#we want to feel more justified in our anger towards them so we can move forward

[t-u-i-t-c]

Proof of Determination! This is... Japan's No. 1 Busybody!

[to-the-stars8]

Twin Flames

Asra x MC Summary: The final argument that results in Asra leaving, and you all alone.

“There is a ship leaving in an hour,” Asra said, eyes panicked and pleading. “Come with me, it is all I'll ever ask of you again. For me.”

At one point, Asra could have asked you for the world, and you would have given it to him. Now, as you looked at him, you decided not. There had been too many lonely nights thinking over the same broken promise, and you would not fall deeper into his pit of distant love. 

Yet, you knew that, if you came to it, there would be no worry. Asra would take care of you, and the two of you could lay under a tree in a foreign land in each other's arms. You felt dread at the thought. It was a tragedy that all the hope in the beginning had come down to disappointment and frustration. It exhausted you, wearing your mind thin. As it did his. You could see it, the way the weight of your distance and separate desires carried him down. 

Sucking in a breath and averting your eyes, you listened to the silence of the city. It once bloomed with excitement, and it had been so loud that it made you feel alive. Then, the plague had swept through so fast, killing it. It made you want to stay despite your love’s cries to run. Whether you desired to save the constant excitement so you would feel a little less alone, or the good nature you liked to think you had, you did not wish to know. 

“Leave if you must,” You said. “But do not ask this of me.”

Asra’s eyes were filled with tears, but he refused to acknowledge them. He shook his head. “Please, you have to—For me. You forget that you promised to always be with me.”

Anger tore through you. He dared to say that when he left you alone so often. Scoffing, you stepped away from him as you were afraid of what your rage would make you do. You began to cry, and a thousand curses passed through your mind. You wanted to hate Asra, to be able to cast him aside, but he had loved you so well and deeply despite the shortcomings. 

“You—” You sucked in a breath. “You cannot expect me to uphold a promise you never kept.”

“I have asked for your forgiveness a thousand times, and will do so a thousand more if you wish.” Asra looked ready to beg on his hands and knees. “You must come. People here are dying like flies, and will die before I let you suffer the same!”

“Then I hope we burn on the same pile of bodies so we will never part again,” The words did not feel like yours. They were heavier, darker. 

You regarded one another silently before Asra could no longer hold himself up. He collapsed onto the couch, head in hand. You did not move toward him. 

“Please,” Asra whispered. “For me.”

“You are selfish,” You said. 

Asra looked like a kicked dog, but your sorrow and anger would not allow any pity. No, you almost felt justified to hurt him, as nasty as it felt to admit. Either way, he did not deny your words. “You are not the only person in this city. I can help people here—I have the means to.”

Asra stood again, rushing to you with arms out and palms up, confused. “And what then, hm? If you find the cure do you think Lucio would let you be regarded as the hero?”

“No! How can you not understand?” You faced him now, eye to eye. “These are our friends! People that have been part of our lives for years—”

“Damn them all! None of them matter if they are not you,” He cried, grabbing at you desperately.  

“You would say that of Muriel? ” You yelled. 

Asra scoffed before turning his back on you. On his shoulders Faust curled tight around him, unused to her master’s anger and yours. “You know I did not mean that. I have offered for Muriel to come with us, but he is safe outside the walls of the city.”

You did not wish to say he was right, so you quieted. Wiping your eyes, you let your anger finally resolve and reach for him. When your hand met his shoulder, Asra jerked away, eyes turning to narrow onto you. 

“Asra,” You said. “I am going to stay. Leave, it will give me comfort to know that you are safe. My heart will always be with you. Please know that.”

His face was like stone. Unchanged from the hate that was plastered on his face from the moment he turned to you.

“I wish I had never met you,” Asra gritted out before rushing out the shop door. 

Your love for Asra gnawed painfully at your stomach. It yearned to call out for him. Beg for his forgiveness. Forgive me, you wanted to say. Forgive me for the choices I want to make, and do not hate me for it. 

You didn’t know how long you stood there staring at the door. Though, by the time your senses had returned the night had turned into day by then, an orange hue coming into the shop through the stained glass window.

Still, you did not move as the sun's rays poured into your corner of the world. Compared to before, it seemed so small. Almost suffocatingly so. And, now the shop was quieter than you thought possible.

[lavender-romancer]

Deceiver

Part Seven Tommy Shelby x Reader CW: slow burn, arguing

You've been involved with the Peaky Blinders business for a few years now, undiscovered as a woman posing as a man. Now the Shelby boys have grown suspicious of you and want you found out.

an: set in season one

”*°•.˜”*°•. ˜”*°•. ˜”*°••°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜

previous part

As you stirred awake you looked up, there were a considerable amount of cobwebs on the support beam running through the center of your room. Their delicate intricacies were illuminated by a stream of morning sunlight through your curtains. It was so beautiful but your mood this morning just made you want to dust it all away. Today was Cheltenham.

One comfort of this awful day was that you could take some aggression out on some Lee boys, whilst Tommy would be prancing around with Grace doing fuck knows what. No, you had to try and control your anger on the subject. It wasn't worth all your thoughts and anyways you had to meet Arthur, John and Johnny.

"Eddie," Arthur yelled, getting your attention in the dockyard, "What's our mission?"

"To fucking stick it to the Lee boys!" You announced with a smirk towards John.

"That's right. The Lees are skimming money off legal bookies. Running chalk, selling rafflers, beating up bookies. But today, we're going to stop them." Arthur raised his stick, "Anyone with a gun, we won't be using it unless it's pulled on you. Take what you have, whatever it is. Let's fuck up the Lee boys, lads!"

You all loaded into a van, with you, Arthur and John in the front. It was 60 miles to Cheltenham and no matter how much you talked to the boys, all you could think about was Tommy and Grace in a car together. No matter how much Arthur hammered the point of this being 'Tommys Army' you struggled to get excited when you knew you wanted to be the pretty blonde girl dancing with him in a nice new outfit. Not that you'd want to wear a dress but-fuck- you were so insanely jealous of the barmaid you didn't know what to do with yourself.

Even when Tommy reassured you that there was nothing between him and Grace, all you could see was them kissing in the light of the bar when you opened the room to the booth. How did you get here? Obsessed with a man who couldn't or wouldn't commit to you, you were more likely to grow old with Thomas as his friend or mistress.

Looking out of the window the shouting coming from the boys faded into white noise. Closing your eyes you saw Tommy's smile. You didn't want to be his friend, you didn't want to wait forever but you knew he should be with her because you couldn't compete. It wasn't as if you could blame Grace for it all anymore, she was a convenient scapegoat but not one that made sense. There was something between Tommy and Grace that he wouldn't admit to you, and you couldn't blame him. It wasn't anything new, you often had to separate your life and the possibility of love.

Love doesn't last the way respect and job security do, it can be fickle and easily betrayed which were eventualities you couldn't afford. You were used to being alone, but you weren't used to being as vulnerable as you would be if you ever lived your life as a woman.

Tommy was dancing with Grace, their bodies close and moving in time with one another. He did keep looking over at Kimber's table but couldn't help but feel Grace's body against his. She was an easy choice, a safe one. There were no complications he knew of, she was beautiful and wanted him. But you. He dreamt of you. He had to stop himself from seeing you every single night. There was such an undeniable magnetism between the two of you that Tommy struggled to justify considering choosing Grace over you. There were complications but who gave a fuck about that?

He dipped Grace in the choreography of the lively dance and she smiled, it was so ridiculously beautiful. Tommy couldn't help but smile slightly back, pulling her back up. She laughed softly and Tommy bowed his head so he wouldn't laugh in return. There was a part of him that wanted to kiss her, wanted to fuck her and move on from there. He craved immediate gratification and Tommy couldn't seem to let you give that to him. The lust feeling was intoxicating, being able to look you up and down but knowing he wouldn't take it any further. Even when he was drunk he only kissed your hand, it was pathetic. But Tommy wanted you to understand how deeply he cared for you, that he didn't want to just fuck you and leave it at that. But Tommy failed to explain this to you and it led to a horrific case of crossed wires.

You'd got the stolen money off all Lees boys by this point chased them off the track and down to Devon road, they were long gone, some by persuasion, most by force…. But realistically it came with the territory of a blinder, cut off an ear here, punch someone in the face there. It would be on the job description.

"We need to get this all back to Tommy." Arthur said, holding the 7 napsacks over his shoulder as you, him and John stood under a stairwell and smoked.

"I'll take it." You said all too quickly and the brothers snickered.

"Someone wants to see his man." John smirked and you rolled your eyes.

"Don't get too jealous of Grace." Arthur couldn't stifle his laughter as he handed the napsack to you, the two of them keeling over laughing with jokes about you and Tommy. You just snatched the bags and walked up the stairwell to the agreed meeting point.

Seeing Tommy poke his head around the door and smile at you sent a warm feeling around your whole body. It only seemed to dissipate when you saw Grace, you dropped the bags at his feet and glanced at her before going back to Tommy.

"Any problems?" Tommy asked, looking you up and down without letting Grace see.

"None. We got it all back and ran the Lee boys off the tracks. A few cuts and bruises but nothing major." You smiled at him and the two of you took a moment, just looking at one another lovingly before snapping out of it.

"Get Arthur to buy all the boys a pint, I'll see you later." He gave you a smirk before you shut the door.

Standing on the other side of the door, you almost jumped up and down from the way he looked at you. The man looked like he wanted to rip everything off you and take you right then and there. It was impossible to forget, even when you were sitting back in the Garrison a few hours later. Every so often you'd take a sip of your beer, but mostly you stared into space and thought of his eyes.

"Now, should I guess who you're daydreaming about or just come out and say it?" John laughed and sat next to you at the bar.

"You can keep your mouth shut," you smiled, "What do you think of Grace?" You asked after a pause.

"Great set of legs." John raised an eyebrow.

"No, idiot. I mean, she doesn't seem suspicious to you, comes out of nowhere trying to help with the business and now she's working for us all because she's a liar? Seems odd." You shrugged.

"Think you're just being paranoid and a little bit jealous. Personally I don't think she really does much, has no excitement in her life, this gives her some shit to do." John took a drink of his pint and lit a cigarette.

"When she is finally found out for being a deceiver, we'll only have men and their cocks to thank." You said, exasperated with John. How he could immediately assume you were jealous without a second thought. "If you didn't know I was a woman would you still question me like this or just take it at face value?" You said close to his ear before walking out of the door.

You were sick of the teasing, you had tried to tell yourself that they didn't treat you differently but it wasn't true. They just saw you as some sort of scorned woman, who wasn't capable of thinking straight. You weren't being jealous. Were you? No, she was suspicious and it didn't make sense that she came out of nowhere. Walking in the chill of night your chest heaved, what could she and Tommy possibly be doing? Was it all fooling him as well? Your brain felt so foggy it was impossible to think straight, all you wanted was to get home.

Tommy was sitting on the doorstep in front of your house and in the moment you just wanted to run up and kiss him. His face was so beautifully lit by the moonlight, with a slight smile on his lips he looked so pretty. But, instead you walked past him and unlocked your front door, leaving it ajar for him. You walked straight up to your room to unbind your chest, it had been an extremely long day.

After changing into a looser fitting men shirt you went back downstairs and found Tommy with two glasses of whisky in hand sitting on the settee. You gratefully sat down next to him and took the glass, whilst the whisky you owned was a shocking quality it still took the edge off more than a pint.

"How did today go?" He asked you.

"We got all the money, if that's what you mean." You directed a polite slightly unfeeling smile in his direction, our head felt like it was going to burst open with anger because of how John had spoken to you. "How was Grace?"

"She did her job. Looked pretty and danced with Kimber." Was all that he said, you couldn't help but assume ther was more he could say about her but didn't. You just sat holding the glass in your lap and looking down at the liquid through the crystal shapes in the glass. It was so distorted that staring at it this closely was giving you a headache. You placed the glass back on the table in front of you with a slight clink and returned to your position. Hands in your lap, looking down at them in silence because you didn't know what to say. Didn't know the right thing to say without coming off as jealous. Because regardless of what the Shelby boys said about your apparent jealousy, Tommy's connection with Grace just made you sad. You wanted the day out at the races, the hurried sexual favours in a side room, the openness in society.

At this point whilst you considered growing your hair out and stopping binding your chest, what would be the point if the person you were doing it for couldn't commit? He claimed that he would die for you but he was happy to kiss Grace, happy to fade into a silhouette of nothing as she stifled his light. He wouldn't commit to you whilst he still wanted to get his dick wet and not give you the time to be in society as a woman at your own pace. The silence was pounding in your ears, consuming your body in a cold blanket of insecurity. You could only think about how he could be normal with Grace, live a normal life. It would be boring and he might not be happy but it would be normal.

"Y/n?" Tommy said softly and you nodded in acknowledgement. "What's going on?" He asked in a confused tone.

"I just… I don't know why you're wasting your time with me. Maybe wasting is the wrong word, but you only have so long in this life and I don't know if we can give eachother what the other needs." Your eyes were hurting with the amount you were straining them so you didn't cry.

"Do you want me?” He said, making it sound so simple and you brought your eyes up to his- so much emotion and hurt was shown with this one look that Tommy felt taken aback, had he hurt you? "If you want me, then we give each other what the other needs."

"I don't want to be someone you can't commit to." You said quietly, looking back at your hands in your lap. "You're going to forget about me and marry someone without all the complications. Someone like Grace is perfect for you."

"I've told you before that Grace is not your concern." Was all he said and you couldn't help but scoff.

"Alright Tommy. You can stay to finish the bottle if you really want to, but I don't know if there's anything else for us to talk about now." You stood up and looked at him with tearful eyes. Why couldn't he understand how you felt about him, why couldn't he understand how deeply you cared for him?

"Y/n," he said in a soft tone and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop the tears from flowing.

"What else is there to say?" You asked quietly.

"Nothing happened." He paused. "Between me and Grace, since that night when you saw…" you got a horrific flashback of seeing Grace and Tommy kissing.

"But you still don't want to commit to me do you." It wasn't even really a question, more of a statement.

"Why do you assume that?" He placed his glass on the table in front of him next to yours, they were closer than the two of you felt right now.

"Because of how you act, Thomas and because I know you. You don't want a complicated personal life when your business life's complicated enough." You held your forearm with your other hand, feeling insecure in front of a Tommy that seemed more vulnerable.

"You've never asked me to commit to you, not in those words anyways." Tommy stood up and took a step towards you, your eyes were fixed on a point on the floor where the wood was cracked and splintering. "I've wanted you for years now. Ever since I met you it's been the same, there's always been something."

“If I finally live as myself I lose all independence, if you leave me after I live as a woman I won't have any agency! You don't understand how much anxiety that creates for this whole situation, it's not just about fucking feelings.” You paused and ran a hand down your face, tears forming in your eyes, “It's about the rights I have over myself, men won't treat me the same, I'll never be viewed the same by anyone. I'll never be able to walk home alone without being scared, I'll be posing as someone I've never been! I've lived this way for so long it's comfortable, and unless you can prove that you want only me then-”

“Y/n,” Tommy held your shoulders in both of his hands, “you can dress however you want, have the same job, fuck, you can get a better paid one in the company. You'll still be my right hand person regardless of how you live. I've never been able to control you and I don't intend to try and start. There has always been a part of my soul connected to yours, Y/n.” You were still looking at the splintered wood.

“How much room in your soul do you have when you desire two people?” You sounded malicious and honestly it wasn't intentional because most of what Tommy spouted sounded like lip service to get you to be complacent.

“What?” He asked, his hands falling from your shoulders.

“You heard what I said,” you walked past Tommy and sat down on the sofa, pouring yourself another poor quality whiskey. After downing two glasses your throat burned in a satisfying way that distracted you from your head.

“Why do you think I'm here? Practically begging you to give me some time.” He let out a long sigh.

“You feel the same way I feel about you about her. I know that's what is really in your soul. Even though she doesn't love you, she isn't truthful, she's so deceitful but you can't see past your hard cock long enough to realise. You fucking know I'm in love with you, I'm convinced you've known it the whole time. But it's more exciting to string two people along than commit to anyone. You can perpetuate your tortured heart narrative and everyone feels sorry for you, well I don't care anymore. Do whatever you fucking want, fuck her, fuck me. Everything's controlled by you and you love it.” You picked up the bottle of whiskey and started drinking straight from it. Leaving Tommy to stand there not knowing what to do. The two of you existed in a sort of social limbo for a few minutes before Tommy sat down next to you and you offered him the whiskey bottle.

”*°•.˜”*°•. ˜”*°•. ˜”*°••°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜

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[ninchen1909]

The wrong groom II

Pairing: Ivar the boneless x female reader

Word count: ~ 2.700

Warnings: Animal sacrifice, the family abandon the reader

 The words of King Ragnar still echo in your ears, an unknown joy rises in you when you realize that your request has been heard and that you would soon be the wife of Prince Ivar. However, this feeling of happiness is short-lived, a glance at your father shows you that he appears to be anything but happy about your decision. He sits on his throne, a frown lingering on his face, fingers digging deeply into the uneven wood of the armrests, while the corners of his mouth twitch suspiciously. The coldness in his voice makes you wince as he addresses the word to King Ragnar.

"I wish to speak with my daughter in private."

Not a single emotion can be read on his face as he fixes you with his gaze, yet the tone of his voice tells you all you need to know. He is angry. Incredibly angry.

"As you wish. In the meantime, I will seek out my sons to inform them of the changes."

Ragnar gives you a warm, reassuring smile before nodding briefly to your father while making his way out of the throne room, your eyes following his every proud move of his. Only when the heavy wooden doors fall shut and the whole hall is filled with an almost disturbing silence, you turn to your father. He is still sitting on his throne, deep wrinkles cover his forehead and make him look even older.

"Father..."

"Silence!"

Immediately you swallow your words. Never before has your father spoken to you like this, never before has he sounded so disappointed and angry at any of your actions. Your eyes turn towards the floor, but the soft crunching sound of the wooden throne lets you know that your father has risen from it. Just a few seconds later, you can hear his footsteps approaching you. This causes you to lift your head and look at him with feigned confidence. His normally warm brown eyes are filled with a coldness you never thought possible, his whole face contorted into a hard mask.

For a brief moment, you simply look into each other's eyes, and shortly after that , all you can hear is the slapping of skin on skin. Bewildered, you look at your father, one of your hands finding its way to your now reddened. stinging cheek. Never before has your father raised his hand against you. Not ever, until this moment. Tears well up in your eyes, whether for pain or anger you can't tell yourself at this moment. The shock lingering deeply in your bones.

"You ungrateful little brat. How dare you?"

You wince, his frigid tone feeling like a whip is striking down on your skin.

"How dare you embarrass me like this in front of King Ragnar? How can you doubt my decision in front of him?"

Your hands begin to tremble as you remove them from your cheek, yet you try to justify your decision.

"But father, all that mattered was that I marry one of the princes, and that I do."

"You doubted my decision, and you did so in front of the most powerful Northman we have ever dealt with. How can he now believe that I can command our army, and be a fearless reder, when not even my own daughter listens to me and respects me."

"But father, I respect you."

"Don't you ever dare say that again when your actions clearly speak to the contrary. Your mother was right from the beginning, I should not have been so lenient with you. I should have been more strict, more firm."

A brief silence falls over you as your father seems to search for the right words.

"I will tell King Ragnar that you will leave my kingdom this very day."

Your heart begins to pound furiously, one of your hands reaching for the cross pendant around your neck.

"But what about the wedding?"

"You will not marry this prince in the presence of my god. Sigurd I could still have coped with. But not this bloodthirsty cripple. If you want to marry him, marry him before his war-obsessed gods."

"But father..."

But before you can finish your sentence, your father has turned his back on you.

"Go pack your things, I'll let you know when you sail."

Tears well up in your eyes, in a last desperate attempt you reach out your hand to your father, wanting to put it on his shoulders. But as soon as it comes to rest there, he shakes it off in a jerky movement and moves even further away from you in quick steps.

With a heavy heart, you climb the stone stairs to your room, your vision blurred by your tears, but you realize that there is no time to lose if the ship is to leave for Kattegat tonight.

You have already stowed most of your possessions in cloth bags, when all at once the door to your room crashes against the stone wall behind it with a loud noise. Abruptly you turn towards the door.

"(y/n), tell me is it true what my father told me? You want to marry me instead of Sigurd?"

A silent nod from you is all Ivar gets in response. A beaming smile spreads across his otherwise serious face as he approaches you with the help of his crutches. With each step he takes toward you, his smile seems to grow even wider, so that when he finally stands before you, his entire face lights up. This changes, however, when he sees the tears in your eyes. Lovingly, he brushes the remaining traces of tears from your cheek.

"What happened?"

The concern is clear in his eyes.

"My father has decided that I am a disgrace to the family because of my decision to prefer to marry you instead of Sigurd, so I will sail with you to Kattegat as early as tonight."

After your words, the concern in his gaze turns to anger.

"You are not a disgrace just for sharing your desire. I for one am proud of you, and I am honored that I may soon call myself your husband and we will build a life together. You're as strong as Freya and just as beautiful."

His words cause a slight smile to appear on your lips, yet sadness at your father's reaction and words prevails at this moment.

"Thank you Ivar. But I can't really be happy about it right now."

"Of course my love, but believe me, the day will come when you can."

"I hope so..."

Ivar leans his crutch against your bed before pulling you against him in a careful motion, your head immediately burying itself in the crook of his neck as your fingers dig into the soft fabric of his shirt. You feel him press a gentle kiss to the top of your head before resting his chin on the crown of your head.

"Do you want me to help you with anything?"

"No thanks, I'd rather be alone for the last while."

"As you wish my princes, I'll help my brothers get the ships ready."

With a quick kiss on your cheek, he disappears from your chamber. Again, a stifling silence spreads through your chamber, yet this is exactly what you need at the moment.

 Your heart breaks when, you realize that none of your family has come to say goodbye to you, when you find yourself standing in front of the Northmen's ships, a few hours later.

None of them thought it necessary to bid you farewell. With your head drooping, you stride towards the large wooden ship and a short time later, you no longer feel the solid ground of the earth beneath you, but the damp wooden planks of the ship, which is swung back and forth by the waves in slight movements. A gentle arm tightens you  against a firm chest, the sudden warmth making you tremble.

"All will be well, my love."

Ivar presses a kiss to the top of your head as his arm wraps around your stomach a little tighter, giving you reassurance as the boat starts to move in steady motions. With tears in your eyes, you watch as your home becomes smaller and smaller the further you move away from it, as you put more and more distance between you and the people you thought would always love you. But they are your past and Ivar is your future. With these thoughts you tear your gaze away and turn in your fiancé's arms to look up at him. His blue eyes seem even bluer due to the water that surrounds you, a slight smile is on his lips, yet you can clearly see the concern in his eyes. You notice the puzzled looks of the other Northmen upon you as he thoughtfully brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, but you don't really pay attention.

"Yes. Yes it will my love."

You intertwine your hands in his neck and pull his face down to you a little to press a tender kiss to his soft lips. All while King Ragnar watches the both of you with fond eyes.

  Life in Kattegat is a marked change from your previous life, but you try to come to terms with it as best you can. The pain of your family's rejection  still deep inside you, but you try not to let it show. In a few days you will be a princess of the Vikings, so it is time to act like one.

Closely embraced by Ivar's strong arms, you lie next to him on your bed, a matter that would have been unimaginable in your previous life. The furs on the bed give you warmth, the closeness to each other security. You run your index finger over the drawings on his now so familiar bare chest. A light laugh escapes you.

"Why are you laughing dearest?"

His warm voice snaps out of your thoughts, a small smile adorning his lips.

"I was just thinking about how I reacted the first time you undressed in front of me."

The memory of that, elicits a hearty laugh from Ivar as well.

"I've never seen anyone press their hands to their eyes as fast and hard as you did at this moment. And all because of a naked man."

"You are the first man I have ever seen naked, I was just surprised."

"I still don't understand what your God has against people seeing each other naked before they  get married and even after that."

"That way, you're not tempted to perform intercourse before marriage."

Not long ago, all of this made sense to you, but ever since you caught a glimpse of Ivar's muscular body, you've begun to doubt it. Yet, in all this time, he has accepted your desire to wait until your wedding night to do so.

Your answer to his question elicits only an incomprehensible snort before he presses a kiss to your nose and pulls you a little closer to his warm chest.

A comfortable silence spreads in your chamber, which you break only a few minutes later.

"How exactly will our wedding go?"

As always when you ask a question about the Northmen's ways, a breathtaking smile creeps onto his lips.

"We will meet under a large wooden arch in which the writings of the gods are carved, to give us blessing. There, the volva will already be waiting for us to confirm our marriage."

"Volva?"

"A volva is a sorceress, Freya herself gave her these gifts, to help us, the gods often speak to us through them. There are also men who practice magic, the Seidmadr. But women are more skilled and powerful at using these abilities, which is why we prefer a Volva to a Seidmadr."

With a short nod you indicate to Ivar that you have perceived his words. After a brief kiss on the top of your head, he continues.

"Before the actual ceremony begins, we make offerings to our gods. Thus, one sacrifices a goat for Thor, a pig for Freya and a horse for Freyr. The animals are bled and later the meat is eaten at the feast. This is how we make sure the union is in the favor of the gods."

Your stomach turns at the thought of having to watch animals being slaughtered, but you try not to let it show.

"Then the man hands the woman an axe or a sword to show her that he will protect her until the gods call them to Valhalla. The woman does this only if she is a Shieldmaiden, which is not the case in our wedding. Then we testify our love before the gods and ask them for their protection and favor. Afterwards we have a great feast, with food and drink and music."

Your voice is quiet as you address the next question to Ivar.

"And what is expected of us on our wedding night?"

Ivar immediately notices that you are having a hard time asking this question, so is especially happy that you are doing it.

"Nothing is expected of us my love. If you want to consummate the marriage we will, if you don't feel ready we will wait."

Relief spreads through your body as you hear Ivar's words. The pressure disappears from your shoulders as you realize that he is ready to take on everything at your pace. With each day you spend with Ivar, you can understand less why so many people are afraid of him.

"Thank you."

Your eyes meet his, light blue orbs beaming lovingly at you.

"For you always."

A few days later, the time has come. Wrapped in a simple, white, floor-length dress, you stand in your shared room while one of the servants stands on her tiptoes to place a crown of white, yellow and purple wildflowers on your head. Anticipation and excitement mix together in the pit of your stomach as you spin around once, watching the dress sway with your movement. The shy voice of a servant snaps you out of your movement.

"It's time princess."

You give her a smiling nod before grabbing the fabric of the dress with your hands to lift it slightly off the ground. Accompanied by your maids, you make your way to the said place.

Even from afar you can see the crowd, all of Kattegat has come together to witness the wedding of their youngest prince, with the unknown princess from a distant land. Immediately you can feel their eyes on you, some of them still reflecting a certain wariness towards you and your God, others giving you a warm smile. The children give you looks of admiration as you walk past them. But the gaze that is most important to you, beams at you full of dignity and love, his eyes gliding over your form again and again, taking in every detail of your shape.

"You are beautiful, my love."

Are the first words you hear when you finally stand next to him. You notice your cheeks heating up, yet you hold his gaze.

"Thank you, dearest."

The ceremony proceeds just as Ivar had explained it to you, the sacrificial animals are brought up to you. Your stomach turns as they are offered as sacrifices to the gods and their blood is collected in an iron bowl. While words in a language not yet known to you are directed heavenward. Nevertheless, you bravely keep your eyes on the events before you, proving to the last doubters that you have it in you to be a true Viking. Afterwards, Ivar hands you his battle axe and with this gesture promises to protect and honor you until the end of his life.

Finally, the Volva takes the bowl with the animal blood in her hand and sinks her fingers into it, before she spreads the blood on Ivar and you. You feel the blood run over your face in warm, thick streams. Afterwards, you and Ivar seal your love with a long, passionate kiss. The gods and the people of Kattegat are thus witnesses to a long and happy marriage, of a union that will last even in Vallahlla.

[oldestenemy]

a deviation in loyalties - pt 2

Part 1 / whole series

“Well, look who it is. Curse breaker, Banshees Bane! I had a feeling you would catch on.” Gretta doesn’t flinch under their gaze, despite the intensity that they wish could set her aflame like the rest of the street. “I had my eye on you in the beginning you know, you could have been such a promising recruit to our ranks—better than that dingbat you have standing in your shadow—”

“—Shut up!” They snap as they step towards her, feeling the tremors begin to pulse through their bones. “This whole time—from the start—you gave Malistaire information on the Krokonomicon, you set him off on his quest to wake the dragon titan—you, you—” Their words go dark and triple over, burning cold is seeping down their cheeks, anger and Shadow itching outward, outward.

“Wizard?” Mellori sounds scared—about time too—add her to the list with all their other friends.

“Don’t—” they hear Duncan say behind them, see out the corner of their vision as he raises an arm to block Mellori from moving towards them. “—stay back. Trust me.”

“I don’t fear you, Ambrose and the Arcanum might think you’re an asset or at the very least a dangerous ally—oh yes, that’s right we know of the Arcanum, and they know of us.” Gretta smiles, sharp and dangerous, “But they never said, did they? And now you’ll never get to learn the truth.”

What does any of it matter?

Truth.

Lies.

Discovery.

Deception.

“I don’t care,” The wizard replies, words empty and cold “all of you—that’s your mistake—expecting me to care about what the Arcanum wants or thinks when I barely know any of them, when they barely trust me, expecting me to give a damn about Merle Ambrose—No, what I care about—” Duel circle flickering to life beneath their feet, Duncan moving away from Mellori and joining at their side without a word. “—is the reason I was hailed a hero for committing murder at fourteen,” Like the second battle with Duncan, this is like breathing, traps up, blades down. “the reason Cyrus Drake sometimes can’t look at me for fear of what he sees,” The feeling from Nidavellir is back. The creeping danger of something about to go wrong. “the reason I was ripped out of my own life—whether you were aware of it or not.”

“You could have been one of us!” Gretta spits back at them, but her beguile doesn’t have a chance to kick in. Between the summons to the Celestial Calendar, and Duncan’s feint going off, Gretta is blasted out of the circle as it vanishes. “Ione thought so,” She chokes through the settling dust, “you’re right to believe they don’t trust you. But it matters little now—Time slips away like sand between fingers—and you will all be on the wrong side when it runs out!”

The wizard lurches forward as Gretta mounts her broomstick—one hand tightening on their staff, the other curled into a fist with nails threatening to draw blood in their own palm—but finds themself jerked away before they can follow, and Gretta disappears through the top of the cave.

No, no no they want this dealt with, they want justice, they want retribution—

They can feel their skin crawling—

Can feel the urge to dissolve—

Furious, spell-less, they swing their fist around towards whoever had grabbed them—and it collides with a thump! across the side of Duncan’s jaw. Not particularly hard, strong as they are they haven’t actually been in a physical fight in…too many years to count now. Pain radiates through their fingers and hand from a poorly held grip. They probably hurt themself more than him…

“Why did you stop me!” They shake Duncan off with ease while he pushes gingerly at his jaw, a glare matched between them.

“You would have regretted it later!”

He’s right.

“You don’t know that!” Except he really very much does. Him and the rest of wizard city’s necromancers. After following them into Nidavellir. After forcing their way through Darkmoor together. Out of everyone.

“Yes I do! Maybe you would have justified it in the moment, she probably even deserves it! But you would have torn yourself to pieces over it for the rest of your life just like you do over all the other blood on your hands.”

All the other blood.

A mix of red and blue and sometimes gold or inky black.

They step back.

Arms both limp at their sides.

“Uhhh…” Mellori’s voice shakes them back to the present. “I’m gonna go fill Ambrose in on this—and get permission to go to Mirage—wizard, you should go tell the Arcanum what happened.”

Right.

The swirl of all consuming rage blinks out as though they’ve been doused in cold water.

The sands of time.

Old Cob.

They mumble an affirmative to Mellori and she darts off, seeming a little more eager than she usually would be to leave their side. They can’t blame her.

Duncan walks with them back to Ravenwood in silence.

The wizard tries the whole walk to wrap their tongue around any of the questions they have.

Did Gretta train him in Shadow?

Did she seek him out after Darkmoor?

Before?

What had she told him? What had the Schismists promised beyond survival? Anything?

Still, there’s only one thing that keeps coming to front.

“Come with me.” It’s quiet, softer than a lot of the things they say nowadays.

Duncan huffs, barely looking over “Don’t pity me, I don’t need it from you.”

“I mean it, Duncan—you clearly want out of here—come to Mirage with me.”

“Like the Arcanum is going to want someone hanging around that dealt with the Schismists—”

“—I don’t give a damn what the Arcanum wants.” They spit, “I’ve done enough of this alone.”

There is a very long moment of quiet. Where Duncan’s scowl fades out into thoughtfulness and then eventually something more like guilt. “I can’t,” It’s a sharp little drop of a statement, like metal thrown down on glass. “I’m sorry.”

Breathe, breathe dammit. “It’s alright,” They force a smile, they can feel how tight it is, how fake it’s going to look. Especially to someone who has seen how seldom they truly smile.  “but if you change your mind—”

“—I know how to find you.”

More than most.

“Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know, I’m technically still a student, I don’t think I can face Dragonspyre right now—I—”

He trails off and the wizard has a thought.

A good one.

Potentially.

If they can get him there, and if they can say the right things, push the right buttons.

“I could make a suggestion—since Dragonspyre is out, and I don’t think you want to hide in the Gryphonbane’s house forever—” They pause, partially for effect, partially to guage his reaction. “—join the Arcanum.”

He laughs. Startled but genuine. “Absolutely not.”

The wizard takes his hand anyways, because he’s made the mistake of walking them into Bartleby, because it’s easy, before he can continue to protest. And then they are standing by the Spiral Door for the Arcanum.

They watch his eyes go wide in something that is caught between anger and apprehension. They ignore it. “Follow me.”

“Wizard—no—”

“—Just—trust me.”

They half-drag Duncan along through the Panopticon, heading directly for the Hall of Storm—in front of which Librarian Fitzhume is flapping, looking incredibly distressed.

“Where exactly do you think you’re going!”

“In.” They snap the word with more force than needed. They don’t have time for beaurocracy. They don’t have time for polite, or protocol.

“Ione is not to be disturbed at present—she’s—excuse me!”

“Thank you, Fitzhume.” The wizard pushes past him, throwing the office door open.

“You dare storm into my office? With a stranger no less—”

The wizard cuts over her, “We confronted Gretta Darkkettle, and she’s lead me to believe that you’re not telling me everything. If I’m going to stop whatever Old Cob is planning—”

“Spider.”

“—I don’t care what we’re deciding to call him, I dragged him from the Black Hole, I will call him old man eight legs if I so please. You lied to me about knowing who the Schismists were and what they were after—you need to tell me the rest, now.”

“You confronted a high ranking agent of the Schism? I am…shocked.”

The wizard bites down on a scoff. As though they could have ended up doing anything else. Time is running out—quite literally out. But they speed through the explanation in the hopes that it will get them to answers. They need to get back to Mirage. Soon.

“And what of your, friend?” Ione asks, “We are aware of his allyship to the schismists, he is—”

“—Prior,” the wizard corrects, sensing that they are pushing their luck with every new time they cut across Ione’s words. “and I’m willing to vouch for him, as is Baba Yaga’s daughter Mellori, and Cyrus Drake of Ravenwood Academy.”

“Wizard—” Duncan starts in and they don’t give him a chance.

“—shut up.” They don’t take their eyes from Ione, “I want you to initiate him into the Arcanum so he can study under Qismah and Von Venkman.”

“Ah, so he is tainted.”

Of the pair, Duncan is the only one who notices the way the wizard goes rigid at those words. Sees the hand gripping their staff go lighter at the knuckles. Feels the other that hasn’t released his hand tighten almost to the point of pain. He expects it when their next words come out in triplicate.

“He is under my protection. Shadow magic is not a stain on the spiral, it’s a reflection of things already there, knowledge to be gained, techniques to be understood. Like anything else.”

“A child’s naive hope.”

“A child,” The wizard echoes softly, “I haven’t been a child since Dragonspyre. I certainly wasn’t a child when I touched Shadow, and I am not one now. Do not do me the disservice of treating me as one.”

There is a long heavy moment of silence.

And Ione nods.

“Very well, Understudy.” There is a resigned frustration to her voice, perhaps because she too is aware there is little time to argue at present. “Return to your work in Mirage, I believe Mellori has already made her way there. And you—” Ione stares Duncan down, “—provided you pass the exam, welcome aboard, Initiate Grimwater.”

[m0tel6mxzzy]

mixed thoughts on black female rage

i understand the want for “feminine rage” to be inclusive to black women and then i remember the only black actresses some ppl know are angela bassett taraj p henson and zendaya, but also a lot of those white “feminine rage” female characters were never meant to be liked or sympathized w in their awful actions. taraj p henson in hidden figures is supposed to be bc she’s dealing w racism in a segregated time.

dre from swarm is the only character i can think of where she’s allowed to be hurt and angry but that doesn’t justify her committing serial murder. she’s the only character to the extent of say (90s film) lisa rowe or whatever where mental illness does not excuse her incredibly harmful behavior and there isn’t some barrier where there is an attempt to excuse her actions to make her “palatable.”

ginny from ginny and georgia expresses her anger and upset at her upbringing stemming from hidden depression, but again this isn’t palatable enough for fans of georgia who thinks she’s a golden egg who can do no wrong, so once again we’re rather limited in what’s considered “female rage.” it has to be palatable and excusable and stemming from trauma—racial or otherwise, and cannot impose on well liked white female main characters who may equally make rash decisions based on emotion that harm others.

ginny can be angry because hell yeah we’re progressive and love female rage, but it can’t be at how georgia refuses to communicate as a parent and keeps secrets that impose on her ability to have a normal school experience. ginny should be also marcus’s therapist for his depression and be able to notice something he has hidden, but ppl have called ginny spoiled for opening up to her father abt her own when she was struggling because she “doesn’t appear grateful enough.”

rue was also not supposed to sympathized w for her abusive behavior toward gia and jules in 2x05, but to justify her anger at feeling betrayed from the intervention, many ppl will minimize gia and jules as characters and act like their concern for her and feeling of hurt and fear is unfounded which goes against their whole idea “women need to be free to feel negative emotions.”

but then that goes down to the idea that for black women to fully express negative emotions, the people hurt in the process of feeling ours fully in a less than docile manner (even if they’re also women in minority groups equally under-represented in “female rage”) don’t matter. that we have zero responsibility for our actions and thus no agency over them when angry.

that rue is not at all responsible for her actions and who it affects if it means she gets to express being upset. which makes zero sense to me. but also, if it’s not for a reason we feel we want to identify w (ex: ginny being depressed from her mother forcing her to constantly move) suddenly they’re ungrateful, being a brat, and spoiled. because ppl can’t identify as closely w/ gia or jules who’ve dealt w/ the fear and betrayal in having a loved ones exposed to addiction, this is the exact terminology used to minimize the emotional and physical harm rue causes them when she’s incredibly violent and/or cruel with them during her withdrawals.

it can be equally true “rue lied to her loved ones because she was sick and that doesn’t excuse insulting and screaming at them to deflect from her actions” and “rue felt isolated bc her entire life she’s been seen as this poster child for sobriety she feels she can’t fulfill and is too much pressure, and not one is listening to her, making her feel all the more forced to hide her issues except from ppl who are familiar w drugs and understand why she’d turn to them” such as fezco or elliot.

which is much more complex of a way to analyze rue as a character than “because rue has mental illness, she suddenly has zero agency over her actions and can harm people however she wants and it’s by no means an active choice she’s choosing to make.” or just saying ginny is ungrateful and georgia is a perfect parent who’s done nothing wrong in raising ginny ever.

[wambs]

Bfmfjfnfj for REAL like. I think part of it is bc Shiv took a really huge blow with Logan's death so everyone's like how can Tom be an asshole now of all times. But here's the thing. Her dad dying doesn't erase the shit she put Tom through, which is more than just cheating on him (already horrible), and it irks me so much that they downplay Shiv's abuse towards him. Like yes he's an asshole and selfish, but you don't need to pretend like Shiv has done nothing wrong to justify your anger. Like. Shiv's abuse is so layered and constant especially during the first season, practically every scene between the two she's dismissive and mocking with him. And it's not like we're saying Tom isn't equally fucked up in how he behaves with her especially in how he's so pushy about getting her pregnant. And that's the thing, they're both horrible towards each other and we don't need to water these characters down to Victim Woman and Evil Man to enjoy them. Please stop!!!! Also I feel like people jump to Shiv's defense over made up arguments from made up people??? At least here on tumblr I've never seen the "tomgregs who hate Shiv" everyone's always whining about. At most I see posts saying she's not perfect and then people complaining about sexism in fandom LOL. Also also, last ep with the ear flick scene made a lot of people uncomfortable and rightfully so imo, it was meant to, but the virtue signaling is getting a bit too much gjmdjdk and equating an ear flick with domestic violence is a BIT fucked up in my opinion.

In any case I hope the writers aren't planning on escalating this and that it was meant to read as Tom just reacting to Shiv not backing off, bc if they take the Tom-Logan parallels to the extreme I might have to check out lol. I'm scared bc they have shown us Tom's violent side with Greg, and with the dynamics shifting... Idk.

This is going to get me cancelled for sure but fuck it, right?

I like Shiv, but only when she is without Tom? They are just fucking terrible with each other. Shiv uses her sexuality as a weapon, or perhaps a tool to hurt Tom. Perpetually. With cheating, with the open marriage, and trying tom to participate in it, etc., in early season one and late season three by hurting him during sex the first physically, the other mentally. I don’t think it as refreshing and ground-breaking or even entertaining as some fans, but hey, to each their own, tomgreg also has mental and physical abuse in there, to some extent.

I don’t want to defend Tom in anyway, because you are right, he is no saint, but we talk used (before season 4) talk about the pyramid of abuse in succ, where Logan’s abuse of his children was getting passed on to other people via his children, and just how fucked up that was, and how this needs to change, why are we suddenly so against Tom calling Shiv out on her insecurities and pointing out he has been hurt by Shiv? It’s true? Yes, she has just lost her father, but you are right, their issues started way before that.

To me, the ear flick was did not equal to domestic abuse but stayed on the same level of childishness as Shiv relentlessly trying to step on his shoes because she was feeling bad for herself. Tom deciding to take direct action against the source instead of this usual move of weathering through abuse and then taking it out on Greg in most insane ways imaginable is, at least to me, quite interesting. We don’t talk about it and what it might mean enough.

The fandom seeing any critique directed at a female character and saying it borders on fans being sexist is nothing new, but it is worrying here, where, textually, the point of this character is to be flawed and fucked up? We joke about them all being our poor little meow meows but surely critical thinking has not been lost along the way? The whole point of this show is to question how much of the kid’s actions can be blamed on Logan, and how much of it is the kid’s fault. If we decided everything is Logan’s fault, then the kids are nothing but his reflections, his agency in the world, with no autonomy, all of their actions can be traced back to Logan.

I am not sure I enjoy this season at all, which is super odd, because we are now halfway done? The writers did say we will get to find out if tomshiv were ever anything real in the second art of the season, which is good because my POV on this changes daily. Yeah, Tom used his relationship with Shiv to breeze through the ranks, but he also seemed genuinely in love and therefore hurt by Shiv’s actions too? Yes, Shiv has been historically abusive, cold, and dismissive, but she seems to care about Tom from time to time. But is it enough? Idk.

[giftedfangs]

I think I've also found what my biggest issue I have with my writing and myself in the instance.

An unhealthy addiction to something I thought could help cope with issues I had. But I've found, and realized, that there's a point that all this is doing is less understanding and analyzing my own issues working through them. and more torturing myself.

Angst is nice, but I realized that I'm tired of unhappy stories. I am tired of putting my characters through so much angst and drama because I realized doing so doesn't help. It doesn't release any emotions I have, any frustrations, work through any complex issues as I thought it had and admittedly, it did at the time. But I realize by continuing to do this, not changing and continuing these same torturous plots and ideas. I'm keeping myself stagnant. I'm forcing myself back into these situations. Reliving my own issues over, and over again without truly moving on because I keep fleeing back to them.

I keep torturing my muse as a way to feel I have control over what's going on. I communicate and try to work to a happy ending but I'm back where I started until the next tragedy. It doesn't help I feel there's an unhealthy idea that trauma, angst, and these things are "character development" and personally.

trauma isnt "character development"

Pain and suffering isn't development. Change can happen in positive ways. Change may cause negative outcomes, but negativity doesn't have to be the driver to positivity. We justify damage all the time, we justify it as it changes us, we assume for the better but that's not always the case. We're even cognizant of it but it doesn't stop how we fall into that. That damage gives us the best outcome. That consequence and suffering is what makes us the "best person" when. it isn't.

These extremes grab attention because they are just that, extreme. But we forget the small things. The people and experiences we have with those we love and care for that have changed us. Yet those, like myself, who experienced trauma find it nay impossible to escape because of how much it has molded us. So we continue to throw ourselves into it unhealthily. We, like our characters don't allow ourselves out. A twisted mirror almost, how we gravitate towards pain and suffering we've had but it's not. It's harming someone else. It's intentionally writing these things to take out anger and pain on something that can't retaliate where we have full control.

and i don't want to do that anymore. Angst is fun, sure, but I'm tired of the same tragedies. I want something happy. I will make something happy. Something where I can truly move on and face new challenges, and not put my muse, or my characters, through the same suffering so I can also move on. So I can actually talk about these issues, and put them to rest by actually speaking of them than rping or creating them in a fantasy world.

So my pretend rp world can be fun, so it can be real fantasy and pretend. a fun place to escape to instead of a reminder and continuation of my own pain. and so i can actually address the issues as me and not something fake because my trauma and issues are real and deserve to be treated as such. I deserve for my issues to be more than just a fantasy for angst and "character development"

[shippy-pjo-shipper]

Ethachel ~ Battle

The Giant were heading toward Camp and we were running out of time.

No matter the hundreds of endless battle councils that were held, it wasn't enough.

But this one was different. This one would be the last.

I'm the one who asked for it for once. I knew armies of monsters better than anyone at camp so infiltrate them without them noticing or scenting me was far too easy. But now it was certain : they would start the attack tomorrow, first thing in the morning.

Every cabin head counselor was there, those who were at camp, at least. Not that I would complain that the Zeus cabin wasn't represented. And with us were Chiron and Rachel.

Rachel. She had no reason to be here since her visions stopped coming but still, here she was in the middle of it all. She couldn't seem to ever be able to stay away. To stay safe.

Of course I knew why I cared so much. I was done with pretending that all this time I spent sparring with her, teaching her and helping her better her fighting technics was only to never have her be a burden during an attack.

Now I knew it was more than that. So much more.

If it wasn't for this redhead I would probably still be ostracized by all. Not that I wasn't, but her friendship helped my image.

Because yes, I guess that's what we shared. A friendship. She didn't have for me the resentment many if not all campers had. She said she knew what it was like to be alone. I guess that's why she made sure I never was.

I literally spent the whole last year at Rachel Elizabeth Dare's side, to the point where I gained the unofficial title of 'the oracle's personal bodyguard'. But after all, how else should I have justified the two weeks I spent with her at her parents house ? Vacations with a friend ? No thanks.

But now standing around this ping-pong table with our camp's safety, our lives and the world's fate for discussion topics, I couldn't help but wish for her to be far away. Hopefully drinking one of those stupidly sophisticated chocolate mixed with mint, soy and other green things.

"All of us will be needed to lead our cabins, but we could use a leader on each front." Malcolm declared. One of the few ones I truly listened to. "The cabin representing the least campers should take those roles."

"If you don't want me to do it just say it plainly." Clarisse started to accuse him, making him raise his hands in the second.

"You can take the first front."

"That sounds less dumb." She agreed.

Malcolm sighed, of tiredness but mainly of relief, I could tell. "Okay. For the two others I thought Iris and Nemesis would do great. So, Butch ? Ethan ? That's okay with you ?"

Butch nodded while I remained frozen in place. Were they really...trusting me..?

What they seemed to have gain in trust they still lacked in respect because none of them even looked in my direction to get my answer after Butch gave his.

No, not none of them. Rachel did. And she saw how I still hadn't made a move.

And that's when I realized what all of this was implying.

"Well congratulation, patchboy," Clarisse said with a slap on my shoulder. "You just got promoted." "No." The room turned silent at my sudden uttering of words. One word.

"No ?" That was Chiron's turn to be taken aback. He knew how much I wanted to redeem myself and prove my loyalty to the others. But he didn't know about the one thing that mattered even more to me.

"I won't leave Rachel on her own." I could feel their burning gaze on me, most of them out of anger or tiredness, but some more disturbing, especially Lacy's, Piper McLean's sister and substitute as head counselor.

I avoided them all.

"I mean, no one will listen to my commands anyway. So better leave me in the back." "Because you think I will stay in the back ?" Rachel's voice brought my attention back on her.

She was angry, I could tell. I could always tell.

"You don't seriously plan to be on the front line." I said dryly. She crossed her arms before her chest. Defense position. Great.

"Going from an extreme to the other, as always." "Because otherwise you don't understand." "So I'm stupid now ?" "That's not what I said." "The day you'll say anything clearly." "Coming from the girl who's job is to spit cryptic things out."

That's when a sudden throat clearing interrupted us, reminding me that we weren't alone.

"Guys, not the time." Katie tried to tone down. I saw Lacy nodding profusely as if mine and Rachel's confrontation was her favorite TV show playing right in front of her.

"So you refuse to lead ? What ? Afraid to encounter some friends ?" Butch stated coldly. I remained silent.

"Shut up, rainbow boy." Clarisse barely held her fury back. The way traitors were treated at camp this whole year really got on her nerves everytime, hence why she defended me when she could.

But me ? I just let it slide. And as I always did when voices started to raise around this topic, I took my leave, leaving only a heavy silence behind me.

Though Butch's voice reached my ear again after I had been out of the room for around four steps : "Maybe he's right. Maybe we shouldn't trust him like we do."

I didn't hear more being said. It was enough, anyway.

***

I had been sitting on a tree trunk by the forest border, playing with grass, for about five minutes when I heard her footsteps coming from behind me.

"You're not discreet." "Only straight forward."

That made me turn around but my blank expression remained, as much as I could muster it around her.

"You realize they're going to let Clovis lead this front if you don't come back at once ? And that we're all going to die, right ?" I winced.

Why did she have to use this word ?

"At least people would listen to Clovis." "When he'll be conscious enough to mutter something out." I laughed fakely. "I'm condemning Camp Halfblood, then. It would only have taken me a little more than a year." She sighed.

"Don't be like that. Not with me, it's useless." "You mean you do not agree with Butch ?"

She crossed her arm before her chest like she had done a few minutes ago, back in the tent, not caring to hide her indignation. "No, I don't. And I told him so." "You did ?" "If you consider throwing a hairbrush as negotiating." I held back a smile. "In your language, maybe." "My mortal language ?" I turned my head away once more.

"I didn't mean it that way." I assured her in a sigh.

"I know enough about being underestimated to not believe you."

That hurt, but not as much as her next words : "And above that, I know enough about you."

I hide the pain as much as I could. As always.

"I'm just mean and cruel like that, aren't I ?"

She rolled her eyes. "I meant stubborn, stupid and protective. See? That's the issue with you. You not only don't know how to express what you feel but you don't understand what people around you feel too."

That made me feel like protesting and blushing at the same time. Fortunately, those feelings canceled each other out and let me use my comfortable disinterest.

"And you're an expert." "An expert in Ethan, I am indeed." This time the blushing won. "I know you want to protect me and I'm grateful for that. But someone must protect you too."

That made me frown. "You think I can't handle my own protection ?" "And what did you do just a few minutes ago ?" "That's different. You attract trouble like a light attracts moths. Trouble you're not made to handle." "Wow. Thanks Wise Girl."

Aouch. That was a low blow.

"I don't mean it that way." "Yes you do. You all do but it's worse coming from you because you saw my progress. And what ? You really think I will let you go and fight alone while I stay behind wondering if you're injured or dead ?" "I see you have faith in my skills." I said as sarcastically as I could. "Well, someone did taught me to always anticipate the worst on a battlefield."

I flinched but she didn't seem to notice.

"You didn't spend an entire year teaching me sword fight for me to remain ten feet behind your back, right ?"

That's it. Standing up, I tossed the grass away and turned around, loosing any hold I had on my words :

"And so what ?! You go to fight and die because I may have forgotten to teach you a move or did it wrongly ?! You defend people who won't even do this back for you ?! Worse, you die defending me ?!"

That turned her quiet. I hate when she's quiet.

"Forget it." I retrieved into my shell. The one only she knew how to access.

And it didn't take long for her to do so once more.

"You're scared for me." It was more a statement than a question.

"Isn't it reasonable of me ?" "I just knocked mister rainbow muscle over there, so not really." "Butch is nothing before those monsters." "So I am even less ?" "No... You defeated him. You're at least better." She laughed at that.

I loved her laugh. Everytime I got this sound out of her, I suddenly felt strong, good, important.

The thought of never being able to hear it again made me drop my newfound smile.

"Ethan." She took my hand in hers, having clearly seen my inner struggle. "I've spent a year training to protect this place and its people. I've spent a life wishing to find where I belong. And now that I found it I'm not giving up on it." She looked straight into my eyes as if there was more to her words than they let understand.

If only she wasn't holding and stroking my hand with her thumbs I may have been able to decipher all of this.

For now, all I could do was nod. She smiled, visibly content with my surrender, as always when she engaged into stupid ideas. Though this time it wasn't to find a good spot to paint, but to fight.

But the idea of never experiencing those afternoons with her, those simple conversation, those discreet smiles and joyful meal again made me truly accept that, no, I couldn't let any of this be gone forever.

So I'll have to protect, and let her protect me.

That's when the sound of trumpets echoed toward the other side of camps.

Trumpets of war.

"Don't die." I didn't think those words through, they just came out, desperately. But she was still all smile. "That's a command, general ?" "A plead." I admitted, which seemed to take her aback a little.

She smiled before quickly looking behind her, toward the sun rising on the Camp hill. And with the light starting to come through her red hair, making her shine a way that always took my breath away. I spoke once more. Finally. Straightforwardly.

"Rachel ?" "Ethan ?" She turned back with a playful smile, chasing my anxiety away.

"I love you."

The smile that appeared on her face in this instant was enough motivation for me to go through the monster army alone and come back unharmed. But the way she then took my face between her hands melted me down like a puddle, which she didn't seem to feel bad about.

"You will grant my wishes, then."

And with that, she kissed me. And something was certain now : I would survive this fight, because there was no way on Earth I was never experiencing that again.

@them-awesome-rarepairs

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

so if i can never give you peace by queen taytay :)

relating to the story i think the lyric "the devil's in the details, but you've got a friend in me" somehow just really describes the tone of jk x oc's relationship from her perspective, especially the second phrase 'but you've got a friend in me'. i feel like it describes how oc unpurposefully made jk trust her back when he was a fighter. like when she brought him food and he relaxed as he ate it in front of her because he knew he felt safer around her than anyone else?

like it's hard to explain but he was comfortable around her back then because despite his justified hatred for everyone there, she was somewhat obvious about always having his safety and best interest in mind, and being almost like his caretaker. he knew she was 'on his side' in a way or that they were a team. because back then she was really the only person who 'knew' him, right? and she did really know everything about him in fact, and was the only person who did.

and if jungkook just took a step back before looking at the way things were back then, he would see that she blatantly did everything to protect him and take care of him. like is he just gonna ignore the fact that she regularly picked up food from his favorite restaurants for him? or the fact that she always wanted to pick easy opponents for his fights?

deep down he knows, and like you've said in a previous ask, if oc died in the first raid with mr. x he wouldn't have cared but later it would come back to haunt him? yeah, he definitely knows deep down how much she was a caretaker and how much he trusted her back then. just because hes dealing with so much trauma and anger and emotions now that he can't see the truth about the past concerning oc. but he will. (he has too or ill sue him)

the thing is i still don't understand the title or the lyric 'would it be enough if i could never give you peace?' and it's probably because tbh i don't even understand what taylor meant in the original song.

if you don't mind me asking, what does the title mean to the story? 'would it be enough if i could never give you peace...'

your writing is amazing and you are a genius and you have all my respect. bye<3

Oh gosh this was such a wonderful message to receive, thank you anon 😭

This is a great question and I’m delighted you’re giving me the opportunity to discuss it.

So, Taylor is originally likely talking about the issues that her fame causes in her relationships. She will never be able to give her loved ones peace, because people will always be invested in her relationships, they will gossip about it, there will be paparazzis, etc. If I remember correctly, she discusses the topic with Aaron Dessner in the Long Pond Studios recording, and he says that for him, the lyrics of the song connect to his struggle with depression, with essentially the same worry. And so the question is kind of “Will my love/our relationship be enough, if I can never give you peace?”. Another way of phrasing it could be “is it worth it to you, if I can never give you peace?”

For this story, the most direct interpretation relates to OC, at various points in time. There are a few times in the story where she regrets failing in getting Jungkook out of the very dangerous environment they're in. She played a direct role in getting him in it, and she didn’t manage to get him out. There is a literal 'peace' lost here, because his life will always be in danger, and a more metaphorical one, referring to the fact that he lost his innocence and will never get it back. A large part of her efforts in the story are directed more or less towards redeeming herself for him specifically. “Will you ever forgive me, if I can never give you peace?” As we move forward with the story and as their relationship deepens, the question starts to take on a meaning closer to that of the song. Is it right for them to develop something, considering her role and the fact that redemption is (in her mind) forever out of reach?

So that is the main meaning, and then there’s a slightly more spoilery take on it under the cut!

To answer the rest of your ask though, this is a very good analysis on Jungkook’s character and feelings, and I think it’s hard to explain because there are a lot of messy feelings involved as well. Like you’re completely right about the fact that OC wanted to protect him, and her actions show that, but on the other hand, she always hid her actual emotions and her justifications were pretty horrible ones. Like in the last chapter, she tells him that she had him train because that way he’d earn more money for Mr. X, and it takes everything for her to admit that she didn’t have to do it and that really, she did it because she cared. So Jungkook is just starting to understand that he has to look at everything through a different lens when it comes to her. Hiding her emotions was life-saving around Mr. X, but she kinda got too good at it.

(And then, related but different problem, Jungkook really wanted to believe that Anna loved him for most of the time he spent fighting there. So he had to tell himself that OC didn’t really care, because if she did, that would be more than Anna was doing, and there would be no way that she really loved him — and she possibly never loved him.)

So yes. Messy and complicated, for both of them really.

Thank you so much for the ask, it was so interesting to read your perspective and it’s so nice to see people being that invested in these characters 😊 There’s a little tidbit more under the cut, and I hope I managed to shed some light on the title!

By the end (it’s not that big of a spoiler that they’ll get together, I think, but this says a quite a lot about their relationship so.), the question is kind of flipped on its head, and that’s partly why the title is just ‘if i can never give you peace’. It’s likely that, in any other situation, these two would not have become involved together. They come together strictly as a result of the horrible situation they’re both in. So in a way, it’s the fact that they can never bring each other peace that makes it worth it. There’s no backing out, there’s no hope for peace for them, whether or not they’re together. So if they can never give each other peace, they might as well do it together. It may be hard and complicated and messy at times, because their partner is always going to be in some kind of danger, but there would be even less point to their existence if they weren’t at least together.

[iironwreath]

Work [Genevieve]

Evie’s reunion with her daughter in Emon didn’t stay happy. When she explained joining Lysander in Kraghammer to take him up on his offer to help with his work, Ida huffed, crossed her arms, and turned reddish-brown in anger, looking like a ballooned-up frog.

“You said you’d be staying,” she protested. She used one of her fisted hands to grab a wrinkled paper from inside her shirt. Even gently handled, unfolding and refolding it hundreds of times had made it riven with lines. She shook it open and thrust it up at Evie. “It says in your letter!”

Draka mirrored Ida’s pose with less child-wrought indignation, waiting for an answer, on Ida’s side. They were right to be cross, but it didn’t make it sting less. Was Evie prioritizing her new love over theirs? Had she reached the end of their patience?

No—Evie knew their anger wasn’t pure, unfiltered anger. Anger rarely was—it was the warrior of the vulnerability laying underneath. Theirs came from a place of sorrow—they loved her and wanted her to be with them.

“I didn’t know he’d be away when I wrote those letters,” she tried. “Mommy won’t be far and it won’t be long.”

“You always say that,” Ida cried. Evie didn’t, but Ida was seven and justified—time for her acted differently. She abandoned the letter and escaped towards the stairs. Evie sighed, shoulders sloping towards the floor, which looked more appealing for lying face-down on by the second.

“Do you really have to?” Draka asked. 

“No,” Evie admitted. “But he took the suite with the orc-sized furniture. He bought me-sized clothes.”

The tension in Draka’s brow returned to softness. “I see.”

“I didn’t know I’d be joining him until he said so.” Evie squatted to scoop the letter off the floor and smoothed it out with her thumbs. Her handwriting—not lies, exactly, but truths when she wrote them—stared up at her. 

“I know it’s been hard for you lately and you’re still figuring yourself out,” Draka said. “Just—be sure not to make any promises to her unless you’re certain you can keep them. She knows what she wants. If you say this is your last trip for a while, you need to stand by that. She’ll think she can’t trust you, and you don’t want that.”

Evie could agree to that, at least, and recognized her misstep. She followed Ida upstairs. A closed door met her—she hadn’t heard it slam, luckily. Evie knocked, then pushed it open. Ida was on the bed, bundled into a ball with her legs pinched up tight and arms circled around them, her face slotted between her knees. Evie nudged the door mostly-closed and sat beside her.

Ida didn’t look up.

“There was something else I didn’t include in the letter,” she said. “Good news I wanted to save for when I got back.”

One wide, curious tear-stained eye appeared from around Ida’s leg. Evie smiled.

“Do you want to live in a bigger house?” Evie asked.

“We already live in a big house.”

“It might be big to you, but think bigger. Think mansion.”

Ida twisted her head the opposite way, then back to Evie, both eyes visible. She nodded once, slowly.

“Part of the reason mommy is leaving is the mansion belongs to Lysander,” Evie explained. She extended the discarded letter. “It doesn’t feel right to move in without him.”

Ida stared, then accepted it and daintily placed it aside, out of harm's way. “Then why not stay here until he comes back?”

“He invited me, but more importantly, he made an effort. Relationships are work, including ours. He bought mommy clothes and took the room that has furniture that’s her size. The best way for him to understand that I’m serious is to show up. He won’t be mad if I don’t, but it feels important to do. When I leave, I rarely want to. When I leave, part of my heart is always here.”

Ida wiped her nose with an arm. “Then why do you?”

“Because sometimes we need to do things we don’t want to.” She honked her nose. “Like eating your vegetables, for example. It doesn’t mean mommy doesn’t love you. I’m sorry I didn’t keep my promise.”

Ida giggled once, despite herself. She untangled her limbs and crawled into Evie’s lap. Evie swaddled her in her arms, expanded with air as she breathed in her daughter’s hair. Arriving in Emon hadn’t felt like coming home, but now, it did—it flooded through her, roused by scent and touch. 

“You promise this is the last time for a while?” Ida mumbled.

“I promise. Even if Lysander leaves again for a bit.”

They joined pinkies and shook on it. 

[jecajames]

I'm sorry and I mean it...

I am learning, understanding who I am and what affects me. I am angry...why is there such a long list of people I am angry at? Why? Because they don't like me or they don't accept me or they have had enough of my reactive nature, or as some have called me, a drama queen. I guess I have my reasons for being so dramatic; I've known that my reactions to certain situations can be intense and maybe extreme. My emotions intensify two weeks or earlier before my period. BUT I will say, lately, I've been far more fearful of life and far more angry. Pandemic, forced vaccines, forced Covid tests, isolation, moving and not making friends in new place, committing to a good relationship but still afraid to lose it; Loneliness, not feeling included, not feeling love from family members, feeling betrayed and hated...I feel all of these things and these emotions come and go on a daily basis...yes it's spiritual warfare...this warfare started when I am maddened the enemy by attending church, by deciding I want to love and live for God (untouchable covenant with Highest)...for finally realizing that this world just cannot give me what God has been offering me all along. I've been very intense lately, posting things to evoke a conversation that never happens, rather folks just hate me more in silence. I want to spread truth with anger...and love is truthful not angry. When I meditate on how Jesus dealt with the disciples, who were like his brothers, I am ashamed at my actions. I AM BETTER THAN THIS!! But when I justify my actions with everything I've been put through, suddenly my actions don't seem that intense, that hateful.

We are all children of God, whether we are confused. Whether we are racist or not...whether we are gay or not.. God is clear on how he feels about those who overlook His perfect ways and mutilate their bodies to be different than how God created them to be. Almost like a huge spit in God's face, almost or just saying: God, I have to fix the mistake you made...you didn't put me in the right body.. huh? Who are we, and (at eg: 13 or 14 years old) to even know what's right for us..

We only see what's in our clear vision but we will never see God's full vision for us as His creation. Anyone could sit here and say, well I don't believe in God. Whoever doesn't believe in God has never tried to look within and into their spiritual foundation. All of that lies within; Those who are in disbelief of God are frequently advised to ask God directly; Unbelievers of God would never do it, but you better believe that if you challenge God, God will show himself.. YOU BETTER BELIEVE IT!!

I didn't know that doing Yoga is a direct worship to false idols? I just did it because, well, millennials were all about it and really were the ones who brought it into the new generation. NOTHING has ever brought me more peace than speaking to God in my time of need. BUDDHA would need to die 300 times on a cross for me to bend my knees for him (THAT WOULD NEVER HAPPEN..ONLY A PERFECT GOD CAN DIE FOR OTHERS). There are definitely good examples of positive leaders in this world, but when a leader tries to start a religion of self worship, I say WRONG! for instructing people to love themselves above God!

With all of this, I ask God, to change my heart towards those who oppose my heavenly father's love for them.

God, change my anger into just love of truth and peace.

[shawnjacksonsbs]

The brakes, the oil, and the attitude.     9-24-22

 “Most of us, I believe, admire strength. It's something we tend to respect in others, desire for ourselves, and wish for our children. Sometimes, though, I wonder if we confuse strength and other words–like aggression . . ." – Mr. Fred Rogers

 When it's time to get something changed there are usually signs, some obvious, some not so obvious.

Whether we recognize the signs at first is kind of irrelevant. I mean, yeah, we can learn to be better at being mindful and looking for or noticing the signs, but in the meantime . . .it's what we do once we notice them.

My truck for example, needs the oil changed and an oil leak fixed, and brakes are grinding, metal on metal, (I could make a small list of other things, but you get the point).

I've been driving it this way for well over a week trying to get to a different place in time before I get it fixed.

My rationalizing was just trying to hold out until we completed the move into the new place since the fire, and a couple of hiccups with related things, but holding on is only going to make things worse. Plus, if it doesn't make it to that future point in time and decides to break down on a highway somewhere then I've compounded the problem, and then the added tow bill . . .well, I don't imagine it'll feel very comfortable.

A lot of us put off important things that should be addressed sooner rather than later. Granted I grew up poor and have lived a lot of life around enough people to know that sometimes there are issues, like not having money to fix the things that make it have to wait.  

But if not, if that’s not why we wait, then gambling with something so important shouldn't be put on hold. Our move is about to go a lot slower as I plan to put my truck in the shop mid-week. Keep your fingers crossed for me.  Lol no lol

How I feel about it, and how my attitude towards everyone and everything over the last few weeks, although still far better than I used to live, has lacked my normal fervor.

I've even snapped at people and yelled at one person. Having to apologize for my reactionary behavior to a couple of people, including an insurance agent and a business partner, not my best day, nor not my best look.

Granted I was allowed, just like all of you are, to feel any god damned way I want, but how I treat people because of . . . is important to me.

Another thing that was good was being able to recognize some of the signs, some a little later than others but still. Not letting them compound the relationships, or compound my mind, was, and remains a key point.

Attitudes are a lot like anything else they can wear thin, or get damaged and start causing problems if they are maintenanced regularly, or even changed completely from time to time.

My attitude, just like my truck, will cost me more in the long run than I want to pay if I'm not careful.

Goes for anyone I imagine, but at least I'm at a place in my life to do something about all of it, with people in my life that can help me realize things before they get out of hand.

Don't get me wrong, the anger I felt at those few times, were justified, are justified, but . . .I can do better things these days with the mad that I feel.

Being an example isn’t always enough, but boundary replacements rarely fail if we stick with them. The only thing evil can’t stand is forgiveness, right?

We compromise where we can, for who and what we want. Just remember it was us who thought it better, and that they . . . and it, were with it once (with who and what we want*). That should play a part too.

Starting to get a little off track, but you guys kept up with the changes, right?

Changes are important, whether it's the brakes, the oil, or the attitude. Just sayin'..

I guess that's it for this week guys. I pulled another one out, with just a little bit of heart, and a little bit more thought.

Speaking of thoughts and hearts, I have an immediate family member back in the hospital please keep her in your heart, and positive thoughts as move through the week.  

Don't forget to share your love and your laughter with the world around you, and please be kind as always as you possibly can. There's too little of this precious time together, be grateful for all the minutes.

May your attitude always reflect what’s in your true heart. I think it's important.

Until next week;

“Confronting our feelings and giving them appropriate expression always takes strength, not weakness. It takes strength to acknowledge our anger, and sometimes more strength yet to curb the aggressive urges anger may bring and to channel them into nonviolent outlets. It takes strength to face our sadness and to grieve and to let our grief and our anger flow in tears when they need to. It takes strength to talk about our feelings and to reach out for help and comfort when we need it.” – Mr. Fred Rogers

[nsheetee]

One Foot in the Golden Life

Pairing: rich kid!renjun x caddie!reader Genre: rich kid AU, university au, romance, slight angst, mature content Length: 9.7k Summary: this is the story of a boy who is constantly pushed down by his father, a girl who just wants to not live paycheck to paycheck, and how they met on a golf course.  Warnings/Details: includes mentions of other NCT members, female reader, swearing, inaccurate depiction of golf, acts of sexual harassment towards the reader, mature content (unprotected sex, coming inside, oral [female receiving])

a/n: a big thank you to @insomni-writing​ for beta reading this ♡ also, if you are a minor, please beware that there is mature content in this fic!

You thought it would be the perfect opportunity to work at the most well-known country club in the state, but really the only thing your job brought you was perpetual cold to your hands and feet, and entangled your simple life with one of the youngest and richest bachelors at your university.

The only place on top of Mt. Carla is the Augusta Country Club, and it is a sight to see by the regular people who gaze up at it from the city below, like mortals looking up into the Gods’ chamber. The first time you went up the mountain for your job interview at the club, you got lost and were almost late. Thankfully, you didn’t crash your car on the winding roads, and got the job as well.

The Augusta Country Club is equipped with the largest and most expensive golf course in the region, but also has Michilin approved restaurants and the finest saunas and gym equipment any CEO could ask for. Those are usually the type of people that have club memberships: CEO’s, congress men and women, top-notch lawyers, and maybe the odd business owner that made it big enough to afford the price tag.

When you took up the job as a caddie, you had an idea of what you were getting yourself into. You’ve only been working for a month, but there are already a few regular golf players that prefer you as their caddie, which in your book is a success considering the type of high profile people that come to relax here.

However, today is different.

You can sense it when Kara and Mina, your coworkers who have been working here for a year longer than you, walk towards you and your friend, Lia, before your shift today. Mina has a small stack of info cards in her hands and they both hold smug smiles on their faces. The info cards have everything a caddie needs to know about who they’ll be working for that shift, and by the looks of it, today’s game will have a good match up.

“I’m going to be Mr. Huang’s son’s caddie. Don’t even fight me on this, you know I’ll win.” Kara states boldly as the two girls stop in front of you, snatching an info card out of Mina’s hand when she holds them up like she’s playing a card game, flashing the photos and names on the cards at you.

“I call dibs on Mr. Lee’s son.” Mina hums, not even bothering to keep up the act that they just want to be good caddies. “You two can have the old men.” She smiles tightly, shoving the other two info cards into Lia’s grasp and turning on her heel to walk away with Kara.

Considering you don’t even know what they’re talking about, you have no right to be mad at them. There is more confusion clouding your mind than anger at their rudeness. However, Lia does not share the same sentiment.

“I’ll shove these info cards up their-” Lia fumes, her volume rising as the sentence went on, and you quickly pulled her out of ear shot, around a corner by the bathrooms. “-stuck up two faced asses!”

“Lia…” You mutter, her wording making you shake your head at how unstable her temper is, “They’ve been working here for a lot longer than we have, just let them have those clients. Either way, what’s it to you?”

“What’s it to me? ___, they’re talking about Lee Jeno and Huang Renjun. I know I told you about them before.” Lia states like she expects you to have those two names tattooed on the front lobe of your brain already.

“I think I remember them…. They go to our University, right?” You try to regurgitate your friend’s rambles from months ago out of your head.

“Yeah, business department.” She sighs dreamily, as if the business department is the sexiest thing on campus. “This might be our only chance to shoot our shot.” You can’t help but grimace a bit.

“It can be your chance to shoot your shot. Leave me out of this.” You randomly grab an info card out of Lia’s hands, turning it around to see Mr. Huang Lijun’s photo staring back at you. You send Lia one last look, walking around her to go change in the dressing rooms.

“Aw, you’re no fun.” You hear her whine, her footsteps echo through the hallway as she comes up behind you. She almost knocks you into the wall from how forcefully she grabs onto your arm and swings it back and forth like you’re two little kids on your way to the playground.

“Maybe we can shoot our shot at the old men?” You and Lia stop walking, turning to face each other for a moment of silence. You blink at each other as if you’re both considering it, before erupting into laughter at the ridiculous thought and continue walking down the hallway.

You and Lia constantly joke around about finding rich sugar daddies at work to pay for your college tuition, but both of you know you’ll never actually commit to the idea fully. Neither of you will admit it, but you both know you don’t have the guts to do something like that.

By the time you, Lia, and your other coworkers change into uniform and gather your supplies for the Lee vs. Huang game, it’s already 10am. The air is crisp and cool, the signs of fall creep along your skin and taint the deep green trees in light oranges and yellows.

Despite the chill, you and your coworkers still wear skirts, long sleeve v-necks, and puffy vests; the only thing keeping your feet warm is a pair of short white socks and tennis shoes. You don’t mind the chill knowing that once the game starts you’ll be moving around enough to get warm. You stop thinking about your cold toes as soon as the door of the country club opens and the Lees and Huangs walk out.

The first time you lay eyes on Huang Renjun, you think your heart might stop.

You know it’s him because he walks close to his father as they make their way to where you’re standing by the golf carts. He has obviously dyed blonde color, his dark roots proof of that; it’s neatly gelled back in an effortless way with the light wind blowing a few of the locks gently as if an angel is personally moving them for him. His white jacket and black pants are slim and look like they cost more than all of your college textbooks this semester. He walks with his head high, his pretty, pink lips set in a straight line, and his almond eyes gentle.

Okay, so... maybe you understand the hype now.

“Good evening, ladies.” Mr. Lee announces, looking at you and your coworkers. You all politely introduce yourself and state who you’ll be caddying for.

Huang Lijun isn’t as tall as his son, but he looks to be more lively than Renjun, even at his age. He has a permanent smile on his lips and you can feel a friendly demeanor radiating from him when you approach.  

“Good Morning, sir. Let me take those off of your hands.” You politely grab the bag of clubs from him, feeling shy as his gaze doesn’t leave your face the entire time.

“You’re new here, right? I feel like I would remember you if I saw you before.” You’re surprised when he suddenly pinches your cheek, and he laughs at your shocked face. An unsettled feeling plants itself at the bottom of your stomach at the unwarranted touch.

“I’ve only been working here for a month, sir.”

“I think I’ll be coming around here more often, then.” He winks at you and turns to go sit in the front seat of the golf cart. You can’t help but let the feeling at the bottom of your stomach grow at how the older man looks at you. You definitely misjudged his “friendly” demeanor. Your eyes can’t help but glance at Renjun, who’s standing a few feet away from the whole interaction. He gives you a blank stare before turning and following his father.

In the past few weeks, you had gotten many lustful smiles and lewd gazes at your bare legs, but also many dollars in tips just in one morning by letting those smiles and gazes happen. The need to make ends meet justifies it all, and the cash you earn at the end of every shift only fuels this need.

The ride from the club’s main building to the first hole is short, so you quickly recompose yourself. You still have a job to do— a job you’re being paid lots of money for. You believe in your strong will to put up with whatever antics Mr. Huang pulls for the next few hours. Upon arrival at the first hole, you pull the bag of golf clubs out of the cart and follow in Mr. Huang’s quick footsteps, suddenly feeling sweaty from the exercise you’re getting by carrying these heavy clubs. When your group reaches the first hole, you set the bag down on the ground and press your hand over your face, but Mr. Huang’s voice startles you.

“Woah, there.” You jump and face him. “Those clubs cost more than my car, and unlike my car, they don’t deserve to be on the ground, darling.”

“Yes, sir. I apologize.” You smile shyly and pick up the clubs from the ground, your shoulders already straining to keep them up. ‘They weigh as much as a car,’ you huff.

This is going to be a long game.

“You kids can clean the carts today,” Mina suddenly throws a keychain at Lia’s face, she barely catches it before it hits her, “I have plans.”

“Me, too.” Kara quickly says, following after Mina as they both walk away. The game ended right at lunchtime (the Lees won) and now you and your coworkers are back at the club. It’s supposed to be everyone’s job to clean the golf carts after they’ve been used, but it looks like today it’ll just be you and Lia… Maybe.

“___, please. I’m going to be late to the cafe, my boss there is already mad at me.” Lia turns to you and begs with her hands clasped in front of her chest, eyes pleading and feet bouncing. You sigh; you’re hungry and your muscles are sore, and all you want to do is go home as quickly as you can. Still, you roll your eyes and take the golf cart keys from her, making her face crack open into a smile as she hugs you quickly.

“I’ll bring you coffee on Monday!” She screams at you as she practically runs away, leaving you with two golf carts to clean. You sluggishly begin, crawling into the cart the Huangs were sitting in when you find a small notebook laying on one of the seats. Picking it up to examine it, you find out it’s your university’s yearly planner, a book that everyone gets at the beginning of every academic year. Along the binder reads “Huang Renjun” and your eyes widen, immediately looking up to glance at the direction that Renjun walked off to a while ago.

Your legs move quickly through the corridors of the club, moving past changing rooms, saunas, and bathrooms, the planner tightly clutched in your hand. Your head is on a swivel and your lower lip is stuck between your teeth, until you hear a door open and slam shut behind you, making you turn your head to catch Renjun walking out of a changing room.

“Mr. Huang!” You call out.. Renjun freezes at the name, spinning on his heel to see you walking towards him.

“Sorry to disturb you, but you left your planner on the golf cart.” You hold it out for him, but he doesn’t take it.

“How do you know it’s a planner? Did you look through it?” You blink at him, stunned, and then glance down at the notebook. You’re surprised by the sudden questions and at the same time annoyed that Renjun accused you of snooping through his things so quickly. The image you had of him earlier, graceful, classy, and attractive, slips out of your mind as he stares down at you. However, this is the first time he’s directly talking to you, and you can’t help the spark that ignites in your belly from the roughness in his voice. It’s higher-pitched, but unpolished and jagged as he speaks with you.

“No. I go to the same University. I have the same one.” You explain. Renjun’s stare turns into shock.

“Really? Which department?”

“Fine Arts. I study Studio Art.” At first you think that you’re seeing things, but after blinking, you can guarantee that Renjun has jealousy painted on his face. It’s so sour that he looks away, trying to preoccupy his hands by fiddling with his bag. “So, are you going to take this, or…?”

“Yeah,” The bitterness drips from his tone, but you have a feeling it’s not directed at you, “Thank you for returning it.” He finally accepts it and turns to his bag, taking out his wallet. The cards inside look thick and heavy; memberships to places you’ll never step foot in and credit cards with limits you could never even imagine. Your pride tells you that you don’t need anything he could give you, so you silently turn around and walk away.

Renjun shuffles through some crisp 10’s and 20’s, but when he looks up to give you the tip, you’re already down the hallway and halfway out the door. You have golf carts to clean.

The next time you see Renjun is a week after the last game. The chilly weather remains, along with the useless uniform you have to wear, but this time around you’re not Mr. Huang’s caddie, you’re Renjun’s.

Kara walks next to you with Mr. Huang’s heavy golf clubs, her lips straight and head turned away from you to show her annoyance at how the caddie match up situation went this week. You’re sure to get an earful about this for at least the next few days, but you kind of like this revenge that fate dealt Kara. Either way, it’s not like there’s anything you can do about the match up. Renjun requested you to be his caddie this week, and you weren’t going to risk your bosses being angry with you by denying the request.

“Driver.” Renjun’s voice pulls you into the game. You pull out the correct golf club and put it into his awaiting hand, your fingertips brushing with his. “Aren’t you cold?” The words shock you, considering they’re the first words Renjun spoke to you today other than commands for golf clubs.

“I-I’m fine, Mr. Huang.” You respond promptly.

“Don’t call me that.” His tone is icy, and he quickly realizes how unnecessary it is to bite at you like that, “Just call me Renjun.” His father walks back from his shot, looking very smug. Renjun’s face is calm as he trades spots with his father and prepares for his first swing of the day, correcting his posture and loosening his limbs.

You remember the first time you saw him, how elegant and poised he looked. Your cold hands break into a sweat as your chest heats up from the quick beating of your heart. Renjun has only been icy and accusing towards you so far, yet you still feel warm while thinking about him. There has to be something wrong with you.

“Doesn’t my son look like he knows what he’s doing?” Mr. Huang asks from beside you, a small, unnerving smile on his lips.

“Yes, sir.” You reply back with your own, more innocent, smile.

“I taught him everything he knows about golf…. And women.” Mr. Huang leans into you, turning his chest to face you so that his breath is hitting your cheek. You can’t help but swallow to relieve your dry and cold throat, keeping your eyes forward as Renjun swings his club back and forth a bit in preparation.

“Yes, sir.” The only thought on your mind is to stop this man from stepping closer.

“Is that the only thing you can say?”

Renjun swings his arm back, breathing in as he keeps his eyes on the small white ball and his hopes in the green before him. Mr. Huang’s right hand is warm on your waist, but you would give anything to freeze right now.

A sharp crack ripples through the air as Renjun hits the golf ball and sends it flying into the golf course. His eyes are not where the ball lands, but instead on where his father touches you.

Renjun’s mom died when he was not even three days old.

He never got to meet her— to lay on her chest and hold her finger with his whole hand. He’ll never know what advice she would’ve given him when he got his first girlfriend, and he’ll never know how she would’ve reacted to him crashing his first car when he was 17. He only knows that his mom would’ve been there for him through all of that, unlike his father, who was not.

Renjun has had “mothers” through his life; three, to be exact. The first was when he was 5 years old, and she quickly asked for a divorce after Renjun’s dad went on a three month business trip and she didn’t hear from him the whole time. The second “mother” was a bit more mature than the first and with a lot more time on her hands. She wanted to shape 9 year old Renjun into a perfect student, which was something Renjun’s father appreciated, but still divorced her for “being too strong-headed.” Renjun only met his third mother twice when he was 13: once at the wedding and the second time at her funeral. He didn’t ask any questions, he wasn’t very interested in the first place.

These were the type of people Renjun spent his life around, but they really weren’t his mothers. The only similarity he had with those women was his father, and he treated them as poorly as he treated Renjun. That’s why when Renjun looks at you, cowering away from the very man who is his only link to family, he feels sick.

When is his dad going to stop being a fucking predator? How young does he want his next conquest to be? Will Renjun’s next mom be the same age as him? Something swirls in the pit of his stomach when he watches his father and it takes a moment for him to figure out what it is: jealousy. He’s not sure why he’s feeling jealous over someone he just met last week, but the feeling engulfs his whole chest and it burns him to his spot.

Renjun doesn’t even notice that he swung his golf club or that the golf ball went somewhere far into the green, probably an overshot. He only sees you, afraid of the man touching you but not stepping away. Why aren’t you stepping away?

“Nice job, Renjun.” His best friend, Jeno, claps a hand on his back as he steps up, hitting Renjun back into reality and forcing him to walk towards you. As Renjun approaches, his father slyly takes his hand away, and Renjun notices how you let out a relieved sigh. Giving you back his driver, Renjun strategically stands between you and his father, pretending to watch Jeno swing.

“Good job… Renjun.” You whisper, unsure about calling him by his first name so informally.

“Thank you.” Renjun sends a side glance to his father to see the displeased look on his face. “How was that, Dad?” Renjun hopes that maybe he can remind his father of why he’s here (to win against the Lees this week, not to feel up a girl 30 years younger than him) but in this moment, his father is acting like a 5 year old in the middle of a silent tantrum, not a 50 year old who runs the most successful construction company in the country.

“I’ve taught you better than that.” Renjun is sure they’re not talking about golf anymore, the authoritative tone in his father’s voice sends a lightning bolt of surprise and slight fear down Renjun’s back. He hates how he gets scared, he hates how his father can control him. The fury churns in the pit of his stomach as he accepts his father’s words with a bow of his head.

One day, Renjun swears he won’t submit anymore.

After the game ended with the Lees winning once again, you, Lia, and your other coworkers convene at the golf carts after the clients leave to change inside the club.

“You ladies know the drill.” Kara throws both sets of golf cart keys at you before walking off with Mina. You push Lia towards the entrance of the building before she even has a chance to turn around and open her mouth.

“You should get to the cafe before your boss throws another fit.” Lia turns back to face you, her jaw slightly slack and her eyes shining.

“You’re seriously the best. I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, just give me a few extra shots in my coffee on Monday.” Lia laughs at that, grabbing your face between her two small, manicured hands and kissing you on each cheek before hopping off inside. You can’t help but be amused at her antics, turning to the golf carts in front of you to start cleaning.

“They make you clean the carts by yourself?” The voice startles you, not because you weren’t expecting it but because it’s Renjun’s. You turn your head over your shoulder, he’s standing just a few feet away still in his golfing gear from earlier.

“Uh, not usually, no. But my coworkers haven’t been happy with me lately.” You explain, fully turning to him and crossing your arms over your chest to tuck your cold hands into your sides.

“The ones who have been working here for a while?” You nod as an answer, and Renjun nods back in understanding, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. “They’ve been trying to get with me and my best friend for a while...” Renjun trails off when he sees your eyebrows raise at the comment, “... But that’s not what I came here to talk about.”

“Oh? What are you here for?” The conversation has gotten too informal for a worker and their client to be having, but you kind of like talking to Renjun in this casual setting.

“I realized that the past few times we’ve talked I’ve been such a dick.” He laughs lightly as he remembers, “I wanted to apologize for that. I wasn’t in a good mood last week and this morning, and I ended up pushing it on you.”

Renjun feels lots of emotions when it comes to you, despite only having this one proper conversation with you. He feels envy towards you for being able to study something that he desperately wants to. He feels guilt when he remembers how quickly he made you into a thief when you were only trying to return his belongings, and he feels so many other secondary and tertiary emotions in between. His head is full when he looks at you. He finally feels like he’s thinking about something, not just doing the same day to day motions in a constant cycle of ‘when will this end?’

“You’re apologizing?” You ask, stunned when he nods his head in confirmation. Sincere apologies are important to you. You believe there are not enough of them in this world anymore, and his gentle almond eyes are too wholehearted and warm for you in this cold weather. Your heart feels full looking at him, and you curse at yourself in your head for being swayed like this.

“I also have a question… You mentioned you’re majoring in Studio Art and I was wondering if, maybe, you could let me into one of the studios after a class this week? I’ve been needing a quiet place to work since my house has been busy lately.” One of the hands that was in Renjun’s pocket moves to matte down his sideburns while he glances at his shoes. “Was that too forward? Sorry, I just know that you can’t get into a studio without a passcode and you’re the only person I know who’s in Studio Art.” Renjun explains after you stare for a while, blinking at him.

“You’re an artist?” You finally ask, Renjun giving you a weak ‘yeah’ in response. A part of you wants to say no, that it’ll be weird to do something like this for him when you’ve only known him for less than 2 weeks and up until this point, you’ve only been in a worker-client relationship. However, you’re curious about what he’s like outside of this setting, especially what he’s like when his father has no possibility of appearing, since that seems to be the factor that turns his mood up or down.

“Sure. Come by studio 3 after 6pm on Wednesday and I’ll let you in, but... I heard Mr. Lee already scheduled a game for next weekend?” Renjun nods, “Then in return, you can win that game. It’s embarrassing always being on the losing team.” You smile playfully at the end to let him know you’re only joking.

“Deal.” Renjun sends a smile back of the same caliber, holding out a hand to shake with yours. If you thought you were affected by Renjun’s nice presence, his hand in yours sends you into another realm. His touch is warm from staying indoors and from keeping his hands in his pockets, and they contrast to your cold skin. He sucks in a breath through his teeth when your hands connect, turning your hand in his grip to look at your knuckles. “Are you sure you’re not cold? Your hands are freezing.”

“I’ll be okay. I just don’t have any good gloves to wear while working.” He huffs, small traces of white smoke leaves his mouth as he digs through his pockets.

“Wear these.” He replaces his hand in yours with a pair of his own gloves, “Your hands are precious, they shouldn’t be freezing.” Before Renjun can get embarrassed by his own words, he shoves his hands back into his pockets and turns on his heel, walking away, “I’ll see you on Wednesday!”

A knock on the studio doors shakes you away from staring at your painting, making you turn to look at who it is. Renjun peaks through the small window and waves when you make eye contact. You get up to open the door, almost forgetting that today is the day you agreed to let Renjun into your studio.

… Okay, that’s a lie. You definitely remembered that you’re supposed to meet Renjun, but you keep trying to convince yourself that you’re not excited about seeing him outside of that stuffy country club.

“Hey, sorry if I startled you.” Is the first thing he says when you open the door. He’s dressed in slacks, a dress shirt with a sweater over it, and a long coat over that. His nose and cheeks are slightly red from the rough wind outside and his supplies are clutched to his chest.

“Oh, you’re fine. I was just deep in thought.” Something about the studio makes both of you speak in hushed tones. No one else is here, but you feel the need to maintain the peace and quiet the room naturally holds. You and Renjun make your way to where you’re set up, he puts his things down on an easel to your left and takes off his coat, watching you from his peripheral vision.

Those uniforms they make you wear at work are just for show, Renjun knows that well, but that doesn’t stop him from appreciating you in the tight vest and little skirt. However right now, he likes your laid back look consisting of loose jeans and a layered shirt, he thinks it matches you.

“I was going to leave when you got here, but I think I’ll just finish this and head out.” You comment, aimlessly waving at your project.

“Please, stay as long as you need to. This is your studio, I don’t want to kick you out.” He laughs and licks his bottom lip. It’s breathtaking how innocent and nice his smile looks on his face. His eyes scrunch together to form laugh lines and his cheeks rise, he truly looks pretty when he smiles. You think this is the first time you’ve seen him like this.

You mumble back with a mixture of words that probably didn’t make sense and turn back to your work, leaving the room to continue with its peacefulness and quiet. However, Renjun’s presence next to you is too big to ignore. There are so many things you want to know about him and you have no excuse as to why you’re so curious.

“How about a game while we work?” You suggest.

“Sure… How about 20 questions?” It’s like he read your mind, so you smile and nod at his idea.

“You can go first.” You suggest.

“Okay, uh… Why do you work at a golf course if you’re majoring in Studio Art? Shouldn’t you be working at a, I don’t know, museum?” The question catches you off guard and Renjun notices how you stop painting, your brush and your hand floating in the air as you think, “Oh, sorry, is that too personal?”

“No, no… It’s just, normally, the first question people ask in a game of 20 questions is something like ‘what’s your favorite color’ or ‘what’s your sign’.” Renjun lets out a choked and embarrassed laugh, ducking his head down to look away from you. You can tell he’s about to change his question, so you quickly go back to painting and speak before he can.

“I did apply to work at several museums. I didn’t get any jobs, so I had to look elsewhere and Augusta was hiring. I know it’s not very fitting, but it makes good money and rich people know my name, even if it’s for just a few hours.” Renjun nods at your answer as if he could ever understand the idea of being poor, but the insight into your decision brings a fact to light that Renjun wasn’t 100% aware of before: you’re not like him, you need money.

“Don’t you hate the way people look at you there?” The words tumble out of Renjun’s lips faster than he can process the weight they carry. He turns to face you with guilt pooling in his eyes and his mouth opening and closing to find some words to correct the situation.

“No, I don’t like it.” You surprise him with your quick response, “But people like you don’t understand what it’s like to live paycheck to paycheck, to have to worry about how to pay the bills every month for years on end, always on your toes about money. I bet you think I’m cheap and—”

“No.” Renjun cuts you off promptly before you can continue, “Don’t make me into a jerk. I’m not like that. But the fact that that is the first thing you thought of worries me.” Your eyes widen at that, prompting him to elaborate. “Doesn’t that mean that’s how you think of yourself? Maybe not on the outside, but subconsciously. Sure, I won’t ever be able to understand how you live, but I wish you would not look at yourself as cheap and think of yourself as… beautiful.” Renjun lets the last words linger on his tongue, saying it quietly as if to not startle you.

You stare at him, your paintbrush resting in your hand and your back slouched as you watch him watch you. This is not the type of conversation you thought you’d be having with Renjun tonight, but you have to admit he makes a point. Eventually, you turn to your painting and stare at it some more, making Renjun turn and continue his own work.

“Ah, I asked two questions in a row.” He suddenly breaks the tense atmosphere, making you sigh as you remember you’re just playing a game, “You can ask two questions.”

He allows and relaxes when he sees you go back to painting.

“If you like to draw, why are you a business major?” Now it’s Renjun’s turn to freeze. Maybe if he did ask what your favorite color was he wouldn’t have had to endure this question from you, but he feels like he should answer it since it’s of equal weight to the one he asked you.

“It wasn’t my choice. I will most likely take my father’s place in his company and I need to at least know the basics before that happens.” You nod slowly. He looks so calm when he’s focused on drawing, but it’s not the same calm that you see on his face when he’s playing golf. You turn away before you get caught staring.

“Is that why your mood always changes when your dad is around?”

“Is it that obvious…” He trails off and you nod, “I can’t believe I’m about to say this out loud, but… It’s like everytime I’m around him, or at his office, or at home, my mind goes blank. I don’t feel like talking or thinking at all.” As he speaks, he sets down his utensils and turns to you, making continuous eye contact as he explains. You find yourself feeling comfortable at how easily he’s talking to you about such a deep subject.

“It sounds like… you’re angry.” You turned to face him now too, your paintbrush settled onto your canvas and your full attention on him, “My dad is like that. He gets so angry sometimes that he’s calm. No yelling or fighting, just silence. That’s how I know I messed up when he gets like that.” You nod, remembering all the times he’s been calmly mad at you.

“I don’t know… It’s confusing to me.” He straightens his back and stares at your foot as it moves around aimlessly. “What do I do?” He asks into the air, as if his pencil would suddenly start talking to him like a therapist.

“Just do what makes you happy.” Renjun’s glance over at you makes a smile pull at your lips, “I know it’s easier said than done. But you already know what it is that’ll make you happy, and that’s half of the battle. Why bottle it up?”

Renjun doesn’t know how he’ll ever get the courage to tell his father these things, but the way you’re looking at him as if he can do anything, he starts to feel tingles of confidence trickle into him.

“Oh, and why did you pick me to be your caddie this past weekend?”

“Well…” Renjun plays with his pencil. What is he supposed to say? He doesn’t want you to carry around his father’s heavy golf clubs? He doesn’t like the way his father touches you and gets jealous over it for some unknown reason? Yeah, he’s not going to say.

“Just because… I wanted you next to me.” The way he says it makes it sound so simple and true, but your heart drops to your stomach and springs back up going at 100 miles per hour. You can barely stop your hand from shaking as you pick up your brush, and it’s almost like you can’t see in front of you from the thrill of his words.

“Hey,” Renjun suddenly drops his pencil and turns to you, looking a bit confused and slightly upset, “Didn’t you ask three questions?”

“We’re letting the Lees win again today.” Renjun is in the middle of pulling up the zipper of his jacket when his father drops the news. Renjun’s footsteps stutter slightly at his father’s words and he stops walking next to the older man.

“Again?” He asks as he already thinks up an apology to tell you later when he loses.

“Yes, I need Mr. Lee to be happy when I bring up the new contract to him later in the sauna.” Renjun sighs and continues to walk next to his father. It’s the next weekend, and the third Lee vs. Huang game is starting in just a few minutes.

Renjun won’t lie, purposefully losing to his best friend and his dad every week is not the greatest stroke to Renjun’s ego, especially since Jeno won’t let it down around his other friends.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Lijun swivels on his heel to look at his son, “Have you been requesting for ___ to be your caddie?”

The questions stuns Renjun, making it hard to answer so his father takes it as a yes.

“Well stop it. Dad wants to have some fun.” He claps a hand on Renjun’s back and  smiles. In the past, Renjun would’ve just rolled his eyes and let his father do whatever he wants, but this time his blood boils. He feels true anger when his father struts away with the intentions of doing whatever he wants to someone Renjun cares about. He can barely move his feet after the old man, his mind cloudy as everyone makes it to the golf carts.

“Let’s have a good game today, Mr. Huang, don’t make it too easy to beat you.” Mr. Lee jokes around and the two old men laugh as they settle into their own golf carts. Renjun walks up to his cart and you wave to him, the white gloves he gave you last week snugly on your hands. Renjun thinks his anger is what spurs him into doing what he does next.

He steps close to you, leaning into your ear and wrapping his hand around your covered ones with his thumb rubbing on your exposed wrist, “Keep these on for me, babe. I don’t want you to be cold.”

The amount of jaws that drops after Renjun’s words makes him bite down his smirk and slide into the front seat of the golf cart, pretending to not see the daggers his father is  throwing at him with his eyes.

Your heart beats so quickly and loudly you’re sure Kara can hear it next to you if she wasn’t busy huffing about what Renjun just did. Sitting in the back seat of the golf cart, you watch the back of Renjun’s head on the way to the first hole. What got into Renjun? Why did he all of a sudden call you ‘babe’ and get so close? Not that you’re opposed to it, you’re just shocked.

The game begins once you reach the first hole, and the Huang’s put up a good fight throughout the entire game, keeping the Lees on their toes and the score sheet even. Everytime Renjun comes back from a shot, you smile at him and tell him good job, which earns you a pat on the back from him that warms you up from the inside out.

Renjun can tell his father is getting more and more annoyed with him; how Renjun is keeping you as far from his father as he possibly can, the gentle touches on your waist that you welcome wholeheartedly compared to the ones Mr. Huang would lay on you before. He likes how angry his father gets, especially knowing that he can’t do anything about it right now. Not to mention, you seem to be enjoying Renjun’s attention, which just adds to his confidence.

Now, your group arrives at the last hole of the game. The Lees step up and swing, setting their total score to 357. All Renjun and his father have to do is move the ball around a bit more to get their score to be higher and the Lees will win the game. Mr. Huang is up first, acting clumsy so that the ball doesn’t make it into the hole and brings the game to Renjun.

As he sets up his posture, his hands suddenly go stiff. This shot is so easy to make, he has made this exact hole several times. He breathes in and out deeply, deciding on if he should throw the game like his father said he should, or give his one last ‘fuck you’ to his Dad.

He glances at you and makes eye contact; you nod your head and smile a bit as if to say ‘go ahead, we all know you can do this.’ Renjun then grips his golf club and swings it back to effortlessly hit the golf ball, rolling it along the green and perfectly into the hole.

You and the other caddies clap for the perfectly executed shot and Jeno and his father come up to Renjun to shake hands. They don’t look upset, instead they look pretty happy for Renjun. However, Renjun’s father is deathly silent, not even congratulating Renjun on his win. Renjun wasn’t expecting a whole ceremony for him, but it does feel nice to put his father down a peg or two today, and that’s the thought that fills Renjun’s head as everyone rides back to the country club.

While getting out of the golf cart, Renjun attempts to turn back to you but is promptly pulled away by the back of his jacket by his father. Renjun yelps and pulls away, but that doesn’t stop Lijun from grabbing onto his son’s arm instead and pulling him inside.

“What was that? I specifically told you to lose the game and you did the exact opposite. How am I supposed to talk to Mr. Lee now?” Renjun’s father fumes, his low voice belting out into the corridor and making some of the passing staff turn their heads.

“That’s not my problem.” Renjun shrugs and his father stops shaking, stepping closer to his son.

“Excuse me?” He asks with menace dripping from his tongue.

“I said, that’s not my problem.” Renjun is fired up. He doesn’t see a way out of this now, no way his behavior is being excused, so might as well go all in.

“You did it for that caddie, ___, right?” His father squints his eyes and turns his head slightly. When Renjun doesn’t answer, Lijun laughs in his face, “It looks like I’m right.”

“What?” Renjun asks dumbly.

“It’s okay. You’re just a boy and you can make some mistakes over a girl, we’ve all been there once or twice.” Lijun fixes Renjun’s jacket and pats his shoulder, his angry disposition turning passive. “Besides, you can’t do much for that girl anyway. Is a ball in a hole really all she deserves?”

“I won the game because I could. I won it because that’s what I wanted.” Renjun states, his blood beginning to boil once again when his father says he doesn’t deserve you. What is he thinking? Does he actually think he has a chance with you? He can keep dreaming.

“We can’t always do whatever we want. There are consequences we have to face for doing whatever we want. Are you ready to face the consequences?” At the question, Renjun is reminded about the words you told him Wednesday night.

‘Just do what makes you happy,’ Those simple words are so hard to turn into reality. Renjun wants to be happy so bad. He wants to be away from this man and he wants to be closer to you. The consequences? Sure, he’ll deal with it all if it means he can stop living in the personal hell his father set up for him. Renjun pushes his father away a bit and steps out of the trap his father pushed him into, making Lijun’s eyes widen.

“Yeah, I’m ready.” Renjun says and turns around, walking back towards the exit of the building.

“Hey, where are you going?” His father shouts after him.

“To do the thing that I want to do the most.” He yells back and walks around the corner, out of sight from his father. Renjun practically runs through the hallways to get back outside and run to you, but you surprise him by greeting him by the saunas. He stops in his steps and you smile as you walk up to him.

“Hey, I just wanted to tell you that you did really well today. I know I said I wanted you to win last week, but I didn’t think you’d actually do it.” You laugh.

“Thanks.” Renjun simply says, afraid of what else could come out if he keeps talking.

“Oh, I also want to give you these back.” You dig out Renjun’s gloves from your pocket, holding them out. This is it. This is the moment Renjun will start to do whatever makes him happy, whatever he wants.

And what he wants right now is you.

He quickly takes the gloves and then tightly grips the wrist of your outstretched hand, leading you down the hallway and around some corner. He hears you exclaim a small ‘woah’ but you let him guide you into a sauna, the door closing tightly behind both of you.

There’s no one else in the room, just the stuffy steam that floats in the small space between you two. Renjun has a tight grip on the gloves you gave back to him and his other hand runs through his hair and messes up the perfect form it held.

“Tell me to stop.” He demands, looking straight into your eyes.

“What?”

“Tell me to stop right now.” He takes a step forward, his eyes full to the brim with lust and his hands shaking with how much he’s holding himself together. You’ve barely been in the room for a minute, but your clothes are already sticking to you from the intense heat.

“I don’t understand,” You reply back as he keeps moving toward you. You take small steps back in return, “I don’t know what I’m stopping you from.” Half of you is playing dumb right now; you know what Renjun wants from you just by the look in his eyes. The other half just wants to hear him say it himself

“I’ll fuck you the way you deserve. Right here, right now.” Renjun’s voice is too angelic to say such nasty words, but he growls them out like he’s a tainted angel. You’re pressed against the wooden wall of the sauna now, Renjun just a step away. You lean into him slightly and rip the gloves out of his hand to throw them to the side.

“Do it.”

It’s all the permission Renjun needs to feverishly connect his lips to yours.

The action is so sudden, you don’t remember how Renjun got close to you so quickly. Despite his forcefulness before, his lips melt into you like chocolate melting over a fire, so hot and delicious that you just want more. His hands hold the sides of your face, pushing back your hair and his body pushing you back into the wall.

He sucks on your bottom lip, softly biting afterwards and making you let out a whimper, and then a moan when his thigh pushes between your legs and further presses you against the wall. Amidst the kissing, you find the zipper of his expensive jacket, unzip it, and pull the piece of clothing off. Afterwards, you pull his shirt off and break the kiss while you’re at it.

“I’ve been thinking about you in this skirt since….” Renjun hums at the thought, his hand sliding up your bare thighs and under your skirt, then he grips your ass and brings your core down onto his thigh, the friction enough to have you letting out a strangled moan.

“Since the day I first saw you.” He finally whispers and connects your lips once again. His hand on your ass doesn’t move, his other hand is placed on your waist as he helps you ride the rough material of his pants. Renjun can only watch your reactions; the way your head lolls back into the wall and your eyes screw shut, holding onto Renjun’s shoulders tight enough he’s sure there will be marks afterwards.

“Fuck— Renjun, don’t stop, please.” He’s mesmerized, absolutely addicted to how you look and sound right now, and it’s all because of him. The thought spurs him along, he removes your jacket and you blindly help him in removing your top and bra. You must look like a mess right now, especially since you’re coming close to your climax just by Renjun’s touch and his thigh. Not to mention the sweat dripping down both of you, a glistening sheen coating your skin that makes Renjun let out a low growl before he leans down and takes one of your nipples in his mouth.

He sucks and swirls his tongue, and you can’t help but moan his name again, digging your fingers into his blonde hair and tugging. Renjun moves from your chest downward, not letting an inch of your stomach and hips go past him without a kiss and a nibble, leaving you breathing heavily. He makes his way down to his knees and folds your skirt up, glancing at  you from his position.

“You don’t wear anything under here except your panties?” You nod, your head stuttering as Renjun applies pressure with his thumb over your slick hole, a wet spot already there to greet him.

“You’re so fucking dirty, baby.” He groans and leans in to swipe his tongue over your center making you shake as a response. He slides your underwear down and throws it somewhere to the side, catching the sigh of your arousal dripping down your thigh. His intense stare makes you shake him, embarrassment crawling over you at how he’s not reacting.

“Are you shy?” You whine, not really answering his question. “You don’t need to be. You’re beautiful.” The softness from his voice contradicts his more dominating tone from before, but you don’t have time to think about it before he dives in. You sigh in content when the pressure in between your hips caused by Renjun turns into pure pleasure. His tongue laps at your essence and his lips suck on your clit, you can tell he’s trying to find what exactly will make you tick.

When Renjun slides a finger into your hole unexpectedly, you jump and whimper a bit but the feeling of him sliding in and out along with his tongue circling and sucking on your clit makes a knot form in the pit of your stomach, tightening up your muscles and making your eyes roll back.

“Right there. Oh my god, right there…” You keep repeating, praying that Renjun treats you good and let’s you come. He adds another finger and you gasp, starting to move your hips in rhythm to his hand, holding onto his shoulders for more stability. He glances up at you, watching your eyes screw shut and your tits bounce as you use his hand to get yourself off. Renjun hums against you, and you can almost feel the ecstasy of coming undone, until Renjun pulls away. You groan, feeling like crying when your orgasm fades.

“Hey..” You whine, pouting when Renjun stands back up and licks your juices off of his lips. He has some on his chin and you bring your hand up to wipe it away, Renjun stopping your hand and kissing the wetness away, then kissing up your arm and to your shoulder, up your neck and to your ear. He tugs at your earlobe, licking the skin under it and biting some more, his hands sliding up your waist at playing with your nipples, pinching a little to get whimpers out of you and making your hips buck up, ready to continue where Renjun left you at.

That’s when you feel the hardness in his pants; it must be painful. That’s why you understand his next words, whispered into the shell of your ear between kisses: “You’re not coming until I’m in you, got it?”

You nod quickly, attaching your hands to Renjun’s zipper and button, undoing them and sliding down his pants.

“But, you’re gonna need to do something for me…” He says, helping you pull down his boxers, watching his angry, red length swing out. You gasp, feeling a bit bad that you just left Renjun like this to eat you out, but you’re sure you can make up to him now.

“What is it? I’ll do it.” Your hands run over Renjun’s sweaty shoulders, moving away some longer hair in the back of his head that’s sticking against his neck.

“You’re gonna have to yell my name. I need you to let everyone know who’s doing this to you— who’s making you feel good, okay?” Your breath gets caught in your throat as the words tumble out of his lips. He tilts his voice higher at the end of every phrase to make him sound innocent, but you’re not fooled.

“There’s people outside…” You mumble back, sending a glance at the door. You know there are several staff and customers walking along the hallways outside. What will they think if they hear you screaming Renjun’s name? Not to talk about what will happen to your job.

Those thoughts melt away when Renjun’s dick slides between your folds slowly, making you turn your gaze back to him and hold on tight as he lubricates himself over your wetness, holding onto your hips so that you don’t move and take anymore than what he’s giving you.

“That’s exactly why I want you to scream. Can you do that for me?” He asks and you nod frantically, doing almost anything to get his dick inside you. You’re not sure what’s going to happen once you step out of this room, but at least you know Renjun is going to give you the best fuck you’ve had in a while, and you know it’ll be worth it for what’s to come after all this.

“Finally…” You moan when Renjun’s length disappears into you inch by inch, going slow as to not hurt you. He sucks in a breath through his teeth as he bottoms out, picking up your thigh to hang it over his hip and wrapping his other arm around your waist to keep you close. You hold onto him, adjusting as he kisses your lips sweetly and carefully, and waits to move his throbbing cock through your velvety walls.

“Go, Renjun, move….” You whisper, and he looks at you confused.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.” He asks, cocking his head.

“Please, move.” You say louder, but he shakes his head and purses his lips as if he still can’t understand.

“I said, fuck me, Renjun. Please, can you fuck me already?” You all but scream out, your voice almost cracking at how whiny you sound. No doubt, if someone passed by outside they would’ve heard you. The thought makes you tense up, but it feels so good to be able to yell out what you want.

“Your wish, baby.” Renjun mutters before he starts rocking into you. You both groan at the sensation, Renjun’s hips speeding up as he gains more momentum. His lips don’t leave yours, kissing you into oblivion while his dick stuffs you. He has you against the wall, his hips powering away and you don’t dare to disturb him, realizing he’s burning all of his anger away as well.

“Yes, Renjun, fuck me just like that…'' You moan loudly to spur him on, now not really caring about who’s outside or who hears you, just wanting Renjun to know you love how rough he’s going. He presses you higher up the wall and pulls your legs apart more, hitting a new angle that literally makes you scream out, tears mixing with the sweat on your face as he relentlessly pumps into you.

There are so many things going on at the same time. Your hard nipples and soft breasts rubbing against Renjun’s chest, making goosebumps rise on his arms. Your hot and sweaty bodies are basically sliding against each other. The clapping of his hips against yours no doubt attracts attention from outside along with your screams and Renjun’s grunts continuously get louder as you both get closer to the climax.

“I’m gonna come… Renjun, come in me…” You’re already fucked out, the words barely leaving your lips coherently, but Renjun understands and moves his finger down to find your clit, circling his thumb fast and steady, just like everything else he’s doing.

“C’mon come on my cock, babe. Let it out, I wanna hear it.” And just like that, you unwind and scream his name as your orgasm washes over and takes control, making you claw onto any part of Renjun that you can reach. Renjun feels your walls deliciously convulse around him and with a few more sloppy thrusts, he comes into you and fills you up, staying wrapped up in you as you both calm down.

Renjun presses small kisses wherever he feels like as your breathing settles down, his softness and the caring way he rubs at your sides and hips where he was holding so hard that you’re sure to have bruises makes you smile hazily.

“___… I don’t regret any of this.” He whispers into your skin, leaning back to look at you properly. “Do you?”

“No.” You answer truthfully, making his eyes shine and you both smile dumbly, your sticking bodies relaxing. The happy moment doesn’t last long before there’s a knock on the door to the sauna. You and Renjun stiffen up as you glance at the door, waiting for whoever it is to announce themselves.

“Renjun? Son?” Your heart drops to your stomach and you cover your mouth at the voice of Renjun’s father on the other side of the door, but when you turn to Renjun, he doesn’t seem bothered. He sends a smile at you and moves some hair from your face before answering.

“Occupied, go somewhere else. We’re busy.”

[sergiovinazzi]

Stolen - Lando Norris x Reader (Chapter Two)

2.9k words, rated E for everyone :)

Lando’s voice, amplified by the TV speakers, echoes around the humming Red Bull garage. “I’m fine but I’ve been better. I can say that I’m not in perfect condition, I’m not gonna lie. Some work to do mentally of course. I talk about that a lot, and mental health and mental strength is very important. I’ve not been sleeping that great and so on… not ideal and I’m feeling a bit sore, but I’m not the guy in the worst position after Wembley. I’ll work on it, I’ll make sure I’m in the best shape possible, and I feel like I can still go out and focus on what I need to do, and that’s the main thing.”

Your mind races as you listen to the boy plastered across the many screens revisit his experience at Wembley. He sounds awful; something about his cadence making it even more obvious that he is really, truly shaken up. The wavering pitch, awkward pausing, fumbling for words; everything about the way he presents himself is serving as a brutal reminder that being physically unscathed is no indicator that harm was not dealt. Even as the interview moves past the topic of last week’s Euro Final, you notice the shift in demeanor and your heart aches. You worry that bringing the watch to him is a bad idea, that it could prompt unbidden memories and disquieting feelings. You understand how big of an event Silverstone is from your dad’s tangents alone, especially for an English team with an English driver, so you reevaluate whether your decision to come was selfish, one made solely to alleviate your own sentiments of guilt rather than to verily right your believed wrongdoings.

On the journey to Silverstone, your dad had made multiple attempts at lessening your stress, even opting for variations of the if he steps out of line I will put him right back in his place father speech. Unfortunately fruitless, your father’s attempts mean you remain just as anxious as when you had first discovered that you managed to obtain a stolen wristwatch.

You’re not sure whether it’s the crisp morning air or your nerves that sends chills across your flesh, but your attempt to ground yourself subtly doesn’t go unnoticed by your dad as he passes you in the garage.

“Time is ticking,” he informs you, a smirk playing on his lips. “No pun intended.”

You roll your eyes in an attempt to downplay your apprehension, but your voice gives away any and all signs of the false confidence you hope to portray. “Can you do it for me?” you plead.

“I can’t just stroll on over to the McLaren garage without an invitation or proper reason, especially not a couple hours before free practice starts. It doesn’t look good.”

“It’s not like me walking in there instead would look any better,” you retort, gesturing to the Red Bull logo plastered across the chest of your black polo. “Your branding isn’t what I would call subtle.”

“Look, the McLaren team are a good sort. They’ll help you out if you just explain the issue and show them the watch. I’m sure Lando will understand too, he seems like a pretty nice bloke,” your dad reassures you.

Sighing, your eyes meet the floor, fingers intertwined with each other as you fidget incessantly. Before you can speak up in further defiance, however, an additional set of footsteps grow nearer and you freeze at the voice which speaks up.

“Christian, how much longer until our media slot?”

You lose your breath momentarily, locking your gaze onto your shoes as you wait for the person to pass by.

“About five minutes, Max,” your dad replies. “We were just about to head over.”

When you hear the footsteps grow fainter, you risk looking up, thankfully being met with only the observance of your father. You don’t even realize that you’ve tensed your body until your dad points it out.

“Relax,” he says. “He’s not going to say anything here, especially not on a race weekend.”

Nodding, you feel your shoulders ease up but you remain quiet.

“Anyways, like I said, our media briefing and interviews start soon and we’re after McLaren this weekend so they should already be back in their garage,” he says, realizing that you still appear troubled by the task ahead of you. “I promise you, everything will be fine. Just go over there and I’ll meet you back here when we’re done. The quicker you head over, the quicker you’re done with it and we can all move on." With that, your dad walks away and you reluctantly leave the Red Bull garage, adjusting your shirt as you straighten up.

You take a brief glance at your phone, turning it off after you try one last time to keep the picture of the boy imprinted in your mind. Eyes darting rapidly, you attempt to scan the paddock for anyone looking remotely like him while you make your way towards the bright orange and blue indicators of the McLaren garage.

The frequency of orange-clad individuals grows the further you stray from the safety of Red Bull’s garage, and you feel your heartbeat begin to increase. Worried that someone would stop you before you could approach the one person you had traveled all the way to Silverstone for in the first place, you quicken your pace.

You’re mere meters away when you spot him. Pushing past a few people while trying to keep your eyes trained on him, you watch as he turns around to talk briefly with the woman next to him.

Huffing, you muster up the little confidence you have and tap him on the shoulder.

His confusion is evident and the blonde woman next to him does not look pleased to have been interrupted. The silence is palpable as they stare at you, expecting an explanation for the abrupt ending of their conversation.

“Hi,” is all you can deliver. You’re at a loss for words while the woman next to him seems to lose what little patience she has with you. Everything you had rehearsed beforehand, gone. Your mind is foggy and your mouth feels dry as you try to compose yourself. “Um, can I talk to you for a second? It won’t be long, I promise.” Your voice breaks at the end and you wish you had never agreed to get on that stupid red-eye to Silverstone in the first place.

Lando offers a look of sympathy and then turns to the woman next to him. “Charlotte, could you just give us a second?”

Pursing her lips and turning on her heel, the woman walks away, heading towards the mouth of the McLaren garage. She’s far enough away that you’re out of earshot, but close enough that you feel her gaze linger as Lando turns back to face you.

“Hey, don’t worry,” he tells you with a smile. “We can take a picture if you want or I can sign some stuff for you.”

“What? No.” You shake your head, mentally slapping your palm against your forehead and forcing yourself to get a grip. Idiot. “Fuck, sorry, that sounded so rude! It’s just-” you rush to explain.

“Oh no, it’s okay!” he stammers. “I should’ve guessed from the Red Bull shirt anway.”

You both share an awkward laugh before you compose yourself and reach a shaky hand into your bag.

“This is going to sound so weird, but I was online shopping for a new watch the other day because I lost mine, and I’m pretty sure I bought the one that was stolen from you. I didn’t know anything about it, I swear. I just...well, here,” you say, offering the watch and its temporary box to Lando.

He looks at you, taking the box only to go wide-eyed at the contents inside.

“I have all the information that I was able to get, but the ad was taken off of eBay and I really wanted to do the right thing and give it back to you. Please don’t be mad.”

“What the hell?!” he exclaims, earning a few looks from people passing by and catching Charlotte’s attention once more. “Sorry, sorry. How did you get this?”

Amused, you laugh quietly while he studies the watch intently. “That was my dad’s reaction too. Basically there was a listing for it on eBay and it was sort of an impulse buy,” you explain. “I didn’t see the news coverage of what happened until afterwards and I felt awful. I’m really sorry you had to go through that, I genuinely had no idea.”

Shrugging, he plays it off. “Nothing I can’t handle.” It’s hard to miss his sudden change in attitude from the interview you watched moments ago and you can’t help but wonder whether he has your or the watch’s presence to thank.

There is a brief moment of silence between you both before he continues. “How much did you pay for it?”

“It was so cheap, honestly,” you say. “Nothing compared to the original price, I’m sure.”

Charlotte, alerted by Lando’s attention-grabbing reaction to being reunited by his watch, returns to where the two of you are standing. “Oh wow, did you find a replacement watch for him?” she asks you, clearly impressed by the apparent likeness.

“No, Charlotte”, he corrects her. “It’s my one. Look.” He hands the watch to his PR manager, who receives it so gently you think she’s afraid it might shatter in her hands. Flipping the watch between her fingers, she studies the small engraving on the underside of the face.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

Lando nods. “It’s the exact date it was given to me, there’s no way anyone else could know that and make a copy of it.”

You feel the need to justify yourself to her. “It was listed online and I bought it before I knew anything about the situation. I didn’t even really know who Lando was until I saw what happened on the news, I swear.” You anticipate her anger or disapproval, preparing yourself to withstand the lecture you’re about to receive and mentally promising that, as soon as it’s over, you can run back to your dad and tell him you just want to go home.

But it doesn’t come.

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaims. “We all thought we’d never see it again and you found it on accident.” The smile she gives you sets your mind at ease. “Technically, this is a police matter now, so I’ll have to hand it over to the right people, but this helps us tremendously. Did you get any information about the seller?”

You explain the situation to her, about how the listing was taken offline but you have a printout of the messages and address the seller gave you, which you hand her from your bag. She lets you know that someone may get in touch soon to ask questions but not to worry, that it’s only a formality. Eventually, she asks if you’d like to watch free practice from a spot in the mobile hospitality unit, but you politely decline, explaining that you needed to get back to your dad in the Red Bull garage instead.

Charlotte smiles fondly at Lando and presses the brim of his cap down over his eyes. “Come on, you, we have to go and get ready now anyway.”

He takes off his hat, cheeks flushing as he makes an effort to quickly brush the curls lining his forehead, placing it back on and dismissing Charlotte with a wave of his hand. “Okay, just give me a minute.”

Once the two of you are alone, he pulls out his phone. “Do you have Venmo? I’ll pay you back, it’s not fair that you had to waste your money.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

Lando seems unconvinced. “It’s really not a problem.”

“Seriously, it’s all good.”

“Well,” he continues awkwardly. “I have to go, but are you here for the whole weekend or...?”

You shake your head. “Just today. I’m not into Formula 1, I find it a little bit boring.”

“Seriously?! The fastest cars in the world and you’re calling it boring? Why even come to something like Silverstone if it’s so boring?” he feigns offense, doing air quotes as he imitates your apparent disdain for the sport.

Laughing quietly, you shrug. “I have family at Red Bull, so it was basically just luck and convenience that you were in the U.K. this weekend,” you clarify. “I don’t really understand Formula 1, that’s all.”

“Fair enough, it’s not for everyone I suppose,” Lando replies. “So who in your family works at Red–” The end of his question is drowned out by the sound of his name called by an evidently disgruntled, impatient engineer.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, I’ve really gotta go, but, um,” he exhales with a nervous laugh. “I still feel like I need to repay you in some way. Do you want to go get a drink after the race on Sunday? I’m busy for the next few days but Sunday night I’ll be free. Only if you want to, of course, I don’t want to, like, pressure you or anything.”

You laugh, appreciative that the nervousness was shared. “That– Yeah, that sounds fine. I’ll give you my number.”

He types your details into his phone before apologizing once more, thanking you again, and rushing off into the garage.

——

On Sunday, you let your dad believe he’s the one who convinced you to stay for the entire race weekend, but it’s the promise of Lando’s company later that night and the endearing text messages on your phone that prompts the desire to see this weekend through. You had spent the previous nights on your phone, going through driver and team Instagram accounts, as well as the F1 website, to get an idea of what to expect. Typically, it would pain you to look through motorsport news pages, especially with so many of the reports centering around Max and his vie for the championship as of late, but you manage.

You notice almost immediately while settling into your spot at the back of the garage that the energy does not match your own. You are enthusiastic and eager, while the rest of the team is stressed and rushes around you. Presumably, it’s because race day impacts their livelihoods and paycheks whereas it only dictates your family’s dinner topics, but, nevertheless, your excitement refuses to simmer.

Unfortunately, if it was weird for you to be seen at the McLaren garage before the first free practice, it would be infinitely more suspicious for you to be lingering around on race day, so you were not able to catch Lando at all since your initial meeting on Friday. However, you made sure to message him good luck beforehand, to which he thanked you and expressed excitement for your upcoming night.

“If you need anything, just ask. I’ll be on the pitwall,” your dad says, snapping you out of your whirring mind. He notices your obscure behavior, quick to comment on it. “Is it weird? Being here after so long?”

You nod, shrugging. “Unusual, for sure. So much has changed since the last time I came and watched, but I’m excited, though.”

“Well, it’s always good to have you here.”

Reciprocating your dad’s grin, you silently send him on his way. He exits quickly and leaves you to your own devices. Though, your own devices look to consist of impatiently waiting for the race to start and scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. Ironically, your boredom with pre-race antics appears to create quite the dichotomy against the chaos exuding from the garage you find yourself encompassed in.

Regardless, your attention is regained when frequent cuts are made to the drivers in their cars, and you recognise that the race will be starting soon. You are temporarily startled when the cars begin moving without hearing an official announcement, but quickly realisee that it is merely a formation lap and no one else around you seems to be paying all too much mind to it.

When the cars return to their positions on the grid, you watch eagerly as the lights flash and the announcers begin yelling. You keep your eyes trained on the orange car towards the front of the grid, watching Lando so intently that you almost miss what happens to the cars in front of him.

Your eyes go wide as you watch the events unfold: the Red Bull car out front collides with what you identify as a Mercedes, spinning and slamming into the barrier. Gasps chorus across the garage as the screens replay slowed clips of the crash as an announcement states that the safety car has been deployed. They replay it from every conceivable angle, your astonishment at the severity is present upon your first viewing, but it’s only after the sixth clip that it clicks in your head that the person in the car is Max.

“For the second time this season, Hamilton and Verstappen clash and tangle on the opening lap, but, this time, it is ending in dramatic consequences for the championship leader.”

If you had perceived the pre-race behavior in the garage as chaotic, this was a whole new level of absurdity.

People rush around you while orders are shouted and frustrations are verbalised.

Your dad is angry.

The last time you recall him behaving like this was when your younger sister had broken the wine glasses he had bought for your mother on their honeymoon. You, however, ignore his yelling and remain encapsulated by the TV, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the events unfolding finally, finally register in your brain.

Car number 33 is in the wall and out of the race, and your ex-boyfriend is inside, silent and unmoving.

____________

tag list @lovebynorth @its-astrotea-love

[snelbz]

Life As We Know It {Chapter 23}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. Occasional surprise chapters could be posted at miscellaneous times. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara’s blogs! >> @tacmc.​

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Nesta was torn.

Half of her thought that Cassian was overreacting, but the other half of her thought that his anger and frustration was perfectly justified.

What exactly were they getting into? And, was it what was best for Nyx? Yeah, the last month had been great, but if it didn’t work out, what would that mean for him? Would it be better if she and Cassian had simply remained two friends, co-parenting under one roof?

Nesta’s heart began to beat a little faster.

She felt like she was going into a panic attack.

Cassian and Nyx had been gone for an hour, and every second that passed became more and more unbearable.

She needed him to be there.

She needed to figure this out.

She just didn’t know what the answer was.

Alis had gotten into her head, there was no doubt about that. A little over an hour ago, she was living in a dream, then Alis came in, out of nowhere, and brought her back to reality.

She was sitting on the couch, almost exactly where he’d left her, when he finally returned. He was covered in sweat, his t-shirt sticking to him. Nyx was having a conversation with him, more to himself though, since it didn’t seem like Cassian was even close to paying attention to him. But his eyes went directly to Nesta as soon as he walked in.

She’d changed. She no longer wore his t-shirt, instead in a loose shirt of her own and a pair of jeans, and her hair was loose and wet around her face. As if she’d need to shower their night together, shower him off of her. Not a shred of that beautiful skin was showing, not like she’d been doing lately. Leggings and shorts and tank tops. She’d been comfortable around him.

With a scoff, Cassian set Nyx down on the floor. He headed for the stairs, but Nesta stood, nearly toppling the cup of coffee she’d been clutching over as she set it on the coffee table. “Cassian, we need to talk about this.”

He paused, waving a hand towards her. “What for? It looks like you’ve already made your decision.”

“I need you to calm down,” she said, steadily. “I need you to think logically.”

Cassian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I need you to tell me.”

Nesta hesitated. “Tell you what?”

“If this is something you want to pursue or if I just wasted the last couple months falling in love with you,” he finished.

His voice may have lacked emotion, but Nesta felt every word like a stab in the chest. Falling in love with you. Those were the words she was going to tell him today, under much different circumstances.

Now, she didn’t know what to think.

Now, she was overwhelmed.

Now, all of her thoughts were rushing toward the same spot in the middle of her skull at a thousand miles an hour, and when they got there, her head would explode.

“It’s not that easy,” she said, and her voice cracked.

“But it should be,” Cassian said. “If you feel the way that I do, it should be that easy.”

“We have to think of Nyx,” she breathed.

“I am thinking of Nyx,” he said, struggling to keep his voice low. At the sound of his name, the baby turned to look at him. “I want him to grow up in a happy home, seeing two people who love each other, and damn it if that isn’t how it’s been for the past few weeks.”

“It’s not that simple,” Nesta said, shaking her head. “What happens if we break up? What happens if we get in a fight or something happens to one of us? What then?”

He had strode down the stairs and was in front of her before he could stop himself. He framed her face in his hands, like he had so many times the past month, to kiss her, to make love to her, to show her how he cared for her. “Why are you worrying about the what if’s? Why are you worrying about what could go wrong, rather than how right everything has been?”

Because everything goes wrong eventually. The only reason we’re together is because we were shoved into this house after the worst thing imaginable happened. They died. We took over. What right do we have to be happy?

The words flooded her mind, but stilled on her tongue.

Nesta didn’t push him away. She wanted to reach up on her toes and kiss him, softly, but she didn’t.

Instead, she met his gaze. “Cass,” she breathed.

The pain in his eyes nearly shattered her heart into a million pieces.

Nyx had walked up to them and was hugging Nesta’s leg, as if he knew that she needed the comfort.

“Dont say my name like that,” he whispered.

Nesta slowly shook her head. “I just think this has all happened too quickly. We haven’t been thinking, we’ve just been acting-.”

“You’re pushing me away,” Cassian interrupted, swallowing harshly. “Damn it, Nesta.”

“You don’t understand,” she pleaded.

“Because you’re not making sense,” he argued. “Things have been perfect—”

“They’re dead!” She cried, pulling from his grip, scooping Nyx up. “Things have been far from perfect. We’re only like this now because Rhys and Feyre are dead.”

The words seemed to freeze something inside of Cassian and he stepped back as well. “So what? We go back to how we used to be? I’m back in the guest room and we awkwardly exchange good mornings over breakfast?”

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sight of him, the scent of him, everything. “I don’t know, Cassian, I don’t—.” She took a shuddering breath, her arms wrapping tighter around Nyx. “I just need some time to think, to breathe…”

When she looked back up at him, his jaw was set and he was slowly nodding. “Fine. Take your time.”

And then he was moving, back up the stairs before Nesta could even ask what he was doing.

A few minutes later, he was back with a duffle bag in his hands.

“Wh—what are you doing?”

“Giving you space,” he said, refusing to meet her gaze.

Nesta opened her mouth but nothing came out. She was frozen where she stood, her feet stuck to the floor, her mouth hanging open, that panic rising from the pit of her stomach into her heart, which was beating far too quickly.

Cassian kissed Nyx on the forehead as he passed, but paid Nesta no mind as he went for the door.

“Cassian!” She called, at last.

Cassian stopped just in front of the door, keeping his back to her, one hand on the doorknob.

“You're just going to leave?” She asked, quietly, bouncing a sleepy Nyx on her hip. “Just like that?”

Cassian didn’t turn around. “Are you going to ask me to stay?”

Yes. No. I don’t know. Nesta said nothing.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he grumbled, exhaustion lacing his tone. “Maybe I need time to think, too.”

He opened the door and shut it softly behind him.

*

He didn’t know where else to go. He didn’t have anywhere else to go.

He knew where he wanted to be, but right now…

He couldn’t look at her.

It didn’t escape him that when he’d told her he’d fallen in love with her, she didn’t say it back. He couldn’t even act like he hadn’t seen her eyes flare in panic. So he couldn’t stay there. Couldn’t go back to sleeping in that guest room, not when he’d become so used to sleeping with her in his arms every night.

So Cassian had ended up here, knocking on his brother’s door, thankful that his car had been parked in the driveway when he pulled up.

He needed a drink. He needed someone to tell him he was being an asshole. He needed someone to listen while he vented and bitched. He knew Azriel would do all that for him.

When he answered the door, Seph was in his arms, pulling on his bottom lip. She smiled when she saw Cassian, but Azriel’s surprised smile quickly faded.

“Do I want to know?” He asked, looking at the duffel bag tossed over Cassian’s shoulder.

Cassian sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Can I sleep here tonight?”

Azriel stared at him for a second before stepping aside and letting Cassian pass.

“Are we talking about this now or later?” Azriel asked, shutting the door behind them.

“Beer?” Cassian asked, dropping his bag beside the couch.

“Fridge,” Azriel said, slowly, watching him.

Cassian made his way to the kitchen and threw open the refrigerator door, grabbing a cold bottle and chugging its contents.

Azriel followed, leaning against the countertop and Seph continued to play with his lips.

“Where’s Elain?” Cassian asked, tossing the empty bottle into the trash and getting another.

“Work,” Azriel said, sighing. “So, if this involves smack talking Nesta, you may want to get it out now.”

He shook his head. He didn’t want to do that, barely wanted to think about her. But he owed Azriel at least some explanation.

“The social worker stopped by this morning,” he sighed, leaning back against the counter and opening the beer. “And honestly, yeah, it was unexpected, but I figured it’d be fine. Last time, Nes was drunk off her ass, but we— I figured, since we were more of a family this time, things would be great.”

Azriel blinked. “They’re not taking Nyx, are they?”

Another shake of his head. “No, gods, no. They— She could tell he was in good hands, but she immediately picked up on Nesta and I. What we’ve…become.”

It seemed, just like Cassian, Azriel didn’t see it as a problem. He wasn’t following. “And?”

“And Nyx was hungry so I left the social worker and Nesta alone to get him breakfast. I came back and she’s gone and Nesta is second-guessing our relationship. She asked if I’m just fucking her out of convenience.”

The thought made him sick to his stomach, almost as badly as it hurt his heart.

“And you replied with…” Azriel began, trailing off, waiting for Cassian to finish the sentence.

“I went for a jog,” Cassian said, shrugging.

“So you ran away?” Azriel pushed.

Cassian shot him a look. “No. I went for a jog.”

Azriel sighed. “And when you came back?”

“She said she needed space,” Cassian said, emptying his bottle.

Azriel set Seph on the floor with a plastic spatula, which she instantly start banging on the cabinets. “And that’s when you ran away?”

“I didn’t run,” Cassian snapped. “I gave her what she wanted. I gave her space.”

Azriel slowly shook his head. “Did you even try to talk things out?”

“Yes,” Cassian said, the word clipped. “Told her I was falling in love with her, and guess how she replied?”

Azriel watched his brother.

“Didn’t say a fucking word,” Cassian finished.

When Azriel didn’t speak, he walked back to the trash can, dropping the bottle inside.

“Quit looking at me like I’m the bad guy here,” he said, unable to turn around and look his brother in the eye. “She was ending it. She was calling things off and I’m supposed to, what? Just keep living there like we were before? Pretend nothing has changed?” He swallowed hard, willing the damn tears clouding his vision to fade. They wouldn’t. “She didn’t even ask me to stay.”

Azriel sighed, opening a cabinet beside the fridge that Seph couldn’t reach. He produced a bottle of whiskey and set it on the counter. “I can’t drink until Elain gets home. And I absolutely think you need to talk to Nesta, but I think you’re right. You need to stay here tonight. Give her space.”

Cassian blinked, and a tear that was holding on slid free, down his cheek. He angrily wiped it away. He felt ridiculous, but it had been a long time since he had told a woman that he loved her. He’d never said it in his adulthood. A couple times in his teens, before he knew what the word really meant, but never as an adult.

He’d said it.

He’d meant it.

And she hadn’t felt the same.

Cassian nodded and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

*

Nesta stared at Cassian’s contact on her phone screen.

She wanted to press the call button, but didn’t.

She did open a blank text a few times, but couldn’t type anything.

She didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what to do.

She knew what she wanted.

She wanted Cassian.

But, she didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

She had never been one who was dependent on a man, had spent most of her twenties single and having no problem with it. But suddenly, she couldn’t imagine her day to day life without Cassian in it. And that terrified her.

She heard murmuring on the baby monitor sitting next to her on the side table and glanced over to see Nyx sitting up in his crib.

It had been nearly three hours since Cassian left, and aside from putting Nyx down for a nap, Nesta had barely moved. She still sat in the same spot on the couch she’d been in when the social worker had shown up and when she’d ignored that Cassian had said that he loved her.

The words should have filled her with joy and she should have screamed from the rooftops that she loved him, too. Instead she locked up and thought she was going to be sick.

What was wrong with her?

Wiping away the tears she didn’t even realize had fallen, Nesta hurried up the stairs, and into Nyx’s nursery. He reached for her the moment he saw her, his own big, blue eyes beginning to fill with tears.

“What’s wrong, bubba?” She cooed, resting his head against her shoulder.

After a deep sigh, he looked up at her and reached for a tear that had fallen down her cheek. His lip began to wobble.

“I’m okay,” Nesta promised, even though her voice cracked and those tears continued. “I’m okay, buddy, I promise.”

Nyx knew, though.

He knew something wasn’t right.

He knew Cassian was gone.

He knew Nesta was heartbroken.

Little did he know that her heartbreak was self-inflicted.

Nyx laid his head back on her shoulder and clung to her. He stayed like that as she walked back downstairs and sat back in her spot on the couch.

He held onto her, looking around the room. She knew he was looking for him and was about to tell him he wasn’t here when he spoke. The word wasn’t a mash up of noises like it had always been. No, it was a true and steady word. His first word.

“Dada?”

Nesta froze. She didn’t even know what to say. Should she tell him Cassian wasn’t his father? He probably wouldn’t even understand, just like he didn’t understand where Rhys and Feyre had gone.

But…for all intents and purposes, Cassian was his daddy now. And she was his mama.

So she pressed a kiss to his dark hair and whispered. “He had to leave, baby. He had to go for a little while.”

Nesta hoped and prayed that Cassian would walk back through that door, and yet, she couldn’t muster the courage to ask him to.

That night, instead of Cassian taking up the spot next to her, it was Nyx, who held her hand until they both fell asleep.