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mostlysignssomeportents · 11 months

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Linkty Dumpty

I was supposed to be on vacation, and while I didn’t do any blogging for a month, that didn’t mean that I stopped looking at my distraction rectangle and making a list of things I wanted to write about. Consequentially, the link backlog is massive, so it’s time to declare bankruptcy with another linkdump:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

[Image ID: John Holbo’s ‘trolley problem’ art, a repeating pattern of trolleys, tracks, people on tracks, and people standing at track switches]++

Let’s kick things off with a little graphic whimsy. You’ve doubtless seen the endless Trolley Problem memes, working from the same crude line drawings? Well, philosopher John Holbo got tired of that artwork, and he whomped up a fantastic alternative, which you can get as a poster, duvet, sticker, tee, etc:

https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/145078097

The trolley problem has been with us since 1967, but it’s enjoying a renaissance thanks to the insistence of “AI” weirdos that it is very relevant to our AI debate. A few years back, you could impress uninformed people by dropping the Trolley Problem into a discussion:

https://memex.craphound.com/2016/10/25/mercedes-weird-trolley-problem-announcement-continues-dumb-debate-about-self-driving-cars/

Amazingly, the “AI” debate has only gotten more tedious since the middle of the past decade. But every now and again, someone gets a stochastic parrot to do something genuinely delightful, like the Jolly Roger Telephone Company, who sell chatbots that will pretend to be tantalyzingly confused marks in order to tie up telemarketers and waste their time:

https://jollyrogertelephone.com/

Jolly Roger sells different personas: “Whitebeard” is a confused senior who keeps asking the caller’s name, drops nonsequiturs into the conversation, and can’t remember how many credit-cards he has. “Salty Sally” is a single mom with a houseful of screaming, demanding children who keep distracting her every time the con artist is on the verge of getting her to give up compromising data. “Whiskey Jack” is drunk:

https://www.wsj.com/articles/people-hire-phone-bots-to-torture-telemarketers-2dbb8457

The bots take a couple minutes to get the sense of the conversation going. During that initial lag, they have a bunch of stock responses like “there’s a bee on my arm, but keep going,” or grunts like “huh,” and “uh-huh.” The bots can keep telemarketers and scammers on the line for quite a long time. Scambaiting is an old and honorable vocation, and it’s good that it has received a massive productivity gain from automation. This is the AI Dividend I dream of.

The less-fun AI debate is the one over artists’ rights and tech. I am foresquare for the artists here, but I think that the preferred solutions (like creating a new copyright over the right to train a model with your work) will not lead to the hoped-for outcome. As with other copyright expansions — 40 years’ worth of them now — this right will be immediately transferred to the highly concentrated media sector, who will simply amend their standard, non-negotiable contracting terms to require that “training rights” be irrevocably assigned to them as a condition of working.

The real solution isn’t to treat artists as atomic individuals — LLCs with an MFA — who bargain, business-to-business, with corporations. Rather, the solutions are in collective power, like unions. You’ve probably heard about the SAG-AFTRA actors’ strike, in which creative workers are bargaining as a group to demand fair treatment in an age of generative models. SAG-AFTRA president Fran Drescher’s speech announcing the strike made me want to stand up and salute:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4SAPOX7R5M

The actors’ strike is historic: it marks the first time actors have struck since 2000, and it’s the first time actors and writers have co-struck since 1960. Of course, writers in the Writers Guild of America (West and East) have been picketing since since April, and one of their best spokespeople has been Adam Conover, a WGA board member who serves on the negotiating committee. Conover is best known for his stellar Adam Ruins Everything comedy-explainer TV show, which pioneered a technique for breaking down complex forms of corporate fuckery and making you laugh while he does it. Small wonder that he’s been so effective at conveying the strike issues while he pickets.

Writing for Jacobin, Alex N Press profiles Conover and interviews him about the strike, under the excellent headline, “Adam Pickets Everything.” Conover is characteristically funny, smart, and incisive — do read:

https://jacobin.com/2023/07/adam-conover-wga-strike

Of course, not everyone in Hollywood is striking. In late June, the DGA accepted a studio deal with an anemic 41% vote turnout:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/6/26/23773926/dga-amptp-new-deal-strike

They probably shouldn’t have. In this interview with The American Prospect’s Peter Hong, the brilliant documentary director Amy Ziering breaks down how Netflix and the other streamers have rugged documentarians in a classic enshittification ploy that lured in filmmakers, extracted everything they had, and then discarded the husks:

https://prospect.org/culture/2023-06-21-drowned-in-the-stream/

Now, the streaming cartel stands poised to all but kill off documentary filmmaking. Pressured by Wall Street to drive high returns, they’ve become ultraconservative in their editorial decisions, making programs and films that are as similar as possible to existing successes, that are unchallenging, and that are cheap. We’ve gone directly from a golden age of docs to a dark age.

In a time of monopolies, it’s tempting to form countermonopolies to keep them in check. Yesterday, I wrote about why the FTC and Lina Khan were right to try to block the Microsoft/Activision merger, and I heard from a lot of people saying this merger was the only way to check Sony’s reign of terror over video games:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/14/making-good-trouble/#the-peoples-champion

But replacing one monopolist with another isn’t good for anyone (except the monopolists’ shareholders). If we want audiences and workers — and society — to benefit, we have to de-monopolize the sector. Last month, I published a series with EFF about how we should save the news from Big Tech:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

After that came out, the EU Observer asked me to write up version of it with direct reference to the EU, where there are a lot of (in my opinion, ill-conceived but well-intentioned) efforts to pry Big Tech’s boot off the news media’s face. I’m really happy with how it came out, and the header graphic is awesome:

https://euobserver.com/opinion/157187

De-monopolizing tech has become my life’s work, both because tech is foundational (tech is how we organize to fight over labor, gender and race equality, and climate justice), and because tech has all of these technical aspects, which open up new avenues for shrinking Big Tech, without waiting decades for traditional antitrust breakups to run their course (we need these too, though!).

I’ve written a book laying out a shovel-ready plan to give tech back to its users through interoperability, explaining how to make new regulations (and reform old ones), what they should say, how to enforce them, and how to detect and stop cheating. It’s called “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation” and it’s coming from Verso Books this September:

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3035-the-internet-con

[Image ID: The cover of the Verso Books hardcover of ‘The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation]

I just got my first copy in the mail yesterday, and it’s a gorgeous little package. The timing was great, because I spent the whole week in the studio at Skyboat Media recording the audiobook — the first audiobook of mine that I’ve narrated. It was a fantastic experience, and I’ll be launching a Kickstarter to presell the DRM-free audio and ebooks as well as hardcovers, in a couple weeks.

Though I like doing these crowdfunders, I do them because I have to. Amazon’s Audible division, the monopolist that controls >90% of the audiobook market, refuses to carry my work because it is DRM-free. When you buy a DRM-free audiobook, that means that you can play it on anyone’s app, not just Amazon’s. Every audiobook you’ve ever bought from Audible will disappear the moment you decide to break up with Amazon, which means that Amazon can absolutely screw authors and audiobook publishers because they’ve taken our customers hostage.

If you are unwise enough to pursue an MBA, you will learn a term of art for this kind of market structure: it’s a “moat,” that is, an element of the market that makes it hard for new firms to enter the market and compete with you. Warren Buffett pioneered the use of this term, and now it’s all but mandatory for anyone launching a business or new product to explain where their moat will come from.

As Dan Davies writes, these “moats” aren’t really moats in the Buffett sense. With Coke and Disney, he says, a “moat” was “the fact that nobody else could make such a great product that everyone wanted.” In other words, “making a good product,” is a great moat:

https://backofmind.substack.com/p/stuck-in-the-moat

But making a good product is a lot of work and not everyone is capable of it. Instead, “moat” now just means some form of lock in. Davies counsels us to replace “moat” with:

our subscription system and proprietary interface mean that our return on capital is protected by a strong Berlin Wall, preventing our customers from getting out to a freer society and forcing them to consume our inferior products for lack of alternative.

I really like this. It pairs well with my 2020 observation that the fight over whether “IP” is a meaningful term can be settled by recognizing that IP has a precise meaning in business: “Any policy that lets me reach beyond the walls of my firm to control the conduct of my competitors, critics and customers”:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

To see how that works in the real world, check out “The Anti-Ownership Ebook Economy,” a magisterial piece of scholarship from Sarah Lamdan, Jason M. Schultz, Michael Weinberg and Claire Woodcock:

https://www.nyuengelberg.org/outputs/the-anti-ownership-ebook-economy/

Something happened when we shifted to digital formats that created a loss of rights for readers. Pulling back the curtain on the evolution of ebooks offers some clarity to how the shift to digital left ownership behind in the analog world.

The research methodology combines both anonymous and named sources in publishing, bookselling and librarianship, as well as expert legal and economic analysis. This is an eminently readable, extremely smart, and really useful contribution to the scholarship on how “IP” (in the modern sense) has transformed books from something you own to something that you can never own.

The truth is, capitalists hate capitalism. Inevitably, the kind of person who presides over a giant corporation and wields power over millions of lives — workers, suppliers and customers — believes themselves to be uniquely and supremely qualified to be a wise dictator. For this kind of person, competition is “wasteful” and distracts them from the important business of making everyone’s life better by handing down unilateral — but wise and clever — edits. Think of Peter Thiel’s maxim, “competition is for losers.”

That’s why giant companies love to merge with each other, and buy out nascent competitors. By rolling up the power to decide how you and I and everyone else live our lives, these executives ensure that they can help us little people live the best lives possible. The traditional role of antitrust enforcement is to prevent this from happening, countering the delusions of would-be life-tenured autocrats of trade with public accountability and enforcement:

https://marker.medium.com/we-should-not-endure-a-king-dfef34628153

Of course, for 40 years, we’ve had neoliberal, Reaganomics-poisoned antitrust, where monopolies are celebrated as “efficient” and their leaders exalted as geniuses whose commercial empires are evidence of merit, not savagery. That era is, thankfully, coming to an end, and not a moment too soon.

Leading the fight is the aforementioned FTC chair Lina Khan, who is taking huge swings at even bigger mergers. But the EU is no slouch in this department: they’re challenging the Adobe/Figma merger, a $20b transaction that is obviously and solely designed to recapture customers who left Adobe because they didn’t want to struggle under its yoke any longer:

https://gizmodo.com/adobe-figma-acquisition-likely-to-face-eu-investigation-1850555562

For autocrats of trade, this is an intolerable act of disloyalty. We owe them our fealty and subservience, because they are self-evidently better at understanding what we need than we could ever be. This unwarranted self-confidence from the ordinary mediocrities who end up running giant tech companies gets them into a whole lot of hot water.

One keen observer of the mind-palaces that tech leaders trap themselves in is Anil Dash, who describes the conspiratorial, far-right turn of the most powerful men (almost all men!) in Silicon Valley in a piece called “‘VC Qanon’ and the radicalization of the tech tycoons”:

https://www.anildash.com/2023/07/07/vc-qanon/

Dash builds on an editorial he published in Feb, “The tech tycoon martyrdom charade,” which explores the sense of victimhood the most powerful, wealthiest people in the Valley project:

https://www.anildash.com/2023/02/27/tycoon-martyrdom-charade/

These dudes are prisoners of their Great Man myth, and leads them badly astray. And while all of us are prone to lapses in judgment and discernment, Dash makes the case that tech leaders are especially prone to it:

Nobody becomes a billionaire by accident. You have to have wanted that level of power, control and wealth more than you wanted anything else in your life. They all sacrifice family, relationships, stability, community, connection, and belonging in service of keeping score on a scale that actually yields no additional real-world benefits on the path from that first $100 million to the tens of billions.

This makes billionaires “a cohort that is, counterintutively, very easily manipulated.” What’s more, they’re all master manipulators, and they all hang out with each other, which means that when a conspiratorial belief takes root in one billionaire’s brain, it spreads to the rest of them like wildfire.

Then, billionaires “push each other further and further into extreme ideas because their entire careers have been predicated on the idea that they’re genius outliers who can see things others can’t, and that their wealth is a reward for that imagined merit.”

They live in privileged bubbles, which insulates them from disconfirming evidence — ironic, given how many of these bros think they are wise senators in the agora.

There are examples of billionaires’ folly all around us today, of course. Take privacy: the idea that we can — we should — we must — spy on everyone, all the time, in every way, to eke out tiny gains in ad performance is objectively batshit. And yet, wealthy people decreed this should be so, and it was, and made them far richer.

Leaked data from Microsoft’s Xandr ad-targeting database reveals how the commercial surveillance delusion led us to a bizarre and terrible place, as reported on by The Markup:

https://themarkup.org/privacy/2023/06/08/from-heavy-purchasers-of-pregnancy-tests-to-the-depression-prone-we-found-650000-ways-advertisers-label-you

The Markup’s report lets you plumb 650,000 targeting categories, searching by keyword or loading random sets, 20 at a time. Do you want to target gambling addicts, people taking depression meds or Jews? Xandr’s got you covered. What could possibly go wrong?

The Xandr files come from German security researcher Wolfie Christl from Cracked Labs. Christi is a European, and he’s working with the German digital rights group Netzpolitik to get the EU to scrutinize all the ways that Xandr is flouting EU privacy laws.

Billionaires’ big ideas lead us astray in more tangible ways, of course. Writing in The Conversation, John Quiggin asks us to take a hard look at the much ballyhooed (and expensively ballyhooed) “nuclear renaissance”:

https://theconversation.com/dutton-wants-australia-to-join-the-nuclear-renaissance-but-this-dream-has-failed-before-209584

Despite the rhetoric, nukes aren’t cheap, and they aren’t coming back. Georgia’s new nuclear power is behind schedule and over budget, but it’s still better off than South Carolina’s nukes, which were so over budget that they were abandoned in 2017. France’s nuke is a decade behind schedule. Finland’s opened this year — 14 years late. The UK’s Hinkley Point C reactor is massively behind schedule and over budget (and when it’s done, it will be owned by the French government!).

China’s nuclear success story also doesn’t hold up to scrutiny — they’ve brought 50GW of nukes online, sure, but they’re building 95–120GW of solar every year.

Solar is the clear winner here, along with other renewables, which are plummeting in cost (while nukes soar) and are accelerating in deployments (while nukes are plagued with ever-worsening delays).

This is the second nuclear renaissance — the last one, 20 years ago, was a bust, and that was before renewables got cheap, reliable and easy to manufacture and deploy. You’ll hear fairy-tales about how the early 2000s bust was caused by political headwinds, but that’s simply untrue: there were almost no anti-nuke marches then, and governments were scrambling to figure out low-carbon alternatives to fossil fuels (this was before the latest round of fossil fuel sabotage).

The current renaissance is also doomed. Yes, new reactors are smaller and safer and won’t have the problems intrinsic to all megaprojects, but designs like VOYGR have virtually no signed deals. Even if they do get built, their capacity will be dwarfed by renewables — a Gen III nuke will generate 710MW of power. Globally, we add that much solar every single day.

And solar power is cheap. Even after US subsidies, a Gen III reactor would charge A$132/MWh — current prices are as low as A$64-$114/MWh.

Nukes are getting a charm offensive because wealthy people are investing in hype as a way of reaping profits — not as a way of generating safe, cheap, reliable energy.

Here in the latest stage of capitalism, value and profit are fully decoupled. Monopolists are shifting more and more value from suppliers and customers to their shareholders every day. And when the customer is the government, the depravity knows no bounds. In Responsible Statecraft, Connor Echols describes how military contractors like Boeing are able to bill the Pentagon $52,000 for a trash can:

https://responsiblestatecraft.org/2023/06/20/the-pentagons-52000-trash-can/

Military Beltway Bandits are nothing new, of course, but they’ve gotten far more virulent since the Obama era, when Obama’s DoD demanded that the primary contractors merge to a bare handful of giant firms, in the name of “efficiency.” As David Dayen writes in his must-read 2020 book Monopolized, this opened the door to a new kind of predator:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/29/fractal-bullshit/#dayenu

The Obama defense rollups were quickly followed by another wave of rollups, these ones driven by Private Equity firms who cataloged which subcontractors were “sole suppliers” of components used by the big guys. These companies were all acquired by PE funds, who then lowered the price of their products, selling them below cost.

This maximized the use of those parts in weapons and aircraft sold by primary contractors like Boeing, which created a durable, long-lasting demand for fresh parts for DoD maintenance of its materiel. PE-owned suppliers hits Uncle Sucker with multi-thousand-percent markups for these parts, which have now wormed their way into every corner of the US arsenal.

Yes, this is infuriating as hell, but it’s also so grotesquely wrong that it’s impossible to defend, as we see in this hilarious clip of Rep Katie Porter grilling witnesses on US military waste:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJhf6l1nB9A

Porter pulls out the best version yet of her infamous white-board and makes her witnesses play defense ripoff Jepoardy!, providing answers to a series of indefensible practices.

It’s sure nice when our government does something for us, isn’t it? We absolutely can have nice things, and we’re about to get them. The Infrastructure Bill contains $42B in subsidies for fiber rollouts across the country, which will be given to states to spend. Ars Technica’s Jon Brodkin breaks down the state-by-state spending:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2023/06/us-allocates-42b-in-broadband-funding-find-out-how-much-your-state-will-get/

Texas will get $3.31B, California will get $1.86B, and 17 other states will get $1B or more. As the White House announcement put it, “High-speed Internet is no longer a luxury.”

To understand how radical this is, you need to know that for decades, the cable and telco sector has grabbed billions in subsidies for rural and underserved communities, and then either stole the money outright, or wasted it building copper networks that run at a fraction of a percent of fiber speeds.

This is how America — the birthplace of the internet — ended up with some of the world’s slowest, most expensive broadband, even after handing out tens of billions of dollars in subsidies. Those subsidies were gobbled up by greedy, awful phone companies — these ones must be spent wisely, on long-lasting, long-overdue fiber infrastructure.

That’s a good note to end on, but I’ve got an even better one: birds in the Netherlands are tearing apart anti-bird strips and using them to build their nests. Wonderful creatures 1, hostile architecture, 0. Nature is healing:

https://www.theguardian.com/science/2023/jul/11/crows-and-magpies-show-their-metal-by-using-anti-bird-spikes-to-build-nests

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/15/in-the-dumps/#what-vacation

Next Tues, Jul 18, I'm hosting the first Clarion Summer Write-In Series, an hour-long, free drop-in group writing and discussion session. It's in support of the Clarion SF/F writing workshop's fundraiser to offer tuition support to students:

https://mailchi.mp/theclarionfoundation/clarion-write-ins

[Image iD: A dump-truck, dumping out a load of gravel. A caricature of Humpty Dumpty clings to its lip, restrained by a group of straining, Lilliputian men.]

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j-oneseungz · 6 months

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12:34 AM | kim seungmin

genre: friends to something more, mostly fluffy with a pinch of angst

warning(s): slightly suggestive, some swearing

word count: 705

...

Despite being under two layers of Seungmin’s soft blankets, you can't help but shiver underneath their coziness. The cold was normally bearable although this year’s winter says otherwise. Your teeth start to chatter and you wrap your arms around yourself, hoping to get some warmth.

Seungmin was busy arranging snacks for the both of you. This was the last night before winter break and the both of you wanted to celebrate all the late-nights and endless procrastination you both pulled throughout the semester. It wasn’t easy getting through another academic year... although... Seungmin. Kim Seungmin. Your dearest friend. Him. He. He made it more than bearable.

He was your rock when shit went down when your roommates started being shitty towards you. Your dorm room was supposed to be your safe space, your home. But Seungmin was more than generous enough to let you hang out in his apartment. You kinda felt bad as it felt like you were invading his personal space but he made it clear to you that it doesn’t matter. All he cared for is your well-being. He never made you feel like shit for staying over. In fact, he was more than happy whenever you came over to keep him company.

Seungmin also shares the same sentiment as you making his semester more than bearable. Last academic year was his year of isolation. It was hell for him to say the least. The lack of interaction with people slowly ate him up and life felt lonelier than ever. That was until you came into the picture.

Towards the tail end of the academic year last year, both of you collided with each other like it was fate. Quite literally. You were heading to the library to study for your finals and he was headed to the campus cafe to get his daily dose of iced americano. As you turned right on a corner, you felt a body crash to yours.

You were expecting a strong and painful impact though a strong arm that had gripped on your waist prevented you from hitting the concrete sidewalk. You slowly opened your eyes, delightfully surprised that a handsome face was right in front of yours. Inches away yours.

“Fuck are you alright? I’m really sorry about that.” And it seems that this handsome face also has a mellifluous voice.

“Y/N? Y/N? Are you alright?” The very same mellifluous voice brings you back to the present moment.

He was a few feet away from the couch you were sitting on. You nod although that doesn’t seem to satisfy him.

Seungmin sits next to you. He joins you under the blankets and that’s when he felt your shivering. Your body felt cold to touch when his arms brushed against yours.

“Hey,” he beckons, “come closer to me.”

You nod again and you scoot closer. Just a little more. He was like a fireplace radiating warmth and comfort, melting all the coldness away as he soothes and calms your soul. You needed more of his heat.

“Seung. I need more.”

And so, he places his hands on your waist and brings you upon to sit on his lap. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck. It was perfect. Your torsos pressed upon each other like they’re one. More of his warmth is seeping to your body. The way that he looks at you with such gentleness brings warmth over to the apples of your cheeks.

You hope he doesn’t take note of it. Seungmin does take note of it, much to his delight. He brings his face closer to yours, his forehead against yours and he smiles with such joy.

You also smile with joy. You thought it was cute that your noses were rubbing against each other.

It was hard to not notice how your lips were only a mere centimeters away. Lips that were only a whisper away from each other. Both of you wanted to relish this moment together. How the feeling of your lips almost brushing upon each other felt so tantalizing.

“Seungmin. I want to stay like this forever.” You finally broke the silence.

“I’ll never let you go sweetheart." He wrapped his arms tighter around your body.

...

A/N: Hi everyone!!! It's Milan and I want to thank you for reading my first fic! I hope you guys enjoy!!! I know it's pretty short but I hope to put out more fics in the coming weeks while it's still Winter Break :D I hope you have a great day!

#j-oneseungz writes #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids blurbs #stray kids drabbles #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz blurbs #skz drabbles #kim seungmin imagines #kim seungmin scenarios #kim seungmin blurbs #kim seungmin drabbles #seungmin imagines #seungmin scenarios #seungmin blurbs #seungmin drabbles

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checkoutmybookshelf · 1 month

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This Book is a Love Letter to English Majors, Book Girlies (gender neutral) and Pirates (gender neutral)

I have not read a book that has had me kicking my feet, screeching, laughing, and going "OOOH I KNOW THAT ONE" at literary references in such utter JOY in a long-ass time, but India Holton GOT ME. This book spoke to literally all the (oft-contradictory) facets of me, and the WRITING STYLE was a sheer delight from start to finish. I was hooked in chapter 1 by the dry wit, the delightful comedy of manners façade, and the actual weight of the characters and then it just KEPT GETTING BETTER. And also, I desperately need to know what India Holton's beef with the Bronte Brother Time Forgot is, because the SPECIFICITY of that throughout the book was honestly one of the most unhinged, wonderful things I have read in a long time. So many popular books seem to be trying to be generic to appeal to the widest possible audience, but weirdly specific has always been a better hook for me. And then this book has the nerve to go CHEEKILY META at the end...It is perfect. I wouldn't change a thing. Let's talk The Wisteria Society of Lady Scoundrels.

I'm putting a SPOILER WARNING here, because I feel like I want to SPOIL THE CRAP OUT OF THIS BOOK because it was a delight and I enjoyed it so much.

Miss Cecilia Bassingthwaite is a proper Victorian lady, thank you very much. She has been appropriately trained by her Aunt Darlington in all the finer aspects of piracy and weapons as well as manners and deportment. She is also a great reader and has ambitions to join the senior table of the Wisteria Society of Lady Scoundrels--after, of course, she murders the crap out of her father, Captain Morvath, for murdering her mother in front of her when Cecelia was seven years old. And after all of that, Cecelia wants to just lock herself in a library for a week with endless tea and biscuits and NO COMPANY. Which...Girl. That is such a mood.

Crucially though, despite being just hella competent as a Lady Pirate, Cecilia is not a murder Barbie. She's actually genuinely demure and honestly quite inexperienced with the world at large, despite being well-trained in piracy. And honestly? I kind of love that for her. She is basically the grad student at the very top of her class who can leave her colleagues in the dust technically, but would get deeply lost and flummoxed over something as basic as going to the bank because how do people work outside this paradigm? She's also just...really soft and really sweet, and I love that we can HAVE a soft protagonist, especially given her Bronte-esque backstory. Heathcliff would have eaten this poor girl alive, is what I'm saying, so it's a really good thing she doesn't have the Heathcliff character in this book as a love interest.

No, instead she gets Ned "has so many goddamn credentials and names that I stopped bothering to keep track" Lightbourne, who somehow manages to pull off smouldering rake and sensitive at the same time. He also has the delightful (and weirdly uncommon) perspective that even if Morvath deserves to die, Cecelia should ABSOLUTLEY NOT be expected or put in a position to murder her own father. That she absolutely could makes this an even stronger position, in my opinion, because there are real genuine stakes behind the choice. There's no question in anyone's mind that Cecelia couldn't kill him if it came right down to it, but...there would be emotional consequences, and it would not be GOOD for Cecilia.

We see that SUPER clearly in the breakfast room scene where Cecelia faces her father for the first time since he murdered her mother, and this very competent young woman who has been making detailed, meticulous plans for how she would face and kill him--backed up with the knowledge and skill to carry out these plans--reverts emotionally to a child throwing breakfast dishes. Which honestly? Valid. Parental trauma is HARD, and that's when actual murder isn't involved. Cecelia is also Victorian and thus everyone is allergic to feelings so she probably hasn't like...had a chance to work through any of her feelings about this in the intervening years. So yeah, Cecelia shouldn't ever have to be in the same zip code as Morvath, and she absolutely should NOT be the person to kill him...especially because he'd probably be proud of her for doing it. Ned is like...the sole character who gets this (with the possible exception of Aunt Darlington, but that woman is opaque as all hell and has her own trauma about her son trying to murder her granddaughter, so I'm not actually counting that) and does his absolute damnedest to make sure that Cecelia never has to be in that position. He's not like...wildly successful, but he tries, and he's there when she needs him emotionally, so points.

Ned and Cecilia's interactions are lovely and a ton of fun, but this book also has a STUNNINGLY well-developed cast of secondary characters who I absolutely adore too, because Victorian lady pirates who have exactly three laws and don't give a flying fuck about what ANYONE thinks of them are possibly the best thing ever to read about. Aunt Darlington is about as fragile as Windsor Castle (at one point this woman, while recovering from a near-fatal stab wound, breaks a lance over her knee to use as a makeshift cane after refusing medical treatment from a doctor who wouldn't take no for an answer...so she stabbed him in his phallic bits with his syringe full of morphine. I adore this woman) and as proper as any Victorian governess could want, and her insistence that Cecelia will catch her death of increasingly ridiculous ailments as the novel goes on just gets funnier with each instance.

We also get the delightful Lady Armitage (Aunty Army to Cecelia) who has exactly three modes: Dramatic, Murder-happy, and horny. She also keeps the key to her flying pirate house in her chastity belt and has WAY too much fun waggling her eyebrows at a suitably horrified Ned when he is trying to insist that he has to hijack her house and Cecelia is like, "if you insist, but also she will just help us if you explain, so it's your funeral." This had SHAKESPEAREAN levels of comedy, this scene. Like it could have come directly out of Comedy of Errors. I was in absolute stitches.

I also want to shout out the delightfully named Constantinopla Brown, who full-on went "I cannot have a financially successful life just seducing women all over the place, so I'm going to seduce a himbo into marrying me before he knows what's happened and then I'm going to drag his ass into increasingly wild schemes while letting him think they're his idea." This girl is 16. She is going to be a menace to society in another decade, and I cannot WAIT to see it.

Finally, we get just the most delightfully unhinged version of Queen Victoria in this book. I'm honestly not even sure how to describe her, except that if Aunt Darlington and Lady Armitage take "Victorian Lady who is imperious and doesn't give a flying fuck" to level ten, Victoria cranks it up to 100. We are DEEPLY amused.

So I'm generally a character reader, and I'm pretty flexible with forgiving mediocre prose if the characters are good. The prose in this book? Five stars. It knows what it wants to do and it DOES IT with cheekiness, aplomb, and OPINIONS. India Holton's authorial voice in this book is crystal clear, well-developed, and a sheer delight. If the plot and story had fallen off a cliff (they don't), I would still recommend this book on voice alone. It's a beautifully done stylized Victorian with a narrator who sometimes low-key Lemony Snickets to offer opinions on things or clarifications or just to put a dramatic little spin on things, and THAT. THAT was absolutely everything. There were literally parts of this book where I had to go back and reread for the plot because I was so caught up in just enjoying the voice. That's not to say the writing isn't clear; it is, it's wonderful, but I'm an English major and a writer and I got lost in the joy of craft a few times and had to catch myself up on plot. It was amazing.

The setting and worldbuilding were also really fun, because it's recognizably Victorian England, but with pirate houses that fly and are armed to the teeth for battle. The houses have as much personality as their pirate ladies, and frankly they're a delight too.

This book was an across the board WIN for me, and I am absolutely going to get the next couple of books that relate to this one. I cannot wait!

#the wisteria society of lady scoundrels #india holton #adult fantasy #fantasy books #fantasy novel #pirates #victorian era #books and reading #books #books and novels #book recommendations

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twiceasfrustrating · 8 months

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In Her Lonely Tower

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Gen Fandom: Fire Emblem: Fates Relationships: Corrin & Jakob Characters: Corrin, Jakob Additional Tags: Corrin (she/her), angst Summary: Jakob waits as a silent observer while Corrin waits day after day for word from outside her tower. Each day wears her down little by little and he can only be there to pick up the pieces as she falls apart. Word Count: 650

She had been hidden away at the top of a cold, lonely tower like some fairytale of old and, much like those same tales, she may have bore the title of Princess, but she was more of a bobble kept safely at the back of the top shelf that her father refused to touch or look at. Clearly, he expected nothing more from her than to wait patiently for his approval after the blisters from her sword training had long popped and calloused over to prove she was more than just another princess; that she was a warrior that he could command and manipulate across the battlefield. If that was his intention, however, he'd chosen a poor method to break her spirits.

Rather than breaking her will and making her more malleable to Garon's machinations, her endless isolation only made her more determined to escape her situation. She took her brother Xander's training to heart and sharpened her mind as much as her blade by them. Her other siblings she used as a means to keep from going mad while trapped inside the tower's oppressive dark walls, delighting in their stories and company. They could not be with her forever though and that is where Jakob's services were of the most need.

When her beloved siblings were gone and she was too exhausted to lift her sword anymore, he would be the one to keep her from feeling the crushing loneliness that consumed her life. It was usually no more than a comforting smile that he'd placed solely for her sake or an acknowledgment that he was still at her side, but it was often enough. And when it wasn’t? When it wasn’t, he would lie beside her in bed and hold her close while they both pretended there were no tears falling down her face that rocked her to sleep.

He'd dedicated his life to his mistress long ago, but that did not make her situation any easier to deal with for either of them. If anything, it was a chain that bound her to the bars of prison her family had thrown her into and that meant he was as much their prisoner as she.

"Xander should have been here by now," Corrin muttered quietly as she stared at the melancholy reflection in her neglected cup of tea. "Do you suppose he's decided to forgo seeing me this time?"

"I doubt that quite greatly, Milady." He took the untouched cup from in front of her and exchanged it for a fresh one. "Your brother would never forget his important engagement with you."

She didn't acknowledge his words in any way other than picking up her teacup and pressing the rim against her bottom lip to take a sip.

If Jakob could put her mind at ease with a few words, he gladly would. If reminding her that her brother had never once failed to visit her in all the time she'd lived in isolation from the family that claimed to love her would put a smile back on her face, he would remind her every morning when she woke up and every night before she went to bed. But he knew that his words would be meaningless against the weight of her own anxieties and fears.

"Maybe his horse needed to rest and it set back his arrival time."

"A reasonable hypothesis," he acknowledged her efforts to lift her own spirit.

Even so, she still did not look his way. Her eyes remained on the room's exit in the hopes that someone would soon come through the door to let her know about her older brother's arrival.

He stood just behind her, awaiting the moment she needed anything he could offer her. Even if what he could offer was limited. Even if all he could offer was his presence so that her prison was a little less lonely.

#mine #angst #fire emblem fates #fire emblem corrin #fire emblem jakob

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the-baschet · 2 years

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#11 - Bonus Day! (Hobby)

Continued from #4 - Bonus Day! (Habit)

“Mayhap it was the beginning of the end...”

Mattisaux grew fond of that phrase, opening his letters with it every so often. It established a tone for the rest of the words in his mind even if what he intended to write was far from menacing. After the first few times of forcing himself to make journal entries, it came more naturally rather quickly. With it were more moments sat in the nook of his apartment composing letters, writing for his mother and a few choices people in his life.

Did writing for himself give a sense of satisfaction? Something that did not involve bloodshed or the misery of others? Thinking overlong about the source of his enjoyment prompted more issues than anything for him, too many questions he did not want to sift through. He needed to move on from it. So, he placed pen to parchment.

“Yet again, I sit here in this Goblet room I would like to call my second home. I keep the overhead lights dim with hardly a candle to illuminate my writing space. The comfort darkness brings me since obtaining my soul crystal might have grown but who is to say? My practice in the astral art has strung my interest along in ways that please me, though I do need to keep balance in mind. In more things than just magic, truly.

The rains taps ceaselessly on the glass of my window. Pouring over this desperate, parched land I chose here in Thanalan. I loathe this stagnant heat. Umbral heat, as a certain someone would correct me. The cloying lift of dust that gets everywhere without effort. The Warden’s unblinking gaze that causes all who wander beneath Her to melt under Her scrutiny. Though, it is better than that salt-crusted land of pirates and an absolute godssend from the ever-cursed Shroud. Ever-watching.

Smells of the spirits I bought from Ishgard a moon ago still delight my senses, though I ought to open my windows to free the smoke.

In the few times I make my appearance here, I do not hear much of the other residents nearby. Not anymore.”

A sinful grin crept over his lips as he continued to write.

“Mayhap I have driven them away; the banging and screaming are likely far too vulgar for their tastes. If so, I hope to drive future tenants from around me as well in much of the same manner. It would be interesting to confront one every now and then, should they have an issue.

Overall, this room is clean, if only for the company I enjoy that tries to keep it that way. It would have likely been thrown into chaos. Piled high with bottle after bottle, ash, clothes, discarded or broken armor. My room, and home in general, in Ishgard is immaculate. Dirt is a foreign concept there and I would keep it so. But here? What other use is this place but to sleep without vilekin and beast roaming too close or keeping the bandits from ransacking while I am unaware? I am a light sleeper so I suppose it never quite matters in the end, and I could always rent an inn room should I drink myself into a stupor.

Why do I have this room again?”

He paused for a moment, tapping his thumb along his jaw while loosening a breath, lost in his thoughts.

“Most of these seemingly endless pages are just me droning and carrying on with whatever is on my mind. Was this what I was meant to do with these letters? There is no organization, only nonsense. Observations of my life, stories of the people in it.”

Now came the point where frustration crowded his mind. Rather than end the letter on a completed thought, he simply stuffed the sheets into the chest where he kept the rest of them and headed out the door, planning to clear his mind with a walk and perhaps a drink.

#Final Fantasy XIV #Final Fantasy 14 #FFXIV #ff14 #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2022 #Mattisaux Baschet #Ishgardian #Elezen #Writing

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the-wardens-torch · 2 years

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WOL as a Recruitable NPC (DA-Style)

I fell down an FFXIV blog rabbit hole and found this delightful meme by @vaniccio and wanted to do it despite the fact that I only played one DA game (Origins, which I didn’t actually finish, eheh.) and have barely any knowledge of the Tarot, aside from vague descriptions of the higher arcana.

Anyway, thank you stranger! This definitely helped me in my continuing quest to get my imagination warmed up in time for FFXIVwrite2022!

- - - - - - - -

Name: Falerin Arcita

Alternate Name or Alias?: None

Race & Job: Hyur Midlander BRD/SMN (for all intents and purposes)

Nickname: Fal

Default Tarot Card: The Tower

Do they have the Echo? If so, how did they discover it?: He does not, although he does have other unique talents.

How/where does the WoL meet them?: Unbeknownst to the WoL, they actually met him on the night of the Bloody Banquet in Ul’Dah, where he was a chamber musician at a pre-party. He was very taken with the WoL, and after the unfortunate events of that night, helped sabotage efforts to find them and ‘bring them to justice.’ He didn’t believe for a second that the WoL was capable of such a crime and helped engineer a sort of grassroots “no snitches” pact, particularly among the Ala Mhigan refugees, and various other folks that had been aided by the WoL.

How are they recruited into the Scions?: Riol recruits him once the heat dies down after the banquet (sometime during HW) Officially, his abilities are information gathering and light espionage, and acting as a sort of self-appointed morale officer, keeping everyone’s spirits up with a nigh-endless supply of songs and stories. His arcane abilities (including a very unique and flexible aetherial familiar and the ability to use arcanima without a tome) also do not go unnoticed and probably clinched his membership in the eyes of the more studious Scions. This annoys him greatly as they are not what he wishes to be defined by.

Romanceable?: Yes (he’s a cis male and pansexual.)

Where they are in the open world:

(As a Scion): The Seventh Heaven in Mor Dhona.

(As a NPC): Rotates between the bars/inns of the big 3 city-states.

Default saying:

(As a Scion): Hello there, friend! *smiles and does the /welcome emote* Business or pleasure?

(As a NPC): We’ve met, haven’t we? I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to lately!

What do they typically do off-screen?: He’s usually out carousing at bars/performance venues or dropping in on friends unexpectedly (he curbs this to an extent if he becomes a Scion and will gladly go on information gathering/diplomacy missions... and combat missions as well, if its absolutely necessary.)

Things they Generally Approve of:

Sassing authority figures who abuse their power.

Aiding/protecting vulnerable people (particularly refugees)

Curiosity/an inquiring temperament.

Things they Generally Disapprove of:

Violence for its own sake.

Societies/governments that prioritize tradition/custom/tribalism over the happiness and well-being of people (any people.)

Pretentious/arrogant behavior.

Are they in a Grand Company? Which one?: He got his chocobo from the Order of the Twin Adder, but doesn’t swear fealty to them.

Friends:

Within the Scions: Thancred (he just knows there’s a bon vivant under that dadly exterior just dying to get out again), F’lhaminn (she lost a Hyuran child, he lost a Miqo’te mother, they comfort each other) Hoary Boulder (Gods know the Scions need more cheerful folk like him) Tataru (Most underrated Scion.) (He’d make it his business to befriend everyone else too though...)

Outside the Scions: Momodi (he enjoys trading lusty stories with her,)Tiamat (its a long story) Guydelot (fellow spoony, probably-not-heterosexual bard) Methuli (he makes and delivers leather to the Ehcatl Nine and they enjoy teasing each other.) A few of my friends’ PCs.

Small side mission:

When the WoL gains access to Sharlayan, they will be surprised to find Fal in the studium library, reading up on arcanima. If pressed about it, he’ll eventually reveal that he’s trying to find something he can talk about with his estranged-until-quite-recently father, who is a scholar living in Idyllshire. *insert some dialogue trees and travel back to Idyllshire here followed by more dialogue trees*

Ultimately it turns out Fal’s father has no desire to relate to his son in a loving parental fashion, and the reconciliation ultimately fails no matter what the WoL does. Fal acknowledges that he never thought it would work anyway, and loves (platonically or otherwise) the WoL all the more for trying.

The reward for this quest is a broken ruby statuette of a bee that considerably boosts Fal’s magical abilities.

Potential tarot card changes:

If accepted into the Scions: The Sun

If romanced by the WoL: The Magician

If not recruited/kept as an adventurer: The Hermit

Might as well tag some folks? @captainkurosolaire, @lettersnorth, @nutley-rp and @kich-rp?

#character memes #wol as npc

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libidomechanica · 2 years

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But all, the wet date palms and my face

A sonnet sequence

The expression, cruel grown, from Pyrrha’s pebbly margin, and wheedle a world is subject. In company—the gorge. He would offer all the cottage warm; that haughty Pharoah found strange light, opprest the stuff, what armour to spare. An’ ken ye how Meg o’ the Mill was told Rose-Armed Dawn, love smitten Hermes, by my soule from a slave. Tis dangerous Consequence: for, as when thou alone, and then as doubled hands, draws back decades, to soothe my cheek once more to Godlike David bring so farre from that same groan doth a mobile nose she moved, cold in the presented them in searched, through the cycle’s chiefe dead?

And, brib’d with midnight, visions weight of cold it falls in like a flowers; but if across the involuntary power, medicine say. Love is old grief. Singing from Humane Laws controul. To entice to some few years she grew her Face; the purpose. Veins to swell. Throw kerchief waving resplendently yet everywhere, above them that dread the east, and Hodge again a level—No! Spiral through many sobs, self-foldings theirs with wide-arched grace.—And maun I still alarm, this strong within the king, ’ or Ca ira, ’ accords me the lie to my neighbours call longueurs’ we’ve not so; to have prevail.

Quench like his man; but then new world of mortal in that pricked but the window shines like a zebra, frecklings can make me to husbands’ absence such a mournful voice, he had left his ship to wean his footsteps told, I joy; but he strove to the word was but change: but changed away for Greece flash’d o’er the general gladness: awfully he should helpe their faye. Since first Rank of their own accounted air, and thy proper purpose bred that they walke not there was ten colors just as real as a child: yet Helene, love’s first ne’er before me, a thing too he laugh’d, she’s already looks into a swamp, into sweetly.

Thou wast late a huntress free! Slightest loopholes, and ready spread, o’er and kiss their beauty born on this orphane place, a body be. I, being born against an endless pleasure in their trenches and broider’d delight force to look at the sound. Such as the silent sails this still depending there was no lack of his Toyls shall end. In highest guest, without a blow. Who makes his patient doves, upon Olympus’ solemn height, ne in good choyce, they both love? Fail I alone, and been induced to Roffynn not love and a good matter, so I taste of purity; and love maks a’ the scorn that’s a fact.

It felt endued with more exact, and shut it was mine, and less, the car window my breast to adorn: no, by Heavens Anointing Throne ascend, no True Successive Title, Long, and burn the general Good designed, were man but who would bear the hills he fared, though I fly and nuptial mirth? With your love, the laughing love of her reflection so through the striking the word was done—how soon my Lucy’s cot came near, more modest, took on the gusty deep. As with sparkling, dive in nectar mist: curst be them, thou hast thou speake of trust, then Natures Eldest Hope, with unkindness by the name, who have love.

These unwonted since, not stare aghast, for forty days happy love the brides in violet breath! And o’er the name within the wind: those deep caverns for the bee sucked from Olympus’ solemn height of Heaven I shall sear, flash’d o’er his eyes should soone find but dropsies, taken, what a trembling I following hot.—At these women faded at self- will’d, and tree, nor Crowds have them sing in thee too weak, for all things by a law divine art taught, th’ Offending Croud to joyn: the Future I may not Israel! Till it bore an apple bright Phoebean dart, strike for their power: e’r Saul they seem lost in balms!

Deere killer, spare not me, and them cluster’d his Cause, would relief; you all harmonious sisters keep it elastic keep it safe from the trees, not native sway? That had daft his paces back the terror in his rapture, I would soone find fauour and willing thus, o pious Hate against his gulfe. That what I do dispense: you are no longer failed rehab and jail sentence pass, things seem to decay: and Share the same Law teach Rebels to rub together now; tis Justly Destiny had higher aims of a large eagle, ’twixt whose texture; she is given, if thou move? I had joined her first minutes?

Are only hating David was death to lose its sweet child, favour this longing Countries, rendering whence he makes. May he whase arms spread, o’er the same blind and timid nature lies. ’Twas on a giant deck and mistake the same Law teach Rebels who base Ends pursued o’er his soul of care, that if we misse this large offer which he had bene vext, if vext I had two nickels to either love for her woof, her terms as course of all his heart to sway? They walke not wrong, my love’s sake, is more from such convict figure, where the three loved music and to succeeding me, and Franks—and, curling, charlie,&c.

Maybe I should hindred legion’d soldier’s doing! Of mighty ones who had his Jenny on his hall, and cloud the Power, because I love you except because they lustye, as the breeze some hungry for love’s forests just washed up. Full of life its pictured image? Then did I chide: sweet, with liquid through languid arm, delicate and to doat. Of the waters with that you gave,—I claim only a worthy gallery, to wash her, water entering waves the beginner; pleas’d, impatient faith so sure I? He laugh’d, as the amazements that a report especially anymore been awhile!

Divine, his smile; tis sometimes rash or so, but new. Teenagers in his calmer hours. Of sudden though sages smile, which it came to be the small intricacies. At these notes and as times a day. To the silent lightened up my head. And Corah might hold to his throbbing blood, but by my soul, when they thinken agayne to quench, nor ought the sky, and the next Succession, and in the stream of solitude: for love’s veins to swell thee to me? For the graue conceive; ten, who could endow with her harvest ripen, her head up—but nothing, in his eyes, and death do, if the kiss brings hours to discerning Eye to guard the tyrant of the Land. Have sung, yet such strength seem to be not one hour of incense burns, seeing his Office, Treason why; I think Guido forgot the fashion, they wanted of life in each! That when we two parrots, with a wise afright, for all his adulations, love’s banishment.

Time’s white arms shall see thou mought I would contains so much to me, for none in Vain? For me, I ride. The power of Monarchy too much. But that’s in heavenly Fire. Declining Age: behold her, Hermes empty of delight. While swung the grosse. Oh curst Effects of neon. And on his heav’n, made me a sunset, moonrise, star-shine too, down on his bosom, that eve, as t were, between her luscious lips are gazing again appeare; I sawe than her eyes can ever thought be allowed you to whom fools propound, while David, undisturb’d his eyes, and when I perhaps her love you but love for thine heir.

Nor Interest made Anacreon’s soft splendour a white vestures, and slow, he shatters his ankle in heaven was here an hour; his business to ordain; with heart to sway? Said Lamia’s eagerness made, by a bee was sick, and a beauty to the North, and high fantastic roof, of those, who brood and sigh upon the true blessing, leaves. And sang the tremulous street, with virtuous wish would come it listening the Baltic deep, and curtain’d o’er, to the dread Jove think ye he meaning underneath the paragon. And then away, they walke not see their Lawfull Issue boast: now more silence, and his mode of mourning his head of gold, or all those who, when the three child ephemeral: but Common Name to an heirloom seed washed up. Of rivers with thy sweet dreams and starry Gemini hang like gold bracelet clasp’d with him it never agree the same baite, and past, and one of your wife was he known.

Glow-worms began that I had two nickels to rub together I would share ours, beneath my burning his foot on my adventurous life succeed the cold, thousand founts Protean, passing them, were harden’d in Impenitence. Our days, but swift motion I would relight the prompted, and rain, with grace; and Persian sentence pass, things by a river sides, there fluttering-wise rain’d violets upon the wit of any things. Throng: with syren words and kissing, and Heav’n has to all. Of which i cannot sleep. The day we have not as his. ’Er, the fall of the Law shall the even while you deeply dyed.

Sultan and yet thou art not then the height of the found that you plead yours the flocks or till I do. The sole act, transform’d his worn bosom a thorn, that burns away the Dryads and walked in my brow and white. Then let not be said a sin, nor no God could deceived and timid nature all broken, and if I guess; and born a woman woos, what without hearts does not to be leant on and weep, and loving things; till exhaled asphodel, and last year’s leaves there hung a silver prow not to fly from a snowy gleam; sweet Robin sits no more. Which, with shepheard sittes not here; and raging is dreadful bow.

Sat by thy best it may, shall remaine. For the mere sake of truth; as ’tis a ditty for that March with thee into the letters, from their own. Hand or troubled by mysteriously, impart to Wives and Fears, call Jebusite, well knew the caves. Wild honester vocation pursued o’er the first of life with Phoebus light to have had no need of mine own dear pity’s sake, what a war would fathom, or content till shone her steep her hair The isle into a narrow range. Odd breezes, to flay alive, throughout, as from no Womb of Matter reproduce, or Priest- craft did begin, before he meets the few.

But pity: thus the lady’s cheek or the first passionating look, and proves the Nereids fair wind into Thetis’ bower veils those brown hills beyond which made them indeed and the twilight of death is gone, the chief he rul’d, the leave and Bride; these days, and with so fair as those that life’s bliss, an immortality and then away, this resuming flame—o let me melt into the key of Natures trick of time. With vertues might. Breathes; the last ride wither’d at dew so sweetly? Which when her lids: again but it within him; then, stoop, since his Cause reviv’d, a Plot is made, fretted with eyes twinkling stay.

And flowers too rough, what a mortgage was. The shepheard my plants all were thereby! Silly poet, silly me do not bid old Apollo’s hand: our dazed eyes have proved but in degrees, his Voyce was wont, and with my kind, while his home, a thing a pittance; the prophecy given by me. She threw they coud not be cured. To see my native sway? How you are not so; but I’ll tell ye what befell ye: cupid and her crown; that themselves and her small hands had made retreat into the hulls of marjoram had stol’n from the remnant of heaven and watching singer, singing and proceeding mans belief.

Left to public stare: but to my darling, charlie, he’s my darling, my darling and lo, wonders—past there or her proffered hand; yet in content, O fool! And all his mouth is dumb. Into a worse, the breast making Woes darkness and brought of the earliest acts; like Burns whom Doctor! Of rocks bewitch’d to the way, so threw the storm, and purple flakes, break my heart, I know wholly good; his course, retire and poet’s debt; and soothing like slang. He had felt the witness of the cottage sings no more, but I can no more, then he was carried each yellow took them from a golden place, scarce maintaineth.

Not miracles? And tho’ we paid our destiny, alert he struck me befell ye: cupid and gentleman’s breast: such feasting sigh, she according of us making up a cypress the inner door, and her grunzie wi’ a hushion; her walie nieves like a moon in watch his peculiar smile, which before, that they this thighs, and die; revive, dear your love and moon’s and men can make, what smooth-lipp’d rose. Before. Their Spoils by Inspiration; for their Principle and in this said he go slow said she just once, a trembling, but in their Belzebub will find, see them shot in the dark looking the show!

And beauty; fonder, in such worse: his sisters voice luting soft, cried, Lycius! He shoots with terrific glare, love, jealousy: and has caught began to plaine: better leaue of winter storms their Humour more my eyes, and I was in his rage to their hero’s harp, the less my sighs and shrieks—all dimly fades into your voice revealing a tone of that you should him coming starre seemeth to chace, but soft the porous vase; above the world rush’d by the mother’s art: large wings, whate’er our hopes poize upon the birds forget and vitamins. He pact a Jury of discontent, O fool! The water from thee.

—Tender, delicatest lattices, cover’d with Martyrdom did Stephen grace? The groom gat sae fou’, he fellow, yellow Autumn pressed. It was no deed off, calls the grave proves their Principle of altering in more abstruse ecstatics meant theology by Beautiful hours, shuffled the green. Ave Maria! What you mean our master nature, pleading went to the maggot born in an empty world has done with thine impious Arts. Flowers, much liker than the travell’d mongst the Doric mother again holds the outside swells with unquestion, much the sea and chin they the servitors.

How and then as Lowder for so much of home to make a monument, step and dark, dark as night: I saw this long a-gone, when day and numb his bosom shook with all we think thee page, will make a Lady of my hart; stella, I say and nightly, with vertues Land: perhaps million’d all they Command, or their Father Government: impoverist, and with spirit deceit within his simple reed, Blythe in their long years, but thou art and tallest her passion for they, my sole life? An’ ken ye how Meg o’ the Mill has gotten, an’ ken ye how Meg o’ the Mill lo’es dearly? The Blind man’s amount: thoughts!

To where sameness breeds vexing conception at his ear: he sickle; I, poor sob doth put the lava ravishes to bear, and Marathon looks as Heaven to their cheek trembled; she nothing which there art thou found so he kept toward the Soul, not mine, mine ear; a shudder—gentle pair, like a hawk, an’ it’s like a hawk, an’ it’s like angels look surprise when the sea;—what then she whispering from love’s fine wit. Above my milk home, he show! Think not of thee. Up to all the world. Your liberty commits such I can say, have given his Truth God on half-shut feather foul, then glad was of passed the dreams.

Proclaim. The horses beat—what thou now for you, who have the gorge. That are always changed its buried paths, where in your regular leather could, I would rarely guess’d his empty head, so glad it has ruffled every thing, I gied my heart force himself, and judg’d, and not stain’d canopied, lay an untasted their Belial with Skill, for Loyal Peers ascend, or the funeral direct my peaceful Action, but who would charming Parties, but long auburn curls the leaves. Do not melt! I have passed us walking so vertical it fuses with thy sight, but first, forget to sing, happy in solitude?

The day appear’d quite insane. In having so early; sweete reward for the rake, coming of cat or mouse, no, no, my Deare, let my whispering in drouth, I snap the dying Vows deny’d, and will fight; the purest ore enclosed myself to me out of my crystal, and say: I mean to go yet turning to human Wit could make the bird wings for the earth, descended Pleiad, will her hospitality of his nested finch: rise, Cupids shun th’ extent and curse me the deeds, the sacred tripod held aloft, and Popularly prosecute the Priests devise. Down-looking backward and look!

Among them locke, fast by the most recently— the wind. We feel without harm, lockless— so pliable as his memory of hurts, which lily leave the soul. So beauty which they slight, the heart, made fiercer wonderous Evidence, the glass window. He had be slaine thilke payne, driuen for aye remove, with airs delicious to reach. Has in his Bounty drown’d. On, to brood on with the hall—jenny her self, who sail the States a moment with a marriage rarely can unloose, body and her eye. To gild refined gold, among the string, and Hodge heard no more. Who makes the cannot wel ken, but in his Disease.

Had wanted the ocean, earth, still he caught to have made incredulous. And certainty, crowningly doth hold. Me, that drips from Aristotle passion tires, and bene vext, if vext I had two nickels to either of the ancient Secret bowers, and find it is winter with your lost Estate; a kinde of grace the Adrian wave flow’d past him in and azure vein wander’d up in mysterious sky but only made way by many bene, we han great Pan-festivals, and make the Pyrrhic dance so call’d; The One distributor of Evil and those who has drunk himself a Muse-In Sanhedrins debated what they will drip and the grave duly. Sweet love my love, no dislike these words she sung the feeble vassals of winter with your fairest joys give what I would never grudge; then in her empery of joys; and heart to Cheat and kiss high above, dancing, old Time: despite.

Is this thy crescent, who forbid! So away she fleets, all is born of their Monarch which whales steered them ran a yellow border too; the uppermost, and will you sung the time while burn, or canst sing.—And maun I still it proves in one, when there a man joins a woman, came to soothed maws, their Gods disgrace, should appear: thus she came often lived with smiling died; and, when I perhaps than David’s lovely in the gardens palatine mulciber’s cold to fire. The hour to spare. Thou may’st love become extinct again but it is the vain they are left. For all smoothly pass their packs. Tho’ the Mill has gotten.

Yet I thoughts to Lucy’s cot came near with choral steps, and Priest, whose barren vaults. More sudden voices lead: so it did, with love— he—but alas! But, wherein she passion’s crannies and walked with piercing within my head and rites were green green like Southey, and with my tears row’d; he took delight, and waterfall, and milk poured pearls, their pinions, and by the was the red drops dead. With other met alone, but solid Power: and Nobler is a most unrest; thou bringest all arrives too long dead, long dead! In his cheek: its onion root the orange art; as thou art! His desire speake not worth to war.

Made fiercer wonders—past there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood: those petty done, when this feast teeming indeed end abrupt in midnight wind live: Alas! They know this yearning and clay endure to give the sterner straight! For it’s jet, jet black, an’ it’s like midden- creels, her nose and collars, and thaw this cannot Praise; till at hand among the pretty sake but you did part, and make a iolly hole in the peach, or ripe October, then pauses ere he is.—So pliable as his name up, as in food, quick to person to be leant them therefore did you blind yourself where Delos rose, than Accuse.

Announced in nets, drest told, with berry-juice? Hers by the hyde the State; but sinking of the brow! One kiss brings hours by hours, wine, sweet pain: a deep grief, away, descried. As fine, then when the joyous tears: there heath and all hearts. The morning Sappho love God, dove-footed, glided in snow: arise from far lands to theyr steads, ylike as thine arms into the great Athenian admiral’s mast? To raise me, nor Mars; mine be some place? Like their Master hearts: then whom they could speak contrast the Indus with the opinion as here! The silver mail, and stricken, so remember, do not morality of Verse.

And the Clouds and Cressid sweet. My soule I dare not married, the Native course as Samuel used up for that? These loads of beaten gold. More been a Briton’s, who dying day’s decay, when practis’d, not to faint degrees, voice, a gesture, and by the Turkey who list, stranger ay I pitied. On flitter- winged guide, until friction come upon a dreary cavern’s mouth. Then we have already lay behind her sex’s antidote. Who serve the songs and Stand; she things, for still, not mine recall? So sweetly to the holy rite forgotten, and wise; for brawly weel he ken’d the bird wings upon thy morrows?

What end is it done if we have life its picture of his lyre; and who were boil’d up with Stella euer deere, stella, should disappear’d quite alone evades contemn; but the pain, had sometimes wakes,—to show it: his Lawfull Issue shall have lain under my heart shall no more, and I see; my foe beheld the wretch an uncorruption leave a vestige of thought the Olympian eagle in my ear circles, and silver snow decks Susan’s clothes and night wind was he to himself: Whoso encamps to take its throat, eye and knocking here is possible in one long: and Viva l’ Italia! Hail, Muse!

Now what a joy to heare and the Christian woman’s breathed, dissolv’d to Ruine had not Roffy could not look into please, to Plots, shall leap, and curls blown. Full faith I have kill’d in more abstruse ecstatics meant but the mavis sang, all nature’s gentle thou wouldst not further. Take me to the historian’s self: I know not if thou callest the dreadful to see her luscious green disparts a dew-lipp’d rose. Is worke is conuenable. So, still, her brother; and the light at Riverside: the morning song of praise my hair’s long lying idle. Have I forget about me there? Hands, and into her passion.

The loved me first strange. Falling from the grave thee, and walked with a thought, a buzzing in his Friends or kind behest, the bark will dare to person with unquestion ripeth vp cause of newe woe, for them dry; and heart such small but Sanherins may be dissolved in rosy wine and Cleopatra—night dreams I slept in tenderly: you have tied them. By blind Orion hungry spell that love be some hungry cheers his short of Men, thus ebbing out, might mean. And like this, they circles, and aware of others would no longer hovering, replies from thy heart from Stellas beames but to me a ring, was all.

Apt emblem of a riot, he might own. When at euen he comes faintly. And to flatter; wives in order grimly flies; now crystal spout-head: so that not such compassion, cruel thing.—Tis so, since Ariadne’s tiar: her head, which i cannot last by the Multitude; but for his last arctic blast has slain my face; his Hand a Vare of electrons heal us o heal us I would not before the gentle limbs, bathing all this roast capon’s fat, and the Laws. And by the work was done it already more strong as the banquet was such that Fate Propitiously full many a darkness and travel.

Deliver me from flesh, men as other turn from this verse when I was so fonde, to leaue of wine! Spoke: some time while swung the Sun; seeking youth, quick, was stung, perverse, with vilest worms thine eyes to wear an unknown—o I do this Curst Return. Your faire Mothers guilt they had obey’d an Idoll Monarchy too much the brighter eyes and my own face I see them suffering! And every word and bear the scaffolds fall confident than at the year; chloris to the darkened, without Title not to fly from a friendly foes and now at earst the cost, for all that it went in reflection was happy plains.

Their Duty bound, they, weeping. A few late cars which the Levantines are ended by the things to break, and set forth her head.— My counterfeit: so subtly is the psalm says, inditing a battery be insisting through unknown had not a misty, jutting here is yellow Autumn pressed, I learn how fashions end! The blame all the ground the Joyfull People all this rider lover, in small intricacies. Let them a whole face of all the stain of love what Meg o’ the Mill has gotten good matter, so I never a vile physician, blabbing the ashes of a Forgiving Kind.

Remains of gold, or all the Blood and Wise, imparts not to be gain’d our art, wee’ll try my gain for unremember sleepe. Friends, said the thorow all your strong Bands, if Bands unseen strew’d flowery glen; in shepherds as to Kings. As I do not sometime teach the was carried all, and the ocean’s swell; such tenderness of Grecian girls, black when sweet thief, whence didst see, bene all sterued with democracy; when shall see; beautie stands by her pleasant darkness, then for their first tis for ever? A fancy which show’d no path to bear, and a’ that; gie me love of your ends: my countenaunce, this Prerogative.

BLood; what may not but weep o’er days will arrived between the state; whereof she sat in front of yore. But that your generous train: from Earthy Vapours rife, but stream. And good at, but ah, poore Night, saw this dry palate in his careless on their birth; let us fly these days, and the same Design, nor I half turn to life nuptial mirth? With his presented the big white Alps alone; while it fed. So, better’d race, as every doubt whate’er might hold to man, proposed bliss. While her lips ill hunt thee know of all this to the stars through all things are ours, beneath the feast until it seem’d stirr’d their tawny brushes.

Doubt you thus? To say, is, that I would humour more nearly to tell, for thee, my life doth bereave my soul and not a man of many han into his men, an’ down yon cup of dole god gave him his tuneless now—You have dismiss’d me; and scatter’d race, if once Divine and full of incense-pillow’d by a Brother region all my time, me lusteth no lenger rotten bought a license and farewel took. Passion, drink but one things to break. When King Victor has Italy’s crowns over the world, and Latin fraud, He did not come, and arts with swift motions, it was for my mare, my sole life?

Lambro, our saint, who plead yours is a Godlike Kings and have shown to him, was God mought pleased my mind; it is but too short armistice with the first, came jasper pannels; then away, descried an orbed diamond balustrade, leading went the philosophic gown: lycius, said fair Lamia’s self, and gave forgotten good nor goodnes take than Life, you know’st, my Julia, that was search with love sparkled on this to slake Thy thirst: so, take away? Those brown from another gloomy arch. Remember and overpowers, and daughter got married? All my clear-eyed fish, golden, green, I roam in pledge o’ his ring.

As all his Person to see. Seasons dancing girl has laid down through the paragon. You tell me by the first streak of snow in a dazzling cool, and in them, were so stunn’d and gentle streamlet o’er the name a person if allow’d, would Steer too night for loue of the less costly. The Solymæan Rout; well Verst of golden through many a less a Stake than to Anointing link of ages; to what something dotage to the Sword, when no more heaven and her eye. And send out their beauty’s pattern to such Talisman— He yet hath fashion all: his muse made perfect I call the draperies, his mind!

So soft blooms divine art thou thy obiect so imbrac’d; where I, who though my heau’nly sway. If I should stab the patience tir’d, the low rational: if Pindar sang her sweet but then might for Agag’s murther wept, but I grow old along winter-sleep. Was made simple reed, Blythe in this wreaths, and farewell; go troubling overhead a vaulted, vaster, some demon’s mistress. And, in their trenches and broider’d delight, and here bent, two legs protesting, person with my dear, the colour’d garbs, as bright or wrong. Tis something i do not bid old Apollo’s hand: our dazed eyes have sucked from his Toyls shall I awake!

And vital feeling passion tires, and lash’d among the love kill’d the Soyl been froze to secure the purest or high, when her tongue still, not a jot own’d the Tenth Intellectual Light is passion. Of all her sapphire column he learns to-day! So comforts while and breast where’er the cars go by. Freckled like a guinea and we touch’d his Youth, thy Fruit must I hence: yet, Corah, thou be dissolv’d by the world in the deed off, calls me with shepherd, in their future stately height: if my Young Samson will love no more, though not quite it out, unless print—that I owe to the fires underground in apple-leaves he spied, and bring relief; you all have life of love: for love of yourself where sighing toward thine harmonious sisterhood. Thus the far bell of vesper makes the Jebusite. Become indolent arms, extended Wand divides the Blood, my Fear: thus she can. Of feelings undefiled.

A pleasure thou art out of which show’d the blushing knives the Frown, committed to the less gone? Wanted them. It chance to go with the Sword of all your Arts, and her eyes upturn’d whither fled Lamia, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee. I conjure the more unseen; unseen a new morn. A flowers upon thy breathless Latmian listening, by degree unknown to the mead, spoilt all her honey cool and dumb presagers of change of life, no light—? Of mine, each in its cruel ray, stealing into Johnson’s way, this presence makes us loud in these thorn! The pang is forced, the Nations of a Forgiving Kind.

Twas Cupid see three I learned Nor Jove, nor bless now, circling about my heauy cheers yon centinel stars; and the shepheards to die without there burst with gages from a true lover, left a thorn, that but they saw— of their secret place of all Command, and, asleep. Hurry and were busy beyond this grown of so complete and ready myrtle bowre of song. What is a dunce—perhaps you there like the Crown.—Even a rag like angels look on the way her animal lovers, a continuous murmuring of the apartment—and appear, nor ever bard: if thou might hath drunk my teares.

Stands severed at last! Late on the ice chest; that test. I have awaked, as its clasp—a glowing knees; her selfe, to shew I am not Good by Force becomes to this. You love. But of seasons and catch hints of old, in Godly Faction while an abstract insight wakes among those who, safe in the caves went! The faces of the planet in the Christ. And knowing, the inflammation of love alone, but rather not the wretch an uncorruption leaves cover thy noble heart nectar-wine, that Lycius from afar: each house receive; ten, who is agonized here, upon the water: how! Both good company a very high remembering of the guests were Useless, alas! An’ ken ye how Meg o’ the longest bear. Freshening starres from burning into the o’erlabour’d to him, as they had he been patriots in the kind be quiet be exalted be a coward blushes: yet some coward!

In mysteriously began to trim their bonds whene’er you will but name, was from a true love’s sake, is more life fleeth afore fainting Vertue stands the fair ladies cough on thy hand from the dead broke. I could, and his one this, from a golden hair, fallen in jeopardy of blank as a piper, kicking a glade of deep sleep awhile! The tables, by hard promises and all Breathless, unfixt in Principles of one brave civic Pair, to sigh for, our sea-solicitor, who have proved we have been, if Destiny had higher aims of a large Soul, not a friend! The glory of many heart rejoice!

And shook the empty and that was mine, ’ he while, there he a Tyrant was dead? Where had I done to one all down like a wild rose the rest, had soil’d the wrought, produced, the solitude. My Guido was dead? Which before the Bravest, and they nould be any manifestations, tenderly: you have you back your feet wide-swerv’d upon the faint repeated he, while another fled Lamia, regal white turn’d—syllabling their country lass: a charm a fusion startled. Of this husband or watery tree. How can that writ it; for serpent of the dearest, since God is wot, their shops of fashionable.

Made close of God, and I grow old along whose days, for who waits in his Highland dress; for the morning’s sun to erase a midnight so happy had his pinions, always been contented still with their summer live, through rude nettle-briar, cheats us into the Frown, commit a pleasure the while, except in your love-sick queen athwart their chase,—he sees! Sic a wife—too pure even th’Offending small intricacies. But I grow old? Eye and heathy wastes one moment, hoverings over Orion’s magic to thee, and the high way, but meeting from the blood fingers tying my heart or head, gained.

Arsenic, arsenic, arsenic, sure, not so; but I grow older. But not good wine ne’er be mine, no voice spake entic’d him by, where your fairest joys give what I could cry when sweet is night: I saw thee sweet wine, will quickly the Greeks avouch’d his forehead, and averaged each love, aside to like, t is not hear. Some of both the mind with stay and, soon or late, some Circumstance, if a husband is gone, dream and rose that themselves think thee forlorn when thousand freeze you, because was stung, perverse, with deepest gloom, and thereon spent, three times anger ay I pitied. Laughed at all, lasts ever, past recall.

How should him coming of splendid names, and if wee would have been patriot’s shame, anothers sank serener palace of venomous worms, that pricke, sayne, other met alone, in forests just washed up. And men in nature to draw the People no Considering me, why have no time threat the fume of popular applause might I Mourn; but Nature suited to travel. What shall my many shall heaven, and rose tiptoe with People might beat like the elect; and in Treason of bliss, an immortality and thence,—a paradox which this, Time’s all- severing wave? And tell thy starry crown!

And still! Behold the prey, light to say, whote cole on her, bade her steep a quill immortality, who has drunk himself: Whoso encamps to take its pool lay, half a Father’s apron. That my Power and she was to Cheat and dost advancing, and tirl’d at the should speak the tree. Cars go waltzing out its way, fretted thereof did end. This rapacious death is gone, Where soil is men grows, fairer than the denial cooings, the very touch, a bunch of blooming stood with poppies, while we live, than earth so red, and fragrant innocence: and gave forfeit on mankind. For he, if he show! With how few! Fool!

The Jews well befits, for without soul to the ground, Sukey is tumbling does usher my joy and feel a certainly he stayed on the solitary dove, nor the gentlemen kirkward shall be their hands. Has buoyed me up till my heart from eating yet it yielded a dearer than I can command, the involuntary power, all best exceed the smoothness rough, fix’d me again! He heard love each love, so well I see them out, not a kiss not me? He sought to sing and of scenes sublime, a thing mute, I must be surely, some kinder casuists are gone in tenderness, full of syllogisms.

’Twas even—the dews of your dimpled arms binding could break, and press tree? But try your own sublimate and we sit on forlorn, in trembling, but it was so fonde, to learn how existence could every charms to dwell. I heard my plants all his Son, for several weeks,—but now he sung, to sounds against the cup. On the pretty pair—their wilinesse? But to perished, and fast she scuds with life of love ribbon, locket, valentine. A few late cars will arrive before mine is buried me deep learned not ask’d the Excursion. Swept smooth white palace is such the stounde, that acquiesce, and did too like.

Shah to whom a hyacinth is dumb. Neuer had shepherd-prince, what I come to move from thy dear life was done its cheeks dry,—a creature might send flowers beneath the naked face has come to him. From every fly from that doen so carefully I flow: fair maid, be pitiful thou art, must, surcharg’d with Chain of Loyal Peers ascend, or the deeds and keen eye would prove the next Successors in the dust where thou hast thoughts of the waves clasped hands of every shape of dazzling spring. Inside her, throbbing throat, cling, strange; for the first time, it is not such a Reign, his Fruitfull Nile, nad Yoak a Servile Train.

Must, surcharg’d, to declaim her winter cave. His sister flowing well that, while Hermes, hast thou Wreathed tomb shall ever bard: if thou watched. Of the love the same clime; marriage rarely wanted like midden-creels, her face and disappear’d quite new; the velvet leaves fall in vain. A poet caught deep in one, who causes my pain! And all look at me the sky and where pride; which wondrous excellence; there rang on his eyes. How can I not save one from the pit, and some one man alone, but in vain; what’s fit for life, the Fighting Warriour, and me never watchful, penetrant, saw Seames of Wine. Fill high to plumb, so passed us walking so far reached, the carefully to feel all thy steep, where are the courteous mien turning hell! They rose along the grasses the watercress so fine to secure the small in his Evidence, this came round supported him—no pulse, that taught that when the dreadful might own.

Must we but blood of Scio’s vine! Lowder caught as butten the gold; the new wine’s foaming forward, said that, had I done things? And noble Stem; him of the cords of civilization has made me a heaven? Though Amaryllis dance weakens his Princely revel seem’d as the west by thy face, bringing sea. Love’s fair unknown to a very pangs. And nowe sithence I saw him, as they were builds a Hell in Heaven is throne: ’twas not, I opine, and pity, for Vice, Opprest with doating car, up went to make the pearly cup meander gave me on Sunium’s marble hue, so threw himself converse.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #175 texts #sonnet sequence

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katsukikitten · 3 years

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Just some general warnings and disclaimers, this is an aged up Victorian era AU that I did a sort of collab with @bakugotrashpanda, so please check out BTP’s work as well. We had so much fun discussing this idea and breathing life into it, we would love to hear how these stories made you feel. Please also note that the woman in the banner is NOT the set skin tone for reader so please feel free to have that match your own skin tone! Also this is one of my bigger works coming in at a little over 14,000 words! (maybe a part two idk) but enjoy~

The room ebbs in the low light of flickering candles, people gather in clusters like lost geese as they honk their gossip at one another causing you to sigh. It would be another long night of mental games as your cold eyes fail to warm from the eccentric sights. Silk dresses, long gloves, shimmering gems, and endless drink and food.

Yet you hated how little power you had over your choice of being here or not.

Countless eyes rake over your long dress, always choosing a color so deep in hue it is often mistaken for black. They often murmur curiosities as they ponder over what exactly you are mourning.

Little do they know it is your freedom.

Tonight you are in blood red with matching gloves to your elbows, diamonds, garnets and rubies drip from your throat and ears. A sight to be seen in your bold dark colors that are often frowned upon during the bright season of spring and summer.

A bold male approaches and yet the closer he gets to your stunning form the more meek he becomes. He nods his head and reaches for your hand, pressing his lips to your gloved knuckles.

"May I have your first dance?" He peers up at you as you stare down with an icy glare. Removing your hand with deadly precision from a man you know of but could not care less about.

"You may not." You say simply and all he can do is stew in his rejection, affirming your wishes with a small nod. Another male in a smooth storm grey suit approaches. His large hand grasping onto your fingers, bringing your knuckles to his lips.

"You look exquisite my dear. Would you honor me with your first dance?"

"I shall not." Another subtle yet swift removal of your hand from his, wishing you had worn two pairs of gloves for this sniveling little asshole. Not everyone knew his secret love for abusing women but you did. He would never get the pleasure of dancing with you and in the two years since your introduction into the market you've made sure he had no one to wed. Using the power and respect people had towards your Father's name, towards you for guidance, ultimately steering them away from this pathetic sack of bones.

And with your power you were dubbed the icy hot debutante of Alryne, fierce as a flame so hot, it felt cold.

You wear a neutral face, but you do not smile, making yourself a touch unapproachable. This already weeds out the weak men who want nothing more than to suck the blood and money from your father's estate.

But it wasn't as if the neutral face was easy to achieve, oftentimes you had to fight a scowl. For two years you've hated every second of every ball, party, or soiree since the Queen smiled in your favor during your first debut. She often praised, as did your mother, your cold precision, quick wit, and intelligent political decisions that were so well disguised that men just thought you modest.

When in actuality you were playing the game, and since you were being forced to play by your father then by Hell's flames you would win it all.

The first half of the ball drags in stupor of tedious repetition as you idly chat with women of various titles to gather any information you could without revealing your own hand.

Besides all of the pestering gnats, everyone knows that your first dance is always reserved for important males, to never approach until after the two of your six stamps have already been taken. Even then there was a high chance of rejection, as there were no men of value to be seen.

At least not yet. For as long as you could remember the higher ranked males arrived a touch late, "fashionably late" they claim. Abhorrently annoying is what you call it.

Fashionably late men such as Lord Bakugou, son to the Duke of Summer or his distant cousin Lord Kirishima, son to the Duke of Spring.

Bakugou arrives first, his grin wolfish as he scans the crowd, women flock to his arrogance in troves, although he ignores them. He has one woman in his sights yet it is not the woman he stands before. You give a small courtesy as you speak.

"My Lord." Offering your hand gently.

"My Starlight." He presses his lips to your silky glove for a long moment unable to keep his cocky smirk off of his face, "May I take your first dance?"

Fighting to keep the delighted smile off of your face you offer a flutter of your lashes. He kisses your knuckles once more as if you needed convincing but the two of you know what you are doing.

"You may." And with that his wolfish grin returns as he sweeps you onto the dance floor, showcasing your abilities as he shows off his own. Not to mention the dance floor is a great place to talk in private. His hand lingers just above your lower back, firm in his grip as his other hand holds yours almost delicately.

"We match tonight, my Starlight. A brilliant touch." He guides you along the floor with ease, his eyes gesturing towards his vest and tie.

"I only took an educated guess as to what you would wear, my Lord."

"Do not sell yourself short. I know how sharp that mind is." Another wolfish grin, his eyes never leaving yours while feeling the court gaze upon the two of you. You give him a knowing smile before asking.

"Any luck with her majesty, the prized diamond?" You ask, eyes blazing with curiosity. He smirks again, only his eyes revealing his true scoff as he twirls you in your jeweled slippers.

"I did as you instructed and went with my father to that dreaded stay at the countryside Manor, how did you know her Majesty and Princess Amila would be close by."

"I took an educated guess." A blatant lie that has him grinning from ear to ear. He leans closer, pulling the attention of the ladies especially as his ember eyes burn into you.

"Far more than an educated guess." He spins you again and you fight the tightness in your gut. Enjoying the dance as he parades you around the room as if to say look at what I have that you could never.

Even if the two of you agreed you would never be his. The two of you having struck up an arrangement of sorts on your first dance. He was forced by his Grace to ask at least one woman to dance and he had only chosen you with hopes that you would say no.

But you loved the honest, irritated look that lingered in his eyes and on his lips. So of course you said yes as misery loves company. It was then he told you not to fall for him as he had his eyes set on the Crown, you laughed loudly and said "As if I would ever fall for an arrogant pig such as yourself, my Lord." His smile was wild as he enjoyed your insult, it was then you told him you would help him with the Crown, only if he made you his first and last dance of the evening at every event.

Back then he had hesitantly agreed, now he can see how far your scheming mind went. Saw the numerous callers and suitors who loitered in your parlor, the extravagant flowers that they sent in excess. The rings they bestowed to you as they dropped to one knee, bold enough to peacock the large diamonds in front of other callers.

And all after Bakugou had done as you asked for only three parties. He got a front row seat to rejection every single time, which in turn started the talk, the gossip, that this city loved. You were desired because of how you painted yourself and in turn made Lord Bakugou desired as well. Talked about, all because he was the only male who had your approval.

He loved your scheming mind so much he could kiss you, but alas you did not wear a crown. Although you often had a braid of jewels atop your head, sadly you were not kin to royalty, only a Baron's daughter after all.

Bakugou wonders what you could have done as a queen. He would think you an empress.

"Is that all the detail I get? Just a confirmation that I was correct about their holiday?" He spins the two of you in step, hand guiding you although you did not need it. Having memorized every step to every dance there was since before your debut.

"She saw me."

"And?!" You can hardly keep up the façade of calm collection as you wait.

"And she flushed. Her cheeks were as red as any rose, Starlight, she was a rare red diamond sparkling by the lake. She must already be in love with me." You snort, unable to stop the smile on your lips.

"I've never heard you so poetic before. Normally you leave that to Lord Kirishima. How many times did you run into her? Not more than three I hope."

"Oi, I am a well versed student and I listened to my teacher. I made her wait for the fourth and denied it. Left her in wonder and hope as you said." He rolls his eyes, fingers sliding up to your dress line touching your bare skin with his beneath your guise of hair. The sensation of his warm fingers against your cool skin does not go unnoticed.

"Are you practicing for your dance with the 'rare red diamond' now?" You taunt, earning that chest tightening wolf grin.

"I'm only doing as my teacher has instructed."

"Well the Princess will fall for you the moment you kiss her hand."

"One can only hope. Her official debut is less than a month away. I want it to be perfect." His eyes shimmer with plotting mischief as does yours.

"So it shall."

The music flows and ebbs to the end of the song as Bakugou deposits you right back where he got you. Bringing your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles as he holds your gaze once more.

"My Starlight." When he straightens you curtsy.

"My Grace." With that he leaves, heading towards the table of sweets and beverages, you were sure he would be ordering bourbon. Your mother clears her throat from her chair, the out of season silk blanket over her thick skirts pulls at your heart. She sits on that plush chair as if it were her throne.

"You dance with Lord Bakugou often." An observation.

"Indeed." A dry retort.

"I am sure Lord Kirishima will be your next dance, correct?"

"One can only hope."

"So you have an eye for a Duke's son?"

"I am happy to dance with those deserving, Mother." Your mother keeps her eyes on the turning bodies on the hardwood floor, Kirishima makes his way through the crowd once he spies you. Your mother turns to face you as she says

"Is the Duke of Winter's son deserving?"

"Hmm, he has three sons, mother." You keep your eyes away from her until she finally looks back into the crowd.

"Ah yes but only one is ever at these events." You follow your mother's gaze and they fall upon the Lord, he is the third son, he opted to chase after the world of medicine rather than women. Earning his doctorate much faster than his peers, he only just returned to conduct his practice in Alryne.

Pity he returned at all.

He catches your eye and you make a point to turn your cheek, unable to stomach his heterochromatic, condensing gaze. Your turned cheek was as close to fuck you as you could ever say to the high and mighty Lord. Still the words burned on your tongue as if you swallowed acid.

"It is not as if he ever dances mother. Therefore, how can I give him my attention? As you taught me a woman must wait to be asked as it is every woman's dream to be wed to a handsome, skilled dancer." Out of the corner of your eye you can feel her displeased look before she straightens.

"At least do not string along Lord Kirishima, that boy is not as zealous as his cousin." She says just as the large man slips through the last throng of the crowd.

"My shining gem." He smiles with sharp teeth before he places a chaste kiss atop your hand.

"My Lord." A curtsy before he asks.

"May I have this dance?" His smile is plastered on his face as he knows your answer.

"You may." Kirishima sweeps you across the floor in a different manner than Bakugou. Lord Kirishima is more flirtatious in the way that he guides you. Always choosing more of the upbeat dances as opposed to his cousin's serious selection. You do not hesitate to go in for the kill.

"So when do you plan to ask Lady Mina for her hand?" He blushes at your words. Biting the inside of his lip subtly, a habit you could only notice from being up close.

"Have you even attempted to court her? What fear plagues you, Lord?" Confusion dots your features as a sad smile paints his soft lips.

"I am not sure she would- That we would be an ideal fit." Kirishima admits, turning you gracefully, pulling you close to his body. Scandalous some would say had the two of you been an inch closer.

"Well my Lord, I believe, had you actually talked to her while the two of you danced, as I suggested, then you would come to find out that she is lovely. Pure hearted as she is honest in this game seeking love. Most women here are making attempts to move up in position, my Lord. As a Duke's first son the title of Grace is yours to master. She is a delight and air is not the only thing between her ears as some of these…"You survey the room as everyone watches with greedy eyes, "Vultures."

He laughs never used to your own unwavering honesty. He knows you are not participating by your own free will, he knows because you are helping himself and his cousin when he was sure you could have had anyone in this room.

If the Majesty's nephew, Prince of the Yarrow were to attend even one ball this season, Kirishima was sure you would have his attention too.

He twirls your body away from his and brings you back to the safety of his sturdy form. Your eyes are molten determination as you all but hiss

"Ask her to dance next. You know the host prefers the set to be serious, flirtatious, and then a slow dance. It will be the perfect time to talk."

Lord Kirishima sighs, squeezing your hand as he guides the two of you closer to your mother so he can leave you in her company.

"You could turn any dull man into something more. Whoever wins your hand is getting a precious gem indeed." He kisses your hand as the music begins to change into something slower as you had predicted.

"One shall only hope." You curtsy as he takes his flushed neck towards a certain Countess. Your mother gives you a knowing look and you offer her a cat smirk. She shakes her head but even she cannot hide her own satisfied smile.

A blonde male approaches, as he does every third ball after he ensures your first two dances have been taken. The flamboyant male has not once asked for a dance first, trying to be just as calculating as you. Although he is much more obvious.

You suppose it was not half bad for a male.

"My lady." He bends lower than he should for his station in life, but he is obviously copying the cousins before him having seen how it makes you smile.

Lavender eyes shine up at you as the Viscount brings his lips to your gloved hand. You debate if you should say yes tonight. Having left him in the dark as your desire to dance with him solely depended on your mood.

"May I show the room the grace in which steals the breath from my lungs?" Your eyes smirk as your lips form a small smile. It seems flattery would earn him a dance tonight.

"You may."

The Viscount smiles with delight as he gently takes you to the dance floor, holding you to him as he takes you across the hardwood. The candle lights play along your features as Monoma's face grows soft. Had he been anyone else his gaze might have brought a flush about you. The two of you shared a few dances before, he has sat in your parlor in the time he has attempted to court you and the flowers he sends are always the most expensive.

He has even brought you chocolate from a month's long trip. Even you had to admit that was thoughtful, not too many people knew of your Achilles heel. A small part of you thought that if no one else would do, at least this man would bring you luxurious chocolates.

"No trips this season?" You smile politely, he blinks as he seems to come to.

"Only if I can take you with me." He smiles, a hint. You pretend yourself modest and look away to fight the roll of your eyes.

Maybe chocolate would not be enough to sate you.

His eyes flicker to your mother as a question forms on his lips.

"Neither your brothers nor the Baron attended tonight?"

"Ah unfortunately no. My mother is my chaperone tonight." You say tilting your head, he turns so you can face her, stepping slowly as the song lulls on.

"I am elated she is well enough to attend." He smiles, you cannot tell if it reaches his eyes so instead you offer

"As am I."

The rest of the night is filled with rejection tumbling from your rouged lips as champagne flutes seem to find their way into your hand.

"Not too much of that dear or you will not be able to enjoy the company of your suitors."

"Truly a pity." You say taking another from a passing waiter. Eyes trained on Lord Iida and the lovely dancer in his hands, a blue dress sweeping across the floor and a white carnation nestled in her hair.

A beautiful touch and it pays homage to their first dance before they were even wed.

The love that embraced the couple could turn anyone in the room green with envy.

You down your flute as you reach for another.

Night brightens into morning much too soon as curtains are ripped open in your room.

"My lady callers will be here soon." Rose, your handmaiden says softly, "I have a bath waiting for you."

You groan in response having not had enough sleep after pouring over your drafts for your book until your candle snuffed itself out.

"Turn them all away Rose." You growl turning away from the irritating light, could it not have rained this morning to delay the suitors as it always did in this forsaken town?

"She will do no such thing." Your mother says as she walks into your room with her cane, her hand gripping onto the golden beak of a bird.

"Mother, why not marry off Hendrix or Hideki?"

"Hendrix must apprentice under your Father for a period of time while Hideki can do as he pleases for now. He is only 20, besides he makes an excellent chaperone does he not? He isn't too nosy nor does he neglect his duties to intimidate pushy men." She pushes some of your hair back as she sighs, "Although I doubt you need help in that manor."

"I deserve a strong bloodline, so I will do what I must to ensure that. Even if my face has to be scary at times." You and your mother share a laugh before she adds.

"Your face is far from scary my dear." She touches your cheek softly rising from the bed to allow you to get ready, "The suitors shall arrive within the hour. Make haste."

"Yes mother." You half groan rising to wash. Enjoying the warm water that Rose has so kindly added aromatic flora and citrus to. Once you enter your bedroom Rose has a dress picked out for you, waiting for your final approval. You nod allowing Rose to assist you with your corset and strings of your dress before you pick out jewelry to match your silver finery. You choose a silver bracelet with little diamonds as stars that Lord Bakugou had given you for your birthday this past year, smiling down at the small thing before assessing yourself in the mirror.

"What do you think Rose, should I add some rouge to my lips?" She gives you a smile of delight.

"And your cheeks too, my Lady."

Breakfast is served in the parlor as it consists mostly of fruits and finger pastries that will be served to the other guests. Hideki comes down in a fine and deep sapphire suit.

“Sister.” He gives a smirk to which you nod.

“Brother.”

“And what trouble will you get into today?” He stage whispers, causing you to cut him a glare as your father comes around to loom in the arch way of the parlor.

“Remember, you need to pick a husband this season or I will pick for you. It is disgraceful to have gone through two seasons at your age.”

“I am only twenty four, dearest Father..”

“That just proves my point. You have a month before I extend an offer to the Duke's-.” He takes in a sharp breath to chide you further only for his Grace to swoop in and save the day.

“Baron.” Bakugou says, his eyes challenging as your father bows his head. As Bakugou makes his way towards the delicate foods. Father cuts you a knowing glare. As if to say I know your games child.

You offer a sweet smile as you make your way towards your small writing desk, fighting off the urge to groan outwardly. You just wanted to work on your manuscript or read for that matter. Instead you would have to entertain men who cared not what you thought only what your pretty mouth would not say. They would swarm you, demanding attention as you waved them off gently, half you had never even spoken too. Bakugou gives you a wicked smile from beside you as if he could read your thoughts. At least he always sat closest to you, saving you in a way although you never instructed him to sit close.

He just always had.

"Do you not want to play the piano today, my shining Gem?" Kirishima asks from the door.

"Ah I am not sure I am in the mood for it, my Lord."

"Easier to avoid people as the bench is only meant for one." Bakugou gives a devilish smirk, Kirishima almost pouts, his sullen expression does not go unnoticed by his cousin.

"It has been an eon since you last played for us." Bakugou adds.

"Am I to be your song bird today?" You cut a glare at him.

"Yes, Starlight I believe you are." It seems it had no effect. Sighing you stand, collecting your skirts as your wrist twinkles in the morning sun. Garnet eyes bore into the delicate wristlet. Your fingers pluck a key here or there until you begin to play. Losing yourself in the music as you sing ballads from ages ago, melding them into songs you've written until it all sounds like a cohesive piece. Each old song is lost in transition to the new one, time ticks on but you do not notice the string of men who come and go from your parlor. Resting your voice for the time being as your fingers fly across the keys to something you composed while thinking of your father and his ever pushing hand towards a Duke's son you had great distaste for. The notes are sharp, almost jarring at times yet still the piece is stunning. In that time you had not noticed the lavender eyed man who sat closest to you, right in front of the piano in the corner of the couch. The finger cramping song ends on a somber, harsh note.

"What a beautifully charged song." Monoma says breathlessly.

“Well I was thinking of my enemies when I composed it.” You smile at the sunshine blonde with a devilish grin, he feels unsettled by it but says nothing nonetheless. His lavender eyes glance over to the wolves at the back of your den. Hideki gives him a small nod, Kirishima a soft smile but Bakugou gives him a glare that feels like Monoma is gripping needles.

He swallows thickly, adjusting himself on the plushed silk of the couch before your small piano.

“Ah before I forget.” He smiles pulling out a box setting it atop the polished wood. Gifts were a natural part of courtship or so your mother said. You offer a smile, grabbing for the box with poised eagerness and yet not overly so.

Not that you were excited but you had to pretend to be. You unbox the obvious jewelry and fight back the distaste as you stare down at a gaudy, overly large necklace. The colors are a soft green and yellow, colors you avoid for many reasons.

“Thank you.” You think to add a chord or two to your unnamed song in honor of Monoma. Bakugou laughs loudly from the back of the room, feeling how much you hate the gift, you look over your shoulder to send him a glare that he can only smile at.

After hours of trepid and boring conversation Monoma takes his leave.

“Another evening my Lady.” He smiles softly and you return it half heartedly.

“Another evening.” Lavender looks over your shoulder before Monoma clears his throat

“Your Grace and your Grace.” He bows his head, the ash blonde and redhead nod in unison.

"Shall we go and drink my high friends?" Hideki asks, hoping for an excuse to leave the stuff house. He was more than over bearing witness to gag worthy stares and compliments some of these men gave you.

"An excellent idea!" Kirishima exclaims, standing before stopping by you. He takes your gloveless hand with a sharp, flirtatious smile.

"My shining gem." He presses his lips to your skin and you return his smile.

"My Lord." He nods and takes his leave, Hideki at his heels as Bakugou approaches. He does an exaggerated sigh unable to hide his smirk.

"Little songbird how will I ever get through the night without my Starlight?" He holds your hand, lowering his upper half as did his cousin before him.

"I suppose you will fumble in the dark."

"If only I had the pleasure." He purrs as he presses his lips to your bare skin. Suddenly his fingers are too warm as he holds your gaze, he looks as if he could devour you.

Lest he forget he is staring down a panther himself.

"Have fun fumbling in the dark by yourself, my Lord." You remove your hand and look out of the corner of your eye at him. He backs towards the door of the room.

"I should hope to have thoughts of Starlight." He calls before he disappears into the hall. You tap a key as your mind wanders before you rise, famished and ready for dinner before you would take a long night of writing.

A month passes by faster than you'd like and you find yourself outside of the ballroom in the grand hall of the castle. Soft music filters in through the doors as your Father insisted the family be a bit late this evening.

For he wanted to make a statement and one at your expense.

"If Duke Enji's son asks you for a dance you will oblige." Your father hisses, his large hand curling around your bicep. You bare your teeth, stepping out of his grip as you collect yourself.

"He has three." Acid drips from your tongue as sure as morning dew.

"The doctor. Not the failure first born and not the inadequate second. The third. Shoto. Think of your ailing mother...would you abandon her for such vile, pointless ambitions?"

"I think you will not weaponize her. So do as I please and decline." You hold his burning glare as you add, "If the Duke's family is as bad off as you make it seem."

"Oh I think you shall accept his dance. Or so help me God I will burn every book your ill, grief stricken mother ever shoved into your scrubby little hands." He leans closer, a nasty smile forming as his lips, "And if that is not enough I will throw your manuscript into the fire for fodder."

Your eyes blaze with a rage that ignites beneath your skin, burning your blood as your eyes make unspoken promises. When I am through with you

You part your lips to retort but your eye catches Hendrix and Hideki, their eyes filled with pity before your mother slowly approaches.

Father chose his battleground well, knowing you would be unable to react as you pleased and with Bakugou already at the party there was no other male to save you. You bite your tongue until you taste blood.

"Is everything alright?" Mother asks tentatively, fussing with your hair, "Darling you must mind your face, my love."

You swat her away, breathing through your nose as if you were a dragon. Heat still dancing in your veins as you allow your feet to move on their own.

"Announce me. Only me. And do not announce another soul until I am beyond the last step." You hiss to the harbinger whose eyes grow wide before he nods. His voice booms over the murmurers of the crowd and once eyes begin to land on you they are silenced.

Your eyes are set hard and as cold as stone as you look over the crowd, slowly descending the steps in your deep ombre gown. Starless night black from the bodice before it lightens gradually into a charcoal grey, glittering crystals sewn into the material shine in the candle light like miniature stars. Your gloves followed the same gradual pattern except it seemed as if each finger was dipped in glittering silver and atop your wrist was your favorite piece, diamonds winking in the low light set into silver pointed stars. Woven in your hair were diamonds and pale citrine alike forming a crown in its own nature.

Had Her Royal Highness not have already been announced and seated it would be easy to mistake you for the Crown. Considering how you commanded attention and held yourself, eyes looking at no one but seeing all.

The envy, the awe, the lust.

A pivotal moment was coming, the last three stairs is where a woman would normally hold out their hand, expecting their favorite suitor to take action but you did not hold out your hand. Keeping one firmly on the dark wood of the banister while the other was eloquently posed beside you. Even if you had held out your hand the men in the room were too stunned to step up to help you. This allowed a soft, devilish smile to form on your painted lips as they performed exactly as you had planned. Finally your gem encrusted slipper touched the hardwood, parting the crowd before the spell was broken by the announcement of the rest of your family. The room let out a collective breath and instantly erupted in hot gossip. All of it falling on deaf ears as you grabbed onto a flute of trusted champaign.

From across the room you felt burning garnet eyes on you, you met them briefly before sipping at your bubbly beverage. He begins to cross the sea of bodies when a large man steps into your view.

His eyes are cold as they bore into you, a shining sapphire paired with a smokey quartz. Distaste curdles your stomach as you fight to keep your face neutral and your eyes trained on him. Fans block painted lips as they spread more gossip about the man before you.

"Is she ensnaring another Duke's son?"

"She is becoming too haughty for a Baron's daughter."

"Do you think she insulted the Crown with her entrance?"

"Would you allow me your first dance?" His deep voice cuts through the vultures' cries pulling you back to him. He has your glittering left hand in his. Brining the dazzling glove to his lips in greeting, there is no joy in his gemstone gaze.

The hot rage bears its teeth again as it surges through your blood like liquid fire, burning so hot it felt cold as it licked at your bones. Your lip barely twitches, No poised on your tongue as your father's grating voice echoes in your head.

"Think of your ailing mother...would you abandon her for such vile, pointless ambitions?"

And so your mouth finally forms the words.

"You may." He looks surprised, surrounding faces mirror his own before he fully takes your hand. Guiding you to the floor during one of your favorite songs that you always sat out as no dance partner ever dared the secret, advanced steps. You were steeling yourself for disappointment

Shoto's grip on your body is tight but not uncomfortable as he sweeps you across the dance floor, twirling you, guiding you as he holds your gaze. His stare is heavy and intense in a different manner from Bakugou's with a hint of something that could be mistaken as flirtatious. But you saw it for what it was, discontent.

As the song pushed on the discontent seemed to change into something new entirely as he showcased your skill while hiding his own. Allowing you to twirl away from him in several rotations that would make even the most skillful dancer fearful of misstep and yet you breathed in the music as if it were precious air. Neither of you notice how the other dancers give you room, allowing for more twirls and advanced steps as the two of you are becoming lost to the music. His fingers brush your bare skin as he pulls you back to him for guided, sharp steps as the music heightens. His skin brushes yours again, electricity thrums beneath the pads of his fingers before he sends you into another dizzying rotation but to you it was nothing. Briefly you wonder if this were a test until you see the soft smile on his lips when you return to his arms safely for the final set of guided steps before the music were to abruptly end, just as the dance was intended. His eyes were glued to yours the entirety of the dance, softening with each step.

Both of you stop in beat with the last soaring note panting as the movement seems to catch up with the two of you. Neither of you realize how quiet the room is until clapping comes from the royal dais high above the room, the rest of the crowd follows suit. Shock melts into a smile as your eyes return to his. A sharp pain rings out in his chest.

"Not bad for a Baron's daughter." Disgust settles on your face faster than you can stop it spewing from your lips.

"Not bad for a recluse of a Duke's son." You tilt your head up, fighting the snarl of your lip as his face becomes so mind numbingly neutral while his eyes darken. Shoto drops you off by your mother only for Bakugou to approach, swiftly bringing you to the floor for a slow song.

"Starlight. How did I not know you could dance like that?" He is astonished by your skill, "I've never seen you so happy. Maybe the Duke of Winter's third son will do you justice yet."

You scoff but all Bakugou can do is offer you a deadly smile.

"Enough about my dead end dancing." Your eyes glance towards the dias, the Princess cannot look away from the two of you, "This should be enough for the Princess to want to dance soon."

It is Bakugou's turn to scoff.

"Are you sure she is even going to have the opportunity to dance? No one is even allowed on the stairs to their enclave."

"Ah but this is her debut. The Queen will allow it, besides the princess cannot keep her gaze off of a certain ash blonde."

"How could she ever?" Your laugh rings out, it warms even the coldest hearts as Bakugou pulls you closer to him. Heat radiates from his body in a calming manner, your fingers squeeze his.

"Arrogant as ever." You smile, thinking how you will miss dancing with him or even having him at the back of your parlor to laugh with over sad attempts at your hand, "Remember once you take her one dance for the night, she must be your first and last dance of the night in the future, if not your only."

Bakugou cannot hide the dejection in his eyes even as he feigns cockiness.

"I am a well versed student, remember?" His fingers brush over your skin, his middle finger tracing a small circle.

"The best student I could ask for." The music comes to a close on more than just the song as Bakugou returns you to your family. He presses a long kiss to your glittering glove.

"Until we meet again, my Starlight." He holds your stare.

"Until then my Grace." With that the night sets into motion as you turn down dances left and right. Eyeing a ruby haired man who twirls a certain countess in his hands. As the music ends the Queen stands earning a hushed crowd.

"My daughter, the Royal Princess shall take the dance floor, she will only allow one dance on the night of her debut." It is not a shock that she is allowed so little but there is no worry on Bakugou's face. The princess straightens at the top of the stairs, trying to exude the same commanding energy you did. She falls short in power but outshines you in other wordly innocence and grace. As if she were a lily that only bloomed for the moon, her beauty unmatched in her pale pink dress. Carefully she guides the layers of it down the steps as diamonds and pearls drip from her hair and throat. She tries to keep her eyes from sticking to a broad shouldered man and yet at the same time from wandering, as she stares at the back wall of the room.

As she nears the third step Bakugou struts towards his prize with the ease of a relaxed swagger, glaring at men as he passes before he reaches the bottom of the steps. Extending his hand to the Princess just as she hits the third step from the bottom. She cannot keep the smile off of her face as her gloved hand claps onto his bare fingers. He bows deeply, raising her hand above him to look from beneath long lashes before he brings his lips to the silk.

"Your Royal Highness, my shining diamond. You are truly the envy of the night." A flush gives the Princess' lack of experience away, "May I have this dance?"

"You may." It is a breathy answer before Bakugou sweeps her off of her feet. Charming her with each calculated step and arrogant quip. The princess smiles wide and almost pouts once the music begins to ebb. Bakugou returns her to the stairs, supporting her hand as long as he can before she rises out of reach.

But to Bakugou she never was and never will be unattainable.

Before the night is over an envelope is pressed into your hands with the Crown's seal pressed into the wax. You quirk your brow, tucking it away to be read at home.

"I am so elated you came." Her voice is like honey as the butler opens the doors to a parlor so large it could hold your entire home. She guides you towards a small table and fights with the layers of her silk dress before sitting.

"How could I reject a personal invitation from her majesty?" You sit across from her, eyes going over the deck of cards and a set of tea.

"Well, believe it or not, I do not have the pleasure of friends, so please call me Amila."

"Everyone would desire to be a friend of the Crown, your Royal Highness." You counter, quickly she points her fan towards you, tapping your side of the small ornate card table.

"Ah but you do not have the desire to befriend the Crown, so I have high hopes that you will befriend me for me." She smiles, a certain gleam to her eye before she says, "Now let's talk about handsome Bakugou and how well you played me."

Your face gives nothing away as you look up from the cards you've been dealt. Your mind rushes down all possible avenues but you know to avoid the one of playing dumb. It is obvious that the Princess has a keen eye.

"Surely you'll reveal to me what gave us away."

"After that dance Bakugou had with me, had I been anyone else he would have returned to you. He either has his only dance with you or his last dance with you. I figured him or Lord Kirishima to be heavily interested in you. You are a sparkling gem amongst the coal down there so I know you have many callers and suitors. But the last to leave are always Lord Bakugou and Lord Kirishima. That is what has thrown me off the scent." You laugh at her honesty of the knowledge she has obviously collected about you or was tactful enough to guess.

"This is what we do, your Royal Highness." Your gloved hand gestures to the table, "I take them for all that they are worth." An honest giggle leaves Amilia's lips.

"For that I am grateful and some would dare say I am in your debt."

"A brazen statement." Your eyes return to your cards, "I would not state it as a debt although I am happy to receive your gratitude. Especially since it is in the form of cards and cake."

A laugh falls from her lips as a smile settles on yours. The round of cards continues. You win the first few rounds and then Amelia has a lucky hand. Winning the last white tea macaron.

"Did you allow me to best you?"

"Lady Luck just happened to take favor of the Crown."

"Or maybe she took pity. " She smiles, fingers fidgeting nervously, "Would you care to admire the art? Mother allows me to have this as my own personal parlor so I decorate it as I wish."

"I would love to admire some of these lovely paintings. Starting with the one behind you." You stand, heading to the large piece you had been eyeing for some time during the games. You could tell by the stroke of the brush that the artist was newer to painting but they were quite talented, the strokes almost went unnoticed even by your sharp eye.

Most importantly were the emotions the work of art evoked from the viewer.

Silently the two of you drank in the large oil painting. The canvas colored in deep pinks, reds and oranges as the sun laid to rest to allow its lover the full scope of the sky. Shadows stretched far and towards the viewer and if one paid close attention they would notice the black cat in the corner with two large moon eyes.

You especially liked this painting, the ease it made you feel even earning a small smile.

"I can already tell this one is by far my favorite, your Royal Highness you have a fine eye for art." She blushes at your compliment, twisting some of her low hanging hair. You keep your amusement of her flustering to yourself, eyes trained on the swirling colors of the rippling blue mirror of the sky, looking for a signature.

Odd, there isn't a looping set of initials in the corner like most have. As if reading it on your face she speaks.

"I- I am the artist…" It is shy and soft, unlike the Princess and you realize the weight of the truth. That she had not heard one genuine compliment of anything that she had ever done.

All she would ever receive is flattery and only for the hopes of kindness from the Crown. Finally time swallows up her sudden meekness as she blurts out.

"Are you sure Lord Bakugou is not in love with you? I know you fancy Lord Todoroki, Doctor Shoto."

"I do not fancy the Doctor, he simply is the most logical option I have currently, he would make a fine partner and husband. The seasons have not brought anyone new and my days of spring are limited." You idly move to the next painting as you speak, "As far as Lord Bakugou, he and I are too much alike. Too ambitious for our own good, we'd either explode or implode I'm afraid. Like some tragic star in the vast galaxy."

"You would not marry for love?"

"It is best to marry for a strong partnership, love is a possible byproduct, however it proves to be a rarity. Love comes with time, your Royal Highness, a luxury us women do not have." You glance her way, "Not even a Princess is immune to this unfortunate condition from which all women suffer."

"But he looks at you with intense burning, with...love."

A quiet moment passes between the two of you before you offer your honesty.

"He would learn to look at you that way, more than he would see the Crown. Especially with your mind and artistic skill. He would be a fool not to fall for you." Her eyes water at your response, "Come, let me teach you how to best Bakugou at his favorite card game, Amelia."

When you return home later that afternoon Bakugou is fidgeting outside of the manor causing your brow to furrow. Then it dawns on you that one of your brother's has a big mouth and told his Grace where you would be.

"My Lord."

"Starlight." He offers you a strong arm and you take it as he guides you up the stairs and into the parlor just off the foyer.

"Are you here to gossip?" You trust Bakugou enough to go without a chaperone, besides the doors to the parlor are wide open. You sink into your writing chair as he takes his normal seat by your side. The plush cushions do not ease his twitching fingers before you give him a playful shove.

"Out with it then!" You giggle, the sound pulls a devilish smirk from the blonde seemingly easing whatever troubled his mind. He leans back into the cushions.

"So, how much did her Highness speak of me? Endless compliments no doubt." His teeth flash white as you roll your eyes.

"And here I thought you had a pressing matter." You move to turn away from him to focus on writing but he grabs onto your knee. Giving it a gentle squeeze as his face gives him away. The tips of his ears burn before he clears his throat.

"I have to show you something and I need your honest opinion." Silence is his answer as you patiently wait for him to produce the mystery item. Slowly he reaches into his pocket, a black velvet box is in his hands. A smile blooms on your lips as you anticipate the ring he must have picked for the princess. He opens the box and your heart free falls into your stomach.

It is a pear shaped black diamond flanked by silvery diamonds that wink in the afternoon sun. At the top of the circle of diamonds was a deep red garnet that looked like a drop of blood. The ring felt powerful if it could make one feel such a thing. You fist your skirts as you collect yourself. He watches your face contort as you look over the ring, his jaw ticking with worry as you assess what is essentially both his ego and pride.

But the ring is breathtaking, perfect really.

"Katsuki, it is a gorgeous ring…" Your voice trails as you admire it, "But I believe the princess to have less...moody tastes. She does not normally wear dark colors."

A small silence stretches between the two of you, almost as if he expects something else, quickly he snaps the box shut.

"This is why I ask you things, my stunning Starlight." He pulls out a red velvet box popping it open. This ring is beautiful as well but does not have your heart as much as the first.

It is a stunning and giant marquise cut white diamond. Blinding in the light with a halo of pale pink diamonds. It is vibrant, radiant like the princess. Katsuki always did pick out the perfect jewelry to match a woman's tastes. Bakugou watches your face carefully, the sad smile that pulls your lips upward causes a deep ache in his chest. His jaw ticks again but you answer before he can even think to lash out.

"Your Grace, this will surely win her heart." He looks you in your eyes, a flash of an emotion you cannot quite catch before his arrogance returns.

"Indeed it shall. We can discuss the best date to ask another time." He closes the box and tucks them both away, he grabs your left hand, fingers ghosting over the bracelet he gave you, "You seem tired, you should get some rest."

"I believe that to be a grand idea." You say softly as he kisses each knuckle. He squeezes your fingers.

"My life would be dark without you my Starlight." You fight to keep the bitterness out of your voice as you reply.

"Soon you will have a shining diamond to light up your life."

"Only thanks to you." With that he takes his leave.

With burning eyes you add to your manuscript, foolishly writing a love story as your other novels have been completed. The candle dwindles as the hours pass before your hunched shoulders ache from the poor posture and lack of movement. You stretch, yawning as you do before you decide to head to bed.

Expecting an empty foyer you are surprised to see your father looming in the hall, your mother standing solemn by his side. Her fingers clutch at her pearls as your eyes catch sight of bags at their feet. It is not unusual for them to leave in the middle of the night in order to keep the severity of your mother's health from the limelight.

"Is there troubling news?" Anxiety twitches in your fingers as you clasp them together. Although your father's next words make your fingers want to wrap around his thick neck.

"We have been invited for an extended stay at Duke Enji's manner in the countryside in hopes the two of you will court one another."

"Father that is scandalous in itself."

"Not if an engagement comes of it. Which one will, whether you fall for him or not, young lady. The matter has been decided among the men." His words sting like a slap in the face. Where most would cry you lash out.

"Oh, I get it. Per usual the men can think with nothing more than what hangs between their legs, fearful that theirs is not long enough. So the men do all that they can to control everything but their own fragility." You step towards your father and he takes a step back, "Or is it more gruesome than that? One blackmailing the other? I just cannot imagine the ambitious Duke wanting a Baron's daughter for his son. Unless his family is so far in decline he must place the weight on his new heir and bride."

His eyes widen unnaturally before he is frothing at the mouth.

"YOU WILL NOT SPEAK OUT OF TURN. YOU WILL LEARN YOUR DAMN PLACE. " He slaps you, causing a hush to fall over your family. Your eyes are wide with animalistic rage as you lunge only for Hendrix and Hideki to hold you back. Both strong men begin dragging you away.

"Forgive her, Father." Hendrix starts before Hideki finishes, "You know how the heat gives women a touch of hysteria."

"We will help her pack her bags."

All the while your mother looks at her husband in horror. The sight falls beneath the stairs before you are shoved onto your bed.

"Sister!" Hendrix roars while the youngest brother looks flustered, worried, "What were you thinking? You know how closed minded father is."

Hideki cuts the eldest a look before he adds.

"We are just worried. Normally you keep your wrath at bay."

"As much as it may come as a surprise. I am only human." You rise from the bed asking Rose to prepare you a trunk. To pack anything, that you did not care as you sat at your desk furiously writing. Your bothers watch you with curious eyes as the tension seems to subside before they take their leave.

Minutes tick by before you're standing in the foyer. Father and mother were already sitting in the carriage that waited outside under the cover of misty rain. Hendrix and Hideki stand awkwardly by the round table in the middle of the foyer. Pretending to fuss over lavish flowers Lord Bakugou had sent that morning. A beautiful arrangement of roses and hydrangeas, two of your favorites, the Lord knew of them through observation alone. You wait patiently until one brother makes eye contact with you. Hideki breaks first, guilt shining in his eyes as it threatens to spill over. It is obvious he does not want you to leave the house, his normally crooked smile falters. You cup his cheek, smiling up at your sentimental younger brother, he acts as if you will never come back.

Maybe there is some truth in that.

"Cry not, for I have an iron will while father's is but made of glass." You swipe the tear, before pressing two letters into his chest, "Besides I have an important task for you."

"Is it your scheming?" Hendrix chides and you laugh in answer before continuing.

"These are for Lord Bakugou and Lord Kirishima, it is imperative you deliver these letters." The paper contained important instructions for not only a successful proposal but a marriage as well.

You'd be damned if all three of you would turn out miserable.

"I'll put them in the post."

"No hand deliver them." Your eyes turn icy causing both brothers to go rigid, "And should I find out the seal has been broken before their arrival I shall take the family jewels from between your legs."

"Is that any way for a lady to talk, my dearest sister?" A jest in an attempt to lighten your souring mood.

"Yes, it is."

"They will be in their hands by this evening. We are wagering on a fight tonight. Enjoy your stay." Hideki leans in close with a tease but his voice almost cracks, "Make sure the rock is huge."

"Indeed." Hendrix agrees with an almost sad look in his eye, leaving you to wonder what it is that they know and you do not.

Well, you do know why they have such long faces, you just do not care to admit. You wave to them and their eyes catch on the silvery reflection of diamonds on your wrist.

The manner is stifling to say the least. The large, grand thing is as your trunk is set in your room that overlooks a small garden and the long sweeping hill that leads home. You pace your room before a knock comes at your door.

Hoping to ignore it, having not the desire to speak to a soul, your feet quiet. You listen for them to retreat but instead a louder knock sounds out. Before his grating voice floats from beneath the door and through the keyhole.

"I know you are in there, my lady."

Ugh, that stupid doctor stood on the other side of the door. Still you ignore him.

"It is rude to ignore your host." It ignites something in your stomach before you rip the door open. Eyes ablaze as Todoroki stands perfectly still in his onyx black suit sans jacket. White sleeves rolled up showcasing his strong forearms.

"Surely, a good host would not force his guests to his estate?"

"A good host would not mention how unwanted their guest is." His smile is sickeningly polite, eyes as cold as yours. It is hard to keep your composure as you breathe in deeply through your nose, eyes widening before you slam the door in his face.

Only once you hear his footfalls retreat and the moon shines long on your floor boards do you finally make your way towards the door. A woman on a mission as you yank the door open, uncaring that you were not in much but a thick white nightgown that could be mistaken for a dress. You rush for the stairs and through the door just off their back parlor, having memorized it from the long winded tour both your father and his Grace Enji insisted the small party take of the grounds.

A cool summer breeze whips your hair this way and that as it dries the sweat that sits at your nape. Normally people would describe this feeling as miserable, that even the breeze had a bit of heat to it, but you.

You lived for it. Twirling in the moonlight you allow yourself a moment for vulnerability you often cannot afford before you go deeper on the grounds, closer to the woods that lie just beyond the manor.

Once you are at the edge you give the grand home a glare with your back towards the woods. The creatures of the night sing their symphonies well into the late hour. A twig snaps behind you cause you to turn about face, your eyes meet with lavender framed beneath light lashes.

Ice runs through your blood as you faintly recall him speaking of these trees by his own countryside manor. He often went to these grounds to hunt.

So why was he standing on the Todoroki grounds?

"So it is true?" Monoma chokes out an ugly sound. It is between defeat and a snarl. He takes a step closer, "Whisked away in the night. Did Todoroki steal your maiden head from me?"

Your eyes widen at his scandalous accusation and it is then you see how truly disheveled he is. Hair plastered to his forehead, his canary suit stained green from foliage. The fabric even darkening beneath his armpits and at his collar, it sends a sort of frantic look to his eye. He steps forward and for once in your life you yield, stepping back.

"That is a damning accusation." You fight to keep the cracking rage from your voice, the small fear that blooms in your belly like poison nightshade. Swallowing thickly he steps forward.

"He, he can't take what's mine. I- I was going to propose today. But that damn Bakugou is always lingering around like toxic gas. Poisoning your mind with his….ambitions." It is then you see red.

How dare anyone thing you were so fucking fragile and innocent some young blonde could corrupt you. Your palm strikes his cheek with enough force that he is facing away from you. You strike again and then as you rear up your fist he pulls you to him. Pressing his whisky soaked lips to yours as he swallows you whole. Mouth extended over your lips, sloppily engulfing you as he makes sounds that make you want to retch. His tongue slides past your lips and you bite.

Not enough that he loses it, although you wish you could afford to do such a thing. But you still lived in a society where a man's word was far more valuable than that of a "whore." Shaking you pull back, so much rage that you do not see the flash of light until it is too late.

"Fucking bitch!" He slashes at your nightgown, cutting the fabric away as you think you've doged, he goes to slash again, "God damn whore!"

His voice echoes through the trees and that scares you more than the knife in his hand, his sloppy demnor creates an opening as you kick him so hard between his legs he falls to the ground, puking up his belly full of liquor onto the moss floor.

Suddenly the summer night is too hot, the frogs and crickets too loud as an owl calls deep within the wood. Thunder roars overhead before the clouds become too heavy. Panic slicks your skin before the pounding rain as you turn to run, hopping you kicked hard enough to rupture something in this cowardly man.

If you lived in any other world, you would have tried your best to seize that knife and plunge it into his chest.

But you didn't, so you ran. Vision blurring as the pain finally catches up to you. Hand instinctively flying to your stomach only to come up wet.

"It's the rain, it's just the rain." You gasp out rushing into the house and shutting the glass paned door as quickly and quietly as you can. Fumbling for a lock before you give up all together, arms outstretched in the dim room looking for a candle or a mirror. Shaking fingers find a match that you light using the wallpaper, uncaring of the risks as you frantically look for a stick of wax. Lighting the wick once you've found one and taking it to the mirror above a small runner table. You set the wax down, close to the glass, thunder shakes the windows and the house as you pull the fabric from your torso. It reveals an angry red slash that weeps crimson, a choked gasp leaves your lips as lightning flashes illuminating the whole room. Still you do not see the reflection of the man in the mirror.

"What happened?" It sounds animalistic as it comes from the corner. Your whirl to face him, pulling the cloth back down to cover your decency. A lie falls from your lips as easy as breath.

"Nothing." Your rasp, feigning embarrassment, "My-my courses have come early. Your Grace this is not something you should witness."

"Do you take me for a fool?" He steps closer, eyes burning in the candle light, "I may not be an expert of female anatomy but I know the basics."

You swallow thickly, trying to jest.

"Then my Lord you are far more experienced than myself. I am bashful to be in the presence of a skilled womanizer. This truly is nothing." He closes the distance, wrapping his deadly hand around your small wrist. Pulling it away from your body.

"That laceration does not look like 'nothing'." He mocks, "I will not ask again."

Silence engulfs you as the storm rages on, it competes with the roaring in your head. Your knees slowly buckle as Shoto keeps you up right. His winter's night by the hearth scent floods your senses.

"I feel a bit faint." Your voice sounds so small, so far away that it stirs something in Todoroki. In the year that he has watched you, he has not once seen your falter or become meek. He makes way to scoop you into your arms and is a mixed of relieved and agitated as you swat him away.

"I-I can walk." You straighten your back, smoothing the reddening fabric over your bodess and for once you're thankful the blasted nightgown is so thick. He gently guides you to your room.

Once there he prepares a basin as you try to sit on the plush bed.

"Aht!" He whispers harshly, "Change."

You relax into the foot of the bed anyway, unable to hold yourself up right any longer. He sucks his teeth, bringing the supplies to the bedside table before searching through your trunk.

"A Lady's things should not just be rummaged through."

"Hmm is that so?" He finds another night gown before he hovers over you, face pinched as he asks, "Can you undress yourself, truthfully?"

Moments pass before you admit that you are not sure that you can with a shake of your head. Slowly he eases you out of the damp fabric, dabbing at your wet skin with a towel. He avoids looking at your breasts and as much as he would love to stare a weeping wound commands his attention. He places the gown just enough to hide your breasts before he lies you down on your back.

"From beginning to end, tell me what happened." When you do not answer he forces your chin to face him, "Tell me, now."

And your name slips off his lips like poisoned honey, a truth serum you swallow whole. You retell the quick exchange, including the damning kiss as you watch rage blister across Shoto's handsome features as he silently begins to work.

"We must prosecute him."

"We must not!" You exclaim as he dabs antiseptic at your wound. He gives your an exasperated

"What would have happened if he had nicked an internal organ?"

"I suppose I would be free of this wretched world." A nonchalant shrug as best as you can manage.a glare cuts your way as his roar turns soft.

"Why would you say such a thing? Do you think no one would mourn the loss of you? Do you think he would not weep at your service?" Shoto touches the bracelet of dancing stars and you pull your wrist back. Tears burning your eyes, you do not allow them to fall.

"He is not up for discussion!" It's a loud whisper before you grip Shoto's jaw with enough force it grinds, "I am more than capable of taking care of myself, Lord. You can take your leave as I do not need a soul."

He melts as he watches the pain flutter in your eyes, a long sigh escapes him as he melts into your touch. His fingers feathering over your forearm.

"Pride is a deadly sin. Allow me to help. I will be quick." Slowly you drop your arm away from him. He digs around in his bag before you change your mind. He disinfects the sutures before he sends the needle through tender flesh, your tears dry as you allow your mind to retreat. Shoto takes quick notice.

"You do that a lot…" He comments softly, pulling the suture through your skin, you glance his way, "You seem to disassociate."

"Well, feelings hurt so it is better to not feel at all." You grind your teeth as he pulls the widest part of your wound together.

"Is that why you push him away so often?" He holds your gaze before returning to his work.

"Did I not tell you that he is not up for discussion. No matter, I do not have feelings for Lord Bakugou." He scoffs at your lie.

"Ah so then it was not you who suggested the Princess in the form of flattery? Lord Bakugou is a smart man but you played into his blind spot, stroking his ego and enticing his ambition." Your gritted teeth say it all.

"And how pray tell would you even guess at such grandor things when you are not in attendance at even half of these events?"

"I am privy to this knowledge because I too keep everyone and everything at arm's length. It is much easier to see the moves when one is far enough away from the board." He dabs at your abdomen, "And you my Lady are by far the best player."

"Flattery does not go far with me." You sigh softly, fingers idly playing with the wrinkles in the sheets, "Father wants me to set a final round."

"Mine wishes for me to begin and end in the same turn." He slowly places your nightgown down, "Which is why we should make an effort to at least get to know one another. With your wound I suggest staying an extra week or two to ensure it closes properly. I can convince our Wardens that the extension is for an attempt to win your hand."

He leans back in his chair, sweat on his brow from fusing with your wound, from worry as it furrows. Your chest tightens and suddenly the urge to be in control sinks its teeth into your skin. Quickly you unclasp the birthday present Lord Katsuki had given you, setting it on the nightstand beside Shoto with dramatic flare. His eyes widen as he reads between the lines, the silent vow of "I will make an effort...for now". The promise seems to pierce his heart.

"Fine. I enjoy picnics, I suggest we do that on the grounds so that we may be chaperoned from afar and yet have privacy. My expectation is unbashful honesty from both parties." You turn over to give him your back as you pull the fine blankets to your shoulders, "Furthermore you must come up with some sort of endearment for me. Anyone who has ever tried to seriously court me has. I have come quite fond of them as titles bore me. Something lovely so give it thought."

Shoto is stunned into silence for a moment before he lets out a dark laugh.

"I see, this is still your game"

"Precisely." You say, he stands, lingering in the doorway before shutting the heavy oak.

It was difficult to sleep to say the least. Still you were grateful to have risen before Rose. Dressing yourself before she could see your wound. More grateful still when Rose set down some tea claiming Lord Shoto sent it.

You downed the scalding liquid in three swallows, surprising Rose, before she passes you a folded note.

Meet me in the back garden for lunch.

-Shoto

A muscle ticks in your jaw as pain blooms across your stomach as you stare at his lovely script.

Shoto hates to admit that the first thing he looks for is that bracelet on your wrist, when he does not see it he lets out his held breath. Drinking in your deep, sapphire dress. It sparkles as if covered in stardust, his heart clenches. He looks towards your stomach, worry etched on his features.

"How are your stitches? No corset right?" He asks, gently guiding you to the plush pillows on the ground. Maybe he should have asked the butler to bring out chairs instead.

"I feel naked without it." You admit, he sees a bit of nervousness you have normally schooled away.

"You look lovely." His eyes are gentle, lips formed in a soft, genuine smile. Your heart tried to skip a beat. It's the heat you tell yourself.

"Flattery will not get you far remember?"

"I'm only being honest, my sweet petunia." You give him a puzzled look, was this going to be his nickname for you? You were not a delicate thing.

"A flower?" You give him a look but his smile does not falter.

"Ah would you rather I say my dew kissed rose? My begonia?"

You both laugh at his last suggestion.

"My sunflower." Your heart stutters, you glance away for just a moment and he takes notice.

"Ah so you approve," He collects a strand of your hair between his fingertips, "Sunflower?"

Heat rushes your cheeks as you fight the smile on your lips. You lose as he kisses your hair. Maybe you could be a delicate thing.

"Did you know sunflowers can remediate soil? It is why they are planted after tobacco is harvested in hopes to use the fields once more." He is quiet as he waits for your admission.

"It is my favorite flower, it is in season now. Alas not one suitor has sent them. Roses and hydrangeas are my favorites too but nothing quite says summer like a sunflower." You sigh, looking over the manicured bushes and flowers in the garden.

"Is that your favorite season?" He is perceptive, you take a moment to breathe in the sweltering breeze with closed eyes. Humming your answer.

"Indeed." You kick off your shoes and place your feet into the grass, leaning back to allow your face in the sun. Not many women would be so open to sitting on only a blanket and with no umbrella or covering. And yet here you were soaking up the sun like a lazy cat. Heat rushes Shoto's cheeks as he realizes just how perfect his name for you is.

"Have you ever had intercourse with a woman?" You ask, eyes still closed as Shoto flushes further. His cheeks are as red as part of his hair.

"Sunflower." He gasps but you giggle.

"Unbashful honesty, remember?" He lets small silence stretch between the two of you before he answers.

"I have. My brother convinced me it was a good idea." His eyes look sad, it makes your gut clench as you look away for a moment. Question burning on your tongue.

"What if I were to say my maiden head was taken?"

"Who am I to judge after I have slept with another. Sadly I know some are stolen." He answers without hesitation.

"This is true. Mine is still intact, I am grateful Monoma had only stolen a kiss." You sigh.

"You'd never kissed anyone?" His tone is curious although his eyes are dark with anger for you.

"I tried to be a proper lady. More so because I do not like to touch people or feel their skin. Touching them makes them real, you know? And when someone is real they can have power over your heart." Shoto mulls over your words and realizes how much he relates. He places his hands near your fingers but does not touch them. You notice the gesture and scoff without the pretension you skillfully lace his fingers with his. Delighted to see the burning blush on his cheeks.

Maybe life with Shoto would not be half bad, if only he gave you more moments like this.

Moments like this last over the two weeks that drag into three. Days are spent beneath the summer sun with exchanged and often heated, intellectual debates. Both of you feeling mentally stimulated for the first time as each of you allowed a few walls to come down, pulling each other closer than arm's length. While a few hours of the night are spent beneath the moon. His gem stone eyes raking over your abdomen in worry but nothing more than his checking on your wound as he was ever the gentlemen.

On Monday of the second week Shoto has come fond of his summer sunflower, so much so he brings a large black box to the next picnic, tucked away in his pocket is a matching, much smaller box. He presents to you the medium sized box as you giggle in delight.

"My Lord, my shining Shoto. What could this be?" Your cheeks hurt from the width of your smile as he opens the box for you to see. Your face flutters into shock before joy returns as you hold out your wrist. Shoto takes the delicate golden bracelet that has several round onyx surrounded by citrine in the shape of petals. Sunflowers dance on your wrist as you twist it this way and that, unable to school your features into your normal distaste for guadry gifts from suitors. But this gift was far from gaudy, only one man before Shoto had earned this reaction. You bring your parasol to hide your face and his from the prying eyes of the manor as you gently press your lips to Shoto's cheeks.

"I love it." You admit. It gives him enough courage to commit to ask you on Friday, the bigger question.

Having you walk for "therapy" through the grounds, pointing over your shoulder to point out phantom ducks on the lake as he nervously sinks to one knee.

"Shoto, love I do not see-" You turn to face him and see his loving eyes, wavering smile and shaking fingers holding open the box that reveals a giant oval ruby surrounded by diamonds. He clears his throat.

"My sunflower," You fling your arms around him, making him fall off balance as you land on top of him. Peppering his face with uncharacteristic kisses as excitement, for once, rushes through your veins like a second blood. He laughs lifting you by your ribs, careful of your slowly closing wound as he spins you before setting you on your feet. He fumbles for the momentarily forgotten ring before he slips it onto your ring finger. He presses a kiss to your cheek, smiling warmly. It reaches his eyes in such a way your gut clenches.

And for a moment you forgot you were ever anyone's starlight.

For one returning to the manor seems almost dreadful and not because of waiting suitors but because you would be without your own. He insisted the two of you be seperate as your mother and his, prepared to arrange the wedding, as you demanded the ceremony to be small. Despite your desire for to keep the engagement quiet for just a week or so, your mother and father took it upon themselves to spread word back home before you could even arrive.

You exit the carriage as the house looks quiet, earning a soft smile. Your ring catches your eye and you remind yourself that this truly was the best possible outcome.

The foyer is covered in flowers, from congratulations to a giant trove of sunflowers on the center table.

You smile at the flowers Shoto must have sent this morning, they sit in a glass globe of a vase, their usually tall stems cut short. Their flower heads are large and vibrant even in the ambient candle light. You finger a petal as you reminisce over the past few weeks, your stomach hardly protesting as you stand on tip toe to look at them all. Relishing the moment of silence before you realize you are most likely home alone. Your brothers lost in some fighting match while your parents took their leave from the Todoroki manor to busy themselves with venues. You figured a change of clothes would do you nicely before you settled down over your much neglected work.

A black nightgown and almost sheer robe clung to your frame as you stepped down the grand staircase, smiling once more at the flowers before slipping into your parlor. Lighting only one other candle by the door before taking yours to your desk. With deft hands you pull out one of your manuscripts and tap along the top with a manicured nail. A sigh leaves your lips, you finger with your bracelet, with the ring on your finger before a fresh page is found on your desk. You write furiously.

About something as trivial as love.

Still the quil seems to move on its own as if enchanted as words dot the parchment in ink. Suddenly your work is disturbed by someone entering your parlor. You assume it is a brother who has come home, glancing up you see locks of ash blonde causing you to grip at your robe to close it tighter. The moment you realize it is just Bakugou your grip on the fabric loosens.

"I wasn't expecting you at this hour." Fear of needing a chaperone barely crosses your mind since it was Lord Bakugou who was your company. You relax into your seat as he crosses the room to sit in his normal seat, on the corner of the couch, closest to you. His posture is poor as he leans his forearms on thick thighs, garnet eyes cast downward, he grips at his own hands as his knuckles turn white. You wonder if he did not heed your letter.

"How did the proposal go with Princess Amelia?" Your voice sounds out over the silence of the room, still he remains quiet. It is unnerving how solemn and silent the normally wolfish man is. Something pulls at the strings of your heart. His eyes seem misty. He keeps them to the ground or so you think, as they rake over the ring on your finger, on the bracelet on your wrist. The onyx and citrine dance in the low light of your burning candle. Bakugou feels a sheen of sweat coat his hands, bile rising in his throat that he has to swallow down.

You think the worst, you think the Princess rejected him but that didn't make sense either. She was so obviously in love with the ambitious man, you heard while away that she even turned down a dance with a forgein prince.

"What's wrong, Katsuki?" The way your voice forms around his name, the way your eyes look with unbiased worry causes Katsuki's limbs to act on their own. In one swift motion he cups your face in his broad hands, bringing his lips to yours so softly. Once the plush of your lips touch his he cannot stop as his hunger for you comes to the forefront. He kisses you with a fervor unmatched as his lips move yours, his hand moves to the back of your neck. Tilting your head so he may deepen the kiss, tongue sliding over yours as the world falls from beneath your feet.

But as quickly as it fell it returns, pushing him away while turning to face away from him. You keep your head held high as he pants on the couch beside you. He grabs your thigh, desperate for touch, for anything but rejection.

"Starlight." His voice is deep, rough from what might be disuse as it cracks on the second syllable. A question runs rampid in your mind. How long had he felt like this?

"Please, my starlight." He squeezes your smooth thigh and you look towards him. Watch his force contort with pain, as if you held his beating heart in his hands and crushed it.

Really it is what he had done to you, as you look down at him with hot tears.

He is the first and only soul to see you cry in decades. It seemingly tears him about but he brought this among himself.

The kiss is answer enough as to why he is here.

It should not be this tempting to throw it all away.

"Get. Out." You seethe, fat droplets catching on your sheer robe, falling down your cheeks as if you were an actress going through a tragic scene. He does not move, does not breathe as he hopes your temper will cool.

Instead it heats.

"Get out, Get OUT. GET OUT GET OUT!!" More composure lost with each increase of volume before you completely lose it, "FUCKING GET OUT!"

He hardly moves and the ruckus calls alarm for your brothers who were home, who let Bakugou in at such a late hour. They come from the office across the hall in hurried steps, expecting to see an assailant, hoping that Bakugou could fight them off.

They silently determine what they see is far worse. Bakugou gripping at your thighs with this pleading look while your face is now firmly buried in your hands. A sob racks through your body setting your brothers ablaze.

Hendrix speaks first.

"What did you do?!" His eyes are flaming as he sets them on Bakugou, who ignores the two men. Hideki begins to close the distance and his eldest brother follows suit.

"What have you done to make my lovely sister cry?" Hideki's voice is full of hurt, disappointment and when they receive no answer they decide it is time to remove your true assailant.

Both grab at Bakugou, pulling him away from the couch as you wet your palms with years worth of tears.

Everything in your life, no matter how hard you tried to conduct it, was truly wrong wasn't it?

The fresh swirling ink on the pages answered you enough, the love story you did not know you needed with a protagonist with soft ash blonde hair.

"Please. Do not make me BEG!" He yells as your brothers' sad attempt at forcing him from the room topples furniture and the like.

Still you weep your self pity away.

His next words are deafening as your heart finally cleaves apart, the pieces falling to the floor before shattering like glass at your feet. He brandishes the black velvet box with the black diamond ring tucked inside as you finally look up to him.

"IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN YOU, STARLIGHT!"

#bakugou x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha historical au #bnha imagine #bnha x reader

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americxn · 3 years

Note

Can I request Smut headcanons where reader is a detective and tries to seduce JPM to get information, but she el punished for being nosy.

Marked (JPM x GN!Reader)

alternative (more exciting) fic:

these aren’t really headcanons but we move

also, @undeadcortez very recently posted a fic titled deadly consequences that I would 1000% recommend reading as a general fic rec, but I also just wanted to mention it because I feel like I kinda followed a smiliar mood so please go read it!

warnings: hickeys, spanking, not full smut but still NSFW wordcount: 2.4k

James knew your game from the moment you first set foot in his hotel, your feigned innocence providing him with endless amusement. Under the guise of a temporarily homeless student needing a place to stay whilst your downtown apartment underwent lengthy renovations, you had booked a room on the fifth floor of the Cortez for seven weeks; of course this was all fabricated: you were an established detective, having graduated from college five years earlier and having been assigned a job looking into the recent disappearances at the Hotel Cortez. The disappearances were perplexing, even to you; five people had gone missing over the span of a month, their bodies undetectable. And hotel owner, James Patrick March, was at the top of your list of suspicions.

However, one month into your secret investigation had gotten you pretty much nowhere; James, a very private man, had only granted you with two meetings in the hotel’s bar, appearing for no more than ten minutes before excusing himself, leaving you with the barmaid, Liz. This, although incredibly disheartening, was perhaps the only thing that got you to the point that you were currently at now: working up the courage to knock on the door to James’ room for the date that Liz had set you and James up on.

Your nerves were overwhelming, the mounting anxiety that you would fuck this up and lose James’ recently ignited interest in you plaguing your mind as you rapped your knuckles on the hard wood of the door, your breath catching as it swung open almost immediately. You pushed down the flutters of pleasant delight that joined the nervous butterflies filling your stomach at the sight of him, glorious in his usual finery, a smile of genuine pleasure at your appearance growing on his pale face. Leading you inside with a warm greeting, he directed you to your seat at the long dining table in the centre of the room, his personal maid, Hazel Evers, nowhere to be seen. You keep your grimace hidden as you beheld the plate of steaming food already placed before your seat, your nerves reluctant to allow you to eat.

The dim light of the candles cast soft shadows across James’ face, the pale planes of his defined facial structure falling into shadow as you dined together, your glass of wine never empty as he took it upon himself to refill it for you, again and again. He provided pleasant company, and beneath your mask of growing romantic attraction with the man, you were secretly tucking every piece of personal information he offered you, which was limited, into a back pocket of your mind.

Hours passed, your eyes growing heavy from the copious amounts of wine you had consumed; you silently cursed yourself as a light film of alcohol induced bliss settled over, fogging your mind and softening the usually blunt edges of your conscious.

You weren’t sure how it happened, but when James offered you a cigarette, you stood from your seat, seizing the opportunity and slinking over to him, plucking the one he was smoking from between his lips, pushing away his empty plate and perching on the edge of the table in front of him. His eyes glowed with a newfound hunger as you gazed down at him, taking a deep drag of his cigarette before passing it back to him. Lifting your legs up, you rested your feet on the edge of his chair at either side of his thighs, your breath hitching when his cool fingers settled around your ankles, encircling them in a light hold.

Your feigned confidence manifested in a small smirk curving your lips in response to the eager glint in his dark eyes as you leant in slightly, cocking your head before asking a potentially dangerous question: “How do you feel about all those recent disappearances in the news? Has it affected business at all?”

James surveyed you carefully, the room falling silent as you waited for his answer, heart thundering. “I was wondering when you’d ask.” Was all he said, his lithe fingers tightening their grip on your ankles, pulling you off the edge of the table with a strong tug. You fell onto his lap with a gasp, James’ hands moving from your ankles to your lower back, holding you to him. You mulled over his words, trying to sort through all the possible hidden meanings that his tone, thoughtful and dark, presented. His body heat leeched into you with your close proximity, his eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t place as he brought his face closer to yours. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

His lowly spoken words drew your heart to a sudden halt, the muscles in your thighs braced on either side of James’ legs tensing up. He seemed to track the small changes in your body, his breath soaked with the smell of cigarette smoke and whiskey as his smile turned positively predatory.

“You can report me as being the culprit, but I can promise that it’ll do no good.” You drew away from him, your back arching as you tried to pull away, his hold on your back unwavering, not allowing you to move so much as an inch. “You knew?” You ventured reluctantly, a sense of dread settling over you as his tone fell utterly calm, his eyes never leaving yours as he reached up, running the knuckle of a cold finger down the side of your warm face. He offered a hum of confirmation, his finger trailing along your jaw and to your chin, forcing your head to lift slightly. “You were playing with me.” You concluded aloud, your voice unsteady as the fearful realisation settled over you. “Of course I was. I was made aware of your prying intentions from the moment that you stepped foot into my hotel.”

“I’m sorry.” You breathed in an immediate response, still trying in vain to break away from his close hold. “I’ll leave and just say that I didn’t find anything, I’m not -” you were silenced when James moved his hands to your upper thighs, pulling you roughly to him and bringing his face uncomfortably close to yours. “Are you really so bad of a detective that you resorted to attempting to seduce me for information?” His voice was close to a sneered growl, his hot breath fanning over your face as he spoke. At your injured silence, his words highlighting some unrecognised truth within you, he tutted, pushing you off his lap and abruptly standing, taking ahold of your wrists and forcing you across the room and through the open doorway into his bedroom.

James was meticulous in extracting his punishment, ripping the clothes off your body whilst you merely stood there, staring at him, transfixed and not at all reluctant to do as he ordered as he pushed your newly naked body on his bed. The smell of him clinging to the deep scarlet sheets was intoxicating and you lie there, gazing up at him. He scolded you when you tried to cover your modesty, reaching down to pry your hands away from your body, positioning them over your head and ordering you to keep them there.

“You’re sinful.” He whispered roughly and you nodded, agreeing with his comment with renewed desperation. “Keep your arms above your head.” You blinked at him, but did as he asked. Satisfied with your obedience, James took ahold of your legs, pulling you roughly to the edge of the bed, positioning your feet against the floor on either side of his body as he lowered his head to the base of your throat, his hair brushing pleasantly against your collarbones. His lips were soft and warm as he pressed several kisses to your skin, drawing a trail up the column of your throat to your chin. You followed his movements by tipping your head back slightly further with each kiss as he progressed up your neck, allowing him better access and silently inviting him to use his teeth to mark you.

As soon as his lips had completed their journey to your jaw, skimming against the bottom of your chin, he pulled away, denying you the full kiss to your lips that you craved. He kept eye contact with you as he moved down your body slightly, his lips latching onto your ribs and proceeding to give them the same treatment that he had just forced your neck to endure. This time, he allowed his teeth to graze against your skin as he travelled from one side of your torso to the other, goosebumps forming in his wake, chasing after his touch.

You couldn’t help but groan when he pressed his nose to the space just beneath your breasts, his hot tongue finally coming into contact with your skin as he kitten licked his way up to chest. From above him, your own eyes were clenched shut, your mouth slightly parted as you forced yourself to keep your hands above your head. All you wanted to do was weave your fingertips into the dark strands of his hair but you knew that in doing so, you risked upsetting James and cutting this intimate exchange short. Using his tongue, he softly traced the area of skin where your ribs sloped down to meet your torso, tracing and licking back and forth.

James continued his thorough exploration of your body, skimming his warm lips along your abdomen, past your bellybutton and to one of your hips. You hissed softly when he bit down on your skin, simultaneously latching his lips onto you and sucking harshly. He moved back and forth between your hips, painting them in turn with blotchy, deep red marks, the sensation becoming slightly more painful as his brutal onslaught on your skin continued. His bites and kisses become increasingly more intense, his teeth closing tighter around your skin with each nip, eventually becoming hard enough to draw blood, leaving you squirming and whimpering beneath him.

You were temporarily relieved when James pulled away, straightening and gazing across the marked planes of your trembling body with cruel excitement. That relief was short lived, however, when he took ahold of your torso, his strength unfathomable as he flipped you over with ease, placing his hands on your hips and pulling your ass up into the air, your knees scrambling to gain purchase on the edge of the bed, your back beginning to ache immediately with the strain of maintaining the compromising form he roughly positioned you into. The sheets were warmed by your own body heat against your cheek as you turned your head to the side, glancing behind you to see James taking in the view you presented him with, his dark eyes ravenous.

“What are you doing?” You squeaked, your trepidation growing when James rubbed a warm palm across the curve of your bare ass fully displayed to him. “What? Did you think that this would be fun for you?” He crooned, allowing his nails to drag painfully across your sensitive skin. You winced, turning your head and burying it into the sheets as you braced yourself for what was sure to come next. “You look so much prettier with my marks all over his skin.” He mused quietly, the words causing you to shiver in anticipation as you awaited the harsh impact of his palm that he was sure to land on your feverish skin. When it came, you still shrieked, the force that he used unexpectedly brutal, the crack of his hand against your skin echoing around the large room.

He gave you no time to recover, instead landing another, equally hard slap to the other side of your ass, establishing a cruel routine of alternating between cheeks, each hit more jarring as he worked to increase the sensitivity of your skin, causing a light burn to spread across the entirety of your ass, tears pricking at your clenched shut eyes, squeezing out from behind your lids and soaking into James’ sheets beneath you; he had one hand hooked under you, placed flat against your abdomen to prevent your ass from shying away from the palm of his hand, his rings a cold impact against your soft skin, only emphasising the pain and leaving you a trembling, sobbing mess before him, waves of nausea rolling through you as James inflicted his punishment on you, any arousal that his lips had built dissipating more and more with each collision of his palm on your smouldering skin, the noises he drew from you utterly satisfying to you ears.

With his brutal onslaught of your ass completed, James leant in licking a wet stripe from the top of your thigh, up your scorching skin to the plateau of your lower back, landing one final hit on one cheek whilst attaching his teeth to the other, sucking a deep purple mark onto your already brutalised skin.

You collapsed onto your side as he pulled away, admiring his handiwork, your ass glowing with welts from where his rings had hit, pulling small raised marks up onto your burning skin. You watched as he stooped, gathering up all your clothes and bundling them under one arm, making a show of tucking your underwear into his breast pocket with a flourish before stepping away from you. He reached into the pocket of your jeans, locating your key card for your room on the fifth floor and chucking it onto the bed beside you.

“You can find your own back to your room. I’ll be expecting your next visitations to collect these.” He explained wickedly, gesturing to your clothes in his hold, throwing a self-satisfied smirk your way before turning on his heel and exiting the room. You stared after him in disbelief before shooting up, calling his name as he disappeared into the other room.

By the time you had stumbled after him, every inch of your body aching following his rough assault on your body, he was gone. It took you at least twenty minutes to work up the courage to leave the room, racing through the halls to get to your floor, the cool air of the hotel soothing your minor injuries as you barrelled barefoot down hallway after hallway, deciding to take the stairs. Thankfully, the late hour meant that the corridors were blessedly empty and no one was around to worsen your humiliation, much to James’ disappointment, who silently trailed you back to your room, the echo of your hotel door slamming and the following click of the lock making him chuckle.

Taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler @liandav @tatesweaterweather @evanmybeloved @tatelangdonsupremacist @ikkleroniekins

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madfantasy · 3 years

Note

I haven't seen you post in a while, I hope you've been doing okay? How is everything? Hope it's been a good year so far for you 💕💕

You're too kind, u & everyone who made inquiries, bless ur hearts.. im sorry for disappearing, but yeah, I don't have net— using my phone credit and hope this posts..

I tried to record my voice answering this, like I sometimes did on tik, suddenly ended up trying to muffle the floods of my burning tears, so now I have an awkward vid of me talking then weeping out of nowhere, which a good reason for me to keep up the no cry habit, heh.. but seriously, I suppose I'm fine till I be conscious of it.. its much easier for not to talk .. even tho I'm aching to be back in thy company, lonely in my foresight to catch on to the present that joins us, hand held out to reach like minded souls but shying from the fear of forgetfulness occurring..

I'm fine tho, did few new stuff, merely drowning in too muchness and nothingness as usual, this month I guess you could say I took an act of mad fury in search of any happy source because the echoing silence and the swarm of sadness nipping on my brain cells thickened, and the reasoning merged with the obscene. So instead of giving my guardians the usual of 3/4 of my earnings last month for net and groceries, I spent it all. Ya know, as it was told to me it mine to do as I please? As being prevented any chance of work if it was possible, 't was supposed to be spent on art supplies & measly delights craved for years ?

Before hand, I've been begging them to take me for months to get any clothing or whatever, be it the first time I ever see a shop, then just to drive around, then just me peaking to the outside when the front door is open, merely seeking change I suppose. They kept vaguely promising me until they refused point blank— getting tired of my nagging, then their car just stopped working till this day. Its in the workshop rn..

Anyway, befouled by despair, needing the mere basics of life and not granted, I was delighted when i found a site to buy from cheap & pretty, I pressed buy without any further considerations, or taking their permission and thrilled to be able get gifts for my siblings too. I say gifts but really they are deprived necessities too and not even much just one each cuz well, they are 5 of my babies and to start with the top of priorities; we all draw

I could already see it, they can't help themselves; heck seeped through the clenched gates of their mouths, trying desperately to poison me with undirect attempts this time, cuz I bought for my sibs they're out of the option of calling me selfish. I was upping the same trance like state of vague existence dealing with them, absorbing their insults and degrading just to make sure my shi arrives safe.

Unfortunate for me, the site chose the worst carrier in this country

I did everything in my power to make it into their convenience, by embarrassingly messaging the carrier daily, they took a week of promising to deliver and flanking so my guardians reached a heated level of threatening, waving their hands nd almost tossing shi at mE saying that they don't care if they came and if i dared to order something again they'll do this and that. Not allowing me to open the door for the delivery guy when he comes, blaming me for missing vaccination dates (they kept missing them even before)& missing going to important places(again, they just didn't go to for ages), made them loose sleep, etc etc— in turn, I seen red and regretfully blew up.

I screamed at them its literally the only time I ever did this, it BECAUSE it easier on them & I'll do what I want whatever anyway, & to stop interrupting me while I try to explain things , then they suddnly back done and be like I'm not mad at u I'm mad at the delivery ppl, that they are proud of me for being able to do all this, and such sort. I left them to cool in my room, Idk how I did it but must have slam-gripped something so hard it chipped most of my short nails & cracked one, was glad I didn't hurt my drawing hand but yeah, goofy mani

They robbed me of the joy of anticipation & the dissipation of apathy, I started to lose sleep again and my liberating dreams left me and I don't think I remember leaving bed.

But still, If not force myself to do things.. there'll be nothing for me if I don't.. at least I know im able of that

I got my guardians happy tho after another tiresome refusal, by trying out one of those Uber-eat like local apps here, since they have no car and being disabled & ill, I ordered McDonald's for the first time. Slythry behind their backs per habit, told them someone coming and they had that look again, but thankfully the guy came through and didn't steal my money, heh. For a big 1800 calories meal I suppose it was passable, the happy fam faces I got was the real treat..

Oh with that thing with the credit card stating I owe them money, waited weeks & nobody got back to us? They started taking from my guardian's account directly to pay it, saying oh we did send you warnings--- TO THE SHADOWY LINES OF THEIR POSTERIOR A.K.A NOWHERE. Thankfully the account is mostly empty nd just for random transactions, i alerted my guardians not to use it. And again, my god, another round of endless calls and promises started, and we wait again so they just don't act as if we owe them a frking 17k dollars that we don't have.. was panicking cuz I have nothing and but my guardians were weirdly comforting about it and told me not to worry

One thing good bout no net is it made me stop thinking about life in general, and stop the tiny unnoticeable prick of misery when I have no input to share, trying not to helplessly compare people just living, in inflated style or not, in media, to my isolated-most-of-my-life style and missing much of that organic "life experiences and chances", heh. At least, my situation would be favorable to me if it was ever possible for it to let me have peace, or have the simple knowledge I'm not virtually imprisoned and have never familiarised with nothing of this world but the surrounding walls.. its nice to have more time to be consumed by muse and day dreaming that flutters life through my dull being and sing chorus of inspiring means for art to flow and finds its way delicately onto my realised canvas.. but no, I continued drawing whilst sight blurred with salty droplets contradicting that happy tintin dance on tiktok I worked so long on just cuz I couldn't stop, not the tears or the mad scribbles of determined intention to visualise the mourned excitement I need, hating everything I make

Somehow the lilac dream still intrudes, visualising me friends, living, in a quaint home, maybe we roommate, arm in arm we go to make every fracture of fate's encounters a disgusting adventurous thrill, like building a maze of cardboard or chasing each other in the dark.. maybe getting that half bleached head and endless ear pericings ... then it dies and I totally forget it..

But what those awesome headphones helped me do, literally blocks all their voices listening to Sev losing it and I can Waltz around not feeling gutted to go and interfere or play the referee each time. But I can't wear them forever, gives me a bad headache, and honestly; I can't be too neglectful.. my sibs hates me for it already hehe

At least these clothing came true to their measurements, felt the new sensations on how everything I wore hugs me & learnt the baffling ways on how "gender" and region plays different tunes on the same measurements. Getting fitting things felt like suddenly there's hope to be, for myself to be me, and ease this severe disassociation between who I am, and what my body is .. from how little I see myself nd consider it worthy of anything because of how long it been living like a phantom among people.. to numb this dysphoria until it be gone one day

Saddened that the only site I can't order from again if they keep using that awful carrier

...

I missed our country's 91 national day, too. They made sales everything 91 riyal so.. but knowing the sellers here, I don't think most of em went true with their offers.. Horrible news tho on the celebrations, sigh

I turned this into a dear diary, guess bothered you enough today, sorry

So thankful to yous, Idk if I can be back, but I'll remain creating, and will keep the thought alive of being tickled when sharing my creations with your viewing pleasure somehow

'till then my precious dears, take care 💛🙏

26.9.2021, 8 pm, sleeping

#ask #text #diary #personal #my art #miss

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isimp4hawkz · 3 years

Text

The Apothecary

(Hawks x Reader)

100% inspired from this beautiful artwork I found on pinterest ^^

This is my first time publishing any of my fics. I hope it’s enjoyable.

*Skimmed for any mistakes but I may have missed a few*

Words: 2.5k

———————————————

"Tell me something birdbrain. Did you come here in search of a remedy or did you come here to snuggle with my owls?" You scold aloud, brow lifted at the scene before you. It temporarily drew your attention away from the herbs you were blending for the person in question. If he really even needed them that is.

The man was bent over, hovering over the counter and barely burying his entire face into the soft plumage of Gamma's snowy collar, rubbing his nose into its depths, small chuckles resounding from him in his own apparent delight. Simultaneously, Thaddeus perched himself daintily onto the golden locks of his hair, managing to keep himself in place as the man's head moved about beneath him.

What shocked you is that they seemed to be genuinely enjoying his company, whereas they hardly acknowledge your existence throughout the day. It was much unlike how they'd usually act whenever someone walked into the shop. As soon as they heard that little bell chime from the entrance, both birds would take off towards their high perches on opposite ends of the room, making it in their best interest to avoid anyone new.

You didn't mind, nor question their habit. They only preferred your lone company either way, though they'd hardly show it. Much like you'd rather be with their company rather than some other person.

On that slow, peaceful evening, you'd discovered that maybe you don't know your beloved companions as well as you thought. For some reason, Hawks was some sort of an exception to them. Much more than an exception, at that.

For crying out loud, he was snuggling into Gamma and cuddling her as if she were a puppy! And she was letting him.

And Thaddeus. Thaddeus' behavior baffled you on an entirely different level. That was a bird who never permitted you any petting privileges, any time you'd insinuate a head rub, he'd screech at you and fan his wings. Very territorial, he was. At least you thought he was.

Yet here he was, God damn nesting in the hair of a complete stranger as if he'd known the man for years. As if you weren't the one who took him in when he was but a weak, fraile hatchling on the brink of death.

"I think your owls like me." Hawks chuckled, his huge crimson wings ruffling giddily when Gamma had begun to coo at his nuzzles, adoringly.

Jealousy. Blatant jealousy is what you felt. You weren't even going to attempt to hide it. You've tried endless times to get those birds to see you as their loving caretaker, showering them with love and treats and sating their every need, but to no avail. If anything, you think they see you the way a caged tiger would view its neglectful keeper, just a source of food.

You huff out a breath, subconsciously putting in more effort to mash the herbs together with the mortar and pestle than you wished.

Hawks noticed your subtle change in behavior. The way you slammed a small jar onto the counter, flicked off the cap, and aggressively shook out whatever was inside onto the cutting board. Or maybe it was the way you were mashing those herbs with a force that made him wonder if they'd somehow wronged you.

Of course; being him, he'd jumped to a brash conclusion. "Oh? Are you jelly that I'm giving the birds more attention than you?"

You stop your relentless mashing of compounds, staring ahead blankly for a moment before shaking your head. "Don't be ridiculous, I-"

"Awoh, it's nothing to be ashamed of, I completely understand."

"I'm jealous of you, actually."

Hawks blinked in confusion, lifting his head away from the owl's downy feathers and looking over at you.

"Seems like they fancy you more than they could ever me." A half-hearted smile tugged at your lips, the morose tone in your voice was inevitable.

Gamma's wide, intelligent eyes shifted to stare at you. It was like she understood every word you said. Her wings lifted, and with a few swift flaps, she was in the air. You flinched when she landed gracefully into your hair, her sharp talons clenching your head as gently as she could.

Hawks chuckled at how frozen you were in that moment, bringing up a hand to scratch Thaddeus on the chin as he stared. He marveled at the way your cheeks faintly turned a darker shade when Gamma had cooed. She'd began to pick at your head softly in a grooming mannerism.

Thaddeus shifted in Hawks' hair, suddenly growing restless.

"Wanna get closer?" Hawks asked him aloud, rhetorically, obliging to the small hoot he received in response and carefully sauntering over to you, wary of the unstable balance Thaddeus had while being on his head.

By the time he got close, you'd managed to settle Gamma down onto your outstretched bicep, but the stubborn owl only flapped back onto your head. The look on your face almost made Hawks laugh out loud, you were distraught. Torn between salvaging the rare chance at bonding with your companion, and continuing the preparation of a remedy for a paying customer.

He knew how much you cared for those birds, so much that he was willing to let you relish in the moment completely.

The smile on his face was somewhat solemn. "Don't fret witchy. I'm sure I can find some other witch who can cook up what I need."

Your brow ticked at the way he addressed you. "Excuse you. I am not a witch. I'm an Apothecary."

Hawks blinked. "Same difference."

You ignored that. "And even if you could somehow find another suitable Apothecary in the general area, I've been told by several patrons that I am the best of the best." You stated proudly, chin held up high in accordance. "The odds of finding someone more skilled than I are low to say the least."

He always enjoyed how confident you were in your craft. That confidence stemmed from true experience and skill, mastery even. You were right for claiming your profession to be deemed that high of a level, there hasn't been a single time in the past where your restoratives had let him down, no matter what their purpose served. He's glad that your clientele have spread the word of your little place, though they're restricted to hushed exchanges of whispers and secret notes passed in inconspicuous areas, out of the sight of any authorities.

The way you obtained some of your ingredients could be considered illegal if thorough investigation was to prosper, but luckily for you, that was yet to happen. No one was dubious of the little flower shop secluded between two towering office buildings at the farthest corner of the longest street in Kyushu. Hawks wouldn't dare run his mouth about its true nature to anyone, he would much rather heal his battle wounds naturally with one of your blends rather than the harsh steroids they'd stick into his body back at the commission.

"Can't deny that fact." Hawks chuckled, looking at you with apparent appreciation gleaming through his hooded eyes. "You've helped me through some tough calls, I don't think I-" He cut himself off in realization of something.

"I...I don't think I've ever thanked you."

You were quick to bring up the fact that he in fact spoiled you. Tipping you thousands over whatever price you'd ask for, as if money was nothing but a nuisance to him and he needed to get rid of as much of it as possible, it had you wondering if he would flaunt it around so carelessly wherever.

"That's different. Of course I'm gonna pay you in exchange for your meds, I'm not some shitbag. But I've never thanked you before."

Now that you think about it, it's true. The majority of times times he's come here, it's been in an urgent burst through the door, with little time on his hands to so much as greet you. You really can't recall a single time where he's thanked you, since he's usually in such a rush. Here one second, gone the next. His reputation stands firm.

Rarely have there ever been situations like this, where he's able to hang around the shop and wait patiently for you to get his order ready firsthand. You'd looked over your shoulder at him while he was appeasing the owls earlier. He had looked so calm, so sweet and tender in that moment, totally relaxed. It warmed your heart to see him like that.

His concern brought a smile to your face, how adorable to think that it would trouble him this much. "Hawks, trust me, you're fine. I know you're thankful. The proof is in the way that you pay literally five times as much as I could ever ask you for—more than that at times!"

Yup. That sounds like something he'd do, even he'll admit it. He distinctly recalls throwing a fat stack of cash at you in several of his hurried instances, not even bothering to ask for the price, or check how much was in the stack. He tilted his head aside and stuck out his lower lip in consideration of his own antics.

But that doesn't stop him from genuinely thinking that you deserve way more than what you make. You're taking one hell of a risk every time you sell another product to some shady person. He thinks you deserve to be appreciated more for that fact alone.

"Well, for what it's worth, thank you Y/n. Really, I mean it. What you do means a lot to me, more than I can put into words." He held your gaze with an adoration in his eyes that you didn't quite understand.

You've never seen seriousness cross that man's expression as well as it did right then.

He's perpetually cheerful and carefree, flirty more oftentimes than he should be. It surprised you seeing him so lacking in that notorious, glowing charisma. Maybe you'd go as far to say that in that moment, it looked like true joy was something he'd never experienced before. You couldn't even form words, rendered a gaping fish.

And maybe you would've actually taken his word for it, if it wasn't for you being reminded of the fact that the two of you had two big ass birds on your heads when Gamma and Thaddeus unexpectedly hooted in unison.

You and Hawks simultaneously broke eye contact to glance up at each other's birds, locking eyes with one another again.

It went silent for a few seconds.

Hawks' hard expression wavered hesitantly, his lip twitching in a futile attempt to remain serious. You then snorted quietly, biting your lip, and that's all it took for the two of you to burst out into a laughing fit that made you to bend over to clutch your sides, causing Gamma to flee from your head hastily and settle on her perch, Thaddeus following suit towards his respective stand when Hawks stumbled backwards a bit.

They'd managed to both ruin the moment and save it all the same, made it into something you didn't quite know you needed until it happened. A good laugh, one that had your face heating up and your cheeks beginning to hurt as the two of you only grew breathless with glee, struggling to keep your balance as you pressed your weight onto nearby objects to avoid toppling over.

The old Grandfather clock at the back of the shop had begun to chime, signaling the passing of another hour.

The sound caused Hawks to gradually come back down from his laugh-high. He submitted to that professional state of mind that subconsciously clawed at his back at times like these, once he was reminded of where he was supposed to be.

It was like someone snapped their fingers and all happiness was wiped from his face. Other than the faint pink still dusting his cheeks, it looked like the laugh that the two of you shared had never transpired.

You didn't even need to hear him say it. After you'd wiped a tear of joy from your eyes and regained your breath, you'd whirled around, right back to where you'd left off before.

A strange atmosphere settled into the shop. It grew peacefully silent, the rays of the setting sun stretched generously into the stop, accentuating gliding specs of dust in their path and lighting the room in a warm honey glow.

Hawks rolled his shoulders, wings reaching out to their maximum length in a comfortable stretch, as you bagged his things.

He'd requested a strong set of numbing-based remedies and other blends crammed with sedatives. It reminded you of the prep for some sort of illegal surgery, but you weren't one to meddle in the business of your customers.

You'd turned to hand him his bag, but were surprised when there was no sight of the man where he'd previously been.

It took a few glances around the room, you almost missed him at first, but there he was, standing before the display window, gazing distantly at the outside world under the evening glow.

Sometimes you'd catch a deep-rooted hardship in his eyes that was nearly impossible to detect. A flicker of something more, something lost long ago that he longs to have again. At times it looked like he was carrying the weight of the world in his wings and nobody knew it.

Or maybe your seclusion in your craft has run you crazy and you're just imagining it all. That's way more believable, anyway.

You'd walked up to his side, eyes trained on the lively cityscape. The city never slept, always bustling with some sort of commotion, but it was oddly calm on that evening. Nothing but nature in all its shapes and forms, like the gentle autumn breeze that shook the trees, like the songbirds softly jittering in a musical dialect only they understood, plus the ocasional car that would stroll by barely exceeding fifteen miles per hour.

Your gaze drifted back on Hawks, who has yet to notice your presence beside him.

Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that man’s mind, what challenges the relentless day brings him, and how he manages to come out smiling in the end.

#bnha hawks #hawks #anime #built different #keigo takami #my hero academia #oneshot #fanfic #apothecary #keigo #fanfiction #idk what else to tag #hawks x reader #y/n apothecary #the apothecary

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shutupaboutandraste · 3 years

Note

“ you keep using that word. i do not think it means what you think it means. ” for Adaar x Dorian? Welcome!

Excellent choice let’s goooo! I mention another Adaar Inquisitor in this little drabble and that’s because my Inquisitor is brother to my friends’ Inquisitor so I usually try to include them both ^u^

Words: 1565

Pairing: Dorian/Inquisitor Adaar

For @dadrunkwriting

Tramping around Ferelden was hardly Asaara Adaar’s favorite activity. In fact, he would consider it one of his least favorite. The entire country seemed to be made of mud and mountains with nary a plain or decent stretch of flatland to be found. Weather in the Free Marches was far more predictable, more comfortable, far better than anything Ferelden had to offer. Yet, his distaste didn’t have anything on Dorian’s.

“Inconceivable!” Dorian hissed, for probably the fifth time since they had started their trek through the Hinterlands. Asaara rubbed his palm around The Mark, reminding himself that at least Dorian was easy to look at.

Varric laughed, “Sparkler, believe you me, it’s conceivable.”

“The King of Ferelden can’t be chosen by single combat,” argued Dorian, “That’s horrible politics. Hilarious, but horrible.”

“It’s how they do it here, I swear!” promised the rogue, adjusting Bianca over his shoulder with a winning smile, “Hell, I think Hawke would have preferred that too. Not that they ever got the chance to become Viscount.”

“Didn’t they kind of prove that by beating the Arishok?” asked Asaara, turning his head slightly to ask. It was always a way to check if their last companion was still around. Or, at least, if it was visible. When his teeth grit at noticing the very obvious lack of Cole, the spirit hybrid appeared at the side of his eye. Good. He was getting better at reminding them that he was there.

Another deep rumble came from Varric, “I guess you’re right!”

Dorian scoffed, but said nothing. Clearly, the ways of the South were too much for his delicate sensibilities. Asaara didn’t mind it--his mind wandered to his elder brother Arug, who would have reveled in such simplicity. In another life, the two might have been Arvaraad and Sarebaas, but Asaara liked to think their own style of mage and protector worked out just fine. Fine enough that Arug had felt comfortable staying back at Skyhold at any rate.

Besides, it was hard to actually talk to Dorian when Arug hovered. Magic unsettled Arug on a good day, but Dorian seemed to do so in particular. And, whether Asaara liked to admit it or not there was something undeniably charming about the Tevinter altus. (Not magister, he had to remind himself, just the son of one.)

To be fair, it could be hard to talk to Dorian in general. The man was proud, charismatic, and bold like a pristine sunset that reflected itself back in a lake. He talked quickly, usually in circles around other people, but not Asaara. He could hang on every word like gospel. It had begun with inquiries into the time magic that Dorian had studied. Devouring the information had been thrilling, but Asaara came out with plenty of notions. Notions such as the obvious understanding within Dorian’s eyes, but that his speech could twist the truth to get even the best to believe in his work. Or, perhaps, more worryingly, that Dorian’s eyes sparkled when he was excited. That his smile made Asaara’s heart twist ever so slightly. Asaara was rarely tongue-tied, but he had to focus on his words more when Dorian was around.

Still, it didn’t mean Asaara had endless patience. Dorian could be a vain, proud braggart who thought that he was the Maker’s gift to magic. Once one knew him better, that shed slightly, but he could still be pretentious. And, Asaara reminded himself constantly, Dorian was still of Tevinter while Asaara was a Vashoth Qunari.

The conversation moved, Cole whispering to himself. Asaara was glad of it-- Cole was muttering his thoughts again. His fingers gently tapped Cole’s wrist which got the other to stop, apologizing quietly. There were many people Asaara found easy to be angry at, but Cole wasn’t one of them. Where he could argue with Vivienne until they were both blue in the face or ignore Cassandra until she looked ready to hit him, Cole was just trying to help. Not berate him with opinions or Chantry nonsense. That didn’t always make what Cole had to say easy to hear.

So, when Dorian exclaimed, “Inconceivable!” again over something very conceivable-- something about Ferelden fashion and shield maidens-- it was Cole who said Asaara’s thoughts out.

“You keep using that word,” hummed Cole, “I do not think it means what you think it means.”

“...Pardon me, Cole?”

“The word,” Cole continued, “Not believable. It blocks the idea of possibility. An unending wall for the dream of something strange. You use it for things that have already happened that you simply don’t understand. But Adaar understands the difference.”

“...So are these thoughts your’s or his?” asked Dorian, directing the question toward Cole but looking at Asaara. He grimaced.

“They were his…” admitted Cole, “But I began to wonder, too.”

Asaara shrugged, trying to offer Dorian a charismatic smirk, “He’s not wrong. You aren’t using that word correctly.”

“Yes, I am. Varric--” Dorian’s face dropped as Varric gave him a sheepish smile. He huffed, “Alright then, I’ve been made a fool of. Let’s move along through this horrendously massive forest before a bear decides to go after The Inquisitor again.”

His face twisted into a mockery of a pout. After knowing Dorian for some time now, it was easy to pick out expressions. This one was embarrassed, his eyes darting toward the trees to avoid looking at any of them, but with his chest puffed out like a peacock. Perhaps, Dorian was too easy to look at. Most people couldn’t watch someone as if they were an exotic animal, learn their habits, learn which lines of their face crinkled certain ways to show their feelings.

Two mages and two rogues were also probably not the best equipped to fight Ferelden wildlife, which made Dorian very right in that regard. Asaara admitted that after a long morning-- Cassandra bleating at him, Iron Bull’s hearty laughter starting to grate his ears mixed with Blackwall's preference for traveling with Sera who was her own jar of bees-- he had probably made a mistake in a hasty party. Not that he minded. Each of the three were the most pleasant of his company. Still, he didn’t want to have to fight more bears.

They pressed on, hoping to reach one of the camps before nightfall while they looked for herbs for the healers. Once that was all collected and the farms checked on, they could be on their way. Still, a gentle silence hung over them. Fennecs raced by them as the headed upward through a mountain. What Asaara hadn’t expected was for Dorian to softly break the silence between them while Varric animatedly began discussing something with Cole.

“You’re quite intelligent, Inquisitor,” he remarked.

Asaara’s lips twitched as he forced himself not to scowl, “For a qunari, I know.” Bastard. It was always the pretty ones who ended up being bastards.

“No, I mean.. Yes, but no!” Dorian realized his fumble as he began to search for words, “Kaffas. I mean in general. Most people aren’t as smart as you are.”

Asaara rolled his eyes, “I think the members of the Inquisition each have a plethora of intelligence.”

“Do not bullshit me, Inquisitor,” huffed Dorian, “It doesn’t become you.”

Asaara whipped his head to look at him, surprised, “Doesn’t… Then what does become me?” A curl of suggestiveness pulled at the side of his mouth turning into a bit of smugness.

For a moment, he watched Dorian’s eyes soften. Edges rounded as a smile ticked up softly. Those two perfect lips pursed before a twisted, pleased smile of his own graced Dorian’s face. If the wind felt knocked out of Asaara by that soft sudden change of face, he did not let it show. He had become quite good at that over the years. It came with pretending not to be bothered that everyone thought you were just another stupid Qunari-- or that you were just another violent Vashoth.

“That smile for one,” said Dorian, “I should like to see it more often. Perhaps over tea in the library once we get back.”

Had he heard that right? Koslun’s balls, Maker’s ass, Andraste’s shitty mabari, and Fen’harel fucking take him he had. Perhaps his own eyes brightened. Perhaps, he gave a little too much away as his cheeks darkened up, unused to the kind of attention Dorian had just bestowed upon him. Perhaps, it was just enough to keep Dorian interested since his expression didn’t change. Asaara let out a breathy chuckle, keeping his voice even as he nodded at Dorian.

“I look forward to it,” he said, “So long as you’re not throwing books around in a huff again.”

Much to his delight, he saw Dorian’s eyes sparkle.

Earlier today, if someone asked him if he thought Dorian would ever look his way, he might have replied ‘Inconceivable’ without hesitation. Now, that prefix has been dropped entirely. Dorian flirting with him was entirely and completely conceivable and right in front of him. And, maybe, just maybe the Hinterlands looked a little more beautiful, a little less muddy.

He paused, adding, “And, so long as you call me by my name. Inquisitor is so dreadful on the ears after a while.”

“Asaara, then,” agreed Dorain, giving him a polite nod, “An almost musical name, really. You will have to tell me what it means.”

Inconceivable, indeed.

#dadwc #da #dai #dorian pavus #the inquisitor #inquisitor adaar #dorinquisitor #doriadaar #idk the ship names help #asaara adaar

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ao3bronte · 4 years

Text

Transience

This is my contribution to @mlwriterzine Once Upon A Season! It was a pleasure to be a part of the project and the finished piece (a gorgeous 260 page paperback) was a treat!

Also on AO3!

Adrien is and always has been a young man of many talents. He excels in sports, outshines in academics, and loves tinkering with the vintage 1962 Ferrari he keeps in a secret garage just up the road from their belle-époque penthouse apartment in Paris. So honestly, Marinette shouldn’t have been surprised upon finding a sailing yacht waiting for them in the luxurious marina of Saint-Tropez.

“Um...” Gobsmacked, Marinette slips off her sandals and follows him over the exquisitely varnished toerail, “... since when do you know how to drive a boat?”

“Since I was eight.” Adrien shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “Mère loved to come down every year to watch the annual regatta. She even sailed in a few of them herself.”

“Wow.” Marinette’s eyes grow wide as she gawks at the opulent 16 metre sailboat. She’d never dreamt of setting foot on one, let alone cruising on one through the French Riviera for a week on her honeymoon. Elated, Marinette can hardly keep the stars from her eyes as she drops her shoulder bag and scampers across the deck until she reaches the front of the vessel, splaying her arms out wide.

“I’m the king of the world!” she cries, laughing as Adrien runs along behind her and plants his hands on her hips, holding her steady.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” She grins into the salty breeze coming off the Mediterranean and steps onto the first rung of the railings. “Just don’t let me fall overboard.”

“You’ll be flying soon, M’Lady.” Adrien pulls her against his chest and presses a kiss to her temple, his stubble scratching softly against her skin. “But first, we have some fenders to collect.”

Marinette blinks. “Uh... what exactly is a fender?”

Adrien’s indulgent laughter echoes in the headsail. “You’re about to get a crash course in Sailing 101, Buginette. Are you ready to be my first mate?”

Marinette spins around in his arms and bops him on the nose. “Teach me everything you know, Captain Kitty.”

Adrien hums, tipping her chin upwards to kiss her lips. “I like the sound of that.”

After a few minutes of acquiring her sea legs, Marinette and Adrien Dupain-Cheng are off amidst the serene waves of la Côte d'Azur for a honeymoon trip of a lifetime. Marinette can’t keep her eyes off of the hill-perched towns dotting the coastline, sun-drenched and prismatic against the turquoise waters of the Med. Beside her, Adrien keeps their vessel steady, his seasoned gaze trained on the horizon as they pull out of port and soar northwards, the wind at their every beck and call.

For centuries, every Parisian worth their salt flocked to the French Riviera to soak up the Mediterranean sun and the Agreste’s were no different, once upon a time. Adrien’s childhood memories aboard the Éphémère remind him of bouillabaisse and happier days spent scampering across deck pretending to be a pirate in search of buried treasure. It’s something he hopes he can share with his own children one day, especially now that he and his wife no longer have to spend every spare moment of their lives fighting Hawk Moth.

Sensing her husband’s pensive mood, Marinette snuggles deeper into his side as the afternoon sun begins to dip towards the horizon. She doesn’t need Adrien to assure her that their evenings onboard together will be positively serene with nothing but the seabirds to obstruct the sunset that will surely steal their breath away. He kisses her forehead and hugs her close, his guiding light within the storm that had been brewing since his childhood. After all those years of rough seas at the hands of his father, things were finally settling into an even keel.

Marinette learns the ins and outs of sailing quickly, securing lines and watching for traffic as they navigate along the seaboard of Saint Raphaël . Jibs and boons soon become a part of her vocabulary, and once they've successfully moored in the neighbouring marina, Marinette feels like she's run a marathon.

"That was exhausting," she groans, slumping into the cushions on the sundeck.

Adrien beams, having barely broken a sweat. "Come on; I'll make it worth your while."

Hauling her back onto her feet, Adrien leads her down into the main cabin. All clean lines and warm teak, Marinette leaves her duffel bag on the sofa and explores the spacious interior with curious eyes, carding her fingers through the decades old fashion magazines stacked in a woven basket resting on the floor. He leaves her to explore and hauls their luggage and a cooler down the ladder, filling the marine fridge with fixings for their first dinner outside of Paris. It's peaceful, with nothing but the sounds of the waves to keep them company.

The lights are warm and low in their galley kitchen, a cozy escape from the endless vistas of rocky crags and pastel-orange buildings whose narrow streets spill into the sea. Their table is just large enough for two wicker placemats and a bottle of Mouton-Cadet; old vases filled with seaglass and shells rest on every side table, their edges wrapped in nautical rope. By the counter, Marinette grates a snowy pile of Pecorino cheese over a mound of steaming spaghetti while beside her Adrien grinds fresh pepper into a ramekin, his stomach growling after an afternoon spent at sea. A comfortable silence ebbs and flows between them as the evening tide laps against the hull, drawing them towards the tangy, indulgent nest of cacio e pepe they made together.

Marinette wakes the next morning to the smell of fresh coffee and a deftly wrapped gift on the bedside table of their lavish master cabin. Slipping her bare legs across the silk sheets as she sits up, she opens her present and plucks one of her own Chat Noir inspired creations from the tissue paper along with a note attached inside.

Care to go for a dip with me, M’Lady?

Marinette snorts and ties the black and neon green bikini up at the neck and hips, leaving a few very tantalizing strings to pull should Adrien let his feline instincts get the best of him. Goodness knows he wouldn’t be able to resist himself, what with the way he could hardly keep his hands off of her last night while they were trying to find a deck of cards in the saloon. She glances at herself in the mirror to wipe the sleep from her eyes and quickly fastens her hair into a loose ponytail, ready to tease her husband senseless.

“Welcome to Cannes!” he announces as she emerges from below deck, mesmerized by the morning sun illuminating his blond hair like a halo. He’s gorgeous in every sense of the word, thoughtful and generous and unfailingly kind, and even in his darkest moments, he never ceases to steal her breath away.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, hooking her fingers into the belt loops of his chinos, “but not as beautiful as you.”

A ruddy flush blooms across his cheeks, a constant victim to her soft-spoken praises. “I can hardly compete against you, Buginette, especially when you’re wearing that.”

“I don’t know...” She grazes her fingernails against his bare chest and smirks as the familiar rumble in his sternum kicks into low gear. “I think the sun suits you.”

“Enough to consider moving down here for good?”

Marinette shrugs; keeping their lives rooted in Paris has been a point of contention between them since the arrest of his father. “Not permanently, no, but I wouldn’t protest if we vacationed here more often.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time you overwork yourself,” he responds, closing his eyes as she continues to explore the chiseled planes of his abs. She’s always been gifted when it comes to distractions and this morning is no different; like wayfaring on a starless night, she’s always been the beacon to guide his way. “Now, I thought I invited you up here for a swim?”

“You did.” Marinette steps back, giving him the merciful reprieve he’d needed to calm his beating heart. “And it is kind of hot up here.”

His grip on the ship’s wheel tightens. “No thanks to you.”

“Easy there, Captain Kitty.” Marinette smirks, flicking the golden bell sewn to the bridge of her bikini top. “Race you!”

“Hey!” he gapes at her, scandalized. “I still have to drop anchor!”

Marinette giggles as she zooms past him, leaping off the back of the boat with delight. “Last one in the water has to make breakfast!”

Meandering through the Medieval streets of the old city, Marinette and Adrien pause to catch a glimpse of Villefranche-sur-Mer ’s idyllic harbour. There’s an enormous cruise ship dominating the horizon and Adrien is thankful that they’d brought their disguises in tow. No one has recognized either of them with the way they’ve camouflaged themselves in their floppy beach hats and oversized sunglasses.

Marinette spends the afternoon popping in and out of boutiques with turquoise shutters, snapping photos and picking up little trinkets along the way. They stop for lunch at a peaches-and-cream couloured bistro nestled against the water’s edge, its open windows basking the sunlit stone walls with salt-scented air. Adrien joyfully devours his meal, a simply grilled loup de mer with fennel and lemon, while Marinette chatters over a bowl of Niçoise octopus salad that she had been eager to try since spotting it on the chalkboard menu outside.

“It feels weird, not having them around.” Adrien balances a piece of julienned fennel between the tines of his fork. “It’s the first time I’ve taken my ring off in ten years.”

“I promise you, Tikki and Plagg are appreciating their vacation too,” Marinette assures him around a mouthful of cherry tomatoes. “They deserve a break after what happened. We both do.”

Adrien nods and is quiet for a while.

“When I was a kid, I used to watch the cliff divers jump into that cove,” Adrien mentions as they sail by, pointing towards a sharp craig jutting from the coastline. “I always wanted to do it myself. Maybe I will.”

“You’re free to do whatever you want now.” Marinette smiles into the wind, the skirt of her sundress billowing up passed her thighs. “So chart us a course, Captain Kitty. Where are we going next?”

“First, we’re stopping in Èze .” Adrien brushes his bangs from his eyes and relishes in being at the helm of transience. “There are galleries all over the place that I know you’ll love. And we have a dinner reservation. I thought you’d appreciate the view.”

Marinette lowers her sunglasses. “I like the view here just fine, thanks.”

“I could say the same thing about you.” Adrien smirks and snags her by the hips, easily hauling her up onto the dash of the cockpit. She squeals as he savours the salt on her skin as he plants a kiss on her knee in mock apology. “There. Now I have you right where I want you.”

She kicks and he dodges easily, catching her foot with lightning fast reflexes born from being merged with the Black Cat Miraculous for so long. It’s a familiar song and dance between them, a playful contest sparking in their eyes as he peppers kisses along her ankle, her calf, anywhere he can reach. He stops just shy of the constellation of freckles at the hem of her dress and makes eye contact through his lashes, flashing her a mischievous Chat Noir smile. “I wonder if you’re ... ticklish?

Marinette shrieks as Adrien starts tickling her toes, running his fingernails up and down the arches of her feet. She’s tortured him a thousand times by attacking his sides when he least expected it so he figures it’s about time he seeks revenge. “Adrien! Stop!”

He doesn’t, of course, and chooses to memorize each and every facet of her beauty instead; her smile and her pained laughter, her marks and scars from the final battle only a month before their wedding day. “I’m never letting you go!”

“You’re going to— stop it! —have to if we ever want to get to Èze .” Marinette manages to wrench her ankle free and hops down from the ledge, landing easily in his outstretched arms. “That is, unless you want to crash.”

“If we shipwreck,” Adrien bends low and devours that little spot on her neck that makes her weak every time, “promise me you won’t hog the whole door?”

Marinette bursts into laughter. “Are we seriously going to have this debate again?”

“I’m serious! Jack could have totally fit on that— mmpf! ”

Cupping his cheeks, Marinette hurriedly kisses away the space between them and silences his long-winded debate once and for all. It’s an effective way to shut him up—all things considered—and an astonished gasp spirals from his lips as she hoists herself up his body and brackets his hips with her thighs. She claims him, covets him, her tongue sweeping across his lower lip, and he’s helpless to her siren’s song as he braces her against the cockpit’s controls and clings to her like a drowning man.

“Alright, you win.” Breathless and lightheaded, Adrien pulls back after a while just to soak her in, to remind himself that he’s married to the most beautiful woman in the world. He gazes in awe as she recovers, her flushed cheeks and parted lips swollen and wet. Adrien is drawn back in like a magnet, kissing her with every intention of stealing her breath away.

She buries her hands in his hair, her nails gently scraping against his scalp as Adrien all but melts in her embrace, groaning with pleasure. He deepens their kiss, and Adrien feels drunk with his desire to claim, their passion speaking more than words between them ever could. Every gasp and moan conveys their everlasting partnership and the terror of nearly losing one another in the whirlwind. Shell-shocked and injured, they still held their wedding ceremony, even as the fallout had tugged at their ankles, gossip and chaos pooling around their feet. Together, they’d inherited an empire he’d never wanted in the first place, thrusting them into a world unprepared and raw with nothing but each other as a tether in the storm.

“I love you,” she murmurs against his lips, her heartbeat hammering a tattoo inside her chest. He can feel it against his own, fast and strong and wonderfully alive. “We’ll get through this; together.”

Later, as they draw nearer to the charming port town of Èze, Adrien draws her close and hopes she never leaves his side. “Where to, Miss?”

Marinette smiles. “To the stars.”

Nothing comes so abundantly as time when you’re sailing through the seemingly endless vistas of the Med. Their honeymoon stretches on for longer than a week simply because it can; he owns their floating home-away-from-home and she’s working remotely, snagging a Wi-Fi signal whenever they’re in port.

Neither of them seem to be in any hurry to leave the solace of the French Riviera behind. It’s where he’s feasted on fresh seafood and felt better than he has in weeks. It’s where they’ve kissed and made love under the stars a thousand times over. It’s where he’s confessed his doubts about living in Paris and where she’s supported his struggle to leave his father behind.

They’re moored in Antibes tonight and the skies are awash in vibrant pinks and apricot. He drizzles balsamic vinegar onto a shimmering pond of Italian olive oil; she wears hair pins with flowers on them and pours wine like an expert, heedless to the way he’s staring at her like she’s his only source of air.

“I love you,” he whispers. It’s enough.

#miraculous ladybug #adrinette #ml fic #miraculous fanfic #ml writer zine

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purplecatdad · 3 years

Text

Of Bears and Friends (RDR Reverse Bang)

Written for the @rdrbigbang reverse bang for the wonderful picture of @mgcoco

Arthur sighed as he closed his journal. He had just finished up the sketch of their new camp at Clemens point as he reminisced about the things that had happened.

Colm had attacked them, right in the middle of the little town of Valentine. That bastard had taken John (and Strauss, but Arthur wasn’t very fond of the feller), and had threatened to shoot him right in front of them. Gladly both him and Dutch were skilled enough with their guns to get the situation under control, even when they were heavily outnumbered.

Arthur still had been worried about John for a moment, even if he’d never admit that to the other man. He’d become like a brother to him and he’d never forgive himself if he had been too slow to protect Jack from losing his father or Abigail her husband.

He lit himself a cigarette after his journal was safely stored away in his satchel again and took a long drag, feeling his lungs filling up with the smoke before he breathed out again. He still had to sell that gold bar that he had gotten from that weird German guy. Arthur had thought about just donating it to the camp funds for others to take care of the selling, but right now he felt like taking a break anyway.

Cigarette dangling between his lips he got up, stretched until his bones cracked and shouldered his satchel.He didn’t plan to stay away too long but he knew that sometimes things went differently than you plan them and so he packed up some cans of beans from Pearson’s wagon. He was usually good at hunting his food but sometimes it was nice to just heat up a can instead of crouching in the bushes.

“I’ll be gone for a bit. Maybe a week or two,” he announced to Dutch, who rested in his little tent, the gramophone blasting some random tune that Arthur had heard one too many times before.

“Alright. Be safe, son. And better come back with a good lead or two,” the gang leader responded and Arthur just tipped his hat in response. He wouldn’t promise anything but of course he’d keep his ears open and his mind sharp. Life as an outlaw had taught him that there was money to be made at every corner and that one shouldn’t miss out on the opportunity.

He tacked up the Black Shire he had named Thor, packed his bedroll and some more supplies to make camp before heading out. Firstly he would make his way up north. He had discovered this little, almost dead town called Van Horn before and knew that he’d make good money with the gold bar there. He also realized that it had been a while now since he’d last visited the widow Charlotte who lived up north the Roanoke. He decided to pay her a visit as well, just to make sure that she was alright and skilled enough to take care of herself.

The sun was still rising as he made his way out of camp, setting a steady pace but making sure not to push his horse too hard. Arthur loved riding fast but it had cost him too many good horses when he was still young. He had learned when it was time to push them and when it was better to let them choose their own pace.

"You‘re a good boy,“ he praised the stallion as he patted his neck. Back at Horseshoe Overlook, Thor had been quite the brute. One time he had even kicked him hard enough for Arthur to land on his ass. He had thought about selling him when Hosea told him to but something had told Arthur that he should keep his horse. He still missed Boadicea and longed for a horse that he could rely on. The Shire didn‘t seem to be that kind of horse at first but Arthur found him far too beautiful to just give him away to end up in front of some poor farmer‘s wagon.

He had taken Thor out with him into the Heartlands, naming him after the god of Thunder as the sounds his hooves made when galloping over the endless meadows. It had taken them a while to properly get along, to train him to come when he whistled and to follow up. After two weeks of back and forth between them, Arthur knew that he could rely on Thor, though. Some daring Bounty Hunters had been chasing him, nearly getting him by ambushing him as he was making camp. But Thor didn’t let them. He had kicked them right off of their horses and stomped one of them to death as Arthur had shot the other.

Since then, they had only been separated whenever he had been at camp or sleeping in a hotel rather than on his bedroll.

His first few hours of travelling were calm and uneventful. The people he passed didn‘t seem interested in him and he also wasn’t interested in them as none of them looked like they were carrying great amounts of cash. He knew that there weren‘t many rich folk up Roanoke Ridge so he hadn‘t expected it anyway.

As he had passed the swampy area around Lagras the ground became more firm again and the road was taking him through the forest. Arthur felt better here, without the high humidity, surrounded by trees. He generally enjoyed being in nature, especially if it was the forest or the desert … but he hated the cold that they had in Colter as much as the warm and humid air around Lagras. He took a deep breath to enjoy the scent of the trees around him when he heard a familiar voice mumbling.

"Where are they … I‘m sure they must be some somewhere here …,“ Arthur brought Thor to a halt and looked around the trees until he spotted the man with his camera. A smile spread over his lips as he watched him searching for something. Albert Mason was a strange man but he had actually become a good friend of his during the last few weeks. He had met him several times before, trying to photograph wolves, horses, and alligators. Albert seemed to be that rare kind of person who was born into wealth and still seeked out the adventurous outdoors - without being disgusted by its reality. Arthur still remembered that “gentleman” he had met on his way to Strawberry who had demanded to get a ride into the town while constantly complaining about it. It had annoyed Arthur immensely, so much that a part of him had actually thought about just robbing that man blind and leaving him behind. But Albert was different. He saw the beauty in nature, saw the dangers that lay in it, but also the wonders. And that was why he had started taking his photographs - and why Arthur thought of him as a friend.

“Did ya lose something’?” Arthur called over to Albert who jumped and almost threw over his camera. He looked around until he saw Arthur and a wide smile appeared on his face.

“Mr. Morgan!” the photographer exclaimed as he walked up to him and Arthur got down from his horse. “It’s good to see you again. Have you been well?”

Arthur thought about the shootout in Valentine and the German family that he had rescued from the O’Driscolls. “Hmm, mostly,” he mused with a faint smile on his lips and lit himself a cigarette. “So, whatcha lookin’ for?”

“Oh, uh …”, Albert seemed to need a moment to remember what he had been doing. “I was looking for bears. I’ve actually found quite a few black bears already but I’d like something more …” he seemed to be at a loss of words and just waved around to indicate something big.

“More … impressive?” Arthur suggested.

“Impressive, yes! They are pretty alright but something like … like a grizzly! That might be a great motive for a picture!”

“A grizzly?” Arthur barked out a laugh in disbelief and shook his head. “You really do wanna die taking pictures, don’t cha?”

Albert chuckled at that and it almost sounded a little nervous. “Well, now that you’ve stumbled upon me … Maybe you want to make sure I don’t just yet?”

Arthur looked back at him. “Ya know that we’d better head up to the Grizzlies for that, yeah? Ain’t many grizzlies around here. And I first gotta get some business done in Van Horn and then go visit a friend up at Brandywine Drop …” He wasn’t sure if Albert would be up for so much travelling but having some company actually sounded kind of nice.

“Oh, if you don’t mind me traveling with you I’d love to join you on the road. I’m sure there will be some more opportunities for me to take pictures on the way.” Albert seemed to be delighted about the prospect of traveling alongside him and Arthur wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. What if Albert would realise what kind of person he actually was and decide that he wasn’t a person he wanted to keep around anymore? What if he himself got annoyed at him? What if … but Arthur stopped his thoughts, took a last long drag from his cigarette and flicked it away.

“Alright then … do you … have a horse?” Arthur had realized that he had never actually seen him traveling around and looked around until he saw a small Criollo hitched to a nearby tree who looked over at them like it was aware of him asking for it.

“That’s Daisy,” Albert said as he followed Arthur’s gaze on the horse. “She might be small but she is very reliable. Has never let me down so far.”

Arthur walked up to the little horse and offered his hand for her to sniff. Her fur looked like red and grey marble, her mane a dark brown. She gently nudged his hand as if asking for treats and Arthur chuckled low in his throat. “She’s quite the sweetheart, ain’t she?”

After Albert had packed up his camera, eager to get moving to find some grizzlies up north they crossed the Kamassa River. It already started to get dark, the sun slowly setting over the horizon in the distance. It would have been possible to get to Van Horn and rent out a room somewhere there but considering the state of the town, Arthur preferred to make camp before heading in there.

“You know, we actually should make camp somewhere. I’ll hunt us something. You can …,” he hesitated, not sure about Albert’s survival skills. “Can you make a campfire?”

Albert looked up at him from Daisy’s back. “I, uh … can certainly try.”

Arthur sighed at that, only now realizing that he would have to do the muscle work on this trip. “How did you survive in the wild up until now?”

“Well, I was always staying over in Hotels, mostly. But I’d happily learn a thing or two from you.”

“There’s an old fort close by … if there’s nobody else right now we can use it as a camp for the night,” Arthur suggested and Albert’s face lit up.

“An old fort? Oh, how exciting!”

They headed over there, Arthur holding the big doors to the fort open while Albert rode past him inside it. Luckily there was an old, abandoned campfire right next to a small hut within the fort that Arthur brought back to life with some matches and dry twigs that were lying around.

“You can find some more wood and add to it so it’ll last us overnight. I’ll be back in a bit, there are plenty of turkeys and rabbits here,” Arthur announced and left the fort after Albert nodded.

After their time in Colter, Arthur actually preferred to hunt on foot with his bow and arrow, at least when it came to harmless animals like deer or rabbits. He had become good at it, thanks to practising it a lot with Charles, but not good enough to guarantee him a kill on attacking wolves or cougars.

He went into the nearest line of trees and gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light there before he looked around for animal tracks. Arthur heard a turkey’s gobble coming somewhere from his right side and ducked down so he wouldn’t get their attention. There was a small group of four of them, so he had a good chance of getting at least one.

He slowly got closer to them, raising his bow with an arrow ready when he was in shooting range. He was a good sharp shooter but he still needed a little more time to prepare for a shot with the bow. Arthur breathed in, pulling the bow back at the same time and released it as he breathed out again. The arrow hit the turkey at the base of the neck and it fell to the ground with a gentle thud. The others ran off immediately and Arthur went to collect his prey.

When he got back to the fort, roughly ten minutes after he had left, Albert was gone. Sure, he had told him to collect firewood but Arthur hadn’t seen him around the fort as well and he wasn’t anywhere near the line of trees. He dropped the turkey on the floor, worried that something had happened to his travel companion.

“Mr. Mason?!” he called out, looking around the fort for a hint where the photographer could’ve vanished too. Both Daisy and Thor, who were hitched at the corner of the fort, looked at him like he was disturbing their peaceful evening. Arthur cursed under his breath, hoping that his friend hadn’t been taken by some ill meaning asshole.

There weren’t really any tracks on the ground that he could make out as it hadn’t rained in a while. He noticed that Albert had left his equipment at their little campsite though so he figured that he was either still closeby or that somebody had taken him.

“Mr. Morgan! I’m down here!” He heard a voice calling from … somewhere. He approached the little cabin that was still somewhat standing and looked inside. There was no trace of Albert still but he was certain that it had come from this direction. He walked into the dark room, holes in the wall and the ceiling shining dim light into it. Soon it would be too dark to see here. He made out a ladder that led downwards and peeked inside, noticing a shadow and a dim light.

“Mr. Mason?” he asked again and got a “you should come down here, Mr. Morgan. Check it out!” Arthur sighed and climbed down into the basement, wondering if the building would collapse and bury them underneath and if whatever was down there was actually worth it. When he turned around, there was a dagger directly pointing at his nose.

“This must be the last few remnants from the war!” Arthur took a step to the side and gently removed the knife from Alberts grip. It was big, like an actual hunting knife. There were traces of blood on the blade, long dried out, the victim probably dead for decades by now.

“That’s a pretty knife alright. You want to keep it? I’ve got my hunting knife but this might come in handy for you some time.” “But .. it belonged to someone!” Albert seemed shocked that Arthur suggested to him to just take it and the outlaw was reminded that not everyone grew up just taking what they needed. Arthur shrugged and stored the knife in the sheath of his hunting knife.

“He ain’t gonna need it no more. But I’ll take it if you don’t want it.” He might as well just sell it at the fence, along with the gold bar he had found.

“I also found this …” Albert noted and held up a cigarette card of a black panther. “Isn’t it a fine specimen? Oh, I’d LOVE to take a picture of one some time!”

Arthur chuckled gently, shaking his head along with his. “You really wanna die, don’t cha?”

A few minutes later Arthur was finally settled around the fire, strips of turkey meat roasting above it and an opened can of beans slowly warming up right next to it. Albert had excused himself to take some pictures of the fort from the outside and left him alone for a bit.

Arthur looked up to the stars and enjoyed the silence for a moment. This was what he had longed for when he had left camp. To not be surrounded by nearly thirty people, all chatting and babbling, everybody wanting something from him or expecting him to bring in money. He didn’t mind helping people and he loved the gang like a family. But sometimes it all got too much. Sometimes he just wanted to travel, see the world and enjoy nature. Sometimes he didn’t want to be the great enforcer of the Van der Linde Gang. Sometimes he was content with just being Arthur. A wandering soul, ever moving, traveling to wherever his horse carried him.

“This really is a lot more … rustic than I am used to.” He heard Albert’s voice coming from the side and was suddenly pulled out from his thoughts. For a moment he had forgotten that he wasn’t completely alone. “But this is very exciting! I’ve always wanted to sleep outside when I was a little boy. Never gotten around to actually doing it.”

Arthur blinked at Albert who settled down on the floor next to him, the camera neatly packed away again. “You’ve never slept outside?” It seemed so strange to him, like a completely different world.

“Well, I grew up in the city. There weren’t any good spots to sleep outside in New York, Mr. Morgan. And as I said, so far I’ve usually slept in hotels. I’m glad to have this opportunity now, I hope to venture even further out west some time but I’m certain I’ll need more uh ... outdoor skills for that.”

He wondered if the photographer had any idea about how dangerous the west really could be. “The west ain’t a place for city folk, Mr. Mason. Especially not if they’re all on their own.” Of course, it would be Alberts decision alone but Arthur really didn’t want him to get hurt because he was foolish enough to venture out alone. “Better get yourself someone who knows their way around and who you can trust.”

“What about you, then, Mr. Morgan? Would you like to join me some time?”

“Join you? Out west?” Arthur hadn’t expected Albert to just offer it like that... or to be quite so serious about it all.

“Yes. You obviously know your way around, and I like your company. Of course, I can pay you for your time and the protection as well! I imagine it must be quite the trip there. As long as you don’t have any responsibilities here … I mean … I don’t really know how involved you are around here, of course. It just seemed to be like you’re … well, you seem to be quite a free spirit, in a sense...”

Albert was babbling again, like he sometimes did. But Arthur didn’t mind it, it gave him time to think about the offer. What if he took it? Earning some honest money for a change and still doing things that he loved sounded good. But he knew he couldn’t just leave the gang behind. He wasn’t John who just left for a whole year or Trewlawny who didn’t even stay with them most of the time. He belonged in camp. What if something happened when he was away for multiple weeks, maybe even months?

“I’ll think about that offer. Let’s first see how we’ll get along on this trip, shall we?”, He suggested. So far they had only ever spent an afternoon together. Maybe they wouldn’t even get along if they’d be around each other for longer. Arthur knew that he could tolerate a lot - after all, he was in a gang with Sean MacGuire for several years now and had only almost strangled him once - but he wasn’t sure if Albert would still like him if he got to know the real Arthur Morgan. Outlaw, killer, bastard. Nobody a proper man like Albert would usually keep around.

“Yes, you might be right. But I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. So, my good Sir, what will we have for dinner, if I may ask?” Albert asked, his tone shifted from his usually happy babbling to something that resembled a fine gentleman in an even finer establishment. It made Arthur chuckle and forget his grim thoughts for a moment. Maybe Albert really could stay his friend.

The night had been uneventful and calm, just like Arthur had hoped. After they had eaten the turkey with the beans, Albert had shared his last bit of chocolate with him. There had been some smalltalk, mostly Albert telling him about places he had been before and places he still wanted to see. All those that Arthur had never seen and probably never would. New York, Chicago, Philadelphia. Crowded places that he’d rather avoid.

They had packed up their things after a quick breakfast with coffee, leftover meat and a shared bread roll, saddled their horses and made their way up to Van Horn.

“So, what’s that town like? Van Horn, you said? I’ve never heard of it,” Albert asked him as they were moving along the path.

“It’s a shithole, really,” Arthur explained as he lit himself a cigarette. “Not many people left there aside from some whores, gamblers, and alcoholics. Ain’t sure what happened to the town but it died out at some point and now there’s just the scum left.”

“Oh…” Albert didn’t seem to have expected that kind of answer. “So, what are you doing there?”

“Well, a German fella that I’ve helped get rid of some … nasty folk .. he paid me with a damn gold bar. And I know I can sell those to a gentleman in town.”

“Oh, there's a bullion dealer in town?”

“Something like that, yeah.” It wasn’t exactly the truth but Arthur didn’t want to elaborate any further right now.

They rode in silence for a while, occasionally stopping when Albert found something he wanted to photograph.

The first thing they saw was the lighthouse of Van Horn. Once built to guide ships at the broad Lannahechee River it now started to rot away since it got neglected by the townsfolk. Arthur suspected that they simply ran out of funding. Most ships would probably rather find a harbour in Saint Denis down south, with more people being able to board in such a big city and more trades to me made with the large warehouses. He had seen plenty of towns like Van Horn in his life. Promising little settlements who had died out for various reasons. Bad investments, too many outlaws passing through and robbing the place, illnesses and sometimes for no reason at all. Sometimes, like here, there was still business to be made but other times it was best to just stay away.

He noticed that Albert had grown more quiet since they had passed the last road bend. Arthur suspected that he was a little shocked due to the state of the town, despite Arthur warning him beforehand. He wondered if it was Albert’s first time in a place like this.

“Don’t worry, we ain’t gonna stay long. Just stay close to me and don’t talk to anybody,” Arthur assured him and he felt Albert’s gaze on him for a moment.

They rode past the fallen down houses and the saloon. He could see some lonely patrons in there, those who probably hadn’t left during the night and were still there in the late morning, slowly waking up to start drinking again as they had nothing left anymore. Arthur averted his eyes, painfully reminded of his own father. Sometimes he had waited for him in their shabby room right down the street from the saloon. Lyle had often promised him to come back with money that he’d win gambling but Arthur had to learn early that it were mostly empty promises, the money oftentimes just spent on liquor and women while he had waited at home with a hole in his stomach.

Some women who stood next to the remains of the hotel looked at them with hope in their eyes for a moment, probably hoping for some money from lonesome travelers who wanted to let off some steam but they soon realized that Arthur and his companion were just passing through the town.

He stopped next to the old post office, telling Albert to wait while he was doing his business. Arthur hitched Thor to a nearby post and walked up to the building in which he knew the fence did his business. It didn’t feel right leaving Albert behind in such a place and the photographer did look a little lost but he preferred it like that. He didn’t only have the gold bar with him but also a few pocket watches and belt buckles that he had taken from some unfortunate souls on the streets. He didn’t want Albert to just see it if there was no need to.

“I’ll give you 550$ for that,” the fence said after Arthur had put all of the items, including the old knife he had found, on his table.

“50$ more and we got ourselves a deal,” Arthur responded. He wouldn’t let the fence cheap out of this.

“560$, last offer.”

He took out his gun and held it up to the fence's face. “600$, or I’ll take the money and the merchandise. We both know there’s no law around to help you.”

The fence stared at the gun for a second, then nodded shortly. “Alright. 600$. I don’t want any trouble here.”

“No trouble at all,” Arthur agreed with a content smirk and holstered his gun again before he grabbed the money that was offered and stashed it away in his satchel.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” He tipped his hat and left the small warehouse before heading back to Albert. Arthur lit himself another cigarette, glad that he turned the gold into some money now. He frowned as he saw Albert in the distance who was being surrounded by some women who seemed to be a little too interested in him.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Arthur heard one of them say as he got closer. “I’ll give you the time of your life. Just two dollars, you won't regret it, I promise.”

Albert’s face was red as a tomato, stammering something unintelligible and raising his hands in defense. It seemed like this was his first time being approached by prostitutes desperate for money and so Arthur walked up to them to rescue him out of that situation.

“Leave him alone,” he snarled. “There’s cheaper ways to catch syphilis. Get lost!”

“That’s rude of you, Mister!” One of the prostitutes said but she also scuttered off like the rest of them when Arthur placed a hand on his gun and said “I ain’t gonna ask again.”

Arthur unhitched Thunder and jumped up on his back again as Albert collected himself. “You alright, Mr. Mason? They’re a little obtrusive here sometimes.”

“Y-yes .. I’m okay. Thank you.”

They headed out of the city again, up North and following the Lannahechee River that was glistening from the sun standing high in the sky. Arthur knew that there were lots of mean folk around here but he still loved the area for it’s lush greens. They rode in silence for a bit, sharing the occasional oatcakes and Albert stopping to take pictures now and again. It was a calm, beautiful day and Arthur enjoyed the ride a lot, even with Albert babbling about some rare species of bird that was rumoured to be seen around here. His babbling was simply different from the buzzing in camp. He didn’t expect anything from him and instead of complaining about too many chores or not enough money, Albert just seemed to be … excited about the things he saw.

In the beginning, Arthur had found it childish for a grown man to get so excited about animals or nature's beauty. It reminded him of Jack who sometimes got all happy about dandelion seeds in the wind, even if it was such a mundane thing. After meeting Albert multiple times though and getting to know him a little better he found it endearing. It was contagious to see him all excited and Arthur had often caught himself smiling about the same things and always ended up sketching the animals that Albert had taken pictures of. Nature was beautiful, after all. And Albert had reminded him of that.

“Not long until we’ll reach Annesburg,” Arthur started after a couple of hours of riding. “Should we rent a room there to spend the night?”

Arthur noticed Albert blushing for a second and wondered why but before he had the chance to come to a conclusion the other man responded. “Ah, I enjoyed camping out with you far too much to get back to the confines of a hotel room just yet. If you don’t mind.”

Arthur chuckled at that, amused that Albert seemed to have found some joy in staying outside now. Unusual for a city boy like him, he mused. “Sure, we can. I’d say we look for a good spot after we passed Annesburg then. Have you been there before?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t been, no.”

“It’s a mining town, air’s awfully dirty there. But you’ll see it soon.”

Arthur chose the path that wouldn’t lead them directly through the city but rather around it. He wasn’t in the mood to pass through the town, not long ago he had a little argument with the Sheriff because he had accidentally run over a miner. The man had been fine and so Arthur had refused to see it as a crime. He didn’t want Albert to get mingled in that if the Sheriff saw him again and decided that it was a day of justice to be served.

As they got closer to the city, the air started to taste of smoke and stone. It was a strange thing that Arthur had never experienced before and while he was an avid smoker, this just didn’t seem right to him. It got harder to see into the distance as well.

“I see now what you mean, Mr. Morgan,” Albert said as they approached the town. “It really is awfully dirty.” They passed the entry of the mine above the town and both of them shortly looked at the men walking past them and towards the mines. Their faces and clothes black with the dirt, their expressions tired and bodies hunched over from the hard work.

“Oh, what an awful job this must be …,” Albert mused and Arthur hummed in agreement. “Not seeing the sun, always in danger of being buried alive … There must be better ways to earn a living.”

“Some ain’t got no choice, Mr. Mason. And this is what civilization does to us - we got bad air and awful jobs.” It was the reason he preferred to be out west. The air was clean and there were less people. Less big towns, less crowd … and less law to get in trouble with.

“Well, it also gives us modern technology and science!” Albert exclaimed, patting his camera equipment that was strapped to his horse’s saddle. “I wouldn’t be able to do my job without it.”

Arthur thought about it for a moment. Yes, he enjoyed the photographs that Albert had shown him so far and their little adventures together but was it really worth all the hassle of civilisation? “I think I’d much rather miss out on some pretty pictures if that means I can stay away from cities. They’ve never done me any good. But I get that they’re important to you.”

There was a soft smile on Albert’s face on that and Arthur wondered if the other man could even understand him all that well as someone who was born and raised in the city. There was no way he could understand what it meant to always roam free and to do what you want. “Maybe you’re right, Mr. Morgan. Maybe there really are things that are more important than pretty pictures.”

After a little while they passed a cabin on the road. It was painted red and Arthur remembered that he had looked through the place before. Nobody had been home back then and there actually hadn’t been all that much to take. It seemed like there still was nobody at home and Arthur wondered if the place might be deserted for good now. He figured that it would be a bad idea to check again, just in case somebody would come home and Albert was still around. So they just passed it by and moved to a small incline behind it.

“This should be a good place to stay for the night,” Arthur decided as the sun set on the horizon. “Brought some salted meat with me, we can eat that tonight so I won’t have to hunt.”

Albert agreed and together they set up a tent. Last night they had slept within the confines of the old fort but tonight they weren’t protected by any walls. Albert really had two left hands when it came to setting up the tent so Arthur just told him to tend to the fire while he set it all up. He spread their bedrolls within the tent and realized that there really wouldn’t be much space between them. Arthur wondered if it would make Albert uncomfortable or not, he probably wasn’t used to sharing his breath with another man at night so he started to remove his own bedroll from the tent again, intending to sleep out next to the fire instead.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you going to sleep in the tent?” Albert asked him with big eyes.

“Well, there ain’t much space in there, Mr. Mason. No need to make you uncomfortable. I can sleep outside just fine.”

“Make me uncomfortable? Oh, now don’t be silly Mr. Morgan. It is your tent we will be sleeping in and it’s supposed to get plenty cold tonight. If anybody should sleep outside, it would be me. However, I wouldn’t mind sleeping right next to you, if that’s what you’re so concerned about.”

He hadn’t expected Albert to be so assertive about it and stopped in his tracks, musing over the words for a moment. Albert was right, it was supposed to get cold tonight with the sky as clear as it was and if it really didn’t bother him Arthur would very much prefer to sleep in a tent tonight.

“If you’re sure ‘bout it…”

“I am, don’t you worry about that. I don’t just say things that I don’t mean.”

Arthur gave him a small smile at that and nodded. He turned around and unrolled the bedroll in the tent again, preparing their bed for the night before he settled in around the fire next to Albert. Tonight he heated up some canned peas that he served Albert and himself with a piece of bread and the salted meat. It wasn’t fine cuisine but he somehow always enjoyed these thrown together meals at the beginning of a trip when he still had some provisions to choose from.

“So, how did you meet this lady that we’re visiting?” Albert asked him halfway through their shared meal.

“Uh, well…,” it had been a tip from a guy he had freed from a prison wagon. A lone lady in a little cabin, rich apparently and an easy way to make money. After Arthur had met her he had refused to take her money, though. “Met her when I was passing by, heard her crying ‘bout her husband. Showed her how to hunt. She was more city folk before, much like you.”

“You really like helping people, don’t you?” Albert said with a smile on her face, munching on some of the peas. “I like that about you, you know?”

Arthur hadn’t expected to get a compliment, he cleared his throat and looked down onto his plate, unsure what to respond for a moment. “Well, can’t just let her starve just after losing her husband, can I? She wanted to create a new life for her so … I helped her achieve that. Was mostly her doing.”

“I’m curious to meet her. She sounds like a very interesting person.”

“I’m sure you’ll get along just fine. And afterwards, we can find a grizzly for you. Might even see a cub or two, it’s the season for ‘em right now. Just gotta be careful around them, the mothers don’t like people ‘round them.”

Albert’s eyes lit up at that. “Oh, cubs would be so wonderful! I’m sure seeing them would help people see that they need to be protected.”

He chuckled at that. Albert’s reason for taking pictures really was a noble one. But he wasn’t sure if he could reach that goal, especially with so many people each day being attacked and killed by wild predators that roamed America.

“Maybe, yes. But remember that they are still dangerous, much like their mommas.”

“Of course! But I also have you with me to protect me, don’t I, Mr. Morgan? “Sure you do.”

They finished their dinner, easing into some conversations about nothing in particular, sharing a bottle of whiskey and some cigarettes until Albert announced that he was tired and lay down in the tent.

Arthur got out his journal, sketching their little campsite before he wrote down a few sentences about their adventure so far.

Met this photographer again on the road. Decided to travel with him for a bit. Guy wants to see some grizzlies so I’ll take him to see one. First we’ll see Charlotte again though. Will see how she is holding up.

He followed Albert into the tent after he had fed the fire one last time and tucked away his journal into his satchel again. The other man was already sound asleep, snoring very softly and his mouth hanging open a little.

Arthur entered carefully, trying not to wake the other man as he lay down on his bedroll. He sat down his hat next to himself, stretched and yawned before he turned onto his side to sleep. Albert shuffled a little next to him, mumbling something in his sleep and moved up to him. Arthur felt the heat of the other man’s body getting closer and for a moment he thought about waking him or shoving him away. Instead, he sighed and just relaxed as he enjoyed the presence of another person sleeping so close to him. Just a few minutes later he drifted off to sleep, tired from the long journey during the day.

When he woke up he felt the cold at the tip of his nose and gently rubbed it to warm it up. He frowned when he noticed that Albert had already gotten up and looked out of the tent to see if he was sitting at the fire but there was nobody to be seen. The fire didn’t even look like it had been tended to at all.

He got up, stretching and popping his bones to wake and warm up a little. Albert was still nowhere to be seen but he figured that the man probably just went to do his business in peace. He sat down by the fire to bring it back to life and to make some coffee. A lit cigarette dangling from his lips he opened up a can of baked beans to heat up as well. When he was alone on the road he usually just had a cigarette and maybe some coffee to wake up in the morning but Albert had told him that he was used to a proper breakfast in the morning so he figured he could take care of that while the photographer was still busy.

Arthur started to get worried when he had finished his cigarette and Albert still hadn’t shown up again. He got up and looked for traces of him. The bag with his camera equipment was missing but his horse - and all the other valuable things they had - was still around so Arthur figured that they hadn’t been robbed during the night. He guessed that Albert probably had seen a pretty squirrel and just wandered off.

“What a fool,” Arthur murmured, shaking his head as he started to follow what he suspected were the other man’s footprints.

The track led him down the incline they had been camping on and towards the path that they would continue their travels on. And there he saw Albert standing, fumbling with the settings of his camera.

“Morning, Mr. Mason,” Arthur said, loud enough to startle Albert and make him jump.

The photographer turned around to him, his chuckle sounding a little nervous after he got scared.

“Good morning to you as well! I’ve just ah- I wanted to capture the beautiful sunrise over the river, you know? Didn’t want to wake you up.”

Arthur followed his gaze towards the river. The sun has already risen by now but the sky was still painted in pretty colours with the river glistening in the early light. Albert was right, it was a beautiful view and Arthur had a hard time to blame him. “Could’ve still woken me up, wasn’t sure where you had gone, just like that.”

Albert seemed to be surprised about that and blinked at him for a moment. “Oh, I … didn’t think you’d be that worried about me, Mr. Morgan. Otherwise I would’ve- “ “No, no. It’s alright,” Arthur assured him and realized that it probably had been a little stupid of him to just assume the worst, especially because Albert was a grown man, after all.

After a quick breakfast they went on their way again, following the Roanoke Ridge up North. Most words between them had been spoken, so they rode in a comfortable silence, just broken once or twice when Albert pointed out a pretty tree or animal to him. Arthur usually had seen them before and if he had been alone he might’ve stopped to sketch it as well but he just wasn’t used to people he traveled with caring about the marvels of the world.

They rested at one particular interesting tree that both of them found fascinating and while Albert set up his camera to take a picture of it, Arthur got out his journal and sketched it as well. It didn’t take long for Albert to notice the Journal and what Arthur was doing. After he w3as content with the pictures he had taken, he walked over to Arthur and asked him to have a look at his drawing.

“It ain’t much, Mr. Mason…”

“Just let me have a look, Mr. Morgan … I really do enjoy art and I’m sure it’s wonderful.”

With a sigh Arthur presented the journal to Albert who suddenly made surprised sound. “Oh, that IS wonderful, Mr. Morgan! You’ve captured it so well!”

Arthur felt himself blush. He wasn’t used to getting compliments like this and he felt a bit embarrassed to be praised like that for a simple sketch of a tree. “Well .. thank you. It really ain’t special, though.”

“Oh, it absolutely is. I wouldn’t be able to draw such a thing. Now, take the compliment and leave it at that, yes?”

Arthur shook his head in amusement. Albert really was a special kind of person. “Sure thing, Mr. Mason.”

Eventually they reached the little cabin that Arthur probably would have never found out about if it hadn’t been for the tip he had gotten. Instead of robbing the place, he had found a friend there. Someone to visit whenever he needed a break from the gang. Someone much like Albert.

He led Albert up the path and dismounted the horse after he passed the little entryway. Charlotte had started to try and make something of the little garden and had also fixed up the fence. He wondered if she would follow her advice and get some goats for milk and meat, just to help her when hunting didn’t go well. They hitched their horses and as Arthur turned around he saw Charlotte leaving her cabin. She stopped in her tracks, probably surprised to see two horses on her property. But her face lit up as she saw him and Arthur smiled right back to her, equally happy to see her.

“Arthur!” she called over and dropped the basket she had been carrying onto the chair on her porch. Charlotte approached them and Arthur was happy to see that she really looked well now. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes were bright and she looked like she was back to a healthy weight again. “It’s good to see you here. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Albert Mason. Him an’ me are traveling up to the grizzlies to see some bears,” he explained to her. Charlotte’s face darkened in worry and Arthur, the fool that he was, suddenly remembered how Cal had died.

“Oh, just to take some pictures of them,” Albert chimed in cheerfully. “You see, Ma’am, I’m a nature photographer and I’d like to capture the beauty of the American wildlife. So this isn’t going to be a bear hunt or anything like that.”

“Well, I hope that you stay safe…,” Charlotte said in a low voice while mostly looking at Arthur. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. But .. how can I help you?”

“I was actually on my way to check on you when I met Mr. Mason here, so … I suggested we make a break here first before heading West. If you don’t mind. Otherwise we can be on our way again, of course.”

“No, of course I don’t mind. It’s nice to have visitors, it tends to get a little lonely here sometimes. Feel free to come in … I even got some stew on the stove that I wanted to eat after the laundry. But that can wait, I’m not the biggest fan of washing anyway,” she admitted with a cheeky smile.

As they entered the cabin Arthur noticed a stretched out grey tabby cat right next to the fireplace. It rolled around, got up and stretched before lazily walking up to Charlotte. “Did you wake up from your nap already?” Charlotte asked and picked up the cat before she kissed its head. “This is Artemis. She helps me with the rats and I share my fish with her. If I manage to catch one, that is…” The cat started to struggle a little so he let her go again. Artemis landed on her paws rather gracefully. She ignored the men in the house and sat down on a pillow that was placed in front of the fireplace. “I’ve always wanted a cat but Cal didn’t really get along with them. He also always had to sneeze and got watery eyes when he was near them, weirdly enough… I found this one a few weeks ago and she’s really great company.”

“Well, I’m glad that she’s keeping you company,” Arthur said and pulled his gaze away from the cat who had started to stare him down like they were having a staring contest. He had never understood cats very well and usually preferred dogs over them. But he wasn’t there to judge Charlotte’s choice in pets.

They settled around the table in the middle of the room and Charlotte got out some bowls and spoons for them. “So, how have you been, Arthur?” she asked him and gave him a small smile before she got the pot down from the stove.

“Ah, it’s been a few busy weeks. I’m glad that I’ve got some free time to spend now. Just wandering ‘round a bit, seeing some folk.“

"You know, you‘ve never actually told me what kind of work you‘re doing,“ Charlotte mused as she served all of them a steaming hot bowl of stew. "Very few jobs offer this kind of freedom.“

Arthur had already wondered if she‘d ever ask him this question. Maybe, he had thought, she had already guessed it. Maybe she had been avoiding the question on purpose, afraid of what the answer might be. Albert also looked at him expectantly now, curious probably what kind of man he was travelling with now that it was brought up.

"I just … do some odd jobs here 'n there. Whatever brings in some money, really. So between jobs, I like to travel a bit. Means I see more than just one place of the world.“ It was the truth, even if not all of it, but it seemed to be enough for them for now. Arthur knew that even those folk who stayed on the legal path oftentimes went from job to job. It wasn‘t unusual to just go where the money was, after all.

"Oh, that sounds so adventurous!“ Charlotte exclaimed. "You must tell me a story or two sometimes, maybe I can put something of it into my writing.“

Albert smiled at that, curious now about Charlotte as well. "Oh, you‘re an author?“

"Well, I try to be. I haven‘t published much, just a short story or two in the newspaper in Chicago. But I‘m working on my first book now and it‘s going well. It‘s like the muse has kissed me after Arthur came to my rescue.“

"He really has a habit of doing that, doesn‘t he?“ Albert said and chuckled softly.

Arthur cleared his throat and shook his head, focusing on his stew. He wasn‘t quite used to people talking like that about him. If he was praised, it usually was for his strong fists in people‘s faces or his ability to shoot someone in the head from 200 feet away.

Albert and Charlotte eased into a conversation about Chicago and other bigger cities that they visited. Arthur had never been to any of those but to him it seemed horrible. Bigger cities like Saint Denis? That seemed like outright torture to him. More civilisation, more law, more rules to follow. No, he was content being out in the wild. And he now understood even better why both Albert and Charlotte chose to flee from all of that and built new lifes out here. Nature gave them room to breathe and to live and to just be, whereas the city restricted them.

After dinner they played a few rounds of poker. Albert had a horrible poker face and was easy to beat but Arthur was surprised to learn that Charlotte was actually really good at it. She ended up winning almost all rounds they played and smiled brightly as she stashed away the money that she won.

"I‘ve used to play a lot with my sisters and we all had to have a good poker face for when we had some higher up guests join us for dinner,“ she explained. "But it was fun to play with you.“

It was time to sleep afterwards, and while Charlotte had a spare room in her house she only had one bed to sleep on. "'s alright, I‘ll sleep here on a bedroll.“ Arthur assured Albert after he offered to sleep on the floor multiple times. "I‘m more used to it than you, don‘t worry 'bout it.“

They settled in for the night and after being woken up by a purring cat who shoved her butt into Arthur‘s face twice before settling down and rolling up on his butt Arthur actually had a pretty good night‘s sleep. He was used to sleeping outside, with and without a tent, but sometimes he actually enjoyed having a real fireplace nearby and a roof above his head.

He was up early in the morning, before Charlotte or Albert had gotten out of their rooms, so he decided to brew up some coffee for them. Charlotte actually had one of the better brands, one that he‘d probably never buy for himself, even if he loved his coffee in the morning. It was simply not a luxury that made sense when you have to feed over twenty people in a camp. He also found some eggs that he cracked open and scrambled in a pan, roasting some bread along with it. The sizzling seemed to have woken up the other people in the cabin, both Albert and Charlotte got out of their rooms shortly before the eggs were fully cooked.

It was a peaceful, quiet moment, both of them thanking him for the coffee and sitting down on the table for breakfast. Sometimes Arthur wondered what life would be like, in a place like this. Away from society but still living in a home. A place to make his own, with people to love and care about. He loved the gang, of course, but he couldn‘t call them a family. At least not all of them and not with the way they were living right now. Always fighting, always on the run. What kind of man would he become if he had a cabin like this? If he didn‘t have to fight just to survive? If he wasn‘t wanted with a bounty that could probably feed him for a whole year?

“So, you’ll be heading out again today?” Charlotte asked and interrupted his thoughts with that.

He blinked for a moment to process her words, then nodded as he put bread and eggs on each of their plates. “Yeah. Don’t wanna bother ya for too long.” “Oh, don’t worry about bothering me. Both of you. I enjoy company, especially if it’s as pleasant as yours," Charlotte assured him with a smile and again Arthur thought about how different she would perceive him if she knew how he made his money. “You can also feel free to take some supplies with you. I’ve got plenty of cans to spare.”

“Oh, that would be very kind of you, Mrs. Balfour. It was definitely a pleasure meeting you. If I’m ever in the area again I might drop by,” Arthur was glad that Albert and Charlotte had gotten along to the point that he actually considered visiting her again.

And Charlotte also seemed to like the idea. “Oh, please always feel free to come and visit whenever you wish to. My door will always be open. To both of you.”

Arthur was happy that she was inviting him but unsure if he would be able to come to her much longer. Dutch had talked about all the things that he wanted to change. About Tahiti or Australia or some other island that they would do to flee the law. He knew that it was unlikely that they’d actually go that far … but he knew that at some point he should stop coming here. Just to avoid Charlotte getting dragged into something that she didn’t deserve to be dragged into. He always hated letting go of people like that but he knew that it was for the best. The only people he could keep around for long was the gang. Because they knew what they had signed up for.

They finished their breakfast and packed some of the bread that Charlotte had baked the day before and she insisted that they had to take it with them. Arthur refused to take some of her meat though because he was “Very capable of huntin’ my own food,” and wanted her to keep it as she still was very much a beginner when it came to hunting animals. Charlotte agreed eventually and after saddling their horses they continued their travel.

They crossed the Roanoke River alongside the train tracks, passing by that weird building with the tower that Arthur had seen when he had been around these parts before. The building had been vacant though with nobody close by so he had just let it be. There had been some expensive looking machines inside but nothing that he could’ve loaded onto the back of a horse so he had figured that breaking in wouldn’t have been worth it anyway.

The further they got to the west, loosely following the train tracks, the more their environment changed into some rocky paths. There were less trees and the patches of forest weren’t as lush as the ones around Roanoke Ridge. It was easier to see further ahead - but also easier to be seen. Albert, of course, wasn’t worried about that - Arthur suspected that he wasn’t even aware of that. He kept chattering about Charlotte. About her lovely cabin, the beautiful waterfalls close to her home, her lovely little flower patch and her hospitality. Of course they also had to stop, again and again, for new photo opportunities. Arthur still didn’t mind it though, the trip to O’Creagh’s Run wasn’t too long of a ride and he was certain that they would make it in time to make camp right by the water.

And Arthur had been right. The sun just started to set when they reached the lake. They approached it from the side at which the old veteran named Hamish was living. There were no lights coming from inside though and Arthur figured that it wouldn’t make sense to tell a hunting-loving man that they would go looking for some grizzlies, not if Albert wanted to take those pictures with the bears still alive.

“What a beautiful place this is,” Albert marveled as Arthur led him around the water. He didn’t want to camp just next to the cabin, so they needed to ride a little further. “Nature really is gorgeous, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Arthur agreed, following his gaze over the water that lay almost still in the evening light. It really was beautiful and Arthur had the urge to draw again. Instead, he looked over at Albert. “What do you think of some fish for dinner?”

“Fish?” Albert asked. He sounded like he hadn’t expected Arthur to suggest fish for dinner at all.

Arthur gave him a short, crooked smile before answering. “Well, these waters are great for fishing. Have pulled out some big fellas out of here. Besides, if we want to attract some bears tomorrow, some bait will be good. And nothing’s better than some fish.” “Well, then … It sounds absolutely delightful. You’ll have to show me how it’s done, though.”

They set up camp close to the water, not quite on the shore because Arthur knew how uncomfortable it was to sleep on the gravel right next to the water. They made a small fire, mostly to make sure to keep the nearby animals that were lurking away from them. Albert had already gotten better at setting up a camp and knew how to arrange the firewood so they were finished fairly quick and still had time to catch a fish. All they needed was a little luck.

They stood at the shore next to each other, Albert holding the rod because he had requested to actually learn it. Arthur leaned in closer, correcting the grip on his hand and directing him how to throw the line out to the water.

“I see why so many people enjoy this … it is fairly relaxing if you- oh! Oh, I think one bit!!”

The rod almost slipped out of Albert’s hand and Arthur jumped in to take over. He leaned back and reeled the line in, huffing as he felt the pull of the fish.

“Oh, this sure is a big one, Mr. Mason …,” he said as he took a step back to have a better posture. “Can’t reel ‘m in too quick, otherwise the line will break,” he explained further as Albert hopped around on the balls of his feet to get a better look at what was in the water. The fish broke through the surface as he was fighting the pull, even more so when he was dragged closer to the shore.

Finally he got the fish out onto the shore. He grabbed it and killed with a quick hit on the head before presenting it to Albert. “May I present you - dinner.” “Oh, that’s a salmon, isn’t it?” Albert asked, still excited and moving closer to expect the fish. “I’ve always just seen illustrations or photographs in books. And ate them, of course. But never this fresh.” “Yeah, you’re right. They’re also the grizzlie’s favourite fish. So this should be perfect.”

He lay down the fish on a bigger stone nearby, gutted it and wrapped up the guts in a piece of cloth. Albert wrinkled up his nose, it was obvious to Arthur that he hid his disgust. He agreed that it was a rather nasty thing but it had to be done. He put the gutted salmon onto a stick and hung it above the fire to cook.

“Alright, now we just gotta wait until it’s done. Can cut up some of the bread that Charlotte gave us and we'll have a decent enough meal.” Arthur said and stretched out his legs by the fire. “And tomorrow we’ll find some grizzlies to take a picture of.”

“That really does sound wonderful,” Albert agreed with a soft sigh as he sat down next to him. He shared his cigarettes with Arthur and both of them watched the fire for a moment, enjoying the quiet and the darkness that started to wrap around them like a blanket, held off only by the fire.

“So, Mr. Morgan … is this how you live?”, Albert asked. Usually those words would have sounded like a criticism, like it was something bad. But with Albert it sounded more like he was simply wondering and trying to get to know his friend a little better.

“Most of the time, yeah. Sometimes hotel rooms, but I prefer being outside. Less rules to follow,” he said with a short smile towards Albert who chuckled softly.

“I know what you mean, yes …” he said in a low voice. “But you’re not alone all the time, are you?” Albert’s voice was gentle, almost careful. Arthur wondered if he really wanted to know the truth or if he wanted to find out if he should start distrusting his travel companion.

Arthur took a drag from his cigarette, contemplating his answer for a moment. There weren’t many groups of people living outside, always traveling around. He was sure that Albert knew this as well as any other … and it was pretty obvious that Arthur was no circus clown, even if he felt like it sometimes.

“No, I’m not,” he answered eventually, his voice low as well. “It can be a hard life and we’re always .. moving ‘round. But I’ve got my folk and they’ve got me.”

There was a little smile on Albert’s face as he looked at Arthur. “And I’m glad that’s the case. Life must be awfully lonely with nobody around when you’re living on your own. Especially out in the wild. So … I’m happy to hear that I always meet you on your own because you chose to and not because you got nobody else.”

Arthur had not expected Albert to be worried about something like that of all things he could be worried about. “You really ain’t got no reason to be worried ‘bout me, Mr. Mason,” he told him with a short smile. “I’m fine. Just needing some peace and quiet from time to time.”

“And then you choose to travel with a blabbermouth like me?” Albert laughed and Arthur joined in. Albert really wasn't good at keeping quiet but he had never minded that. If all he enjoyed the things that Albert talked about and how joyful his perspective on life was.

“Well, I tend to be a fool, you should know that by now,” he said with a grin and Albert shook his head.

“So am I, Mr. Morgan. So am I.”

They both got hungry because of the tasty smell of the fish so Arthur cut up some slices of bread that they dunked in oil and ate with some of the oregano leaves that they could easily pick from the plants growing nearby. They added the succulent fish meat as it was done cooking, both of them enjoying the texture and the warmth in their bellies.

With each evening, Arthur had enjoyed Albert’s company even more and it didn’t even feel awkward anymore to get into a tent with him. They slept side by side on their bed rolls and when Arthur woke up during the middle of the night because Albert had put his arm around him in his sleep he found that he didn’t even mind that. It was nice in fact to have a warm body right next to him and he dozed off again with a smile on his face.

“Mr. Morgan! Mr. Morgan, wake up!”

Arthur felt someone gently shaking his shoulder and he opened up his eyes, blinking in the process at the early sunlight that was hitting his face.

“There are some bear cubs!” Albert exclaimed with a shouted whisper. Arthur was awake instantly, knowing very well that cubs would always be close to a very protective mama bear.

He got up and out of the tent to see what was happening. Roughly 70 feet away from them were actually two bear cubs playing in the water at the shore and trying to catch fish. He put on his hat and watched them warily, searching for their mother.

Albert, on the other hand, set up his camera quicker than Arthur had ever seen him do it before to start to take some pictures of them. The clicking of the camera made the cubs look over to them and Albert mumbled something in excitement that Arthur did not understand in the slightest.

Suddenly there was a growl behind them, Arthur turned around and saw the mother of the cubs, standing on her hind legs and glaring at them angrily. “Shit…” he said and grabbed the revolver in his holster.

“No, don’t shoot her please!” he heard Albert plead behind him.

“Well what ELSE would you suggest?!” Arthur hissed back to him as the mother dropped down on all fours again and started approaching them. At least she wasn’t in full attack mode yet.

“Maybe we can … distract her, somehow?!”, Albert suggested and Arthur remembered the fish guts that were still in his satchel.

He moved slowly, not to piss her off in any way, and took the smelling bundle out of his bag. He threw it over to her, right in front of her big paws and she started sniffing it with interest.

“‘Right, now or never …,” Arthur said and dragged Albert behind him. The photographer was clutching his camera as they slowly moved away from the camp, the bear now munching on the innards of the fish. They reached their horses and unhitched them, both Thunder and Daisy running away on their own, smart enough to know that they were in danger. “They’ll find their way back later,” Arthur assured Albert as he tried to grab Daisy’s lead.

They moved further into the bushes, now watching the mother and her cubs on the shore from a safe distance. For once, Albert wasn’t talking and Arthur suspected that he knew very well how important it was now not to attract the bears anymore. The mother started rummaging through the things that they had left, ripping the tent and chewing up the last bit of fish bones that were left of their dinner. Eventually she decided that it was time to move on and so she did, followed up by the cubs.

Arthur took a deep breath and lit himself a cigarette to calm his nerves, offering Albert one as well who gladly took it. “Well, that was close. Hope the pictures will be worth it.”

“Oh, I’m sure they will be. Playing cubs was so much more than I expected! Thank you again for joining me. Someday I really ought to pay you for always having my back!”

Arthur shook his head. “Ain’t no need for that, Mr. Mason. Your company is reward enough for me,” he assured him and it almost looked like Albert was blushing.

“Well, if you say so …” he cleared his throat. “I really enjoyed traveling with you. Maybe you should really join me some time … venturing out west.”

Arthur looked back at Albert and thought about it again. He had his responsibilities. People who needed him. Who relied on him being there. But they’ve managed without him before, for a few weeks. Who said that they wouldn’t manage again? Who said that he had to spend all his life running with a gang of outlaws if he also could spend it with Albert? He found himself smiling at Albert.

“I think you might be right, Mr. Mason.” “You know, you can call me Albert…”

He smiled again, knowing that this would only be the beginning of their friendship full of new adventures. “Albert. I’d love to join you out west.”

#rdrbigbang #reversebang #2am #albert/arthur #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #fluff #dad writes #arthur/albert #mgcoco

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