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malfoymuch · 4 years

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if it is a dream [draco malfoy; soulmate au]

Pairing; Draco x Reader,, Pansy x Draco (friends),, Pansy x Reader (friends),, Pansy x Theodore

Genre; Fluff? Overall, yeah...

Word Count; 3.5k+ (with extra)

Request; @andreasworlsboring101

Warnings; unedited

“Draco! Draco, dearie, can you come here, please?” Draco’s mother, Narcissa called from the main room of their Manor. Draco bolted down the stairs, throwing his toys onto the bed as he skipped down the stairs, his hair swept messily to one side as he straightened himself in front of his mother.

“Yes, mommy?” Draco asked, brightly grinning up at his mother as he watched her near him, smiling as she fixed his hair.

“Your hair, Draco. It’s a mess. You’re lucky you’re father isn’t paying attention,” she lightly scolded, though Draco knew that she didn’t mean it-- it just meant that he had to be more proper and presentable at times when his father was around.

“Draco, my boy. We wanted to give you something, or at least show you at least,” his mother whispered, kneeling down and gasping her son’s shoulders softly, grinning at him. “We think you’re old enough to be responsible, aren’t you, my boy?”

“Of course I am, mum. I’m a big boy,” Draco announced, puffing out his chest eliciting a heartfelt laugh from her. She nodded, her lips tugged high into a smile.

“Draco.” His father’s voice boomed, startling both Draco and his mother for a second before they greeted him happily.

“Your mother and I thought it was time to present you with this,” Lucius handed his son an ebony wooden box, intricate designs hand-carved throughout the box, all leading to the lock. His father then handed him what seemed to be the key, and suddenly, Draco began to feel his hands tremble as he turned it counter-clockwise until he heard a faint ‘click.’

Gulping, his hands came to the top of the box, and pushed it back, until the hinges fully supported it. His eyes immediately scanned the inside, until his eyes landed on a ring.

Draco picked it up gently, terrified that he’d drop it. The ring was too, delicately sophisticated. The band was twisted and cool, the texture and pattern reminding Draco of a snake; he soon noticed the snake’s head, curved over the prong, until his eyes finally landed on the head of the ring. There, was the Malfoy’s family crest, surrounded with a backdrop of black with pristine and steady strokes of emerald. He was captivated, swirling the ring in his hand.

“It’s our family heirloom,” his mother had told him, “The ring will attach itself and hold on to your soulmate, the one you’re destined to be with.” His eyes grew in disbelief as he stared at his mother, his eyes sparkling.

“Is it true? Soulmates? Do they really exist?”

“Of course, my boy. It’s a very special ring, so you must promise that you won’t lose it.” Lucius’ voice reasoned, staring down at his son softly. “One day you’ll find them… a soulmate or whoever you wish to propose to,” his father explained further.

“But it’s not something to play around with, and randomly put on people’s fingers, it must be taken care of. It’s our family’s, after all.” Draco nodded as he put the ring on his ring finger, feeling the ring begin to tighter around his finger, the snake staring at him cheekily before resting back on the prong.

A sudden knock startled Draco before his mother ushered him out of the room happily.

“Hurry! That must be the (L/N)’s!” His mother announced, Draco smiling as he could hear giggles from the other side of the door. Opening it widely, he waved excitedly at you, waiting patiently for your parents to greet each other and come inside. As soon as they did, he tugged his mother’s dress, pleadingly looking into her eyes.

“Mother, can I play with (Y/N) before we eat? Just for a little bit?” He begged hurridly as he bounced a bit, knowing that his mother would probably agree, whereas his father would’ve refused based on his behavior. She sighed, before slowly nodding.

“Okay, but just for a little bit, all right? Supper will begin any minute now,” she rushed, making Draco grin. He pulled you along with him, running up the stairs before his father could realize where they were going. Closing the door to his room, he turned back at you, pointing at his hand.

“You won’t believe what I just got!” He whisper-screamed to you, watching as your eyes light up as you grabbed his hand to get a better look at it.

“A ring?”

“Not just any ring, (Y/N). It’s supposed to lead me to my soulmate… if they put the ring on and it doesn’t come off, they’re destined to be with me.” Automatically, you grabbed the ring and stared at it, before Draco pushed your hand away, shocked.

“What’re you doing!?”

“I wanna tryyyyyyy, pleaseeeeeeee.” You nagged, “I wanna be your soulmate, Draco.” Draco shook his head, moving his head behind his back as he stepped away from you.

“No, not yet, I’m too young.” He retorted childishly, his cheeks filled with air as he looked away from you, his face turning pink. You gasped, before grabbing his hands with yours.

“Then promise me then!”

“Promise you what?” He asked almost immediately, afraid of what you’d say.

“Promise we that in ten years from now, I’ll get to try it on! To see if I’m your soulmate or not!”

“And if we’re not?” He asked concerned, raising his eyebrow at you as you bit your bottom lip, in deep thought, until another idea sparked. “Then if neither of us finds our soulmate by a certain point, we’ll marry each other.”

“Are you insane? I can’t just marry my best friend!”

“Of course you can, people do it all the time. Most people were best friends before they were a couple, Draco. Or at least, that’s what my parents always say,” you finished with a shrug of your shoulders.

“If you don’t want to, though, it’s fine.” Draco watched as you failed to keep yourself happy, your expression slowly turning saddened and bleak. His heart tugged a bit as he growled under his breath, intertwining his tiny fingers with yours.

“Fine! Ten years from now, we’ll be… sixteen? Seventeen? We’ll do it then,” Draco shouted, stunned that your expression had altered so quickly, hugging him tightly before pushing him away.

“Pinky-promise?”

“Yeah, sure. Pinky-promise.” He groaned, lacing his pinky with yours before the calls from both your parents were heard from bellow.

“We should probably get going,” he stated, making you nod. As you both hustled down the stairs, you quickly whispered.

“Remember, you can’t break a pinky-promise, or I’ll be mad.”

Draco and you had been friends from as long as he could remember, probably since birth, honestly. The two of you were constantly clinging onto one another, whether it was for comfort or to simply annoy the other… you both were inseparable as the years dragged on.

—————

“Draco Lucius Malfoy! It’s time!” You scolded at him, attempting to tackle him to the ground in order to steal the piece of jewelry on his finger. He dodged at the last possible second, however, grinning from ear-to-ear as he watched you trip.

“Better luck, next time, love.” He teased, sticking his tongue out and playfully sending a wink your way. You immediately flushed bright red, blowing away a strand of your hair before charging towards him once again.

“Draco Malfoy! You made a promise that I get to try on the ring! Let me, already!” You scolded, your finger jabbing into his chest as you tried to reach for his hand, but he seemed to be much quicker as he waved it in all directions. He then took the initiative to remove the ring from his fingers, placing it in the palm of his hand and tauntingly waving it in your face, before extending his hand as high as he could.

“I don’t see why you’re so obsessed with this ring, (Y/N). Or the promise, you should be focused on something else,” he tried to persuade, knowing that you weren’t listening to a word he said. “Besides, it hasn’t officially been ten years, since then… you still have another month or so.”

“Oh shut up, will you? Just give me it!” You interjected, jumping to try and grab his hand. He twirled around you and smirked, ruffling his hair as he steadied the ring back on his finger.

“Unfortunately, class begins soon… guess you’ll have to try later--” his sentence was cut off short as he began to run, you trailing behind him in a frenzy towards your class; his laughs echoed the hallways as students made sure to clear a path, avoiding eye-contact with him and you (pretty much because you threatened to hex anyone who got in the way as you were running).

----------

Normally, you wouldn’t have even batted an eyelash towards his heirloom, or bring it up in a conversation. But as the day got closer, it kind of started to bring a sense of uneasiness to you… the promise. The scenarios playing in your mind as you slept, or daydreamed through some of your classes.

But it made you think. For once, it was odd. To imagine your future as a sixteen-soon-to-be-seventeen-year-old, nonetheless with your best friend. He must’ve thought it wasn’t big, but it definitely was to you. You weren’t an idiot at the age of seven, you knew what you were getting into when you made that promise. Hell, you even wrote it in a little journal you had afterward, it wasn’t hard to deny it. You fancied Draco.

For years, so the thought of being his soulmate made you feel excited and absolutely terrified. Pansy had often reassured that all would work out, and things would pan out the way it should… but it still bothered you. As much as you tried not to, it was the only thought that remained.

Maybe I should just forget about it, he’s probably someone in mind anyway, you thought as you slumped in your chair, it wouldn’t have been the first.

“Hey! (Y/N), are you even paying attention?” Pansy nudged your shoulder, asking through her teeth, her eyes widening as she forced you to look down into your textbook before the professor noticed you were spacing out.

“Still obsessing over Draco?” She whispered, resulting in a bitter laugh to emit from you. Pansy had had an overwhelming obsession with Draco for the first few years until one day, it seemed the message of him not reciprocating her feelings had become clear, and then she changed.

Much better, if you were being honest. She had her own personal glow-up and was focused much more on devoting time reflecting and helping you.

“Maybe you should pretend to lose interest? That might make him give it up,” she suggested, “Or just steal it from him? You know, unexpected--”

“How am I supposed to steal it? It’s on his finger, Pansy,” you jeered, continuing to write utter nonsense in your notebook as you stared at it with intent, hearing her sigh loudly. “I don’t know, but you have to do something, maybe even tell him… ever given that a thought?” She questioned, staring at you concerningly as you shifted under her gaze uncomfortably, trying to stir your attention away from anything but the topic at hand.

“I don’t know…” you dragged on, making eye-contact with Draco from across the classroom, seeing him happily sending you a smile; you tried your best to return the favor, however, it seemed a bit forced, causing Draco’s to waver.

Oh, bloody hell…

“Well, now he knows something’s up,” Pansy piqued, giving you a knowing gaze as she gave a quick glance at him, before grabbing your hand to prevent you from writing any longer. “You have to do something, I’m not saying you should steal the ring or stalk him, but do what your heart tells you to do, when the time comes.” You smiled softly as you grabbed her hand, uttering a sincere ‘thank you’ before returning to your work.

Pansy gazed back up at Draco, seeing his concerned gaze towards you before mouthing to Pansy a series of phrases, and answering them swiftly before you had the chance to notice.

-------------

Draco had no idea what was going on with you. One minute, you were giddy and incredibly engaged in your own world, the next you were shouting at him about his promise and the ring, and then you give him a pathetic attempt of smiling at him… and suddenly he had no clue what was going on with you.

He’d been talking to Pansy lately about the issue, but she’d either reassure that everything would be fine or give the curt response: “Go ask for yourself”

Normally, Draco would’ve given a snarky response back, but she’d always managed to run away before he could press on more about you.

“What happened to (Y/N), Pansy?” He asked through gritted teeth, “You make this so much harder than it has to be.” Pansy raised a brow at him, amused, twirling the strands of her hair with her finger.

“Someone’s not happy…” she taunted before shrugging her shoulders. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you.”

“Why not? Aren’t you her best friend?”

“Aren’t you?” Pansy countered quickly, watching Draco’s mouth hung open, before closing silently. “You two have known each other longer than I have; if you think something’s wrong ask (Y/N) yourself.”

“I can’t if (Y/N) won’t talk to me,” he pressed on, staring at his friend’s eyes as he grabbed her wrists. “Please, I need to know--”

“Draco, do you fancy (Y/N)?” Pansy inquired, removing his hands off of her, settling them back on her lap as she stared at him knowingly. Draco frantically shook his head at her, ruffling his hair in the process.

“Where did that question even come from, Pansy? Have you gone mad--”

“No. But it seems you will, soon. Why won’t you let (Y/N) try on the ring? A Malfoy sticks by their word, don’t they?”

Draco’s mouth became instantly dry, struggling to form any coherent sentence as his ears began to grow bright. Pansy’s eyes glimmered in realization.

“You’re afraid (Y/N) isn’t the one, aren’t you?” Draco remained silent as she titled her head to meet his gaze, to which his gaze moved away again. “Or are you afraid (Y/N) is the one?”

“You’re deranged, Parkinson.”

“Perhaps I am, but the one thing I’m not Draco… is a coward.” She grunted, resulting in Draco staring up at her, shocked. Pansy was a female that often spoke her mind and criticized others, but not him. She certainly changed.

“You’ve been friends for ages, Draco. And even when I was too “preoccupied” with you I still knew it; (Y/N) won’t be around forever, and if you don’t act soon someone will sweep them off their feet because that’s what they deserve. And you’ll never know the truth,” Pansy flicked his forehead, making Draco whine at the impact. “You’re incredibly dense, sometimes. I wonder what I saw in you…” Draco’s eyes trailed down to the floor, before a sudden laugh shook, startling him.

“But I know (Y/N) sees it… saw it longer than I had, maybe… besides, I got myself… someone. So go get yours.” Draco’s eyes stared up at his long friend, staring at her both thankful and apologetic.

“Oh stop with the sappy look, will you? I’m not telling you to confess and I’m not asking for pity. But when the time comes… do it.”

————

A few weeks had passed since then, and your nerves had remained calmer than ever. It seemed Pansy was right, and being able to dial down on your turmoil was as simple as clearing your mind… from all of the thoughts of his heirloom.

Of course, you took that route. Instead of confessing to him… and Pansy had egged you to pursue him while respecting your decision. It just seemed easier, you noted, to distract yourself for a while.

“Why are you spacing off, again? Someone caught your eye?” Draco quipped, staring down at you. You rolled your eyes as you readjusted yourself on his lap, giving him an irritated look.

“Does it matter? Even if I was, it’s none of your business,” you ended while sticking out your tongue, noticing Draco’s eyes had slightly clouded at your remark.

“I should probably leave soon, Umbridge will be scouting soon…” Draco murmured, as you let out a frustrated growl.

“Oh yes! The sadist, who only lives to ruin student’s lives… I find it concerning that she’s so fascinated in kids…” you whispered the last part, Draco letting out a hearty laugh. “Pipe it down, I heard she has eyes and ears everywhere,” he added on, the both of you snickering.

“Watch out, she might hide under your bed too, I wouldn’t put it past her.” Draco grabbed your hand and squeezed it as he let out another laugh, the cool metal of his ring sending a shiver down your spine. As it died down, he released your hand, before his eyes traveled down to his hand, and his ring. He removed his other hand cradling your head and removed the hoop slowly.

“Here, a deal’s a deal.” You let out a huff, knitting your eyebrows as he dropped the ring into your hands.

“Why so suddenly… well, I guess I’ll try it. After all, you’ll probably be getting it back.” The statement broke your heart, but in reality, it seemed fit to say. And Draco cracked a smile, so he must’ve been hoping it to happen too.

Sliding the ring on your finger, another shiver sent down your spine, your eyes lost in the details of the loop. Your breath hitched suddenly as you paused your movements, watching for something to happen. A sign.

Looking up, you saw Draco staring just as intensely as you had at your hand, the curves of his mouth downward and grim.

“See? I told you,” you sighed, reaching for the ring again and attempting to tug at it.

Attempting.

However, as you tried, you realized you couldn’t take it off.

“Uh… Draco? Can… Can you give me a hand?” You pleaded nervously, his eyes widening as he adjusted his position, panicked.

“Yeah, of course.” He responded, gently grabbing your hand in his, his fingers hanging over the ring, deep in thought, before he dropped it, staring at you.

“(Y/N)... it won’t come off,” he said quietly, a small smile dancing on his features.

“How would you know? You didn’t even try,” you tried to defend, grabbing the ring again and tugging it. This time, the ring had gotten looser, only for the snake to hiss at you, its jade eyes leering. You removed your hand almost instantly, letting the creature hum in content before slithering itself around you again, this time, a bit tighter than before.

“This has to be a dream, it can’t be real… can it?” You gaped, thinking that you were daydreaming again. Hallucinating maybe?

“I don’t think it’s a dream,” Draco started, his thumb playing with the ring on your finger, a bright smile plastered on his face as he stared (almost) lovingly at it. “But if it is…” he intertwined his fingers with yours, staring into your eyes with a lovestruck gaze.

“I don’t ever want to wake up.” He paused, before leaning down to capture your lips with his.

“I think it’s better than any dream, actually.”

Extra:

Months later, your head was resting on Draco’s shoulder, as he seemed to be engaged in a conversation with the boy across from him; Theodore Nott, Pansy’s boyfriend, who looked to be a decently charming Slytherin, though he was extremely opinionated with whatever they were conversing about.

“Sorry for asking, but I’ve been a bit curious about the ring on (Y/N)’s finger?” Theodore suddenly inquired, making you lift your head up to see Draco had been playing with the ring on your finger the whole time, twirling it rhythmically.

“Oh, isn’t it obvious? We’re engaged.” He smirked deviously, a gasp coming from you as you pushed him away, laughing. “Yeah right--”

“Aren’t we?”

“You didn’t even propose!”

“Don’t you have a ring? I can’t give you another one, this one isn’t coming off--”

“You didn’t ask and we’re still in school! Plus it’d be nice if you at least made the effort to ask--”

“Do you want me to ask? I can do it, plan it out if you want…It’s not like my parents would disapprove… my mother’s absolutely smitten for you.”

“That sounds nasty.”

“You know what I meant by that.”

“Even cuter, Theo, they’re soulmates…” Pansy whispered to him, as both of you bickered with one another. Theodore nodded in understanding, leaning down to Pansy’s ear. “I assume you helped… I don’t think Draco wouldn’t have done it anytime soon otherwise.”

“I can hear you,” Draco announced, pink dusting his cheeks as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, “And I would’ve eventually… though I’m glad Pansy helped…”

“Of course I had to,” Pansy smiled proudly, “And look how it turned out. I’m great at what I do.”

“You mean not minding your own business?”

“DRACO!”

———

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

handmaid - 02

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: you guys have been so extremely sweet with this new work i don’t even know how to thank you!! thank you so so much for supporting my writing, it always makes my day. i hope you enjoy xx

NEXT CHAPTER

Y/N was laying in her new room right stuck in between the guest and Gwen’s bedroom. It was a rather bleak room if she was being honest. The walls were all white in exception to one of them that like the entrance was covered in floor to ceiling windows. There was little to no furniture in exception for a king sized bed, a white chest of drawers and a wall embedded wardrobe where she had put most of her clothes already.

She wondered why a man of such income would like to be surrounded by such bleak colours. From what she had noticed his whole place was decorated in shades of grey and black with the occasional beige and white. Sure, it looked lovely, sleek even, something worth of being in the cover of an architectural magazine, but it wasn’t a home. A home had warmth, lived in sheets, walls and floors, this house however was ... was ghosted, almost as if no one lived in it.

Rolling onto the comfortable white sheets, she took the contract into her hands, looking at the lettering on the cover itself. Y/N fully understood why he wanted all his employees to have a binding legal document, what she didn’t expect was to see the first line constricted her breathing. “The individual agrees not to follow any legal action against the employer in any circumstance”, it read. This was definitely not what was she expecting.

- Y/N? - she shoved the contract under her sheets as Gwen’s voice sounded through the room, her head peaking through the opening of the door. - What are you up to?

- Not much. How are you? Do you enjoy the new room? - Sebastian had put her in a different room from his, something she had expected but still found odd. They were to be married after all and despite it all being a business move and transaction, it was still a valid marriage. However, none of them seemed to eager to at least try and create some chemistry.

- Boring. I need a favour, though. Please and when you decide remember you’re my oldest and best friend since we were babies. - Y/N knew that face and she did not like it. It was the same face that got them both stranded in the Carribean because she just needed to get to know some guy from the opposite terminal before catching the plane. However, she also knew Gwen to be a great driving force of making her do things she didn’t exactly want to do, so she decided to nod her head yes, already overwhelmed with the move and the contract. - I need to head out for a few minutes, could you cover for me?

- What ... where are you going?

- I have a date. - she cheekily entered the room, closing the door behind her after checking if someone was in the hall. The redhead sat in front of her, a childish grin on her face as if she were in high school going out with the captain of the football team. - And he’s really sweet.

- Gwen, you’re engaged. - the big sapphire in her left hand’s third finger was all she could look at. Of course Y/N wanted to be happy for Gwen, she really did and she really shouldn’t put too much effort in the thought that she was going to get married, after all it was just a strategy, but her mind was screaming at her that it wasn’t right. - Don’t you wanna at least give it a go before you completely give up?

- No, I wanna go out with Chuck. - she took her engagement ring off, placing it on Y/N’s white sheets. - Please cover for me, please.

- What if Sebastian notices you’re gone?

- He won’t because you’ll cover for me, besides, he probably won’t even leave his office. Please, Y/N? - Y/N sighed. What was the use of saying no if she was gonna leave any other way? Besides, if she were right and Sebastian didn’t leave his office, it should be alright. Losing whatever piece of resolve she has in her, she let out a soft smile, nodding her head yes which led the redhead to hug her with a death like grip. - It’ll one be for a few hours. I owe you one.

- I’m pretty sure you’ve own me one since we were one. - Gwen let out a celebratory chuckle before grabbing her bag and leaving Y/N on her own once again.

The whole house was constantly silent, almost as if all the employees were scared of making a sound which when it came to the demanding presence of their boss, she wondered if that was the case. The only disruption of silence that could be heard was the soft rain against the windows which was enough to lull her to sleep. She would’ve possibly remained asleep if it hadn’t been for a slight knock interrupting her slumber. She took her head off her pillow, confused as if she had slept for so long, Gwen had returned. Another knock made her get from the bed, sleep still in her eyes as she opened the door to come face to face with one of the dressed up employees.

- Miss Y/N, dinner is served.

- Just Y/N please.

- I believe it would be more of Miss Forrest’s comfort if you were to inform her dinner is ready.

- Oh ... Miss Forrest ... she’s, she’s not feeling very well.

- Should we call a doctor?

- No, it’s just ... you know, that time of the month. - Y/N had the most nervous smile on her face, but as the man heard that specific term, he scrunched his face for a few seconds before returning to his normal formal and stoic posture. Maybe she had gotten away with it. - I don’t think she’ll want any dinner.

- Oh, alright, would you still like to have dinner, Miss Y/N? - he questioned. She was rather hungry, after all, all she had before coming in was dinner and after sleeping she always awake up feeling like snacking, therefore dinner sounded like a good idea.

She followed the man into the kitchen that similarly to the rest of the house had the same simple yet modern design to it. The floors were in the same shade of marbled black with few specks of grey, the walls were white with a black wooden backsplash and one of them had the same full amount of windows which gave a beautiful view of the Upper East Side. There were various balconies connected to the walls but the biggest one was in the middle where some chairs were laid.

Y/N watched as a woman, probably middle aged, set the table. Just like the man who had brought her to the kitchen, she was dressed in sleek, working clothes with her hair held in a perfect bun up-do.

- I hope you like goat cheese and bistro salad, m’am. - she set a beautifully prepared plate in front of Y/N as she took a seat in the table. - I can prepare you something if you don’t like it, m’am.

- No, it’s beautiful, thank you so much. - yes, she was used to living in some sort of high fashion style due to the environment she had brought up with but this, this was different. This was expensive in all sorts, from how the employees dressed, to the way the food was presented. However, Y/N noticed that instead of being surrounded by other people eating like it would normally occur at her prior home, she was instead surrounded by staff watching her eat, no Sebastian in sight. - Is Mr. Stan not joining us for dinner?

- Oh no, m’am, Mr. Stan eats in his office. - the woman replied.

- What about you guys? Don’t you wanna eat?

- It’s fine, m’am. We’ll eat after you finish.

- Alright ... - Y/N pushed her plate slightly away from her, turning on her chair so she could face the two staff who were now staring at her as if she were any sort of threat. - Where me and Miss Forrest were raised, staff is treated just as well as family members. I don’t know what orders you follow from Mr. Stan but when you deal with me or Miss Forrest, you sit down and have dinner with us if you wish.

The dinner went a bit better after she gained some company. The staff was sweet, very professional still but sweet nevertheless. After dinner and fighting a bit with the woman named Anna so she could help with the dishes, Y/N decided to walk around the house. Gwen still hadn’t returned and despite her countless messages sent to her, they were seen but not replied to. Thankfully, Sebastian hadn’t left his office as promised which meant she only had to lie whenever any member of staff would ask if she needed something.

The penthouse was pretty much a regular place with more rooms than she could ever imagine with some being locked and others being open and perfectly decorated yet seemed to be non inhabited. However, what had sparked her interest was the very last room she checked. The room’s wall except for one were filled with book shelves which were filled itself with endless amounts of books. She looked around, wondering if someone was spying on her, before entering the room, her hands grabbing the first book she saw. The Great Gatsby. It sorta made her chuckle how that had been the first book she caught, the story of a wealthy man who lives by himself. The book itself was in rather good condition with the traditional blue cover with those unsettling eyes staring right back at her. She opened the book, her eyes going to the date of print making her realise what she was holding. April, 1925. A first edition.

- Looking for a good read, Miss Y/N? - she dropped the book out of surprise, not expecting the voice. Her head snapped in the sound’s direction, watching as Sebastian walked over to her, slowly crutching down to grab the book from the ground.

- Are these all yours? - this was the biggest self collection of books she’d ever seen, it was somewhat hard for her to wrap around her head it belonged to a single person, specially first editions.

- My father made sure I got an expensive education.

- Have you read all of these? - her eyes widen at the mere thought of it. Just reading one shelf of books looked like it would take at least five years, at beast.

- Not all of them ... some are in Greek. - he couldn’t help but be entranced by her as she lowered her head to hide the small smile that settled itself on her lips. - Are you one for reading?

- I majored in English Literature, reading was all I did for three years.

- Fits. - he put his hands on the pockets of his formal trousers. - You wouldn’t lie to me, would you Miss Y/N?

- I wouldn’t think of it, Mr. Stan. - Y/N wasn’t one for lying unless necessary, specially to someone who had a reputation for ignoring empathy and other human emotions.

- Where’s my fiancée, Miss Y/N? - the mere question knocked the air away from her. - And please do not use the same excuse you used with my staff. I know everything that goes on in this house and I know for a fact she’s not in her room.

- I ... I don’t know.

- I think you need to figure out where your loyalty lies, Miss Y/N. - he picked her chin, making sure she looked into his eyes. If there was something he knew was to intimidate someone with his gaze alone, however, she looked embarrassed to be caught in a lie rather than scared. - As my employee, you owe me your loyalty and the truth.

- My loyalty lies with Gwen ... not with you. - she took a step backwards. He sucked his teeth, arms crossed on his chest. - I don’t mean to disrespect you, Mr. Stan but ... Gwen’s my friend and my employee and I owe her my loyalty.

- You do realise that if Miss Forrest gets hurt it is you who’s gonna be held accountable.

- Please don’t be mad at Gwen. - she rubbed her arms. - She’s never really wanted to get married, at all, to no one. This is a bit of a change she has to adapt to.

- Don’t flatter yourself, angel. Genevieve Forrest is not exactly the type of woman I’d personally chose to be with but I’m not being childish about it. If you wanna have a good time under my employment then you better reconsider telling me the truth.

taglist: @sideeffectsofyou

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan drabble #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan fanfiction #mob!sebastian stan #mob!au #au!sebastian stan #mob!sebastian stan x reader

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hysterialevi · 3 years

Text

Hjarta | Chapter 11

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

A WHILE LATER

BJORNHEIMR, THE LONGHOUSE

Pain. That was all he could see.

As Sigurd walked side-by-side with Ulfar through the longhouse’s doors, he heard nothing but the agonized groans of fallen warriors, and the devastated cries of survivors who were now mourning their loved ones.

The horrid stench of smoke and death clung stubbornly onto the wooden walls, and with so many fresh corpses now littering the village, they had what looked like a battlefield sitting on their very doorstep.

It was a nightmare come to life. Even though Sigurd was no stranger to the morbidity of war -- he had grown up in the midst of one, after all -- it was still enough to make his stomach churn, and his heart ache.

How could this have happened? And during such a joyous event as well? Today was meant to be a day for their clans to celebrate; to enjoy themselves. But instead, they were now taking shelter in the longhouse, and being forced to isolate themselves from the mayhem that lurked outside.

It looked like Muspelheim itself had razed Bjornheimr’s streets, and frankly, Sigurd didn’t know how they were going to recover from this.

“Poor woman...” Ulfar said, gazing in Ingrida’s direction. At the moment, the seeress was holding Eirik’s body in her arms and gently stroking his forehead, comforting him as if he had contracted a simple ailment. Not a single word was being uttered from her lips, and yet, the lifelessness of her expression was enough to say everything.

“No parent should have to lose their child,” Ulfar remarked, his voice heavy with sorrow. “I can’t imagine what that woman is going through right now.”

The prince followed his line of sight. “What happened to Eirik? How did he die?”

“I have no idea. He approached me and Eivor at the temple just before the assault was launched... with three arrows in his back. He wanted me to tell Ingrida something, but... he slipped away before he could get the words out.”

The older man’s brow crinkled with anger. “Those bastards. Kjotve’s men didn’t even have the honor of giving Eirik a warrior’s death. They shot him down like a dog.”

Sigurd sighed in frustration, crossing his arms in a stern manner. “...How did this even happen? You and I spent so much time planning the defenses of this village. We cleared the forest of Kjotve’s camps. How is it that his people overwhelmed us so easily?”

Ulfar’s eyes narrowed with skepticism. “I have the same question. It’s possible that Kjotve’s been planning this for a while, but... still. I’d be lying if I said the efficiency of this attack wasn’t suspicious.”

Bringing their conversation to a halt, a nearby series of footsteps suddenly made its way into the building, drawing both the men’s attention to the doorway.

In the distance, Sigurd saw Eivor dragging himself into the longhouse with his father’s axe in hand, still as bleak as before. His head sank with a profound sense of melancholy, and his feet lingered behind him in a manner that made it seem as if chains holding him down.

At first, the prince expected Eivor to say something to Ulfar upon entry, but instead, he simply drifted past the two of them without a single word, and headed out into the training yard adjacent to the longhouse.

“...Do you think he’ll be alright?” Sigurd asked, watching as the man slipped away.

Ulfar shrugged. “I cannot say. Eivor has always been strong, but even the strongest of men have their weaknesses. Kjotve has caused him much pain ever since he was a child. It will take him time to recover from this battle.”

The prince’s voice softened at the thought of a recent memory. “...Eivor told me about his parents a while ago, you know. About how Kjotve killed them.”

“Then you understand the gravity of what happened today. Kjotve trying to kill Eivor in the same way he murdered Varin -- it’s an insult deserving of an axe to the chest. I’ll be surprised if the boy lets this go.”

Sigurd paused for a moment, allowing the realization to settle in. “...Eivor nearly gave up Valhalla in exchange for my survival. He was willing to die without a fight... just to ensure that I lived.”

Ulfar nodded, recalling his conversation with Eivor all those years ago. “Yes. Because in the end, you were more important to him than anything Valhalla could’ve offered. He spent the past thirteen years dreaming of the day he’d finally get revenge, and he sacrificed it for you. I hope you understand that, Sigurd.”

“Of course. I owe him my life.”

“Indeed.”

Sigurd decided to follow Eivor and began making his way out of the longhouse, hoping to catch the young man before he disappeared.

“Wait here,” he told Ulfar. “I’ll go speak with him. I want to see how he’s doing.”

“Hold a moment.” The raider said, stopping Sigurd in his tracks.

“Yes? What is it?”

The older man fell silent for a second, pondering how to broach the subject.

“Before you go, Sigurd, there’s something else you should be aware of.” Ulfar lowered his voice, ensuring that no one else could hear him. “...I know about your relationship with Eivor.”

Sigurd’s heart skipped a beat, and the color drained from his face. “You-- what?”

“Eivor confided in me during the wedding,” Ulfar explained. “He had quite a lot on his mind, and was willing to tell me about your affair. Have no fear, though. I won’t expose your secret. He entrusted me with this matter, and I have no intentions of betraying that trust. However, there is something I need to make clear.”

The prince listened intently, worried about where this was going. “...Alright, then. Speak your mind.”

The raider crossed his arms. “It pains me to separate Eivor from someone who makes him happy, but for the sake of this alliance, I must insist that you keep things at a platonic level if you wish to console him. I realize it’s not always that easy, but our clans need each other to win this war. If your marriage with Randvi falls apart, so does our bond.”

Sigurd took his words to heart, regardless of how reluctant he may have been to accept reality.

“I understand, Ulfar. You have nothing to fear. I wouldn’t jeopardize this marriage.”

Ulfar didn’t look entirely convinced. “I hope so. You have my trust for now, Sigurd, but just remember -- I don’t give it blindly.” He turned away from the prince, dismissing him with a wave of the hand. “Anyway, go and see Eivor. I imagine he’s somewhere in the training yard. If the two of you wish to join me later, I’ll be speaking with the jarl and your father in the war room. We have much to discuss.”

“I will.”

“Look after that boy, Sigurd,” Ulfar said, striding to the front of the longhouse. “He cares about you more than you realize.”

~~~~~~~~~~

THE TRAINING YARD

Stepping back out into the open, Sigurd welcomed himself into the deserted training yard as he scanned the area for Eivor, admittedly reluctant to wander through the aftermath of the recent battle. The thick scent of smoke and ash immediately smacked him across the face once he was outside, and even now, he could still feel the heat of the raging fires consuming their entire village.

He imagined Eivor’s state of mind must’ve been dire, if he was willing to take solace in an environment like this. Bjornheimr was hardly recognizable after the chaos Kjotve wreaked, and yet, the young man found it preferable to staying within the confines of the longhouse.

Sigurd supposed it was understandable, considering his exchange with the enemy. Kjotve could’ve cut Eivor down in the midst of a proper holmgang, but instead, he decided to do something worse. He took away his honor.

He degraded the Wolf-Kissed with the same impossible dilemma he once thrust upon Varin, and now, the nightmare would only haunt Eivor again. The gods would know of his swift surrender and declare it as an action of cowardice, and he would likely receive judgement from his fellow clan members.

In Sigurd’s eyes though, the man was a hero. He sacrificed one of the greatest honors known to Midgard in exchange for his family’s safety, and he did so with barely any hesitation. He displayed more courage than Sigurd had ever seen from anyone else in his life, and yet, he would have to reclaim his honor simply because he was willing to put down his axe.

It was a series of events laden with unfairness in Sigurd’s opinion, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to change it nonetheless.

Roaming closer to the training yard, Sigurd’s head perked up in interest when the sound of metal scraping against wood suddenly reached his ears, drawing his focus to a nearby tree. There, he saw Eivor himself fervently slashing his axe against the trunk, letting out occasional shouts of anger.

His movements were erratic and driven by rage, and at certain points, the prince even feared he might chop down the whole tree. Eivor seemed to be trapped in a tempest of fury that Sigurd had never witnessed in the past, and frankly, he was concerned about the man’s well-being.

“Eivor?” He called out. The younger man swung his axe one more time before coming to a halt, giving Sigurd no more than a brief glance.

“...What?” He replied sharply, speaking through rapid breaths.

The prince approached his friend, careful not to provoke him any further.

“I don’t mean to disturb you,” he said gently, “but... I was worried. You disappeared from the longhouse so quick. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Eivor turned around, revealing the glower that had been branded into his face.

“How do you think I’m doing?” He snapped, lodging the weapon’s blade into the wood. “The gods granted me the chance to kill Kjotve after thirteen years... and I wasted it! He was right there. He was right in front of me. I could’ve done something -- anything! Even if it killed me, it would’ve been better than surrendering!”

He stormed away from the tree and began pacing around the yard, attempting to recompose himself.

“By Odin, I’m such an idiot. I’ve spent my entire life preparing for this moment. Waiting for it. I’ve endured countless days of training, planning -- everything you can think of. I’ve placed offer after offer at the feet of the gods, just begging them for the chance to bury my axe in Kjotve’s chest. And what do I do when they finally give it to me?” Eivor kicked a rock resting by his feet. “I walk away.”

Sigurd gazed at the man in sympathy, wishing he could comfort him somehow.

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss yourself, Eivor. You may have let Kjotve slip from your grasp for now, but remember why you did it. You did it to save your family. You did it to save me. I... I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t shown up. I owe you my life.”

Eivor plopped himself on the ground and sat against the longhouse’s walls, staring upwards at the smoke-riddled sky.

“Perhaps I should be proud of myself, then,” he said, “but I’m not. If anything, I just feel like a fool. I feel like... like I’ve failed my father. Like I’ve wasted everything he did for me.”

Sigurd took a seat next to the Wolf-Kissed, allowing his feet to rest for the moment. “You’re too hard on yourself, drengr. Your father would understand. He was once in the same position as you, after all. Not only that, but he also made the same choice. He would be proud of your sacrifice.”

Contrary to what the older man expected, Eivor only seemed to grow more bitter.

“I guess. But-- why are you even here? I thought you’d be in the longhouse, looking after the villagers with Randvi. What are you doing out here talking to me?”

“Randvi has her own duties to take care of, and so do I. But I wanted to see you first. Just because I’m married now doesn’t mean I don’t care about you anymore, Eivor.”

The man shook his head. “Well, you shouldn’t. You can’t afford to care about me, Sigurd. You have a wife now. A future queen. She’s the one you need to be focused on. Not me.”

Sigurd was admittedly taken aback by the coldness in his tone, but brushed it off nonetheless. He knew Eivor was hurting at the moment, and it felt wrong for him to hold that against him.

“Eivor...” he said softly, “listen to me. Kjotve may have escaped from our grasp today, but we are not letting him go. Ulfar is devising a plan in the war room as we speak. We will find him again. You will get your chance.”

The young man sighed out of exhaustion, causing his shoulders to slouch. “...I hope so. I’ve fought too hard for this war to end now. I can’t let Kjotve get away. Not when I’m so close. I just pray that the gods will deem me worthy of a second chance.”

Sigurd gave him a reassuring nod. “They will. This fight isn’t over yet, Eivor. In fact, it’s hardly begun. We haven’t seen the last of Kjotve. I know it.”

Eivor dragged a hand down his face and drifted off into silence, staring at the clouds of smoke forming in the distance. By now, they had completely blotted out the sapphire embrace of the sky above, and darkened the land beneath with a looming shadow.

Particles of ash fluttered through the air like autumn leaves twirling in the wind, and in the distance, Eivor saw nothing but a shroud of fire obscuring the horizon beyond.

As for the man himself, he seemed to have calmed down somewhat compared to when Sigurd first arrived. A glimmer of hope had returned to the blankness of his empty gaze, but a grim veil of despair still clung onto his expression. He had lost every shred of the motivation that once fueled him, and even now, the pain of losing a loved one to an arranged marriage continued to pester him.

“...Kjotve ruined my life that night, you know.” Eivor said, devoid of any emotion. “He took away my family, my home -- everything that I loved. The only life I ever knew was stolen from me in an instant, and the whole world shifted into something that I no longer recognized.” The young man peered at his companion, still leaning against the wall. “...He must die, Sigurd. Not just for me, but for everyone he’s hurt.”

The prince rested an elbow on his knee. “Kjotve’s judgement will come. The gods know of his cruelty just as we do. The Nornir will cut his thread soon enough.”

“Then let’s pray that I live long enough to witness that day.”

Taking a second to gather himself, Eivor broke free from the cage barring his mind for just a moment and looked Sigurd in the eye, returning to the same man the prince knew so well.

“...Anyway. Thank you for coming to check on me, Sigurd.” He whispered. “I appreciate it. I apologize if I was somewhat... harsh earlier. I’m just so lost right now.”

Sigurd wasn’t bothered. “I understand. We all have a breaking point. Even you. What’s important is that you don’t let it hold you down forever.”

“I know,” he acknowledged. “But sometimes, the temptation to give up is almost irresistible. The idea of being able to forget about all this, and live my life without fear or conflict -- it’s something that grows more alluring by the day. But I know I can’t let myself fall prey to these thoughts. I need to stay focused. I need to keep fighting. Even if it leads me into the Valkyries’ arms.”

Sigurd leaned closer to Eivor and placed a hand over his, mindlessly stroking it as if it were second nature.

“Well, wherever this path takes us, just remember that I’m here for you. You’ve saved my life multiple times already. It’s the least I can do.”

Suddenly realizing what he was doing, the prince came to an abrupt pause and instantly retreated his hand, silently cursing himself for not putting a leash on his affections. He backed away from Eivor and averted his eyes, stumbling over his next words.

“...F-Forgive me. I didn’t mean to--”

“--It’s alright.” Eivor interrupted. “You don’t have to explain.”

A deep sigh escaped Sigurd’s lips. “I just don’t understand why it’s so difficult to ignore the way I feel. I’m a married man now. Shouldn’t that be enough to hinder my fondness for you? Why does this always happen?”

The younger man offered some advice. “The best thing you can do right now, Sigurd, is to avoid me entirely. We both know how challenging it is to conceal our true thoughts. Perhaps we shouldn’t give them the chance to cross our minds at all.”

“But I can’t just pretend like you don’t exist. I still want you in my life, Eivor. I still want to be near you. We may not have the option of being together like before, but you’re not somebody I want to forget.”

Eivor’s face dimmed with sorrow. “Well, you may have to. For the sake of this alliance. Things are precarious enough as it is. We can’t risk anyone else finding out about our previous encounters.”

Sigurd disagreed. “You’re important to me. Nothing’s going to change that, no matter how much I may have to restrain myself. I just wish things were easier.”

The older man decided to put this conversation to an early end and rose from the ground, not wanting to let his emotions fester any longer.

“Anyway... I should get going. I imagine Ulfar’s still speaking with the jarl, and I’d like to join him. Do you want to come with me?”

Eivor refused the offer. “I’d rather be alone right now. I’ve had enough of discussing war and politics for one day.”

“Of course, I understand. You must be exhausted. Take this time to get some rest. I’ll tell you the outcome of our discussions later.” Sigurd took a few steps away from the Wolf-Kissed, leaving him alone on the ground. “Well then, I guess I’ll see you around, Eivor. Please, stay safe. Now that we know Kjotve is merely a stone’s throw away from Bjornheimr, I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

The young man remained seated on the grass. “The same goes for you, Sigurd. Be careful out there. You’re the last person I want to lose.”

“Oh, believe me,” Sigurd replied, “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #sigurd styrbjornson #eivor wolfkissed #eivor wolfsmal #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

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fanficshiddles · 4 years

Text

Butterfly Into Chains, Chapter 27

Esme wasn’t sure what to think as they all rushed home, squeezed into one car since Michael had taken one of them.

Tom was furious. His grip on the steering wheel was so tight his knuckles were white. Ben and Chris were slightly concerned with the speed they were going, so they put their arms around Esme who was squished in-between them in the back.

When they returned home, there was no sign of Michael. Tom had been hoping he would’ve gone straight home. But he knew he would return… Eventually.

‘So much for us not knowing whose child it is.’ David said when Ben and Chris took Esme out of earshot to the bedroom.

Tom turned and snapped at David. ‘Do NOT start with me, David. This is the first one.’

‘Because it’s Michaels first baby. He always takes them out. The first child was mine, so was the fourth. The second and fifth was Ben’s. I know the third was yours, I saw you falter and uncertainty cross your face when he was born, it was just a second, but it was there.’

Tom’s nose scrunched up angrily, he shoved at David’s chest before storming off through the house.

‘So what do we do?’ Chris asked once Esme was asleep, exhausted after everything that had went on that day. The Alphas were congregated in the kitchen.

‘We don’t do anything. He will come to us. To Esme. He won’t leave his omega for long. The baby will need a mother.’ Tom said definitively.

David shared an uneasy look with the other two.

But as usual, Tom was right. Michael did return, late in the evening, hoping to take Esme away. But the Alphas were up and expecting him when he quietly entered through the front door.

‘Where’s the baby?’ Tom snarled at him.

Michael straightened up and glared at Tom. ‘She’s safe… I’ve come for Esme. I can’t do this anymore. Seeing her go though so much distress and pain. And when I held her… my baby girl… I just couldn’t let her go.’

‘That’s how I’ve felt with every. Single. Birth. Every day I feel the pain of not knowing where my babies are!’ Esme said, having heard Michael.

The Alphas turned to the side to face her.

‘I’m so sorry, Esme. I didn’t truly understand until now.’ Michael said sheepishly, he looked down sadly.

‘Is she safe?’ Esme asked quietly, walking over to him, he took her hands.

‘Of course. I’ve come to take you to her.’

‘Esme is going nowhere!’ Tom growled, moving in closer.

‘I’m not doing this anymore, Tom.’ Michael barked back at him.

‘Well you know where the door is.’ Tom snapped.

‘I am NOT leaving Esme.’ Michael said firmly.

David walked over and stood beside Esme and Michael. ‘I’m leaving with them... It’s over, Tom.’

Tom started laughing, but he trailed off when Ben and Chris went to stand next to them too. Tom’s jaw clenched.

‘I am the pack leader. Esme is mine. And I will do whatever I want with her.’ He moved in to get Esme, but Michael jumped on front of her and punched Tom. It didn’t knock him out for long though, Tom punched back and knocked him flying backwards into Chris.

David then attempted to attack Tom and so did Ben. But Tom grabbed an umbrella that was by the door and swung it hard against David’s head, knocking him out. He then elbowed Ben, getting his nose that started bleeding.

Esme cowered away in the corner, terrified at her Alphas fighting like they were. Badly harming one another.

Tom was fierce, he was holding back nothing. He managed to knock them all out of action for a few moments.

If it had been any other four Alphas that Tom was taking on single handedly, Esme would’ve been absolutely soaking already upon instinct. It was very rare that one Alpha could take on more than two Alphas at one time, three at maximum.

Before Esme had a chance to try and help any of them, Tom rushed over to her and grabbed her. He threw her over his shoulder and carried her out of the house. She started crying, scared about what was going on. What was Tom doing, where was he taking her?

He bundled her into the car and was quick to get in the drivers’ side. By that time, Ben and Michael were running out of the house towards them. But Tom was too quick and set off, tyres screeching, getting away from them as quickly as possible.

David came round after being knocked out, he got to his feet with Chris’ help.

‘Where is he? Where’s Esme?’ David asked, panicked.

‘He’s taken her, took her in the car and sped off.’

‘We need to get after them! We can’t let him disappear with her.’ David whined.

‘Michael and Ben are already on their tail. Come on, I’ll drive.’ Chris helped David out to his car and they followed as quickly as possible. Michael phoned Chris, keeping him updated with the direction they were going.

But after a few miles of speedy driving, Michael and Ben lost sight of them. They came to a junction and had no idea which direction Tom went.

‘Right, when you come to the junction near the farm shop, take a left. We’re going right, hopefully we can find them.’ Michael said to Chris before hanging up and speeding off to hopefully catch up with them.

Esme was shaking while Tom drove. She was so confused and scared at what was going on. While she knew she was safe with Tom, to an extent, she was still a bit scared of him and would rather be with the others. Especially David.

‘Don’t worry, lovely.’ Tom purred, reaching out to stroke the back of her neck. ‘It’s just going to be you and me now. I’ll take care of you.’

‘P… please… Can’t we go back and sort it out?’ She said quietly.

‘No.’ Tom said firmly. ‘It’s obviously not going to work out with them all. We will be better off without them.’

‘I can’t lose anymore babies, Tom. Please don’t make me do it again.’ She begged, feeling tears well up.

‘You will do as you’re told, Esme. Now no more speak on the matter.’ He growled low, eyes still on the road.

Esme stayed silent for a few minutes, but the fear was bubbling up inside of her. The thought of being alone with Tom terrified her. Churning out baby after baby… for what, the rest of her life? She just couldn’t do it.

So she did something she never thought she would be able to do.

She reached out and grabbed the steering wheel, turning it hard.

‘NO!’ Tom cried out as the car turned off the road.

Before he could get it under control again, the car hit a wall and flipped over, landing on its roof at the side of the road.

David and Chris were driving along pretty fast, hoping they would catch up with Tom and Esme. But it was looking bleak, they’d had a good start ahead of them.

‘We’ve lost her, Chris. I know we have.’ David said worriedly.

‘I’m not giving up so easily.’ Chris said, determined.

They turned a corner and had to break suddenly, the car screeched to a halt. Their hearts stopped momentarily at the sight of Tom’s car on its roof. Smoke coming from the engine.

‘Oh my god. Call the emergency services!’ David said as he rushed out of the car.

As David ran towards the upturned car, he saw Esme was out of it. Thankfully. Sitting a few feet away.

‘ESME!’ He called, running straight to her.

‘David!’ She cried, reaching out to him.

David fell to his knees beside her and hugged her. ‘Are you ok?’ He leaned back and looked at her carefully. She had a few cuts on her head, but otherwise seemed like she’d had a lucky escape.

‘I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I meant to just bump the car… I didn’t mean for this!’ She sobbed hysterically.

‘Shhhhh, calm down. It’s ok. You’re safe, that’s the main thing.’ David assured her, cradling the back of her head.

Chris ran over to them and fell down at her side too. He called the others to let them know where they were.

David helped Chris get Esme to their car and settled comfortably while they waited for the ambulance so she could be checked over. David walked over to Tom’s car and saw him trying to get out of the wreck. His lower body was trapped underneath.

David breathed in deeply and frowned as he looked down at Tom. So helpless… for a change.

‘David… Help me… Please.’ Tom begged, his face contorting in pain.

#butterfly into chains #fan fiction #tom hiddleston #david tennant #michael fassbender #benedict cumberbatch #chris evans

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mylovelyladywhumps · 3 years

Text

I hate that I forget about this blog and how much I just reblog so I’m gonna upload some of my own stuff sporadically :3

I had to get myself away from writing dadzawa or that's all I would ever write, so I made a dadmight whump fic and made it even more sad than I'd originally intended, so let's start with that one! Under the cut :P- *uhhhh CW for blood, allusion to broken necks and bones, and Character Death

*This is part of a oneshot AU I have planned where Toshinori does actually have his own quirk (not OfA) but it doesn’t activate until he gets really, really angry. Like, some serious levels of anger here. That’s why you get all the muscle rippling at the beginning lol. Also yeah I tend to start my oneshot drafts in medias res so idk just imagine a generic villain scenario and pretend that I came up with something interesting*

*alright let’s go. Toshi’s POV*

Izuku’s fearful shout permeated his clouded mind, and there was a snap somewhere deep in Toshinori’s soul. He could feel it. It held the same energy as the final drop of a guillotine blade, or the downward swing of a headsman’s axe.

His organs felt like they were shifting, moving out of the way for something else to come, and his heart dropped hard like the strings that suspended them had been cut. His hands clenched and wouldn’t release, the muscles ever tightening with the sensation of a can being compressed.

Toshinori wasn’t seeing red. He was seeing gray. He was seeing the outline of his kid- his boy -held aloft by the outline of the villain’s murderous hands-

CRACK

Then Toshinori was gone.

“NO!”

Moving faster than any living thing, Toshinori collided with his target and ripped Izuku out of his grasp.

He didn’t stop to consider how it was possible. All the space in his mind was taken up by two thoughts: his boy was in danger, and he’d be damned if he didn’t save him.

Toshinori held Izuku by the waist with one arm and barrelled through the villain with his shoulder. His arms burned, but they didn’t hurt. They burned with the fire of his anger, and his muscles rippled underneath the skin, surrounding his bones like solid lead around a steel frame.

His back roiled, and Toshinori bellowed at the sensation of the bones and muscles superheating and solidifying like liquid metal. His body rocked with the shockwaves and made him stumble, but his grip on his boy was absolutely unyielding.

The villain was winded, and he hacked on phlegm and air, his nose pressed into the dirt. Toshinori spared him no more than a glance before he put all of his attention onto his charge, disregarding the spasms of his muscles and the hot throbbing in his bones.

Izuku was nearly unconscious. Nearly, because his green eyes were slits, and he looked to be at least partially aware. He couldn’t keep Toshinori’s gaze for very long, and he was trembling like a small pebble during an earthquake, making small, abrupt gasping noises as he did.

His neck was red swollen, clearly to become a blackened purple before the day was out, if he made it that long. There was blood under his fingernails and caking into his hair, and speckles of it could be seen on the inside ring of his lips, sprinkling more with every wheezy exhale he managed to make.

As gentle as he could, Toshinori brushed Izuku’s bangs away from his face, cradling the back of his head with his other hand, blood seeping through the spaces between his fingers. He kept his neck still and straight as he physically could; without a brace to keep him stable, not knowing if that snap was Izuku’s neck, Toshinori was on his own.

“Izuku,” Toshinori breathed. “Izuku. Look at me. Look at me, my boy. Come on, kid. Come on! Please!”

He didn’t dare to try and pat the boy’s face to gain his attention; he was too terrified of disrupting the delicate balance of life he’d managed to achieve, too scared to send his boy into shock.

Izuku didn’t respond well. He tried to look at Toshinori, but his gaze just wasn’t strong enough to hold. His eyes were too dull, Toshinori noted with the cold rail spike of panic that drove itself straight through his chest. Too dull, too close to losing that spark of light that Toshinori had fallen in love with. Too narrow for him to see that wide-eyed, bright, adoring gaze that had become Izuku’s trademark.

“You’re okay, my boy, you’re okay. You’ll be okay,” Toshinori whispered to himself under the presupposition that Izuku would hear it. “I’ve got you, son. I promise. I promise, Izuku.”

Aside from a sluggish, delayed blink, Izuku didn’t otherwise react. Toshinori pet his hair with one hand and supported his head with the other, and both hands quickly became sodden with blood. Head wounds bleed a lot, he knew, but he didn’t know if they should be bleeding this much.

“I need an ambulance!” Toshinori came to his senses and screamed at the top of his lungs to anyone who would listen. “I need an ambulance! He needs help!”

“Yagi!” Someone screamed. He didn’t know who. Didn't care who.

Izuku blinked again. Slower.

Then his mouth opened to expose the blood that had been pooling from his split tongue and he choked, spraying his lips and flecking red onto Toshinori’s face.

“T-...T-”

“Shhh!” Toshinori hushed him, harsher than he'd meant to and too scared to control his volume. “Shhh, Izuku. Don’t- don’t try to speak, kid. I’m getting you help. Help’s coming, help’s coming my boy. Don’t-”

Izuku hacked again, harder. Wetter. Toshinori stopped his rambling and tried to prop him up so he wouldn’t suffocate. When Izuku started gagging, Toshinori rushed to tilt him on his side so he could let the bubbling blood drool out of Izuku’s mouth, staining the filthy ground red.

“That’s okay, kid. It’s okay. Let it out, let it out,” Toshinori whispered to him. “Help is coming. You’ll feel better soon. Just hold on for a little while longer, my boy. A little while longer.”

He didn’t know when. He knew someone had to have heard his cry, but Toshinori was still terrifyingly alone, desperately holding onto the fragile life of his favorite person.

With his waning strength, before Toshinori could stop him, Izuku lifted his trembling hand. He didn’t lift it high, and he moved slow, but he brought it closer and closer to his own head.

Toshinori assumed he was in pain, trying to stave it off, and almost took Izuku’s hand to bring it back down until he saw his boy take a handful of his damp green curls and tug.

Then Toshinori realized.

“Damn it Izuku, no!” He snatched Izuku’s hand from his hair and held it tight, as tight as he dared. “How could you-? Why are you-? D-don’t worry about the damn quirk! How-How can you even think about the quirk while you...y-you're...”

Toshinori didn’t complete his sentence. He refused.

Because his boy was dying.

“Oh God, Izuku,” Toshinori sobbed. “Izuku, don’t- just hang on, Izu. Please, hang on for All Might, kid. Please, please don’t go.”

Izuku didn’t appear to hear him, but his lips moved delicately, wasting his precious energy in forming words that Toshinori couldn’t make out. Drops of water splashed onto Izuku’s bloodied face and Toshinori startled when he thought it had started to rain.

It hadn't. Toshinori had just started to cry.

Izuku made another choked noise, and Toshiori shushed him weakly once more. His voice gave out underneath him, reducing his pleas to weak whispers.

“Shh, shhh, shhh, I’m here. All Might’s here, bud. “Toshinori threw caution to the wind and lifted his boy’s body- not a body yet. He’s not a body yet -onto his lap. He held Izuku like a child, cradling his head and neck and hugging his boy close. “I’ve got you, my boy. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.”

Toshinori could only wonder where the days had gone where he could just proclaim those words and everything in the world would right itself.

The cold fist of fear that had been squeezing around his heart clenched hard when Izuku jerked. He jerked like he had been electrocuted, a gargled cough catching in his throat and more blood draining from his mouth. He jerked again. His legs and arms were taut and freezing cold. He was still breathing; how, Toshinori had no idea, but the frigid, black feeling in his gut told him that he wouldn’t be for long.

Toshinori held tight to Izuku as he seized. He kept his neck as straight as he could, whispering nothing and giving him impossible promises, sobbing all the while.

He hadn’t felt this way when Nana died. His heart had broken, and the world became a bleak, dull color for a long time after. But it hadn’t left him feeling so shattered. Like the fiber of his being was being ripped apart. Like his heart had shriveled and died in his chest. Like every hopeless, terrified sob ripped his soul out.

Watching his successor, his pride and joy, his boy, fall apart in his hands...nothing could compare. Not a single thing

Izuku started to hiccup in his seizure, and his hands flailed out for the first time, seeking for something or someone to grab and anchor himself to life, and Toshinori grabbed him and held him.

He held him. That was all he could do. He held him tight and listened to the stutter of his chest and watery lungs, soothing him and telling him he was okay. He wasn’t. And he knew that Izuku knew that. But he refused to acknowledge any other outcome.

Toshinori gave up on waiting for help. If it was coming, it would have been there by then. All that was left now was…

Izuku opened his eyes one more time and met Toshinori face to face, still jolting and caught in the throes of his coughing. Toshinori was weeping openly, letting his tears fall onto Izuku’s face, making all of his comforting attempts worthless.

Izuku’s lips moved some more. Whispering. The last of his breath was being wasted on something Toshinori couldn’t hear, and his heart was too empty to feel frustrated or angry with him.

He didn’t need to hear him after all, it seemed. Toshinori could read his lips clearly.

‘I love you’

“Oh,” Toshinori croaked. “Oh, my boy, my precious boy, I-I...I...I love you. I love you too. My boy, I love you so much, please, oh please.”

Izuku wasn’t looking at him anymore. His eyes were still open, and his chest moved the bare minimum, but his eyes, like flickering candle lights, had moved to the dying sky above Toshinori’s head.

“My boy, my Izuku, please, please, stay with me.”

Izuku’s lips stopped moving. He blinked once, and it lasted long enough to nearly cause Toshinori to throw up before he opened his eyes again.

“No, no, no, please. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me! IZUKU!”

The light went out.

Toshinori screamed.

*Tell me what you think! Thanks for reading. Sry if Toshi's OOC I just really like the drama and I find my whumperflies in dialogue uwu. If you have any suggestions on my writing lmk, I love to learn and I want to grow as much as I can :3* *also the person that shouted Toshi's name in the story was Aizawa, but he was busy with other villains and couldn't get over to help. This is covered in the full story which has not been written lol*

*My AO3 name is MatryoshkaDoll413 if you're curious about my published works*

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7hyuns · 4 years

Text

million dollar man

johnny x reader

warnings; nsfw, slight angst, social class discrimination (? kinda), semi public sex

requested; yes a reallyyy long time ago by @cloroxteen sorry and thank you <3

a/n; please appreciate her this took so long

word count; 17.8k

songs; when the party’s over - billie eilish, million dollar man / without you / music to watch boys to - lana del rey

The ceiling was leaking again. Noticing made a sudden fatigue creep into your body, your movements slowing to a stop as you stared up at where the droplets of water began to form before falling. You wondered how long the hole had been there, if it even was a hole or simply damp again, how much it would cost to fix. Whatever it was, you knew it would be too much for you to afford. As it seems everything always is. Even with taking a home that was so closely compact to the industrial part of your city, it seemed nothing was at all cheaper.

You thought how fitting it seemed that you had gotten a leak in your ceiling just as fall began. That gave you far less time than you were going to need to scrounge up the money to get it fixed, especially if you wanted to get it done before the threat of part of your ceiling caving in became all too real. Though you heavily doubted that was something you’d be able to do, and considered the all-too-likely possibility of having to do it yourself this time.

At least last year you had been able to work two jobs, and relatively comfortably considering the length the situation of Chicago’s businesses had been going on. It was only just before Valentine’s day that something had gone awfully wrong at one of the stores you worked at, and it found itself closed down. Forty-eight people had lost their jobs that day, which seemed to make finding another forty-eight times harder in the city. For a while you had thought getting by with the one job would be enough if you were cautious – and bought nothing you didn’t absolutely need – but even that seemed a strain these days.

Not only was it fatiguing to see your ceiling giving up on you, it was painful to think that with the way you were living, you would never have anything you wanted. Even if you did eventually work enough to have the things you needed, which seemed a push from where you were standing watching a puddle form on your kitchen floor. In that moment, living had never seemed more bleak.

You walked around the splattering water to reach the cupboard underneath your kitchen sink, looking for the rusted tin bucket that you’d kept from the other times this had occurred. Dropping the bucket with a clash of hollow tin onto wet tile floors, you heard the drops begin to echo onto the surface. Taking a wary glance at the thin puddle on the floor, you realised you would be better off cleaning it up before you relaxed. You couldn’t find the energy, however, and instead made the short trip from facing the back of your couch to sitting down in the small space of the attached living room. Even these short strides seemed too much for you to comprehend doing, and that feeling remained despite you already tucking your legs up underneath you as you sat on the worn fabric.

The couch itself had seen too many years since it had been gifted to your parents on their wedding day to still be considered comfortable by any means. That was only if you stayed still on it for too long, though, which seemed the only saving grace you could find in it. Much like all of your other large furniture items that you’d filled the two main rooms of your ground-floor apartment with, you hadn’t paid for it. Or even picked it out yourself. Your parents had been kind enough to give you the old stuff that had been lingering in the garage of your childhood home for fear of losing the memories attached to them.

Thinking of them when you had a moment to yourself made you suddenly regretful. For what, you weren’t sure. Maybe being away from them both seemed a better idea at the time you left, or maybe you missed the simplicity of life on the further outskirts of the city. Maybe it was only a longing for your childhood to come back so you didn’t have to think about all of the grown-up things for yourself anymore. You had regretted running off what seemed so far since the day you had done it, but there was nothing more you could do now. Sometimes you could barely remember why you had moved to the city anyway. Chasing big dreams, or following someone who was chasing big dreams. One of you had managed to make those big dreams become real, had turned them into a tangible thing.

Looking around your cosy home, it seemed simple to tell that the one who had struck out wasn’t you. You supposed, with the ever-so-wonderful hindsight, moving straight into the city by yourself at a time so obsessed with glitz and glamour hadn’t been such a fine idea. Though you knew the largest reason you had followed the someone else into the city in the first place had been to earn your own glitz and glamour life-style.

Sitting on your parents couch in a flat with a leak in the ceiling, you were beginning to think you should have done what all other American girls did when they were seeking success and education, and moved to New York. Even your friends had spoken dreamily of the big city, saying that’s the only place you could ever hope to find real culture and, as most of your friends insisted, real jazz.

Chicago wasn’t a place of real culture or real jazz, not in any shape or form. You could guess it was warmer in New York than it was in Chicago, too. If you had flourished in a certain area, or if you had a passion, maybe you could have taken the chance and followed it all the way to New York. But you didn’t and you hadn’t. Instead you had moved further into your home city at the worst possible time and found yourself, along with all of the friends who had stayed, shrouded in fear and crime.

You had to remind yourself that it wasn’t all bad. You had to, because otherwise life seemed far too bleak to keep up with. The light rain that was pattering against your window would get worse, you knew. If not over the course of the night then in the morning, surely. The thought filled you with subdued fear. You wondered if the bucket would be enough to keep your stable through the entirety of the fall and into the winter. That was a tricky line to walk, though. If you left it too long, the ceiling would cave, just as the man who had fixed it last time had insisted.

The night seemed to be taking too long, and there was too much weighing on your mind to consider staying awake any longer. You rose up and took long, dragged footsteps the short few paces to cross over the door-frame into your bedroom. You didn’t bother even turning the light on, feeling as though the weight of the world was suddenly resting on your shoulders. You kicked the door shut behind you, tugging your work short off and stepping out of your skirt to pull an older, looser shirt on to cover yourself.

When you had finally crawled into your bed it seemed colder than you had expected. Even the sheets felt icy and uncomfortable when you tugged them up to cover yourself. There’s little more I can do, you reminded yourself, closing your eyes and hoping for warmth. The thought made you want to laugh, with its consistency in your daily thinking. I hope, I hope, I hope. But what good had that been doing you in the last few years, really? You wondered whether the hope of meeting success had been enough for the boy you’d followed. Judging from where he’d made it in such a short span of time, you could only imagine it had been far more than hope that had given him what he had now.

///

The books had been handled badly in, “The Ox,” for such a long time that even with having worked there for over a year, there seemed so much to do. The owner, who was only ever briefly glimpsed around the bar once a month gathering his reports, never wearing a name tag, was called Sicheng. You had never found the confidence to ask too many questions about the man – what his last name was (though you had discovered within the pages of the book that his full name was Dong Sicheng and he was around your age), where he was from, why he seemed to have a lack of interest in his own business – though that was the same for many people.

Men in bars loved to talk to anyone that would listen, which happened to be the most difficult job of the women pouring their drinks. And, as usual, women – without the exemption of yourself – loved to gossip about the most interesting things they could find out. The happiest moments in your daily life was when you would be preparing to go home, or even when one of the women would spend their break in your mini-office instead of having to leave the building into the fall chill, would seek you out to tell you something exciting they had learnt. Dong Sicheng had become a natural inquisition for most of the people who had him as a boss, as there seemed to be so little available to learn about him. All they had known upon first getting their jobs was his name and that he wasn’t from Chicago, or even America at all.

Over time, with the information the women working at the bar had collected, you’d put together a vague, blurry image of Sicheng in your mind. His name was Dong Sicheng but oftentimes in letters he received he was referred to as Winwin. He was around your age, he was from China though you didn’t know where. And he was very anti-social. Once a month was about as often as he’d show his face. That didn’t seem too strange considering what it was the women said the men who grew too brave in their drunkenness for their own good.

Most of them said he was part of a gang that had come over from China to work with the American gangs, though you didn’t know how realistic that seemed. All the stories about him seemed in ultimate agreement that he worked in some kind of dirty business. Though, with the state the city was in, you weren’t sure you would confidently say that any business wasn’t like to be dirty. Either way, whenever you looked over the books, you knew that something was out of the ordinary. Too many odd payments were made or received with no reason given, or a short, ‘donation,’ if anything. You didn’t think it was probable that anyone would be making donations to some bar on a main street of Chicago when there must have been hundreds of others in the surrounding area.

You stretched out in your seat, staring blankly at the box of papers you had to sort through today. You didn’t think it would too difficult a task, and you thought if you moved quickly you could get it finished before the half-way mark of the day. Not that that meant too much, your work day would still end at the same time whether you rushed through it or not.

Despite knowing it was a littler amount than you had expected, it didn’t seem to make the first two hours pass any faster. By the first time in the day that one of the women who worked on the bar slipped into your office, every blink was beginning to feel like dragging sandpaper over your eyes. You could still feel the ever-present worry about the tin bucket on your kitchen floor; whether it had overflowed even though the rain was only light today, whether it had been knocked over by some mysterious force.

The woman had been working there just under a year, and was, to your surprise, younger than you. She had come from London hoping to find adventure in the ‘new world,’ which to her, had only been Chicago as of yet. Instead of finding her hoped for adventure, she had found a job in a bar that was possibly run by a gang member, but seemed altogether too quiet to keep her satisfied.

She was frowning when she walked into your working room, her brows drawn and eyes shying away from yours. You rose your eyebrows at her as she began to search the room for something else to look at. “Ada?” She offered you a tight-lipped smile. “Is everything alright?”

“No, I, I need to ask a favour.” She mumbled.

“Alright.”

When she looked at you, you made yourself smile reassuringly at her. This seemed to give her a shred more confidence, though she still seemed hesitant to ask. “I forgot to pick my medicine up this morning.” She declared, looking straight at you.

The difficulty she seemed to have asking the favour made you feel an odd sense of fondness rise in your chest. You smiled warmly at her. “Do you need to go and get it now?” She nodded. “So, what can I do to help you?”

She shuffled on her feet, tangling her hands with one another. “I was wondering if, you know if you had less work to do, if you could watch the bar while I go.” She paused, waiting to see if you reacted. “I would be quick! Not any more than an hour, I promise. It’s alright if you can’t, I could just, go, I could go later.”

You judged by her insistence on going now that going later wasn’t so open an option to her. You made yourself smile again to soothe her worries before you stood up. “It’s fine, I’ll be finished with this work within an hour, anyway. I’d be bored silly with nothing else to do.”

This seemed to soothe her enough for her to nod, though still not without hesitation. “An hour.” She repeated, though you assumed that was more to cool her own guilt.

You nodded. “I’ll see you then.”

After offering you an apologetic smile, she turned and left the room. The click of her short heels resounded until she reached the room where all of the workers left their belongings in the morning. When she was gone, you fell back into your same sense of empty tiredness. The fatigue wasn’t a calling for sleep, more so for some miracle gravitational shift that would change your life for the better. Or simply enough for me to not have to return home to a ruined ceiling. The sense of dramatics in your tired eyes made you wonder how much longer you had before that worry was for your whole home. Even the far away idea of it made your stomach turn in anxiety.

You pushed yourself up away from the table, flattening your palms to provide yourself some stability. For a minute, you stayed like that; breathing deeply and expecting the worst of your future. Yes, let’s follow an old friend to inner-city Chicago on the off-chance that we’ll find the same glamour he undoubtedly will. What a fine idea! And what a find outcome it had evidently been, standing in a room that smelt of woodchips and liquor, desperate to return home to a flat that smelt of mould and old furniture.

Once the angry butterflies having their own little riot in your stomach had relaxed, you stood up straight, and heaved in a deep sigh. “An hour,” you reminded yourself, though interacting with drunk men didn’t seem like it had an amount of time to take before it became awful. It’s only the start of the night, you cooled yourself. You turned, pausing only to wish that you were hidden away in the comfort of you bed once more, before walking out in the main area of the bar.

Despite it being early into the night, it was swirling with movement. The band that Sicheng had play in the bar for most of the week were in full swing, though the awe of their music was drowned out by a collection of drunken young men singing along. You slipped to move past them without alerting them of your presence. Finding your way to behind the safety of the bar at the back of the room proved a tasking challenge, with such a mess of bodies and drinks being jostled and knocked, creating even more of real mess that someone would have to clean when this place emptied later. You felt a stab of pity for them, seeing an older man spill half a pint of his beer onto the floor after stumbling into one of his group.

When you finally shut the little gate behind you, you steadied yourself again. The rising noise of music mingling with the murmuring cacophony of too many conversations happening at once was making your ears ring. Fall had meant the lights had to be turned on earlier in the day, with no natural lighting being enough for the workers to find their way around. Even that seemed to make your head spin. Reminder: no more looking for second jobs as a bar maid.

Someone called out at the bar’s edge, an older man with slicked back hair and a three-piece on, though he seemed to have lost the jacket to his suit. The other girl seemed busy loading a set of drinks up onto a tray, so you exhaled heavily and turned to face the man properly.

Putting on a customer friendly smile made you feel the sleepiness settle more obviously on your shoulders. How much longer can I carry my life on my back? That’s not where it’s supposed to be. But that’s where it was, and if you ever wanted it to be anywhere else, you had to work for it. “What can I get you tonight, sir?”

The man smiled, and you tried to guess whether this would go smoothly or make you wish you were anywhere else all over again. If there was any hint of your distaste for the possibility of him being anything other than amiable, he took it. A friendly smile lifted his lips. “Just two whiskeys, please.”

Your heart settled a bit. Nodding, you turned to prepare the drinks. The smell of the whiskey was potent as soon as you pulled the top of the bottle, like the smell of men mingled with the ash-trays that decorated the tables in here. You poured an equal amount into the two glasses and turned to place them on the bar in front of the man.

He smiled again, dropping the money he was clutching in his hand down onto the counter. He inclined his head in the way men said, ‘thank you,’ when they didn’t particularly want to say it. You supposed that was better than nothing. As much as there was no shortage of people crowding, ‘The Ox,’ they all seemed fairly too preoccupied with there conversations, or with shouting along to the band’s music, to be making frequent trips to the bar. That wouldn’t be good for Sicheng you supposed, but it was something you were grateful for.

Then the door opened, and the bruised blue light of the sky outside was visible again. The noise from the street leaked in only slightly, just by the sound of some argument happening on the street. Take the back when you go home today. Last time, you had been blocked in by the police breaking up another fight-gone-violent, and then by a crowd of people desperate for something to see. You weren’t in the mood for that to be how your day ended again.

You glanced over to the large group of men walking in. They were all done-up nicely; three-piece suits with fine jackets that made you assume they were businessmen, slicked back hair, and cigarettes hanging from their lips. You could have written them off normal customers for a bar like this. Though on your second glance you saw enough to make your stomach drop again.

He was dressed much the same as all of his other companions; his suit was a dull grey, his hair was pushed off of his face, though some of it had slipped from its position, and he blew a cloud of smoke from his lips as he looked over to the bar. You thought, I wish I was invisible. You thought, I hope he thinks I look as good as I think he does.

Either way, you wished your were busy with something else, so you didn’t look like you were blatantly staring at him. It seemed to late for a regret like that one, though. He had seen you, and was making it no secret. You were sure if anyone was paying attention, they could see his eyes blatantly take in your figure, or as much of it as he could with the bar covering you. He turned to the group where they were picking out somewhere to sit, and shouted something over to one of them. The boy looked younger than he was, and laughed at whatever comment he made, nodding and turning to say something to another one of them.

Then he started walking towards you. The crowds of people seemed less of a problem to him than they had been for you, as he simply walked calmly on his path to the bar. When someone stumbled into that path, he didn’t seem to notice them at all, letting them tumble their way back out of it. The ease seemed attractive to you, though you guessed it was because you wished you had that same sense of confidence. Just like when you were growing up alongside him, you had to remind yourself he only had the confidence that you didn’t because he was a man. Boys were always brought up to think of themselves as important, even if they weren’t from the city. Girls, well, that was less of a concern with girls.

By the time he reached the bar, the bitterness you had felt at the back of your throat for most of your childhood had returned. You suddenly wished he wasn’t there, that you’d never had to of seen him again. Especially not when I’ve spent all day thinking of my lack of success. Seeing him in his fancy suit with his fancy friends felt like salt was being poured into your wound.

He grinned as he reached the bar, looking you up and down again. When his eyes met yours again, you held back the pride of having him look so blatantly and pleasantly surprised at the way you looked. You made yourself raise your eyebrows expectantly instead. “What can I get you, sir?” You repeated the question as you’d said it earlier. That way you knew he couldn’t interpret it a different way. Is it different? You weren’t sure. Your ceiling back home was leaking, you had to find another job so you could get it fixed, and you were covering on the bar for someone – you didn’t want to think about how much more of you it would take to start chasing him again.

He tilted his head at you, his grin not faltering. “That’s cold.”

You remembered how you’d smiled at the man before, the smile that said ‘I-am-just-here-to-get-payed-and-I-don’t-get-paid-enough-to-deal-with-you’ and mirrored that action again. “Is there a problem, sir?”

A hint of insecurity was beginning to reach his eyes. His grin slipped just slightly before he lifted it back to its original place. “You haven’t forgotten me. I saw how you looked at me when I walked in.”

You didn’t know how to seem cold when he questioned you. My ceiling is leaking, I am looking for another job to fix it, and I’m covering the bar for someone. I don’t have time to be messing around with him. You sighed heavily, letting him get the better of you as he always seemed set on doing. “Oh yes,” you rose your voice so he couldn’t not realise you weren’t serious, “I remember now, you’re Johnny, we were in the same hometown.” You stared blankly at him. “Ready for your drinks now?”

He quirked a brow at you. “Having a bad day?”

The bitterness in the back of your throat tasted like heat and the aftertaste of whisky. “Perhaps I simply don’t like strangers making snide observations of me.”

The grin fell from his face completely, replaced by a look of offended annoyance. “Good thing I’m not a stranger then, isn’t it, ___?”

“You may as well be.”

“I know everything about you. A stranger would know nothing about you.”

You scoffed. “I see getting your own business didn’t make you any smarter.” You glanced around to check no one else was at the bar waiting on you while you bickered. If I lost this job…There was no one but you and Johnny. “And it would be knew.” You corrected.

He recoiled at the comment, and opened his mouth to speak again before pausing. “You’re right.” His expression turned into one of mock understanding. “The girl I knew would never be as cold as you are.”

The comment stung, digging underneath your skin to wait there until you needed substance to be angry with yourself later. “The boy I knew…” you searched his face to try and find any semblance of how he used to be. The boy you’d chased was long gone, that seemed clear as day to see. Seeing it so up-close to you hurt more than it had when you’d simply pictured it. “What happened to him?”

Johnny shrugged. “He grew up.”

“And became a rich man. I suppose that’d change a person easily enough.”

He laughed lightly, nodding. “Only for the better.”

“I’ve met enough rich men to prove you wrong there.”

“Maybe,” his grin had returned. Though it wasn’t like his old smiles used to be, it was still pleasant to see when it lit up his features as it did. “What about your friends, huh?”

Confusion became evident on your features. “What about them?”

He bevelled his head at you. “Are rich women much the same as rich men? I always assumed they were worse, since their money’s being held by the rich men.”

You laughed. “I would certainly be worse if a man was holding my money.” You paused for a moment before shaking your head and laughing again. “You think I’m friends with rich women?”

“Well, rich women tend to convene together.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Tell me Johnny,” you began, placing your forearms on the bare in front of him, “why would I be working in a place like this if I was rich?”

He seemed stunted in his point. He shook his head and searched his face to catch any impression that you were joking. “You don’t,” he paused, as if thinking his original words would be too offensive, “you don’t have money?”

I have a leaking ceiling and I’m looking for another job, and now I’m covering work for someone, though you didn’t want him to know about all of that. “I don’t know where you got that impression.” You made yourself laugh again, trying to swallow how hard the reality of how stuck you were as it began to sink back in. Talking to Johnny had almost been enough for you to forget it for a moment. Though only a short moment.

His features had become drawn and serious. Not even that rang a bell of recognition for you. “You must be alright for money if the only job you need is a bar maid, though.” He suggested. You wondered whose conscience he was trying to subdue.

Something inside of you was begging with you not to tell him that that wasn’t true. It pleaded with you to agree, or to brush it off. To do anything that would mean he didn’t figure out your financial situation. You weren’t sure you could handle that kind of embarrassment today. So you only laughed and shrugged again. “I guess so.” You made sure the smile didn’t slip, and hoped that it looked real enough for him to note see through it. You breathed in deeply again, before he could continue speaking. “So, what can I get you?”

Disappointment clouded his features for a moment before he hummed. “Five whiskeys, please.” Even thinking about the price of the order made you feel far poorer than you already were. When the bitterness rose up again, you made yourself force it back. He worked for his money, you thought, but then, so do I.

You put his order onto a tray, “Should I bring this over to your table?”

“No, no,” he took the tray away from where your hands rested on it. “I’ve got it. Thank you.” He dropped the money onto the bar-top. You thought even that much cash would be close to how much you needed to get your ceiling fixed. And he has that to throw away on drinks. The bitterness had the same aftertaste as the overbearing smell of the whisky did.

He only came back over to the bar ten minutes before Ada was supposed to be back. There was a playful smile on his lips that moved up to meet his eyes, and you tried to make yourself copy the action. You failed, only succeeding in smiling a tight-lipped, half-formed look of vague disinterest in his direction.

The expression didn’t go unnoticed. “Too long a shift?” He joked.

If he was still the same Johnny he used to be, you’d say something like, ‘oh, god, you don’t know the half of it!’ But he wasn’t. There were things your pride couldn’t let you confide in him, especially not in a place like this. So you made yourself shrug, and hoped Ada would be late getting back. “I wouldn’t believe anyone if they told me they enjoyed working.”

Johnny laughed, and placed the tray of empty whisky glasses onto the bar-top. A few of glasses clinked when they tapped together. You glanced over at the clock. “Would you believe me?”

“I meant working class people, not businessmen in fancy suits.” You chided.

He nodded in mock understanding. “Businessmen work quite a lot, you know.”

You shrugged. “So do working class people.”

“You don’t.” He grinned.

‘Oh, god, you don’t know the half of it!’ You forced a laugh to pass your lips. “Being around men like you makes up for however much time you spend tucked away in an office.” You tried to sound teasing, but the aftertaste of bitterness lingered on your words.

He didn’t seem to note any animosity, only laughing with you. “When does your shift end?” He questioned, flattening his palms against the bar-top and looking at you expectantly.

Something about the way his hair was falling into his face, with his head tilted and jaw tightened, made you fell the angry butterflies in your stomach soften enough to flutter. He didn’t look like he used to. Despite his words, and the way his brown eyes looked dark enough to be considered smouldering in the golden light, you made yourself raise your eyes in disapproval. “Flirting with a bar maid? Is that allowed for a man in your position?”

He chuckled, and dropped his head for a moment. When he looked up, you felt a blush reach your cheeks as if you were still the same young girl with a silly crush on the boy who seemed so much greater than you could ever be. “Anything’s allowed for a man in my position.”

You scoffed, “I see your confidence hasn’t faltered.”

“I see your unwillingness to answer questions hasn’t faltered.”

Shrugging, you moved to flatten your own palms on the bar-top. Though the space between your heights seemed infinite, you tilted your head up only slightly. “I don’t have to answer your questions.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“Maybe they’re uninteresting.”

It was his turn to scoff. “Flirting’s too mundane for you?”

“I am a bar maid.”

Johnny hummed. “Are you now?”

You recoiled slightly, pulling your hands off of the bar-top and moving away from him. “What kind of question is that?”

“An interesting one.”

Shaking your head, you looked to the door that lead into the room before the staff exit. There was no sign of movement there. Ada was running three minutes late. Somehow that made you grateful. “An uneducated one, you mean.”

“You don’t dress like a bar maid. Or pour drinks like you do it regularly.” He pointed out.

You sighed. “Why’s that any of your concern?”

He furrowed his brows. “Because if you’re not a bar maid, that means you lied.”

“So? It’s not like you need me to tell you the truth.”

“What was that promise we made?” He asked, leaning further onto the bar-top. “That we’d never lie to one another?”

You scoffed again. “Well, we were nine. I can’t keep all the promises I made to everyone when I was that age.”

He fell into a vague silence. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to say something to fill the empty space, though you couldn’t think of anything. Not being able to have the right words to say to him made you feel strange, almost inept.

“Well, whatever it is that you do,” he began, “when does your shift end?”

You laughed, half in disbelief and half in surprise at the surrealism of what seemed to be happening. “When the bar closes.” He hummed in acceptance of your answer. “Why do you need to know?”

“I wanted to take you to the pictures.”

You laughed. “I’m sure that’s what you wanted to do.” You teased, still feeling the anticipation of Ada showing up despite knowing Johnny had already figured you out.

Johnny raised his hands in mock surrender. “You know me. I’m nothing if not a gentleman.”

I don’t, you wanted to say. Instead you made yourself smile the same smile that was a size too small for you. “As are all businessmen.”

He took the edge in your voice as comedy, and laughed loudly again, before shaking his head softly. “You know, it’s quite dangerous for a lady to be walking home in the dark at the same time as drunken men.”

You made a noise somewhere between a scoff and an amused chuckle. “Well, thank you for your concern, sir, but I’m sure I’ll be just fine.”

He didn’t laugh. His features grew drawn in seriousness as he stared at you. “Do you not want me to walk you home?”

The idea of him seeing the very exterior of your building, with its brittle bricks and boarded up windows where different flats had been shut off, made embarrassment flood through you. Though you were sure even if he happened to miss those things in the dark, he would want to come in for a drink. Then he would see the old furniture, the leaking ceiling, and he would know you had lied to him more than once.

You scoffed at him. “I think your intentions might be worse than you’re implying.”

A grin turned his lips up again. The sight of him relaxing enough to joke made the nerves in your stomach cool slightly. “Would you want them any other way?”

Humming, you saw Ada appear in the doorway. She offered you an apologetic smile, seeing as she was nearing fifteen minutes later than she had promised to be. You imagined the city at this time would be crowded to navigate on foot, so you only shook your head at her. Tapping your fingertips against the bar-top a few times, you offered Johnny a quizzical look before turning your back on him.

“Is your shift over?” He asked, following you along as you walked toward the gate that sectioned off the open area from the alcohol lining the shelves.

A breathy laugh passed your lips. “No,” you responded.

You passed out of the gate, passing Ada as you did. She paused, quirking a brow at Johnny following closely on your heels. Her hand found your wrist as she stopped you lightly in your tracks. “Everything alright?” She asked.

Smiling brightly, you nodded, moving to squeeze her hand, “He’s just an old friend.” You assured.

She studied him for a moment before releasing her grip. “Give me a shout if you need me, alright?”

You smiled at her one last time before moving to make your way back to your small office. Johnny stuck himself to your side, and suddenly getting through the dense crowds of people didn’t seem such a task. There was an energy of confidence radiating off of him that other people seemed to pick up easily enough, scampering out of his path as he walked. When you reached the closed wooden door of your office, you turned to look up at him.

“What are you doing?”

He smiled, tilting his head at you. “Maybe I’d like to see your real work-place.”

Scoffing, you began to push the door open, walking in with him close on your heels. “There you go with your false intentions again.”

Laughing, he stepped inside the small room. “So I’m the one that spends all day tucked away?” You glared over at him, though he only shrugged. “It’s like those fox holes you used to get your foot caught in back home.”

“You used to fall in them, too.” You defended.

He shrugged, walking over to your desk and looking down at the papers discarded there. “You do the books for this place?”

You tilted your head at him, raising your eyebrows expectantly. “Don’t think I have the intelligence for it?”

He smiled, lifting the latest paper you’d last been working, eyes drifting over the words before he looked back at you. “There’s nothing you don’t have the intelligence for.”

His words flattered you more than any of the times people had called you pretty. Strangely, you wished he would notice more of your skills in the work laying out on the table, though you knew that was little enough to show for your intelligence.

When Johnny began walking towards you, you found your breath growing baited. For a moment, it didn’t matter that you didn’t know him as well as you used to. It didn’t even matter that your ceiling was leaking at home, or that you were looking for a second job to try and get it fixed, or that you supposed to be working right now. Even though if I lost this job…

His eyes were searching your face for something. Whether that was hesitancy to kiss him, or a want to kiss him, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was that there was no hesitancy in your mind about him kissing you. Still, he seemed to have frozen in his position, only looking down at you, searching and searching for something you couldn’t see for yourself.

“Johnny,” you mumbled, his name feeling strange in your mouth, “get on with it.”

A grin met his features again. His hands came to cup your face, and for a moment the same searching look came back to him. You moved your own hands to grip the sides of his suit jacket, and tugged him closer. Close enough that you could feel his breath fanning across your face. There was the ever-light hint of whisky on his breath. That was the only thing you could find to dislike about his closeness to you.

When his lips finally met yours, you felt as if something inside of you was settling. Nothing else seemed to matter but the fact that you were finally kissing him. It felt unattached from the dreamy imaginations you’d had about the possibility of kissing him when you were younger. Then, you had always pictured his lips tasting like the candy he used to steal from the shop on the outskirts of the city, and you had pictured his hands feeling soft like the rose petals that grew in his parent’s garden. Now, his lips had the suggestion of whisky on them, mixed with the faintest memory of the cigarette he’d been smoking earlier. And his hands were rougher, and they seemed to shroud your entire face as he cupped it.

The girl version of you would probably have been disappointed at the idea of kissing someone who wasn’t the Johnny she knew. Things, you supposed, had changed quite significantly since you’d moved into the city. And with as little experience – or even basic knowledge – that you’d had with romance, you decided you knew barely enough to know what a relationship was back then. Now, with Johnny’s hands mapping out over your body, something in you decided that this could at least be a learning point. If not of love, then of affection.

When his lips left yours, a flood of disappointment moved through you. As much as a heavy whine wanted to pass from your lips, your pride wouldn’t let it, your lips locking closed. There was amusement lighting up his features, and no matter how hard you tried to force it you couldn’t bring up that bitter feeling again.

You wondered if you should whine again, or if you should complain, or maybe even just pull away and stop playing a game that was so childish in retrospect. At whatever glare had come into your eye, Johnny cocked his head. “Is there a problem?”

You pushed his hands away from you, scoffing as you did. “You’re a tease.”

He hummed, curling his arms around your waist and nodding. “If you don’t want me to tease,” he started, dipping closer to you again, “tell me what you want me to do.”

Drawing away from him slightly, you tried to study him like he had with you. You didn’t know what he’d been looking for, so in turn you didn’t know what you were looking for in him. You felt amusement mingling with excitement inside of you, and only when it met a burst of confidence did you let yourself speak. “Do whatever you’ve been thinking about doing to me all night.”

Another boisterous laugh left your lips. He spun you both around, turning and beginning to walk you both away from the closed door. When you felt the edge of the desk touch the tops of your thighs, you let him lift you. As one hand held you steady against him, the other swiped papers out of the way to make room to set you down. Part of you wanted to be anxious about the work getting muddled, about whatever work you’d already done in the day being wasted, but you couldn’t think about anything other than the way Johnny attached his lips to your neck. Flattening your palms against his chest, you let him begin to push your skirt higher up your legs. When you felt it bunch at your waist, you finally stopped biting back the whine that was sitting impatiently at the back of your throat.

He unravelled himself from you for a moment, “Quite bold of you to assume I’ve been thinking about you all night.”

You whined impatiently again, feeling his hands move higher up your thighs. “Of course you have. I’m a delight.”

He laughed, dropping his head into the crook of your neck to leave more kisses in the bare space there. When you felt his fingers hook into the sides of your underwear, a desperate moan tumbled past your lips. Johnny offered you a mock wary glance. “You’ve gotta be quieter than that if you’re gonna let me do whatever I want.”

You tried to shrug off the words. “I didn’t say whatever you wanted. I said whatever you’d been thinking about.”

“Same thing.” He pulled your underwear the rest of the way down your legs, stopping only to give you a quick glance as you kicked them off. A vague feeling of insecurity came over you then, with your skirt bunched into a roll of fabric at your hips and your underwear discarded on the floor. The feeling wasn’t given very long to grow, with Johnny crouching down in front of the desk shortly after.

There was a look in his eyes that told you he had a million teasing remarks sitting on the tip of his tongue for the sight that greeted him. Though he remained silent as he gripped the backs of your knees and tugged you closer to the edge of the desk. A surprised gasp left your mouth before you had the chance to recover from the shock. You wanted to say that the light chuckle that left his lips was because of something else – some joke his friends had said earlier that he’d only just caught on to – but you knew that wasn’t possible.

Johnny didn’t seem too keen on giving you a clear amount of time to overthink anything. You placed your flattened palms against the desk as he attached his mouth to your heat, curling your lip to bite back the moans that begged to leave your mouth. The noise from outside of the small office seemed distant and drowned out now that all you could fully focus on was the feeling of Johnny’s lips against you. It’s been too long, that’s all it is. Though you wondered if it was really that, or just something too difficult to accept. That maybe this was just another of Johnny’s many skills.

As the coil already began to start forming in the pit of your stomach, you were coming to the vexed realisation that that was going to be the case again. Oddly, even in such an intimate position of him having his head between your thighs, you felt that moving to thread your fingers through his hair would be too much. You wanted to think more about that, but the coil in your stomach was shifting into a pressure that made you try and stutter a warning to Johnny.

But all of a sudden the feeling stopped altogether, and he was pulling away from you slightly. Still with his knees against the floor, he bevelled his head up at you. Your head was spinning too much for you to be sure what expression was casting across your features, but you almost sure it was one of childish irritation. “Problem?” He questioned, running his hands up your thighs from your knees until his fingertips were dancing over your core.

You tried to push your hips forward to gain something more, but the short space you had on the desk prevented you. “Is that you’ve been thinking about?”

“Seeing your face when you start to beg?” He grinned, “Yeah.”

Sighing, you shook your head at him. “I’m starting to think you’re just a bad person nowadays.”

He pulled his fingertips away from you, bringing them to his lips before he spoke again. “Well, just this once, then,” he began, pressing a few light kisses to the inside of your thighs, “I’ll give in and, well, you know – be nice.”

“How kind.”

And then the room felt like it had gone underwater again. The noise that had previously just become loud background volume had turned back into distant, dreamy chatter again. Small moans fought past your mouth, but you reminded yourself of just how awful things would be if anyone caught you in this position. Well, I might finally speak to Sicheng. Nothing’s all bad. But the way Johnny moved his mouth against you made it difficult to think rationally about anything.

When the coil in your stomach began to push against you again, you imagined the worst; Johnny pulling away from you again, or maybe even someone wandering in. By the time you felt the coil snap, you were too distracted by the euphoria of it to think of anything else. It’s just been too long…but you weren’t even sure that by the time your bitterness for Johnny reappeared you would be able to say he had made you feel that good for any reason other than sheer talent.

He remained silent for a few moments, kissing the inside of your thighs softly as they shook slightly in the aftermath. When he rose to stand up, he placed your underwear back at your feet, pulling them up until they reached where your thighs met the table. You pulled in a breath to steady yourself and then let your legs drop onto the ground, lifting your underwear up until they were back into their correct place.

Johnny was looking at you with his head tilted. You glanced over at the old clock that hung above the door and saw it was two minutes until the under-boss for Sicheng would come and throw everyone out. You usually tried to get out five minutes or so before this happened – as did all the women – to give them a safe head-start. Thinking about walking home with packs of drunk men staggering around in every direction, with the high likelihood of rain, sounded like the last thing you wanted to do.

“You gonna let me drive you home or am I supposed to walk you back?” Johnny asked, pulling your attention back to him.

You made yourself laugh, even if the question didn’t directly suggest itself to be a joke. “I guess I’ll let you drive. Only because I wouldn’t want you making two journeys for me.”

He hummed, pulling the door open and waiting for you to walk out in front of him. “You’re such a delight.” He teased, falling in behind you as you made your way through the packs of people. It felt odd that not one of the people crowded into this room seemed to have checked the time enough to try and get out before the rush. Maybe you were just trying to think of anything other than the way Johnny’s hand was resting on your hip so he didn’t lose you as you directed the two of you to the main door. When your hand caught the handle, you hesitated, wondering if you should scrap this entire idea and go out your usual way. Something about leaving the building without telling anyone you’d finished your shift felt unnatural, and made a small tremor of anxiety make itself present.

But there was too little time left for you to push your way back through the crowds to the opposite side of the room. Instead, you pushed the handle down and pulled the door open to let the smell of the city into the main bar room. After a while of living in the middle of Chicago, you got used to the collide of different smells surrounding you at all times. Though in that moment, with your head feeling fuzzy and your legs feeling half as strong as they usually did, everything seemed more present than it really was.

Especially the cold. The second Johnny gave you a light push outside, the icy air curled around your bare arms and the sliver of skin exposed where your socks didn’t meet the end of your skirt. Part of you wanted to push yourself further into where Johnny had wrapped his arm tightly around your waist, but the other – still far more dominant – part of you refused to look like you needed anything from him. Rain was falling harshly against the ground, splashing up to greet your grey socks and darken in shade.

No matter how much you wanted to feel like you were entirely governing the moment between you and Johnny, you couldn’t do much more than let him guide you in whatever direction you needed to take to reach his car. You took the chance to glance up at him, and despite the lack of light, you could tell he still looked just as good as he had when he’d walked into the bar. His hair was growing damp from the rain now, as you imagined yours was, too. But more strands were starting to fall into his face, and he was looking straight ahead with the few directing lights shining in his eyes. He doesn’t look like he used to. Somehow that didn’t seem too important anymore.

He opened the car door for you, grinning tiredly as he gestured you inside. You didn’t know whether to laugh or thank him. If he was the same Johnny you used to be friends with, you would have just laughed and slapped his hand away from the car door. Now that you were both outside, in the real world, the bitterness had transformed into your usual non-purposeful nerves around the businessmen that came into the bar daily.

“Thank you,” you mumbled quickly, shifting in your seat as he shut the door for you. Before he walked to his side of the car, he offered you a quizzical look and then a polite smile. The same polite smile you’d offer a stranger if they had just thanked you for doing something kind for them. Your chest felt drawn and tight.

When he started to navigate his way away from the other swarm of cars beginning to come back to life after being sat in a parking spot all night, you began to try and articulate an excuse. Or think of another street you knew well enough to tell Johnny that that’s where you lived. It had to be somewhere nicer than the one you lived on now, but not so nice that it would seem implausible for you to afford it mostly by yourself.

Johnny turned out onto the main street by the bar you had been working out for a little over a year. A street you had walked up and down a hundred times. “So, where am I going?” He looked across at you, a few strands of hair reaching far enough down his forehead to begin to cover one of his eyes.

You hadn’t been given enough time to think of an excuse that would work well enough to go past Johnny. Instead you only rattled off your address and hung your head, too nervous to see the look on his face as he realised. Whether that was realised you had not-so-directly been lying to him or that you were poorer than he had first imagined, you didn’t know. All you knew for sure was how businessmen got when they were around people with less money than them. You didn’t want to think of Johnny looking at you like that.

The rest of the drive passed in silence. Not an awkward silence, but in the few sneak glances you took at Johnny you could only see him focused ahead on the road. Part of you was surprised that he even knew his way to your street, as you could safely assume he’d never been there before. The rain was hitting the roof of the car loudly, though you found yourself more entranced with the people rushing along the streets outside.

The car passed one of the larger shops in the city, with it’s ‘open,’ sign still high in the window. In the window away from the door, there was a sign that read, ‘Help Wanted.’ A small gleam of hope lifted into your chest. For once, you wanted to feed into the idea that luck was on your side. That hope translated quickly into worry. Worry that you wouldn’t get the job, or that if you didn’t make Johnny stop the car right there and get straight out to apply for it then it would be gone in the morning – even the worry that the other good things that had happened through the day were beginning to make you delusional to see what you wanted.

You stayed silent and let Johnny drive you the rest of the way home. When the car slowed to a stop, part of you didn’t want to get out, in fear of the dream-like haze of the day disappearing. Getting out of the car, closing the door on Johnny – it felt all too much like waking up from some sweet dream. I just don’t want to get out into the rain, that’s all. But lying to yourself seemed to be getting harder and harder.

Pushing the car door open, you tried to think of something to say. A goodbye, maybe, or maybe a flirty suggestion of seeing him again. If it was still the Johnny you had known, maybe you would make that joke. But the man sat in the car with you wasn’t.

When your pause had become awkward and unnaturally long enough for him to tell you didn’t know what to say, Johnny breathed in sharply. “Will I get to see you around, then? Or do I have to charm you into talking to me every time I see you?” He asked, making himself smile to soothe your evident nerves.

It didn’t work, but you appreciated his effort. “Maybe I like to see you make an effort.”

He laughed then, and you wanted to feel confident that it was genuine. The rain was falling harder. “Well, I better get used to it, then.”

A grin turned your lips upwards. Even if it didn’t feel like you were talking to the Johnny you used to know, the Johnny you had followed all the way to the city for the slightest hope of doing as well as he had, you thought you might be able to get used to this new one. “You better.” You assured him, pushing the car door the rest of the way open.

The light feeling had returned to your chest as you hurried to your door. An odd sense of gratitude was in your stomach that he hadn’t made any mention of your living space. You hadn’t gone back to the back room to get your jacket, so you gave morning you a congratulations for forgetting to take her key out of her breast pocket after leaving the house. Johnny offered you one more wave before he drove off, rain water rising from the floor and spraying up as you stood in your doorway to watch.

When he was gone and the door closed behind you, you let out a deep breath you hadn’t known you were holding. Reality was sitting at your kitchen table waiting for you to accept her, as much as you didn’t want to. You dropped your key onto the bowl that held it on the kitchen side, and looked at the floor. The rusty metal bucket had overflowed, water just starting to tip over the side.

You knew you should empty it out and put it back, but looking up, the small leak seemed to have grown larger. The man did the say the ceiling was at risk. You pulled out one of the two chairs at your kitchen table and sat down, staring at the forming puddle. Where earlier in the day irritation and bitterness had been rising to press against your chest, now there was only faint emptiness and a perpetual longing for something you couldn’t recognise. It made you think of the papers thrown all over the floor of your office back at work. It made you think of Johnny, in a strange way. It made you think of the help wanted sign in the window of the shop. Tomorrow, you promised yourself. When you got that second job tomorrow, things would only be on the up.

///

By the time you got to work the next day, you were late. Or you would have been if Ada hadn’t told the under-boss that you had an appointment to be at that morning. You took that as a thank you for her being late back the other day, and a good thank you at that. Though that had been the only positive for the day. Applying for jobs always set you too on edge, made you too nervous. I’ve done it now, but it was the waiting you hated most.

The rest of the day you had spent tucked away in your office, picking up your papers and re-organising them while ignoring the growing want to see Johnny that was spreading through you. You had gone a year and a half without so much as speaking a single word to him, you were sure you could go a few weeks.

And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. For the entire day as you finished the work you hadn’t done yesterday and the work you needed to get done today, you were thinking about him. From the way his hands felt on you to the way his lips felt on you. Even down to the way he spoke. All of it had made you feel almost like you had your friend back, only he was a little different. Maybe you just felt like you had a friend again.

He showed up again when you had almost finished your day’s work. You had paused midway through writing a sentence to try and guess if the pattering noise you heard was rain or something else. It had made dread fill up within you, imagining the bucket filling up and soaking into your floorboards again. Though, partially, the blame for that is on me. But if it happened again, you didn’t know if the floorboards would hold steady or start to rot.

Then you heard a knock on the door of your office, and out of fear of it being the under-boss coming in to press more about your late appearance you only yelled back a quick, “Come in.” And then he was walking straight into your office, hesitating only to see if there was another chair somewhere. When there wasn’t, he settled to lean against the walking, kicking the door shut absentmindedly behind him.

You rose your eyebrows at him, like your natural instinct when you saw him in any mundane setting was to question it. “What’re you doing here?”

He didn’t laugh in response. His lips didn’t even twitch upwards in a grin he couldn’t quite suppress. The only feeling you could distinguish from him was light vexation. “Doyoung mentioned that you went around there looking for a job.”

It surprised you that Doyoung and Johnny even had any ties to one another. Their lines of work didn’t seem as if they’d cross at any point, though you supposed most men in any kind of business would seek each other out to grow their circle of affluent friends. Bitterness was resting in your chest again.

“And?”

Johnny made a face. “And why do you need another job?”

You dropped your pen down onto the desk. “Do I need to tell you every time I consider making a decision now?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we? That’s what friends do.”

You thought about the events of yesterday and wondered what the answer to that was. “What do you want me to say?” You asked after a moment.

He breathed in sharply. “I don’t know. Tell me why you need another job or something. This one seems perfectly fine.”

Perfectly fine, but not enough. Nothing ever is. You didn’t want to have to tell him that though. But thinking of lies on the spot had never been your strong point. Now, sitting there right in front of an attractive stranger-who-isn’t-a-stranger, your skills seemed to have gotten even worse. “I need the money.” You muttered finally, keeping your voice low enough for you to hope that he wouldn’t hear it at all.

The room was too small and the noise coming from the main room was too low. He heard, made a face of acceptance, and then fell into silence. You didn’t know whether his lack of response was a good sign, that maybe your work ethic had surprised him into silence. Though you could only guess his thought process was one of pity. The thought made you cringe.

“You can’t get a job there.” He sounded apologetic.

You looked up at him, screwing your face up. “What do you mean?”

He loosened up, stepping away from the wall and further into the room. “Dirty money.”

A light laugh passed your lips then. “I’m pretty sure all money you earn in Chicago is dirty.”

He shrugged, though a hesitant smile was beginning to light his features up. “The job’s not for anyone who won’t be…you know, making the money directly.”

You huffed. “Why’d he advertise it in the window, then?”

“Usually everyone’s assumption is that every job in Chicago is a little bit illegal, at least.”

Nodding, you picked your pen back up. All on the up. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. If it was happening to anyone else, you thought you might find it funny. But the leaking ceiling, the looking for a second job, the never being able to afford anything other than necessities – that was your life. You couldn’t laugh at it until it wasn’t anymore.

“Why do you need the money?” Johnny asked quietly, the floorboards creaking as he moved closer to you.

You laughed bitterly, not letting yourself look up at him in case there were tears in your eyes. “You know, the normal stuff. And…” you didn’t want to say it.

“And?” He pressed.

“God, I don’t know.” You sighed, suddenly feeling all too suffocated, pushing your chair away from the desk. “I’ve been looking for another job for a while now.” You murmured, hoping it would explanation enough for your sudden drop in interest to the conversation.

Johnny felt back into a silence that you could only describe as pensive. The room itself seemed to still in its wait for his answer. The only sign that the moment hadn’t completely frozen in time was the noise and movement coming from the main room.

He cleared his throat, swiping away invisible dust from his hands before mumbling a quick, “I could help you out.”

You were shaking your head before he finished speaking. Often times, handouts either came because of pity or in expectancy of being payed back. You wanted neither of those things. “I’m not taking handouts.” You declared, picking your pen back up to provide some security for yourself.

For a minute he looked hesitant. Really, truly hesitant – like he didn’t know if he should say what he wanted to. In a moment of boldness, he let the words slip out. ��What if it wasn’t a handout?”

“What?”

“What if you, sort of, worked for me?”

You put the pen back down. The action was beginning to feel repetitive. “I thought you didn’t want me working with dirty money directly.”

“Who said my money was dirty?” You scoffed, looking back to the desk as he sighed. “I didn’t mean, well, I didn’t mean working, as in typical working.”

Scepticism showed on all of your features as it ran through you. “Get to the point, Johnny.”

The same hesitation came back to him. “There’s a lot of, parties, and dinners and stuff when you’re in business.” He started. You nodded and gestured for him to continue. “Everyone brings someone with them, but I, well, I don’t.” He went silent.

“Are you asking me to come to dinner parties with you?”

“Sort of.”

“And you’d pay me for it?”

“Yes.” It was a statement but he made it sound closer to a question.

You breathed out heavily, the confusion making your head throb. “Why would you do that? Couldn’t you just ask a girl on a date?”

He shrugged, as if making up a reason was too much for him to be bothered with. “I’d buy you nice dresses for them, if you wanted. You could come spend some nights at my house. Maybe, if you liked it, you wouldn’t have to work here at all.”

“Johnny,” you mumbled, standing up, “I really don’t understand. What would I be doing?”

His arms curled around your waist. “Pretending,” he said, “pretending that you’re in love with me and that we’re one of those icy affluent couples.”

“Why pretend when you could go out and make the real thing for yourself?”

“How would that help you?”

“You’re doing this for me?”

He shrugged again. “Well, half and half.”

Despite yourself, you laughed lightly, dropping your head against his chest. “I’d be getting payed, like I get payed here? To go to fancy dinners?”

“If you needed me to.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, you know, if you spend some time at my place and liked it, you could just move in.”

Part of you wanted to recoil, though you stayed in your spot. “That seems like a quick decision.” You huffed. “It all sounds very nice, Johnny, but what happens when you actually meet someone you love? Where would I go?”

“Can’t you just let me answer that question if we get there?” Something about the ‘if’ gave you a childish hope.

This is ridiculous. I don’t even know how to make conversation. What a stupid idea. But your ceiling was going to cave in. Even if it didn’t, it was still leaking. You had been looking for a second job for far too long now. You hated the smell of whisky and men packed into bars.

You breathed out deeply, half in a sigh and half in exasperation at yourself. “Well, things really can’t get any worse.” You untangled yourself from him, searching his face again before answering. “I accept.”

His lips lifted, the same amusement from the day before coming back to his eyes. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered nervously. I’m ridiculous. How stupid can I be? “You accept?” He grinned.

“Sure. Why not?”

///

The first dinner was three days later. You had been coming and going to your work at the bar as usual, too nervous to accept that Johnny’s offer had been real and not some desperate fever dream. In those three days, he’d come by for a few moments at least on each, usually muttering the same comment about you not needing the job anymore. You never had an answer other than a shrug, too embarrassed to ask, ‘is this real? Is this really happening? Have I really gotten lucky?’

His car was waiting outside for you when you left, just as he had promised earlier in the day that it would be. When you climbed inside, taking a nervous glance at him like you would a stranger you got into a car with, he chuckled lightly. Sometimes you wondered if he looked at you as a stranger or as someone he knew. Or maybe something in-between.

“I wanted to get you a dress.” He told you, driving you down the main-street in a direction you hadn’t been in before. It seemed uncomfortably surprising to you to see the lines of stores you had never had the money to even consider going into before. It was even more uncomfortable to imagine spending someone else’s money in them.

“Are you sure?” You asked, though you weren’t sure why. If he decided he wasn’t, you were back to the starting line.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’m not seeing how beneficial this is to you. I’m not giving you anything back.”

He grinned over at you, laughing softly as he moved one of his hands to grip your thigh. “Would you believe me if I said the pleasure of your company is enough benefit?”

Scoffing, you shook your head, looking back out the window. “I just might, since I’m such a delight and all.”

Laughing again, he slowed the car to a stop. When you looked up at the shop, you couldn’t stop yourself from gaping. From the outside, you could tell the inside was nicer than your house. And a single dress inside was probably worth more than everything you owned.

You wanted to ask him if he was sure again, but instead you just let him come round and open the car door for you. You slipped yourself out, feeling his arm curl around your waist as soon as your feet hit the floor. He walked you both up to the door, and in an odd way you felt like you were about to be turned away. In your clothes, looking at the glossy interior of the building, you felt out of place and awkward. Like everyone would be able to tell the second they saw you.

The woman at the desk smiled brightly as you approached. “What can I help you both with today?” She asked, smiling again. You felt surprise purely at her customer service. No one at the bar was payed enough to put that much effort into their delivery.

Johnny sensed your lack of confidence in answering. “We have a reservation under Seo.” He told her.

She nodded, still smiling, and looked down at the books, flipping around a few pages before looking back up. “Of course, sir.” He moved then, walking you both backwards.

He grinned at the surprise on your face. You felt like a child in a playground far too big for them. He gestured to the door furthest away from the entrance. “That’s the ladies dressing room. Tell them you have the Seo reservation.”

You nodded. “Where are you going?”

Laughing, he gestured to a different door. “To the men’s dressing room.”

“Right.” You shook your head.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, shoving you lightly in the direction of the ladies dressing room. “Don’t be nervous.” He assured, turning away from you and towards the other door.

You paused anxiously, tapping your knuckles quietly against the wooden door. The speed at which it sprung open in front of you almost made you stumble back. But the woman standing on the inside was smiling brightly, and there was something in the curves of age on her face that made a strange part of you feel safe, like her face itself was friendly.

“Seo reservation?” She asked, moving aside to let you walk in.

“Uh, yeah.” You answered, looking at your hands as you tangled your fingers together nervously.

She smiled softly at you, the most typical way of showing pity. She caught your hands and pulled you in the direction of rows upon rows of dresses of all different fabrics and shapes. “Is this your first time here?” You nodded. “Do you know what your reservation says you’re getting today?” Johnny had failed to mention that, you shook your head. She laughed. “Well, you’re getting a dress for a dinner party, and another for today.”

You didn’t even want to think about how much a single one of the dresses here would cost, let alone two. “Who, uh, who picks those?”

She smiled softly again, giving you the same look you’d give to a child who had hurt themselves. “I’ve picked out some options for you to choose from.” You nodded, watching as she moved to a certain row and pointed them out. All of them were prettier than all of the things you owned.

It took you longer than it should have to pick two of the dresses. Every one seemed too nice to see put back on a shelf somewhere until some other rich woman decided that was pretty enough for her. Thinking of ‘some other rich woman’ was also odd, though for different reasons.

Putting the dress on was the strangest thing you’d done in a while. Stepping into the fabric felt like accidentally stumbling into Johnny’s world. You felt inept, and the tightness of the dress only served to make you feel suffocated. Though the woman gushed a thousand different compliments as she saw you finally dressed. You wondered whether that was part of the job, or genuine joy at seeing you out of your own clothes that now seemed impossibly drab in comparison.

When it was finally time to leave, the woman explained that the dresses would be payed for at the front desk. She handed you two price tags and wished you a nice day. You clutched the paper tightly in your hands, too scared to look at the price for either. The idea of having to add two numbers that you could only imagine were inconceivably high together was making your head hurt already.

Johnny was already out by the time you were walking back to the front desk. His back was to your door, and he was busy throwing money down on the counter. You felt a desperate need to ask if he was sure again. But then, as he’d said himself, why wouldn’t he be? He didn’t seem like the type of person to not know what he was thinking. Unlike you, who couldn’t decide whether or not you were even okay with having two dresses bought for you. Even if I could never buy it for myself.

He turned around when he heard your shoes on the floorboards. He breathed in sharply, and made a quiet humming sound as you got closer. Despite your wish to keep your head up high, the nerves drove you to drop your head as you reached him, handing him the paper price tags. He took a quick glance down at them both, placing them on the front desk before taking more money out and sliding it over to the woman.

The ease in which he did it made you breathe in sharply. You weren’t sure if that was because of how much it was to throw away, or the innate attractiveness of the action. The memory of that day in your office was slowly coming back into your mind. A flush of heat was creeping up your neck to meet your cheeks.

“Johnny?”

He hummed as he looked down at you, slipping his arm around his waist as the woman handed you both back the clothes. “Yes?”

“Where are we going now?” You asked, trying to keep your steps in line with his ones as he walked you both back outside.

“Lunch, maybe. Do you want something to eat?” He asked, walking round to open the car door for you.

After you’d settled back into your seat, you looked at him, curling your fingertips around the inward sides of his jacket. “Like back to your house?” You mumbled, feeling his free hand grip your thigh.

A complacent grin turned his lips upwards as he cocked his head at you. “Do you think I have a café in my house?” He teased. You groaned, gripping the sides of his jacket tighter. He pressed a light kiss to your lips, moving away before you could deepen it. “You know I didn’t mean you have to sleep with me for money, right? Because that’d feel a little too much for me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I promise I’m not looking to get payed for this.”

There was an odd look in his eye for a fleeting second before it was replaced with amusement again. “As long as you promise.” You nodded, and he hummed in disapproval. “You have to use your words.”

You paused, wondering how long you could hold out if you decided not to say it. You didn’t decide to test it out. “I promise.” Then the warmth of his body was replaced with the cold air and he was moving back around to his side of the car. You slipped your legs inside properly and shut the door, hoping to close out the promise of more rain.

The drive back was more excruciating that you had wished it would be. Even staring out the window at the passing of new buildings wasn’t enough to keep you distracted from the weight of Johnny’s hand on your thigh. Whenever you stole desperate glances over at him, he seemed entirely unbothered, face blank and eyes staring forward. Rain was beginning to patter against the roof, though for once it didn’t worry you. It only felt like background noise. You barely noticed when the car stopped moving, too focused on the focused look on Johnny’s face. It felt stupid, and verging on childish, to be so enamoured with the simplest things that he did.

For a moment after he stopped driving, he caught your eyes, tilting his head at you. He was searching again, looking for something that he didn’t seem to be able to find. In a strange way, it felt a lot like you were doing the same. He pushed the door on his side open and slipped himself out into the rain. You mirrored his action, though he got to your side before the door swung open properly. He caught it before it could slam into him, cocking his head at you and quirking a brow.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, letting him offer his hand to help you out. Whenever you’d been caught in rain before, it hadn’t seemed of any importance at all. Now, wearing a dress that cost more than you were willing to think about, an anxious need to be somewhere dry was overcoming you.

Johnny didn’t seem to have the same concern. His pace was almost leisurely, his arm curled around your waist as seemed his favourite resting place. You couldn’t particularly complain about the offhanded affection anymore, the warmth in his hold far nicer than the biting cold of the outside air.

If you had been gaping up at the exterior of his house, the inside was almost enough to knock you off your feet. It was nicer than any house you’d been in before, let alone your own. The hall that opened straight from the front door was decorated with golden-painted wooden furniture and ornate fixtures that made your picture of the price tags from today look like child’s play. You swallowed thickly, suddenly self-conscious of every movement you made against the marble of the floor. Everything seemed impossibly fragile, even if rationally it wasn’t. The idea of brushing against any of the items in just the hall made you nervous.

“You like it?” Johnny asked quietly, curling his arms around your waist as you stared at the painting on the wall. He littered light kisses across your neck, and you tried to clear your head enough to answer.

“It’s rich.” You mumbled.

He exhaled a laugh, his breath fanning across the skin of your neck. “Rich in what?”

“Being rich.”

He shook his head, turning you towards him. “You’re alright.” He said quietly. “It’s okay.” He assured.

You tilted your head at him. “I know.”

“Do you know that you fit here?” He asked, cupping your face in his hands.

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “I don’t,” you mumbled, kissing his fingertips, “but I’m not sure I mind that.”

He hummed, turning you in the direction of the stairs. “As long as you’re alright.” He mumbled, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Walking ahead of him felt unnatural, especially when you didn’t know what direction you were taking the two of you. But with his hands gripping tightly onto your hips and pushing you in the right direction, the nerves felt dulled and unnecessary. “You know I am,” you mumbled. His lips were still attached your neck, now leaving marks in their path downwards.

When you stumbled into a closed door, Johnny detangled himself from you. The few seconds it took for him to push his bedroom door open seemed like too long to have his hands away from you. He tugged you into the room behind him, slamming his lips against yours as soon as you’d pushed the door shut behind you. His hands pushed your dress up as he spun you in a different direction. Your lack of awareness about your surroundings was something you knew you should be thinking about, but the feeling of his hands mapping out over your body seemed too good to waste with letting your mind wander anywhere else.

When you felt the bed hit the back of your knees, you were reminded again of the day in your office. A flush of heat moved through you as you tightened your grip on Johnny, letting him lift you just enough to be able to put you down on the bed.

The sheets were soft and silky underneath you, and even the mattress felt welcoming enough to cool any nerves left over under the surface. His mouth was travelling down your neck again, though this time he was pulling your dress down to get more access. The way he adjusted the fabric so carelessly caused your heart to rise into your throat, being able to imagine nothing but him throwing away that pile of money for nothing.

He didn’t seem too intent on letting you have too much time to think. With his body hovering over yours and his hands getting closer to where you wanted them, your brain didn’t seem to want to work properly. You couldn’t particularly blame yourself. Small hums of his name were the only thing leaving your mouth, even if the strange fear of having another room full of people so close to you still lingered.

Johnny moved further down your body, kissing over the satin fabric of your dress that was starting to feel all too suffocating as you laughed lightly at him. He grinned lazily, pushing your dress to bunch up at your waist like he had done with your skirt. You let your head fall back further into the comfort of the sheets and the pillows.

He curled his fingers into your underwear, pulling them down your legs until you kicked them the rest of the way off. The familiarity of the action made your lips lift upwards. His lips pressed lingering kisses to the inside of your thighs, this time, he took his time to leave marks behind. Even if his actions weren’t supposed to be teasing, you couldn’t help but feel that way. A light whine left your mouth as you lifted your hips up from the mattress.

Johnny only laughed, slipping his forearm over your hips and pushing them back down. He waited another moment, simply observing you as you huffed at him before he moved away from you. Rising up from the bed completely and sitting on the chair at the far side of the room.

“You want me to touch you?” He asked, eyes full of that usual amusement. You swallowed the pride bubbling up in the back of your throat and nodded over at him. “Then earn it.” He declared.

“Or I could just do everything myself.” You grumbled, drawing a laugh from him.

“You could, but you won’t.”

He was right. Your curiosity was too peaked to not even try to flatter him. “What do you want me to do?” You asked quietly, suddenly too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

He hummed, as if in mock deep thought. The sound drew another frustrated huff from you, the heat from earlier still making your cheeks flush. The room fell into silence as you stared at the silk sheets. When you worked up your nerves enough to catch his eye again, he was observing you patiently. The look in his eye made you press your thighs together.

For a long minute it felt like he was just taunting you, waiting to see how much you could take before you had to look away again. The feeling of being challenged was enough of a reason for you to keep your eyes focused on him, even if the confidence in your gaze was artificial.

A hint of pride was in his eyes when he finally moved, gesturing down at his lap and beckoning you forward. The same air of confidence and power was radiating from him as when he made his way through crowds and watched people move out of his path. It was something you weren’t sure you disliked anymore. There was no bitterness in the back of your throat as you swallowed, only a vague ball of nerves.

You rose from the bed, almost slipping off and onto the carpeted floor when your dress fell back into place and glided along the silk of the sheets. You managed to balance yourself easily enough, catching your feet onto the floor before you royally embarrassed yourself. It was only when you were stood right in front of Johnny, with his eyes raking over your form, that you faltered again, pausing and not knowing what to do with yourself.

His hands spread across your hips, pulling you to sit over one of his thighs. When you were finally in place, his hands moved away from you to rest on the arms of the chair. He looked up at your expectantly. “Go on, then.” When you hesitated again, he laughed lightly. “Or do you need my help again?”

You felt your shoulders tighten in irritation. “Are you gonna help?” You muttered, raising your eyebrows.

He shrugged, his hands already moving to grip your hips again. He bevelled his head at you as he dragged your core against the fabric of his trousers. The amusement was the only thing you could find in his eyes as your moans grew louder. “I always give in too easily,” he murmured, pulling your lips back to his.

The kiss was slow and easy, though you were more distracted by the feeling of his thigh underneath you than his lips against yours. Any moans that tried to escape your mouth fell into his instead of getting any further. Though it wasn’t long before he seemed to grow tired of not hearing you as he pulled away.

By then, the coil in your stomach had already begun to tighten, and the noises you were making were growing in volume. Just when you thought you were going to feel the coil unravel, Johnny’s palms flattened against your hips to stop you moving anymore.

You huffed in annoyance, trying to move yourself again but not being able to push further past Johnny’s hold. “Johnny,” you groaned, gripping onto his wrist.

“I did tell you I wanted to hear you beg.” He chided, curling his arms around your waist and rising to stand.

You gripped to him tighter in surprise, holding back yet another huff as he laughed at you. “What if I don’t want to?”

He shrugged, dropping you ungraciously onto the bed, making you bounce slightly as you landed. He laughed again, “Maybe I won’t give in this time.”

You hummed as he leaned down to hover over you again. “You always give in too easily.” You curled your arms around his shoulders and tugged lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck.

He pushed your dress further up to bunch at your hips again, pulling himself away from you for a moment as he dropped his suit jacket onto the floor. His shirt went next, and finally his hands went to grip his belt. When he’d finally gotten himself undressed, he put your hands together and rested them above your head. He paused for a moment, tilting his head at you as you nodded quickly. He wrapped the belt around your hands, tightening it until he knew you couldn’t get out of it yourself.

He reconnected your lips, pushing your legs further apart to fit himself back between them. The moan of surprise that left you as Johnny pushed inside of you was swallowed by Johnny’s mouth on yours. The pace he set was far slower than you wanted it to be, though he didn’t seem to take note of the whines that weren’t able to leave your mouth.

You pulled away from him, “Faster,” you whined.

He slowed down. “What was that?”

You bit down on your bottom lip. “Please,” you mumbled quietly, too quietly for you to fully hear yourself.

“What was that?” He picked up his speed just slightly.

You groaned, half in annoyance and half at the increase of speed. “Please, Johnny.” You said again.

“Please what?”

“Faster, please.”

He finally set a faster pace, letting his hand move between your legs as you moaned louder. When you finally felt the coil begin to form again in your stomach, you let out an embarrassed few murmurs of, ‘please.’ Johnny made no show of having heard you, or if he had, he made no show of caring about your begging.

He bit down onto your shoulder as you moaned louder. “Johnny, please,” you whined, feeling tears prick at your eyes of him denying you again.

He chuckled softly, nodding as his nose bumped against yours before he pressed his lips back to yours. This kiss was more rushed, his free hand wondering as you tilted your head further upwards to deepen the kiss.

He pulled his lips away from yours just as the coil in your stomach started to unravel. His lips didn’t seem to be able to choose one place to kiss. “You’re so beautiful,” he muttered, “so, so beautiful.”

Your head was too fuzzy for you to be able to form words. All you could fully compute was the silk of the sheets against your skin underneath you, and Johnny’s lips pressing lazy kisses to your neck as he slowed a stop. You weren’t even sure when he’d hit his own high, though you knew that he had.

He stayed still for a moment, just stroking his thumb across your cheek before he moved away from you. Oddly, having the heat from his body disappear from above you made you feel empty. He reached to undo the belt that held your hands, and then brought them to his lips to press fleeting kisses there.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, leaning up to kiss him lightly again.

Johnny hummed, moving away from you for a moment as you dropped back to lie on the bed again. You noted then that there was a chandelier hanging from his ceiling. The sight made a cross between a breathy laugh and a disbelieving scoff pass your lips.

“Here,” Johnny mumbled, making you look up at him. He handed you a white-dress shirt that felt clean and soft when you held it.

“Thank you,” you mumbled again, getting up to take the dress off carefully and place it on the chair Johnny had been sat on earlier. When you got back to the bed, you pulled the shirt on, only bothering to do up two of the buttons before flopping to lie on his chest. He pressed a drawn out kiss to your forehead. “Is there really a dinner party tonight?” You mumbled against his chest.

He laughed tiredly, his chest rumbling as he did. “We don’t lie to each other, remember?”

You breathed out a laugh, pushing yourself up from his chest slightly. You glared at him for a long minute before shrugging. “I suppose.”

“Better start getting dressed soon.” He mumbled, pressing his lips to your temple. Part of you wanted to groan at the idea of moving and leaving the house again. The other part of you wanted to wrap yourself in silky fabric and eat a meal that was probably more expensive than all of the food in your house altogether. You hummed in acknowledgement of his words, starting to try and think of all the reasons to detangle yourself from him and start making yourself feel pampered enough to spend a night around people richer than you.

///

The dinner hall was more than you had expected it to be, which was saying a lot on account of your imagination being particularly overactive when it came to splendour. When you walked in, Johnny’s arm curled lazily around your waist with him dressed in his newest suit, his air tidy and slick again in a way that made him look like he could own the building, you felt immediately out of place. The people surrounding you were about as glamorous as him. And just as rich, you knew. Which meant, of course, far richer than you.

But then you remembered just how indistinctive you must seem in the situation. Dressed in golden silk, with your hair fixed prettily, you were entirely sure no one would offer you even a second glance for no reason other than to look at your exposed legs. The idea made you feel more confident, so whether or not it was true that no one could tell you were their least favourite thing – as it was, a very common person in the working class – you weren’t particularly bothered.

Johnny had warned you before you even set off for the party that it would be a dull affair. When you’d first stepped into the hall, with its golden floor – that Johnny insisted was not real gold but was only paint, though you weren’t sure, you didn’t think you’d seen real gold often enough to be sure – and its rows of high chandeliers, and its tables full of rich looking food and decorated glasses, you hadn’t though that possible. Now, sat on your velvet lined chair and listening to Johnny and a table full of older men talk about business, you gave into the possibility that he might be right.

Their discussions came to a stand still only when the staff came out to clear the tables and ask after everyone’s opinion on desert. Johnny had turned to you, almost as if to check you were still there. You were distracted by then, feeling a stab of guilt in your chest for the staff who had to tidy up after you and everyone else.

He reached out to stroke his fingertip across your bare collarbones. “I should get you a golden necklace,” he mumbled, “it’d look nice on you.”

“Gold looks nice on anyone, I’d think.” You laughed.

He shrugged, grinning as he listened to you speak. “Everything looks nicer on you.”

Making a noise of mock disgust, you knocked his hand away, feeling it immediately seek out to rest on your thigh. The action made your eyebrows raise as you looked back around the table as people spoke amongst themselves. “What’re you up to?”

He laughed, lifting his hand further up the skin of your thigh as heat flushed through you. “Can’t I just rest my hand here?”

“No.” You decided, stopping his hand before it could get any higher.

“Don’t tell me,” he began, putting his hand back to its original place on your thigh, “you don’t want to do anything in public?”

Scoffing, you shook your head, “I would never.”

He bit back a laugh, but his grin told you all you needed to know. “Is this,” he lightly nodded to the table full of unfamiliar faces, “what, too public?”

“If we get caught, it’s your business.”

“Hey,” he defended, taking his hand away from your thigh, “my job’s attached very intimately to yours.”

“Then keep your hands to yourself.”

“Do I have to keep my hands to myself if we go, well, somewhere else?”

You rose your eyebrows. “Do you not have any respect for your associates?”

He grinned again, clutching your hand in his own and shrugging, “Not these ones.” He pulled you to stand with him, tightening his arm around your waist as he looked down at the table with a false look of concern on his features. “Excuse us,” his voice was arid and professional as the others at the table turned to look up at him, “but my girl’s not feeling too well, so I’m just going to help her find the bathrooms.” The table rose in a quiet murmur of acceptances and quick – and most likely detached – worries for you.

And then he walked you both out of the hall. Only when you got back into the entrance hall with its red velvet carpet leading into the double doors of the dinner room did you let yourself laugh in disbelief. “You’re insane.”

“If you had to look at yourself in this dress all night, you would be, too.” He defended, pushing the women’s bathroom door open and pulling you along beside him.

The woman stood at the mirror startled when she saw Johnny beside you, before you cleared your throat. “Sorry, I’m, I’m not feeling very well. I thought it would be best if I wasn’t alone.” It sounded more like a suggestion than a statement.

The woman nodded in acceptance, smiling pitifully at you the way older women always did with young girls. “That’s quite alright, I hope you feel better soon.” She didn’t offer Johnny the same courtesy, only sharpening her eyes at him and moving past him.

When the door banged shut behind her, the two of you snickered as he pushed you towards the closest stall. His lips quickly found yours, nose bumping against yours as his hands slid up your dress as soon as he had the lock drawn across.

He pushed your back up against the side of the stall, his hands already trying to pull your underwear down. “This is quite possibility the least romantic thing I’ve ever done.” You scoffed.

He pulled away from you, drawing an involuntary whine from your lips. He shook his head, “We can always wait until later, if it’s romance that you want.”

Huffing, you pulled him back to you by his jacket, feeling the kiss speed up as his hands rushed to go back to where they had been before. His hands curled underneath your thighs, gripping tightly enough for you to have to catch a moan before it passed your lips.

“Jump,” he mumbled, pressing your back further up against the wall.

You hesitation for a second, pulling away to offer him a sceptical look before doing as he’d told you. He caught you, keeping you steadily pressed to the stall’s wall. The grip he had on your thighs drew a groan from your lips as his own travelled down your neck. His fingers curled around the sides of your underwear in a manner that was becoming all too familiar. When he’d finally gotten them almost all the way down, he chuckled, shaking his head at himself as they got stuck. He dropped your legs back to the floor, watching you laugh at him as you kicked them off. Johnny caught them before they hit the floor, tucking them into his pocket. You laughed breathily at him, letting him lift you back into your previous position.

He dropped down to his knees, lifting your legs so they were resting across his shoulders as he placed his mouth straight onto your core. His lack of teasing drew a shocked moan from your lips, your head dropping back to hit the stall wall. As per his usual act, the second your fingers went to tangle in his hair, he pulled away from you. The feeling in your stomach faded as he rose to stand up again, a complacent look settling over his features.

“Do you know how to be nice?” You huffed, wrapping your legs around his waist again.

He struggled to unbutton his trousers, grunting at the effort. The complacent look came back as soon as he had them undone, as if he had done everything smoothly in the first place. “I could be a lot meaner.” He promised, pressing his lips to your neck as he pushed into you.

You dug your nails into his shoulders, dropping your head onto his shoulder to bite down and keep yourself quiet. Back in the room at the bar, you had only been distantly aware of the crowds of people in the other room. Now, with the tables full of people you would have previously thought of as elite with only a hallway to separate them from you and Johnny, you couldn’t be more aware of anything.

Even with that lingering in the back of your mind, Johnny still made it difficult for you to be able to think of anything other than the way the coil in your stomach felt like forming heat. His lips were on your neck again, leaving behind a series of fresh marks that you were sure would get you some odd stares when you returned back to the table. His hands were gripping your thighs, though you could practically feel his disappointment as not being able to map out over your body like he hadn’t done it before by now.

This time, when his groans grew slightly in volume, you pulled your head away from where you had been softening your volume in the crook of his neck to be able to see his face screw up as he hit his high. His eyebrows furrowed as dropped his head back, the muscles of his arms tightening as his nails dug into the bare skin of your thighs. You had to drop your head back onto his shoulders when the coil in your stomach began to unravel again.

By the time the two of you had caught your breath, you hoped that your legs would be steady enough to uphold yourself when he set you back down. On the slight heel of your shoes, your hope suddenly seemed bleak. You wavered, feeling Johnny wrap his arm around your waist to keep you balanced.

You glared at him. “I thought we came in here to be more discreet.”

He laughed, “You looked bored, I’m just trying to keep things exciting for you.”

“I thought I was working? Is work ever supposed to be exciting?”

A grin turned up his lips. “I think you’ll find this job a little more fulfilling than most.”

He opened the bathroom door, taking a quick look out before walking the two of you back in the direction of the heavy oaken double doors into the dinner hall. “I don’t feel like I’m working at all.” You mumbled, shifting to look away from him.

Johnny laughed loudly, pulling open one of the doors as a few sets of eyes turned to look back at you. “Don’t look at it like a job then.”

You sighed at him, tilting your head up at him as he grinned arrogantly at you. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

His smile softened, though it stayed dashed across his features as you both reached your table again. He paused for a minute as he pulled your chair out for you, the searching look coming back to his face. This time, he seemed to find whatever he was looking for. “I’ve missed you.” He said quietly, tucking your chair back in.

You thought, maybe he isn’t so different as I thought he was. You caught his hand in your own, gripping it tightly as you smiled. “I’ve missed you, too.” You responded. And even if the words felt foreign on your tongue, you thought, I’m telling the truth.

#hm. ok #writing #nct smut #nct 127 smut #johnny smut #johnny seo smut #nct u smut #nct reactions #nct 127 reactions #nct u reactions #nct scenarios #nct scenario #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 scenario #nct u scenarios #nct u scenario

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birdlord · 4 years

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Everything I Watched in 2019

Movies

The number in parentheses is year of release, asterisks denote a re-watch, and titles in bold are my favourite watches of the year.

01 The Death of Stalin (17) does a neat trick of building goodwill for Steve Buscemi’s Krushchev, then brutally pays that off in the last few minutes.

02 Sorry to Bother You (18)

03 Support the Girls (18)

04 Paddington (14)*

05 Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (16)

06 Eighth Grade (18) probably the most terrifying movie I watched all year, if you didn’t watch it through your fingers, who even are you?

07 Morvern Callar (02) much less bleak than the book, but then, nearly anything would be

08 The Favourite (18) revolting and beautiful.

09 Columbus (17) a really lovely movie about architecture and parent-child relationships.

10 Bring it On (00)*

11 The Land of Steady Habits (18) feels wackier than your average Holofcener, but still a good watch.

12 Spotlight (15) i was really bowled over by this, and wasn’t expecting to be. Workmanlike filmmaking, but an extraordinary story, well-told.

13 The Killing of a Sacred Deer (17) Barry Keoghan is a blank, but somehow compelling screen presence. This one has an ending that made me bark with laughter.

14 Legends of the Fall (94)

15 Moneyball (11)* if you don’t feel like watching anything in particular, you can always watch Moneyball

16 If Beale St Could Talk (18) very beautiful, but I failed to connect with it on any other level.

17 For Keeps (88)

18 Abducted in Plain Sight (17)

19 Oscar Shorts (Animated) (18) the offerings were very sappy this year, but the winner was decent! Lots of Toronto content (weird).

20 Oscar Shorts (Live Action) (18) *unquestionably* the worst one of these won ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

21 Velvet Buzzsaw (19)

22 Vice (18) ugh

23 Friends with Money (06)

24 Can You Ever Forgive Me (18)

25 Bohemian Rhapsody (18) haha what. was. that.

26 Mars Attacks (96)*

27 Paddington 2 (18)

28 Buffy the Vampire Slayer (92)*

29 Shoplifters (18)

30 Blindspotting (18) jacked Ethan Embry in a supporting role?! Whither? Howso? Wherefore?

31 Witness (85)

32 Harry & the Hendersons (87)*

33 The Matrix (99)*

34 T2 Trainspotting (17)

35 Blockers (18)

36 The Slums of Beverly Hills (98)

37 Can’t Hardly Wait (98)*

38 Avengers: Infinity War (18)

39 Iron Man II (10)

40 Isle of Dogs (18)

41 Chinatown (74)*

42 To Live & Die in LA (85)

43 Age of Innocence (93) Daniel Day-Lewis manages to make Newland Archer compelling, where in the novel he’s...the worst?!

44 Shopgirl (05)*

45 The House (17) didn’t sustain all the way through, but then, that’s how mainstream comedies often go.

46 The Beguiled (17)

47 Badlands (73)*

48 Poetic Justice (93)

49 The Empire Strikes Back (80)*

50 Calibre (18)

51 The Kindergarten Teacher (18)

52 Hounds of Love (17) a nice little Aussie thriller, set in the 80s

53 Kicking & Screaming (95)*

54 Octopussy (83)*

55 Jaws (79)*

56 Lover Come Back (61)

57 Frenzy (72)

58 Always Be My Maybe (19)

59 Certain Women (16) took a while to get to this one, but it’s as great as they say it is.

60 Baby Driver (17) all flash, little substance.

61 Sneakers (92)

62 Roadhouse (87)*

63 Bull Durham (88)*

64 Ghostbusters (84)*

65 Booksmart (19) I think this will improve on multiple viewings, though I loved the soundtrack and the mix of characters.

66 Hereditary (18)

67 Rebecca (40) George Sanders as Rebecca’s cousin is BRILLIANT

68 Vertigo (58)*

69 The Dead Don’t Die (19)

70 Crawl (19)

71 Dazed & Confused (93)* If you don’t watch this once a summer, what is wrong with you?

72 Jackie Brown (97)

73 Talk Radio (88)

74 The Guilty (18)

75 Killing Heydrich (17)

76 Lady Bird (17)*

77 Billy Elliot (00)*

78 White House Down (13)* Channing Potatum saves the White House!

79 The Film Worker (17)

80 Whitney (18)

81 Mascot (16)

82 Apocalypse Now (79)* technically I’d only seen the Redux version from the early 2000s, so the regular cut is new to me.

83 Apollo 13 (95)*

84 Psycho 2 (83) the twist is very guessable, but there are a couple of nice-looking scenes.

85 Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (04)*

86 The Bodyguard (92)*

87 Murder Mystery (19)

88 Wildlife (18)

89 The Stepford Wives (75)*

90 Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (71)*

91 The Natural (84)

92 The Other Boleyn Girl (08)

93 Speed (94)*

94 Opera (87)

95 That’s my Boy (12) haha what?!

96 The Big Short (15)

97 Elizabeth the Golden Age (07)

98 The Glass Castle (17) when I read the book, I genuinely thought it was fiction, it’s so insane.

99 Dawn of the Dead (78)*

100 All About Eve (50) lady on lady violence is a special thing

101 La La Land (16)

102 Morning Glory (10) remember Rachel McAdams?

103 Casino (95)*

104 Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby (06)

105 Pet Sematary (19)

106 Clue (85)*

107 Her Smell (18) amazing soundtrack and the songs were well-chosen. Heartbreaking musical moment in the final act.

108 Bobby Sands: 66 Days (16)

109 She’s Gotta Have it (86)

110 Good Morning (59)

111 Hustlers (19) I didn’t connect with this as much as the reviews led me to believe I might.

112 Nocturnal Animals (16)

113 Kill Bill Vol 1 (03) I’d only ever seen the second one before, being a non-Tarantino completionist.

114 Fried Green Tomatoes (91)* I watch this more than anticipated...

115 Steel Magnolias (89)

116 Notting Hill (99)*

117 A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood (19) the tiny city models were inspired!

118 National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (89)*

119 Let It Snow (19)

120 Frozen (13)

121 The Irishman (19) most interesting as a sort of pastiche/reckoning on the part of Scorsese about his other gangster films. Really outmoded view of unions. Definitely could have been edited down if anyone were able to come to it without undue reverence, but I did love the bit about the fish.

122 Girls Trip (17) actual plot is beside the point.

123 About a Boy (02)* I always think of this as the “vomit and sweaters” movie, anyone else?

124 Animal House (78)*

DOCUMENTARY : FICTION - 4:120

THEATRE : HOME - 9:115

TV Series

01 Russian Doll - I think I would have enjoyed this more if it hadn’t been bingeable - would have made a nice week-by-week discussion sort of show. I loved to watch the changes between re-ups of our major characters, and I think the actual plotting would reward re-watches.

02 Catastrophe S4 - A satisfying ending to an excellent show, with very charismatic leads (and deeply weird supporting characters). Had to write around Carrie Fisher’s death, and I’m sure did a better job of it than Star Wars did.

03 Friends from College S2 - More of the same, which is what I was after. A show like cotton candy (but with more infidelity).

04 High Maintenance S3 - A lot more of this season took place outside of New York City, which was a great change of pace. And a great deal more information about The Guy and his own life; both difficulties and successes included.

05 Losers - This was a great little docuseries on Netflix that I didn’t hear a lot of people talking about - it’s about sports losses, but unusual sports ie curling, figure skating and the like. You’d think it would get repetitive, being as it’s always about recovering after loss, but it doesn’t! I wish they would make another season….

06 Shrill - a tight six episode dramedy about an alt-weekly journalist in the Pacific Northwest, based on Lindy West’s memoir of the same name. John Cameron Mitchell as her boss (based on Dan Savage) stands out of the ensemble cast, as does Annie’s roommate played by a British standup Lolly Adefope.

07 Broad City S5 - I haven’t always kept up with Broad City, but I came back to it for its final season, and thought it did a good job of setting its characters up for big changes in their lives.

08 I Think You Should Leave - It’s easy to assume that all sketch comedy is terrible and always will be, but then you see this, and throw your TV out the window (due to all the laffs)

09 Fleabag S2 - Everything you’ve heard is true, this season is goddamn hilarious and ridiculously sexy. A huge step up from the first season, which was already pretty fantastic and incisive.

10 Fosse/Verdon - Musicals are not particularly my bag, so I’m sure there was a lot that I missed in terms of references, but the lead performances ably carried me through all of the time jumps and various performances.

11 Stranger Things S3 - Say it after me: d-i-m-i-n-i-s-h-i-n-g r-e-t-u-r-n-s! Maya Hawke kills it, though.

12 Big Little Lies S2 - Unnecessary, and (if possible) even sillier than the first season.

13 Lorena - Part of the ongoing quest to rehabilitate the maligned women of the 1990s, this gave me tons of context that I had no idea about at the time, due to being a dumb kid.

14 Glow S3 - I felt like I was losing steam on this series this year, but episodes like the camping ep kept me coming back. A great ensemble, though some unusual character choices (like a certain kiss *cough*) took me out of it by times.

15 Lodge 49 S1-3 - I’d kept hearing about this show, so I finally sought it out. I can’t say it was amazingly compelling (I almost dropped it after the first season) but it’s definitely an oddball of a show, slipping from setpiece to setpiece with little regard for logic. For me, a background show.

16 Chernobyl - This show really gave me the Bad Feeling, humans were definitely A Mistake.

17 On Becoming a God in Central Florida - Kiki in a trashy mode, not as infinitely appealing as the version she pulled off in the second season of Fargo, but scrappy and industrious nonetheless.

18 Show Me a Hero - I’d put off watching this for years, it felt like it was going to be too dull (housing policy in Yonkers?) but it’s great, and larded up with Bruce Springsteen songs, obvs.

19 Great British Bake Off S9-S10 - I’d also held off on watching this for a long time, out of loyalty to Mel, Sue, and Mary Berry. But I needed some comfort viewing towards the end of the summer, and the new hosts and judge do an able job, although the show’s tropes are feeling a bit well-worn at this point.

20 Righteous Gemstones S1 - A rollicking ride for sure, with a great cast. Your mileage/patience with Danny McBride may vary, so keep that in mind, naturally.

21 This Way Up S1 - A small show starring the fabulous Aisling Bea, about mental health and families and some nice comic physical acting. Oh, and in case you were watching The Crown and crushing on Tobias Menzies’ version of Prince Phillip, he plays a hot dad love interest in this, which gives you all the Tobias you’re looking for, without the PP racisms.

22 The Crown S3 - This is the first season of the big cast switchover, and I thought it stuck reasonably well, once we were in it an episode or two. This season concentrated even less on Elizabeth herself, preferring her sister, husband, and (newly!) her children.

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starfast · 4 years

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Cross the Kingdom- Chapter 6

“Consider This Revenge”

Word Count: 4296

Read on Wattpad: Link

More about this project: Intro Post | Other Info

When Caleb came to his senses, he found himself in a tiny dark room with his cheek pressed against the cold, hard ground. Everything seemed a bit hazy and while he didn’t recognize his surroundings, he had an idea as to where he was. The room had no real discernible features, aside from the metal bars in the door’s peephole and a lack of windows. Caleb was the only thing taking up space in the room. Perhaps it was because there was no room for anything else, or more likely the Patrol just wanted him to be uncomfortable.

Caleb tried to bring himself into a sitting position, only to realize that his hands were cuffed behind his back. He struggled for a few moments, but ultimately gave up and lay back down on his side in the position that he had woken up in. He could feel a throbbing pain in his left ankle, and he stared at the base of the door as he tried to recall what he had done to it. His brain seemed to be working in slow motion as the memories came trickling back to him.

His memory was a bit fuzzy, but he remembered enough of the major details to remember what had happened. He remembered falling and the Patrol guard injecting something into him. He remembered them breaking into his house, and Eva telling him to---

The thought of his sister sent a jolt of panic through him. What had happened to her? Caleb had never seen her leave the house, which meant one of two things. She was able to find a way to escape without being seen by anyone, or the Patrol had taken her too. Although he wanted it to be the former, he strongly suspected that it was the latter. If she was alive and also in the prison, Caleb figured that she could hear his thoughts. Eva, he thought, if you can hear me please let me know your alive.

He knew that it was a shot in the dark, but he still hoped for some kind of response. Caleb waited in anticipation, growing more and more anxious as each second passed. It took him a while to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t going to get a response from his sister. He lay in the cell trying to rationalize with himself, coming up with different reasons as to why Eva hadn’t answered him. Maybe she was sedated still or maybe she just wasn’t paying attention. Maybe she was back in Farrowin still, trying to find a way to rescue him because there was no way that she wouldn’t at least attempt it. Caleb would have done the same for her.

Another possibility far worse crept into his mind. Caleb tried to push it away. He didn’t want to think about it, but at the same time he couldn’t ignore that it was a very terrifying possibility. This was the Patrol after all, and Eva had powers.

Caleb shook his head. No, that couldn’t be it. He couldn’t lose her. She was the last bit of family that he had left. He wouldn’t believe it to be true until he could be certain. He didn’t want to make an already bad situation even worse by worrying about something that didn’t even happen. Eva was safe. She had to be.

Caleb tried not to think of his sister as he lay in the prison cell, but it was hard to think of anything else. His mind eventually wandered back to Farrowin, and the bleak life he had lived there. It felt like an entire lifetime ago that his biggest problem in life was being cheated out of his money by the master sweep. Yet, it could have only been a few days ago at most where he was sweeping out the chimneys of Farrowin. He had always thought that he would have preferred anything over working as a chimney sweep, but here he was now. He would have given anything to go back to work. Even spending long hours climbing up tight chimneys was better than being at the mercy of the Patrol. At the very least there had been an element of familiarity to his work. Every day he would wake up at the crack of dawn, sweep chimneys until sunset before getting paid and going home. Here, all he knew was that whatever the Patrol intended to do with him would not be good.

Caleb had never had a proper education. Much like a lot of the slum kids in Farrowin, his parents taught him everything he needed to know. He was lucky that his parents knew how to read and write, because that was a luxury that few slum kids had. His parents had taught him everything that he knew about the Patrol. Most of what he knew was based off of rumours and speculation, but it all boiled down to the same thing: The Patrol wanted people like him gone. Not just him, but everyone else who had powers. He had heard all kinds of stories about how they had killed their victims. Sometimes it was quick and painless. Other times the deaths were long and drawn out, making their victims suffer for as long as possible until they eventually died. Although Caleb couldn’t say with any certainty how much of it was actually true, he had an uneasy feeling that he might soon find out.

Right when Caleb thought that things couldn’t drive himself any deeper into a pit of misery and despair, he heard the soft click as the door to his cell unlocked. The door swung open and two men stood in the doorway. They both wore the same bright red swallowtail coats with two rows of black buttons. The one who stood in the middle of the doorway was tall and slender. He had piercing blue eyes, and blonde hair that was starting to turn grey. He also wore a patch on his right sleeve-- two gold swords crossed in a V shape on a black shield. The other man was slightly shorter but evidently younger, as his angular face showed was free of any wrinkles aside from the slight crease between his eyebrows that were stuck in some sort of permanent scowl. His dark brown hair was slicked back and didn’t have even a single strand of grey as far as Caleb could tell. Caleb also noticed that this man didn’t wear the patch on his sleeve, but their outfits were otherwise identical.

“Get up,” The blonde man barked, “And don’t you dare try to run, or I guarantee you’ll regret it.”

Caleb struggled into a kneeling position. His ankle still ached, which made it hard for him to get to his feet. He tried a couple times to find a way to stand up without putting too much weight on his injured ankle.

Evidently, he was taking too long because the blonde man glared at his younger companion. “Jack, would you help him up already,” He snapped.

The dark haired man stepped forwards. He grabbed Caleb by the collar of his shirt, still blackened with soot from his work. “Get up!” He shouted at him.

Caleb whimpered as he was shoved forwards, partly out of fear but partly from the pain when he stumbled forward and was forced to bear weight on his injured ankle.

Jack seized him by the shoulder, holding him so tightly that Caleb felt like his bones would shatter from the man’s firm grasp. The other man grabbed his other shoulder, not quite as tight which was somehow equally unsettling.

The two men began to usher him down the long dark hallway. Both sides were lined with wooden doors, identical to the one that led into Caleb’s cell. There were oil lanterns interspersed between every couple of cell doors to provide a little bit of light in the shadowy hall. Tiny flames flickered inside of the lanterns, casting shadows down the hall. If it came down to it, Caleb could easily manipulate the flames into a much larger blaze that would allow him to escape. He put some serious consideration into it, and was waiting for the right moment when the blonde haired man tightened his grip on him.

“Don’t you dare think about trying to run,” He reminded.

Jack shook his head. “They always think about it,” he said to the older man, “Even after we tell them not to. Sure makes our job more interesting.”

“True,” the blonde man said, “But I don’t reckon this one would get very far.”

As much as Caleb hated to admit it, but he did have a point. He could barely walk on it, so running was out of the question. In addition to that, he had never been a very fast runner to begin with. Even if he could run fast enough to outrun his captors-- and that was a big if-- he would have to figure out if Eva was in the prison and which of the hundreds of cells she was in. The thought of escape drifted further and further out of his reach the more he contemplated it. And, he realized, he still had his hands cuffed behind his back. Escaping the prison was about as likely has the master sweep paying him in the six figures at this point.

They reached a large metal door at the end of the hall. Jack kept a firm grip on Caleb’s shoulder he pushed the heavy door open. The door opened with a loud groan only to reveal the most unpleasant looking room that Caleb had ever seen. The walls were lined with racks of whips, spears, knives, battle axes, maces, and several other types of weapons that he didn’t know the name of that all looked like something out of Caleb’s worst nightmares. He spotted a couple bows and arrows, far nicer than the homemade ones he had used in Farrowin, but no doubt used for more nefarious purposes. More disturbing than that was the wooden platform with the rope tied in a noose dangling above it. The site of it sent shivers down his spine as he wondered how many people had died in this exact room.

Caleb couldn’t take his eyes off the sight of the wooden scaffold. He had heard that back in the day there were gallows in every city. Some of the larger cities even had multiple scaffolds set up, always areas where that drew in a lot of people so that the Patrol could really set an example to the public. The one in Farrowin had allegedly been set up in the city’s Main Square, but no evidence of it remained. At least if they were going to kill him it wouldn’t be a public execution like it would have been when the Patrol’s reign was at its peak. The last thing he needed was to have the entire city turning against him, humiliating him moments before death. The thought didn’t bring him much comfort since the two men would probably humiliate him anyways.

“I changed my mind,” The Blonde Man said, “We won’t kill him today.”

Caleb let out an involuntary sigh of relief.

“Don’t get all excited, boy,” The man said, “We’re still going to have some fun with you.”

“What’s the plan then, Victor?” Jack asked.

Victor examined the rows of weapons and torture devices. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and said,“Go draw up some water. Quickly now.”

Jack grabbed a metal bucket and left the room, leaving Caleb alone with Victor. He returned a few moments later with the bucket filled with water. He dumped its contents into a larger wooden tub before exiting the room with the smaller metal bucket again.

“This is ridiculous, Jack,” Victor scoffed when the younger man returned for the third time, “We’re going to be here all day.”

“If I’d known you’d wanted me to do this I’d have done it sooner,” Jack replied in a snarky tone.

“Go find someone else to help you,” He ordered, “Douglas should be around, but I’m going to go ahead and get started.”

Jack scowled before he left the room for the fourth time, taking the metal bucket with him.

“This building wasn’t meant to be a prison,” Victor said after Jack slammed the door shut, leaving them alone in the sinister room. “Back in the day, we used to serve the King. We even used to be called the King’s Patrol. Did you know that?”

Caleb nodded, too terrified to speak.

“I come from a big military family,” Victor continued, “Back when we were in our prime, everyone knew the name Valeer. My great grandfather worked closely with King Isidore, but when his son came into power… well, I’m sure you know.”

Caleb only vaguely knew about the Patrol’s downfall. King Isidore’s reign came to an abrupt end after he had been assassinated. When his son, Enoch came into power his first act as King had been to shut down the Patrol. Caleb had heard that all of the Patrol’s high ranking officials had been put on trial only to be found guilty and were executed, but if Victor was who he claimed to be then that was clearly not the case.

Victor let go of him and began walking to the other side of the room, towards a cast iron stove. He kept his eye on Caleb the entire time, making sure that he didn’t try to run away. Caleb remained frozen in place as he watched Victor open the door to the little stove.

“Do you know what we used to do to people like you?” Victor asked as he tried to get a match started.

Caleb hesitated before shaking his head. He had always thought that the Patrol just killed their victims, but Victor had made it clear that he wasn’t going to do that. Yet.

“You’re dangerous, as I’m sure you know,” He tossed the lit match into the stove before picking up the bellow that was hanging up just beside the stove. “Sometimes we liked to let people know who they should look out for.” He picked up a metal rod with an upside down triangle on one end. He stuck the end with the triangle into the fire, and at that moment, Caleb felt sick as he realized what was happening.

Caleb glanced over to the door. It wasn’t too late to run. He could try to escape.

The door swung open and Jack returned with another blonde haired man. They both held a metal bucket which they poured into the wooden tub. As the pair headed to the door, Victor called out to Jack.

“Tie him up before you go,” He said, nodding towards Caleb, “I have a feeling he won’t want to cooperate.”

Jack gave a halfhearted salute before he grabbed Caleb and pulled him towards the wall. He forced him to Caleb knees before he shackled him to the wall.

Caleb started trembling as Victor pulled the branding iron out of the fire. He could feel his fingertips growing warm again as Victor began walking towards him. He clenched his fists trying to retain control over his powers. They weren’t going to help him in this situation. He had learned the hard way that just because he could create fires and control them, didn’t necessarily mean that his flames wouldn’t hurt him. His skin would burn just like everyone else’s and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Jack began unbuttoning the buttons on Caleb’s shirt. He tried to pull away, but Jack grabbed him and held him steady. Caleb still struggled as Victor drew nearer with the red hot iron.

“Hold still,” Jack demanded, “It’ll be easier for all of us that way.”

Caleb did his best to give in and remain still, but it was difficult when he knew what was coming. Jack pulled back Caleb’s shirt exposing his bare shoulder. His body still shook, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was so terrified or because of how cold the room was. The cold air crept over his exposed skin like the gentle waves of Lake Farrow lapping up against the shores.

“Consider this revenge,” Victor said with a smirk, “You deserve this.”

Caleb pulled against his restraints in one final attempt to escape. At the back of his mind, he knew that he would be unsuccessful, but every fiber of his being was telling him to run.

Jack grabbed him in a tight bear hug, trying to keep him still. “I said sit still, you dumbass!” He shouted, “Where the hell do you think you’re going anyways?” Caleb continued to struggle against the man’s tight grip.

It wasn’t until Victor slapped him hard across the face that he finally gave in. It was useless to try and escape, especially since he was still chained to the wall. There was no escape this time. He was just going to have to endure it.

“The more you try to escape the more we’re going to hurt you,” Victor said, “Understand?”

Caleb nodded.

“Good,” Victor said, “Let go of him Jack. Let’s get started.”

Jack let go of him, but Caleb didn’t dare to move. He closed his eyes. Maybe it would be better if he couldn’t see it coming. At this rate, the branding was inevitable. It wouldn’t kill him, he reminded himself. He would get through it.

Caleb felt the heat radiating off of the branding stick before it even touched his skin. It was bearable at first, providing him with some warmth in the chilly room. It didn’t take long before the heat became uncomfortable but there was no way to escape it. Caleb’s breath came in short gasps as the heat grew more intense still.

He knew the second the iron made contact with his skin. Even though his eyes remained clenched shut he never saw it happen, but he did feel it.

Caleb had acquired several minor burns while he had been learning to control his powers. At the time he thought that the tiny burns on his hands and arms were the most painful thing he had experienced, but they paled in comparison to Victor’s branding iron. Red hot pain seared through him, spreading across his body with the intensity of a wildfire. He could smell the pungent scent of his own flesh burning and sizzling at the mercy of the iron. And he screamed. He screamed louder than he knew that he was capable of. His anguished cries echoed all throughout the room as he begged them to stop. All he wanted was for it to end, but it seemed to go on for an eternity.

When Victor finally pulled the stick away, Caleb’s throat was raw and dry from his screaming. He hadn’t even realized that he had been crying until he opened his eyes and felt the tears streaming down his cheeks. He drew in several shaky breaths as the room seemed to spin around him.

“Impressive,” Victor said, though if he truly was impressed nothing about his tone body language indicated it.

Jack nodded in agreement. “He really gave our last guy a run for his money.”

“Didn’t scream quite as loud,” Victor replied, “But he came pretty close.”

Caleb had collapsed to the ground. He lay on his side still trying to deal with the pain. It was as if a lightning bolt had shot him right through the chest. He didn’t even want to look at what the damage to his skin looked like.

“We’re not done with you yet,” Jack said, realizing that Caleb was no longer in a kneeling position.

Jack went over to the tub of water that he had filled up earlier and dragged it a few feet so that it sat in front of Caleb. He helped him into a kneeling position in front of the wooden tub. Caleb tried to comply so that Jack wouldn’t get as rough with him. He didn’t want to have to deal with any more pain than he had to. While Jack didn’t get quite so aggressive this time, Caleb still found himself wincing in pain after Jack’s manhandling him.

Caleb stared into the large tub. There was nothing sinister as far as he could tell. He could just barely make out his forlorn reflection staring back at him. His face was still covered with soot aside from the pale white streaks that ran down his cheeks from where his tears had washed away the debris.

Without warning, Jack suddenly forced Caleb’s head down into the tub of water. The cold pierced through him, as his lungs screamed for air. Caleb struggled against Jack’s hand, but the man just held him under for longer.

Right when Caleb thought that he couldn’t take it any longer, Jack grabbed him and pulled him out of the water. Caleb drew in a deep breath, trying to draw in as much air as he could.

“The last time we had this much fun was four years ago,” Jack said before forcing Caleb’s head back into the tub of freezing water. Just like the last time, he held Caleb’s head underwater and right when he was on the verge of passing out-- when he couldn’t take it anymore-- Jack would pull him out.

“We only take the brand out for the real trouble makers,” Jack said. He forced Caleb back underwater once more. He repeated the sequence a few times, while Victor watched on. Every time Jack pulled him up, he would speak to Caleb and tell him more about their last victim.

“Our last one screamed like you,” he said, “He also cried like a little baby---”

He forced Caleb underwater

“He begged us to stop, but we kept going---”

“Told us we couldn’t do this, but we did it anyways---”

“He thought we were going to kill him, but he took care of that himself---”

“He drowned in the river just shortly after he escaped---”

“Don’t know if it was an accident---”

“Or if he was so miserable after what we did that he just decided to end his own sad life---”

“But let that serve as a warning to you.”

“Jack!” It was Victor who spoke this time, “That’s enough for now.”

Caleb’s breath came in short gasps. The air almost tasted sweet in his mouth after being deprived of it for so long. His dark brown hair clung to his forehead and his teeth chattered from the cold. He could see dark circles dancing at the edge of his vision. His whole body trembled as he prayed that this was the last of it. He couldn’t take any more of this.

“Take him back to his cell,” Victor ordered.

Jack took out a key, unshackling Caleb at last. Caleb didn’t try to run this time. It was no longer a realistic option. He wasn’t even sure he could stand up on his own at this point. He had completely forgotten about his injured ankle until he tried to walk on it. The pain from being branded like cattle had taken his mind off of the twisted ankle. It hadn’t gotten any better, but it paled in comparison to what he had just gone through.

Jack led him back down to his cell. Perhaps Caleb had imagined it, but somehow the hall seemed to have gotten even longer. It seemed to stretch on for an eternity as Jack led him back to the tiny cell at a painstakingly slow pace. Caleb almost hated to admit it, but he wanted to be back in the cell. After all that he had been put through he just wanted to be alone without Victor and Jack hurting him both physically and emotionally.

Jack finally opened up the door to his cell and shoved Caleb in. Caleb sank to his knees, as Jack slammed the door behind him. He heard the faint click as Jack locked the door.

“One more thing,” Jack said, peering at him through the bars, “That girl you came in with, she’s your sister, isn’t she?”

Caleb nodded. He had almost forgotten about Eva. All he could do was hope that she wasn’t as scared or as hurt as he was. Both Victor and Jack had mentioned that they rarely took out their branding stick, so if they had hurt her then at least it wasn’t as bad as the way they hurt him.

“We killed her,” Jack said bluntly, “Hung her this morning. It was very quick and painless. Just thought you should know.” Then he left.

Of all the horrible thing that Jack had done to him, it was his words that hurt the most. Caleb curled up on the floor of his cell and began to sob uncontrollably. He was truly alone. He had no family left. Eva had died in the horrible prison, and Caleb knew he probably would too. No one would miss him; back at home he was just a lowly chimney sweep with no real friends. He wouldn’t be surprised if no one even noticed he was gone.

How were they allowed to get away with this, Caleb wondered as he lay on the cold ground of is cell. Did the King know that this was even happening? Would it make a difference if he did? They had killed Eva, and Caleb knew he would be next. Caleb didn’t even try to find a silver lining. He didn’t have anything that was worth staying alive for. He curled up in a little ball, utterly defeated and cried until he couldn’t cry anymore.

Author's note: Sorry for uploading this a little late. I was super busy yesterday and I had less time for editing than I thought I would. I'll try to be more diligent in the future about letting everyone know if I won't be posting on time. Anyways, thanks for being patient. The next chapter should be ready on the 12th (so back to my regular posting schedule).

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doomedandstoned · 5 years

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A Walk through the Desert of Absurdity with Mizmor

~Review & Interview by Calvin Lampert~

'Cairn' (2019) is a good cry. That was my impression after listening to the new Mizmor record for the first time; I felt positively exhausted after the last drones of "The Narrowing Way" faded into silence. Despite being on the surface a garish mixture of black and doom metal (or as Mizmor mastermind A.L.N. himself put it: “wholly doomed black metal”) there’s something comforting about Cairn, a sort of cleansing quality that goes beyond simple catharsis. And it was just what I needed. Fate has it that whenever I feel particularly down one of my favorite bands drops their new record.

Last year, it was YOB with their wonderful Our Raw Heart, and it seems like this year Mizmor aides. Even the impeccable release timing aside this was a release that I had high hopes in, especially after the incredible Yodh in 2016 and I was certain Mizmor would deliver. That’s just me of course, and your mileage will vary, on account of the deeply personal nature of Mizmors music and well...the music itself, which is anything but easy-listening. After all, Mizmor was created out of necessity, for A.L.N. to deal with his loss of faith, existential dread, and search for meaning, and, now with Cairn, the question of how to proceed with your life? Bleak stuff, even within the bleak realm of one-man blackened doom metal projects.

Yet, there’s a lot to appreciate about Cairn, so much in fact that I had an entire review written for it, only to scrap most of the draft, because I had found so many new aspects to talk about in the time leading up to the interview with A.L.N. (read below), and after talking to him I was left with an even deeper appreciation for the record and the way it is structured. An album I felt I hadn’t done justice with my initial draft. Thus, onto draft No. 2.

Possibly the most immediate quality of Cairn is the odd meddling of beauty and horror, hope and despair. One would be quick to point out the copious amount of world-weary, acoustic guitar sections (which are a staple of Mizmor's music) in contrast to the overall heaviness and abrasiveness of Cairn as the most obvious example of this, yet the aspect that was a particular standout to me was the rather unusual melody of the first half of the album opener, "Desert of Absurdity."

Cairn by מזמור

The first time you hear it it tricks you into believing that it is your standard black metal tremolo pick, but then the melody progresses into something more hopeful, uplifting even. But think less Deafheaven's "Sunbather" and more YOB's "Essence" (for the select few that are familiar with that rarity). In a way it even could pass as a continuation of the grand outro section of "Inertia, an ill Compeller" off Yodh. Good things don’t last though, and before long the melody shifts into something darker, in a process that I can only describe akin to watching a timelapse of a still life turning to rot. Mizmor never slips into outright exaltation and all that is beautiful comes with a ball-and-chain of melancholy at best, and abysmal despair at worst.

Cairn by מזמור

And it only gets darker from here. Follow-up "Cairn to God" with its gargantuan 18-minute runtime has (unlike "Desert of Absurdity") no concern for attention spans or fancy tempo changes and proceeds to drop a huge and indeed wholly doomed riff on your head. This is Mizmor at it’s blatantly doomiest to date; an exercise in patience, yet also a surprisingly varied song. But persistent above all else. The main riff is ever present, whether it is there as droning chords, slow tremolo pick or acoustic break, its resolve and grip cannot be broken, even when "Cairn to God" grinds to a complete halt and falls silent for a few tense moments, as if to gather its strength for the next step while it drags you through the landscape. In short, it’s agonizing. A labor to match for both the listener and the artist.

Cairn by מזמור

"Cairn to Suicide" feels almost like a respite. An odd thing to say, considering the less than gentle transition from the mournful wallow of "Cairn to God," to the full-on-blastbeat assault at a second's notice. More than any other song, "Cairn to Suicide" plays with your expectations, and just as you probably didn’t see that jump-scare of an opening coming, you won’t really be prepared for what is possibly Cairn's most triumphant moment -- a sudden return of the main riff after a fake acoustic outro that launches into a dramatic guitar lead over a striding mid-tempo beat and A.L.N.'s desperate howl. As with the bittersweet melody of "Desert of Absurdity," it is something that is hard to put into words (cue the saying of reviewing music is like dancing about architecture) and has to be heard to be really appreciated, but I cannot overstate how majestic, but also incredibly driving and urgent this section is. It lends a certain righteousness to despair; feeling anything but empathy for A.L.N. would seem wrong at this point. If you’re looking for a highlight, here it is.

Because of it’s varied nature, "Cairn to Suicide" also shows the virtues of the more polished production of the record. Whereas Yodh’s raw production made its densest moments feel downright claustrophobic and suffocating, Cairn's comparatively seems almost “lofty” -- “too much,” some might say. You feel vulnerable and exposed in the open space of the extended ambient section of "Cairn to Suicide," not quite unlike the small figure trapped the gaze of the towering, ominous entity that adorns Cairn's cover (yet another striking piece by Mariusz Lewandowski of Mirror Reaper fame). The art is equally reflective of that change from Yodh with its vivid colors; the all-permeating existential dread is just a different flavor this time.

Cairn by מזמור

Reaching a tentative climax with "Cairn to Suicide" begs the question where album closer "The Narrowing Way" will go. To the wake apparently, because in textbook funeral doom manner A.L.N. busts out a king size forlorn saaaaaad riff-lead combo that wouldn’t be out of place on a Pallbearer or Loss record, except it is much more bitter. No, "The Narrowing Way" doesn’t go gentle into that good night, and the lack of a pastoral acoustic outro, which had been the conclusions of the previous songs, is the least of your worries.

"The Narrowing Way" really can only be described as fucking bitter. A.L.N.'s vocals suddenly seem uncomfortably close -- it’s do or die, as his snarl shifts into an air-starved howl. The song begins to slow down to a crawl and lose form, collapsing into a cacophony of shrieks, until nothing but a distant chant remains. A.L.N. might as well have called it quits at this point but in a move that seems downright cruel a single menacing guitar rises out of the remains of the song, beckoning the arrival of Cairn's most desolate and barren chapter; an ugly, dissonant and crushing “thing” that you could call a breakdown. The breakdown to end breakdowns, really. We’re talking Primitive Man levels of sheer being-done-with-it-ness. Then, a final wail and nothing but smashed drones remain.

All gone and done, Cairn leaves you in shambles. And therein lies A.L.N./Mizmors greatest strength: his capability to craft emotionally devastating music. Yet (and because of) for how ghastly it all sounds, Cairn, just as its predecessor Yodh, is ultimately a very human record about the human condition. An earnest expression of A.L.N.'s feelings, created out of sheer necessity to expel, deadpan in its conviction and masterful in its execution. Ugly when it must be (which is more than often), beautiful when it can be, and always tugging at your heartstrings.

Whether “emotionally devastating” is something you’re looking for in your music is entirely up to you, but if it connects with you it’ll hit you hard. Granted, that’s a big “if,” but I think it’s what sets a record that is memorable apart from one that is merely good, and Cairn is definitely the former. And this is the lasting impression that has stayed with me for each listen, and each draft of this review.

An Interview with A.L.N. of Mizmor

This interview, just as the review, was unplanned. I had contacted A.L.N. a few days prior to congratulate him on the imminent release of Cairn, but before long we were exchanging bands and discussing the emotional effects of music -- something I had tried to address in our first interview at Roadburn 2018, yet had struggled to put into proper terms back then. A.L.N. offered himself up for another interview to discuss these themes, further put into the context of his new record. An offer I couldn’t decline.

How are you? What is on your mind?

I’m doing fairly well. “Cairn” came out today so I feel celebratory. Things on my mind: the album, tour preparations, other business, my cat who demands attention, my partner with whom I’ll be going to dinner this evening, my friends who make me laugh.

Can you talk a bit about the themes of the record? What is the concept behind 'Cairn'?

In a nutshell, “Cairn” is about setting up guideposts for yourself, in an effort to help navigate the terrain of life by aiding your memory, so as to avoid retracing your steps. It ruminates on the absurdity of life and the human condition, that is mankind’s continual search for meaning in a chaotic universe devoid of ultimate purpose. A person can have one of three responses to this premise: choose to reject reality and believe in God instead (to give your life a sense of ultimate purpose), kill yourself (because a life without ultimate meaning is no longer worth living), or accept the situation for what it is (and live life presently, in truth, in the face of the absurd, defining meaning for yourself in an effort to enjoy and live purposefully). The third option is the only viable one, as the other two escape reality. The cairns (or stacks of rocks) serve as giant memorials to the deaths of both the idea of god and suicide. With these built, the individual is free to continue moving forward, with less confusion and temptation, on the path of a life lived in truth, lucidity, and ultimately enjoyment.

I think a lot of people had very high expectations after 'Yodh.' I found myself asking what could possibly follow after a record of such magnitude? Not really that I was having doubts that 'Cairn' would be a great record, but it felt like 'Yodh' was final, just “razed everything”, and I couldn’t really sketch out where you’d go with Cairn. Did you feel any pressure during the creation of the record?

Yes, but a lot of it was self-imposed. As an artist, I am always seeking to push myself into new territory and outdo what I have done previously. My own personal bar I set is to try and make a record I will be comfortable with listening to in 10 years. I’m not sure this is possible, which is why I implement it (or it is possible and I just have not yet made a good enough record). I put immense pressure on myself to create something that displayed higher fidelity, superior techniques, better songwriting, and strong performances (as compared with my previous works). Like many, I am my own toughest critic, so making a better (and different) record than Yodh seemed difficult to me, since I still felt fairly satisfied with that album (in the sense that I felt it was an accurate expression of my emotions and thesis). But there were a lot of things I wanted to improve upon, and therein lies the pressure. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t aware of the fact that certain folks held “Yodh” in high regard -- we got to play important festivals because of that album and even had one of those live sets released on vinyl by a label, so I knew people liked it.

This was the cherry on top of the pressure cake I had created for myself. But at the end of the day, it truly doesn’t matter what other people think. I of course want my supporters to like the next thing I make, but the reason I make the music is intensely personal, and in that sense, I make the records for myself and my own satisfaction with my work is what I’m seeking to achieve. I want to get to the other side of the album creating process and be able to feel that I have successfully accomplished my goal of taking my vision and making it come to life effectively. Did the emotion get conveyed? Is the theme understandable? Does the sonic quality aid in the absorption of the message? Does the artwork help in the digestion of the music? I just want to be able to say, ‘Yep, I did my best to get this thing from point A to point B with my core intention still in tact,’ and in that sense, be able to feel proud of it. And whether or not people like it is another story.

We talked about how music affects us emotionally. Like, how I feel a strong connection to your music despite not having gone through the same spiritual turmoil as you have. We’ve both come to the conclusion that there seems to be a mutual empathic bond between the listener and artist. How would you describe it (as you seem way better at describing it than I do)? How do you experience and perceive it, more specifically as an artist? And whose music makes you feel that way?

That’s a good question. To answer the first part, as an artist, I experience the mutual empathy between artist and listener directly in its most potent form when people reach out to talk to me about their experience with the music. With Mizmor, this is usually related to traumatic religious situations: people who have escaped, survived, or otherwise left their religions. I personally love having these conversations because they let me know I’m not alone. There is a certain element of relief and even freedom in learning this. I’m humbled whenever someone shares with me their story and tells me my music has helped them in some way. It inspires in me a newfound sense of purpose; that simply being open, honest, and vulnerable about my own life and experiences in the form of creating art can resound in others and inspire relationship. It’s incredibly powerful; we help one other, therapeutically in this way.

The second part of the question is a little more difficult to answer. There is a broader sense to an intangible quality of music (and other art) which inspires in me what I will call ‘the feeling.’ What I mean by ‘the feeling’ is somewhat ineffable but can be hinted at with words like yearning, longing, being moved, and being taken with emotion. For me, melancholic melodies usually do this, especially when the human voice is involved. If you want some examples of music I am moved by from various genres, I recommend checking out the artist-playlist I recently made for Evil Greed on Spotify titled “Up to Date: A.L.N. (Mizmor)”. There is a more specific sense in which this can occur in a more potent form and I believe that is empowered by clarity and authenticity.

When music has a definite purpose/meaning, especially when it is an outlet for healing, therapy, and catharsis, it really hits home. For example, I am extremely moved by the music of my close friend Matt (or MSW, whose music is called Hell). Hell effectively utilizes melodies and riffs for the purpose of emotional release through the telling of a story of grief from the loss of a family member. If you don’t know this, the music is still absolutely amazing on its own (and you may even be able to sense that something more is lying beneath the surface of the sonics); if you do know this, the music becomes so incredibly weighty, that it’s nearly impossible to hear without becoming completely immersed and overwhelmed by empathy, sadness, and longing. The marriage of talent and purpose is what makes art truly compelling.

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You’re heading out for your first tour next month. I imagine performing this music live every night will be very draining (both physically with you also drumming for Hell, as well as emotionally). How do you plan to keep things level-headed?

I don’t, haha. I am nervous. I will performing with Mizmor night after night; I’ve only ever performed a Mizmor set as a stand-alone affair. In addition to trying out this consecutiveness, as you’ve said, I’ll be performing with Hell every night too. Back to back performances, back to back nights. I’m used to performing with Hell on tour and though it’s difficult, we manage. I think Matt and I are going to get very physically and emotionally drained, not just from the performances, but in all the other ways that you must sacrifice comfort, stability, and routine to live life on the road. I will probably get sick, as I do on almost every tour (just a cold though), but we will only be gone for 2.5 weeks, which is the perfect amount. I am going to try and focus on how special it is to be with five of my dearest friends, traveling around playing music we’ve written. I am incredibly grateful for these opportunities and am going to continually seek to focus my attention on all the love and fun around me.

New music for Mizmor is only written when you have the emotional need to do so, so this might be too early to ask, but where do you feel that Mizmor is headed to next, thematically? Just as with 'Yodh' I find myself wondering what could possibly come after Cairn?

To be completely honest, I have no idea what the future looks like for Mizmor. I’ve always taken the project one step at a time, only progressing to new territory when it is necessitated by the demand for expression in myself and the demand for greater accessibility by my fans. Releasing a new full-length and going on tour for the first time are big enough steps for me that I’m still really just focusing on that right now. New music has to find me, which takes an unknown amount of time. But I think it’s safe to expect some more live engagements, here and there, around this new chapter called “Cairn.”

Thank you for your time!

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eddie-t-n-cool · 3 years

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Chapter One: The Arrangements

It was in the year 1995 when I completed my studies at the University of Coventry, did I have the minutest intention of becoming a constable. After reading up on all the necessary qualifications a good deal, I went on a two-year course in Oxford to study up on the main topics of Law and the Force. Finally, after finishing that too, I, highly satisfied, took all my degrees and headed down to the Coventry police-station, and asked the Chief Inspector there if they could give me a job there. Sure enough, I was quickly assigned as a simple trainee in the Forensics sector, and, greatly excited, at once embarked upon my new duties.

Sadly to say, my short service in Forensics could not have been further than a walk in the park. Of course, there were certainly memorable moments where I solved some thrilling cases more than there was visible to the public, but other than that there was much a confusion of horror and pain, more than enough to rattle my nerves for the rest of my natural existence. Yet I had never thought much of it until the Exeter murders of 1999, when my colleagues and I were examining the crime scene for evidence and a hand-grenade exploded under us, leaving most of us severely injured. I would have died of my injuries, a lonely and poor young man, had it not been for Stafford, my classmate at Oxford and the reserve medi-man, who carried me out of the fiery scene and made sure I was air-flown safely back to Coventry. I was to remain indebted to him to this day.

But what was I to be in this vast tangle of turn-of-the-century England? I naturally began to gravitate towards London, that inimitable cesspool in which all the loungers and idlers of the British Empire are irresistably drained. Thus began my 2-day journey from Coventry to London. I had nothing but a simple case containing a change of clothes and my old set of investigation tools, and being at the tender, strained age of twenty-four, I could hardly feel no fatigue nor friction at my spur-of-the-moment trip towards the capital of the city.

In fact, it was only till I had long entered London and was standing in front of the statue of Horatio Nelson at Trafalgar Square did I realise the gravity of my prospects. I had no kith nor kin in London; if this went on too long I would have to live on the streets; and now, the idea of the job in Forensics sounded rather bleak too. The next few days I spent cooped up in a tiny room in a Holborn hotel, spending as little as I could on my meagre savings, while buying myself time to work out a game plan if I wanted to survive this London wilderness.

The Thursday our story starts, I was standing in front of the Black Sheep with but a box of fish-and-chips, wondering if my money would permit me to take a drink there, when there was a genial clap on my shoulder and a loud laugh which I recognised too well as my uncle Andrew's old friend Camden, of high rank of Chief Constable in the Met. "Jackie! Came to London to achieve great things, eh?"

Nevertheless, in my surprise I nearly dropped my fish-and-chips, but recovered in time. Turning around to look at him, I grinned. The years hadn't changed him a bit. No, he was still in his old style, his big blue eyes that seemed to notice everything, his five-foot-seven and lean stature. Which was more than could be said for me, definitely. "It's Jack now. I'm no longer a little boy, remember?"

Fifteen minutes later, I was no longer standing outside the Black Sheep, but sitting inside the crowded shop, in an end table, talking old times over with Camden, who had once been my uncle's friend and was now mine, over two steaming paper cups of cappucino. "So, how's your work been going?"

"I was about to ask you the same question," Camden patted me a few times on the back, "What's happened that's brought my favourite god-nephew to a place like London? Besides, if I'm not mistaken, you look way thinner than I'd last seen you." At this I gave a hurried explanation of all the trials and tribulations that had brought me to this step, including my currently poor health. When all was complete Camden, clucking his tongue, shook his head and said, "Poor boy, poor boy! All these things at your age! Well, they'll toughen you up at any rate. So, anything you need in London?"

Sighing at the thought of all my hopes, dreams and wants lying in a crumpled, soddy heap in the pit of my stomach, I began to count. "Well, first of all, there'll be a new addition to the eight percent of eighteen-to-twenty-five-year-old homeless in London if I don't get proper lodging within the next few days, since I can't spend the rest of my life stuck inside a crummy hotel-room reeking of boiled cabbage." Making sure Camden was still listening, I continued. "Secondly, I would try to get a job. Anything at all. As soon as possible. Because, either way, no accomodation or no cash, I will be sleeping on the streets. So, knotty problem here. You said you wanted to know." When I was finished I leaned forward, waiting for his reply.

Camden seemed to be weighing his words very carefully. "Okay. So, Jack, may I quote, you have a knotty problem to deal with. Indeed. Here's the thing. I may be able to help you." He gave my hand a soft squeeze from underneath the table and winked.

My eyes widened. The thought of finding help so soon had never occurred to me. Then again, never did the thought of meeting a friendly face in the same place as I was, even if we were not necessarily in the same predicament. "Really. I cannot accept. Your help-"

But Camden winked again, a sly one this time. "You haven't heard it all yet." My eyes widened further, to the size of dinner-plates, as I listened curiously. This expression made him chuckle. "Look, for your housing issue, I am currently living in rented accomodation on Wharton Street, Pentonville. There is just a comfortable spot for one more simple, lonely man, and I choose you. The landlord, a Mr. Carruthers, is a brilliant man – he takes care of us so well – and his daughter, five-year-old Louisa, is a dear – I am currently teaching her to play the zither, as I have learnt during my days of study in China. I thought that place would be suitable for you. And once you have settled down nicely can we think about your job."

His thought surprised and amazed me at the same time. I could almost hear the cogs turning in my head. This was a perfect solution to my problems, lying right in front of me, and one nod or 'Yes' would save me all the trouble of fretting about any further prospects. Yet would it be too much? As though he had read my mind, Camden quickly added, "The rent will be free of charge, and Carruthers was just talking to me the other day about the room at the end being empty for several months, so I am sure you will be exceptionally welcome there, and that he will not mind if I take you in."

This was an added bonus to me. If I was sure that my presence was not to be too much of a hindrance to the family and their other tenant, then what was there to lose by rejecting, compared to what could be gained? With a long sigh, I replied, "Okay. Tell Mr. Carruthers to clear up the room of any month-old cobwebs right away. I will be coming tomorrow to have a look at the place."

A grin played its way along Camden's face, like he knew all along I was bound to come to this conclusion. "Let us meet at Wilmington Square tomorrow at twelve, and lunch at The Union before heading over." At once this arrangement was agreed upon, and, with a shake of hands, we parted for the day. Only when I reached the end of the road did I realise I was grinning, too.

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shadowxcetra · 4 years

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Main Muse Info (FFVII)

Name: Eden Inbar

Many of the characters in the Final Fantasy Universe have unique names (such as Yazoo, Rude, and Cloud); I wanted to try to stick to that. Her father gave her the name Eden, in hopes she would be as beautiful and bountiful in blessings, but he had no intentions in her falling into sin like those within the Garden. Eden is to represent the Garden of Eden in that sense. As the story progresses, Eden gradually becomes corrupted with the jealousy and the frustration in her struggle with her heritage and identity, she betrays the Planet and what she holds dear, thus resulting in her losing that spiritual light.

Not only she represents the fall of Eden, but her story is to illustrate Judas Iscariot, the disciple who committed betrayal out of greed. Ultimately, her story is to reveal that even the most faithful can fall. However, her story is to also show the radical power of forgiveness, how it can revive the dead spirit.

The last name, Inbar, means “Amber” in Hebrew. The amber eyes are a major characteristic of Eden. They are supposed to be inherited from her Cetran roots. From what I gathered, Ancients are known to have earthy traits; an example being Aerith’s green eyes and brown hair. Eden is given amber eyes not only because it is an earthy color, but it also represents her darker motivations. Amber is the color of sap that bleeds from wounded trees; when Eden betrays the Planet, she hurts all that is connected with it such as the people, animals, plants, and trees. Their blood stains her conscience.

Race: Cetra/Cosmo Canyon Native

Appearance: Eden stands about 5’ 3’’, and has medium tan skin from her mother and father. She is also considered underweight due to her subpar hunting skills. She is not always successful in catching food; and with the gritty, bleak world Final Fantasy VII is set in, many of the population were poor and couldn’t always afford necessities. Eden is one of those who struggle greatly.

She also has various scars from her hunts and battles. Three claw marks are seen on her left collarbone; three huge, jagged scars rip over her left rib cage and reach down her side. She also has scars from a bite wound on her right arm.

I based her appearance loosely on the Egyptian and Middle Eastern backgrounds. She bears the tattoos around her eyes and on her cheeks that are iconic of Egyptian relics, and wears three piercings on both ears (a golden ring, silver stud, and silver ring), the ivory fang gauge is seen only on her left ear. Two thin, silver lip rings are on her bottom lip.

There is also a tattoo on her left wrist, hidden beneath her arm covering. It is a small sun symbol with two eagle feathers. It’s to honor her late mother.

Each of the eight thin braids, each braid held together by a gold band. Her bangs are long, angled, messy, and jagged.

The choker she wears around her neck is hemp braided with a gun-metal, swirled tribal pendant that loosely resembles a beast’s paw. The dark satchel strapped to her hip often carries sleep materia and other small items she can manage to stuff in. She also has hazel eyes, to give an indication of her connection to the Planet. She also wears baggy, acid-stained jeans and furry boots.

From what I gathered from Cetra (Ancients) depicted from the Temple, they resonate with an appearance of those from Egypt and the surrounding area. I am aware that Aerith does not look as exotic (light skin tone, no eye markings) but I wanted to try to reflect what the Cetra ancestors may have looked, or intended to look.

Personality: Eden can be cunning, and she relies on this trait when facing a troubling situation; often choosing to stick to the shadows and tricks rather than facing someone head-on. Eden can’t stand the thought of losing control and is known to fight viciously and dirty when cornered. Preferring to be quiet and simply observe, she struggles with social interactions, especially first time meetings. She is paranoid towards others, thus she doesn’t trust easily. The woman is also victim to envy, as she can become very jealous towards those who are more skilled or more blessed than she is. She broods quietly instead of talking about her problems; and can seem dishonest, selfish, and stubborn.

However, towards those who grow close to her heart, she becomes protective and does her best to be dependable. The Ancient becomes more playful to those she loves and often becomes touchy-feely with them. She is rather insecure, due to her fear of the LifeStream and belief that she is cursed, and often looks towards intimacy as a means to help combat with her insecurities.

Parents:

Her father’s name is Cassiel, which is the name of the archangel of tears and solitude in the Kabbalah. He is an Ancient, and because of his heritage, he questions and fears of what the voices will do to him. Because of his fear, He tries not to get involved with the Planet’s troubles, despite the Planet’s urgings for him to act.

Her mother’s name is Nizhoni, which I found means “Beautiful” in Navajo. She is a Cosmo Canyon native, and a passionate supporter of AVALANCHE and the Planet. She tries to give as much as she can to support their cause.

Timeline:

Crisis Core, Original FFVII game/ FFVII remake:

It has been two years since her father’s death and Eden grows even more restless and unable to remain alone within the wilds. Upon her travels she heard some residents in Kalm speak of Midgar being “a place for heroes”. If a city could turn anyone into heroes, perhaps an easier way of life would be possible for her. While this was one of her reasons to come to Midgar, it wasn’t the only one. The very mention of the name “Midgar” stirred something deep within. It was like a prick of uncertainty, rousing an urgency to find something there. It made the feverish buzz of the spirits sharpen into mourning, which turned into outright screaming when “ShinRa” was ever spoken. Eden didn’t want to admit the Planet was also an influence to her entering the city.

Eden quickly realizes there was no desire for a hunter within the urban chaos and finds herself beneath the Plate. She discovers a means to making essentials accessible, however, as she turns towards Wall Market. She spends the late nights lurking along the streets, seeking out and luring potential victims who already had quite a bit of liquor and were on their way to the Honey Bee Inn or to other bars. She gives them the promise of a passionate good time, only to bring them out of public sight to either use Sleep materia on them or simply knock them out. These victims are then left among rubble and shade with their gil and valuables stolen. The repeated kidnappings and theft lead to her receiving the alias “Jackal” and though those of power have yet to pin down her identity, her luck is quickly running out with each risky attempt.

Through all this, the Planet’s ghostly echoes continue to haunt her. They hiss and seize her mind, pushing her to look for something, or someone. They urge her to search for this soul within the Slums, as well as keep a watchful eye upon those who are loyal to ShinRa. The relentless battle against the whispers comes to a head when she stumbles upon those called AVALANCHE and she is swept into the conflict between the freedom fighters and ShinRa.

Midst the storm of violence and escape, Eden discovers the one the Planet pushed for her to find: Aerith. Immediately she is fascinated and fearful of the fellow Cetra, and struggles between looking to her for guidance or continuing her fierce resistance to it all. She finds that not only is Aerith able to find comfort in these voices, but has given her far greater power.

This fuels Eden’s envy, she couldn’t understand why all she could hear are distorted, devilish whispers than supposedly familiar souls. Soon Eden comes to the idea that the Planet has truly condemned her to endure the curse of their bloodline, while Aerith receives the blessings of it. Eden becomes enraptured by Sephiroth’s displays of control and words and in secret decides to side with him in hopes to gain some of that power. She sabotages AVALANCHE’s efforts to capture Sephiroth whenever able.

Eventually, Aerith confides in her the plan of saving the Planet. Eden encourages Aerith to go to the Ancient City alone, knowing that a trap would be waiting for her there. Once she witnesses Aerith’s death and her betrayal is revealed, however, Eden realizes her hands are stained not just of Cetran blood, but the blood of her allies and of all those who depend on the Planet. That was the only time the Planet fell truly silent for her.

#ffviiverse

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sending-the-message · 6 years

Text

Bleak Christmas by ecrowe

I told my wife I had a surprise for her the week before Christmas. She asked if it could wait until the day, but I said no, this couldn’t.

By the time she got out of bed, I had the car running. The ice that had spread across the windscreen overnight was gone and the inside would be toasty for her.

"What's this for?" she asked, standing in her dressing gown, peering out into the cold morning air.

"It's your surprise," I replied, handing over a red envelope.

She opened it. A mixture of confusion and excitement danced on her face.

"A photo of a cottage, I don't get it?"

"That's where we're spending Christmas."

"But the tree, the presents?"

"All sorted. I've covered everything."

"I don't know, I have work."

"No you don't, I spoke to your manager and it's all sorted."

"Really?"

"Really," I said grinning.

She jumped on the spot, the reality setting in.

"We're staying there?" she said, pointing to the photo, "It looks gorgeous! This is all so sudden. Let me pack."

"I've done that as well."

I had outdone myself this time.

"It looks exactly like the picture!" Sarah said, getting out of the car.

The snow had slowed our progress. We had arrived shortly after 3 o’clock; the sun was well into its journey to hide behind the horizon. The old stone cottage stood proud, its thatched roof, a bed for the blanket of snow that coated it. On the ground, untouched white lay in every direction, tinted orange by the winter evening sun.

"Oh and that snow, wow!" Sarah continued, "Come on, let’s go inside!"

I unlocked the door and the pleasant smell of burning wood enveloped us, like a welcome hug from an old friend.

In the living room the logs in the hearth crackled. A Christmas tree occupied the far corner. The baubles and tinsel reflected the glow of the fire in their mirror-like finish. Presents of different sizes and in an assortment of gift paper were stacked below.

Sarah turned to me, her eyebrow cocked, "Are you sure you did this? My Darren? My Darren did all this?"

"I had to call in a few favours, but yeah, I did."

"I love you," she murmured, as she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. She relaxed her embrace and sighed in contentment.

I made a mental note to thank my friend Joe, without him, none of this would have been possible.

"Make yourself comfortable, I'll get the suitcases," I said.

I left the cottage, the icy cold air rushed in as if it were shoppers on Black Friday. I stumbled back from the shock, zipping up my coat in the process.

I followed my fresh footsteps back to the car, trying hard not to spoil anymore of the pristine snow. I opened the boot and took out our cases, not letting them touch the ground. Using my chin I pressed down on the lid, bending over to lock it in position before losing my grip. I dropped Sarah's case onto the driveway; with a satisfying poof, it landed. My game was over. I shut the boot and picked up the now damp case.

Something caught my eye. On the far side of the yard, I could see the outline of a figure. I left the luggage where it was and walked to the edge of the grass.

The snow crunched under foot, it had been years since I felt that. When I was close enough to see it, to see her, I stopped in my tracks. A woman stood next to a small brick wall, holding her hands out from her side, palms facing me. When I realised she had no clothing on, I averted my eyes.

"Can I help you?" I said, shielding my gaze, "Do you need me to get you a coat?"

I looked back up and she was gone. All I could see was the immaculate snow stretching off into the distance.

"What are you looking at?" Sarah asked from the door, "I heard you talking to someone, so came out."

"Oh, no-one. I thought I saw... It doesn't matter. I've got the cases," I said, holding them up to prove it.

I picked up the TV remote.

"We don't need to watch TV do we?" Sarah said pouting.

"What else are we going to do?"

"We could talk, or read, or..."

"I didn't bring a book," I replied.

"I'm sure there's something here to do. Have you tried looking in the cupboards? It is a holiday cottage after all."

I sighed and got up.

"Do you want me to open the wine?" she asked.

"Sure," I was going to need some alcohol if the TV was off limits.

I left the living room and walked the small hallway to the closet that sat at the end. I didn't notice when the temperature dropped. I stopped at the end and I gave out an involuntary shiver. It was much colder here than in the living room. I wondered how that was possible. How could the heat just stop here? I placed my hand on the cupboard's icy cold handle. I hesitated at first, but opened it anyway.

A mildewy odour drifted out, it clung to my throat, causing me to cough. I clicked on the small drawstring light, and saw the few games - Monopoly, Cluedo and Scrabble. I reached for the latter and pulled. As I did another one slid out. An unmarked scarlet box, it had the texture of how old book covers feel. On the side in gold gilding was the simple word - jigsaw.

I relaxed when I returned to the welcoming fire. Yet, the chill of the hallway had seeped into my bones.

"I found a couple of games," I said, holding out the Scrabble and Monopoly.

"Ugh," Sarah said, "We can't play Monopoly, it's such a horrible game."

"Scrabble then?"

"What's the other one you have?"

"It's a jigsaw of some sort."

"Ooo, that sounds fun. I haven't done one of those since I was a kid. What is it of?"

"I've no idea," I said, turning the box over, "there's no picture."

"Even better, it will be a surprise."

"Sure," I relented, discarding the other games.

Sarah snatched the box from me, placing it on the table and opened the lid.

"You have to start with the edges," she said, already searching through the container for the pieces, "I'm so excited!"

I poured myself a glass of wine and gulped the first few mouthfuls. Without prompting, she looked through her pile and began joining them together. I snuck my phone out of my pocket and texted Joe, thanking him for the cottage; a few seconds later a thumbs up emoji came back.

I couldn't believe how full the fridge was. I took out some cold meats and made each of us a sandwich.

"I hope you're okay with roast beef," I said, holding out the plate for Sarah.

She stared through me, her eyes wide and scared.

"She's still here you know," Sarah announced flatly.

"Who is?"

"Ann."

"Ann who?" I said confused.

Sarah continued to stare, turning her palms to face me.

"Sarah, are you okay?" I said raising my voice.

She shook her head.

"They look lovely," she said smiling.

I handed over the sandwich.

"Who's Ann?" I asked.

"What?"

"You said Ann is still here?"

She chuckled, "I have no idea what you are talking about."

She bit into bread and with a full mouth said, "Wow, this is good. Since when did you know how to make a sandwich?"

I feigned a smile.

The edges clicked into place in no time. The brush strokes gave away that the jigsaw was a painting of some sort. Blue sky decorated the top, with white snow along the left and bottom.

"You getting bored?" I asked.

Sarah curled up on the sofa.

"No, I’m tired; I think it's the wine."

I continued to search for pieces and every now and then one found its place, filling in the sky.

"Darren?" she asked through closed eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you, this has been great."

"You're welcome," I said, running my hand through her hair.

I took a sip of wine and continued with the puzzle.

Sarah gently snored beside me, but I hardly noticed; I was so enraptured by the jigsaw. As the scene unfolded, it was uncanny.

"Hey, Sarah, look at this!" I said, prodding her awake.

"She's outside," she mumbled in her semi-conscious state.

I ignored her.

"Check this out," I continued, shaking her awake.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"What does this look like to you?"

"You woke me up to show me that jigsaw? I'm going to go back to sleep."

"Sarah, seriously, look at it!"

She sighed, propping herself up.

"That over there," I said pointing to the right side of the puzzle, "Doesn't that look just like our car?"

She rubbed her eyes and squinted.

"I guess."

"Look, that's this cottage!"

She sounded intrigued, but still groggy from sleep. Around a third of the jigsaw was now complete.

The painting wasn't detailed enough to make out the registration plate. Aside from than that, the tiny vehicle was the spitting image of our car.

"That's this living room, isn't it?" I said.

Pieces were still missing, but the roaring fire was obvious, and the Christmas tree in the corner.

"Is that what you woke me up for?"

"Don't you find that strange?"

She relaxed back into the sofa, "Wake me up when it's complete."

As her head flopped to the side, she snored in earnest. I picked up my glass and saw that it was empty, and so was the bottle. I got up and made my way to the kitchen.

Six bottles of wine lay sideways in the chrome wine rack. I chose one at random and slid it out. I wiped away the dust to read the year - 1984. Joe had gone all out. I sank the corkscrew in and yanked. With a pop, the cork relented. I poured a glass and rested against the fridge, swilling the wine, doing my best to enjoy it, as a fine wine should be. I didn't know what I was doing. I tried to copy what I'd seen on TV, but I laughed to myself and took back a large gulp.

I was merry from the alcohol and also very relieved. Our marriage had been a little shaky recently, and I promised myself I'd be a better husband. Today was the happiest I'd seen Sarah for a long time. I grabbed my phone and composed another text to Joe.

Hey man. I can't believe the effort you put into this place. Setting up the Christmas tree and wrapping up the presents. The wine, and the fridge; so much food! I don't know how to repay you. The fire was a nice touch; that was the icing on the cake. Remind me I owe you big time!

I was about to press send when I saw the time, 23:55. Fuck it, I thought, and sent it anyway. He's not going to get annoyed if I wake him with that. He would love the fact I'm in debt to him, he'll lord that over me for years.

I gazed outside and poured myself another. Through the kitchen window I saw the snow glint in the light from inside. In the once perfect blanket of white, impressions led off into the darkness. Something was out there.

I rushed to the back door and entered the cold. It was now freezing and my jaw chattered. I turned on the torch function on my phone and shone it into the pitch black.

"Hello, is anyone out here?" I asked.

I jumped as the light illuminated a shivering naked woman.

"My name is Darren," I said, taking off my sweater, the chill of the night chilling me further, "Let me cover you up."

I approached slowly so as not to startle her, my heart raced.

"I'm going to put a jumper over your shoulders, okay?" I announced, lifting it up.

She turned to face me.

"She's out there alone, I can hear her."

"Sarah?" I shouted baffled.

Her eyes stared through me, her lips blue and quivering.

"Oh my God!"

I raced over and placed the sweater on her.

"Honey, you have to get back inside."

"Darren, what's happening? Is this a dream?"

"Sure," I said, "follow me."

I led her to the cottage, seeing her discarded clothes lying in the snow. I picked them up, one by one, as we approached the open front door.

I closed it behind me. Only embers remained in the fireplace, the cottage had lost most of its heat. I accompanied Sarah into the bedroom and tucked her in. She shivered throughout. I played with the small electric oil heater until it sprung into action. I waited, touching the metal surface until it began to heat up.

I heard her snore and let the anxiety drain. My muscles hurt from the panic. I pushed off my shoes and joined her in bed. I snuggled up behind her body a block of ice, her feet wet from the snow outside. I wrapped my arm around her and held her close. I don't know how long it was until I fell asleep. But when I awoke, it was morning.

I ran my hand along my wife's body, relieved she was now warm.

"Honey, how you feeling?"

"Ugh," she said turning over in bed to face me, "my head kills. How much did I drink?"

"Half a bottle of red."

"Is that all? I'm in so much pain, my feet hurt."

"What was the last thing you remember?"

As morning light that leaked in through the threadbare curtains, she covered her eyes.

"I don't know. Did I fall asleep on the couch?"

"Yeah," I said, not wanting to bring up the nocturnal sleep walking, "Do you want me to make you some breakfast?"

"No, I'm nauseated. Can I stay in bed?"

"Sure," I replied, getting up.

"It's so cold."

"Sorry."

I placed the blankets back down and she slipped them underneath her body.

"I'm going to get something to eat, I'll come check on you in a bit."

"Uh huh," was all she could muster.

I put on my clothes from the day before.

"If it'll cheer you up, you can open one of your presents early," I said smiling and leaving her to sleep.

In the living room the jigsaw loomed up at me. A compulsion pulled me to sit down and finish it, but I resisted, I was starving.

The fridge presented me with a dilemma, so much to eat. I scanned all the items, mentally picturing them and I weighed up how much I'd enjoy each. I reached stalemate with myself and decided to make the same sandwich I had the night before.

I stood chewing my creation and stared out of the kitchen window. I studied my wife's footprints from the night before. A fresh layer snow drifted to the ground. The anxiety from earlier rose up again, forming tight knots in my stomach, quashing my hunger. In the distance I saw the small stone wall. Behind it I could swear I saw the outline of a person. I placed my sandwich on the table and left via the back door.

Snow landed on my face, melting on impact. The wetness underfoot seeped into my shoes and chilled my feet. As more and more flakes settled, my skin turned numb. I jogged, heading straight for the stone wall. The snowfall thickened making it hard to see what appeared to be a person that stood out in the cold.

"Hello?" I asked, but heard nothing back in response.

My now damp T-shirt was cold and made me shiver. The naked woman, it was definitely a woman, who seemed to wait for me, held out her palms. At first I thought she was welcoming me. As I advanced, fresh cuts on her wrists began to bleed and drip.

"Miss!" I shouted, "I'll get you help."

I reached into my pocket to take out my phone, but it wasn't there. A mental image of the nightstand conjured up in my mind, seeing my mobile plugged into the wall socket on charge.

I moved forward with trepidation, wondering if she had been out here all night. But surely that would have been impossible. It was now that the structure of the stone wall became clear, it was a well. The woman waited behind. Too anxious to get any closer, I stopped.

She mouthed a silent shriek. Her eyes screamed back even louder. I tried to read her lips as she repeated the same word over and over again.

HELP!

I tried to formulate a plan. She was agitated and crying. Trying to keep calm, I moved one step at a time, holding my hands out in a soothing offer. Without a second thought, she crouched and fell into the hole.

I ran to the well, gripping the edge hard, gazing into the black water; its surface untouched, perfectly calm.

I placed my wet clothes over the oil heater and studied the empty bed, hearing the water run from the on-suite. Steam drifted into the room. The woman's petrified face still burnt into my retinas, still shouting that one word.

"Is that you, babe?" Sarah said from the bathroom.

"Yeah, I'm getting dressed," I replied, still in shock.

"Come in."

I smelt the fruity air, heavy with the fragrant scent of the bubble bath.

"How you feeling?" I asked.

"A bit better, thanks. Would you wash my hair?"

From the bath, she held up the shampoo; droplets of water ran down her forearm and dripped to the floor. My mind flashed back to the blood that dripped from the woman's wrists.

"Sure," I said, a little uneasy.

I knelt down next to her. I picked up a cup, filled it with water, and then poured it over her head, turning her blond hair a dark auburn colour. I lathered the liquid and she let out a satisfied sigh.

"This is nice," she cooed.

Cup by cup, I poured the water, flushing the soapy suds away.

"I still can't believe you did this," she said smiling.

I rubbed her hair and turned to look in the mirror at the end of the bath. A grin began to grow on my lips until I saw the reflection at which point my blood ran cold.

The woman glared at me, her eyes red and swollen from crying. The water coloured with a hint of pink. Her hands gripped the metal handles of the bath. Blood splashed from her wrists like a leaky tap.

"Holy shit!" I cried out, shuffling myself over to the other side of the room.

"Darren!" Sarah shouted, "What are you doing?"

I caught my breath, my heart racing in my chest.

"Darren?" her toned now concerned.

I didn't know what to say.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

A glint of light caught my eye; a single razor perched precariously on the tub.

I got up and picked up the blade.

"I saw this, sorry, I panicked."

"What? You think I was going to use that?" she said upset.

"No way, I uh..." I stumbled my words, "It's just dangerous is all. I'll leave you to it. Hope you enjoy the rest of your bath."

I left the room and headed straight to the cupboard.

I studied the razor in my hand; blood crusted the edge of the blade. I placed it on the top shelf, well out of Sarah's reach and opened the suitcase. I removed a fresh pair of clothes. Slipping on jeans, I saw my phone flash a green light, signalling I had a text.

I pushed my feet into my wet shoes and cursed at myself. Picking up the phone I read the single line message.

What the hell are you talking about? I didn't do that.

It was from Joe.

Angry, I called him back, leaving the bedroom as I did. I went outside, ready to shout at him, making sure I was out of earshot of Sarah.

"Hello?"

"Joe! What the hell is going on?!" I shouted down the phone.

"What do you mean?"

I snuck into the car, to make sure I could not be overheard.

"You swear you didn't put up the tree and wrap the presents?"

He laughed.

"What me? You know who you're talking to, right?"

"But, it's all there."

"I promise I never did!"

"What about the fridge?"

"What about it?"

"The food, it's chock full!"

"Not me mate."

"So, the fire, that wasn't you too?"

"Darren, all I did was what you asked. I put everything in the spare room. You realise I went out on a limb to get this place for you, don't you?"

I relented.

"Yeah, I appreciate that."

"The new owners won't be in until January. You haven't got anything to worry about."

"Fuck," I said.

When Joe offered me the place, he promised me that the last owner was out of the picture. It was a perfect opportunity to take Sarah somewhere nice for Christmas.

"What happened to the owners?"

"It was a young married couple. The husband went to prison earlier this year. His mother was selling it on his behalf, she couldn't afford the mortgage payments."

"Joe, I've seen things."

"I don't know what you mean."

"What happened to the wife?"

"I have no idea, I only sell the houses."

I went silent.

"Darren?"

"In the spare room you say?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks."

I hung up and got out the car. As I entered the cottage, I saw the fire in full swing, warming the place through. I headed straight for the spare room. And like Joe said, on the bed lay the Christmas tree, still in its box. Next to it, a selection of presents I had bought for Sarah, as well as some wrapping paper, tape and scissors. I closed the door behind me.

In the living room, I froze. Sarah stood, wearing a bathrobe, holding a present she had taken from under the tree. She raised it to her ear and shook.

"I wonder what it is," she beamed.

Carefully, she removed the tape and opened it. She revealed a pair of black lace panties.

"Darren?" she said seductively, "I could wear these tonight."

I feigned a smile back.

"Wait, these aren't my size."

She picked up the crumbled paper she had let fall to the floor and read the tag.

"Who the FUCK is Ann?"

"I can explain!" I said and immediately regretted it.

"Asshole! You haven't changed at all!" She threw the garment into the fire, which in turn roared with satisfaction.

"Sarah!" I pleaded.

But she was already in the bedroom. The door slamming behind her, confirmation I shouldn't follow.

I peered at the empty bottle of wine that sat on the table next to the jigsaw and worked out how many glasses I must have had. Five?

The puzzle was getting easier now the cottage was complete. Even in my inebriated state, it hypnotised me. The building covered in snow, the window into the living room showed the interior in so much detail.

The fireplace in the corner was exactly like it was here and the tree with the presents on the floor. Even the screwed up wrapping paper left strewn on the ground. And one man, with a glass of wine, finishing a jigsaw.

My ears tingled, as if someone or something was watching me. All that was remaining was the snow section in the bottom left, the hardest part.

I started to match the pure white pieces, placing them together separate from the main puzzle. I noticed what looked like footprints, and as the parts came together, a chill ran down my spine. Putting the completed section into the main picture, it was obvious to see. A delicate set of prints, running from the front of the cottage to the well in the corner.

Excited, I went to the kitchen and took out another bottle of wine, this time not giving the label a second thought. I picked up another glass and made my way to the bedroom, as a peace offering.

The living room was suddenly much colder. I placed the wine and glasses down when I heard the front door bang against the wind that now grew outside. My chest thumped as panic set in. I left the cottage.

My heart ached seeing the fresh footprints in the snow, identical to that of the jigsaw. The icy air hurt my skin. I trotted along the tracks that filled quickly with the new settling snow. The security light of the cottage did its best to illuminate my way. Its powerful beam penetrating far through the curtain of icy flakes that fell.

On the ground lay Sarah's T-Shirt, I picked it up, then her jeans, her socks, and then her underwear. I held them to my chest. I fell to the floor in front of the well, and crawled to the edge.

"Sarah? Are you down there?" I shouted.

In the moonlight, I could see the water line was lower than before and my wife smiled up at me.

"I found Ann," she laughed manically from the bottom of the well, stroking the decomposed head of the body she held in her hands.

"I told you she was here."

I dressed up smart. Wearing Sarah's favourite T-Shirt of mine and the jeans and shoes she had bought for me last Christmas. I drank from the tepid coffee, concerned she had not arrived.

"Can I get you another drink?"

"Thanks," I said, holding up my cup.

The jitters in my stomach were now a kaleidoscope of butterflies that made my leg shake sympathetically.

"Do you know how much longer she’ll be?"

"She’s on her way, I promise."

I gripped the bouquet of flowers that rested on the table.

There she was. I could see her through the glass.

Impatiently I stood up.

"Hi Sarah," I said as soon as the door opened.

Unconsciously mirroring her, I sat when she did.

"How’re you feeling?" I asked.

She smiled, her head lolling to the side gently.

"I'm good," she slurred.

I held out my hand.

"I brought you some flowers, they’re your favourite."

Her eyes did their best to focus on the roses. She brought them to her nose and breathed in deeply.

She looked to her right, "They smell lovely, don’t they. My husband bought them for me."

Puzzled, I stared at the empty seat next to her.

"I’m moving house tomorrow, just like I said; to be nearer to you."

"Did you hear that?" she said, turning to her right again, "my husband is moving closer to us. That’ll be nice."

"How long do you think she'll be here?" I asked the man next to me.

"She's doing well, aren't you Sarah?"

She nodded happily.

"Who’s she talking to?" I asked again.

"When someone goes through something so traumatic they can invent a coping mechanism; this is hers."

"I wish I could be here with you," I offered, a tear rolling down my cheek, "you must be so lonely."

She shook her head like a little child.

"No, I'm not lonely," she glanced over to the empty seat next to her, "Ann's here."

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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