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[origingroup]

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[luxuryvillaskottayam]

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[gurugirl]

Can We Start Over? | Ch. 2 The Job Offer

Series Summary: From the first day you and Harry meet, your relationship is beyond complicated. A one night stand leads to hurt feelings and then a job opportunity that you simply can't pass up is offered. But can you handle working for a man like him? rich!harry x plus size!reader | enemies to lovers

A/N: This is a 5 part series commissioned by @justfattiethings (thank you hon!).

Chapter 2. Summary: You can't stop thinking about what happened the night you met Harry and how much you hate him. But then you get some really good news about a new job. Except there's a catch.

Word Count: 9k

Warning: 18+ only, angst, alcohol consumption

Can We Start Over? masterlist

“Oh my god, Y/n. What a fucking dick. But your response was gold! I wish you’d stayed to see what happened. Holy shit!” Brandy laughed as she clinked her glass with yours, “That was some gangster shit right there!”

You both laughed at your recount of what had happened with Harry. You met your best friend Brandy for Sunday brunch at your usual spot. You had called her on Saturday after your exit paperwork was taken care of with Mr. Spector and said you had some very interesting news to tell her but that you wanted to share it in person. This wasn’t over-the-phone kind of gossip. It was a with-a-martini-in-hand face-to-face kind of gossip.

“And besides… the most important thing is at least you got off. Typical fuck-boy, good in bed but an absolute slut.”

You nodded, “Exactly. And it doesn’t bother me too much, really. Not now. Plus Mr. Spector gave me a really nice parting bonus. And I’m sure I’ll be matched with someone soon for another gig but even if it takes a few months, I won’t have to dig into savings thanks to him.”

And it was true. Mr. Spector presented you with the check and a hug and well wishes and you were nearly in tears by the time you left his estate. The movers were there the whole time, taking furniture out of his lovely home. A home you’d gotten to become very familiar with over the years. You held events and small parties there, you helped him redecorate the master suite and all the bathrooms (well you organized it all and helped the decorators and builders with the design and material selection). You even had your own room there. Not that you often needed to stay but that was part of your job description as a personal assistant. Sometimes you needed to stay. But usually, you’d go home at night.

The service that you worked for assured you there were a few clients in need of a personal assistant and if it was a good match, they’d refer you. That was important. To have the right match. You were lucky you were single and without kids. That meant you were more flexible. But that didn’t guarantee a good match.

You were sure you’d be enjoying a couple of weeks off work off to do nothing. It sounded fantastic.

.           .           .

You hadn’t expected to get an offer so soon. When Monica emailed you on Monday afternoon with the file and details of your new assignment (if you accepted) you perused the document with your mouth agape. You’d been matched with someone with what was known as stealth wealth (most were), who traveled frequently. You’d need to keep a bedroom in their home (not out of the norm) and travel with them from country to country. You would negotiate holidays and time off once meeting in person but the salary offered was the first thing you saw when you looked at the contract. There was no pressure to sign but how could you say no to an offer that would erase your college debt and allow you to buy a home in a year? You couldn’t let this one slip away. 

You emailed Monica back right away that you’d accept it and like to move forward. The next step would be to meet in person. Then, you’d find out more about who you’d be working for. The service was very discreet. The client was always given absolute anonymity until it was time for the first meeting.

You stared at your computer screen as if to will Monica to respond faster. Sipping your coffee you tapped your foot against the floor in anticipation. You kind of would have enjoyed some time off. A week or two of downtime. Sleeping in. Catching up on all the movies and shows you hadn’t had time to watch on Netflix. Order in pizza and Chinese, and day drink in your pajamas. But this opportunity wouldn’t be on the table for much longer. Another person would snatch this up in a heartbeat. That dollar sign alone would see to it.

When Monica finally responded you placed your mug of coffee down, held your breath, and clicked the email.

You’ll be meeting with the client tomorrow at 8:00 am at an address that will be sent to you via our private messaging app at 5:00 am. He requests you bring a physical copy of your resume and if you both agree to terms tomorrow he’ll bump up your salary 10% automatically. Confirm this is okay and I’ll set up the rest. Monica

You squealed as you quickly typed back a resounding Yes! Book it! Thank you!

You stood up and paced. Okay. So you learned the client was a he. Well, you’d blow him away. You’d make him want to hire you on the spot with that lovely little 10% bump.

You already knew the outfit. Thanks to working for Mr. Spector, you’d been allotted a stipend for very nice, and well-tailored outfits for when you needed to look chic and professional. Great for a first meeting, your double-breasted jacquard wool coat in neutral colors with a pop of blue, and your blue silk button-up tucked into your jacquard wool skirt, matching the coat. Stylish, flattering, and appropriate for meetings with a wealthy man who would undoubtedly be dressed very nicely as well.

It was perfect. You couldn’t believe how lucky you’d gotten. A new assignment so quickly and one that paid so well? It felt like fate.

.           .           .          

Harry had his house manager, Lucio, contact a highly recommended service to find a personal assistant for himself. He hated to find someone new because that was just one more person who knew his business. And he preferred having very few people in his circle. But Thasi was dumb. He couldn’t bear to have her working for him another minute. She had trouble with very basic tasks, like adding events to his calendar. She’d even missed two flights that he had booked for her and the last flight she missed he only realized it when she came into his study with a folder asking him about an account he needed to close out.

He stood from his desk and looked at the girl in astonishment, “Thasi. Why are you not 30,000 feet in the air right now? Why are you here standing in my house asking me this question? You are meant to be headed to New York City.” His voice was firm. Irritated.

The girl dropped her mouth open and blinked her eyes until it had finally dawned on her that she had forgotten to make her flight to meet with an art dealer on Harry’s behalf.

“I take it by the look on your face that you now realize your irreversible blunder. You’re fired. I’ll have your things sent back to your home by tomorrow afternoon.”

The poor girl couldn’t even argue with him. She knew she’d blown it. That was her second missed flight, of equal importance. And Harry felt he’d been quite generous and patient with her by giving her another chance. But he shouldn’t have.

So when he learned about Personal Premier Services from a few of his colleagues he decided to look for a PA that way rather than on his own like he had with Thasi. Harry’d had good luck finding staff for everything he needed for the last five years without help. The personal assistant was something rather new to him as he usually did most of his own errands by himself or had Lucio do them. But things were changing in his business and he needed an assistant quite desperately.

Harry woke before the sun rose and took his morning jog. He loved getting his day started earlier than most people. It meant he had time to do things like, exercise, catch up on world news, meditate, shower, and eat breakfast all before most other people would even be out of their beds. He also wished he could just stay awake forever. Wished he didn’t need sleep. There were so many things he could accomplish during the hours he wasted sleeping. But, being that he was only a mere human, his body required sleep.

“Sir? Y/n Y/l/n has just arrived. I have her waiting in the sitting room. Would you like me to bring her up?”

Harry cocked his head and looked to Lucio as he sat his pen down, “What did you say her name was again?”

“Y/n Y/l/n.”

Why did that name somehow feel so familiar?

“No. That’s okay, Lucio.” He stood from his chair, “I’ll go and greet her myself. Thank you.”

Harry’s immediate instincts told him that name was familiar. But why? And oddly, he first let his mind wander to it being you. But it couldn’t be. You were at the ball and he was certain you were wealthy just like him based on your outfit and your demeanor. He’d only gotten your first name that night, not your last name. And while Y/n was your name, the person looking for a job waiting for him downstairs certainly wouldn’t be the same woman who had put a used condom on his hotel door’s handle only to have his now ex-friend-whatever-she-was find it.

Yes. The ex-friend. Aster. He knew he should have stopped their little arrangement before she got too attached. It was never meant to be anything serious. From the start, he told her he was seeing other people but she never wanted to hear about anyone else he might have been sleeping with. And when he realized she started getting attached he should have recognized it was time to end it. But he didn’t.

Harry clenched his jaw and swallowed.

The knocking on his door had come a lot faster than he’d hoped. Aster wasn’t even supposed to be there. Her flight had been canceled so she wasn’t going to make it to New York City. He told her he’d see her the following day when he flew back. But of course, she rebooked a later flight without him knowing. As a surprise. And the call from Aster telling him she was on her way had shocked him and really put a damper on the night he thought he’d be enjoying with you. He just hoped she hadn’t passed you on her way to the door.

As soon as he opened it up, Aster slapped him across the face and held up a napkin with a blush-colored lip stain on it and a scribbled note. But what really had his attention was a droopy condom on his doorknob. Fresh with his come.

“What the fuck, Harry? What the fuck?!”

“Aster, I don’t… what is this?” He knew goddamn well what it was. It was you. “I think someone is just playing a joke on me. This isn’t mine…”

“The note, Harry? Whoever it is knows your fucking name.” Aster pushed passed him to make her way into the room.

Harry looked down the hallway and then cringed as he pulled the condom from the knob with the discarded tissue he picked up off the floor.

“Babe, this was just a cruel joke from someone–“

“Don’t you dare call me babe! And I don’t believe you. Who is going to play this kind of joke on you and then write your name on a napkin from the event you were just at?” She tossed him the napkin, “Hmm? I bet I know who. Someone you just fucked and kicked out because you didn’t think I’d come.”

Harry looked down at the napkin. Sure enough, it said A Secret Garden in the City with Alfred Spector’s company logo printed on it, as well as the note you’d written – Thank you, Harry xx. Bitch. He dropped the napkin onto the bed and ran a hand through his hair.

He didn’t know what to say. And it wasn’t like he’d been all that serious about Aster to begin with. She was gorgeous and they’d known one another for a while but that was where his attraction ended. In all honesty, he didn’t like her that much. Perhaps this was for the better, as much of an asshole as that made him seem.

“Aster, look…” he sighed and sat down at the edge of the messy bed, “You and I weren’t exactly serious. It’s always just been casual. You know that,” he looked at her with her hands on her hips, red in the face, tears just breaking her lash line. “I’m sorry. You and I were never headed for marriage. It was just some fun for a bit.”

“Some fun? I flew out here to see you on a whim. Not because I thought you were just a bit of fun but because I actually did like you. But you know what? You’re right. I don’t think I could have ever pictured myself marrying someone like you. Selfish, pathetic, overly regimented. You’re doomed to die alone, Harry.”

She pressed her lips together and waited for a response but when it didn’t come she stomped toward the door, slamming it behind her on her way out.

Harry smoothed his expensive blazer out and brushed off the feeling he was getting as he walked through the hallway to the foyer and then peeked into the sitting area where his interviewee would be sitting and waiting for him.

He nearly jumped back when his eyes met yours. Both of your faces held the same expression. Complete shock lined with minor disgust.

“This must be a joke,” you stood up from the plush silk-lined chair you’d been sitting in and looked around the room as if someone were going to pop out and tell you that you were on that show, Candid Camera, and it was all for a good laugh.

But the only person in your sight was the man you had a one-night stand with. The cocky asshole who’d treated you like garbage and then kicked you out of his room when he got a call from someone.

“I think there must be a mistake… You’re… are you a personal assistant? I’m confused.” Harry mimicked your body language, pivoting himself to look around to see if he could find someone and demand answers.

“Yes. That’s what I do for a living. But clearly, I have no intention of working for anyone like you, so if you don’t mind…” you picked up your briefcase and began to walk toward Harry to move past him and see yourself out.

But just as you walked through the threshold of the sitting room to the foyer Harry spoke, “Y/n.”

You stopped and turned to look at him in question.

“Come. Let’s have a chat,” he turned and began walking toward the grand stairwell that led upstairs, turning back to make sure you were following.

You blinked your eyes and scoffed as you looked down at your red-painted nails. Should you follow him? What would be the point? Just to hear him insult you and turn you away at the end anyway?

“You are looking for a job, are you not?” Harry spoke from the bottom of the stairwell, his hand on the lacquered wooden banister.

“I am. But… I don’t think this would work out.” You gestured at him.

“You and I are professionals and you come highly regarded. I’m in great need of an assistant. At the very least we can have a discussion and see where it takes us. I don’t like my time wasted and I’m sure you don’t either. You came all the way here. Let’s at least talk.”

Harry thought you looked cute and he could see the gears turning in your head. He could deal with the one night he’d had with you and the very improper thing you’d done which outed him to Aster if you were good at what you did.

“Yeah, but we…” you chose your words carefully, “Friday night? I honestly don’t think–“

“I can look past that if you can. This is strictly professional. I’ve no interest in anything more.”

What were you to do? He hadn’t just been a one-night stand. He was an asshole. Could he really pretend that none of that had happened? Could you?

But. There was the matter of the salary he was offering. An enticing and frankly irresistible number that could have you swallowing your pride.

“Fine. But I can assure you I will not tolerate being treated like…” you paused to carefully choose your words again. You were certain his house had staff listening in.

Before you could find the word you were seeking, Harry spoke, “Like an assistant who is paid to do her job flawlessly?” He began to take the steps upward and you followed.

You frowned at his description. As if you wouldn’t do your job flawlessly. You weren’t sure what he was implying but you had a bad feeling about this.

When you followed him into a large study with dark woods and big windows with heavy drapes, a huge walnut desk with an expensive chair and bookshelves lining one of the walls he closed, and locked, you noted, the door behind himself, “Sit.”

You looked at the plushy green velvet chairs with tufted cushions and ornate carvings in the arms and legs and placed your bag down on the chair next to the one you sat in. He sat in his own chair at his desk and looked at you, a harsh expression on his face. He was far more intimidating in this setting.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he spoke clearly as he kept his eyes pinned to yours, “What you did when you left that night is unforgivable in a personal setting. And because of that, you and I will never be friends. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work well together as boss and employee. I expect complete discretion and a professional attitude from anyone that works for me. Is that a problem for you?”

You felt your ears growing hot as your anger slowly rose, “I am the most professional and discreet personal assistant you’ll ever find. Anyone else will disappoint you and I would also expect that any employer would treat me professionally and fairly. What you did to me that night was insulting and something I will never forget nor forgive. So don’t worry, I’d never want to be a friend to anyone like you.” 

Harry clenched his jaw at your response and nodded, “Fair enough. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk job details and salary.” Harry looked down at his folder and opened it up.

“Salary? That part was already determined. Plus 10% on top if we come to an agreement on terms of employment today.” You reminded him.

Harry laughed and looked up at you with his head tilted to the side as if he were curious about you, “That was before I knew who I was offering such a generous salary to.” He looked down at the paper in front of him, marking something out and scribbling over it. He held the sheet of paper out to you.

You squinted at him and leaned forward to take the paper and your eyes widened at the new number he’d written in on the contract. You laughed and crumpled the paper as you stood from your chair, dropping it onto the floor and lifting your bag, “Goodbye, Mr. Styles.”

Turning and walking over the grand Persian rug that took up most of the floor you reached for the handle and when you pulled realized the door was locked. You placed your fingers over the keyhole and turned back to the smug fucker. He sat comfortably in his chair with his brows raised at you, unimpressed.

“Unlock the fucking door. This conversation is over.” You were fuming.

“And why’s that? I feel like that’s just a starting place. A negotiation if you will. Tell me why you deserve more and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“This isn’t a game. You had a perfectly fine offer that I was willing to negotiate off of but now you’re just insulting me, once again might add. I’d never work for anyone for that wage. Much less a self-absorbed man who treats women like rubbish.”

Harry folded his lips into his mouth as he tampered his grin. His cocky attitude was infuriating, “Oh please. Save the dramatics. Sit.”

You scoffed and shook your head, “No. You’re an overly egotistical moron with nothing to back it up. I will not stand for being insulted this way.”

Harry pushed himself out of his chair and began to walk toward you, “Nothing to back it up? Wrong,” he grinned as he looked around his extravagantly decorated room and back toward you, “This home is a great example of what I’ve got to show for my accomplishments. My bank accounts as well,” he slowly walked to your side and put his hand onto the heavy oak door you were standing in front of as he licked his lips and looked down at your outfit before looking directly into your eyes, “And I’m pretty sure I had you crying my name over and over again when I made you come. I’d say that’s a great reason for my inflated ego. You certainly thought I was great when I had my dick inside of you.”

You swallowed and then scowled at his nerve to bring up such a thing, “Well, like you said, I’m a bit dramatic. I was overplaying it that night because I didn’t want you to feel bad. Now open the fucking door.”

Harry’s smirk didn’t fall as he leaned in closer, “Liar. You loved it,” then he backed away, giving you enough space to breathe, “Not that you’ll ever have a chance to experience it again.”

“Like I’d want that little thing anywhere near me. Now, are you gonna open the door or do I need to call 911 for attempted kidnapping?” You dug into your bag and pulled your cell phone out.

Harry laughed and you watched in dismay as his dimples appeared. He looked too handsome to be such an asshole. He put his hands up in surrender, “Okay. Fine. We’ll go back to negotiating off the original salary plus 10%. Okay?”

You sighed. You hated that you were even considering it. The salary he was offering was too good, though. You could handle him if he kept personal matters out of your working relationship. The worst-case scenario would be that you quit and told the service about him and how he treated you (of course you’d gather evidence so no one else had to put up with his shit) and then find another job working for someone else.

You rolled your eyes and moved past him to go back to your seat.

Harry rounded the desk and sat down, putting his elbows on the desk once again, just like he’d done when you both first sat down to negotiate terms, “There we go. Money talks doesn’t it?”

Unfortunately, he was right. Money does talk.

You rolled your eyes again and looked at the back corner of his office to relieve yourself from his intense gaze.

“Less attitude, Y/n. Let’s begin, shall we?”

You suffered through an hour of going back and forth on expectations with Harry but at the end realized it wasn’t that bad. Once you both got out your frustrations at the beginning it seemed to flow smoothly after.

You even talked him into paying you 15% more, rather than just the 10%. Which you felt was a big win. Harry didn’t seem that phased by it.

He led you to what would be your room, which had your jaw dropping to the floor. It was… gorgeous. Like the rest of the house, it was grand and old but well-kept. The wide plank dark floors were covered with a light cream wool rug with small yellow, green, and blue flowers woven into the fabric. Long soft, lacy drapes hung from the ceiling and brushed against the floor over the tall windows that overlooked the massive back garden full of trees and flowers and fountains. The king-sized four-poster bed had a pale yellow, silk canopy with tiny blue birds sewn into the material. The bedspread was white silk with the same yellow and blue birds sewn in. Ornate, heavy wooden side tables, a dresser with a big vanity and silk-covered cushion sat across from the bed. An antique chandelier hung in the center of the room, high above the bed. Flowers and potted plants with green leaves rounded out the space. There were two closed doors. One led to a small closet (not a surprise it was so small for the period of the house), and the other to a fully updated, spa bathroom which… you really had to pause for a bit as you took it all in.

Harry handed you keys to the house and a fob key that would allow you in the gates that surrounded the home and told you to arrange to have your things moved in by the following day (on his tab) and that you would start work at 8am sharp.

You called Brandy the moment you drove out of the gates to tell her what had just happened.

“It’s him. It’s the asshole one-night stand. I just accepted the offer to be his assistant.”

“I’m coming over with a bottle of wine. I need details in person.”

“Brandy, I’ve got to make arrangements and get everything ready, I don’t know…” you hemmed as you drove down the road with your heart beating fast in your chest. You couldn’t believe you’d just accepted to work with Harry Styles.

“Don’t make stupid excuses with me. You can do all that with a glass of wine in your hand.”

.           .           .

“I see why you took the job. Damn. I’m jealous,” Brandy spoke as she stood in your bedroom doorway while you packed up things you’d need right away. Harry explained that you’d be staying at his house more often during the week than your own apartment. He ran a tight schedule and driving an hour to his house every morning didn’t sound appealing and he didn’t like to be kept waiting.

“Yeah. I was going to say no. I really was but… how can I turn down that offer? I’ve never made so much in my life and honestly? Probably never will again. I figure it’ll be like a trial run. We’ll see if he can be professional.”

You called around and found movers and arranged for them to have everything delivered to Harry’s address the following afternoon. It was still early in the day so you scheduled to have a set of your spare keys delivered by a courier by 5 pm so they could have access to your apartment the following day as you’d be gone.

You were busy the whole time Brandy was there but you were glad she was with you. You marked items you needed to have delivered and printed out a sheet of paper for a checklist for the movers.

But by the time your keys were picked up by the courier and you were halfway through the bottle of wine, you’d finally had time to sit and relax.

“You two are totally gonna fuck again,” Brandy grinned as she looked at the TV.

You scoffed and smacked her arm, “We are not. I’d never go near him again. Not after that night. I actually, fully despise him.”

“Yeah… sure. I mean… I know he was an asshole but also the way you spoke about how good he was in bed? How do you turn that down? You two are gonna practically be living together and traveling together. I don’t know… I looked him up. He’s hot, Y/n. An asshole but… we all have needs.”

Shaking your head you sipped your wine and ignored her. The thought had very very briefly crossed your mind but it was quickly pushed away because the reminder of how he treated you Friday night couldn’t be ignored. You’d never ever forget the way he made you feel so little and so disgusting.

“He literally cheated on someone while he was with me. He had a girlfriend. He fucked me as she was on her way over. Like…” you flailed your arms dramatically, “how could I possibly sleep with someone that is a cheater? I mean willingly? Now that I know?” You shook your head.

Still, Brandy didn’t seem deterred in her assumption, “Yeah… but we don’t really actually know who called him. And if it was someone he was seeing? I mean… come on. It’s not as if they were married. We can gather that much. Yeah, he’s shit for what he did but like… I don’t know,” she shrugged, “It’s not like he cheated on his wife or something.”

Brandy had always looked at things through rose-tinted glasses which was annoying. Where you were more practical and stubborn. There was no way you’d end up in his bed ever again. You didn’t know the excuse for why he kicked you out after he spoke on the phone and called someone babe. But that was beside the point. The more important factor was the way he treated you and that was simply unforgivable.

.           .           .

You were running late. You couldn’t believe it. Your alarm had gone off on time. You showered, ran through your quick morning routine, double-checked that all your things would be delivered to the correct address, and then you were on the road by 6:45 am. You allotted an extra 15 minutes in case of extra bad traffic.

But traffic is unpredictable.

“Hello?” Harry spoke into the receiver. You had your phone on speaker.

“Harry? Mr. Styles!” You corrected yourself, “Um… I’m stuck on the highway and it’s a bit backed up. I’m just giving you a heads up that I’ll be like…” You sighed and looked at the clock trying to make some kind of conservative estimate, “twenty minutes late?”

You heard him grunt in response and then sigh, “Fine. Please come up to my office the minute you walk in.” And then he hung up. That was it.

And of course, you half expected such a response. He gave you little indication of his opinion on you being late. You just hoped he didn’t hold it against you on your first day. It had genuinely been out of your hands. But then again, you being at the house with him on subsequent mornings would mean that being late in this way wouldn’t happen ever again.

When you parked at the front of the house you finagled your suitcase out of the backseat and lugged it up the front steps just as the door opened, “Good morning, Miss. Can I bring this to your room for you?” An older man stood with a smile as he scooped your suitcase away from you.

“Oh. Uh… Okay. Are you sure?” You followed him inside.

“Absolutely. Mr. Styles is expecting you right away.”

You swallowed and watched the man walk away as you took a breath. Your first day working for Harry Styles. Possibly also your last, depending on how everything went.

You climbed the stairs toward his study and knocked twice before pushing the door open gently.

“Come and sit.” He spoke right away. He didn’t even glance your way as he continued typing at his computer when he spoke.

You sat in the same chair you had the day previous and waited for him to finish whatever he was doing.

He cleared his throat and squinted at his computer screen, “I’m an art dealer as I mentioned yesterday. But… it’s more complicated than that sometimes. I deal in art and cultural artifacts that can sometimes be a bit…” he looked at you, “morally grey in the way they are handled. It’s rare but I do occasionally have opportunities and come across certain pieces when a collector is willing to pay an exorbitant finder’s fee for the item.”

“Morally grey. Which means illegal.” You corrected, keeping your eyes on him.

He shook his head, “No. Nothing I do is illegal. Some take issue with some of the items I procure and where they come from, but ultimately, everything I do is technically legal.”

You nodded. You didn’t know what he meant exactly. But you assumed you’d be finding out soon enough.

After Harry explained in detail your schedule from day to day, he had Lucio give you a quick tour of the parts of the house you didn’t see the day before. He even had a binder with your tentative weekly schedule, important numbers to have on hand, addresses, passcodes, a new laptop, and passwords to his login details for various online accounts. He also handed you a credit card, “You’ll make all your own arrangements as well as mine. The limit on this card will cover the cost of flights and accommodations. You and I will be traveling frequently, as I mentioned yesterday.”

Your morning was filled with short bursts of Harry giving you information and what to expect, but half of that consisted of you waiting while he spoke on the phone and typed out emails. You couldn’t imagine why an art dealer would be as busy as seemed to be. Clearly, he was making lots of money so there was no doubt that he was busy with clients. But why?

You researched the ins and outs of being an art dealer the evening before, once Brandy’s Uber arrived to take her home. The typical art dealer did not make the kind of money you knew Harry had. Most also typically worked through auctions, galleries, and museums. Harry seemed to be his own entity doing deals as an individual.  So you knew he wasn’t typical in his field.

At lunchtime you were hungry. You’d eaten something small before dashing to your car that morning but that had long been digested.

“Mr. Styles?” You looked at him from your spot in your chair as you closed your new laptop.

He looked at you with an eyebrow raised.

“It’s lunchtime for me. I was hoping I could get something to eat if that’s okay? You should probably also eat. I can bring you something if you take your lunch up here.” You honestly couldn’t have cared less if he ate, but you were so used to making sure Alfred ate that asking Harry was automatic.

Harry’s brows scrunched together and he looked at his computer screen, “Hadn’t realized the time. Sure. Feel free to make something for yourself or you can ask Carl to. I’d like a vegan cassoulet.”

You stood and looked at him in confusion, “A vegan… what?”

“A vegan cassoulet,” He pronounced the word obnoxiously, “Carl will know what I want. Just tell him.”

You repeated the word to yourself. Cas ooo lay – cas ooo lay… You thought it sounded like one of those French dishes you’d never ventured to try.

In the kitchen, you found Carl right away and told him what Harry wanted.

“And what for you?” He began to pull out pans and got to work right away.

“I can manage. I think just a sandwich. Is everything here in the fridge?” You opened up the door and immediately were overwhelmed by the amount of groceries and items packaged inside. The fridge itself was state-of-the-art. Everything in the kitchen was.

Carl laughed and stepped up behind you, “You can find everything you might need in this kitchen yes. But perhaps we’ll leave the cooking to me today, just until you get used to where everything is. What kind of sandwich would you like?”

“Oh. Maybe that’s a good idea. You don’t mind?”

Shaking his head, Carl reached passed you to pull out some vegetables, “Not at all. This is what I do. How about a French bread panini? I can slice up some turkey and Swiss, load it with vegetables? Or maybe you’d prefer grilled chicken and pesto? Egg salad? Or are you vegetarian?”

You laughed and shook your head, “I’m definitely not vegetarian. And the first one sounds fine. Turkey and Swiss panini. Any veggies you put on it will be good. I just don’t like mayo.”

It was wild to be having lunch made for yourself by a professional private chef. And Harry’s cassoulet looked divine but after googling it you learned it’s usually made with various kinds of meat and that the duck confit is what makes the dish. But since his version was supposedly vegan, you couldn’t imagine it tasting anything like it was probably supposed to.

You also learned that Carl wasn’t just a personal chef. He also did all the grocery shopping.

After lunch, your belongings arrived. The movers placed everything in your new bedroom and handed you the key to your apartment before they left.

“This is it?” Harry asked standing in the doorway as he looked around at the boxes and bags you’d had delivered.

“Yeah. I don’t have much I need to keep here. You’ve got the room fully furnished. Just my clothes and essentials.” You shrugged as you opened up the box near the bed.

You could feel Harry’s eyes on you as you dug into the box and pulled out your potted Pothos plant. “What?” You looked at him as you placed the plant on the floor.

“Nothing. Um,” he scratched the back of his neck, “I think it’s a good stopping point today. We’ve got you set up on everything so you can unpack and relax. Normally our days will be longer but since it’s your first…” he put both arms down by his side and stopped fidgeting, “It’s good for today. And like I said earlier, you are free to watch TV in the main room downstairs or get anything from the kitchen you need at all. You don’t need to just stay in your room all night unless you choose to.”

You squinted at him, wondering if there was some kind of catch. He was rather pleasant, you had to admit. After you both got everything out of the way the day before things had been fine. Normal even. But you still had to keep your guard up around him. And all it took to remember who you were dealing with was what he’d done that night.

You decided against going downstairs to watch TV. Maybe you’d feel comfortable enough to do that later on but that night, it felt nice to take a long bath and listen to music and then curl up on your soft, silky bed with your laptop and Netflix.

Though you did get thirsty. And a bit hungry around 8. So you ventured down and hoped to not run into anyone.

Except of course, you ran into someone. When you entered the kitchen you saw Harry standing in front of the refrigerator looking in. Apparently, he had the same idea as you.

You cleared your throat and Harry turned to see you there, “Oh, hey.” He closed the fridge and faced you, “Need something?”

You nodded and stepped toward the pantry, “A little hungry and thirsty. Is it okay?”

“Of course it is. Help yourself to whatever. I was just about to make some pasta. Something simple. Would you like some?”

“Yeah. I can help you make it. What do we need?” You neared the fridge and opened it up, pulling out a glass pitcher of water.

Harry ran down the list of ingredients, which weren’t many, and you helped him slice garlic while he boiled the pasta and poured a can of San Marzano tomatoes into a small pot.

Everything came together quickly and you both sat at the island to eat the late-night meal together.

“Tomorrow we’ll book a trip to Vancouver. Someone has a few pieces I’d love to see in person.” Harry explained what to expect on the trip as you listened.

Then you got to talking about your parents and then college. Harry shared a little about himself but it wasn’t much. You didn’t expect that he would, but he did tell you about his mom and sister. You could tell how important they were to him just by the way he spoke. It made you feel warm toward him in a way knowing that he cared about people other than himself. Something you hadn’t been sure about as he seemed so cold.

When you were both done you tried to help him clean up, “You don’t have to do this, Y/n. I’ve got a housekeeper who will be here in the morning. Why don’t you go to bed?”

“Are you sure? Are you headed to bed?” You asked as you placed the forks into the sink.

He nodded, “Yeah. Time to call it a night.”

“Do you always go to bed this early,” you grinned as you refilled your water to bring it with you to your room.

He raised his brows, “Yeah. I get up at 4:30 in the morning to start my day so 9:30 or 10 is about when I go to bed.”

You cringed to yourself. 4:30 in the morning? That sounded like hell.

You both went your separate ways as you bid Harry good night.

.           .           .

You had a busy morning. You booked a trip for the following week to Vancouver for yourself and Harry. Two nights at The Four Seasons (2 separate rooms, connected), first-class airline tickets, a reservation for the 2nd evening at a nice restaurant for four people, an on-call driver for the whole visit, and set-up details with someone’s assistant named Lana for the meeting.

Harry wanted everything to be perfect so you had to work at extracting as much information from Lana as possible. At first, Lana sent you an itinerary that was rather simple and would have most people feeling good about the meeting. But Harry took one look at it and knew he needed more information. So you spent the majority of your morning speaking with the young woman and filling in details that appeared to be missing.

“This is excellent, Y/n,” Harry looked up at you as he stood from his desk. The itinerary and all the bookings were taken care of. “I’m leaving to take care of something personal. You can have the rest of the day off. Thank you.”

You felt pleased. So far, working for Harry hadn’t been all that bad. He was picky and hard to please but you could handle him. You just hoped that the momentum you two had would continue into the weeks ahead.

.           .           .

You met Brandy out at your favorite club. You wore a cute black dress and black booties and your black leather jacket.

“Oh damn, girl! You look good!” Brandy called to you when she spotted you through the crowd.

“I can’t stay all night! I have to work in the morning, so I stop at 2 drinks!” You spoke loudly so Brandy could hear.

Brandy’s side eye told you that your friend would be trying to get you to enjoy yourself for longer. But you couldn’t. The last thing you wanted to do was to be on Harry’s bad side and be hungover the next morning.

But, Brandy was convincing. Too convincing at times.

Four martinis in and you were painfully aware that you wouldn’t be driving back. You’d need an Uber and that kind of sucked because Harry would know when your car wasn’t there. But… since you’d already need to Uber and you were already out, you had a fifth martini and danced with Brandy and forgot all about your promise to yourself.

The night grew blurry and you couldn’t stop talking about your boss.

“He’s so put together too,” you slurred as you and Brandy leaned into one another, too drunk to dance or drink anymore.

“I know. You keep saying that. And how big his cock was,” Brandy laughed and you pushed her, causing her to stumble back dramatically so you reached out to steady her but wound up falling with her to the floor in a fit of laughter.

Yeah, you’d gotten sloppy drunk.

“I need to go,” you pushed yourself up to stand as you reached for your cell phone. You could hardly see straight, and pulling up the Uber app was simply not going to work. Instead, you called the second to last person you’d texted, Harry. You really hadn’t put much thought into it.

He answered the line and you pushed your way toward the front of the club to go outside, dragging Brandy with you, “Harry!” You howled loudly.

“Where are you?”

“I’m at Club Yega. Can you pretty please come pick me up? I’m so drunk.” Your voice was scratchy and your words were watery.

Once you got outside you repeated your question, unable to hear what Harry had responded to you.

“Okay. Just wait for me outside. Is there anyone with you?” He sounded concerned.

“Brandy is here and the security guy standing by the door,” you said matter-of-factly before hiccupping.

Harry told you he’d be there soon and Brandy wobbled into your side as she used one eyeball to call an Uber for herself.

You were unable to recall how long it took for Harry to arrive, or when Brandy had gotten into her Uber and left but when you saw him, he was standing over you with his hand out, “Up you get,” he grasped your hand and helped you stand up. You’d been sitting on the sidewalk.

“Should be more responsible,” Harry chided you as he helped you to his running car, “No one’s watching over you. Where’s this friend you had with you?”

“She was here I promise but her Uber came to get her,” you stumbled into his car and plopped down into the seat with an umph!

Harry looked back at the front door security person and nodded to him as he rounded the car and got inside.

“Harry, I’m sorry. I was going to only have 2 drinks. Swear.”

“It happens. But you should have called me sooner. Don’t like that you were sitting out there alone like that. It’s late. And we have an early day tomorrow.”

You turned to look at him as he pulled into the street and reached a hand up to the curl that covered the top of his ear, “You’re so pretty. Which is weird because you’re such a fucking dick.”

Harry shook his head and laughed to himself as he kept his eyes on the road.

“I’m serious. You’re too pretty for it to be real. Your voice even.” You croaked.

Harry glanced at you quickly, “Oh yeah?” His grin widened. He knew the alcohol was talking but he certainly didn’t mind hearing your thoughts about him while you were inebriated.

“Yeah,” you lowered your finger to his shoulder and then poked at his bicep before dropping your hand back into your lap, “Nice everything. Except you’re not actually nice are you?” You let out a garbled laugh and closed your eyes for a moment.

“Hey… Come on. You’re drunk. Just close your eyes and we’ll be home soon.”

You shook your head and looked back at him, “Bossy too. But it sucks because it was so good that night. God I still think about it… and then I remember how you kicked me out like I was filthy. That was mean. Hurt my feelings.”

Harry sighed and stayed quiet. He was not going to engage in this kind of conversation with you while you were drunk. He was sure you wouldn’t remember any of it anyway.

But you didn’t stop there, “I wish I could stop thinking about it, though. S’not fair.”

Harry kept his eyes on the road and listened.

“The way you sounded when you were coming. I keep hearing it,” you squeezed your thighs together and looked out the window with a soft sigh. “Never had it like that before. But fuck you.”

Harry swallowed and blinked his eyes. He was a little surprised by your drunk confession. He liked that you thought fondly of some aspects of that night. Clearly you had enjoyed the sex. But to hear you saying how your feelings were hurt and that you were still angry about it all?

He looked over at you and down to your thigh where your dress had ridden up quickly before looking back at the road. He still refused to engage in this. You were drunk. Very much so.

“And your hands, Harry…” you reached over to brush your fingers over the back of his hand that was gripped on the steering wheel, “Oh god…” you breathed your words, “Your fingers. How good you are with them,” you bit your lip and leaned your head back into the leather seat and closed your eyes. “But still fuck you.”

When you were silent for a few minutes Harry looked over at you and noticed you were asleep.

He was glad you’d stopped staying the things you were. Your words had him confused. You were going from hot to cold fast. But he knew you wouldn’t ever reveal such things to him if you hadn’t been so far gone.

Waking you up gently, he put his arms under yours to help you out of his car, “We’re home, Y/n. Let’s get you up to bed.”

You were able to use your legs, but things were spinning. You clung tightly to Harry as he slowly brought you upstairs to your room.

When your bottom hit your mattress you laid back and sighed, “I might throw up,” you said.

Harry laughed quietly and shook his head as he helped you out of your shoes. He knelt down and unzipped the leather to pull each one off. He didn’t intend to let his eyes wander over your legs and your thighs, but your dress had gotten bunched up so he could practically see your panties. And then they were fully on view when you scooted yourself into your bed further.

Harry leaned over you and pulled your blankets up over your body, “I’ll be right back with water.”

He couldn’t believe how adorable he thought you were. Even though you were still angry at him over what he’d done he liked the sass a little. He was definitely attracted to you. There was no doubt in his mind about that. He tried not thinking about that night with you but after you’d brought it up he couldn’t help himself but to indulge in thoughts of the way you felt and how wet you got for him. Your body, your voice… You were good with your hands too, he smiled remembering your comment about how you liked his hands. But of course, the smile fell from his face when he remembered how the night ended. How shitty he’d been. But now things were too complicated and he wasn’t sure that any kind of apology would ever be enough.

When he got back to your room you were asleep. Out cold. He placed the water on your nightstand and brushed his fingers along your forehead. You were cute.

He plugged in your cell phone and smiled at your sleeping face.

“Good night, pretty girl,” he whispered as he turned off the lamp next to you before leaving the room and closing the door behind himself.

Part 3

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Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕

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[sobwh]

Sixaluminium - Devasa+

Aluminum extrusion is a process used to create parts with specific cross-sectional profiles by pushing heated alloy material through a die. This process allows for the creation of various shapes and sizes, making it a versatile method for manufacturing aluminum profiles. Despite its importance, many people may not even notice the prevalence of aluminum extrusions in their homes. In Turkey aluminium manufacturer, companies like Aluminance Aluminum Industry and Trade Inc. and Ş. are leading manufacturers of aluminum extrusion profiles and composite panels. These companies play a crucial role in providing high-quality aluminum extrusion products for various industries, including construction. The construction industry greatly benefits from the use of aluminum extrusion profiles. Aluminum construction are lightweight, strong, and corrosion-resistant, making them ideal for construction applications. They are commonly used in windows, doors, and other architectural elements due to their structural integrity and cost benefits. Additionally, aluminum extrusions offer sustainability advantages as they are recyclable and can be repurposed for other projects . The use of aluminum extrusions in construction also contributes to faster construction timelines, as they can be easily fabricated and installed. Overall, aluminium systems profiles have become an essential component in the construction industry, offering a range of benefits for architects, builders, and homeowners alike. In Turkey aluminium extrusion manufacturers like Ş. have played a significant role in supplying the construction industry with high-quality aluminum profiles. These profiles are used in various applications, including aluminum systems for windows, doors, and facades . The 40-Series Aluminium Extrusion Profile produced in the EU is a popular choice for construction pr aluminium veranda ojects due to its quality and durability. The use of aluminum extrusion profiles in construction not only enhances the aesthetics of buildings but also provides structural stability and longevity. With the continued advancements in aluminum extrusion technology, the construction industry can expect further innovation and development in the utilization of aluminum profiles for various architectural and structural applications.

[geminimoonmadness]

𓅀PET ASTROLOGY𓅇

Copywrites reserved ©️Gemini Moon Madness

Like humans, animals have unique natal chart placements. This post is in regards to your pets sun sign, though if you are aware of their moon sign, you may see those traits come through as well.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

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Aries pets like to lead the way and be in charge, especially when on a walk! (They’re the dogs tugging on their leash) These pets will be harder to train than most and are known to not come when they’re called. Even though they have highly independent traits, they will still want to be the centre of your world. These pets may always be injuring themselves in accidents quite often and get to know the vet very well lol. They are confident & strong no matter what kind or size.

Taurus pets are extremely laid back. They love food to the point they’ll always check whatever you offer them out even if they’re not hungry or in the mood. They love to take regular naps! They appreciate affection but only when they’re in the mood. They can also be shy & don’t like be shown off to strangers. Loud noises and chaos stress them out so they need a peaceful environment.

I had a Taurus dog that was terrified of thunderstorms & lawn mowers. Even the noise of the builders 2 doors down was enough to force him out of his element.

Gemini pets can get moody. They can be passive and agreesive, have their good and bad days, sometimes they are outgoing, sometimes they’ll be reserved and distant. They are a quick learner as they are quite smart. They prefer to form a bond with more than one person rather than following the “ownership” dynamic. These pets are prone to separation anxiety/nervousness, they can be indecisive in their eating habits, love going for walks and are affectionate. They also love social environments and being spoken to.

Cancer pets are loving and may need continuous attention and reassurance. They are such sweet pets, very sensitive. They like to comfort eat & can become overweight/unhealthy easily. They make friends with other pets, as if they were a companion to them also. Moving home or visiting new and unfamiliar places can make these pets uncomfortable and a lil annoyed with you - They may not seem like themselves for a while until they settle in or get over it.

Leo pets have a pride about them, they’re warm, generous and the most loyal pets out there. They have energy to burn and will always be up for an outdoor adventure (their favourite!!) They love being heard and are known to regularly bark, even for no reason lol. This pet will enjoy to be the centre of attention wherever you take them, whether you’re at home, a friends house or the park, this pet is happy in the spotlight. Other pets may bully your Leo pet due to jealousy & feeling the need to assert dominance.

Virgo is the calm and quiet pet. They love routine and don’t like change, though these pets can handle stressful situations quite well. They like to follow you around, they will be a loyal travelling buddy as they tend to stick by your side when they are outdoors. Very intelligent and analytical which makes them easier to train than most pets. They enjoy it when you talk to them throughout the day, they may even try respond with their voice.

Libra pets are indecisive, one day they may like a treat, the next they will turn their head up at it. They will usually eat when they want to. They need structure and going with the flow won’t work for these pets. They also may suffer from a short attention span, (similar to ADD) which makes them slightly harder to train. These pets are extremely loving and need gentle discipline to feel safe & secure.

Scorpio pets are highly emotional but also strong willed. They usually get what they want and tend to stand over other pets, maybe even people! They require structure, because without it they will take advantage of everyone and everything they come in contact with. These pets would benefit from daily exercise/activity to relieve stress and built up tension (dog: walks, bird: let out of cage, cat: backyard time, toys). These pets love being groomed and in your company. They know what’s bad company and don’t forget when they’re wronged, they may make it known when they dislike someone.

Sagittarius pets love a challenge. These pets have such a happy go lucky vibe to them, they’re very outgoing and kind. They radiate positivity, maybe even with a visible smile on their face. These pets have a tendency to be picked on by other pets, so keep an eye on them. They believe you’re their one true love and will adore your affection. They are very loyal and will want to be with you at all times, this sometimes turns into separation anxiety with some Sagittarius pets. They love to have another companion in the house, they like company so the more pets the merrier for them.

Capricorn are the clean pets, they are extremely grounded and will act the way as you’d typically expect the species/breed of pet to act. Very easy to train though they do have a mind of their own. They always want to be working as they enjoy keeping busy. They love to run around! These pets don’t sleep as much as other pets do and they also suffer from anxiety in stressful situations. Capricorn pets may not like having a companion and will take their time to get used to any new pets or people.

Aquarius pets are highly intelligent and intuitive. They are unpredictable and can go from 0 to 100 real quick! They like to do what they want and when they want. They make for extremely loving and friendly pets. These pets will befriend another companion despite what it is whether you get a dog, cat or chicken. (They’re the pets you see in those cute videos where a pig and cat are besties or dog and duck, etc 🥹) Aquarius pets need their space and enjoy alone time to plot their next surprise for when you least expect it!

Pisces pets are the most sensitive out of the lot. They are very sweet and need a tranquil atmosphere to flourish as they can get stressed out easily. These pets usually get bullied by other pets for their non-aggressive nature. They are independent in the way that they do what they want without attracting attention. Pisces pets are sensitive to your emotions and may require gentle training and when they become afraid they want you to be there comforting them. They know what you want and will have YOU well trained 😉

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꧁꧂ That was fun to create, how was it to read!? Who wants to see more Pet Astrology?

ღ I appreciate all interactions & feedback ღ

#astrology #astrology observations #astro community #astro posts #astro notes #astrology community #astrology posts #astro observations #pet astrology #pets #zodiac #pets astrology #astrology notes #pets zodiac #dog astrology #cat astrology #Aries pet #Taurus pet #Gemini pet #cancer pet #leo pet #Virgo pet #libra pet #Scorpio pet #Capricorn pet #Sagittarius pet #Pisces pet #aquarius pet #animal astrology

[bubybubsters]

Love you too (modern!au!rhys x reader)

a/n: thus begins the collection of fanfics all in modern times and Rhysand x reader. yeah.

warnings: rhysie

wc: 475

masterlist

*****

Rhysand trudged up the River House driveway, all the while regretting letting his brothers design such an elaborate house. It must be fit for a boss, they’d said. It was fit for a boss and unnaturally beautiful. And he did particularly enjoy the great balconies with outstanding views, but the god damned driveway was way too long.

However, Rhys smiled at the thought of the person waiting inside the big, elaborate house in question. You, who he’d found working at the local post office that was closing down. You, who he’d offered a place in his home because he’d heard you ranting on about how your apartment was being torn down for some stupid ass technology business.

Said technology business was run by him. He’d never felt so much soul-crushing guilt then in that moment. He’d almost asked the builders to stop destroying the already destroyed apartment building but you’d laughed, and reassured him that the owner was an ass and deserved it all.

So you’d secured a new job at the Velaris bookstore that payed well enough yet you hadn’t moved out. Whether it be the nice house or just not wanting to find another apartment and move out, Rhys was glad for it.

All that had been almost a year ago.

Rhys unlocked his front door and stepped in, ready for the usual sound of a sizzling hot meal and the smell of fresh made food, instead all he heard were snores. A frown made its way to his brows and he dropped his bag on a hook before heading down the hallway. As he passed each room he glanced in to see nothing even slightly different from this morning when he’d left. When he reached the sitting room his frown melted and a smile instantly curved his lips. There you were, curled up with a book resting against your nose, fast asleep.

He pulled out his phone, dialing chipotle and asking for your regular order before grabbing your book and setting it in the table, not before marking your page, he’d made that mistake before. He found the nearest blanket and was pulling it over your shoulder when a few harsh knocks and impatient doorbell rings were heard.

“Hurry up, you idiot, it’s laser tag day.”

He cursed softly having forgot all about his weekly boys night. He quickly sent a text to Az asking for a minute and to calm Cassian down.

Rhys kissed the crown of your brow softly and murmured a gentle, “I love you.”

He froze, he’d never said that before… but he’d definitely thought it. It didn’t matter, you were asleep anyway. He grabbed a jacket and headed out.

What he didn’t see was your secretive smile as you opened your eyes and the door slammed close, you whispered into the empty room, “I love you too.”

*****

a/n: Sorry for the nonexistent updates. Love you guys.

taglist:

@thelov3lybookworm @profound-imagination

#bubybubsters #acotar #fanfic #acowar #rhysand x reader #rhysand #rhys x reader #rhys acotar #rhysand x you

[magnoliadale]

Utopian Tailgate by magnoliadale

In my builder era and was inspired to recreate Chicago's very own playground for grownups, Utopian Tailgate! This venue offers a never-ending partyscape for San Myshuno residents with colorful decor and interactive games for an indoor-outdoor experience. I'm quite proud of this build and I'm excited to share it with the sims community. This build is pack heavy and uses the CC listed below.

Lot Details: Placed on the 30 x 20 Fountainview Penthouse lot in San Myshuno.

Download Here: X

EA Packs Needed: Get To Work, Get Together, Seasons, City Living, Discover University, Eco Lifestyle, Island Living, High School Years, For Rent, Dream Home Decorator, Dine Out, Growing Together, Movie Hangout, Courtyard Oasis, and Backyard Stuff.

Required CC:

Harrie (Grooved Concrete Wallpaper): Brutalist , Klean Seemless Pivot Door (Medium Wall Height: X , Kwatei Slim Window (Medium Wall Height): X & Coastal Bathroom Mirror: X

Felixandre Colonial Potted Lipstick Palmtree Plant: X

Lilith Chilling Areas: X

Awingedllama Apartment Therapy Stuff Pack V2 (Macrame Hanger 1 Short): X

Tuds Cross Padded Double Seat: X

Myshunosun (String Lights): X & Midsummer Eve Potted Citrus Plant: X

#ts4 #sims 4 #the sims4 #the sims community #showusyourbuilds #magnoliadale #ts4cc #ts4 build #ts4 simblr #ts4 interior #ts4 gallery #ts4 screenshots #simblr #the sims 4 #sims4 #sims community #sims 4 simblr #the sims cc

[the-bramble--patch]

I’ve been seeing a few posts on minimalism going around, one being @bisquitt’s post on sustainability and minimalism—how the two terms shouldn’t be conflated, and how real sustainability is about anti-capitalism in the forms of reuse, repair, and community interdependence. Another is @allstrangeandwonderful’s post on how Minimalism is an aesthetic based around coping in the "corporate hellscape" we live in—contemporary designers gravitate towards neutral colors as a respite from the warlike corporate use of color to catch the attention of a consumer (See Mina Le's video on this concept also. She offers up a few possible reasons for this trend towards "greige" interiors, one being the inundation from advertising we experience in our everyday lives).

I wanted to talk about these concepts and tie in some other things I’ve been seeing around.

Imo, minimalism is anti-consumerist, but not anti-capitalist. The lifestyle and aesthetic is intended to address the systemic problem of living in a consumerist society on an individual level. Instead of ending the capitalist system that thrusts consumerism on us all, it suggests that minimalists create a safe space away from consumerism. It is not interested in changing the system, only the individual. What really drove this home for me was watching The Financial Diet on YouTube interview The Minimalists, the guys who kicked off the trend. She keeps trying to ask them about the underlying issues Minimalism acts as a band-aid for, and they keep dodging her questions.

The lifestyle choices bisquitt offers up as sustainable are typically lumped under the umbrella of Solarpunk: “fixing shit around your house. thrifting. patching clothes and handing them down. a community garden. potluck dinner parties. farmer’s markets. a barter system among friends and neighbors. kindness. love among community members.“ These things do not conform to the minimalist aesthetic tenets of order, function, and simplicity. They are often vibrant, mismatched, and chaotic, messy even (see my post on solarpunk aesthetics here). This is because solarpunk aims to solve the same issues minimalism does, but on a societal level. Solarpunk is working towards a utopian future of degrowth, where the forces that Minimalism is in opposition to will no longer exist. This allows for everyday people to reclaim vibrancy from corporations. That busyness is only desirable in a world where capitalism isn't such a burden. Solarpunk advocates for simplicity in all but design, instead of the other way around.

Another thing is the separation between meaning and function present in Minimalism. Minimalism is often associated with deriving pleasure from experiences, not things. The physical space is deprioritized (I know the movement is about changing the physical space, but the idea is that the physical space just makes your life more efficient) for a kind of zen outlook about mind over matter. Solarpunk is much more holistic in its recognition that inner peace comes from a play between the external and internal worlds—from connection and respect for people, things, and resources. Instead of removing meaning and beauty from a space to prioritize the mind, Solarpunk instills it, to elicit interaction with the world instead of a retreat from it. Thus, Solarpunk rolls meaning and function into one: a visibly mended shirt is both functional (the hole is gone), and meaningful (it says much more about the politics of the wearer than one mended invisibly). Another example is the bottle walls commonly used in Earthships: Making the bottles visible is beautiful, and it communicates that the builder is interested in using sustainable material.

In short, minimalism is individualist while Solarpunk is collectivist, and the aesthetics of each reflect that. Retreating from a broken society will not fix said society. Sustainability needs to be solved on a societal level, so minimalism as a solution to overconsumption just isn't gonna cut it.

#solarpunk #sustainability #minimalism #solarpunk aesthetics #mine #my writing

[reimenaashelyee]

I think I've never detailed your website until now, it is incredibly organized! As an artist who knows only the basics of programming and creating webpages, but is very interested in having one, may I ask, what site hosting do you use? or which one do you recommend? i don't really know anything about that. I would love to see the resurgence of the personal website/ blog.

Thank you!! My website and the infrastructure I've built surrounding it is my pride and joy! More and more lately I've come to appreciate the security it's given during these trying internet times.

I use Wordpress and a drag-and-drop builder called Live Composer (I wouldn't recommend it over its competitor, only because Live Composer has very bad documentation). My hosting is SiteGround. All those tools are stuff I adopted 10 years ago, since I started The World in Deeper Inspection. This way of using Wordpress - being accessible but labyrinthe and too-much - suits me, probably because my personality is like this too.

But a lot of people want something simpler. I'd recommend pursuing resources from MelonLand, The Cheapskate's Guide and Sadgrl to get started. They are more for static site generation, of the neocities type. And in their simplicity, they offer you more control compared to my set-up. They are also part of a movement called the Indie Web or Retro Web, which I consider myself a part of mentally and spiritually, if not fully. These are folks who are bringing back blogs, webrings, web surfing, and all the ways that made the internet fun and fresh back then.

If my website seems super organised, it's less about the tools used and more due to the thinking I have developed for it - coming up with an approach of how I want to be presented online, imagining my ideal site experience and implementing it, as well as solving the problem of having both a Professional Site + a Casual Personal Online Home under the same URL. Here's a blog post I made recently about A Personal Website VS A Portfolio, and an older post, Site Revamp + Artist Sites Should Be More Fun Maybe?, that describes my website/internet philosophies. From those two, the main point to take away is that establishing the landing page as a signpost that allows the visitor to choose their destination solved basically my problem of profesional/personal separation.

TLDR I have a lot of thoughts about making artist websites and returning to the independent web!! This has been a 3 years journey for me!!!

[sharks-n-bones]

Psst hey guys guess what

Guess what time it is

If you guessed Clay time then

YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT IT'S CLAY TIME BABY I FINALLY FISHED HIS STORY BIT LET'S GO

When the flood hit, Clay was suspicious. He kept track of when the rivers usually flooded and other such events so their little village of survivors would be prepared for everything. That being said, the rivers shouldn't be flooding. It was too late in the year for it to be from snow on the mountains melting, and it hadn't rained recently enough for that to be the cause. There were no dams that could've burst to cause such a flood (he'd checked. Like mentioned earlier, this man wanted to make sure their village was prepared for anything), so the rivers overflowing immediately made him wary

Even still, they followed the safety protocols they had for floods. They made sure all gaps and cracks and entrances to the old Bergen golf course were sealed off and patched so no water would seep through. During their time there, they'd also built the walls that surrounded the golf course higher to be on the safe side. He hoped figured that as they usually did, the flood would recede in a few days time, a week or two tops

However, after the first week, the flood showed no signs of stopping. Clay wouldn't have been too concerned, but the water was rising more than it ever had before and showed no signs of stopping. What's worse, is huge storms had begun rolling in. Clay immediately warned Viva of the situation, saying how he didn't think it'd be safe enough for them to stay in the village much longer

Viva seemed reluctant a first, but once Clay explained and showed her everything he'd been keeping an eye on, she agreed with him. They warned the other putt putt trolls together, instructing everyone to split into groups and start building boats

Everyone started building boats and rafts of various sizes, but all were structurally sound. Clay and Viva made sure of that. The putt putt trolls were talented builders and survivalists. They'd all worked together to make the old Bergen golf course their safe haven — a safe haven they would now have to leave behind

It was a race against time. The rain was already causing their village to flood, but they didn't finish building by the time the flood started pouring over the walls of the resort, they'd all drown. Everyone worked day and night, taking shifts to make sure the construction never stopped or slowed

Luckily, they'd all finished building just in time. Everyone loaded all their supplies and belongings into their respective boats and boarded just as the water from outside spilled over the walls and began filling the place they'd called home for so long

Clay had cried softly when he watched everything they'd built, the place they'd called home for so many years, drown beneath the flood. Viva had hugged him tightly as they both peered over the edge of their ship as their home was washed away by waves of rushing water. Clay was sad to see it go, but he couldn't even imagine how Viva must've felt. She'd poured her heart and soul into that place, and now it was gone. They comforted each other through it all

Clay and Viva and a few other putt putt trolls shared a ship together. It was a damn good ship, if Clay said so himself. Enough bedrooms for everyone, plenty of storage space, a large kitchen and common room, and a large garden on the main deck. Overall, he was proud of their ship. They'd all worked hard on it, and now it was time to put it to the test on the water

Over the next few months, the ship held up remarkably well!! The water eventually stopped rising, but by that point, even the tallest mountains had been turned into islands too small to sustain a village. So, they stuck to their little fleet of ships. They stayed together, going from island to island, avoiding Bergen ships, and surviving as they always have

Occasionally, some trolls unlike anything they'd ever seen would poke their heads above the water and offer their assistance. They seemed to glow, even in the daylight, and had fins in place of legs. They had glowing hearts on their chests, the light pulsing with their heartbeats. They said they were called techno trolls, which amazed him. Clay didn't know there were other kinds of trolls besides pop, and judging from the awed but wary looks from Viva and the others, they didn't know either

They accepted the help from the techno trolls, and while they were there, Clay asked about them. They shared some of their music with them, they told them how they lived in the ocean long before the world flooded. They told them about the rock apocalypse, and how the queen of pop by the name of Poppy saved all of troll kind from being turned into rock zombies

At the mention of the queen of pop, Clay heard Viva gasp. She asked more about the queen of pop, how she was doing, what she was like. The techno trolls explained what they could about her, and it was only after seeing how happy Viva was to hear about the queen of pop that Clay realized that must've been the sister she'd told Clay about. He smiled softly and placed his hand on her shoulder. Maybe they'd end up running into Queen Poppy as they sailed

It was a few months after the water stopped rising that a rash had swept across their ships. One after another, suddenly almost everyone had developed rashes on their necks. Those with medical experience tried remedy after remedy, but nothing worked. It, thankfully, didn't seem to be anything serious. No fevers popped up, no fatigue, no other symptoms besides the rash. Well, and some dry skin, but a quick dip in the water fixed that up and that would last a couple days

The next time some techno trolls popped their heads above the water to offer assistance, Clay and Viva asked if they knew any remedies that would help the rash that had spread. One techno troll, presumably a medical judging by the bag he was carrying, took a look at the rash on Clay and Viva’s necks before asking to see their hands. They shared a confused look before complying. The medic sighed and gave them what seemed to be a reassuring smile, and informed them it was nothing harmful to them

He say them down and explained what was happening. How sirens existed and were locked away by techno trolls until recently, how they'd caused the flood, how they'd pumped the ocean that now covered the majority of their planet with magic so ancient and powerful it could transform people. He explained that their theory was that the sirens granted a mercy with the flood by pumping the water full of an ancient magic that would eventually transform everyone into sirens, or at least something similar

Clay asked how they figured that just based off their rashes, and the medic took his hand again. He made him spread his fingers, and that was when Clay finally noticed that the webbing between his fingers seemed longer. He asked if they'd noticed their skin drying out more the longer they’re out of the water, despite using any lotion they may have had. Clay had nodded. The medic asked if they'd noticed their voices becoming more melodic when they sang. Clay nodded again. The medic said they'd noticed these things happening to folks on many other ships. Trolls, Vacationers, Bergens, everyone

At the mention of Bergens also becoming siren-like, the putt putt trolls started panicking. Shouting questions of what they were going to do, how they would avoid them in the ocean, and other such things. The techno trolls seemed confused by their panic. Another techno troll asked what was so bad about Bergens, said they'd interacted with many Bergen ships and they were nothing but kind

Confusion replaced the panic. Viva had asked what she meant by that. The techno woman said how they'd seen trolls and bergens on the same ships, and how they seem to get along swimmingly (hehe). She said how she'd seen them sing and dance together, smiling and laughing and joking around like friends. Clay was dumbfounded. Bergens and Trolls as friends? That was insane. Bergens ate trolls to feel happy, and he'd said as much. The techno troll seemed a bit dumbfounded at that, and said when she'd visited their ships, there was no fear like that on board

Clay didn't know how to respond to that. He'd always thought it was impossible to live alongside Bergens peacefully. Hell, that's why they'd made the putt putt village to begin with! They'd kept themselves cooped inside the old bergen golf course for over a decade! The techno troll spoke up again, saying that she didn't know much about the situation since all the troll genres were still separated at that point, but she'd heard that a few years ago the queen of pop and a grey pop troll had gone to rescue some friends that were kidnapped by bergens, and had somehow shown bergens how to be happy without eating trolls in the process

Clay heard Viva gasp and turned to face her. He could see so many emotions flitting across her face, it was hard to keep track of them all. If the stories were accurate, he believes this would've been the second time Viva’s sister had been directly involved in a historical event and saved troll kind. Clay knew that if it were one of his brothers that had done that, he'd be worried out of his mind. The thought about the bergens stuck with him, too. Were they really safe from them now? Could they finally stop hiding? He looked around and could see a lot of the others thinking the same things

After that, things became a lot more serious and real for most of them. When Clay wasn't making sure everything was shipshape, he was thinking about what the techno trolls had said. He often caught himself glancing at his hands, at the webbing between his fingers. He began to notice the changes more after that conversation. At one point, he'd been thinking hard and bit his lip lightly, only to hiss in pain soon after. He'd brought his hand to his lip, and when he pulled it away, a light dot of blood rested on his finger. He went to the closest mirror to see the damage, only to gasp when he saw his teeth

His canines had sharpened considerably, and he noticed the rest of his teeth seemed a bit sharper too. He'd gently traced his fingers over his teeth in awe and slight horror. He couldn't help but wonder what he'd look like when the mutation was complete. He looked out a nearby window, spotting the other putt putt ships, an expression that walked the line of curious and concerned etched on his features. He wondered how the rest of their small fleet of ships would take it, and in the back of his mind, he silently hoped his brothers were alright and handling this better than he was

#trolls #trolls band together #flood au #branch trolls #guy diamond #tiny diamond #queen poppy #trolls au #floyd trolls #the world floods basically #trolls flood au #clay trolls #brandy trolls #bruce trolls #brozone #putt putt #putt putt trolls #trolls viva #clay #john dory trolls #prince d trolls #cooper trolls #biggie trolls #satin and chenille #guydory #guy and his son #mr dinkles #smidge #dj suki #king peppy

[maironsbigboobs]

re: elf servants

I think generally there are servants in royal/noble households simply for practical reasons and they generally fall into 2 categories: specialised servants (think, stewards and messengers and scribes, masters of horses or kennels, that kind of thing) and servants who help with the upkeep of the household (cleaning, repairs, cooking and also the apprentices and assistants of specialised servants)

specialised servants are probably quite prestigious roles and fields of industry in their own right, and they are considered full members of a household, and probably are closely linked to the person they serve - it's as much a political and social statement to be Finwe's chief scribe as it is an economic one

but the second category are more associated with the house than the family living in it - for example, Finwe's palace in Tirion would function both as a home and a diplomatic and administrative centre, it would be impossible for him to rule and keep up with chores himself. But Fingolfin's personal home would probably not have any full-time servants - when there more people than usual to feed or house then professionals might be hired, but for the most part I imagine the day to day is done by the family (made possible by the fact elves sleep and eat less than humans)

IRL domestic service (at least in the 18th century) often functioned as a kind of prep stage for adult life (for women in particular, but gender is probably not as big a factor for elves) and I could definitely see this in Valinor - domestic servants being 80% elves between 50-100 who haven't chosen an apprenticeship or similar in another field who are earning extra money to set up their own households, getting experience outside of the family, meeting others in their own ae cohort, learning independence etc. It's a job that comes with the offer of room and board + the wages a king/prince/lord can provide. Not glamorous, but not terrible.

The other 20% is made up of professional servants - experienced elves who are genuinely like the work and are contracted workers as much as a builder or gardener might be. Some of them might be independent and others part of businesses set up by other elves who are really into cooking/cleaning etc.

In Beleriand the situation (for the exiles at least) is probably very different, though I think there would be attempts to adapt the system - but there aren't as many households that need servants and there aren't as many young elves.

#i confess i very much enjoy making ocs who are bg characters and servants are perfect for this #made my own post because i could not fit this in the tags LMAO #also the amount of labour needed to run a pre industrial household is HUGE #but elves generally get around this by having a population that is 90% adult and having magic #and having the time for anyone to become vastly skilled in their field in a lifetime #so things like food and clothing production is almost always communal and in the hands of elves who are REALLY into that specific area #the magic being relevant here because elf magic preserves - elven clothes won't wear out elf food doesn't go off etc #(or at least not as easily as human food/clothes) #i prefer to write elf societies that only visually mirror human ones - to an outsider it looks like a hierarchy of lord and servants #but the dynamic is very different #but that is just my preference #silm meta #not really a meta i just need to be able to find this post on my blog lol #long post #this is one of my fave topics hence the rambling

[yn-uzumaki-hatake]

Title: Shadows of Love

As the young genin trio, Naruto, Sasuke, and Sakura, trained under the watchful eye of their sensei Hatake Kakashi, they couldn't help but notice his wife YN's radiant presence. With her captivating smile and gentle nature, she had become a beacon of light in their lives.

One sunny afternoon at training grounds, YN arrived with a basket filled with delicious homemade lunches for the group. Naruto's eyes lit up at the sight of her arrival; he was always eager to devour her scrumptious meals. Sasuke too felt himself drawn to YN's kindheartedness.

"Naruto! Sasuke!" YN called out cheerfully as she approached them. "I made your favorite dishes today!"

"Thanks, YN!" Naruto exclaimed excitedly, grabbing his lunch box before starting to dig in.

Sasuke nodded appreciatively as he accepted his meal from YN. His gaze lingered on her face for a moment longer than necessary, earning him a smug grin from Naruto who noticed their interaction.

"Sasuke can't get enough of Kakashi-sensei's wife!" Naruto teased playfully, nudging Sasuke's side.

Sasuke scowled and shot back sarcastically, "Well, you're not any better."

YN chuckled softly at their banter, finding amusement in their innocent crushes. She knew that both boys respected Kakashi deeply and were simply drawn to her warm personality because she reminded them of their beloved mentor.

Meanwhile, Sakura watched the interactions with unease. Behind her sweet facade lay jealousy towards YN. Her admiration for Sasuke often clashed with the envy she felt toward anyone who attracted his attention.

Months passed by as Team 7 continued their rigorous training and missions together. Little did they know, YN and Kakashi had been trying for a baby, their love deepening with each passing day.

One sunny morning at the training grounds, Sakura noticed a subtle change in YN's appearance. A spark of excitement ignited within her as she rushed over to confront her about it.

"YN! Are you... pregnant?" Sakura asked hesitantly yet filled with curiosity.

YN smiled warmly at the pink-haired girl. "Yes, Sakura. Kakashi and I are expecting our first child."

Sakura couldn't help but feel a pang of envy mixed with genuine happiness for YN. She had always dreamed of starting a family with Sasuke someday, but he seemed oblivious to her romantic advances.

As time went on, YN's pregnancy progressed beautifully. Naruto and Sasuke were thrilled for their sensei and his wife, often offering to accompany them during check-ups or helping out around their home.

With an important mission approaching -- guarding the bridge builder in the Land of Waves -- Team 7 prepared themselves mentally and physically. As they gathered at YN and Kakashi's house before setting off, YN surprised them with specially packed lunches full of love and nourishment.

"These should keep you energized during your mission," YN said softly, handing each member their personalized lunch boxes.

Sasuke accepted his meal gratefully while Naruto beamed brightly at the sight of homemade ramen. He looked up at YN with admiration shining in his eyes. "Thank you so much, YN!"

YN patted both boys' heads affectionately before turning to Sakura. "And here's yours, Sakura. Take care of yourself too."

Sakura took the lunch box gingerly, feeling warmth spread through her heart. She realized that while she may not have won Sasuke's affections just yet, she had gained something even more valuable: a true friend in YN.

As Team 7 embarked on their mission, the bonds between them grew stronger, with YN's love and support serving as an unyielding pillar of strength. Together, they faced challenges and triumphs, all while eagerly awaiting the arrival of the newest member of their team.

And so, amidst teasing troubles and blossoming relationships, the shadows of love intertwined, shaping the destiny of Team 7 forever.

#kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #naruto uzumaki #sakura #team 7 naruto #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi hatake #kakashi headcanons #minato namikaze #naruto #sasuke uchiha

[bts-hyperfixation]

Outside of the Fox

Chapter 36 of????

1830 words

Y/N longs for a new life when the one she’d been living comes to an abrupt stop. Without much thought to those she is leaving behind, the little fox packs a backpack and disappears. She stumbles across the shelter and makes an interim home for herself while she works out exactly what she wants from her second chance.

Last

You seethe for the entire drive home. Furious at Taehyung's father for forcing him into an arranged marriage, furious at Taehyung for not standing up for himself, and furious at yourself for not trying harder to fight for Taehyung. You know better than anyone how difficult it can be to go against your family's wishes for you. But at least your family thought they were doing what was best for you, Taehyung's family only wanted to save themselves.

It takes all of your energy to try and calm down before you reach home, knowing the moment any of them scented you they would smell your anger and Taehyung's sorrow.  You contemplate heading into the main house first to shower, knowing that the builders finished one of the bathrooms last week, but you'd still be stuck in the same clothes so it'd only be dampening the smell, not removing it. 

You walk through the side gate to find Yoongi sitting out on the steps to the annexe. He looks up the moment he hears the wrought iron creak. He looks like he hasn't slept the entire night.

"Did something happen?" You ask.

"Yeah, a man I've come to care quite a lot about has suddenly become absent in my life for no discernable reason and on top of that, for some unknown reason, the woman I love stole my car and then stayed out all night without more than a brief text as an explanation," 

He looks at you expectantly, waiting. But you don't have an answer to give him. The news of Taehyung's impending nuptials isn't yours to share, and you can't tell him anything about last night without including that detail. You sit on the step below him and lean your head against his lap.

His hand finds its way into your hair easily. He gently tugs out the tangles you didn't have a chance to brush that morning.

"You don't want to talk about it? Or you can't?" He asks softly.

"It's not my story to tell," You confirm.

The two of you stay there silently for a while, watching the wind blow through the grass. You can tell he wants to push for more information, but he knows better.

Jin finally moves the two of you when he comes home from the night shift. He brings breakfast with him and gives it to Yoongi to set up, insisting that you go and shower before eating. What he didn't clarify before sending you into the bathroom was that he intended to shower with you, insisting on saving the water. 

He steps into the basin behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, kissing along your shoulder up to the pulse point under your ear.

"Is there anything I can do to remove that rotting flower undertone to your scent?" He asks before nibbling at your earlobe.

"I don't think so, Jinnie," You admit, leaning back into his touch.

He reaches to the side and takes the soap from the shelf, using it to lather up the both of you. He offers compliments as he goes, making you blush with every word. It does little to soothe the memories of your fight, but it reminds you of the love your partners have for you and one another. If anyone can figure out how to fix Taehyung's problem it's your family. 

_____________________

Taehyung sits on his sister's bedroom floor as she dangles with her head off the side of the bed like they would when they were younger. They spent a lot of their formative years here, putting the world to rights. It seemed fitting that they be here again if Eun Jin did in fact have a plan that would save Taehyung from his parent's plan. 

"When we were younger, we went to a birthday party for a girl we had never met. Mum and Dad insisted that we attend as it was for the daughter of a very wealthy shareholder within one of their companies. Now, I don't particularly expect you to remember, it was around the time you were permanently drunk. However, that party was for Y/N L/N." Eun Jin explained. 

Taehyung listens with rapped attention. His sister is right, he has absolutely no memory of this party. His teen years all blend into one drunken blur when he tries to focus on them. Eun Jin goes on to explain that his father had always intended for their youngest brother to marry into this family, at the time Taehyung had been too much of a screw-up to consider, but Jong Gyu would've been perfect.

However, they had realised that plan wouldn't work as your parents had seemed pretty set on having you marry Romero, despite him being so many years your senior. In fact, after a brief conversation with your parents, it seemed like the idea of setting you up with another hybrid had been laughable to them anyway, so Taehyung's family abandoned that plan completely. 

Now, with her parents no longer a factor in her decisions, Eun Jin is under the impression that their family would be willing to accept you as his bride. 

Taehyung looks at his sister in shock, struggling to digest all the information he's been given. It seems too simple. Too easy. 

To escape his forced marriage all he needs to do is propose to the woman he loves instead? Nothing in his life is ever that simple... Unless it could be. 

"Do you really think Father would let me out of the arrangement that easily?" Taehyung asks in disbelief.

"I think it's your best shot." Eun Jin shrugs. 

"Then I guess it's a shot I'll have to take."

"Just make sure Mom is also in the room so you can play on the little sympathy she might have for love." Eun Jin reminds him, "Also you should perhaps get your pack onboard first..."

_____________________

For the remainder of his day, Taehyung sits through tedious meetings about wedding details with a fiance who seems roughly as enthused as him. It would seem she would also rather be anywhere else, which would at least make it easier when it came down to telling her the wedding was off. The families must've known neither of them wanted to truly be there as they never gave them even a second to be alone in the same room together

The Hirelys refused to leave until gone 9:00 pm. By that time everyone in Taehyung's family was exhausted. It turned out that while the bride may not have been ecstatic about the wedding, her family was insufferably chipper. They chattered nonstop and couldn't quite tell when they had outstayed their welcome even though the wedding planner had left hours prior.

"See Taehyung-ah... she isn't so bad." His mother commented as they all sat down for their evening tea.

"It doesn't matter either way. Our deal has been struck." His father states.

They all sip their tea silently, shuffling awkwardly in their seats. Eun Jin's gaze darts from Taehyung to their father, urging him to speak. Taehyung pretends not to notice, the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup seeming far more fascinating than anything else in the room. 

In theory, Taehyung has spent most of his life standing up to his father. The only problem is that he has ultimately lost every fight, and he isn't sure whether he is prepared to finally lose the battle if his father doesn't agree with the plan they have cooked up. 

It seems that Eun Jin doesn't harbour the same fears as she rolls her eyes and takes matters into her own hands.

"Daddy?" She starts, as she always does when she wants something "What if Taehyung-ah found himself a better bride, someone who would boost his reputation just as much, if not more than the girl you found?"

"Oh don't be silly dear." Their Father chastises, "No one of that high a calibre would be stupid enough to go for Taehyung, we are fortunate enough that the Hirelys agreed to this."

"I'm right here," Taehyung grumbles at the put-down, although no one takes any notice of him.

"What if he could marry Y/N L/N?" Eun Jin pushes.

His father audibly snorts into his tea presuming Eun Jin to be joking.

"No one has seen Y/N in months Eun Jin," Taehyung's brother chimes in "You'd never find her, and why would she want to marry Tae any way?"

Taehyung shoots evils at his brother who holds his hands up in defence. 

"We've seen her, In fact, we all saw her last night sneaking into Taehyung's bedroom, and this morning when Father yelled at her for being here..."

Their father pales.

"That can't have been her, don't be silly. The girl is a recluse. Her parents told me that after her husband's untimely accident, she moved home, she's been in mourning ever since and refusing to come out, they say she isn't well in the head."

"Her parents are lying!" Taehyung bursts out.

He jumps from his seat and slams a fist on the table. He realises he may have made a mistake when his father matches his actions, a standoff taking place over the table as the two men stare each other down. Taehyung does his best not to flinch away from his father's glare.

"It has been decided Taehyung, you will marry the Hirely girl and you will like it, no more of this hypothetical nonsense. You are a grown man and you will honour the commitment you made."

"No father, you want me to honour the commitment you made not me," Taehyung's voice cracks as he finishes the sentence.

"Taehyung you need to marry, and she really is a lovely girl. You should just accept this match," His mother says trying to comfort him.

"If this is just about me marrying then why can't I choose the partner?" He turns to his mother pleading in his eyes.

"You can't be trusted to pick a suitable match." His father sighs, rubbing his brow in frustration,

"Wouldn't you consider Y/N a suitable match?" Eun Jin asks.

"I might, but there is no way that girl this morning was the real Y/N. And even if she was I'm certain she wouldn't marry Taehyung." Their father scoffed.

"So if we can prove that she is the real Y/N and she says yes you'll consider it?" Taehyung's sister pushes.

"I'll consider it, only because I'm certain this won't work out the way you want it to," Their father agrees.

Taehyung reaches out his hand to shake his father's, knowing that no deal is complete in his father's eyes without it. Begrudgingly the older man meets Taehyung's grasp.

Immediately after they let go, Taehyung reaches for his keys and sprints for the door.

"Where do you think you're going, young man?" His father shouts.

"I'm going home, I have a proposal to figure out!" He shouts back before slamming the door closed behind him."

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[under-and-over-the-moon]

Lexicon | Felix

Minors DNI/DNF/Do not read!!

pairing: Felix x Reader

word count: 13.5k

genre: childhood best friends to lovers, gilded age!au, forbidden love, angst, fluff, smut

warnings: unprotected sex, oral (f recv), handjob (m recv), riding, dirty talk, implication that the pullout method works (it does not!), hurt/comfort, both are virgins, so sex is a lil clunky, afab reader, mention of periods, historical inaccuracies/general historical bootleggery, i basically watched one ep of ‘the gilded age’ and ran with the vibes, historical misogyny, alcohol mentioned, Felix gets slightly buzzed at one point, cheating (in an arranged marriage scenario), lots of poor choices, lots of angst

A/N: the real title of this is Lixicon but I stopped myself 😅 This is my entry into the global childhood bf2l felix headcanon, and WOOF was this a struggle to write

All characters are adults at all times in this fic.

Feedback is always appreciated!! 😊

~~~

[ I ]

“Tell me a story.”

“Which one?”

“One about you,” you reply.

The phone crackles, sputtering against your ears, brass in your palm. A new toy, for a new age. Of course you had to try it first with Felix, just as you do with everything else.

“You already know all my stories,” he replies.

“Not today’s,” you counter.

He chuckles low, the vibrations mixing with the static.

“No, not today’s,” he admits.

And so he offers you a story that he will forget and would never expect you to remember: He waited in line for cloth for his mother, talked to Mrs. Cho. She mentioned she has a daughter, now twenty. Probably a subtle hint at a marriage prospect. He spoke to the builders about where he could buy new roof tile after a few slipped off in the last storm. It’s a banal tale, by any standard.

But as always, you listen, and then, as always, he asks you to return the favor.

You had spent the morning organizing your father’s library, and so you describe: the leather book covers, tacky from the humidity, their scent somewhere between sickeningly musty and comfortingly familiar. The heavy velvet curtains, always slumping to the side no matter how many times you tried to adjust them. Another issue with your home’s foundation, probably.

How you had spent the morning arranging and rearranging the books, by size, then by color, then by size again. You thought it would look like a rainbow by color, but there were too many browns. It just looked as musty as it smelled.

You then jump to other parts of your home, pointing out what still needs attention. The fireplace covered in soot. The paint, peeling. The steps, crumbling. Did you already mentions the paint? Oh yes, you did.

The words tumble freely from you, unlinked, in sentences that sometimes are clipped, left unfinished as you veer to a different path. You have no goal, no finish line – you simply explore the space in your mind, holding his hand as you wander, down every trail, through the rivers of thought, the ocean of your mind. He lets the current carry him, closing his eyes and sinking into the gentle wash of your voice as you ramble. He feels little again, as young as when you first met, but it doesn’t feel infantilizing – it just feels good, safe, to be swaddled warm in your words.

“Oh, did you hear about that thing?” you ask, startling him from his daze.

“What thing?” he asks. You have already told him about every thing – he needs clarification.

“The industrialists that are arriving tomorrow, to construct the railroad outside town. They’re moving into the estate out the end of the road, the one that overlooks the sea.”

“Oh the ugly one?” Felix asks. “You would think with all that money…”

This time your chuckle is the one that mixes with the static.

“Right?”

And then things devolve – or evolve, he never knows which – and you are talking about the homes in the city, if there is a correlation between construction time and ultimate ugliness, which houses need repairs the most (both of yours, you agree), the new mayor’s plan for road repairs, the mayor’s new mustache, the mayor’s hat, the optimal height for a hat.

“Oh!” you exclaim, “I gotta go help with dinner! It’s so late, didn’t realize.”

He didn’t either – the sky is dark, his room now painted in shadows and moonlight and the flickers of a lantern from the hall. He holds his hand out to see its silhouette against the wooden floor.

“Night, Lix,” you say, “See you tomorrow?”

“Yes, as always.”

And then there’s a click as the connection is cut, and he is cooled by the silence.

~~~

Waiting at the end of the road the next day, you identify Felix by the feeling of a hand, brushing gently from your waist to your hip.

When you were children he used to run up behind you, his chest bouncing against your back, his arms stopping your momentum, holding you to him. He would squeeze you tight, burrow into your shoulder, say your name. Excited. You could see the exclamation point in your head.

But now you were older, and propriety stood between you, pushing his chest back, prying his elbows away. So you settled for this – it still leads to a raised eyebrow here and there, but the movement is so fast that it could just be an accident. And you needed something, or perhaps, it was the you knew that he did. When he was little and had the gift of assumed innocence, he had always wanted to touch, to hold, to nestle into what was comforting and familiar.

“Am I late?” he whispers, dropping his hand to step out from behind you, stopping at your side. He quickly throws glances along the squat gray buildings that line the street before following the trail of the cable car tracks up the hill to the horizon.

“No,” you said, gesturing to the empty road, baked dry by the sun but with the dust still settled, “No sign of anyone yet.”

But eventually it appears – a tiny prick of black that transforms into a carriage as it approaches, the dust a fluttering veil behind it. The horses come to a halt, the doors are pushed open, and four figures exit.

At first all you see are plumed hats, voluminous skirts, glossy fabrics – new fashions peeled straight from freshly-printed magazines, dyed in their still-drying ink. Styles that had never before bothered to make the trip to your sleepy town dusted gray with half-dead history. These people are the future, will be your future.

After a few moment your eyes adjust to the sartorial dazzle, and you begin to inspect: first, the older couple, distinguished, hair streaked gray, each pleat of their clothes perfectly pressed despite the long journey. And then there is a younger man – short, with a playful grin. He’s dapper, his clothes all sharp lines, but you can see the way his biceps strain at the shoulders. Boyish and manly all at once.

And then a woman, beautiful. Her hair is arranged artfully on top of her heard, hands delicately sheathed in white silk. She adjust her skirts and then turns to survey the crowd, her eyes sweeping across the crescent in front of her. And then she stops, a smile pulling at her lips.

You follow her gaze. She is looking at Felix. And he is smiling back.

~~~

The newcomers give hasty greetings before excusing themselves politely, saying they wish they could stay longer, but there is simply too much to unpack. They gesture to the carriages that pile up behind them, laden with trunks and suitcases.

As soon as they leave, riding uphill to their new home, the townspeople quickly descend on Mrs. Cho’s parlor, buzzing like a swarm of bees. The rest of the afternoon passes in a swirl of whispers and gossip that settles on your skin, making it itch, your initial wonder tightening into fact as you listen and try to figure out how these people will fit into your tiny town, your little world.

You come to know that the Parks – Jinyoung and Junghwa, and their children, Changbin and Dahyun – have been looking for the perfect place to expand their rail line and had settled on your town. It is underdeveloped, but well-located between the two major cities. The family will stay here during the construction, which should take a few years, but once the summer concludes Changbin will return to the city to handle business there.

But of course, the technological advancements that will reshape your town are ultimately of little interest when both children, it is whispered, are unmarried. Mothers brush dirt from theirs daughters’ skirts, correct the posture of their sons. You wonder if the newcomers can already smell the scent of plotting — too sweet, cloying, like berries left in the sun, at the edge of rotting.

And below the murmur of information is Felix’s voice, sputtering fast, the low rumble of his tone shaking your core.

“She’s so beautiful isn’t she?”

“She was smiling at me, right?”

“Did I imagine that?”

“Do you think she would marry someone from here?”

“Would she marry someone without money?”

“She must have enough of her own, right?”

His questions make your head pound, but you don’t blame him for asking you so many. These are just thoughts, equal to any of his others. So why wouldn’t he share these too?

“Do you think I would make a good husband for her?”

He looks to you expectantly, but you find yourself with no ready response to give, your mind just filled a nameless fog that pushes at your temples. So you pull the words from conversations you’ve heard, books you’ve read, pasting together a response that isn’t your own. The likeness of an enthusiasm that you can’t quite kindle in your own core.

“Yes, she would be lucky to have you as a husband, Lix.”

But, distracted, he doesn’t notice that anything is off. His head is turned towards the house on the hill, behind which the sun is just beginning to set over the sea.

~~~

Once the sun dips below the horizon, the townspeople begin to take their leave, thanking Mrs. Cho as they down their last cup of teas, adjusting their shawls around their shoulders as they step through the doors.

Felix accompanies you home as usual – he evolved from companion to chaperone naturally when you came of age, the role a change only in name. Your parents had never been concerned that Felix himself is a virile, unmarried man, exactly like those he is to protect you from – they see you still as the children you once were, not the scandal you could be. A temporary exception, a convenient blindness caused by nostalgia and familiarity, to be wiped away as soon as you are given to another man.

But, for now, your mother is glad to hand him this responsibility – without the servants that should inhabit the role, it would fall to her. Felix’s presence allows her to play at inhabiting a glorious past she didn’t quite inherit, lunching with other noble ladies and visiting the shops instead of guarding her daughter.

Felix is still rambling about Dahyun as you walk beneath the newly-installed string of streetlights, a gift from Dahyun’s family, as you had just learned at the parlor. Your eyes hurt under the glare, and you are relieved when you pass the city limits, the twinkly of electricity fading only to moonlight.

The path to both of your estates is unkempt, the dried grasses poking through stones, the whitewashed walls peeling where they aren’t yet crumbling. The tiles that once formed neat fish scales along the path lay on the ground, shattered.

You sigh when you imagine how things would have been if you had been born a century ago, when the gods were of blood, not steel. The palanquins, flocked by servants, that would have carried you down the pristinely manicured streets. The walls, freshly painted. The stones between your feet uncracked, fitting perfectly with one another.

You glance over to Felix, still lost in his own world. He would have been your husband, you know. Noble name for noble name, your fortunes joined under one roof.

But with no fortune left, there is nothing to share but your afternoons, your youthful daydreams, whatever words are fluttering through your minds.

But even these, you know, are finite. Your own body is the hourglass, each moment a grain of sand that had fallen down, filling out your hips, your bust. Now a woman, you are overdue, past time, only a few grains left to fall before everything is set. Before you move on, away, to a new cloistered life, that of course, could never include him – wives don’t speak freely with men who aren’t their husbands.

At first you had resented how your body had rushed you forward, the first sign of red marking the end of your carefree days. How time didn’t seem to claw at Felix in the same way – while you were learning about your wifely duties, the horrors of childbirth, the tight confines of a future where all of your choices are given away, he was still allowed to be young and untethered, not thinking past tomorrow. You resented him but then – he would smile at you in that way he always did, all genuine sunshine, bubbling with whatever his current obsession was, and you couldn’t be angry.

So you had decided these would be the only thoughts you would hold back, the only worries you wouldn’t share. You knew at some level he must know you stood at the edge of change, but you also knew he didn’t feel the full weight of it yet. That he thought, in his foolish youth, that he would be an exception to the inevitability of time. He would come to know the freedom between you was limited, too, at his own pace.

Perhaps your choice would protect him from this ache you now felt – maybe he would be far enough down his own path, immersed in a new life, before he ever thought to look back, before he registered a loss. By then, you hoped and feared, you would be nothing more than a fond memory. Nothing that tugged at his present, at anything still tender.

In this moment, you are simply glad that Felix is wrapped up safe in his dreams of Dahyun. A childish fantasy based on almost nothing and yet – she already is a more likely participant in his future than you would ever be. Maybe a soft place to land, a distraction, during the months that you knew were coming.

Felix then turns to you, his eyes alight as he asks you for your opinion on Dahyun’s parents, and your heart swells to aching. You are grateful in this moment that he is still asking for it, and you are still there to give it. To talk him through his new feelings, walk him through what he is only now discovering, before he disappears from view.

There is still time, you tell yourself. Not much, maybe, but still – you have time.

~~~

The next day you are out in the kitchen when you hear the phone ring.

You rush to the library, holding it to your ear. Felix’s voice.

“Can I come over?” he asks, breathless, “For the garden?”

The two of you had always loved spending time in your family’s garden – it was lush and sprawling with blooms of every color, shaded by willows, a personal fantasy land for your imagination to roam. When you were small, you would spend hours rolling around in the beds and climbing the trees until your mother had yelled at you, gesturing to your sullied clothes. But soon enough you reached the age where you ache for responsibility, still too young to know the terrifying permanency of it once it arrives, its never-ending hunger, and so you had taken it on yourself to weed and plant and water together.

You had quickly found that you loved it. To plant seeds together, nurse them until they were flowers, protect them from harm. You and Felix would look at your garden in pride, a perfect little corner of the earth you had tended together.

Your mother had thought it was cute – until you had become a woman. Then it was unbecoming, shameful. But by that point there were no funds to pay for a gardener, so shame was an inevitability – your mother only got to choose the type.

So the two of you had tacitly come to an agreement – you could continue, but only when she wasn’t there, only when she could pretend she didn’t know, since she hadn’t technically seen.

So you look quickly, left and right, before calling out for your mother. There is only silence.

“Yes, my mother’s out,” you respond.

“Perfect,” he replies, “And I- “

He pauses. It’s unlike him to stop, to leave something unsaid.

“Yes?” you prod.

“I – “ he said, “Nevermind, it can wait.”

You know this isn’t true – he means it has to wait. Whatever it is, it’s weighty enough that he doesn’t think it’s fair to tell you over the phone. He has to tell you in person.

You swallow hard. A panic bubbles up in you, forming around a new emptiness.

“Okay,” you say, “See you soon, Lix.”

There’s a click, and you gather your skirts to head towards the garden, your stomach swirling.

~~~

Felix arrives a few minutes later with hair mussed, the sleeves of his linen shirt rolled up to reveal where his veins pop against his new muscles, freckles lit up by the sun. Your favorite form of him.

He is smiling as always, but there’s a little extra spark of something behind his eyes. He is bursting with it, rushing forward so that you’re close enough to hear, close enough for him to finally release.

And when he does, his words come in a sputter, jumbled and marked with nervous laughter bubbling up from the place between embarrassment and elation.

Dahyun’s father had called, he reveals, to his family estate. She has taken an interest in him, wants to start a courtship. He can’t believe it, that she would want to be with someone like him who had nothing more than history to offer, now more footnote at the bottom of a weathered page than a true legacy.

“Do you think she just wants a noble name?” he asked biting his, lip, brows knit, “That must be it. Her parents probably told her it’s a good idea, to confer legitimacy to the new money. They probably know about our situation, that we need the funds, thought it would be a mutually beneficial exchange kind of thing, like business—”

You hold up a single finger, placing it to his lips. His eyes widen, taken aback for a moment. You don’t usually touch him.

You don’t know Dahyun, but you know that isn’t it. Part of it maybe – no love is ever fully unsullied by the realities of society – but not all of it, not the core of it. Looking at him now, illuminated in the sun – it couldn’t be just that.

“She doesn’t just like you for that,” you insist, letting your finger fall, his eyes following it before he looks back up at your eyes, “I saw the way she looked at you that day. That wasn’t business.”

You turn away for a moment, crouching among the zinnias, pulling at the weeds.

“And so what if it happens to be mutually beneficial?” you continue, “Sounds ideal to me. A perfect match.”

You turn back, pulling your expression into a smile before meeting his eyes. He’s beaming.

“So are you going to help me here?” you tease, yanking out another fistful of crabgrass, “Or just stand there lovestruck?”

“Helping!” he says, rushing to crouch beside you, “How much time do you think we have?”

“I think she went to call on Mrs. Banks,” you say, “So maybe two hours? We can weed this section, at least.”

He bumps his knee against yours, and you get to work.

~~~

You move swiftly for the rest of the afternoon, tossing dandelions and bindweed into the wheelbarrow behind you.

The whole time, Felix talks, and you listen. He walks you through his future as he builds it in his mind, tearing down the scaffolding and rebuilding in real time. He’ll live here, but he would probably visit the city often. Or perhaps they would spend summers here, winters in the city, where the furnaces were no doubt stronger, where there wasn’t a chill from the sea. He wonders how many children she wants, how she would want to raise them.

You give him the space to ramble, as he always has with you. And honestly, you are relieved for it – the pressure in your head has returned. It is easier to just listen.

When the sun begins to set you know it’s time to hide the evidence, if you want to uphold the charade. You know you mother is on her way home.

“I think that’s probably good for today,” you say, “Don’t want to cut it too close.”

He nods, dropping his rake, wiping sweat from his brow. You take a deep breath.

“…So when are you seeing her, then?”

“Tomorrow,” he confirms, “Tea at Mrs. Cho’s, I think. Many eyes, you know, to keep it proper. To make sure I’m not doing anything untoward.”

You nod. You know too well the limits that begin to descend as soon as courting begins.

Felix helps you empty the wheelbarrow over the lowest wall, the one that has crumbled the most, and brushes the dirt from his clothes before moving towards the gate. You follow him, to see him out as you always do.

“I’ll call you after,” he says, “To tell you how it went.”

He pauses for a moment, and then reaches out to place his hand on your waist. The touch is more of a grip than usual, sliding rather than brushing its way to your hip. You place your hand briefly on his, but pull it away before the moment is fully solid, while the touch is more possibility than true contact.

“Good luck,” you breathe, “She’ll love you, I’m sure.”

He doesn’t need the wishes, you know – she will love him.

~~~

Felix doesn’t call you after, but, still, you know you were right.

You see them hand in hand, walking down the street. Sitting on street corners, taking afternoon tea. Always smiling, always laughing. The way her gloved hand inches towards his, and his bare one towards hers. You can see the ache in the space between them.

His parents call on yours early on, and you lurk in the shadows, watching the garish display. They glow with self-satisfaction, seeing now how your families’ futures will now split. They speak in terms of joy for their son, but you know at the core is a boastful, haughty thing. With the dowry, your ancient sprawling estate is the only one that will continue to yield solely leaky funds and sagging roofs. You notice how your parents wince at their happiness.

The next day they ask you – won’t you consider a suitor? It is past time, can’t wait too long, or the best options will be gone.

You make a flimsy excuses before escaping out of the room, down the hall, to your garden. You watch the dandelion seeds float in the wind, snow in summer.

You will wait, a little more. Just a little bit. The rules are different for Felix than they would be for you – he can call on you, visit, without a second thought, if he wants. It’s a choice he fully has, as long as you have no husband to stop him. He’s just busy, wrapped up in his new love right now, you tell yourself, but there will be more time. Because you will make more time.

The days roll into a week, then two. You try not to feel too disappointed, too hurt that he doesn’t feel the need to share his new life with you. You store up all the things you want to tell him, all the questions you have, all the little observations that would immediately have flowed to him before. You carry them carefully as you walk through your life, like a too-full teacup, your hand always positioned to catch a spill. But still, even with your best efforts, you start to overflow, leaving drops on the floor as the days pass. You forgot the little things before they ever can reach his ears, accumulating until they’ve pooled into important things, the kind that’s impossible to recount in their entirety at once. That can only be told honestly in pieces, broken into their smallest components, each easy enough to say to construct the harder whole.

It scares you, to have thoughts lost before he can hold them too. The idea that your life now is only yours, that it doesn’t flow, naturally, to him too.

You keep yourself busy, cleaning up the soot, repainting, trying to keep up with the gardening by yourself. Each day you wake up at dawn with an unearned hope that today he will call, today he will want to talk as much as you do, that he feels this same pressure as you do, the need to pour his thoughts into you, the thirst to receive yours in return. But the hope of your mornings is always extinguished in the silence of afternoon, the emptiness of evening.

This is for the best, you tell yourself. This is what you wanted – to have him move swiftly into the fullness of a new life, one big enough to fill up the emptiness of your separation. But still, in the deepest corner of you, you, again, resent it. That he doesn’t need you, that you are pushing your own future forward to make space for whatever few sentences he still want to give you. It’s embarrassing, pathetic. And you resent yourself for that, and then him, again, for making yourself, the only friend you now have, impossible company.

But above all the bitterness, you just miss him. It is simple and raw, with no harsh edges, even when your mind bites at the memory of him out of spite and hurt. It never bites too hard – what you have left of him is precious.

As the weeks roll into a month, you find your resolve fading, the selfishness taking advantage of your exhaustion. You know you should let him be to move on happily alone, but still – you find your hands hovering over the phone. You take detours to his house, hoping to run into him, or at least hear a snippet of his voice. But you never do.

You call, finally, on the day that the dahlias that you planted together bloom. The had thrived unexpectedly, even squished among the weeds that had grown up their sides. You hadn’t been able to keep up with the garden alone.

“Oh, he’s out with Dahyun and her family,” his mother says, “So smitten, that one. Try calling again later dear?”

So you do. A second time.

Your mother asks you about a boy who lives up the hill, whose family owns a tannery. A good trade, and a kind boy, she hears. You say he isn’t for you.

A third time.

Or perhaps the heir to the local shipping company? Sturdy man, well-built, she says. You’d like that, right? No, you reply.

A fourth time. Felix is always busy.

But still you tell yourself, in an endless loop: there is still time, there is still time, there is still time…

~~~

A letter arrives in the mail, the ink still fresh, the envelope gilded in gold.

“I think you’ll want to see this,” your mother says.

Your heart starts pounding, but you take it from her, rip it open.

Please join us in celebrating the engagement of Felix Lee and Dahyun Park…

You drop it to the floor, retracting your hand fast. You still feel the aftershock of the burn in your hand, throbbing, as you spit out the expected celebratory remarks before retreating to your room, throwing yourself on your bed.

You take a few slow deep breaths. You don’t know how you feel – it’s almost anger but not quite. It’s heavier, with less fire, but still, it sears.

You can’t identify it with any word you know so you decide – it must be joy. Your plan worked, after all – you got what you wanted. Felix is in safe hands, soon to be in the arms of someone he adores, who loves him too. A smooth, painless transition into adulthood. 

Over the next few days, you focus on the practicalities of the preparations, finding comfort in the solidness of the objects. You select pearls and diamonds from your collection, heirlooms from a century ago. You think first that you will wear the yellow dress you bought recently – it’s bright and new and sunny, reminding you of him – but you always go back to the green gown at the back of your closet. It’s of the old style, but it’s pretty, the emerald of the cloth scattering light. It feels right, but you can’t explain why.

The night of the party you sit in front of your mirror, your heart thumping against your chest as you tack the pearls to your ears, hang the diamonds from your neck. You are still jumbled, but you can identify at least one emotion among the mess inside you – excitement.

You are excited that you will see him, celebrate with him, talk to him. It’s appropriate, natural, that you would, to wish your childhood best friend all the best in his next chapter. Even if it’s just a few sentences, it will be enough for you. A final paragraph, at least, a conclusion to mark the end of your youth. Some kind of closure. It still counts as time.

And you still hold out hope, that once Felix settles into his new life, into his new emotions, there might even be more time. A few months, maybe, before you enter your own engagement and are forced to close the book for good, when you could still speak with him somewhat freely. An epilogue, perhaps.

As you adjust your dress, you try to gather the most important drops of memory from the last month from the sea that now swells inside you, waves breaking against the inside of your skin. It seems impossible to select just a few questions, a few moments to scoop up. But you do.

You flatten the green cloth one final time against your lap before taking a deep breath and rising to stand.

~~~

You gasp as soon as you enter the Park Estate.

The plainness of the exterior that Felix had poked fun at weeks ago gives way to a great hall rises in columns of white marble, intricate moldings etched around each support and each window, which reveal a stunning view of the bay at sunset. A crystal chandelier hangs above you, powered, of course, by electricity, scattering light against the brass banisters that rise along the spiral stairs. They sweep up from the floor, to a terrace above where guests mingle. Trees, brought in from the tropics, hang over your head. You wonder how long they will survive in this climate.

It is better than anything you could have hoped for him. Leaps and bounds better than your low, sagging ceilings, his cracked windows.

And then you hear a low voice, as if from a dream, and you turn your head to see Felix. The rest of your breath leaves you in a quick burst, and when you try to draw a new inhale, you find the room suddenly emptied of air.

He still wears the smile you remember, and perhaps a few extra freckles over the bridge of his nose. The mussed hair from the last time you saw him has been slicked back, parted. He is a man now, fully. But still, he is himself.

And then there is Dahyun to his left, dripping a dress of cobalt, the latest fashion from Paris. You see the way his gaze darts to her as she speaks, bouncing between her eyes to her lips. And then you see – his hand in hers, rubbing gently at the cloth at her palm.

You turn away quickly, grabbing a glass of wine.

~~

You are patient the rest of the night, watching from afar as Felix smiles and laughs at the gaggle of well-wishers perpetually swarming him. You watch a surprise serenade by Dahyun’s father, in celebration of the union. You chat with the townspeople, your parents, Dahyun’s parents. And then finally Changbin, who tells you of his life in the city. You only half-listen, but it helps pass the time.

As the light of the moon begins to mix with that of the chandelier, the room begins to clear as the party-goers bid the happy couple good night. Dahyun follows a few guests out – family that had traveled far, you assume.

And then Felix is alone, finally. You step forward, calling his name.

His head snaps to you, and a smile spreads across his face, warm and genuine. You feel like you’ll overflow, but for the first time in weeks, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable – it just feels like your past merging finally with your present, your heart stretching to make space for both.

You begin to talk before you can think, the moments and questions pouring out in a jumble despite all your planning, all the preparation for this exchange.

And then you see Felix’s eyes dart behind you, and you stop talking, turning to follow his gaze. Dahyun has re-entered the room. She stands patiently at the doorway, hands clasped in front of her, smiling sweetly at her betrothed.

“Sorry, I have to go but – ” mutters Felix without a glance back towards you, already taking a step forward, “I’ll call you later though, okay? I promise.”

And so he strides past you, and you turn to watch as he reaches out his hand. Dahyun grasps it, beaming.

Something knots itself inside you and you know – no matter hard you pick at it, try to pull, it will never come undone. But, still, it doesn’t fully choke your hope. You go home and wait for his call. You hear its ghost it in the whistling of the kettle, the sizzle of the pan.

But only a different call comes. You finally answer.

~~~

[ II ]

The following day, Dahyun and Felix board a carriage, travel for hours across empty land, before stepping out onto a busy street. It is swarmed with carriages and horses and parasols, the screech of horns and whistles.

They are visiting the city for few weeks so that she can introduce him to the world she comes from, and so, in the following days she grasps his hand and leads him: up the stairs into her massive manor in the heart of the city, to the most expensive box at the opera, through parties of the elite, full of dignitaries and captains of industry, through department stores and art galleries, always flanked by her aunts and cousins and family business partners. She holds his hand the whole time, down all the paths that have suddenly unfurled before him from the place there their bodies join. The world has never seemed so big, so infinitely accessible. An endless array of new places for him to explore.

Tonight, he follows her down the grand staircase in her home, attending a party hosted by her grandparents. It is ostensibly just a mechanical function of this circle’s strict social calendar, a requirement of high society, but when he sees her grandparents beam when they catch Dahyun’s gaze on him, he knows it is more – it’s a welcome, a celebration of them.

As Dahyun reaches the bottom of the flight she looks back to smile at Felix, and his heart tumbles. He can’t believe, still, that Dahyun chose him. She is kind, smart, beautiful, poised – every good adjective, every single thing one would ever hope to find in a wife.

He is so lucky, he knows.

The evening passes in a buzz of conversation and fine spirits, music and city lights dancing on the apartment’s gilded interior. He speaks to various family members, a few local factory owners, but he mostly speaks with Dahyun – of the social events that still remain later in the calendar year, the horse she intends to buy at the next derby, Felix’s hometown, potential places they could visit the days after. They decide to visit the city’s new public park, planned by the city’s greatest landscape architects. Once their conversation concludes, they rejoin a group of aunts chatting near the fireplace. Felix grabs a flute of champagne as they walk over.

By the end of the night he is close to dizzy, his brain just a frizzled cloud, but his limbs feel tight even as hands edge into numbness. He isn’t sure if it’s from the alcohol, or the constant stream wealth and glamour that barrages him, exciting even as it frays his nerves. Regardless, he excuses himself politely, smiling to Dahyun before retiring to his chambers.

He lies in bed, the silks cooling against his heated skin. It itches, almost, and he takes a few deep breaths, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the buzz to subside, for his blood to settle in his limbs.

And when it does, he feels –

An ache in his core. Something unsettled in his gut – corners pushing into his tender flesh, a chill where there’s a gap, the wind blowing through.

It’s just adjustment, he thinks. So many changes – Dahyun, the new wealth, new places, new people – a thousand puzzle pieces he has suddenly been given that he must use to construct a new life. He just needs to figure out the pattern, put things together.

He lets out an exhale, pulling the sheets over his head, blocking out the city lights that stream through the window. For a moment, he’s back in his childhood bed. And then, he’s asleep.

~~~

As planned, they head out early the following morning the visit the city’s central park. With initial family visits concluded and the rules relaxed now that the engagement is set, he finally is able spend time alone with Dahyun. As long as they’re in public, they can go without a chaperone looking over his shoulder, or an aunt chattering in his ear about children. He is excited to have the chance to speak freely.

And so they talk of the city’s recent growth, the trends in architecture, a revolt of the fishing union a few weeks back.

The park entrance is flanked by blooming dahlias, in peach and coral and burgundy, and Dahyun exclaims at their beauty. Felix agrees quickly, then looks ahead to the path that splits before them, wondering where it will lead, what swaying willows and magical secluded havens it will lead them through in the city’s greatest, most acclaimed offering of nature.

At the fork, they turn right. They pass meticulously maintained flowerbeds sectioned by color, perfectly round ponds cut from the earth, pristine meadows marked with signs of “No entry! Grass is growing!” They come across another split in the road that leads towards where the trees huddle together, dense and mysterious, and Felix asks if they can change direction. So they veer off the main path, in search of something more wild, but after a few minutes the path ends, and they return to the main road.

They continue walking, past wrought iron benches spaced carefully at half-mile intervals, a pond with imported fish, fountains cast in marble. They spend a few minutes in a boat at the main reservoir, rowing in a lap before bumping against the edge. It is all pretty but – he finds himself always anticipating, waiting to come across something that he can’t quite define – maybe a gnarled tree, or a frog strayed into his path, some wildflowers spread across the meadow. A surprise.

And then they are back at the start. The path, it seems, was a loop.

~~~

After returning home, they sit for lunch.

Servants swarm them, laying down silver platters full of finger sandwiches, roast meats, teapots of fragrant teas. He picks one up, pouring into the fine china in front of him. The stream sputters, tiny flecks of leaves scattering across the surface as the pot empties, leaving his cup only half-full. He reaches for another.

They talk about a fight on the rail station, the news having quickly made its way uptown. He picks up a sandwich, placing it on his plate, and offers his own story of a fight he witnessed when he was young at his own hometown’s docks, a brawl over mackerel. Dahyun giggles at the absurdity of it.

They rest for the remainder of the day in the parlor, tired from their adventure earlier, the sun having left them listless and light-weary.

They speak again about the horse she hopes to buy the following weekend at the derby, a dappled stallion. She considers if she should bring it with her to the countryside when they return. A good idea, Felix agrees, there’s certainly space for it there.

Dinner begins promptly at six in the evening, as normal. Her aunt and uncle, who were to join them, have called to say they can’t make it – her aunt has a cough, probably nothing serious, but it’s best for her to rest. Dahyun’s grandparents are absent as well, attending an evening service.

So Felix and Dahyun dine alone, accompanied only by servants and butlers. She asks him if his hometown has always been as sleepy as it is now, and he says yes, but even more so before. He asks her if this social season is as busy as they always are and she confirms, saying that while there are a few events each week this year, in previous years there are often a dozen.

She goes on to describe the kinds of parties that are thrown, the people to attend. Felix asks questions at appropriate times, reacts at the peak of each of her small stories. But then, after a few minutes, she falters.

Did she already mention the horse she wishes to buy? she asks. Oh yes, she did.

There are a few more silent seconds as she stirs her soup, and Felix jumps in to ask – what shall we do during the rest of these visit?

She exhales quickly, almost inaudibly, before tacking to the list she had begun the night before – they could visit the river walk, see the new bridge that was constructed in the last year connecting the central island to its outer boroughs. Or perhaps the botanical garden.

Felix perks up. The botanical garden sounds nice, he replies.

And then for a moment he loses himself – he tells her about the garden he once helped care for. Of the year beetles invaded, like a biblical plague, eating through all the bulbs in his neighbor’s yard, so the spring rains had only yielded soggy dirt. How there had been an invasion of leaf miners the year following, leaving white trails along the leaves of all their ferns. But they had been young, inexperienced – they didn’t realize what it was, thought they had discovered a new species of plant. Had been so proud of themselves until they had rushed to his neighbor’s mother and she had said – no that was just a pest, a bug, painting on the leaves. Little artists, she had said.

When he finishes, Dahyun is smiling sweetly. “How nice,” she says.

She looks down at her plate again, poking at the sauce, drawing a pattern. When she starts speaking again she mentions how she when she was young, she always played with her horses, participating in dressage competitions. The horse she plans on buying this week is bred for that, she says.

Ah, he thinks, again. The horse.

And then suddenly he realizes – they are on another circle. The whole day she has been getting lost in his words, and him in hers, and they return always to their starting point for safety. Each time the try to stray, the periods in their sentences are trail markers, forcing them back to well-worn topics, back to their loop.

He reminds himself that they have only known each other for a short time, have only just started spending time alone. It takes time to speak freely, to get comfortable. They are just missing the right common ground on which they together can draw new paths to explore.

So for the rest of the dinner, he asks her every question he can think of. He asks her about her favorite things, shares his. Do you like to read? Do you like the city or the countryside? Are you and your brother close? Do you frequent the museums? Do you enjoy sports?

She responds, politely and warmly, but none of her responses lead naturally into one of his own. Placing his dessert fork down he promises himself – it’s okay, no problem, we’ll try again tomorrow.

His sleep is restless, unable to stop his brain from playing out scenarios, conversations, ways to act. He can study for this, prepare for this. Ensure everything goes smoothly.

~~~

The next morning, he starts again with gusto. He is more than ready, his brain now carrying a numbered list, penned in last night’s moonlight, and so he rifles though:

(1) Do you have a favorite artist?

(2) What is your favorite season?

(3) What are your favorite parts of the city?

For the rest of the day, he continues down the list, but with no luck. When he gets in bed that night, he feels that same ache as before, but it feels more solid now – perhaps there was something off with dinner, something his body can’t figure out how to digest. He tosses the whole night, unable to relieve the pressure, but still, he starts again the following day with equal fervor.

And then the day after that. The following weekend. The following week.

When he reaches the end of his first list of questions, he scrapes to find more – tacking them on:

(1023) Oh the weather is nice today, isn’t it?

(1024) That’s a pretty tree, right?

(1025) What a nice show, don’t you think?

He is patient, tries everything, but again and again – he finds no place from which to spring, and he can tell she can’t either. There is way for him to bounce easily off into his own thoughts. He is always having to prepare himself before she finishes her sentences – contracting all his muscles with a ready thought, ready to leap into some response. He must rely on all of his own momentum, none passing between them. At the end of each day, he is exhausted.

And, even then, with all his effort, they find themselves at the same starting point, again and again. He starts to hate that godforsaken horse.

Lying in bed at night, two weeks from their trip to the park, the jumble at his core has grown more painful, like a gallstone, poking at his stomach, making him nauseous. He rolls over, burying his head in the pillow, furious at himself, frustrated. He can’t figure out what’s wrong with him, what he needs to do differently. He’s missing some optimization, some trick, needs to be more interesting, better. He always knew he wasn’t enough for Dahyun. Should he read more, learn more about art, or architecture, or…horses?

He doesn’t understand what he’s doing wrong. Why it’s this hard to find a rhythm, a flow. How it could require this much work, when it had always been so natural with you, he –

And then, suddenly, it’s clear:

The mess inside him is the accumulation of every word he and Dahyun have exchanged. They are both too much and too little, all at wrong angles. He doesn’t need more time to sort them out, readjust to make them fit together correctly.

They never will, because none of them are yours.

~~~

[ III ]

He breaks the proposal next day.

He sees how Dahyun’s face falls, fighting against tears. He knows she felt something was off too, but still, she doesn’t deserve this. He never did deserve her.

When he goes back to his room to pack, he hurls his clothing in his suitcase with his head cast to the floor, avoiding mirrors. He doesn’t want to look at himself.

He is rushed quickly and unceremoniously into a carriage, spends the whole ride back to his hometown with his head buried in his hands. He knows it would have been crueler for him to stay, but he also knows that him leaving is self-preservation, the desperate need to relief the pressure in the center of his being. He can’t pretend it’s anything noble.

As they move past the city lights, to the untamed countryside, the jumble starts to dissipate. But there is no relief – it is immediately replaced by fear, the panicked sting of uncertainty. He has no plan. He doesn’t know what he’s allowed to ask from his future.

There’s an emptiness too, that opens, particular in its tastes, screaming to be filled. A new pressure emanating from the negative space.

When he arrives home, his parents don’t speak to him for a week. And then, when they do, they just say – What a shame. How could you do this to us?

He can’t explain the truth, so he stumbles over generic excuses – sometimes things just don’t work out, I wasn’t the right one for her, I tried my best to make it work but –

They just shake their heads and turn, walking past the smudged windows, under the decaying eaves, leaving him alone to explain to himself. This, somehow, is even worse.

He hides out in a dark corner of his bedroom, knowing the whole town is abuzz with the news, afraid to run into any member of Dahyun’s family. Of being asked for an explanation that he can’t give, a truth that can’t exist.

Sitting still, the guilt accumulates around him, haunting him. But there’s another ghost, far more terrifying, made of brass, howling his name. In the haze of his future, in the swirl where potential and missed opportunity mix he knows one thing – he aches to hear your voice.

Still, though, he finds himself stalling. Passing by the phone, never touching it. The blur of the last few months has finally slowed, and with all the time alone, his brain is finally able to grasp onto everything that has happened, to inspect it. And he realizes – he told you he’d call you, but never did. Twice. He didn’t mean to break his promise, but he was so stupid and inexperienced and foolish, caught up in a dream he had thought would be his reality that he had gotten lost in time, lost track of you.

But his intentions didn’t matter. He was sure you had felt abandoned. Among all the things he is sorry for – disappointing his parents, hurting Dahyun – he hates himself most for this. He thinks of all the little thoughts and tiny hurts you had to nurse by yourself, while he was blissfully, selfishly unaware.

And so he aches to call you, more than anything, but he is equally terrified. He doesn’t know how you’ve changed over the last few months, if you are angry, if you even want to talk to him.

But after a few more days, he finally finds himself seated next to the phone, his hand on the cold metal. He starts counting down from ten, tells himself he will call at zero. He doesn’t. He counts ten more. Another ten. And then, in a huff and a blaze of courage he picks up the receiver, jamming his finger in the dial, swirling it. And the he waits, terrified, the rings of the phone and the hammering of his heart joining in a percussion of anticipation.

And then he hears a click, your voice.

“Hello?” you ask, “To whom –“

“Hi it’s –”

“Felix,” you finish.

And then there is just the crackle of a briefly severed connection. Silence.

He doesn’t know what to say, knowing that he can’t say the truth – that he returned home because it didn’t feel right, despite all the good in it, because it wasn’t this and he doesn’t know what that means and is too scared to figure it out and he misses you and he’s so sorry and he prays that you’re not mad but understands if you are. He’s not asking for forgiveness, just to hear your voice and your thoughts and any words you’ll give him. He’s empty and desperate for them. Needs them, you.

So he settles for:

“How are you?”

You respond, flatly, simply:

“Well, and you?”

He winces. This isn’t you — it’s a script. Worse than silence, worse than not knowing what you had left to offer him.

And then –

“I was sorry to hear the news about your engagement ending. I hope you are both well.”

Another line pulled from an etiquette book. Panic bubbles, and before he can think he is apologizing profusely, explaining how he just lost track but he really, definitely, still should have called. He is so sorry, so so sorry, he repeats again and again. He hopes it will help mend any hurts, will ease the block between you. But you just brush him off, saying that you were busy too, that you understand. And then nothing more.

So he then tries to lead with the things you like to talk about, to pull more from you. The kind of things that used to have you uncorking yourself, pouring into him, at the whiff of a suggestion that he was listening. But you remain restrained – not rude, just a stranger.

And then there’s a rustle in the background, and Felix hears the quick tumble of your mother’s words. He strains to make out the meaning, and then he hears another voice. A man’s voice.

And then there’s a brief quiet. He knows you’re holding your hand against the receiver, blocking your voice from him as you speak to your mother and your visitor.

“Sorry, I have to go but,” you say when you remove it, “I’ll call you later, Felix, okay?”

And then the phone clicks and he is left holding the phone to his ear like a seashell, straining to hear depths. But there is only the sound of empty space, reverberating.

~~~

Over the next few days, Felix finds himself hovering near the phone, never outside hearing distance. He knows it’s futile, knows nothing will come, but he can’t help but have a little hope. And besides – it’s easier to focus on the possibility of your voice than the probability that your guest represents.

But after a few days Felix’s hope has diminished to just a sliver, and he finally, begrudgingly, starts to force himself into the outside world, back into attempting some semblance of normal life, but he still is always thinking of you. There are side glances and hushed whispers downtown, as expected, but this isn’t the worst of it – he sees now what he was missing, secluded in his home.

You and Changbin, waltzing down the street, accompanied by your mother. In Mrs. Cho’s parlor, eating tarts. Giggling together as you ride the newly refurbished trolley, funded by his family. You have begun a courtship.

When you run into one another you are polite, an appropriate level of lukewarm. Changbin is curt – because of his sister, Felix is sure – but there’s something else there too. The edge of a possessiveness, a warning for Felix to stay back, turn away. Your mother, your new chaperone, seems oblivious to it, so Changbin doesn’t fuss. But Felix can feel its quiet heat.

And he doesn’t know if it’s this new dynamic, or your own anger, or if you simply have no attachment to him anymore, but it’s clear – that afternoon in the garden was the last time you would ever pour yourselves into one another. You have nothing to give him, want nothing from him.

So he doesn’t bother you – he just watches you from afar, sitting alone. He can never hear exactly what you say, but he watches you mouth words quickly to Changbin, laughing, raising your eyebrows in reaction to his jokes. It breaks his heart.

Felix always knew that change would come, had seen the way it did for others, but he hadn’t fully realized its weight or scope until was already upon him, crushing him. He had somehow thought that even with the backdrop of your own separate marriages, you would still be able to maintain some freedom. He had been stupid, thinking he was some exception. He had thought you would always have more time, and so he had spent it all without knowing, fool’s gold. He aches for more, still.

And so he can’t help but to nurse a space inside himself to receive anything you might be willing to give, at any time. He struggles to pad the void with blades of time he still holds from your childhood, trying make himself feel less hollow. But they’re too light, dried out, crumbling. He aches for freshness, something he can tend to.

So he collects whatever clippings he can from a distance – a glance, a faint smile, a few words – gloriously green for a second, and then all too fast brown in his clutched hands.

They are not alive. They cannot give him what he wants.

~~~

And then in Mrs. Cho’s parlor he hears it – gossip, solidifying too quickly into fact, trapping him like a cast. A snippet from a conversation behind him:

“Changbin is finally going to propose tomorrow, I hear. Asked for permission from her parents and everything already. He’s heading to the city so he has to propose, if he wants to bring her with him.”

Felix chokes on his tea. He knew this was coming, but still, he isn’t ready.

“They’re not having an engagement party here?” another voice asks, “Just leaving?”

“No, Changbin has stronger ties to the city – he’ll want to celebrate there, with his friends and business partners. Wants to set up a life there as fast as possible.”

As fast as possible. The sentence jolts through his chest.

“He’s eager to get her accustomed to city life – and he’s smitten by her, besides. Wants to move things along, start a family, establish themselves as a force in the elite circle. I spoke with his parents last week, and they say he came to them, assuring them she was the one. Said to them, ‘…she’s just so eloquent you know? Never says too much, always precise. Has a point to everything. She’ll fit in well at any party, perfect for me.’”

“Sounds like a perfect match then,” remarks the other woman gleefully.

Felix forces himself out of his chair, unable to hear anymore. The women at the table turn to him as his chair scrapes, and he pays quickly, rushes out the door. Past the crumbling walls, the shattered scales of tile, the unkept grasses to his compound, the whole time his brain replaying their conversation.

And then it gets stuck, like the needle on a phonograph.

Never says too much, always precise. Has a point to everything.

It makes him boil, limbs on fire, fists clenching. Changbin wants you like the water that runs through his pipes – washing his hands, watering his garden, filling his glass. Controlled, portioned, calibrated to a purpose. Discarding the rest down the drain, without a second thought.

And, now, too, there is the question of what to do. He had expected that you would have some sort of sendoff, a way for him to see you for the last time before you were whisked away to your new life. A few more minutes of time guaranteed before you vanish. But now, suddenly, there is nothing left.

So he makes a decision, as selfish as it is self-sacrificing. He will visit your home one last time, for one final goodbye. To wish you the best, make sure you seem happy, to let you know he’s there if you ever need him. But also, to steal a few extra moments with you, a last chance to pad out the emptiness he has carved involuntarily inside himself.

~~~

That night he stands in front of your door, fist hovering a few inches from the wood. He starts counting down from ten, tells himself he will knock at zero. He doesn’t. He counts ten more. Another ten. And then his fist is against the wood, feeling as if his hand belongs to someone else.

Your mother opens the door, wearing an apron, clearly have just come from the kitchen. She breaks into a familiar smile.

“Oh Felix! It’s been a while, come in.”

And so he does, stepping past the threshold. He hears voices down the hall, laughter.

“What brings you here, dear?” your mother asks, shutting the door behind him.

Felix swallows hard, manages to mumble, “I heard the…happy news, about tomorrow. So just wanted to come by to wish her well in person before she leaves for the city. Uh, say, goodbye to my oldest friend, you know, and – “

“Oh! Yes…that’s sweet of you,” your mother says, “She’s in the library. Changbin and her father are in the parlor actually, and sent her back there to fetch a volume on history. She’s been there a while, you can go meet her there. Ask her to rejoin the parlor when you’re done, okay?”

Felix nods, assuring her that he’ll do just that, and moves quickly down the corridor. He is relieved and deeply grateful that just your mother answered the door, that she still has a blind spot after all of these years, allowed him this one final opportunity. Perhaps a final repayment, a few minutes of turning the other way for all the hours you had given her to focus on what she wanted. He knows that if Changin saw him instead, that he’d stop Felix, politely of course, but still.

So he passes the parlor as quickly as he can, catching only a glimpse of father and soon-to-be-son-in-law sitting with piles of books, Changbin’s hand splayed over one, his index finger pointing to a line. He continues down corridor after corridor until their distant laughter fades to silence.

~~~

The library is at the very end of the hall, facing the family garden.

When he enters, he first sees your family’s phone, deceptive in its inanimate innocence. And then he your silhouette, facing the bookshelf, illuminated by candles and moonlight. You are crouched on the floor, a tumble of books to your left and right, your hand between shelves, adjusting an old leather volume.

The worn floor creaks beneath Felix’s foot, and you turn, eyes wide as you see him.

“Felix…” you breathe.

“Your mother said you were here fetching a book,” he rushes to say, only a partial explanation for his presence. He has been thinking about what to say all day, craved a moment like this for weeks, but he feels awkward, unprepared. He’s not sure exactly what he wants to say, knowing it won’t be everything he wants to say.

So for a few moments he’s just silent, his eyes fixed on the books piled around you, the empty shelves in front of you. He wonders what exactly you’re doing rearranging the library with a guest – your future husband – waiting for you.

You must catch some confusion in his expression, because you explain:

“A while ago, I organized everything by size…”

“I remember,” Felix responds.

“…But it still didn’t seem quite right, so I’m trying it in alphabetical order.”

You don’t say anything else, don’t ask why he’s there, just continue slotting in books. He worries that he want him to leave, are just being polite, but you don’t seem bothered either. You just pick up a book at a time, examining the spine, before placing it next to its new neighbors. Unhurried, in no rush to get back to the parlor.

But he still worries, so he offers, “Don’t want to take up too much of your time, I know you probably want to get back to Changbin – “

“He and my father will be perfectly fine without me for a while,” you interrupt, your back to him as you adjust a dictionary, “He sees so much of my anyway, and he’ll have plenty of time to see more of me.”

Felix swallows down the jealousy, poison rising from his heart. He’ll have plenty of time.

“I just –,” Felix continues, “Wanted to come say goodbye, I guess. I…know about Changbin’s plans for tomorrow. We just spent so much time together, so it just seemed…wanted to wish you the best, before you head to the city. To say congratulations.”

“Thank you. But it’s not like I’m leaving forever, Lix,” you say, “I’ll come back to visit now and then.”

“It won’t be the same, though.”

“No,” you say, “It won’t.”

And then you pause, before confessing, “But it hasn’t been for while, either.” Your tone is just truthful, like you are stating an everyday fact, one that doesn’t require you to form any feeling about it -- the price of milk, the time of the sunset.

Felix drops his eyes to the floor, unable to hold your gaze.

“…I had to make a real future,” you say. Your tone still holds no emotion, but it’s softer, gentler than anything else you’ve said.

When he looks back up he sees: the curtains, slanted. The fireplace, covered in soot. The paint, peeling. All the things that now fell to you to somehow fix.

“I know,” he says, gentle, too.

And then, before he can think it through:

“I miss you.”

A moment passes.

“I miss you, too,” you respond.

It isn’t an opening. It’s just an acknowledgement of the way things are, the way they will continue to be. Closure, but with none of the relief.

And then you turn back to the shelf, slotting a book back in. You are quiet for a few seconds, and he wonders if they’re the start of the eternity he has been dreading.

“Thanks for stopping by, though. Nice of you,” you say.

And then true silence. Now permanent.

He knows this is the end. That, finally, definitively, time is up. He feels like he should say goodbye, farewell, something, but to do so seems too cavalier, almost sacrilegious. There is not a word that Felix knows that can capture the weight of this departure.

So, he steals just a few more seconds, watching you before he turns, and then he hears –

A sob. You are trying to choke it down, but it’s unmistakable.

His next move is all instinct, muscle memory moving him to you, his chest to your back, arms wrapped around you, head on your shoulder. Just as he did when you fell and scraped your knee as a child, or broke your favorite toy. He should have thought before acting, turned around and left, but his head is empty, his body full of a primal need to fix and soothe.

“Hey, hey, ” he coos, “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come…so sorry…”

You shake your head, drawing a broken inhale. And then you turn, locking eyes with him, and he recognizes your expression. It is the same one he sees every time he looks in the mirror.

And so his next movement is both a natural progression and a huge leap. His lips, placed gently on your shoulder. Then to your neck, upwards.

He pauses between each kiss to see if it’s too far, if you want to pull away, but you don’t. You just melt back into him, moving your hand back to grip in his hair, letting him explore you. But still - you’ve only ever walked him through your mind, never through your body. He needs to stop, to ask where he’s permitted.

“Is this okay?” he whispers into your neck, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you sigh, “No, please, don’t stop, please.”

He presses his lips again to your neck again, reassuring you that he won’t, before asking, “Okay, let me know if I go too far, though, promise?”

You nod, and so he moves to give you what you want – his lips on yours, down your neck, fingers caressing your curves, pulling at the fabric. There’s a burning fire in his hands that finds relief only in your skin, but this is a secondary need. He doesn’t know what any of this means, what’s going on inside your head, knows it can’t change things, but he now sees a glimpse of you, an opening. He wants to soothe all of you, see all of you, hear all of you, while he still can.

So he is panicked in his questions – he knows his time is short, the door already against his feet. There is therefore no organization, just plea after plea, all that he has been aching to know, all that he is just now learning to ask. Racing to jump first from his tongue.

“Can I touch you here?”

“Have you been okay?”

“Can I take this off?”

“Did you see those weird clouds a few weeks ago?”

“Will you be happy?”

“You’re sensitive there, huh?”

It’s comical, but he doesn’t care, and, apparently, neither do you. You just answer, giving back everything that he pours into you. He hovers over you, clouds to rain, rain to your sea, evaporating back up in his sunshine. Raining down again. The cycle is endless, as natural in you as it is to the earth.

And so, you respond as best you can between gasps, the ache of pleasure in your throat as his lips travel across your jaw, below your ear, his hands gently pulling off your clothing. You don’t respond to his last question, the moan answer enough as his lips suck at your sweet spot.

And then he pauses. There’s a new riddle he has to answer – something else from your throat, requiring just his tongue but no words. His hand slides down your front, between your legs.

“Can I kiss you here?”

You nod, and he drops to his knees, pushing up your skirts. The angle is awkward, but you are both too rushed to figure out a better position, desperate for the new contact. You lean against the table behind you for support.

He’s gentle as he pulls off your undergarments, his gaze always upwards, devoted, watching your reaction carefully as he kisses up your thigh. He just wants to make you feel good, to make up as much as he can in this little additional time he’s been given for all the pain he’s caused. He’s nervous, afraid he won’t be good enough, but you know he’s new to this – he had told you, late one night in a blushing haze, everything he had never tried but desperately wanted to, so you gently guide him as you discover your body together. He listens to every word you say, every direction, until there are no more suggestions, just moans tumbling from your lips.

And then just his name – over and over, laced with pleasure, the prettiest it has ever sounded – until you give one final cry, throwing your head back.

He then sits back in the desk chair, pulling you on top of him, cradling you against his chest as your breathing evens out, as you recover from your high. He gently your hair, kissing your forehead, asking gently, “Feeling okay?”

You nod against his chest, then scoot up, burying your head into his neck. He pulls you closer, fingertips ghosting over your back.

“Lix?” you whisper into his neck.

“Mhm...?” he hums, gazing down at you, wanting to inhabit this moment forever, hold you forever, so grateful for it.

“I want you to take me.”

His heart stops. He pulls you away from him for a moment, so he can look into your eyes. He needs to be sure.

“Do you mean…?”

“Yes.” you say. Your voice is firm, determined.

It’s too much for his brain to process. To have you once and then never again, especially this once – he knows it will haunt him, that he’ll never recover. If he does this, the damage is permanent. And he knows, too, as much as he wants it – he shouldn’t.

“I know we’ve…” he says, gesturing to their position, the obvious sin in it, “But that, that I shouldn’t take. That’s for – “

“Please,” you say, “I just want this. Just this one thing. Please. One choice.”

And then, the most devastating thing you could say:

“I want this to be ours, even if nothing else is after.”

And this time, he’s the one that has to bury his head into you, to steady himself, to comfort himself. Trying to grapple with how full this moment is, and how empty he’ll be after.

Ours. And then, abruptly, just his. But he knows, with certainty, he’ll give you anything you want. Pour his whole future into this moment so that you can carry into your own separate future. A parting gift.

“Okay,” he exhales, “How do you want me?”

You readjust your legs, straddling his lap, then lean in to press your lips to his. You kiss him slowly, tenderly, and he reciprocates, supple in your hands. Letting you take him as you want, anything you want.

“Just like this,” you say. He cups your face, nodding.

And then you reach for his belt, and he watches as you undo the buckle, unbutton his pants. He can’t believe it’s happening, wonders if it’s a hallucination – until you reach inside, gently grabbing his already hard length, tip weeping, and he feels how sensitive he is to your touch. He’s worried about how long he can last, if he’ll do a good enough job, that this will be a lousy gift, a lifelong disappointment to remember him by. This is, after all, his first time too.

You reposition yourself and move down slowly, his tip just brushing against your folds. They’re wet, swollen. He’s already fighting to keep his orgasm down.

And then you begin to sink down on his length, and he sees the way you bite your lip, your eyebrows knit together.

“Hey,” he says, lifting your chin so your eyes meet him, “What’s wrong?”

“Hurts…” you admit. He feels a flutter of panic – the last thing he wants is to hurt you more.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks, rubbing circles into your cheek, “We can stop, whenever, if it’s too much.”

“No, I want this. I’m sure, ” you confirm.

“Okay,” he says, moving his other hand to cup your face, “Take all the time you need then.”

So you do. It’s a slow process, full of fits and starts, as you ease down his length. The whole time he kisses you, can’t step telling you how good you are, how well you’re taking him, how you’re almost there. And then when you finally reach the bottom, he leans in, kissing you hard, his hands gripping your waist, then moving down to your hips.

And then you start to move. It’s sloppy at first, but you find a rhythm quickly. His dick only grows harder inside you as he watches you bounce in his lap, something he never thought he’d see, never even dared to picture in his most secret fantasies. He thinks he could never feel better, and then you start to speak –

“Feel so full, Lix.”

“You fit so perfect inside, me.

“So good, making me feel so good.”

They’re the best words he’s ever heard, and he never wants you to stop, wants to store as many inside him as he can for the long winters ahead, so he begs:

“Please, let me hear you. Want to hear you, please.”

So you let him, brushing his hair from his forehead as you say how pretty he is, how wet he’s making you, how much you love riding him. He’s dizzy and throbbing and oh –

His hands are on your waist, stopping your motion, and you whine in protest.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes glued shut, “I was going to cum. You feel too good, I’m too excited, I’m sorry. And I can’t…not inside, not when – ”

You’re about to be engaged to someone else. Leaving tomorrow. He can give you anything but this.

You wince at the reminder, but then nod slowly. You ease yourself off him, and his cock slaps back against his stomach, red and rigid, wet with his arousal and yours. His eyes are still screwed shut, on the very edge of release. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

“Can I touch you?” you ask gently. Felix nods. You place both of your hands on his cheeks.

“You still want to cum?” He nods again.

And then he feels one of your hands lace with his, the other wrapped around his cock. One, two pumps is all it takes, and he’s spilling all over himself. He knows he should feel embarrassed, exposed, but it just feels natural to have you be the first to see him come undone. Just another first in the long line of firsts that you’ve shared with him.

When he opens his eyes you are on your knees in front of him, gently wiping his release from his stomach, his softened cock. It feels good to have you tend to him like this – it feels familiar, just like when he was sick, or hurt. This is just a natural evolution, now that you’re grown. When you are done, he holds out his arms, beckoning you back to him.

And so you settle against his chest again, curling up in his arms. He checks on you again, asking if you are okay as he rubs your back.

But this time you pause before shaking your head, drawing one shuttering breath, burying your face in his shirt. He starts to panic – did he do something? Hurt you? Were you regretting this?

“Hey,” he says, “What’s wrong?”

You take another long, broken breath.

“Miss you already,” you say, “Don’t want to go, don’t want you to go, I…”

“It’s okay,” he coos, “I got you, I’m here now. I can stay for a little. We have time.”

He knows this is only partly true – your mother could change her mind at any moment, tell Changbin. But Felix will do anything to soothe you, to help your transition back to reality, even if that requires him to spin you a fantasy for a few minutes.

“I’m not ready,” you say, shaking your head against his shoulder, grasping at his shirt, “Thought I would be ready, been trying to get ready for this for years, for how hard this would be. Tried to stay away when you came back, focus on Changbin, my family, my future. Tried to want him. But I’m not ready to leave you and I don’t know what to do…”

You start to ramble, finally pouring your whole self into him, each of your thoughts immediately becoming his. Exactly what he has desperately wanted, but every one of your words hurts. And one more than all the others.

“Years?” Felix asks.

You nod your head against his chest.

“Why didn’t you talk to me about it?”,he asks, lifting your face to his. It’s not accusatory, just sad, echoing with the hollowness of missed opportunity, of time already passed.

“Didn’t want you to be thinking about it too. Didn’t want you worrying if you didn’t realize the full reality yet. I just wanted you to move on, forget about me, start a new life with Dahyun…”

His heart drops as he realizes – you had been nursing this alone, been scared alone, to protect him. Manufacturing the illusion of time for him to play in, a dark deal to extend his childhood. Paying for his joy with your own loneliness and exhaustion. And he knows, then, that it’s his turn to be honest with you – of all the things he has collected for you only over the last couple of months, there is only one thing, simple, at the core of everything.

“I couldn’t,” he admits, “I wasn’t ready either. I tried, but I couldn’t imagine a life with her. Because she wasn’t you.”

You look up, eyes wide, fixing your gaze to his, as the truth settles on your shoulders – you have always been on the same page.

And then two sentences emerge from where they had always been lurking in the shadows of Felix’s mind, placing themselves precariously on the stack of every other word you have ever exchanged. He chokes on them – he has never tried to say anything this heavy.

Please don’t marry him. Marry me.

Caught, they already sting his throat, his mouth – he knows they will always be branded on his tongue, regardless of your answer. He has to say them before they burn through the muscle, silencing him, leaving those words forever unspoken.

But he hesitates, and in the that wasted moment, your eyes catch behind him. He turns to see what you’re looking at – the garden, overrun with weeds, the flowers dying. A thought forms, and then, as is natural between you, it is tumbling out of your mouth:

“We should water the garden more often, until it recovers.”

When you turn back towards him he is beaming, and you beam back.

You know his question. He knows your answer.

~~~

Photo by Zach Plank on Unsplash

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[dragoninahumancostume]

I was taking a shower and I got ideas but it's kind of a stretch but just hear me out, okay?

Epic the musical/Odyssey but cyberpunk/steampunk AU

Like. Like you hear Polyphemus' voice? When he's like "now die, die, di-i-ie." It sounds like a robot dying out of battery and

The gods are like the world leaders ig. Like they're scientist. Polyphemus is Poseidon's son so Poseidon would be his builder, like he'd be a giant machine instead of a cyclop

And the crew would be like. A rebellion against them gods/higher scientist. And they HAVE to go against their wishes because they have their children and wives at home and they have to go back but there's like robots surrounding their city? Kingdom? (Ithaca was it?) so they have to like go against the gods to go home and

And Athena is like trying to help them but she's also one of them so she wants to use some more harsh methods and the warrior of the mind thing is like Odysseus has like a chip in his brain so he's the only one who can talk with Athena and she shows up like a hologram to him in his brain and in the My Goodbye song he like takes it off bc it's not directly in his brain is like in his head like the place where Xavier puts his fingers when using his powers so the chip is like there and camouflaged in his skin and in My Goodbye he takes it and breaks it on the floor and

And Circe is like more of a biochemistry gal so she does experiments with the guys and

And like Hermes in Wouldn't you like is like offering some weakening poison because Circe's got plenty of daughters that are like mix of machine and life and she's like super strong bc she also experiments on herself and

This is like all over the place sorry but my mind is just going "osjrkciahepahekd" rn bc like it's cool to me and

I totally haven't read the Odyssey or the illiad and I only half understood the musical but It's fun and so uh please add to it if you can :3

#epic the musical #polyphemus #poseidon #odysseus #No I don't actually know how steampunk or cyberpunk works but it was cool for that moment and I had to write it down #athena #Epic musical au #epic ocean saga #epic the cyclops saga #epic troy saga #epic the circe saga #ramblings #hermes #circe