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lorenzlund · 1 year

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Warum der Mark(t) nie wirklich sicher ist! Und selbst nicht die Wirtschaft!! Und die vielfältigen Verbindungen welche das bis zur Astronomie rauf haben kann als Sternenkunde oder hat ganz oft, den heutigen Sternenköchen vom Fernsehen und der G-ast-(r)onomie als verwandtem Feld! Eine gänzlich neue Wirtschaftstheorie für die Welt *von Max-Anton Raiter!

Kaptitel 1/(1). Aus der Wirtschaft kommt oder stammt ursprünglich selbst der Begriff: ‘Der Ward für den ‘Schaft!’ Dieser wiederum leitet sich ganz offensichtlich und eigentlich unverkennbar vom englischen Wort ‘Guard’ (Wächter) her oder ab.

(2) Capita el!! Der Mann muss endlich kapieren! Über selbst auch das weltweite Kapital!!

… Seine Anleger und jene die dabei beständig gezielt dann erneut auf andere anlegen. Oft tun sie das an der Börse auf Böse, also auf jemand über den gedacht oder geglaubt wird, dass er womöglich auch einer ist! Er gehört dann der ‘dunklen Seite’ an oder Mächten dieser Welt!

Sodass selbst auch wir danach womöglich einen eigenen Haupt-Erben benötigen für die eigene Firma … als dann allerdings nur noch selber auch Ex-(R)unternehmer und Firmenchef!!

Aus Abschnitten (1) wie (2) ergibt sich als geradezu zwingende Schluss-Folgerung: Wirtschaft heißt immer irgendwie auch der Ward für jemand anders zu sein!! Das aber gälte dann sowohl für eine nationale wie für die gesamte Weltwirtschaft stets dann noch genauso!!

(3) Der Kommunismus : Kommen allein mit der Mum, engl. die Ma, als einer Form gemeinschaftlichen ‘Unismuses’!

Etwas was also alle mit der Mum vereint und zwar innerhalb wieder selbst dann auch dieser Form von Gesellschaft! Auch im Kommunismus finden wir Märkte, auf denen sich Leute kaufmännisch betätigen!

Der Markt, die sogenannte Magd oder ‘Dienerin des Herrn’ und die selbst früheren Dirnenmärkte innerhalb beispielsweise von europäischen Kleinstädten des Mittelaters. Waren werden hier mit Geld bezahlt!

der männliche Ritter oder Held. Geldtausch und Umtausch.

Geld stammt also von Held ab als Begriff, schließen wir daraus! Der Sozialismus arbeitet damit wie der Westen auch!!

(4) Sozialismus oder die Marktwirtschaft im auch S., stellte dann nicht anderes wieder auch dar als ein zum Idealismus erhobener Po oder Pos als persönlicher Wunsch- oder Zielvorstellung, entweder wie gesagt nur des Einzelnen, vielleicht sogar aber auch aller, dann aber erstmals sogar als gesamtgesellschaftliche Erscheinung oder Phäno-men, begleitet würde auch sie dann wieder ganz intensiv von erneuten Märkten. Poz + i(d)ealismus *der Sozi-Sitz des Motorrads *die bessere Stellung und Position auch innerhalb von Wirtschaften oder der Wirtschaft *’Der Markt muss brummen!’ *der plötzlich boomende Markt

(5) Die errichtete Diktatur und das selbst diktatorische System, entweder nur eines Einzelnen oder durch eine gleich gesamte Gruppe.

Wirtschaft und das Wirtschaften, finden natürlich stets noch genauso auch in ihm statt.

The Dick at (an open) Tor. Natur als Gegenentwurf zur Pa-tür, offenen. Hit le ‘r. Der Hit (engl.) als Volltreffer auch in der Musik. if an Po. Franco. Kuss Po nie in! Mussolini. If I am some bi-. FBI. the Bi- in Germany. BND. Po nies! Po nie bei! Police und Polizei. beißen, bite. Biden. der Schutzpolizist auch schon des Kaiserreiches oder Schupo (und der dann erfolgende Tritt in den Hintern des anderen dafür, Schuh + Po). ‘Das Leben der anderen’. (aus dem früheren Kino selbst der DDR). ‘Hier stehe ich und kann nicht an ders!” (selbst Luther äußerte sich schon so vor dem damaligen noch Kaiser). ‘Niemand hat vor er will hier eine Mauer errichten’. ‘Never men!!’ ‘Diese politische rote Linie sollte niemand überschreiten wollen! (beliebte Sprüche von Politikern)” Mauer, die : Sau + an Er, Grenz- und Mauerziehung. the human butt. Put-in.

demokratisches System : de (sp.) Po-Krater + Nie!, (male) system, d. h. his stem, de : besitzt seine Ursachen in, kommt von ...

Auf den oder einen sogen. Schaft, einzig der Mann besitzt einen solchen, würde immer sehr gut aufgepasst werden oder besonders gut seitens dann erneuter auch anderer, etwas, das bis heute so überall so Gültigkeit besitzt auf der gesamten Welt, und sich so auch schon immer verhielt!! Zur Demokratie und dem selbst auch demokratischen System gelangen wir später erst noch sehr viel genauer! Wesentliche oder wirkliche Unterschiede bestehen aber meist auch da nicht! Auch hier gilt wird gewirtschaftet wie überall! Allgemein zieht der Schaft viel Abneigung auf sich! Und es gibt ihn sogar beim Militär in Form nämlich von durch Soldaten getragenen Stiefeln!

(6) Gestiegene Zinsen gleich gestiegene Sünden oder deren Anzahl in dem betreffenden Staate durch nicht unwesentliche Bevölkerungsteile! Oberste Zinswächter von Banken wie der LZB bestimmen dann deren Höhe, wie die Bauzinsen. Das Bauen verteuert sich dann insgesamt, fast immer aber gilt das dann so ganz besonders für private Bauherren.

Zins : Sins (dt. Sünde), *die Sau/derBau, Fuchsbauten, Gerhard Fuchs, hier ist er gebürtiger Deutscher, die größere Baustelle

Er kann die laufenden Zinsen nicht mehr begleichen seines Baudarlehens!

‘Eine Bank ist kein Zuhause/zues Häusliches!‘ (über Obdachlose). Wie entsteht Wohnungslosigkeit. Und warum sie selbst reiche Gesellschaften kennen!

*nicht ausreichend Ob-acht geben oder zumindest einmal in der Vergangenheit selber auch gegeben zu haben. ‘Ein eigenes Zuhause oder Wohnung bedeutet Rechte zu haben, bringt aber genauso auch Pflichten mit sich, an die jeder sich halten muss, sonst verliert er diese Rechte!” (der plötzliche Verlust der Wohnung, diese Rechte gingen nun auf jemand anders über als neuem Nachmieter)

Die betriebene Zinspolitik von Ländern.

(Der) Zinskapitalertrag oder Erträge : jemand wird symbolisch (jedoch nicht nur, denn es kann tatsächlich so dann auch stattfinden *’Deine Spuren im Sand ... Die ich gestern noch fand!’ dt. Schlager, vom Südafrikaner gesungen ‘Da wo man die eine Spur nicht mehr wahrnahm, da habe ich Dich getragen!’ so ein häufiger Spruch selbst auf vorgefertigten Grußkarten aus dem Privaturlaub wie aus Teneriffa), dabei davongetragen, dieser jemand ist ein Er. *Capita el!! Mit el (sp.) ist der Mann gemeint.

(Der) Darlehenskunde : Es gibt diesen Kunden selbst von auch Prostituierten! *(nicht kalkulierbare) Risken bei der Darlehensaufnahme, der Kunde aus dem Bordell mit Frauen

das Darlehen : bar + sich anlehnen, plötzlich bar sein/fern von jeglicher Vernunft (der Mann, hier der erwähnte Darlehensnehmer, scheitert dann die Rückzahlung, so ist es sehr wahrscheinlich, gehörte er irgendwann einmal den früheren Nackten dadurch auch an, d.h. er zeigte sich in diesem Zustande anderen! Darüber gibt es entweder ein Foto in Beweisform, oder es existieren Filme auch zu ihm in angelegten Aktenordnern aus dem Verwaltungs-Archiv, auch Foto... mit solchen *Archiv : if you are an A. (V)er-alt(er)ung, also das gezielte und ganz bewusse Altern gerade von Männern als schleichendem Prozess (od. Po-fress)!!

(7) über die auch Warenproduktion (in einer Wirtschaft) u. das Produzieren von Waren!

die Reduktion von Pos, welche Baren gehören, oder den Nackten, jenen also, die sich irgendwann selber einmal auch nackt zeigten, wie selbst in der Hochkonjunktur, wo es immer besonders viel Waren gibt, die dem Mark(t) insgesamt zur Verfügung stehen, und die es nun erneut zu verkaufen gilt in möglichst hohen Mengen.

*P(r)o-(re)duktion *vorhaben sich jemanden wegen eines Vergehens das dieser beging zu kaufen

*der erfolgreiche Verkauf und Handel von oder mit Waren als zukünftigen möglichen für die Reise und unterwegs dem Mann mitgegebenen Gegen-ständen wie selbst der sehr schwere Koffer, Stand up Comedy, ‘Stand with ...’(es folgt der Ländername), folgen (Verb), Hand-y, Hand-el, handeln, brit. Eyewear, das Ei, ‘Golden Eyes’, der China- und Asienhandel, Amerikahandel, Folk Lore, auch internationale ..., ‘Hab’ noch einen K(o)ffer in Berlin’

*Mark Wahlberg, Mark Anthony (Schauspieler/Sänger)

*die Registrierkasse aus dem Ladengeschäft oder dem modernen Supermarkt, der uns ausgestellte und uns mitgegebene Kassenbon (mit dem Kot vom oder eines ‘Strichers’ *Strichcode)

*tägliche Wet(t)-Er Nachrichten, Air (engl.), das Open Air Konzert. ‘I can see you coming in some Air tonight!’ (Popmusik aus England), ‘Quit playing Games with my hard!!” (US Pop), die Wetterfront

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minniepetals · 1 year

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cry me a river | the pawns

— summary: when pawns are used well, they are the soul of the chess. you might as well take advantage of what you’re given

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, mafia!au

— word count: 6.4k

— warnings: none

— PART 22 / previous post / masterpost

“Why did she call you buttercup?”

“Buttercups reminded her of me,” you answer Yoongi as take your steps into Bangtan’s manor for the first time in weeks. “Bright and yellow, pretty little thing.” You pause. “And a weed in her path.”

“She was never on your list?”

“Nari had always been insignificant,” you say with arms crossing over your chest, wanting to leave it at that.

But Yoongi isn’t satisfied with the short answer. “You never told me how the two of you got involved.”

“What can I say,” you shrug, “the Vipers were our ally so inevitably, we met. I caught her attention with my face and she grew intrigued and envious.” He told you his history so you might as well entertain him with yours. Just a little though. Only a little. “I’m sure you know it better than I, your little sister—”

“She’s not my sister.” He’s quick to cut you off, stern and firm. Yoongi isn’t someone who cares too much about the things that leave people’s lips. He lets them yap off as much as they’d like, so when he does ever speak up on things, you know just how serious he is.

So you nod, sending him a tight smile. “Right, right. That little celery,” you correct yourself, “she can get a bit crazy when she doesn’t get something she likes, or when the attention is shifted away from her.”

“She’s never had her attention shifted away in the times I lived in that manor,” Yoongi says and you give him a blank look.

Small little Yoongi, probably just the same as you who never received attention and love and was just seen as nothing more than an heir who was meant to fulfill his role. On the other hand, you never saw your father loving another, or even having the ability to love at all. There’s a bit of comfort knowing your father was incapable of feeling, so he had no one to show it to and you had no one to grow envious of, even though it did take you a while to get smart about understanding him. Yoongi on the other hand had to grow up seeing his father show his affection to someone else.

He got out quicker than you though, and fled the scene before things could go downhill.

You came to a realization too late. It was your body that had to force you to “wake up.”

“So imagine what it was like when that moment finally came to her.” Up the stairs and to the right. It’s a bit funny you’re getting used to navigating through this manor like it’s your own. Once upon a time, it was yours. “The spotlight switching from her to me gave her quite the scare.”

Yoongi opens the door to Namjoon’s office and you walk in casually.

“I met her before I met you,” you say and he gives a moment of pause before following you right in when you take your designated seat, the same seat you’ve always taken whenever you walk into this room.

Namjoon’s already sitting across from you, taking a sip of coffee from his cup with Seokjin stood to his side as his second in command. Yoongi takes his position on his leader’s other side while Mingyu stays to your right.

“Do you know Alexander Larsen?” You start without hesitation, leaning back into your seat and trying to make yourself comfortable.

In truth, you will never get comfortable.

“Alexander Larsen?” Seokjin raises a brow at your question. “You don’t mean from the Norwegian mafia, do you? You’re not talking about the Kingsmen, are you?”

“So you do know of him.” You cross a leg over the other, feeling satisfied.

“You want to go after an old man?”

“It’s not the grandpa I want to go after, it’s his son.”

“Karl Larsen?” He shares a brief glance with Namjoon, expression marked with hesitation. “That’s a bit…”

You ignore his trailing comment to continue your point toward Namjoon. “I’d like to get close to gramps and I know you have connections to do so.”

“He’s a don, Y/N. A Godfather. A Norwegian Godfather,” he stresses. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.” Right from your proposal, he’s already denying his offer to help but you’re not about to back down.

“You told me I could use you as my pawn,” you remind him of the contract the two of you made a few weeks ago. “You aren’t supposed to ask me questions and force me back on my plans just because a certain man I want to go after happens to have a Godfather as his father. If I get close to Alexander, my plot against his son would be much easier.”

“It isn’t easy getting close to Alexander,” you hear a different voice coming in through the door but you don’t have to look to know that it’s Hoseok. “Going after a Godfather is the equivalent of signing off your death certificate.”

“Not to mention Alexander is linked to the Italian mafia and you know how dangerous they are.” You roll your eyes when Jimin follows along.

It feels like being scolded all over again.

“Why’re you leaving the scope of Korea?” Taehyung asks.

“Are you deliberately trying to get yourself killed?”

“I said no questions,” you point directly at Jungkook who in turn ignores it by looking away, and return to the boss who sits at the center of them all. “If you’re scared, you can just say that.”

Namjoon frowns at your words, shaking his head subtly. “I can get anyone for you, Y/N, but I don’t want you messing around with foreign mafiosos.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re trying to walk into a battlefield.”

“The whole world has been a battlefield, Namjoon, and just because this particular boss is tougher than other soldiers out there doesn’t mean it’s enough to have me back down. I’m not backing down. I want Karl Larsen dead.”

“It’s dangerous territory.” Still, he denies you the help.

You let out a frustrated grunt. “That’s what you said the last time I proposed leaving Korea.”

“Yeah, and remind me what happened last time?”

Hwang Leehyun.

A living nightmare.

You cross your arms across your chest when he hits you with that, their eyes piercing without any hints of backing down and you suddenly have this urge to punch someone in the face. It feels like being in the eyes of your father all over again, being told you cannot do this or that, that you must do that and this. Like a child who does not, who can not, make her own decisions without the permission from her parents.

“Why do you even care whether I make it out okay or not?” So you snap with a click of your tongue, anger fueling. “This is my mission and my plot against the person I want dead.” You turn to Hoseok. “I’ve already told you I don’t care what happens to me down this path I’m walking on. If life decides it’s done with me, then so be it.”

If I die, I die, you told him once and Hoseok, frustrated in his own sense, turns to your right hand man instead of facing you.

“Aren’t you going to stop her?”

When all eyes fall on him, Mingyu has to take a moment to spare you a glance. You, who shoots a glare at Hoseok for even thinking of looking to him rather than addressing you. And knowing just how you feel, your commander answers in a calm tone.

“Whatever the boss wants, I provide and clear the path to let her get through. It is not my duty to stop her, therefore I hold no protest.”

Hm. Good answer.

“Just what are you feeding your Reapers?” When Hoseok turns back to you, you send him a cheeky grin.

“Loyalty. They’ll always take my side no matter what wrongs I’ve committed.” You look at the rest of them. “You should know about that.” And a bit of awkwardness they clearly don’t enjoy too well walks in, but you decide to ignore the effect those words had on them. “Mingyu knows his place and he knows what his title entails. It’s not his job to stop me. He’s here to clear the path for me and back me up, all the while doing what he can to get me back on my feet if things start going downhill and provide protection.” You give a little pause before adding. “You should learn from him.”

“The last time we let you do what you wanted, you ended up hurt.”

You frown at Seokjin when he says that, eyes avoiding his because you know just what he’s trying to imply. That moment of weakness you had turning to him. Why did you make that mistake?

You were just desperate to find a safe haven after what Leehyun did.

“The only thing with Karl is that he’ll get out my angry side, that’s all,” you say, resting back into the seat you’re in. “The situation won’t be the same. He wasn’t a creep, just some asshole psychopath who should have minded his own business.”

You and your stubborn streak. Namjoon knows you don’t have it in you to let your plans fall to a pause just because someone declines the help you’re seeking for. So he lets out a sigh, fingers pressing into his temples. “Like Hoseok said, getting a Godfather involved in your plans is the equivalent of choosing death.”

It doesn’t matter what sort of thing Karl has done to you to earn your anger. He’s still a son of a powerful man.

“I know,” still you say with acknowledgment, unwilling to back down. “But there will always be risks when it comes to going after people, and in this case, I’m walking a fine line between life and death, but as long as I can prove my worth and show Alexander that I’m a better pawn than his son, I have a higher chance returning here safe and sound. And besides,” you intertwine your fingers into one another and have your hands sit on your lap, “when it comes down to it, you’re all great at getting out of a sticky situation. If worse comes to worst, I’m sure I can rely on my pawn’s protection. You’re not trying to go back on your words again, now are you, Kim Namjoon?”

A promise is a promise.

A vow is a vow.

The Reapers have learned to master it and have proven again and again that their pledge to you is something that is unshakable.

Namjoon asked you to collapse into him. They vowed to never let you fall.

And yet here you are now, a shattered mess of glass.

It looks like your choice of words gets to him because Namjoon’s shifting in his seat, uncomfortable, but he has no reason to say no to you now, not after you’ve brought the contract he wrote back into his face. And the past that left you scarred.

“.....I know someone who might be able to get you in contact with Alexander,” he finally says, “but it will be up to you to figure out how to get him on your side.”

The corner of your lips curls upward. “That’s all I need.”

And before the conversation can move on, Mingyu bends down to your side, whispering something into your ear. “They need you at The Academy.”

You give him a nod and uncross your legs to begin standing again. “Let’s pick up this conversation another time, yeah? You should prepare for my absence for at least a month or more. It won’t be easy getting close to a Godfather, after all.”

And with that, you walk off with Mingyu tailing along, leaving the seven of them still unsure about all of this.

“Sunoo refuses to sleep, my lady. I used to wake up to him trashing in his sleep and having to force him to wake up and ask him what was wrong but he never tells me anything. Now, when I wake up in the middle of the night, I just see Sunoo on his bed, wide awake. The teachers and I have tried to help but…nothing’s helping him.”

Jungho stands with his head lowered as he fiddles around with his fingers, those little shoulders of his trembling slightly, and when you look at the headmaster for confirmation, she simply nods.

“So you asked the headmaster to call for me, yes?” The little boy nods at your question. “And why is that, Jungho? Why do you believe I can be of help?”

“I-I don’t know, my lady,” he answers truthfully, “but…Sunoo is my best friend and…and I want to help him get better so I thought…I thought that you would have a higher chance at helping than I.”

“You believe that I, someone who doesn’t know him quite as nearly as you do, who has spent years growing up with him, can be of better assistance?”

Jungho nods again. “Because..”

“Because?”

“When he did sleep…Sunoo used to call for your name.”

A droplet falls onto the floor where his feet stands, then another is quick to follow along, but Jungho keeps his head buried against his chest so that all you can see is the back of his hair. So you give Mingyu a look and he nods in return, turning to the child with a hand on his shoulder to lead him away while you head for the dorm the two of them have been assigned to.

Sunoo sits with a blank stare when you enter the room and shut the door behind you. Under the little boy’s eyes are dark bags that shouldn’t be there. He looks worse than the last time you saw him, a little daintier, not quite as skinny as he used to be when he worked under Ying but he might as well be getting back to that stage.

To that little child who was all skin and bones, his clothes too baggy for him when he’d look up at you determined and unwilling to give up hope.

He’s grown since then, putting on some meat, cheeks less hollowed, and a little more life in his physique, but that little spark of hope he had in him is dim. He hasn’t even realized you’ve walked in and Sunoo is someone who’s been taught to stay on high alert due to the fear instilled in him.

You’ve been trying to heal these children but just what are you doing if he’s still like this?

“Sunoo.”

When you call his name, he looks up with a slow reaction, though his eyes widen at the sight of you as expected. “My lady?” His voice is small and when he goes to shuffle from his bed to reach the floor, his legs give in underneath him when he tries to get to you.

You grab ahold of him before he can hurt his knees, picking him up effortlessly and setting him back onto the bed. He sits there with wide eyes searching for something, little fingers gripping onto the sleeve of your shirt a little too tight it turns white.

There is fear in his eyes, you realize.

The fear you never got to see when he hid them in that room the two of you were in because he wanted to be brave, because he wanted to uphold the promise he gave unto you.

A child shouldn’t have gone through that.

“When was the last time you’d eaten?” You ask him, knowing that asking him if he’s eaten at all is dumb because it’s clear he hasn’t eaten in a while. You take the hands that balled onto you, placing them onto one another in his lap but knowing not to let it go. It probably gives him comfort knowing he can physically touch you.

“I…” His voice shakes so he’s quick to shut himself up with his teeth biting onto his lower lip. It quivers so he lowers his head and you give him the privacy by standing from the floor to sit beside him on the bed instead.

He keeps himself as silent as he can, and you watch the way he struggles, the way those little shoulders tremble in the way Jungho had and the way you remember the rest of them did when you rescued them that night.

Hiding. Hiding.

All for you.

You feel some sort of hatred boiling within you because you know that all this hiding is for you and you hate yourself for doing this to them.

“Do you know something, Sunoo?” You let one hand remain holding his while the other reaches behind to rub along his back. “There is nothing in this world that will make me hate you for crying.”

He remains quiet but there’s a little jostle in his body when you say that. As if he’s surprised, as if he can’t believe you’d just said that.

“Do you believe crying is a sign of weakness?” You ask him and he gives you a small, honest nod. “Why do you believe that, Sunoo?”

“Because you hate it.”

Of course the reason comes back down to you. You’ve instilled something in them your father instilled in you. That crying is weak, that loving is dumb, that emotions must never be revealed to another because no one will care for you if you fail at these three tasks.

You’re becoming your father.

You want to punch the wall, kick something, anything, shoot a bullet into someone’s head, bring out a knife, and stab it into something. Anything.

But you know not to, not before a child, so rather than wanting to take out your anger onto something, you let yourself seek peace in the child.

You cup Sunoo’s face and force him to turn your way so that he cannot hide, so that you can allow yourself to see the tears that splash onto those eyes of his, and when they fall out from the corners of his eyes and you see the way he watches with surprise and redness in his pupils and on his cheeks and nose and lips, you press your forehead against his, forcing him to stop running away.

“There is nothing in this world that will make me hate you for crying,” you repeat your words to him once again because it’s hard. It’s hard trying to find any other words to comfort him because you’re bad at it, because you don’t know how to do it without giving a part of yourself to him. “You are seven, Sunoo. You are supposed to cry when something hurts you.”

“...” You see the way his lips quiver rapidly before he allows more tears to form along his waterline and inevitably fall.

“Do not bite your lips, you will hurt yourself.” He tries to remain silent but you refuse to let him, swiping a finger to let him loosen up, and with your permission, Sunoo cries as a child should.

He voices his frustrations, lets out the screams he’s been holding in, and cries as loud as he can while you hold him in your arms, covering his head into your chest so that he can still feel your presence and know that you aren’t going anywhere. That you’re accepting him. That he doesn’t need to hide from you.

Have you ever cried like this?

So loud and broken?

You did once. So many times. So many years ago.

When you were scared and frightened. When you had Mister Butler there to hold onto you when you needed to let the tears out.

“Do not bite your lips, you will bleed.”

He was the one who taught you that it was okay to let it all out when you cried, that it was okay to be loud, that you didn’t have to fear anyone hearing you.

It feels like a distant dream more than anything, however, because ever since the first few days of being sent to the White Room after Mister Butler died, you had let the fear return to haunt you once again. The fear of being loud. Succumbing to the silence.

Fearing the noise.

“You were gone, my lady.” Sunoo’s voice allows you to return to reality. “You were..you were dead, my lady.”

“...Was I?”

“I dreamt it,” his voice croaks. “She killed you.” So those were the nightmares that feared him into refusing to sleep when he needed it. He dreamt of your death, of him being unable to get you out of that situation.

You admit if it weren’t for Yoongi, Nari would have most definitely snapped and actually ended you right then and there. Yoongi saved your life and lost an eye as a result.

“I’m right here, Sunoo. I’m still alive.” You make sure he knows when you squeeze over his body a little tighter.

Sunoo leans in closer, nuzzling into your embrace.

“I-I know but…but the sun will set again and you’ll leave and…and what if that gentleman hadn’t been there with us? You would have…you could have…”

A sun setting.

The darkness.

The dreaded darkness.

You know just how Sunoo feels because you still fear the darkness. You still hate it when the sun sets because it means absolute darkness until the sun decides to rise again hours later. Hours that feel like days and weeks and months and years. Hours that seem to tick like the seconds are running a year too late. Hours that have you staring straight at the ticking clock, begging it to go faster and faster but it never seems to go as you ask.

That’s why all the clocks in the manor have been either destroyed or thrown away.

Living with your father still alive, you were unable to do things your way but ever since his death, you’ve reorganized lots and lots of things to accommodate your wants and needs.

The clocks are all gone.

“Do you want to come to Norway with me?”

Sunoo looks up suddenly at the suggestion, his brows furrowed with disbelief and for a second you want to take it back because you know it’s a bad idea. You’re there to kill someone after all, to exact your revenge, and having Sunoo in that environment won’t be good.

But this child needs you and he needs the light.

“Northern Norway is a country where the sun does not set during summertime, so you do not have to fear for the darkness.” Once upon a time, you spoke of a wish to visit the Land of the Midnight Sun. Norway. It’s funny the way things are piecing together, funny how no matter how much you want to run away from your past, it always seems to catch up to you. “Jungho will come as well, so you do not have to be alone and so he does not have to sleep here by himself.”

“And the others?” He always thinks of the others. Sunoo is a big brother to all the kids and he keeps strong for them so you know he must be worrying about them feeling left out but this is a foreign country you’re visiting to exact revenge. The less kids, the better.

“They will have to stay. Norway will be dangerous, Sunoo,” you tell him half the truth, not wanting to be too transparent but knowing that letting him believe this will be nothing but a vacation and letting him stay naive will not be good for him.

Kids have to know. The more aware they are, the better prepared they will be.

“But maybe in the future, I can allow for field trips in The Academy.”

“Really?” He sounds a bit brighter at the thought.

“Only if I can get stronger,” you tell him. “Though that may or may not happen and if it does, it will be in the far future.”

“Why do you say that, my lady?”

You wipe the tears from his face when he appears to be calming down. “Because there are still a lot of people who underestimate me or see me as a threat and wish to do something about it.”

“Like that lady?”

“Like that lady.” You take the tissue box from his nightstand to hand it to him and watch as he goes on to blow his nose. “So until people learn not to mess around with me, until my name alone brings fear to them, you’ll have to wait to be allowed to do whatever you want.”

“..Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want.” You press a hand to his head, smoothing his hair down. “You won’t have to confine yourself in this school anymore. All of you will be allowed to go anywhere you want, whenever you want. No one will be able to mess with you and you won’t have to fear for your safety. Though that comes with learning how to properly defend yourselves. You will do that for me, won’t you?”

Sunoo is quick to nod happily. “I’ll learn to protect myself and I’ll learn to protect my brothers and sisters. And you too, my lady.”

“That’s right. So until then, be a little more patient, alright?”

“You…please tell me you’re joking. You’re bringing children to Norway?” It’s comical the way Seokjin runs his hand down his face as he tries to fathom what you’ve just told him. He looks more stressed than he’s ever been before. “Namjoon’s not going to agree to that.”

“Why does Namjoon’s opinion matter?”

“You never mentioned bringing children to the mission was going to be part of the plan!”

“They aren’t. I’ll just need an extremely safe house where it’ll be hard for anyone to locate to ensure their safety.”

He lets out a long suffering sigh and you want to laugh a little because despite the fact that Seokjin appears to always look calm and collected, he tends to lose his cool easily. He doesn’t get upset but he stresses a good amount. “Why’re you bringing them along in the place?” He asks and you look away.

“I’m not obligated to tell you.”

He grows more agitated. “Don’t tell me you’re going to exploit them into helping you with getting close to Alexander?”

“You think I’m that shallow?” You give him a deadpan expression. “They’re not in any part of the plan. Just think of it as them leaving for a field trip.”

He rests a hand on his temples, takes a moment to breathe as he takes a small lap around a small invisible circle before speaking again. Level headed. “Field trip. Right. As if you aren’t going out there signing your life away to Alexander Larsen!”

Not so level-headed.

He’s losing his cool and you grin at how he tries so hard to keep calm but eventually gives in. “If you’re that worried, why don’t you tag along? Come before the rest of you come when it’s time to take action.”

“I can’t,” Seokjin grunts as he runs a hand through his hair. “Hoseok and Jungkook are already assigned to go with you and I have to stay by Namjoon’s side. He’s a wreck without me.”

“Of course he is.”

He glares your way before continuing. “He’s not going to allow you to take the kids.”

“Come on, Kim Seokjin. You’re the Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon’s right hand man, the only one who can get through to him when his stubborn ass refuses to let anyone talk him down from his decisions.” You give him a small poke on his arm, teasing a bit, and Seokjin takes note of the way you feel a little comfortable touching him even in the slightest bit. “I’m sure you can cool him down once he receives news that I’m bringing Sunoo and Jungho along.”

“Cool him down?” Not even convince him to agree but to cool him down. Meaning you aren’t backing from your decision, and Seokjin close his eyes as he takes in another deep breath, praying to God to allow him to keep his patience because he knows he’s stuck dealing with two stubborn people where one does whatever she wants and the other is easy to rile up when the right buttons are pushed.

And you know just the right buttons to push.

“Good luck buddy, I’ll see you when I see you.” With that, you salute him a goodbye and walk off with a grin plastered on your face.

“Y/N?”

The man Namjoon sets you up to meet in Norway is tall in the figure, with blonde hair combed neatly back, and a black suit to match with piercing green eyes that you’re sure to have probably earned many women in his life to swoon.

He’s quite a looker; handsome and tall and carries an aura of authority.

“Asher Larsen.” You say his name in perfect English and extend a hand out to shake it just briefly.

He takes a seat across from you, brows a bit furrowed, jaws set tight. “I can get you in to meet my grandfather but whatever it is you wish to do is none of my business. That will be the farthest I will do for you.”

“Of course. That’s all I need.”

Asher Larsen, grandson of Alexander Larsen, Karl’s nephew, and an intelligent man amongst the Kingsmen. You aren’t sure what Namjoon’s told him about you or the mission in general but he seems like the type who’ll only care about something that he’s actually interested in. And clearly, whatever you’re doing here, he has no intention of getting involved. He’s probably witnessed a few similar scenes before so he can probably guess what it is you’re after, which makes your job a lot easier.

In London, Taehyung was assigned to stay with you during the majority of your plot. Norway, as Seokjin said, Hoseok and Jungkook are here by your side, but unlike London, you won’t have someone here on your side to give you much aid in the way you had Hyunjin.

Asher is only here to be a bridge. Nothing more, nothing less.

He takes you to a private party that night where you walk in by his side as his guest, and for some odd reason, things already begin to spiral as a commotion is heard not long after your arrival.

“Do you often have your security breached like this?” You turn to Asher who gives you a quizzical expression.

“You mean this wasn’t you?”

“To try and grab your grandfather’s attention?” You laugh a little. “That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think? If it was me behind this, it’d only want him to make an enemy out of me, and that’s not what I’m after.”

No one’s by your side tonight, it’s a private party after all, and though you’re sure your Reapers, along with Hoseok and Jungkook, aren’t too far away for you to leave and make an escape before something goes wrong, somehow you don’t feel the need to run away even when the chandelier from the ceiling falls and shatters glass all over the floor.

“How interesting,” is what you utter when the bright lights of the party fall dim and all that’s left is the light of the dawn sky from above the small, circular glass ceiling.

“Do you care one bit about your safety?” Asher questions you when he sees every other guest making an escape while you remain standing where you’ve been the whole time. He doesn’t look like he’s in a state of panic, and you guess he’s probably used to these things. Who wouldn’t be when you’re born into this business?

“Of course I do, but—”

“You should leave before something goes wrong.” He takes your wrist and pushes you towards the emergency exit, but you just can’t seem to run.

“Asher.” You look around, eyes sharp and quick. “Where’s your grandfather?”

Asher looks exasperated with you. “When things like this happen, my grandfather’s the first to escape. Now—”

“Something’s odd.”

“What’s odd?”

“The party started an hour before we arrived, right? So why was it that the second we walked in, they decided to stop it then? Why when you arrived?” You look towards the entrance door that’s now closed and blocked off, the chandelier that fell at the center of the grand room, just a few feet away from where the two of you were standing.

Luckily no one seems to be on the verge of death and there are people helping some guests leave from a side door, but besides that, there doesn’t seem to be any present physical threat in this room. One might believe they’re not here because Alexander isn’t here but still, you feel an odd sense of something.

You turn back to Asher just as he’s trying to calculate what you just said. “Tell me, Asher, are you someone your grandfather favors?”

“My grandfather doesn’t have favorites.”

“But you are intelligent and a great asset to the Kingsmen.” Just as you said that, you catch sight of a man who had been pretending to help an injured man point a gun towards Asher, who has his back turned to him, and in seconds, you’re rushing to Asher, take hold of the gun he held on the back of his belt, and pierce a bullet straight into the man’s forehead.

Asher turns around, stunned, and you take another man out on the second story of this room.

“You don’t have an extra gun or something, do you? Because we were told not to bring guns to this party.” You flash him an awkward grin but the man only shakes his head.

Well. At least you’re prepared.

Throwing him back his gun, to which he easily catches to eliminate more men, you take your two hairpins that had been holding your hair up this whole time, and use it as your weapon, stabbing along the masked men who have been bold enough to operate on this mission tonight.

Asher and you are an unstoppable force, it’s almost a bit thrilling having the chance to get back into action and overpowering the enemies as if they were simple ants pestering and getting in your way. You forgot how fun this can be after being held up in bed for almost two months, unable to move properly.

Something catches your attention when a lady dressed in a black and white suit stumbles onto her feet with something in her hand, a puppy, and just behind her a long pillar lies, on the verge of tipping over.

No longer watching Asher’s back, you rush over to the scene to pick the running puppy into your arm and grab the woman with your other hand, successfully rescuing them just as the huge cement falls and crashes onto the floor, alerting everyone’s attention.

You simply stare at the dog in your arm. “Behave, will you? Don’t run into danger, that pretty lady was only trying to help.”

It barks and you feel guns pointed straight at you.

The room falls silent, nothing is heard, and you can’t put a finger on why it is that you’re now the target and they’re ignoring Asher.

Is it the puppy? Is the puppy’s life far more valuable than Asher’s?

“Y/N!” You hear Asher’s call and keeping a firm grip on the puppy, rush to dodge the bullets that fly your way with Asher’s help in shooting down a few of them.

Your body twists and turns, flipping and jumping, doing all it can so that the bullets can only breeze past your skin and not pierce through it, all the while you use your hairpin to stab nearby opponents down with a dog in your hand.

The last of them die against the piercing of your hairpin against their neck, and while you feel eyes on you from the people who were hidden away to hide from the fight, you retrieve the two silver accessories from the enemy’s bodies, wiping their blood on the cloth of your dress, before fixing them back easily into your hair.

The dog licks your face unexpectedly, jerking you from it, and you fall completely silent and stunned at what it had just done.

“Boy, what are you doing to me? You can’t just lick someone like that, even if that is in your nature,” you say, face contoured with disgust as you bring him into your hands and extend your arms out so that he’s unable to continue licking you.

He barks with complaint, and there’s a small snicker that you hear from across the room.

When you turn to look, you’re greeted unexpectedly by the very man you came to meet tonight, standing beside Asher with a few guards next to him.

The little dog twists out of your hand and jumps back onto the floor, rushing over to Alexander who easily picks him up.

Ah. So it was his dog. Now it makes sense why the enemies were after me. The dog’s special to him.

“Are you not used to that?” The old man asks when you pat your hand down onto your dress. His English has a bit of an accent, not too distinct, but he’s not as fluent as Asher is.

“Suddenly getting licked in the face? No sir, I have not.”

“He likes you.” The men beside him move to take the enemies away at Alexander’s head signal, and you watch the way the old man pets the little puppy on the head. “Kiwi doesn’t like just anyone.” Kiwi. “They say dogs are better at judging people than humans.”

What are you supposed to say to that? “...Do they now?”

“Come.”

He turns, with the dog in hand, and you blink.

“Huh?”

But he ignores you to give an order to the lady you reduced under the pillar. “Have a room ready for the lady and send people to tend to her.”

“Pardon me sir, but I can take care of myself. I have a place nearby—”

“My place is closer,” he says, and with that, he’s walking off without letting you have another word in, leaving you to simply stand there with a dumbfounded expression.

When you look at Asher who’s still here, he sends you a shrug, along with a small, amused smile curling along his lips. He looks impressed and he probably is, because you’ve just gotten your chance at speaking to Alexander Larsen without approaching him first.

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apesoformythoughts · 1 year

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«When one reads certain Christian writers of the twentieth century one gets an impression that technical progress in itself is evil. Such an attitude, too, implies a subtle form of Manichaean thinking.

As a matter of fact, the technological burst of creativeness has all the earmarks of the greatest phases of civilization—and of all that which is morally and aesthetically good. There is something about technology which is related to the classical and objective in the history of art. There is about this kind of “making,” say of a jet plane, some of the same creative anonymity which went with the making of medieval architecture […]

Bergson foresaw that, once automation is generally organized, an enormous amount of human energy will be available for creativeness. Needless to add, if this should not come about the resulting vacuum will be filled by some kind of instinctual “flooding.” It is obvious that such a dilemma cannot be considered outside the moral sphere.

Hence the two faces of technical progress: on the one hand a sense of aesthetic joy and moral goodness; on the other the image of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, with that vertiginous feeling of an un-ending crescendo.»

— Karl Stern: The Flight from Woman

#apropos of today’s back and forth on my post re: Wakanda #karl stern #technology #technocratic paradigm

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archieimagines · 5 months

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two weeks, tops | karl weissman

Summary: The plan: adopt an evacuee to help on your Inverness farm. Not the plan: adopting two.

hi, it's me again! i've been away for a while (sorry) but the power that karl weissman holds is vast and only a fix-it fic for him and esther can save my soul. we'd all love to adopt them. if you haven't watched netflix's bodies, definitely give it a shot! if anyone has any ideas for lovely karl, please comment or send them in! i'd love to write more for him and some pointers would be great. <3warnings: mentions of war and death, mourning. karl using yet another name. word count: 2666 written by: archie

You hovered on the platform, watching as the countless evacuees from London came pouring out of the carriages. Dozens on dozens of children, ready for a new, safer life. They were each swept up by loving new mothers, fussing over their name tags and taking their wee little suitcases, escorting them to cars and buses for a few years of family. The smiling kids were chosen first. They’d clearly had coaching on how to be picked, smiling through the trauma of being uprooted from their lives and planted into the unknown. And then, one by one, the sorry looking ones were claimed. Tatters for clothes, no luggage, barely a silver coin to offer their new parents.

You could give them a better life. You could have, with your chickens and sheep. There’d be eggs for breakfast, newly knitted cardigans, markets on weekends-- and no air raids at all. You’d be warm to the new presence in your cottage, happy even to take siblings that didn’t want to be split, and yet… You just hovered there, wringing your hands, letting every opportunity hurry by. It wouldn’t be hard to reach out and introduce yourself. Why didn’t you? Why couldn’t you bring yourself to step amongst the aspiring foster parents, offering your life to the sweetlings that so desperately needed it?

You sighed, the ache in your chest hollowing as the train departed the station once more. The chatter of evacuees and new parents trickled away, eventually leaving an almost barren platform. The bite of Scottish air dusted your nose pink, but you weren’t sure that the water in your eyes was from the chill.

It wasn’t your first time almost taking in an evacuee. It’d been the same every time. You’d excite yourself with the prospect of the weekly train from London, the thought of a happy little voice in your cottage instead of the silence of your own existence and the occasional caw of a cockerel. You really needed it. To have someone around again. And it always seemed like such a good idea until you were stood on the platform, faced with the reality of the responsibility of a child on your own. A far cry from the future you’d imagined. You and your husband, raising a wee happy family of your own.

Ever since your husband had responded to the war’s call for soldiers, you’d intended to do your best for the war effort and save a child from the bombs of the London Blitz, like a practice for when he came home and you could try for a real family, bringing you a step closer to everything you’d wanted.

Until the postman brought one fateful letter, ending your ideal future and shaking you to the core. Your husband wouldn’t be returning, you wouldn’t have a child with him. The thought of bringing a child into your house and doing it alone…

Then why did the empty platform, devoid of opportunity, hurt you so? Ah, maybe if there was just one child left. A sad, lonely one, hiding somewhere? There’d be so much in common.

You steeled yourself, deciding that on the off chance there was one poor evacuee left in need, you’d take them in, no questions asked. No thinking. No room for doubt. It was time to be stern with yourself, so you marched up the platform, looking in the crevices of the station building, anywhere that a poor wee soul might fold themselves in a corner. The telephone nooks would be the most likely spot.

And sure enough, there was a child! A little girl in a bright red, soot-ridden coat. Only… She was already with a foster parent, peering up at the sharply-dressed man in a trilby hat while he was on the phone.

Her eyes were so round and sweet, her little fist clinging to the edge of the man’s coat, and something unpleasant made a home in your chest. Why did he get to have a child? Sure, he must be on good money to wear a pin-striped suit like that, important enough not to be called away for the military. Maybe he had a wife waiting for them back at home. Why should he have a spouse and a child when you had neither? And she seemed so lovely, too…

You met her eye accidentally, and couldn’t help noticing how absolutely exhausted she seemed. She clearly hadn’t had a bath in days and was in desperate need of a hot meal. The reality dawned on you, and you couldn’t help feeling guilty for your assumptions about the man. You had no business thinking in such a way. She needed all the help she could get, and the suited man was kind enough to offer it to her. He didn’t deserve your disapproval. You mustered the strength and offered the girl a smile and she gave one in return, her eyes so visibly haunted. She’d been through so much, and you’d never know.

You looked away before your smile turned sad. You’d finally decided on taking in an evacuee, only there were no more coming until next week. And by then, you’d probably need convincing all over again, and you’d miss that chance too.

It was a lot to handle. The urge to cry wasn’t sudden, but it was strong. You glanced around and spotted a nearby bench, but before you could take a step, you heard it.

The man’s accent. It didn’t make sense. The foster parent, who you’d assumed was a Scotsman if he lived locally, had a deep Cockney accent. “Nah, I got a kid with me now. You gotta put us up for a while ‘til I can sort summat out. Two weeks, tops.”

Something about the words stilled your feet, the bench blurred in your tearful vision. Saying you tried not to listen in would’ve been a lie. It was your first time hearing such an accent not on an evacuee and something about it was obnoxiously intriguing. That, and the fact he… He needed somewhere to stay? Had he travelled on the train with the evacuees?

“Mike, just shut your kisser and listen for a sec. I’ve got ‘er with me and there’s- No, no. Don’t you fucking call ‘em.” A long pause. With the outburst, you couldn’t help but glance back to the man hunched at the telephone. The little girl’s face told you it all. Those furrowed brows, the worry in the shallow lines of her forehead as she peered up at him. Whatever was going on there, things weren’t going to plan.

He glanced down at her with a sigh, an affectionate hand landing atop her head in weak reassurance. He must’ve seen your shoes from under the rim of his hat, for his face lifted and his eyes pinned on you.

The intensity of that glare surprised you. Heavy brows and a set jaw, a glint in his eye that was deeply critical, giving you a stern once-over. His hand atop the little girl’s head dropped to her nape, guiding her half a step closer to the telephone, tucking her against his side in a protective hold. One thing for sure, he hadn’t just picked her up at the station today. He’d come with her from London. Definitely. The girl’s real father perhaps? Why would he personally bring her all the way-?

“D’you mind?” his defensive call pulled you from your thoughts and you realised you’d been staring. You raised your hands in silent apology and took a step back, once again remembering your place. You’d come here to foster a child in need, not eavesdrop on the telephone calls of obscurely out-of-place Londoners. Your attention fell back on the bench that beckoned you, but you could still clearly hear that thick accent softer in the air as you departed. “...A’right, fine, don’t worry ‘bout it. We’ll be on the next train to Euston, then.”

You settled on the bench, no longer caring to listen to the man’s sigh and the ding of the telephone being put back on its hook. You pulled your coat tighter around you, the light sting of tears behind your eyes growing harder to resist, until you started building your to-do list in your mind. Busying yourself in your head was the quickest way to help yourself from falling into despair, you’d discovered. Staying busy with the farmwork kept your mind and hands busy, and even as you sat there with your afternoon tasks completed, you’d have many more by the time you got home. It was exhausting work to do alone, but at least it helped you stay numb.

The pain of returning home started to grow within you once again, so you dabbed at your eyes and readied yourself to head home. Until you noticed a hue of red from the corner of your eye. “Excuse me? Can I sit here?”

The girl spoke with another surprising accent. Considering her father, you expected a similar deep Londoner’s accent, but the one she came out with was… German? Your brows raised in puzzlement, but you wasted no time in gesturing to the empty side of the bench. “Of course.”

Her father’s face was far from impressed as he approached the bench too, hissing out in a low voice, “Esther! Think about it first.” But it was too late, she’d settled right beside you.

She’d clearly hurried away from him to come and sit with you, and paid no heed at his warning. A little troublemaker, perhaps. “Are you waiting for a train? We just got off ours.” Her grin was bright and sweet, a stark difference from how she carried herself just moments ago.

“Actually, I’m not. I was just--” The father’s steps finally drew to a pause within touching distance of Esther. A looming, protective figure. “Well. That doesn’t matter. I was just about to be off.”

You gathered yourself and stood up, but wee Esther didn’t care, voice bright as sunshine. “You were looking for an evacuee?”

Those eyes felt heavy on you from beneath the trilby hat and you did your best not to look at them. “I… W-well, yes.”

“You have a big house?”

“Uh, it’s more like a farm, really.”

“Wow!” Her beaming face looked back to her father, and you took a glance too. His lips seemed to be pursed in thought, a brow quirked as she rattled on. “You have animals? Land?”

This Esther girl was certainly endearing. You couldn’t help the raising of your cheeks in a smile of your own, infectious from hers. You nodded, “Chickens and sheep, and two whole fields.”

Esther scooted closer on the bench with that ever-contagious grin on her sweet face, her messy braids flopping around her. “Then you must need a hand with all that! My- my father would be super good at it, especially mucking out the animals!” She turned with a laugh towards her father, who seemed less than thrilled that she’d offered him up for such a task.

“Alright, alright, enough from you,” he chastised her, stepping close enough to lay a protective hand atop her head once more. He was clearly a wary man, and you knew something peculiar must’ve happened to bring the two of them here like this, but it didn’t stop his surprisingly charming smile shining at her. “You just like the thought of me covered in shit, eh?”

“It’s not like you’d smell much different!” she snarked.

Your brows raised at the exchange. Granted, you’d little experience with children and parenthood, but you were sure it wasn’t commonplace for a father to swear in front of their child, and it was even less rare that a young girl would talk back in such a way. And yet, they shared a humoured smile.

He raised his gaze to you once more, though it was different this time. The smile on his face was alarmingly attractive, and the cheeky light in his eyes told you he knew it. He tipped his hat and nodded his head, voice polite and clear even with that accent in its veins. “Ka-Ahem. Curtis Bramley, East London. This is my girl. If you’re in need of a hand on your farm, we can offer you four. No need for paying, just a roof and a meal every night. How’s that sound, love?”

It was a lot to be thrown at you, and very quickly. How unorthodox to foster both a child and a fully-grown man; if it were taking in Esther alone, you wouldn’t have to think twice about it. But Esther and her father? Another man… In your home? It’d be like having your dream back, but-- With the wrong man.

Something in you froze, and you blinked up at him. You could already tell, he was so very different from your lost love. Your sandy haired husband, mellow and sweet, with the gentlest disposition in the world. His clothes were always stained with mud or grass, the scruff of his facial hair haphazardly shaven when he found the time for it.

And yet here was Curtis, dressed to the nines even after a day-long steam train journey, his moustache perfectly shaped and sitting on his face just right. Dark hair and dark eyes that visibly held a great many secrets, a shield of charm thick enough to divert the attention. A deep fellow. Certainly more than you ever thought you could handle.

And yet, he had a sweet little girl in need, asking kindly to share your life. The life you’d been living in solitude for far too long. The prospect was nothing short of terrifying, and yet… The way she twirled the end of her braid through her fingers in nerves. It was knotted and dirty, and some maternal instinct inside of you ached to wash and brush it for her. Grant her the chance to live like a happy little girl should.

You glanced to Curtis, and he must’ve caught the wistful uncertainty in your eyes, for he attempted to keep his smile from becoming downtrodden. He must’ve known it was a lot to ask of a stranger on a train platform who only expected to bring home a child. But he wouldn’t leave her side, and you both knew that. He tried to keep the sigh from his words, but he must’ve been too exhausted to keep it at bay. “‘Ow’s about two weeks, tops?”

Two weeks… Wasn’t that long. If it was too much for you, you’d be safe in knowing they’d be gone pretty quickly, and you could go back to solitary life with the animals. Perhaps it’d be worth a try.

You turned your attention to the smiling Esther once more, and it was like a dam broke. The instant swell of affection in your chest had you questioning why you ever doubted sharing your home with her, no matter the smallprint. You reached out to lay a careful hand atop her head, giving a ruffle of her stray hairs. You’d love to help her rebraid it properly.

A grin lit up on your face, an affirmative nod offered to Curtis. “Two weeks, tops.”

A dual sigh of relief from the pair of evacuees. Young arms flung themselves around your waist, and the tears that stung your sinuses were now on the opposite end of the scale. Sheer joy enveloped you just as Esther’s embrace did and you didn’t waste a moment before holding her snug in your arms, surprised by how natural it felt to rest your cheek on her head.

You laid your eyes on Curtis. That gaze, previously harsh, previously charming… It was now the truest it’d been so far. Nothing but softness and gratitude, his own exhaustion evident. You could see how the load on his shoulders had lightened, how caring for Esther on his own had been so hard for him. But now, he wouldn’t be alone either.

“Cheers, love. You’re a fucking star.”

#karl weissman #charles whiteman #bodies netflix #karl weissman x reader #charles whiteman x reader #karl weissman imagine #charles whiteman imagine #esther jankovsky #bodies 2023 #jacob fortune lloyd #written by archie

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argentiniancharactertournament · 1 year

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MUCHACHOS

Here it is, the long awaited ARGENTINIAN CHARACTER TOURNAMENT BRACKET!!! (more info on that at the bottom of the page).

Participants were assigned randomly to their brackets, consisting on the following matchups:

PLEASE WELCOME:

Maria Elena from Casados con Hijos VS Palermo from La Casa de Papel

Mama Corra from Esperando a la Carroza VS Susanita from Mafalda

Emilio Raverna from Los Simuladores VS Mafalda from Mafalda

Alejandro "Sandy" Stern from Presumed Innocent VS Pablo Lamponne from Los Simuladores

Violetta from Violetta VS Adrian Seidelman from Cybersix

The Narcoleptic Argentinian from Moulin Rouge! VS Karl Lykos from Marvel Comics

Oikawa Tooru from Haikyu!! VS Zamba from El asombroso mundo de Zamba

Gabriel Medina from Los Simuladores VS Miss Argentina from Beetlejuice

El ingeniero Bombita from Relatos Salvajes VS Felipe from Mafalda

Martos Santos from Los Simuladores VS Ace Visconti from Dead by Daylight

Manuelita from Manuelita la Tortuga VS Mion Takamine from Pretty Rythm Aurora Dream

Los Rayados from Metegol VS Gaturro from Gaturro

Lucas Amato from Cybersix VS Carmen Sandiego from Carmen Sandiego

Eva "Evita" Péron from Evita VS Julio Renato from Gundam Build Fighters

Mario Renato from Gundam Build Fighters VS Clemente from Clemente

Dardo from Casados con Hijos VS.... versus who?

Versus Headcannon round winner. Indeed, 3 characters not canonically argentinian, but who got enough submissions to qualify to the bracket, will fight to get honorary argentinian privileges. These charachters are:

Diego "Armando" Godot from Ace Attorney

Dio Brando from JoJo's Bizzare Adventure

Figaro Garcia from Mahoyaku/Promise of Wizard

The Preliminary poll will be up for 24 hours starting tomorrow, and the rest of the polls will be up for a week. All poll posts for this round will be tagged #poll round 1 , to make them easier to find.

HAVE FUN, AND DON'T FORGET TO VOTE

#polls #poll round 1 #argentinian character tournament #argentina

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littlelesbinonny · 4 months

Text

The Devil's Den

Chapter 39: In Which The Daylight Is Fading Pt. 2

You can read this also on Ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46831621/chapters/117962293

Jesus fucking Christ.

Alcina was about to become suddenly un-internally screaming.

You. You! What was she going to do with you? Yes, you had figured it out. Yes, you were changing. Yes, you were not just a human. Yes, were rightfully demanding answers and Alcina was on the verge of losing it. How in the goddamn hell was she supposed to juggle all of this?! It was her own fucking fault. Still, through it all her greatest fear and determination was to keep you safe. But you had to listen, you had to understand, you had to blindly trust, and fuck, she knew how hard that was. She was nearly ready to cross the threshold and tell you everything just to get the weight off her shoulders. But it would only burden you more, wouldn't it? One loss to another gain?

And Malka. Who was this Malka. An old Jewish Mystic? Really? Were they still around? She scoffed.

You were right. Yet again. It should be her guiding you through this, not some old woman she didn't even know or trust with you! In her absence and lack of ability or will to address what was happening to you she had inadvertently sent you off to another for answers.

God - fucking damn it all!

She flitted her way back to the church as fast a she could. Her mind could duke it out with her heart later.

Donna was there now with a slew of vampires. Father Archer had disappeared and Alcina was eternally grateful. Father Sullivan was still present as was the shaking, pale as a ghost deacon from before. Poor child. He should be put out of his misery for the pure act of mercy. Seeing his comrade in such a state would scar him for life.

All eyes turned to her as she came in through the same side door and shut it behind her.

Alcina chiseled her features to a stern, stoic facade and joined the group.

"Excuse us, please," Donna enunciated as Alcina approached, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her through to a neighboring room, out of sight and hearing range, "where have you been?"

Her inquiry wasn't sharp nor rude, but dripping with disbelief and genuine curiosity as to why she'd leave this scene.

"She saw it. I had to go after her."

Donna's eyes went wide at Alcina's admission.

"W-what? Who? Your human?"

"She has a name!" Alcina spat, quickly reclaimed her control and took a deep breath, "Just - I'm sorry... I don't know how or why she was here but she walked into it, and I had to follow her and make sure she was alright."

Donna blinked, "Is she?"

"Of course not. But she is fine for the time being. I'm here now. What have I missed?" she asked placing a hand mindfully on her hip.

There was a confused pause but Donna threw it out the window, "I radioed Karl to order mobilization of our troops outside of the underground. If a mutant is here we have to locate it before it gets any farther in the human world and creates who knows what kind of havoc. We can only contain and minimize so much before it becomes a conspiracy theory on TickedTocked, or whatever the fuck humans use for news now."

Alcina sighed, "what about the boys family?"

"That's something you'll need to discuss with Father Sullivan. He's been pretty quiet since we arrived. You'll need to do some serious damage control here."

"I want updates as soon as anything comes in," she mused, taking off your gloves.

"I figured you would."

Donna held out a small radio comm for Alcina.

She took it with a short smile and nodded, "always on top of it. Go, get back underground. I'll take care of what needs done up here."

Malka sat perched on her sofa. Eyes wide, but facial expressions otherwise void of much else.

"I..." you mumbled, "I don't know what to do."

Clearing her throat, Malka nodded very slowly, her vision cast down to the floor now as her lips pursed while she chewed on all of this information.

"I don't know much else, but the feeling in my old gut says Alcina is right; you should be mindful of your safety. You are a novice, though a quick learning and talented one, it seems as though whatever devil has escaped in this world is not to be trifled with, no? Even I, as old and wise as I might be, wouldn't even know where to begin concerning this."

"It's not like I'm going to go out looking for a fight, I just, I just want to be able to help myself, and god forbid Alcina if something goes really wrong."

Malka narrowed her eyes at you, "staying out of sight and out of harms way is the likeliest option right now, ketzeleh. What you described to me, what the foe did to your very powerful Alcina, if that's any indication as to this things power... invisibility would be your best bet for safety. We still don't know the extent of your powers. Perhaps we can try illusion magic, it would be a good additive to aid your mind EMP trick."

"Mind EMP magick?"

She smirked, "yes, that's what I've deemed it. What you did to those boys was clearly a nervous system attack, much like an EMP pulse would do to electronics; it seemed to cause them great pain and shut down their function until they scrambled away from you. So, mind EMP - voila!"

You couldn't help but chuckle a little. You liked that.

Getting back to present matters, you leaned on your knees and sighed, "ok, so... tell me about this illusions magick. Is it really invisibility?"

Malka grinned, "almost. It's the manipulation of perception; you alter your energy field to match your surroundings in a way that hides you in plain sight. Someone, or something, can be looking directly at you and see you but not comprehend you're standing there. You cease to exist as a singular entity and become one with what is around you. You're there, but cannot be perceived."

"Can you show me?" you asked excitedly.

"Oh heavens, I am not as strong as I used to be and I don't practice my abilities the way I used to so I highly doubt it, but I can try to walk you through it. Go stand in front of the book case."

Doing as instructed, you did so and watched as the little old woman came towards you with her eyes glittering with that mischievous light she held.

She grasped your left arm and made you hold it out in front of you, flattening your palm outwards and stood in front of you.

"Now... close your eyes, find your energy source, and focus on wanting to not be seen. Repeat this silently to yourself: I am my surroundings, I am part of the picture."

Taking a deep breath you closed your eyes and let yourself feel your body and the energy pulsing through you. After a few moments you instinctively pushed your intention through your arm to your palm and slowly chanted in your mind; I am my surroundings. I am part of the picture. I am my surroundings. I am part of the picture. I... am my surroundings... I am part of the picture.

Like a flickering television screen trying to load the picture from a spotty antenna connection, Malka watched as your body began to blend into the bookcase and a large smile took her lips.

"Yes, good ketzeleh! Keep going!"

You tried to focus harder but it seemed the harder you tried the more your memory kept throwing images of Alcina and the scene from the church to your forefront, the argument, the way she looked at you, the fear you could feel from her, and everything else that transpired just a few hours prior. Before long you dropped your shield and huffed, angry you couldn't keep control.

Malka, and the ever nurturing woman she was, came to grasp your arm and brought you back to the couch.

"Come. It has been a traumatic night for you. Don't be discouraged, you managed to flicker a little which is quite a feat! You're very powerful, but you must learn to hone your control better, that's all."

Leo came and jumped in your lap as you slumped back, feeling quite defeated, and not just by failing at your attempt to vanish.

Your mind and heart was heavy. You knew things were not right. Anywhere.

"Do you really think it wise to disappear at a time like this?" Donna asked sharply.

Alcina did her best not to react, turning her eyes over her shoulder as she was putting a few things away in the shelf behind her desk, "I promised her yesterday I would see her tonight. It will be a short visit."

"It's not safe!"

"I'm aware!" she snapped, "But I intend to keep my promise and we have this place on lock down. Like it or don't, I'm going."

Donna was about to have a fit but knew it would get her nowhere. She bit her bottom lip and felt the tension in her jaw grow tighter, finally accepting the Matriarch's decision and turning to leave. She had too much shit to do.

"Be careful." Was all she offered before she took her leave.

She loved Alcina with all of her heart, but Christ that woman drove her absolutely mad at times!

Donna damn near slammed her door shut when she entered the house.

She headed straight to the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of blood-wine and leaned her hip on the counter, tapping her free hand on the granite top as she had a stare-down with the floor. "You know, maybe I'll take up smoking," she muttered to herself, "take this edge off otherwise I may just snap one of these days. Just maybe."

Taking another large gulp she shook her head and made her way with purpose to her own study to make a call to Karl, but she didn't get far until a very strange chiming came ringing from the bookshelf in the living room.

Donna stepped slowly into the room and listened, her keen sense of hearing drawing her eyes to an ornately carved jade box she'd been given by an admirer long, long ago.

The shrillness of the sound was relieved when she removed the lid to find an old small black cell phone ringing off the hook.

She was hesitant to answer it. How did this even get in here? She'd never had a cell phone and knew no one who did.

But her instincts shoved their way passed her apprehension and she pressed the worn out green phone icon on the front.

"... Hello?"

"UH-BOUT FUCKING TIME!"

"Angie!" Donna shot, "oh my god where have you been, where are you, are you ok?!"

Her little cretin sister had been missing in action for nearly over a month, and while she knew she was up to something and likely on a hot trail, she hated not knowing where she was or what she was doing. Angie drove her just about as nuts as Alcina did these days.

"I'm fine, I've been in a wall."

"What?"

"I'm in a wall, ok? For like, fuckin' weeks - but that's really really really not what's important right now and I need you to -"

"Jesus, Angie, slow down!"

"No! I ain't got time to slow down - you gotta speed up! Shit is going down and it's going down fast and there's not a lotta time to explain because my battery is hella fuckin' low but they're coming - "

"W-what, who?"

"Shut up and let me finish! FIND ALCINA NOW! Get the military! They're coming! They're coming THROUGH the underground! I'm on my way but -"

Silence.

"A-Angie?" Donna sputtered, "Angie?!"

She pulled the phone away from her ear to see the small screen had disconnected the call. Trying desperately to remember how to operate these fucking things, Donna hit a few buttons and found the call list, highlighting the only one on the screen and redialing.

Barely a ring sounded in the earpiece before an annoying woman's voice told her the voicemail box had not been set up. She hung up quickly and sped through the house to find her comm.

Alcina's mind was unnervingly quiet as she made her way up to the church and through it. It was as eerily silent and she heard every single one of her footsteps as if she'd never heard them before. Father Sullivan was at the alter up front, staring up to the stained glass with his rosary wrapped around his hands that were in a praying formation.

"The boys mother has demanded to speak with you, Lady Dimitrescu."

His voice halted her in her tracks.

Great.

"Was it wise to tell and outsider of our existence, Father?" she countered, eying him thoroughly as he turned and slowly began to walk up the aisle.

"You left me with a very unfortunate circumstance. There's very few lies I could tell to comfort this woman. The truth was my only option."

Alcina's perfectly arched brow matched the frown in her crimson red lips, "sometimes lies are necessary."

Father Sullivan stopped in front of her, gazing up at her intimidating stature as he secured his hands behind his back, "to you, perhaps. When can I tell her you're free?"

She wanted to scoff but did not, instead her other eyebrow joined in similar fashion, "I am quite busy, finding the one responsible for her sons death and all, you know -"

"Please make time for this. You must make this right!"

"And what am I suppose to tell her, Father?! Yes, dear lady, there's an underground legion of vampires that live beneath your feet - so sorry your poor boy got caught up in a problem that escaped from there, please, tell me what I can do to make this better for your pitiful human existence?! You should have lied to her and saved us more mess! Humans outside of the church should know nothing about us!"

"She has sworn an oath to secrecy."

"Ugh, please. Her word means nothing to me, you have nothing to stand on she will keep it."

"As if you all are so much better?"

Alcina's spine tensed and she inched closer to the man below her, her face riddled with her distaste.

"Your insinuation displeases me greatly, Father Sullivan. Awfully bold for you to throw that at me when you and yours have no defense against whatever is running loose aside from the ones your insulting."

He swallowed hard and clenched his jaw, "you're here to stop things like this from happening at all, aren't you?"

"The best laid plans of mice and men, Father. We cannot see all ends. I've lost more of my men to this problem than you have any idea about," her voice took a dark turn as she stepped in even closer, "if you think I'm not doing everything I can, you are sorely mistaken. You've had one casualty, to which I'm exercising all in my power to make sure doesn't happen again... I have lost over fifty... mind your accusations."

Father Sullivan nodded curtly and backed away from the towering vampire, swallowing once more and straightening his posture, "forgive me, Lady Dimitrescu. As you must understand this has been heavily shocking for us. I'm struggling with... well, many things. As one leader to another, you know the pressure I'm under."

Considering his words with a softening of her face, Alcina relaxed slightly and took a deep breath, "that I do. And as one leader to another, and while you've never faced the terrors I have, know this; when the true struggles set in with vengeance, making enemies of your true allies is the worst move you can make. And we are your allies, Father. Though you cannot see the work taking place behind the scenes, you must trust us the way you always have."

He nodded slowly, "you're right. I will. We will. Forgive my words."

"I'll let you in on a little secret; if I took true displeasure or offense in what you said, you'd not be here looking me in the face. I do kind of like you, Father, but please stay on my good side," she winked.

The smallest of smiles appeared and he nodded once more, "noted."

Without another word she was gone.

Your lit up apartment was a sight for her weary eyes and Alcina scaled your building with ease, allowed herself in your balcony door after sensing her surroundings thoroughly.

The pending conversation was giving her pause but more than anything she just wanted to see you, hold you in her arms, and keep you close and know you were safe as long as you were there.

But where were you?

Alcina scoured the living room until a flickering caught her eye and within a split second there you appeared, eyes wide and your palm held out in front of you. You looked almost as bewildered as her.

"Draga..." she uttered, feeling her heart lurch in her chest at the sight of you, her worries almost melting away as she stepped towards you.

She had almost expected you to be hesitant at her very presence, but you were no where near that as you nearly bolted for her.

Alcina met you halfway through the living room and you were within each others arms not quickly enough. You buried your face in her chest and she in your hair, staying in silence and comfort that the two of you were safe and unharmed and together amidst the chaos outside.

Before you knew what was happening Alcina had relocated her arms and scooped you up and brought you to the couch, wrapping you up in her strong encompassing embrace like you'd slip away like liquid.

"I've missed you. I've been really worried about you," you uttered in her neck, keeping your arms secure around her.

"Oh draga," she replied softly, "I'm fine. Are you?"

You simply nodded mutely against her and closed your eyes.

"I don't have long," Alcina admitted solemnly, "but I promised to see you and listen to what you needed to tell me."

Damn her, you couldn't stop your smile.

Finally pulling away you looked at those stunning slate colored eyes and leaned in to kiss those plush red lips, "you're a woman of your word, and I love you for that."

Alcina hummed through a soft smile and kissed you back, "for my girl, I am anything you wish of me."

Oh. Oh wow.

"If you're trying to get back into my good graces you don't have to pull out all the stops, you know," you jested trying to shove your tears back in your eyelids.

She cupped your face with her leather glove clad hand and made you look at her, "I mean it, draga mea. I love you. Now... tell me everything."

Alcina was still chewing and swallowing on everything you had told her, but still the hardest to force down was this Malka woman. Was it just her jealousy, which she would never admit out loud, or was it something worth buying into? You'd never spoke of having many friends, and this was the first she'd heard of this woman, and while she was clearly no threat to you and your affections for her, Alcina didn't like the idea of someone else being so close to you. Silly, perhaps. Petty, perhaps. You were her hearts treasure and she was not taking you for granted. Not again.

"And that is why you materialized out of thin air when I arrived?" she asked stroking her hand mindlessly up and down your thigh.

You were leaned back on the arm of the couch with your legs draped over her lap while you had spilled all of your beans to her, making it easy to stay close and intimate but still able to see all of each other.

"I've been working at it tirelessly, I'm really pretty drained right now, but... yeah. It's nice to know I finally got it."

To say she was doing her best to hide her overwhelm was being nice about it. You really were coming into your own and there was no stopping it. Alcina only wished this wasn't happening at the same time everything else was. More than anything she wanted to be here for you on this journey, be part of it, help you discover and uncover and train and work your magick the way she should be. But this was also so very dangerous. Not just for you, but for her. If Mother Miranda were to ever -

A ruckus from your bedroom startled you both and before either of you could move from the couch, a tiny brunette appeared from the hallway.

"Donna!" Alcina gasped, unceremoniously dropping your legs from her lap and standing with a jolt.

She was a little out of breath as she straightened her black button down, high-collared shirt while approaching the two of you.

Oh, ok, so this was Donna. What the hell was she doing in your apartment?

You stood next to Alcina quite confused and unsure of your own footing.

"I really don't have time for pleasantries," Donna stated, addressing you with a short nod, "though it is nice to finally put a face with a name," her attention immediately went back to Alcina with haste, "we need to go now, this is not up for debate."

Alcina was almost taken aback. Firstly, for Donna to find her, let alone be here, was concerning all on it's own. Secondly, for her to be in such a state, which was hidden immaculately for the situation, made Alcina's stomach twist. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Goddammit.

You barely had time to register anything before Alcina took your face in her palms once more and looked at you like you would fade away within the second.

"Do not leave this apartment until the sun is up. And do not be outside of this apartment when the sun begins to set, do you understand me?"

Her tone made your face contort into worry, but you nodded, "yes."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

"Lock your doors and your windows. Do not open the door to anyone outside of daylight hours."

Alcina watched your nod of agreement and pulled you to her once more, holding onto you for as long as she could, "I love you, I love you, and I will return to you as soon as I can."

"I - I love you too - "

You were cut off as she kissed you with haste and with one more blink she and Donna were gone.

You stood there in your silent apartment trying to wrap your mind around what just happened.

Things were taking a turn. You could feel it.

It felt awful.

Now all you could think about was Alcina.

"I can see why you're so smitten with the woman, she's beautiful."

Alcina could have run into a wall, that comment struck her so out of left field.

"What the entire fuck, Donna," she spat as they hurried through the city streets, "that's the first thing you say to me after showing up like that? What the fuck is going on?!"

"I know, I'm sorry! I'm panicked!"

"Clearly!"

"Angie called me - "

"Wh - from where?"

"I'll get there, I'll get there - just let me explain, we have very little time! She hid a cell phone in our house - it rang - it was her - she told me she's been hiding in a wall for weeks and that they, whoever they are, were moving and moving fast and we didn't have time, that I need to find you and get our military moving, that they were moving through the underground - I radioed Karl and basically everyone is running around like headless chickens trying to make heads or tails of what she told me - I had no choice but to alert everyone in the city and all the council - she must mean the mutants because I cannot fathom what else she could possibly mean!"

Alcina's head was fitfully spinning as they rushed through the church like a blur and to the tunnels to the underground.

And then they heard it.

Rumbling.

#alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu/female reader #alcina dimitrescu/original female character #alcina dimitrescu/reader #lesbian #f/f #fanfic #wlw #fic #donna beneviento #angie beneviento

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pherelesytsia · 2 years

Text

Will you come home…? 2

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x female/sister/Reader

Summary: A rumour turned into truth, and the brothers are incapable of forgiving the youngest among them.

Warning: fear, anxiety, Angst, swearing

Word Count: 1.8k

Part 1 Part 3

Autumn was lingering in the air, fresh and loving, gentle as a lover's touch, but no hand clasped hers as she strolled through the rows of laughing and chatting people. Vendors at the booths were shouting, urging the people to draw closer, to taste the dried fruit and the popped corn.

Fallen leaves, yellow as molten gold and red as crimson escaping a deep wound coloured the wind. The hem of the dress slightly longer than the brownish coat, danced, swayed back and forth in the gentle breeze. The hair did not stick to the lips, which could only speak fondly and tenderly. Startled, her eyes widened. No gunshot echoed. Agony expanded in her heart. Desperately, Y/N searched for an injury, but crimson did not seep through the white button-down adorned with a large ribbon. Y/N rooted into the ground, turned into a tree of hundreds of years, millennia and decades. The faces were familiar, summoned tears and banned memories. Fear feasted on her heart, swallowed her body and mind. For a moment, Y/N thought she could not breathe, yet her chest rose and fell rapidly. A low prayer escaped her lips. What was I thinking, Y/N thought to herself, felt like a fool for genuinely believing she could avoid her family. She hoped it was a terrible dream, wished to wake up, but the pain in her chest deepened and Y/N realised she was not asleep, caught in the webs of a spider.

Gazes met and voices called out, called her by her name, told her to come closer, to stay and not escape. She heard despair in the breaking voice and the need to help sprouted in her soul, remembering the children were not responsible for anything the parents had done, what the fathers had said in seething anger. Inhaling the fresh evening air, Y/N adjusted the belt, hugging her body, and repressed the desire to slide her hand over the barely noticeable bulge in a soothing gesture to calm her mind.

"Aunt Y/N." Karl sang joyfully.

Swiftly he ran, beamed and laughed, missed his aunt dearly after the countless moon of departure, and pulled her into a hug. The fear faded away and slowly she knelt in front of Karl. He clasped her trembling hands, and it soothed the pain and healed the unhealed. His eyes inspected the woman with kindness, and Karl talked, spoke like a roaring waterfall, needed to tell Y/N everything that had happened in the last months and it made her smile.

Charlie did not make a move, stood tall and firm, had heard too much about his aunt and stared in distaste at Karl, talking to Y/N as if nothing had happened. Disgust flared in his eyes, ragged like fire, screamed like wood swallowed by flames fed by air and folded his arms in front of his chest.

The smile was gone with the wind. Her heart cracked and the loathing within his eyes shattered what Karl had cured. She swallowed, glad Charlie had no weapon in his possession, saw it in his gaze, cold, murderous, ruthless, something Y/N was convinced children's eyes could not bear, but she was wrong.

"We're lost. We were walking to the swings." continued the boy, babbled.

Y/N nodded.

"Where are your parents? Shouldn't you be home? It's getting late." Y/N interjected in a motherly tone, stern yet lovely with a hint of fear

Shaking her head, she tried to find her brothers, unable to comprehend how the fathers could leave the children alone, but the men were nowhere to be found.

Ashamed, Karl looked into the distance, did not want to answer the question, searched for the right words, but he realised it would be better to speak the truth, couldn't find a plausible explanation. Mischief mingled with remorse. Y/N had seen this expression hundreds of times and a strange warm sensation causing her heart to beat quicker brought a smile to her lips, recalling her childhood in the almost all-boys household of pranks and shenanigans.

"Karl? Don’t lie to me. I will not punish you; I understand, I was once your age and believe me you cannot imagen how often I snuck out with your dad and uncles.” Y/N spoke.

His eyes sparkled.

"But sneaking out is bad and I hope you know it, young boy, and you are lucky that nothing happened to you." Y/N swiftly added.

Memories returned, and Y/N dared to close her eyes, remembered the forgotten, the evenings she secretly disappeared from the house with her brothers to sneak around town, to visit the bar in boyish cloth so nobody could notice a woman was among the Shelby's. The sun faded as the smile on her face, and the dark clouds curled above the fair and obscured the beautiful memories.

"I can take you to the estate if you wish." Y/N breathed. "But I can understand if you don't want. I really can." she continued.

The words were not directed at Karl holding her right hand, but at the fierce boy whose eyes pierced her soul like a double-edged sword.

"We will be fine on our own. We don't need your help. Father told me why you left." Charlie sneered.

The words hit her like a poisoned arrow, but she didn't fall to the ground. The wound was aching, but the pain did not cloud her mind, saw clearly and advanced with Karl by her side. The boy clenched his hands into fists, braced himself, and he dared not to reconsider his father's words, to question them or twist them in a different way. Charlie grimaced and Y/N thought her brother was standing in front of her, telling her to get lost, to crawl back out of the hole she had come out of, but Y/N smiled.

Karl led the way, frowned, and noticed his aunt wasn't following him and time seemed not to pass, but the clouds were wandering.

"Come, I will take you to your father. He is certainly worried about you, Charlie. I don't care that you think I betrayed your family. I did nothing and if Thomas had listened to me for a moment, he would know the truth. Thomas did not let me speak as you do this very moment. You can curse me, but I will not leave you alone and you, as his son, should know best. I don't think I need to explain this matter to you." Y/N spoke in a calm tone.

"Come on Charlie, Aunt Y/N/N will take us home. She won't tell your dad," Karl interjected, but the words did not reach the boy wrapped and sheltered in a dark aura.

Charlie wrinkled, chuckled bitterly, and couldn't comprehend how Karl could be so close to the traitor, the treacherous woman, a serpent lurking in the grass.

"Okay." Charlie gave in, but he did not let his guard down, stayed prepared.

"Come on, Charlie, give me your hand. I don't want to lose you in the crowd." Y/N spoke.

“I am not a little boy.”, “Even a big boy can get lost, Charlie.” Y/N reasoned.

Charlie flinched, didn’t offer his hand to the stranger, not wanting to, tried to get away from her as quickly as possible, was disgusted by her mere presence, but when the eyes met, he thawed and hesitantly reached for her hand and clasped it tightly.

"My car is a little further away from here, come we must hurry.", "Of course and are you coming in too?" Karl asked.

Her heart shattered, wished to say yes, missed her siblings dearly, but she couldn’t, not after what had occurred.

"No Karl, I can't. It wouldn't be a good idea, but thank you very much for your offer, but I must decline. I have to hurry afterwards." Y/N answered.

No words fell, and an almost pleasant silence descended. Y/N drew the two boys away from the crowd, holding onto their hands, refusing to let go of them and merely shaking her head at the question of whether they could look at the horses. Charlie eyed his aunt dressed in a coat and a long dress in dark green hues critically. Calmness flooded his mind, saw her gentle eyes, the joy and happiness, but he hesitated to question his father's words in any way.

"I suppose you are married; you have a ring on your finger," Charlie said.

Thomas can't deny that you're his son, Y/N thought, and the grin on her lips was the answer Charlie needed.

"I don't remember a man asking one of your brothers for your hand in marriage," Charlie said.

Y/N was speechless, was a woman of many words, unfearful of guns and blood, a Shelby, but she couldn't speak but remembered whose blood was flowing through his veins.

"In this case, it was an exception and my beloved, most importantly, asked me for my hand in marriage. He is a dear, a very kind man and I am glad to have him by my side. We met a few years ago. I have always been fond of him, but he eventually asked me to join him for a walk around town and then we visited a museum in London.” Y/N revelled in the wonderful memories of romantic dinners and long walks beneath the starry sky.

"Aunty Y/N/N, where do you live? I wanted to visit you, but no one would tell me where you are. I want to send you letters. Dad said you are in London, but London is a big city." Karl asked.

"I am looking forward to reading your letters, Karl. I gave your father my address when I moved to London, and if you ask him kindly, he will certainly tell you the address." Y/N explained.

The sun escaped the fangs of the gloomy clouds and the rays were caressing the faces. Karl laughed, excited to be back in his room to write a letter to his aunt, not noticing how she tensed as her dark blue vehicle appeared behind the next corner. The unavoidable drew ever nearer, and she longed for an embrace, for her husband, for loving words to ease the fear, but her husband was not among the many men in dark suits.

957 notes · View notes