#🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hanafubukki · 2 hours ago

Text

Thank you for the tag Kit 🫂💚💞

This was so funny and cute omg 😆😆🤣🤣

Qhejorjd oooffff to epel poor guy

And Najnsjdjjrr malleus having his expense at us lolo

That ending 😭😭😭 loved it 💞💞💞

1800-Curse-Control || Lilia Vanrouge

You decide to open a hotline for curing curses with Lilia. It goes exactly how you imagined it would—maybe even a little better.

“Lilia,” you said, rubbing your temples as you leaned against the counter in Ramshackle’s disaster of a kitchen. “Grim’s eating me out of house and home, literally. If I can’t afford the repairs soon, the roof will cave in. But all he cares about is premium tuna! Do you know how much that stuff costs?”

Lilia, who was casually floating upside down for no apparent reason, looked entirely too entertained. “Ah, the plight of a homeowner,” he said, grinning. “Why not turn your misfortune into opportunity? I’ve been told I have exceptional customer service skills, and I’ve been dreadfully bored. Let’s open a hotline for removing curses!”

You blinked at him. “A hotline. For curing curses.”

“Yes, my dear beastie,” he said, flipping upright midair and landing gracefully. “Think about it! This school is crawling with fools who drink unlabeled potions, poke magical artifacts, and anger vengeful spirits just for sport. You’d be rich in a week!”

“…I hate how much sense that actually makes.”

“It’s a foolproof plan,” Lilia continued, already pulling a notepad from somewhere to scribble down ideas. “I’ll handle the exorcisms and the cackling, naturally. You, my dear entrepreneur, can be the charming face of the operation. We’ll call it—hmm—‘Curse-B-Gone.’”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fine, ‘Hex Hotline.’”

You considered it. On one hand, it sounded completely ridiculous. On the other hand, there was that third-year who accidentally swapped his voice with a frog’s last week and the freshmen who kept mysteriously sprouting feathers.

“…How much are we charging?”

“Ah-ha! I knew you’d come around!” Lilia said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s see, we’ll need tiers. Minor hex removal? Hundred thaumarks. Major curses—hair-growing hexes, spontaneous transformation curses—those will start at Five Hundred.”

“And what about something, like, really bad? What if someone’s whole body turns into a pumpkin or something?”

“That’s a premium package. One thousand thaumarks.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay, I’m in. But if this flops, you’re buying Grim’s tuna for the next month.”

Lilia smirked, his fangs glinting mischievously. “Deal.”

By the end of the day, you’d set up a magical hotline using some weird orb Lilia “borrowed” from the library, a vaguely threatening poster campaign across the campus (“Cursed? Hexed? A jackal-headed god show up at your dorm? Call us!”), and a suspiciously well-stocked supply of anti-curse materials Lilia claimed were “leftovers” from his youth.

You weren’t sure whether to feel excited or like you’d just signed up for the most bizarre mistake of your life. Either way, you couldn’t wait to see how this would go down.

The orb hotline rang for the first time, glowing ominously on the rickety desk in Ramshackle. You and Lilia exchanged glances.

“Answer it!” he whispered, like this was some spy mission and not a cursed customer service line.

With a deep breath, you picked it up. “Uh… Hello, this is the Cursed and Confused Hotline. How can we—”

“YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!” Ace’s voice screamed on the other end. “HE’S GOING TO KILL ME THIS TIME!”

You winced, holding the orb away from your ear. “Ace? What happened?”

“I DON’T KNOW! I WAS JUST TRYING TO MAKE TEA!”

“Okay, and?”

“And I might’ve…accidentally used that weird sugar in the Heartslabyul pantry, the one that glows in the dark? And now Riddle’s head is covered in, like…peonies. Big, pink peonies. They keep growing whenever he gets mad, which, uh, is always.”

You slapped your forehead. “You cursed your housewarden?!”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!” Ace wailed. “I thought it was sugar, not cursed fertilizer! Look, can you just fix this before he declares ‘off with my head’ for real?”

“Ugh, fine. Where are you now?”

“Hiding in the rose bushes. He hasn’t found me yet, but I think I heard him sharpening a guillotine.”

“Classic Heartslabyul,” Lilia said cheerfully, already packing his so-called emergency kit.

When you and Lilia arrived at Heartslabyul, it was pure chaos. Riddle stood in the center of the garden, his face as red as his hair—and also half-obscured by an explosion of giant pink peonies blooming out of his head like some cursed bouquet.

“TREY!” Riddle bellowed. “GET THE GARDEN SHEARS!”

Ace was crouched in a rose bush nearby, whispering frantically. “Please tell me you brought an anti-cursed-flower spray or something!”

You ignored him and approached Riddle cautiously. “Uh, Riddle? You’ve got—”

“I KNOW WHAT I HAVE!” Riddle shrieked, a few more flowers blooming on his head. “I demand immediate remedy! Or else—”

“We’ll fix it,” Lilia cut in, grinning like this was the most fun he’d had in centuries. “Now, let’s see…” He pulled a vial of glowing liquid from his kit. “This should do the trick.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, eyeing the suspiciously fizzing vial.

“Of course not,” Lilia said, popping it open.

He dumped the liquid over Riddle’s head without warning. The flowers immediately shriveled up and disappeared.

Riddle blinked, touching his head in astonishment. “…It’s gone?”

“You’re welcome,” Lilia said with a dramatic bow.

Ace peeked out from the bushes. “So…he’s not mad anymore, right?”

Riddle’s death glare answered that question.

“RUN!” you yelled, dragging Ace out of the garden as Riddle shouted about punishment for “sugar crimes.”

Back at Ramshackle, you slumped against the desk. “We’re never doing house calls again.”

Lilia just laughed. “Oh, but the drama! I live for it!”

The hotline orb began glowing again, pulsing with a foreboding, bluish light.

You groaned. “If this is Ace again, I swear—”

Lilia waved his hand. “Come now, it’s probably another entertaining disaster! Answer it!”

You reluctantly picked up. “Cursed and Confused Hotline. What’s your—”

“FIX. THIS. NOW!” came Azul’s shrill, panicked voice.

You blinked. “Azul? What’s—”

“I CAN’T EVEN DESCRIBE WHAT HE’S DONE THIS TIME!”

“Oh, come on, Azul!” Floyd’s voice cut in, cackling in the background. “It’s a masterpiece!”

“Masterpiece?” Azul screeched. “You flooded the dining room and filled it with—WHY ARE THERE EELS IN THE SOUP POTS?”

“Because it’s hilarious!” Floyd howled, clearly having the time of his life.

Jade’s calm voice joined in, oozing politeness as always. “To be fair, Floyd has a point. The eels are thriving in there.”

Azul sputtered like a broken faucet. “THRIVING?! THEY’RE STEALING PEOPLE’S FOOD!”

“Sounds efficient to me,” Floyd said. You could practically hear him smirking. “Dinner and a show!”

Lilia perked up. “Eels in soup pots? How creative!”

“Don’t encourage him!” Azul barked. “Do you know how much it costs to repair the water damage he’s caused? The walls are dripping! The chandelier is dripping! I AM DRIPPING!”

“That’s not cursed,” you said, trying to hide your amusement. “That’s just Floyd being—well, Floyd.”

“Oh, no, it’s cursed,” Azul hissed. “Every time I try to remove the eels, the water level rises. They’re like aquatic squatters! Fix it or I swear I’ll—”

The sound of something massive splashing cut him off, followed by Floyd’s uncontrollable laughter.

“HAHAHA! He slipped into the soup pot! Jade, did you see that?”

“I did,” Jade replied, his voice as smooth as ever. “It was quite elegant.”

“AZUL’S AN EEL NOW!” Floyd cried. “Eel bros for life, baby!”

The orb started vibrating violently.

“Get. Over. Here. Now.” Azul’s voice was barely a whisper, the tone of someone seconds away from an aneurysm.

You sighed and grabbed your bag. “Let’s go before he implodes.”

When you arrived at Mostro Lounge, it was exactly what you expected—and somehow worse. The entire dining area was flooded, eels swam lazily in the soup pots, and Azul was perched on a chair, drenched from head to toe and glaring murderously at Floyd, who was happily paddling through the water like it was his personal playground.

“Finally!” Azul barked, waving his wet hand. “Do something! Anything!”

Floyd, half-submerged in a soup pot, waved at you. “Hey! You wanna join the eel party? First rule—no rules!”

Lilia clapped his hands. “This is magnificent chaos!”

Azul groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’ll double your pay if you fix this immediately.”

You glanced at Lilia, who was already pouring a suspiciously glowing liquid into the water.

“This should work,” he said cheerfully.

The water started to drain, the eels vanished in puffs of smoke, and the room returned to normal—except for Floyd, who now floated upside down in midair, spinning like a cursed top.

“Whoa, this is AWESOME!” Floyd laughed, twirling like a maniac. “I’m a flying eel!”

Azul sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as you said “I’m charging you extra for emotional damages.”

The hotline orb flared up again, casting a frantic purple glow. You groaned, mid-sip of tea.

“I don’t know if I can handle more insanity.”

Lilia, perched upside down on the couch, grinned. “Nonsense! Chaos keeps the heart young. Answer it!”

Reluctantly, you picked it up. “Cursed and Confused Hotline. What did you do, and how bad is it?”

“It’s me! It’s Epel!” came the desperate, whisper-shouted voice of the Pomefiore freshman. “I need your help—immediately! I’ve got the worst curse of all on me.”

“Worst curse?” you asked, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“Vil,” Epel said, voice shaking. “And Rook.”

“...Epel, those are people, not curses.”

“They are when Vil finds out I repurposed his limited-edition face mask jars as apple cider mugs for the guys in Savanaclaw!”

Lilia burst into a delighted cackle. “Oh, that’s fantastic!”

“Not fantastic! Vil’s gonna flay me alive!” Epel hissed. “And Rook’s hunting me down like a rabbit in the woods. Please, ya gotta help!”

You tried not to laugh. “How exactly do you want me to help? I can’t exactly—”

A loud thud echoed through the call, followed by Epel screaming, “He found me! NO! PUT THAT BOW DOWN!”

“Bonjour, my friend~!” Rook’s voice came through, as smooth as velvet and disturbingly cheerful. “Ah, how beautiful the chase! Like a fox cornered by the hounds, our petit pomme has finally been found!”

“ROOK, NO! DON’T HAND ME OVER!”

“Oh, petit lapin,” Rook said, unbothered, “the punishment will only make you stronger. Think of it as a trial by fire!”

“I DON’T WANT TO BE STRONGER, I WANNA BE ALIVE!” Epel shrieked.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Rook, what exactly are you planning to do with him?”

“Ah, worry not,” Rook replied. “I am but a humble messenger delivering him to justice. Vil has been most patient.”

“HE CALLED ME A PEASANT AND THREW A HEEL AT ME, THAT’S PATIENT?” Epel howled.

Lilia leaned forward, thoroughly entertained. “Rook, at least let us have a word with Epel before he meets his doom.”

“But of course!”

“HELP ME!” Epel screamed the moment Rook handed him the phone. “Distract them, hex me, I dunno, CURSE ME INTO A TREE OR SOMETHING—”

“Epel,” you said firmly, trying not to laugh, “you’re going to have to face Vil eventually. What’s the worst he could do?”

“THE WORST? Oh, I dunno, exile me to a skincare bootcamp for the rest of my natural life?”

Rook’s voice floated in. “Imagine it, petit pomme: cleansing facials, detoxifying baths, and no more cider mugs. A new you!”

“YOU STAY OUTTA THIS!”

You sighed. “I can offer one thing.”

“Anything!”

“An apology. I suggest you start practicing now.”

“An apology?! I called Vil’s collection overhyped snake oil. I’m DOOMED!”

“Not if you run fast enough,” Rook chimed in cheerfully. “Shall we test your stamina?”

The call ended with Epel’s scream, followed by the distinct sound of someone bolting at full speed.

“Well,” Lilia said, smiling. “That was worth every second.”

Jamil’s voice crackled through the orb strained and absolutely done.

"Hi, yeah, it’s me again."

You rolled your eyes. "Let me guess. Kalim tried to throw a party?"

"And Cater," Jamil growled, the sound of something crashing in the background. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to manage one chaos gremlin? Now imagine two. They’ve cursed half the dorm—random objects are coming to life, and singing. And I don’t mean pleasant singing. I mean like if a banshee and a kazoo had a love child."

Lilia leaned in beside you, eyes glittering with delight. "Oho, this sounds entertaining! What did they do this time?"

Jamil sighed deeply, as if he’d just aged ten years in the past ten minutes. "Kalim thought it would be fun to 'spice up' a party by enchanting the decorations. Cater encouraged him, saying it would make a great Magicam post. The result? The curtains are now tap-dancing, the chandelier won’t stop singing old sea shanties, and the punch bowl tried to bite me."

Lilia clapped his hands. "This sounds like an excellent way to spend the afternoon! Let’s go!"

You groaned. "Why do I have to go?"

"Because you’re the only one who can keep Lilia from making things worse," Jamil deadpanned.

Arriving at Scarabia was like stepping into a fever dream. The furniture was waltzing around the room, the ceiling fan was chanting, "Spin me right round, baby, right round," and the aforementioned punch bowl snarled at you as you walked in.

Kalim, of course, was having the time of his life, clapping to the rhythm of the furniture parade. Cater was filming everything, laughing as he tried to get the chandelier to do a TikTok dance.

"Do you see what I have to deal with?" Jamil hissed, his hair practically frazzled.

"Let’s fix this before someone dies," you muttered, pulling out the anti-curse toolkit Lilia had handed you on the way.

"Or before someone posts this to Magicam and the entire world sees it," Jamil added grimly, glaring at Cater.

It started smoothly enough—well, as smoothly as any curse-breaking session with Lilia could go. The two of you worked to unravel the enchantments while dodging flying pillows and shrieking party streamers.

Then, of course, you made the mistake of touching an enchanted lamp.

It burst into song—loud, off-key, and somehow extremely personal. The lyrics were all about your lack of a love life and questionable fashion choices. Before you could fight back, it tangled itself around your arms and legs, dragging you upward toward the chandelier.

"Hey, uh, Lilia? Little help!"

Lilia, ever the dramatic savior, leaped into action. With a mischievous grin, he sliced through the magical binds with a well-aimed spell and caught you mid-fall.

You blinked up at him, heart hammering in your chest. His crimson eyes glimmered with amusement, his fangs showing in a victorious smirk. He cradled you with an ease that shouldn’t have been possible given his stature.

"You alright there, my dear?" he asked, voice low and teasing.

"Yeah, I’m fine," you muttered, face heating up. "Just…you know…trying not to die."

But your brain wasn’t focusing on that. It was too busy processing the fact that Lilia was holding you like you weighed nothing, and you could feel your pulse quickening. Damn it, why is my heart beating so fast?

He tilted his head, studying you with an unreadable expression. "Are you sure? Your face is a bit flushed."

"Nope! Totally fine!" you squeaked, scrambling out of his arms as soon as your feet touched the ground.

Jamil, watching the whole thing from across the room, rolled his eyes. "Great. Now you’re cursed too."

"Shut up, Jamil."

It took another hour, but the dorm was finally back to normal—or as normal as Scarabia could be. Kalim apologized profusely, Cater promised to delete the footage (he didn’t), and Jamil looked like he might snap at any moment.

As you and Lilia walked out, you tried to calm your racing heart, but he leaned in with a knowing grin.

"Quite the adventure today, wasn’t it?"

"Sure," you replied quickly, hoping your face wasn’t still red.

He hummed thoughtfully. "I wonder what’s got your heart racing so much. You’re not catching feelings for your favorite partner-in-chaos, are you?"

"Not a chance," you lied, your heart betraying you with another treacherous thump.

Lilia just chuckled, and you couldn’t tell if he believed you—or if he was just letting you stew in your own embarrassment for fun.

The enchanted orb buzzed frantically, and you groaned as you reached for it. The second you accepted the call, you heard Deuce.

“HELP! WE MESSED UP BAD!”

“Deuce?�� you asked, already dreading the answer. “What did you do this time?”

Jack’s voice came through, exasperated and growly. “It wasn’t just him. I was there too.”

“Great,” you deadpanned. “So, what kind of mess am I cleaning up now?”

Deuce gulped. “We, uh… were practicing some spellwork for exams—”

“Right by the Spelldrive practice field,” Jack added grimly.

Your eyes widened. “Please don’t tell me you—”

“Destroyed the field? Yeah,” Deuce admitted miserably. “But we didn’t mean to! The explosion was an accident!”

You heard a sharp, angry voice in the background: “AN ACCIDENT?! YOU DESTROYED HALF THE FIELD, YOU LITTLE—”

“Leona’s there?” you asked, already standing up.

Deuce nodded frantically. “He’s so mad. Please come before he kills us!”

“Stay put,” you said, grabbing your things. “And pray he doesn’t finish you off before we get there.”

The Spelldrive practice field was a warzone. One goalpost was completely obliterated, sand smoldered in random patches across the ground, and an entire section of the bleachers looked like it had been hit by a tornado.

Leona was standing in the middle of the chaos, arms crossed, glaring daggers at Deuce and Jack, who were huddled behind a tipped-over bench like it could save them. His team stood a safe distance away, clearly too smart to get involved.

You arrived with Lilia in tow, who was already grinning like he’d just stumbled upon the most entertaining show of the year.

“Oh, this is delightful,” Lilia mused, surveying the carnage. “It’s like an abstract painting of destruction.”

“Not helping,” you muttered, jogging toward the scene.

Leona’s sharp green eyes locked onto you. “Finally. You gonna fix this mess, or do I get to turn these two into sandbags?”

“Leona,” you said, stepping between him and the disaster twins, “We’ll handle it. Just… don’t murder them. Yet.”

Leona snorted. “You’ve got five minutes.”

Lilia hummed a jaunty tune as he began waving his hands over the destroyed sections of the field. Slowly, the sand settled, the goalpost reformed, and the bleachers stopped looking like they’d gone through a blender.

Meanwhile, you kept Leona from pouncing on Deuce and Jack, who were watching Lilia work with wide eyes.

“You two better hope I don’t find out about another ‘accident,’” Leona growled, looming over you.

“Relax,” you said, holding up a hand. “They’re idiots, not criminals. Save your energy for your team.”

Leona rolled his eyes but stepped back, muttering something about “babysitters.”

When everything was finally back in order, Lilia dusted off his hands with a satisfied smile. “That was quite fun. We should let those two cause chaos more often.”

You shot him a look. “Please don’t encourage them.”

Leona, arms crossed and clearly annoyed, stepped closer. “You’re done? Good. I’ll send Ruggie with something to pay you later.” Then he smirked, eyes flicking between you and Lilia. “Now keep your lovesick asses away from my practice field.”

Your brain short-circuited. “Wha—?! Lovesick?”

Leona just walked off with a lazy wave, leaving you standing there, half-mortified.

Lilia leaned in, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “Oh my. He really has a way with words, doesn’t he?”

“Don’t you start,” you muttered, your face burning.

But when you turned to walk away, Lilia was by your side, chuckling softly. He caught your wrist gently, pulling you to a stop for just a moment. “For what it’s worth,” he said, voice quieter and more serious, “you were quite impressive back there, keeping Leona from turning them into mincemeat.”

Your heart did a flip. “Uh… thanks?”

He let go with a grin, stepping back and returning to his usual playful tone. “Now, let’s see if we can avoid the next disaster, hmm?”

You weren’t sure if your face would ever cool down.

Potions class with the first-year gang was never uneventful. Today was no exception. The room smelled faintly of burnt caramel as Grim waved his tiny paws at Ace, who was leaning smugly on the table.

“I told you not to put that in!” Grim yelped.

“I barely touched it!” Ace shot back.

“It doesn’t matter who did it!” Sebek barked, slamming his hands on the table. “What matters is that our potion is—”

“About to blow,” Jack growled, pointing to the cauldron bubbling ominously.

“Wait—WHAT?!” you yelped, but it was too late.

The cauldron erupted, spraying a shimmering pink mist over everyone. The class erupted into chaos as Sebek shouted about “inferior techniques,” Epel coughed dramatically like he was dying, and Deuce tried (and failed) to douse the sparks with his coat.

You, unfortunately, caught the brunt of the potion to the face.

You thought the effects were mild at first—just a faint warmth in your chest and the echo of the sugary-sweet scent in your nose. But when you sat down at lunch with Lilia and Malleus, the symptoms became impossible to ignore.

Lilia was chatting animatedly, laughing at his own jokes and waving his fork in the air, while Malleus nodded thoughtfully. But you weren’t hearing a word.

Your brain had decided that the only thing worth focusing on was how kissable Lilia’s lips looked.

Wait, what?

You shook your head, trying to clear it, but it only got worse. Now you were noticing how nice his voice was. And his smile. And the way his hand brushed yours when he passed the salt—

Oh, no.

“Child of man,” Malleus said, pulling you from your internal meltdown, “you seem… distracted.”

You blinked rapidly. “Uh. Yeah. Distracted. Totally fine. Definitely not—uh—totally infatuated with Lilia or anything.”

Lilia looked up, smirking. “Oh? How flattering.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “IT’S THE POTION!”

Malleus watched you pace back and forth in the hallway, his expression somewhere between amused and curious.

“You have to fix me,” you begged, grabbing his shoulders. “This has to be the potion talking. There’s no way I just—randomly—started thinking about Lilia like that!”

Malleus tilted his head, his eyes studying you intently. “You truly believe you are under an enchantment?”

“Yes! Of course!” You gestured wildly. “I mean, it’s Lilia! He’s my partner in crime! He’s—he’s—”

“Kissable?” Malleus offered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Your hands dropped to your sides. “You are so not helping.”

He stepped closer, his presence calm but commanding, and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Very well, child of man. Allow me to assess your condition.”

Malleus leaned forward, his magic swirling faintly around him as he studied you with eerie precision.

After a moment, he straightened, folding his arms. “The potion you were exposed to was a failure. Its intended effects are nonexistent.”

You froze. “What are you saying?”

Malleus raised an eyebrow. “I am saying that you are not under a spell. Your feelings are entirely your own.”

You stared at Malleus in horror.

“So… you’re telling me… I’m not cursed?”

“Precisely.”

“And this… this whole… wanting to kiss Lilia thing…” You paused, voice dropping to a mortified whisper. “That’s just me?”

Malleus nodded sagely. “Indeed.”

You covered your face with your hands. “No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”

Lilia’s voice drifted from the next room. “Are you done conspiring with Malleus, beastie? Lunch is getting cold!”

You peeked through your fingers at Malleus, who looked like he was thoroughly enjoying your suffering.

“Good luck, child of man,” he said, patting your shoulder.

You groaned. “I’m going to die.”

And yet, as you returned to the table and sat down next to Lilia, who greeted you with his usual teasing grin, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

You didn’t think it could get any worse than being late for class, but that was before Grim decided to experiment with potions unsupervised. Now, you and Lilia were sprinting through the halls of NRC, dodging a cursed army of flying spoons.

“I told Grim not to use the potions lab as a snack bar!” you gasped, barely ducking as a spoon zoomed past your head with terrifying precision.

Lilia, running beside you, was grinning like this was the most fun he’d had all week. “I must admit, this is an impressive level of chaos. Even I wouldn’t have thought to curse cutlery!”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” you panted, grabbing his arm as another wave of spoons turned the corner. “Hide!”

The two of you dove behind a nearby tapestry, pressing against the wall as the spoons zipped past, their metallic clinking fading into the distance.

For a moment, it was quiet—except for the pounding of your heart.

Your breathing slowly steadied, but your heart didn’t. Not when Lilia was so close, his eyes gleaming with excitement and his cheeks flushed from the chase.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lilia,” you blurted, voice trembling but determined, “I’m in love with you.”

Lilia blinked, his surprise evident for a split second before a soft smile curved his lips. “Ah, I see. Was it the spoons that gave me away, or my undeniable charm?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I’m serious!”

He chuckled, gently pulling your hands away to meet your eyes. “So am I. I’ve felt the same for quite some time.”

Your breath hitched. “Really?”

“Really,” he murmured, leaning closer. His lips brushed yours, soft and fleeting, but it sent your heart racing like you were being chased by a thousand cursed spoons.

He pulled back, his grin mischievous. “Now, let’s survive this first date, shall we?”

He grabbed your hand, pulling you from your hiding spot just as the spoons began circling back like a swarm of metallic bees.

“Run!”

You laughed despite yourself, sprinting hand-in-hand with Lilia as the chaos erupted around you once more.

And yet, as you glanced at him—his hair wild, his smile unshakable, his fingers warm around yours—you couldn’t help but think:

I want this forever.

Masterlist

170 notes · View notes

zablife · 3 days ago

Text

@cillmequick I'm so pleased you're enjoying the series, Alex! I think Ada's upbringing (or lack thereof 🤣) is showing! Irene is such a gentle soul, isn't she? 🥹 And, yes, she's frightened by Polly who is the opposite of Mrs. Robinson.

As for my assumption on Ada's relationship with her father and her nonchalance when discussing him, I would think she's only heard terrible things from her brothers so even if she did have questions about him, she's likely put them in the back of her mind. Tbh tho I think she's far more interested in discussing Irene's family (bc she's nosey 🤭).

Tysm for taking the time to read and comment! Love seeing you in my notifications 💞

Green Gloves (Part 2)

Summary: Ada learns a bit more about Irene's family history as the girls' shenanigans continue.

Author's Note: If you'd like to see the way I picture Irene's family, check out her details here.

Warnings: mention of injury, death, underage drinking, vomiting

Part 1

Peering inside the quiet stillness of the betting shop, Irene gulped at the thought of crossing the threshold into the Shelbys’ lair. It wasn’t only the late hour that made her uneasy, she always had an eery feeling of being watched in this mysterious place.

When she first mentioned this to Ada, her observation was met with a dismissive chuckle and an explanation that it was only Aunt Polly’s traditions that made their home seem different. "I don't believe the superstitions and neither should you!" Ada had advised.

It was easier said than done when faced with the reality, however. Irene's head snapped at the slightest sound, her trembling voice echoing against Ada's back. “I don’t like this,” in a disapproving tone. Desperate fingers grappling at her friend’s elbow, she attempted to draw Ada from the double doors she knew to be strictly off limits.

“Why? Scared of the dark? Or Aunt Pol’s curses?” Ada teased, wriggling free of her grasp and quickly slipping inside.

Eventually losing sight of her friend and unwilling to follow, Irene stood rooted to the spot just outside the door. Eyes trailing toward the cracked ceiling, she strained to listen for footsteps indicating the formidable Polly Gray would appear to punish them.

The sudden twitch of her limbs revealed her state of anxiety, realizing she’d been holding her breath when the light headedness caused her to sway on her feet. Stumbling backward against the kitchen table, she propped herself up against the far end and silently cursed Ada for whatever errand was taking so long.

Though she wasn’t sure how long she might be waiting, Irene didn’t dare take a seat, her discomfort in her surroundings gnawing fiercely at her insides. She briefly thought of tidying the cluttered surface in front of her, hands reaching for a dirty teacup when she noticed the curious sight of Polly’s bible and rosary next to a stack of brightly decorated cards.

She hadn’t known what they were a few weeks ago, but now she had a rudimentary understanding of tarot. Ada explained her aunt gave readings as a way to provide solace to war widows and those clinging to the hope they wouldn’t soon fall victim. Though Irene hadn't decided how she felt about the practice, it was a detail about Ada's family Irene thought best not to mention to her devoutly religious mother.

A scuffle across the floorboards indicated Ada was returning from her mission, her triumphant whisper echoing through the corridor. “Found it!" Ada announced proudly as she beckoned Irene. "Time to go."

Irene didn’t ask what she was carrying in the small sack at her side. In all honesty, she didn’t care what Ada had come for, only that they were free to leave.

—————————-

“This is why we broke into your aunt’s shop?” Irene accused, her voice pitching higher than intended at the shock of seeing a whisky bottle peeking out from the edges of burlap.

“Shhh! Keep your voice down! Do you want your mum to catch us?” Ada scolded.

Irene clamped a hand over her mouth, peering into the hall before closing the door to her room. “S no crime to take somefin' from your own house,” came Ada's muffled reply, teeth clenched around the cork of the bottle to dislodge it.

Overcome with curiosity, Irene peered over Ada's shoulder asking, “Where did you find it?”

“Arthur...stashed... a bottle in...his office,” Ada struggled to reply, continuing to tug at the stubborn cork before eventually freeing it with a satisfying pop. She took a swig and recoiled at the burn at the back of her throat, then extended the bottle to Irene.

As Irene held the glass between her palms, she stared into the foul smelling liquid with trepidation. “Who’s Arthur?” she asked before taking a small sip and sliding the bottle back to Ada with a shiver.

Hands hovering at the neck, Ada’s fingers stilled momentarily and she seemed to hold her breath. Irene thought she detected a brief flicker of sadness in her eyes before she blinked it away with her usual irreverence. Her head bobbed slightly as she huffed out a little chuckle, “According to Polly, he’s an ignorant git who causes too much trouble."

As Ada drank some more, Irene studied her face for any sign she might continue, but the moment had seemingly passed. Attempting to hide the overexcited tremble in her voice, Irene ventured, “Is he your sweetheart?”

Laughter punctuated the silence, Ada’s shoulders shaking uncontrollably as she fell over, one hand clutching her mouth to stifle her soft snorts.

Irene looked on in utter confusion and slight annoyance. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

Pushing onto her elbows, Ada attempted to sit upright as she continued to chuckle, “That’s something Arthur’s never been called before!” Wiping a tear from her eye, she repeated, “sweetheart.” As Irene waited for an explanation, Ada waved her hand dismissively, “He’s my older brother.”

“Oh, of course,” Irene sighed, a note of relief evident in her voice. “You’d only mentioned John,” she added quickly, remembering the little house with tow headed children playing outside.

“I hadn’t meant to hide it. Honestly, I think I forget sometimes now that they’ve been away so long,” Ada uttered softly. Clearing her throat of any lingering sentiment, she explained, “There’s Arthur, Tommy and John besides me and Finn.” Sweeping the hair from her eyes, she asked, “And the Robinsons? Are there more brothers you’ve kept secret from me?” With a teasing wink, she passed the bottle back to her friend.

Irene shook her head as she tipped it against her lips, a dribble of amber liquid spilling down her chin. Wiping it away quickly to keep it from falling onto her dress, she was too preoccupied to stop herself from confessing, “Father would have preferred sons, but Martin’s the only one. What a disappointment for him, eh?”

As soon as she locked eyes with Ada’s curious stare, she pressed her lips together tightly. However, she had to admit the catharsis of saying the words aloud for the first time. Taking another gulp of whisky, she noted how little it burned now, the sudden warmth lapping at her spine to coax the truth from her with ease.

"I'm not sure what the point of it was, following the rules when Martin ignored them,” she snorted softly at the memory of the spirited disagreements between father and son, especially when Martin told them he intended to enlist. “Mum always said they could fight about everything and nothing, too alike for their own good."

Her gaze shifted to Martin’s books stacked by her bed, the beloved volumes entrusted to her care before his departure. She exhaled deeply, staving off the blooming ache in her chest at the notion of her loved ones assembled for the last time. A distant look in her eye, she confided quietly, “Sometimes I wonder if he might be alive if it weren't for Martin.”

"I don't understand," Ada admitted with a look of concern.

“He couldn’t bear to hear his only son had been gravely wounded, so he collapsed. Everyone says it was a weakened heart, but I think it was a broken one," Irene nodded softly to herself. "It's as though it only beat for one person." The rest of us weren't enough, she added in her mind, but the tears collecting along her lash line conveyed the sentiment.

Ada reached to grasp her friend’s hand in the darkness, giving a gentle squeeze. She'd never given much thought to Arthur Sr's opinion of her, but it was clear Irene's needs were different. There would always be a piece of her which craved the love and attention Mr. Robinson gave so freely to her brother.

Looking down at their interlaced fingers, Irene's heart swelled at the closeness and comfort. There hadn’t been much in the past year, her mum busying herself with the business of carrying on like the dutiful wife and mother she'd always been. Irene often thought how easy a decision it would be to trade this life for her old one, even with the squabbles and slights.

“Is your family close?” Irene asked suddenly, hazel eyes glistening with hope.

“Always within striking distance,” Ada smirked, earning a bubble of laughter from Irene.

“Can't be helped really with a family business," she explained with a shrug. "Arthur runs the betting shop with Tommy and John working under him,” she repeated, knowing the order of things as Polly had explained them many times over. It was important to know, lest others get the wrong impression while they were away that things would be any different after the war.

Irene suddenly felt a cold chill run down her spine at the thought of the infamous Shelby temper, head snapping toward the half empty bottle in her hand. “Shouldn’t we save the rest for Arthur if he comes looking?”

“Nah, fuck him!” Ada snickered, stealing it for another swig.

“Are you so sure he won’t return for it?” Irene laughed as her hand fell across Ada's in a disjointed attempt to grab at the bottle. She froze the moment the words left her mouth, fingertips brushing along Ada's knuckles as she relinquished her hold. “I’m so sorry, Ada. I'm not sure why I said that," she murmured in apology.

She felt her stomach lurch, threatening to overturn its contents and turned away from Ada with downcast eyes. "I've had too much,” she gestured to the bottle, hanging her head in shame.

“S’alright,” Ada replied, eyes glazing over from her own indulgence. With a wave of her hand she continued, "Pol says whisky is good proofing water." Placing her palm against Irene's back she added earnestly, "You're a good person."

Irene shifted, burying her head in her friend’s shoulder and inhaled the sweet scent of rose water with a hint of the unique tea in Aunt Polly's cupboards.

"Are you like her?" Irene wondered aloud.

"Hmmm?"

"Have you seen...things... in the cards, I mean?"

"Never tried," Ada admitted. "Nor the tea leaves."

"What's that?"

"Surely you noticed all the cups," Ada muttered. "Pol reads the leaves left over, to tell the future."

"She can?"

"So she claims. Predicted the death of our neighbor two years ago," Ada proclaimed before furrowing her brow with newfound concentration. "Come to think of it, she could have predicted your father's death...if you'd known her then, of course."

Irene shook her head violently. "No, I wouldn't have wanted to know."

"Really?" Ada asked, eyebrows raised. "I'd want to know if my old man dropped dead. Might throw a party," she grinned at the thought of the selfish bastard dying alone somewhere. However, the joke was lost on poor Irene who sat in heavy silence.

"F-forget I said anything," Ada stuttered awkwardly, hoping Irene would leave that particular conversation for another day. To her relief, exhaustion was quickly overtaking her friend, Irene's eyelids drooping beneath the weight of impending sleep. Her limbs growing heavy, she allowed her body to sink into Ada's side with a small sigh of satisfaction. Arm slung across Ada's waist, her breathing slowed and she found herself drifting toward peaceful slumber.

That is, until Ada suddenly jolted her awake.

“What is it? My mum?” Irene said, rubbing her eyes.

“I think I know what will cheer us up,” Ada suggested, rising to her feet.

“I don’t want any more whisky,” Irene protested, holding up a hand.

Ada only giggled as she took Irene by the arm and lead her out the door toward her mother’s shop.

“We can't go down there!” Irene hissed.

“I just want to try on a few dresses. Please, Irene!” Ada begged.

All fight gone from her body, Irene gave in with one stipulation, “Just one or two.” Ada nodded her head vigorously in agreement.

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

An hour and a considerable amount of whisky later, both girls were prancing about the shop in frocks Mrs. Robinson had spent weeks preparing for the ladies of neighboring towns. Ada insisted Irene try a pale yellow dress even though she balked incessantly about it being her least favorite color. And in retaliation, Irene chose the first thing Ada showed true disdain for, a mass of ruffles and lace.

Standing before the full length mirror, Ada studied herself carefully, turning this way and that to see how she looked in the garment. Casting a jealous glance at Irene, she noted how much better her friend filled out the bodice of her dress. “I wish I had your tits,” Ada whined without realizing she’d actually said the words aloud.

“Seriously?” Irene asked with incredulous delight. “Gosh, I’d love to have your tiny waist!” Ada's cheeks flushed with heat, unable to remark as Irene ran her fingers along the boning of her dress with featherlight touch.

Their eyes locked in the mirror for a moment before Ada broke away to reach for Irene’s hand, promenading her partner around the shop with a flourish. “You look simply marvelous,” she complimented in a posh accent. Twirling her friend closer she added, "for a giant banana" with a snicker of mischievous delight.

Irene stuck her tongue out impishly, but chose to return the wayward compliment. “Not nearly as lovely as you, my dear lace doily,” she snorted, hinging forward in a deep bow that nearly saw her face plant onto the workroom floor.

Motionless against the cold boards, she was horrified to notice how they moved in undulating waves around her, Ada's legs swaying along. Irene shook her head with an unpleasant grimace. "Ada, stop moving!” she pleaded in a pitiful tone.

“M’not!” Ada protested. Glancing down at her very green looking friend, she suddenly began to panic. “Wait…are you going to be sick?”

“No!” Irene answered emphatically before bolting upright.

Ada knelt down to her, rubbing Irene’s back in soothing circles. “You'll be alright, won't you?"

Irene shut her eyes to the nausea building in the pit of her stomach, biting her lip in stubborn insistence that she could hold off the inevitable.

“That’s it,” Ada encouraged. “Wait for me to get this off you at least,” she muttered, fingers twisting in the buttons uselessly.

At that very moment, Irene hurled the contents of her stomach onto the dress, Ada and the floor.

Ada stopped short, muddled brain taking a long beat to process what had just occurred. Arms flopping by her sides dramatically she winced in despair, “Bloody hell, Irene!”

Taking a huge gulp of air, Irene turned toward her friend and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her ruined garment. Her watery eyes searched Ada's briefly before she fell back against the ground with a thud. "That's what you get for making me wear yellow," she chided before her eyes slammed closed.

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

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@alanadetigy

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl

@notyour-valentine

@theshelbyclan