#Hazel be like: I hear you have information that could lead me to a certain idiot

[laws-yellow-submarine]

I had a lot of feelings after this most recent chapter of MNP and in the process of processing those feelings I realized that Sophie and Hazel could have QUITE the conversation lmfao hence, this came about (Pros of coloring art on the computer: being able to actually get the exact color you want!)

Sophie, as always, belongs to the ever-amazing @ohpineapples​ 

Hazel belongs to moi (shameless plug: Together With Fruit huehuehuehue)

H: What’d you say that revolutionary’s name was?

S: Sabo…

H: WHOM’ST?!?!?!

Bonus: 

H: So I hear you met my ex! (She means Ace lol)

Edit: i just realized i forgot Sophie’s scars on her hand/arm so I’m gonna go slither into a cave now 🙃

[futurewriter2000]

Rocks and Dust

A/N: I don't know why Remus gave me such Heath Ledger vibes when I was writing this but he did and I am honestly so fucking proud of it. Now, I really want to make myself some rice and chicken... or just rice. I hope you like it <3

REQUESTED BY @cloudywitchh: Hiiii, Im not sure if your requests are open, but if they are i have one. :)) Before I request, I want you to know that I love your oneshots and series! ive been binge reading. Could you possibly do a Gryffindor reader that has both james and remus that like her. oneshot or series. if you choose to write it, thank you, if not i understand

XX

Souls meet when eyes do and it hasn't been much easy to hold yourself back when such mesmerising hazel eyes had done nothing but watch you seductively.

At first you couldn't feel it but after a while, something in the back of your mind told you to look a certain direction. When you did, your eyes met his and a certain colour started to appear on your cheeks.

You watched him, he watched you. "Yes, Potter?" you asked with a smirk forming on the corner of your lips.

He smiled, tilting his head a bit to the side before speaking. "Had you done something new with your hair?" he asked, glancing up at your hair as you let out a laugh.

"Not really."

"Well, no matter of it." he leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "You look absolutely stunning."

You felt your heart flutter in your chest but you were not about to let him know that. "Thank you. When don't I look absolutely stunning." you joked and he rolled his eyes.

"Hey, mate." Remus came into the common room and tapped James' shoulder as he passed him by, sitting next to him.

James smile faded a bit. He was a tad disappointed in his friend's presence. Everything had seemed to go so well between you and him. If the two of you continued to be alone, he would have had more confidence to ask you out on a date. Knowing that Remus took fancy in you too, it was a bit challenging to do so.

"What's up, Moony?" James looked at him, clearly not in a friendliest tone Remus was used to.

Remus' lips twirled upwards and he felt amused by his friends' frustration. He looked at you and smiled wonderfully. "Hi." he said and you smiled cheerfully, oblivious to the competition in front of you.

"Hi, Remus."

You seemed to be a tad disappointed as well. You loved to flirt with James because it seemed so easy and fun to do yet sometimes you couldn't understand whether he truly likes you or if he's doing it just out of fun. But you live by your mother's words; If a man truly likes you, he will do absolutely everything to let you know and pursue you.

That was why you were always so laid back. You didn't overthink anything when it came to boy. They seemed to think more simply than girls and whatever they did, they did because they wanted to, not because there was a whole scheme behind their actions.

You could see a bit discomfort in James. You couldn't really figure out why but he started to pout, which had made you a bit more uncomfortable around both of them.

Remus, however, loved to talk to you. He was open and honest but sometimes you felt as if he held too many secrets inside of him. To you, he was a bit harder to get to know, no matter how much he could tell you.

"You're going to love this, (y/n)!" he started to sound more excited. "I had found the oldest yet most interesting place a few nights ago-" he hear- both of you heard James scoff to that. "And I know your curious spirit cannot wait to explore it."

"Where?!" you threw all your books away and jumped forward. Old ruins and historic backgrounds always made you overly excited. You must have gotten it from your dad's side of the family. Everybody seemed to be more of history freaks and you were no different.

"I can show you. What do you think James?" Remus turned to James, who only laughed.

"No, thank you." he stood up and stretched his arms over his body. "Rocks and dust? Not my cup of tea. If I wanted to take a girl I fancy-" he looked at you with a grin and a soft chuckle. "I'd take her somewhere more romantic." he walked to you and winked. "A lovely restaurant or a walk among the trees under the moonlight." he was leaning down to you, close and observing the flush in your cheeks.

Your eyes were meeting and it lit a fiery spark between the two of you but as you didn't want to give him the pleasure of it, you rolled your eyes and moved away. "That's a bit of a cliche, isn't it, Potter?" you stood up and stretched your back as well. "I don't do romance." you turned from James to Remus and smiled excitedly. "Shall we go and explore!?"

"Yes we shall."

---

Remus hasn't felt you this excited over some 'rocks and dust' in all the years he had known you but he had felt his heart fill with joy and love when he could see how a person can live for the small things in life. You didn't care about wealth or power, neither if a person was physically beautiful and attractive. You neither cared if person had its flaws, you still loved anybody for who they were; good or evil. You always tried to look the best in people and your gift was, that you always seemed to bring out just that out of everybody and especially out of him.

As the two of you had walked, he had realised that he wants to tell you something important to him. It wasn't a secret to his friends and family but it was a shameful secret to him and to everybody else.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked as the two of you were climbing up the hill.

"Yeah." you stopped, gasping for air and putting your hands on your hips. "I think we need to rest too." you smiled and he laughed.

"It's not that far. We're almost close."

"My heart is almost close to stopping too."

He laughed again and sat on the rock, finding the moon shining on him as if it was leaving its fullness from a few days ago. "I just have the need to tell you this... and I'm serious."

You looked up at him and found the moon perfectly cut out the colour of his green eyes. "Your eyes look so pretty in the moonlight." you said without any filter but sat down next to him.

"Thank you."

You smiled and looked up at the moon before taking a look of his worried expression. "What is it?" you shoved him a little as he smiled. "You can tell me your deepest darkest secret." you joked but it was no joke to him.

"Well... I'm... I'm a werewOlf." he stuttered out, trying to sound casually as he said so but unsuccessful.

You only stared in silence, clearly processing the information as he was impatient to wait for your reaction. Your eyes only narrowed at him and you nodded. "I knew it."

"You knew it?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"I mean, I didn't know it. I just know there was something to you that I couldn't put my finger on but I kind of knew it. It did cross my mind once but I brushed it off quickly. I didn't believe it but apparently my intuition was on to something." you laughed and stood up, offering him your hand. "Shall we continue?"

"You don't seem a tad phased by it." he took your hand gently and stood up.

"Oh, I am but I really don't mind people being people. You know?" you started to talk fast. "I don't judge people by their flaws, more by their actions and I don't seem why your werewolfness would bother me when there are far worse withces, wizards and Muggles in this world, who are far more worse than any werewolf I had encounter. Which, you're the first but still. You don't seem the one to eat children and howl at the moon."

He let out a loud laugh. "I don't eat children but I do the latter."

---

The two of you walked up the hill hand in hand, him trying to pull you up as his steps were much larger than yours. He was more of muscles than you, faster and careful as for you seemed to trip over a branch or two.

He had opened up as the two of you made your way to the top and started to walk on the flatlands. It stretched far away from the castle but you could see the ruins so clearly from the distance. The light of he moon made the subject far more pleasing to the eye and at that moment when Remus was talking to you and your eyes seemed to wander on the view- everything seemed to be perfect and you imprinted that moment into your memory so that you can look back and re-live it all over again.

As he talked, he seemed more lose and excited. He hadn't held back on anything. He had told you about Animagnus forms of his friends and how he isn't the only one who howls at the moon. Sirius apparently loves to do it just as well in his other form. He had constantly made you laugh by his full moon stories and how he accepted the awful fact of his life-long destiny of sharing his body with a beast.

He was glowing, literally glowing when he was telling you all the things he was hiding from you and for the first time, you were the one to listen and he was the one constantly talking.

"We're here!" he pointed at the ruins of an old castle. It wasn't big or notorious as Camelot or Hogwarts or any other historically known castle. It was small and poor in it's built but it was still a castle, just not the traditional kind.

He let go of your hand and it gave you a sort of an electrical shock as he did. You seemed to be so comfortable and in love of holding hands that you completely forgot what it was like without his fingers intertwined with yours.

It wasn't for long though. He had opened the old wooden door for you and offered you his hand to lead you inside. "After you, m'lady." he bowed as a gentleman should and you hurried up inside, taking him by the hand and leading him behind you.

Your wands needn't to be lit as the moonlight made it's own natural light through the large gaps between the rocks. Nature made it's own charm by growing vines around the walls, flowers and grass among the cracks. It truly did feel more magical than the magic itself.

"Oh, Remus look!" you ran to one of the walls and saw names carved in. "Ibzan." you smiled back at him.

"Old biblical name." Remus followed and saw many other names written around it. "Arthur." he laughed. "Wouldn't be an English castle without an Arthur in it."

"Tatiana." you looked at it. "Like a princess." you looked at him but he seemed to be very close to you, staring forward. His chest was against your back and his head leaning over your shoulder. You didn't have to look back. You could only move your eyes to the side and see him there.

He seemed to be so focused on the rocks in front of you that he hasn't even noticed you marvelling at him. All you could see, for the first time noticing his sharp, nicely structured side profile. His cheek bones were finely defined, his lips sharp and plump and his eyebrows nicely arched.

He truly was a beautiful boy and you hadn't noticed it till now. His palm was placed against the rock as he was supporting himself but when he had noticed you looking at him, he slyly looked back. A corner of his mouth quirked up and he said: "A girl doesn't need to be a princess to have a beautiful name." he spoke low and quietly.

The spark that James lit before was over-flamed by the passion Remus arroused in you. Before you knew it, he was leaning down and kissed you softly. One short kiss and it was enough to tempt you for more. You put your hand around his neck and pulled him down for me, smiling into it as you had felt him smile as well. As heavy as they felt, they seemed light as well because no kisses seemed to be as perfect as his; soft, teasing yet deep and passionate.

When he placed his hand on your cheek you could feel the dust set on your skin. You let out a giggle and he pulled away. "What?" he smiled but then just noticed how dark your cheek was. "Oh, my-" he let out a laugh, then looked back on the wall his palm was pressed on before. "I am terribly sorry."

You laughed as well. "Don't worry." you continued to laugh and wipe it away. "It'll probably wash away."

"Probably." he tilted his head a bit and gave you a peck. "And we should probably head back."

Putting your arms around his neck, you made a big stretch and looked up at the sky. "Ugh..." you looked back into his green eyes, burning your soul into sparks and bitses. "But it's so beautiful here." you let out a small whine and he chuckled.

"Well, (y/n)(y/l/n). I didn't think you did romance." he teased.

"I don't. I let the man do all the romance for me." you stepped on your tiptoes and brushed your nose against his.

"That's a bit unfair."

"I wouldn't worry if I were you, Lupin. I have time to make it fair."

"Glad to hear it."

[aries-writes-shit]

(every cloud has a) Silver lining

synopsis:(y/n) begins to realize how harsh they were on their brothers and tries to mend the bridge between both groups.

pairing: Sbi x reader

A/N: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

"of course she is, kiddo" he replied "i can bet you shes watching you with nothing but pride"

you sat with your father in that field for a short while more, both enjoying the snuggles, before you both seperated to go off on your own. your father didn't leave without telling you that you were welcome at his home with Himself and Techno. you gave a small smile and thanked him, but declined his offer for now. on your flight back home, you began to wonder wether or not your brothers deserved your harshness.

you hummed a tune barely familar to you as you wrote a small letter down for your brothers. You were asking them to turn up to the same feild you sat with your father in, no weapons to talk. when you were finished writing, you signed the letter and gave it to the dove that lived near the Dream smp. Similar to your father, you could communicate to birds, but only to doves, which were a rarity in this place. you gave the small bird directions to l'manburg and set it off on its way.

you quietly paced the feild, flapping your wings in frustration, it had been over three hours since when you had asked them to meet. You let out a frustrated groan as you expanded your wings, ready to just take off, before you heard some one say "sorry for being late (y/n)". turning around, you gave a sad smile. "i thought you weren't gonna come" your voice was soft. Neither boy came without a weapon, but you didnt mind at all. "i just want to apologize for my rudeness"

"we never knew you felt like that"wilbur began, after a pause. the three of you now sitting in the center of the feild. "if we knew how lonely you felt, we definetly would have done something". you gave a small laugh, covering your mouth as you did "its fine wilby" you giggled "i wasnt the best at showing how i felt at twelve, but ive gotten better". The three of you sat in the field a moment more, quiet laughter from the three of you before Tommy asked the question on both mens brain.

"Does this mean your joining our side?"

Your laugher ceased, your eyes widening. "I dont think i can outright, but i can tell you certain information that will help your cause". Your voice a low whisper as you spoke, you were weary, praying silently to whatever god was out there that your friends weren't around to hear this. "I can give you vital information, but i has to be vauge, so i dont get caught"

You three seperated shortly before midnight, you gave dream the excuse you were trying to mend you and your fathers relationship, which wasnt technically wrong.

When you landed, you saw the lantern in your kitchen was on, which scared you slightly, because it was light out when you left. You swallowed your fear and walked into your home,removing your cloak and hanging it on the hook by the door. Dream sat at your small table, mask off. "Your home late, (y/n)" he spoke, his voice held hints of anger and disdain "care to explain?"

"I was with my father, you know that clay" you replied back, your tone just as angry. Yes you were lying, but it hurt that he didn't trust that you were where you said you were. "Oh now i know your lying" he chuckled darkly, standing up "because Philza dropped by earlier, asking where you were"

You stood defensively by the door, dream looming over you "Just tell me the truth (N/N), I wont be angry" he said, his tone cheery, but his body language gave it away, it told you everything you needed to know. "I dont have to do anything" you hissed, trying desperately to hold onto your pride.

The loud sound of skin hitting skin rang through your small cabin. You sat on the ground, fear in your eyes as the man you called a friend loomes threateningly over you. "Tell me where you were" he growled, His hazel eyes a more florescent green. You could only let out a whimper as you scrambled up. His eyes flashed back to his normal colour for a breif moment, horror crossing his face as you feld into the night.

You pounded on the door that lead into l'manburg, Your face aching from being slapped. "Whos there" Tommys voice called out groggily. "Please let me in tomms" you whimpered "please."

"He did what" Tommy shouted, Most of the ever growing l'manburg population surrounded you as you clung onto wilbur for dear life. "He hit me tommy, he found out i was with you two". You let out a sniffle, burying your face into your brothers chest. Wilbur gently stroked your hair as he whispered uplifting things to you. "Dint worry, (y/n)" tommy began, a wicked grin plastering his face "we'll get them back, thats a promise"

Taglist

@satansphatass @angelicaschuyler-church @unded-bride @zefrenchturtle @soggycheezit @kiritokunuwu @sparkling-gayyyy @afifaj @lifestylesleep

[creativeashproductions]

Magician Behind the Music // Owen Joyner

sagSummary: Being in a studio recording songs is an intimidating experience for anyone regardless of age. Wanting the best in the business for his soundtrack Kenny Ortega brings his cast to the best in the business. Heading the production is no ever than Y/N with a certain sparkle when it comes to the tall blonde.

Warning: Swearing, insecurity, oblivious!reader and fluff

Words: 2.1k

A/N: I know nothing about producing songs so I ended up winging it. About time I make a fic for Owen

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

The studio had the sound of music as a group of people walk down the hall of the building that housed world-renowned recording studio. The office chair was leaning back as a figure sat listening to the nearly finished album. Forest green Sanuk slip-on shoes on the feet of the individual the door opening wasn’t heard.

“Girls you wanna hear the finished product?” You questioned from your seat behind the large control panel. The four girls on the video chat excited responded enthusiastic band members.

Not needing anymore push the song replaced the one that had been playing as background noise. Sliding the volume up the music, you had both produced and featured played through the speakers. As the pre-chorus and the chorus came, you couldn’t help but start singing.

 I find peace in every story you told

 I think of you, I’ll never be alone

 It’s true, true, true

 You know I do, do, do

 Oh, I need you more than words can say

 Oh, you save me in ways that I can’t explain

 Always been there for me, now I’ll do the same

 Oh, I need you more than words can say

All five that poured themselves on the song couldn’t help but bop along with the catchy words and beat. By far, one of your most favourite songs you ever co-wrote, feature and produce. You and little Mix had been desiring to co-work on something for years now.

“That pre-chorus and chorus are the favourites of my career!” You excitedly announced glancing up the glass separating the booth from the control room. Your face found a handful of young adults and Kenny in the reflection.

“It’s gonna be a bop to sing!” Perrie agreed with her hair in messy space buns sitting at her computer desk in comfy clothes.

Jesy, Leigh-Anne and Jade wore similar loungewear in the safety of their homes after travelling out of LA back to England. An entire week spent solely on writing music and recording with a few sleepover nostalgic of the teen years.

“I gotta go. My next clients are here.” You told the excited British girl group before your cursor ended the video chat.

Pushing off with your toe on the floor, you faced the group seated taking in the awed expressions from the song. Part of you is annoyed at the blatant disregard of professionalism and the potential of the song being leaked.

“Charlie, Owen, Jeremy, and Madison this is my friend Y/N. She’s a musician, songwriter and a producer.” Kenny spoke, waving towards your seat position at the forefront of the control panel.

Your eyes gleamed brighter with the teal blue cable knit sweater paired with a pair of fitted blue jeans. The pros of being a producer in a recording studio meant the work attire was relaxed compared to desk jobs. It appeared this group was similar.

“Hello.” You spoke standing up to be closer to the group, “I believe you have a soundtrack needed? I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I’d like to ask that the song you overheard not be spoken about again.”

“I’m Charlie.” The brunette with a white hat put on backwards immediately shook your hand. Even with the hat, you could tell his hair was a gorgeous brown that contrasted his pretty eyes hazel green eyes.

“Hi Charlie.” You smiled at the male before stepping around him to the other three people in the room. The only other girl in the room was most definitely the lead of whatever show Kenny was currently doing.

“You’re Madison.” You spoke, taking in her youthful appearance and the quiet wisdom flowing within her eyes, the colour of dark coffee grounds. Her hair was down in her natural texture, resting on the shoulders of her muted olive green shirt.

“Jeremy.” Came from the shorter boy with startling rich dark brown almost black hair and eyes you couldn’t discern between blue or green. His cheeks a permanent pink flush but an infectious grin, “How are you?”

“My collaborators for a song liked it, and I’m not going to explain what you’ll be doing in the booth.” You replied gesturing to the enclosed space with the microphone and a stand of instruments.

Brushing off any other details you finally came to the only nameless individual in the room with the only blonde head of hair.

“Owen.” The blonde spoke softly with his eyes nearly begging to leave your expression with the anxiety building. This was so new for Owen, and unlike anything, he had ever experienced before in his life.

“Take a seat.” You motioned towards the long couch against the wall opposite the recording booth. It was a plus that extended couch perfect for a short nap after a near all-nighter. Your studio was the only one with such a good sofa.

“I’ve worked with Kenny on his Descendants series with the cast along with strictly only musicians. I say this with respect with Kenny, but if you don’t respect me or my process, I won’t hesitate to end this. It’s in the contract.” You sternly told the young individuals, “That being said. Your voice is an instrument that needs to be cared for. You need to be careful with it.”

The vocal coach dove into a more detailed list of the items not to be ingested by actors. The same thing happened with every new client you met after the horror film of a massacre a few years previous. As they went over, you looked over the schedule.

The binder was thick with the different songs in the series with jot notes in the margins. Kenny sat in the other chair, looking at them.

“So, Jeremy is the only one with experience?” You questioned glancing up at your elder with a look of curiosity. Kenny nodded with a fond smile, “Okay so let’s get his vocals for the first song recorded. That way, the others have a first-hand look at how it happens.”

Jeremy was quick to rid himself of his jacket to slide into the booth with the headphones resting on only one ear. In two hours, you had guided Madison and Charlie through their parts of this session. Your mouth opened to invite Owen into the booth but his demeanour concerned you.

“Kenny, how about we take a break for lunch?” You subtly guided Kenny to look at Owen before he quickly agreed.

Charlie was practically skipping out of the recording studio with his hands nudging Jeremy on his way out. Madison, led by her father, left right after leaving Owen to just about exit the room.

“Hey Owen?” You spoke, bringing the tensed young man’s attention, “Can you give me a moment?”

His head of thick blonde hair hesitantly nodded as Kenny followed the other cast members out of the room. Gently nudging the door closed you guided him to sit on the couch with you stationed in the office chair.

“First time recording is a bitch of pressure. I completely understand because I’ve guided people and been guided in the booth.” You began leaning forward to meet his eyes, “I know as someone with anxiety it’s intimidating. Let me know. Whatever you tell me will stay between us.”

Owen was quiet, “I’ve done other projects. I’ve never had the opportunity to have a role as a drummer. I guess this is overwhelming.”

“How about you hop into the room, and we mess around with a song?” You questioned, “I can show you how I produce if you’d like.”

“I’d like that.” Owen’s lips curved just a fraction into a ghost of a smile with the tension in his shoulders melting.

For the next two hours, you spent time in the booth explaining the equipment’s role in the recording. After he gave a short lyric, you invited him to sit by the soundboard with you to walk him through it. All the while, you shared the pizza you had ordered for both of you.

 “I started in the business as background vocals for a few bands before I delved into my own career as a musician. I believe I was about seventeen when I got to be part of people getting the songs ready for fans. I fell in love and find it more fun behind the soundboard.” You informed the blonde listening to a recent song you had finished.

“This is insanely cool. I think I’m ready to record my parts.” Owen admitted playing with his fingers. In response, you typed out a quick message to Kenny, bringing the other people back after a long break.

As much as you would have loved creating the soundtrack, it wasn’t possible with your other commitments. Leaving the work in Alana’s capable hands, you had been packing for your visit to the UK for performing the song with Little Mix. Owen, having the day off, had found himself in your apartment as he had for the last few weeks.

“Do you really have to go?” Owen whined, staring at with his head tilted back on the couch. Lips pursed in a pout and blue eyes shining sadly.

“As much as I would adore falling for that look, we both know I have to.” You admitted dropping packing to snuggle into his side, “What’s up with you lately?”

“What do you mean?” He questioned, rolling his head on the back of the couch you look at you. From the position, he couldn’t see your face, but that didn’t stop him from staring.

“It’s hard to describe, but you get flustered when certain songs come on. You’ve been ditching the cast to spend time with me.” You listed off, staring off into the distance, “You got Charlie to drive in the opposite direction of your work to pick me up.”

“What kind of songs?” Owen inquired with one arched eyebrow high. You shifted to stare up at the soft look in his pretty blue eyes.

“It was some duet from that tv series about the High School Musical films…” Your sentence trailed off as everything clicked, “You have feelings for me.”

“Thought it was blatantly obvious. I danced with you in the rain at midnight while I sang to you. I think that’s the most obvious action.” Owen chuckled brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as he took in the startled expression

Owen had walked you home after a late recording session with the cast talking each other’s ear off with different subjects. His hand had slid into yours as he tugged you into the ice cream shop on the way; a scoop each. His eyes glued to every move you made with passion behind every single word.

“-they came to me about a song. It’s a surprise for Kenny, I suppose.” Your one holding the ice cream cone nearly went flying with the motion you made. Your other clasped in Owen’s without even realizing it.

“So, it’s the last song you’ll be helping us on, right?” Owen asked halting to toss the napkin from his cone in the closest bin. You followed suit while intertwining your fingers back together.

“The girls want to do a short little radio tour to promote the single. It would be a month most likely to brainstorm new ideas for songs. We’ve all agreed to collaborate in the future.” You informed the nineteen-year-old. He was a year and a half younger than you.

“When-”

Your sudden squeal cut him off as the sky opened up to a sudden pouring of rain on the two of you. Had you not been so focused on the conversation you would have seen the cloudy sky and the light drizzle of rain.

“Whoa!” Owen laughed, tugging you into his arms in a complete act of spontaneity. His voice softly singing one of your favourite songs.

As he twirled you around in the rain, he serenaded you with Edwin McCain’s song ‘I’ll Be’ unapologetically sharing a piece of himself. It seemed the universe took pity on the male by allowing him to dance smoothly with his friend.

“This is my favourite song.” You giggled as he dipped you with one of your legs in the air. The joy in your features melting the actor’s heart.

“You’ve been playing it every day for the last week.” Owen beamed, leaning his forehead on yours as he trailed off the end of the song, “I’ve memorized every lyric in it.”

With rainwater dripping down your nose the words settled in your mind cementing something you had been only slightly aware of. Playing that song often meant one thing: you had deep feelings for someone.

The someone being Owen Joyner.

“I’m kind of stupid.” You snorted turning to wrap your arms around his neck, “I’ve got no doubts I fell in love with you in that dance.”

Owen’s grin preceded a toe-curling kiss that was the first of many that would happen.

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[thebrownssociety]

Across The Serververse Chapter 3

Hey! I'm back. Firstly, thank you to @thatsalotoftoons​, @preciouslittletoonette​ and @ananicoleta​ for commenting and reblogging this. 

Secondly, this chapter is what I like to call the 'explanation chapter'. I've tried not to info-dump, and I've edited it at least 3 different times trimming it down, so hopefully this is not to complicated, but I must admit the Serververse really intrigues me as a world and I'm really looking forward to exploring it through this.

See chapter 1 for the disclaimer and let's crack on.

Every other time Bugs had been to WB Central it had been buzzing, characters from all properties walking around, a few friendly arguments, a few hard-core fights, even a few drag races [usually the car kind, not the Queen kind] 

Now however, it was quiet. Vewy, very quiet as a certain well-known hunter would say. There were quite a lot of characters milling around the place, but none of the energy that usually accompanied them. Also, it was dark, Bugs realised, not pitch-black, but darker than usual. Like someone had placed a cover over a still-turned on screen. 

“Eh...what happened?” Bugs asked Pepe and Penelope.

They looked just as confused as him. “We do not know.” Pepe admitted.

“We’ve been on that cruise for 6 months, we’ve not been back here.” Penelope said, looking close to tears. “This iz awful”“ She added, tears springing to her eyes.

As Pepe started to try and calm her down, a familiar voice lifted Bugs’s spirit.

“Bugs, Pepe, Penelope! How lovely to see you all again!”

“Marvin!” Bugs exclaimed in delight, running over to the little Martian, picking him up and swinging him round joyously. “Am oi glad ta see you! What’s happened here? It’s like someone’s cut de power!”

“You’re more correct than you might think.” Marvin said, when Bugs had put him down. “Warner Brothers have seen fit to disable the entire system until they can get access to it again. Theirs's a problem, you understand. It appears the ‘famous Looney Tunes characters-” Here here made air quotes. “- have been put into different worlds. None of the humans can figure out why and are attributing it to a virus. They’ve called in multiple Information Technology people, but none of them can figure it out. Then again.” Marvin conceded. “I highly doubt any of them have dealt with a sentient A.I. before. All we know is it’s causing panic in the human verse - you can hear it if you get close enough to the portal - and what they’ve done is essentially put the worlds the other Looney’s have gone into into ‘freeze mode’ so they can’t shift or do anything else until they figure out what’s going on.” At the end of that rather lengthy explanation, Marvin sighed. “They may be there for quite some while.”

“So...lemme get dis straight.” Bugs said, thoughtfully. “We can’t get to the human world?”

“That is correct. Rhythm has blocked the portal into the human world to all WB characters.”

“And we can’t get in and out of the other worlds the rest of the fam are stuck in?”

“That is correct.” Marvin said, again. “Although-” He added. “-I think that may change now. Might I enquire how you guys got here?”

Bugs explained the events leading up to this moment - including how Rhythm had flung the toons to the other worlds - and Marvin nodded. “Interesting. I think I understand, but it requires a bit more explanation. Please walk with me while I fill us all in. Now, you may be wondering how I knew where to find you? I simply used my Tracker-3000 from Mars-” Marvin waved the device in the air. “-to track where you were. It’s a device I had gifted for me from the King Of Neptune. I had hoped I would never need to use it, but unfortunately I have-”

“-You’ve tracked us?” Bugs echoed, more than slightly disturbed. 

Marvin blinked. “Yes. Was that not clear? Please, do not think I did this idly. I hoped I wouldn’t need to ever use the trackers, but unfortunately I have had to. Anyway, I could see that you, Bugs, were in Tune Town, but none of us could get to you. I made further investigations with some of the more technically advanced characters here and it looks like Rhythm has placed a block on all current WB characters. None of us can enter or leave any of the other worlds. You may be able to see where I’m going with this?” he added, as an aside.

“Pepe isn’t a current character.” Penelope said, softly.

Marvin nodded eagerly. “Correct, sister. As Pepe isn’t a current character it seems he can travel between the worlds, and - judging by the fact you are here as well and the boat showed no issue with travelling - it seems that anything he is travelling on or with is likewise given ‘a free pass’, so to speak. Now-” Marvin cleared his throat. “I wish to seek clarification on this point, so please forgive my impertinence - but at the exact moment you and Pepe travelled through to Toon world were you...” A faint blush adjured the Martians cheeks. “...touching at all?”

“We were holding hands.” Penelope said, easily. “We were the second time as well.”

“Hold on, oi wasn't holdin’ hands with them.” Bugs said, quickly.

“No, but you were in ‘Big Chungus’ form, so that was probably what allowed you access. Now, with that information in mind, I would guess, Pepe, that anything you are touching - be it an inanimate object or another toon, will travel through as well. Or maybe it’s just everything that is on something you’re touching can travel as well?” Marvin added, thoughtfully. “That would explain how the captain of the boat could travel-”

Bugs groaned and ran a hand across his forehead. “Look Marvin, as fascinating as all dis is, it’s a bit much. Can you jus’ tell me where de others are so we can get going?”

“Certainly. Could you just remind me who actually got teleported, please?”

That was no issue for Bugs as the images would forever be burned into his mind. “Daffy, Porky, Lola, Elmer, Sylvester, Tweety, Granny, Speedy, Wile.E, Road-Runner, Foghorn, Taz, Yosemite Sam, Gossamer and Witch Hazel.”

“Well, I can help you with one of them.” Marvin said, as they finally approached the ‘Toon-Town’ section of W.B.C. “Just through here.” And he pressed open the door.

Inside the door was a world that was exactly like the ‘Toon Town’ from ‘Who framed Rodger Rabbit’ but without the Disney characters.

Marvin led Bugs, Pepe and Penelope through Toon Town until they reached Foghorn Leghorn’s barn.

“Look, I say, look who came back!”

Bugs’s grin threatened to split his face as he saw the rooster heading towards him, arms outstretched in welcome. 

“Foghorn!” The rabbit leapt on his younger brother and hugged him tightly. “Oh, I thought you was a gonner!”

“It, I say, it takes more than some computer to get rid of me.” Foghorn said, proudly. “I always come back!”

“Of course.” Dawg’s [AKA George.P.Dog’s] dry voice said, from about two foot away. “It ‘elps that your ‘random location’ was here and not - say - Game Of Thrones.”

Foghorn put Bugs down and said - as an aside. “That, I say, that’s a shout out, readers.”

“I think they got that, Foggy.” Dawg said, rolling his eyes.

It was at this point that Penelope interrupted, asking if Foghorn had just been transported to W.B.C or if anything else had happened.

“No, I just, I say, I just woke up here.”

“Woke up?” Bugs echoed.

Foghorn looked a bit sheepish and looked at Barnyawd.

George explained that 5 and a half months ago Foghorn had just literally dropped out of the sky and onto Dawg’s head. “Once I got da fat lump off of me, I saw he was unconscious and not funny unconscious-” Dawg clarified. “But actually unconscious. He was like dat for about a day or two before he woke up ag’in-” Dawg took a sharp breath as the memory hit him. He steadied himself and then continued with. “-And when he woke up he told us all what had happened. By that point though we knew something bad was going on because not only had this happened-” Here George indicated the dark surroundings. “But a few of us toons had tried to get through to the Human World and couldn’t. All it took was Marvin then double-checking the trackers he’s put on us-”

“-Yeah, cahn we go back to dat at some point?” Bugs asked.

“-An’ he saw the different worlds our family’s been split up into and then when Foggy woke up he confirmed the entire thing.” Dawg sighed and ran his hands over his face. “It’s been a nightmare worrying about them all dis time, because we’ve had no idea where they are or what they’re doing or if they’re bein tor-”

“Yeah, Oi did that spiel back in chapter 2.” Bugs said impatiently. “Right. Oi think oi get it now. Let’s go, Martian-” Bugs grabbed Marvin's arm and pulled him away. “We got a family ta save!”

“Wait, oh wait!” Bugs and Marvin skidded to a halt to see Junior [Sylvester's son] running towards them. 

“Eh...what’s up kid?” The rabbit asked, getting down to Juniors level.

Junior stopped sharply - accidently kicking a cloud of dust into the two toons faces - and, with one arm dramatically flung across his face, said. “Oh, Uncle Bugs, I know you have a lot of toons to get, but may I PLEASE request you start with my father? He is silly and often doesn’t think things through, but he’s my father and I love him so. May I please request you start with him and bring him back? I miss him.” At the end of Junior’s spiel, Bugs burst into noisy sobs and, getting a large handkerchief out of his pocket, wiped his eyes with it before wringing it out into a random bucket. 

“Of couirse I will.” he promised. “Jus’ watch me. Oi’ll aim to have him back as soon as possible. Now-” Bugs stood up and signalled to Marvin.  “-Let’s go, short-stack.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Now we wish to make this simple.” Marvin said, as he Bugs, Pepe and Penelope entered the spaceship. “So, if I just pull up a list-” He did so. “The trackers I put on you all will enable me to see exactly where you all are at any given moment.”

“Yeah, can we go back to dose trackers at some point?” Bugs asked.

Ignoring him, Marvin continued. "So, as you can see,  Sylvester is here." He pointed to 'Cartoon Network World'. "I'll just see if there's anyone with him. Bear with." A few moments of typing later and the trackers for Tweety, Yosemite Sam and Taz lit up. Marvin's eyes went wide and typed again. The screen zeroed in on Cartoon Network planet, showing a breakdown of the different sections of it. "Okay." Marvin said, slowly. "That is interesting. Sylvester and Tweety are both in Coolsville, AKA 'Scooby-Doo World' and it seems like there in the 1960's universe."

"Eh...it would hav' ta be Coolsville." Bugs muttered. "What wiv it's population of crazy crooks an' all."

"You just need to change into Chungus and then we can go." Marvin said, pointedly.

Bugs slapped his forehead. "Oops, I forgot!" He transformed into Big Chungus and gave Marvin a thumbs up.

Nodding the Martian pressed the 'arrive as close to as possible' button and the spaceship faded away.

[booksimp]

Flame of Autumn - Part Two

A/N: Part two of Midnight at Rita’s is finally here, everyone! Sorry it took so long, I started a new job and I’ve been a bit overwhelmed. As you can tell, I’ve named this series something different. That’s because Midnight at Rita’s was supposed to be a smut one off, but it has a mind of it’s own and has become an actual fic. This will be part two of a series called “Flame of Autumn”. This fic is going to be quite long, and more elaborate than anything I’ve written here so far. I hope you enjoy!

“Oh, fucking hell.” I curse, clapping a hand over my mouth in shock.

Azriel chuckles sardonically, running a hand through his already sex mussed curls, puffing out a shocked breath. His cheeks are an adorable shade of pink, eyes wide.  

“Well said.”

For a few moments, we just sit and feel the bond thrum between us, like the plucked string of a cello. We’re still flushed and dazed, our panting breaths the only sound in the room as we stare at each other. 

A strange intermingling of emotion overwhelms me. Elation, joy, desire. A desire to take hold of Azriel and never, ever be parted from him. But all of it is entirely eclipsed by a sense of dread. It wraps itself around my throat, my heart, like a noose of ice. 

A mate is just another person to lose, to endanger with my own existence. 

The faces of all those that have suffered to protect me, that I ultimately lost, flash across my vision. A macabre version of a scrapbook. Just as easily as he perceived my earlier insecurities, Azriel notices the rising emotions in me. With the mate bond newly revealed, I wonder if the connection we’d felt all night had been the first clue. That, and his uncanny ability to read me like an open book. 

“Sabine, I don’t expect anything from you. But I- I’d like to explore this. We can go at whatever pace you’re comfortable with.” 

His face shines with hope as he takes my hand in his, squeezing gently. A hesitant reach down the bond caresses against me. His eyes are open and earnest, a shy smile on his face. The epitome of honest and trustworthy. 

I wonder what he would think if he knew Sabine isn’t my real name. 

A pang of guilt shoots through me, at the dishonesty of it, and it's suddenly hard to breathe. Lying to others has become disturbingly easy over the years I’ve been in hiding. I’m skilled at it now, diversion and distraction like second nature. But the thought of keeping up the ruse with my mate is unbearable. Having to lie every day, and to the person who should know the absolute truth of myself? I can’t do it. I won’t do it. 

I’m opening my mouth to admit things I haven’t in years, when my mothers face flashes through my mind. She was the first to implore me to hide my abilities, and the first to die because of them. 

“You threaten his crown. He will destroy everything you love to keep you quiet, my girl. You cannot give him more ammunition. You get close to no one. You keep moving. Don’t ever come back here.” 

Her words ring in my ears like I’m hearing them for the first time. I shut my mouth with a snap. I can’t tell Azriel anything, for fear of bringing the wrath of my father down on him. Can I even stay in Velaris? 

When I first heard of the hidden city of the Night Court, heavily guarded by the most powerful High Lord, I rejoiced. Isolated and with a varied population, it made the perfect hiding place. Not to mention that Velaris is far outside the reach of my fathers court. I’ve felt almost safe here, and the thought of leaving this city, of leaving Azriel, has my heart sinking into my stomach. Azriel slowly places a hand on my cheek, breaking me free of my internal struggle. Concern shapes his features, hazel eyes heartbreakingly gentle. He is too perceptive to not see the indecision and fear in me, bond or not. Without meaning to, I speak. 

“Okay.” 

A relieved grin graces his lips. I feel the apprehension fading from him, being replaced with soft joy. It makes my decision for me. Azriel is an Illyrian, not exactly an easy target. We’re in the safest place there is for me. If I guard my secret well enough, I can stay. Stay, and see where this newfound bond leads us. I pray to the Cauldron that I’m not making a stupid, selfish mistake. 

“Are you sure?” His brow furrows, intent on my response.

In that moment, I know that no matter how strongly he feels, Azriel will let me walk away. If I decide he’s not what I want, he would honor my choice no questions asked. It only makes me more certain of my decision. I’ve never been one to tolerate a controlling male.

“Absolutely. Are you?” I ask, inching closer to him, still clutching the sheets against myself.

His eyes flicker down to my chest, and back to my eyes. When a faint blush paints his cheeks, I nearly drop the bedding in shock. So the confident male can get flustered. I file the information away for later, barely containing a smirk. 

“Of course I am, I’ve waited almost six hundred years for you.” His voice is low, each syllable more sure than the last. 

My heart soars inside my chest at his words. Depthless hazel eyes bore into mine, and his shadows brush against my bare skin. They send shivers all along my body, and I edge even closer to him. He meets me in the middle of the bed, his forehead touching mine as his gaze roves over me like I’m a precious, once lost jewel. I do the same, drinking in the sight of the magnificent shadowsinger before me. My mate. 

Long ago, some inexplicable force decided that he belonged to me, and I him. I wonder what makes us so compatible, and I find I’m excited to discover every reason for myself. I want to know all the simple, small details of him like the back of my hand. I want to memorize the planes of his face, every color in his eyes.

If my mother could meet him, I imagine she’d remark on the beautiful grandchildren we’d make her. It's that thought, and the sudden realization that we are both very naked, that has a fierce blush coloring my face. 

“Maybe we should get dressed.” I whisper, only slightly breathless. 

Azriel’s eyes run along my sheet-clad form once more, before he pins me with  that now familiar alluring smile. 

“As you wish.” 

He says again, only making me more flushed at the memory. Without an ounce of shame, the Illyrian rises to his feet and walks to the dresser at the other end of the room. He begins digging through the drawers, before selecting some grey sweatpants and a long sleeve black shirt for himself. I’m still wrapped in his sheets, attempting to not gawk at the unobstructed view of his ass, when Azriel looks over his shoulder at me. He smirks at my obvious observation of his body.

“Do you want something other than your dress? Something more comfortable?”

I look down at the rumpled silk garment on the floor and grimace. He’s right, the thought of shimmying myself into it right now is about as appealing as a cold bath in the middle of winter.

“Yes please. Preferably something a bit warmer.” 

He nods, and picks a few items from his dresser. He places them on the bed before me and fixes me with a sweet, slightly shy grin. 

“Are you hungry? I have pastries from the bakery down the street. I could make coffee?” 

My ears perk at the mention of food, and my stomach grumbles in agreement. I like that instead of pushing me to continue our conversation about our future, he’s making sure I’m fed and comfortable. That warm, light sensation flutters in my belly again.  

“I never turn down coffee or carbs.��� I manage to get out, smiling coyly. 

“Noted.” Azriel smiles again, a quiet amusement in his eyes. 

He leaves me to change, heading towards the kitchen to start the coffee. I put on the sweatshirt and black briefs left for me. Both are too big, but they’re warm and soft against my skin. Worlds better than the dress. I pull the collar of the sweatshirt up to my nose and inhale his scent of cedar and moonlight and rain. Gods, what does he bathe in that makes him smell so good?

For the first time all night, I’m able to observe Azriel’s bedroom. My eyes widen as I take in the beautiful A frame ceiling with exposed wooden beams. The soft patter of rain on glass draws my eyes to the east wall, which is made entirely of paneled windows. Silver rivulets of water run down their surface, reflecting flickering beams of moonlight into the room. The floors are a dark oak, the walls a calming sage.

Candles burn on Azriel’s overflowing bookcase, and the fireplace crackles merrily on the opposite wall. I reach out hesitantly with my ability, and feel the heat of each flame flicker inside my awareness. For a moment, I watch the candle flames dance and twist under my will. It's rare that I ever have the chance to explore my gift, the small flames too often exploding into an uncontrolled inferno that attracts attention. But I can’t help playing just a little.   

The sound of a kettle whistling startles me from my reverie, and a few tea lights extinguish entirely. I wince, and quickly light them again before following Azriel into the kitchen. 

He’s at the counter, adding hot water to a french press. The earthy scent of coffee tickles my nose as he presses the grounds down, the muscles of his arm flexing deliciously.

“How do you take your coffee?” He asks, gesturing towards a pale box of pastries for me to choose from. 

“Cream and sugar. Lots of cream.” 

“You like your coffee sweet.” He smiles to himself as he pours extra cream and sugar into my cup, as if adding the observance to a mental list.

 I pad closer and peer at the box of pastries over his broad shoulder. On the front it reads ‘Diana’s Bakery and Coffeehouse’ in elegant script. I bite my lip to keep from laughing as I open the familiar box, and take a bagel from inside. 

He notices me smiling at the pastries and raises a thick eyebrow at me, the corner of his lip quirking up.

“What is it?”

“Nothing it's just - well I work at Diana’s.” I laugh, taking a bite of the magically warmed bagel after liberally smearing it with cream cheese. 

“You do? But I’ve been in there everyday this week, I haven’t seen you.” 

He passes my mug to me, filled to the brim with creamy coffee, and I take a careful sip. He leans against the marble counter, hazel eyes looking me up and down, that small smirk making an appearance once again. What is it about males liking us in their clothes? Not that I’m complaining. 

“Well, you wouldn’t. I work in the back with Diana as her baking apprentice. I even baked those cinnamon rolls.”

 I know they’re mine by the slightly imperfect glazing. Diana is meticulous and every single treat she bakes is always flawless.

He points to the icing covered cinnamon rolls inside the box, mouth gaping in shock. 

“These cinnamon rolls? They’re the best I’ve ever had. I’ve been buying you guys out everyday.” Azriel exclaims, eyes wide and alight with surprise. 

“Oh, so you’re the reason I’ve had to make twice as many recently?” I chuckle, pink staining my cheeks. The fact that Azriel loves my baking brings me way too much delight to be proper. 

“I’m sorry, but Cassian and I can’t get enough of them. What do you do to them? They’re like biting into a cloud!”

“I can’t tell you that! It's a secret recipe!” I wink, a goofy grin on my face.

Azriel rolls his eyes and smiles, grumbling about how secretive bakers are as he deposits a large mound of cinnamon rolls onto a plate. A truly genuine smile breaks across my face at the sight. He collects his own mug and leads me to a comfy couch, where we both plop down and tuck into our midnight snacks. 

I can’t help but watch him, completely mystified. This sexy, adorable male is my mate? I’ve never felt lucky a day in my life, but as Azriel finishes his third cinnamon roll, I can’t help but feel like the fates smiled on this one aspect of my life. Having finished my bagel, I sip on my coffee and relax into the couch. I’ve been running for a long time, keeping everyone at arm's length, never staying in one place for more than a few years. But maybe I can stay hidden in Velaris and keep Azriel a lot closer. Maybe I don’t have to be alone. I want that future so badly it becomes hard to breath.

“So you bake. You dance at Rita’s. What else?” 

Azriel’s voice brings me back to the present, and I glance up from my coffee cup. Silent laughter dances in the hazel depths of his eyes, his plate of pastries discarded on the coffee table. Suddenly self conscious under his intent gaze,  I reach a hand up to feel the tangled masses of my dark hair. I grimace when I realize what a mess it’s become. It will probably need to be dyed again as well.

“I play music. Mostly the piano. I write sometimes. And you?”

The admissions, however small, make my throat tight with anxiety. I haven’t told anyone anything true about myself in years, and I haven’t touched a piano in just as long. The feeling is nerve wracking, and I can’t help but feel exposed. My eyes follow the upward curve of his lips as he smiles at me, one arm draped over the back of the couch. 

 “I can see you playing piano. You have the hands for it.”

I blush at his statement, my gaze falling to my entirely ordinary hands. What does that even mean?

“I’m something of a homebody. If I’m not with my brothers, I’m probably here with a book. I train, I work, I come home."

That explains the mountains of novels all over his room. And the incredible body. He reaches over and runs a hand through my slightly curling hair, the hours I’d spent straightening it made useless. He curls one of the ringlets around his finger, giving it a slight tug, before he tucks it behind my ear. Every single nervous thought evaporates at his touch.

“I like your hair like this, especially since I’m the one who made it this messy.” 

He murmurs, a sudden heat in his eyes. I feel my body warm in response to that look, and I have to divert my gaze down at my lap to keep from jumping him right there. Again.

“You’re a shameless flirt, shadowsinger.” I mutter, playing with the silver ring of leaves on my finger, noticing that his thigh is now pressed against mine. When had he moved so close?

“Not usually, trust me. My brothers would be astonished.” He laughs, running a hand through his own messy hair. 

“Not usually?” I trace a finger along the back of his hand, fascinated by the combination of scarring and complex veins. 

He shivers slightly, and I smile in satisfaction. He’s not the only one who can play that game. 

“I make exceptions for my mate.” He whispers, taking my hand from his and pressing a kiss to my palm, lips soft and warm. 

“I was supposed to have drinks with my brothers. They must think I decided to stay in.”  He laughs against my skin, kissing his way to the pulse point of my wrist.

“Little do they know, huh?” I gasp, made breathless by his ministrations and the thought of exactly why he’d ditched his brothers tonight.

“Little do they know. When you’re ready, I - uh. I know they’d love to meet you.” He looks up at me, cheeks filling with color as he straightens. 

My stomach drops, and a bit of reality comes crashing down. A mate is one thing, but letting his family into my life? They’d be two more people to lie to, two more people in danger because of me. I avoid any straight answers, and decide to divert his attention elsewhere.

“Tell me about them?” I drink from my mug, using it as an excuse to break eye contact. I can’t shake the feeling that he can see down to the very truth of me when our gazes meet. 

“Their names are Cassian and Rhys. Complete idiots. But those two have saved my life in so many ways.” His eyes glow with a warm, far away look, a goofy smile on his face. 

“It sounds like you love them very much.” I speak softly, not wanting that radiant look to ever leave his face.

“I do. Do you have any siblings?” His eyes flicker back to me, the distance clearing from them. 

“An older brother. Micah.” I try not to let my voice break on his name, the longing slamming into my chest like a horse at a full sprint. 

I curse myself for using my brother's real name, a slip up I wouldn’t have made with anyone else. Azriel’s mere presence is enough to disarm me, and it's a struggle to focus with him this close. I haven’t seen Micah since the day our mother was murdered by my fathers sentries, and we both fled for our lives. In opposite directions. The day that started my life on the run. 

“Are you two close?” Azriel’s shadows curl around me as he squeezes my hand in silent support, like he already knows the answer. 

“We used to be, when we were young. Not so much anymore.” 

I tense, hoping that he doesn’t push the subject. I can’t exactly tell him the truth of our forced estrangement. At least not yet.

“Where are you from?” 

 His tone is light, and I am endlessly grateful for the change in conversation. He doesn’t seem to miss a thing when it comes to me. The thought is a constant inkling of worry in the back of my head. 

“Not Velaris.” I reply quickly.

It technically isn’t a lie, but the evasion feels even worse.

“I could’ve guessed that, love. I’ve lived here for hundreds of years, if you lived in Velaris I would’ve found you sooner. Are you from the Night Court?” 

He chuckles, taking up another strand of my hair to play with. For a moment, I forget that he’s waiting on a response. 

“No, Summer Court. Adriata. Did you grow up in Illyria?” 

 I attempt to change the subject, the subterfuge like spoiled milk in my stomach. I wish I could tell him all about my little cottage on the outskirts of the Autumn Court, about my mothers smile, and Micah’s penchant for getting me into trouble. Instead, I have to wriggle my way out of letting him get to know me. This is going to be harder than I thought. 

“Unfortunately, I did.” Shadows rise from deep within his eyes, blotting out almost all the light in them. 

I’ve heard many stories about the brutality of Illyria. Their perilous winters and sprawling mountains, the discipline that they ingrain into their children, how they throw themselves into the path of war. I wonder who put the scars on his hands, his wings, and I feel sick for an entirely different reason.

I search his eyes for answers, glimpsing an age old sadness there. I feel him trying to shove it down deep, but he can’t hide from me anymore than I can from him. A burning rage seethes in my chest at that sadness. It makes me want to grow claws and rip and tear, scorch those responsible with my flames.

He closes his eyes and rests his head where my shoulder and collarbone meet, a deep sigh leaving him. From the tension in his body, I know he wants me to let the topic drop. So instead of asking the questions on the tip of my tongue, I kiss the top of his head and stroke his back softly. He practically purrs, pressing closer, telling me to continue. I smile softly, trailing my fingers down his spine in slow circles. His back is deliciously firm, and rippling with muscles from his often used wings. Heat scorches across my face as I remember how I brought him over the edge just by kissing them, the absolute unleashing of it. 

“I- I didn’t realize. That, well um- your wings. That they were so-“ I stutter pitifully, the blush spreading down my neck. 

Azriel leans back to meet my eyes, a slight smile beginning on his face, previous troubles forgotten. 

“You didn’t know?” He asks, disbelief in his tone and a glint of amusement in his eye. 

“No, they just looked very kissable.”

He throws his head back and gives a loud, full belly laugh. I beam at the musical sound, satisfaction flowing through me. I want to make him laugh like that again and again.

“An Illyrian males wings are the most sensitive part of their body. If touched in the perfect spot, we can finish from that alone. As you saw. But they are also our greatest weapon, and we protect them accordingly. For that reason, I usually keep them far away from any - partners.” He explains after sobering from his laughter, voice soft and a slight blush painting his elegant cheekbones.

“But you make exceptions for your mate?” I ask, eyes downcast as I play with the cuff of his long sleeve shirt.

“I do. Only for you.” He takes my hands from his sleeve, and presses them to his lips once again.

I glance up at him, to find his eyes already on me. The warmth and tenderness I find there has my heart flying in my chest, and tears pricking my eyes. I blink them away hurriedly, looking to his wings instead of the intense emotion he’s showing me. For some reason, the adoration I see there has a small burst of fear running through me. 

“I’m glad you let me touch them. They’re beautiful.” I whisper reverently as l behold the incredible expanse of his wings. 

Vibrant plum and lavender, veined with maroon and the silver of scar tissue. I can’t even think of these beautiful, majestic wings being mutilated like that. My hands ache to touch them again, feel their silky warmth. 

“You definitely showed your appreciation for them.” He leans closer, his breath fanning across my cheek as he whispers in my ear. 

It sends shivers deep into my core, and I have to squeeze my thighs together and hope he doesn’t catch my scent. The confident, seductive Azriel of earlier tonight is back. 

“Not yet I haven’t.” I murmur, emboldened by my renewed need for him. 

The need comes quickly, overwhelmingly. Especially now that I know what being with him is like. Entirely world shattering. He may have ruined every other male for me. Again, not that I’m complaining. A low rumble comes from deep in his chest, and he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me onto his lap with ease. 

“Is that so?” There’s a sultry promise in his voice, and I feel him stir against my thigh. 

The room is filled with our mingled arousal as he inhales against my neck. 

“I still can’t believe I found you.” He groans, pressing kisses against my throat. 

I let my eyes fall closed, shocked anew at how easily he reduces me to a gasping mess. His hands begin to roam over my hips and waist, his touch worshipping and disbelieving. When I begin to slowly move myself over his growing arousal, I feel a shift in him. His hands halt their exploration, and he tenses beneath me. I open my eyes to find his face veiled with worry, his brow creasing. 

“You don’t have to, Sabine.” He cups my face in his hands, dark eyes gleaming with concern. 

I try not to flinch at the false name, and I wonder what his voice would sound like saying the name my mother gave me.  

Shoving those thoughts away, I shake my head, a small grin forming on my lips. Does he not see how infatuated I am already? Of course I don’t have to, but I want to. 

“Az, you idiot.”

And with that, I plant my lips on his. He doesn’t need further convincing. His body responds to mine eagerly, a low growl building in his chest. My back meets the leather couch as Azriel maneuvers himself above me, his hands sliding under the hem of my sweatshirt. He is somehow gentle and commanding all at once, his skin burning hot against mine. I sigh into the kiss as I give myself to him, entirely content to do so this time. 

“You are the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.” 

He whispers against my lips, that reverent tone back in full force. My eyes prick as my chest fills with equal parts warmth and fear. I can see how easy it would be to love my mate. To fall fast and completely. And the part of me that’s been running scared from those I once loved is terrified.  

“I’m scared.” I murmur back, surprised at my own honesty.

I feel his frown against my lips, and he only holds me tighter. 

“I’m scared too, love. But I won’t ever hurt you. You’re - You are everything.” His eyes, soft and dark and endlessly kind, convince me. 

I smile sheepishly at him, holding out my left pinky. 

“Promise?”

Without hesitation, he wraps his finger around mine. 

“I promise.” 

The next morning, sunlight streaming in through the expansive windows wakes me. A sleepy contentment keeps me drowsy and warm, and I stretch like a cat after a particularly restful nap. 

“Good morning.” 

Cauldron, his morning voice is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.

I blink my eyes open, the blurry image of a very amused Azriel coming into focus. His black hair is tousled and falling onto his forehead, and pillow marks color his cheeks. 

Delicious.

I cuddle closer to him instead of replying, not ready to start the day yet. He wraps both arms around me as I bury my head in his very bare chest. Memories of last night rise to the surface, and I feel my cheeks warm. After his pinky promise, Azriel made love to me. That's the only way to describe the beautiful, tender way he touched me. He made sure every ounce of doubt was replaced with complete trust. It was the most intimate I had ever been with anyone in my entire life. 

“Did you know that you talk in your sleep?” He asks, a teasing grin curling his full lips.

I can’t help but remember those lips on my body in the living room. And the bedroom. And the bathtub. Needless to say, we didn’t sleep until dawn.

“W-What did I say?” I can only imagine the mortifying things my sleep self has to say to this male.

“Just my name. Over and over again.” His voice deepens, eyes darkening.

“Shut up! I did not!” I hiss, giving his shoulder a shove. 

He only chuckles and waggles a brow at me, before placing a kiss to my forehead. He smells even better in the morning, his cedar scent more potent. How is that even possible?

“How did you sleep?” 

He brushes my hair over my shoulder, peppering even more kisses across my collarbone. I shiver under his attention, my eyes falling closed again.

“Better than I have in a long time.” I admit, my voice still raspy with sleep. 

“So did I.” 

He runs gentle hands through my hair, our legs still entwined intimately. I haven’t felt this safe and content in someone’s arms since I was a girl, when my mom would hold me after I woke from nightmares about monsters under my bed. Azriel already feels like home, and the thought doesn’t scare me as badly as it did last night. Thoughts of my father seem distant and insignificant now, chased away by the bright morning light and warmth of my mate’s presence. 

“I wish I could stay here with you all day, baby.” He groans, a deep sigh leaving him. I can feel his reluctance in how firmly he presses me to him, strong arms locking me against his chest. 

“Then stay.” I grumble moodily, a frown curling my lips downwards. I know we can’t stay sequestered in his apartment forever, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. 

“I have to do some work for my brother today, but you’re more than welcome to stay in my bed. In fact, I hope you do.” Azriel chuckles, untangling his limbs from mine and kneeling before me. He drops a tender, lingering kiss on my lips  before standing.

My cheeks warm as my blood sings in my veins, and my breath catches in my chest. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way his touch affects me. I hope I never do. 

“Oh? What kind of work do you do for him? Does he have his own shop or something?” I yawn my way through the question, cuddling myself into his vacated warm spot. 

Azriel smiles over his shoulder at me, while sliding into Illyrian fighting leathers. My mouth goes dry at how the skin tight garment outlines his muscular thighs and powerful chest, accentuating the golden tones of his skin. Hubba Hubba.

“Actually, Rhysand is High Lord of the Night Court. I’m his Spymaster. I have spying to do.” His lips twitch as if he’s trying to not let the easy smile fall from his face as he continues dressing. He watches for my reaction intently.

The blood in my veins turns to ice, freezing my heart in place as my eyes shoot open in shock. 

Azriel’s brother Rhys is... Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court. All sleep leaves my body, and I have to fight to stay still. Every instinct is screaming at me to run, run far and fast. 

Because Rhysand knows my father, seeing as he’s High Lord of the Autumn Court.

In fact, I know Beron has met Rhysand many times. He often spoke about the half breed bastard who challenged his authority at meetings.

I met Rhysand at Beron’s court once, when I was barely fifteen. It's been decades, but he could easily recognize me as Beron’s bastard daughter. And he could tell my father where I am, maybe even deliver me to him. 

Even if he doesn’t recognize me, grown and changed as I am, Rhysand is a Daemati. He could rip the truth from my own mind with hardly a thought. And the High Lord of the Night Court has a reputation for finding pleasure in that sort of thing. The thought has me shivering despite the warm blankets tucked around me. 

“Oh. You didn’t mention that last night.” I rasp, trying not to look like I’m about to throw up. My stomach roils, and my palms dampen with cold sweat. 

“I forget that he's High Lord sometimes. He’s just Rhys to me.” Azriel shrugs, with his back now turned to me as he readies himself for the day. I thank the Cauldron for it. 

I can only imagine the stark horror in my expression, and I take a few extra moments to reign my emotions in. Gods, no wonder Azriel can read me so effortlessly. It's not only because of the bond, he’s a spymaster. Reading people is his job. A job he performs for a mind stealing, murdering monster of a High Lord. Bile rises in my throat, and I feel my heart crack in my chest. 

Azriel is not who I thought he was. The trustworthy, gentle male I spent the night with could just be another mask he wears. A tremble begins deep within me.

“When will you be back?” I try to sound eager, like I can’t wait for his return. 

In reality, I’m trying to find out how far away I can get before he even realizes I’m gone. 

“Tonight. I just need to visit some - colleagues in another court.” He says, while lacing his sturdy looking boots into place. 

What court is he ‘visiting’? Will he be spying on other High Lords for Rhysand? Despite the new revelations about his dangerous brother, I feel a stab of fear for my mate. Any High Lord would slaughter him in a moment if they caught him spying on the Daemati’s behalf. 

“Will you be safe?” I hear the worry in my own voice, and Azriel either hears it as well or can feel it from me. Damn mate bond. 

The male perches on the bed next to me, a reassuring smile on his striking face. The two versions of him that exist in my head clash terribly; the vulnerable, kind Azriel of last night and the formidable Spymaster I’ve heard grave stories about. My gaze falls to the dark dagger strapped to his leg. Truth Teller. I try not to shiver as the light glints lethally off its razored edge. I wonder how many truths he’s tortured out of his enemies using it. 

“Of course. Always, but especially now.” Azriel strokes stray curls out of my face, his eyes brimming with unabashed tenderness. He kisses me soundly, a promise to return. 

My stomach flips and suddenly my heart is no longer racing out of fear. For a moment, I almost forget the hidden lethalness and only see Az. But that’s foolish. I can’t shiver at the sight of his famed blade and crave his touch at the same time. 

“I’ll see you tonight?” I ask, mentally calculating how long I have to leave Velaris. I go through the well rehearsed steps of my escape plan, focusing on mundane details to keep the fear and longing from rendering me completely useless.

“Of course.” Shadows of worry cloud his eyes, and I can almost see the sharp, spy's mind calculating behind them.

Azriel kisses me once more, his lips hesitant for the very first time.

His mouth tastes like sorrow, and I feel a flicker of something down the bond. It's gone too quickly for me to decipher it. I curse internally, hoping he only thinks I’m intimidated by his brother’s position. Between the bond and his spymaster abilities, who knows what he can decipher from my reaction alone.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” He stands, tucking his wings in close and letting his shoulders droop slightly. 

He searches my face, lips slightly turned down at the corners, brow furrowed. 

“I’ll be here.” The lie burns my throat like acid, and I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes.

Instead, I pretend to settle deeper into the bed, closing my eyes as I bring the blankets up to my chin. I don’t want to see the confusion and worry in his gaze. And I can’t watch him leave, knowing that I may never see him again. Azriel squeezes my thigh softly, whispering another farewell as he leaves the room with a sigh. 

I wait until I no longer feel the thrumming current that is Azriel’s presence,  when I know he’s well and truly gone. Then I spring into action. I burst from the bed, and head straight for Azriel’s dresser. I yank a pair of sweats from the drawer and pull them on hurriedly, shaking so hard it takes me three tries to get my legs through the correct hole.  I practically run through the living room, propelled forwards by thoughts of obliterated minds and the dank cells beneath the Autumn Court. 

I glimpse the forgotten mugs and pastry box from last night on the coffee table. Tears prick my eyes at the memory of the hope I felt during that meal. I told Azriel, my mate, more than I’ve shared with anyone in years. He let me see some of the anguish he carries with him, buried so deep it's become a part of him. I gave my body to him. And he felt like home. Can I really run from that?

Yes, I can. I have to. I was a fool to think that I could ever be outside my father’s reach.

On impulse, I hunt down a pen from the kitchen cabinets and scrawl a quick, cowardly note on a scrap of paper. Shame coats my tongue so thoroughly I think I may choke on it.

I’m sorry. - S 

  With the note finished, I raise the hood to conceal my face and tear down the stairs, avoiding the elevator Azriel first kissed me in. Soon enough, my bare feet are slapping against the rain slick pavement, my heart cracking with every step. I don’t stop to notice the people that watch me fly by, or the sun shining over the Sidra. I let the fear cloud every guilty thought, until all I know is adrenaline. 

Once I reach my apartment, I change into clothes more appropriate for an escape attempt, and collect my emergency bag from beneath some loose floorboards. Not the most creative hiding spot, but it’s better than my underwear drawer. 

Less than an hour later, I’m standing on the rickety, wooden deck of a foreign boat, sailing away from Velaris. Tradesmen man their vessel, hardly paying attention to me as I stare out over the water from their starboard side. I can imagine the mystery I pose. A lone, cloaked female, begging to stow away on their watercraft.

The money I slipped to their captain keeps the curious glances to a minimum, and I hope it keeps their mouths shut in the future. Either way, I won’t be settling where I first disembark. I’m not entirely sure where I’ll go yet, but maybe that’s for the best. If I’m entirely impulsive, my actions will be harder to predict.

I’ve run scared so many times over the years that I’ve lost count, but I’ve never been so conflicted. Every mile I put between me and the shore of the Sidra is another knife shoved up under my ribs, and it becomes harder and harder to breath. Eventually, the vibrant colors of the Rainbow fade from view and the citrus scent of the river becomes the salty brine of the ocean. Hot tears sting my eyes, and I let them fall. The hood of my cloak covers my face anyway. 

“Goodbye, Az.” 

[the-melting-world]

The Empress | Side B: “Burgh Island”

Art by @markmefistov

~ In which a humble gardener dons a magical gauntlet…

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Muriel 

Track Origins: “Burgh Island” by Ben Howard

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: The Empress

cw: none

~ 1.4k words

Oz’mandias leads Kipling, Asra, and Nadia through a portal to his subterranean library.

Kipling stood with her friends inside of a library, which was as ancient as it was labyrinthe. Most of the space was cavernous while certain walls were overtaken by dense salted glass. On the other side was the foundation of a coral reef with aquatic creatures of all kinds drifting by.

“This is where you were the whole time, Ozy?” Kip asked once she got her bearings. 

“Yep!” Ozy replied happily. “Just me and Abaco.”

Asra and Nadia exchanged slightly uncertain looks, but Ozy didn’t seem to catch it. Or maybe, Kip thought, he knew what they were concerned about and chose to ignore it.

“Asra?” 

The magician tore his gaze from Nadia and focused on the grey mage.

“Yes, Ozy?”

Ozy inclined his head. “Can I borrow Kipling for a few minutes? You and the Countess are welcome to make yourselves comfortable. Abaco can give you a tour.”

Before giving Ozy an answer, Asra turned to Kipling. “Are you going to be okay?”

She nodded and leaned against him so he could press a soft kiss to her forehead. Then he let her go and went with Nadia and Abaco, who led them around a wide bend.

Ozy and Kipling walked in the other direction in silence. They passed dozens of rooms, none of which had doors. Glyphs were carved all over the floors and walls. Strange-looking three-dimensional puzzles were scattered across every surface. The umbras passed by mountains and mountains of tomes and scrolls.

“Ozy, this place is…”

“I know,” Ozy said without stopping or turning around. “I know.”

Kipling wasn’t sure what came over her, but she almost tripped trying to catch up thim. Once she had, she slid her hand into his. Into his gauntlet.

Ozy stopped, looking quizzically down at where their hands joined.

“I missed you, Ozy.”

Then Kipling let go, her palm buzzing at having come in contact with the gauntlet. Ozy brought his hand closer to his face, as if to study the microscopic traces Kip left behind when she grabbed on.

“If you could only imagine,” Ozy said slowly, “how much I missed you and Khleo while we were apart. It’s funny how you’re standing right here and I can’t seem to convince my brain that it can finally relax. There’s no need to keep sending signals to my chest and make it constantly ache like this.” He dropped his hand. “Do you want to hear some good news now?”

Kipling blinked back the tears that had started to build up. “Sure.”

Ozy removed his gauntlets and walked backwards into one of the doorless rooms. “Do you remember when you, Khleo, and I all used to share one pair of gauntlets?”

Kipling nodded slowly, not sure where this was going.

“Well,” Ozy kicked open a chest down by his feet. “That was silly because… take a look.”

Kipling tentatively approached. She discovered that the chest was full to the brim with gauntlets of all different makes and designs.

“Turns out it’s not one size fits all.”

***

(Asra’s POV)

Asra and Nadia followed Taro and Abaco as they led them through the massive library. Faust, who was coiled around Asra’s shoulders, seemed to regard the two familiars with interest while they went on chittering and chirping back and forth.

Asra was tempted to ask Faust what the lemur and the warbler were talking about, but he was very hesitant to pry. 

Nadia, it seemed, was just as curious. “What do you think they could be discussing so passionately right now, Asra?”

Once again, Asra managed to resist giving into the temptation of asking Faust. 

“They probably are just taking this time to catch up.”

Nadia grinned gently in amusement, as if she could very well sense Asra’s hesitation. Then she turned her ruby gaze to where the cavernous walls connected with the elongated cylindrical ceiling. There the dark limestone was interrupted by narrow panes of salted glass. Light from the reef poured in, casting everything inside the library in a shifting watery pattern.

“This place is quite the marvel,” Nadia whispered. “It’s a wonder that anything so vast could be sealed off and sink to the bottom of this reef without leaking.”

Asra nodded and added, “It must get really dark in here when the sun goes down. And I haven’t seen any lanterns since we arrived. I wonder what Ozy does to light the way.”

That was when Abaco halted mid-flight and perched on one of the many life-sized bookstacks. He ruffled his feathers and twittered in the direction of the Countess and the magician.

Faust merrily translated, Never dark!

Abaco puffed out his chest and took flight. He wandered up high near the sunny salted glass as if to further elaborate.

Faust translated for the bird a second time. Sunny always!

Asra turned to Nadia to relay the information, but she had left his side.

“Nadia?”

The magician had to rely on Taro and Abaco in order to track her down. He found the Countess in a gymnasium kneeling by what appeared to be an exercise pool.

Nadia seemed absolutely captivated by the immense stationary presence resting at the bottom. Asra gasped as he approached. “Is that some kind of monster?”

Nadia shook her head, her ruby eyes calculating what she could through the distortion caused by the water. “It sure does seem that way at first, but look closely, Asra.”

She mirrored the grooves and swirls in the design by tracing them in the air with the tip of her finger.

“This… is a machine.”

***

While Kipling and Ozy sat around the chest, going through the different gauntlets and having Kipling try on each, they talked of life on their island.

“Are we,” Kip hesitated, “near the Melting World right now?”

Ozy sighed. “From the looks of this reef, it sure does seem like it, doesn’t it? But no. We’re closer to the Prakran continent. The isles we came from are still miles from here.”

Kip tinkered absently with a switch on the knuckle of the gauntlet she currently wore.

“Have you ever gone back?”

Ozy reached over and tugged at her ghost lock. “Once.”

Kip could tell by the resignation in his tone that he didn’t want to elaborate. Still, she looked at him with pleading eyes. 

Ozy shook his head. “The monastery is empty now. I don’t know what happened. And I didn’t go into town to see if my family’s campaigns were still happening or if the superstition toward our kind was as strong as it was when we left. I suspect that people nowadays simply hide the evidence of their magic until they can leave.”

Kip felt her insides go icy. 

The monastery… empty.

Empty of children. Of lemurs. Of Elders.

“Chin up, coz,” Ozy said brightly. “I found a way to recreate all of our favorite spots through grey magic. They’re pretty much identical to the real thing. The lagoon, the echo caves, even the guayacan grove where we used to practice opening Doors, remember?”

Kip’s eyes flooded at the thought. “Yes, Ozy. I remember.”

Ozy watched the tears streaming down her face with a sympathetic smile. “Why are you crying, Kip? Those were good memories.”

Kipling’s laugh came out like a bark. “I know! But you found a way to preserve and protect them. After all of my memories came back, I didn’t know if I would ever get the chance to see those places again. Let alone see them with you.”

Ozy closed the lid of the chest. “Kip?”

She looked up to see him holding some ancient tech and grinning. “I think I found a pair that fits.”

Once again, Ozy distracted Kip from her own emotions by fitting the gauntlets to her hands.

“Hey, Ozy?”

He lifted a curious brow. “Hm?”

“You’ve already been to Strength’s realm.”

Ozy nodded without taking his attention away from his task.

Kip swallowed. “But what about the Empress? Have you gone to see her before?”

Ozy stopped and looked up slowly, his hazel eyes locking with Kip’s brown ones.

“I have.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Kipling reached forward and pulled on his ghost lock.

“And? What is she like? What did she say?”

The way Ozy grinned and batted her hand away strongly reminded Kip of when he was younger. 

“She said that she’s waiting for you. The Empress wants you to come find her so that you can see for yourself.”

Then he lifted up Kipling’s wrist and flicked a switch that had her entire hand sparkling with teal precursor light.

[lettrespromises]

┄───➤   LettresPromises informs you : you have one notification. ❜

──➤ 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 : 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒.

──➤ Smoker sent you a letter, would you like to read it? ❜

@theastroooooworld​ sent a letter : ❝hello my lover 🧚🏼‍♀️, i hope you are well no matter when you see this request !since i love above all your writing, could you make a scenario with another love of my life : Smoker ? in which this angel becomes aware that he loves his best friend from childhood, but this confuses him a lot and he ends up not knowing how to act with her anymore and until he decides to tell her ? please make it very sweet and full of good vibes ! I trust you once again for this declaration of love !𓊕 — juste entre nous deux; tu es une personne formidable et j'avais juste besoin de te le dire, je t'aime fort 💜🤸🏼‍♀️❞

the author’s letter :  ❝dear cam, i couldn’t be more honored of writing this request for you, especially because it concerns smoker and he has no business being this hot but oh well!! thank you for trusting me with your wonderful idea, i hope you’ll enjoy this promised letter. je t’aime si fort, t’es plus qu’incroyable et j’aimerai que tu le saches.❞

──➤ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : pure fluff. ─➤ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : none. ➤ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2.6K. Excerpt of the letter :  ❝Only then did he realize that he had never felt an agonizing sensation of vacuity coursing through his veins when he was feeling frustrated. It was odd, it was foreign, he felt weak. His subconscious screamed at him to associate this haunting feeling of loneliness to the lack of your presence, and for once he agreed— Smoker knew he felt different, in the worst way possible, when you were not around, so he let out another puff of smoke.❞

Is there anything Smoker won’t put words around? Yes, there is.

There is the consuming rage fueled by his unquenched thirst to capture more pirates and bring his status of « white hunter » closer to glory. But he reminds himself that perhaps some pirates deserve to be set free as his orbs lay on the poster of Monkey D. Luffy and the letters of the word « wanted » screaming at him. There is the sense of injustice within the epitome of justice, such acerbic poetry, and the cacophony of remorses making his jaw clench every now and then. There is the frustration of acknowledging that there will forever be a gap between his own definition of justice and his superiors’ definition of justice, particularly Akainu’s version which appears too merciless to his own liking.

And there is the haunting torment of being incapable of qualifying properly his feelings.

He knows what anger feels like— he knows how anger bends his body, he knows that anger will push his sanity down a pit and he will have to sit here and observe an unhinged version of himself crawl out of said pit.

He knows what indifference feels like— but he barely realizes that his eyes roll back whenever his superior wishes, yet again, to narrow the notion of freedom within justice, he knows that his brain purposefully decides not to absorb any given information pooling out of Akainu’s mouth.

Smoker knows how his emotions manifest themselves and recognizes them kinesthetically.

But Smoker also fails to identify the newcomers.

« State your name and business before coming in. » It also seems that he has trouble recognizing the five distinct taps of your knuckles on the door leading to his office, but oh well.

Your knuckles brush the wooden surface of the door until reaching the doorknob and twisting it in the process, you close the door behind you, leaving his pseudo orders waiting in front of the door at the same time. « I’m kind of hurt, I thought you’d recognize my secret knocking style, we’ve spent ages creating this secret language as kids. »

But how could Smoker not recognize the sound of your voice and the honey dripping down your vocal cords?

He shifted in his seat, secretly thanking for your presence so his orbs could properly project a different visual than the bland reports scattered across his desk, and he thanked you a second time for allowing him to visually embrace the shape of your body, but he kept that to himself. « Should I give you a reminder of how old we are, Y/N? I’m almost certain we’re way past that age. » Smoker stated, a puff of smoke punctuated the end of his sentence.

« No doubt, you’re definitely past that age. » You trailed off whilst making your way over to his desk, a grin which radiated ill intentions shone brought amongst your facial features. You made a seat out of his desk without asking for permission, Smoker lightly tapped your left thigh in return, a weak attempt to make you get off of his desk. The experience granted by having shared the majority of your life with Smoker offered you the prestige of being free of your own deeds around him, without ever having to worry about pseudo consequences. « But I do have amazing news for you, I’m sure you’ll love it. » You finished, an amused gleam shining in the irises of your eyes at his quirked eyebrow, a silent way to tell you to explain further.

« I’m coming with you and Tashigi on Punk Hazard! Now, now… I know your emotionless self won’t let it show but I know, I just know you’re thrilled to hear that. » You slammed the report proving the sincerity of your words regarding your presence on the mission held on Punk Hazard on his desk in a loud thud, and the proudest grin appeared across your face, just to emphasize that silent victory over Smoker who had always refused to go on a mission with you, but never once did he admit it was because he was afraid of seeing you getting hurt.

Another puff of smoke left his lips, out of frustration, he recognized that he was feeling frustrated because of the way his teeth would hold his cigars a bit tighter, often approaching the limit of breaking them in two.

« You seem so eager to come on Punk Hazard, but I don’t think you realize how dangerous this mission is. » He grumbled, his eyes finding yours lost amongst the metaphorical electricity created in the room because of the tension. Smoker couldn’t quite tell what frustrated him the most— was it the fact that Akainu, out of all people, granted you the wish to come on Punk Hazard? Was it the fact he envied your ability to willingly ignore the magnitude of danger? Or was it the fact you called him emotionless?

Emotionless.

Smoker wasn’t emotionless, see— he was feeling frustrated. But, nonetheless, the words echoed in his head until it lost its meaning. Was he emotionless? No, no, no he was not. Smoker was not emotionless. He was frustrated, frustration is a valid feeling therefore is he able to show emotions. But only now did he wonder if it was genuine frustration.

« I didn’t reach this rank by slacking off, you and I both know it. I’ll see you soon enough, Smoker. »

He found his own answer when you hopped off his desk and left the room, the sound of the door being shut close was his sole wake-up call. Only then did he realize that he had never felt an agonizing sensation of vacuity coursing through his veins when he was feeling frustrated. It was odd, it was foreign, he felt weak. His subconscious screamed at him to associate this haunting feeling of loneliness to the lack of your presence, and for once he agreed— Smoker knew he felt different, in the worst way possible, when you were not around, so he let out another puff of smoke.

This enigma kept him up at the worst moments, and like every enigma, obtaining an answer to soothe the inner pain caused by the latest obsession of his mind was almost impossible. He immediately knew he couldn’t talk about it to Hina, or worse, Tashigi. Either way, he was sure to be met with either a harsh judgement and could already imagine Hina saying « You’ve mellowed ever since we joined the navy, Hina is amused. » or the inevitable stutters cascading from Tashigi’s mouth. Smoker was on his own, drown in the torment of his own emotions.

The sole temporary solution he found was to ignore you, if his body and mind had to hurt then so be it, he couldn’t handle the agonizing pain of seeing you go away, Smoker had mentally told himself to be a martyr and accept it.

You, on the other one hand, did not bother too much about his absence, you figured it was his way to mentally prepare himself ahead of a mission. You accepted it too, both his absence and the inexorable feeling of your heartstrings being bent in unimaginable ways.

Smoker lighted up the fifth cigar in a row now, and once more he blindly trusted the aftereffects of your absence for the cause of this obsession, smoking some more was merely a placebo to soothe the torture brought by the lack of answer. Truthfully, Smoker hadn’t spoken in a while, perhaps he had nothing to say as long as he knew what was going on. He spoke rarely and judged the value of his words before actually speaking— sure, he had directed his subalterns here and there to organize the ship on their way to Punk Hazard, but aside from the obligations of his ranks, he found nothing to say. Or rather, his mind didn’t grant him the ability to talk until he figured what was this haunting feeling which had no familiarity with frustration anymore. But was he emotionless?

Instead, Smoker let the rhythm of the waves crashing against the ship in the darkest hours of the night to rock his thoughts. His hazel orbs never left once the ‘wanted’ posters of Monkey D. Luffy and Trafalgar Law— of course he knew their faces and who they were, but the couldn’t trust his body anymore and wondered whether or not this secret emotional disease was going to affect his memory. Smoker hoped it wouldn’t have any impact on his memories with you, he was willing to let amnesia consume him whole and burn everything he knew except any memory which had your name written all over it.

From that moment, Smoker knew it was definitely not frustration.

« Smoker? Smoker? Earth to big cigar boy? You can go to sleep, it’s my turn to watch over the ship and you kind of look like a zombie if I’m being honest. » He hadn’t even noticed you entered the main cabin and thus he cursed himself for doing so, but Smoker noticed you looked hesitant by the way you were fiddling with your fingers, it was something you always did as a child.

Most of all, Smoker noticed something else— whenever you were in the same vicinity as him, the pain soothed, it faded away to let the most blissful sensation appear instead. Yet another question he will never obtain the answer to.

Using the grip on the armrests as a support, Smoker stood up and headed towards the door to leave you alone whilst you were on watching duty, that was the initial plan : head towards the door and leave. Head towards the door and leave. Head towards the door and-…

« Y/N, can I ask you something? » … And shamefully ask you to ease his pain instead.

You looked at him with a quizzical look painted across your facial features, both at the sudden interpellation, but mostly at the fainted grip he was holding on your wrist. « Sure, I’m all ears. » You replied, curiosity tainted the way your words came out but you kept your eyes locked on his frame anyway.

Smoker took a sudden drag of his cigars to ease his nerve and subconsciously give him a few seconds to organize the isolated parts of sentences shooting in his mind. Truthfully, he didn’t even know if this was necessary given that he ignored how he was feeling or what caused his body to hurt so much, translating this agony into words was beyond impossible. « You have to promise not to tell anyone about this. » He inquired, his orbs adopted a darker tone on the demanding tone coating his words and the hold on your wrist became temporarily tighter, you hummed in response, allowing him to continue. « If I’m being honest, I think I’m sick or have caught some kind of disease. It’s odd and quite impossible to properly be explained. I don’t know what I’m feeling, but it’s manifesting through this constant sensation of feeling empty. It weighs on my mind, and I have no idea what’s causing it. »

You quirked your brow in response, genuinely concerned as to whether or not Smoker was actually sick— after all, as you were approaching the extreme binary climate of Punk Hazard, such possibility couldn’t be evicted. You allowed your orbs to roam over his face, a guilty pleasure, and besides visible confusion, you couldn’t depict any physical symptom.

« Um, right? Do you have any idea when did this start? » You asked, hoping to obtain more hints about his situation.

« I hate to admit it but it started when you left my office last week, and now that you’re here I feel better, as in I don’t feel this emptiness anymore. » He continued, and for the first time in your life, you could admire his emotions dancing under the moonlight. « I was wondering if you felt sick, too. »

« So, if I sum it up you feel ‘empty’ and ‘in pain’ when I’m not around. » You couldn’t help but bend your lips into a smile which you knew he already hated by the ill intentioned looks of it.

« Sort of, but you haven’t answered my question : are you ill or not? » A question so innocent which found its answer in the shameless laugh escaping your lips, Smoker covered your mouth with his palm— not because he cared about the quality of the slumber of his soldiers, but rather because the sound of your laugh was awakening something else in him which was too harsh to handle.

You delicately wrapped your fingers around his wrist, slowly making him retreat his limb to his torso, and to his greatest pleasure, your laughter left an imprint on your facial features in the shape of a grin. « Would you believe me if I were to tell you that I found the cure? » You asked, already imagining the outcome of a possible answer.

« Huh? What is it? » He responded to your question with yet another question, but there and only there he found the answer to his haunting enigma when your fingers invaded his vision field and threw the sole obstacles to the apex of the situation, his cigars, on the floor before stepping on them to extinguish them. And there and only there, Smoker felt peace when your lips crashed onto his in a delicately harsh liplock whilst your palms were cupping his cheeks. It came as a reflex, and he couldn’t blame himself for it because he had fantasized about this scenario several times while hoping it would be the cure to his problems, Smoker caged you against his chest as his forelimbs protectively claimed your waist.

The more your lips were lingering on his, the more he felt every ounce of pain exude his body by his every pores— you were the cure, you were the answer to his enigma and always have been. If his lungs hadn’t failed him, Smoker would have gladly delivered himself into the temptations of your lips once more, judging by the way he blindly chased after your lips when you broke the kiss.

Another giggle escaped your lips as your thumbs brushed invisible motions against his cheeks, « Do you still feel empty at all? » you asked, such a rhetorical question, right? Smoker looked at you quizzically but then it hit him— he felt full, and vacuity had lost sense. « No, I don’t feel empty anymore. » He concluded to your amused smile.

« You’re not sick and never have been, or maybe it’s a sickness to you, but you’re in love, Smoker. That’s what you were feeling. And if I’m being honest, I’ve been feeling quite ‘empty’ myself too. » You confessed and opened your heart to him so he could admire each tone of vivid color painting your feelings for him which caused him to tighten his hold to bring you as close as humanly possible. He had found his cure and needed as much contact as possible. « I suppose you’re right, I do feel better when you’re by my side. »

And here, you planted yet another peck on his lips and gave in to the sweet temptation of savoring the taste of his lips once more. The gleam shining in the corner of your eyes reflected nothing but genuine love, and you knew it was the same gleam reflecting in his own orbs. « I’ve never been more glad to be sick in my entire life. » Smoker concluded, and kissed these words into the skin of the crown of your hair.

That’s when Smoker knew that perhaps he wasn’t emotionless, or at least, he was able to feel emotions as long as you were by his side.

[winterisakillerwrites]

Lovers’ Eyes

Title: Lovers’ Eyes

One Shot: 1/1

Character: Tom Hiddleston

Genre: Angst

Rating: T

Summary: A devastating loss reveals a life-changing truth.

Authors Notes/Warnings: This story contains mentions of death (not Tom). This was brought about by this ask:

I don’t know if this was what you had in mind, but this is what my brain came up with, nonny. I hope you enjoy.

Thank you a hundred thousand times over to @ciaodarknessmyheart​​ for being my sounding board for this, encouraging me to run with the idea, and helping inspire what has happened and might possibly happen in future.

Tag List: @tinchentitri​​ @noplacelikehome77​​​ @theheartofpenelope​​ @blacksuitofdoom​​  @nonsensicalobsessions​​ @messy-insomniac-bookgirl​​ @just-the-hiddles​​ @wolfsmom1​​ @theoneanna​​ @hiddlescastle​​ @sabine-leo​​ @alexakeyloveloki​​ @echantedbytwh @ciaodarknessmyheart​​ @redfoxwritesstuff​ @finchbaggins​

If you would like on my tag list for any future works feel free to message/comment to be added. 

                                     But do not ask the price I pay

                                    I must live with my quiet rage

                                    Tame the ghosts in my head

                                  That run wild and wish me dead

                               Should you shake my ash to the wind

                                        Lord forget all of my sins

                                      And let me die where I lie

                         Beneath the curse of these lovers eyes

  “When?” 

The word fell from Tom’s lips in a pained whisper. He’d been up for the better part of two days, had seen the inside of no less than four airports and just as many planes, had ridden in the back of several cabs in the vain hope of getting there in enough time. Everything ached; his eyes, his body, his mind

…He’d been too late. He’d known he was too late by the tightness he could see in the reddened eyes staring back at him.

“Two hours ago.”

Despair flooded his senses and he felt his knees give way, falling back against the wall behind him. He slipped wordlessly to the floor, fighting to breathe. 

When he’d gotten the call on set, Tom had felt as though the world was splintering around him. Though it had been years since she spoken to her last, years since he’d made the single most idiotic decision of his adult life, he’d never once forgotten Elizabeth Michaels. His Eliza. He’d made peace with what happened between them in the best way he’d known how, by believing that she’d moved on with her life. That she had found someone, had a family, had the life he hadn’t been willing to give her at the time. The thought of her out there happy and whole made his own bitter disappointment in his failings an easier burden to bear. 

All of that had been ripped away when he’d taken the call only to hear her mother say, “Eliza’s dying, she’s asking for you. She doesn’t have long now.”

He’d all but run from the set, not bothering to explain his absence as he dialed his driver and sped back towards the hotel. He’d managed to shove as many clothes as he could into a carryall along with his passport, charge cord, and wallet when Luke’s call came. He listened without really hearing as Luke berated him for his complete and utter lack of professionalism. “What the fuck is going on? Have you taken complete leave of your senses?”

“I need you to get me a flight home now,” Tom hissed, cutting his publicist off mid rant. “I don’t care how you do it, I don’t care what it costs. Just do it.”

“Tom what is going on?” Exasperation and confusion colored his tone. In all the years they’d known each other, he’d never heard Tom like this.

“Eliza…” He choked the name out, feeling the tears he’d kept at bay threatening to break free. “I need to…Please Luke….”

Luke had never met Eliza but had known enough of her importance in Tom’s life to understand something drastic had happened. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’m headed to the airport now,” Tom explained before abruptly ending the call. Fuck professionalism and fuck his other obligations. He’d let Eliza down once and if she was…If he was going to lose her for good, he couldn’t let her down now. Not and be able to live with himself after.

The trip down the elevator, across the lobby, and back into the car passed in a blur. He growled at his driver to make for the airport and settled uncomfortably against the leather seat as the city flew past his window in a blur of color and motion. The freeway was packed and Tom near pulled his hair out as the minutes ticked by. How long did he have to get to her? The crushing weight of the unknown bore down on his shoulders and he yelled at the driver to go faster. 

His phone chimed with a text from Luke. He’d managed to squeeze him on a flight leaving in an hour and a half. From there he’d catch another two flights before he’d be back on British soil. It was far less than ideal but it was the best Luke could do with such short notice. Especially with the storms that were set to be rolling in.

Tom didn’t remember pulling into the drop off point at the airport or running for the ticket desk. All he could remember was clutching the boarding passes the woman behind the counter had given him as if they were the only things tethering him to this earth. He’d darted from the desk, through security and had all but thrown the boarding pass at the startled gate attendant as he skidded to a halt. The man scanned his ticket without comment and Tom had run down the walkway and into the plane.

He’d tried to sleep on the flight but found his mind refused to shut off. Images of Eliza; her bright hazel eyes, the warm smile she wore whenever she saw him, the way her face lit up when she laughed, her coppery hair gleaming in the sunlight as she lay against him; flooded his mind every time he closed his eyes.

They’d been so happy. So fucking happy and he had to go and ruin it. She’d been patient, understanding. Acting had been such an integral part of him, had been something he’d worked so hard at for so long. She’d sent him off with the promise that she would be there when he came home, be there when he needed her. 

And it had worked, at first. He’d thrown himself into his work but had always made sure to keep in touch with her. To phone whenever he could, to video call and when he was able fly back to spend whatever time he could with her. But as his demand grew those calls and visits slowly fell to the wayside until it had been months since he’d last seen her and weeks since they’d spoken. 

Tom would never forget the look on her face the last time he had seen her, a video call he hadn’t expected her to answer but knew he’d had to make. The pain and heartbreak in her eyes when he’d told her maybe it was for the best they ended things. His career was soaring and he couldn’t let anything hold him back. He was sorry but he couldn’t see any other way. She’d smiled at him, a broken, weak smile and wished him all the best. She told him she would always love him and that she’d understood.

And afterwards he’d thrown himself into his work. Burying himself in role after role, trying for any and everything. He refused to say no. Refused to take a break. Refused to slow down. This was his chance and he could not, would not, throw it away. He ignored the concerned looks from his team and brushed off the worried calls from his family. He ran at a breakneck speed until he’d finally one night he’d crashed.

Tom couldn’t remember where in the world he was, only that it was late and he was alone and for whatever reason that had become simply unbearable. He’d dialed Eliza’s number without even thinking, needing to hear her voice. Needing her gentle wisdom to soothe the unending weight he carried. But the number rang out as unavailable. He dialed it again only to receive the same message. Confused and terrified, he’d called his sister thinking maybe she’d have Eliza’s number. Or at least an explanation. They had been close before. Maybe they still were. 

But it had been of no use. Emma hadn’t spoken with Eliza in nearly a year, not long after things had ended between them, and last she’d known Eliza had left for the states and hadn’t given any forwarding information. He’d thrown his phone across the darkened room, screaming every obscenity that came to mind. Frustrated tears streamed from his eyes as he let the years’ worth of pressure, disappointment, and regret flood through him. He understood then, all too well, what he’d given up…What he’d thrown aside and for the first time the guilt he’d pushed aside broke free. 

When he’d woken up that next morning, head pounding and eyes raw, he called his agent and Luke and asked if there was any way he could get time to clear his head. The three weeks they’d managed to eke out of the production company of his latest project were spent curled up in his mother’s sitting room or in the house he’d bought but hadn’t truly moved into. He slept and ate and tried to recharge the battery he’d very much run into the ground with such dedication. 

He emerged with a heaviness he couldn’t quite shake but steady enough to push on. His work, his career, this was what he had now. He’d given up something irreplaceable and precious for it, failing now wasn’t an option. As the years passed he comforted himself with the thought that Eliza was out there happy and chasing her own dreams. She would have married and had a family, of that he was certain, even if the very idea of it felt like a lead ball in his gut. She would be happy and whole and better for not having to chase after his shadow. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would have to be enough.

And it had been until his phone rang and the ground fell out beneath him.

His body shook as his grief consumed him. She was gone. His Eliza was gone. He was too late. Always too late. He brought his knees to his chest, clinging to them as he rocked back against the wall, tears streaming down his face. Why hadn’t he gotten there sooner? Why couldn’t he ever seem to do right by her? Why?

“I’m sorry,” he cried out, over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The words were of little use. It didn’t matter how sorry he was. Sorry wouldn’t change things. Sorry couldn’t bring her back. Sorry couldn’t change the choices he made. But god he was so fucking sorry. 

He didn’t know how long he’d sat on that floor, curled as tightly into himself as he could manage, drowning in his own grief and self-loathing. Eliza had been the one bright thing in his life and he’d thrown her away without a care. He’d taken the gift she’d given him and tossed it aside as if it were meaningless. And for what? The stupid need to prove himself. To be the best he could be at pretending to be someone else. God, he was such a fool. Such a complete and utter fool.  

“Thomas.”

He blinked up at the sound of his name, confusion and disorientation clouding his features. His back was stiff and sore, his head pounding. He’d known the voice, known it but couldn’t seem to place it. Eyes clearing, the blurred form of Keira Michaels came into view, her eyes lined with stress and grief.

Eliza’s mother had always been a formidable woman. Strong willed and opinionated, she had made her feelings towards Tom well known. “A decent enough boy, Eliza, but tied to his work. Be careful with him, he’s one who will do what it takes to survive.” And he’d proved her right, though it had never been his intention. He’d loved Eliza with every fiber of his being but his ambition and his need to prove himself had led him to walk away. To push her away without a thought. And what had that cost him? Cost them both? 

Tom had never thought he would see Keira again. And certainly never like this. They sat in uncomfortable silence, quietly sharing the unbearable chasm of loss between them. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”

It took him several moments to gather himself enough to choke out, “How could I not?”

He felt the older woman’s dark eyes narrowing on him. “You left easily enough, it stands to reason you’d be reluctant to return.”

Fury and shame burned twin flames within him. “I love her. That hasn’t ever changed.” 

Keira’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve a funny way of showing it.”

It took all he had to bite his tongue to keep from snarling back at her. Keira would never think anything but ill of him and he knew it was as much as he deserved. He loved Eliza but had walked away and now it was too late to fix it. Too late to make any of it right. Tears burned in his eyes once again and he pinched the bridge of his nose in a desperate bid to stop them.

Several deep breaths later Tom found his voice. “If you were so sure I wouldn’t come, why did you call?”

 “Because she asked for you.”

A fresh stab of pain bloomed in his chest at the words. Confusion and guilt followed soon after. Why had she asked for him? How could he be the person she wanted in the end after he’d left her? Eliza had always been an open, loving, generous person; it had been one of the many, many things he’d loved about her. She had a big heart, a kind and understanding heart. But even the kindest person had their limits surely. And what did it matter now? He’d come too late. She’d asked and he hadn’t come in time. 

“You and I…We’ve never seen eye to eye, I doubt we ever will.” Keira spoke, her voice coming from what felt like miles away; quiet and barely audible. Tom blinked up at her before pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. The world tilted alarmingly, his vision tunneling as his hand shot out to brace against the wall to keep himself upright. “And if she hadn’t asked, hadn’t wanted…But she…My girl, she never stopped loving you, for all the good it and you did her. And there were things she wanted to tell you…Things she should have told you. Things you need to know.”

He couldn’t make sense of the words. “I don’t understand…”

Keira sighed, digging into the bag that hung by her side. She pulled out a folded envelope and thrust it in Tom’s direction. He stared at it and then at her. “She gave me this for you…In case you didn’t…”

Tom swallowed thickly, taking the envelope with a shaking hand. He unfolded it slowly, nearly dropping it when his name written in her delicate hand caught his eye. The urge to tear it to pieces and throw it in the nearest fire battled with the need to tear it open and read the words she’d left for him. So he stood with it shaking in his hands, staring without seeing.

“You need to sleep, Thomas. Get yourself some sleep, read that, and when you’re ready we’ll talk.”

Without giving him a chance to answer, Keira turned on her heel and walked away.

It went against everything in him, leaving the hospital before he’d even seen…But did he truly want to see her body? Seeing that would make things real and right now real was the absolute last thing he wanted. Seeing her cold, empty and knowing that would be the last image he would ever have of her…No, most definitely not.

The hotel he’d stumbled into was a ten minute ride from the hospital. He could have braved the longer drive back to London and the comfort of his own bed, but doing so now felt like the worst sort of betrayal. So he’d gone to the nurse’s station down the hall and asked for the nearest hotel.

Flustered, the nurse stared back at him for several minutes before mumbling something and handing him a piece of paper with the information he’d asked for. Part of him understood she’d recognized him but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t bother to fake a smile and put on the charm he was well known for. What was the point of any of it?

The room was dark and the bed comfortable enough. Tom hadn’t paid attention to any of it. Not in the cab ride over, nor at the check in desk, nor in the elevator, nor when he opened the door and stumbled inside. He dropped his bag by the desk and fell heavily on top of the maroon duvet. He had no intention of sleeping, hadn’t felt he’d earned the right to such an escape, but his body had other plans and it had gone far too long without having them fulfilled. He’d blinked once and gave into the exhaustion clawing at his bones. 

When he came to the room was black as pitch. Disorientation and panic flooded through him as his sleep-logged brain struggled to orient itself. Everything came back with a sickening realization; where he was, just why he was there, all the madness and pain of the last several days.

Eliza. Oh God. 

He scrambled from the unmade bed and practically threw himself into the cramped bathroom, dropping to his knees and vomiting into the toilet. He clung to the cool porcelain of the bowel as the nausea radiated over him again and again and again. Tears burned in his eyes, blurring his vision. But he didn’t care. She was gone and everything he had prayed had been a terrible, horrific nightmare had been real. And there was nothing he could do to change it. With trembling hands, he pushed himself back, closing the lid and resting his head against it. The room spun around him despite his refusal to watch. Once it seemed to calm, Tom raised his head once more. 

Shaking, he pushed himself first to his knees and then unsteadily to his feet. Violent flashes of red and black clouded his vision as he stumbled into the vanity, gripping the cool Formica top to keep from crumpling back to his knees. The pain in his thigh told him there would be bruises forming there soon enough.  

Reaching out, he turned on the faucet and splashed cool water against his flushed skin. He hadn’t the faintest idea what time it was, hadn’t bothered to turn his phone one since he’d boarded that last plane. There would be untold number of messages and missed calls waiting for him, he knew that without question. Luke might not have fought him initially but he would be expecting an explanation; if only to appease the feathers Tom had undoubtedly ruffled with his hasty exit. But he hadn’t the patience for any of it. 

Taking a shuddering breath, Tom dried his face and made his way back into the main room, hitting the wall several times with an opened palm until he managed to hit the overhead light switch. Scrubbing his face with his palms, Tom dropped onto the bed. Even with sleep under his belt his head still felt fuzzy and slow despite the jumble of confused thought buzzing through it. He fell back against the mattress, turning as he heard the crinkle of paper beneath his head.

He saw it then. The letter. Her letter. His fingers felt numb as he struggled to grab the envelope. As he held it, Tom felt his chest tighten. Could he open it, read the words she left for him, knowing they were her last? The paper shook in his hands as he slid a finger beneath the seal and ripped. Shook even harder as he pulled the folded paper out and let his eyes fall upon her neat hand.

 Tom,

 Hello my darling man. It has been such a long time since I have called you that so please forgive me the liberty of doing so again. This is not the way I wanted to have this conversation but time and fate aren’t on my side any longer. And I am sorry for telling you this way.

But before I delve into my reasons for writing this, I wanted to tell you how immensely proud I am of you. I’ve watched you shine these last several years, watched your dreams come true. I always knew, down deep in my bones, that you were meant for great things and despite how things ended between us I do not begrudge you for it. I wanted to and I admit for a good while I tried. It was so much easier, at first, being angry. But anger never solves anything and I knew then and I still know now that maybe my place in your life was simply to help you along this path. I wish it had been more. I wish we’d been more and maybe if I had fought harder… 

It doesn’t matter now. I made my choices and so have you. I am proud of you, though. You shine in ways I always knew you would. Please keep shining, Tom. Never stop. You never know how long you’ll have.

This next part is the one of the most difficult things I have ever done. My intention was to tell you myself, to be open and honest as I should have been all those years ago. But if you are reading this then I either could not face it or it was too late. And I’m sorry for either of those options. 

The day you called, the last time we spoke, I had been working up the nerve to tell you that I was pregnant. We have a son and he is the most wonderful little boy. His name is James William. Jaime. He’s nearly five now and looks so much like you it tears my heart. 

I should have told you when I knew. I should have told you that day. It wasn’t right to keep it from you. To keep him from you and I know that. Just as I know you will be angry with me for a long time over this. I don’t blame you for that and I deserve your ire. I kept something so important from you and that is not something easily forgiven.

I could see then how much your career meant, could see how things were only just starting for you. And I knew how important it all was for you. How you needed to do this, needed to take those chances and that you couldn’t afford the ties I brought. You told me that day you loved me but that we were a distraction and you couldn’t have that. If I was a distraction on my own, what would our child be? So I kept my silence and I let you go.

It was wrong of me. I should have told you. You deserved the chance to make up your own mind. But I took that choice from you and I hadn’t the right. For that I am so terribly sorry. 

I’ve had years to wrestle with the guilt of keeping something so important from you. There have been so many times I wanted to reach out, so many times I should have. But I didn’t. Each time I wanted to the knowledge that I hadn’t stayed my hand. How could I explain? So I kept keeping this from you and I will never forgive myself that.

Please don’t blame Jaime for this. Don’t let your anger at me colour your knowledge of him. He is my light and my world. None of this is his fault. 

I have always loved you, Tom. Even when it would have been a great deal easier not to. There is so much I wanted to say to you, so much I wish I had said. But life is so short and I don’t have anymore time.

I love you, always.

Eliza

  The letter tumbled from his fingers.

He sat, his back rigid and eyes staring blankly. Chaos screamed in his mind as he tried to make sense of the words. Of the magnitude of the bomb that had been dropped into his lap. A father. Fucking hell, he had a son. A son. He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry or rage at the thought. How could be a father? How could she never have told him until it was too fucking late.

Anger roiled through him. Hot and fierce and all consuming. She had lied to him. Kept something so fucking vital and life changing from him. How fucking dare she dump this on him now when he couldn’t face her on it. Couldn’t demand she tell him why. He should have known.

But as quickly as the anger came, it was doused in a fresh wave of guilt and shame. This was just as much his fault as it had ever been hers. All Eliza had ever done was love him. She believed in him, encouraged him, and he’d pushed her aside for his own glory. He had seen there was something in her eyes that night. Something in the set of her brow that told him there was something she wanted to say, something she needed to say, but he blundered on with his needs. His wants. And she’d said nothing.

He couldn’t blame her…Not fully, as much as he wanted to. And he wanted to so badly. If she had told him…God, he didn’t know what he would have done. What path he would have chosen. The life he…They could have had. And now he never would. She had taken that choice from him and all he could do now was flounder in the aftermath.

Tom scrubbed his face with his hands. Confusion warred with the twin flames of exhaustion and frustration. If he could only turn his mind off, just for a short while. He knew that couldn’t happen, but he would give just about anything to try. Wearily, he pushed himself up to his feet once more and over towards the desk where he had dropped his carryon the night (or was it morning, he’d lost track of time by this point) before. He lifted the small black bag and carried it back to the bed, dumping the contents onto the duvet.

He’d packed in a rush, grabbing the first pieces of clothing his fingers touched and not caring ever much if it was at all practical. He was in desperate need of a shower; he could feel the grime of two days’ travel clinging to his skin. His hair itched and a small part of him hoped that he’d feel better clean. That the soap and water would help clean his mind as well as his body.

The black, blank screen of his mobile stared up at him from the tangle of clothing. This was the longest he’d had the damned thing off in more time than he wished to contemplate. It wasn’t as though he was tied to the device, but with the way his world worked being in constant contact with people had become a dire necessity. If he turned the thing off it was only for the duration of a flight or for short a time as necessary. Staring down at it now, Tom found himself dreading the mess awaiting him when he finally turned it back on.

Snatching the mobile up he powered it on before tossing it back onto the bed and grabbing a change of clothing and his toiletry bag, disappeared into the bathroom to shower. He turned the water as hot as he could stand, stripped, washed himself quickly, and remained under the burning spray long after his skin wrinkled and pruned. Body clean but mind still racing, Tom toweled himself off quickly and dressed before padding barefoot back into the main room.

He scrubbed the towel over his damp hair and allowed his attention to return to his mobile. With a less than steady hand, he grabbed the device and tapped the button on the side to wake the screen. As he feared dozens of messages blipped and beeped for his attention. By his count he’d missed ten calls from Luke, four from his mother (whom he was sure Luke had called after being unable to reach him), and another two from Emma (most likely in response to his lack of response to their mother). He let out a soft groan, warring with the idea of ignoring the messages longer or getting the unpleasantness awaiting him out of the way as rapidly as possible. He knew they cared, knew he’d worried them something fierce, but Tom wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to face all of that now. Not when his head was still spinning.

With a groan of frustration he tossed the mobile back onto the bed and paced the room. He needed to do something but he’d be buggered if he knew what. Prime parental example I’m making, he thought bitterly. 

The thought caught him up short. Fuck, he was a father. But what the fuck did he actually know about that? 

He’d been an uncle for years now, both literally and honorably. Had done what his elder sister referred to as parenting lite; minding his nieces and honorary nephews for an afternoon at a time, playing silly games with them. It had always been with the firm knowledge that he would be handing them back to their parents. He’d always loved children and had wanted them in that vague future someday. But the idea of actually being a father to a child he’d only learned of…It terrified him. How in the world could he be a father when half the time he couldn’t keep his own shit together?

A flash of panic ripped through him. Would be even be allowed to be? All he had was Eliza’s word that the child was his. He didn’t doubt her word, Eliza was many things but never cruel. Never a liar.

But she kept this from you, the small voice in the back of his head reminded him. She never told you and she should have. What proof do you have that she’s told you the truth in this now? 

He shook the thought away.

No. She isn’t…, He winced, wasn’t a liar.

But where did that leave him? He’d had no knowledge of the boy, of Jaime, until a handful of hours ago. He had no part in his life. He didn’t know the boy and he doubted Jaime had any real knowledge of him either. Did he really have the right to come in and uproot this boy from everything he’d ever known? Could he even do that? Did he have the legal rights to?

Fuck, Luke was going to skin him alive. After years of relatively no issues, here Tom was dumping a potentially catastrophic one right into Luke’s unknowing lap. This would be a scandal no matter how they approached it. Luke would have his hands full sorting through the mess, and cursing his name the entire time. There was no way this could be kept quiet, not really. What kind of father would he be if he dragged his child into the middle of that sort of madness? The press wouldn’t leave him or the boy alone. And even if by some miracle they did, what kind of father could he be if he were home? He didn’t have a job that came with steady, regular hours. He couldn’t just drop everything and be there the way the boy…his son, Jaime, would need. 

Maybe it would be better if he walked away now. If he refused to claim the boy as his own. Jaime had his grandmother, had Eliza’s sisters. He would have a family. He didn’t need the complication of Tom’s life tangled with his own. He was too young. It wouldn’t be right, wouldn’t be fair.

But Eliza wanted this. She wanted him to know me….Or at least for me to know about him. 

Could he truly turn his back and walk away again? Could he do that knowing what he knew now? Knowing that Jaime was out there?

“Fuck!” he screamed, slamming his fist into the wall. He felt the plaster crack beneath his knuckles. He cursed again at both his fit of temper and the damage he’d done to the wall and his hand. There would be bruising, he was sure of it. And swollen knuckles.

Great example we’re setting here.

Fuck indeed.

He couldn’t walk away. Not now. He knew it just as certainly as he knew in his heart Jaime was his. He couldn’t, wouldn’t turn his back on his family. It was stupid, he was being stupid. He could hear his agent screaming that at him now. This was the absolute worst time for this to happen. Nothing in his life was equipped for his sudden summersault into unexpected parenthood. He had projects lined up well into the following year. Fuck, he wouldn’t even be in the country half the bloody time. He had people he was accountable to, deals he couldn’t in good faith back out of now. This was a monumentally stupid idea. 

But he couldn’t shake it away now that it had taken root in his mind. Couldn’t shake the mad and sudden impulse that he had to do this. He had to be involved as much, or as little, as he would be allowed.

For Eliza’s sake.

For Jaime’s.

For his own.

 Tom had his mobile in his hand and the number dialed before he had the chance to second guess just what the hell he was doing.

 “Mrs. Michaels…Keira…It’s Tom.”

                                                         —

He rubbed his hands against the sides of his jeans in a vain effort to disguise how clammy they’d become. He’d been fighting down the steady flurry of butterflies that had seemed to take up residence in his gut in the entire ride. For the hundredth time he contemplated simply climbing back into the cab and back to life as he’d always known it. Instead, he handed the cabbie his fare and made his way down the brick lined path on unsteady feet.

On the phone Keira had made herself perfectly clear; She wouldn’t prevent him from meeting Jaime, he was his father and she wouldn’t deny him that, but she asked, pleaded with him, to not tell the boy just who he was. To tell Jaime that he was simply an old friend of his mother’s. “He’s confused enough as it is, losing his mother. I don’t want to risk more pain and confusion if you decide you can’t do this.” 

The words had stung but Tom respected them. What right did he have to drop all of this onto a little boy who just had his world turned upside down? The last thing he needed right then was more upheaval. More change. He needed steady and secure and familiar now more than ever.

She had also insisted on having the meeting take place in her home. “Some place he knows, where he will be comfortable.” Jaime was living with her now. Both he and Eliza had been under her roof for the last year or so. Since shortly after Eliza learned just how sick she actually was. She’d wanted to have her family close, wanted Jaime to be somewhere safe if the inevitable happened. Just in case.

And it had.

The house was just as he’d remembered it. A two story semi with green shutters and a dark blue door. Walking up the path to the door brought back far too many ghosts he’d thought he’d purged. Apparently, he’d been mistaken. He stood at the door for several minutes, trying to work up the nerve to ring the bell. He debated, once more, on the better part of discretion before raising his hand and pressing his finger firmly against the cool metal of the bell. 

He heard the shuffling of feet inside growing steadily louder as they drew near. He swallowed against the lump which had taken root in his throat. The door opened and he met Keira’s cool gaze. Her face was less lined than it had been in the hospital corridor but grief still painted her features. He could see it in the set of her jaw and the haunted look in her eyes. She nodded at him and ushered him inside.

The front hall was dim and cool, he blinked several times adjusting to the change in light. He followed quietly behind her as she walked down the hall and towards the living room in the back of the house. Tom could hear the low murmur of the television and wondered what Jaime would be watching. His own nieces had been taken with Dora and god knows what else at that age. What did he like? What did he hate? What was his favorite bedtime story? Favorite song? God these were things he should have known without thinking. 

He froze at the edge of the doorway, suddenly terrified of what awaited him. Could he actually do this? What was he supposed to say? To do? 

“Jaime, love,” he heard Keira call. “I have someone who’d like to say hello.” She turned towards Tom and beckoned him forward.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath Tom took the last few steps and walked into the brightly lit room. In front of the television, with its program now on mute, sat Jaime. His eyes were wide, curious, and a stunning shade of hazel. Eliza’s eyes. His face…God it was like looking in a mirror. The boy had his same mop of dark blonde curls, his rounded cheeks, and bright smile. If he’d had any doubts they’d been completely and utterly obliterated. This boy. Jaime. Was his. 

“Hello,” he heard himself say, his voice strangely calm and even despite the furious pounding of his heart. “My name is Tom. I’m a…I’m a friend of your mum’s.”

[griffinsandpeacocks]

Phoenix, Son of Hades and Persephone

Warning: Contains foul language! And toxic behaviors mentioned in passing.

Phoenix had come to Auradon to be closer to his father. Hades had been upset for a long while and his mother Persephone had sensed Hades’ pain so gave Phoenix a nudge to go to his father. Phoenix hadn’t needed much nudging as he didn’t quite fit in back home. Or one could say, liked home very much.

In his escapades as a youngster he was fine being the bottom and that made others think he was weak. It was just how they thought of such behavior, and he had grown tired of being approached for that sole fact; which was well known about him. Especially after Apollo’s bastard had decided to lead him on then stab him in the back by outing said fact by saying Phoenix never actively sought out to be on top. Oh, he had almost killed the demigod. That had been a form of social suicide. He’d get to suffer mockery for ages thanks to that little bastard.

On the day he’d left he wrapped him in a rose bush and left him gaged in a garden covered by the roses then growing a tree up around it. He heard eventually Helios had pointed out where the brat was when Apollo had started to look for him. Of course Posiden had pointed out being a demigod even if Zeus’ grandson he’d insulted Hades’ full blooded godling, and thus though furious Apollo couldn’t punish Phoenix. whom had been very smug upon reading his mother’s letter. She’d applauded his creative way of taking care of his anger towards the other godling without hurting him too seriously. Phoenix would be hard pressed to admit he had wanted to hurt the other. He just... Couldn’t. 

When he’d arrived he’d wandered around lost and uncertain where anyone was, was there some sort of assembly going on his father neglected to inform him of? Yet Hades rarely forgot such details; he tended to plan well when he did plan at all. Phoenix eventually found them, drawn to the sound of music he sees a large crowd in a graveyard and he spot his father’s hair, grown out and tied back the blue striking in the sea of more ‘normal’ colors. he walks closer and hears a man speak he has a clear accent, it’s french, at least Phoenix thinks it is; he’s not too certain never having lived outside Olympus.

“I know many here knew the man we say goodbye to today, so I shall keep my part short, as many will wish to say words I am sure, such as how dare he leave in this way. Though, I digress, Sir Cogsworth was many things to many of us, a mentor, a friend, a pin in the side... But to me he had been an anchor. I would never have been able to make it through my life without Cogsworth by my side to keep me and the other staff of the castle in order. He was focused we keep everything in order in at least the best shape we could, and it made the years as an animated wax stick trio bearable...” He paused a moment laughing sadly along with several others. His expression is pinched and he looks like he struggles to speak before he clears his throat. “So I must say, I am not pleased to loose you friend, but I am glad you shall no longer be in pain, so I bid you au dieu.” He had turned to the coffin leaden with flowers and did a flourished bow and stepped down walking off to the side pulling out a handkerchief rubbing at his face as he leans against a tree. The posture reminded Phoenix of someone wanting to hide. Phoenix moves closer trying to slink through shadows as he grows lilies gathering them in his hands; a collection of white, yellow and blue and walks up to the man.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Phoenix says softly wincing as the man startles he looks over blinking and smiles flourishing the handkerchief he tucks it away to effect a proper façade. Phoenix frowns, he shouldn’t hide his emotions just for his sake, and offers the flowers having removed the pale pink ribbon he used to tie back his hair to tie together the bouquet. The man paused in shock looking at the rather stunning flowers he accepts them and takes a deep breath.

“Thank you, though I don’t recall seeing you, are you a new arrival? If so I apologize you’re introduction is such a sad thing as a funeral.” The man says and Phoenix smiles sadly, he never had been to one, though he’d heard about many from Thanatos. He wasn’t to sure how to properly react, except he knew these tended to be sad affairs.

“Some might call it fitting given my father is Hades. I am sorry though... He seemed to mean a lot to all of you.” Phoenix says giving a small half smile and shrugging a bit worried he’ll seem as out of place as a snake in a hen house. Lumiere chuckles sadly looking out to the coffin, a young man stood there and seemed to struggle with words a moment before saying something softly in french and quickly going to a woman in a black dress with her long brunette curls pulled back and held behind her with a golden rose clip. 

That must be the Prince and his mother Phoenix realized, she had warm brown eyes hidden behind a dark veil and she looked as upset as everyone else, though she gently pulled her son close rubbing his back as she whispered to him. The boy was around his own age and had eyes alike but not to his mothers, Phoenix had seen both green and brown, so the Prince had hazel eyes, not quite one or the other color, somewhere in the middle. Though when Phoenix had seen him he’d look distraught like he couldn’t think and had panicked while standing in front of the crowd. At least Phoenix thinks that’s what happened. 

“Ah, poor Ben... This will be the first funeral he’ll remember.” Lumiere says softly sadly and Phoenix frowns and feels horribly out of place. The idea of death was so foreign to him. He’d never had to worry over it as there were few things or beings able to kill a god, and until now he’d not really known anyone with this looming fate either. This was going to be a new and not wholly good learning curve.

“Ah, there’s you’re father...” Lumiere notes looking oddly calmer now the tired worn look brightening up a bit. After many had come and gone Hades steps up and he looks behind him at the coffin and places a crystal flower down, it’s a white rose. He looks out at the crowd his expression carefully neutral. Phoenix knows that look, his father only ever had that expression when he struggled to control his own emotions. Though he could see sadness echoing in his father’s eyes the only cue in his face was a slight furrow of his brow and the tight jaw.

“I am not comfortable speaking before all of you, but I felt the man we’re saying goodbye to deserves to hear what I have to say. He was a very honorable man, one I admired and those have been few, fewer were those who impressed me quite like Cogsworth. He was a loyal friend, a hard worker, and a stubborn goat when he felt like putting his foot down. I had hopped to get to introduce him to my son, but instead I must say goodbye to him instead. You will be missed but your memory will be cherished and you deserve your rest.” Hades says turning and nodding to someone though no in the crowd sees them. Phoenix watches a shadowy figure he doesn’t know who watches looking upset but they smile and Thanatos nods back to Hades before offering his hand and slipping away like a wisp with the figure. Phoenix wonders if he should say anything.

“I wonder...” Lumiere says gazing where Hades had looked and Phoenix sighs and swallows feeling uncertain and shifts on his feet.

“Dad made sure he knew you’d all never forget, Thanatos will make sure he get’s ho- I mean... Er...” He isn’t sure how to say it... Home to him yes, but most here might call it hell, or something equally bad. Lumiere smiles at him, though it clearly subdued he shakes his head.

“Non, non, home is right little one. He’s home now.” Lumiere says blinking tears away though they slide down anyway he takes out the same handkerchief and dabs them away and Phoenix wonders at it, he hasn’t really seen many people he knew cry. He’d cried plenty but it was odd to actually see it. He isn’t going to cry, it just felt sad to see this crowd in clear pain over a loss he was sure hit hard. He doesn’t feel the same pain they do. The crowd looked a mix from anywhere of open grief to cold stony expressions hiding sad eyes. He couldn’t fathom it, he knew that, but his sympathy still went to these people. He worries for his father, was this why he was so sad lately? Watching humans he had come to like grow old and pass away, all the while staring out over an island that held a daughter that he’d likely never be able to meet? 

Phoenix quelled the sudden anger at his father’s position, it wouldn’t do to get angry he’d end up growing a thorny plant and hurt someone. Which he both doesn’t want to do, as hurting people wasn’t an answer and it would get him in trouble. He had heard magic wasn’t looked on too kindly here in any form though he found it annoying they’d call his powers magical given they weren’t magic. 

He had no pact with anything to allow him these abilities, he was just able to control plants in a way no other creature on the world could. Well, save other gods or nymphs tied to nature, though his was more potent than a nymph he wasn’t as good at it as his mother. He didn’t conjure things he willed them to grow, either from his own pool of energy or by touching a plant and encouraging it to bloom. He preferred the latter as it took less energy and was faster, but if he were to grow them on his own they could be anything he imagined. 

Magic was something that was specific, Hecate had told him that though gods seemed magical truly they were just powerful primordial beings able to control things in a way that was passed down to them from their Titan parentage. Magic was a separate power to the differing abilities the gods had and she then showed him many of her own tricks which all seemed like all and none of the other gods powers. As a child he had always loved being around her as she would twinkle lights about her and he’d spend hours playing with them as one or both of his parents were busy. Then again most understood magic as just power beyond normal human ability... So he supposed he couldn’t argue that without getting a headache or giving one to someone else. 

“Ah, you’ve meet Phoenix then, Lumiere, I hope he has been on good behavior?” Hades asks stepping closer and leaning on the tree as well to watch the people as the coffin was lowered and slowly buried. He looks tired but when he looks at the frenchman his expression softens and his eyes glow with a fond light. Phoenix catches it immediately.  Maybe his father has a new lover?   Almost all the gods and even goddesses tended to be polyamorous though there was a huge difference between being so and going behind one’s lover’s back and having a fling. He hated the way Hera reacted towards Zeus’ dalliances but then again she wouldn’t make a step that would make her look like anything less than the perfect wife. Even if it meant tormenting the wrong side of her husband’s affairs.

Many had begun to disperse from the graveyard and Phoenix was surprised by how much smaller the crowd was now. Fewer than half stayed including the royal family ruling over Auradon. Lumiere shrugs slightly he just seems tired now though he gives a half-hearted smile Hades’ way.

“Ah, he’s been a very polite young man. Though I think he’s a little confused by what to do in the face of so much grief.” Lumiere says and Hades looks over worried and sees Phoenix’s icy eyes clouded in worry his form shifting side to side as he tried to hide his discomfort. Hades moves and pats his son’s shoulder gently smiling softly at his son.

“You’ve never had to deal with this, Gia willing we don’t have to have another service any time soon. Sympathy isn’t something bad to have; it makes you like your mother. Thankfully you’re not apathetic like me.” Hades says and Phoenix both loved hearing that and didn’t. He wanted to be compared to Hades more often he always heard how much he was like his mother, as nice as it was, becuase his mother was a wonderful goddess, much calmer and less prone to rash flights of fancy that may end up as tragedy for humans than most other gods and goddesses. 

His father was just as amazing in his eyes. Hades was strong and stern, true; prone to make mischief, and make brash choices like his brothers, but he also was less prone to doing things that caused strife among humans nor was he outright spiteful of them like creating gorgons or other creatures that would often attack humans on sight. Based on Phoenix’s understanding Hades had the best track record out of his siblings really. Or at least a cleaner one by comparison. He didn’t understand why it was avoided comparing him to his father. He had similar eyes, blue; though his were brighter a more icy form of his fathers stormy blues.

“So it’s not bad I wasn’t crying?” Phoenix asks still confused though he wasn’t upset about it he wasn’t sure if he shouldn’t be crying. He didn’t know the one everyone had said goodbye to after all so he shouldn’t be upset wouldn’t the tears be seen as odd? Hades nods and pats his shoulder and pulls him into a half hug against his side and Phoenix leans into it relaxing a bit as he tries calming his emotions. Even as confused as they were. If there was one thing that wasn’t fun about being a god was how emotions worked with them. According to several gods their emotions were less restricted than other races. When they felt, it was something they felt strongly and it was often hard to contain it, whether it was joy, grief, or anger. Even weird amalgamations of said emotions.  

“Hades.” A man says and Phoenix assumes him to be King Adam becuase his father looks less than happy to talk to him. The man is a tall and broad blond, a stern look to him with cool blue eyes, not quite ice chips but they certainly weren’t warm like his Queen’s.

“King.” Hades says back curtly. Phoenix notes his father’s posture stiffens and he brings up a mask of indifference and mild displeasure.

“Is this Phoenix?” The woman the young Prince had gone to asks, so Phoenix is certain she must be Queen Belle. Hades nods though keeps his attention on the King. Both seemingly trying and glare the other into cowering. 

“Hello, Queen Belle, I presume?” Phoenix says trying to smile though he’s uncertain and does a slightly jittery bow sure he’s messing up as he isn’t sure how customs are here. He just bows slightly and inclines his head as he did with Zeus. She chuckles though it’s a bit hollow and curtseys and he blushed not sure he was owed the courtesy. After all his title wasn’t much out of Olympus and Greece. The Prince even bows and he tries to smile though it’s more a wince, his hazel eyes though pretty don’t glimmer they’re dull with pain. Phoenix wants to brighten them, he doesn’t like seeing this other young boy upset.

“Yes, I wish we’d have meet with some nicer circumstances. Oh those are beautiful Lumiere.” She says eyes brightening a bit at the sight of the vibrant blooms. Phoenix shrugs not certain how exactly to address that with the royals. He didn’t mind he just hoped them the best in recovering from the loss. Lumiere had been easy as he hadn’t realized who he was at first. Though he flushes at the compliment to the flowers he’d bloomed.

“Phoenix here gave them to me with his condolences.” Lumiere explains smiling at the flowers the look less stressed than earlier. Hades looks over curious as he looks first at the lilies then smiles that tired air stuck to it.

“You’ve gotten better at growing them.” He says making sure to catch Phoenix’s gaze the two silently survey the other checking for any cues of distress and Phoenix smiles though it’s weaker than his usual.

“Mother says that they’re almost prettier than hers now. I don’t believe her though.” Phoenix says shrugging looking at the blooms, they might be exception specimens of they’re variety but they didn’t give off that paradise like aura his mother’s plants would. 

“Growing them?” Prince Ben asks looking curious, seeing an opportunity to distract the boy Phoenix leaps at the chance for a smile or at least a distraction. Phoenix looks at the wilting yellow rose in the Prince’s pocket and grows a fresh new one and swaps it. He sees the King go tense expression growing almost angry and looks to his father worried he’d done something wrong but Hades had moved a hand out to grab the King’s shoulder glaring at him. 

“Oh, that’s cool.” Ben looks amazed and Phoenix pays more attention to the other child to ignore how he feels like he messed up. “How’d you do that?” Ben asks and Phoenix spins the dead rose between his fingers back and forth. He could rejuvenate it but it wouldn’t last long, and would eventually only cause it to decay faster each time he tried to bring it back to it’s former lush vitality. If it had roots it would be another story. So long as the plant was still able to grow he could influence it’s health for as long as it remained able to grow.

“I can grow things like my mother, Persephone. She’s the Goddess of Spring. I can also become a shadow like Father but I haven’t figured out how to really do that...” Phoenix explains and Ben is wide eyed asking him all sorts of questions Phoenix answers without a second thought, at least both of them are distracted. Ben asked questions about what The Underworld is like, if he knew certain gods and so on so forth. Phoenix was unsteady at first, not used to anyone being so actively interested, but easily grew fond of Ben. The other boy was compassionate and when he cared he cared deeply, the draw back was his naivety. Ben tended to believe in and look for the good in all things. Phoenix adored it about him but also hated it. People especially those in Auradon would certainly attempt to take advantage. Not to say Ben was stupid, just... Soft. Phoenix felt strangely protective of him, and that feeling only seemed to solidify the longer he spent time with and around the Prince.

Phoenix slowly grew fond of the kingdom as much as he hated the similar way people preened for power like back home it was no where near as toxic, people there still had good hearts and had a habit of reminding people when to shove off when they over stepped their boundaries. He makes a few friends though it’s tentative at first. Being friends with Ben is difficult as it earns him ire from everyone around him. Except a few. Queen Belle, Fairy Godmother and Lonnie are very encouraging all around of him and the steps he takes to separate himself from a few negative stereotypes associated with greek gods and goddesses. He fights constantly to subdue his emotions as it could be hard not to grow angry when someone would start up behavior they so viciously condemned in Auradon, yet seem prone to all the same. 

He is allowed to grow plants without penalty as it was best he use the energy on something given if he is left idle too long he looses control over his power and it will grow plants rampant around him. Control at least full control eluded him at his young age. He could grow things on command but if he didn’t use the ability to flex it it would just build into excess growth in the general area. He worked on it with both his father and Fairy Godmother but he couldn’t seem to find a way to work it out.

Hades had suggested that perhaps Phoenix just wasn’t able to due to his mixed nature, given Persephone was a fertility Goddess and nature oriented while he was fire, shadow and death/spirit oriented. He was a King of wealth and all beneath the earth while his wife and Queen was a goddess of what grew through it and above. Phoenix was a strange middle ground. He could become mist and shadow like or even summon fog around himself but it was rare to manifest and often only if he were afraid. He had much better grasp over his nature abilities. 

“Life here isn’t nor will it be easy... And it kind of hurts to see the Isle and know my sister’s out there... But, I think I made a good choice coming here.” Phoenix says softly to his father. Hades just stares out over the water and seems to distracted to notice at first.

“I’d hope so, you’re stuck here or Olympus anyway.” Hades reminds him and Phoenix nods with a heavy sigh. It was true he couldn’t really travel elsewhere. Not until he could control his powers fully. Then he could travel about without one of his parent’s oversight. 

“At least here more toxic behavior is curbed and pushed out of the public areas. Unless of course said behavior is common, but there’s enough good here I don’t feel like I’m trapped and need to lash out at everyone near me to breathe.” He says kicking a rock and Hades rubs his back staring over the Isle. He says nothing but Phoenix knows how his father feels. It hurts but it’s easier to deal with here rather than at home. It’s not so much a weakness here as accepted unfortunate circumstances. He does hope to meet his sister one day though, most likely she’ll hate him. He couldn’t blame her though, if he’d have grown up in a cage he’d likely hate anyone on the other side of the bars too.

@hereliesdeedee​​ for the aesthetic, they’re amazing at making these and they put a lot of work into making me the one above for Phoenix Prince of The Underworld son of Hades and Persephone. 

[pixiegrl]

For the prompts, 29 and 15 with Lashton? Love your writing!

Hello anon! This was for a prompt on tumblr for Lashton, in a waiting room with “Is there anything I can do to help?” It ended up being goofier and fluffier than intended but @calumsclifford gave me the idea and I ran with it. Enjoy!

As always it is also on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26431231

Calum hiccups and immediately starts crying again, loud broken sobs. Luke tips his head, counting to 10 and willing himself to not just, get up and leave Calum. Regrettably, Luke is the only one with a car and he can’t just leave Michael at a hospital. He also can’t just abandon Calum here because then Michael will have to deal with an upset Calum on top of the injury and Luke will never hear the end of the whining.

Calum’s sprawled over Luke’s lap wailing at the top of his lungs. Everyone in the ER waiting room is shooting them concerned looks, but it’s 2am on a Monday so no one is actually coming over to check on them.

Luke’s counting to another set of 10 because Calum won’t stop whimpering about Michael’s “never going to recover” and “it’s all my fault,” when Luke hears someone clear their throat next to him. Luke glances over, immediately embarrassed that there’s an attractive guy with light brown curls, hazel eyes, and an old All Time Low shirt with his hands shoved into his pockets staring at the two of them. The one time Luke’s got a snotty Calum in his lap, his curls look flat and greasy, and he’s exhausted would be the time that a hot guy with good music taste comes over.

“I couldn’t help noticing that your friend seems very, uh, upset. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Michael is dying!” Calum wails, flinging himself further into Luke’s lap. The guy looks alarmed, taking a step back.

“He’s exaggerating! Michael is fine! He fell off a skateboard trying to do a “cool trick” and landed on his wrist funny. He thought it might be broken, but he’s going to be fine Cal! I’ve been trying to tell you that for the last 3 hours,” Luke huffs, trying to smack Calum upside the head. At any other time, Calum would have latched on to the fact that a hot guy is talking to Luke and tried to drop hints that Luke is very single and very bisexual and would love a boyfriend. Now, Calum’s too worried that Michael’s at death’s door over a small enough injury.

“He’ll never be able to play guitar again!”

“In 6 weeks, he’ll be perfectly able to play guitar Calum.”

The guy snorts and tries to hastily cover it up with a cough, when Luke looks over at him.

“What are you even doing in an ER at 2am on a Monday?”

“Oddly enough, something similar. My brother Harry tripped off his skateboard and landed on his face. Thinks he might have broken his nose, so here we are,” Ashton says, waving his hand around the waiting room. He pauses before sitting down a few seats away from Luke.

Luke feels a spike of heat in his chest. The cute guy is sitting near him! Calum is not scaring him away. Maybe he’s Luke’s soulmate. Wait, now Luke sounds like Michael and Calum and he refuses to be them.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened. Michael got burned once, totally got half his face and his eyebrows and Calum was inconsolable. I think Michael ended up having to hold him while the doctor was trying to bandage him up. Whenever Michael gets an injury, Calum acts like Michael’s on death’s door.”

“Because he is Luke! How can you say you’re his best friend and then just disrespect him like this?” Calum yells, muffled by the fact that his face is pressed into Luke’s jeans. Luke rolls his eyes. The guy smiles and Luke feels his heart skip a beat. Is he sharing a moment with a stranger in a waiting room? Is he in a rom-com?

“Ashton.”

“Hm?”

“My name. It’s Ashton. Since Calum here said your name, I figured it was only fair that you know mine too.”

“Well nice to meet you Ashton. What do you do when you’re not taking care of brothers with broken noses?”

“Taking care of little sisters who are just the right age where the wrong nail polish color is the end of the world, working at a coffee shop, playing drums.”

Luke perks up, “We’re a band. The three of us. Michael’s guitar, Cal’s bass, and I sing. Play guitar too, but not as good as Michael. We’re looking for a drummer.”

“You guys any good?”

“You could come see us practice for yourself.”

Ashton hums. He gives Luke a once over. Luke goes a little red, ducking his head to stare intensely at the back of Calum’s head. God, he needs Michael here to handle this Calum’s a terrible wingman. Next time, Luke’s going to break Calum’s wrist so he has Michael with him as a wingman.

“I don’t just give out my services for free you know. Drumming is alot of work and I deserve something in payment.”

“Oh? I mean, I work in a bookstore, Michael’s in a music shop, and Calum teaches football we don’t have like alot of money to go around. It’s why we don’t have a drummer yet.”

“You’re in luck because I’m a cheap drummer. All I ask for is a date with a very cute, blonde singer.”

Luke’s startled. Luke’s so startled he’s not sure he’s still breathing and he considers asking the nurse at reception if he’s still alive. There’s no way Ashton’s asking Luke out on a date. This is not happening at 2am on a Monday in an ER waiting room.

“Uhhhh, I would have to check my work schedule. I'm very busy selling books to bored teenagers and very excited children,” Luke says. He’s staring at a point over Ashton’s left shoulder, hoping that if he doesn’t make full eye contact with Ashton he won’t do or say something embarrassing.

“Well, I’m also busy selling coffee to angry businessmen and stressed college students. I think the best thing we could do is exchange our phone numbers so that way we could text each other about our schedules and set up a band practice day. Or a date. Whichever comes first. But just so you know, I know a really nice pizza place around here that I love to take a certain singer to.”

Luke’s too shocked to argue with Ashton. He simply nods, taking his phone out of his pocket and handing it over to Ashton, unlocked and everything. Ashton smiles, entering his information and texting his own phone before handing it back. Luke notices that he saved his name with a little drum next to it. As if Luke has more than one Ashton in his phone that he wants to text on the regular.

They chat for a bit about music, their jobs. Luke tells Ashton about Michael and Calum, that they’ve been friends for close to 5 years now, that Michael and Luke didn’t get along at first until music became involved. Luke shares that Michael and Calum have been dating for just as long, that Luke’s painful single (not for lack of Michael’s trying to find Luke someone). Ashton tells Luke about his siblings, his mother, that he’s just broken up with his boyfriend (he looks at Luke shyly when he says it and Luke grins at the idea that Ashton wants to go on a date with him already).

Luke loses track of time until the doors leading to the hospital wing swings open and Michael comes out, all pink hair and disheveled clothing, brace on his left wrist and a lollipop sticks out of his mouth, grinning around it. Calum lets out a cry that Luke can only imagine wives make when their husbands return from war and runs towards Michael flinging himself into Michael’s arms crying. Michael looks startled, but unsurprised, patting Calum on the shoulder, leading him back to Luke.

“The doctor said it’s just a sprain. I gotta keep it in the brace for a few weeks and come back for a check-up, but it’s nothing serious,” Michael says.

“But it could have been!” Calum wails again. Michael rolls his eyes, fond, pressing a kiss to Calum’s forehead.

“Considering the crying your boyfriends doing, I thought you were on death's door,” Ashton says. Michael looks over at Ashton confused.

“Who are you?”

“The man Luke abandoned me for in your time of need,” Calum says, glaring at Luke. Luke throws his hands up in mock surrender. Michael looks like he’s fighting back the urge to laugh.

“Ashton. Apparently, I’m Luke’s new boyfriend.”

“He’s our new drummer! We’re not dating! We haven’t even been on a date yet,” Luke rushes out, leaning over to smack Ashton. Ashton lets out a delighted laugh. Michael’s grinning maniacally now. Luke needs new friends.

“I would call this a first date.”

“You’re not allowed to call Michael’s trauma a date,” Calum protests.

“If it gets Luke a first boyfriend, it could be my funeral and they could call it a date,” Michael says. Calum lets out another wail and collapses onto Michael’s shoulder.

“I feel like you missed the part where I said he was our new drummer.”

“Oh I heard that but it’s not nearly as important as you getting a boyfriend.”

Luke jumps up starting to usher Michael and Calum out of the waiting room, “Well it’s 3am on a Monday and we have to go now because you are very injured and we should all sleep,”

“You should call Luke he’s very free all the time for dates!” Michael calls over his shoulder. Luke really needs new friends.

(Ashton still texts him at 5am, letting him know that Ashton’s brother is fine and that Ashton is also very free any time for both band practice and dates.

“You should send him a dick pic.”

“I’m not sending him a dick pic, Michael.”

“How else will he know you’re interested?”

“Are you breaking up with me for the waiting room guy Luke abandoned me for?”

“Not when I don’t know what his dick looks like and I’ve seen yours...on second thought, Luke send Ashton a pic of Calum’s dick instead.”

“I’m quitting this band,” Luke moans, flopping face first into the couch.

“Hey, if I hadn’t injured myself you wouldn’t have a boyfriend,” Michael protests.

His phone beeps. Ashton’s sent him a little heart emoji. Okay fine, maybe Michael and Calum aren’t terrible friends. It did get Luke a date with a cute guy.)

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 10: Time to Sharpen Up

Chances of survival are dwindling into single digits... because Lance is lousy with a sword.

First  Previous  Next

“Come on now, Lance. You’re better than this.” Alfor frowns, following his son's uncertain footwork.

“I’m really not.” The droid pulls on its whip, Lance’s broadsword tangled in the glowing cord. The Altean is panting, skin glistening.

Alfor presses his thumbs into his eyelids, though whether with disappointment or embarrassment, Lance can never tell.

He’s not a good warrior. Not with a sword.

Keith just watches, tail flicking back and forth, ears following Lance’s movements. Shiro stands on his right, visibly unimpressed, but trying to be polite.

Lance sighs. He’s just not very good at this. The droid charges, too fast. Lance has been distracted by his audience, hasn’t seen the advance. It’s a genuine mistake, this time.

“Lance!” Alfor yells, drawing his own weapon to protect his son while Coran tries to end the training sequence. The training sequence can’t end during an attack.

Too fast. Alfor won’t get there in time.

Lance throws a hand up, a flash of blinding blue light flaring from his palm.

Light threads through every crack and crevice in the charging droid, saturating its wires, melting, warping, disintegrating in the blinding light. It crumbles into nothing a mere spot from his outstretched palm.

He collapses to his knees. Too much. Too fast.

“Invalid technique. Victory forfeited,” rings out from the walls. Keith gapes, eyes wide. What a terrifying thing to be able to do to something. Lance could do that to him.

“End training sequence.” Alfor crouches beside him. “Son, are you alright?” Lance meets his father’s worried gaze with weary eyes. Alfor softens. Lance’s eyes find the floor.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get there.” Alfor gently helps him up. “If nothing else, you have plenty of untapped potential. And I know you’re capable.” The king looks his son over, anxiously checking for injuries. Lance nods, staring at the training room floor. “Look at me.”

Lance looks.

“I know you have it in you, son.” Alfor cards a gentle hand through Lance's hair. Lance nods, more for his father’s benefit than anything else.

He doesn’t feel much at all. The things Lance wishes he were good at are the things everyone knows he’s bad at and the things he’s actually good at, no one knows at all. It’s mostly intentional, but in this case, it’s reality. With his father, his spouse, and his spouse’s brother watching, it bites.

Everyone else disperses to return to whatever they were doing, leaving just himself and Keith. The Galra comes over, tail flicking like a pendulum. “I know you said you were lousy with a sword, but...”

“But quiznak am I lousy, huh?” Keith nods, sheepish. “We should go hunting soon. I can finally try out that bow Zarkon gave me for my birthday. You can see my actual skills then.”

“Sounds good.” Keith’s ears are wilted today. Lance knows why.

“We have a few vargas before it’s time to say goodbye.” Lance puts a hand on Keith’s arm. “Is there anything you’d like to do?”

“I think… I think I’d just like to go and… sit in the loft in our quarters, if that’s alright. I know we have work to do, but-”

“Go on. If anyone asks, I’ll say you’re helping the Captain get his affairs are in order and that you’re both working to ensure your safety after he’s gone. Commander Iverson is certain to be bitter about it, since he’s technically in charge of your safety, but I consider that a bonus, personally.” Lance grins, and Keith manages a small smile, despite both his aching hearts.

Lance only has one. How he gets enough oxygen with only one heart is beyond Keith’s capacity to understand. Perhaps that's why he's so bad with a sword.

Up in the loft, Keith finds himself looking out at the grounds. He can’t see beyond the castle walls. He’s never seen beyond the castle walls, not even when he got here. He’s never met the commonwealth, never seen any wilderness. If this past movement is any indication, the Alteans are perfectly content to restrict him to the castle walls and never give him the opportunity to leave. Keith is still staring out the window of the tower loft, half-extended claw dragging down the fine glass, when there’s a knock at the door. He turns away from the purpling sky to find Adam.

“Prince Yorak, Crown Prince Lancel has sent me to escort you to the launch.”

Keith sighs, nods, leaps down from the landing, not bothering with the ladder. “Will I ever be permitted to go somewhere alone?”

Adam sighs, holding the door open for him. Keith trusts this Altean more than the others, though still not much. “Likely not. You are not held in fond regard.”

“So we are still pretending this is for my benefit.”

“No. You are also under constant surveillance. One of the guards posted outside your door is a Listener, one who uses alchemy to enhance their hearing. You’ll be pleased to know that their only report thus far was that you have not yet consummated your union to Crown Prince Lancel. King Alfor is not pleased.”

Keith stops in his tracks. “My body is the only possession I have left.”

Adam turns to him, pushing up his glasses, ever-present datapad cradled in his arm the way one might cradle a baby to their hip. He looks… sad, but trying for indifferent. “That’s where you’re wrong, Prince Yorak. You swore fealty to your King. Everything that you are belongs to Altea, including your body. You have been contracted out to the Crown. That being said, I have instructed the Listener to wait a phoeb, then claim you have mated with the Crown Prince.” Keith frowns, trying to understand.

Adam smiles, lips curling. “Your reality is that you are a living possession. But reality can be manipulated with relative ease. I can make your perceived reality far, far different from what it is. I can make you charming, demure, innocent, beautiful, powerful, awe-inspiring, terrifying, loathsome, dangerous- whatever Crown Prince Lancel wants. That is what you are.”

Keith stares at the green-scaled Altean, eyes wide. The ruff of fur down his back rises with a sudden chill. “You- I’m beginning to think you are the most dangerous thing on Altea.”

“You may very well be correct. Shall we?” Adam turns, leading them down yet another hall.

“My brother sure knows how to pick ‘em,” Keith mutters, more to himself than anybody else.

Adam trips. “Excuse me?”

“Oh. You couldn’t tell?” Keith cocks his head. Adam blinks, hazel eyes wide. He shakes his head. “My brother is embarrassingly smitten with you. It’s really funny, actually.” Keith smiles. “It’s... nice, I guess. At home, he’s always so imposing. He’s imposing a lot here, too. It’s nice to see some other side of him working its way into the open. He normally saved that for when we were in our den, away from everyone else... I think he likes it here.”

“Everyone likes it here. Everyone except you, it seems.” Everyone else gets to go home. Adam turns before backing his way through the doors to the launch pad. “Though, as far as the commonwealth is concerned, you miss your homeland, but our beloved Crown Prince is the only thing you need to be happy.”

Adam grins as he holds the door open. Shiro tugs Keith out into the open before he can step past, pulling him into an all-encompassing embrace. Keith doesn’t even try to resist.

“I’m really gonna miss you,” Keith whispers, a slight whimper in his voice as he throws his arms around his brother.

“Aw, I’ll miss you too.” Shiro gives him a squeeze, eliciting a gentle purr from the young prince. “It won’t be so bad. Lance is a good man. He’ll be good to you.”

“He has been thus far.” Keith doesn’t enjoy the admission, but there it is. Not everything is terrible. “Even if he’s a terrible warrior.”

“True. He is. But he seems to like you well enough. And this place... I know you haven’t seen much of it yet, but it is beautiful here.”

“I know. And it’s nice. But it’s not home.”

Shiro smiles, one of his large hands rubbing the spots behind the younger Galra’s ears. “I’m proud of you for doing this. For not putting up fuss or fight. Sometimes, that’s the hardest thing you can do.”

“I know. I have no regrets. No matter what might happen.” Shiro steps back then, regarding him with that cool gaze. A soldier’s gaze. The captain nods, lays a fist over his breast. Keith returns the gesture. He’s a soldier. Not a pampered prince. A soldier.

Lance watches the farewell, not saying a word. He knows all of this already. His spouse is a warrior, not a lord or a prince. Lance needs to do better to support that lifestyle. Keith can’t be happy sitting around reading all day. In the meantime, he walks over and places his hand on the small of Keith’s back, trying to be supportive.

He wants Keith to know he's here for him.

Lance is surprised when the Galra’s ear turns toward him and his tail curls around his ankle. It’s the furthest Keith has chosen to acknowledge Lance’s presence in view of other people without it being for show. Adam has fallen to gossiping about how cripplingly shy the new prince is to save face.

Speaking of which... Shiro steps up to the Altean, leans down, whispers something in his ear. Adam’s face turns bright red, scales glittering brilliant green as the Galra draws back, grinning from ear to ear. Lance hears a snort as Keith tries not to laugh. He smiles. “I’m going to invite him back as soon as possible. Watching these two flirt is the most fun I’ve had in my life.”

“It’s hilarious,” Keith agrees, whispering in Lance’s ear.

“Reminds me of watching my fathers flirt, to be honest. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen Alfor undignified.” Lance grins. “I’ll tell you about it sometime, if you want.”

“I- I’d like that, actually.” Keith smiles an uncertain smile, willing but not hopeful.

The spouses stand side-by-side as the ship carrying Shiro departs for Daibazaal. A soft keen in Keith’s throat informs Lance the warrior prince wishes he could be on that ship too.

“It will be alright, Keith. You’ll see him again. I promise.”

[royalcordelia]

The Secret of Distance (4/?)

Summary: Anne and Gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. Courting across 1000 miles isn't easy, but they're more than willing to step up to the task. (A post s3 story). 

Notes: Welcome, welcome, welcome to all our new AWAE buddies! It’s my pleasure to see a bunch of new faces (and accompanying thoughts) in the fandom. (As always, tag buddies are at the bottom!)

*

Even in late October, a line of warblers and chickadees sat at the top of the boarding house’s ridgepole and turned the wind to a haven of effervescent song. It gated the garden in, blocking it from the rest of the bustling city. Anne took a deep breath of the fresh air, relishing the way it felt crisp in her chest.  The journal on her lap was seemingly forgotten, the last sentence yet unfinished - “With one look at George, Averil realized...” Though the perfect way to complete the sentence evaded her, Anne didn’t fret. In these moments of near silence and endless inspiration, she felt helpless to do anything but reach into the essence of nature and let it tell her what to say. 

Then, as if she had turned an open palm to the sky and the phrase flitted down into it, she murmured, “Got it!” Her beloved fountain pen scratched across the page as she wrote. “With one look at George, Averil decided ideals weren’t terribly silly notions, after all. The trick, she realized, was knowing your one’s own ideals as well as one knows themself. George may not have been the melancholy Apollo of her girlhood dreams, but he was steadfast and compassionate. Only in George’s embrace would she feel truly as if she was right where she belonged. 

With a sigh, Anne closed the journal. What a wonderful feeling it was to finally complete a story! To give a break to endless essays and readings and merely be with the words of her soul. Averil was a heroine truly deserving of her steadfast and compassionate suitor, even if writing about him did make Anne miss her own. 

Before her thoughts could drift too far away to her hazel-eyed love, she heard the back porch door open. There was Lily, wearing her usual kind smile and a perfectly white apron. 

“You blend in with the trees!” Lily signed from the porch. Anne spared a glance around at the sunset colored leaves drenched in the afternoon’s golden light. 

“One always blends well among friends,” Anne replied, hands forming what she was nearly certain were the correct signs. 

Anne had discovered, much to her surprise, that she was the first person to ever really ask Lily to teach them sign language. Past boarders had picked some up over the duration of their stay, but never tried their hands at it - as it were. But Anne wondered what a life must be like spent mostly watching and not expressing. If Lily had truths and passions of her heart that she wanted to share, it wasn’t fair that a barrier should come between them. Thus, every night, Lily sat Anne down at the dining table and taught Anne her language. Anne thought it was beautiful and challenging the way the language focused on meaning rather than the way a thing was said. Nearly three months later, Anne was more proficient than she dreamed she could be, though there was still so much to learn. 

“You should come inside,” Lily said, her face suddenly taking an apprehensive expression. “ I think you have a visitor, but Mrs. Blackmore won’t receive him.”

Snatching up her journal, Anne quickly thanked Lily and followed her inside. It wasn’t long before she heard Mrs. Blackmore’s exasperated voice echoing on the thin walls of the home. 

“This is entirely uncalled for! In all my years of keeping this house I’ve never -” 

“I promise ma’am, I don’t mean to intrude. I was just in town and thought-” 

“I don’t want to imagine what you thought!” 

Anne gasped. She’d recognize that voice anywhere. Bursting into the entryway, she met eyes with an equal parts frustrated and awkward Bash. He clutched Mary’s old carpet bag in his hand, the fabric crumpling under the strain. As soon as he saw Anne, relief flooded his eyes before elation took its place. 

“Bash! What are you doing here?” she exclaimed with a joyful laugh, throwing her arms around his neck. Anne wasn’t sure what shocked Mrs. Blackmore more, Anne hugging Bash, or him lifting her off the ground to shake her.  

“I was in town and thought I’d visit! I didn’t get a chance to see you before you left Avonlea,” he replied. “I don’t mind sayin’ that I’ve missed you terrible.” 

“Believe me, I’ve missed you all so much.” 

“Some more than others,” he said, cocking a brow. Anne nudged him and stepped back to Mrs. Blackmore. 

“Mrs. Blackmore, this is Sebastian Lacroix, a very close family friend of mine and my suitor’s brother.” 

“Suitor , eh?” Bash murmured. Anne gave him another light whack on the arm. 

“Bash, this Mrs. Blackmore. She so graciously allows me a roof over my head and a meal on the table.” 

By the look on her face, Mrs. Blackmore wasn’t feeling so very gracious to provide any of those things to anyone. Still, Bash managed a friendly smile and offered his hand. “It’s a fine pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Sorry about the scare.” Mrs. Blackmore peered down at his hand, weathered from years of labor, her lip curling in disgust. 

“I’m sorry, Anne, but your guest cannot stay,” she stated with finality. 

“What ?!” 

“I don’t say a thing twice.” 

A blush rose up Anne’s neck, whether from rage or embarrassment she could not say. She grabbed the woman’s wrist, dragging her away from Bash’s hearing distance. 

“Pardon me if I’m having trouble understanding why my guest is not allowed to stay. He’s not my suitor, and therefore he isn’t confined to Saturday afternoons. He came in respectable clothes at a respectable hour, which is more than we can say of some guests we’ve received-”

“Anne.” 

“Why, just three days ago, Tillie had several rowdy guests in the parlor and I heard not a complaint from you. In fact, I commend you on your cordiality. So please, Mrs. Blackmore, I’d like to know why my guest can’t be treated with the same courtesy. It goes against our Presbyterian duty to hospitality and-”

“Alright!” Mrs. Blackmore interjected. It was enough that Bash’s wandering gaze snapped over to them, before darting away. “He can stay until dinner.” 

Anne frowned. Dinner was only thirty minutes away. “He should stay for dinner.” 

“What will the other girls think?” 

“The other girls know him! They all love him. Mrs. Blackmore, please!” 

There was no stronger persuading force than reminding a good Christian woman of her Presbyterian duty, even in the face of unrelenting prejudice. Not to mention, Mrs. Blackmore was quickly running out of excuses. With an exhausted sigh, the older woman threw up her hands in defeat.

“Lily, add another place setting to the table. We’re having a guest for dinner,” said Mrs. Blackmore’s lips and hands. Lily tossed Anne a victorious smile, curtising first to their guest, then to the other ladies, before flitting off to the dining room. Anne turned to thank Mrs. Blackmore for her understanding, but found the tired woman halfway up the stairs. With a sheepish smile, she looked to Bash. 

“I’m so sorry about that. She’s usually one of the kindest people I know,” she explained. “Please, come in!” 

“I’m just glad to see you. Avonlea is so much quieter without you and Gilbert around. Every day I wait for you to show up at our door with a bouquet of flowers or a basket of Marilla’s plum puffs.” 

At the mention of Gilbert, Anne perked her ears, but folded her hands in her lap to keep her fingers from tapping. 

“I hope that my absence hasn’t meant Marilla stops baking for you.” 

“Of course not, she just delivers them herself. I think she does it as an excuse to come and visit Delphine. Not that she needs one. Probably misses having a child around.” 

A tender smile lifted Anne’s lips. 

“Everything is well back home then?” she asked hopefully. As close as Avonlea was - 45 minutes was admittedly not a long train ride - sometimes she couldn’t help but feel like she was on the other side of the planet from home. And Gilbert even farther. 

“The harvest is going well. For me, it’s strange not having the extra pair of hands, but we’re managing.” Bash paused, opening his mouth before closing it again. 

“Go ahead, Bash, whatever it is,” Anne prodded, already having a sneaking suspicion what he was about to say. Like a carbonated bottle shaken up, Bash threw up his hands and slammed them on his knees.

“I’m dying to know how it happened! One minute he’s moping around the kitchen tellin’ me his feelings for you are unrequited, and the next he’s breaking off his engagement and moving to Toronto.” 

A burst of laughter burst out of Anne. 

“He never told you? He tells you everything!” 

A joking shadow of regret came over Bash and he shrugged, “I think I teased him too much in the years leading up to it that the poor boy couldn’t take anymore. Besides, I think he’d rather spend his letter-writing time writing to someone else.” 

“My goodness, how long have you been teasing him?” 

“About you? Almost since the day I met him.” Anne’s cheeks turned rose kissed and she bit her lip against a satisfied smile. “You gonna tell me or no, Queen Anne?” 

“It’s strange, there’s so much to tell and yet it’s all such a simple story,” she began. “My best friend, Diana, was riding the same train out of Carmody that Gilbert was. She heard him say that he wasn’t engaged, nor was he going to Paris. He almost got away, too. But Diana moved to his seat and demanded to know why he’d been behaving toward me the way he was, why he’d ignored the letter I wrote to him.” 

“Well, why did he?” 

“He never received it. I left it on your table, so I can’t fathom what could have possibly happened to it. When Diana told him what my letter said, he all but jumped out of the train window to find me. He showed up here, cleared up the biggest misunderstanding between us, then rushed off to Toronto. As for me, I ran into Winifred in town. She informed me, as you said, that Gilbert believed his feelings were unrequited. I did my best to ensure him otherwise.”

Bash whistled. “The Almighty really been trying his hardest to match you two up and you’ve given him the hardest time. I’m very glad it worked for you.” His gaze turned down the carpet bag beside him. Anne had forgotten about it in the midst of her storytelling, but she watched with interest as he pulled it into his lap. “There’s actually a reason I came today.” 

Anne lifted a brow with a curious smile. 

“Gilbert left for Toronto in such a hurry that he left behind some of the things I think he’d like to have with him. I was wondering if you’d take them to him for me.” 

“Me?” 

“I can’t leave Delphine for too long. Or the harvest for that matter.” He handed her the bag’s worn handles, but Anne handed them right back. 

“I’d love to, truly, but I don’t have enough money for the train or a hotel.” 

Bash scoffed. “Already taken care of. There’s an envelope with train fare in the bag, enough to get you there and back. Gilbert has a guest room you can stay in, so a hotel won’t be necessary.”

Anne could feel herself being won over, but she was still hesitant. “What about Marilla?” 

A wicked glint flickered in his eyes that Anne looked strikingly familiar to one she’d seen right before a boy tugged her braid. “We don’t have to tell Marilla.” Anne could feel her resolve draining away, but what settled her mind was, “He’d be real happy to see you, Anne. I think he’s been homesick.” 

With an excited smile, Anne yanked back the carpet bag and gave a beaming grin. 

“Okay, I’ll go this weekend,” she stated, elation bubbling over. 

“Good. I’m thankful to you.” 

After dinner when Bash had departed, Anne went through the things Bash had packed away for Gilbert - a few medical books, extra socks, a velvet bag she wouldn’t open - and realized that she wasn’t doing Bash a favor at all. He was doing her the favor - it would’ve been less expensive for him to just ship the things. Still, Anne added a few things of her own to the bag of things to give Gilbert, and shoved it underneath her bed. 

Plopping back on her bed, Anne grinned at the ceiling. At this time in three days, she’d be with Gilbert. Would she survive until then? 

*

Anne stepped off the train and onto the platform with stiff legs, but the relief in her muscles went almost entirely unnoticed when the sight of beautiful Toronto came into view. The mainland felt so different beneath her feet, as if she were a sailor taking her first steps onto solid land. Around her, travellers rustled and bounded by, talking of business, of family, of pleasure. With a surprised gasp, Anne noticed that beyond the train station, there were no rolling fields or orange-topped trees. In their place were tall buildings, one after another, after another, after another. 

“First time in Toronto, eh?” a stranger said, noticing Anne stock still in place. She nodded in response, meeting the kind gaze of an elderly woman. The woman reminded her of Aunt Jo in that her spirit felt trustworthy and she was wearing one of the loveliest hats Anne had ever seen. 

“Yes, by chance, could you point me in the direction of…” she snuck a glance at one of Gilbert’s old letters. “...North Sunset Street?” 

“Certainly! Why, I grew up on that street. Just follow this main road for about a mile or so, and you’ll find Sunset on the right. A lovely row of brick houses. My mother used to put flowers in the window because the sunlight was always so bright.” 

Anne smiled. A kindred spirit, after all. 

“I think flowers are nature’s sweetest gift to us. I’ll put some in the window to honor her,” Anne promised. “Thank you so kindly for your help!” 

As she traveled up the streets, Anne found her pace matched that of the city-goers  around her, fast-paced and eager. How could she help it? There was only a mile distance between her and Gilbert, and the sooner she closed it, the sooner she’d pull him close to her and…and...do something terribly romantic. She’d figure it out when the time came. Tightening her grasp on her cases, she all but jogged through the winding crowds. Then, a street sign came into view with a familiar name and Anne’s heart jolted. 

The woman had been right - North Sunset Street had some of the most lovely houses Anne had ever seen. The road was lined with old trees and was full of more greenery than she’d seen in the entire city. How Gilbert’s roommate had come to secure one, she couldn’t fathom, but she was glad Gilbert would spend his time somewhere that had hints of PEI’s loveliness. As she counted the house numbers - 290, 291, 292… - her stomach filled with an entire forest worth of butterflies. 

293. There it was. Ivy rimmed and gold in the late afternoon light, Gilbert’s Toronto residence waited for her to burst in. Yet, instead of allowing herself in using the key she knew was under a ceramic dog on the windowsill, she knocked like the perfectly respectable lady she strove to be. Almost instantaneously, an unfamiliar voice boomed through the inside of the house.

“Did you lock yourself out again ? I keep telling you that I put a key underneath-” The door swung open. “Oh. You’re not Gilbert.” 

Anne, stunned to be peering up at a man who was nearly an entire foot taller than her, merely offered a shy smile and shook her head. 

“I take it you’re Ron?” she said cordially. 

“Anne Shirley Cuthbert in the flesh,” he realized right back, eyeing her with an analytical gaze. “You’re... younger than I expected you to be.” 

The grin on Anne’s face twitched and she held back the urge to shift awkwardly on her feet. How old did he expect her to be? After all, she was only about a year-and-a-half younger than Gilbert, old enough to be in college! 

Ignoring the comment, Anne snuck a glance behind Ron’s shoulder.

“Is Gilbert in, by chance?” 

Much to her disappointment, the man shook his head. 

“He’s got a friday class that finishes at four o’clock. It’s probably just ended.” His eyes fell to the bags in her hand. “Are you staying?” 

“Ah, well, I hoped to. Gilbert’s brother mentioned you both had a spare room that I could probably stay in to avoid the expense of a hotel. Only for the weekend. That is, if it isn’t too much trouble.” 

Ron shrugged. “I don’t mind. Gil will probably insist on it with the way he moons over you. School is only a few blocks from here. Why don’t you leave your things here and I’ll show you where his usual haunt is?” 

All at once, Anne’s butterflies were back with a passionate fury. 

“I’d be ever so grateful!” she nearly exclaimed, her eagerness knocking Ron a few paces backwards. He grabbed his hat from the hook, plopped it on his head, and slid past her. As tenderly as if she were walking on glass, Anne followed behind, trying desperately not to make an utter fool of herself. 

“Gilbert said you’re a college girl yourself?” Ron chatted amiably. A gust of wind brought a whiff of his expensive cologne to her nose. 

“Yes, English and Teaching.” 

“Ah, a reader then.” 

“An avid one,” Anne confirmed. “But mostly I want to inspire students to believe in their own talents and grow to love learning just as much as I came to. A good education can  help a person through anything. There is nothing so thrilling as watching those you care about succeed at the things they’re passionate about. Don’t you agree?”

Ron cocked a head in interest. If she had been attempting to put up a facade of decorum, that last statement had been the first hint of the free-spirited Anne he had heard so much about. 

“You know, Anne, I believe you’re onto something,” he said. “At any rate, it matters little what I think. Your students will crave your approval, and I daresay they’ll have it.” 

Anne beamed. Perhaps this Ron could be a kindred spirit, after all. She seemed to be finding them everywhere these days. Around them, the scenery grew taller and denser as they journeyed into the heart of the city. Ron rambled beside her about some strange fellow in one of his classes, but Anne could only half listen. Then, all of her senses turned to electricity when the sight of an imposing, majestic castle came into view. 

“Welcome to the University of Toronto,” Ron interjected when he saw her eyes sparkling with amazement. “Gil should be around here somewhere.”  

Yet, as Ron was leading her closer to the main hall’s regal entrance, Anne’s heart tugged her to glance behind her. She squinted to make out a few people sitting on and around a staircase near the west section of the building. Her feet moved on their own volition with slow uncertainty, but her heart had already confirmed what she desperately hoped was true. The closer she got, the more she recognized the outline of his features. His soft hair, his strong shoulders, his chin. 

“Who’s that?” Anne heard from the group. 

Suddenly, she stumbled to a halt, her breath stuck in her throat. She watched as his head turned toward her, and wondered if he could hear her heart beating from across the garden landscape. He leaned forward, as if not believing his eyes, straining to get a closer look. 

Then, all at once, he jumped to his feet, stumbling forward a few steps in shock. A cry of elation tumbled from his lips, a matching one breaking Anne’s silence. His friends cried after him, but he was already bounding away. She didn’t make him run far, hoisting up her skirts to meet him halfway. 

On the train ride here, Anne had imagined what she believed to be every possible reunion that could possibly happen when she finally saw Gilbert again. She imagined him opening up his arms and her leaping into them. She imagined him crushing his lips onto hers for a kiss that would heat her to her toes. What she didn’t imagine was running full speed to him, then stopping a mere breath away. Gilbert’s hands were frustratingly at his sides balled into fists. But his eyes...Anne beamed up into them. They were very bit as warm and earthy as she remembered them being, beautiful enough in their affection that she felt a shiver go down her back.

“You’re here!?” he said in disbelief. Much against her own will, Anne felt her eyes mist over just enough that she blinked into sunlight. 

“Surprise!” 

Gilbert let out a joyful laugh so loud that students on their way to class turned their heads to him. But he couldn’t find it in him to care. Not when Anne was before him, even more breathtaking than he remembered her being - which admittedly, was an impossible amount - smiling up at him with dimpled cheeks. If he didn’t do something soon, he was certain he’d combust on the spot. 

Anne seemed to read his mind, and suddenly they were pulling each other in for a kiss. Flinging her arms around his neck, she pushed up onto her toes, sending Gilbert arching back against her fervor. Taking his cue, he lifted her up off the ground, and spun her around, laughing against her lips. The months of separation were suddenly forgotten, and Anne was content to do nothing except bury her face into his neck and breath in his familiar scent. 

“But- but how?” he stammered, chuckling through Anne’s onslaught of cheek kisses. Her fingers were still locked behind his neck when she pulled back. 

“I took the midnight train and slept most of the way. Ron brought me here.” 

Gilbert sighed in relief, finally conceding to the blissful fact that this was not a dream. He dropped his forehead onto hers, and she nuzzled into his touch. 

“I really missed you,” he murmured, grasp tightening at her waist. “We barely got any time together before I left.” 

“I missed you just as much, but I’ll be here all weekend. That’s enough time for you to make good on all of the promises from your letters.” She blushed remembering some of the things he’d sworn he’d do when they reunited. They ranged from proper teas and dinners to embraces and experimental kisses where he’d learn the face was extra sensitive. 

“I hope you’ll make good on yours too,” he replied with a raised brow.   

“Count on it,” she assured. Her own promises entailed a detailed report of her romantic daydreams and ponderings from the months before they started their courtship. I know how my own pining went. I’m aching to know every bit of what you were thinking, he’d written once in a letter a few weeks back. The preview she’d granted in her response had been promising. 

“Let me take you to dinner tonight. There’s so much I want to tell you.” 

Anne nodded happily, not caring a might that they’d been giving each other comprehensive written reports of their daily life. She wanted to hear it all from him, watch the stories unfold on his face as he told them. 

“But first,” he continued. “There are some people I want you to meet.”

-----

I hope you enjoyed! Here are all the people who requested to be tagged. If you’d like to add your name to the list or remove it, please let me know! 

@pterparkcr @be-feminine-be-unique @firehaireddeamer @annabel-lee23 @beinmyheart @forcordelia @ladyofhousewaters @brookie-cookie3 @peculiarly-deactivated @mrs-shirley-cuthbert-blythe @lexfangirls @amoraeternusforyou @pastaismysignificantother @spellsandbells @instantknightartisanwagon @noctislightning @lonelyscreaming @lbhmoon @findurhappy @mynameisbluenotjane @sarahisatotalgeek @takemetoavonlea @shrillrule @doodlesfan @noctislightning @awaeforlife @neomikaha 

[fortune-fool02]

Every Scar has a Story

Robert. E. O. Speedwagon x female reader

Warnings: angst, violence, fluff

Since we never actually find out how Speedwagon gets that scar (Or I am unaware of it), I thought this would be an interesting idea for a scenario. 

Please enjoy.

In his time of knowing Speedwagon, Johnathan was clueless as to how the blonde haired man had obtained the scar on his face. He had a few ideas, all involving his past in Ogre Street and the gang he led, but he didn’t want to assume. 

“Speedwagon, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you get that scar on your face?” Johnathan asked one day when the golden haired man came to check on him in the hospital. Speedwagon brought his hand to his face, fingertips tracing the scar that stretched from the start of his eyebrow down the side of his nose and ended just past his cheek, close to his lower jaw bone. It was one of the first features anyone saw when meeting him. 

“It’s not a happy story, JoJo.” the blonde man said, not certain if he wanted to talk about the scar’s origins as, even thought it was some time ago, the memories still ached. The scar itself would twinge at the memories. 

Johnathan’s gaze lowered, his head bowing in an apologetic manner, “I’m sorry, Speedwagon. I didn’t-” Speedwagon cut him off. 

“But I’ll tell ya. Just... don’t ask me to repeat it, alright? And don’t tell anyone else about it.” Johnathan nodded his head, eyes wide as he listened intently, like a child ready to hear a story. 

Speedwagon leaned back in his seat, his unbandaged hand running through his golden locks as he sighed softly. 

“Well, let’s see.” he muttered to himself, “For you to understand the story properly, I have to go back a bit. It started about four years ago,” 

***

Speedwagon sat in his stool, a drink in hand, as he watched two of his friends banter back and forth about something he hadn’t been paying attention to. He was a fresh face among the Ogre Street Gang, young and learning; despite his years of living in Ogre Street since his birth. 

He and his friends had just completed a job, robbing a rich man’s house clean, and had just spent a portion of the stolen goods at the bar drinking. It was a good cause for celebration among the thieves. 

That was when he first saw her. [Name] [Surname]. There was nothing special about her, she was just a worker at the bar, just trying to make a living to put a roof over her head and food on the table. But to Speedwagon, she was beautiful. There was this natural beauty about her that not many women in the slums of London had, not even the rich women did. 

“Hey, Tattoo. Who’s that?” his friend turned and smiled, 

“Oh her? That’s [Name], she’s [Surname]’s kid.” Speedwagon nodded, his hazel brown eyes still had yet to move from the [Hair colour] woman. The [Surname]s did have connections to the Ogre Street Gang, often the ones who gave the gang information and warned them of any police officers or investigators that came sniffing around for them. 

Speedwagon couldn’t help but ease his curiosity of her and approached her, taking a seat directly in front of her. The [Hair colour] woman looked up, her eyes sparkling in the light like priceless jewels he had snatched from a rich woman’s jewellery box. 

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked, her voice polite for someone who lived in the gutters of London. He smiled at her and shook his head, 

“You just seemed lonely, thought you could use some company.” There was a glimmer of discomfort in her [Eye colour] eyes that did hurt him a little but she sighed softly. 

“I do not offer physical pleasure just because I work here. If you’re after that, then go speak to one of the girls over there.” she spoke, motioning to a handful of girls who sat in the corner with rather suggestive clothing on that left little to the imagination. 

Speedwagon shook his head, “I’m not after that.” That seemed to throw her off-guard by how she blinked surprised at him. 

“Then what are you after?” she asked, genuine confusion on her delicate features at Speedwagon’s intentions. He smiled at her, a kind, warm smile with no alternative motives nor intentions behind it. 

“As I said, I just want to give you some company. A lovely woman like you shouldn’t have to sit alone.” 

And that was how Speedwagon had met [Name]. 

As the weeks melted into months, the two grew closer and closer to each other; finding comfort in each other’s presence. And soon enough, their friendship grew into something else, something far more beautiful than any of them believed it would be. The two would spend long afternoons together, just holding and embracing one another, savouring the security felt between them. 

All the worries of the world were nothing but distant thoughts that blew away in the wind. Though, as sure as the sun rising, those worries would always turn back and strike again. 

The reason why [Name]’s family agreed to help the Gang out was because of their debt. Her father had a problem with his gambling and drinking, thus leading to him making horrible decisions and loosing everything the family had. But, despite the Gang’s protection, the loan sharks came swimming back into [Name]’s life and they could smell blood. 

When Speedwagon came home that night to find the house completely destroyed and his beloved [Name] curled up in the middle of the floor with blood painting her skin, along with ugly bruises along her body, as a man stood above her with a metal pipe in his hand, Speedwagon snapped. Pulling the knife from his jacket, he lunged at the man, driving the blade deep into the bastard’s flesh. However, the bastard didn’t come alone as two of his friends emerged from other parts of the house and dragged him off of the first man. 

He turned and swung the pipe across Speedwagon’s head, cutting the blonde’s head and printing a bruise there. [Name] sobbed, begging the loan sharks to stop only to be ignored. 

“You think you’re a big man just ‘cause you fuckin’ stabbed me?” the loan shark asked, spitting at Speedwagon as he did. The blonde male only sneered at him, glaring with a fire in his hazel eyes despite being restrained by the other two men. 

“I will do whatever I must to protect my love, and that’s somethin’ you bastards will never take away from us.” [Name] was touched by her lover’s words but it was short-lived as the man laughed at Speedwagon. 

“Oh, really? Well, if ya love her so much,” he said, pulling out his own knife that was hidden inside his jacket pocket. “Then you’ll share her punishment.” 

Tears spilled from [Name]’s eyes as she begged the men to stop but her injuries prevented her from doing anything but laying there and watching. One of the men restraining him yanked his head up whilst the other gripped his jaw, holding his head in place as the third man approached him, waving the blade across Speedwagon’s face before digging the tip of the blade just at the start of his left eyebrow. 

Speedwagon bit his lips, trying not to yell in pain as the blade dug deeper, dragging across his face and slicing his flesh with ease; trying so hard to be brave, not just for himself but for [Name]. Though that became difficult when the bastard purposely flicked his wrist, ripping the blade out and tearing the skin further than it should have been. Pained groans escaped Speedwagon as the men released him, letting his cradle his bleeding face as the blood flowed down his face. 

“An’ let that be a lesson for heroes like you, ya piece a shit.” And with that, the loan sharks left the two injured couple to fester in their wounds. Peeking through his bloodied fingers, Speedwagon crawled over to [Name], laying down beside her and pulling her into a gentle yet loving hug, her head burying in his chest as she sobbed from both her pain and Speedwagon’s. 

“I-I-I’m s-so-” She chocked on her own tears but Speedwagon shushed her, gently petting her [Hair colour] locks in a comforting manner. 

“It’s alright, love. It’s goin’ to be alright.” He promised her. It wasn’t a sweet nothing used to comfort someone, it was a promise that he was not going to break. He would find those bastards and make them pay for laying a hand on his [Name]. 

***

“Oh my goodness.” Johnathan gasped quietly at the story, waves of sympathy flowing through his bandaged body. Speedwagon leaned back in his chair, a sad smile on his lips. Even after so long, the memories of finding his [Name] laying on the floor, cuddling herself covered in blood, bruises and cuts still haunted him. 

“And then what happened? Did you find those men?” Speedwagon looked at Johnathan and nodded. 

“Yeah, I found them after a while.” There was a tone hidden under his voice that told Johnathan that the fate of those men was something Speedwagon did not wish to discuss but it was quite clear of what happened to them. 

“And what of [Name]?” At that, a smile lifted Speedwagon’s lips at the mention of his beloved darling. 

“She’s helping Erina.” To hear that [Name] was alright made Johnathan smile, pleased to know that Speedwagon had a reason to be happy himself. “She’s doing much better than she was back then, she’s a strong one.” 

Johnathan gave his friend a kind smile, “I am glad to hear that. I wish you both the best of luck for the future to come.” 

Speedwagon smiled at that, “Thank you, JoJo.” he said, his gaze drifting off towards the window, a soft smile on his lips.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

If They Didn’t Get on the Train Shana/Grace Deleted Scene:

Honestly, it wasn’t a deleted scene so much as when I was copying and pasting, I absolutely left it out of the chapter.  @kujo1597 @andromidagalaxie One day, this tag will work between us. @strawdool @negromouthandafro I really didn’t have to do anything but copy and paste, but if there’s errors, I apologize. This takes place within Chapter 19′s time frame.

“Hey, Grace! There’s somebody that wanted to speak to you!” one of the bartenders said when she was finished with her set at a friend’s bar. She was successful, but she didn’t have the Monroe money that she had been brought up in, and her trust fund was still hefty, but she still had bills that she was responsible for, so she worked. She didn’t mind working, because she was able to do something that she loved. A lot of people knew her. A lot of famous people liked her. A lot of people tried to talk to her. She didn’t expect to see Shana whenever she turned her eyes towards where the bartender gestured. 

The woman had a large puff in the back of her head and was wearing a beret on the smoothed down part. She smiled and headed Grace’s way and Grace didn’t know whether she should prepare herself to fight or just run so she wouldn’t have to. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember me, Bitch?” Shana asked and laughed. Grace relaxed a little, but was still tense. “Come sit down with me. I’ll buy you a drink.” Grace followed her, the frohawk on her own head peeking over the heads of others as they worked through the crowd and sat at a table. “What will you have?”

“They know me in here. Just a Gracefront.”

“A Gracefront?” Shana repeated and laughed. “What’s in it?”

“It's a frozen virgin melon spritzer. I don’t drink alcohol, so..” 

Shana told the waitress, “Two Gracefronts - can you MAKE one of those alcoholic?” She nodded, ‘Thank God!” Once the waitress was gone, Shana looked at Grace, “You look great. You look like nothing ever happened to you.”

“Shana… I’m sorry for chinchecking you that day. I thought you deserved it, and maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. But, I regret a lot about those days. I’m not the same person anymore.”

Shana’s eyes flashed something like anger for the first time tonight, as she thought back to the time Grace straight up punched her. But, she waved a hand, “We were both some bitches, but we were entitled to it. Being young is hard, and we were surrounded by others, supposed to be and act a certain way. We had a lot of shit going on and we took some things out on each other, and some things that we took out on each other was well deserved. If i had realized then what I realize now, I wouldn’t have bothered you about that like I did. I’m presuming also that you wouldn’t have bugged me about daddy’s criminal endeavors.”

“I was so foul for that,” Grace admitted. They both laughed. “What brings you to New York? Someone told me that you were in Atlanta.”

“Who told you that?” Shana wondered. 

“I think it was in the alumni group. I didn’t stay long. I only joined it to announce that I was out, so that people wouldn’t have to keep asking my parents.”

“It’s funny that somebody had the time to talk about me there, because I CERTAINLY never joined that alumni group. I hated the kids we went to school with. ESPECIALLY Simon’s narcissistic ass.” Shana watched Grace’s entire demeanor change. It was like she had just seen a ghost. “Sorry. I heard you don’t talk about him, but I sure do. Did anybody tell you about what happened at the end of senior year?”

“No. I don’t know anything but that you two were prom king and queen…”

“We weren’t together, if that’s what you thought. I couldn’t stand him. He actually thought I had a crush on him!”

Grace laughed, “Yeah, he told me that a few times. I never saw it myself, but Simon wasn’t great at taking hints. You sort of had to lead him to water.” The waitress brought their first round of drinks to them.

“I led him alright. I told him exactly what I thought about him, and you…” Shana replayed the conversations, including the announcement at the prom, which made Grace instantly terrified for her and she grew more anxious as Shana retold the parking lot incident. “And after that, I just didn’t feel safe. I finished school via distance learning and I high tailed it to ATL as soon as I got my diploma. It’s been lit. You should come through sometime. Atlanta has a very vibrant music scene for Black people.”

“I’m at Julliard right now, so I definitely won’t be moving any time soon, but I did consider spending some time in Atlanta at some point, so maybe. But, you never told me what you’re doing out here.”

“My girlfriend is from New York, so whenever I saw that you were gonna be performing here during a visit, I figured that I’d come say hi.”

“Really?”

“I was wondering for a while if you really didn’t want to talk about Simon, or if you just wanted to be able to tell your side to someone who wasn’t trying to flog you for all the world to see.”

“Oh.”

Shana laughed, “I’m a journalist, Grace. But, I was also around whenever everything happened and I never thought that it happened the way that it was being said. I didn’t think it was fair, even for you.” 

“Well, it’s over and done with now. What difference would it make?” Grace asked.

“You think that wherever Simon Laurent is, he’s just letting people be? You think he’s not having angry outbursts on people in Massachusetts? You think he hasn’t set some rival scientist up for failure or terrified some ex girlfriend into obscurity?”

“I think he's a best selling author, ergo a public figure and that if he did do stuff like that, it would come to light, so, it’s not my business or my problem. I didn’t make people believe his stories or want to hear more about them. It’s not my responsibility to discredit him.” Grace gestured for another drink and began to nervously fold a napkin into an origami bird.

Shana sighed and leaned back in her seat. “I just always wonder how many people bad men can reach. I love my dad, don’t get me wrong, but when I started to research all of the people who were hurt by his crime, it made me lose sleep. When women do wrong, we get what’s coming to us, via the media and in the court system. SOMETIMES, we get it worse, for less infractions. Simon did some very illegal things, and pinned most of it on you and the biggest thing he did only hurt you, when it was legit a very serious crime.” Grace was transported to the way she felt whenever Shana showed her that video. “And I helped. I made it worse. I… it was fucked up.” Shana sighed and sat up. “I was hoping that if you wanted someone to report your side, let your truth show, that you might let me be the person to do it. I owe you that much.”

Grace laughed and shook her head, “That would be a career building story. Everybody wants to know what I have to say about Simon, so it’s not like I wouldn’t be doing you a huge favor in giving you that exclusive.”

“You would be! But, it could help both of us.”

“But, more you though. You know… people that I run into, in everyday life - they don’t even ask me about Simon. They tell me that they loved my twerking pancakes remix video, or that they saw me perform last fall and it blew their mind. I never have to think about Simon unless something else triggers it. This wouldn’t do me any favors, but thank you for the drinks. And, as I said in the beginning, I’m sorry.”

“What would I be able to do? Get you something? Find somebody? What would be a payoff enough for you to talk to me about this?”

“Can you find people?” Grace asked.

“I have a lot of resources for finding people.”

“I was in the center with a girl. She’s been in and out of centers and they won’t give me information, even though we were very close. If you can find her for me, I will think about an interview with you about Simon.”

“That’s not very promising…”

“If you can tell me where she is, I’ll give you an interview… about how I currently feel. Not about what happened before. How do I feel about Simon? That's what everybody wants to know about me. Nobody cares about the truth and I don’t want to stir that up. But, if you can tell me where Hazel Doe is, I will tell you anything I have thought about Simon Laurent since I’ve been a free woman.” 

Shana snatched the origami bird and scribbled on it, “Okay Hazel  D-O-U-G-H?’

“D-O-E, as in Jane.”

“Okay. Where was the last place that you knew of that she was?” Grace opened her phone to give Shana the information. “This… This is a kid, Grace. Do you know how difficult it is to find kids?”

“Yes, I’ve been trying!”

Shana groaned, but she continued taking down the information, “History of abuse or kidnapping? Because that’ll really give us a hard time.”

“Possibly… Look… this kid means a lot to me. If you really feel like something is the least you can do, it would be this.”

Shana nodded and put the napkin in her bag. 

[rather-impertinent]

Happy Endings Are No Myth

A/N: Good morning, friends! This fic is inspired by 2 particularly lovely promo shots from 5.08, so there are possible spoilers ahead. There is also fluff ahead. So much fluff. Remember that cosy blanket at your grandmother’s house? This fic is that. Enjoy xo

~~~~~~~~~

“Congratulations Mr and Mrs Samuel Carne!”

Cheers rang out from the wedding party as the bride and groom shared a shy kiss. Demelza, Jeremy and Clowance quickly and gleefully showered the newlyweds in flower petals.

Sam’s joyful laugh could be heard above the breeze and throughout the small village of Sawle as the rose petals showered around him. He looked down at his bride and smiled widely at her; Rosina returned his grin and kissed his cheek.

The fiddler led the way in front of the newlyweds, playing a lilting traditional Cornish tune. Sam and Rosina smiled softly at each other, betraying their solidified camaraderie and blossoming feelings of love.

“Oh, I’m that glad for Rosina,” Demelza gushed to Ross once the procession began to move towards the green where the party would be.

Ross’ lips twitched in amusement. “You’re glad for Rosina but not your brother?” he provoked, before he felt a soft nudge to his rib-cage. They slowed to a crawling pace and hung back so that eager villagers could scurry past them.

Demelza cackled and linked her arm through his. “No, Ross, ‘course I be happy for Sam, too,” she laughed. “I just think Rosina d’ deserve some happiness after all she’s been through!”

“I second that,” Dwight chimed in from behind his two dearest friends, remembering Rosina’s hardships from such a young age from her lameness to her being jilted a fortnight before her wedding. And then again on the day a few years ago. Not to mention her father’s recent trouble.

“Dr Enys has always had a soft spot for Rosina and her temperamental knee,” Caroline supplied, a teasing smile stretched across her face as she hung off her husband’s arm. “Did you know I once considered her my closest rival? She can knit a scarf much neater than I. I believe Dwight still has it in a cupboard upstairs,” Mrs Enys told Ross and Demelza, who laughed at her.

Dwight gently rolled his eyes at Caroline. “I assure you, my love, there was no contest,” he murmured.

“Indeed, there was none,” Ross insisted with a cheeky grin. “Besides scurvy at the mine, Dwight talked of nothing else but you for an entire year!” He laughed when Dwight drew him a warning look.

“Oh?” Caroline asked Ross, her interest piqued. “Pray tell.”

A scarlet blush rose on Dwight’s cheeks, which was ridiculous, he realised, seeing as he had been married for 8 years now. “Ross, please, no.”

“Alright,” Demelza chirped, evidently more than happy to step in on her husband’s behalf. “Dwight would often come to tea with I and talk my ear clean off about you and the lights of your hair and your cornflower blue eyes and your laugh and how red your lips were and how propriety be damned and he would simply have to elope with you and how he’d walk to the ends of the earth if it meant you two could be together,” Demelza concluded with a teasing romantic sigh as she brought her hand to her forehead to imitate fainting; Ross snickered against her shoulder. “Am I mistaken, Dr Enys?”

Dwight, torn between cringing and laughing at the jest, smothered a smile. “Some parts are greatly exaggerated.”

“I should hope not,” Caroline said with a mock pout, leaning closer to her husband. “So you would not walk to the ends of the earth for me, Dr Enys?”

Dwight smiled softly at her; they all knew that he would. An idea then occurred to him, a payback of sorts. “It is worth noting that Ross does not have a leg to stand on in such regards,” Dr Enys announced with a smirk.

Ross frowned in genuine confusion. “To what are you referring, Dwight?”

Dwight looked at Caroline and betrayed his meaning within that single look; Caroline laughed and winked at her husband. “Dr Enys is correct, Demelza,” she insisted, glancing at her red haired friend, “you ought to hear how Ross speaks of you while you are not with him.” Caroline shot Ross a gleaming, mischievous smile.

“Oh, please, God, no,” Ross muttered, placing his hand over his eyes unable to watch whatever spectacle was about to unfold.

“‘Oh, I wish Demelza were here, she would know what to say’,” Caroline mocked in a deep voice, imitating Ross’.

Dwight laughed and gently nudged his wife, with whom he was now in cahoots. “‘I miss Demelza, do you suppose she and the children would come now if I sent word and asked?’” Dwight cited from a conversation they had three months ago in Ross’ London lodgings.

“‘Demelza would love this meal, I must bring her here next time she is in London,’” Caroline quoted, her tone still teasing.

“‘That gown would look fine on Demelza’,” Dwight continued.

Demelza giggled behind her hand though shot her husband a genuinely touched look.

“Alright!” Ross half-laughed, half-whined. “Is it a crime for a man to miss his wife?!” he wondered, crossing his arms defensively.

Gently placing her hand on his cheek, Demelza murmured: “No, it is not.” She then placed her other hand on his other cheek and kissed him deeply. Gazing into his hazel eyes, which crinkled in contentment, Demelza could not think of a more opportune moment to tell him of her news. She was never certain how he would react to such a thing, but it was better to catch him in a good mood than a sour one. “Dwight, Caroline, could you give Ross and I a moment?”

Caroline’s slightly narrowed gaze flickered suspiciously between Ross and Demelza. “Of course,” she said, breezily linking arms with Dwight and leading him away.

Standing on the sandy cobblestones in front of Mr Hosking’s house, Demelza bounced anxiously from one foot to another and back again, wondering how best to broach the subject. Would frankness be more fitting or would a teasing, romantic hint be more appropriate? Then again, picking up on hints was certainly not one of Ross’ strengths.

“Well?” Ross asked after a few moments of silence. “What did you wish to speak to me about?”

“I- I’m tryin’ to find the right words,” Demelza stammered, trying to exhale her jitters. Logically, she thought Ross would be pleased, but if there was one thing Demelza had learned thus far it was that life was not always logical.

“Should I fetch your red dictionary?” he taunted playfully, recalling how in the early days of their marriage Demelza would pour over the dictionary so that she would sound - in her own words - ‘less common-like’, so as not ‘embarrass’ him in public.

“Ross, don’t tease me, I’m tryin’ to tell you somethin’,” Demelza complained in a despairing whine, though a smile tugged on the corner of her lips.

Ross took a step closer to her, a teasing smile etched on his face. “Then tell me,” he said, shrugging casually.

“Alright.” Demelza gently grabbed hold of the lapels of his coat and smiled softly. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “I’m with child,” she then announced, meeting his gaze and unable to contain her smile.  

Ross did not offer a verbal answer but his excited laugh echoed and was carried away with the wind as he quickly but deeply kissed Demelza before enveloping her into a spinning hug.

“Wait one moment, Dwight,” Caroline softly commanded, thinking she knew exactly what Demelza wished to speak to Ross about. “Look.” She pointed to the Poldarks several feet away from them; Demelza was fidgeting nervously and Ross was teasing her somehow.

“Caroline,” Dwight said a bit anxiously, trying to gently pull her away. “Their conversation is none of our business,” he insisted, feeling as though they were intruding.

Caroline theatrically rolled her eyes. “Dim your halo for one moment, Dr Enys, and watch,” she ordered.

Dwight looked upon his friends just in time to see Ross sweep Demelza from the ground and spin her around like a crazy schoolboy; their joyful laughter filling the air. A smile slowly spread across the doctor’s features. “What- is- does that mean what I think it means?” he asked his wife, who smiled in victory next to him, smug that her observations of Demelza’s behaviour these past few weeks had culminated in her being correct in her assumption.

“Yes,” Caroline murmured, pleased there would be another Poldark child; hopefully it would be as lovely as dear Jeremy and Clowance.

“You knew?” Dwight checked, women often shared such confidences before the news was relayed to husbands.

“Not for certain, Demelza said nothing,” Caroline informed him. “We women just know things that men can never hope to, even physicians,” she stated mysteriously, arching an eyebrow at Dwight, who accepted her claim without comment.

Linking his arm through hers again, Dwight led them back down the subtle slope so that they may go congratulate their friends. “It seems it is catching,” Dwight whispered happily, thinking of their own happy news Caroline had shared with him just two days ago.

Running a hand over her still quite flat abdomen, Caroline smiled softly. “It would appear so.”

“Demelza is with child!” Ross loudly announced as his friends approached, knowing it was already obvious from his reaction but wishing to proclaim it out-loud all the same.

The Enyses smiled widely at the Poldarks. “It is the most wonderful news,” Caroline enthused, looking between her two friends, who could barely stop grinning at each other.

“Well, not the most wonderful,” Dwight teased, his mouth swishing from side to side in an attempt to contain his grin.

Ross and Demelza frowned in confusion at Dwight’s comment. “What do you mean?” Ross asked; what news could be more wonderful than this?

Caroline bit her lip; she had no wish to steal Demelza’s thunder but she could sense that Dwight was practically dancing in his boots at the providential timing of it all. Besides, she knew that Demelza would not see it as unkindness, indeed, she’d probably cry of happiness. She nodded her permission at Dwight to relay the news.

“We, too, expect a new arrival in the coming months,” he announced, narrowly escaping bursting with pride.

The Poldarks both breathed a joyful laugh and Demelza’s eyes filled with happy tears.

“How magnificent!” Ross exclaimed, pulling Demelza closer and squeezing her with his arm. “And the children shall be so close in age! I’ve no doubt they shall be inseparable.” Much like their parents, he might have added.

“The coincidence is positively cosmic, is it not?” Dr Enys enthused, pleased that he would be both a father and an uncle again and in such quick succession.

“Must you always be so intellectual, Mr Science Man?” Caroline asked Dwight in a tease.

“Oh, ‘tis fate, I d’ feel it in my bones,” Demelza gushed, offering everyone in the group a teary smile. They had all endured such loss and hardship, and they had endured them as individuals and as a unit. Having survived their ordeals with grace, it was now their turn to be happy. “Well? Someone give me a hug!” Demelza ordered with a laugh; Caroline beat Dwight to it.

“When do you expect?” Demelza cheerfully asked her friend as they broke their friendly hug.

Caroline considered the question for a moment. “I think perhaps May, but I’m not certain. Indeed, it would be quite difficult to be certain,” she inferred suggestively.

Demelza smirked. “I d’ feel your ‘pain’.” The two women shared coy glances and smiles.

“Have you any idea?” Caroline wondered, lightly linking arms with her.

“I think perhaps February,” Demelza calculated, if with a little uncertainty.

Caroline’s mouth fell open and her arm slipped from between Demelza’s. “But, my dear, that is so soon, and one cannot yet even tell that you are with child!”

“That has always been true of Demelza,” Ross supplied. “She never shows until the last few months. She starves my growing children, you see, on account of not wishing to waddle around like a goose.” Ross winked at her.

Demelza shot him a look before she was fondly enveloped by Dwight.

Demelza hugged him tightly in return; she had long considered him an extra brother that she did not need but gladly accepted. “Oh, Dwight, I cannot recall being happier for another body than I feel for you at this moment,” she murmured; remembering how keenly he had felt the loss of Sarah, as she had with Julia. A second child was not only a blessing but a balm to heal the wound, and Demelza thanked God for Jeremy every day.

“Thank you,” Dwight said thickly as he released her from their fond embrace; their eyes shining. “You must take care of yourself,” the doctor told her, motioning to her small bump, which was only noticeable if one knew to look for it.

Demelza rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t start,” she scoffed lightly. “You d’ sound like Ross.”

“Can you ask Dwight to make up some posets for Demelza?” Ross whispered to Caroline as he hugged her. “I wish her to keep well.” He had whispered because he knew the matter was always a sensitive topic for Demelza and he did not wish to upset her with his fussing.

Caroline nodded in understanding. “I shall invite her over for tea and discreetly slip them into her cup as Dwight does mine,” she vowed, turning her attention back to Dwight and Demelza.

Ross exhaled, hardly able to believe so much joy could live in a single day. “If one is a boy and one is a girl then we shall marry them to each other,” he proclaimed.

“I’ll drink to that!” Dwight joyfully agreed with a grin.

“I shall not,” Caroline insisted with a mock frown of discontentment. “I should think our offspring could do better than a Poldark, Dr Enys.” In Caroline’s mind, there could be no one better.

Dwight schooled a smirk, immediately understanding her game. “That is true, my darling. They are exceedingly selfish and impulsive,” he said, pointedly eyeing Ross with a barely contained grin.

“And those Enyses, Demelza,” Ross said to her, feigning contempt, “are more stubborn and opinionated than any beings on earth.”

Dwight, Caroline and Demelza all laughed. “Hmm that all may be true, my dears, but ‘twould be no concern of ours seeing as the children would then be grown, and so we may sit back an’ enjoy the show!” Demelza concluded with mischievous chuckle.

“Now that I shall drink to!” Caroline exclaimed.

“In that case, shall we join the others now?” Demelza asked the group, smiling widely. It had been a long time since she felt so content. Nay, she thought, content was not strong enough, this was happiness, joy, elation.

Ross groaned softly to her left. “Must we?” he whined; his hatred of parties had softened none over his 42 years on earth.

“We must,” Demelza confirmed. “Come along Cap’n Poldark, we’ll see you get a cup o’ gin and then perhaps I might even persuade you to dance with me,” she flirted.

Ross laughed and comfortably linked his arm through hers. “Four cups and I might be tempted by the Six-Hand Wheel,” he wagered diplomatically, having honed his skills during his time as an MP.

“Nay, Ross, four cups be too much! You’d be fallin’ and staggerin’ about like a newborn lamb afraid of the slaughter!” Demelza insisted seriously; Ross barked a laugh - Demelza had the best descriptions for things. “Three cups are plenty.”

“Three cups, then,” he repeated in agreement.

The gathering was in full, jovial swing by the time they walked the five minutes it took to get there. Flowers were tucked into every crevice of the ground, attempting to liven up the dulling winter landscape. Fires were lit in droves on the borders of the area, including one massive bonfire which stood commandingly in the centre of the field; everyone danced around and next to it. Despite the slight winter chill, the flames were not needed, for warmth did not want here today.

“Are ‘ee happy?” Sam asked his wife as she sat on his knee as they watched their guests enthusiastically dance in front of them.

Rosina looked up at him, enraptured at being wed to such a fine man. “I am,” she confirmed.

Sam sighed happily. “‘Take delight in the Lord and he will-‘“

“‘-give you the desires of your heart’,” Rosina completed with a soft smile, resting her head against Sam’s shoulder.

“Shall we sit here?” Caroline asked, motioning to two free spaces to her left not too far from where Drake, Morwenna and Loveday all sat engrossed by each other’s company.

Ross’ arm went around Demelza’s waist as they walked over. “Perfect.”

An hour and five gins later, Ross and Dwight watched in amusement as a tipsy Demelza demonstrated the steps to the Mesk yn Merth to an even tipsier Caroline, who - despite considering herself half-Cornish - had never attended a proper Troyl and so did not know all the more traditional dances. Both women laughed as their arms got entangled when they bumped into each other; they hung onto each other’s waists for support as they cackled at their mistimed folly.

Ross sighed happily at the sight of Demelza’s smiling face. Though he knew nothing of how far along she was, her face already had an ethereal glow to it. “Are they not wonderful?” Ross asked his best friend in a slight slur, whose eyes were set adoringly on his own wife.

“They are,” Dwight sighed in agreement, still smiling softly as he watched the dance tutorial several feet in front of him. “We landed quite the windfall when we married them, did we not, my friend?” He looked at Ross.

Ross smiled. “We did,” he agreed. “Though I did not always realise just how lucky I was,” Ross admitted, thinking of a distant moment of spectacular idiocy and misjudgement.

“Nor I,” Dwight admitted, thinking of recent times. Ross looked quizzically at Dwight because of the admittance; Dwight smiled and shook his head. “But no matter, all has come well.”

“All has come well,” Ross repeated, the sentiment ringing truer than any he had uttered before. Ross nudged Dwight and raised his cup. “To Demelza and Caroline - and to the future.”

“To Demelza and Caroline and the future,” Dwight repeated, holding his cup aloft. “Cheers.”

“Cheers, my friend,” Ross said, clinking their cups together.

Without warning, Demelza and Caroline fell onto their husbands laps, causing them both to spill a little of the contents of their tankards. Demelza smoothly store Ross’ cup of port and drank it greedily, a powerful thirst upon her after dancing. Dwight did not wait for Caroline to steal his and simply offered it to her instead; Caroline privately lamented that it was not as fun this way.

“What mischief be goin’ on over here, Sirs?” Demelza asked, tone teasing and filling the air around them with light-hearted camaraderie.

Caroline placed a quick kiss on Dwight’s mouth and chuckled when his mouth chased her own as they parted. “I would rather not know, I think, Demelza. Dr Enys seems entirely too sentimental at present and I fear his comments may embarrass my good unfeeling name,” said Caroline, her eyes alight with mirth as Dwight’s soft eyes met hers.

He feigned consideration. “Do I embarrass you?”

“Daily,” she joked with a sigh.

Suddenly, Demelza spat out a mouthful of Ross’ port onto the grass; he looked at her, appalled at the waste of liquor. “Is- is that Sam?” Demelza stuttered, squinting her gaze from where she sat and nearly falling off Ross’ lap in shock. “Dancin’?”

The small group looked in front of them and were met by the sight of the bride and groom twirling together; Sam looked a little like a newborn deer uncertain of its steps but judging from the smile on Rosina’s face, she did not mind at all.

Ross smirked. “It seems some things after worth sinning for,” he murmured, the overindulgence of gin making him unusually sentimental. He looked at Demelza in such a way to suggest that the initial sin of their out-of-wedlock coupling and its subsequent result would be worth an eternity in hell.

“Or Rosina is a witch,” Caroline offered in a jest. She then covered Dwight’s eyes with her hand. “Avert your eyes, Dr Enys, lest you fall under her spell again.”

Dwight, Demelza and Ross’ laughter echoed and floated into the crisp air.

“We must dance soon - when they begin the Corwedhan,” Demelza insisted.

Murmurs of agreement rang out; for now, they were all content to wait their turn dancing, simply enjoying being in one another’s company with little cares and fewer worries.

A few hay bails away, Drake breathed in the smell of the damp grass and the spicy ferns, their fragrance heightened by the earlier light rain shower. The fires - dispersed like hen feed across the large field - crackled softly in a warm, enticing glow. Drake drank in the sight of everyone’s happiness; it seemed to outweigh the oxygen in the air. It was as though they all, in this moment, existed in a bubble, one which was tinted rose and gold with love and contentment. Drake prayed it would never burst.

“What are you smiling at?” Morwenna asked her husband, a small smile on her elvish features as she looked at him. In her arms was a small bundle of blankets within which two-month-old Loveday Carne could be found sleeping soundly.

Coming out of his trance, Drake turned and looked at them both with adoring eyes and his smile grew wider. “Just life, my love,” he murmured.

“What about it?”

Looking about him, Drake sighed in contentment. “You and I,” he began dreamily, “and Miss Loveday ‘ere,” he bent down and softly kissed his daughter’s hand, “Brother and Rosina,” Drake motioned over to the two dancing and laughing newlyweds, “Sister and Cap’n Ross,” he murmured as Ross placed an enthusiastic, drunken kiss on Demelza’s cheek, “Dr and Mrs Enys,” Caroline’s arms were about Dwight’s neck and her eyes were closed as her head rested on his shoulder, “And all who be ‘ere,” he concluded with a happy sigh.

“Oh, Drake, I so admire your love of life,” Morwenna told him, her tone adoring and sincere. It was Drake and his unfailing patience, kindness and optimism which had pulled her from the shadows and into the light.

Drake grinned and leaned over to kiss her, his hand tucking a rouge strand of hair behind her ear. “Life always be worth livin’ so long as we ‘ave somebody to love, Wenna. And there be a lot of love here.”