#shes never lived in society and has always opted to stay in the shadows of the city she woke up in.

[maythray]

Objectober Day 4: Maple

Identity talks with your friend, the corpse :)

(please click for better quality!! rbs > likes!!)

[alice-allabout]

The Coltell & Byknov Family Histories.

“He was her dark fairy tale and she was his twisted fantasy and together they made magic.”

The Byknov Family -

The Byknov family have ties all the way back to the Romanov dynasty of Russia. The product of a secret love child from Grand Duke Kirill Vladimirovich of Russia, born in 1900, Antony Byknov was born in the slums of St. Petersburg with his mother being in his only caregiver, though she could be hardly called such a thing. His mother regularly had her gentlemen callers visit their small, one-bedroom apartment and Antony was forced to play in the streets while his mother earned their living.

It was on these streets of the slums that Antony became involved in various nefarious activities, it was there that he began dealing illicit substances and selling alcohol at the age of twelves, him and a few of the other neighbourhood boys making something of a lucrative business for themselves. It didn’t take long for Antony to catch the eye of a local gang leader who took the young male under his wing, showing him the way of the street and helping him move up the ranks of the Bratva until he was one of the leaders right-hand man by the time he was eighteen years old.

The leader of the Bratva only had two daughters to his name and they surely couldn’t take over the family business so it was the next move of Antony marrying the eldest daughter and getting ready to take over as the leader of the Bratva as the leaders ailing health was beginning to fail him. Everyone knew that Antony was a ruthless man- never afraid to get his hands bloody or take what he believed was rightfully his, he walked the streets of St. Petersburg with people bowing to him in respect and fear.

Antony and his wife had three children- one girl and two boys. No longer were they living in the slums of St. Petersburg but a lush almost palace-like structure just on the outskirts of the Russian city. Antony was no longer the starving boy from the slums but a self-made man who had the respect of everyone around him.

Being there only one son from his marriage; Aleksei Byknov, despite being the youngest born in 1940, was raised to take over his father’s legacy. When Antony passed away in 1970, Aleksei took over as the leader of the Bratva, who seemed even more powerful during the Soviet Union of Russia, they ran all the backdoor businesses, keeping the repressed people happy while appearing upstanding members of society. Aleksei marrying a local girl, someone who was not apart of the business but quickly adjusted.

They married in 1968 and had two children, both girls. Galina and Katarina Byknov, though Galina seemed to turn away from the violence she was born into, Katarina embraced it wholly, though she knew that her father would never allow her to take over the family business so it was only natural that she would find someone who could help her run the Russian empire her Grandfather had built for himself from the slums of St. Petersburg.

Byknov Family Facts:

It is believed that the Byknov family and the Bratva had been responsible for over 3,000 deaths and disappearances since Antony took over in 1918.

Both Galina and Katarina live elsewhere in Europe. Katarina living in France with her husband while her daughter studies over in the states and Galina’s whereabouts are unknown.

Despite mainly remaining in the shadows, it is believed the Byknov family are one of the most powerful names in the European underworld.

It is unknown who the current leader of the Bratva is as the Byknov family died out with Aleksei.

They Byknov family made their amass fortune by selling drugs, firearms, hits and protection.

The Coltell Family-

The Coltell family truly began in the slums of Paris in 1930 with 20 year old, Absalon Coltell who worked as a doorman for a prestigious apartment building in order to provide for his sickly mother. A sturdily built man and someone who was known to talk with his fists, it was no shock when he was hired as protection for some of the most notorious crime families in Paris. He was paid more handsomely than most doormen mainly because he knew when to keep his mouth shut and when to use his fist to do the talking.

It was while working as a doorman that he caught the eye of a 15-year-old daughter from a famous Spanish crime family, she appreciated the mans good looks but how also his demeanour changed whenever she approached him. Though her father was reluctant to allow them to begin courting, he trusted Absalon to look after his daughter and he knew the young man could be trusted to take their family secrets to the grave. They were married the following spring and it wasn’t long before she was pregnant.

Though Absalon and his young wife weren’t heavily involved in the family, instead choosing to reside in a small village just outside of Paris where they raised their family of six. Absalon owning and managing a restaurant and his wife staying at home to look after their four children. They were comfortable thanks to her father and everyone knew of the connections the quiet family had to some of the most powerful crime families in Europe.

The Coltell family history remains quiet for the next forty years with the family still remaining in the quiet, comfortable village just outside of Paris. It was to Absalon’s eldest son, Christein that Gerald Coltell was born- the one who would bring the Coletell name to the forefront of the underworld once again.

Gerald always showed a violent side, even as a young boy, often picking fights with local boys and even going as far to push the girls over if they got in his way. He was violent, prone to his temper and cataclysmic but he showed a talent for working on cars, he could fix up any car that was placed in front of him. Dropping out of school at 15 and opting to start his own mechanic business, it didn’t take long for his business to flourish.

Moving back to Paris in 1992 when he was eighteen, Gerald opened his own company and began building his own cars. It didn’t take long for Gerald to get involved with nefarious people mainly due to his Grandmother’s connections; helping him to build up his automobile company and use it as a cover for the firearms and drugs transport that began taking place. It was two years later that Katarina Byknov walked through the doors of his company with her father, announcing that Katarina and Gerald would be married in order to bring together many of the families that were now using Gerald’s company as a front.

The Byknovw-Coltell family merger-

Married in later 1994- Gerald and Katarina Coltell moved to a large, renovated mansion just on the outskirts of Paris. It wasn’t even a month into the marriage that Katarina announced she was pregnant, it was six months later that their only daughter, Alice Galina Coltell was born.

Though to most it appeared that Gerald was merely a self-made man who managed to make billions from his automobile company and his wife coming from a wealthy, old Russian family, there were always the rumors that both were strongly connected to the European underworld and that Gerald’s automobile business was merely a front for the transportation of all things illegal for some of the most powerful families in Europe.

Though both Katarina and Gerald vehemently deny any of these allegations, insisting they are merely a quiet family trying their best to provide for their only daughter, Alice Coltell, who is currently studying abroad in the states.

Coltell family facts-

Geral Coltell is now rumoured to be worth over 3 billion dollars.

Their daughter Alice is currently engaged to a famous Spanish family.

Though it has never been confirmed, it is believed Gerald Coltell has killed over ten people.

Their daughter Alice is studying Public Relations at University and is expected to take over her father’s business when she is older.

They own summer homes in Spain, Greece, Russia and the USA.

[egg2k16]

Ramble abt ur ocs?

I have a good grasp on alex's, I want to get a better one on yours

Damn, I also wanna have a good grasp on my own ocs vnjdfsnvkdjsk go to sleep, friend

[[MORE]]

ANYWAYS, I’m finally working on the fantroll’s dancestors, and I’ve made my life simpler by having them just be their older siblings. Their names are: Elafus Ciervo, Rubria Papilo, Buinin Vaacaa, Felipe Montis, Eyoulf Zorroz, Adersi Pardus, Wadjet Kaarme, Ulrick Lobazo, Nannus Cennet, Kotkas Raptor, Grulla Labuut, Etelan Cheval, and Sunnon Velryb, and they’re supposed to be their own sibling’s foils, or just plain opposites

Elafus is a blind merc who totally lives in the shadows unlike Nemusa, who’s been living on the fringe of society. Elafus is more confident in her person and while she doesn’t go about saying that she’s a mutantblood, it’s not something she’d lie about when asked. Since she’s an assassin for hire, she doesn’t really stay in one place, opting to travel from place to place. She’s also got a blind cat. I wanted a cool assassin oc bcus I can only respect for real heroes who actually kill, so she’s a bit of a wish fulfillment for me. If you’ve got the bad guy right in front of you, and you know they’re gonna do more harm later on, just kill them? It’s that easy

Ok, so: I love cowboys, and plan on becoming one, and I’ve recently rewatched The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly, and I’m reading a cowboy anthology book rn, so: Rubria, Buinin, and Felipe are all cowboys, and they’re basically the good, the bad, and the ugly

Rubria is the bad: ok so, Haidar’s entire arc has to do w the fact that he joined the mafia and his attempts at breaking free, and here w the dancestors, I wanted to explore that a little bit more. Rubria works directly for the mafia boss, he’s their right-hand man, and is sent to kill Buinin bcus she’s been a pain in the ass and a liability lately. Rubria’s an efficient killer, and he likes to mingle at clubs and saloons. Very conniving, usually always gets his way

Buinin is the ugly: I really liked that scene in TGTBATU where Tuco talks to his brother, who’s a monk, about how in their hometown, you could only get ahead in life if you became a priest or a crook, and coincidentally I had already made Itavam a religious person, so making Buinin the crook in the family was p cool. Buinin is a cow-rustler, and she’s been stealing from the mafia boss’ major storages. She’s very abrasive and heavy-handed, she’s a very focused and straight-to-the-point, no-nonsense person. She also likes to swindle people out of their money

Felipe is the good: dude I just really love Clint Eastwood. That’s basically the entire reason for him. Also me wanting to have more explicitly gay cowboys, but yeah vnfnvkjdnjsk. Ok, Felipe’s a smartass who knows he’s good looking, and uses that to his advantage whenever he’s on a job. He’s usually hired as muscle on farms, making sure bandits don’t get into the barns and all that. He also works as a guide, the reason why he moves around a lot. He gets tangled up with Buinin when he was about to shoot her for trespassing when she promised him lots of money if he helped her take out a sucker

Eyoulf, unlike their lil sib Botolf, lives at the edge of the forest, kinda prairie-like land. Think West Virginia. Eyoulf is actually more in-tune w their aspect, time, than Botolf bcus they work as the local horologist. They make clocks and watches, and is counting on their good work ethic and relationship w the townsfolk to not rat them out. They feel a bit lost, actually, bcus Botolf is so connected w the land and forest, meanwhile they’re keeping time, something that people worry about

Adersi, like Haidar, also got tangled up w the mafia, this time scaling the echelon to become their accountant. I really like the image of a very calm fellow just one day snapping, so that’s what I began with. He’s a very nervous man, a chainsmoker, trying to get his nerves under control. He keeps a gun on his person, just in case. He gets along well w the other cronies, but would rather Leave. He felt heartbroken when he heard that Haidar had also joined the gang. Kotkas, his gf, is helping him get out of this life

Wadjet is an army nurse, and the mood for her character is that beginning scene in Saving Private Ryan where Tom Hanks and the other soldiers are yelling for their medic friend, named Wade. I misunderstood his name as “Waye,” so the scene for me went, “Waye. Waye. Waye!” It was actually p funny, ok, so, Wadjet has been out in the cosmos, away from home, on the battlefield, for most of her career. She’s used to the dirt and grime, and basically only cleans her hands when dealing directly w a patient. Rat girl. She’s also a daywalker, like Euryyd, which makes her a valuable asset to the imperial army, saving fallen soldiers during the daytime. She’s a mother hen, always worried about her friends and her sister. When she enters the game, she immediately tries to find Euryyd

Ulrick is the alpha wolf of his pack. He cares and looks after the wolves, and makes sure they’re out of harm’s way. He’s kinda got blue/orange morality, but it’s bcus he’s been raised a lot longer as a feral child than Romuul, who’s had a steady exposure to other trolls and the internet. Kinda doesn’t talk, ruthless killer when need be, very gentle mountain man. He’s been surviving all this time basically by himself, w only Romuul as troll company before he left their pack. Good tracker, hunter

Nannus is not a jackass, unlike his brother Rajkaa. His being an actual kind rich person is based on every interaction I’ve had w born-rich Latinos, who’ve all actually been humble and kind and never minded getting dirty. Nannus is a very sweet boy, donates to charities all the time, and always makes sure to tip his waiters 20%. He’s also trans!

Kotkas is into politics and wants to use her status as a blueblood (high status troll, very long life) to get ahead and become an ambassador for lower-caste trolls. She also promises to bring stability w her long life. She’s based off of a very political friend of mine, who’s very passionate and aggressive. Kotkas is very soft around Adersi, but she’s fallen prey to comphet, bcus she feels that she must be w him. It’s a very heavy issue for her, bcus while she does love him, she doesn’t love him, and while she doesn’t want to use him as a pawn in her political campaigns, she’s found that it’s been of much help winning over the lowerblood vote, something that she feels very very badly for. She does want to help Adersi out. She’s a good person, she’s just tripped a few times

Grulla is a recovering addict who’s trying to get her life together, as well as Odette’s. As purplebloods, no one can really say no to them, much less deny them any goods and services. Grulla is very diligent, going to AA every week, getting support and trying to find out who she is. Odette still hasn’t realized the severity of her situation, and Grulla is trying to reach out to her

Etelan is very hedonistic and nihilistic. Since he’s never gonna become emperor, he figures that he can do w/e the fuck he wants, and no one can say anything because he’s a violetblood, you’re really gonna tell the prince what to do? No one can say no to him. He’s still also Sunnon’s bodyguard, but he doesn’t take himself seriously bcus he’s sure she can take care of herself (altho, he doesn’t stop hanging out w her). After partying way too hard one night, he lost the use of his legs and is now wheelchair-bound. This was the wake-up call he needed to stop and really think about his life and his life-choices. He was in a band, playing the electric guitar. Once he masters his aspect, space, he’ll be able to make space legs for himself

Sunnon is named for the Sun. Since she is the leader of their group, I wanted her to be the shining star for her friends, and I thought, “well, what’re the brightest stars, I can name her after one,” and I realized that. The Sun is a star. She’s very silent and precautious, she is next in line to the throne, and is anxiously waiting for the day she will ascend. Sunnon likes to dabble in the occult and wyrd, she studies legends and myths and would like to pursue them to become a witch, but bcus of her familial obligations, can’t. The game gives her the gift of her title, which is Witch of Mind. Now she can study all the magic she wants

Designs are incoming! Thank u

[nekumiko]

Don’t Fall for Fiction

Fandom: Bangtan Sonyeondan (BTS)

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Rated: G

Words: 3425

Series: She Dreamt, She Wrote

Summary:  Jimin falling in love with you too is but a dream.

Have you ever wished to dive into the universe of a certain book?

The book club she joined sure promises to grant that wish – literally.

Well, kind of.

It’s better described as an exclusive, more advanced Virtual Reality café that specializes on letting its members live in worlds that books create – a process they call “Reading”. Old and new books, in a supernatural location or just set in a different country, you could visit them all. And whether you finish the book’s timeline or unfortunately die in the middle of it (or more unluckily, in the beginning), you are guaranteed multiple chances for a do-over.

And just like the experience of reading a book, you are allowed to take breaks. You get directed to stops – “bookmarks,” as the club members would call them – that are separate from the book universes. Accessible from the drop-down menu you can conjure with a specific swipe of the hand and a direct command to the brain, bookmarks house small societies that give you the comfort and entertainment you need to prep you for the next book, or calm you down as the climax approaches. The catch, though, is that you can’t fall asleep in there. Otherwise, you wake up back to the real world – your progress in your current book universe won’t be disrupted, but you can never return to that bookmark again.

She had joined the book club as a beta-tester – thus earning a privilege to pay discounted fees – in high school, and while she skipped a half year of Reading to focus on her studies, she’s become active again well after she graduated. Life is harsh, so she had decided to put off college until she gets enough money saved for tuition. But since she just can’t get a decent job yet, Reading has become a form of stress relief.

Hence, she is being assigned her fifth bookmark this year. She has never messed up this much, and she’s not even one to break rules. But hard times have been coming at her left and right lately, so she just can’t help but fall asleep because of the comforting bookmark societies.

She enters a garden. To her left is a patio of a white mansion where, as if on cue, three girls emerge to greet her.

Julie, Jessie, and Jenny introduce themselves as sisters (despite the varying hair colors and very different facial structures) and chat her up as they lead her to the living room, where all the other ‘sisters’ are lounging on the big, white leather couches. Everyone’s clad in cocktail dresses and donning heavy makeup (despite the afternoon sun still shining from the floor-to-ceiling windows), and laid out on the glass coffee table are a few bottles of wine and a plate of sliced cheese.

Having decided to visit before she starts on a new book, she had come in only sweatpants and a shirt – not the attire she would’ve had in the book universe she was about to enter.

She had never been a part of a sorority, much less attended any high-class party at all. But these girls are so welcoming and easy to talk to, that she doesn’t feel inferior at all. They even ask if she wants to be dolled up, and at her “yes, if it’s not too much of a bother,” they lead her upstairs and into a walk-in closet. She however opts for light makeup, for she is not supposed to stay here long today.

She returns downstairs and back out the patio, because most of the girls had decided to get some sun into their system.

And sitting on a white garden chair is a new addition to the group – so out of place but at the same time isn’t – wearing a light blue hoodie and clutching a handheld game console of the same color.

“Jimin!” Jenny, the sister she’s been shadowing, calls out to the boy.

The boy stops laughing and turns to them, his black hair almost concealing his eyes. “Oh, hello!” He smiles softly and waves at her, then pronounces her name as if confirming if he’s gotten it right. As she nods, he turns his head towards the sisters. “Why didn’t you tell me it’s today?”

“It’s not like we know if a day had already passed here, don’t we?” one of them replies.

She is given the chair next to Jimin’s. Their conversations continue, mostly about her and the book universes she had visited, as programmed. But she just can’t help but steal glances at the only male in the group, who, after learning her name, had returned to his game. From time to time, though, he quips short comments and participates in back-and-forth banter, surprisingly keeping up.

Alas, the sisters decide to retreat to the living room and put some music that would brighten up the forever-afternoon. It is then that Jessie taps her shoulder to ask, “Are you perhaps infatuated by our little brother?”

Of course. He’s a very attractive guy, with permanently rosy cheeks contrasting with his laid-back demeanor, a cute laugh, and a smile that makes his eyes disappear. And, well, she’d once read that a guy would sit or stand facing you when they’re interested in you, and Jimin is doing exactly that right now, albeit only lifting his eyes every now and then to look at anyone else but her.

Jessie doesn’t wait for an answer and instead pulls her to her feet. “Look, I know we are fun company, but you also have some Reading to do. Jimin, do you mind?”

“Hm?” Jimin immediately pauses his game and looks up. Understanding Jessie’s gestures, he nods and pockets his console. “Sure.” He smirks as he locks eyes with her for only the second time that day, holding out his arm for her to link with. “I’ll walk you.”

It’s not customary to spend more time in bookmarks than in actual book universes. Everyone’s too busy with living in their books than socializing with people modeled after actual persons in the real world. The idea has been conceived as weird – borderline creepy – but it seems like she alone finds it interesting. And so, she really tries to befriend them. She would even try her best to find these people in the real world, yet her circumstances would prevent her from making good progress.

And that’s also why it’s very heartbreaking for her to be blocked from a bookmark forever, just for the club’s sole reason of having a variety.

A month later, she had lived through three books while simultaneously visiting the garden patio bookmark. She had become good friends with Jimin. He’s still usually immersed in his game, rarely ever seen without his console. Personally, she would find this rude, but since this is Jimin, she could make exceptions. Besides, it’s not like he ignores her. He could answer any question she raises and respond whenever needed without losing a round.

One day, for the first time since she came there, time becomes… slow.

Scratch that.

It’s gotten boring.

She doesn’t drink wine, claiming it would make her feel drowsy after a long day of Reading. And the conversations can sometimes be repetitive. The music is fit to her tastes, but even that could get dragging.

She feels a nudge on her shoulder.

“Don’t sleep,” Jimin grins at her.

“I won’t.”

“Sure.”

She playfully rolls her eyes, then turns to look at the sisters. “I don’t want to be re-assigned again. I don’t want to never see you guys anymore.”

Jimin hums. “That’s good. I also don’t want that.”

She gives him a side-glance to find that he isn’t smirking.

He’s staring at her intently. “D-do you want to go upstairs?”

She fake-gasps. “Park Jimin, what are you planning to do?”

He visibly blushes, but proceeds to pull her up from the couch. “Come on.”

“Very pushy, huh? I didn’t even say yes.”

“Oh?” one of the sisters notices the sudden movement of the only people sitting around. “Getting impatient, Jiminie?”

“Shut up,” he mutters, not letting go of her hand. When Jimin turns back to her however, his expression had become apologetic. “Sorry, we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

She laughs. “Nah, I’m just kidding.” She then waves at the curious girls and leads the way to the stairs. Once out of earshot, she whispers to the boy, “I think you’re more fun company today, anyway.”

He puts an arm around her shoulders when they reach the top of the stairs. But maybe that’s just because she had headed straight to the right of the hallway, when Jimin’s room is actually at the left side.

“Why is your room so dim?” she asks when they sit by Jimin’s study desk.

“So I could sleep.”

“Won’t it be dangerous for me, then?”

“My skills will keep you awake, I promise you.” Jimin wiggles his brows at her.

She scoffs. “Okay, then. Show me what you’ve got.”

True enough, Jimin’s technique at the game has her mesmerized. It is some sort of rhythm game, and because of his high level, he now has the ability to slow the song down and catch the otherwise impossible notes, then resume his fast taps once that boost ends. And that’s just one of many skills in one of many games.

But already she’s exclaiming, “That’s amazing, Jimin!”

“Pfft. That’s what I’ve been doing all this time!”

Her hands reach out to tickle his sides as she coos, “And you seem to forget it’s my first time to see you play, huh? Huh? Huh?”

Jimin’s smug expression instantly gives way to his eye smile, his giggles resounding through the dim room.

She realizes what she’s doing, then, and stops. Yet when she tries to pull away, she finds herself getting propelled closer to him, face consequently smushing against Jimin’s chest.

Her muffled whines make him chuckle as he wraps an arm around her waist to secure her in place.

They stay silent for a while.

“Don’t sleep,” he then gently reminds her.

“I won’t.”

Yet he feels her getting heavier. “Hey.”

“I… I don’t want to leave.”

“Well, if you’re really tired today, I’ll walk you to the entrance so you could go back to your world. Instead of risking falling asleep here.”

“But Jimin, I don’t want to leave.”

“We still have tomorrow. Or later, once you wake up refreshed. You’re always free to come back here. You know that, right?”

She shakes her head. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to leave anymore. I just want to stay here with you.”

Jimin gently says her name.

“I know it sounds crazy, but that’s what I feel.”

“And I feel the same way. Or maybe that means we’re both crazy?”

She laughs, and then pauses. Of course. He’d say something like that because he’s programmed to comfort a Reader. “Would you miss me if I go forever?”

“Yes, of course.”

“But what if I retire from the club?”

“Then you’ll have to ask the creators to model a character after you, and then put her here. So when we get the next Reader, they won’t fall in love with me, because I’m already taken.”

“You are not my boyfriend.” She smiles when he laughs, snuggling closer and holding her tongue from voicing out her doubts. “And besides, that won’t be me.”

“That’s okay, because you will find me in the real world anyway.”

“How can you be so sure? I’ve told you I’ve never been successful with that.”

Jimin lifts her chin up and leans forward until their foreheads touch, staring at her in the eyes again so intently. “Trust me, baby.”

Then, filled with a foreboding feeling, they do the most reasonable thing to do at this moment. The feather-light kisses were soft and gentle, but at the same time, filled with need and sadness. With each firm but short smack, two hearts crack, even if she believes only one of them actually beats. Alas, she breaks away and hides her face back on his shoulder.

“You can stay,” Jimin says after a few short seconds, as if he had to break out of a daze first. He kisses the top of her head.

“And you can continue your game.”

“Ah, yes, you are going to make me level down, I swear.”

“I didn’t know I’m distracting you that much.”

“Ever since the first day, sweetie.”

She wraps her arms around him and pinches his side. “Stop those pet names. You’ll make me fall in love.”

“Aren’t you already?”

“Game. Now.” She presses START.

Jimin yelps in surprise. “Jagi! Don’t ever do that!” But the game master is back in his element, so it’s not really difficult for him to clear a round. He lightly squeezes her arm when he does.

She only smiles. “Keep playing.”

“Alright, just one last game for you. Then I’ll walk you to the entrance, okay?”

“Okay.”

Before he presses START, he leans down to press a soft kiss on her nose. “I love you.”

Her eyes widen, and then she smiles again. “That’s nice to hear.”

Jimin raises a brow.

“I love you too.”

He smiles back then straightens up, turning back to his game.

Jimin is warm. So warm and comfortable. The warmth she needs everyday. The warmth that tells her everything would be okay. The warmth she needs to feel to forget all her worries even for a short while.

“Oh no,” she says once she opens her eyes to the darkness of the VR headset.

She quits the day after.

Reading is fun, but she has to face the real world. She has to save up, get back to school, and pursue an actual career.

But of course, since it is her last day, she takes the risk of asking if she could: 1) request to add a character in a bookmark; 2) be used as a model for said character to be put in a bookmark of her choice; and 3) ask for more information about a Park Jimin.

Surprisingly, the first two requests are actually possible, and she isn’t even questioned why. Apparently, the time a user spends in book universes and bookmarks is monitored. She just now discovers that when they give her its final tally, which determines how much would be refunded from her annual membership fee.

She would have flushed out of embarrassment, but she’s more focused on how they’d answer her third request – the riskiest one, because it would invade the actual Park Jimin’s privacy.

Instead, she is given a weird look, even laughed at. The girl at the counter turns to the programmer behind her and says, “Hey, someone finally got Park freaking Jimin’s bookmark! I still can’t believe you made one!”

Now is the time to blush, maybe more intensely because this adds to her earlier embarrassment.

“Have you been living under a rock?”

“Huh?”

“Just search him up. For sure, you’d know all you need.”

And that’s how she spent the rest of the week – listening to Bangtan Sonyeondan’s songs right from the very first era (of course getting drawn to Jimin’s sweet voice and high notes), watching performances (muffling her squeals when he lifts and RIPS his shirt off) and Bangtan Bombs (her stomach aching from all the laughs and her heart melting from all the solo Jimin moments), and even joining the fancafe (but never once had the courage to reply to Jimin’s posts).

She’s gotten more smitten, but at the same time, anxious. This Jimin is not the one she had met and hung out with in the fictional white mansion. This is a real person, who has emotions and a mind of his own.

His plump lips are not the same ones she kissed. He is not the Jimin who told her that he loves her.

He is not her Jimin.

That week she had apparently planned to use for job-hunting is only salvaged by her mother knocking on her bedroom door to mention a nearby café currently short of people manning the counter.

“You would love to work there, I swear,” her mother says.

And why wouldn’t she? One side of the cafe is practically a shrine for Jimin, the walls and shelves filled with lots of knickknacks owned by the guy – One Piece figurines, the HipHop Monster version of himself, a doll of himself, his drawings, official signed albums and posters, framed and non-framed pictures (of course, there has to be one of him lifting his shirt up).  There’s also a wall for fans to stick Post-it messages for him.

It’s a café owned by Jimin’s dad.

Her experience as a part-timer in cafés before had helped her easily score the position, to which she is very grateful. Not only does she get to gaze at the Jimin memorabilia during breaks, Mr. Park – the very proud father – also has a lot of stories about his son (she also gets teased a bit, for she’s not exactly good at hiding her crush).

She doesn’t know if she’d last here before she even gets to see Jimin in person, considering his too-busy schedule and her stroke of bad luck in workplaces, but she’d be lying if she said she’s not hopeful.

Then one night after her shift, she hears an unfamiliar – yet also very familiar – voice float from the counter and into the staff room she’s currently in.

“Can I stay he – oh.”

She freezes.

Park Jimin, clad in a simple shirt-and-jeans ensemble and a beanie hiding what she presumes to be his new hair color, is in the same room with her, breathing the same air as her. The real Park Jimin in the flesh, just a few meters from where her feet are rooted in place.

“Hi,” he waves then pronounces her name in a way that’s very nostalgic for her. “You’re the new employee, right?”

She could only nod.

He tries to avert his eyes. “And I… uh, heard that you… well, like m- BTS. Yeah, you like our group.”

“I…”

At the sound of her voice, Jimin looks back at her quite expectantly.

“I… finally found you.”

Jimin’s eyes grow wide. “Woah, hey, um…”

“Jimin.” She tries to wipe her free-flowing tears away. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

“Y-yes, it’s me?” Seeing no sign of her stopping from crying anytime soon, Jimin quickly closes their distance to stand right in front of her, his pretty bare face and tufts of orange hair peeking out of the beanie now at plain sight. “Are you okay?”

She starts to sob.

Jimin panics even more, feeling his pockets for a handkerchief. He steps even closer to gently dry her tears. “Please don’t cry.”

She eventually quiets down, comforted and startled by how much this Jimin’s warmth is so similar to the same one she’d been engulfed in a week ago.

Jimin smiles at her. “It’s okay. It’s not everyday you get to see your favorite idol right in front of you.”

She giggles. It’s a good thing he mistook her tears for a fangirl’s outburst.

“To be fair, I’m also a little nervous. It’s not a usual thing for me to meet a fan just by myself… ah, I’m sorry. You work here and I should treat you as an employee and I—“

“It’s okay.” She smiles. If that is so, anything he says would be unpracticed and straight from his very own heart and mind, right? “I’m the one who made things weird, so I’m sorry about that. How about we just start over?”

The crease in his brows disappears and he takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’m Jimin. And no, I’m not the idol! Everyone says I look so much like him. Do you think so, too?”

She merely rolls her eyes, but her smile stays, if not growing wider.

He chuckles, his eyes flashing an emotion she can’t decipher yet, before he continues, “And you are?”

She tells him her name. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Again.

Who knows if finding Jimin in the real world means their fates are intertwined, or if this may just be their first and last time seeing each other? Mixing up fiction and reality can be dangerous. But a dream-like moment such as this is something she knows she’d treasure forever.

Not all kinds of love are meant to be reciprocated nor made known, but at this one point in her life, Jimin only sees her. And somehow, that is enough.

[phoenix-eve]

Shumako Children: Soji Amamiya-Niijima

WARNING: THIS IS AN OC TIED TO A FAN FICTION SERIES I’VE BEEN WORKING ON. IF NOT INTERESTED IN THE KIDS OF REN AND MAKOTO PLEASE TURN BACK. CERTAIN PARTS ARE ONLY UNDERSTANDABLE IF YOU’VE READ MY “FUTURE ARC” SERIES. SORRY FOR THIS RANDOM WARNING AND I HOPE YOU HAVE A GOOD DAY. 

Soji Amamiya-Niijima Age 14-15 Soji is the second child and son of Ren and Makoto. Named in honor of Sojiro as Ren states that his pseudo-father figure is the reason that he was able to have such a wonderful life. Futaba swears to present day that when she left with her dad, the man was crying in response. Sojiro swears that's a lie. Unlike his sister, Soji was born without complications thanks to Lavenza after the Kana situation. The young boy was born with a strange condition where his hair color seemed to be a mix of brown and black hair; the latter being the color of the hair tips. Lavenza theorized it was due to the influence of Satanael and Anat; this pregnancy having no issues but still quite the phenomenon. He has a little bit of a round face, light gray eyes, and pale skin. There is a small scar on his left eyebrow from when a bully threw a rock at him when he was 6. Underneath his shirt, he wears a heart pendant at all times. Inside are two pictures- one of his mom and dad, the other of his sister; the pendant being from a friend of the family who told him to "Hold it close. For it will one day guide you." Also wears glasses even though no one knows if he ACTUALLY needs them or not. He refuses to tell anyone. Soji is a rather skittish young man who has a hard time connecting with people. From a young age, he was teased for his strange hair color and treated as if he was weird. After he was hit by that rock as a child, he grew to fear people and became more recluse. Opting a lot of the time to stay home rather than hang out with friends. Though his friends would simply head to his house to hang out instead. Through the little interactions with people he has, they know that he is a sweet young boy who wears his heart on his sleeve. Though the latter tends to hurt him in the long run as people take advantage of his kindness. If his sister finds out they are doing this, however... Let's just say they learn to regret it. He's also INCREDIBLY nervous around girls. Having trouble speaking to them most of the time, he ends up blabbering while turning a deep shade of red. If a girl ever flirts with him, he tends to shut down entirely and forget how to talk or even breathe. Sojiro swearing one day he was going to be a real lady's man once he learned to overcome this issue. Makoto always saying that she refused to let any girl mess with her baby boy, much to his chagrin. Ever since he was small Soji loved stories of heroes. Especially ones about the Phantom Thieves. Kana and him always sitting together as their father told them stories about the exploits of these magnificent thieves who moved to change society. Soji always wishing to one day be like them, even though his sister would tell him that they aren't real. Just stories of fictional people. It saddened him that his sister lost the belief in them after the incident. Yet he never stopped believing they were real. Even theorizing WHO they might be... As for himself, Soji is quite brilliant. Taking after both his parents, he is the type to learn something extremely quick. As if his brain downloads the info in an instant. Alongside that, he reads quite often. It's rare to see him without a book or his tablet and reading SOMETHING. If he's not reading he's either writing his own stories/scripts or deep into his games. The latter usually involving going up against Kana in one on one matches of ANY game they feel like. He tends to win more often than not. He also collects figures from his favorite games/shows whenever possible. He's also a TOTAL mama's boy. For as long as anyone could remember, Soji would cling to his mom all the time. He was a very shy kid (granted that hasn't changed much), so whenever he met someone new he'd hide behind his mom's leg and peek his head out. Makoto herself adores the fact that he's always so willing to go to her. Most of the time you'd see her cuddling her son and rubbing her cheek against his saying how precious and adorable he was. That did not stop even after he entered middle school. Though he'll never admit he loves his mom's hugs as it was too embarrassing to say aloud. With his father, Soji bonds with him best over reading and writing. Most not knowing that Ren is usually the one to read over his drafts and give feedback for his son. As Ren wants Soji to feel good about himself and realize he always has room to grow. Though Soji feared his father would hate him after one day telling him that he viewed Makoto as his greatest inspiration and hero. Only for his father to say, "you know what son? Me too." Though Ren seemed to tense up when Soji suggested he thought his mom was actually Queen from the stories. Meanwhile, Soji LOVES his sister to pieces. Granted, she teases him often simply to make him blush, but he still loves her. She is his biggest supporter and friend. Kana's always the first one to back him up and will at times try to get him go out. She also shares his love of JRPGs. Both of them crying together at the conclusion of their favorite series ever. Kana even goes above and beyond for her little brother, once standing outside a store during the weekend to make sure she'd be able to buy a figure he was hoping to get for months. He actually cried tears of joy when she came home with it and went, "Happy birthday bro." Kana is the one person he can confide in and knows won't tell anyone or judge him. He fears to tell his parents everything because he doesn't want to let them down. For Soji, the idea of him being more than a side character at most is something he can't ever imagine. Having grown up around so many incredible people- his mother a police commissioner, his father a Diet Cabinet member, and his sister being so amazing in his eyes- Soji grew a bit of an inferiority complex. Most of the time he felt as though he could never live up those around him, resulting in the boy hiding away from the world. Viewing himself as little more than a minor character meant to exist in the background only. Though his sister tries so hard to show him that he's not, it never seems to work. He views his family as far too bright to ever shine himself. He'll never say it aloud, but Soji wants to one day be a story writer. He wants to create tales that inspire people to be whatever they dream to be. Though he cannot push himself to shine in the world, he believes perhaps it's his purpose to help others shine instead. To be the shadow to their light. Unaware of what life would bring him in the future.

[thepilgrimofwar]

Why We Fight

Father,

You haven’t written me in weeks and I’d thought I’d check in on you. Somebody should. You’ve kept to yourself an awful lot following the Legion’s fall. At first, I chalked it up to you no longer sharing an apartment with your friends but after some digging it appears that you are no longer on speaking terms with them. For Light’s sake Father, you need to keep a better hold of them seeing that those are the only ones that you’ve had consistently for ages. And don’t give me this rubbish that they’re just colleagues, colleagues don’t rent an apartment together, no matter what you may say.

How have you been? My department needs more funding, as always, but I don’t think natural sciences are a big priority of the Crown now that the economy might be ramping up for war footing- again. What’s the Sunguard going to do when it breaks out? I won’t have my father dying because some foreign Queen wanted to start a resource war.

Your Loving Daughter, Zharia.

-

Dear Zharia,

I am on a transport bound for the Alterac Mountains, which is why I need to send this physically and so by the time this letter gets to you, I’d have already started on a little bit of war tourism. I’m visiting the various fronts of the Horde that have been held in a stalemate for as long as there’s been fighting in the region. As far as I know, all that’s really left fighting there are the original owners of the contested territory and mercenaries. I’m currently on my way to Alterac Valley and I should be all settled in by the time you read this.

After the battle with the Legion, I know that the Guard is not raring for a fight. That said, I do not know what the Sunguard has planned should Horde and Alliance relations break down again, but I doubt it would involve us taking a backseat role in whatever conflicts that the Banshee Queen may get involved in. I do know that I don’t intend to die though, so rest assured that you can at least count on that.

With Love, Your Father.

-

Father, War tourism? Are you trying to get yourself killed in some conflict zone even before war breaks out? And what for? If you’re going to do something extremely stupid, could you at least let me know in person so I can attempt to talk you out of it before I lose my father?

I suppose you have been a soldier for more than year now so you’ll be able to keep yourself safe. Still, take care, don’t do anything stupid more stupid than your ‘tour’.

Your Loving Daughter, Zharia.

-

Dear Zharia,

You worry too much. I’m received as a military attaché from Silvermoon City- Which I am not, but it’s what I’m being received as. That said, I’m just here as an observer, billeting and interacting with the Frostwolf officers. All the action that I’m seeing is at a distance. That said, I’m here trying to discern how soldiers of military divisions do battle- and more importantly- why they do battle. It has been a question that has been asked a lot in the Sunguard and my peers and I intend to find out the answer to that. Not a definitive answer mind you, but an answer for myself.

Because while I fight, I do so to help. Help the others around me, help heal the wounded, help protect those who need protecting. Sometimes fighting is necessary. If I must kill someone to protect another I will gladly do it.

Others do not seem to think that is enough. I’m here to discover why.

Your Father, Arrenir Silversun.

-

Father,

So, you’re there to discover why some people devote their lives to being trained killers? Because they enjoy the act. You didn’t need to travel to some frozen valley to find that out. At least you’re doing it from the relative safety of the backline so you won’t expose yourself to unnecessary danger. More unnecessary than this stupid war tourism that you’re doing.

But since you seem to already have your mind made up about it, have you learned anything from your observations so far?

Your Loving Daughter, Zharia.

-

Dear Zharia,

It is one thing to hear about it, it is an entirely different thing to witness it in its natural environment. Watching natural born killers at work is interesting in itself.

I am currently on my way further south to the Arathi Highlands, and then moving east to the Twilight Highlands. I have learned a lot.

You can divide the combat styles observed in Alterac into variants of one of either two categories. On one hand you have the sort of combat that gave the Horde its name. You amass overwhelming numbers, either through cultural means like a warrior based society, inspiring zealous faith in the Light, or simply pressing the unwilling into service through conscription. Soldiers are treated like cattle to the slaughter unless they distinguish themselves in combat, which effectively locks them into a vicious cycle of promotions through more impressive feats or death.

On the other hand you have professionals. Less in number but a single soldier is worth three conscripts. They tend to be doing what they do by choice, either career soldiers or, in the case of the Valley, mercenaries. They are treated well by their officers and can be expected to perform out of loyalty to either their officers or the coin in their pockets. If you are missing one or both of these two things, they’ll disappear on you at a moment’s notice.

Your Loving Father, Arrenir Silversun.

-

Father,

While interesting, I was more curious if you had received an answer to your question of why they fight, not how they fight. Also, you seem to be treating this like some sort of scholar. I’m not sure if an academic approach is the best way to achieve the goal you’re looking for. The reason why people fight for a living is beyond most rational understanding. Mortals like us are emotional creatures, and many are ruled by little more than that. I think you’ll find what you’re looking for better if you talked to them rather than observing them from afar.

If you’re heading to the Twilight Highlands, please get me a souvenir. And not a soil sample this time.

Your Loving Daughter, Zharia.

-

Dear Zharia,

Your suggestions were helpful. I suppose I’ve gotten a little closer to answering why people would choose to kill or be killed as a career move. In that regard, you were somewhat right. Everyone seems to approach the topic of killing differently.

There are those like me, who believe it is a necessary evil that needs to be done when lives are at stake. We do so in order to protect the friends around us, and if means killing another mortal being, then so be it. Some handle killing poorly, they do not last long mentally. Others have come to terms with it and have clear consciences.

Then there are those as you described, who simply enjoy the act. They relish the sights and sounds of combat and seem to reach some sort of euphoria in the midst of combat. I think it is a little bit more complicated than simply taking joy in outright murder. For some at least, the joy seems to come from the power trip that comes from the act. That in that moment, you can decide who lives and dies, that an entire universe of possibility can be decided at the end of your sword. For a moment, you are a God who can be merciful, or ruthless.

Do you want samples of the local geology this time? I hear that the elemental anomalies have done very interesting things to the rocks there.

Your Father, Arrenir Silversun.

-

Father,

Have you come to terms with killing?

Your Loving Daughter, Zharia.

-

Dear Zharia,

I have never killed another man. I’ve slayed demons, slaughtered the undead, I have even fought a shadow version of myself. But I have never really killed someone who had a family waiting for them back home. Or killed someone who would much rather have stayed at home instead of being dragged out to some foreign battlefield to die.

I suppose I haven’t really had to yet. I’m not sure how I’d react when that time comes.

I’m in Arathi Basin now. Apart from the two I mentioned before, the answer still eludes me.

Your Father, Arrenir Silversun.

-

Father,

Then this expedition wasn’t as stupid as I initially thought. I suppose it is important to find that answer of why you fight before you have to take a life away from a being that might not deserve it. I hope you find your answer. Why do you fight?

Any luck in the Twilight Highlands? I suppose I will settle for a rock as long as it’s an interesting one. Preferably with any bugs on the inside still living so I can put them underneath a microscope.

Your Loving Daughter, Zharia.

-

Dear Zharia,

Some fight to fit in with his comrades. Others fight because it’s what they’ve done their entire lives and it’s what they’re good at. Still, others fight simply because being a farmer is boring and they couldn’t afford an education.

I suppose I have found my answer and this trip wasn’t in vain as I had originally expected it to be. The answers are as different as they are numerous, each of them personal to themselves. Like you said, you cannot categorize them rationally. They are as many variants as there are emotions.

To answer your question, I suppose I have been fighting for the wrong reasons. It was to impress.

Your Father, Arrenir Silversun.

-

Father,

For the love of the Light please don’t tell me that you joined the Sunguard for a woman. You need to stop doing things for others and start doing things for yourself. Especially so after you have spent the last two years of your life trying to find out what being yourself actually means.

Alternatively, if you are hell bent on doing things for the sake of courtship, at least pick a lonely noblewoman who would be more than impressed with your extensive history of modeling for various editions of Hunky Knights.

Your Loving Daughter, (Despite Yourself) Zharia.

-

Dear Zharia,

I joined the Sunguard to be in the service of the people of Quel’thalas. That after the destruction of the Daymeadows, to be as useful to the crown as I could possibly be even though no one quite wears it anymore.

However, I opted in for combat for a woman. I believe she is worth a dozen lonely noblewomen. More than that even. I don’t think that has impressed her or that anything I do ever will.

Your Loving Father, (Despite Himself) Arrenir Silversun.

-

Father,

IS THIS WHAT THIS ENTIRE ‘TOUR’ HAS BEEN ABOUT?

You cannot impress her because you are a fool who thinks he can. Women of worth aren’t looking to be impressed. Exceeding expectations is a bonus. Someone who tries to run before he can even walk is not exactly going to be looked upon favorably when he falls flat on his face. So not only does it make you look like a pompous ass, but somewhat pitiful that you’re trying to put on a show. And until recently, I know, that all you could do was put on a show.

So for the love of all that is holy, stop. Put some of that soul searching you’ve done to use and actually be yourself for a change and maybe she’ll respond. If not, stop obsessing over her. There are other fish in the sea. Fish that aren’t big on trying to get themselves killed in combat as an occupational hazard.

Your Loving Daughter, Zharia.

-

[jojuarez26]

We found love in a hopeless Place part19

Divergent fanfiction: Eric/OC. Mature content and strong language. I don't own any part of Divergent

@pathybo @tigpooh67 @clublulu333 @beautifulramblingbrains @jaihardy @emmysrandomthoughts @lunaschild2016 @iammarylastar @kenzieam @sparklemichele @frecklefaceb @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @scorpio2009 @badassbaker @badassdauntlessgirl @ericdauntless @elaacreditava @dauntlessqueen99 @sporadichologramblizzard-ed17414 @readsalot73 @captstefanbrandt @desicoulter @mom2reesie

This morning had been probably one of the most amazing in my life. I played Legos amongst other things with my son and watched a movie with him.

I got all my paperwork filled out and realized Adam was napping figured I would to. Knowing in the hours to come I would be stuck in my uniform and about fifty pounds of tactical gear, I opted for boxer only and laid on the couch.

The couch dipped and fingers trailed down my temple. I smiled but nothing else. Just laid still. Sam trailed her fingers down my neck and across my collar bone.

I just lay content, eyes closed and her exploring, that is until I realized her next destination. I lightly grabbed her wrist before she could go any further. Without opening my eyes I started to talk.

"No. It's ok. We have time. Just lay down with me," I knew she wasn't ready for that yet.

"I want to," she whispered.

I opened my eyes, but she wasn't looking at me. I don't know why she suddenly felt a need to push boundaries, but I wasn't going to push her, EVER.

"Samantha look at me," I cupped her cheek with my other hand.

Her eyes were a cross of anxious and determined. Nope. Not today.

"Sam you're not ready. That's ok. I can wait, we can wait. Just lay down with me. Ok?" I was afraid it was a loose loose situation. Scare her or offend her? I'll take offended for a hundred Alex.

"It's won't be ok Eric. I hear the women talk. Waiting for Eric to get bored waiting on the freak. It's not fair and-"

"Stop. Now. Sam. First of all who cares what anybody thinks if it's not what I think. Second, I will beat the fuck out of someone if I EVER hear you being called names. Third. Sam I'm ok, I don't mind. What wouldn't be fair is me pushing you into something you're just not ready for." The tears started to slip down her cheeks, but she was smiling.

"I just want you to be happy," she whispered.

"I am. You and Adam, that's what makes me happy. I would be happier if you would just lay down with me. Please," I pouted.

"Ok." And she did. I'm not sure how or why, but just having her next to me was enough. I just want her lieing next to me, always.

I stand at the door getting ready to leave. It's the first time I ever didn't want to leave for a mission. Before I never had a reason not to rush head long into battle, guns a blazing.

Now, I have two. I'm hugging Adam while Sam has her arms around my waist from behind. For the first time I feel at home in my home and God it feels so right.

Of course, now I have to leave. It's ok though, I already know the universe hates me. So I will just roll with it.

"You be good for Sam and your mom while dad is gone ok buddy. When I come home if you've been good we'll have pizza and CHOCOLATE cake for dinner and stat up late! How does that sound?" Honestly, I can't wait, I want to do that now.

"No." He says on the verge of tears. Shit, what did I do wrong?

"No? Why not? Are you mad at dad?" Please don't let him be mad at me.

"Don't go DADDY!! I-I am I will miss yooo. No, no go," the tears were flowing and he was squeezing my neck so hard I couldn't breath

I had too take a deep breath before I could speak. Afraid my voice would fail me.

"I have to buddy. That's my job. I have to go protect our faction and keep everyone safe," for a second I hated my job. That was a new, odd feeling.

"Ohtay. Come home! I lub yoo. We we will eat pizza and moobies," he was calming down and the only thing calming me was feeling Sam's hand tracing circles on my back.

After a few more minutes, Four took Adam so I could say goodbye to Sam. I never knew how fucking much good byes suck until now.

I wrapped my arms around her and lowered my forehead to hers. We both had our eyes closed, just taking in each other.

"I just got you and you just got Adam. You make sure you come home. Because, because even forever wouldn't be enough time to spend together," she says quietly as she runs her fingers up and down my neck.

"I know. I'll be back. You owe me a back rub and the kid owes me pizza. I intend to collect" she smiled and stood on her toes to place a soft kiss on my lips.

Now I finally understand why it always took Max and Harrison so long to be ready to leave on missions. I don't want to fucking leave. Four answered the knock at my door as I just refused to let her go.

"Trust me son, I know. But it's time to leave," Max's voice was soft and reserved. I sure get it now.

I kissed her deep before I turned without another word and walked out. I had to or I would never leave. I blinked hard a few times before plastering a scowl on my face.

"Does it ever get easier?" I knew the answer but I still had to ask.

"No. It gets harder," Max mumbled.

"Fucking joy," I sighed.

The next several hours where spent strategizing, deciding where to send teams, reviewing and rerewiewing what we did and didn't know. We had reached out to the council to request a state of emergency meeting. I had a headache the size of Chicago pounding in my temples.

I was standing over the only map we had that was at least over seventy-five years out dated of the land mass known as Illinois. Before Chicago had been separated from the rest of civilization, we had belonged in the land mass referred to as the state of Illinois.

I now questioned everything we had ever been taught to believe as to why are city had came to be the way it was as a factioned society. What was still out there? Had there ever really even been a great war.

As I was rubbing my temples and contemplating everything I had ever known to be true which had influenced why I had adopted my personal beliefs in life, I sensed someone standing behind me.

"Eric take a break. That map isn't going anywhere. You need to eat, get something to eat." A gentle but familiar soothing voice spoke to me.

I turned to shrug at Lila and give her a lopsided grin. Max's wife of twelve years stood hip cocked arms crossed giving me that motherly glare.

"Boy, sometimes I think you forget you are human and not a damn machine," she teased a slow smile quirking her lips.

"I think you might be right," I couldn't disagree.

"You are the kind of soldier every commander wishes on stars for and mother's loose sleep over," she wss shaking her head handing me a cup of coffee.

"Thanks.... I think," I always liked and deeply respected the chief commanders wife.

"When you go in front of the council today try not to offend them this time. But, stand your ground as the educated, trained, dedicated soldier you are. Not the arrogant, sadistic, bully you want people to think you are," she spoke with conviction and sincerety.

"You know Lila the truth is yes I am ALL of those things and more. Today though, I will speak as a concerned leader, citizen, and soldier. More importantly though as a terrified father and overly protective boyfriend. Whatever it takes to keep Chicago safe for those most important to me."

Lila's eyes flashed with fierce pride and complete understanding. I also for the first time realized that real power and respect came from being a man, not a bully.

"I always knew what potential Max seen in the angry, over intelligent, cruel boy from Erudite. I think the rest of the faction is starting to catch up." She winked and patted me on the shoulder before leaving.

"Are you Dauntless insane! We can't allow this. It's a death sentence." Marcus Eaton of Abnegation fumed.

"How do we know these aren't lies and propaganda Dauntless are using trying to take control of the city?" Asked Andrew Prior also of Abnegation.

Before I had a chance to speak I was surprised Jack asked if I minded he answered for me. I wasn't sure the angle he was playing, but I decided fuck it, I'll bite.

"It is true. All of it and more. Whether she will admit it or not Jeanine knows it too." Her eyebrows raised a bit, but she said nothing.

"I have spent the entirety of my current position as head leader of Candor in fear of these people that live outside the realm of our society. No more. As of today I pledge my allegiance to the leader's of Dauntless and the people of Chicago. Whatever you need Max, Eric, you have Candors support."

I nodded and silently thanked Jack for his support. It truly meant alot to me. The next person to speak shocked the shit out of me. I think hell finally froze over.

"As much as it pains me to ever agree with both Dauntless and Candor, Jack is right. It is all true. I want Erudite to be free of the outside evil lurking in the shadows. Although I am not as enthusiastic as Jack. I pledge Erudites support as well." Then she locked eyes with me. I internally cringed. What is this crazy bitch going to say next.

"It is no secret that Eric and I do not see eye to eye on just about everything. However for this situation I will concede. I think Eric is the most logical choice to lead the city for this mission." I was dumbfounded.

"Thank you Jeanine. As the lead commander of Dauntless and Eric's superior officer I agree. Johanna, how does Amity stand." I looked at Max trying to hide my shock at all the support that was being given to me.

"As you know we generally stay neutral at Amity. This is different and the time for neutral standings has passed. Amity will stand with Dauntless and agree to give our support to Eric " Johanna smiled at me and sat back in her seat.

"Absolutely not. Abenegation does not and will not concede," Marcus fumed.

It was finally time to exercise my inner asshole. I smiled wickedly when I stood and stared that piece of shit down.

"Actually Marcus, your particular opinion doesn't mean a damn thing," I smiled.

"Excuse me. Have you lost your mind talking like that too ME!" His face was red and rage burned in his eyes.

"Actually there is no excuse for garbage like you. Marcus Eaton you are under arrest. You are being charged with abuse of a minor child. Sexual misconduct with a minor under the age of fourteen. Faction treason and gross misuse of a person in a position of authority just for starters. So Andrew in light of the situation just brought to light, Dauntless will except your vote and voice for Abnegation."

I expected most to he outraged and in disbelief. It was the complete opposite. As Marcus was being lead away the rest of the council began clapping. While I'll be damned.

"Abnegation concedes and will support Eric. Thank you Eric for what you just did. It has been along time coming. You are a brave and honorable man." I just nodded in Andrew's direction and tired to breath.

It felt indescribable to see and hear all the people who are responsible for our city to trust and respect me. I will not let them down. I will fight to the end to protect our way of life, our home, our city.

My perspective on life and my priorities had done a complete one eighty as well as my personal life. I'm not sure what the immediate future brings, but I will do what it takes to see our lives protected and our city free.

[excelgesis-blog]

Free of Any Eden

chapter: prologue / ? 

wc: 9,074

pairing: neo

rating: PG-13 

tw: brief mentions of suicide 

crossposted on: aff  //  ao3

     It is the year 1744, and Cha Hakyeon and Jung Taekwoon both crave the freedom of dance. With Hakyeon born the only son of a middle-class astronomer, and Taekwoon born as nephew to the King, neither are truly free to choose. A hesitant agreement brings them together, but when emotions run high and they become closer than either would have expected, dance is only an excuse to spend time with the other.

     When Taekwoon’s departure from the capital city drives Hakyeon to near insanity, the repressed affection and shame drive him to take his own life – And he wakes up in a flowery eden, neither alive nor dead, surrounded by others who had ended their lives too soon. With the power to feel the affection of the living bestowed as a punishment and a lesson, Hakyeon ekes out an existence in this Waiting Place. And when his lesson has been learned, Hakyeon is dropped into the heart of 2017 Seoul for another chance at life, all memories gone.

     But Jung Taekwoon, the cold son of a wealthy CEO, finds himself inexplicably drawn again and again to the strange boy whose eyes hold two hundred years of pain.

     And Hakyeon dreams of Taekwoon in period dress, dancing under pale moonlight in a time long forgotten...

          He could remember light gilding the edges of half a dozen exposed blades, the scent of blossoms thick in the warm air, and the grainy dirt beneath the soles of his shoes. He could remember every meeting, every touch, every softly spoken word. It all stood out in sharp relief, as sharp as the shadows of the palace roof in the noontime sun. And he was angry. Angry that the feelings still forced hot tears from his eyes when he had been so certain that he could end it. Angry that even here, in this cruel space between life and death, he wasn’t able to forget.

****

          It was a balmy spring in the 20th year of King Yeongjo’s reign. Through his open bedroom window, Hakyeon could see branches dripping with blossoms, bent low as if shouldering the season’s burden. A warm breeze lifted his hair from his shoulders as he secured his outer jacket in place. It was his finest – sky blue and lightweight – and he was glad his father had demanded that he wear it today. It had always been his favorite.

          Approaching footsteps sounded from the outer walkway, and Hakyeon nearly jumped in panic. His hands flew to his hair, scrambling to gather it atop his head before his father walked by.

          “You slept with your hair unfastened again.” It wasn’t a question.

          Hakyeon bit his lip and lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

          His father sighed. “You are old enough to know right from wrong. I should not have to tell you again and again. Your coming-of-age ceremony was years ago.”

          “I know, father. I’m sorry,” Hakyeon repeated, ducking his head. A lock of hair fell from his grasp and swung against his shoulder. His hair had been secured into a stiff topknot on the day he came of age, and his father stood by the firm belief that it should be undone for bathing only. Hakyeon hated the way the hairstyle tugged at his scalp day and night, and preferred to tie his hair back with a ribbon at the nape of his neck. He often slept with his hair unfastened completely, even after each scolding stung like needles on skin.

          His father’s voice was curt when he replied. “Finish up quickly then.” He turned away without another word.

          Hakyeon grimaced and pulled his hair up as tightly as he could, fastening it in place and pressing the headband flat against his forehead. And although he was still bewildered that horsehair hats were swiftly becoming more of an accessory and less of a status symbol, he opted to wear his in the hopes that it would keep the sun out of his eyes.

          His father was waiting for him near the courtyard exit, arms laden with scrolls and the tools he used to track the stars. They were placed into a cloth bag that Hakyeon obediently slung over one shoulder. He wanted to complain about the weight and the jittery anxiety that coursed through his veins, but he knew to hold his tongue. What kind of son would he be if he wasn’t willing to help his own father at a time like this?

          When all government-appointed astronomers had received a summons to the palace, Hakyeon had assumed that it wouldn’t concern him in the slightest. And it didn’t, if he was being absolutely truthful. He was more like a human handcart, carrying his father’s equipment down the packed dirt road without protest. Of course he had been trained under his father’s gaze, as unforgiving as the rural magistrates who siphoned taxes from the poor. Hakyeon could read the heavens the way he read a book. But he did not belong with a group of dedicated astronomers standing before the king. That was his father’s place.

          He narrowly avoided a collision with a local official and ducked his head in apology before jogging to catch up with his father. The palace was close now, and he imagined its shadow reaching, stretching to impossible lengths to wrap around his ankles. He had never once been past the palace gates, and the jittery anxiety from before had morphed into an icy fear. He knew that King Yeongjo was a benevolent monarch; Joseon had been blessed with peace for as long as he could remember. But there was something off-putting about the elegant way in which royals carried themselves. Hakyeon knew he was nothing before them, and it was terrifying to feel so small.

          “Remember your place,” his father cautioned.

          Hakyeon felt his heart in his throat. “I will stay in the courtyard.”

          They passed by the guards and through the gates. Stones were laid to create a walkway bustling with activity. They were forced to weave through court ladies and servants, each with hairstyles and clothing unique to their rank. His father knew who to address, and a group of guards led them through raised doorways and past still ponds. The room in which his father was to address the king was guarded by two court ladies, who bowed low when they approached. Hakyeon lifted the cloth bag from his shoulder and gave it to his father with shaking hands. He knew his nerves were irrational, but he balked nonetheless at the idea of waiting there alone. The doors were pulled closed behind his father’s retreating back. He swallowed.

          “My father asked that I wait in the courtyard.” He managed to keep his voice steady, though he couldn’t imagine how.

          The guards eyed him but said nothing, escorting him to the nearest open square. They retreated to the walkway, but Hakyeon could feel goosebumps rising along his neck as their watchful eyes never left his back. He knew that, as the son of a government astronomer, he wasn’t much. The only one in line to take his father’s place, he would be stuck one step below the upper class for the rest of his life. But his father’s position still demanded respect, and he did not appreciate being watched from afar like a suspicious commoner. He took a breath and strode to a low stone archway, feigning confidence while his stomach twisted inside out.

          The stones framed a green expanse dotted with short, blossoming trees and a pond that shifted as it danced with the wind. His courage pulled taut and snapped, so he settled for simply leaning against the archway with a sigh. It was a beautiful view that helped soothe the frayed edges of his nerves, but he let his eyes slip closed and imagined that the darkness behind his eyelids was the deep black of midnight. His father had taught him to appreciate night for the stars. He appreciated it more for the lack of pretense. It was a time when he could unfasten his hair and stare at the ceiling, imagining a place where the harsh lines of “if” and “maybe” smoothed out into lovely certainties. It was a place where music caught on the breeze, shaking tree branches and weaving its way into his blood. He moved with this melody, or perhaps it moved with him, and society wasn’t there to watch.

          In this place he was a performer, an artist, capable of weaving intricate stories with the movements of his body alone. He was lighter than air and on the highest of highs, all pressure to succeed his father gone. The heavens were interesting, but music and dance – these were as much a part of him as his heart and lungs. He felt the rhythm of drums under his feet, he inhaled the piercing tones of wooden flutes –

          He opened his eyes with a start and pressed his palms against the archway to stay upright. The music was still drifting through the air, unbroken by his shift in perception. He squinted as his eyes struggled to adjust.

          A group of gisaeng were poised near the glassy pond, flanked by a handful of musicians. Sunlight ran along the edges of star-bright swords clasped in the women’s delicate hands. He stared as they began to move, arms raised high above their heads as if aiming to catch the clouds. The swords dipped and spun and Hakyeon was entranced. Their skirts shifted with each step. The ornaments in their hair winked in the dappled light. Their movements were full of a searing emotion that Hakyeon could nearly touch. His chest ached with envy.

          The dance came to an abrupt halt as one of the women giggled and ducked her head. She said something, but Hakyeon was just out of earshot and could pick up nothing but the rising and falling cadence of her voice. He tilted his head. Perhaps they were practicing? He waited for the dance to resume, feet tapping impatiently against the packed dirt. It occurred to him belatedly that he shouldn’t be watching, but it was far too late and he was tired of betraying his every desire.

          Several of the women stepped to the side, swords swinging delicately on their fingertips. Hakyeon blinked. There was a man with them, dressed in royal golds and purples. His pristine topknot made his sharp eyes appear sharper, and Hakyeon felt his stomach turn to ice. What would become of him if he was caught staring like this? He took several shaky steps backward.

          The man didn’t look his way, instead turning to face one of the gisaeng as he conversed with her in low tones. She raised a hand to hide her smile. Even from this distance, Hakyeon could see the admiration in her eyes as she glanced up at the man demurely. The others followed suit, looking up at him through their lashes with their heads angled downward. The one he had spoken to raised her arms and performed a move slowly. Hakyeon watched in wonder as the man imitated her movements, lithely twisting the sword in his right hand. The women giggled and nodded their approval.

          A man dancing with gisaeng? Was such a thing allowed? Hakyeon squinted, as if the action might help him see through the cloud of confusion. The man was obviously of high status, yet he was lowering himself to the same level as mere court entertainers?

          One of the women turned her head to the side and Hakyeon’s stomach twisted into a knot. They made eye contact, the gisaeng lifting an eyebrow and tilting her head back.

          “And who do you think you are?” She raised her voice so it could bridge the distance between them.

          Another of the women turned to face him. “Spying on court ladies?” She scoffed.

          Hakyeon pushed back the uneasiness that rose in his throat. Gisaeng were legally of the slave class and had no right to speak to him that way, and he knew it. But that didn’t stop the anxiety from rooting itself in his chest.

          “My father is here for an audience with the king. I am simply waiting for him to finish.” He mirrored the women by tilting his head back.

          To his surprise, the women didn’t reply, opting instead to turn toward the man expectantly. Hakyeon could see him shake his head. The gisaeng frowned and threw one last look in Hakyeon’s direction before signaling the musicians. The melody started up again, and they resumed their fluid movements.

          Hakyeon watched, transfixed, as the man in purple followed each and every step with concentration. His dancing was graceful and precise. Something about it reminded Hakyeon of the way a river ran: powerful yet smooth, with a tenacity that overcame everything in its path.

          The man swept his sword in a low arc, his gaze meeting Hakyeon’s as he rose. Hakyeon lowered his eyes and shrunk back against the archway. His chest was tight with a strange mixture of envy, admiration, and curiosity. His eyes were drawn to the dancers again and again, a moth transfixed by a flame.

          The music ended all too soon, and the women sheathed their swords and bowed to the man. He bid them farewell and watched for several moments as they skirted the edge of the pond, walking in the opposite direction.

          Hakyeon exhaled a shaky breath and retreated to the dirt courtyard, his pulse drumming in his ears. He had nearly reached the group of waiting guards when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He yelped, and his heart ended up lodged somewhere in his throat. Fear snuck through his veins like snake venom.

          “I think an explanation is necessary.” The voice was stern, but Hakyeon was taken aback by the softness of it. He turned in surprise, his gaze locking with that of the elegant royal. His long outer jacket – dyed a deep purple with a sunshine gold pattern – fluttered in the warm breeze. The ice in his eyes stood in stark contrast to his delicate voice.

          Hakyeon immediately lowered his gaze. “An explanation?”

          “You had no right interrupting our practice. It isn’t your place.” His voice was positively musical and soft as petals on the breeze. Hakyeon found himself glancing upward again. How could such a voice belong to a royal?

          “I hadn’t meant to interrupt; I was simply admiring--”

          The man raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

          Hakyeon bit his lip. Curiosity burned as steady as a lantern flame in the back of his mind. A man dancing with gisaeng? Were certain things allowed behind the palace gates that the rest of the country didn’t know about?

          “I wasn’t aware that princes were allowed to dance with gisaeng.” The words were out before he had thought properly about them. His hands flew up to cover his mouth on instinct, and he took several steps backward, bowing as he went. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean--”

          “The Crown Prince is my cousin.” The man clasped his hands behind his back. “I myself am hardly a prince.”

          Hakyeon’s continuous bowing came to a halt as he eyed the man once more. He stared back with an expression that was difficult to decipher. Hakyeon could feel his curiosity getting the better of him now. He had never expected to encounter such an intriguing royal, but this man had eyes like winter and a voice like spring, and all initial sparks of anxiety were beginning to disappear from Hakyeon’s chest.

          “Do members of the royal bloodline always perform the sword dance with court entertainers?” Hakyeon kept his voice low.

          The man’s eyes were guarded, and he stared at Hakyeon for several seconds before replying. “That is not your business.” His voice had lost all sharp edges of stern authority, leaving behind the smoother edges of something akin to uncertainty. He was the first to look away.

          Hakyeon opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again when he realized there was not much he could say. He knew it was not his place to pry, and the man seemed determined to dodge all of Hakyeon’s questions. The image of him dancing played again across his mind, as clear and bright as the sunlight reflected in the pond. His movements had been so sure and precise, so full of confidence, that it was difficult for Hakyeon to believe that this reserved man in front of him could possibly be the same person.

          “I believe we’re finished.” The man was still looking away from Hakyeon, his gaze seemingly fixed on the stone walkway. He turned with a flutter of richly colored silk and began to walk away.

          The conversation had been much too short, and curiosity still gripped Hakyeon’s chest with a tenacious hold. He had more questions than ever before, but he knew his place in the social strata well and would not risk running after a member of the royal bloodline. A parting comment would have to suffice. Hakyeon settled on both a compliment and a truth, wrapped neatly into one.

          “Your dancing,” he began, keeping his voice soft.

          The man paused.

          Hakyeon took a breath. “It was beautiful. Undeniably so.”

          The man turned his head to the side, lips parted as if he were about to speak. The moment hung there, suspended in the humid spring air, swaying on the end of a frayed thread.

          Hakyeon could nearly hear the thread snap as time lurched forward again. The man said nothing, turned his head forward, and continued walking. Hakyeon took note of the set of his shoulders, the way his head rose as he entered the palace. He turned on to a covered walkway, silks billowing behind his heels like clouds at sunset. Hakyeon thought they made eye contact for the briefest of instants, but the royal passed behind a support pillar, and perhaps he had merely imagined it.

****

          The encounter was seared into Hakyeon’s memory for days. His father snapped at him multiple times during his studies, scolding him for his listless and disinterested behavior. He completed his household chores as if half asleep, his hands working automatically as his mind drifted again and again. It was honestly upsetting, how a royal who moved like water and spoke like a spring breeze could disrupt his train of thought in mere moments. Hakyeon knew he would never see him again. Analyzing his intricacies was useless. Thinking of him at all was useless.

          He repeated it like a mantra in his head as he rifled through rolls of parchment at the local printer’s shop. His father had sent him out for daily errands – as he often did – and his mind was wandering through the merchant’s dimly-lit shelves. The shop was too warm and too humid, and he was tired of his restless thoughts, so he grabbed a roll at random and toted it to the front of the room.

          The door creaked open, bringing with it a wave of muggy air. Hakyeon didn’t look up from his transaction with the shopkeeper. He dropped a quick bow in the merchant’s direction before tucking the parchment under his arm and turning to leave.

          The customer at the door raised a hand, blocking Hakyeon’s path. His sleeves were made from a delicate sapphire silk, much too fine for the humble printer’s shop. A local magistrate, Hakyeon figured. They made their rounds several times a month, and weren’t known for their kind hearts. He cleared his throat and ducked his head, moving to the side to make room.

          “I’d like a word with you.” That soft, musical voice.

          An odd sort of panic arced through Hakyeon’s veins. His eyes met those of the elegant royal, all ice and thinly veiled curiosity. Hakyeon took one step back and then another, his mouth suddenly dry. Was he about to be dragged to the palace to face his punishment for spying? That seemed a little excessive; he hadn’t gained knowledge of trade secrets or royal scandals. Surely watching a dance practice didn’t warrant a harsh consequence? He could feel his fingers start to tremble.

          The royal raised an eyebrow.

          “I need to return to my father.” Hakyeon was amazed when his voice didn’t shake.

          “I only ask for a moment.”

          Hakyeon let his gaze drop. He was insatiably curious about this royal, but was also aware of the thin ice he was stepping on. He glanced back at the shopkeeper, who was watching them with raised eyebrows and a guarded expression. Hakyeon knew he could not refuse. The merchant knew his father well, and news that Hakyeon had denied a royal’s request would spread throughout the town by nightfall.

          He let out a soft sigh. “Of course. A moment would be fine.”

          The royal dropped his hand and pushed the door open. Hakyeon followed him out, keeping a tight grip on the roll of parchment tucked under his arm. His father was expecting it soon; he could always use it as an excuse to leave. He trailed behind without a word as the man rounded the corner of the print shop to stand in the meager shade it threw across the dirt.

          “Who do you think you are?”

          Hakyeon thought the question sounded harsher than usual when asked in such a feathery voice. His head snapped upward in surprise. “Excuse me?”

          The royal’s mouth turned down at the corners. “It seems you’re doing it again.”

          Hakyeon squinted as his mind struggled to keep up. The man didn’t seem angry; his voice was laced with a simple curiosity and his head was tilted to one side. He was surveying Hakyeon the way he had often seen his father survey the stars: intensely, with an inquisitiveness that could never be sated. The situation in its entirety left Hakyeon’s thoughts spinning.

          “It seems I’m doing what again?” He asked.

          “Speaking to me as if you know me.” The royal’s eyebrows lowered. “Forgetting your place so easily. That day in the palace, you questioned me as if you had the right--”

          Hakyeon felt ice in his veins. “I’m so sorry, I honestly didn’t mean--”

          “Interrupting me.” The man raised an eyebrow. “There’s another.” His tone still carried that light curiosity, like a scholar making observations about the writings of Confucius.

          Hakyeon blinked and looked away, his chest constricting. He knew he had overstepped his boundaries, but the man’s soft tone was utterly misleading. Hakyeon wasn’t sure if he was being chastised, warned, evaluated, or a strange combination of all three. He swallowed. "I'm sorry, honestly..." The apology trailed off when he realized it had fallen from his tongue without much thought.

          "Your actions don't match your words," the royal replied flatly.

          Hakyeon let out a breath and met the man's gaze. "I'm not sure which actions you would prefer." It felt as if the man were speaking to him in riddles, and he had nearly reached his wit's end.

          The man blinked several times, as if Hakyeon's words had taken him by surprise. His eyebrows lowered over sharp, dark eyes. "I'd like you to explain."

          "Explain what?"

          "Explain yourself."

          Hakyeon knew he needed to keep his composure in front of a member of the royal family, but his grip tightened around the roll of parchment beneath his arm and he could feel frustration gaining the upper hand. "What about myself would you like me to explain?" He had to stop himself from adding a sarcastic "your highness" to the end of his question.

          "Why were you watching us so intently that day? Do you not fear the consequences? I could have reported you for espionage."

          Hakyeon's blood ran icy cold. "I'm not a spy, I swear it!"

          The man held up a hand. "You're the son of a court astronomer, and much too unassuming if I'm being frank." His voice still carried that curious tone, devoid of any accusatory edge.

          "H-how do you know that?" Hakyeon felt his face flush at the stutter and mentally cursed himself.

          The royal lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug. "All the citizens in this part of town know who you are. I only had to ask."

          Hakyeon wasn't sure how he should have felt. There was an insatiable curiosity burning at the forefront of his mind, but it was watered down by instinct, logic, and his father's every warning to remember his place. This royal's feathery voice did not change his role in society, any more than Hakyeon's fiery attitude changed his.

          The royal raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

          Hakyeon's father's voice rang in his ears. He let his gaze drop to his feet. "I was at the palace waiting for my father to finish his counsel with the king. A meteor is thought to be heading this way, and its appearance in the sky has great meaning for the monarch of Joseon--"

          "I'm not interested in that." A voice as soft as petals on water. "I asked you to explain yourself."

          Hakyeon sighed and levelled a glare in the royal's direction. How could he remember his place when this man was so infinitely infuriating? "I'm explaining myself now; you're the one who interrupted me."

          The man opened his mouth to reply, but shut it again after several seconds. He pursed his lips and waved to signal that Hakyeon should continue.

          "I was waiting in the courtyard for my father to return. I happened to see the gisaeng dancing and... It was beautiful to watch. Surely that isn't a sin?" Hakyeon held the man's gaze.

          The royal stared back. "What interest could an astronomer's son have in dancing?" He sounded as if he were asking the question to himself. His eyes shifted to the side.

          "Is that really your business?" The question had fallen from Hakyeon's lips before he had thought properly. He stiffened, but something told him this royal wouldn't reprimand him for it.

          He heard the man let out a breath. "I suppose it isn't."

          Hakyeon crossed his arms. There were a dozen questions he had for this quiet royal, but he knew asking would be futile.

          "There are festivals with music and dancing every year." The royal's tone was pensive. "Surely you can dance then?"

          Hakyeon blinked. "I don't understand how that pertains to this."

          "You seem to be interested in dancing."

          "So do you." Hakyeon kept his arms crossed, the roll of parchment tucked under his elbow threatening to drop to the dirt at any moment.

          "Is that really your business?" The royal's tone held an almost mocking edge.

          Hakyeon raised a brow. "I suppose it isn't."

          The man very nearly laughed at the reversal in roles, his lips turning up at one corner and his eyes shifting downward. Hakyeon had never thought before of a stoic royal showing any sort of emotion. The surprise he felt was almost comical.

          "Have I explained myself well enough?" Hakyeon kept his voice even so as not to betray his innermost thoughts.

          The royal's gaze turned back to him. "I don't think so."

          Hakyeon's comic surprise instantly morphed to exasperation. "What else do you want to know?"

          "What else are you willing to tell me?"

          Hakyeon eyed him from head to toe, hoping that the action would give him any more insight to the royal's intentions. If he refused to continue the conversation, would he pay a hefty price later? But surely he had explained himself well enough by now?

          He cocked his head to one side and decided to take the risk. "I believe I've said enough."

          The man blinked and stood stock still. A warm breeze stole past the printer's shop, rustling his sapphire jacket. He said nothing and simply stood, eyeing Hakyeon with that same unbridled curiosity.

          Hakyeon held his gaze steady and gestured toward the roll of parchment still stuck under his arm. The conversation seemed to have ended, and he knew that any of his own burning questions would never hear answers. "I'd best be returning to my father." He turned on his heel and headed toward home.

          "I could teach you." The statement was said in the softest of voices, carried toward Hakyeon on the spring breeze. He stopped.

          "What?" Hakyeon asked the breeze, still turned away from the man.

          "I could teach you. The dance. Only if you'd like."

          Hakyeon turned, his mind alight with confusion. "What are you--"

          "I can rescind the offer if you'd rather not," the royal said softly. His eyes were still fixed on Hakyeon, bright with something he couldn't place.

          "Is this some sort of trap?" Hakyeon raised both eyebrows and prayed that his voice sounded as incredulous as he felt. A member of the royal family teaching him to dance? It was absolutely outrageous.

          The man merely blinked again, eyes wide. "Of course it isn't."

          Hakyeon scoffed. The proposal was ludicrous and he shoved away the tiny bit of excitement that had blossomed in his chest at the idea. "I'm sorry, but I'll have to refuse." He turned again, but the roll of parchment slid from his arm and headed for the dirt. He cursed under his breath and scrambled to regain his hold, but the paper fell to the ground with an uneventful thud.

          Hakyeon reached for the roll, but it was already in the royal's hand. He held it out toward him with a raised eyebrow.

          "Thank you," Hakyeon mumbled.

          "You won't reconsider?"

          Hakyeon frowned and grabbed the parchment. What right did this man have to get his hopes up for something so impossible? "I'm sorry but I really don't think--"

          The man inclined his head and clasped his hands behind his back, the picture of collected royalty. "I'm sorry for offering then." He glanced up, his eyes still bright with that insatiable something.

          Hakyeon opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, but the man had already turned, sapphire silk fluttering in the afternoon wind.

****

          Hakyeon thought about it for days and nights on end. The opportunity to learn a court dance from a member of the royal family; had he been foolish to decline? But the voice of reason rang in his ears, warning him that it was a setup, a trap, a clever way to lure him into the bowels of the country's prison for espionage. But then he thought of those sincere eyes and that spring-breeze voice, so delicate and inviting. Could a man like that really harm him at all?

          After a fortnight of worrying and contemplating to the point of near insanity, Hakyeon decided that he had made the wrong choice. He should have given the royal a chance, if only once. The desire to move, to feel music in his blood until he could think of nothing else, had come to overpower everything. Would he ever get a chance like this again?

          He ran errands for his father in earnest, searching the streets for the elegant royal. Would his offer still stand? Hakyeon hoped it would. He had begun to feel foolish for declining in the first place, but logic had shouted too loudly in his head. It had been silenced now, and he knew that was wrong. He knew it was dangerous and reckless, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He would get to dance, really and truly dance with total abandon, and he couldn't get the thought out of his mind.

          It was another muggy spring day when he finally met the royal again. He had volunteered to go to the market, a list of things his father needed clasped tightly in his hand. He ran his fingers over ginger and seaweed, trying to determine which was the most fresh. He had never been great at it, and eventually just chose wares at random to fill his basket.

          He had wandered toward a local fabric merchant's stall when he saw him. He was dressed in pale yellow with his hands behind his back, sharp eyes turned toward Hakyeon from his position at the end of the dirt street. He inclined his head when Hakyeon met his gaze.

          Hakyeon felt his stomach turn to water. The entire thing seemed silly now: a proposal to teach dance? To someone of lower status? The logical thoughts that had been silenced for so long crashed back with a vengeance, and it all became laughable. He turned away from the royal, ducking his head and gripping his basket with both hands. He kept his eyes fixed on the wares at the fabric stall, pretending to be interested in a bolt of purple silk.

          He saw the royal approach from the corner of his eye. He said nothing, simply standing next to Hakyeon in his usual pose: hands clasped behind his back, head slightly turned toward the ground. Hakyeon bit his lip and turned his attention toward another bolt of fabric. How had all of his confidence in the idea abandoned him so quickly?

          "It may rain later on." That petal-soft voice.

          Hakyeon frowned. Was he honestly talking about the weather?

          "The woods due east of here are peaceful after rain. Just after sunset in particular. That's where I'll be if your mind has changed."

          Hakyeon felt his temper flare like a flame meeting lantern oil. Yes, the man was a royal, but what right did he have to pester Hakyeon about this? He was conflicted enough without that breezy voice in his head. He knew nothing about this man's sincerity. He knew nothing about this man at all. But his mind betrayed him again and again with thoughts of music and dance.

          "The woods are dangerous after dark," Hakyeon said simply. He was not about to let this royal know how torn he was.

          The other only hummed in response.

          "I'd best be going." Hakyeon turned away, both hands still gripped tightly around the handle of his basket.

          He felt a gentle tug on his sleeve and paused. The royal tugged again, the fabric caught between delicate fingers.

          Hakyeon sighed. "Yes?"

          "The woods are only dangerous when one is alone."

          Hakyeon's temper sparked again. He whirled on the man, eyes bright. "Why are you being so insistent about this? I already made my refusal plain."

          The fabric merchant stared, eyes wide. Hakyeon realized belatedly that the entire market would likely have turned attention to them, and he felt his face flush. He lowered his voice. "I made my refusal plain. I'm sure refusing a royal isn't a crime. I'm heading home now." His mind fought back as he turned, conjuring up images of dancing under pale moonlight without a care in the world. He shook his head and walked away.

          The royal had been right. Rain began to fall in sheets as Hakyeon and his father finished dinner, and he could still hear it tapping against the dirt as he tried to sleep. The man's voice echoed in his head: "The woods are only dangerous when one is alone." He could nearly see him out there, sitting underneath a low-hanging branch while rain soaked the shoulders of his elegant outer jacket. Surely he wouldn't really visit the woods in rain like this?

          Hakyeon sat up in bed, palms pressed against his eyes. He was tired, tired of thoughts running rampant, tired of images and scenes playing behind his eyes. Tired of hearing that voice again and again, tired of his heart and bones nearly aching at the thought of escaping, moving, soaring.

          He sighed. What else could he do? What would stop the thoughts from cycling? He stood and reached for his outer jacket. Was it a rash decision? Of course. Was it reckless, stupid, and brazen? Yes. But what else could he do?

          He snagged a length of ribbon and used it to secure his hair at the nape of his neck. After tugging on his jacket and ensuring that his father was asleep, he slipped on his shoes and headed for the eastern woods.

          He was soaked from head to foot by the time he reached the forest's edge, but the rain had subsided along the way and seemed to be content with remaining at a gentle drizzle. There was only one pathway among the trees, and he followed it, his shoes leaving prints in the soft dirt.

          He heard him before he saw him. It began as a gentle humming, a fairy's melody amongst the silver trees. Then came the soft whoosh of movement, of fabric on fabric. Hakyeon rounded a bend in the path and found him, bathed in liquid moonlight.

          He had a folding fan in one hand, grasping it delicately as he moved. He was humming quietly to himself. Rain water dripped from the ends of his crimson sleeves.

          Hakyeon watched, entranced, as he dipped and twirled, fan cutting through the air and shoes leaving tracks in the earth. He danced as if he cared about nothing else. He hummed beautifully, the sound breathing life into every movement.

          Hakyeon cleared his throat. He felt terrible about breaking the moment of magic, but he had come here for a reason and was about to lose his nerve.

          The royal's head snapped up, eyes bright. "You came."

          Hakyeon frowned. "You don't seem surprised."

          The man straightened and snapped the fan closed in his hand. Hakyeon thought he looked otherworldly like this, with his sharp eyes and the moonlight dancing across the raindrops in his hair.

          "That's because I'm not particularly surprised."

          "Why?" Hakyeon took a step forward.

          The royal mirrored him. "I'm not sure." His tone was bemused, and his forehead creased as if in deep thought. "I'm not sure..." His voice trailed off.

          Hakyeon gestured, hoping the action took in the situation as a whole. "So this is what you do then? Risk catching a cold just so you can dance in the rain after dark?"

          The man fidgeted with the fan. "This is the only time I have for myself."

          Hakyeon was about to retort when he realized that he knew just how that felt. To save midnight for oneself, to lose all pretense in that velvety darkness. He took a breath. "Surely you can do whatever you'd like in the palace's walls in the day?"

          "Surely not," the royal said softly.

          Their gazes moved in lockstep.

          Hakyeon reached for the folding fan and the other gave it up easily. He unfolded it, watching as the moonlight glittered off its intricate design. "What is dancing to you that you would risk coming all the way out here just to have it?" He murmured.

          "I could ask you the same."

          Hakyeon laughed, a puff of air through smiling lips. "I suppose you could."

          The royal reached toward the fan and pushed it closed in Hakyeon's hand. "So this means you've accepted my offer?"

          "Yes." Hakyeon sighed. "I could think of nothing else. Although I'm still wary about all of this."

          The man's eyebrows rose. "Wary? Why?"

          "I don't know you or what you stand for. This could all be a cruel trick."

          "I assure you it isn't."

          "And I assure you that I won't believe that without proof."

          The royal wrapped his fingers around Hakyeon's wrist, raising both of their arms high into the chilly air. Hakyeon started and nearly stepped backward.

          "Let me prove it then."

          It continued like that for minutes that stretched into hours. Hakyeon gripped the folding fan - "Safer than dancing with swords," the man had said - and the royal coached him through each and every movement, adjusting his arms and posture when they weren't quite right.

          And Hakyeon reveled in it. He savored every movement, every twist and turn, every breath of wind against his skin. Every step was the sweetest drug, every flick of his wrist the purest alcohol. He was positively drunk on dance, and he couldn't get enough.

          "You have a talent for this," the royal murmured after what felt like lifetimes. "Much more so than I do."

          Hakyeon smiled at the praise. "I highly doubt that."

          The man glanced toward his feet before meeting Hakyeon's gaze. His hand came forward to tuck a loose lock of hair behind Hakyeon's ear. Hakyeon felt his face heat up at the surprisingly intimate gesture from someone he barely knew.

          "What's your name?"

          The question was sudden, and Hakyeon blinked for a few seconds before his mind caught up. "Hakyeon."

          "Taekwoon." The royal's smile was as soft as his voice. "It's nice to finally meet you."

          Hakyeon felt something in his chest. "Likewise."

****

          It continued in that manner for the happiest months of Hakyeon's short life. At the end of each week, he snuck to the forest on feather-light feet to meet Taekwoon. Moonlight glinted off of gilded folding fans as they danced. Taekwoon's soft voice crept through the trees, humming a soft melody that continued to play in Hakyeon's head long after he returned home.

          The humming eventually morphed into conversation, initiated by Hakyeon in the beginning. He was curious about this quiet royal who danced through moonlit trees. Many of his inquiries were met with gentle hums and noncommittal shrugs, and Hakyeon learned to take it in stride. Taekwoon was the type to speak only when he had something important to say, and idle chatter about himself did not seem important enough.

          It took several more weeks for Taekwoon to open up, but Hakyeon felt the strangest fluttering in his chest whenever he did. He asked about Hakyeon mostly, and none of Hakyeon's answers seemed to quench his endless curiosity. He would stare at him with those bright eyes, scanning his face for everything and nothing.

          "Why do you wear your hair down?" Taekwoon asked once.

          Hakyeon paused mid-movement and glanced at him. "I'm comfortable this way. It suits me more than a topknot does."

          Taekwoon's head tilted to one side. "I suppose it does." He reached out for Hakyeon's wrist, stopping his dancing and pulling him several steps closer.

          Hakyeon jumped. "Yes?"

          Taekwoon tugged at the ribbon in Hakyeon's hair and pulled it loose. Hakyeon could feel his hair cascade around his shoulders. The wind blew it across his eyes and coaxed it into tangles.

          "I think this suits you best of all," Taekwoon said.

          Hakyeon could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "And why is that?"

          Taekwoon's eyes were bright again, bright with that insatiable something that Hakyeon could never put his finger on. "It just does." He moved to sit on the ground, as they often did when they felt dancing had run its course. He tugged at Hakyeon's wrist as an invitation to sit next to him.

          Hakyeon obliged, resting against the nearest tree trunk and tilting his head back to take in the dappled starry sky. "The night sky is beautiful, isn't it?"

          Taekwoon hummed. "I'd expect nothing less to come from an astronomer's son."

          "You don't find it lovely?"

          "I think there are lovelier things," he replied simply.

          Hakyeon cocked his head to one side. "Such as?"

          Taekwoon looked at the ground and leaned until his shoulder rested against Hakyeon's. "Just...things."

          Hakyeon grinned and rested his head on the other's shoulder. It wasn't often that Taekwoon initiated contact like this. He felt Taekwoon stiffen and immediately pulled back. "Should I not?"

          Taekwoon was silent for several seconds. "It's fine," he whispered. When Hakyeon returned his head to his shoulder, Taekwoon leaned his head against Hakyeon's.

          "You know," Hakyeon teased, jabbing at Taekwoon's arm with a finger. "I'm quite glad you didn't say that I was one of those things lovelier than the stars."

          Taekwoon shifted. "Why?"

          "I would have been concerned for your judgement. What's lovely about a simple astronomer's son?"

          "Everything" was Taekwoon's short reply, and Hakyeon felt his stomach do strange things.

          "That's ridiculous," he said, slightly breathless.

          "I don't think so." Taekwoon hummed and ran his fingertips along the back of Hakyeon's hand.

          Hakyeon felt his heart in his throat. What could this elegant royal possibly see in him? And what did all of it mean? Their relationship had settled into something comfortable and routine, and Hakyeon felt he could share anything with the other. Gone were the thoughts of traps and subversion, and in their place had come to rest a comfort that Hakyeon had never thought possible.

          "Taekwoon?" He whispered. He could tell that his breath had ghosted along Taekwoon's neck by the way he shivered afterward.

           "Hmmm?"

          Hakyeon moved his hand to rest lightly on top of the other's. "What are we, exactly? How would one define this?"

          A pause. "I'm not sure." He pulled back to look at Hakyeon with bright eyes.

          Hakyeon stared back. "Neither am I."

          A slow blink, then two and three. Hakyeon could feel Taekwoon's breath on his face, could see the moonlight reflected in his eyes. Taekwoon leaned forward a fraction of an inch. Hakyeon did, too, and he was sure he wanted this--

          A snap. The rustle of fabric and the light of a bright lantern. Taekwoon jumped and scrambled to his feet, palms flat against the tree trunk behind him.

          "What is it?" Hakyeon's heart hammered against his ribs. He turned toward the light and could just make out a young servant girl, a shawl draped over her head and a flickering lantern clasped in her hand. She gasped and stumbled backward, turning in haste and scurrying back toward town.

          "Minhee," Taekwoon muttered. "A servant from the palace."

          Hakyeon balked. "What on earth was she doing out here at this time of night?"

          Taekwoon sighed and sank back to the ground. His head fell into his hands. "I'm sure the Crown Prince sent her to spy. Last week he questioned me on my way back into the palace."

          Hakyeon's stomach turned to water. "Questioned?"

          "He was waiting outside my quarters when I got in. He asked where I had been sneaking off to for the past several months." His voice was strained.

          "W-what did you say to him...?"

          "Nighttime walks to clear my head," Taekwoon muttered. "He didn't seem to believe me and posted a servant outside my door. I climbed out the window to get here today." His breath came out in a low hiss. "Someone must have noticed."

          "Taekwoon!" Hakyeon felt his blood turn to ice. "Why would you risk coming here if you knew they were watching?"

          "I..." Taekwoon buried his face deeper into his hands. "I don't like being apart from you."

          Hakyeon's stomach twisted into a knot, and he would have smiled and laughed if the situation were different. But all he felt was guilt. "This is my fault, Taekwoon. I should never have agreed to this. I should never have--"

          Taekwoon's voice was weak. "It's not your fault I can't stay away from you, Hakyeon."

          Hakyeon swallowed the lump in his throat and scrambled to his feet, tugging on Taekwoon's arm. "You have to go back. Who knows what they'll do, what they'll say... How much trouble you could be in..."

          Taekwoon stood and gripped Hakyeon's shoulders, forcing him to stare into his wide eyes. "None of this was your fault, Hakyeon. Understood? None of it."

          "Understood," Hakyeon whispered, but he didn't believe it.

****

          They didn't meet again after that night.

          Hakyeon had trudged home, his heart heavy and his stomach aching with guilt. He could feel tears pricking at his eyes, begging and pleading to be released, but he refused. He curled up in bed and pulled at his hair, screaming an endless internal monologue. He had always known the risk of their situation, but had always assumed that any consequences would fall on his head, not Taekwoon's. How could he have been so utterly selfish? So rash and thoughtless?

          He could barely eat the next day. The smell of the servant girl's cooking made bile rise harshly in his throat. He wanted to scream, he wanted to tear out his hair at how cruel and unfair the world was. They had simply wanted to spend time together. Was that such an unforgivable sin?

          It was a week before Hakyeon was able to drag himself to the forest again. He had convinced himself that perhaps Taekwoon hadn't faced any consequences at all. Perhaps he would be there, waiting in the woods like always, with the moonlight catching in his eyes. And perhaps Hakyeon should not have been surprised when he wasn't.

          It was a month before Hakyeon saw him again. His father had forced him into town in an attempt to remedy his sluggish behavior, dragging him along as he looked through various wares. Hakyeon had tried to perk up, if only for his father, and he pretended to have interest in a new pair of cloth shoes at the nearest stall. His chest felt heavy and his head had been stuffed with cotton. The guilt and longing had kept him awake all night. He wondered for the thousandth time when this would end.

          His father had wandered to a stall several yards away, and Hakyeon hurried to catch up to him. He was so focused in his haste that he bumped into the arm of a passerby. He dropped a quick bow in their direction and mumbled an apology.

          "Hakyeon?" There it was, that voice like spring and velvet. The voice that had been playing in his mind for weeks, keeping him awake at night.

          He jumped and glanced upward, his eyes finding Taekwoon's instantly. He searched them for that brightness, that insatiable curiosity, but found only an empty nothingness.

          "Hakyeon, have you been ill?" Taekwoon's empty eyes searched his face. "You look exhausted."

          "I could say the same to you," Hakyeon said softly.

          Taekwoon flinched but said nothing.

          "I take it you're doing well?" Hakyeon couldn't keep his voice from shaking. He knew he sounded desperate and unstable, and he hated it.

          Taekwoon looked over his shoulder, searching for someone in the crowded square. "The Crown Prince is here. I can't be seen with you," he muttered under his breath. "Just please tell me you're fine."

          Hakyeon's heart was in his throat, his eyes stung and he felt naseous and no, he most certainly wasn't fine. "I'm fine, Taekwoon," he whispered. "Don't let me be more of a burden to you than I already am."

          "Hakyeon--" Taekwoon's voice was like the string of an instrument being pulled too tight.

          Hakyeon blinked the tears back and turned away without another word.

          He heard the news the next day. The king's nephew, cousin to the Crown Prince, would be returning to his hometown after months of visiting the palace. He was to find a wife and marry for political power. Their union would mean great things for the southern provinces.

          Hakyeon nearly vomited. The betrayal he felt was strong, surging through his veins like snake poison. He felt sick and dizzy, and his insomnia was worse than ever. And he hated himself for it.

          What right did he have to feel any ounce of betrayal? Taekwoon had never belonged to him. He and Taekwoon had never had any relationship at all outside of a forbidden friendship. So why did Hakyeon recoil at the thought of him being held and touched by someone else? Why did he feel sick when he thought of him whispering soft "I love you"s to someone else? It was wrong and he knew it, and he hated himself.

         How would his father feel if he knew that his only son was thinking thoughts so forbidden and vile? How would society react if they discovered that he had fallen in helpless love with another man? There would be nothing left for him, and perhaps that's what he deserved.

          He was in the crowd the day Taekwoon left the palace. There was a grand procession with Taekwoon leading on horseback. He looked regal in every sense, with his severe topknot, dark eyes and calm demeanor. Hakyeon thought he looked unfamiliar, longing for the Taekwoon who regarded him with bright curiosity and told him he was lovelier than the stars.

          He kept to the back of the crowd and trained his eyes on the ground. He didn't want Taekwoon's last memory of him to be this pathetic. He turned and headed home, keeping his head down the entire way.

          Home was empty when he got back, which seemed fitting for his mood. He collapsed to the walkway with his head in his hands and let the tears fall for the first time in months.

          What was left for him? He had no hope as a government astronomer, and could not imagine a life following in the footsteps of his father. But he would be disowned entirely if he tried to pursue anything else, and he knew that he was skilled in no other field. His father had groomed him to be his successor, and his opinion held no weight.

          The man he had hopelessly, stupidly fallen for would only return with a wife in tow, and he knew he was disgusting for hating the thought. The shame he would bring upon his family would be unbearable, and society would shun him entirely if they knew. He knew it was wrong. He could feel the shame burning in his eyes. And yet he couldn't stop it.

          What options did he have? What future could he possibly anticipate? He imagined an arranged marriage with a beautiful girl he would pretend to love, and a life he would passively tolerate for the sake of someone else. And he wanted to scream and tear the house apart, rip up the flagstones piece by piece and curse the universe for being so unbearably cruel.

          An idea began to form unbidden in the darkest corners of his mind. A horrible, unthinkable idea that wrapped him in the most forbidden comfort.

          He could end it.

          He shrunk away from the thought instantly, the way prey cowered in the face of a hunter. He was surprised at himself for thinking it. He was more surprised at the relief it seemed to bring. A horribly unspeakable idea -- and he wanted it.

         And as the days went by and his hopes shrank into the deepest, darkest part of himself, the idea grew. It blossomed into a plan, a dark and twisted plan stained with each of his bitter memories. And he craved it like an addict. His drug, his remedy, his cure all was right there, so close, right at the tips of his fingers. All he had to do was take it.

          And take it he did.

         It was a chilly night with a crescent moon caught high in tangled blackness. Stars shone like pinholes in parchment. The water of the river was ice against Hakyeon's ankles, and he could feel pinpricks of pain chasing each other up his legs. He took a breath and walked until the water hit his knees.

          His father's face flashed before his eyes, followed by his late mother and, lastly, Taekwoon. He knew he would be disappointing them all. He would be causing them suffering and pain. But what would it be compared to the pain he had been feeling for weeks? Was he supposed to live in misery to secure their happiness? That seemed terribly unfair.

          Another stride forward, then two and three more, and the water was at his chin. He could feel each shiver shake him to the core. His teeth chattered uncontrollably. He sank down, down and down and down, until the cold faded. His thoughts faded. Misery faded. Darkness turned to a calming pale light, waiting, beckoning.   

          And he was finally wrapped in the warm embrace of nothing.

[worryinglyinnocent]

The Real Housewives of Storybrooke

A ficlet series based on this premise here, following the lives of Storybrooke’s elite wives, with all the scandal, bitching and backstabbing that goes on behind the scenes of high society…

This verse is open for prompts!

====

Previously on the Real Housewives of Storybrooke: Gold and Belle decided to have a romantic weekend away whilst Mary Margaret offered to watch Bae, and everyone had a well-earned bitching session about Zelena after Regina’s garden party.

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [AO3]

====

Part Five

MARY MARGARET

"Is there any reason why you're staring out of the kitchen window? Or rather, why you have been staring out of the kitchen window for the last half an hour without moving?"

Mary Margaret tore her gaze away from the window and looked over at David, who was sitting at the kitchen table with a tube of superglue and several pieces of broken china. Neal had been grizzling and his wildly flailing little baby arms were surprisingly strong, and a vintage ornament had been knocked over. He looked up at her sagely.

"I can't decide whether you're watching them to make sure that nothing happens or because you want something to happen."

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes and came to sit down at the table with him, but she had to admit that she wasn't entirely sure herself what her motivations were. Bae and Emma were sitting outside on the deck, study books spread out over the table between them as they tested each other on the things that they were sure were going to come up in their final exams. 

On the one hand, it was good that Emma had a friend, especially one like Bae who would help her to study, as Emma had never been the most academically minded of people. 

On the other hand, the idea that Emma was of an age where she was starting to get interested in other people in a romantic fashion was absolutely terrifying.

"They're only fourteen, David. It's such a stupid age, because they're not really little children anymore, but they're still so far from being adults that you want to wrap them up in cotton wool and protect them from everything. At the same time, if you do that, then they'll go out into the world when they hit eighteen and they're completely unprepared for any of it." She paused. "Coming to think of it, I'm still unprepared and I'm thirty-six. I'm glad I'm not at work at the moment, I can't believe that people actually look to me to make important decisions on a daily basis."

David reached across and took her hand. "You're doing fine. You're doing your best, all of us are. Parenting doesn't come with a manual, nor does running multi-million dollar international companies."

"I can't believe how quickly it's gone. It seems like only yesterday that we held her for the first time. Do you think it's going to be like this with Neal as well? He's going to grow up in the blink of an eye too."

"Maybe. But whatever happens, we'll enjoy it."

A peal of laughter came from the deck outside, Emma exclaiming victory because she'd got all of the questions on the pop quiz correct whilst Bae had made a mistake. Mary Margaret glanced over at the window again.

“Do you think I ought to take them some snacks or something?”

David shook his head. “No. Leave them be. If they’re hungry, they’ll come and get something in their own time. Don’t put them off their flow. They’re actually learning things, so we should be grateful for that.” He paused. “Maybe you can go out there if it looks like they’ve got distracted by their phones or something. You worry too much, Mary.”

“I can’t help it!”

David squeezed her hand. “I never said it was entirely a bad thing.”

Mary Margaret looked down their interlaced fingers. "Are we going to be stuck together now?"

“Well, if we are then I can’t think of anyone whom I’d rather be stuck to than you.”

“You romantic.”

She leaned over to kiss him before they began the process of unsticking themselves, and they both looked up when Emma and Bae came into the kitchen, their arms full of books.

“We need a break, so we’re going to take Wilby for his evening walk,” Emma announced. She looked at her glued together parents, raised an eyebrow, and said nothing. “Is that ok?”

Considering that she’d already dumped her books on the table and grabbed Wilby’s lead, there wasn’t a lot of point in telling her no.

“As long as you’re back before it’s dark,” Mary Margaret said. “Otherwise we’ll send out a search party.”

Emma nodded. “We’ll be careful. Come on Wilby! Walkies!”

There was a loud ‘woof!’ from another room, and Wilby zoomed into the kitchen, tail wagging so hard it was in danger of falling off.

Bae and Emma left, and Mary Margaret watched them go. At least if they were out in public walking the dog and had a dusk curfew, they wouldn’t be getting up to things they shouldn’t, and it was probably a good thing to let them have some time without her watching like a hawk. Parenting was hard, especially when she was bringing up her own children in a very different environment to the one she herself had been raised in. With her father constantly absent running his business and her mother - whilst she had been alive - constantly absent playing at being the perfect society wife, most of her childhood had been spent in the care of various nannies and housekeepers, who, whilst lovely people, couldn’t really make up for the lack of parental interest in her life.

Mary Margaret had been determined that her own children were not going to end up in the same position. Maybe that made her too protective, too involved in their lives. Maybe it was a good thing. She had read somewhere that people always try to give their children the things in life that they never had. Mary was lucky in that her family’s privilege meant she’d never wanted for material things, but love and acceptance… Those were the things she was desperate to give her own children.

David succeeded in unsticking their fingers and went over to wash his hands as Neal began to snuffle on the baby monitor. Mary Margaret was reminded of the underlying reason why Bae was staying over with them, and she wondered how Belle and Gold were getting on, before going beetroot red and deciding that it would definitely be better to leave them to their own devices.

David caught her blush as he left the room to see to Neal.

“You know what? I’m not even going to ask. I’ve been following your trains of thought for long enough to know exactly what you’re thinking about.”

“Yeah, don’t make me think about it any more than I already am.”

David just laughed, and Mary Margaret sighed. She really had fallen on her feet with this man, and she wouldn’t change him for the world.

X

ARIEL

Lying on the deck of the boat, looking up at the stars above them and feeling the slight lap of the water against the hull, Ariel reached across in the darkness for Eric’s hand.

“Do you think it could be like this forever?” she asked. “Just you and me and this boat, sailing all around the world, without a care?”

Eric laughed. “I don’t think that it would always be like this. It wouldn’t be like this in the middle of the Atlantic.”

“All right. Maybe we’d just stick to sunnier climes. But it would be perfect, wouldn’t it? None of the backstabbing and bitching that always happens sooner or later.”

Eric rolled over onto his stomach so that he could pour some more wine and look Ariel in the eye. He leaned over her and she raised herself up on her elbows to kiss him.

“What’s brought on this sudden desire to escape, then?” he asked.

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m planning who to invite to my birthday party,” she said. “Just wondering how much noise Zelena will make if I don’t invite her. I mean, she never gets included in anything that our circle of friends does except when Regina invites her, and even that’s only by familial obligation.”

Eric raised an eyebrow. “Surely she must see that she’s not wanted.”

Ariel nodded and wriggled into a seated position so that she could drink without throwing it over herself.

“Yeah, she knows she’s not wanted, that’s not the problem. She just turns up anyway because she likes making everyone uncomfortable.”

“Still, she’s not going to be at your party, so there’s no point in discussing her now.” Eric made a face. “Let’s just forget she exists and enjoy ourselves without her casting a green shadow over everything. You’re going to have a great party, nothing’s going to happen, and we’ll all have a good time.”

Ariel took a sip of her wine, leaning on Eric’s shoulder and putting all thoughts of Zelena out of her mind.

“Do you remember last year?” Eric mused. “Carrie and Ursula and Regina got into a dance battle and it went viral on Youtube for three months.”

“Yes, the fact that we were in the middle of a Japanese restaurant only made it even more entertaining. I’m hoping that nothing like that happens this year. Regina has the reputation of being the classy one with very elegant parties, and I have the reputation of being the fun-loving one with parties where everyone gets off their heads on sake and starts dancing. I’m turning thirty-five, I want to have at least one respectable birthday.”

“Nah, respectable’s overrated. You just be you. That’s what you’re always telling Belle at these functions, to be herself.”

Ariel nodded. “Yeah. I guess carefree and fun-loving isn’t so bad a thing to be. To a great party and whatever dance battles and Internet fame may arise from them.”

She chinked her glass against Eric’s, and was soon lost in happy thoughts of riotous social engagements gone by.

All the same, the idea of opting out of society and just leaving everything to sail around the Caribbean was still a very tempting one.

[edgysocial]

New Post has been published on http://edgysocial.com/introverts-how-to-trump-over-our-social-anxiety/

Introverts: How to Trump Over Our Social Anxiety

You’re reading Introverts: How to Trump Over Our Social Anxiety, originally posted on Pick the Brain | Motivation and Self Improvement. If you’re enjoying this, please visit our site for more inspirational articles.

“Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.” Albert Camus Not too long ago, I was assigned to lead a fairly large project at work. It involved heavy interactions with various departments, endless meetings, lots of brainstorming exercises, and more importantly—a need for a skillful and charismatic leader, who can build a good rapport with all types of groups and individuals. For many—especially extroverts—this opportunity will present an outright prospect to shine in the spotlight—a harbinger of future successes and recognition, and possibly a solid step toward the pinnacle of one’s career. Of course, it doesn’t mean—we all know this—that an introvert is not going to be up for the challenge, nor that we can’t excel or exhibit preeminent managerial skills and talents. We are equally suited for the job, but such a high-visibility position comes with some acute preparation. It will simply require more mental priming and longer time spent in our “restorative niches,” thus— making our quiet times outside of work a precious gem, worth savoring. But when we add another nuance to the situation above—if that introvert is also shy and suffers from social anxiety, things shift in a rather different perspective. Frequently, the ostensibly incompatible combination of introversion, shyness/ anxiety, and exemplar leadership can easily be foreseen as a recipe for a disaster. It’s a well established fact that not all introverts are shy, nor are they socially anxious. Although these states may be closely linked, they are distinct. But research also tells us that introverts are, on average, more likely to be shy than extroverts. The dynamics of the affair between introversion and shyness tend to exhibit a downward spiraling effect. That is, if one is shy and introvert, introversion intensifies our feelings of shyness, which—in turn—may lead to a further walk down the rabbit hole of social aversion and more acute craving of alone-time. Admittedly, in work settings, the combination is inherently unwelcome, as it often reveals a poignant tale of self-dissatisfaction and perceived unworthiness. For all who are introverts and suffer from social anxiety, it appears that we are at a serious disadvantage professionally and socially—one that may be very challenging to remedy.Or, as one may bluntly state the prevalent stance in this situation—“we are doomed.” Well, contrary to such stereotypical thinking we often get tangled in, losing our safety net and venturing in new foreign lands—especially ones that we have been conditioned to believe we’ll never belong to—is indeed frightening, but has the potential to make us more—more fulfilled, more resilient, more daring. Here’s what I have found to work for me—to help distance oneself from social uneasiness, so that we can gain from our introvert powers instead. • Focus on the issue at hand first, not on the people—I know, I know. Being solely task-oriented goes completely against what we’ve been taught to believe over and over— about the value of networking and about the importance of paying close attention to people, this may not always be the right initial approach if we are to ease our social anxiety. Focusing on the task or the result can help divert our thoughts from worrying about the impression we think we are making on others. On the other hand—we will appear more driven, focused and efficient. In the long run, an accomplished leader will need to master both skills and sides—people and tasks. But as many introverts can attest, we often need some extra time to warm up to others. So, in the interim state of becoming comfortable enough with a group, establishing competence may just be the better approach. • Don’t pretend that you are invisible…because you are really not (unless you own Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak, of course). Shyness can often make us want to claim a quiet nook in the room and stay in the shadows, where we can observe rather than engage. Naturally, such a passive-defensive approach is barely a winning career strategy. Rather than playing invisible, if we are socially bashful, the smarter approach is to unfold gradually, at a pace we feel comfortable with, starting with just a few comments at every meeting. A phased strategy will help us slowly improve on our shyness, as we grow more familiar with others, but it will also let us leverage our strengths as introverts—as discussions in small groups are our forte, our chance to shine, to be heard. Letting it all slip away—by fussing about our lack of extroverted-type eloquence and enthusiasm—will simply be a missed opportunity to claim out spot at the table—not only as quiet leaders, but also, as individuals who can raise above the ingrained (but sometimes just perceived) setbacks of their temperaments. • Ask questions—Form the years of experience I’ve had in the corporate world, I have grasped a major observation. Asking questions doesn’t make us appear less knowledgeable, slow at grasping ideas, or not clever enough. On the contrary, research tells us that asking questions is a highly constructive undertaking, it shows inquisitiveness, a desire to understand, to learn more, so one can be more helpful. However, high social sensitivity may often prevent us from fully and effectively engaging with others, and of exploring a matter in depth to find a better solution. Advanced preparation comes quite handy here. If you are the leader, draft a list of discussion points, be ready to address any questions, and exercise some assertiveness when someone tries to hijack the conversion. Having a pre-defined script will make it easier to overcome our anxieties. Admittedly, asking questions will put us in the spotlight—but in the right way, where we, once again, will have an opportunity to draw from our introvert strengths of reasoning, analytical thinking and shrewd decision-making. • Get Excited—We may be reluctant to admit it, but we all have a certain degree of vanity. When we speak, especially in a small group, people usually pay attention. No matter how horrifying the idea may be, it’s possible to enjoy the Broadway-type of moment when our quiet powers become more visible, as it may also present a great opportunity to earn us the respect and recognition many of us deserve in our extrovert-dominant world. The trick is to not let the inner hurricane of negative thinking and anxiety (“What if they are secretly laughing at me? Do I sound reliable enough? Do I project enough confidence? Do I have something between my teeth?” etc.) self-escalate to a point that it tints our credibility. One way to reign in those rebellious butterflies in our stomach is to reframe our anxiety, as Prof. Alison Wood Brooks of Harvard University tells us. Instead of trying to calm down ahead of stressful and high-visibility events, we should feel excited. Adopting an “opportunity mind-set” (vs a threat mind-set), can improve our performance. It’s really simple too—it entails some straightforward self-talk (“I’m excited”) or encouraging messages (“Get excited”). Therefore, it appears that trying to cool down—a strategy we’ve been prescribed for years—may not be the “cool thing” to do after all, when it comes to controlling our anxiety. • Finally, even if things don’t work out the way we anticipate, we shouldn’t beat ourselves up too hard. Rather, embrace the mantra by Scarlett O’Hare from “Gone with the Wind:” “After all, tomorrow is another day.” No matter what, we are still the heroes of our life stories. Some recent discoveries in social psychology reveal that we can choose to edit these stories and to craft more meaningful and purposeful messages. It’s up to us to decide how to build the setbacks, the failures and the unfavorable experiences into our life narratives—as “learning” and “experience-gathering” episodes, or as markers of our inability to win over our anxiety and to have successful careers. Some re-framing, or “story prompting,” has been shown to produce some rather incredible outcomes. Because ultimately, our stories are not just tales we tell ourselves and believe about our personalities. They are our personalities. What we assume about ourselves, will eventually guide our behavior. And who we elect to become depends largely on the scripts we ourselves let to be written in the stories. To again address the question I posited in the beginning—are we really predestined career-wise (and personally too) if we are introverted and are shy too? Of course not. Sometimes, we just need a bit of time to become comfortable with new people, tasks or situations. Other times, we may have simply been missing the proper tools and aids that can enable us to move forward and succeed. But we are not to be bound by the society’s stereotypes for success. Even if we believe in the invariability of our innate personality traits, we can still opt to become more courageous and demand to have our voice heard. It may be scary at first—true, it may feel uncomfortable for a while, but in retrospect—it would have been worth it. The famous poem by Erin Hanson eloquently sums it up: “There is freedom waiting for you, On the breezes of the sky, And you ask “What if I fall?” Oh but my darling, What if you fly?”

Evelyn Marinoff is a Canadian, currently living in Dublin, Ireland. She is a social introvert, a mother, an MBA, a passionate reader and a writer in the making. She holds a degree in Finance and Marketing, but spends her free time reading, writing and researching new and intriguing ideas in psychology, leadership, well-being and self-improvement. On her blog mind-chatters.com, she writes daily tips and pieces on self-enhancement. You can also find her on Twitter at @Evelyn_Marinoff.

You’ve read Introverts: How to Trump Over Our Social Anxiety, originally posted on Pick the Brain | Motivation and Self Improvement. If you’ve enjoyed this, please visit our site for more inspirational articles.

Pick the Brain | Motivation and Self Improvement