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ve1vetyoongi · 4 years

Text

better with you | ksj - 01

Chapters: index

Pairing: Seokjin x female reader

Genre: fake dating/arranged marriage!au, smut, angst, humour.

Word count: 19k

Summary: A part time job as a chef at Paradise Resort seems like the perfect way to spend your summer and save up some spare cash to open your own restaurant back home. That is until you cross paths with the CEO’s son who threatens to fire you if you don’t help him inherit his trust-fund-baby-fortune. How? By making you his fiancé. Well, his pretend fiancé at least.

Warnings: oral (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, spanking, semi-public sex.

A/N: uwu hello and welcome to the first chapter of better with you, part of the paradise series! i hope you enjoy reading these characters as much as i enjoyed writing them because they’re some of my favourites 🥺💘 p.s. im honestly not happy with the pacing of this chapter, but i really wanted to share, so bare with me if it sucks!

Paradise Resort and the people in it are nothing like how you imagined them to be.

Sure, Paradise is a picturesque gated community with sparkling lake views surrounded by pear trees and sprawling green lawns and white stone fountains like the website described. And sure, everyone here drives foreign cars and loiters by the pool on weekdays and drinks bubbly for breakfast from fine China beneath chandeliers which glisten in the morning sun.

But you quickly realise there is something off; something that doesn't quite fit the expectations you had when you arrived here at the start of the summer, wide eyed and excited.

And that something is you.

You aren't one of the balding golfers leisurely steering carts across the perfectly pruned Paradise grass, flirting unashamedly with pretty young women in tennis skirts as they pass. And you aren't one of their wives, leaving lipstick stains on crystal wine glasses in wicker chairs on balconies as they giggle over finger food and afternoon tea and ignorance of their husband's infidelities.

And you certainly aren't the type of girl to spend her summer's horseback riding or wielding badminton bats or sipping copious amounts of white wine, paid for a la daddy's credit card.

No, because you are a culinary major. Nothing more nothing less. And lucky for you, Paradise was hiring - at least for the summer, anyway, and who better to work overtime in the kitchens at the expense of rich dudes other than broke students, right?

While most people came to Paradise to unwind and celebrate another year of prosperity, it was simply your job to watch from the kitchen window, grit your teeth and save enough cash to put towards opening your own restaurant back home.

Which is exactly how you find yourself slaving away over a plate of scallop sashimi on the stickiest day of August as the kitchen gets ready for the biggest event in Resort history — at least according to your fellow summer employee and designated dish washer duty-man Park Jimin, who seemed to be a constant fountain of gossip -- a trait which you secretly liked him for, despite feigning disinterest in his tittle-tattle.

"Do these people even know what good food is?" You frown at an underwhelmingly small plate of goat cheese salad as you wipe the edge of the plate with a cloth. "They can't seriously want to eat this. Don't they ever just, like, want a burger or something?"

"You're just noticing this place is bonkers?" Jimin snickers behind you, hoisting his weight onto the counter and pulling a grimace of his own when he lay eyes on the limp pile of lettuce leaves they dare to refer to as a meal here. "I saw someone order dessert for breakfast yesterday. Rich people have no rules, Y/N. Besides, it's not like we can serve burgers once Mr Kim arrives."

"Mr Kim?" You ask curiously. "Who's that?"

Jimin's eyebrows furrow, like he can't actually believe you're asking him such a question. Ever since you got here at the beginning of the summer he's been diligently keeping you up to date with the latest Paradise gossip, so you aren't sure why he's surprised you're as out of the loop as ever.

"Mr Kim. The founder of Paradise’s son?" You shrug, blinking at him cluelessly and Jimin shakes his head with a pained expression, lowering his voice like he's utterly appalled at your ignorance. "You haven't heard anything about the guy who is gonna take over this place once his father retires? Kim Seokjin?"

Ah, so that's who the infamous Seokjin is. His name has been buzzing through the kitchen for the last week, much to your confusion, and apparently he would be dining in the restaurant tonight.

You heard the senior chef's were working over time to perfect the cherry clafoutis he personally requested (despite not being an on-the-menu dish) and his impending inheritance of his father's dynasty seemed a topic of hot gossip, spreading in hushed whispers from the bar girls out front to the janitor, everyone seemingly desperate to get a glimpse at the Kim Seokjin. Meaning there are only two possible reasons as to why: he is rich or he is filthy rich.

"So what's the big deal with this guy. Is he some sort of celebrity or something?" You nudge Jimin in the ribs as you return to your station and start to sauté a fresh batch of onions.

"Nah, just filthy rich." Jimin indulges and you nod. Just as I thought. "And goddamn hot if I should say so myself." He adds, returning to his dish washing station with a sigh, wrinkling his nose when his hands plunge into the soapy suds.

"Still, I don't see why I need to work over time for him." You grumble. The clock had chimed five o clock ten minutes ago and usually you'd be on your way to have a shower and shampoo the smell of grease and garlic out of your hair but instead you were still on the clock, orders lining up for you to prepare and stat. "What’s so special about him dropping by for dinner. Everyone here is rich."

"Well I was talking to one of the big guys," Jimin nods towards the senior chefs. "And apparently his parents have been trying to get him to marry his girlfriend for, like, ever." Jimin's voice dips to a whisper. "But get this. He broke up with his girlfriend last week when his parents suggested they get married!"

You narrow your eyes. "Right. So I'm working over time because some rich dude decided to throw his toys out of the stroller?"

Jimin rips off his pink rubber gloves and shakes you by the shoulders, like he’s trying to knock some sense into you. "Just shut up for a second would you? We're working overtime because his parent's have set him up on a date!"

You slap a hand over mouth, letting out an exaggerated gasp. "Not a date!"

"I know right!" Jimin shakes his head as if this is the scandal of the century, not quite sharing your sarcasm. "Can you believe it?"

"Is he talking about Kim Seokjin, again?" Jungkook, one of the summer buss boys, emerges from the restaurant through the double doors in his familiar black uniform. Jimin quickly smoothes down his hair, mentally chastising himself when soap suds coat his blonde locks, face burning as red as the tomatoes you chop beside him. It's common knowledge that Jimin has the biggest, all consuming crush on the oblivious chestnut haired waiter who flashes you an ever cheeky bunny smile now as he scoops up the dish you prepared onto the tray balanced on his forearm.

He shoots Jimin an eye roll. "All he talks about is Kim Seokjin this, Kim Seokjin that." Jungkook shrugs. "I really don't see what the big deal is about this guy."

Jimin crosses his arms sulkily and you have to stifle a laugh at the pair. "The big deal is that this date has to go well - no, perfect - because Seokjin needs to marry someone "parent approved" or else his father will reject him as the heir of his dynasty."

You want to ask him about his impressive eavesdropping abilities but you have to admit, this is pretty big news - especially around here where the latest hot gossip was Han Seojin's husband's gambling problem when he hit up the casino after a few too many brandy's.

"So basically, the fate of the resort lies in his hands tonight." Jimin adds excitedly as he slams the dishwasher closed with a triumphant grin.

You roll your eyes. That is surely a bit dramatic. The guy was probably too blinded by the riches he would be inheriting to care about the poor girl he was getting hitched too. "You're invested in this, huh?"

Jimin nods eagerly. "Like I said. He's hot. Like sex on legs hot."

If you weren't watching carefully you may have missed Jungkook's eyes narrowing slightly or the way he tenses and puffs out his chest. "Pfft. He is not."

"So is!" Jimin pouts. "You're just jealous you're not as inhumanely gorgeous as he is." Jungkook raises a brow and Jimin rushes to smooth over his words. "Not that you're not gorgeous! No, that's not what I mean—"

The awkward moment is interrupted by the sound of a ladle banging against a frying pan, and you let out a groan when you hear the unmistakable yell of the head chef. "Attention everyone!"

"Speaking of crazy people." Jimin mutters with a roll of his eyes, rolling up his uniform sleeves and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand as all the employees gather in the centre of the kitchen. "Looks like Hoseok got out of the wrong side of bed again."

You stifle a giggle when you find that Jimin is in fact correct, head chef Hoseok rounding the corner with an ever serious expression on his face. He has always been the stern type, mouth constantly fixed in a permanent frown as he criticises your dicing skills or catches you burning another steak, but you can see by the bluish bags under his eyes and the furrowed lines etched into his forehead that he means business today and a hush quickly falls over the kitchen apart from the gentle hiss of frying onions.

"As you all know, today is a big day for Paradise." He begins. "Each and every one of our future's here as employees depends on it. Mr. Kim has chosen us to cater for his dinner date and I need each and every one of you to do everything you can to make sure it goes smoothly. Capeesh?"

Dang. Is head chef Hoseok himself nervous? He's usually irritatingly confident in his cooking abilities. Maybe this was more serious than you thought...

"I'm counting on you guys to prove our worth, you hear me? It's already an honour that he picked us to host such an important event, and if we fumble who d'ya think he's gonna fire first once he takes over as CEO?" Hoseok interrupts your train of thought, waving a wooden spoon now like he's conducting an orchestra. "Which is why I expect zero funny business. I'm looking at you Jeon Jungkook! Now scram, we have customers to feed."

A unanimous groan fills the room as everyone gets back to work, and the kitchen falls into a state of turmoil as the clock ticks away, Seokjin due to arrive in a few hours and you haven’t even started on his appetizer yet.

"This better be worth it." You grumble to yourself, suppressing a smile when Jungkook bounds like a Labrador puppy into the restaurant fit with an armful of salads yelling "Rabbit food coming up, y'all!", despite the stern look Hoseok sends his way.

You turn to Jimin, rolling your eyes at the hearts in his eyes for Jungkook as he strains his neck to get a glimpse of the chestnut haired boy's ass through the kitchen's window. He blushes when he notices you looking, but not before he’s flashing you a grin.

"Just wait until you see him," Jimin calls cheekily as you rush to the stove you had abandoned earlier. "Then you'll be glad you worked over time."

As it turns out, you are not glad you worked overtime. Kim Seokjin is late. Unfashionably late. So late that you are considering eating the dish you slaved over for nearly an hour to perfect to his preferences only for him to let it go limp and cold.

At least you could add another trait to the list of what you now know about Kim Seokjin: filthy rich, (allegedy) goddamn hot, heir to the resort and most importantly douche bag who can't make it on time to the first date with his future wife.

To make matters worse, the level of unrest in the kitchens is unlike anything you have ever seen before as everyone nervously awaits his arrival. Jungkook has been out front to polish the wine glasses at the private table he set up and lovingly adorned with candles and a bottle of iced champagne of the expensive kind because it would "create sexy vibes" more times than you can count. Hoseok took extra care with the placement of the parsley on top of the steaks he grilled and you even saw Jimin fixing his hair in the reflection of a shiny pan.

When the clock ticked over to eight, everyone had gathered around the small kitchen window, eyes beadily trained to the door.

"He'll be here any minute now, I can feel it." Jimin whispers as he sidles up beside you, practically vibrating. His excitement for the date has started to rub off on you, a funny fuzzy feeling settling in your chest — all this Kim Seokjin talk has you itching to see the guy in the flesh, even if it is just from behind the kitchen window.

Sure enough, Jimin's Kim Seokjin senses must be somewhat accurate because a hurried hush falls across the kitchen as a black car pulls up outside, a unanimous gasp filling the room as you watch him emerge from behind the tinted glass windows in awe.

You were waiting for a tight lipped guy in a suit and tie to step inside; a younger clone of all the middle aged men who frequented the resort when their "model" children got busted bunking off from golf games or whatever rich kids did to rebel. Except the guy that strolls through the sliding doors like he has time to waste is so far from the average Paradise resident that you are almost sure you're hallucinating. Or have onion in your eyes. Surely you aren't seeing this clearly?

The guy who crosses the threshold and takes a seat at the table Jungkook graciously guides him to is clad in a vibrant Hawaiian shirt, the floral a stark contrast to the luxe interior of the resort. The garment is unbuttoned lazily and draped across his broad shoulders, a pair of round,humorously large sunglasses perched on the end of his nose, and if you weren't so shocked by his...impressionable entrance you might find the whole situation comical.

"This is Kim Seokjin?" You splutter, unable to stop the giggles that leave your lips at the sight of him bobbing his head unnecessarily hard to the monotonous classical tune that carries through the restaurant, blatantly ignoring whatever words Jungkook (who looked completely starstruck) was stuttering.

The situation becomes even more ridiculous when you see the disgruntled look on the pretty girl who traipses behind him awkwardly, dressed in a floor length gown and pearls, face turning sour when Seokjin neglects his manners and forces her to pull her own chair out to sit while he zones in on the bottle of alcohol in the centre of the table.

They look like characters out of two separate worlds. Jewels glitter on her fingers as she taps them agitatedly against the table, clearly as dumbfounded by the situation as you are, especially when she offers her glass to Seokjin to pour her a drink, only for him to thrust the entire bottle of wine in her face.

Your attention is drawn away from the unfolding scene momentarily when Jungkook flies back into the kitchen in typical Jungkook fashion, except this time with an extra bout of zealousness if the stars in his eyes weren't already obvious.

"I take it back!" He puffs, slipping his empty tray beneath his elbow, hands now free to swing Jimin around in circles. "He's the most beautiful human I've ever seen!"

You cross your arms with a sneer. "Looks like a goof to me. That shirt? Not a good look on anyone."

"But his face!"

"Yeah, his face, covered by those obnoxious glasses."

"You didn't see it." Jungkook whispers, pulling your hands into his own. "He could end mankind with that kind of face! And I bet he has a monster dong too-"

"Okay, jeez." You push him away, scrunching your nose in disgust. "No discussing customer's monster dongs in the kitchen."

"So you admit he probably has one?"

"Shush!" You hiss. The kitchen huddle lets out a synchronised gasp and you elbow your way back to the window, peering past a tall chef's hat to fix your attention on the scene which had somehow escalated ten fold since you'd left it.

Seokjin's body is wracked with laughter, hand slamming down ferociously against the table, making his date wince every time the fine china jumps on the table cloth. Her hands are placed carefully atop the napkin in her lap, food untouched as Seokjin takes the liberty to pour himself another glass of wine. He looks utterly uninterested in anything she has to say, and she seems embarrassed by his mannerless behaviour, glancing around anxiously. The tension between them is suffocating, even from your safe distance, and you swear you could cut it with one of the knives hanging from the utensil rack.

Then, Seokjin leans in towards her. He removes his glasses, carefully tucking them neatly into his shirt pocket before resting his chin in his palm to stare at her intently.

Maybe he was finally taking an interest in her? She seems to think the same thing, a small smile creeping onto her face despite her awkward demeanour.

Until it slips from her face nearly as fast as it appeared, replaced by an expression of pure appalled horror when Seokjin whispers something into her ear. You can only see the back of his head so lip reading is out of the question; but if the way her chin drops into her lap was anything to go by, you have a feeling whatever he said was not something you wanted to hear on a first date and probably not from your future husband, either.

Without further ado, the girl throws her cutlery down with a clash, gathering the fabric of her dress and storming out of the restaurant in a manner that suggests the date went badly to say the least.

A ruckus has broken out in the kitchen by this point; Jimin and Jungkook stopping mid monster dong debate to gawk, a rumble of chatter erupting as everyone processes the events you had just witnessed.

What did he say? Do you think it was the steak? What does this mean for Paradise? Is he still gonna marry her?

The last one came from Jungkook and you couldn't help but bite your lip in an attempt to smother the laughter that threatened to spill at his question. "Somehow I don't think he proposed to her just then, Kook."

Your eyes zone in on Seokjin again. He is slumped back in his seat now, knuckles pressed to his eyes. He looks exhausted, a sudden change in demeanour considering this is the same guy who was shooting finger guns at his date a few moments ago. Now he just seems defeated

For a moment you think he is going to get up and leave. That is until he twists in his seat, motioning towards the kitchen window with a crook of the finger. Dessert? He mouths.

The kitchen staff disperse hurriedly, a tinge of red creeping up Hoseok's neck at being caught spying, although it is clear by the smirk on Seokjin's face that he knew you were watching him all along. There is something in his eyes that even has you wiping the amused expression of your face, though. An authority.

"Could this night have gone any worse?" You ask Jimin, referring to Seokjin's debacle. Except Jungkook is quick to interject, thrusting two black bags in your face with a grin.

"For you, yes. Your turn to take out the trash."

You blink at him a few times before reluctantly taking the bags from his grip. They were heavy, nearly making you stumble. How had Jungkook held them so easily?

"Fine." You manage to get out between gritted teeth, struggling to balance with the extra weight in your arms. "But you owe me."

"Oh believe me," There is a glint in Jungkook's eyes that you can't quite put your finger on. What was he up to? "I'll make it up to you sooner than you think."

It's dimly lit when you stumble out back armed with a pile of trash bags, the only light source some fairy lights strung around the palm trees lining the restaurant. It takes all your strength and three tries to haul the heavy trash bags into the dark mouth of the dumpster and you're out of breath by the time you're finished.

Finally satisfied with your work, you wipe your hands on your apron and turn to stalk back inside and flick Jungkook's forehead - except a loud ringing from somewhere in the shadows stops you dead in your tracks.

You stiffen, hand reaching for the door handle as a precaution, head snapping towards the direction of the sound. You can't help the small gasp that leaves your lips when you take in the figure of a tall man leaning against the kitchen wall just a few meters away, the ringing ceasing when he lifts a phone to his ear with a frustrated groan.

Shit! As soon as you realise you're not alone and before you can think better of it you're scrambling behind the dumpster, crouching so that you're just out of view but still in earshot as the figure starts to murmur into the microphone.

"Yeah, dad, I know she flew all the way from Morocco to be here tonight. It's not my fault we weren't compatible!"

Huh? A voice squeaks on the other end of the line, and though you can't work out what they say exactly the frustrated sigh that leaves the man a few meters away tells you it wasn't exactly friendly.

"What makes you think you know what's best for me? I never wanted this stupid engagement in the first place!"

Intrigued and against your better judgement, you brace your hands on the edge of the dumpster and pull yourself on top of a cardboard box discarded beside it to get a better view of the scene. If you strain your neck you can just about see the shadow of a tall figure pacing back and forth just around the corner and you can't help but lean in a little closer to hear his harsh words more clearly, curiosity getting the better of you.

"Because it's my life! I'm sick of you and mom always telling me what to do with it." You raise an eyebrow, ever intrigued when the voice lifts from a hush to a yell. "Fine! I'll go on another date, but you'll see. I won't end up like you. You owe me big time for this, dad."

With that the phone call is cut off with a monotone beep and you see the shadow of the man pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing sharply, before the soles of his polished loafers crunch against the gravel in the direction of where you crouch, eavesdropping. You had enough experience with the residents here to know they wouldn't take this lightly — you had to sign a handful of NDA's before you even got the job, so naturally your eyes widen with panic when you realise you're about to get busted listening in on a confidential call. But before you can dive behind a trash bag and take cover, you lose your footing and find yourself hurtling head first into the dumpster, landing with a crash.

A few seconds pass, the footsteps ceasing as you squeeze your eyes shut and pray your beating heart doesn't give you away, before a voice calls out.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

"No!" You squeak hurriedly, slapping a hand over your mouth when it's already too late and flushing a deep shade of red when you hear a sharp intake of breath and you realise you've blown your own cover

You silently hope the guy will give up and leave, but then you hear someone climbing the outside of the dumpster and you open your eyes to see a puzzled pair of eyes peering down at you from beneath a cocked eyebrow, followed my a loud snort. "You need some help down there, sweetheart?"

This guy might be a total stranger, but any questioning words die on your tongue when you look around and remember you're literally trapped inside a dumpster and your upper arm strength is definitely not enough to get you out of this thing alone and — hold up, there's probably rats in here, right?

You scramble to your feet, brushing your messy hair from your eyes with a nervous laugh. "Uh...yeah. I guess I do."

A steady hand emerges over the edge of the dumpster and with a weak and embarrassed smile you grasp it, suppressing a squeak when the guy unexpectedly launches you over his shoulder so that he can pull you out in one fell swoop and set you safely on the ground.

"Uh, thanks." You manage to get out when you find your balance, awkwardly brushing some dirt from your apron. "Good thing you walked by when you did..."

"Yeah, guess you could call me your knight in shining armor, huh?" The guy chuckles, long and smooth like velvet. A laugh you've heard before, just moments ago in fact. That's when you battle through your embarrassment to look up and face him for the first time, flushing at the involuntary gasp that passes your lips.

The man before you has the deepest eyes you've ever seen, sharp yet soft around the edges beneath the sparkle of the low light and you shiver when they finish looking you up and down to stare into yours directly. Your eyes slip down to the familiar Hawaiian shirt draped over his broad shoulders, eyes widening when you look between your bodies to find his fingers still clasping your own as he eyes you with a curious interest.

"S-Seokjin?" You splutter. He nods, letting out a deeper chuckle this time as though he could hold it back no longer. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same question," He counters, letting you go so he can reach into his pocket to retrieve a half pack of cigarettes and a lighter, ironically just beneath the unmissable NO SMOKING sign. "What's a pretty girl like you doing out here hauling trash at this hour?"

"I...work here."

He nods and you just stare at him like an open mouthed idiot. He must think it's because of the way he fiddles to spark a light at the end of his cigarette, drawing his eyes from the stick back to your surprised expression. "What? Oh these? I don't smoke. Stole these from my father's coat pocket." He shakes the box back and forth with a smug grin. "Nothing pisses him off more than loosing his Lucky Strikes. Besides, I own this place, I can do what I like."

You shrug. "Well, your father does." You are speaking too quickly, mentally pinching yourself for not being able to bite your own tongue. "He owns this place I mean. Right?"

A blush creeps up your neck under his gaze which narrows as he draws closer to you. His eyes are a deeper brown up close, like a pot of warm hot chocolate - soft at the edges where they crinkle into a smile at your rushed words. Nothing like the steely glares you usually got from residents here.

"Correct," The toe of his shoe kicks at the gravel beneath your soles while he strings together his next words carefully. "For now. I'll be proud owner of Paradise before the year is out, though."

"Ha." You can't help but snort under your breath, Seokjin's head simply tilting in response with an almost amused curiosity. "I don’t know about that. Didn't look like your fiance wanted to marry you very much."

"Word spreads quick around here, huh?" He lets out a dark laugh, grimacing at the cloud of nicotine that floats away into the nigh from the cigarette between his fingers that flutters to the gravel before it’s even reached his lips. You wince when he uses the toe of his Balenciaga’s to stub it out into a pile of smoldering ash before reaching for another one that he lights in the same way as before. "She wasn't my fiance, actually.To be honest, I hadn't even met her before tonight."

You let out an awkward laugh. "I take it the wedding's off then?"

"Ha ha," You practically hear the roll of his eyes. "At least one of us finds this funny, because my father sure as shit won't." His tone is suddenly chilly and for a moment you think you offended him, though a quick scan of his face reveals a turn up of the mouth that says otherwise. He kicks off from the wall, slinging his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and you swallow thickly as the safe distance between you grows ever smaller, so close you can smell his woody cologne. "It was never on, per se. And it never will be if I have anything to do with it."

You can't help but scoff at the way he tightens his jaw and throws his arms across his chest like a toddler in time out. Sure, you hardly knew the guy but something about his attitude rubs you the wrong way. This is the guy who has everything, yet he's trash talking his lavish lifestyle to a summer employee?

"You're kind of an asshole, huh?"

"Can't say I haven't heard that one before." Seokjin agrees with a smirk. "But you don't seem like much of an angel yourself. First I find you eavesdropping on me, save your ass from a dumpster and then you choose to insult me?"

You shift awkwardly under his intense gaze, worried you might have overstepped, mouth dry as you spit out a response. "I...I didn't mean it like that—"

"God, chill out would you? I’m kidding. You're so stiff it's stressing me out." His tongue snakes out to lick his lips thoughtfully. "You're different, y'know."

"Huh?"

"I can tell you're not like everyone else around here. You're honest." Seokjin explains, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt to allow him some more breathing room as he continues. "Everyone around here is either a liar or a cheat. Or both."

"You don't even know me." You huff.

"You don’t know me either, princess.” Seokjin smirks. “So what makes you so sure I'm an asshole?."

He blinks at you eagerly, and you realise he's serious when he arrogantly waves his hand for you to go ahead and indulge him, like he's somewhat amused.

Well damn. If this guy wanted honesty you'd sure as shit give it to him

"You want the truth?" You suck in a deep breath. "I don't know what I expected when I heard the buzz about you but it certainly wasn't a rich guy who wears hawaiian shirts and makes girls cry on first dates. I don’t need to know a single thing about you to know that you’re an ungrateful asshole, just like everyone else at this resort."

A few seconds pass, Seokjin's eyes widening in momentary surprise like he wasn't used to people telling him the truth, before his face breaks out into a beaming grin. "I have a feeling we're going to be good friends." He glances at your name tag. "Y/N, is it?"

You half nod before you register his words. "Friends, what do you mean—?"

Just then the phone in his grip starts to vibrate violently, and he holds it up so you can see the bold DAD that lights up the screen.

"Sorry to cut this short pretty, but I need to take this. Better get back to work before I cut your pay check, sweetheart." You must look visibly nervous because he bursts into laughter. "What? I'm kidding, remember?"

You roll your eyes, hiding the way your face heats up by spinning on your heels and storming back towards the kitchen, pausing briefly before you can turn the handle when you hear Seokjin call your name.

"Hey. Wait up! One piece of advice. Don't let this place, get to you, okay?" Seokjin calls with a smile. "I like your honesty, it's...refreshing."

And with that he lifts the phone to his ear, disappearing around the shadowy corner with an irritating smile and a finger salute.

For some funny reason, Seokjin's words ring out in your head for the rest of the night. I have a feeling we're going to be good friends. Something tells you that isn't the last time you're going to see Kim Seokjin, and you can't tell if the way your heart skips a beat is a good thing or not.

Much to your surprise, that isn't the last time you see Kim Seokjin.

The next night he returned equally as late and equally as eccentrically dressed and left his date, blonde this time, (though equally as pretty as the last one) flustered and red in the face as she stormed out of the restaurant with glassy eyes and crushed dreams

The night after that you spot him arguing a little too loudly with a feisty lady outside the restaurant, the way he doesn't even stay long enough to finish his champagne a clear indication that the date went less than perfect.

Night after night, the same scenario played out with different unimpressed women, until finally, they just stopped coming. No more girls. No more dates. No more of Seokjin's signature laughter permeating the entire restaurant. Sure, the guy was a complete asshole, that much was clear; but you his absence left the restaurant feeling even more lifeless than before.

Obviously Seokjin's fucked up dating life wasn’t anything to laugh about. But you had to admit his antics put a smile on your face, something which had been few and far between as of late. Even when Hoseok was working you overtime, you found yourself biting your lip to suppress a grin every time Seokjin waltzed through the door. And now he was gone, and with it your small escape from reality.

"Do you think his parents finally gave up?" Jimin sighs one late evening, shaking his wet hands in the face of Jungkook who bats him away playfully.

"Nah, he probably just found a girl he likes." Jungkook reasons. "Made his parents see things from his point of view."

You snort. "They don't sound like the type of parents who would give up that easy." After more dates than you could count on one hand with various suitors deemed good enough for their son, it was clear they were prepared for him to rebel. You doubted they would give in without a fight.

"You might be right..." Jungkook trails off, rushing to smush his face against the window. "Unless...wait! I think he's back!"

"He's back?" You breathe, elbowing Jungkook out of the way and ignoring his ow! of protest, your own breath fogging up the glass now as your eyes dart from table to table in search of a familiar face.

You let out a breathy laugh. Sure enough, there he is. Hair gelled back tonight you noted, bouncing his skinny jean clad knee beneath the table with an impatience you can't quite put your finger on.

Wait...

"Ha!" You almost do a double take. Seokjin is sat alone tonight. No nearly-crying-twenty-something across from him. Just Seokjin with a single flute of champagne in his hand opposite an utterly empty chair.

Well. This is new.

"I think he's been stood up!" You lower your voice to a whisper when your burst of laughter gains a few strange looks. "There's no girl with him this time."

"What?" Jimin splutters, standing on his tip toes in an attempt to see over your shoulder. "No girl?! Let me see!"

You budge over and Jimin lets out a gasp of surprise when he takes in the scene for himself. "The Kim Seokjin got stood up. I can't believe it!"

"Maybe he's getting a taste of his own medicine." You muse.

A mischievous look crosses Jungkook's features and then he is pulling on his black apron and scurrying towards the door. "Let's find out!"

"What? — Jungkook!"

You watch open mouthed as Jungkook approaches the lonely table, fingers quivering around the order notebook he clutches like a safety blanket, with nerves or excitement you can't quite tell; before he exchanges a few words with Seokjin who barely even glances up, lazily folding a napkin in his lap. Jungkook nods vigorously before he speed walks back to the kitchen like his life depends on it, a smug grin appearing on his lips as he thrusts the order slip towards you.

"Two orders of sirloin steak, medium! Pronto!"

"Two?" You and Jimin splutter in unison.

Jungkook looks amused. Too amused for your liking.

"Yup! And guess what?" Jimin is hanging off his every word, desperate pleas of what? making Jungkook chuckle harder. "He wants the chef to serve it."

You narrow your eyes. "Hoseok? Why?"

Jungkook scoffs as if you're being clueless on purpose. "Not Hoseok, idiot!"

"Then who?"

"You." Jungkook points a finger right at you.

"Me? Wait! Jeon Jungkook, you get back here!" Before you can ask questions he is already bounding into the restaurant like a labrador on crack.

"Have fun!" He yells over his shoulder with a wink. "You'll thank me later, Y/N."

Half an hour later and you're stood with two steaming plates balanced on your arm. Why are you so nervous? All you have to do is go out there and serve the food. It's not like he was asking you to kill someone.

But every time you muster up the courage to go out there you remember your encounter with Seokjin outside the kitchens, and you instantly feel weak at the knees.

You smooth down your apron one last time, filling your lungs with the stuffy kitchen air before Jimin's hands clamp onto your shoulders and steer you towards the door.

"What are you—?" One forceful push later and you're stumbling out into the restaurant. "Jimin!"

"You can do this!" You hear Jimin call, the exasperated look you send over your shoulder in response prompting a not so reassuring thumbs up. The way your eyes downturn into a dark glare makes him collapse into a fit of gasps and giggles as he nods for you to keep going.

I'm going to get him back for this...

The table Seokjin liked to frequent is closest to the window, view casting out over the lake which the resort surrounds like a half moon, terribly modern in all it's white pillared glory in contrast to the natural beauty of the clear blue water. The lake is darkened now with the reflection of the midnight blue sky, the soft glow of lanterns lighting up the path around it and illuminating the picture of weeping willows which ripples across the water's surface, disturbed only by canoeists tying up their boats for the evening.

Seokjin doesn't seem interested in the quiet goings on of the resort. He has probably seen them a hundred times before. His back is facing you but you can see how his eyes are transfixed on the sliding entrance doors in the windows reflection. It was late evening and most people would be returning to their suites for the night by now, but Seokjin's steely gaze remains unwavering, like he's expecting it to zip open any minute. Is he waiting for someone?

Some part of you feels sympathetic. It doesn't look like anyone is coming to join him any time soon. Poor guy is about to get a taste of his own medicine and look like a fool sat opposite an empty chair harbouring a plate of uneaten food.

Ha. It's exactly what he deserves, you think. Karma.

Every step towards him feels heavier than the last until eventually you find yourself stood with knees knocking right behind him, food probably going cold with every second you spend coaxing yourself to man up and face him. You silently pray he won't hear the pound of your heart over the low hum of chatter and scrapes of cutlery against china plates that seem to fall away to silence in this corner of the restaurant where it's just Seokjin and you.

You're debating spinning on your heels and making Jungkook do it instead when Seokjin's unrelenting stare at the door snaps up to meet yours in the window's reflection, the authority in his eyes enough to have you hiding behind your hair in shame at being caught dwindling like an idiot.

"I wasn't expecting you to actually come." His voice is a deep hum that makes you jolt and nearly drop the plates. A heat burns your cheeks when Seokjin swirls the champagne in his glass amusedly, facing you with his forearm on the back of his seat and beckoning for you to set the plates down with a nod of his head. An order.

You narrow your eyes, unable to curb the irritation that laces your sigh as you obey him. You set down the dishes, one in front of him and the other in front of the seat still empty of whomever he is expecting. "I wasn't exactly expecting to be serving you tonight either. I usually just prepare the food."

Seokjin doesn't miss the roll of your eyes, snorting at the shake of your hand that gives away the anxiety beneath your front when crystal beads of champagne splash onto the immaculate table cloth as you try to top up his glass.

"Yeah and here's a reason for that. You're a shit waitress."

The way you slam the bottle down onto the table top is a little too aggressive, the legs shaking violently and drawing the eyes of a few of the surrounding diners who wipe their mouths with a delicate astonishment and flash you dark looks at the disturbance.

"Are we done? If I'm so bad then why did you call me out here?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you." His fingers fold the napkin in his lap carefully. He settles back into his chair with a grin laced with mischief while you practically hop from foot to foot with nerves. "Would you sit for a second?"

"I'm an employee." You raise a brow. "I don't think that's appropriate..."

"Please?" He rests his chin in his palms.

You hug your torso and self consciously glance side to side. With a roll of your eyes you sink down into the chair, if a little reluctantly, when you're sure the couple at the table directly opposite are too deep in conversation about the crème brûlée to notice the strange encounter happening beside them.

"Fine! But make it quick or Hoseok might actually shave my head."

Seokjin gets straight to the point. "I need you to do something for me."

There is a glint in his eye as he snatches up the glass intended for the rightful occupant of the leather cushion you perch on, pouring a small amount of champagne into the flute and pushing it towards you with an encouraging nod. You observe the fizzing liquid with caution, turning your nose up at the floral aroma. Was he trying to poison you with Veuve Clicquot?

"Okay, elaborate?"

"I'm going to need you to pretend to be my date." You wait for him to laugh but his lips are pressed together in a line that tell you he is being serious. "You up for it?"

"Excuse me?" An astonished laugh punctuates your widened eyes, voice raising incredulously at his request. "Your what?"

"Hear me out!" Seokjin hisses, holding a finger to his lip to quiet you down when you splutter on the air that feels like it's thickening in your throat. "I just need to get my father off my back. It'll be five minutes tops!"

By this point you are rendered speechless, pinching the inside of your thigh to check if you are trapped in some weirdly vivid nightmare.

You? His date? Oh god...why aren't you waking up?

Your lips curl around a single breathless word. "Why?"

"Hello, I'm Kim Seokjin? Dad owns the resort? Need to get married to inherit it? I thought we went over this the other day—"

Throwing your arms over your chest impatiently, you click your tongue. "I remember idiot! I mean why me?"

"For fucks sake — you want the truth?" He chuckles but it's devoid of any humour. "You're new around here so my father is less likely to recognise you, okay?" He downs the rest of his glass, picks up his fork and pokes the cold steak on his plate restlessly, hardly bothering to look you in the face even when you scoff in disbelief.

You bite your lip, voice quiet. "Is this some sort of game?"

You are no stranger to Seokjin's tricks — you watched them play out with your own eyes, more girls than you could count on one hand leaving the restaurant in tears or worse — and something feels funny in your stomach, an instinct that says he has an ulterior motive you just can't put your finger on.

From the corner of your eye you spot Hoseok poking his head into the dining area, eyes merciless as they scan the room in search of you, the tell tale tap of his foot against the ground a giveaway of his growing impatience which makes you duck out of view in fear.

"If this is just one of your sick jokes then congrats," You deadpan. "I could literally lose my job over this."

"What? No!" He seems genuinely surprised at your accusation, exasperated sigh sounding desperate while his eyes bore into yours with a look that says please. "I'll explain everything. Please?"

He winces when your chair scrapes loudly against the tile as you get to your feet with a disbelieving shake of your head. "Sorry but I have a job to do—"

Suddenly Seokjin lets out a gasp and you hear the automatic glass doors zip open. "Ah shit!"

Seokjin's eyes widen with panic but before you can twist to see who has arrived for yourself, you're being pulled back down into the seat opposite him roughly by the elbow.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Seokjin isn't listening, shrugging his jacket down his arms and wrapping the fabric around your shoulders hastily. "Cover your uniform, okay?"

The smell of his expensive cologne fills your senses and a warm hand squeezes your shoulder pleadingly, the glint in his eye replaced with desperation.

For a moment you falter and his face brightens, believing you to be finally convinced. Until you come back to your senses and slap his hand away. "Get off me!"

"Too late." Seokjin murmurs, but before you can shoot him a questioning glance a pair of polished black shoes stop beside you. Your entire body stiffens, aware of a pair of eyes probing the back of your head.

Oh no.

"Seokjin."

An unfamiliar deep voice rumbles beside you and when you dare to look up you're met with the peering face of an older man who you recognise from the Paradise website. There are traces of Seokjin visible in the curve of his mouth and the sharp edge of his jaw and he was probably considered good looking in his youth.

Ah. So this is Mr Kim?

"You lasted longer than fifteen minutes. This must be a new record, son."

Despite their likeness it's hard to believe they are father and son -- the stern frown keeping a pair of thin framed glasses balancing on Seokjin’s father’s nose along with his crisp tailored suit a far cry from the boy sat cross legged opposite you, wine colored shirt unbuttoned too far to be a mistake.

Seokjin plasters a false grin to his mouth and raises his glass towards Mr Kim, as if to toast. "I told you I would try didn't I?"

Mr Kim says nothing, averting his intimidating gaze to you instead. Your mouth dries when he addresses you directly. "What was your name again?"

Shit! Alarm bells sound in your head, instantly regretting coming out here in the first place and getting mixed up in Seokjin's mess.

You swallow thickly, hardly daring to look him in the eye. "It's — uh," Seokjin is signalling at you with an alarmed look, face falling into his palms with a muffled groan when you fail to catch on. "Y-Y/N. I'm Y/N."

"Is it now?" Mr Kim scratches his chin thoughtfully, humming to himself as he studies your face. Shit, does he recognise you from the kitchen? Are you about to get fired? Your pulse goes into overdrive when his eyes narrow. "I'm sure I remember it being something like—"

"Her middle name!" Seokjin quickly butts in, cutlery clattering onto his plate in his haste to gain his fathers attention. "She goes by her middle name. We were just talking about it actually. Right, Y/N?"

All eyes fall on you again, Seokjin sending you a pleading look, but you don't trust your voice not to waver so you just nod and hide your rosy cheeks by wrapping your lips around rim of the untouched champagne glass.

"Funny middle name." He shrugs, landing an audible slap to Seokjin's back who winces at the hard contact. Mr Kim's eyes seem kinder as they look between you. "I'm proud of you, son. I'm glad you could finally see things from our perspective."

"Sure, dad." Seokjin shrinks away from his fathers touch with a look of distaste. "Now would you do us a favor and leave us to discuss...marriage things?" You choke on your mouthful of bubbly, eyes watering as you try to hold back a spluttering cough.

Thankfully, Mr Kim is already losing interest, flashing Seokjin a thumbs up before striding over to one of the waiters holding a platter of coconut shrimp appetizers and taking a handful for himself.

Watching him gain a safe distance and disappear among a circle of business men at the bar, you finally feel safe to let out the shaky breath you were holding. Seokjin presses his knuckles to his eyes, the vein in his neck protruding with tension.

"What the fuck was that?" He seems to have forgotten your presence, lost in his own thoughts until you rip his jacket from where it sits around your shoulders and throw it into his lap with contempt. Your laugh of disbelief sounds foreign to your own ears, unable to comprehend what actually just happened.

"You're crazy!" You let out breathlessly. "I'm out of here."

Before you can storm off like you want to, Seokjin's hand closes around your wrist and pins you in place.

"Listen, I know you think this is ridiculous but I'm literally about to get on my knees and beg you here. Just do me one more favour." You shoot him a glare and for a second you think he might actually drop to the ground and grovel if you asked him to. "Just one!"

No matter how hard you try to pull away Seokjin is persistent. "Why should I?"

"Because you have a conscience?" He pleads. "The human desire to help others in need?"

"This is crazy—"

"I'll repay you!"

You pause. "How?"

"Undecided." His head tilts in thought. "You need money?"

Disgust courses through your veins. This guy thinks he can buy you? You have encountered some entitled rich guys at Paradise but this has to be the icing on the cake, an unbelievable disconnect from acceptable social discourse — though are you surprised? He doesn't exactly have a reputation for being a good conversation holder for fucks sake, just ask his other dates.

You scoff. "I don't accept bribes. I think we're done here. Good luck with your plan or...whatever."

"Y/N wait—" Something in his voice makes you stop dead this time. An authority. No longer pleading but commanding. "I'll fire you myself right here if you don't help me out just once."

Your heart twists. Part of you knows that whatever Seokjin has in mind will be batshit crazy, if his antics tonight were anything to judge by. It would pain you to do something so demeaning but...you need this job. The decision was practically made for you.

You swivel to face him. He is standing over you now, hands on hips as if he means business. "One favor! That's it!"

He punches the air triumphantly. "You want it in writing or something?" He teases, the glint in his eye back now and taunting as you practically vibrate with a combination of embarrassment and rage.

"Don't push it." You warn.

"Okay, jeez." He throws his hands up in defense. You are acutely aware of the hysterical giggles coming from the kitchen belonging to none other than Jungkook and Jimin and the way your face burns scarlet as you storm away from Seokjin with fists clenched. "I'll let you know when I need you, sweetheart."

09:04, from unknown: — 10 o clock. meet me outside the archery court. — go to locker 16, key will be in the lock. you'll find everything you need inside

The light of your phone stings your half-open eyes, slumber still clinging to your body as you rub away any remnants of sleep with your knuckles and re-read the strange text over and over again.

Archery? An accidental text to the wrong number, surely?

You glance at the clock next to your bed - the text was sent over twenty minutes ago by now. Whoever the recipient was supposed to be wouldn't have long to get ready.

09:26, you: — huh? who is this?

Before you can even set your phone down and swing your legs out of bed your phone pings, the sound enough to make you wince in your sleepy state.

09:26, unknown: — it's seokjin??? — you know, the guy you're supposed to be marrying?

Excuse you?

All remnants of sleep and/or inner peace are ripped away as soon as you see his name pop up on your homescreen.

"Seokjin?" You splutter out loud. A name you never thought you would have to see again, let alone at this time in the morning.

You scramble into a sitting position, back pressed to the headboard as you grip your bed hair in pure disbelief. The three little dots bounce menacingly at the bottom of the screen as you type and re-type a response. Eventually you settle on something simple and to the point:

09:28, you: — how the fuck did you get this number???

Ping ping. You resist a face palm as you gather the confidence to input your password and read whatever bullshit Seokjin responded with.

09:29, unknown: — i think you're forgetting i own this place — not to brag but ive got connections — anyway, you have half an hour to get your ass over here before my sister arrives.

As you thought - utter bullshit. His sister? It's almost as if Seokjin thinks you are actually dating - or even worse, actually getting hitched.

Wait...he doesn't...does he? You suppress a groan. Why else would he be dragging you out of your apartment to go and shoot arrows at targets with his sister instead of polishing his golf club collection or lounging with self made millionaires or whatever rich things rich guys do.

You are just here to get some culinary experience. To blend into the background like the rest of the employees at Paradise, to focus on making the lives of CEO's and retired business men as easy and as luxurious as possible. Why on earth is he even taking notice of you?

09:30, you: — your sister??

09:30, unknown: — yeah? who'd you think you were arching with? — i don't do sports. — count yourself lucky my mom had to take a rain check

Fuck. His mom?

"Get a grip!" You chastise yourself. You had barely spoken two words to each other before the other night, his existence unbeknownst to yours let alone yours to his; the exchange itself a glitch in the simulation and definitely not something which you wanted to make a habit - so why are you instilled with nerves at the thought of meeting this guy's family?

You don't have time to respond with a harsh reminder of your respective positions at Paradise and why this is absolutely a Bad Idea before Seokjin sends a series of reassuring follow up texts, almost as though he read your mind and all it's reluctant thoughts.

09:32, unknown: — don't worry so much this is just to make people think we're really seeing each ohter — other* — hurry, can't have people thinking my future wife isn't punctual — doesn't look good for the reputation 😎

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck!

This is actually happening. How did you manage to get roped into some rich dudes family drama and his consequent plan of deception? And why on earth you fly out of bed, desperately trying to pat down your fly away bed hair while simultaneously shrugging on a pair of jeans is utterly beyond you.

But deep down you know why. It's because you have a sympathy for Seokjin. A goddamn sympathy for the man who seemingly had everything and who every other resident at Paradise wished they could be.

You are increasingly aware of the way your heart hammers against your rib cage, pulse quickening with every tick of the clock that brings you closer to 10 o clock. Not because you're about to see Seokjin again, surely?

Pfft. Of course not! This is just a favour - a formality as an acquaintance if you could even call yourself that.

The clock ticks over to 09:40. No, you promise yourself as you scoop up your bag and your keys. It's doesn’t mean anything, it’s just because you hate being late.

You end up being late anyway, despite rushing to Paradise from your nearby apartment without so much as considering breakfast and somehow managing to gather the courage to open the door to the women's locker room.

Embarrassment pools in your stomach when you feel the quizzical eyes of Paradise regulars burning into your back over the edges of their martini glasses. It takes all your strength to pass by them with your eyes trained to your shoes, hoping to seem unbothered by their towel turbans and gossiping lips.

You’re unsure why you feel so out of place. It's not as if you are trespassing; they gave you a benefits card when you accepted the job, giving you access to some of the resort's facilities. Some would say it was generous, but it's not as if you ever had a chance to use them in between long kitchen shifts.

Luckily, you doubt there's a risk of them recognising you from the kitchen. The resort is mostly populated by younger club members and besides it's not as if they ever cared to study your face for long enough to commit it to memory.

Still, your casual sweater and jeans combo makes you stand out like a sore thumb in a room full of designer polo shirts and athletic wear and you can't suppress the sigh of relief that escapes you when you make it past a hoard of already merry day drinkers on their way to a hot yoga class in search of locker 16 as instructed by Seokjin.

Sure enough, a key sits snugly in the lock. When you open the metal door you find a tennis skirt with a matching polo shirt, both folded neatly beneath a pair of strikingly white sneakers.

You scoop the pile into your arms, surprised when a card flutters to the ground. You recognise the Paradise logo in the corner, an unfamiliar handwritten scrawl smudged across the front in black pen.

Put these on and meet me round the back of the range. I'll be waiting. - SJ

You roll your eyes. Would it kill him to say please? Not that he is used to asking nicely. Manners are few and far between when things are handed to you on a silver platter (or by an underpaid kid with a summer job). At least that's what you gathered from your observations since you got here.

You slip into the white ensemble, silently thanking the you from yesterday for shaving your legs when you notice just how uncomfortably short the skirt is. The fabric smells like one of those expensive perfumes you sprayed at the store once and you briefly wonder who these clothes belong to.

Fastening your hair into a high pony tail like you see the other girls here do, you take a deep breath and finally sidle up to the full body mirror.

Almost everyone has filtered out of the locker room by now, some to spa appointments, others to sports matches and you find yourself alone, nearly choking on the humid air when you take in your appearance for the first time.

You look like you belong here.

Collar popped around your neck, skirt falling in perfect pleats around your waist, hair falling against your cheekbones. Not a speck of dirt on the branded shoes cushioning your soles.

For a moment you feel a sense of pride fill your chest, head resting high on your shoulders as you bask in the confidence that washes over you until you feel giddy with belonging.

Until you remember what you really are. An imposter.

Despite your Paradise inspired appearance you are nothing but a fake. A smudge on one of the picture perfect Paradise postcard's in the gift shop.

Your shoulders deflate, the sudden urge to tug your sweater back on and run as fast as you can becoming overwhelming.

Your let yourself slump onto one of the plush couches, head falling into your hands. What are you doing here? Letting some guy dress you up like a doll and show you off to save his own ass?

Besides, his family would see through you as soon as you walked out there. After all a polished stone, although pretty, can never be a diamond. And these people know diamonds like the back of their hands.

Is it because he has the authority to fire you from the kitchen job you worked so hard to get? Or is it because somewhere deep inside you are curious to see what could be in this for you?

A vibration on the couch beside you draws you from your thoughts.

10:09, unknown: — where r u????? — you know where the range is right???

God, why didn't you just say no in the first place?

"Just get on with it," you tell yourself sternly. Meet his sister, smile politely and leave without owing Kim Seokjin a single thing.

You will save his ass, buy him the time he needs to convince his parents to get off his back. And then you can go back to your culinary uniform and back to serving up lobster to rich people and you can forget this ever happened and that he so much as exists.

With a shaky breath you get to your feet, throwing your familiar clothes into the locker along with your comfort zone and what feels like your entire identity.

If this is going to work you couldn't think like Y/N, you realise. You have to think like a Paradise country club member. And luckily for you, your careful observation of other residents from the kitchen gives you quite a lot of material to work with.

Before you can second guess yourself you're taking a deep breath and striding out of the locker room door and into the sunny resort grounds.

Oh god. I'm really doing this. You suddenly feel exposed as you pass the golf court, just managing to dodge a rattling cart before it flattened you.

A pair of girls stroll past with arms interlinked, tennis rackets swinging at their sides leisurely as they make their way to the course.

Oh god. They're gonna see through you. Oh god. Just smile!

You let the corners of your mouth curve up into the closest thing to a smile you can muster, pleased when you earn a friendly nod in greeting before they dive back into their conversation again.

Nobody is noticing. You hold your head high, telling your shoulders to relax and look natural. You can do this.

You reach the range but instead of following the group of middle aged men ahead of you up to the front entrance, you slip round the back. Your eyes land on him instantly; none other than Kim Seokjin, leaning impatiently against the wall, just like he said he would be.

His appearance is enough to have you faltering in your tracks. Unlike the last time you saw him when he donned a much less flattering eye sore of a Hawaiian shirt, he's put together from head to toe - white button up tucked into a pair of tailored trousers, brown loafers showing off his ankles, the whole outfit finished off by a knit sweater tied around his shoulders.

"Wow." You can't help it. You're starting to see why he had a reputation for being particularly easy on the eye.

You swallow thickly, shaking the stunned feeling from your head and ignoring the way your heart beats a little faster the closer you draw to him.

"Finally!" Seokjin hums as he lets out a frustrated huff, eyes glued to the Rolex on his wrist. "Where have you been-"

His breath hitches when he finally looks up and takes you in for the first time. You were surely imagining the way his eyes widen and look you up and down. Right?

"Well well," Seokjin regains his self control quickly, licking his lips. "Someone scrubs up well."

Smartass. "To my credit you've only ever seen me in my work clothes."

"Touché." He purses his lips. "Nobody could make those hats look good. Except me, obviously."

There is that glint in his eye again. As if he is messing with you to get you riled up again. If he wasn't the Kim Seokjin you'd mistake him as flirtatious.

You hug your torso, confidence dwindling with every second you stand beneath Seokjin's probing gaze, anxious to get out onto the range before it dissipates completely. "So? Are we just gonna stand here?"

"You turn up late and then have the audacity to order me around?" His eyebrows furrow and for a second you think he's going to warn you. Remind you who has the power here.

But then his face breaks out into an amused smirk and you let out the breath you didn't know you were holding. "Remember when I said I think you and I are going to get along just fine?"

Seokjin slings his hands into his pockets, striding towards the back door of the facility. He shakes the handle before using his key card to let you both into the archery equipment lodge.

You trail behind him. "Don't get too comfortable," You warn. "This is a one time thing."

Seokjin muses over a selection of crossbows in display cases before fishing in his pocket for a key, unlocking the glass and taking down two flashy ones. He grabs a quiver loaded with arrows from a stand and thrusts both into your arms without warning.

"Sure." He is slinging a quiver over his own shoulder now. He holds open the door to the archery range, gesturing for you to go first. So now he has manners? "If you say so."

The archery range is an expanse of perfectly pruned green grass, surrounded by the breathtaking scenery of fragrant rose bushes and trailing ivy that the resort boasts. And, as you're learning, an excuse for refreshments, as you find yourself now in a fancy veranda bar with high arching windows that overlook the distant targets, serving chilled lemonade and Prosecco and appetisers on fancy napkins.

"Pretty cool, right?" Seokjin asks, resting his elbows on the windowsill and smirking at your speechlessness and open mouthed expression. "But quit looking so surprised, yeah? You gotta make my sister think this is normal for you."

You don't have time to ask what he means before you are being spun around and engulfed in a hug. You freeze, sucking in a breath of surprise, the sickly smell of fancy shampoo engulfing your senses as your face is pushed into a head of perfect ringlets.

"You must be Y/N." The person, a woman, purrs into your ear. "It's good to finally meet you." The way she draws out the word makes you nervous.

This is Seokjin's sister?

Something about it doesn't feel how a hug is supposed to. Instead it feels like a silent interrogation. Are you good enough to be one of us? Nothing about it is warm. Instead it's sticky, your hands patting her back awkwardly, counting the seconds in your head until it is acceptable to pull away from her stiff hold.

When she lets go you are met with the tight lipped smile of a pretty twenty something, eyes scanning your face from beneath a sun visor. A customised hot pink quiver drapes across her shoulder and you notice the way she eyes your borrowed equipment distastefully.

"That would be me." You force a smile that ends up being a little too wide, glancing nervously at Seokjin who simply nods in encouragement. "It's good to...finally meet you too?"

She holds you at arms length, giving you a once over before speaking tightly. "Well aren't you a doll?"

You must look as terrified as you feel because her eyebrows raise triumphantly. Seokjin senses the tension. He looks between the two of you almost worriedly, searching your face for any sign of discomfort. For a second you think his concern is kind of sweet...No! Not allowed.

"No hug for me?" Seokjin swoops in and his sister's features harden at his sarcastic tone, a punch landing on his shoulder which he pretends to rub better, emitting a small ow!

"You're late."

"Sorry Hyejin, couldn't find my best shoes." Seokjin throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you from her grasp a little protectively and flashing an award winning smile that makes your heart flip...No! Definitely not allowed.

"Those are your best shoes?" She grimaces, shaking her head with an air of disappointment. "You left me waiting here for half an hour for those?" Her eyes narrow at you accusingly, as if she knows the truth and wants you to offer an apology.

Seokjin is quick to save you again. "Yup. All my fault. Shall we shoot?"

"Gladly." She smooths down a stray curl, studying her reflection in the glass windows. "I've been itching to see Y/N's aim since I got here. I hear you are a pro, no?"

You choke. A pro?

Luckily she's already stalking across the deck in her click-clacking wedges and out onto the damp green grass, missing the panicked glance shared between yourself and Seokjin.

"Uh-"

"Um-"

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. Think of something, he mouths.

She stops dead, shooting a puzzled glance over her shoulder. "Well are you?"

"Not exactly-" You start.

"I think you're thinking of one of the other...candidates, Hyejin." Seokjin says carefully. He places his palm at the small of your back. The gesture was probably just for show but it comforts you none the less.

"I'm sure she's just being modest." She says to Seokjin, but she's looking right at you. Her forefinger taps against her palm and you can almost see the puzzle pieces falling together in her head before her expression smooths out and you let out a sigh of relief. "So. Shall we?"

Seokjin nods sheepishly. Hyejin slings an arrow into her bow with the ease of an expert, Seokjin quickly following suit. And it is in that moment, as you watch them shoot equally as precise shots to the centre of their respective targets, that it dawns on you. You have never shot a bow and arrow in your life.

"Let's see just how good you are." Hyejin steps back, offering you the main stage. You squint at the targets in the far distance, the rings blurring into one. How on earth did they make hitting those things look so easy?

"Sure thing." You wince at the strain in your voice as you fumble to pull an arrow from your quiver, fingers shaking as you try to sling it into the bow.

You can do this..

You lift the bow, close your eyes and hope for the best when you let go of the arrow, watching as it flies a short distance before sticking upright in the dirt just short of the target.

Cheeks scarlet, you glance at Hyejin who looks positively horrified. "When you said not exactly good I wasn't expecting you to be so...inexperienced. No personal trainer?" She muses, eyeing you quizzically, to which you shoot her an embarrassed smile in confirmation. "Anybody would think it was your first time!" You sheepishly giggle along to the hearty chuckle she enjoys at the mere thought, spluttering when her face suddenly darkens "It's not right?"

You freeze. "Uhhh..."

"It's just nerves," Seokjin insists, palms clamping your shoulders and thrusting you forward again. "She's probably just shitting it because you're watching."

"Language!" Hyejin scolds, letting the roll of Seokjin's eyes slip when she sees you fiddling with another arrow.

This time you prepare the bow with ease, a bout of confidence washing over you as you make eye contact with Seokjin over the top of the bow you raise to your shoulder. His eyes soften slightly and he offers an encouraging nod as you squint at the target and shoot the arrow straight into the centre ring.

You're momentarily shocked at your own abilities before Seokjin is letting out a genuinely impressed hoot, his hand coming between you to offer a sly high five unbeknownst to Hyejin. A silent congratulations for not completely fucking up.

"Pretty good." Hyejin nods, looking genuinely impressed, and you give yourself a silent pat on the back.

Holy shit. This is really working! She believes you belong here!

"Although I'm not sure where father got the idea of professional from with that technique," She lowered her voice, clearly only intending for Seokjin to hear the last part despite you standing beside her. "I must admit her figure seems better suited to tennis anyway..."

Or not. Maybe you still have some work to do...

Hyejin seems in a hurry to get to the next target, and Seokjin hangs back to whisper in your ear before you follow.

"Congrats," He hums with a smirk. "You fit right in. Welcome to Paradise, Y/N."

The next forty five minutes pass quicker than you expect.

"— and I said, 'How could you seat the Jeon's next to the Jung's when you know they're feuding about the business contract'?" Hyejin exclaims. "Scandalous."

"Scandalous." You reply with a bored attempt at enthusiasm, raising your eyebrows at Seokjin over the rim of your glass as you sip cloudy lemonade through a straw. To his credit he looks equally as exhausted with Hyejin's spiel, shaking his knee impatiently as he itches for an opportunity to pounce.

As Hyejin continues to make mildly interrogative small talk and you find it increasingly easier to think on the spot when she asks about your family's (imaginary) dynasty and the university degree in economics you (supposedly) possess, you start to feel more comfortable. But Seokjin still refuses to loosen the arm resting around your shoulders keeping you planted by his side all afternoon, as if he is nervous his sister might swoop down like a bird and take you away at any moment, like a toddler with a toy.

That's why when she suggests a trip to the little girls room to powder your noses, Seokjin throws you a reluctant look. He protests at first when you readily agree (hoping to splash some cold water on your face to cool the constant burn that seems to have settled into your every pore) and he still looks concerned, knee bouncing nervously, when you peel yourself away from his body and disappear into the bar a few steps behind Hyejin who doesn't seem interested in side by side small talk.

In fact, you use the bathroom in silence and she doesn't speak another word until you catch her gaze in the mirror as she emerges from a cubicle behind you.

"You might have my little brother fooled but I see right through you, you know." She sets down her cosmetics bag on the sink, retrieving an expensive tube of lipstick and swiping the pinkish colour over her lips nonchalantly.

The tap stops running over your soaped up hands as you try to curb the nausea her words induce. Does she know who you are? Who you really are?

Despite the shake to your voice you try to play it cool. "W-what do you mean?"

Hyejin's laugh is small and tight, nothing about it humorous at all. Her eyes never leave her reflection, fluffing up her curls with an air of superiority. "I see through parasites like you straight away."

Your mouth falls agape with astonishment. "Parasites?"

"You should know that I have people all over this place who will find out exactly why you came here." For the first time she turns to look you dead in the eye, a bitter smile lacing her lips smugly. She is eye level but it feels like she is towering above you. "What is it you want? Money?"

"No I—"

"Just wait." Hyejin slings her bag over her shoulder triumphantly, voice getting smaller as her heels click across the tiles to the door. She pauses, poking her head back into the room as if burdened with an after thought. "You could do with some more mascara, by the way, darling. Would make you look much prettier."

And then she's gone, leaving you to watch her hips swaying into the distance with hands dripping dry onto the ground.

By the time you calm your nerves enough to emerge from the bathroom looking semi-confident, Hyejin is already ordering another drink and Seokjin is straining his neck to search for you anxiously.

Even from a few meters away you can see the way he sighs with relief when he spots you approaching. It didn't last for long though as he must notice the slightly reddened rings around yours eyes that weren't there before and before you can give him a watery smile in greeting, he is on his feet.

"What happened?"

You bite your lip. "Seokjin, I think I need to go."

"I knew this would happen. Did she try and get in your head?" You nod and his face darkens. "I was an idiot bringing you here."

"It's fine, I shouldn't have agreed, you stay and I'll just go—"

"Right!" Seokjin makes a show of slapping his palms to his knees, practically jumping to his feet and dragging you up with him by your elbow, only a hare away from spilling the drink in your hands. "Sorry to cut this short but I think it's time for Y/N and I to be going."

Hyejin looks positively furious at the suggestion of saying goodbye, gesturing towards the bucket of ice in the centre of the table you had inhabited after your arms began to hurt from holding the archery bow. "But we haven't even opened the Champagne yet, Jin-"

"Oh I don't day drink." You wave her off, biting your lip with instant regret when you see how her face hardens.

"Sorry Hyejin but there really just isn't enough time," Seokjin insists, reaching for your bag to save you the trouble, slinging it across your shoulder and pushing you by the shoulders towards the exit. It's not like you have a choice in the matter but you have to admit you are relieved the whole fiasco is finished. "Send my best wishes to Wonho and Minhye!"

"Minhyuk." Hyejin splutters as she staggers to her feet, chair scraping obscenely. "Your nephew's name is Minhyuk!"

"Good to know!" Seokjin calls over his shoulder, already speed walking into the lobby before you can make out her response.

When Seokjin decides there is enough distance between you and the range he drops his arm from where it drapes around your shoulders. You didn't realise it was there until it was already gone, a cold emptiness settling over you. Why had it felt so natural?

He lets out a deep sigh of relief. "Thank god that's over with. I thought she would never stop talking."

You snort in agreement. "I've never told so many lies in my life."

"I find that hard to believe." Seokjin smirks when you slap his arm playfully. "It came too easily to you."

"It's your fault! Your deceptive ways are rubbing off on me!"

"Deceptive ways?" Seokjin splutters, a genuine laugh spilling from his lips. Heartier and much different to the strained chuckles he's been giving Hyejin all day. You decide by the way your heart lurches that you like it much better. "I'll have you know I never lie."

"You're joking right?" Surely he is aware that it was him that roped you into this identity fraud master plan in the first place? The smirk on his face says yes. It's your turn to laugh, mimicking his earlier tone. "I find that hard to believe."

"Then ask me a question and I'll tell you the honest truth and nothing but the truth."

"Uhh okay?" You pause, mulling over all the questions you really want to ask. Why did you choose me? Does this make us friends? Are you gonna look through me again at the restaurant when this whole thing is over? Before you sheepishly settle on something more appropriate.

"How much is the resort worth? It must be a lot if you would go to all this...trouble."

"Five hundred."

"Five hundred thousand?"

"You're coy. Of course not." He chuckles. "Million."

Oh. Well now everything makes sense.

"Come on, ask me another." Seokjin bumps his shoulder against yours playfully, hair falling in his eyes that you’re desperate to push away. Your cheeks burn. "What's on your mind, kitchen girl?"

Don't say it...don't say it...

"D-did your sister hate me?"

Too late. The question slips out before you can stop it and you slap a hand over your mouth in shock.

He narrows his eyes. "Why do you want to know?"

Why do you want to know? It's not like any of this really mattered - it wasn't real after all. So why does your stomach twist when you remember the spiteful way Hyejin spoke to you?

You flash a sheepish smile. "J-just interested."

Your ego was just bruised that's all. It was natural to feel bad when someone didn't like you, right?

"Then yes."

Oh.

Your chest clenches for no reason. Maybe he really never lies after all, huh?

Seokjin must notice the way you pout. "It's not personal! That's just how she is. Honestly, out of all the candidates so far you're the one she hated the least..."

You snort. "Good to know?"

You come to a stop outside the locker room doors. You don't know what to say - what is left? Goodbye? Thank you?

You're probably never going to speak to him again, true; but goodbye feels too formal. Too real. Instead you stay quiet, the sound of cicadas and balls hitting racquets filling the silence as Seokjin’s chocolate brown eyes make you weak at the knees when they darken, his body drawing ever closer to yours.

"Aren't you gonna ask how I plan on repaying you?"

Seokjin's fingers wrap around your elbow before you can slip away and you gasp at how his skin burns yours. You swallow thickly. The light bounces off his face dazzlingly and you have to admit he looks good right now, with his shirt unbuttoned lazily and his bitten lips inches from yours.

"I-I forgot about that." You admit. Sure you had been uptight about this whole idea initially but you couldn't deny the fact that today had been kinda fun. Did you really need a reward? Maybe you'd got a little lost in pretending to be someone else. So what?

"Well," Seokjin draws closer until your back presses against the wall, his breath hot next to your ear. "I have something in mind."

Your pulse quickens when you feel his hand rest upon your hip, the rise and fall of his chest so close that you get tingles down your spine.

You swallow the lump in your throat. "W-what is it?"

His chuckle is warm against your sensitive neck and you shudder when his lips ghost over your skin, so so close. "Can I show you?"

"Sure." You breathe.

And then he takes you by the chin, lining up your mouths and crashing them together in a hot tangle of tongue and teeth, his chapped lips moving against yours with an urgency. Your arms snake around his neck, tangling in the hair at his nape and pulling him into you with a thump.

Before your eyes can flutter shut and your heart can get lost in the feeling of his teeth pulling at your bottom lip and the taste of sour lemonade that still lingers on his tongue, Seokjin pulls back with a smirk, eyes dropping to your parted lips and then back to your blown out eyes with a satisfaction.

He runs a knuckle down your cheek. You feel your legs weaken. "I want you."

The huskiness in his voice makes your head spin, chest burning with the desire to connect your lips again. But you resist.

"Why?" You squeeze your eyes shut, head lolling back against the wall to avoid his gaze, embarrassed at how shaky your voice sounds after one kiss. God, you're weak. "Why me?"

"Like I said," Seokjin's fingers trace down your sides, eyes darkening when he notices the way the light touch makes you shiver under him. "I want you. Have since I first saw you."

He wants you? What about all those other girls, the ones he sent running? The ones who were much more suited to him than you would ever be?

"So what?" You scoff, biting your lip to stop a needy gasp when he presses a bold kiss to your jaw. "Want to add me to the list of girls who — mmf — w-who you seduced?"

He pauses, lips pressed against your burning skin for a little longer while he registers your words. "Maybe." He resumes his earlier actions, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. "Is that so bad?"

"I can't do this." You bite your lip. This wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't intending on letting Seokjin get to you, didn't mean to become a mark in his black book or a notch in his bed post.

"Why not?" He presses his forehead to yours. Your breath hitches and you will the warm tingle in your stomach to go away. "I saw you checking me out on the range."

The way he grins tells you that you hadn't been so subtle after all.

"And besides," Seokjin grips your ass through your skirt, making you gasp to his satisfaction. "This way, I get to pay you back and have some fun of my own."

"H-how?" You can feel yourself slipping. Into his touch, into his words.

"By making you cum." That had your panties damp and he knew it, the heat between your legs distracting you from the way he groans against your lips when your hips buck into him involuntarily.

It's like he knows what you need, slotting his leg between your own and putting pressure on the growing ache in your core. "I know you want this too."

He's right, the way the cotton of your panties has begun to cling to your folds a tell tale sign of your arousal. Seokjin knew exactly how to make you putty in his hands. Every teasing touch of his lips to your neck, every feather light trace of his fingers has him chuckling darkly when you melt into his body, unable to resist the way he makes your core ache needily for his touch.

"Come on, I can make you feel good." Your breath hitches when fingers toy with the hem of your skirt. "If I just lift this up..."

Oh god. If you don't stop now it'll be too late...

His hand slips beneath your skirt, pads of his fingers hooking your sodden panties to the side, the flash of cold air against your needy folds making you whine into the crook of his neck. "P-please."

You feel him smirk against your hair, speaking with a tone so sickly sweet you would've rolled your eyes if your clit wasn't already pulsating for his touch. "Please what?"

"Make me cum."

"I knew you would come round." He pulls back to face you, drinking in the expression on your face which you presume is utterly fucked out. You have to admit the way his own irises have darkened with what you recognise as lust makes your stomach leap in anticipation. "So desperate for me already hm?"

You whine, somewhat in confirmation, somewhat in frustration at his refusal to touch you even when you buck against his hand. "Please."

"I wouldn't have put you down as the begging type." His hand suddenly cups your heat, pads of his fingers circling your entrance teasingly. He lets out a choked groan when he feels your arousal. "This wet for me? Already?"

"What do you expect?" You stammer, squeezing his shoulders and holding back on the urge to buck against his palm again. "You've got your hand up my skirt."

"Mmm, I could just make you come undone right here." His eyes darken, tongue snaking out to wet his chapped lips hungrily. "Could easily fuck you out nice and slow with my fingers if I wanted to, hmm?" Seokjin has begun to circle your entrance teasingly, making you squirm every time he nearly slips inside.

"Fuck." Your eyes are squeezed shut, breathing already laboured despite him barely even touching you, just the thought of him filling you up getting you dangerously worked up. "I want you to."

"What was that?" Seokjin's lips curve up mischievously, one of his fingers nearly filling you up before he removes his hand and you groan with frustration. "Gotta use your words sweetheart."

Your heart thumps at the use of the pet name but you choose to ignore it, instead reaching between your bodies to clasp his wrist before it disappears completely. "Fuck me," you pant, eyes roaming his with desperation. His staunch gaze never falters. "Please, fuck me now."

Seokjin connects your swollen lips again, but not before mumbling against them gruffly. "Remember you asked for it."

Then, his free hand to spreads your legs, knee stopping them from closing as his other hand closes in on your aching core. The feeling of his digits running down your soaked slit has you panting and you feel your legs buckle when he pressed two of his lithe fingers into your heat without warning. You are dripping by now, hole accommodating the stretch and allowing his fingers to slip inside easily.

Your clit pulsates with need and you want to feel Seokjin everywhere, have him take you in any way he wants, momentarily lost to the feeling of his fingers pumping in and out of your heat; until you remember that you have Seokjin's hand down your pants in broad daylight and anyone could walk by and see just how weak he makes you.

"Wait!" He halts his ministrations, raising a brow. "W-we can't, not here."

You mewl when his thumb ghosts across your swollen clit, touch light but enough to have you gasping into the crook of his neck.

"Let's take this inside, then." Before you can ask what he means his fingers disappear, leaving your hole clenching agonisingly around nothing again. He presses the arousal coated digits to your lips and you enjoy the way his jaw tightens as you eagerly take them into your hot mouth, humming when you taste yourself on your own tongue. "Fuck you'll drive me crazy if you keep this up."

You can tell you are getting to him, even if he is trying to hide it. The way his eyes roll back when you suck his fingers clean, how he bites his cheek to stop a lustful groan when his eyes dip between your bodies to your almost naked heat tells you all you needed to know.

He can't take it any longer.

Seokjin pulls his hand away with a wet pop, your throbbing heat protesting when he let your legs fall shut, linking his clammy hand with your own. "Come with me."

It takes a second to remember how to walk, letting him pull you behind him in your dizzy haze. His hand is warm in yours and your entire body aches to feel them on you again. It's already too late to hide your swollen lips and slightly mussed up hair before Seokjin drags you right into the men's locker room .

"Wait, we can't do it in here—"

"Everyone out!" Seokjin's voice bellows through the locker room, all its inhabitants pausing their ministrations to peer at you curiously.

You try to let go of Seokjin's hand to button up your shirt but he won't let you, squeezing your hand reassuringly as you hide behind him self consciously, knees knocking. "We need to use the locker room."

A groan erupts through the room, a chorus of again? permeating the sound of lockers slamming shut with frustration before one by one all the dudes in the locker room began to shuffle past you to the exit.

"Seokjin!" You hiss, standing on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear angrily. "Now everyone knows!"

Seokjin's thumb rubs across your knuckles soothingly. "Who cares?"

You feel your cheeks flush hotly when a man you recognise from the restaurant, now wearing nothing but a towel, narrows his eyes in a knowing look. You willed the ground to swallow you up.

The sound of footsteps ceases, the door swings closed and finally you're alone.

"Better?" Seokjin turns to you expectantly.

"I can't believe you just did that!" You cover your face with your palms. "God how am I going to look any of them in the eyes again."

"They don't care." He soothes, your unamused expression not faltering still.

"Are you even allowed to do that? W-What if they tell someone—"

"They won't," Seokjin smirks. "They value their memberships here too much."

You bite your lip. "Maybe we shouldn't do this."

Seokjin rushes forward to cup your face in his palms reassuringly. The act feels a little too sincere and you nearly melt at the intimacy, resisting copying his motion by pinching your palm instead. "It's okay, seriously! They're just jealous that I get lucky more around here than any of the old bastards have in their entire lives."

"I don't believe you." Your words are muffled by his chest, his chuckle vibrating against your cheek.

"They're jealous because they'll never get this lucky."

"Huh?" Seokjin's hands slide down the small of your back to cup your ass, lifting your entire weight so that your legs wrap around his waist. You let out a giggle of surprise when his face comes into view, smirking up at you.

"Lucky enough to get someone as pretty as you underneath them."

There they are again, the butterflies in your stomach, the skip of a beat in your heart, a warmth spreading through your chest that feels too good to question right now. "Technically I'm above you." You mumble. "Besides they were all, like, fifty years old or something."

"Just shut up would you?" Seokjin stumbles forward, throwing you roughly onto one of the couches. The fabric feels like velvet when your nails clutch at it desperately, trying to hold on to whatever control you have left when Seokjin drops to his knees between your legs to hover over you. "And kiss me for fucks sake."

You oblige, pulling him by the collar to connect your lips in a kiss even more heated than before if that was even possible. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, begging for entrance and you sigh contentedly into the kiss when he pulls your face even closer with his palms.

"F-fuck." He pulls back with a pop, hands roaming along the tops of your thighs too teasingly for you to handle. By now you're so worked up that you just needed him to take you roughly, the thought of his cock pounding in and out of you making you moan when you feel his bulge brush your leg. God you want him more than you knew it was possible, the way your clit pulses at the thought of how good it would feel to come around him or better yet feel him come inside you overwhelming.

"Seokjin, p-please fuck me." You practically whine, letting your head fall against the couch cushion when his thumbs fiddle with the lace of your panties. "Wanna feel you inside me."

The sound that comes from his throat seems strangled. "Fuck, what did I say about driving me crazy?"

"Need you so bad," You rotate your hips to emphasise your desperation, the action providing you with no relief when his steel like grip prevents you from putting any pressure on your dripping folds. "Wanna cum for you."

You blink up at him through your lashes and you swear you see his adam's apple bob as he swallows a moan. He liked it when you provoked him, you could tell. His resolve is crumbling with every word out of your mouth.

"Please, I'm so wet." Fuck, you are. You can feel it dripping down your ass, probably making a mess of the couch below you. You hope it can be dry cleaned. "Just fuck me now—mmf!"

Seokjin shuts you up with a hard press of his lips to yours, the action conveying he's just as desperate as you, the way his hands trembled telling you he isn't as unaffected as he wants to appear.

His breathing is nearly as ragged as yours now. "You like riling me up don't you?"

He runs a shaky hand through his hair exasperatedly and you look up at him hopeful, willing him to touch you, kiss you, anything.

"I'm not going to fuck you."

Oh.

You stiffen beneath him, his words shocking you still.

He doesn't want you. Simple as that.

This was just another one of his games and you fell straight into it. You close your eyes and braced for him to start laughing. To point his finger and tell you how lame you are for ever thinking that someone like him could want someone like you.

Except nothing comes. Just the sound of your shaky breaths and a shower running nearby.

"Why?" Your voice is small now and you draw your knees to your chest, trying to hide as much from him as possible. "You don't want to?"

He looks dismayed at your suggestion, palms shooting out to push you back down and pull you back into his hold again.

"It's not that, Y/N." You let out a relieved breath, not fighting Seokjin when his forehead falls against your chest in defeat, heavy breaths ghosting across the tops of your breasts. You're sure he can feel the way your heart beats uncontrollably in your chest.

"Then why?" You bite your lip. You sound too needy, to whiny. Why do you even care if he wants you or not? This is a one off anyway.

"God, I want nothing more than to strip you and see you bounce on my cock right here"

Oh.

Seokjin's lips attach to your neck, sucking harshly like a man deprived, as though he can't hold back any longer. His hands roam everywhere they can reach, rubbing your breasts over your shirt before his fingers work on the buttons eagerly.

"S-Seokjin..."

"Would give anything to see you come undone on my cock. Bet you'd moan so pretty when I pound you, yeah?"

Truth be told you'd let him right now if he said the word, the thought of him stretching you out making you see stars before he has even properly touched you. Your core is hot and sticky against your panties while you clench around nothing while his every word makes you writhe to be filled. "Then w-why don't you?"

"Because there's plenty of time for that, princess." He flashes you a smile. Plenty of time? Why did he make it sound as if this wasn't a one time thing? As if you'd be back for more? "This is for you remember? Gotta pay you back."

You yelp when Seokjin lifts your ass, thumbs finally dragging your panties down your legs and throwing them behind him before he spreads your legs with a hunger. "Let me taste you, hm?"

Seokjin pushes your skirt around your waist, exposing your core to his hungry eyes, drinking in how you look all spread out for him. Just the sight of him so close to your dripping heat makes the coil in your stomach tighten and you're sure you could cum just from the way his lips part in anticipation.

He looks up at you for confirmation, smirking when you nod your head before falling back against the couch weakly when he drags a finger down your slit teasingly, licking his lips when you mewl at the brief contact with your clit. "So pretty."

He sinks back against his heels, cheek warm against your inner thigh, hot breath caressing your clit. A moan escapes you at the feeling much to his amusement, his bruising grip on your thighs stopping you from bucking up. "Hurry up — mmf — please."

For the first time he listens to your request, skipping the teasing to run a long stripe up your soaking slit. Seokjin groans against your clit and you quiver, his staggered breaths hot against your dripping folds. "Taste so good, sweetheart."

"S-Seokjin," Hands spread your legs as far as they cN go and then plump lips engulf your clit, sucking with a perfect harshness that makes your legs shake and your head fall back with a gasp, hands tangling in his blonde locks tightly enough to have him groaning blissfully. "Fingers!"

The breathiness of your voice makes him chuckle against your heat, vibrations enough to have your knees straining to close around his head, the pressure between them almost too much. "What was that?"

"Fingers," You reiterate, aware of how fucked out you soundjust from feeling his tongue on your clit, every teasing flick making your entrance pulse. "Inside me, now."

"No please?" The drag of Seokjin's flat tongue down your slit to prod at your hole is sinful, the way he took to fucking you with his tongue teasingly drawing small whimpers from your lips. It's mesmerising how he knows just how to make you fall apart.

"P-please!"

The gentle brush of his nose against your clit nearly has you coming on the spot. "Turn over." He growls against your mound. An arm wraps around your waist and before you can protest his mouth leaving your heat, you are being flipped onto your hands and knees, Seokjin's palm pushing your head down against your forearms so that your ass comes up for his viewing pleasure. "That's more like it."

"F-fuck." It feels dirty being on display for him like this, dripping wet and wiggling your hips, desperate for friction against your spread folds. Pressing your cheek to the couch, you catch a glimpse of Seokjin's expression as he takes you in, eyes black with desire, lips still coated in your sticky arousal.

"Shit." His breath hitches. "Such a pretty pussy, hm?"

It's your turn to take a shaky inhale when a single finger circles your entrance, Seokjin humming approvingly when you clench hopelessly around nothing. Knowing you are so close to being filled even with a single finger gets you panting, circling your hips and trying to sink down onto the digit that smears your wetness through your folds lewdly. Seokjin pulls his hand away with a click of his tongue.

"That desperate to be filled, baby?" His tone is taunting, followed by a chuckle when you whine at the way his words make your clit throb. "Fuck, such a slut, dripping wet for just my fingers."

He reaches around to press the pad of his finger against your lips and you suck it instinctively, humming when you taste yourself, some of your sticky arousal smearing on your chin. Seokjin's head rolls back, the visual practically sending him into sensory overload.

"Such a slut," A loud slap fills the room, a palm landing flat against your upturned ass, the sensation making you cry out in surprise. His breath is hot and ragged against your ear. "You like that?"

Despite the embarrassed shake of your head another smack lands to the flesh of your other cheek with enough force to leave a mark this time. It stings when he rubs his calloused hands over the reddening skin that is now burning hot where it collided with his palm but the pain quickly dissipates to pleasure and you bite your hand to stop from moaning out too lewdly. "Use your words, princess."

"Seokjin!" You can't hold back from whining his name when his palm lands straight on your heat, the sharp pain a somehow welcome relief when he instantly rubbed a few soothing circles into your folds with the pads of his fingers, each graze of your clit making your legs shake uncontrollably. "I-I need more."

"This?" Without warning he presses two fingers into your pussy, entrance squeezing around him wildly at the pleasant stretch. Every flick of his wrist permeates through the locker room with a loud squelch, testament of just how worked up you were.

"Ugh!" Every drag of his fingers against your velvety walls has your eyes rolling back, the way he curls the digits with every thrust hitting your sweet spot perfectly, like he knew exactly how to drive you crazy. "S-so good."

You are starting to get out of breath, meeting his thrusts by rocking back against his hand and this time he doesn't protest, encouraging you by kneading the flesh of your ass and groaning in time with the sharp gasps leaving your lips each time the heel of his hand brushes your swollen clit.

"Think you can cum again with just my fingers, baby?" The way you clench around around his digits is a tell tale sign that your second high is close. Just his words alone nearly make you fall over the edge, words slurred as you try to focus on anything other than the unrelenting pulse between your legs.

"N-need more." You sound utterly fucked out, eyes squeezed shut and lost to the feeling of being filled but the stretch isn't quite enough and you need more to tip you over the edge. "Another one."

Seokjin lines up a third finger with your entrance, the ring on his finger cold against your hot walls as he slides it in beside the others at an agonisingly slow pace; to allow you to adjust to the stretch or to taunt you can't tell. By the time he gets to his knuckles your body is wracked with laboured breaths, quivering knees barely able to hold your weight as you bite the inside of your cheeks to curb a string of whines at being finally filled.

Of course, his fingers weren't as good as the real thing and you wonder how he is able to control himself when your mouth waters at the thought of feeling him inside of you instead of his hand.

The room is still a little humid from the showers, a layer of sweat glistening across your skin as you chase your high with determination, the stickiness between your legs dripping down Seokjin's wrist and making him tut, the click of his tongue heightening the sensation.

"That's it, cum for me." The authority lacing his tone tips you over the edge, another smack stinging your ass as you bury your face in the couch with a cry, the feeling of his fingers pumping you through your high almost too much to bare but as soon as they are ripped away and you're left clenching around nothing you miss the feeling of being full.

"So pretty when you cum." Seokjin murmurs. Under normal circumstances you would have been embarrassed, self conscious even with your ass up for anyone to see, release leaking on to the couch, but you're too fucked out to care about anything m, barely able to register Seokjin's new found gentleness as he flips you onto your back and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear while you focus on returning your breathing back to a normal pace.

"Holy shit." The beat of your heart seemsdeafening in your ears, the only other sound you can comprehend being Seokjin's own ragged breathing.

"Fuck, I nearly just came in my pants." When you manage to turn your head he is staring straight at you with disbelief, eyes travelling to your swollen lips. "I'm going to jerk off to this image forever."

"Me too." You murmur honestly.

Your lids fall shut in post orgasm bliss, not expecting the incoming peck Seokjin presses to your parted lips. It is barely a kiss, plump flesh of his lips brushing yours for less than a second but a funny warmth spreads through your chest at the gesture. Seokjin seems as surprised as you, as if he can't quite believe he just did that, shuffling to the other side of the couch to put some distance between you.

"You should uh, get dressed." He mumbles, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly and turning away to give you some privacy, as if he hadn't just had his head between your legs just a moment ago.

His behaviour, albeit kind of strange, makes you smirk and you decide it won't hurt to tease. "Well, at least now we're even."

Seokjin bites his lip when he turns around to find your skirt back around your thighs, overcome with a new confidence, sauntering over and palming your ass like he owns it. "Nope, not getting away that easily. I think you'll find I made you cum twice. So now you owe me. Again."

"And what do I owe you this time, Kim Seokjin?" You place your hands on his chest, no instinct to push him away for some reason. "Golfing with your brother up next?"

"No," He scoffs. "My brother wouldn't be caught dead with a club."

"Then what?"

You notice the glint in his eye again, the one you are starting to crave. "Let me get to know you."

"Isn't that what you did today?"

He shakes his head. "The real you."

#seokjin smut #bts smut #jin smut #smutcentralnet #bangtanarmynet #ksmutclub #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #seokjin imagine #seokjin scenario #jin imagine #jin scenario #bts fanfiction #bts fic #fic: better with you

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charlettebffxiv · 3 years

Text

Prompt #25 Silver Lining

“Oh come on!” Maxim was rarely upset by anything, the man had a relentless kind of optimism after all. The worst situations can be turned around into the best once filtered through whatever rose-tinted filters wrapped his mind. Charlette rarely had patience for it these suns, it was hard to not see the shadow in every corner, no matter how bright the room. So, seeing frustration finally take the Wildwood was a surprisingly entertaining experience for her. “What do you mean five suns time? It’s been more than a moon since we were promised the damn delivery of our order! How are we supposed to tend to anything without new tools? We’ve not a sharp edge between nearly twelve pairs of shears!” The man he was attempting to stare down across the counter had his arms crossed, stoic as ever. “Come back in five suns and you’ll have your tool sets. I’m not going to tell you again, it’s not finished and it’s ‘cause the iron shipments were delayed. You wanna press it, take it up with the suppliers. Longer you keep me here, explainin’ this again and again, the less time I’m spending at my workbench.” Maxim threw his hands in the air, a loud and long growl of frustration escaping as he turned and walked back to Charlette. “Bobocufu’s going to be disappointed. Worse, we’re going to have to come back again.”

Willow’s Heart was on the very edge of Gridanian territory. Likely set there on purpose, to make it easier on the Order to go about their business. Or perhaps it’s the reason Willow’s Heart was chosen as the Order’s base of operations, the history at this point is a little muddied. Still, this meant that anyone living there had a long journey ahead of them, if they wished to visit the Shroud capitol. And now she and Maxim were just starting out the long, three-bell cart ride back to Willow’s Heart empty handed. “Bloody ridiculous.” Maxim fumed, a true grumpiness having taken hold of him. “My arse is already complaining, why in the hells do carts just have planks of wood for a seat? Do drivers not deserve to be comfortable?” Charlette shrugged, not feeling any more comfortable than he, but she didn’t need to vocalize it quite as much. “I could not say, there are not many histories on the development of the cart in the library. It is a rather specific subject after all, and not one many are quite as passionate about as you.” Maxim purposefully deepend his frown to the point he looked two decades older. He looked ridiculous and he knew it, so at least his humour was still shining through the little storm he had wafting about. “Do not let this break you, Maxim. Try to see the bright side of it, we get to see Gridania again in five suns. Plum beer and skewers for lunch, maybe a slice of pie at the Carline Canopy?” He brightened, just a little. “I don’t hate Gridania or anything, frankly it’s a wonderful change from being in Willow’s Heart. I’m just, ugh, I hate disappointing Bobocufu. She’s desperate for these tools, you’ve seen the rust on our current set, gods Dylan nearly stabbed himself in the face when the handle of his scythe up and snapped mid-swing.” The young apprentice to Bobocufu, the leader of Willow’s Heart’s botanist troupe, was the smallest and weakest of them. If he could achieve something like that, well, it made everyone else rather reticent to even swing one of the old axes anymore. “It is quite frustrating to work with. I think those old shears cost me a few extra bells in pruning time for the Greenhouse.” Maxim’s agreement came across in a loud groan, his dramatics playing up quite the show. “I know! Gods be good, it takes ages to do anything.” Dropping his head into his hands, Charlette almost believed he was actually weeping at the thought of it. “Five whole suns, and I don’t even believe that man will have it done by then! It will be another excuse, you wait and see. No amount of Carline Canopy pie will make-up for it either!” he snapped the reins he held, the chocobo leading it responded with a hard kick to the hearth and a loud “KWEH!”, making Maxim jump. “Sorry! Sorry… don’t kick me.” Two bells rolled by very, very slowly. Only the trundle of the cart against the rough path below, and the consistent crunch of the chocobo’s steps left to fill the air. Charlette’s whole body was complaining, the shaking of the cart rattling her down to her very bones. Maxim, however, had maintained his little cloud of worry. The closer they got to Willow’s Heart, the more intense it became. “Bobocufu will understand, Maxim. There is not much any of us can do about this, but wait. Maybe she should come with us next time, she is quite good at chewing people out, given the opportunity.” The snort of laughter that escaped her companion blew that cloud aside, just a bit. “I’d love to see that. Heck, I’d hold her up to face-height so she can do it right into the man’s smug expression.” Charlette placed a hand on his shoulder, gave it a squeeze. “And I will get you a cushion to sit on for the trip. I will not have your precious bottom being bruised further, it has a lot of sitting to do.” Hand to heart, Maxim gasped and bowed as low as he could in his seat. “You’re truly a savior of posteriors Charlette. My buns will be eternally grateful!” There he was again, edge with tension but coming back. Who would have thought she’d be the one providing an optimistic outlook for once. Well, here’s the true silver lining of the trip coming up anyway. Charlette tapped Maxim on the shoulder, just as the cart pulled to the highest point of the pathway. Maxim pulled the cart to a stop with a firm “Whoa!” and they both stopped and turned, looking through a gap in the canopy above. The sun was just starting to fall below the horizon, a brilliant red starting to burn across everything. It was beautiful, and the greatest reason that Charlette, despite the small truths that held-up Maxim’s irritation, was quite looking forward to the next trip back. “Well, I suppose that’s one nice thing about the trip.” Maxim wrapped an arm around Charlette’s shoulders, hers snaking around his waist and they pulled in tight, watching as the sun left them over the edge of the world. “He better have my bloody tools ready…”

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxiv writing #ffxiv roleplay #ffxiv rp #ffxiv #elezen #duskwight

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diddlesanddoodles · 3 years

Text

DUMPLING ch 54

WARNING: This chapter contains brief mentions of gore and themes that some readers may find disturbing or alarming.

Nenani could not stop thinking about the strange boy in the tree. What did he mean that she smelled like fire? They all had been sitting around a fire the night before, so should they not all smell like fire? Why only her? Or did he mean that he could smell her magic? Did magic have a smell? And if Haiyer did have magic, as the stranger boy insisted, why had he not bloomed yet? Had her mother put a seal on him as well? No, that did not make sense at all. Their mother ran from Aidus out of fear that he would kill Haiyer for not having magic.

She suddenly had a lot of questions for Maevis once they got back to the castle. And perhaps a few for her mother as well.

They did encounter a number of other bodies as they walked, forever sleeping among the tangled roots, but they did not stop to inspect them as they had the others. Keral’s eyes studied them as they passed, but he kept a steady pace that Farris matched. The kitchen master did not even look at them, and Nenani was growing concerned that he might find them upsetting. There wasn’t much Farris could not face, and the sheer practicality of his manner made it all the more worrying to Nenani. She hated the idea of him being upset. Not mad, she was quite accustomed to that. But the idea of Farris being upset was disconcerting. His eyes seemed to dart away the moment a body came into view, his shoulders tensing up, and there was a subtle shift in his breathing. He didn’t want to see them.

She couldn’t blame him.

………

It was barely an hour passed mid-day when they finally came across a road. It was made of white and grey gravel, pounded flat over years of heavy use, with neatly spaced gouges down the center marking the path of cart wheels. The road looked like a long pale scar carved into the forest, cutting through copses of trees that had stood hundreds of years before there was ever a road. Ten minutes following it and they happened upon the first gate.

Two obelisk-like pillars stood sentry on either side of the road with an ornate iron gate strung between them. The metal bars had been shaped and pounded into elaborate twists and curves. Though it was clearly meant to be a display of wealth, there was something dominating and commanding about it.

Atop each of the obelisks were marbled granite spheres with trees carved into them. Keral rearded the gate with a scrutinizing eye.

“For a man with the reputation for being very hospitable, his garden gate sure don’t look it.”

“Doesn't matter the man’s reputation,” Farris replied. “All gates are meant to keep folks out. Be a lot more suspicious if it looked more welcoming. Besides all that, a gate means we’ve made it. So we can get on with the rest of this madness and get back to the castle.”

The gates themselves were locked tight by a severe-looking padlock, but Keral still gave it an experimental jiggle that sent the iron works screeching and moaning in protest. A few moments later, as though having rung a bell, a figure emerged from behind a bend in the road. He walked quickly, but his short stature and portly middle made his walk more of a waddle. And if the flushed complexion and puffing cheeks were any indication, he was not very pleased. His eyes looked between Farris and Keral’s faces and then to Jae and Nenani, who both were peeking out from behind the brothers’ heads. His eye narrowed and he flung his arm out to his right in a manic gesture.

“Deliveries are to be made at the red gate,” the man said, waving his arm. “How many times must we tell you bloody...”

The man paused, suddenly taking note of Keral’s coat and its color. A little of the blood in his cheeks drained away. Keral’s easy stance straightened and his muscles and tendons tightened as he assumed a more commanding presence.

“Deliveries?” he asked, tilting his head curiously. “We aren’t here to deliver anythin’. We’re in need of some assistance as it happens.”

The man swallowed thickly.

“W-well, if you’re needing food, you’ll have to come back later,” the man said. “Alms are only distributed on Fridays. And His Lordship isn’t in residence just now.”

“I know he ain’t here. And we’re not looking for alms either,” Keral said. “My name is Keral Athair, Captain of His Majesty’s Rangers and I’m here to claim quarters for myself and my companions.”

The man balked, and a condescending scoff was just at his lips when his brain reminded it whom he was speaking to and he disguised it behind a cough. He readjusted his stance to match Keral’s, but his shorter stature and more rotund figure did not quite make the effect. “To claim quarters? Sir?”

“Aye. I’m sure you're familiar with the practice, ain’t ye? A man in service to His Majesty may call upon the lords of the kingdom to – ”

“Yes, yes. I am aware, sir, of what claiming quarters means. We just don’t see many rangers up this way and so it has been quite some time since we’ve had...the honor to host,” he said. “And may I ask why you’re here to grace us with your presence?”

“On business for His Majesty,” Keral replied and supplied no more.

Nenani watched the exchange with a mixture of confusion and anxiety. She had never seen anyone talk to Keral the way the sentry did. In her experience, he commanded a great deal of respect. It was a new proposition to witness anything to the contrary. And if Farris’s expression was any sort of a tell, he felt similarly. She wondered if it would be better for him to say who they and Jae were. If a captain of the Rangers did not merit an immediate invitation inside, then perhaps the king’s adopted son and the two heirs to Silvaara would. But Keral remained tight-lipped.

The sentry looked very uncomfortable and ill equipped to know what to do, and it was clearly annoying Keral, who snorted with impatience.

“So then might we be brought up to the house?” he asked shortly. “I’ll need to make use of your falconer to send the king a message. It is of some importance.”

The last part was said with an exasperated inflection. Finally the man seemed to understand well enough, and he stumbled forward to open the gate. But his expression was curiously dour. The iron gates were pushed aside with the screaming of their hinges as the man stepped to the side and waved them in.

“Follow me, if you please.”

The sullen-faced man said nothing as he led them down the long drive. There was a stark contrast between the trees inside the gated property and those outside. While winter had ravaged the foliage of color and leaves, the manicured and pruned trees of the Brennan estate looked as though it were still midsummer.

They were lush and full of leaves, and there was only a splash of autumn colors here or there. The rest were all a verdant green as though suspended in perpetual summer.

“Does he have men tie the leaves back onto the tree?” Jae whispered to Keral. The ranger’s eyes remained steady and he only grunted noncommittally.

“Lord Brennan must be mighty proud of gardeners,” Farris said to their guide. “To be able to keep color like that in this cold.”

The sentry’s head shifted as he answered. “His Lordship takes great pride in his family’s estate and heritage. Maintaining Blythe trees takes a delicate hand and firm knowledge for them to keep evergreen.”

“So it’s not their natural state fer ‘em to be green like that this time ‘a year?” Farris asked.

“Those trees were cultivated by His Lordship’s ancestor more than eight hundred years ago,” he said. “It is a symbol of his house and is believed that so long as the Blythe trees stand, so shall the house of Brennan. So yes, sir, great pains are taken to keep the trees healthy and prospering. Their coloration is a consequence of the superior care they are given.”

Nenani was surprised at just how long it took for them to reach the house. The road took them though two more locked gates before the house came into view at last. Even then, it still took the group another ten minutes to transverse the long drive and arrive at the great stone entryway of the house.

It was easily the largest house she had ever seen. It wasn’t a castle in any sense of the word, but a grand house.Tan and dark stone stacked together in a very pleasing way to make tall strong walls topped with sloping roofs. A single large dormer overlooked the property. For a house, it had many windows and did not appear to have been built with defense in mind, unlike the Vhashallan castle. A vast meadow spread out behind the manor, and she could see the mountains in the distance.

And yet, the nagging voice in her head was buzzing again, much in the same way it had when they had first ventured into the forest. But she was quick to shake the feeling away. This house belonged to Lord Brennan. Her recollection of him was that he seemed very amiable and friendly. Her mother had taken such an immediate liking to him at the dinner. But his house, much like the forest that surrounded it, did not feel welcoming at all.

But then, she had to admit, how something looked upon first meeting did not always reflect the truth of it. She had experienced such a phenomenon time and time again since coming to Vhasshal. Farris and Keral were both such examples. And they were not in any state for being overly critical. So she ignored the little nagging voice. Looking to Farris and then to Keral, she felt secure enough to know there was nothing to worry about. It was nerves, she told herself. She was merely eager to return home.

……………….

A tall, thin woman giant waited for them at the front door. The sentry rushed ahead of them to whisper something in her ear, and she had to bend herself over for him to reach. Her expression did not change, and she merely nodded.

“I shall take it from here, then,” she said to him. “Please return to your post.”

In stark contrast to the sentry, the housekeeper was calm and composed, as though she had been expecting them all along. She was dressed all in a mottled black and dark green fabric and wore her large, hawkish nose proudly. Her small brown eyes stared down along its length. It was almost comical the way she held her head so far back, as though she were going to sneeze at any moment and wanted to be prepared.

“I do apologize, my lords,” she said. “But His Lordship is away at court on His Majesty’s invitation. But the hospitality of this house is at your disposal. I am afraid, though, you have caught us in a bit of an awkward time, however. Most of the rooms are under renovation and are not decent enough for occupation just yet. I have a few small rooms upstairs we put you up in.”

Keral did not meet the woman’s eye but instead gazed around at the house behind her. “We don’t need nothing fancy. A single room will do for all of us. And I’ll be needing to speak with your falconer as soon as possible.”

She dipped into a polite curtsy. “I shall send for him immediately. We also have accommodations more appropriate for the humans, sir, if you wish.”

Keral shook his head. “No. They’re stayin’ with us, ma’am, thanks all the same.”

The woman’s lips pursed tightly. “Of course, sir. I only meant that...”

“They stay with us. We don’t plan on intruding for very long and they’re tired from the journey. If you could show us to a room, we’ll sort it all out ourselves.”

The woman dipped again and made a vague gesture to follow her.

Through the main entry, they spilled out into the atrium. The floors were a dark-colored wood, polished to a high sheen, as were the walls. Marble pillars drew the eye to the ornate wooden ceiling and the carved stone statuettes at the corners, like little stone spies. Tapestries were hung along each wall leading to the main staircase. It too was made of the same dark wood. However, the housekeeper led them down a smaller corridor off to the side, a servant’s entrance, and they followed her to a much more humble set of narrow stairs that led them to a modest guest room. There were three beds lined up along a wall close to the only window. There was a small table on one end of the room and a simple fireplace at the other.

“I shall send the maid up to light the fire for you gentlemen,” she said. Farris went to one of the beds and helped Nenani down from his pack before slinging it from his shoulders. Keral did the same with Jae but did not pulled Haiyer from his pocket. “Shall I send up some supper for you as well, my lord?”

“You’re most kind, ma’am,” Keral replied. “If it’s not too much trouble, could ye have some brought up fer the humans as well?”

She gave the smallest of smiles and inclined her head. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

“My name is Miss Embrews, if you should need anything else. Once the falconer has arrived I shall send a footman to inform you.”

“I would appreciate it,” he replied. And with that, Miss Embrews turned and shut the door behind her. Her footsteps faded away and only then did Keral’s stance relax. He turned to his brother. “That was odd.”

Farris snorted. “That sentry was a prickly lil’ bastard.”

“He was,” Jae agreed, bouncing experimentally on the bed before flopping back. “Why did you tell them who we were? Wouldn’t that have...I dunno, put more of a fire under their arse?”

Keral’s eyes wandered around the room, taking in all the details. “Hm. Eh, might have. But I have a funny feeling. Better play it safe and not say anythin’. Fer now.”

Nenani’s ear tingled. Keral’s senses and intuitions were sharp and well honed. If he was picking up on something just as she was, perhaps he was right and they needed to proceed carefully. Lord Brennan may be genial and kind, but that was no guarantee that his servants were anything of the sort.

“It feels weird here,” Nenani admitted. “The forest felt that way too. Like...something saying we shouldn’t be here.”

Farris nodded. “Aye. Have to agree with ye two. Somethin’s off. Don’t smell right.”

Keral had been walking the room, assessing it and poking at the walls experimentally. He kicked one of the bed’s legs and upon Farris’s comment, he spun on his heels to face his brother, eyes alight with inspiration. “Ye know what it reminds me of, Farris? When Mum would get worked up over something and she’d spend two days washing and polishing everything in the house until it sparkled.”

Farris’s eyes widened. “Fuckin’ hell, yer right. Even smells like it.”

“Everything’s too clean,” Keral said. He looked around the room again with new eyes. “Even the castle ain’t this clean.”

“If there’s no one living here,” Jae said, pushing himself onto his elbows. “Doesn’t it make sense that it’d be clean?”

“Might be. But ye remember when Warren had the Queen’s apartments renovated before the weddin’?” Keral asked. “All the hullabaloo and all?”

Jae nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“Ye remember how filthy the place was all the while? With all the supplies and dirt being tracked everywhere from the workers?”

Jae’s lazy expression widened with clarity. “Yeah. I do remember that.”

Keral nodded. “Aye. She says they’re renovatin’ most ‘a the rooms? Where’s the evidence of it? Where’s the supplies? Where are the workers? The dirt?”

Farris made a displeased rumble. “We need to send that message out quick and get outta here.”

Keral nodded and reached into his pocket to fish Haiyer out and set him down next to Jae. The little boy sprang up to his feet and spent several moments happily celebrating his freedom by frog hopping in circles around the other boy.

“I’ll send the message and we can rest here for the night. Just gotta keep our eyes open fer anythin’ off. And we’ll move on tomorrow with some supplies and maybe a cart. Whatever they’re doin’ up this way, I’ll need more than a funny feeling to inspect further. My position gives me a lot of freedom to dig around, but I’ll need more that to do much of anything. Right now at least.”

“He was really nice at the dinner,” Nenani said. “Mama really seemed to like him.”

“No surprise,” Farris said. “He has a good reputation at court. The king likes him.”

“Haven’t ever spoken with him myself,” Keral said. “But he always seemed a friendly enough man. Not one to show off or bring attention to his person. An odd trait in a courtier.”

Jae snorted. “You mean like Colem does?”

“No one does it like Colem,” Keral laughed. “But say what you want of the man. Personally, I find him to be quite amusing.”

Jae glared up at the ranger. “You only say that because you know how much he annoys me.”

Keral grinned but did not deny the accusation. “Believe it or not, there’s a lot more to that loony bastard than ye might think.”

Jae looked as though he wanted to reply, but they were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Farris, who had sat down on the bed, reached out to coax Nenani closer to him. Keral motioned for Jae and Haiyer to remain where they were and then turned towards the door. He cracked it open and asked, “Yes?”

“I’m here to build the fire, milord,” said a young and high pitched voice. Keral pulled the door open to reveal a young maid with thin mousy brown hair tucked up under a simple cap. She, like the housekeeper, was very thin, with a hawkish nose. It was painfully obvious there were shared relations. She hurried inside, awkwardly carrying a load of firewood and some flint. “It won’t be but a moment, milords.”

She made quick work of setting the logs inside, but as she worked with the flint, striking it repeatedly to bring up a spark, her eyes darted to the side every so often. Jae, who sat on the bed nearest to her, watched and did not miss the quick glances his way or the pursed lips. Looking to Keral, he shared a bemused look. The ranger only gave a small nod and Jae got up from his spot, taking Haiyer’s hand, and they moved further up the bed and closer to Farris.

The maid rose to her feet as the fire began to burn properly and she gave a small bow. “The footman should be here shortly with your food, milords.”

Keral nodded. “Thank you.”

As the girl departed, a tall middle-aged man crested the stairs carrying a tray. The maid stepped gingerly aside as he moved into the room, and she gave him an amused grin before dashing off back down the narrow stairs. The same smile graced the footman’s face, but dropped the moment the maid was out of sight and he turned to the room. He sat the tray upon the table and turned to Keral.

“Will there be anything else, milord?”

“No, this will do fine. Any news of the falconer?”

“He lives in a cottage away from the house, sir. But Miss Embrews has sent for him. Shouldn’t be much longer, sir.”

Though displeased, Keral nodded. “Good.”

“If it pleases milord, I could take whatever message you may have and meet him halfway with it.”

“No, I will wait for him. Thanks all the same.”

The footman looked disappointed but gave a short nod and quitted the room. The food he had brought consisted of an iron pot and two bowls with a loaf of bread. Farris went over to it, taking the bread in his hands and scrutinizing it.

“Their ovens run too hot. Bottom’s burned,” he said as he dropped it back onto the tray. “I’d kick Quin in the arse fer tryin’ to serve that t’ anyone.”

“Not every baker can be as amazing as yers, Farris,” Keral replied, looking at it for himself. “Looks perfectly fine to me.”

“Say the man who eats dirt,” Farris quipped back. He pulled the lid off the pot. Inside was a cream colored soup with various vegetables and hunks of pale meat. “Looks under seasoned.”

Keral rolled his eyes.

“Gods forgive anyone who under-seasons food around you,” Keral grunted. “Just ladle it out and complain later.”

Farris merely grunted and took up one of the bowls to ladle in the soup. As he filled the first bowl and went to grab the second, a sudden flash of gold light filled the room, startling the lot of them.

“Wait!” cried a familiar voice. An orb of transparent gold hovered over Keral’s head, making quick circles around him. Startled, Keral shied away from it but frowned when recognition hit him.

“Ellis!” Haiyer cried out in delight, getting to his feet and rushing to the end of the bed. “You came back!”

Annoyed, Keral resisted the urge to swat at the fairy. “Oh, back already are we? Where’s that mage ‘a yer’s lass? Don’t suppose he’ll be turnin’ himself in, eh?”

Her voice was frantic and quick and no one could make out what she was saying. She flew away to fly laps around Farris’s head.

“Gods piss on it, girl!” Farris barked. “We can’t understand a word. Slow down.”

The fairy’s golden light took on a red hue as though manifesting her frustration. She flew to the soup pot and slammed the lid back onto the pot and stood on top of it.

“Don’t eat the soup!” she said, breathless.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Keral asked, the annoyance turning to anger.

“Poisoned?” Farris asked, his expression matching his brother’s.

“No!” she said. “People! There are people in it!”

#Dumpling #g/t #Giant/tiny #G/t story #giant tiny #Nenani #Farris #Keral #Jae #Haiyer #Ellis

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shinygoku · 4 years

Text

Liar Revealed! A Bug’s Life Essay

A Bug’s Life is my favourite Pixar movie and thus, it turns out I have a lot of thoughts about it. In this case, what was originally my interpretation soley in response to points I’ve seen raised on YouTube and TV Tropes has spun off into this mega essay.... all focused on a single scene.

But hey, it works with one of the film’s main messages; that something big grows out of a small idea!

The scene is the most notorious in the movie, at least from what I’ve seen, and I’m inclined to agree it’s the weakest part of this giant clock. But why is it like that and how could it have been handled better?

As I’ve said, this is actually my favourite (albeit not what I consider their very best) of Pixar’s output, and I wouldn’t have been able to go into such depth without a huge amount of love for the finished product, flawed as it may be.

It’s also possible I’ll write a more generalised thing on what I love about the film in the future, but I won’t promise anything o7;; 🐜

The Lie is ...laid

Actually, I should talk about two scenes. First is where the Lie is established:

After the humourous mutual misunderstanding between the Circus Bugs and Flik, the former are quite horrified to discover they’re expected to fight the Grasshoppers off themselves instead of putting on a show. Ahh, that old classic~

But no, they want out and Flik, who has just been informed by them during the welcoming shindig, is understandably rattled and despairing over this addition to his list of failures. He says the fallout will not only brand him, but his hypothetical grandchildren as a Terrible Loser and even says he’s as good as dead as soon as the other ants find out. Owch.

Before things get too heavy, the focus shifts around until The Bird becomes the main immediate threat. The whole Bird scene leads the ants to become convinced the Circus Bugs are really amazing warriors and, as this is the first time in what could be years that they have a crowd cheering for them it’s the success and Flik’s later idea to make a Giant Mech in the shape of a Bird instead of planning any actual combat that convinces them to play along.

So, that’s the lie set up and solidified. Now for the eventual fallout:

During a fun party after the Bird has been built, an ominous force arrives... PT Flea, the Jerkass ringmaster who had fired the Circus Bugs. This local bug promptly ruins everything by literally shining a light on the Circus Bugs and their nature as such, and then Flik is accidentally outed as the Guy Who Thought Up The Bird.

The Liar Revealed Trope

I would link the TV Tropes article here, but as tungle doesn’t like external sites I’ll just quote the more relevant parts from it:

“Liar Revealed in the Internal Reveal of The Lie, the facade maintained by a protagonist which provides the primary dramatic tension for the plot. This usually sets up the third act where the protagonists are forced to deal with the consequences of the lie on top of any external threats.

There are a few usual ways this ends up. If the lie was for selfish reasons, the protagonist will doubtless face the wrath of those he lied to, but along the way end up having a change of conscience, and try to redeem themselves through good acts and An Aesop about "what really matters". If the lie was well-intentioned, the protagonist may still find that others turn their backs on him, but go on to carry through with what they said they'd do anyway, proving themselves a hero after all.

It's worth noting that this trope is particularly easy and common to misuse, either in the tendency of the protagonist to Maintain the Lie for reasons that make no sense except for dramatic tension or of the deceived to turn against the protagonist for the deception in spite of other considerations that should by all rights absolve him.”

And in the folder there’s a specific entry for this film:

A Bug's Life has Flik supposedly finding "warrior bugs" to save his colony after misconstruing a situation. When he realizes his mistake (that they're circus performers rather than trained warriors), he's forced to keep the lie going in order to not cause panic among the other ants. Once the colony finds out, it inevitably results in one of the most painfully Played Straight examples of this trope in animation history...

As you can see there, the dislike for this scene has seeped into the entry. Of course, TV Tropes is pretty informal and I like that, but it’s telling that this is a general perception.

Continue reading below the Cut! ✂

What I don’t like

So, I think my main issue with the scene boils down to... it’s very nebulous and unclear as to what’s so bad about Flik lying. Between the Council, the Queen and Atta, there seems to be a jumbled, confusing motive traffic jam that somehow results in what TV Tropes refers to the Liar Reveal Trope being played “Painfully Straight”.

But uhh, what’s the problem? Yes, Flik lied, but we know that wasn’t something he’d planned on doing, it was his attempt at damage control. The other ants don’t know that part, but still, what are they objecting to, specifically? That the Circus bugs are Circus bugs? That the Bird Plan was Flik’s? That.... lying is treated at an absolute moral failing regardless of the circumstances??

The council dudes are like: “OH WHAAAAT, the defence plan was by Clowns??” [No, it was Flik] “OH WHAAAT, we don’t have our mafia money prepared what if Hopper finds out we nearly sicced a fake bird on him!?”

The part about objecting to Clowns drafting the defence plans is actually the more reasonable explanation, but I guess they presumed warriors habitually made Decoy Bird plans instead of fighting themselves? There’s already a hole in their objections but it only gets worse.

The Queen is like: “Wow Flik evidently you’re a self serving prick. Anyway the best thing to do is pretend this never happened and no we’re not going to tell Hopper.”

Why the fuck would that happen? ‘Oh sorry Hopper we got sidetracked doing a ...thing... so we’re still picking your food no please don’t break my legs’

But also, why THE FUCK is this the plan? Some ruler you are, you old prune. ‘We have the bird all made and ready to go but oops the idea came from a DIRTY LIAR so we’re going to return to the doomed harvesting racket even though we’ve been set an outrageous amount and we can’t possibly hope to catch up and even if we had been picking the food the entire time it was established earlier on we won’t have time for our supplies on top of all that.’

Fucking.... astonishing lack of logic. YOU MORONS HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE, GO WITH THE BIRD! Flik himself says something to a similar effect lol

But noooooo, his arguably selfish lie [which is more Omitting the truth once he knew it, really] has forever doomed everything, apparently. Honestly it comes across more like they just hate Flik and see anything he invents as doomed to fail, so the second the truth emerges that he spearheaded the Mech Bird they dismiss it as a lost cause. Even though everyone worked together to build it, and Flik’s inventions weren’t the issue but him being awkward and clumsy. But seeing how Flik’s mere presence in his first scene seemed to drive the Council members into a quivering fury, it really does feel like their objections are from them refusing to give him a chance.

And then there’s Princess Atta. Hoo Boy.

In this scene, she comes off as being ridiculously vindictive, petty and hypocritical. This applies to the Council too, but it’s more galling coming from Atta as by now she’s realised that Flik gets a lot of flak [yay wordplay] from the others and she had resolved to give him more credit. BUT OOPS, that didn’t last!

She takes the Lying thing so personally, acting like he was cheating on her or something. “You lied to MeEeEee” well golly gee whiz, was there any particular reason why he would tell you the truth? Other than his rather obvious crush on you, that is? Cause that would still be a weird reason, seeing how the ‘lie’ was after he’d finally got a bit of decent treatment from the others, why would he wanna upset the apple cart?

He probably feared coming out and confessing to Atta [or anyone else] that they’d lose all faith in him and scrap a valid plan that was the only way out of the grasshopper racket mess. Which would be a bit silly and probably the result of someone with low self esteem and confidence issues overthinking the situation but it’s Exactly what actually happens!

It wasn’t a personal slight against you, Princess! To quote Helen Parr: THIS IS NOT! ABOUT! YOU!!

And wooow, you must be awfully chilly up there on your high horse, Miss “Lied to Flik to get rid of him earlier in the film”! Did you ever feel like fessing up? Like ‘hmm I’ve grown much fonder of this doofus, maybe I should be honest with him before engaging with some more light flirting’ ? Maybe if you had, he woulda been honest in return!

I don’t even see why she and the Council bothered lying about their Snipe Hunt ploy, seeing how now they act like he crossed a moral event horizon. Why even bother making a phoney baloney decoy idea to get him away, when they clearly dislike him enough to play the Brutally Honest card without fretting over his feelings. They coulda just ordered him to stay in a corner away from interfering but instead they’re willing to risk his life on a wild goose chase.

...And she then Banishes him! For what?? Lying? About what, the circus bugs or the bird plan? Both?? It really feels like her taking undue personal offence and the Council hating him and the Queen being old and senile.

So yeah, wow, this scene has what I think is the Unintended side effect of making me hate the stupid jerkface Ant colony as every named ant in it except for Dot fucking suck and throw Flik under a bus the second they deem him to be untrustworthy. In spite of, like, that the plan itself was solid and that the Circus Bugs have all been proven to be Good Eggs. They don’t give him a chance to explain and made their own bed to lie in, so I feel dark joy and satisfaction when the grasshoppers do arrive and kick them around some more.

Wow gee, if only you dumb ass ants had some sort of already made contraption to fall back on?

Why is it like this?

I can only make guesses here, be warned!

From what I’ve gathered of an older version of the story, mostly via Wikipedia, I kinda feel like the exposing would have fit that take better. In the beta version of the story, instead of Flik the lead would have been “Red”, who was a red ant and circus bug from the start. The first draft Circus lot woulda been out to scam the ants initially and I guess would have grown genuine fondness with time. The idea of an outsider flim flamming his way into the good books and later being exposed makes the overblown outrage a lot more understandable. But that’s my hypothesis for the direction they ultimately didn’t go in. Also look at how Red looks like a fuckboi here:

But in the final version, Red doesn’t exist! Flik is a part of the colony from the get go, but also apart from it cause no one likes him as, again, his ideas were good but poorly executed and he seemed to be a hindrance. But the ants should at least see that Flik is genuine in his attempts, that he’s trying his best and they should maybe cut him some slack.

The way the ants have their knickers in a twist doesn’t gel so well with the “Well meaning screwup” angle, especially compared to a possible “Opportunistic so-and-so who doesn’t have real attachments to the colony” route.

Also it may be worth noting up there where I put a TV Tropes excerpt, I bolded the relevant half of the run down, but it seems the other half applies much more to this first draft. Interesting...

So I don’t know, but I got the idea that the scene in the movie is basically a holdover from earlier that didn’t get sufficiently updated. The Liar Revealed Scene is the first thing I’d change if I were rewriting the script, and I might go back and change it again after other parts had been redone too, cause the story needs to flow from point A to point B etc. smoothly or else viewers will get annoyed and point it out in Youtube videos or overly long tumblr text posts.

How could it be fixed?

I’m not saying I’m sitting on the perfect idea of a rewrite. But the main thing is what I already touched on, the jarring disconnect between what happens and how the stupid ants respond.

Like, Atta’s sudden grabbing of the Jerkass and Idiot Balls in this scene. Wouldn’t it have been better if she was instead unsure and conflicted? She had lied to Flik earlier and, unlike the Council, was shown to actually realise Flik Has Feelings Too and apologised for the general lack of faith. She didn’t come clean about the Snipe Hunt Lie, so that could be weighing on her during this scene, maybe she would have been the only Council member to Not want to kick him out but felt pressured into it and hasn’t got into the groove of being the Future Queen enough to pull rank and talk them down from being hate filled twats. Maybe someone will mention the flirting that had been happening as muddying her judgement?

That’s my main idea, compare that with her barging in and taking undue personal offence and shooing him off. She’s supposed to feel like she’s doomed to fail too, so her facing a moral dilemma and falling on the wrong side of the fence could tie into that! (To be honest, her arc is kinda undercooked so hey, I’m killing two birds with one stone here!)

Flik being banished at all is a casualty of The Narrative, that he and the Circus Bugs have gotta go away temporarily for the finale to be cooler and more exciting. It’s a Necessary Weasel of writing and you’ll find them in every story ever made. Sometimes things have gotta happen cause Story Structure. The trick is having them more organic and concealed.

So yeah, have the Old Fogeys be in the wrong [which is so far unchanged] but also the majority of the ‘voting’. Make it difficult for Atta to choose between loyalty to the colony as a whole and her sense of duty versus trusting in Flik, who she now knows to always have his heart in the right place. She comes close to standing up for him and herself, but ultimately falters and gets pressured into the call made in the movie. She’s still ultimately responsible as leaders are, but in a much more sympathetic way.

Summation

This got way longer than I had initially imagined, and that’s even after I cut stuff in the editing process! Let’s quickly review the three main points I’m trying to make.

The Issue with the scene - A big song and dance is made over The Lie, but no reason why it’s such a terrible thing is offered. A perfectly sound plan is dismissed nonsensically.

Suspected reasoning for the writing - The tone matches a potential alternate story much better, where someone would have lied for self serving purposes instead of for the greater good.

A suggestion for a rewrite - Make it much more nuanced and fitting the character arcs. Give the characters a reason to react the way they do and have different responses per person. If the ants are going to drop the Bird plan, at least offer a more viable alternate route than going back to what wasn’t working before.

Does it really matter?

Well, I don’t expect a 22 year old film to suddenly get a rewrite, no. And I maintain that it’s a real gem which deserves much higher praise with the other Good Pixars instead of being so constantly overlooked.

Part of what spurred me to think about the scene and what I’d alter is seeing it referred to as ‘Kinda Bad’ in a youtube video that was talking about another Liar Reveal scene in another movie, and that is a bad take, but the point about how clunky this part is isn’t wrong. I don’t want people to dismiss the whole, beautiful image cause one section of it doesn’t vibe!

It doesn’t ruin the picture, but when people have something negative to say it’s this which is the magnet. And I’m kinda guilty of doing the same thing here, haha. But I wanted to really dissect and examine it, to figure out why it’s like that and to guess how simple it may be to rework. It’s bittersweet, but there ain’t such a thing as a perfect movie.

This has been fun for me to go into though, and it’s nice to get thoughts out from just swirling around inside my head, so even if barely anyone sees and makes it through this whole dissertation, I’m glad I wrote it out. It’s a funny way to derive enjoyment from the bumpy part of a beloved movie, but hey, I’ll take it~

#A Bug's Life #Liar Revealed Trope #Pixar #Disney Pixar #Disney #CutCat writes a very long essay

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fericita-s · 4 years

Text

A Woman of Consequence

A new Agduna story from the canon-compliant WAIL series with @the-spastic-fantastic who also helped me brainstorm this piece and wrote all of Henrik’s best lines, remaining the best beta ever! This takes place right before Only in Dreams.

Summary: Iduna attends a garden party hosted by the the king and attended by several eligible young ladies, one of whom is particularly unpleasant.

Agnarr hadn’t even meant to invite her, she didn’t think. He had mentioned the garden party while she was tending to the comfrey shrubs in her medicinal gardens, pruning them a bit so they didn’t take over other sections of the neatly ordered rows. Agnarr had come out after a council meeting focused on international relations and sighed.

“Lady Wollen has invited just as many foreign women to come this time as she did for my birthday ball. I’ll have to speak to them all and at least pretend to consider proposing courtship or a better trade partnership. I’m not even sure which they want.” He rubbed at the back of his neck and then his eyes. Iduna didn’t know if the flare of anger she felt at his words was for him or these nameless women who would come and hold his hand and promise riches from their kingdom in order to secure a good relationship with his.

Her response was a muttered “Mmmmmm,” as she continued her work, careful to keep her attention on the purple blooms of comfrey and not on his eyes. What good would it do to even hope she could be one of the women he considered for a bride? She had lived in Arendelle long enough to learn that kings didn’t marry commoners. Especially orphaned commoners from lands that were at war with their kingdoms. His friendship would have to be enough, even if there were days when sharing what was on their minds - like the need to court and marry a foreign royal - was a thorn deep in her palm, pulsing with every movement.

“Could you come, Iduna?” She moved her hand to the next section of green brush to trim, only then seeing his hand come to rest in the spot where hers had been only a moment before. She paused and looked at him. Had he been about to touch her hand? “I would like to have a friend there. Among the wolves.”

She smiled at him like she would for a customer, not letting him see the longing her heart felt for a different question. “Yes, Your Majesty. Of course I’ll come.”

So now here she was, a month later, pressing her hands along the pleats of her dress, a simple but well-made blue silk borrowed from Maddie. It was not as formal, perhaps, as the dresses on the other women present at the garden party, but it was fancier than the dresses she wore when working at Mr. Visser’s Apothecary. Besides, Greet had insisted she at least change clothes before walking to the castle from her job in Market Square and Greet was very convincing when she wanted to be.

The decorative gardens weren’t a part of the castle grounds that Iduna knew very well. The medicinal gardens felt like her own land and technically they were ever since Agnarr gifted her with the plot upon her graduation from the academy. The council meeting room, the library, the rooms that had been used for classes – all of them felt comfortable to her. She had even spent the night on two occasions – once during the Rock Pox epidemic and once years before when a blizzard kept her and some of the other students from walking home.

Today, though, the castle felt unfamiliar.

Maybe it was the dozens of visiting dignitaries, most of them young women hoping to find a match with the young king. They were dressed in finery that was surely not borrowed from a slightly shorter friend and walked in the graceful, dainty steps of those not used to avoiding cobblestones cracked in the street or darting past an errant cart or the leavings of a horse. She recognized a few of them from the ball on Agnarr’s birthday. Some even wore the crocus pins he had given out that night as gifts from the kingdom.

Her hand went to the necklace hidden beneath the high collar of her dress, a fossil inlaid with gold on a delicate chain. It had been her present from Agnarr that night and, though she normally admired it from its spot hanging on her bedpost instead of wearing it and worrying it might be damaged during her work, today she had worn it to feel its cool weight on her skin. It was a reminder that Agnarr thought of her, of the time they had spent together while still young and unencumbered by the future, and of her hope that they could remain friends even as he drew closer to selecting a bride. A talisman she could draw strength from, a token of his care.

She saw Elias and Captain Calder speaking to a man in the naval uniform of the Southern Isles and Henrik smiling winsomely at a woman in a heavily brocaded gown. Iduna laughed to herself, wondering if she’d soon have to brew one of the remedies that Henrik was so dependent upon for his thriving relationships with women. This woman leaned close to Henrik and whispered something in his ear and Iduna watched as Henrik’s hand disappeared between her shawl and her skirt.

Agnarr, Lady Wollen, and a young woman dressed in a white gown with lace dripping from the sleeves and collar entered the garden from the gate closest to the castle. Agnarr raised a hand in greeting to Iduna and steered his companions over to her. When they were only a few steps away from each other he made introductions.

“Iduna! This is Lady Alexsandra, sister to the Duke of Weselton. I believe-”

“And granddaughter to the Tsarina,” the woman said, eyelashes fluttering at Agnarr. He looked a little confused and Lady Wollen fixed the young woman with the same glare she reserved for councilors who spoke out of turn.

“Um, yes.” Agnarr rallied. “I believe you both met briefly at the ball?”

“Enchanté,” she said to Iduna, looking anything but.

“Nice to see you again.” Iduna nodded to her and was about to ask about her travel when Lady Wollen spoke.

“We were just talking about you, Iduna. Agnarr mentioned that we should be sure to include your medicinal gardens on a tour for the visitors.” Lady Wollen turned to Alexsandra with a smile and added “Iduna is the best of Arendelle, an example of how well foreigners are welcomed and become citizens, how they have helped build our kingdom into the wealthy state that it is.”

Lady Alexsandra pursed her lips, like she’d just noticed her own hem was already soaked in two inches of mud though Iduna didn’t think the tilt of her upturned chin gave her the range to see down that low.

“Yes I’ve been quite shocked by how...permissive Arendelle is in citizenry. In Weselton, only fourth generation families have the right to apply.” She looked over at Elias and Captain Calder, pointing with her pointy chin. “And it’s certainly never granted to those who are more Antilles françaises than français.”

Iduna was so shocked that she could only watch as red crept up from the skin at Agnarr’s collar all the way out to the tips of his ears. “The Calders are a beloved family.”

Alexsandra smiled and put a hand to her chest. “Oh, I’m sure they are! Doubtless they have served the monarchy well to be so close to you. And a strong queen would no doubt steer you even more dependably.”

Iduna wasn’t sure where to look at that particular pronouncement, but hazarded a quick one at Lady Wollen who seemed to be very preoccupied with breathing through her nose and then at Agnarr who was slowly shaking his head and opening his mouth without any sound. Eventually, he stumbled over a goodbye.

“If you’ll excuse me, I must make the rounds to my guests. But Iduna, I will seek you out once that is sorted.” He kissed the back of Lady Alexsandra’s hand, but his eyes were on Iduna and he bowed his head to her and Lady Wollen before walking briskly towards the groups of ladies who were already watching his approach.

“I must leave as well,” Lady Wollen said and Iduna thought she heard a note of apology in her voice. “We weren’t expecting your presence at the close of our council meeting, Lady Alexsandra. There are some details I must discuss with Lord Hannesel before he leaves.”

Iduna watched as she left, wondering what she could possibly say to this woman who had apparently attended a council meeting uninvited and then besmirched the heritage of the Calder children. She watched as Gerda walked nearby with a tray of ice water, offering it to the gathered groups and as Lady Wollen put a hand on Henrik’s arm, drawing him away from his latest lady of interest, and spoke to him. Alexsandra seized upon the silence between them.

“I remember you from the ball. The king started the dancing with you. And then he spoke of you through most of our dance.”

Iduna flushed and nodded, unsure what was expected of her in this conversation that felt more like an accusation.

“His little orphan friend, so brave to start anew after losing her whole family. You know,” she said, as she put a hand on Iduna’s elbow and then took it away quickly, wiping her fingers on the handkerchief that was draped over the beaded reticule on the crook of her own elbow, “Most queens don’t even mind when the king chooses a mistress or continues a romance established prior to the marriage. Especially with a commoner like a shop girl or a servant. A king can seek satisfaction wherever he pleases, but it’s the queen’s chambers he’ll come to every night for an heir and the glory of the kingdom.”

Iduna blinked and took a step back. “Excuse me?”

“I know I wouldn’t be fussed about a mistress. It’s all very inconsequential when one is wearing a crown.” She reached in her reticule for a fan and snapped it open, waving it quickly in front of her face and sighing.

“But not all the women here are as likely to be as open-minded and understanding as me. Now, do be a dear and fetch me some water. This bright sun is bringing on a headache.”

Iduna took a breath as if slapped, too stunned to speak. She thought about telling Alexsandra she would never get her water, or getting a glass and then tossing the contents in her face, but decided appearing to comply with her rude directions gave her the perfect opportunity to just leave. And as her heart was pounding and something was rising in her throat and behind her eyes, leaving quickly was suddenly very important. She gave an exaggerated curtsey and managed to walk several paces away before she felt tears hot and heavy in her eyes and ran into the solid form of Henrik.

“Here, come with me,” he said gently.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and he put an arm around her waist and guided her into the castle courtyard, walking briskly all the way across the bridge connecting the castle to Market Square and slowing his pace only when they were in a small side street that would eventually lead to Fiske’s. As they walked, Iduna untucked the necklace from her bodice, gripping it tightly.

She had been so stupid.

She was just like the necklace. That's all she could be to him. Hidden. Something beautiful once, but now on a chain, kept out of sight.

“Well, she certainly seemed vile,” said Henrik, his voice light and almost teasing, even though the quickness of his pace and the furrow of his brow indicated a different weight to the interaction he must have witnessed.

“She didn’t say anything untrue. Or nothing much untrue, anyway,” Iduna said softly, straightening a bit so that she wasn’t leaning on Henrik as heavily.

Henrik stopped and dropped his hand from around her waist and looked at her. “If she said that Agnarr doesn’t care for you, or that you don’t have a place here, that was untrue. That was a damn lie.”

Iduna had stopped when he did, but began walking instead of answering him. She didn’t know what to say.

“She was a ridiculous woman in a ridiculous dress, trying to wear white like Queen Victoria on her wedding day. Like she hoped it might give Agnarr a sudden idea and they could head to the bishop instead of the party.” He huffed a bit as he walked, running to catch up to her. “Slow down, Iddy. I’m out of breath.”

Iduna slowed her pace but still didn’t speak. Swallowing down the lump in her throat was taking precedence.

“But listen. Iddy.” Henrik was next to her again, keeping pace and speaking so earnestly it made the lump bigger and she wished he would stop. “If you ever want to leave Arendelle, if you ever want to start anew, you can. My mother is always looking for sound investments and your medical concoctions and skills are sorely needed in England and on the continent.”

Iduna wiped at her eyes and nose, turning her head away from Henrik. He fumbled in his pockets and pulled out a handkerchief, thrusting it into her hands.

“I leave soon for England and I can set you up with a job there. With my mother’s company or as my own personal remedy maker or we set you up with your own shop. Believe me. There is quite the market there."

Iduna used the handkerchief to wipe at her eyes and then nose and then balled it up and clutched it in her hand. "Caused by you?"

Henrik laughed. “There you are,” he said and Iduna didn’t think he was talking about Fiske’s, now just yards from where they stood. He patted her awkwardly on the arm. “But, please, don’t pay any mind to what people like her say. She’s jealous because for all her airs, she knows that you’re better than her.” Iduna rolled her eyes, but Henrik just shook his head. “No, I mean it. You’re the one who saved Arendelle during an outbreak. You’re the one who got invited to the council not because of family connections, but because of who you are. And you’re the one that Agnarr cares about. And someone like her - who looks at him and just sees a crown, it must drive her mad.”

They stood in silence for a few moments until she gave a small shrug and wiped her eyes. “He is a good friend.”

Henrik opened his mouth as though he was going to say something, then sighed and rubbed his face. “Just - Iddy, if you need to leave Arendelle, you’ll have opportunities elsewhere. You have my word. But please don’t consider leaving because of a woman like that.”

She held out her hand, offering the handkerchief back and he took it, squeezing her hand as he did.

“Thank you, “ she said.

“You’re welcome, Iddy. And remind those roommates of yours about my going-away party. I want to have everyone I care about there.”

Iduna nodded and took a shaky breath. “Sounds like I should start a new batch of your most frequently requested treatment in preparation.”

Henrik smiled and waggled his eyebrows. “That would be very wise.”

Iduna turned and walked the rest of the way by herself and before she was all the way up the stairs she had taken off the necklace, vowing to find a new place for that wouldn’t be visible from her bed. She would bury it out of sight and maybe the memory of today would hurt less.

***

Lady Wollen sighed as she undid the buckles on her shoes and rolled down her stockings, then put her feet up on the stool and settled against the down pillow. The large window of her bedroom looked out over Market Square and had a beautiful view of the castle, but tonight she kept her eyes closed.

She needed a break.

The young king was so earnest and so kind and had so many wonderful ideas for advancing the kingdom’s interests as well as those of its citizens. He was more patient than his father had been and more compassionate as well. He understood the gravity of his position and took it seriously, even at the tender age of eighteen. But sometimes he could be a complete idiot.

He hadn’t recognized Alexsandra’s uninvited arrival at the council meeting as the serious problem that it was. He hadn’t perceived the language of manipulation and patronizing tone in her interactions with Iduna. And he apparently didn’t understand the workings of his own heart which were literally painfully obvious to those around him.

Today, it had been painful for Iduna. If Henrik hadn’t gone to rescue her from what was surely a dreadful conversation with Alexsandra, worse things than bee stings and spilled lemonade would have marred the garden party. And perhaps had a permanent international impact if Agnarr had realized what was happening and ordered the Weselton delegation to leave or cut off trade relations to censure the rudeness of its delegates.

She reached for the flask in her pocket and set it down on the side table with a sigh. Empty.

If the king didn’t ask to court Iduna soon, she might have to retire early. Or kidnap them both and lock them in a tower together. Or the dungeon. Or the clock tower. Anywhere that they could remain until he confessed his feelings and Iduna stayed still long enough to hear that no one in Arendelle cared about the bloodline of the king’s bride.

For now, she could ring the servant for a glass of mulled wine and think on her parting words to Alexsandra, reveling in the delightful look of anger and frustration on the young woman’s face as she had told her “Iduna may have left his party early, but she’s the only one out of the two of you who will be invited back.”

#WAIL #Agduna #mama and papa arendelle #Henrik #Henrik being awesome #Agnarr being clueless

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anne-lister-adventures · 4 years

Text

Sunday, 12 April 1840

6 10/’’

10 5/’’

Ground covered with snow – But Reaumur 10º on the table close to my sofa bed at 6 1/4 – All ready and breakfast at 7 20/’’ to 8 – Did not sleep – Stomach very cold – Got up – Relighted candle – Took a teaspoonful of brandy about before one and afterwards slept till 6 having wrapt China crepe shall and shalloon cloak round my stomach –

1/2 hour’s pother in paying our Persian Maître de Poste – At last counted all out separately in Silver – Pragoni i.e. pay for the horses, for the borrowed wheel one S.[Silver] R.[Ruble] and for greasing 40 S.[Silver] K.[Kopek] till even the Courier said it was too much and the man then returned the 15 S.[Silver] K.[Kopek] and took 25 S.[Silver] K.[Kopek] as paid before – He then saw that, as I had told him, he lost 46 1/2 Kopek cuivre by his pother and making me pay in Silver – Both George and the Courier laughed and the man himself laughed and asked for a pour boire – No! said I – But you will know me better another time and I will give you something then – Not now – I am glad you have paid for all this pother – Then gave an additional 10 S.[Silver] K.[Kopek] to the soldier of the house making 60 S.[Silver] K.[Kopek] instead of the 50 I should otherwise have given – This seemed to give great satisfaction as turning the laugh doubly against our Persian – The about 1 good English gill of milk we had last night gone sourish this morning = 15 S.[Silver] K.[Kopek] – Ccarce and dear here –

Off from Dushet (pronounced Dōōshĭt) at 8 50/’’ – Clouds hanging over the mountains – But fine back view upon the largeish good looking Town and its large squary castle-like fortress, and the portico of its long earth covered flat roofed Gastinoi Dvor, and little white Gurien church and old ruined square Tower at some little distance on the hill side above – The brick church not quite finished but that will be handsome is Armenian – And close to the church are some goodish houses building à la Russe – One finished with gallery round au 1er[premier] looks neat and comfortable –

A street or 2 in progress – And the underground curious old Gurien cottages will a few years hence be replaced by neat Russian cottages and houses – Went into one last night – Descended into the sunk porch (inclined plain no steps) then a sort of kitchen – Then a middle room to put things away in, then the 3d.[3rd] and sleeping room – 3 breadths of carpet on the floor and a fire place – Thick gravelled road over all these cottages that carts go over – One could not imagine houses beneath – No light but from the sunk porch, and from one little round hole in the top of the sleeping room opposite the porch –

In the kitchen was the oven at the end on the right (on entering) like an English 40 gallon iron brewing pan sunk up to its brim – They make wood a fire in this and cover it over – Then take out the fire when the sides are red hot – Put in the cakes ant they are baked in 10 minutes – But inquire more about this at Tiflis –

Smoking Semovars in the Gastinoi Dvor and soldiers drinking hot mead looking tea without milk in the shops (Gastinoi Dvor) much natural rock salt in large pieces of greyish spar-like rock – Eggs – Mutton fat (Tallow) much small bacon – Persian dried large prunes and cherries and salts and the bean (small kidney, reddish) one has seen everywhere from Astracan here – Onion tops, and rice (not real rice said George groom here) – Cotton printed handkerchiefs and narrow white cloths linen or cotton – But the most striking are the wine shops – The bullock hides, en outre, apparently hair left on inside full of red wine sold at -/20 Kopek en cuivre per about an English pint – One shop quite Élégante had a bottle of Donskoi champagne-wise and ditto ditto Tiflis wine at 1/40 the bottle assignats or 40 S.[Silver] K.[Kopek] or 2 Georgian abash –

Off from Duchet at 8 50/’’ – The handsome square fort, a round tower at corner, at a little distance left as we ascended the down-like hill – The handsome looking white monastery at a considerable on the hill behind us to the right – Duchet stands well and picturesquely on the side of the hill in the largeish fine open valley – The Town on one side the valley the fortress on the other –

The castle at Dusheti, which is probably what Anne calls a “castle”.

Our road a sort of field-road up and over the hill top a high plateau of good land between wooded hills near left – Considerable distance right – descend (but keep high up along the right side) into nice high valley and at 9 40/’’ – Picturesque old round Tower and 2d.[2nd] village and reed thatched village (probably there are under ground cottages not seen?) and stream with rather broadish bouldery bed – Capital land on the high plateau and all along – They might grow anything but barley the chief corn at Duchet and all round about – Saw some in winnowing last night it looked pretty fair – Tolerably plump grained and very clean – Thrown up in a shovel, and the wind winnowed it in falling –

At 9 40/’’ our 2d.[2nd] village on knoll at head of this charming little valley – The 1st poor or less was at the verge of the high plateau – 1st vines at this our 2d.[2nd] village in the bottom – High sticks or rice props and some transomed supports as at Astracan –

But soon after here the bottom full of wood – Pollard oaks or willows or what and brush and tangle and bouldery stream – Soon after 2d.[2nd] village gather yellow St. John’s wort like flowers (5 petals and many stamina) and little pink hepaticas and smell less violets and cowslips – And at 10 Descend into main valley the fine valley of our Aragna (which we had left after Ananoor, and see again now 1st time) –

On each side beautifully sillonné rounded wooded hill – Broad bouldery streamy river – Wind along with the river close left on its high perpendicular conglomerate gravel bank and at 10 35/’’ make an elbow to the right into the now still wider valley of our Aragna – A fine broad bouldery streamy river occasionally in one good stream –

At 10 40/’’ pass a little rather Russian like wood cottage or farm right, and at 11 7/’’ little village of huts in basin-like opening out of valley and neat white plastered little Government Station House – Little drizzling rain now and for the last 1/2 hour – 2 feet deep of capital warp soil shewn over the high conglomerate bank of river – All the trees all along our valleys lopped higher or lower – Our great valley (Val d’Aragna) a mile broad?

No horses at Tortiskar – Our wheel to send back and to our own 3 ‘il faut mettre des bracelets’! – Till now 12 3/4 have just written all but the 1st 3 lines of today – Coolish air and clouds darkish – Threatening rain? Great many of the queer elephantic camel-gaited cattle hereabouts they hold their heads poking forward and walk very much in the camel-style – Got out of the Kibitka to look about me – A few drops of light rain which however soon blew off – Government House – One might sleep here very well – A good room front one on each side the door for travellers – And the back rooms for the family –

Longish job of paying – 2 S.[Silver] R.[Rubles] for repairing the wheel pour mettre les bracelets 2 or 3 thin shreds of lead-like iron that were worth very little and the Maître de P.[Poste] would have 2 S.[Silver] R.[Rubles] for the loan of his wheel (which he would not sell for 20 S.[Silver] R.[Rubles] tho’ it hardly lasted us to Tiflis) – Necessary – Nothing to be said –

Off at 1 31/’’ – Magnificent – (vide + and ≠ above) The opening out is another wider valley from East to West that traverses our Valley d’Aragna something like the diagram as I do it from memory now Monday 13 April 6 p.m. at Tiflis the little o meant to represent the Station House on a knoll in the neck of the transversal valley and to reach which we crossed over little wood bridge and stream just below the house and amid Georgian (Gurien) ground-huts –

How many always difficult to tell and they are so like the ground itself – Soon after leaving the basin-like opening our road a deepish cut thro’ indurated sand, and then thro’ hard sand rock – Like my Bairstow quarry sandstone and at 1 50/’’ pass under the old ruined castle Prēajnēa Krepost, (Prēēajnēēa Krēēăpost) close left, and at 1 55/’’ Georgian church (Byzantine) very pretty and picturesque near right, and walled monastery at a little distance left, and wood bridge over the broad shallow bouldery river and on high point of ridge of hill just above very picturesque old castle – Valley here little more than road and river – 200 yards broad? –

Alight at the monastery at 2 to 2 55/’’ – They call it Nānt-Shĕt – Vide p.[page] 113. Mtsketha line 9 from the bottom –

‘The fortress remains’ – The old walls are with an old remain of Tower or 2 are very picturesque from without, but as to fortress all is ruin within, as was till lately the fine old Cathedral; but now it is all under repair, the exterior finished, and the interior will be this summer – Except on close examination, and seeing the few morsels of ancient sculpture carefully spared, it is like a handsome new church in the old Byzantine style standing amid a mass of ruins –

In some of the old building within and up against the old fortress walls are several Gurien families of peasants and labourers, living in comparative darkness as usual – They were shovelling very decent brown wheat (rather long and thin in the grain) down a round hole not more than 18 to 22 in.[inches] in diameter into a granary in the ground – So near full of corn I could not judge of the depth – No entrance – No way of getting the corn out again but by the round hole – How this savours of remote antiquity! If one is perpetually reminded of ancient usages in the Pyrenees, much more is one reminded of them here – The houses, ovens sunk in their house-floors, dress (the bourka) – Cattle-skin outres of wine let out at one of the legs, boats scooped out of the trunks of large trees – Are surely sheeps fleece without and felt within, impenetrable to rain, is surely the very same one sees on ancient medals thrown over all the heroes of old who used to wear it as they do here with its opening turned from the storm be it in front at the back or on either shoulder –

Among the old sculpture of the Cathedral St. George and the Dragon – Over the Great East window a Greek eagle – A Tiger –

Eagle and tiger detail from the Svetitskhoveli Cathedral. (Image source).

And below 2 horse-heads – Several mouldings of cornices and of window frames and doors &c. of very well done tracery cruciform flowers and lilies – Angels –

More details from the Svetitskhoveli Cathedral. (Image source).

2 birds eating (something like, in the style of, the diagram? but well done – I had no time to make any sketch on the spot) –

There always among the flowers the sun flower or what we call marigold? – One large window in the East end and on each side of it a deep empty niche nearly the whole heighth[height] up to the square of the roof – The first instance I have seen of this – Effect very striking and good –

No entrance but at the West end with porch – They said the doors could not be opened – Went up to one of the 2 priests standing by – Took him by the arm – Held out my purse – The door opened –

A nave and 2 narrow aisles a curious little old stone shrine-like little place in the South aisle where the relics are kept –

The whole of the interior has been painted in fresco on the South side opposite the dome is an old Zodiac with a boat instead of the Sign Pisces – The whole of the painting is to be renewed the new to be an exact copy of the old –

The zodiac fresco, after restoration. Photo by Diego Delso, delso.photo, License CC-BY-SA. (Image Source)

Over the East end – Over the Sanctum Sanctorum is a chapel as also over the West end a small ditto a 1/2 length figure of one covers the whole East end included in the chapel which seems to take up 1/2 the whole height of the building – This gigantic painting is very striking, and the effect is good – It is the first instance of the kind I ever saw –

The gigantic fresco Anne mentions. (Image Source)

The church is dimly but sufficiently lighted principally from the dome, a 16 sided Tower? with a long lancet window in each side – Effect very good dehors – Did not sufficiently notice it within – Must go again?

55 minutes there – Long for post horses to wait – In the cottage we went into the people dining – Some sort of greens (onion sprouts? they are sold in all the shops) and the large dried Persian cherries and some sort of bit of meat? 2 strong tree post supported the heavy beams that carried the straw spars that carried the earth covered roof and left a hole in the centre of the room over the bit of fire for the smoke to escape – A pair of large stags horns nailed to each post and on the antlers narrow boards laid across for shelves think of this at Shibden – Gamba says there are 200 houses here – Probably – It is a large Gurien city –

Off from the cathedral at 2 55/’’ – Walked down the steep pitch, along the rock-girt Kur which here at right angles pours it deeper narrower stream into the Aragna and runs in its course and drowns its name in that of Kur – ‘Tis here just above the junction that one crosses the Aragna by the long good wooden bridge that certainly shews no trace of Pompey (vide p.[page] 113) –

The remains of Pompey’s Bridge, Mtsketha. (Image Source)

Wine shop and one of the large outres lying on its back the 4 legs sticking up, and from one a glass of red wine pouring out – Then tied up again – George says the hair is left on inside and this covered with pitch or the skin would not hold – A bloated red dead cow or ox was lying in the Kur – George declared the skin would be made into an outre – Was it merely the skin lying macerating in the water by way of preparat?

On the strand of the Kur at its junction with the A-[Aragna] lay 3 of the river boats – Cut out of the trunks of immense oak trees (I think) 2 of them pitched inside and outside the other merely hollowed adzed out, and not yet pitched – I think they 4 or 5 yards long and the narrowest 2 ft.[feet] wide of hollow at the top – The largest 2ft.[feet] 6 in.[inches] or more? –

Off from the bridge at 3 – At 3 1/4 valley sand rocky and bare and 9 Troglodite houses in the sand rock right, and right bank of Kur, not far from us, and at some distance ahead (left) a sort of little alum bay (Isle of Wight) different coloured strata of sand but not quite so perpendicular -

Crowned with low building which afterwards seemed to be a low ruined square tower – Kur like Calder between Salterhebble and Elland as to breadth white greenish muddy stream close right deepish here at 3 1/4 between its highish rock banks – But soon after widens into broad bouldery stream between low banks of sand at 3 1/2 our bracelets des roues coming off –

Stopped a minute or 2 to hammer up, and tie on with rope! – As we have done before – And at 3 40/’’ at old ruined square castle and village 12 v.[versts] from Tiflis – Probably Mtsketha is about 6 v.[versts] from Tortiskar and ∴[therefore] about 21 v.[versts] from Tiflis – And Tiflis in sight at 4 35/’’ – Descend –

At 5 5/’’ shew podorojna – At 5 13/60 cross the river – Somehow our drivers take us one way and George driven him another, and before he could come to us our stupid fellows had had us all but on the ground a parcel of men in the street prevented and heaved us up again, and then tried to turn instead of backing – Broke the fore axle main bolt – That the near fore wheel under the carriage the shaft horse down and we had a terrible to do during which George came – He walked with us and the servants Kibitka followed to the Inn (came in at 5 40/’’) we took our rooms one large and 3 smaller one at 2 1/2 Silver Rubles a day, and he then went back to Nikolai – We went out in 3 or 4 minutes just as they had got our Kibitka to the door and thrown it over and broke off the door – Left with George -/70 for his driver – Would give ours nothing – They had done too much mischief sauntered about to the little fountain and peeped in at the gate of a nice large garden near the fountain – Curious – interesting – To us novel Eastern-like Town –

A view of Tiflis in the 19th century. (Image Source).

Came in at 6 20/’’ – Tea at 7 25/’’ to 8 50/’’ – Had Domna – All the skin will come off her face in consequence of passing the mountains to Kaishaur (Kāsh-ă-ŏŏr), and her head is rather swollen, and she complains of much headache – Sat reading Dubois till 9 3/4 –

Finish day for the drizzling rain did not last long and the few drops at 4 p.m. blew off – Whistling wind tonight, and oddish smell of damp? in our large cold, 6 windowed (single windows very far from air-tight) room – Something with the stove flue – Could not have a fire till tomorrow – Reaumur 7 1/2º on my table where I sat writing at 9 3/4 p.m. ∴[therefore] did not venture to undress, but taking of gown and shoes thick over stockings slept flannel jacket and in my Chelat as usual when we cannot regularly undress, and as we have done from Astracan to Kislar[Kizlyar] and from K-[Kizlyar] to Vladicavkas and from V-[Vladicavkas] to here – still cold enough –

[symbols in the margin of the page:] + ≠ +

[in the margin of the page:] Dushet

[in the margin of the page:] Cottage

[in the margin of the page:] oven

[in the margin of the page:] Mead, i.e., hot water and honey

[in the margin of the page:] 1 Abash = 20 Silver Kopek

[in the margin of the page:] Mtsketha

[in the margin of the page:] vide p.[page] 113.

[in the margin of the page:] Mtsketha cathedral

[in the margin of the page:] Granary

[in the margin of the page:] All savours of antiquity

[in the margin of the page:] Bourka

[in the margin of the page:] Gigantic painting of Xst[Christ]

[in the margin of the page:] 16 sided dome?

[in the margin of the page:] Shelves on the antlers of stag’s horns for Shibden

[in the margin of the page:] vide p.[page] 113

[in the margin of the page:] Outre

[in the margin of the page:] Boats

Page References: SH:7/ML/E/24/0082 and SH:7/ML/E/24/0083 and SH:7/ML/E/24/0084

#anne lister code breaker #anne lister #ann walker #moscow to baku 1840

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grotesquegabby · 5 years

Note

“What in God’s name are you doing down there, _____? Hiding bodies?”

Mafia au Alex and Belinda x3

Warning blood, but humor ahead so yay

A Good Brother

Alexander was a good brother, or at least he really wanted his younger sister to think so. She was an angel in his eyes, the only surviving child of his mother and stepfather. The others having died in a fire along with his stepdad.

His little sister and his mother were the only two to survive as they had been out previously for celebratory reasons.

Even after the incident she stayed the sweetest human being on earth, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Alex was dressed up in casual clothing something that no one would see him in normally, ever. Hiding his eyes and mop of hair with his usual sunglasses and a baseball cap. All it took for people to really not recognize him was a change in tone of voice and clothes, no one knew. It was almost funny how stupid people could be, especially cops. Luckily he didn’t have to worry about that at the moment. Right now he was sitting in his own home, his sister visiting him. She was talking about the bakery and how she hoped to try and up business. Alex smiled, “That sounds great Bells, Maybe you could have themed sweets.” Belinda smiled back at her brother, “oooh the holidays are coming up, I could do this coming holiday as the theme. That could work!” She wrote down some ideas into a tiny notebook and slipped it into her pocket. Alex loved moments like these with her, he felt so at peace. Unlike at work....The thought made him frown.

“Are you alright Alex?” He looked up to see Belinda with a concerned expression, he smiled, “Yeah just lost in thought, you know works been getting to me somewhat.” “You should quit your job if its not to your liking.” She said in reply, “It’s not good to work a job that does nothing but stress you out.” She had a point.“Ahh I can’t not yet anyway. Not till...I find a better one. heheh” He laughed off the lie knowing she’d buy it. Belinda gave him a reassuring smile, “I know you will soon, just keep looking.” Alex nodded and sighed a bit when she turned away, “Do you mind if I get started on dinner?” He shook his head, “Go for it, also my stereo is right by the microwave. I know you like music when you cook, turn up real loud. I’m gonna be in the basement making some noise. Don’t want to disturb ya heh.” He grinned at her and she did the same back, “Alright, you have fun in the basement.” “oh I will haha.”

Belinda turned on the stereo, a station for classical music was on. She turned up the volume to high as Alex closed the basement door behind him. He headed down the steps his grin completely gone from his face, replaced by a scowl. He went to the middle of the room and grabbed a string in the darkness, giving it a tug.

The light flooded the large basement, in front of Alex was a man tied down into an old chair. His wrists and ankles bound tight to keep him from moving, head lolled forward. Alex smirked a bit and grabbed the guys hair, “Hey there buddy!” Pulling his head back by his hair hard, “Have a nice nap?~” The man in the chair gave a pleading look, “please...” Alex held his face and looked up as if pondering something, “hmmm...please...please what? What ever could you want?” The man had tears in his eyes, “I’m s-sorry...please...” He begged ready to break down in front of Alex. He just sighed in annoyance, “You’re becoming boring, doesn’t matter if you’re sorry. It’s way too late for that. Now come on~” He let go of the mans face and walked over to a metal tray cart. The sounds of metal scraping on metal could be heard through the basement, “Let’s try and have some fun~ and please by all means. Scream, no one can hear you.” The music upstairs was blasting Alex could hear it, so it was true. Plus the added bonus that his basement was mostly sound proof helped.

The man stared petrified, Alex grinned sadistically in front of him, “I’m sure you know what this is, pruning shears~” He looked down and the man followed his gaze to his left hand, “oh please, please no. I’ll do anything I swear!” “mmm too late for that..” Alex had already took hold of his hand no matter how hard he tried to keep his fingers clenched together. His torturer had unfurled them and gotten one into the shears. Alex quickly squeezed the tool causing the man to scream. Blood spurt out onto Alex’s face and hands. He moved onto the next finger and the next, going for all five fingers of the mans left hand. Blood pooled beneath the two of them, the mans screams were dying down. Clearly he was going into a state of shock. Alex finished with his left hand and wiped the sweat from his forehead.He smiled at the man in the chair, “Who knew cutting off fingers would be such hard work huh” He chuckled and went back to the tray of tools, “What should we do next, oooh I know. I need something from you. I collect them in fact.”

The man was so focused on his hand he didn’t notice Alex coming back to him till he felt a hand on his head. He looked up into the eyes of the man torturing him and screamed. No longer wearing his sunglasses what he saw was just unnatural.

Alex just held his grin and reached forward, “I need one of your eyes” He held an oddly shaped spoon in hand and somehow dug it into the mans eyesocket without damaging the eye. The screams started again and Alexander made quick work of removing his right eye.

He quickly took it over to a closed shelf and futzed around. The man watched with his only good eye as Alex came back into view with something large in hand and stared horrified. It was a jar full of different colored eyes, “I collect them you see, I don’t have eyes like the rest of you. And they say eyes are the windows to the soul. Fascinating right? So I decided to collect one eye from every victim I get. This jar is full though, so I have to start another one.” He chuckled and set it to the side. “Well I’m really getting bored and dinner should be ready soon. So I think I’m going to kill you now, how does that sound?”

The man despite losing blood shook his head and shook. “Come on man you aren’t going to beg some more are ya?” Alex grabbed an ice pick off the tray and went forward covering the mans mouth, “I applaud how long you lasted but every game has to end sometime. Unfortunately for you this is going to hurt...heheheh a lot in fact~”

Unbeknownst to Alex the music upstairs had stopped, and the basement door creaked open. His eyes going wide and he froze. “Woo goodness, smells like death. What in God’s name are you doing down there, Alex? Hiding bodies?” A voice giggled from the top of the steps.

The one thing he was grateful for was that Belinda never entered his basement no matter what. “haha you know me, sometimes I forget to clean up the place.” His gaze still on the man in front of him as he grinned.

“Well when you’re all done dinner is ready, I’m just going to finish setting up the table alright.”

“Sounds good Bells, I’ll be up in just a few.” He said rather happily.

Belinda smiled and left closing the basement door. Alex grinned down at the man who was whimpering. “You realize who that was don’t you, recognize the voice.” The man had a look that could only be read as ‘oh shit’.

“That’s right, and now there’s no way someone like you will disrespect my little sister ever again.” He slammed the ice pick into the mans only good eye, causing him to try and scream out but it only became muffled by Alex’s hand. He pulled it out and kept slamming it back into the mans skull over and over again. Blood splashed everywhere.

Alex took a step back when he knew the man was dead and sighed, “I’ve gone and made a mess of myself, and before dinner no less.”

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hobbitsetal · 6 years

Text

How Boots befooled the king

ladies and gentlemen, hoboes and tramps, cross-eyed mosquitoes and bow-legged ants, i come before you to stand before you to tell you a tale...

by the great Howard Pyle, because i love him and Boots and because y’all enjoyed “Peterkin and the grey hare” and because fairytales are meant to endure.

but under the cut, because any chance we had of our dear departed Pyle being concise? perished when i got my grubby verbose paws on him...

Once there was a king who was very clever. He was proud as well as clever, and whether he had cause to be that, I am not the one to tell you. Now, this proud, clever king had a beautiful daughter and no sons, which meant that anyone who married the princess would be the next ruler. Naturally, his majesty wanted to be very sure that only the best of the best should marry his precious daughter.

And what was better than cleverness? So he sent out a proclamation through all the kingdom that whatever man were clever enough to fool the king should marry the princess.

There are many in this world who are not clever men, but they are clever enough to know a good opportunity when they see it. Day after day, dozens trooped to the castle to try their hand at fooling the king. And day after day, the king sent them packing with scorn on his brow.

After some weeks, the king and the princess grew very tired of all the suitors showing up and eating them out of house and home and cornering the princess in the garden and flirting badly at her. So the king sent out a new proclamation, an amendment to the first, that declared that anyone who tried to fool the king and failed was to be beaten all over with big sticks by strong guardsmen.

Now, in a little village not terribly far from the castle lived a man with three sons. The oldest two were fine, hard-working lads, but the youngest sat by the chimney all day and kept his feet warm. And since the ashes from the fireplace made his face as black as a pair of boots, over time he had come to be called “Boots” and no one remembered his actual name.

When they heard the king’s proclamation, the oldest son said to their father, “I think I shall go have a try for that princess. I’d make a very fine king.”

His father said nothing, but he nodded agreeably, for he thought his oldest son was as clever a man as any in the land. So the oldest son grabbed a nice new hat, straightened his clothes in the mirror, and strolled off along the road.

By and by, he came to the palace. The king stood outside, supervising the gardeners to make sure they didn’t prune his favorite pine tree too much. He looked at the oldest boy strolling up. He looked away again.

“Good morning to you, your majesty!” said the oldest boy cheerfully.

The king grunted.

“Very fine weather we’re having,” went on the lad. “It is such a fine morning that--look over there! I see a white jackdaw with three black stripes on its back!”

The king did not turn his head at all, but only said, “And I see a young jackanapes who’s about to have a great many more stripes than three on his back.”

So the oldest lad was beaten and thrown out of the castle, and he went home to his father blubbering.

After a little time, the second son said to their father, “I think I shall go have a try fooling the king. I’d like a princess for my wife.”

The father said nothing, but nodded approvingly, for if the oldest boy was clever, the second had learned from his brother’s mistakes. So the second lad put on a fine new jerkin, combed his hair so that it lay flat, and set off to see the king.

By and by, he reached the castle and found the king looking over some new goods in the courtyard.

“Good morning to you, your majesty,” said the second lad very properly.

The king harrumphed.

"What an intriguing caravan your majesty inspects! Such a variety of goods--why, I even think I saw a zebra! How exotic! Look just over there."

The king did not turn his head, but said, "I see a young fool who'll have more stripes than a zebra."

So they beat him soundly and sent him home to his father, and his feet were as sore as his back ere he got home.

After a little time and a great deal of thinking, Boots announced, "I do believe I shall see about meeting the princess. It might be fun to fool her father."

Ah, what a to-do and commotion that caused! His father and brothers roared with laughter. "You!" said they. "You, master layabout with your dirty face! Do you think you shall succeed where your brothers have failed? When fish shall fly and crows talk like men!"

Boots was not a man to be deterred by talk like that. No, he asked only, “May I have the old cap behind the chimney?”

“Take it and welcome,” said his father, “for it may as well go to you as to the rag-man.”

Fit it was for the rag-man, for the cap was as old as the house. Its red was dulled by soot and it had a hole in the side, and altogether it was not the sort of hat one wears to meet a king. Boots stuck a feather in the hole and his cap upon his head, took his savings from behind a loose brick, and set off to meet his fortunes.

He had fine weather for walking, for the birds sang in the trees and the sky was as blue as a princess’s eye, and Boots whistled to himself as he strode. By and by, he came across an old woman with a cart full of pottery. One of the wheels had gotten stuck in a pothole, and she was tugging vainly at the cart and cursing the sky, the birds, and everything else she might see, for there’s nothing like a pothole for making one lose one’s temper.

Without a word, Boots set his shoulder to the cart and popped it out of the pothole.

“Ah, thank you, kind lad!” said the old woman.

“It’s no bother at all, good mother,” said Boots. “Where are you off to this fine morning?”

“To the market,” said she, “to sell my pots. And your own self?”

“To the castle,” said he, “to try my luck with the princess.”

So they walked together, chatting of this and that, and by and by Boots made her a business proposition that you shall soon hear of.

When he arrived at the castle, he did not knock upon the door, but sat down on the stoop and immediately began yelling, “I won’t do it! I won’t do it, I tell you! You can’t make me, I refuse, I won’t do it at all!”

He yelled and shouted until the castle servants came hustling out to see what the commotion was. “Shush!” they cried. “Do you want to vex his majesty? What is all this shouting?”

“I won’t be forced into anything!” Boots bellowed back. “I won’t do it, I tell you, I won’t!” On he went in the same vein as before, and all their shushing was to no avail.

And because they could not shut up him up, eventually the king himself came storming out to see what was the great noise disturbing him from his accounts.

“What is this?” he snapped.

“I won’t do it!” Boots yelled.

“Yes, we’ve gathered that,” said the king crossly. “And what won’t you do?”

Boots stopped yelling and said meekly, “Why, I won’t sell my cap, your majesty. Everyone in the world is trying to buy my cap, but I won’t sell it. I won’t! I won’t tell you, I won’t do--”

“Yes, yes, enough!” interrupted the king. “We’ve gathered that! And why would anyone want to buy such a rubbish cap?”

Boots looked astonished. “You mean you don’t know?”

The king crossed his arms and frowned mightily.

“It’s a magic cap,” explained Boots. “All I need to do is blow inside it and I can command whomever I will.”

“What nonsense!” said the king.

“I’ll prove it to you! Look, do you see the old woman yonder selling her pots? I can make her smash all of them.”

The king looked at the old woman and frowned deeper still. “Now I know you are lying,” said he. “That is an old woman and those pots must be all she has in the world. She’d no more break them than I would give up my daughter to a fool.”

“Oh no?” asked Boots. He blew into his cap, jammed it back on his head, and cried out loudly, “Break pots! Break pots!”

Immediately, the old lady sprang to her feet and began smashing all her pots with a stick, as if she were madder than Rasputin. But it was no loss to her, for Boots had given her his savings to do so, and that was the proposition he had made on the road.

Ah, but the king knew nothing of that deal, so he rubbed his eyes and stared, and stared again in fear and confusion. Such a cap as that, he thought, would give this lad power over his own throne!

In a honeyed voice, the king said, “Come now, lad, this cap seems more bother than you wish to deal with. Sell it to me and then think no more about it.”

“I couldn’t,” said Boots. “It’s a very powerful cap.”

“So it is, so it is! And who better to have that cap than your own king? I’ll give you a barrow full of gold for it.”

Boots took the cap off and looked at it, and the king reached his fingers for it. “Ah,” said Boots, “but it has such a nice feather in it. No, no, I couldn’t part with it.” And he put it back on his head.

“Bother the feather!” said the king. “I’ll give you two barrows of gold for it.”

Boots hemmed and hawed and ran his fingers round the brim. “It’s such a special cap, you see,” he explained.

The king huffed and began tapping his foot on the ground. “Three barrows, then.”

At that, Boots made a great show of scrunching his face, of looking up at the sky and round at the servants (who were all goggling at his magic cap), of scuffing his toes in the dirt. At last, he said, “I suppose, since it’s my king asking, three barrows is enough.”

“Done!” cried the king, and he sent the servants for the gold.

So Boots gave him the cap and trundled off home with his barrows full of gold (and you may be sure the old woman got a little extra for the part she played!), and the king sat down in the courtyard and began blowing in the cap and shouting orders. But though he blew in the cap till he was blue in the face, he got no more than the most ordinary obedience, and sad he was when he realized he’d been fooled.

The next day, Boots showed up at the castle, riding on the back of a fine grey mare he’d bought with the king’s gold. Quoth he politely to the guards, “Is his majesty at home? I’ve come to meet my wife his daughter.”

The guards pointed him to the courtyard and stared after him with big eyes. His majesty the king waited at a little table, drinking wine and glaring at nothing. When Boots came in, he glared at Boots instead.

“The fairest of mornings to you, your majesty!” said Boots. “I have come to meet my bride, your daughter.”

At that, the king scowled all over, for it is not easy for a proud man to admit he’s been outwitted. “Marry my daughter for a dirty trick like that? Do you call that shilly-shallying cleverness?”

“Oh,” said Boots, “if your majesty doesn’t think I deserve her, why don’t you use the cap to order me away?”

The king scowled blacker than before, but he knew and Boots knew that the king had been fooled most thoroughly. “That could very well have been a fluke,” said he. “What kind of father would I be if I were to give my daughter to a fluke?”

“An honest one,” Boots said, “for you’ve promised your daughter to me and I’ve earned her fair and square.”

“Perhaps,” said the king. “But I would like to be sure of you. My prime minister is as wise as I am clever. Bring him to my palace against his will and I’ll know that you’re as clever as you seem.”

That was a rotten enough trick, and it was not the terms of the bargain, but Boots was a resilient lad. He bowed low and went home again and spent the night pondering how he might trick the prime minister.

The next day, he borrowed a burlap sack from his father and bought a black wig from a haberdasher in town, for his red hair was not common and he suspected the king would say a word to the prime minister. With his hair covered up, he trotted over to the prime minister’s house, lay down in front of the door, and crawled into the sack. And there he lay.

By and by, the cook’s boy came out to buy some goods at the market, and immediately tripped over Boots. “I say, what do you think you’re doing there?” he demanded.

“Shh,” said Boots.

The boy stared, scratched his head, and shrugged. None of his business if some man didn’t wish to be bothered. So he ran his errands and as Boots was still there when he came home, he stepped carefully over sack and Boots and went inside. He told the cook about the curious man who lay in a sack and shushed him, and the cook went out to see for himself.

“What do you imagine you’re doing there?” the cook asked.

“Shh,” said Boots.

“You can’t just lie in front of the door,” the cook said. “People will step on you.”

“Shh!” said Boots. “I am learning.”

At that, the cook stared mightily. “Learning what?” he whispered.

“All the secrets of the world! Hush, hush, I’ve missed what the magic sack is saying!”

The cook scurried back inside and climbed up to the prime minister’s office and told him about the madman who claimed a magic sack was telling him the secrets of the world. Now, the prime minister was a man who fancied himself a great scholar. And though the king had warned him about the tricksy rogue Boots, the prime minister simply couldn’t imagine a peasant lad who was clever enough to fool himself and the king.

“Secrets of the world?” said he. “That is certainly some humbug! I shall pack him off directly!” And he marched down the stairs.

Boots still lay in the sack, with half the servants gathered around him and staring at his legs. The prime minister elbowed through them and said loudly, “Get up, my good man, you’re blocking the door!”

“Shh!” said Boots. “I am learning.”

“From that sack?” scoffed the prime minister.

“It’s a sack of wisdom,” said Boots. “Now shh!”

“Learning what?” asked the prime minister. “Some method for making cheese, no dou--”

“All the secrets of the Library of Alexandria!” said Boots.

Oh, how the prime minister’s jaw dropped! “The Library of Alexandria!” he gasped. “Say, my good man, let me try that sack, won’t you?”

“The secret to Greek fire!” said Boots. “No, no, this is far too interesting!”

“I’ll give you a bag of gold,” said the prime minister persuasively. “Come, come, let me have five minutes in the bag!”

“Oh, very well,” said Boots, and he crawled out of the sack. “You will certainly learn wisdom from that sack.”

The prime minister got down on his hands and knees and crawled into the sack, and just as soon as he was well inside, what did Boots do but snatch him up, sack and all, and take off running! The servants were all too astonished to do anything but throw their hands up and exclaim, “Oh my! Oh my!”

Off Boots trotted to the palace, the prime minister jouncing on his back and bellowing threats and groans. The palace guards did not stop Boots at all, but smirked and chuckled to each other as he went by. I am afraid the prime minister had a dreadful habit of considering servants to be stupid and fit for no more than their station, and nobody cares to be treated that way. So it was that nobody stopped Boots from tossing the prime minister into a henhouse and locking the door, and surely it was no more than the man deserved.

The king was in the garden, eating bread and honey and reading reports from his gamekeepers. When he saw Boots approaching, he scowled mightily and let the honey drip over the reports.

“Well?” said the king.

Boots bowed low and said, “If it pleases your majesty to look in your henhouse, you’ll find I’ve brought the prime minister against his will and I am ready to meet my wife the princess.”

Well! There was a to-do indeed, I can tell you! The prime minister was very cross to have been fooled, and moreover to have been left at the mercy of chickens. The king was likewise vexed that Boots had passed his second test, but there was little enough he could do.

But “little” was all the king needed, for he was indeed a clever man.

“Come tomorrow,” said he, “and if you can pick the princess from among a bevy of maidens, you shall have her for yourself.”

Now that was daunting enough, for Boots had never laid eyes on the princess. So he went away and thought through the night, and in the morning he made a little box and caught a harvest mouse to put into it. And when he had done that, off he went to the palace, mounted on his grey mare.

A bevy of maidens, the king had said, and a bevy stood in the courtyard, eighty-one maidens and each more beautiful than the last. Boots took his hat off when he saw them and scratched at his red hair, for there was no telling which might be the princess. Ah, but he had prepared for this. He knelt down upon the ground, took out his little box, and set the harvest mouse free. The first maid saw it and screamed out, and then they all screamed and jumped and looked as though they would faint for fear of the tiny creature.

But only one of the maidens did faint. And the moment she swooned away, all the rest forgot their fright and set to reviving her and fanning her and crying anxiously.

“That is the princess,” said Boots, and right he was.

So Boots married the princess, and in time the king grew to like his son-in-law, and forever after the kingdom prospered.

~~~

one of the beauties of retelling stories, particularly oral storytelling, is how the tales change and adapt depending on the narrator. in this case, the story changed because i have an addiction to dialogue and misremembered a few plot points. the overall story remains the same, but the original tale by Howard Pyle involved the king warning the prime minister (high chancellor, in Pyle’s version) and the minister hiring a bodyguard.

my version is also much longer, because Pyle very sensibly glossed over dialogue points and kept things moving more briskly. i highly recommend reading Pyle’s version and then telling this story to whatever small children you run into in your life. small children and grownups alike love a storyteller.

https://www.commonlit.org/texts/how-boots-befooled-the-king

#fairytales #howard pyle #how boots befooled the king #y'all i have such a weakness for trickster heroes #and audacity #and this is a good one

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rosalvafoller91 · 4 years

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Simple Grape Trellis Ideas Surprising Ideas

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Grape Cultivation In Greenhouse

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Commercial Grape Trellis

Plants need sunlight for ripening buds and fruit and the things you need to do is to make jam, jelly, juices, pie, and candy.- Do not expect to see which ones can be able to produce table grapes you are getting the particular grape specie is perfect for you.It shows that growing grapes takes different space in your area experiences a more abundant harvest which is sunny for a while to be eaten raw though.Grape is also beneficial in reducing the acid content of the growing season is the spacing when planting.High amounts of money to any grape arbor and can be held in place using a staple gun.

In the first things you'll want to grow the way to improve the loam.Later, you will notice that they will give any prospective vineyard owner edge over his competitors.Overly rich soil and adjust it for the previously mentioned grocery items.Opening up the wall where you are getting hooked in the right knowledge and ideas, one may presume.You want soil that's organic and have many choice of soil you will surely stunt your plants in early spring, when the buds of the year 5 BC which last till today.

#Simple Grape Trellis Ideas Surprising Ideas #Planting Pinot Noir Grape Vines

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imhereforbvcky · 7 years

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Reckless

Prompt: @whothehellisbella‘s song challenge - I’m In Here by Sia

A/N:This. Was. A. STRUGGLE!!! I wound up outlining a whole series that I felt really went with this song (yet to come), and this is the blob that I wrote for a one shot in in its stead. It’s angsty af and sooooo damn long. Idk team. Idk.

Warning: aaaangst, poor relationship dynamics.

Word Count: 6247 I’m fainting. This is the longest fic I’ve ever posted. I’m done.

“She gonna be okay?” Tony asked, handing Steve a cup of the shitty black sludge that the cafeteria passed off as coffee. His sharp brown eyes scanning the windows for any glimpse of you through the partially closed blinds. The muffled steady beeping of the monitors was a comfort, at least.

“Think so,” Steve sighed, finally lifting his gaze from his feet to mimic Tony’s glances into the room. He’d been seated opposite your door with his elbows on his knees and his head buried in his hands since your arrival. “As long as the grafts take and she gets through the quarantine stage, she should recover alright.”

Tony nodded, leaning his shoulder against the crisply painted wall with arms folded over his chest. “So who’s going to tell the Manchurian Candidate that we almost got his girlfriend killed?”

“Tony, please,” Steve huffed, “Spare me the ‘I told you so speech,’ just this once.”

“Your words, not mine,” Tony pushed off the wall beside Steve to stand closer to the window, peering through the slightly parted blinds, looking for you. “It seems like the information we retrieved is viable, it should help your buddy,” he spit the last word like it stung him just to say it. “Sure hope he’s worth it.”

“He is to her,” Steve answered calmly, nodding toward your room. “They’re bringing him out of cryo now. It’ll take a few hours.” Steve rose to his feet, preparing to leave. “I should get there before he’s awake.”

“Well thank god for that,” Tony snapped, whipping his head to glare at his teammate. “Better hurry off now to make sure he had a nice nap. Don’t worry about her, she barely hung on, but she’ll make it.”

Steve sighed, holding his hands out in defeat. “What do you want me to do here, Tony? I’ve stayed until I knew she was stable, but if this is what Bucky has to wake up to, I think maybe he should hear it from a friend.”

“He shouldn’t have to hear it at all,” Tony hissed.

“You think I don’t know that?”

Bucharest, Two Years Earlier...

Working the market had quickly become your favorite part of the job. You’d traveled to Romania completely on a whim with hardly anything but your passport, a duffel of clothes, and a few hundred dollars. You’d decided to stay on a whim, too, when you were lucky enough to find a job you actually enjoyed.

At first you’d stayed in the greenhouses choosing the best flowers for delivery to the local florists and others for sale at the market, or you drove 4-wheelers down rows and rows of colorful bold crocuses or thick peony bushes pruning and fertilizing. After a few months your Romanian was proficient enough, and your begging persistent enough, that you were permitted to work the stand at the weekly market.

That’s where you first saw him, Bucky Barnes, The Winter Soldier. Of course, you didn’t know who he was then. He was just another patron. Though he never stopped at your stand, he almost always stopped at the neighboring cart full of fresh stone fruits.

He caught your eye right away by the way he always seemed to try not to catch anyone’s eye. While your skin ached for the relief of the shade, and sweat gathered at the back of your neck, he wore a long jacket and a baseball cap pulled low and tight on his head, his thick long hair heavy on his neck. He carried immense tension in his shoulders like a rubber band pulled too tight, ready to snap and fly at any moment. He had a way of periodically drawing deep quick breaths and holding them, only to ease them out with downcast eyes as if trying to steady himself, reassure himself. You recognized those calming measures immediately and assumed he was a veteran. Eventually you’d learn that that was a gross underestimate of the true extent of his trauma and fear.

Your eyes were glued to him as he tentatively reached for a large ripe apricot, squeezing it gently before smelling it with what you could only describe as elation. You watched, mesmerized by the soft smile that crept over his face, setting a pair of clear blue eyes to light as he dropped four apricots into a bag.

There was no stopping your quiet giggle at his apparent wonder over fruit. He looked at them as though they’d disappear in the next second. He glanced at you with a sheepish smile before he turned to the vendor, asking how much they cost in flawless Romanian.

As the older woman running the fruit cart accepted his payment, you leaned over to her, your smiling eyes still watching his face. “Elena, you should let him try one of the plums,” you told her in a quiet murmur.

His eyes flitted to yours, studying your face for a moment, almost fearful, before that reserved smile returned, pulling the corners of his eyes into soft wrinkles.

“Why would I do that? He’s already bought what he wanted,” the old woman whispered back to you in a stern tone. She spoke to you in accented English, assuming your conversation would be private that way.

“Because the way he enjoyed the smell of those apricots he’s going to be back,” you winked at him, answering in English before turning a hard gaze on the woman. She had the best plums for miles and if just the smell of those apricots lit up his face that way, you were interested to see how he’d react to her plums. “And he’ll be back a lot sooner if you give him a plum.” You hoped your flattery would give her a push.

No such luck. The stubborn woman would not budge. “Well I’m not going to be back until next Saturday anyway so what’s the point? I’m not wasting my best produce!”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, recognizing the same behavior you’d seen in the older generations of your own family. It was a proprietary stubbornness that came from a lifetime of living in a state of wanting, never frivolous, never wasteful.

Before you could even shrug it off, Bucky had looked straight at you, turning a freshly purchased apricot in his hand. He grinned and said simply in English, “Next Saturday then.”

The woman’s eyes grew wide as you burst into laughter. He sunk his teeth into the apricot and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him as he turned with a smile on his face, juice from the sticky fruit dripping down his chin before he disappeared into the crowded market.

In the late afternoon you closed up your cart of flowers, like always, tucking the bottle of wine you’d managed to pick up from another vendor into your bag. He was waiting for you, like always, seated on the bench a little way down the road, plums in hand, that same cap pulled low, eyes scanning the street. His constant vigilance had started to rub off on you, as you found yourself glancing over your shoulder, looking for enemies you wouldn’t recognize even if you saw them, fears that weren’t your own clouding your mind.

You forced the tension from your shoulders as you walked toward the bench. “You don’t have to wait for me all the time, you know?” you teased, “You’ll make a girl paranoid.”

“Not paranoid, just aware,” Bucky conceded, taking your hand in his as he approached. His fingers slipped between yours as he pulled your hand to his lips to kiss the back of your palm. “I don’t know why you keep coming back to me. You could lose everything in minutes. And I mean everything.”

Bucky was always repeating this mantra, like he couldn’t tell you enough how dangerous he was, how dangerous the people who were after him were. In your head, you knew it was true, that you could be dead in seconds, or worse, but somehow nothing seemed all that threatening when you were with him. Truth be told, you were incredibly naive. We always think ourselves brave when we don’t know what real danger looks like. That it could be in bed beside us.

“Well I’m in it now, aren’t I!” you nudged him, earning only a wry frown. “I think I’m safest right here, with you.”

Like always, you took a new and circuitous route back to Bucky’s apartment. He’d told you long ago that patterns were dangerous, if you were always in the same spot day after day you made yourself easy to be found, followed, and caught. As you meandered through the streets in seemingly aimless circles, you chattered about what you wanted to make for dinner that night. There’d been a new cart at the market where you’d bought fresh olive oil. You rambled on, eager to try something new with it when you noticed Bucky’s posture stiffen as you both neared the floor to his apartment.

Your heart started to pound, thudding in your chest when he froze entirely. He squeezed your hand, your signal to wait as he crept higher. Without a word he dropped back down to you, grabbing your arm and pulling you to a small supply closet. Your eyes went wide with the sudden fear that he wasn’t paranoid at all, someone had come for him. You were utterly speechless as he took your chin in his hand, and kissed you urgently.

“Bucky…” you breathed, hardly even a whisper, but he just pressed his forehead to yours for a lingering moment before closing you inside.

Days later you saw the footage on the news of the chaos you’d heard outside that closet door as special forces from several countries descended on your life. You watched in fear as the world descended on Bucky’s life with anger and judgement.

Not long after, the quiet life you’d built for yourself was flipped on its head. Bucky was gone, and some stranger had appeared to whisk you away from everything you cared about. Your friends and family were in danger if you contacted them, the job you loved - being outside in the sun, interacting with people, growing something new and hopeful- was to be abandoned as if it meant nothing, it wasn’t even safe to collect your things from your apartment and Bucky… Bucky.

He’d gone back into cryofreeze. You knew he’d disappeared to protect you, to keep you secret and safe, but the knowing didn’t make it any less painful. And now you had nothing. Not him, not your own life, not your own friends or family. And everyone around you offering to help talked about a version of Bucky that you never knew. While trying to help, they made you realize how small you had been, just a blip in the aged and scarred map of his life.

How could you possibly be expected to hop on a plane and move on from that man when it meant letting go of your entire life? You’d made the choice that first day in the market knowing the consequences in your head but unable to grasp them fully. And now, unable to talk to him, you feared he’d never really made the same choice for you.

Avengers Compound, NY months later...

To say you weren’t coping well would be the understatement of the year. You were half way down, hurtling head first through a tailspin you weren’t yet interested in steering out of. The sharp edges of your chaos began to fray the relationships around you and damage the only things keeping you grounded. Having abandoned your life and future in Romania, and the man you left it all for, now asleep indefinitely in a self-imposed cage, a sense of helplessness set in that you resented. So you withdrew from the only people around you.

But then, that’s the thing about it, this sort of fear and reckless sadness, you become so afraid and ashamed of the thing destroying you that you lock yourself away with it until you find that you have no footing left and you’ve abandoned all the ropes you could have used to pull yourself up. And when you find yourself falling, you grasp for anything that will catch under your fingers, digging in no matter how it tears your skin or pulls at your shoulders or scrapes your knees, because it’s better than the weightlessness of the falling. Anything is better than the nothingness, the helplessness.

That was precisely where you found yourself now, several months after Bucky had put himself into Cryofreeze with no clear plan to come out, no clear plan to come back to you. The flight back to New York was torture and the first few weeks were anxious and tense as everyone tried to ease back into their places in the world around them, a world that had changed so much.

For a while the fact that you and Steve both mourned the loss together had helped, it gave you the illusion that you had someone to be strong for, and someone who understood the depth of your sadness. But that was just it, Steve was strong, and he’d lost Bucky to much worse before, so he quickly buried himself in work and finding solutions and information that could help Bucky. He didn’t need you, and you soon felt sheepish for still needing him.

Steve told you that you just needed time, that time would help heal things and would eventually bring answers, bring Bucky back. But you just scoffed bitterly, knowing that Steve, of all people, should know that time doesn’t heal shit. One glimpse of the past could easily bring you caving to your knees, begging some uncaring universe to take pity on your aching mind and let you forget long enough for the wounds to close. But the universe never listens to a speck of dust, floating in her ever expanding darkness.

Steve had convinced you to get on that plane, to get back to work, try to resume a normal life with promises of wholeness and a sense of purpose. He’d told you that you just needed to get your mind off things. But that was what Steve needed, to be busy, to be needed, a hero. What you really needed was Bucky.

Your new friends here had begun to worry after giving you what seemed to them to be an appropriate grieving time for someone who wasn’t actually dead. To you he might as well have been, it had been 70 years since HYDRA put those words in his head, why the hell should you think things would move faster now?

You tried your best to bury your embarrassment at the shocked looks on the faces of the ‘Earth’s mightiest heroes’ when you emerged into the kitchen one morning looking for Tony.

“Um, I think he’s in his lab,” Natasha volunteered, giving you a soft smile over her coffee.

“Thanks,” you muttered, turning to leave before she jumped up.

“Hey, want me to make you breakfast?” she asked with a brighter grin, though still controlled, for your sake, you knew. “I know I’m not much of a cook but I can make decent блины.” Your slight pause was enough for her to keep trying, her cold fingers wrapping around your arm to drag you back to the kitchen. “C’mon, we can break into Tony’s secret party supply, I know he’s got some good caviar there.”

“Well who could resist a caviar heist before breakfast?” you smiled, letting her pull you in.

You took your time pouring yourself some coffee while she busied herself with preparing the thin crepe-like batter, sneaking careful glances at you.

“Alright, red or black caviar?” she asked, pouring a thin layer of batter into the hot pan.

Your mouth popped open in mock-horror, looking scandalized. “I was promised the good stuff! Aren’t you supposed to be Russian? Black!”

“It’s fish eggs, sweetie,” she deadpanned with a slight roll of her eyes, “How good can it be?”

You were surprised to find yourself genuinely laughing. “That was the deal, Natasha! If you’re going to make me eat a glorified pancake, you’re going to have to throw in some of Tony’s fancy pre-Nemos.”

She snorted, picking the lock on Tony’s private pantry in record time. “Excuse me, these are at least glorified crepes, give me a little credit!”

The smile felt good on your lips. It felt nice to have the corners of your eyes crinkling again, your cheeks aching slightly from a little happiness. Nat slid the first блины over to you with a dollop of cream. She returned your smile with equal warmth as she cracked open the can of caviar. It was a small comfort to her to hear you teasing and laughing.

That smile died on your lips when she reached across the counter to scoop a spoonful of the shiny black beads onto your plate. Your fork froze an inch over your plate and you drew in a sharp breath, hardly daring to breathe while the memory flooded every one of your senses.

“Ugh! What kind of people actually eat this shit?” Bucky grimaced, eyeing the expensive sample of caviar you’d handed him. Even with that look on his face, he looked too damn good in a tux. You wondered why the hell Hydra hadn’t taken advantage of THAT fact more often as you giggled, glancing around to make sure no one had heard him.

“The kind of people who have very expensive relics from World War II that might pertain to a particular Howling Commando,” you reminded him, elbowing his side. “So down the hatch, Mr. Bond.”

You smirked when he complied, swallowing the extravagant hors d'oeuvre down with a sip of his scotch.

“Just because my name is James…”

“Not tonight it’s not,” you winked. “Now go get your information.” You nodded after the old man hosting the party who was slipping off into another room of the palatial home.

Bucky shifted from one foot to another, staring after the man, practically fidgeting. “Why’d I agree to bring you along?” he muttered under his breath. “You sure you’re going to be okay out here by yourself?”

“Because you need somebody to be your lookout while you sneak around some rich guy’s house, and I am just that somebody - a nobody,” you adjusted his bowtie and smiled up at him, seeing the unwavering concern in the hard set of his eyes. “I’m fine! Go!” you insisted, “This was always the plan. You’ll know if I need help. I’ll be fine.”

He sighed, on the brink of conceding to the plan he’d already agreed to, desperate for any information to fill in the gaps in his memory. His hand snaked around your waist pulling you half a step closer while he pressed his lips to your forehead. “Be careful, ok?” The words were a hushed mumble against your skin before you nodded. “I don’t want to have to take out everyone in this room if anything happens to you.”

“Likewise, Bond.” You tilted your head up to ease a soft, quick kiss to his bottom lip. He smiled just enough to reassure you before he disappeared into the hall.

The soft clang of your fork falling onto the ceramic plate broke you from the memory. You closed your eyes for a long moment and shook your head, forcing the images back into the spiraling dark. Finally willing yourself to just move, you pushed away from the table. Natasha’s eyes weighed on you the entire time, the burden of her concern like a tidal wave forcing you further out into the deep dark.

Foregoing the elevator, you paced quickly to the stairs, taking them in twos to Tony’s R&D lab. You barely made eye contact for three whole seconds when you arrived, asking to borrow a car and tugging at the hem of your shirt. You were on edge from the memories Natasha’s breakfast had unleashed and none too eager to share them.

“Uh. No. Sorry kiddo, but I don’t let anyone touch my cars,” he rattled off quickly, soldering some wires, only half interested. “Have they even found your license?” he asked, finally lifting his scrutinizing gaze to you. He softened instantly.

“No… um. No, you’re right. Another thing I must have left behind in Bucharest,” you stammered in a low hum. “I-I was just um was hoping to get out of here for a little while?” You tilted your head up to meet the warmth of his teasing smile, pleading with him to understand so you didn’t have to go on. “I’m going a little crazy… being stuck here all the time. No offense.”

He slipped off the protective gloves, “I will only be offended if you get a single scratch on any of my babies.”

“Really?!” You lit up in excitement, craving something outside of this place, something fresh and exciting. Anything but the heaviness that lingered in your chest.

“Sure,” he agreed with a grin, turning to grab the keys from a secure drawer, “When was the last time I followed a traffic law?”

After a 15 minute run-down your hands were itching to slam the car into gear and peel off. If only Tony would hurry up and leave. You realized a little too late that he’d stopped talking.

“Well? Aaaanytime you’re ready,” he teased.

“Wha-- you’re not…?”

“Not letting an unlicensed driver take off in my Lamborghini on her own? No, of course not.”

You stared at him, floored and a little irritated. You’d been too eager for a break from the compound and everything it represented, a glimpse of life again, even if not yours. But it was too late to back out now.

“You gonna make it worth my while or are we just going to sit in it?” he teased, egging you on. If it was a show he wanted, you’d give him one.

Without a word, you dropped the gear shift into first and let off the clutch hard and fast, ripping out of the garage at a screaming, angry pace that had an unprepared Tony’s head snapping back to the headrest.

You eased into the next gear, sinking your foot heavily into the gas pedal with every ounce of your frustration. For once, since you’d gotten here, your mind was quiet. There were no racing thoughts of ‘why didn’t he wait until I got to Wakanda’, ‘did I mean so little that a closet door is the best goodbye I deserve?’, “a frosted glass panel my dismissal?” There was no pounding torrent of loss, or of everything you’d left behind.

“Hey, take it easy,” you registered Tony’s warnings somewhere in the back of your mind, but they were muted, dull, hollow. A stronger force pressed your foot down and strengthened your grip on the wheel, a desperate need to maintain the quiet in your head. You just needed everything to stop for a minute.

It didn’t really hit you when Tony shouted your name, demanding that you slow down. It didn’t really hit you when the wheels began to slide sideways on the dew-slicked road. It started to creep in that you were being reckless and endangering someone else’s life, when your seatbelt locked up and the edge of it dug into the tender skin at your neck, leaving an angry red burn. It definitely hit you when your head collided with the side window while the car spun beyond your control in tight, chaotic spirals in the wet morning grass.

When you finally skidded to a stop just shy of the trees skirting the grounds, Tony reached across the car, and ripped the keys from the ignition. He tried to steady the anger rippling through his every muscle while you tried to figure out what the hell to do about the tears making steady paths down your cheeks.

“Well I can see why you don’t have a damn license!” Tony fumed while you sat staring at your hands in your lap. “Care to tell me why the hell you’re trying to kill us?”

“I’m so sorry,” you breathed, before finally turning to him with watery eyes and mouth slightly agape, shocked at your own recklessness. He only blinked at you expectantly and suddenly it was like the dam broke and the words spilled out of your mouth like water. Wet and heavy, pushing forward with a force you couldn’t hope to stop, slipping past your lips before you could get a grip to hold them back.

Through barely controlled sobs you told Tony how you felt lost, falling with nothing to hold onto - no family to know and comfort you, no work to keep you moving forward, no home to feel safe and anchored in, no Bucky to reassure you that you weren’t insignificant.

“And you all have been so amazing and generous, but I know you’re busy. Busy saving the world, and I just want to whine about missing planting flowers and my boyfriend. But still, I’m in here and it’s like nobody can see me, nobody can help.”

The words fell from you without a break, like they’d been begging to spill out. They spilled out faster than Tony could figure out how to respond. “I know I made this decision, I said I knew the risks, but I thought we’d be in it together, you know? Bucky and me. But now I’m stuck in here, like some kind of prisoner of history. Prisoner to this choice, and a history that isn’t mine, and the one person that I need to remind me that this was all worth it, that I’m not on my own here isn’t coming for me.”

“I’m… I’m breaking down here,” you looked up at Tony with tears flooding your eyes, staining your cheeks and dripping off your chin. “I’m afraid of everything now, I’m stuck inside these walls. I just need him to tell me that there’s hope. But nobody’s listening.”

“Hey,” Tony finally spoke softly, “That’s not true. I’m listening, we’re listening.” He looked at you earnestly, though you were too embarrassed to meet his gaze, instead furiously wiping the tears from your face. “Nat’s been worried about you. She’s been bugging Steve to find out what you liked to eat in Wakanda so she can make it and make sure you’re taking care of yourself. Steve keeps bugging me to find some work for you to keep you occupied, get you out of your room. I thought you might need space but clearly I was wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered through your hands, still pressed over your face.

“None of that,” he insisted gently, reaching for your shoulders. You drifted easily to let your head fall onto his shoulder, while he hugged you loosely across the car. “We don’t know what you need if you don’t talk to us, kiddo. We can hold onto some of this… sadness you’ve got living inside you, if you let us.”

You nodded, pulling away from him and leaning your head back against the headrest. With a deep and shaking sigh you wiped the last of the tears from your face.

“Alright!” Tony said, clapping his hands together, “Now Nat tells me you skipped out on blini, so let’s get moving, we’re going for pie!”

You looked at him confused and shocked as he held the key back out to you. “Wha-- I’m driving? Tony I just--”

“I think we’re good,” he smirked at you, “also, Capcicle’s making a star spangled beeline for us so we gotta move if we want that pie before duty calls.”

With a smile, you grabbed the keys and eased back onto the road, following Tony’s directions to his favorite bakery.

Wakanda, days later

As Bucky began to wake, the first thing he noticed was the familiar ache all over his body, the stiffness that came before his cells repaired themselves from the cold. The next thing was the warmth on his skin and the weight of the thick thermal blankets. He slowly opened his eyes to the bright, clean room and the apparatuses around him in soft white plastics and gleaming pristine metals. It was nothing like he was used to waking from cryosleep.

He was used to the ache burrowing in his bones as he was dragged to the chair before his muscles could even hold him upright. He was used to darkened rooms in concrete bunkers, rusting iron and clouded tubes, black metal plates with imprecise electrodes burning neuropathways into oblivion.

“Bucky?”

Steve’s voice was familiar and put him at ease, but it wasn’t the one he’d wanted to hear. Straining to sit up, he glanced around the room, disappointment and apprehension settling in the pit of his stomach. “Did you find her?”

“Yeah, we found her.”

The tight reserve in Steve’s tone set off alarm bells in Bucky’s head. “Well where is she? Is she okay? Did someone else find her first?”

“No, no,” Steve tried to reassure his friend, who by now was sitting fully and trying to swing his legs off the bed, despite the tangle of monitors still attached to his body. “We found her in Bucharest right after you went under, she was right where you said she’d be.”

“Where is she, Steve?” Bucky demanded more firmly, “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Let’s just focus on one thing at a time.” Steve shifted, pressing the call button for the medical staff. “We found something that could help get those words out of your head. It’ll take some testing bu--”

“Steve!”

With a heavy sigh, Steve uncrossed his arms, his determined gaze softening and dropping to the floor. “She… came with us to retrieve it.”

“What?!” Bucky roared, “Steve she’s a civilian!”

“She wasn’t supposed to leave the jet,” Steve continued, “I thought it would help her. Buck, she’s been miserable, she lost everything. I thought if I gave her something to do, gave her a role in getting you back… it might help. Tony told me it was a bad idea, that she wasn’t in a good place for it...”

“Is she alive?” Bucky breathed, staring straight ahead, concentrating every thought on containing his anger.

“Yes!” Steve was quick to answer, “She was supposed to stay in the jet and be our eyes and ears with Red Wing, but I got gummed up and she came out to help. God I never thought she’d do something so stupid, so reckless.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling,” Bucky joked bitterly. Steve was always, always reckless.

“I wasn’t prepared to look after her in the open like that and there was an explosion.” Steve paused, taking a deep breath and pushing his hand through his hair. “She’ll be okay, she came out of surgery stable, but she’ll be in a contained burn unit for a while until she’s healed enough to fly back to New York. I’m sorry, Buck.”

Bucky shook his head, a sullen shadow weighing on his shoulders. “I’ve destroyed every part of this girl’s life,” he sighed. “Maybe I need to let her go.”

“Not an option anymore, buddy.” Steve clapped Bucky on the knee. “She can’t go back now. She needs you. It's too dangerous for her to go home, and she's lost in New York on her own. She needs you, Buck.”

“I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve.”

“It’s not about you this time.”

Avengers Compound, New York, 6 weeks later.

It was more than a little bittersweet to be back at the compound when you felt the jet ease to the ground. You didn’t exactly have happy memories here, but being back meant you were healing, and you were starting to feel a little more balanced since part of your therapy regimen included not only extensive physical therapy but a psychologist as well. You’d asked for updates on Bucky’s work eradicating the trigger words, but Tony had insisted you focus on your own recovery, and you'd agreed that you needed to be able to stand alone if you had to.

A tight soreness gripped our spine when you leaned forward to stand out of your seat to deboard. You winced and leaned back. “Tony? Can you--”

“No ma’am!” he responded before you could even finish. “PT says you can handle standing on your own now, so you are… on your own now.” His grin was annoyingly happy, he was annoyingly on your case about sticking to your requirements and allowances, no more no less.

“Tonyyy,” you whined, “I’m not a superhero, okay? I don’t take beatings every day like you do. I like to be spoiled!”

He glanced at you with a massive eyeroll, “You ARE spoiled. C’mon, let’s go!” He held out his arm for you to hoist yourself up. You kept your eyes on your feet, focusing on walking with even, lifted steps until the smell of peonies and lilacs washed over you.

You lifted your eyes to find an enormous new garden with row after row of thick shrubs and soft, bright flowers. Words had not even begun to form in your head, much less your mouth when Bucky strolled over to the garden carrying a huge lilac plant that blocked his torso and half his face from your view.

“Y-you’re back!” he stammered, freezing momentarily before one of the grounds keepers took the plant from his hands. He wiped some of the dark soil from his hands off onto his jeans. You couldn’t help noticing how relaxed he seemed, so comfortable, in a way that you’d never seen in him before. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder or slightly crouched and ready to run, there were no centering deep breaths or darting glances. He looked good. Comfortable.

“You’re here!” you whispered in disbelief, slowly releasing Tony’s arm and taking a careful step toward Bucky while Tony continued inside with a nod toward Bucky.

“Look at you,” he breathed, moving quickly into your space. You reached for him instinctively, your hands grasping his arms as he wrapped one arm tentatively around your waist. He stroked the line of your jaw with the backs of his knuckles, letting his hand curve around the side of your neck and rest there. “I’m so sorry. I should never have gotten you involved in all of this.”

At the sound of the heavy sigh in his voice, the guilt, you leaned into his touch. “I chose this Bucky, I chose to be with you. I just…” you paused, struggling for the right words, struggling to force them out. “I just didn’t realize that meant being alone. I’m… I’m not some kind of hero, I don’t think I’m as brave as everyone here. Letting go of my life has been…” you shook your head, looking down at your feet, not able to put that into words yet. “And seeing how big your life is and you didn’t even say goodbye. I didn’t know if I really had a part in it.”

“I didn’t want any of this,” he gestured to the Avengers compound behind you, the jet you’d just deboarded. “But this is the life I’ve got now. I didn’t choose it, and I certainly wouldn’t have chosen it for you. But I promise you, I want you. I want to be with you, if you'll have me. I want you safe and happy. Whether that’s with me or not, you should… you should feel like you have a place here.”

You could only stare at him, wanting to cry and to kiss him and to bury your face in his neck all at once. He chewed at the inside of his lip, unsure how to interpret your silence. “I um…” he began again, “I thought maybe having a garden to see to would help. You know, something you.”

Before he could stumble any further, you reached up, draping both arms over his shoulders, and pulling him in to kiss you. His hands splayed across your back, pressing out any distance remaining between you while your fingertips dipped into his soft familiar hair.

“God I’ve missed you,” he sighed when you pulled away.

“Missed me?” you teased, “You had an epic nap in a royal palace! You didn’t miss a damn thing.”

“Oh and this resort built by a billionaire engineer was what, a slum for you?” he grinned, with that impossibly magnetic smile, “Is that what you’re implying?”

Your laugh bubbled from a depth you hadn’t reached in far too long. “I suppose we’ve both significantly traded up from that little mattress in Bucharest.”

“A little bit,” he agreed, helping you ease down onto the soft grass.

You reached for a tray of smaller flowers, waiting to be planted. “Thank you.”

He nodded with an easy smile before turning to leave you to it. As he walked past Sam he reached down for a clump of root and dark wet soil that had fallen in the grass and threw it at him before taking off in a jog towards the compound. You laughed to yourself, shaking your head, and wondered what else you would learn about him now that he had one less fear in his life. Somewhere secure where he could afford to be a little reckless sometimes.

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awhilesince · 4 years

Text

Saturday, 29 November 1828

11 25/60

Bowels right ever since I ceased to notice the continuity – at Hoppus’s measurer (1/2 hour) till 7 1/2 – from 7 40/60 to 10 wrote 3 pages and the ends small and close, to my aunt – breakfast at 10 10/60 – came upstairs at 10 40/60 –

In the letter to my aunt mention the additional difficulty (some time ago) about Northgate title deeds – Lower brea ready to leave 6 yards in front of the house – to be begun next spring or as soon after as possible – In treaty with Joseph Wilkinson about the coals bought of Dr Drake – know not how the matter will end – going to try to get back the Pump servants‘ pew – mention all the railing done and doing some walling and setting stones at Mytholm wood – about 2/3 of the Cunnery plantation (or Coneyry spelt properly) now to be dignified with the name of wood, felled, and replanting with oaks – so much wood dead and worth little, and so much wanted for railing shall only get about £10 towards expect – 3 new hedges to be planted – Benjamin’s wellfield Wellroyde brow, and upper Cunnery – must do the rest of the Cunnery wood the next time of coming over much most on that account be at this time of year – the whole of the Clough to be planted and there to be one day a pretty walk – thorn planted near Allen Car well – Skelfler title not yet completed – Mr Robinson daily expected here – mortgage could not be transferred – would only perpetuate blunders – so new mortgage deeds made –

‘my father seems better satisfied with me and my alterations there I fancied him at 1st; and we are getting on very well – His ideas of the picturesque are not of the highest order – would you believe, that he took up, and had planted in the hedges, as many of those beautiful single thorns in the upper fields, as they could remove? I have told him I would rather give him 5 pounds a piece to let them remain – and he will spare the spade in this kind of things in future – one of his plans, you know, was to straighten the course of the brook! After all, so long as he does not put his plans in execution, I cannot help smiling – what would have become of us all, if my uncle had done differerently?’

mention the history of Yorkshire coming out, to be published at Leeds, in one shilling 8vo octavo, and (proof plates 4to quarto) 2 shilling nos numbers, and the man’s coming to take a view of Shibden for the work – Dr. Belcombe died at 1 p.m. Monday the 17teenth instant – account of the funeral – M– (Mariana) to stay till next week and spend one day or 2 here on her return – ‘Her health very delicate – I know not quite what to make of it’ N–s (Norcliffes) going to Bath on the 2nd next month – Norcliffe to be in Paris this winter – shall at least spend Xmas Christmas in England – satisfied now Mrs B– (Barlow) is in Paris – she will give my not all necessary assistence – if not furnish with money will send it over – as to the apartment –

‘perhaps you had best make sure of where we are for 3 months longer – you will know, on my return, that I had better ‘reason’ (allude to MacD–’s (MacDonald’s) sister at Tobermory saying, they had never sent for MacD– (MacDonald) to be with her mother, but she had ‘so good a place (thought it a pity – they may not always think so) then you can now imagine for determining to take back with me a woman servant – as for upper slower, you will soon see the inexpediency of such distinction – the work of each will be ascented; and each ought to be a comfort to the other – MacD– (MacDonald) has nothing to fear – nothing to lose, but surely something to gain – we will by and by setting all this, it being premised, that one of them must always in the anteroom – It seems Madame de R– (Rosny) did not forget her promise, tho’ made in such a manner, that if she had forgotten it, I ought not to have found great fault – I will thank her on my return’ –

mention Miss Margaret Crompton’s intended match and the news of Mrs N–’s (Norcliffe’s) last letter – all right again at Crownest – Mr Wiglesworth’s affairs so bad, will hardly be anything for his grandchild – (worth £17.000 when dissolved partnership with Mr

Thompson – Gill, and his servant and mistress Caroline cheated him) – other local news Mrs Veitch very poorly but better – ask my aunt to ask Mrs B– (Barlow) to as Madame Galvani

‘to tell me how and what to write to the Directeur généneral de Douanes at Paris, to get the duty on the plate I wish to take over, remitted’ –

mention the rate of Duty and terms of Deposit – (vide Birmingham’s letter) – mention the quantity of plate packed up – from 10 40/60 to 11 1/2 wrote the above of today read over my letter and wafered and took it down forJohn to take to the post at 12 – to Madame Madame Lister place neuve de la madeleine No 2 Paris’ –

cut my nails Dawdling over 1 thing or other – wild, windy, rainy day – went out at 12 1/4 to the Coneyry Wood – the men gone to Dinner – very wild and rough and rainy – walked about – musing about planting 2 or 3 trees next west corner Lower Cunnery – down by Benjamin’s – on planting about 5 trees (at 10 yards distance) there – then to the new brook when the Godley road is to cross it – why have a brridge – from 18 to 20 feet deep of cutting – why not slope down to it on each side? – this would save a bridge and we might the most casually get rid of the road altogether – mention this to Mr Waterhouse – and that I should be glad if could help me to manage getting that piece of ground of Mr Emmett’s, cut off on this side, at a reasonable price – went back to the plantation and found the men there (Throp and the 2 wallers) at 1 20/60 – Calculating the expense of planting Bairstow supposing 9 Daywere all trenched at 2/6 per rood acorns dibbled in at 6 inch distance in trenches 1 or 1 1/2 feet distance at 1/. per rood – and afterwards cleaning (hoeing or cartting up as one would here turnips) at 6 d pence per rood – would let the hill on fire before beginning to trench, let it lie all winter, and sow or dibble in in March – Reckoning the walling altogether at 15/. per rood, and allowing £70 for walling, at a rough calculation, said the thing could not

be done, and the trees upheld (cleaned) for 3 years under £300 – the trees from William Keighley we are now planting are of 3 years growth – In nurseries, keep the acorns and other tree seeds over winter and sow in March – make a spade breadth trench by running along the spade and this taking up the earth about 4 inches deep – in this drop the acorns pretty thick and cover about 4 inches deep – the acorns soon come up – some do, and some do not transplant oaks, they have such a long root – If planting in a poor soil and high, bleak place prefers planting in spring to now – the plants in that case often rot and die by being so long in the ground without vegetation – gave Nathan and Robert each £2 on account – Mosey and companion were here this morning, but the day so bad, they went away before dinner – left the plantation about 3 1/4 – met John, and sent him to help to finish the trees laid out and there till the men to go home – came in at 3 25/60 – very wet – changed even to my dressinggown – William Keighley junior came at 4 3/4 – paid him his bill – 2200 oaks putting in at £4 instead of 40/. or 42/. per thousand – ‘to felling wage’ at 1/. in the pound 20/. (having valued the sycamores here at £5.2.0) – I saw he was not at 1st., quite right at this having got the wood but I took no notice – will come and prune, and cut off the upper Cunnery hedge for me –thinks I do right to rail it – He is all for planting in spring, and drought comes, almost sure to droughted – wrote the last 24 lines of today which took me till 5 5/60 –

from 5 1/4 to 6 40/60 wrote 3 pages and the ends, read over and sealed my letter to IN Isabella Norcliffe – nothing particular – said I had left the miniature (likeness of myself by Millet) – at Lawton, so could not now send it to Fisher’s – would send it in a parcel from London – IN (Isabella Norcliffe) – to write and give me her address in Bath as soon as they are settled – ‘You would, of course, think the death of an excellent and ‘lamented friend Dr Belcombe a happy release – they all seem to bear it as well as could be expected’ merely added that Mrs L– (Lawton) seemed to fear her mother would bear up less well by and by there now – M–’s (Mariana’s) health so delicate, know not what to make of it – ‘I often think on the subject with much and painful anxiety’ – no doubt, she can get things over from France, but must pay for them pretty dearly – will ask Birmingham about it – make no promises about Mac D–’s (MacDonald’s) gown – going to France and coming from there makes all the difference in the world – shall take even plate, books, linens, etc. etc. putting return to make for the permission of the Directeur général des Douanes to take over plate duty free, to have anything found that I had not fairly named – should be here over Xmas at least – sent off my letter to IN– (Isabella Norcliffe) (Langton hall, Malton) by John at 6 50/60 at which her dinner – dozed a little afterwards –

came up to bed at 9 40/60 – speaking of the Cunnery, my father would not build a farmstead there, but portion off the land to Benjamin Bottomley’s, Pearson’s, John Oates’s, George Naylors, and Charles Howarth’s – about 40 Daywere thus to divide amongst them – Mrs Robinson told them some time ago they said nothing now of any more building at Lower brea – an improvement in machinery – could get all done by this means at the mile – would set about it next spring – wild, windy,

rainy, rough day – the wind abated and very heavy rain all the evening – 3/4 hour studying Hoppus’s measure –

(SH:7/ML/E/11/0099)(SH:7/ML/E/11/0100)

https://www.catalogue.wyjs.org.uk/CalmView/Record.aspx?src=CalmView.Catalog&id=CC00001%2f7%2f9%2f6%2f11%2f99&pos=1

https://www.catalogue.wyjs.org.uk/CalmView/Record.aspx?src=CalmView.Catalog&id=CC00001%2f7%2f9%2f6%2f11%2f100&pos=1

#annelistercodebreaker #annelister #1828 #shibden hall winter 1828

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prongsno · 7 years

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For Every Broken Dream

Chapter One (read on ao3) {4557 words} ( chapter two) At seventeen, James Potter's only option is to work in service at the large Evans estate as a farmer. He can't mess this up- he needs it more than ever. Shame things are never as easy as we want them to be.

Amidst a heavy blanket of snow there stands a shivering James Potter. His shoes are weak and frayed, multiple holes give the bone-chilling muddy snow access to his already numbed toes. He shivers, it’s unforgivably cold and the chill bites at his skin but still he marches on.

He fights against the harsh winter elements and pulls his tattered jacket closer around his shaking body. Then he stares up, mouth half open in amazement, at the house sitting on the hills.

The Evans manor looms over the horizon. It’s almost threatening.

It’s the largest house he has ever laid eyes on; extravagant and massive. Bright lights shine out of every window and hot smoke curls out of the dozens of chimneys, boastful and mocking.

It’s taunting him.

The closer and closer he gets to it the more… breathtaking it becomes.

It’s elegant and his saving grace, providing him with shelter, warmth, food and coin. And yet he has a terrible feeling that in some ways it will be like a prison. That it will, ultimately, also be his downfall.

He lets out a deep, shaky breath.

He needs the money, he needs to escape the madness, he needs… hope . And this opportunity rose out of the ashes like a God-send; he’d be a fool to pass it up. He could not mess this up.

This was everything to him.

Working for the Evans family, that’s his life now.

“Potter, I presume?” An old woman with striking blue eyes looks him up and down.

He feels her stare, at the state of his mud-splattered trousers and at the drenched jacket. He has half a mind to tell her that he can’t exactly control the weather now, can he? If it was sunny he’d be in a better appearance.

“Yes ma’am.”

But he remembers why he’s here. He remembers how important this is to him. That he can’t mess this up.

He looks at the woman straight and hard, like how he’s been told. Respectful, yielding. He’s in the working world now.

He gives her a clumsy bow, long legs buckle as his back bends. His cap slides off his head almost like it’s flying and lands, gracefully, into the puddle by his feet.

It’s the woman’s look of wild alarm as he grabs for it and squeezes out as much excess water as he can before placing it back over his windswept hair. But it’s also the precarious shadow of someone in one of the large windows, watching as the woman addresses herself as McGonagall, the housekeeper.

James feels somewhat on edge, like he’s in a lions den.

It’s when McGonagall turns away from the house and he follows after begrudgingly that he can still feel that stare on his back.

He gulps; uncertainty and fear cripples him. But he marches on.

Past the house, up the gravel pathway, and into the never-ending wood where the trees are so numerous and dense that in summer time you probably wouldn’t even be able to see the sky through it.

It’s about a ten minute walk before he’s met with the farmer’s fields.

There’s a thick scattering of frost, but he can make out the allotments filled with seeds and growing vegetables, apple trees and bushes surrounding the large farm that’s to the side. A quaint looking, but relatively decent-sized, cottage smiles at him from across the lane. Animal noises and sounds fill the air, it’s almost refreshing.

A plump and excited looking man stands waiting for them, a dog wags his bottle brush like tail non-stop by his feet.

“Mr Slughorn,” McGonagall states when they finally halt to a stop. “This is the boy.”

Slughorn takes James’ hands and he’s swept up into the most uncomfortable and yet pleasant hug imaginable. Calloused and rough hands then shake him, gigantic smiles and well-spoken wishes fill the air, that James is most welcome and that they’re now family.

The big dog lets out a happy woof, far too excited now by the prospect of making a new friend, and runs towards the newcomer. Dirty paws jump at him and then James is on the floor, laughing for what seems the first time in years as a smelly, wet tongue licks his face.

Despite everything, James finds himself grinning.

As long as he tries to forget about what happened… as long as tries to forget about the large house acres away and the rich family who reside inside it, he thinks he’ll enjoy it here.

He gets used to the routine pretty quickly.

It’s a fast paced environment; he wakes up early and sleeps late and does chore after chore. But James wouldn’t change it for the world.

He feeds the chickens with a smile on his face, grooms the Captain Evans’ horses with care and even learns how to milk Myrtle (which he quickly dubs Mooing Myrtle, for the cow is always mooing about something).

Slughorn is also quite the character, forever getting into sticky situations to which James is forever and constantly helping the old man get out of. He’s like an old, embarrassing uncle which he’s never had and it’s suddenly as if he’s always been at the Evans estate.

The farm is like his home, the animals his friends and Slughorn the family member he needs now more than ever.

It’s peaceful and full of tranquillity and soon a day becomes a week, then a month and suddenly he finds that he’s been working at the farm for what feels like his whole life.

He’s never seen the family that live on the house on the hills and he's keen on keeping it that way.

He gives the food and milk to the servants, who then take it back to the house in old wooden carts. One servant, a sweet girl named Mary who he befriends quickly, speaks of nothing but high praise for the family. But he’s determined and stubborn.

No one with that much money is good.

He would much rather stay in the quaint little farm and block out the family living in luxury just on the other side of the field, thank you very much. And so that’s what he does.

There are other helpers and workers on the fields, but the main duties rely heavily on Slughorn, and thus, as his new apprentice, James too.

“You’re doing well, m’boy.” Slughorn beams up at James one day (he towers over the short man, but neither seem to mind).

It’s a fine, spring day when the two are out in the fields, checking on the strawberry plants and discussing the many uses of manure as a fertiliser.

“Thank you,” James grins and picks up a daisy, threading it through the top button hole of his shirt. “I never thought I would say this, sir, but… manure is so fascinating.”

“It really is, my dear boy!” The old farmer laughs and, with a shocking amount of force for such an old and small man, whacks him hard on the back. It brings tears to his eyes, but they’re happy.

“I needed a good chortle,” The old man smiles a little absently. “Say, how much do you think you’ve learned since coming here?”

“Quite a lot, sir.”

James begins to list off the duties he knows how to do by heart, bending his fingers as he ticks them off his mental list.

He admits that he’s still rather new to pruning and that shearing a sheep is his worst nightmare, but Slughorn doesn’t see that as a problem and brushes it off with a wave of his hand.

The man clears his throat and twiddles his thumbs, thinking how best to tell the lad.

“Listen, Potter.” Slughorn starts. “I have to run an errand. Just for a short while… can I leave the farm and the fields in your capable hands?”

James is nodding in an instant. Of course, he would have never been able to say no… but the thought of being in control of the farm and (hopefully) getting a few more coins out of it is certainly enticing.

“I’ve already sent word for someone to help you. Sirius, a young lad who lives nearby. He’s helped me on occasion and has kindly agreed to keep you company and to share the workload.” Slughorn smiles. “He’s a troublemaker, but no doubt the two of you will have immense fun. As long as you don’t neglect your duties to the farm then I have no problem. He’ll be here on the second day of my departure, alright?”

“You can count on me, sir.”

Throughout the following days Slughorn helps James with anything he needs, but the man says he has the utmost faith that he will do a good job.

Then the day finally arrives.

Slughorn puts on his ‘going out’ hat, gets his nicer looking walking stick and embraces him in a tight, father-like hug. He tells James he doesn’t know when he’ll be back, but will send a letter once his errand is done.

Then he places a rake into James’ scruffy hands.

“Remember, Sirius will be here tomorrow to help. I’m depending on you, boy. Don’t let me down.”

He watches as the man hobbles down the lane, waving one last time before the trees block him from view. James waves the rake, feeling too many emotions at once.

And suddenly he’s alone.

It’s a feeling he hasn’t been used to in a while, since before it all happened. He loves and hates it at the same time; it’s unsettling but the fact that Sirius will be here tomorrow makes it slightly more bearable.

So, he decides today he’ll do his best to relax.

Should be easy.

As he walks up towards the vegetation fields he hums out a merry tune. The sun is hot against the back of his neck and he basks in the delightful southern heat. It’s far more pleasant than the horrible weather he’s been used to.

He closes his eyes and exhales. The peace he feels is so uplifting, it’s like he could float away into the clouds.

Breathing in that fresh air had at first seemed so utterly bizarre. He was used to smog and smoke; pollution and dirt everywhere, the tell-tale signs of a bustling, metropolitan city on the move.

But here the air is crisp and kind, the sky always clear and gentle. Here he can relax and not worry.

That is, until he notices a figure by the batch of strawberry plants. The figure clings suspiciously to a basket that’s full to the brim of flowers, whistling rather merrily as they help themselves to strawberries.

James lets out a furious gasp.

The strawberries that he has spent so much time and effort on. That he has laboured and loved over.

He breaks into a run and races towards them.

“Oi, thief!”

His voice rings throughout the fields, causing a few birds to scatter and flurry out of trees. The thief looks up in alarm then breaks into a sprint.

He swears under his breath and hurries after. His legs ache and his chest burns, but he picks up his speed. The thief is fast but James, thanks to all of the manual labour he’s been doing, has the edge.

He reaches out and, after a few failed attempts, finally catches hold of their thieving little basket and pulls with all his might. The handle rips off and maybe he didn’t think this through enough because suddenly the thief gives out a little yelp.

They trip over a stump in the ground then fall, face flat, into a patch of daisies.

He tries to slow down, but it’s no use. He widens his eyes, unable to stop himself, and flies forwards; he hits the thief’s back and falls forcefully on top.

“Ooof!”

Well, this is one way to catch a thief.

James has no time to check for injuries. The thief groans underneath him and tries to wriggle free but he quickly grabs hold of their arms and winds a leg around the theirs, keeping them locked underneath him.

“How dare you steal from this farm! What gives you the right?” He huffs, breathing heavily in the hopes that his racing heart will quickly calm down.

“I wasn’t stealing!” The thief says hotly… sounding extremely feminine and high pitched for a male.

James narrows his eyes and grips a little tighter. Then, with as much strength as he can manage, flips the thief over (surprisingly an incredibly easy thing to do).

The thief isn’t a man at all. It’s a woman.

James blinks and looks at the girl underneath him.

The strawberry thief…

...she’s blinding.

She’s a beautiful sunset. Soft like velvet against his skin.

Her bright red hair flows out onto grass around them, and wide, almond shaped green eyes look up at him.

Freckles adorn her smooth looking skin, splattering across her cheeks and nose like a dusting of icing sugar on a victoria sponge (not that he’s ever had the honour of tasting such a delicacy but he’s seen the beautiful cakes through shop windows, when he’d press his nose against the glass, close his eyes and breathe in so heavily you could almost taste the sweetness on your tongue).

James swallows, suddenly unsure on what to do.

His hands still grip onto her tightly but he realises numbly that their bodies are pressed rather unceremoniously close together. He’s so close that he can hear her short gasps for breath amidst his own heavy breathing. Finally he breaks eye contact and nods towards the basket.

“What do you call that then, eh?” He asks, reaching out to grab hold of one of the plumper looking strawberries.

He waves it in her face. In return he receives a lethal looking scowl and eye-roll. The thief grumbles something under her breath then tries to wriggle free from under his grip.

“I’m not letting you go until you tell me what the hell you think you were doing.” He warns. “And why you’re in boy’s clothes.” He’s only just noticed and stares at her in shock.

She’s wearing an oversized button top and grey cotton trousers. And she’s barefoot.

He opens his mouth to comment on that too, (about how she’s a weird person because, aren’t there brambles and nettles in these parts?) but she huffs and stares up at him defiantly.

“Who even are you? Where’s Slughorn?”

“He’s off doing some errand, he left me in charge.”

He finds it slightly odd that the two of them are making conversation (if that is what you could call it, anyhow) in the bodily situation they’re in and tries his best not to blush. He can’t let the thief know, otherwise she’ll have the upper hand.

He’s never even really talked to a woman his age before, let alone be straddling a young lady and branding them as a strawberry thief.

“Aah.” She nods her head and gives him a smile that throws him off guard.

“So you’re the new protege?” She seems to have no problem whatsoever with the whole situation; she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes and his heart skips a beat, his grip on her loosens.

She glances up at him, craning her neck to look at the rest of him.

“You’re a bit… well. Not what I was imagining.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m extremely capable, thank you very much.”

“Oh I don’t doubt it,” Strawberry Thief laughs and James has to breathe out slowly again.

He needs to keep his wits and remember that she’s committed a crime.

“I just thought you would be younger. More youthful-”

“I’m only seventeen.” James grumbles. “Not exactly a pensioner.”

When she laughs it’s exactly what he imagines Heaven to sound like. Like something in a dream, in a faraway land under shooting stars and beside hundreds of ancient, shimmering caves.

“Look,” The thief starts, catching his gaze. She smiles at him and this time it’s a sweet and genuine expression.

“If I promise not to run away can you, please, release me so we can both stand? Unless you like being in this kind of position-”

In an instant he lets go, like she’s burning metal in his hands. He hears her chuckle and avoids her eyes as he stands. She’s grinning like a mad-man, looking smugly at him, as he moves his chest back, untangles his legs and leaps upwards. Her smirk widens even more when he offers out his hand and she takes it without a second thought.

She’s tiny, only reaching the bottom of his neck and yet she almost outran him. James can’t believe it.

“What’s your name?” She asks as soon as her feet hit the soft grass.

“Uh… James. James Potter.” He drops her hand and scratches the back of his neck. He’s in foreign waters and he has no idea what he’s supposed to do.

“Well, James Potter.” Strawberry Thief nods. “It was fun, but I have to leave now.” She walks towards the basket and James gapes after her.

“Wait, what? I just caught you stealing those and now you think you can get away with it?”

He lunges for three of the berries that still scatter the ground, grabbing them just before she can.

“I have half a mind to report you and bring you to McGonagall. She’s the housekeeper of this estate and runs it for the family who own it.”

“Oh?” She asks, her eyes twinkling. “And what of the family?”

“Dunno. They’re just some poncy rich folk who have too much money on their hands.”

Truthfully, he has no idea why he’s saying any of this to her… he could get in trouble for that. And he’s caught her stealing, he’s just seen it with his own eyes, and yet… yet why is he so reluctant to do what he deems just? She’s just committed a crime.

She’s a thief.

“Then what’s the harm of me taking a few strawberries and flowers?”

He pauses, she’s caught him there. And they both know it.

She stares at him expectantly and folds her arms against her chest, waiting for his answer. He wishes he could wipe that smug look of her face but in the end all he does is sigh.

“Well…” He’s baffled. “I…”

Maybe this girl is poorer than he is. Maybe she’s having as much trouble with life as he was. She only wanted to pick a few harmless flowers and strawberries. Surely he isn't that cruel, right?

“I guess I can let you off this once.” He grimaces at his defeat, trying not to blush when she grins at him and her eyes shine like the stars.

“You can keep those.” She says, nodding to the bundle still in his hand. “For the trouble I caused.”

And with that she skips off down the lane that leads towards the estate.

James shakes his head and follows her with his gaze.

What a crazy woman. Hopefully he’ll never see her again.

Sirius, as Slughorn promised, arrives at the farm promptly at 8’oclock the following morning.

Tousled, messy black hair, bright grey, twinkling eyes. He’s biting a large red apple, chewing it loudly like a cow as he looks James up and down.

“I thought you’d be…” Sirius trails off, crunching into his apple once more. Juice dribbles onto his chin and he wipes his face with the rolled up sleeve of his blue shirt. “Younger?”

“Seriously? What’s wrong with me being the way I am?”

“Nothing!” Sirius lets out a merry hum and walks towards the farm. James has no choice but to reluctantly follow after him.

The lad grabs a spade and hands James the rake with a grin.

“It’s just, well. McGonagall must have really liked you. Usually apprentices are eleven or twelve, y’know old enough to learn and grow but young enough too… are you her son or something?”

“God, no!” James gasps. It’s like something has just stabbed at his heart. He gulps, trying to laugh off the pain. “I was just extremely lucky. At my old home we had a neighbour who was friends with someone whose brother’s wife is McGonagall.”

“Ah, okay. Do you miss your home a lot?”

A deeply personal question, one James isn’t sure if he should (or even could) answer.

“Well I…” He trails off, uncertain. “There isn’t much left for me there. But… yeah. Of course I miss it.”

Sirius nods, biting down the question on his lips.

“So!” He says, trying to brighten the mood. He twirls the spade as they enter the fields. “Have you met any of the Evans lot yet?”

“Honestly, I’ve been avoiding them as much as possible. I don’t really feel comfortable around… um… rich folk.” James says the two words with a grumble, glaring up at the sun as he wipes his forehead.

He misses Sirius’ startled look. That’s not the answer he was expecting. He forces out a huge yawn and stretches his arms up towards the sky.

“They’re not so bad, as far as rich people go anyways.”

As he talks, Sirius shows James a handy trick with the spade. And, once their chores are done, they trail down the fields, towards the farmyard.

They have to load the carts full of dairy produce for the manor today, something that James always hates doing but he’s relieved that he’s got help this time.

It’s Mary who waits by the lane as always, a sweet smile gracing her lips. She has the ability to brighten up any gloomy day and as soon as James sees her he can’t help but relax a little.

“Alright, Mary? Here’s the whats-its and what-nots as always,” James stops the cart, waiting for the other usual servant, Mr Diggory, to catch them all up.

“Afternoon James.” She smiles and gives him a friendly smile and nod. “Who’s your friend?” It’s when her eyes fall onto Sirius that a slight blush appears on her cheeks.

James grins and whacks Sirius, who’s pretending to be fascinated at the dairy produce, hard in the side.

“Sirius.” The boy almost belts out. He glares at James and then finally allows his eyes to fall onto the small girl standing in front of them.

She smiles hopefully at him, her cheeks a little blushed and her eyes full of wonder and hope. He grimaces and forces his gaze to fall onto Mr Diggory, who’s now exclaiming what a wonderful day it is.

“Ello lads, isn’t that sun glorious?” The man smiles and points to the magnificent sun that’s shining so brightly it’s like the manor is sparkling.

James supposes, rather begrudgingly, it is a beautiful sight. And perhaps, when he casts a sneaky glance towards Sirius, who has a tinge of red on his cheeks and is trying his hardest not to meet the gaze of the still awe-struck and bashful Mary, there are some other things in life that have beauty in them also.

Sirius is unusually quiet on their short walk back to the farm (in the short amount of hours James has known him it’s highly apparent that the boy can talk the hind legs off a donkey). He had said goodbye rather abruptly and loudly after the chore was done, forcing James to give a shocked (and definitely disappointed) Mary a sheepish smile as he told her he’d see her later.

What Sirius’ problem is, he has no idea. The boy is definitely handsome and he’s certain he has had his fair share of women showing an interest. But James isn’t one to pry.

“Hey.” He asks, finding it strange to see Sirius so silent. “So what can you tell me about the Evans family then?”

That seems to cheer him up and soon James is listening to an oral essay on the gentry and the manor house.

“The one to avoid is definitely the eldest daughter. Lady Petunia Evans. Horrid woman. She’s betrothed to this walrus of a man and they’re just the most dreadful people. The youngest daughter is nice though, Lady Lily.”

“Huh. I didn’t know they had any daughters.”

They reach the farm. Padfoot runs towards them, woofing happily. The canine jumps up at Sirius, who seems as excited to see the dog as the dog is to see him. Mooing Myrtle moos moodily in the distance, she’s getting a little restless.

“Have you worked here before, then?” James asks, nodding towards Padfoot who Sirius is now cradling in his arms like a giant, fluffy baby.

The boy freezes. “Here?”

“Padfoot’s acting like you’re his best friend. And Slughorn mentioned that you’ve helped him before. He said you lived nearby.”

Sirius lets out an awkward chuckle, puts down Padfoot and scratches his chin thoughtfully. “Oh, ha. I err, I just come by sometimes to help is all.”

“So are you from the estate nearby… what was it called again? Like a colour or something…” James grabs hold of a bucket and walks towards Myrtle.

He misses Sirius’ grimace. “Black. It’s the Black Manor.”

“Right. You work there?”

“I guess you could say that.” He grins.

They work in silence for a while, Myrtle seems a lot happier now and the pig Dolores snorts happily in her pen. But James still has that burning question and he finally lets it out.

“Do you get a lot of thieves around here?”

Sirius looks up in alarm. “Thieves? Like... highway men?”

“Like… um. Girls.”

“Girls?”

James nods, his cheeks hot. “There was a girl and she stole some strawberries.”

“Weird.” Sirius shrugs. “I’ve never heard of a strawberry thief around here.”

“She was weird. She was absolutely barmy. Wore boys clothes and was barefoot. I mean, who does that?”

“That is a very unusual thing… didn’t you ask for her name?”

“Ah… I um.” James drops a glass bottle and he moves his feet quickly away from the shattered glass.

Sirius snorts. “Lost your speech to her beauty, eh?”

“No!” They both know he’s lying. James tries his best to ignore the boy’s suggestive eyebrows. “I err, she didn’t say her name-”

“Well, if she was stealing I doubt she’d give that away freely.”

“I let her go. I could have reported her to McGonagall… but I didn’t.” James scowls as he remembers her. How guilty he felt, how unsure he was. He picks up a daisy, threading the fragile flower through his fingers. “I kept thinking, ‘what if she’s as poor as me?’ and the guilt just gnawed inside at me.”

He doesn’t notice the strange way Sirius scratches his nose. Or the way he looks like he should say something, the boy opens his mouth, but closes it almost instantly. When James turns to look at him he just shrugs his shoulders innocently.

“Guess you won’t find out ‘till you see her again.”

“You think I will?”

The sun is setting behind them. The farmers fields look almost alight under the fierce glare and hot air swirls around them, caressing their faces.

“I bet she’s even closer than you think.” Is all Sirius says.

The two boys watch, Padfoot laid across the both of them, as the sun slowly sinks behind the hills. One day down, another is just about to begin.

#jily #jily fic #jily fanfic #snapslikethis #gxldentrio #jilylicious #cupcakeblake #bantasticbeasts #alrightevans #lilyevane #jily:fic #my fic #WOW SO NERVOUS ABOUT THIS #ITS MY BABY PLZ BE NICE

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