𝘕𝘈 𝘕𝘈 𝘕𝘈!

01. RULES. 02. MEMES. 03. VISUALS. 04. @ ⚔️ & 🦊

favorite color: red and yellow! last song: mews by gracie abrams currently reading: rereading kith and kin ... or rather listening to the audio book (for liam and laura ofc), also rereading babel. yes exitvelo rereading summer is on. currently watching:  baseball every day #it'stimefordodgersbaseball, agent kim reactivated, the apartment job. everyone tune into a shop for killers s2 on wednesday as well. i am pleasantly surprised i am watching two good dramas bc the first half of this year was dire currently craving: a good night's sleep so i will take care of that in a second

there has always been something puzzling about seo dongjae. if it wasn't his eccentric behaviour or entirely overzealous behaviour, it were all the times he didn't employ them to get his way. simok has watched him from afar for many years, by nature of being a few years apart in age - and alumni classes - as well as their revolving switches in district offices until they both ended up under the same roof in seoul. there dongjae may have been at his most confounding, the kind that had simok on high alert for weeks, so far that when it all came to a halt, when it all gave out, simok was far more collected even to his own standards than dongjae's quick crumbling into pieces. they have come a long way since then but dongjae has not been less puzzling, not at all, but simok has learned how to field it. his brows barely move when dongjae proposes a harebrained idea: to drive north to south just to see each other, to talk woncheol into letting him consult on a case in simok's district, to take his name as leverage for his own survival; although dongjae doesn't even ask before he does that anymore. to take simok's hand in the quiet confines of his car, to sit way too close to him on the couch, the news on that simok's intently watching, to follow him anywhere, everywhere, everywhere.

simok does not mind this. they have all asked about it, hyejin more than anyone else, but simok has instead found himself silently moved by the kind of steady devotion dongjae's been pouring into him. it has filled simok enough that he's responded in kind, slowly, could feel his heart move in tandem with dongjae's presence, as well recognising the quiet irritation his absence made him sense - sometimes it even made simok feel, the rarest of events, a change so uncanny it took simok wondering if he'd have to go let himself be checked out by a professional to realise what it was. dongjae's strange quirks have nestled inside of him, and he's let them be, and now he's got the man back in his doorway, making him look up from the news channel he has been watching again, to find him bruised light under the eyes and far too tired from driving hours only to see simok. dongjae does this most of all, making the inconvenience he's shouldering look easy, simple, like it doesn't need to concern simok when it does, and it makes simok understand in this brief moment how dongjae's been married before, for a long time at that.

" what are you even saying? " simok says in response, watching where dongjae is taking off his coat and loosening his tie, having come straight from work then. he expects it when dongjae comes over and unceremoniously dumps himself onto the couch on top of where simok's been stretching his feet out, tucking his face in against simok's shoulder. bewildered, looking at the expanse of the other man all over him, his weight and the faint scent of hair product and perfume, simok blinks into the silence before he puts a calm hand on the back of dongjae's neck. " you can't fall asleep here. or on me. "

a life adrift in constant wonderment, everything a blur that she could never fully grasp. where her siblings dazzled, morning dew bottled and poured into a room drop by drop with each of their introductions, francesca has always preferred to remain behind, close to the walls or in the shadows. such luck is not of making for her to grasp any longer, as she is now lady kilmartin, even with her dear husband gone from the spot by her side. the demanding meetings of the season, the balls and gatherings and what-not, do expect her presence for in some strange way she is still married to all of them, only in a much sadder state than anyone married could ever be, where the glaring lack of the young and beautiful earl with his arm around her speaks volume, speaks its very own language. francesca is inclined to agree, as john was taken too young and he was the most beautiful man she has ever met, and she is far worse off with the empty space where she stands than when she was with him.

it is all strange again, strange as it has never been before, so when she is spoken to by one of the men at the ball, a visiting count if penelope’s helpful whisper from earlier this evening is to be trusted ( and it is, it always is ), she almost drops the glass she has been filling by the station of refreshments. in all honesty, her grand plan for the night included to dip out the moment she knows her dear elder brother and sister in-law would be leaving too, taking the rare chance to see benedict and sophie off before anyone else in their family would, but her voice comes quiet when he's asked her, rough from disuse. she shakes her head then, hand around her glass, and looks past his shoulder to then return a glance back at his perfectly polished form. what does a strange man do here, in the middle of the ton, talking to a young widow who's never wanted to be further from that middle?

" no, i only meant that it depends on the next song or two. if the strings remain as slightly out of tune as they have been for the past few songs, i do not think that i will stay for very long. " she does not move away now, staring him down in a manner she's adapted from benedict, and from eloise. " is that a satisfactory answer, dear count? "

her presence in this world has been met with scorn, with fear. frightened faces that didn't want to believe she was there, she'd be reaching her hand out, only ever broken apart by the small groups of her followers. gathered like birds on branches, far away from the rest, her acolytes have made it their pride to exist in the periphery of life and to serve her in the in-between space right after the vibrant shudder of breath and its ever-long absence. but vax'ildan is not her acolyte - he has drowned in the blood and tasted death, he is wearing her mask, his face gone where her purpose remains - he is her champion, the one to carry her favour forward, the one to be the bridge between a sigh and the end of air. where they bow in reverence in mortal life and pour over black stone, over the faint smell of drawn but chilled blood, he arrives under her mantle, with her guidance, to take away the ones that have passed. there is no shame in that, and no reverence for his services, but there is an understanding he has with her; she made them all afraid of death, and through her he has seen how kind it is, how useless remorse is when the gentle touch of her pulls you along. while she is feared, a gruesome mistress, she is his mistress in far kinder ways and he has made peace with serving her in this span of eternity. there'd not be another champion.

" when you've taken me, it was not cold. it did feel final, " he admits from where he is standing by her side. the matron does not often show her vulnerabilities, not even to him, but there is always a humane quality lingering over her face, the set of her shoulders under her robe, as if to remind her champion that she, too, has come from this place of mortality that he has a hard time fully grasping at this point in time. she has gotten here through much more of an effort, the ritual not even the deathless could manage just like she did, and there is pride for her when he thinks of this, as much as there is concern for what her words mean. he always weighs them carefully, the wings at his back, in his armour, pulled in close to his body and the rest of him still, expect for where he turns his head to look at her. it has begun to feel less like holding court with her, and more like she knew his place by her side was fixed; he'd not change it willingly. he knows he is where he is meant to be. " are you speaking of those that try to prolong their existence, that try to cheat you? do you have something for me to do? " he pauses then, choosing his next question carefully, a target in the dark he'd never go for as recklessly as he did in his former life. " or are you speaking about us? "

this line sits around his throat like a noose, this thread that he can't outrun. he pulled it into himself, around himself, and has refused to let anyone even get a glimpse of it - of course he couldn't stop his sister, who dug her way through archives and tomes on the matron of death in her own way, but he never brought it up himself, never let the air between them be weighed down by that horrible truth he's grown accustomed to, this nightmare for everyone but him, also for him. only because he has acclimated himself to the thought, slowly accepting what would not be outrun, not even by someone as akin to the darkness as he is, doesn't mean that a good part of it doesn't terrify him. who'd remember him, if not vex'ahlia? besides her, and besides the few dear friends, who might move on from his memory in their own time? who, beside her, really? who'd sit and ponder of his existence, and what would he know, would he remember at all? or would it be like his face against a window pane, against glass, looking in on the world moving full and brimming with life while he was not?

if he never spoke about it with his twin, he has said even less to guillaume about it. there have been many outspoken things between them, between the easy language of their bodies, but vax'ildan could see the unfair tipping of the scales in his own favour. despite their mutual and fair share of secrets, vax could gleam a great deal more from the weight digging into guillaume's shoulders - not aristocracy, which he loathes on principle, but that frightening threat underneath, that animal tear that looked a lot like the thing him and his sister have been most frightened about since they lost their mother. if he can see this in guillaume, this battle between the kind and noble man he is, if a little spoiled, then it should only be fair for him to let the other have more of an inkling of his own battles, this pull into the night, the ether, nothingness.

" what is there to know, gui? my time is running out, " he tells him in response, the walls of whitestone around them almost too kind, as if they don't know of the ticking clock within vax'ildan's ribcage. there could have been a life here, in the middle of his sister's so well-deserved joy, her homecoming, and with him not too far from a man that's as brilliant as the sun, better than marble, whose face would undeniably one day be cast in stone for his importance to his own kingdom, his family. this life is not for vax'ildan to grasp, not with the feathers at his back, settled in his armour, and he finds more unfairness in that truth than he does in the difference of what they know about the other and what they don't. grasping guillaume's face in his hand, vax'ildan gives him a sorry smile, thinning out at the edges. " there is no way to turn it around. everyone's tried, i used to as well. but i - i don't want to. no, i think it is right this way. i am sorry, this is not what you wanted to hear. "

once you've met one of them, you've me all of them might be a saying that goes for crossing paths with one stray cat and then another, or a pack of wolves and then another, or a single crow and then a murder, but it doesn't seem to extent to elves. where leszek has been lucky enough to only see the ones not fully adjusted to others not of their kind from afar, as mihren and the healers had monopolised most of his time, and the the folk of the woods have been pretty much more in tune with him than with his companion, this is a completely different game altogether. there is no way they are getting out of this, he is getting out of this, without losing something in the process - it's an equation he's made in his head the moment he heard mihren repeat their opponent's name to herself as if it should ring a bell for him too ( it didn't, it doesn't ) and that he can see shake out in the least appealing way now too. that's how it always is with them, walking into something far above their skillset, though it's not what leszek thought would happen when they set out to find a good inn to sleep in within this city, or at least one where they could get a hot bath.

slim pickings, literally. the air is heavy with rain and yet there is no rain, which sets the ranger's teeth on edge, as does any city, especially one run through with arcane schools and all other kind of shops, and he can't find it in himself to see anything good about being here any longer now that they are being held up by this . . . aristocrat? someone noble and elven spells trouble, even for those that haven't been as astute with the customs as the kind of recluse leszek is, but he is also - tired, travelling for two days and keeping watch in the night, bones sunk deep within his skin and his arm aching where he wants to relieve it off the bone and metal attached to it, his fingers itching where he wants to go for one of his arrows. it would be so easy, if he'd know what the elf has all up his very showy sleeves. as it stands, leszek keeps his arms firmly crossed, mihren at his back saying as little as he does, leaving this to him, and he fixes his gaze up on the shining beacon of apparent knowledge in front of them, still blocking them from passing to one of the few places deeper in the city to find a spot to rest in.

" is this some kind of bargain? a proposition? i should have known we should have made a wide berth around your party, " leszek settles on, lifting his hand to scratch against the line of his jaw, his cheeks, as he stays as precise and still as possible. this is one of the worst conversation's he's had in quite a while, which says something, but the guy doesn't want to leave them alone. does he have some reason for conflict with mihren's people? is he after something only leszek can know about? all things the hunter considered, put into a corner of his mind when he came up blank, to now wonder about the same thing. " listen. i need a rest. that's what i'm demanding, where i'm selfish. we're not leaving the city for another day. can you just leave us alone? "

honesty is a currency they exchange freely between the two of them, just as much as they trade in the expert game of deception. neither of them suffers a fool for the other, as the lines are completely blurred and neither of them has ever put down a clear rule that put them on either side of it - the sincerity of friends or the devotion of lovers. everything is fair game, as florence's hand sweeps up from angelique's side to capture her face, perfectly pale cheek against her palm, to draw her into a deep kiss. it is the kind of storm that never bodes well, that promises thunder and lightning, and that they exchange in better than they do sweet nothings. this florence takes seriously, as serious as a heart attack, to kiss angélique with everything she has, mouth and heart alike, until nothing, not even air, is left between them or in their lungs. florence tilts the other's head back, nosing beneath her jaw as she presses kisses down her throat, a trajectory she knows as well as the scaffoldings of some of the oldest buildings in the city the woman she so adores calls home. it is a greedy endeavour, stealing these minutes and the warmth of ang's skin, but florence is nothing if not a hoarder. she takes and takes and takes.

only when she pulls away, her dark eyes find the other's. with jules, she'd even be something akin to amused, at this clear reading of her character and understanding of her flighty ways - she is a bird, albatross ever away from flat land, and her homes are as pesky as the clouds passing by. angélique knows this as she has studied florence better than maybe anyone else, better than even her mother used to, so well that the thief has to wonder if she has ever been loved like this by anyone, so thoroughly that she can't hide from her, or from herself, and knows she doesn't want to. " i will have no pleasure doing so, as little brings me as much as being with you here, but you know me. you know i am not made to stay, " florence tells her, looking up at her again, this pale moonlight of a woman so beautiful, breathtakingly rendered in pale hues in the dawn light, that it takes flroence's focus away as neatly as a string being cut in two.

she leans back in to kiss her again, one of her arms around ang's neck, her other hand pressed flat against her naked skin, as if she could mold her handprint into ang like sculptors used to leave their signature on their most profound masterpieces. " but i will come back to you as well, you know that too. nothing can keep me here, but nothing can keep me away either. you will forget what it will be like to miss me, " florence promises her as she brushes her mouth over angélique's, burning with determination and the truth only besotted lovers can ever share in the confines of each other. it is a dangerous game to play, to exchange one promise for another, but florence likes her stakes to be high and the rounds she plays to be the most precarious; otherwise it wouldn't be any fun at all. pulling ang close to her, florence finds it easy to play with that fire, and see how long she lasts until she disappears into the night.

jinman could be so silent sometimes, silent as a grave. windless, the lack of sound in the air when nothing moves, a complete absence of anything that could alert the room of his presence. at first eunah has been confused by this, as she knew his brother better and was used to the endless streams of words, of tangents and reassessments, dongman could go on without ever stopping, and jinman was nothing like that. he still isn't now, tree of a man, but eunah has learned that this quietness of his is as much an invitation as it is simply who he is. jinman has lived too much life, hurt too much, to fully eradicate the parts of himself that have changed with it, and between the two of them she has seen a space where not many words are needed. when she wants for them, she could go to miri or dongman, but with jinman there is nothing but his steady presence. if he gets too quiet, she sometimes asks, makes sure he has not fully drifted into this dark place she knows she can drift into as well, and keeps him company anyway, no matter the answer. at night, his breathing steady and deep, a bit of a snore, eunah is grateful to hide away in him, to share his quiet.

sometimes, when he is quiet for a long time, she can expect him to say something he has been mulling over. this happens more often when they are outside, on a walk or him following her on errands for her grandmother or just for herself, and then she can go on to pick his brain a bit for the meaning of the words or to see what inspired a question, or an observation. it can be anything from a group of school children playing games on a bench they pass, or the falling leaves in the trees, or the rush of a runner passing them by while they go on in matching steps. the park lends itself to the scarcely-populated forest, the one dongman likes to find the hill on to scream from, but jinman and her are not set out for it. instead they walk past it, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, his flannel jacket, as his voice travels down to her ear with the same deep resolute sound she has imagined reading all those poems to her. it sounds like a poem, what he is saying, and makes her look up at him to meet his eye.

" is this a good thing? or is it a bad thing? " she asks him after a moment, her grip on him tighter as they continue on their steady pace upwards until the earth flattens under them into even ground. eunah doesn't look around yet, but the wind rustles through the branches, and through jinman's hair, and she thinks that she can see what he means: he has been sleeping better, and so has she, and she feels like the weight on his shoulders is less present. she has not salvaged him, though she thinks she has alleviated some of what has been troubling him, has been trying to do so at least. just how he has made her braver, fiercer, than she was before. resting her cheek against his shoulder, she stops him. " is this your way of saying you love me? or do you want to say something else? "

it is strange to put together the picture of the man sugimoto first met in the snow, the man who had no qualms going on the hunt after him and asirpa, and to the one that most definitely saved sugimoto's life that day in abashiri, carrying him all the way to safety ( if only so neither of them would get shot or burned to a crisp, but the point stands. ) the pounding headaches that have plagued sugimoto for most of his time on bed-rest have begun to reseed, but he can tell from the slight burn in his cheek that the impact from the knife would leave behind another scar. between him and tanigaki, it is definitely sugimoto who looks more like he's been through the war, multiple of them, but he can't deny the respect that he has no qualms doling out for the older man. it doesn't come easy to sugimoto, not always anyway, but tanigaki has saved his life, and asirpa's, and for that alone sugimoto is grateful in ways not yet spoiled by the utter pain of betrayal some of the others they have been travelling with have made him feel.

the headache mostly gone, sugimoto doesn't feel clear-headed but he feels lucid. these days there is a burn behind his windpipe, ready to claw up and into his mouth, up to his eyes, making him see red. unlike him, tanigaki usually jumps into the fray out of a manner of protection - not to maim, not always to kill. he is a far better man than sugimoto might have given him credit for thus far. when sugimoto looks at him, he can't find it in himself to see red, or blue, or anything but seeing tanigaki as exactly who he is: a man who fought a war, and survived, and now does his best to survive even longer. maybe he even has aspirations of living, this difficult wish neither of them would ever dare breathing out loud. " no, i would not say any of us have been. but i know you are supposed to live. you'd be dead otherwise, tanigaki, and neither of us would be here. don't talk like your life has passed you by already. don't you have a lot to keep going for? "