount - an enormous shitload of money - generating muffled "wows" from many of her heirs, including me].

"But I got to feeling badly that we had not personally remembered such nice people as PompousPastor and AssPastor. So I changed my will to include them by name. While I was at it, I changed the amount of money that I left to BigWhiteChurch to match all of the love that they have showed to me during the last 10 years of my life, when I was suffering and lonely, and no longer able to work my ass off for them, for free, like I had done for almost half a century."

"That is her entire written statement", the lawyer said. "Now let's get back to the bequests in the will."

"Bequest to AssPastor: One Cent".

"Bequest to PompousPastor: One Cent".

"Bequest to BigWhiteChurch: One Cent".

The PompousPastor and AssPastor sat there looking like someone had just injected a gallon of novacaine into their jaws.

Every one of Grandma's family and friends felt an overwhelming urge to laugh out loud. But we kept quiet because we knew Grandma. We knew she wasn't finished yet. Grandma was simply setting them up for a one-two punch. The best was yet to come, and we didn't want to miss it.

"There is one last bequest," the lawyer continued, "For a charity called ...", which he named and I'll call "BlackCharity", then he paused before naming the amount....

Most of us had no idea what BlackCharity was. But, by the looks on their faces, we could tell that PompousPastor and AssPastor knew BlackCharity very well. Their faces displayed the same expressions of shock, dread and horror that they would have if the lawyer had said, "This bequest goes to The Demonic Baby Eaters to buy extra large rotisserie barbecue grills and tons of charcoal".

Every eye in the room was now fixated on PompousPastor and AssPastor.

The lawyer, who happened to be my uncle, one of Grandma's and Grandpa's sons, let the silence continue a few seconds more....

If we had been able to read PompousPastor's and AssPastor's minds, we would have known the history behind the looks on their faces. BlackCharity was sponsored by a large Black church just a few miles from BigWhiteChurch. They ran a free food/clothing bank, assistance programs for foster children, home delivery of pre-cooked meals for homebound seniors, legal aid, and other social services.

A long time ago, BigWhiteChurch, which was (and still is) 100% Caucasian, had provided a few years of financial and other support to BlackCharity. Then there was a very bitter, acrimonious breakup, allegedly because BlackCharity was practicing "The Social Gospel", while BigWhiteChurch was preaching "The True Gospel". BigWhiteChurch even sued to try to get some of their money back, although the suit was eventually settled and very little money actually changed hands.

But, this being The Deep South, everyone knew the real reason why BigWhiteChurch, or any white church, would stop supporting a Black charity: "Those n****** were getting uppity and not staying in their place". Grandma and Grandpa had seriously considered leaving BigWhiteChurch at that time. But they had reasoned that it was better to stay there and teach tolerance by their words and example. They knew they would never persuade everyone, but maybe they could reach some of the youth at their white church and break the generational cycle of racism. Grandma used to tell us, "My church is my Mission Field". We did not learn the true depth of her statement until after she died.

Since then, Grandma and Grandpa had secretly sent a portion of their "Tithe" to BlackCharity every month.

Most of Grandma's family, including me, didn't find out about any of this until after the meeting had ended.

But PompousPastor and AssPastor obviously understood what Grandma, by her actions which are more powerful than words, was saying to them. If you had grown up as a white person in the Deep South, as Grandma, Grandpa, PompousPastor and AssPastor had, you would understand.

To many white Southerners, this was one of the most personally insulting things you could do to them. It simultaneously labeled them as racists, condemned their bigotry and crushed their delusions of white superiority by saying, "These Black human beings, whom you hate, disrespect and have mistreated, are better people than you are. So they deserve my money more than you do".

Having allowed time for everyone to observe PompousPastor and AssPastor while they thought about how their white church had treated this Black charity, and how they AND their church had treated our Grandma...

The lawyer said, "The amount is...."

Then he named the EXACT SAME AMOUNT that Grandma had named in her handwritten letter, the huge amount of money that would have gone to BigWhiteChurch if she had not changed her will.

(source) story by (/u/BamaFan4Jesus)

[stiltonbasket]

chancellor of the morning sun: burdens, mingjue (youth)

In which being a woman in the cultivation world is difficult, and Nie Mingjue comforts a friend.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | | Part 8 | Part 9 | AO3

On the night after the welcoming banquet, Nie Mingjue wakes to the sound of someone crying outside his door. 

This was by no means unusual when he was younger; Huaisang often had night terrors after his mother died, and refused to sleep without Nie Mingjue for the next three or four years. But A-Sang is thirteen now, far too old to come crying to his da-ge after dark, and the person on the other side of his door seems to be a woman. 

“Who’s there?” he calls, lighting one of his dream lanterns before getting out of bed. “A-Sang, is that you?”

“No, it’s me!” a familiar voice shouts, nearly sending Nie Mingjue to the ground as he scrambles to keep his footing. “A-Jue, let me in!”

Nie Mingjue drops his lantern and tries not to panic. The crying is still going on, but the person who called his name was Lan Xichen, without a doubt; and if she had come to his chambers this late, with the Unclean Realm full of foreign cultivators who would gladly take any chance to see her reputation ruined, then she must have come to seek his help with some kind of emergency.

And Nie Mingjue has not forgotten that the son of his father’s murderer is sleeping under his roof, or that Wen Ruohan openly sought Xichen’s hand in marriage for Wen Xu, and would have forced the two to meet if Nie Mingjue’s own fuqin had not intervened.

“I’m coming!” he says frantically, throwing the door open and grasping Lan Xichen’s arm the moment she crosses the threshold. “Lan Huan, I’m—”

And then he looks over Lan Xichen’s shoulder, blinking at the miserable line of young maidens trailing down the corridor behind her. Jiang Yanli is standing at Xichen’s side, crying into her sleeves, and Qin Su and Jin Zixuan’s first shimei are there, too; and Wen Ruohan’s young niece is standing in the back, holding Qin Su’s arm to keep her from falling over. All five girls smell of liquor, even Xichen, and Nie Mingjue gapes at them in bewilderment as Xichen fists her hands in his tunic and shakes him from side to side.

“Jiang-jie won’t listen to us!” she complains, sobbing drunkenly into his chest: which sets Jiang Yanli off again, and then Luo Qingyang starts weeping, too. “A-Jue, tell her!”’

Mingjue frowns. “Tell her what, A-Huan?” he says gently, wiping his intended’s face. It will be ruin for them both if anyone spots her here in the middle of the night, let alone with four other girls in front of his private quarters, but Nie Mingjue would rather cut his own hands off than turn the girl he loves away in such distress. “What’s wrong?”

“Jiang-guniang thinks she’s not worthy of Zixuan,” Luo Qingyang wails. “But just look at him! He prances around like a prize stallion, and he keeps making a fool of himself everywhere he goes! It’s pathetic! And he keeps talking about how wonderful he is, almost as much as Zixun! Nie-zongzhu, I have to beat him up twice a month to keep him in line, and it’s not even working!”

“Not worthy of Jin Zixuan?” he snorts. “Jiang-guniang, it’s Jin-gongzi who isn’t worthy of you. A-Huan, didn’t you tell her so?”

Jiang Yanli only cries even harder, and Xichen gives him a reproachful look and pinches his stubbly cheek. “She won’t listen to us when we tell her she’s more than enough. Yanli thinks we have to say so, since we’re her friends, so I brought her to you so you could tell her instead!”

“Jin-gongzi should count himself lucky that a maiden like Lady Jiang would give him the time of day,” Nie Mingjue says promptly. “He’ll get over himself in time, and Luo-guniang will beat him into the ground if he doesn’t. Right, Luo-guniang?”

Luo Qingyang nods fervently before listing straight into one of the walls. “I will!” she yells, as Wen Qing reaches over and puts her back on her feet again. “‘N then I’ll put itching powder in Jin Zixun’s pants, and, and…”

“Steal his wine again,” Qin Su suggests, letting out a loud burp. “That peach-blossom brew was delicious. Don’t you feel any better after drinking it, A-Li?”

“No, I don’t,” Jiang Yanli murmurs. “Good night, Nie-zongzhu. I’m going back to bed now.”

“Yanli!” begs Xichen, throwing herself at the shorter girl and almost knocking both of them backwards onto the floor. “Yanli, don’t go! You’re worth a hundred of Jin-zongzi, you—A-Jue, help!”

“What am I supposed to say?” he asks, thoroughly bewildered. “I can go challenge Jin-gongzi to a duel myself, if you like. Would that cheer you up, Jiang-guniang!”

But to his surprise, Jiang Yanli only goes to her knees and trembles like a kitten left out in the cold, sobbing about her fears for her future at Koi Tower and her dread of being bound to a man who will never respect her, her terror at the prospect of having no allies past her wedding day save for her mother-in-law, and then about having to spend the rest of her life within reach of Jin Guangshan. 

“Mother keeps telling me that I should try to do better, so that Jin-gongzi likes me,” she chokes. “And one of my Yu aunties told me once that Jin-gongzi has to like me, since that’s going to be the only thing keeping me safe from—from—”

“Why haven’t you spoken to your parents about this?” Nie Mingjue demands, aghast. He knows very little about how his own engagement was settled on Xichen’s side; but not long after his ascension, he discovered that neither she nor her uncle were consulted on the matter, and that the sect elders only informed Lan Qiren of his niece’s engagement after the betrothal papers were sealed and signed and the bride price was already paid. 

Nie Mingjue’s father made the agreement believing that Lan Qiren was amenable, and would have dissolved the betrothal in a heartbeat if Lan Xichen ever said she was unhappy with it—even in the months just before his death, when his greatest regret was that he would likely not live long enough to see his grandchildren. But he never disapproved of Lan Xichen’s decision to remain unwed until Wangji was at least eighteen, though the wedding was originally set to take place just after Xichen turned eighteen, and he would even have accepted a divorce if his daughter-in-law initiated it. 

And Jiang Fengmian is widely known to dote upon his daughter, just as Nie Mingjue’s father doted on Lan Xichen, so why would he not offer the same choice to his child that Nie Huangyin gave to A-Huan?

“Father would break the engagement if I asked, but Jin-furen is mother’s best friend,” Jiang Yanli weeps, in answer to Nie Mingjue’s unspoken question. “It would make things so difficult between them if Jin-furen ever knew I felt this way. And A-Xian and A-Cheng already hate the idea of me marrying into Lanling, Nie-zongzhu. It would be so much worse for them both if they found out I was afraid.”

“It is better out now, than ten years from now, when you are wedded into that house and bound there by a husband and children,” Nie Mingjue says somberly. “Jin Zixuan is not a bad sort, but if he can look upon a maiden who spends her days tending to her family and teaching in orphanages and finding apprenticeships for street children, and call such a girl unworthy because of her looks and low cultivation—then he is not worthy of any wife, let alone one like you, and I pray he will come to recognize it without some great tragedy to bring him to his senses.”

“But—”

“If A-Huan were to lose her cultivation, I would still count myself as the luckiest man in the world to be her husband,” he declares. “And if she were not beautiful, that would be nothing to me. Whatever the strength of her golden core, and whatever she looks like—her heart has nothing to do with either her face or her jindan, and I love her for that above all things.”

Jiang Yanli’s jaw drops open, and she stares up at Nie Mingjue in open disbelief. Xichen is far too drunk to register what he just said, and Wen Qing seems to have stuffed bits of cloth into her ears to keep herself from listening to anything Jiang-guniang would not have confided while sober—but the word love still burns on his lips like the hot filling from Lan Xichen’s sweet bean cakes, flooding through every inch of his body until he can think of nothing else, and he spends a good two minutes in a kind of stricken trance before wondering if saying such a thing before Maiden Jiang might have hurt her feelings.

“It didn’t,” she says softly—because apparently, Nie Mingjue said that last aloud. “I think I see now, Nie-zongzhu.”

Nie Mingjue opens his mouth to ask what she means, but a small purple blur interrupts him before he can get the words out. The blur skids around the nearest corner, screeching in indignation at the sight of Yanli’s tearstained face, and then it turns upon Nie Mingjue and demands an explanation. 

“What did you say to my Shijie?” Wei Wuxian cries. “Shijie, did he bully you?”

“Silly A-Xian,” Jiang-guniang smiles, ruffling Wei Wuxian’s hair. “Nobody bullied me, but Nie-zongzhu made me feel much better.”

“By making you cry?” Wei Wuxian says doubtfully. “Should I get Suibian?”

“A-Xian, no!” Jiang Yanli is giggling now, kissing her brother all over his puffy cheeks. “Come on, let’s go back.”

Wei Wuxian drags her off down the hallway, casting suspicious glances over his shoulder, and Wen Qing charges herself with the duty of escorting Luo Qingyang and Maiden Qin back to their own quarters. However, she declares in no uncertain terms that managing three drunk girls is beyond her, and that leaves only Nie Mingjue to look after Lan Xichen. 

“Your uncle’s going to kill me if he finds us,” he whimpers, as he struggles up a flight of stairs with his betrothed yawning in his arms. “And then A-Sang will spend the rest of his life on birds and fans, and never catch up with his lessons in time to attend your clan lectures.”

“Shufu likes you,” Xichen assures him, patting the tip of his nose. “He would never do such a thing.”

“He would if he thought I’d been improper towards you,” Nie Mingjue groans. “A-Huan, have you had anything to eat after you started drinking?”

“Mm, A-Su brought snacks. And Wen Qing kept slipping headache medicine into my wine.”

Nie Mingjue sighs in relief and hugs her a little tighter. “Good. Will you try to drink a little water after we get back to your room?”

Xichen nods drowsily, nearly stopping Nie Mingjue’s heart as she nuzzles against his shoulder, but he manages to get her up to her bedroom in one piece and helps her get into bed, making sure she lies on her side to prevent choking in the morning. He also puts a few pieces of rice candy on her nightstand since he always carries a handful in his pocket for Huaisang, and fetches a glass of water for her to drink when she wakes. 

Lan Huan is fast asleep by then, breathing quietly in her nest of blankets with her hand tucked under her cheek, and Nie Mingjue makes it as far as the door before remembering that she is still too drunk to be left alone.

But she doesn’t have a maidservant, Nie Mingjue thinks desperately, staring wildly out of the room as if one might climb out of the nearest cupboard. And Wangji didn’t come along this time, and I can’t wake Lan Qiren—

Oh, no.

Oh, this is very bad. 

Anything could happen to Lan Xichen with so much alcohol in her blood, and she might even stop breathing during the night and smother. But there is no one to fetch except for Lan-xiansheng, and that means Nie Mingjue will have to stay with her until she wakes. And given the fact that Lan Qiren will be looking for his niece by mao hour tomorrow, while Lan Xichen will probably sleep a shichen longer than usual—

Nie Mingjue sinks down beside the bed and puts his head in his hands. 

Well, that settles it, he despairs, pulling the thick blankets away from Xichen’s face. Lan Qiren is definitely going to kill me. 

But he would be lying if he said that the sight of Xichen’s peaceful face was unworthy of death by uncle-in-law, so Nie Mingjue accepts his demise with grace and starts planning his funeral instead.

___

When Lan Xichen opens her eyes, the first thing she notices is the dull pain in her head. 

The second thing she notices (after gulping down the water and candy on the nightstand) is that someone seems to have left a heap of something dark near her bed; probably a bag, or a pile of clothes, though she can’t see well enough to tell what it could be. 

And the last thing is that her uncle is sitting on a chair by the door, tapping his foot loudly enough to make her head pound. 

“Shufu,” she croaks, struggling upright with the aid of one of her pillows. “What are you—”

“Disciples of the Lan clan must not consume alcohol,” he says, strangely calm despite the enormity of her transgression. Her clothes still smell like Baling mead, sweet and spicy and fruity all at once, and she nearly dies of shame at the thought of how shocked Shufu must have been when he found her. “They must not go out of doors after haishi. And they must never share chambers with any member of the opposite sex to whom they are not married, unless they are a relative.”

Lan Xichen freezes. “What?”

“Should I not be asking you that?” her uncle reminds her. “What is Nie-zongzhu doing in your bedchamber?”

Thunderstruck, Lan Xichen stumbles out of bed and stares at the dark heap on the floor, which yawns at her touch and stretches like a cat before springing up in horror. 

“Lan-xiansheng, it’s not what it looks like!” Nie Mingjue cries, making Lan Xichen shrivel at the memory of how shamefully she must have behaved last night. “I only wanted to make sure Xichen was safe, I would never—”

“And you did not think of waking me?” Lan Qiren lifts his eyebrows at them. “Even if you wanted to ensure that my niece was well, how could you risk being seen leaving her rooms in the morning? My own quarters are just on the other side of the hall.”

Mingjue ducks his head in shame, and Lan Xichen suddenly wants nothing more than the comfort of his hand in hers. “I didn’t want her to get in trouble, xiansheng,” he mumbles. “She only came out last night for someone else’s sake, and I couldn’t have borne to see her unhappy just for that.”

“You are a sect leader, Nie Mingjue. Don’t look down when you speak to me,” Shufu scolds. “As it is, I am glad that you did not leave her. But as her uncle, I must order you to go now before the breakfast bell, lest you ruin both of your reputations at once and force her to marry before she is ready.”

Mingjue takes the hint and flees, leaving Xichen and her uncle alone. Shufu says nothing more for a while, merely studying the ceiling as if the laws of the Lan sect were inscribed there, and then he clears his throat and points to the stack of parchment on her desk.

“Copy each precept you broke, a hundred times each. The tenth, eighteenth, and seventy-first laws. Go.”

And then, after a moment’s lull:

“I think he will be a good father someday, A-Huan,” Lan Qiren reflects. “Your little ones will want for nothing, what with how he cares for you and how much he coddles Huaisang. I could not have found you a better husband if I chose for you myself.”

Lan Xichen drops her paintbrush.

“Shufu!”

[pynkhues]

(1/2) Hey, I'm the anon from the last request. Just have a few follow up q's if you're alright with that (dont have a tumblr to message directly rip)? With Gerri, its strange that she's Shiv's godmother yet both Shiv and Roman dont really know her in the pilot- was there a prior schism? Also did not know about St Andrews, if its not a military school then do you think it adds another layer to the dog kennel story?

(2/2- sorry!) I get what you mean when you say he also coddles Roman but to me its the emotional detachment thats striking. Like in the car post-slapgate, its obvs awks from the slap but they also don't seem to have natural connection or conversation vs Logan and car scenes with the others. There's also the references to him beating Roman (not to say he didn't beat the others but its only Roman mentioned). I think in s3, his new status as fave son might bring up some old wounds for Roman.

(x)

Hey! Ooo, these are really great follow ups, thank you! I hope you don't mind me breaking them into sections!

Is it strange that Shiv and Roman don't really know Gerri well in the pilot?

It is strange, but I also think it's just the result of a few things being shuffled around post-pilot. Pilots are usually shot months if not a whole year before the first season is as the point of them is to sell the network on the show. In that sense, they're effectively proof-of-concept tools and so it's common for things to change. I'm not sure if you're a crossover anon, haha, but I talk a lot about Good Girls as well, and the pilot of that even had a completely different lead actress they had to do re-shoots around for 1.01.

Jesse Armstrong, the Succession showrunner, has said that a few things were shuffled around after the pilot – one of the biggest things for instance is that Roman wears a wedding ring in the pilot and Grace is supposed to be his wife (she's even listed as Grace Roy in 1.01 on IMDB!) and Isla their daughter together. They changed that after the pilot though because they thought it worked better with Grace as just his girlfriend, and Isla as Grace's daughter, not his.

I think Gerri's role in the show really bulked up between the pilot and episode 2, and that's why there's more distance between the Roy kids and Gerri in the first couple of episodes than there is later in the season. Gosh, even the fact that she's not at Logan's 80th birthday party in the pilot feels so weird now with how much they've shifted her role in the family, haha.

Rest of the answers under the cut!

Does St. Andrew's not being a military school when Roman attended add another layer to the dog kennel plot?

Yeah, I think it does, but I also think more than anything, it's reiterating what's already there. That entire subplot is really steeped in how Kendall, Roman and Connor all have different memories of this same game. For Roman it's formative, for Kendall it's just a memory of a childish game, and for Connor, it's seen as through older eyes and, more than anything, an insight into their father, not an insight into Roman and Kendall.

In a lot of ways, Roman stressing that St Andrew's was a military school when it wasn't undermines his own memory of the game, just as Connor telling him it wasn't dogfood it was chocolate cake does, just as Connor telling him he asked to be sent away does. Does that make it any less real for Roman? I don't think so. It's obviously something he's remembered as traumatic, and it resulted in a very real, tangible removal of him from Manhattan, where Kendall and Shiv stayed and went to school. Regardless of whether or not it was military school, it was a boarding school, and I think that feeling of distance and isolation was likely very real.

I'm really curious though about Connor's different stories to Kendall and Roman. He tells Roman that he asked to be sent away, and Kendall that their dad sent Roman because you separate fighting dogs and you send the weak one away so that everyone knows the hierarchy. The interesting thing though to me is that I think Connor was telling the truth in both instances, but the former does make the latter read differently.

If Roman wanted to go, it undermines Connor's memory of Logan, because Logan was not only giving Roman what he wanted, but he was giving Roman greater freedom, greater independence, greater agency at an outdoorsy boarding school that wasn't actually a military school at all. So does that mean that Logan saw Roman as the weak dog, or Kendall? Who he kept close and on a short leash in the comfort of home?

Kendall obviously takes Connor at his word, but I'm not so sure that we're supposed to as an audience. I think the story can be read in a lot of different ways, and more than anything, I think it can be read as Logan understanding that Kendall and Roman were not (and are not) the same, and needed different things as children. How that can be spun though is anyone's guess.

Are Logan and Roman emotionally distant?

That's an interesting point about the emotional distance there. I think there is and there isn't? Logan obviously dotes on Shiv and pendulums between coddling, controlling and bullying Kendall, but I think both of those things are more just indicative of really different dynamics. Roman's clearly got a 'class clown' sort of personality that Logan obviously doesn't appreciate and struggles to deal with, particularly given he's a pretty humourless guy (gosh, I think a lot about the fact that one of the only times we've seen Logan actually laugh was when the kids didn't want to see their mum, haha).

In that sense though, I think Logan doesn't understand Roman. It comes back to what I said in the other post – I actually do think Logan sees Roman's strengths, and the fact that Roman doesn't utilise them is, I think to Logan, unforgivable. Logan had to claw his way out of abject poverty through whatever it was he could get, and while Shiv, Kendall and Connor lack, I think Logan looks at Roman and sees waste.

It's why he doesn't have a stomach for the jokes, or the immaturity, and I think contributes to this failure to connect emotionally because he doesn't understand Roman in the way that he understands Shiv's rebellion and Kendall's foibles.

The aftermath of him hitting Roman is interesting too, because I actually think Logan's not trying to create distance in the aftermath, I think he's trying to re-write history to preserve his sense of self. He offers the untruth to Roman as an opening – a map for them to navigate unstable and uncertain terrain, and Roman takes it and follows his lead because he doesn't know how to navigate it either.

Does that make it right or forgiveable? Absolutely not – Logan hit his son, and trying to make everyone pretend that that never happened is an awful example of gaslighting – but I also find it really indicative of the cycle of abuse. We know that Noah was horrifically abusive to Logan, as seen by the scars on his back, and I actually get the impression that Logan tried not to be abusive to his children, but sometimes was because of his temper and his health.

Like, I think when he struck Iverson in the thanksgiving ep it was the first time he'd ever raised a hand to one of his grandchildren, especially given the reaction of people, and even hitting Roman summoned a pretty huge reaction from people, and seemed not to be something Roman was prepared for. It also I think stems back to that point of Logan not knowing how to handle Roman (or Iverson!) and resorting to violence he very quickly regrets because for a man who runs the news, he very rarely utilises words.

Logan was raised in violence, and I think it's a language he's both fluent in and has tried to reject, but one he falls back on when he can no longer communicate.

It's wrong, and awful, of course, but I think it's really interesting because I think it's deliberately a part of this broader theme with the Roy's about how fractured their communication with one another is. They don't know how to connect or talk to each other, and so frequently that breaks down into violence, whether to each other or themselves or to the collateral damage - the NRPIs.

I totally agree though that I think some Thoughts around all of this is likely to resurface for Roman in season 3, especially as Logan no doubt starts to lean on him as the new heir.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: None

Word Count: 1,544 Words

Summary: Twin trouble and the bakusquad plans to take Touya out shopping.

Warnings: Child Abuse Mention, Death Mention, Homophobia Mentions, Cursing, Injury Mention, Immunocompromised Character, let me know if I should tag anything else.

Notes: Touya’s clothes include links to what they look like.

Hair Dye Buddies: Chapter 3

Learning the basics with his new quirk took to him instantly as he used ways he'd used to watch their father train Shoto with his quirks. The snow felt so calm under his fingertips, the naturality of it far better than the fire that he was born with.

By the end of the class, several snowmen and snow angels had been made and he was very proud with his quick advancement. Everyone seemed happy with his quirk and it made him so eager to please them.

"Tomorrow's training will be more fighting with quirks. I need to get you all ready for the upcoming licensing exam." Aizawa told them on their walk back to class. "Yes, you will be included, Touya. I've spoken to Nezu and all you'll need to do is catch yourself up in your studies and your quirk training, which should be no problem given you take to things so easily. Though yours would be temporary." Aizawa told him.

"This doesn't mean you all will be hurrying to spar with each other tonight, I will put you in detention if you do. Touya, you're allowed to tinker around with your quirk under teacher supervision if you want since, even if you've taken hold of it quickly, it's still brand new to you." Aizawa told him.

Of course, Sir." He nodded, trailing with Shoto.

"So you're officially a UA student, Touya." He was giddy, he'd always wanted to attend UA but father forced him into a no-name school with barely any accountability for their students and had even listed him under their mother's maiden name to keep him away.

"How are Fuyumi and Natsuo?" Touya asked abruptly. Shoto looked bewildered at the sudden conversation shift. Then he realized it might be because Shoto was never allowed around them. He might not know their names, even.

"Sorry, I know you're not even that close to them, us three were so clumped together and you were so much later we never actually bonded together as siblings or anything and you were probably forced away once I was gone so you probably never even knew them." Touya sighed.

"Actually, we're pretty close now. I guess we all realized losing you meant we needed to stick together as much as possible. We even have a group chat without dad. We call it the Endeavor Hate Chat." Shoto smiled and Touya laughed.

"Oh, now you have to show me how much you bash the old man. How old's he now, 45, 46?"

"46. Just turned it like two months ago." Touya gave a chuckle.

"Wow, talk about the timing of that stupid deaging. It's the same time in the year too. I'm starting to think someone put a spell on me like Sleeping Beauty. Come back the same age five years later to torment my little brother." Touya teased.

"I'm not so little anymore. I'm a week older than you." Shoto teased back.

"Oh come on, it's not by much!" Touya exclaimed, getting the class to snicker at their petty argument of age.

"Anyway, how are Natsu and Yumi? You never answered." Touya reminded him.

"Well, Fuyumi's a kindergarten teacher's aid, she's got a secret girlfriend or two and a secret boyfriend too. That woman is pulling too many people at this point. I really have tried to get her to talk to a therapist about her mommy and daddy issues but it isn't really working as you can tell. Natsuo is in college still, becoming a nurse. He has a husband now, they eloped not this summer but the summer before. He's really happy. Both are doing okay. Yumi says she wants kids in the future still and I'm hoping Dad doesn't latch onto it and try to pick her a husband or something to keep 'good quirks' in the family."

Touya smiled knowing his now-older siblings were happy in life. It was all he'd hoped they'd get when he was younger, he couldn't believe they got their happy endings despite his lack of involvement.

"Me, though, I'm going to be a hero just to save people. Unlike his goals for me, I want to be a hero that's a good person as well as a good hero so he won't be giving me the title of Number One, he'll be handing his mantle to part of the next generation he didn't make, likely. And he has a rude awakening if he thinks he'll get his grandchildren to succeed him." Shoto smiled deviously.

"Why?" Touya asked.

"Because he doesn't know I'm gay yet and I won't be giving him biological grandchildren. I plan to adopt kids in need instead. The only children he'll have are Fuyumi's and yours." Shoto proudly stated.

"You say this like I'm not gay too. I'm not having kids." Touya cackled.

"Yumi's got a whole next family generation on her hands then. All the boys can now wipe their hands clean of the reproduction process." Shoto was trying hard not to laugh, so was Touya.

"I ain't never seen four straight siblings. Always three of 'em gotta be gay." Midoriya announced, bursting the whole class into laughter besides the grape-looking gremlin.

"Ew, gays!" The juice gremlin exclaimed, interrupting everyone's fun.

"Shut the fuck up, Mineta." Aizawa instructed the grape gremlin.

"Yes, sir." Mineta agreed.

"I'm glad you ended up bonding with them. I remember being so worried when you were born because the three of us had each other and you were five years younger than us. I was always worried you'd never bond with us."

"Well, you guys were triplets. It's a different bond, I guess." Shoto sighed. "I just know that they were devastated when they heard you disappeared. We all thought you'd run away because the old man never said anything about kicking you out. We thought you'd died on the streets. You have a tombstone in Mom's garden still." Shoto told him.

"They always did joke about burying me in the yard." Touya laughed.

"I'm so glad you get another chance at life. Once we're able to tell Natsuo and Fuyumi, they'll be overjoyed." Shoto butted his shoulder with his own.

"I hope they'll be happy." Touya smiled a bit.

The day was easy after that. He wasn't all that behind in his studies, even excelled a English. During a hero lesson, he got sent to Recovery Girl, who tried to figure out the quirk that caused this and how it worked.

They'd ultimately ended up that this was more than likely permanent now that things had changed from how his life had originally went, especially once he told her of Ryuu and the quirk change. Then she forcefully healed the cuts and burns on his hands and arms from Ryuu and sent him back to class for Math.

The school day was over before he knew it and he was following Bakugou back to the dorms and he went to his own room, it was still bare, just a bed and a desk and a television set up in the corner.

"Hey, Cotton Candy, we're going out, you wanna come?" Bakugou asked.

"I'd be in my school uniform. Aren't we not supposed to wear them when we're not on campus?" He asked.

"We're the same size, just take some clothes. Mina wants to go clothes shopping anyway." Bakugou told him.

"Okay, but I don't have any money." Touya reminded him.

"IcyHot already agreed to let you take your dad's credit card. We're buying you clothes whether you like it or not." Bakugou told him, shoving some clothes at him and he fumbled a second but held them while Bakugou closed his door. "Get dressed! We're leaving in like twenty minutes once Pikachu does his makeup."

Touya was grateful Bakugou had handed him black jeans with cuts on the knees and a baggy black sweater with a skull on it, the comfort of it was astronomical. He put back on the black boots he'd shown up to UA in last night and headed out to Mina in the men's hallway, wolf whistling at him and Sero laughing telling him he fit right in.

"Question, does anyone have a mask I can borrow? My immune system is pretty weak, I got a lot of the weaker genetics in the family so I get sick pretty easy."

"Yeah, man, Shoji has a ton of extra masks." Sero told him. Kirishima was already knocking on Shoji's door for him.

"Hey, man, can Touya borrow a mask, his immune system sucks and we're taking him out shopping."

"Sure, I have some smaller ones my sister sent me a while back that don't fit me." Shoji rummaged a moment and then handed Kirishima a few masks with Halloween themed patterns on them. "Have fun out in the world, Touya." Shoji reminded him.

"I will, thank you, Shoji!" Touya smiled brightly at him as he put on the black mask with the orange and yellow jack'o'lantern pattern.

Being handed Endeavor's credit card by Shoto and told to go wild at the mall was like a fever dream when he used to have to ask and beg for months for new things and then he was made to work himself to the bone for it.

Taglist: @lgbtforeverything @rin-tanaka @everythingisstardust

[ootori-sibs]

Through the eyes of the patriarch

1 - The proposal

Tw: death (mentioned) (not main character)

Yoshio Ootori had four children, one daughter and three sons. All of his children were wonderful, he was so very proud of them all. High society from all of the world could see how the Ootori children were a cut above the rest, they were Yoshio's magnum opus, his life's work. His company was important to him, of course it was- but his children were what he was most proud of.

Yuuichi, his eldest son, the dark prince. He was the sweetheart of high society and the most intelligent young man Yoshio had ever known. He'd gotten through medical school early and taken up a position as Yoshio's right hand man fairly quickly. He was the heir to both the company and the Ootori name, the young man would eventually become patriarch of the Ootori family and Yoshio couldn't be prouder. He was an expert when it came to getting people on his side and didn't even need to turn to blackmail or any sorts of things like that- despite being more than capable of doing so.

Fiyumi was his darling daughter, she had a husband now and was happily providing Yoshio with grandchildren now. Yoshio deeply regretted the way he'd treated her, and was working on making that relationship better. She was a wonderful young woman, looking so much like her mother and having the same spitfire attitude. She was just as intelligent as her brothers; having gone through school with straight A grades and proceeding to get qualified to practice as a nurse- even after all that, she was now considering becoming a surgeon as well. On top of being shockingly intelligent and determined, she was exceedingly compassionate. Yoshio could remember seeing her rush to her youngest brother's side at a moment's notice, comforting him over the smallest mishap… he couldn't say it hadn't made him feel inferior. As their father, wasn't that supposed to be his job? Although he supposed that job belonged to their late mother, and without her, Fiyumi seemed to have taken a maternal role in little Kyoya's life. It was incredible how she'd done that, pushing away any professional help offered and still managing to get straight As all throughout school.

Akito was the third child, second son and the boy you would later become Yuuichi's right hand man. Still in university, the boy was just as intelligent as his elders, although he lacked both common sense and manners. It was clear the boy was rebelling, because as much as he still got perfect grades, he liked to attend parties with the commoners at his university, and openly drink on top of that. Yoshio was… disapproving but definitely not disappointed, as long as Akito kept his grades up- then Yoshio's only qualm would be one of health and image. The Ootori's had always had issues with anger, but Akito seemed to inherit the brunt of it, flying off the handle at the smallest thing. Yoshio had provided him with counselling, and it definitely worked but he still could get a little violent when violence really wasn't called for. Yoshio was, however, incredibly proud of how far he'd grown since starting counselling at age nine.

Then, there was Kyoya. The youngest, the baby of the family, the shadow, the black sheep of the family. Kyoya was… different from his brothers, Yoshio couldn't quite put his finger on why. Kyoya got the same perfect grades as his siblings, he was the exact same master manipulator as his brothers, he even looked the same as his brothers. Maybe it was that little club Kyoya helped run, Yoshio definitely didn't approve of it; all that running about and serving ladies, flirting with them no less! It was more or less a more innocent version of offering services, and Yoshio could not stand for his son participating in such behaviour. Although… Kyoya had made friends, that was something the boy had always struggled with. Yoshio was proud of that at least, not to mention Kyoya was showing off his financial prowess, he was the only thing keeping that damned club afloat. It was impressive, but even more impressive was the way Kyoya had snatched the company from under his feet, then thrown it right back in his face. Yoshio had never been prouder of Kyoya then the moment he'd realised Kyoya had been the one to do that to him, that Kyoya had found something more important than the family company.

"How do you do it? You're so affectionate towards your son, I can't even seem to smile at mine."

A laugh, Souh had chuckled at him, pouring another glass of wine for himself, "you flatter me Yoshio, I'm not half as affectionate with Tamaki as you seem to think. I mean, I couldn't even let him call me father at the festival!"

"Well you weren't there as his father, you were there to be the chairman, you couldn't waste your time playing happy families when you had the entire festival to watch over."

The laughter stopped, Yuzuru took a sip of wine before putting the glass down. He frowned, staring at the newton's cradle on Yoshio's desk, "listen, do you hear yourself speak? Spending time with your children isn't wasting it, they shouldn't be second to your job."

"I know that, I'm not an idiot. I just think if you were on duty then there's nothing wrong with being a little more professional than you would usually. My children understand they need to behave professionally when we're networking, isn't the festival just a networking event after all?"

Yuzuru nods thoughtfully, tilting the wineglass slightly, watching the liquid swirl. Yoshio quietly took a sip of his whiskey, he'd always been more of a drinker then Souh. "I suppose you're right, but I still think that your problem is acting too professionally, I don't think I've ever seen you do anything casual. I mean, even right now, when we're just relaxing, we're both still wearing suits and you haven't even taken your jacket off nor loosened your tie."

"I prefer it tight." Yoshio glanced away, understanding that this wasn't the point, he'd seen it in all his children. The lack of ability to turn off 'business mode', staying fully professional constantly. None of them ever learnt how to be casual, and Yoshio supposed that was his fault. To be fair to him, though, he'd never learnt it himself, although maybe he shouldn't have tried to imitate his own parents' parenting strategy if it had turned out the villain of high society he was. Although he supposed at least part of the burden had fallen to his wife, that woman had failed just as much as he had. It was merely Yoshio's duty to pick up the pieces, alone.

"Old friend… you haven't changed a bit have you?" Yuzuru reached over, putting a hand on Yoshio's shoulder, Yoshio had to bite back the instinct to flinch back, wondering if his children were the same. "They aren't you, remember that Yoshio, they have different needs and are in a different situation then you were. They don't have your parents to raise them, you know what they do have?"

"What..?"

"They have you, Yoshio. You're their father, you need to support them. What were you like at each of their ages? They're not like you are they?"

"No," Yoshio finally admitted, sighing, "they're not, they're so much better." His children were so much better people then he was, they had relationships that exceeded mere business deals, they could give without expecting anything in return. They were… people, something Yoshio had always failed to be.

"I wouldn't say that, I'd say they're just different people… do you remember being each of their ages?"

He nodded, finishing his whiskey and pouring a second glass. Yuzuru smiled at that, "remember what you wanted more then anything?"

Yoshio recalled Yuuichi's determination to gain more and power sway over the company and smiled fondly, "power…" he remembered Fiyumi's care and affection to everyone she met, the way she worked so hard to be what everyone wanted, "perfection…" then there was Akito, the one who rebelled and was quite clear in his attempt to piss Yoshio off, "freedom…" was that not what he wanted? To be apart from the family? Finally, there was Kyoya, and Yoshio wasn't sure of what Kyoya wanted at all, "..." he sighed, downing his glass of whiskey in one. "I don't know what they want, they're kids, they don't know either."

Yuzuru frowned, crossing his arms, "Yoshio," his tone was stern, no one had taken that tone with him since he was a child, it certainly made him sit up, "you can't just give up because you don't understand what your kids need. I know what Tamaki wants, and I know he's a lot more open then your children, but you know what Tamaki also is? He's best friends with Kyoya, I can tell you what your youngest wants." He sipped his wine, observing Yoshio's shock, and Yoshio was sure as hell shocked. How hadn't he thought of that? He supposed he hadn't assumed Kyoya would ever be so open with anyone. Yuzuru spoke again, placing the wine glass down, "Kyoya wants your praise and affection, that's all he's ever wanted. It's quite obvious, it's what any child would want from their father. Didn't you want that from your own parents when you were younger?"

"I try not to reminisce, it wastes time." He glanced away, "I don't believe the boy needs affection, he's seventeen. He should be focused on his studies," he paused, realising they were going in circles, he sighed, "even if you were right, he's a little too old for that now, isn't he? What am I supposed to do?"

"Well you should at least tell him you're proud of him."

"If I say that then he'll get lazy, he'll have nothing to work for."

"If you think that your praise is your son's only motivator, then you're more conceited then I thought." Yoshio had never heard Souh sound so cruel before, it almost made him sound like Shizue. He sighed, surprised by how tough his friend was being, but understanding why. Yuzuru was right, what Yoshio had said was incredibly self centered, and Yoshio already knew Kyoya had found something he cared about more. What Yoshio was more worried about, was that he had no idea how to express how much he loved his son.

"My mistake, that wasn't the correct thing to say." He admitted his fault, staring into the bottle of whiskey, watching the liquid sparkle in the light. "How would you recommend I go about it?"

"Just show him you've been thinking about him; maybe get the cooks to make his favourite food if you've noticed him looking extra tired, you could buy him something if you see it and think of him, you could ask him how school's going or complement his abilities, all you really have to do is care about him."

Yoshio nodded, understanding now, "so, all I have to do is give him attention really?" He hums in thought, "I have been considering finding him a wife, everyone else his age has a fiancée by now."

Well not everyone, but Yoshio had always considered that the best way for Kyoya to be useful, not to mention one of Kyoya's best friends from elementary was engaged by age five- Yoshio could recall Kyoya telling him how disgusting it was that his friend had a girlfriend- kids were so cute with what they found gross.

"A wife?" Yuzuru raised an eyebrow, "now Yoshio, you know I hate to make an assumption, but are you sure he's of that persuasion?"

"What do you mean?" Yoshio frowned, looking at his friend in confusion, he didn't quite understand what Yuzuru was getting at.

"I thought he was, you know…" he held up his hand, his wrist going limp, Yoshio just stared at him blankly, what on earth..? Yuzuru continued, "you know... playing for the other team? A friend of Dorothy?"

"Who's Dorothy?"

Souh sighed, "gay, Yoshio, your son is gay."

"Gay? As in homosexual?" Yoshio didn't think he'd ever met any of them, he supposed that it would explain the strange difference between Kyoya and the other children. It was a strange thing to think about, that his child was so different from himself. "I suppose I'll have to find him a husband then," it wasn't like Yoshio had any issues with it, he was just a little surprised.

"Well I'm not certain," Yuzuru clarified, ever the man to jump to conclusions, "I just, the way he looks at Tamaki…" he trailed off, clearly recalling something. Yoshio thought about that, Kyoya had risked doing something that he would disapprove of- and Kyoya certainly wasn't like Akito… was it because of the Souh child? As much as he allied himself with Yuzuru, Yoshio didn't trust that Tamaki boy as far as he could throw him- and Yoshio couldn't throw for shit. "Oh!" Yuzuru snapped him out of his thoughts with that exclamation, "Yoshio! I've just had the most wonderous idea!"

Huh? Oh. Oh no. "Absolutely not." Yoshio knew exactly what Yuzuru was thinking and he had to put his foot down, crossing his arms and frowning.

"Why not? Tamaki's bi."

"You've seen the kind of club your son thinks is acceptable. No offence Yuzuru but your son is definitely a bad influence on Kyoya. I cannot imagine him being loyal, or respectful for that matter."

Yuzuru seemed offended at that, "Yoshio! My boy hasn't done anything wrong! There's nothing wrong with a little harmless conversation, it's like social networking but for kiddies!"

"The children are more than capable of networking like normal people, your son has been seducing every girl in that school, I'm not letting him turn his romancer eyes towards my youngest." He turned away from Yuzuru, sighing quite heavily.

"Tamaki isn't like that!" Yuzuru seemed determined to defend the boy, Yoshio could respect that he supposed, "if you dislike my son so much, why did you tell Kyoya to befriend him?"

"Business relations." It was simple, wasn't it? It made sense for children of powerful businesses to befriend each other, it was more effective than charming the adults- though Yoshio supposed he'd call Yuzuru a friend at this point.

"And you think it'll make for good business relations to insult my heir like that?"

"I'm not insulting him, don't take everything so personally, Yuzuru. I was merely expressing my concern, I don't want Kyoya to get hurt, he's surprisingly fragile you know."

"Fragile..?"

"You should have seen him after his mother's funeral; crying, screaming, he bit me twice… then he refused to eat, he barely slept…" Yoshio frowned, the memories of his tiny son, Kyoya had only been seven at the time, but still… "he didn't understand the situation… he's always been fragile."

"Yoshio…" Yuzuru's tone had become soft, slow, Yoshio hadn't heard a tone like that in a long time. He realised that this was the first time he'd brought up his wife's death to anyone outside of the topmost members of the Black Onion squad. The self defense mechanisms kicked in and Yoshioed tenses up, shooting back a soul-shattering glare at poor Souh.

"Don't you dare patronise me, Souh."

Yuzuru made a sound not unlike a kicked hound, shrinking back into his seat and finishing his glass of wine. He put the glass down and sighed, muttering to himself, "still a sore subject, alright then…" he offered a hesitant smile, and Yoshio felt what must have been a pang of guilt, maybe, "do you feel better now, did that help?"

...it had actually, Yoshio realised he felt a lot more relaxed now… huh. He sighed, nodding, not wanting to speak. Yuzuru smiled, he was incredibly patient and Yoshio respected the hell out of that. "So, we've discussed your doubts about Tamaki, I don't really have any doubts about Kyoya other then the fact that he might murder everyone in their sleep- although that mostly due to the good ol' Ootori brand thousand yard glare- which is like a thousand yard stare but evil." He laughed at his joke, Yoshio hadn't been aware of this glare that apparently the entire family had- he wondered how many people they'd unintentionally terrified like that…

"But yeah! We've gone over the cons, how about the pros, because there is a lot."

"Hm," Yoshio nodded, agreeing, "business relations for one, but also they're already friends, it would be convenient."

"Very!" Yuzuru nodded along, smiling, "and I'm telling you, Yoshio, I'm telling you that Kyoya absolutely has a crush on my boy, it's the most adorable thing I swear. The way he looks at him? I don't think Tamaki's even noticed- you'll be doing Kyoya a favour."

Well he's right, Kyoya would never risk such good business relations for his own feelings, Yoshio could admit that it may have been his fault for drilling such importance of relations into the boy. "I suppose you're correct, it seems like a perfectly good option," Yuzuru seemed quite happy at that statement, but Yoshio was in no way finished, "however, I will be setting some adamantine ground rules and if not I then his brothers. Are we in agreement, Souh?"

Yuzuru was grinning now, "of course Ootori, my old friend. This is one of our best ideas yet," he held out a hand for Yoshio to shake, composing himself into a more professional state of posture, "is this a deal, Ootori? Am I making a deal with the devil here?"

Oh, oh Yoshio loved it when people referred to him as the devil, it made him feel so powerful, and like his own father. He often wondered if that was how his children thought about him. He took Yuzuru's hand shake, a smile playing on his own lips- of course he was still himself, so it was more of a sneer, but Yuzuru would understand. "Better the devil you know, Souh."

[imekitty]

Because I'm sadistic, I have a Prompt: Danny has incredibly slowed age. He looks about twenty, when he's almost sixty, and his mind is as sharp as ever. He's attending Sam's funeral

This was exceptionally hard to write.

———–

Tucker parked his car in the cemetery’s front parking lot. Past the gate, Danny could see a large crowd of people gathered, every single one of them dressed in black. Exactly the way Sam would’ve wanted it.

Or maybe not. Maybe she wouldn’t have liked how everyone was dressed in her signature color. She did like to be as unique and different as possible.

Danny unbuckled his seat belt and gave Tucker a weak smile. “Need help getting out?”

“You really haven’t aged,” muttered Tucker. His smile was also weak but still deepened all of the lines in his face. “You just can’t help being a brat even now at a funeral.”

“Look, I just know your knee gives you trouble.”

“Yeah, it does, but I’m not decrepit yet.”

Danny hopped out of the car and walked to the other side just in time to see Tucker groan as he put weight on his leg.

“Here.” Danny held out an arm to help, an arm still strong and taut.

Tucker shook his head and shut the door. “Thanks, but I’m okay.” He stretched his back and looked up at the sky. “It’s sunny. I’m not sure Sam would’ve liked this.”

Tucker squinted in the bright light, his eyes crinkling, skin sagging. Creases and jowls that Danny did not have.

“You gonna let everyone see you?” asked Tucker.

Danny looked down at himself. “Oh.” He turned invisible so that no one could see him. Because there were people at this funeral who might recognize him. People who would wonder why his hair was still so dark, his skin tone still so even and smooth, why there were no spots or wrinkles anywhere on his face.

The price of keeping his youth for longer than he was supposed to.

Danny walked alongside Tucker past the gate into the cemetery, kept his pace slow and synced with Tucker’s. Tucker stared straight ahead, acting as if there weren’t an invisible man by his side.

When they reached the gravesite, the oldest woman there approached Tucker. Pam Manson, Sam’s mother. At eighty-two years old, she had outlived both her husband and now her daughter.

“Tucker. So wonderful you could make it.” Pam directed him to a seat.

“Of course,” said Tucker. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“But it seems Danny would.”

Danny rubbed his thumbs over his knuckles in an attempt to keep calm.

Tucker smiled, the corners of his mouth and eyes twitching. “Danny really wanted to be here, Pam. But he unfortunately had some family matters to take care of.”

“Of course, I understand. I wouldn’t expect him to put one of his oldest childhood friends above his family.”

Danny’s lips thinned. Sam’s mother never did like him, and after more than fifty years, that apparently hadn’t changed.

Well. At least Danny didn’t have to pretend to smile. He could make faces at her all he wanted and she’d never know.

Danny stood silently next to Tucker and only listened to the conversation he was carrying with the family beside him. This was fine, really. He was always so shy anyway and bad at making good impressions. It was just fine that no one could see him so he didn’t have to interact with anyone.

Just… Just fine.

The funeral conductor began addressing the crowd. Danny did not recognize him. In fact, he did not recognize most of the people here. When he and Sam were younger, he knew everything about her and the people in her life, but after high school, she moved pretty far from Amity Park to attend a more prestigious university, and then she just…never returned. She met a guy in one of her classes who was also a goth in his high school years, and they married shortly after graduating. Danny remembered opening the wedding invitation, smiling at how not at all surprising it was that she’d marry a guy named Lucien.

And now her children were all grown up. He could see them in the front row, all four of them. They even had small children of their own now.

During the funeral, throughout the eulogies and speeches, no one mentioned her cause of death even once. No, of course not, they all wanted to focus on her life, her strong moments, not her weakest.

But Danny’s mind kept drifting to how this all started, to that first phone call from Sam just a little under five years earlier when she told him she had been diagnosed with leukemia. She posted frequently on social media about her journey through chemotherapy, remission, recurrence, more chemo, a second remission, another recurrence, more chemo and experimental treatments, a third remission.

And throughout it all, Danny talked to her on the phone as often as he could and used rips in the Ghost Zone to visit her in the hospital when needed.

After the fourth recurrence, when the cancer spread to her brain, the doctors sent her home to die. And Danny visited her every single time she informed him that her husband and children weren’t around. He had to keep his half-ghost secret even from them.

“You look good, Danny,” Sam remarked during one of their final times together.

She had been lying on a hospital bed that had been set up in her home. The left side of her face drooped as she looked at him out of only her right eye; the cancer in her brain had caused irreparable nerve damage. Danny sat beside her and held her nearly translucent hand riddled with veins.

“It’s incredible how young you still look; I keep forgetting you’re sixty like me. You look like you could still be in college,” said Sam feebly but with humor. “Maybe I should’ve zapped myself in that portal with you.”

Danny studied her pale face, the sparse patches of hair on her head, her loose skin.

“You look beautiful, Sam,” said Danny.

Sam gave him her familiar smirk, the one he loved so much even if it was slightly lopsided now. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Danny wished he could make her believe he absolutely meant it with all his heart.

“I don’t think I’m going to become a ghost,” said Sam the very last time he visited her. “If you’re worried.”

Danny furrowed his brow.

“I’ve had five years to prepare for this,” said Sam. “I’m okay with it now. I feel ready. I’m not going to die with any intense regrets or unfinished business. So don’t worry; I won’t be making your life as a ghost fighter harder when I go.”

She gave him one last smile, one last memory for him to cherish.

“There’s just no longer a call for me to stay.”

Danny stifled a sob and put a hand over his mouth even though no one at this funeral could see him anyway.

“You okay?” whispered Tucker.

“Yeah,” Danny replied as breathlessly as he could. He looked forward again at the current speaker, one of Sam’s sons. His eyes were dry but bloodshot.

One of them had to die first. Of him, Sam, and Tucker, one of them had to be the first to go. Danny didn’t expect it to happen quite this soon, but it was always inevitable. And then the next friend would die, and one would outlive the others.

But he and Tucker both already knew who would be attending whose funeral in the future. It was only a question of when Tucker would die and how old Danny would appear at that time.

And Jazz, well, he knew he’d be outliving her, too. And that was normal. Him, Sam, Tucker, Jazz, they were all about the same age. It was supposed to be that way.

And it was also normal for him to attend his parents’ funerals. They were both gone now. He had expected them to die first and was at peace with it.

He again looked at the speaker, Sam’s son, speaking at his mother’s funeral because that was how it was meant to be, children burying their parents and then moving on until their own children buried them.

In the front row, Pam cried into her hands.

And Danny realized that would one day be him.

He clutched at his chest but kept his shuddering breaths quiet. His children already looked older than he did, which could only mean—

They would get old before he did.

They would die before he did.

And for all he knew, his grandchildren might surpass him in age as well, and then he’d be attending their funerals, too.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This wasn’t how he was supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to be half ghost. He was born human and he was supposed to stay that way.

Was this God punishing him for bastardizing the body he was given? Forcing him to watch everyone he loved die before he could finally leave, too?

Pam was still crying. If only Danny could ask her what it was like to bury her child. Maybe she could help him prepare for when he would have to bury all of his.

Danny sniffled as a couple tears slid down his face. Tucker glanced up in his direction but said nothing. For once, Danny was glad to be invisible. He hated crying with other people around, but here, he could cry as much as he wanted and no one would ever know.

He was supposed to grow old with his wife. Supposed to grow old with Tucker. It was hard to even think of Tucker as his “bro” these days, not with this difference in appearance and abilities. Tucker was once full of energy, and now he was just tired all the time and unable to walk or run for long without triggering inflammation in his knee. Hanging out with Tucker now was mostly just watching TV or talking or maybe playing a video game if Tucker was up for it. Nothing like the adventures they used to have, the adventures Danny still had energy for. It had been years since Tucker even joined Danny on ghost patrol.

And that should’ve been fine. That should’ve been normal. Danny should’ve been right there with him, advanced in years and down on energy, the two of them enjoying the remainder of their lives while watching their kids take on new adventures.

Instead, he was watching everyone slowing down and dying while he was stuck here and unable to follow them. Even if he wanted to join them all sooner in death, his ghostly obsession would never allow it. He had to stay here for as long as his supernatural body and health allowed him to.

You’re so lucky, Sam, Tucker, Jazz, his wife, and even his kids kept telling him. So lucky to not have to deal with wrinkles and thinning hair, straining eyes and aching joints, discolored skin spots and bulging veins.

Well, someday he was gonna be all alone. Then how lucky would he be?

A cloud covered the sun as a new speaker moved to the front. Danny shivered in the new cold shade. He wished he could say a few words, let everyone know just how amazing Sam was and how much he missed her and how much he still loved her.

But he couldn’t. He was stuck right here.

[invisibleinorange]

Bridgerton’s Adrift 16/?

Chapters: 16/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: T Warnings: Presumed Character Death Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington,  Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties),  Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Simon Hastings/Daphne Bridgerton Characters: Colin Bridgerton,  Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Anthony Featherington,  Benedict Bridgerton,  Portia Featherington, Violet Bridgerton, Genevieve Delacroix Additional Tags:  Bridgerton, Polin Summary:  Unexpected bad news arrives for the Bridgerton Family (and friends) regarding Colin's travels. This will be a series that is set after "The Duke and I" or season one of the show. It is a companion piece to "Goodbyes".

Violet Bridgerton wasn’t thrilled.  She’d spent half the evening awake doting on Daphne but still took the time to ensure she was home and up in time for breakfast.  She’d made sure that the staff knew to cook extra.  Celebrating her third son’s return home was of the utmost importance to her.  She thought there was no better way than ensuring they made up for lost time by having his favorite things to eat.  He was noticeably absent from the table though, long after his other siblings started to fill in their seats.

He wasn’t the only one absent though.

Benedict had at least had the decency to catch her in passing, making up some story about business at Aubrey Hall that he needed to attend to on behalf of Anthony.  

Then there was the noticeable absence of Penelope.  She could only assume that the previous day’s events had been a bit much for the poor girl. She wouldn’t begrudge her needing a little privacy to digest it all.

Anthony, Eloise and Francesca were making idle conversation. Hyacinth and Gregory were arguing who was going to get to eat Colin’s food if he didn’t come down.

It was so unlike Colin to be late for a meal though.

“Perhaps, you should go look for him,” she started to suggest to her eldest. “I sent a maid earlier and they said he hadn’t slept in his bed.”

Anthony tried desperately to not smirk at that information.  He clearly wasn’t concerned.

“I’m sure that he’s –“

He wanted to say fine.  He easily could have made some excuse up for him about probably just falling asleep elsewhere.  There was no point in lying though, especially as the guilty party started approaching the table.

Colin’s hair was in disarray and while he was dressed, he was a bit messy.  Anthony knew that look well because he’d somehow gotten away with it many a time in his earlier rake days. Colin was certainly going to have to work on his subtly lest their mother see past it.

“So nice of you to join us,” Anthony teased. “You look like you tossed and turned all night.”

Colin might have had a smile on his face that not even sibling mockery could kill but that didn’t mean he didn’t kick Anthony hard as he took his seat.

“Why yes, it was quite a hard night.”

Anthony raised an eyebrow at that.

Violet looked at her boys skeptically but was prepared to let it slide.   Perhaps it had been because she’s thought she’d lost Colin or perhaps it was because she was getting soft with age but she didn’t really care to try to get overly involved when it came to some things.

Ignorance really was bliss at times.

“You really should eat up,” she told him. “After a hardy meal, maybe you’ll be able to properly catch up on your rest.”

Of course,  whatever ignorance she wanted to have about what was happening in her own household was a bit harder when almost on cue just a few moments after her son, Penelope entered the room.

She was certainly dressed but there was no amount of fabric or cosmetics that were going to hide the purple-pink marks across the expanse of her throat.   It was such a ghastly display that even Violet had to gasp.

Eloise’s eyes widened as Penelope took the empty seat next to her. She gave her an extended look before giving Colin an accusatory look across the table.

“What happened to your neck?”  Hyacinth asked with zero filter and all the purity that made it clear that she absolutely didn’t grasp why no one else was asking about it.

“Hyacinth,” Violet said trying to get her child to have some manners.

Even as Colin looked guilty and Penelope reddened, Anthony couldn’t help but let out a boisterous laugh at the whole thing. Sure, he probably should have been making a fuss about honor but watching Colin squirm was his idea of fun.

“Colin, do you know anything about what happened to Penelope?” he tried to keep a straight face as he asked.  “Her neck was just fine yesterday and now it looks like she’s been attacked.”

“Enough!”  Violet said.  “I’ve raised you all better than this. Your father would be appalled at all of you.”

If Penelope could have melted away into the wood of the table and disappeared she certainly would have.

Especially when Violet dismissed the younger Bridgertons from the table, ordering them to finish their meal elsewhere, as well as,  Eloise and Francesca who were far too delicate to hear.

“Would you like to explain what you were thinking?”  Violet said, the meal completely forgotten now that she was complete and utter mother mode.

“Yeah, Colin, what were you thinking?” Anthony mirrored, putting a hand on his hips, feigning discipline when the look on his face made him look more like a mischievous scamp.

“You be quiet, this is your fault.  Maybe if you actually focused more on finding a match and less on your own desires, your brother wouldn’t think this is acceptable behavior. No wonder Benedict was in such a hurry to leave this morning.

“I have Benedict’s permission,” Colin said after a long moment. “And it’s not like I … took all the liberties, even if I wanted to.”

Anthony shook his head.  Nope. That wasn’t the right answer if he wasn’t trying to get castrated by their mother.

“Colin!”  Violet’s face couldn’t have been more shocked and appalled.  “You get none of the liberties. Not until you’ve married her and she was just engaged to your brother yesterday and I know that it’s – complicated but there is no excuse for this behavior. You can’t just come back and do whatever you want.”

“Have you looked at Penelope lately?”

“Yes but –“

“Well… sorry, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“You need to get a grip on your impulses or you’ll wish you’d have drowned,” Violet told him sternly.  “Just because the Ton doesn’t see what happens in here the servants talk and all it takes it one person saying something and it gets to Lady Whistledown. You’ll ruin the poor girl. You can’t just do whatever you want.”

“I wanted it too,” Penelope said tentatively.

Violet’s head spun from where she’d been going in on Colin and looked at the other girl appraisingly.

“I love you like a daughter and I pray that one day you’ll give me grandchildren but I swear to God if my son doesn’t keep his hands and mouth to himself until the day Bridgerton replaces Featherington,  he won’t be able to use the thing he was clearly thinking with,”  Violet said, trying to keep her voice level.

She had no doubt that her other children were trying desperately to listen to the conversation through the door.

“You’re the one who bought her that –“ Colin tried to argue though he knew that his mother certainly wasn’t going to just accept them doing whatever they wanted under her roof.

She clearly wasn’t hearing it.

“Anthony, you created this problem. You fix it,”  Violet said throwing up her hands,  completely abandoning her the half-eaten breakfast. She’d lost her appetite for what was left.

As she stormed out the door, Colin couldn’t resist grabbing a sausage and stuffing it into his mouth.

--

“So let me get this straight, you didn’t defile her?”  Anthony asked with amusement over his glass of whisky. It was still far too early for this but there were certain occasions when it was appropriate to start drinking after breakfast. Your little brother getting absolutely reamed by your mother for corrupting the houseguest was one of those special occasions.

“There was some stuff but no, she wouldn’t let me,” Colin said choosing to be decisively discreet and selective about what information he shared.   There had certainly been some kissing, some touching but Penelope had kept him in check. After a while, he’d just taken to laying there with her and telling her every little detail since he’d left and then she’d done the same.  They’d stayed up talking until the sun began to rise and only a few hours of sleep.

“If mother asks I told you to start behaving yourself,” Anthony said after a long moment. “But in reality, I’m going to tell you to at least have the decency to do it outside of this house.  It’s much harder to hide it when you’re doing it here. You also have to work on your technique.  She can leave marks on you but you can’t leave marks on her, it’ll give you away every time.  If you’re not able to get them to cave, you’re not doing something right.”

“Rookie mistake. I’m not quite on your level of rake,” Colin said with a shrug. “Plus, I do want to make things right with her. I promised Benedict that I would. I’d ask for your advice but … I didn’t hear any complaints.”

“Of course, you didn’t,” Anthony said with a laugh. “You’re a Bridgerton.  You won’t have epic returns from the dead as a card to play though.  If you hadn’t, you’d have gotten it a million times worse from mother. Speaking of which, next time can you write so that we don’t end up in this situation.  Benedict doesn’t usually ask for me to lie for him when he needs to escape.”

“He just needs time,” Colin said with a shrug.  “I won’t pretend to understand how he’s feeling but I did give him the opportunity to stop me. I don’t know if he’d told me that he still wanted to marry her, I wouldn’t have still tried to stop it though.”

“Well don’t mess it up,” Anthony said after a minute.  “We happen to all actually like her. The next time I put money into a wedding, it better happen.”

“It will.”

[heartshyuck]

Pairing: Jisung x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst,slow burn, strangers to lovers au, first love, early 1900s au.

Synopsis: Lavenders symbolise purity, silence, devotion, serenity and grace. All endearing characteristics of the gorgeous boy, you met in the fields of purple.

Placed in the late 1930s , just before World War two starts, you flees from your family who are forcing you into a marriage. you lie low in a small village where you meets Jisung in a field of lavenders.

Word count: 2.3k (preview), projected to be around 16k?? (5th of February)

Warnings: sexism and very backwards ways of thinking, forced marriages (for preview)

a/n: let me know if you wanna be on the taglist, also please listen to the merry go round of life whilst reading this (from howl's moving castle). The full fic is hopefully to be released on the 4th of February

Your legs seem to be moving on their own, feet hitting the ground at a steady and fast pace, you don’t look back and can’t seem to see what lies ahead but still you run until your lungs burn, run until the bitter metallic taste is at the back of your throat where bile threatens to rise. You run until finally your legs collapse, knees hitting the ground, grazing them and it’s the slight sting of the sediment seeping into the cuts that stop you from passing out. You’re not sure how far you’ve ran or how long you’ve been running, you don’t know where you're running to but you have to escape. Escape the life they’ve laid out for you, the one they’ve planned without your input, you can’t live a life where everything is set out, where everything is expected and perfect. A life where you’d get married at 18 to a stranger who was of a worthy social class, attend formal lunches with the wives of your husband’s work colleagues and host dinner parties and occasionally large balls in a manor that always felt empty no matter how many paintings you bought to hang on the never ending amount of walls, no matter how many more bookshelves you tried to fit into one room, a place that you’ll always hate. Then to have children by 20, as many boys as possible of course to then not have any say in their upbringing and watch nurses tend to them, your husband educate them and then watch them get married, meet your grandchildren and when you’ve reached a respectable age, death will meet you in your sleep and you’ll be mourned and then forgotten. A life filled with regret, a constant numbness, no fulfillment and no meaning. 

You saw your mum live that life, a smile that never quite reached her eyes, always plastered on at any given moment as she walked around the large hall with a glass of nothing but champagne in hand greeting the hundreds of guests that you were never able to comprehend how she managed to remember them all. She never spoke unless spoken to, never put in any input and always obeyed your father even when you could see the frustration bubble up inside her as her eyes glinted and her jaws tightened with the urge to say something. She would buy gifts upon gifts and shower you in expensive luxuries, spoil you in riches as a form of love and yet it always held another meaning behind it. There was a slight sadness in her eyes as she passed a gift every birthday,christmas and any other reason she found, almost as if she was saying sorry for the life you were going to live and how she’d use these moments as blackmail for when that time came. You’d overhear her quiet sobs when you would sneak around the house late at night, read letters she received from someone you didn’t know and how they wished for her life to get better and for her to find happiness in a world where happiness didn’t exist. You saw your mother cry when your father died, eyes bloodshot red in fear rather than grief. Her life was now uncertain and that's when you decided that you couldn't live an empty life, regretting choices and wishing for death to come to you first.

Your father had always made sure that you would receive a proper education, one where you'd read hours upon hours of the finest English literature, works of science and learned of the past and present politics. He always said "a lady should know about the world around her but should never venture off on her own" you hated that phrase but it was better than what you overheard your friend's father saying to her when she asked for him to explain the concept of communism, "a women does not need to busy herself with politics, for your brain could not even begin to comprehend it" he announced with his nose high up in the air as if he had just said the most inquisitive statement known to man. It baffled you how one could even think that, let alone truly believe it enough to announce it so stupidly in the open, it was obvious that women were capable of understanding concepts like politics,maths and science for you were living proof. You did better than your brother at grasping algebra, better at them with understanding Versalius's "De humani corporis fabrica" and it didn't take your friend long to understand Karl Marx's theory on communism once you explained it to her. It angered you that this was dismissed especially when your brother soon went off to universities for they had outgrown your father's enormous library and knowledge, there was no more he could teach them but there was still much to learn and you yearned to do the same but as you approached a suitable age for marriage, your everyday classes on Shakespearean English, Tudor monarchy, Greek mythology and Italian art had now been replaced with sewing, crochet, dining etiquette and the differences between napkins, white laced ones for formal lunches,gold embroidery for important dinners and regular silk for everyday use, you'd recite to your mother and the many maids who were on standby.

You've left that world now, left the bustling streets of industrialised London where a black smog always hung around the air and the smell of burnt rubber that stung your nose, you always hated both. Though you grew up in a large estate where there seemed to be a never ending amount of land on the outskirts of London, you never were allowed out to explore. Only allowed out with your mother to pick out fabrics in the markets, surrounded by military men that guarded the general's wife and daughter but now you were alone, no guards, no mother and no black smog to block your view of what lies ahead, only the sun and the ocean sky, clear of clouds as you breathe in fresh air that cleanses your lungs from the toxins that hang in the city air, surrounded by vibrant lavenders that arrive with a strong, sweet smell of pollen which you welcome to replace the bitter rubber your sense of smell only seems to know. You close your eyes and bask in the warmth of late August , the sun gleaming down on you, rays striking against your skin with the wind between the strands of your hair, blowing the lavenders and they slightly tickle your arms. You’re not sure how long you were in your euphoric trance but you weren't ready to leave yet when the dark shadow was casted over you. 

Your eyes lazily open and beauty lies ahead, the sun gleaming behind him, lights him on flames and he burns with a presence so strong you can see it as his aura swirls around you, engulfing you. His features,strong and yet his eyes are soft and even as he's turned away from the sun they sparkle infinitely as they hold the brightest stars, his stare pierces through you and it makes your gut clench as you feel small under his gaze but you don't turn away, daring him to continue staring down on you, well that's what you tell yourself as you can't help but get lost in the beauty of his eyes. His face wears a worried expression, his hand out forwards for you to take and place in his and it takes you a while to realise he's trying to help you up, even longer to comprehend the words that leave his mouth, as you just watch his cherry red lips move. You're dazed and for the first time you're not thinking straight, your legs won't move to carry you back up onto your feet but your hand instinctively moves towards him and your own mouth gapes open as it does, and again he repeats himself emphasising the words as his eyes widen further “are you okay?” you stare blankly at him, no response until you feel the burning sensation of his hand in yours. A heat that sends shocks through every nerve, it runs through your bloodstream lighting you on fire and as if you were burnt you pull back, shaking off the dizzy spell you rise to your feet, your body finally responding to your screaming brain. A sense of relief washes over you as the fear of losing your mind slowly seeps out as the haze in your mind clears, until your eyes meet his again. “Really y/n, not for a boy” you cry out in your head as your mind seems to be lost in awe looking at him.

You shuffle uncomfortably and it’s just now you realise how much of a mess you look as the embodiment of beauty’s eyes fall down. Your expensive dress torn up, what was once a full sangria and silver ball gown was now rags that wrapped around you with the bottom half missing as it stopped just above your knees, an uneven hem due to the rough ripping which took all of your strength, the white net underneath was visibly stained a brownish yellow, the cuts on your knee not being the only thing the dirt seeped into  but his eyes don’t even seem to stop there, they didn't even seem to notice, only meeting a piece of paper that lied on the floor. He reaches down for it, his eyebrows perk up slightly before handing it back to you.“You dropped this” he avoids eye contact, continuing to stare down, his hand abruptly extends out in front of him and he clears his throat, adding to the excruciating awkwardness between you and you wince at the sudden sound. “Oh thank you..” you can hear your voice waver and crack and for the first time in your life, your voice isn’t confident, seems like a day full of firsts, your mother would’ve been proud if she saw you acting like this, like a lady she would have put it. Quite, reserved but really it was just a suffocating stiffness that lingered in the air. 

“Jisung” he completes your sentence, a small, shy smile appears on his face as his eyes look at everything but you, the letter still in his grasp he shakes his hand at you slightly urging you to take it. Your fingers brush past his ever so slightly as you take the letter back into your possession, a spark is sent through you and your fingers twitch, as if wanting more but you stop them from moving any further, your eyes slightly widen as you catch yourself falling so easily and if Jisung catches the weird expressions on your face, he chooses to ignore them not saying anything. “You are not from around here, are you?” His voice is light and airy as he speaks softly, as if you were made of glass and any harsh tone could break you, you can’t tell if it’s because of the immense awkwardness or because of the pity he must feel seeing you in such a state. You hope it’s the former and decide that’s what it is, when he starts playing with the edges of his white shirt.

“No I live in London” the words die as soon as they leave your mouth, you used to live in London, you don’t anymore. This only adds to Jisung’s awkwardness and it reminds you no matter how beautiful he is, he’s only just a boy who’s probably around your age. So you smile at him, letting out a small breathy laugh in hopes of lightening the mood, it works as he visibly unstiffens. “Used to” Jisung doesn’t press on the matter any further, doesn’t ask anymore questions, just nods. The unsettling atmosphere sets in once again and your incapability of standing in silence for more than a second, you clear your throat "do you know where this address is?" your tone light and airy, you sound almost clueless and it’s now you realise the true meaning behind every etiquette class, the role of the women is the domestic war, the war on power. For one to rise they must make powerful allies and that’s what this voice is for, to obtain the power of a man and trick them into helping you; so you're glad when Jisung takes the letter back into his grasp and examines the writing at the front, it’s worked. 

“I’ll show you the way” and you nod with a slight smile as a thank you, Jisung leads the way and you follow soon behind, with his face no longer in my sight you can finally observe the rest of him. Judging by his height and build, seems like he comes from a well off family. Though there wasn’t a day you felt hungry, you weren’t blind to the outside world no matter how hard your parents tried to shelter you from it. The world is living off rations but the wealthy still have access to more, Jisung must have some sought of status or most likely works for a household with high status considering it seemed like he was running errands, why else would he be in a field full of lavenders and it’s only reinforced by the fine silk that flows as wind rushes past you. Somewhat similar to the material that makes up your gown, or what’s left of it, it’s an expensive material imported from colonies in the empire. He walks with no flaw and so you guess he didn’t serve in the war, meaning he has to be around your age; this new life is exciting and scary, you’re not sure what you want yet but you certainly wouldn’t mind if the boy in the lavender field stuck around for a while.