#I have like ten things at once going on in fallen london

[asleepinawell]

Wanted to say that seeing you post about it has formally inspired me to play Fallen London for the first time (I've been playing Sunless Seas/Skies on and off for the past year), and I'm LOVING it, damn. (It's wild going from the games to fallen london, tbh, because I'm used to being in charge of the world's flimsiest vessels and now I have wayyyy more options, lmao)

yeah it's super fun! and you can get away with a lot more bad decisions than in sunless skies (which I started last week and oh boy) and they're usually hilarious (there is one infamous storyline that will make your character unusable forever but I think it's hard to stumble on and it heavily warns you). it's definitely very grindy but it's a fun thing to just check in on a few times a day and the writing is great

[anthonyhopeswife]

i would love if u wrote about anthony falling for a fem!reader who’s sweeney’s assistant? she doesn’t do much except write and convince his victims to attend the barbershop, but he was whipped for her the moment they met. please and thank you!!

❛ favor me with your glance. ❜ ♡

⊹ ˖ pairing. anthony hope ♡ reader ⊹ ˖ rating. safe for work ⊹ ˖ contents. fem reader, fluff, meet-cute, technical hand holding, dark comedy, mutual crushes ⊹ ˖ word count. 2k+ ⊹ ˖ ao3. link.

It was another overcast morning in Fleet Street. Grey skies, smog in the air. Nothing short of the usual doom and gloom of London that you had grown accustomed to during all your years spent here. You were alone in Mrs Lovett’s shop, and it was eerily silent save for the distant chatter of people walking the streets outside. You presumed that she and Toby were yet to rise for the day, as they typically preferred to sleep in. You and Mister Todd, however, were always early to wake and perform the morning routine that you had fallen into. 

As your proprietor readied his parlor for the workday, you did the same downstairs. Albeit it was rather minute tasks you would perform, such as straightening up the kitchen or dusting off the utensils or going down to the bakehouse to make sure that ‘supplies’ were well enough stocked for Mrs Lovett to bake into a days’ worth of her renowned pies. It didn’t take very long, so you often used the remainder of the morning hours to fetch yourself some breakfast or just take some time alone. Today, you had decided on the latter, and had leaned against the countertop, lost deep within your own head.

Your work was relatively easy. You ran errands for Mister Todd if needed. You helped to set up shop. Once everything had fallen into place, you took to the streets, lingering around the street corner and trying to convince passersby to stop in for a shave. On occasion, you were summoned to clean up the aftermath of a client — wiping blood from the floors or the window as swiftly as possible. You didn’t care much for that aspect of the job.

It was a decent workload, but it wasn’t all that bad, especially not in exchange for housing and fair pay. It was certainly better than what most people your age had to do to get by. You’d take this over the harsh conditions of a factory, or having to resort to selling — well, worse things. You didn’t like to dwell on those possibilities.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the soft jingle of a bell. The door had opened — rather suddenly, you might add — and in the entrance stood a young man. He looked familiar, but you didn’t believe you’d ever properly met him, nor even spoken to him. He was tall and thin, perhaps a bit lanky, with wavy blond hair that brushed the tops of his shoulders. Certainly not a face you would forget.

His blue eyes, wide with surprise upon being faced with a stranger, seemed to study you for a few moments. “Oh! I’m sorry, excuse me, Miss. I hadn’t meant to intrude.”

“It’s alright,” you murmured, subconsciously straightening your posture and crossing your arms over your chest. “If you’re here for a pie, I’m afraid we aren’t open until half-past ten.”

“Yes, that’s right…” He mumbled, perhaps more to himself than to you. His voice was soft. Pretty, even. “I know it’s early — and I do apologize — I’m just here to see Mister Todd. Is he in?”

“He’s upstairs. I’ll go and speak to him.” You walked around the counter, starting towards the door that led outside.

“Thank you,” said the stranger, a gentle smile on his face. As you reached the exit, he scrambled to hold it open for you. “Ah — here you are.” A gentle smile.

It was polite of him. You weren’t used to gestures like that, and certainly not from boys you’d never met before. He must not have been from around here. You fought a smile of your own that threatened to tug at the corner of your lips as you brushed past him.

Making haste, you jogged up the stairs and knocked on the door to Mister Todd’s parlor. You knew that he had a particular distaste for people barging in without permission.

“Come,” his gruff voice commanded from inside, and you were quick to oblige. Your employer stood, a cup of tea in hand as he gazed out of the window. Surprisingly, he did you the favor of turning around to face you as you spoke to him.

You offered the older man a quick, respectful bow before you stated your business. “Morning, sir. There’s a boy downstairs asking to see you.”

“A customer?” Sweeney grumbled, as if displeased by the prospect of dealing with someone this early.

You shook your head. “I don’t think so. It’s a young man, um, about my age. He asked to see you personally.”

His eyes widened ever-so-slightly in recognition. “Anthony.”

“Ah…” you rocked awkwardly on your feet. It was undeniable that your employer made you nervous. Perhaps that was for the better, given what knowledge you held about him and Mrs Lovett. You always did your very best to walk on eggshells around him. You played an expendable role in this establishment, and one could never quite be sure when he might snap and it would be your throat he was slashing. “You know him, sir?” “He’s a…” His cold gaze faltered. The word ‘friend’ seemed to die in his throat. “An acquaintance of mine.” 

You nodded stiffly in understanding. “Shall I send him up, then?” “No.” He turned away, his focus shifting back to the window. “Tell him I’ll be down shortly.” “Right away.” With that, you spun on your heel and exited the barber shop, your heart racing a bit faster than you cared to admit. In your defense, you never claimed to be brave. You made quick work of the staircase, listening to it creak beneath each step and hoping the old, rickety thing wouldn’t cave beneath your weight.

As you stepped back into the pie shop, you were met with the sight of Anthony sitting at an empty table, his hands clasped on the table in front of him. He looked up at you as you entered, the kind smile still on his face. 

“He says he’ll be down to see you in a minute,” you informed him, unsure of what to do with yourself. Should you leave? Return to your place behind the counter? Make conversation? You weren’t suited for this in the slightest. You did just fine with luring in Sweeney’s clients, but not with talking to handsome, friendly strangers.

He replies, “Alright, then. Thank you for checking.”

It caught you off-guard all over again. You weren’t used to people thanking you simply for doing your job. Actually, come to think of it, you weren’t used to people thanking you at all. “You’re welcome,” you say, blinking away the surprise.

As if he somehow read your mind, Anthony spoke up again. “Would you like to come and sit? I’m sure you could use the rest.”

An array of excuses immediately sprung to your mind. But then it occurred to you that you had nothing better to do, and that you would actually quite like to sit and chat with him. After all, he was the most polite person you think has ever graced Fleet Street with his presence. And, well… He also happened to look like a beautiful prince straight out of the stories you were told as a child. But you were no princess, just a lowly barber’s assistant. You were sure that a boy like him would certainly want nothing to do with you. But that didn’t matter — you could at least stop and have a conversation with him. 

“I’d like that,” you replied, brushing nonexistent dust off of your coat before walking over to sit across from him. Something about him was making you all… fidgety. “So…” you began, hoping some of this sudden nervousness would fade in time. “I was told your name is Anthony?”

“Yes. Anthony Hope. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss.” He extended a hand across the table for you to shake. “What’s your name?”

Reaching out to oblige him, you told him your name. His hand was warm, the fingerless knit glove soft against your palm. Even after you’d shaken it, he seemed almost reluctant to let go.

“That’s a very pretty name.”

“Um, thank you.” You thought for a second that you could feel your face burning. “Your surname is… it’s very pretty as well.”

His eyes fixed on yours. They were pretty. They reminded you of the ocean. “Do you work for Mister Todd?”

“Yes. I was hired earlier this year. I’m his…” The word ‘accomplice’ springs to mind. “His assistant. And you? What’s your occupation? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I’m a sailor,” he answered, his face lighting up with excitement. “I work on a merchant ship called The Bountiful. Transporting goods and things of the sort.”

You couldn’t help but grin at that. He reminded you a bit of a puppy. “That sounds like a nice job to have. I’d love to travel around and see the world.” You mused. You had never left London before. You quite liked the thought of seeing what life was like outside of the dark, dreary place you called home.

“I’m quite fond of it,” he confessed almost shyly. And then, seemingly before he could think better of it, he blurted out, “Perhaps I could show you aboard sometime? If you’d be interested.”

Your lips parted, eyes widening in surprise. That was quite the offer to make to someone he hardly knew, but admittedly… the thought of it made your heart flutter. 

His eyebrows furrow, afraid he’d said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry. Was that too forward? My apologies, Miss, really, I just—”

You shake your head. “No, no, it’s not that! I think I would, actually. I’d quite like to see.”

“Ah, yes, that’s good to hear, then…” Anthony looked down, appearing a bit bashful after making such a proposal. Admittedly, you felt the same.

Hoping to break the ice, you reached toward the teapot in the center of the table. You’d used it to make Sweeney a cup this morning, but hadn’t used the rest of the water just yet. Perhaps it would be rude not to offer some to your guest. “Would you like — oops!—” You cut yourself off as your hand accidentally brushed against Anthony’s.

Before you could yank it away at breakneck speed, both of his hands took yours, cradling it gently. “Your hands are freezing!” He exclaimed, concern seeping into his voice. In truth, he was exactly right. It was rather drafty in the shop, particularly at this time of morning, and you didn’t have any gloves to keep your hands warm. Much to your astonishment, Anthony had begun removing his own, and then slipped them onto your hand, the soft black fabric warming your skin almost as much as his touch did. “Here. You can have these. You need them more than I do.”

You began to stammer, your face heating up. “Oh! No, y-you don’t have to do that! I can find some gloves of my own, I—”

“Not to worry. I have many more pairs. You can keep this one.” He flashed a reassuring smile. Reluctantly, you offered your other hand, and he guided the glove on. “There you are. Do you feel any warmer?”

“Yes… That’s… much better. Thank you, Anthony.” As he replied that you were welcome, you had half a mind to grab his hand and hold onto it. He was so warm, so inviting, and something in you wanted nothing more than to cling onto him.

Startling the both of you, the bell on the door jingled again, and Sweeney stepped in, his expression grave as always. You couldn’t help but feel disappointed that your time with the sailor boy was being cut short. 

“I should hope to see you again sometime soon,” Anthony told you as you slid out of the booth.

This time, you didn’t bother suppressing the smile that crept onto your face. “I hope so too.”

With a wave goodbye, which he was eager to return, you decided to give the two of them some privacy, slipping out to head to the living quarters. You couldn’t help but notice Anthony’s eyes on you even as you disappeared from sight and Mister Todd took your place, your heart still beating rapidly in your chest. One thing was for sure, you’d be counting the hours until you could see him again.

[basketballanonsblog]

Fix what's broken

Sana x Dahyun

A/n: I adore saida so much, I remember the saida hug they shared during day 2 of the London soundcheck 😗 💜🤍

Synopsis: Is it too late to come back to one another?

A sprinkle of angst but not as much as the previous two stories I posted (I promise, scout's honour ✋🏽)

-☆-

Sana is wobbly as she walks down, dressed for the day but with a nuisance of a headache. She's cautious every morning as she makes it to the bottom of the stairs.

As usual, she woke up to an empty bed but traces of Dahyun's perfume lingered within the room. If Sana focuses, she can pick up the faint scent of hot chocolate; one of her favourites.

The final step Sana notices in Dahyun's routine is how she seems to hesitate right before she leaves. Almost as if she wants to say or do something.

But she doesn't.

Sana lets out a breath she didn't realise she was holding. She understands something isn't right when she feels relieved to be alone at home. Sana knows that home is wherever Dahyun is, but is it still considered home if one feels this uneasy in it?

They had drifted apart, their jobs as idols took a stressful toll on them; too many missed dates and broken promises in an attempt to make it up to one another, from both sides.

It seemed the only time they get is when TWICE has a schedule.

Sana had fallen in love with her for many reasons. Dahyun, who looked at Sana with utter adoration. Who always smiled at her antics and sneaked private kisses. Who listened and did her best to keep her safe. Who held her hand when she feared storms.

But who was going to protect Sana from the storm brewing inside her heart and mind?

Sana almost resented Dahyun, for making it seem easy to just become so distant.

"Sana? Sana!" The voice of their leader snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Huh?"

"You've been staring at the wall for ten minutes. Are you alright? You don't look well."

Honestly, her headache was still there, and she felt like she was burning up. Nevertheless, they all had a job to do.

"I'm fine, just out of breath."

They resumed rehearsal, but Sana only lasted five minutes before she became dizzy and fainted.

-◇-

Sana woke up back in her room, with a cold towel on her forehead. She turned and saw Dahyun sitting next to the bed, staring at her, almost blankly.

"You should have stayed home if you weren't feeling well."

She scoffed.

"It was only a headache." Dahyun's void tone irked her.

"You could have been seriously hurt! It was a good thing the others were there." Dahyun remembered how she trembled during the call she received informing her of what had happened.

"Do you realise how worried I was when I heard that you passed out?"

Dahyun had finished her first schedule of the morning when she received the call from Jihyo. She almost dropped her phone in shock before running to where Sana was, not caring that she had to cancel the rest of her activities for the day. She carried Sana to the car, not once taking her eyes off her even when she laid her down in their room.

Sana just turned on her side, her back facing Dahyun.

"I didn't want to burden you." There it was, those words were a catalyst, forcing Dahyun to finally open her eyes to the reality they were facing.

Dahyun knew that they were on the verge of heartbreak and every day she told herself that they would talk and work through it. But that day had yet to come.

She knew that if she continued to stay silent, she would lose Sana for good.

Dahyun refused to let that happen.

Sana was startled when she felt a hand slowly guide her to lie on her back. She was further surprised to see Dahyun in tears.

"Dahyun-"

"I'm sorry, I miss you."

Sana wasn't expecting that, but she realised that deep down, she had been waiting for Dahyun to make the first move. In return, she took a leap of faith and tentatively kissed Dahyun, but for the latter, she couldn't believe that she almost let this love go. Sana kissed her again, deeper and desperately this time. Both tried to convey words they couldn't say previously.

Sana began crying too when they broke the kiss. Dahyun crawled into bed, resting on her side, while Sana mimicked her.

"You're my best friend Sana, and despite everything, I always think of you. I was a fool for putting us in this situation. The thought of not being able to touch and hold you like this anymore haunts me."

"It's not entirely your fault Dahyun, there were times where I said things I didn't mean." Dahyun just shook her head, refusing to let Sana take any of the blame.

"But I was the one who shut you out. I'm so sorry for making you think that it was easy to become distant. Please don't give up on me, on us."

After months of tension and heartache, this is what Sana had been waiting for. If Dahyun showed that she was willing to fight for them, then she would do the same. She leaned her head against hers.

"Never." Sana whispered and Dahyun softly brushed her lips against hers. “I love you.”

“I love you too, so deeply.”

It was a gentle promise of a renewed relationship, but also a reminder that as long as they had each other, they could go through anything.

Happy *advanced* birthday Sana! 🎉

[sergeant-spoons]

56. Where You Go, I'm Going/So Jump, And I'm Jumping

Leslie Sheppard

Taglist: @thoughpoppiesblow @wexhappyxfew @50svibes @tvserie-s-world @ask-you-what-sir​ @whovian45810​ @brokennerdalert​ @holdingforgeneralhugs @coco-bean-1218​ ​ @itswormtrain​ @actualtrashpanda @wtrpxrks

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

June 5th came and went in a blur. Before Leslie knew it, night had fallen. Where the lamps would usually have been lit stood dark, empty poles that more than one man had run into by not looking up from the shadows. Leslie ducked around the metal beast, knowing she'd never see it again and not sure why she cared enough to think about that. She'd be in France by morning, and it would be dismantled as soon as the airfield could shrink again post-Normandy. Strange things. A relic from old London, she suspected, nothing like the electric lamps she knew from home. These ones stood alone, entirely disconnected from one another. They had to be lit by hand individually, lighting up the night in a slow spread from the center outward. They stood alone. Like the men always said about Currahee.

We stand alone—

Together.

The sun set just after 8:30 in the evening. 20:30 in military time. Leslie's mind had kept slipping all day, falling back upon old manners she once knew. In that last fading light not ten minutes ago, Mama E had gravely informed the Mechorps that their DZ had changed. Gathered in a clump outside their commander's tent, the men and women of the company kicked at the crusty, dried mud and muttered condolences but never fears. They couldn't be afraid. Not soldiers. Leslie was afraid but not surprised to hear they'd be jumping to meet up with the 2nd Armored Infantry now. Kiko, hollow-faced and silent, seemed to have completely forgotten Mama E ever gave them that warning in the long age that had passed since yesterday. Tink was somewhere else, busying herself with packing or food or what have you. She knew someone would tell her if there was news.

"We've got news."

Once told, Tink sat quietly on her bunk, staring at the emptiness of the tent. Everything but her bunk and the support pole in the center of the tent frame had been dismantled and packed away for another regiment's use somewhere to the north. Leslie blinked for a moment, then looked out the tent flap at the beckoning stars. She took a deep breath and crossed herself, small, so maybe no one but God would see if he cared to look.

"I'm gonna go find a priest or somethin'," she said.

"I think I'll pray here," Tink replied, looking at Kiko, who hesitated. Tink beckoned her over to the bunk, and she went and sat, leaning on Tink's shoulder.

"I think I'll stay here," she told Leslie, weary in the eyes.

"Okay."

Leslie stepped over, kissed them each on the forehead, and left.

Now, walking through the night towards the last remaining sector of light in the camp, she looked out towards the lights of the Airfield and took another deep breath. She stopped to let a British platoon pass by uninterrupted and ducked into a tent with a torn side. No luck; just a mess tent that had been raided for last-minute snacks. Leslie couldn't imagine how anyone could eat before the advance. She'd barely touched her dinner.

Feeling her stomach lurch, she picked up a half of an orange and kept going.

The only man of the cloth she could locate in the darkness was Father Maloney, a chaplain who served with Easy Company. She found him by following the words of his prayers, though at first, she hadn't been able to hear what exactly he was saying. As she drew closer, she recognized some of the Latin, in the sense that she would have recognized a face from her childhood or a story she hadn't read in many years. Maloney's face, lit by candles, appeared around the bend of a brick wall, and Leslie continued forward over the mossy ground until she'd joined the makeshift congregation. They stood clumped together in the shadow of a large tent that now housed a group of British anti-aircraft gunners. Not three hours ago, American paratroopers had laid their heads in those beds for the last time.

Skip was there, fingering his rosary near the back of the group. He wrapped his arm around Leslie protectively as she came up to his side, almost as if he'd known she'd come.

"No Tink?" he whispered.

Leslie shook her head, leaning into his arm as if she needed the warmth despite the early June air.

"Said she'd rather pray with Kiko."

He nodded.

"We'll see you on the ground, then."

Leslie froze. Skip felt it and squeezed his arm around her.

"Won't we?"

"No," she sighed, her shoulders falling as her chest tightened. "No, you won't."

"What?" He stepped back and stared at her, even though Father Maloney had started up a new prayer. "Why?"

"Hey, Sheppard!"

Archie Potts didn't seem to notice he was interrupting a service. Maloney glanced at him but kept leading the prayer. Archie waved at Leslie, his watch glinting in the light from the torn-side mess tent.

"C'mon, we gotta go, we gotta go!"

"Gimme a sec!" she whisper-shouted back, then turned back to Skip, grabbing his hand to squeeze where it still hung close to her side. "We just got the news, right before I came over here."

"Shit."

"Yeah, no shit. I mean, yes, it's shit, but no shit, it's shit."

They laughed, but there wasn't much humor to be had, and after a beat of silence as Maloney's even voice filled the air, they pulled each other into a tight hug.

"Watch out for yourself out there," she told him.

"You watch out, too."

"I will. Tell Don I love 'im, yeah?"

"I can't do that," he refused, shaking his head. "That's something you've gotta tell him yourself."

"Oh, I know," she replied without thinking about it. "I didn't mean like that, not yet."

He stared at her, astonished, but then he smiled, and she knew he was trying to find the silver lining in all this.

"Not yet?"

She flushed.

"Skip—don't."

"You could go find him. Right now. You could-"

"No. Just tell him the way I always mean it, alright? Please?"

"I'll tell him," he promised, softening. "Not like that, but— I'll tell him."

She grabbed his hand and squeezed, looking him in the eye for what she prayed would not be the last time.

"Godspeed, Skippy old boy."

He squeezed back.

"See you on the other side."

Archie came over to drag her away, and Leslie went with him, muttering a quick amen so as not to offend Father Maloney with her early dismissal. Archie scolded her for making the both of them late and as Leslie went back around the brick wall bend, she lost sight of Skip in the dark.

22:00 hours. 10 p.m. Whichever time you called it, the time was ripe. Time to load up the planes.

Out of all her friends, Skip was the only one from Easy who Leslie had seen since early that morning when she and Tink snuck over to have their breakfast with him, Don, Alton More, and a few of the other Easy boys they didn't know all that well. Kiko said she wasn't hungry and stayed in bed. She was still there three hours later when they came back from the morning run, and Tink bribed her to get out of bed with a Hershey bar and a few rounds of canasta to get her mind off things. Leslie had said goodbye to Don right after that breakfast, and that was it. It felt strange to be without him, especially now since she knew they would no longer have a chance of meeting up on the ground.

She missed him already.

It didn't take long to load up the planes, but then came the waiting until everyone had boarded and checked their equipment and cleared the runways. Officially, D-Day would begin on the 6th of June. It would be past midnight by the time the Mechorps—and Easy, and all the 506th, for that matter—flew over their DZ. Leslie was starting to doze off when she felt the engines of their plane start. Not doze off into sleep—into a trance. She saw shapes in the shadows around her friends' legs and boots. They started taxiing to the runway and that was that. No turning back now. Not there ever had been before. Not for Leslie. She stuck her clammy hands into her pants pockets and found the paper wrapping of a stick of gum sticking to her left hand. She pulled it out and squinted at it, feeling the engines thrum louder and louder behind her head.

The planes lined up on the runway and waited for their signal to take off.

Leslie folded the wrapper into and out of the shape of a crane over and over again until her hands became too sweaty to get the little folds right. Thinking about all the things she could have said to Don but didn't as they were saying goodbye, she felt the crane slip through her fingers. It fell from her lap and bounced away across the unsteady floor. No one else saw or noticed, and she looked away from it, focusing on the stars outside instead.

Don fiddled with his hands and wished he'd kissed Leslie when he had the chance.

Skip wrapped his rosary beads around his finger and prayed to live to see his home, his family, his friends, and Faye again.

Penk listened to the sounds of the plane—the engine, the shifting of his comrades' boots across the floor and their bodies across the benches, the rattling of the metal frame as the wheels inched forward over the asphalt—and tried not to think about all he could lose. Life. Limb. Happiness. His friends. Kiko—if he hadn't lost her already.

He bowed his head.

Next to Leslie, Danny Huff pointed out the open door at the spotlights turning on all down the runway. The planes in front began to move, propellers pulling them forward.

Kiko tried to focus on her breathing. Now was a bad time to let her emotions get the better of her. If she had only done it sooner. Or later. Or never.

She wished it had been never.

Tink thought about her brothers back home. She thought about her cousin Janie. She held her rosary to her lips and ushered up a prayer that everyone she loved would live through the night.

Especially George, she thought, feeling guilty for the preference but unwilling to take it back.

George thought about Tink. About how long she hugged him in the shadows behind the tent after the last dinner they'd shared. About how long it took her to let go, and about the kiss she ran back to press to his cheek, her eyes shining with tears, before she left for good. Even as Liebgott started to cough and dry-heave and the other men shied away from his impending vomit, George stayed lost in his mind, sitting still and cold and afraid.

Captain Eades, Mama E, sat at the front of the pack, gripping the edge of the doorframe with her good hand. The metal felt warm against her palm from how long she'd held it there. She looked across at her mechanics—her soldiers—her boys and girls—and saw their faces, one by one. She saw the fear they tried or didn't even bother to hide. She saw the nausea and the calm. She saw the strength and the weakness. She saw Luchette reach across the aisle and grab Sheppard's hand, then again beside her to take Palekiko's. Sheppard and Palekiko leaned forward and connected the third side of the triangle, and the minds of the men looking upon them seemed to ease at the sight. Captain Mercedes Eades looked at her watch, lifting her tiny flashlight to read the surface as the plane began to gather speed.

Tick-tick-tick.

Hands met at midnight and the plane bucked into the air. Flight, flight from all things known and toward the great, black night. Flight across the Channel and on to France, to war and bloody glory.

So be it. The 506th Mechanical Corps—the first in history, the unsung heroes of 101st Airborne—would get the job done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[bisluthq]

The whole email breakup thing always sounded ridiculous to me but since it allegedly came from a friend of Pat's, I gave it the benefit of the doubt. But yeah no that's insane, no normal person would end a 6.5 rs/engagement over email. Imo she'd planned months before for the music video to be filmed in the UK so as to be able to spend Easter break with Joe, bc both of them knew that Joe would be working until May and according to what Tree put out at the time, he'd be joining Taylor on tour after that. So I do think the MV was shot in the UK as part of an original plan to spend Easter together there. But imo from the moment she stood on that stage in Glendale on opening night and saw tens of thousands of ppl all but worshipping her, and Joe could not even be arsed to at least care about this massive career milestone, she came to the painful realization that it was time to go, and she planned to do it in person when they would see each other in the UK for Easter. So during those first weeks of tour I imagine that (aside from being extremely happy and excited for tour) she pondered how to go about it and the logistics etc yk, mentally preparing herself for it, probably going back and forth on doing it or not. Clearly she ultimately decided it had to happen this time for real, they'd been unhappy for months and I do think Joe taking another last minute job and not giving a single fuck about Eras was a final straw. So she knew it was Over over during those first weeks of tour and imo that's why she was crying during CP in Glendale N2. Anon mentioned that maybe she was apprehensive about doing it in person bc they could end up fucking and she needed to end it for real, but I don't think that was even an issue for her bc imo late stage Swiftwyn sex was like those scenes in Blue Valentine where the couple clearly has fallen out of love but they still try to have sex to get off and let out frustration but neither of them are really into it and lowkey hate it and yeah idk it's devastating to watch lol it's so fucking sad. At that point imo Swiftwyn were very unhappy and in a "you do you and I'll do me" MO so it tracks that Joe didn't see it coming right, cos they'd sorta gotten familiar/used to the unhappinness. Imo if she hadn't broken it off and instead insisted on getting married, he would've done it and they would've continued to leave unhappily and/or gotten divorced eventually, so Joe must've defs been relieved that she ended it. If they'd had kids before shit started to go down at the end of 2021, I do think they would've married for the bebé and would've probs gotten divorced once the bebé/bebés became adults a la Scott and Andrea.

I 1000% agree that she was involved emotionally with Matty since at least January of this year. Idk if I think it got to the point of actual physical cheating yk I tend to think that maybe not since her and Joe respected each other so much but she does historically cheat when she's desperate to get out of a rs so who knows 🤷🏻‍♀️ she was miserable and Matty was there all head over heels for her and ofc the attention was appealing after she'd felt so rejected/unnapreciated by her partner for months. I am SO so curious about that 1975 collab song that was scrapped from Midnights 👀👀 I wonder if it's telling of how far back (second half of 2022 maybe) the affair with Matty goes, and if she left it out of the album bc she was still trying to save her rs with Joe. I really do think that, in spite of everything, Taylor fought VERY hard to fix their issues and solve their problems, like I really do think she gave it her all trying to save it but ultimately it became clear that it was unsalvageable. When they first became a couple they both thought their lives would be going in completely different directions (she thought her peak as a pop star was gone and she would move to more BTS stuff and live a calmer life in North London with him, he thought his acting career would take off after The Favourite and CWF and he'd become some Nic Hoult/Paul Mescal etc.) than where they both are today, and so they became very incompatible to the point where all the love they had for each other wasn't enough to keep them in love together.

I love u but this is a fucking dissertation dude I’m not gonna read all this but I’m sure ur right because your takes are always on point so I’m posting for people with a longer attention span than me and I’m gonna text just now to check you’re ok lmao because dissertations about Joever are usually a sign one isn’t 😂🙈🤷🏻‍♀️

[zeydaan-isabella]

An American Were-Isabella

Commission for and story by GreyHawk89 - based on the 'American Werewolf in London' poster- with Isabella instead.

It was getting close to ten o'clock as I left Harrod's, so I quickened my pace as I made my way back to the hotel. Fortunately it was on Cromwell Road along with all the other places I'd visited today, so at least I wasn't likely to get lost. The legendary department store had certainly had it's impressive aspects and of course history, but it was still ultimately a store. Maybe I'd have found it 'cooler' if I'd lived and visited way back when you could go buy literally anything there. Or maybe I'd have liked it better if I'd been rich enough to actually afford any of their cooler merchandise? Well, the couple of snacks I'd bought in the food court had still been nice. The Natural History Museum was alright , but in the end not really different from any of the big nature museums I'd visited in any other big city, like the one in New York. On the other Hand, I'd really liked the V&A, with it's massive collection of items, err, 'acquired' back in the glory days of the Empire. I'd passed the V&A and had mostly passed the NHM when I stopped to pull out and examine my map. Let's see, tomorrow morning was going to be a long tour of... Hyde Park. Okay. Though, why the English would name a large public park after a creep like Mister Hyde, that I didn't know. I was attempting to re-fold my map when I became aware of an odd whistling noise, then there was the cracking on many tree branches followed by a thud of impact somewhere in the garden area surrounding the museum. Once I'd stopped freaking out, I finished refolding the map and carefully started walking towards the impact site. I'd just barely entered beneath the canopy of trees when someone rushed out at me! It was a middle-aged man in ratty clothes. He stunk of alcohol and groaning something made hard to understand due to his thick rural English accent. He looked around wildly, shoving me back towards the lights and traffic of Cromwell. "Stick to the road! Beware, the maid!" he slurred, then stumbled past fearfully. "...The hell does THAT mean?" I muttered to myself, then pressed on with a shrug. Like I'd listen to ramblings of some drunk! Slowly and carefully I crept towards whatever it was had landed in the garden. I became aware of a faint pink-and-golden glow coming from the area. What could that be? The glow got brighter and brighter as I approached it's source. I was at the edge of the small impact crater, I pushed a large leafy branch aside and beheld!- I very strange sight indeed. A tall woman(?) dressed as a maid lay at the bottom of the small pit. She was the source of the glow. Well, if I was in a drunken stupor and a maid had fallen out of the sky and nearly landed on top of me, I guess I'd want to 'beware the maid' as well. There was something very odd about her but the bright glow obscured her features. There was something off about her face and she was laying on a couple of rolled-up blankets of dresses or something? Suddenly, she shifted and groaned a very unpleasant groan. The glow began diminishing, sinking back into her body, giving me a better look at her. I'll be damned. What the heck was she? All her exposed skin as yellow, her hair was pink, her face stuck out into a reptilian snout, and the things I'd mistaken for blankets laying under her were a tail and pair of wings. Did a DRAGON just fall out of the sky right near me? Maybe not a full dragon, since she was human-shaped and about my own height. That or she'd shape-changed to look more human in public? It didn't really matter which. I was no dashing prince here to save a fair maiden, but I saw a person in trouble, and felt the need to help her. But, was she injured? Was moving her even a safe idea though?...Hmm, the impact itself hadn't killed her, so... Standing next to her, I leaned down and carefully helped her to her feet. "Are you alright Miss? That was quite a landing you had here. What happened?" "I just wanted to become bees." she said weakly. Again, the hell did THAT mean? "Still not bees," she half-sobbed as I helped her walk up the slight slope out of the pit. "Never gonna be bees..." Despite making no goddamn sense, at least her voice was getting stronger and steadier. A woman's voice, but very deep and husky, deeper than that actress who played Brienne on GoT. Couldn't place her accent either, but then, I WAS just an American tourist after all. "What's your name?" I asked. "Are you hurt? What do bees have to do with how you got here?"  She blinked big pink eyes and looked around, looked at me. "I'm!-uh, who're you? Where am I? Where's Mum?"  For whatever reason, I answered the second question first. "London." I tried to remember the neighborhood. "Um, Kensington? South Kensington? The grounds of the Natural History Museum on Cromwell Road." Her eyes widened and she gulped, wings flaring out. "London!? I was with Mum at Stonehenge! How'd I get all the way, all the waaUURGH!" She clutched her stomach and doubled over. With a wet retch, she burped up a burst of the glowing energy that'd been illuminating her body just a minute ago. "Out, it wants out, I need to!-" She snapped back up straight so violently it was a wonder she didn't break her spine doing so. Her pink eyes glowed red. Her mouth opened and closed rapidly. Words were coming out of it, in an unfamiliar language, and far too rapidly to be understood even if I had recognized it. Was it even HER that was trying to talk right now? Or something else inside her? She stepped forward unsteadily, like a zombie, glowing eyes suddenly fixed on me intently. I guessed what was going to happen a split second before it did. I stepped back and raised my arm in front of my face. Mouth opened wide, she lunged, her jaws clamped down on that arm like a vice, teeth punching through my jacket sleeve and puncturing my skin. I screamed in shock, but she didn't let go, instead shaking her head back and forth, worrying at my arm like a rabid dog. She made weird, warbling noises as she did so. I could feel the teeth in my flesh, but not yet any pain. Not yet. I yelled and smacked her hard on her snout with my free arm, as hard as I could. Despite her jaws being fixed closed on my arm I could still hear the weird language coming from her mouth. I sounded vaguely like Irish or Scottish, something Gaelic, spoken by someone on helium at triple speed. The creepiest aspect of her attack was her eyes. They remained glowing red, wide open, and fixed on my face- no matter how much her head shook back and forth, those eyes shifted so as to always be locked in a stare with mine. There was nothing intelligent in those eyes. Maybe not even emotion. Just... energy. There was a loud POP, and an explosion of light in the air just above us. "MY SWEET FLEDGLING!!" shrieked a voice that sounded much like hers had. Something big (bigger than either of us anyway) and yellow dropped down next to us and stuck it's arms in-between us, pulling us apart. The maid finally let go, and me and her fell back and away.  I clutched my hurt arm and stared. It was another dragon, about the size of a pony. Less anthropomorphic. Yellow scales, black hair, wearing a blue witch's hat, pink belt, and blue.. loincloth-thing. In spite of the differences, there were enough similarities that I could clearly tell that this was 'Mum'. "What'd you do to my daughter? Why'd she attack you?" She demanded, wings flared to make her look bigger. Behind her, her daughter groaned and stumbled around on her high-heeled feet. "What'd I do to HER?" I almost laughed, but was too angry. "She landed in the trees, I helped her up, she said something about bees, tried to puke, then went crazy and bit me!" I pulled the torn sleeve of jacket back tp examine the wounds. Seven or eight small circular punctures on my forearm leaked red. The pain was starting to hit now, the adrenaline wearing off. I staggered and tried to put the sudden fire I felt in my arm out by waving it around and swearing. "That doesn't sound very much like something my Izzy would do." the dragon said doubtfully as she glared at me- but it was a worried doubt, not an angry doubt of denial. "Hmph." She turned around and looked at 'Izzy'. The dragon-maid was still wobbly, but the glow had left her eyes, which were blinking in confusion and exhaustion. "Where da FERK am I right now? Why am not bees?" She peered at the bigger dragon. "Muuummm?" she whined, then flopped forward. She would have hit the ground face-first if her mother hadn't been faster, grabbing her and holding her in her arms (forelegs? she was still humanoid enough that I guessed I could call them arms). "I never should've tried it. My poor sweet fledging. Wanted to bees, of all things, so badly. All the extra fey energy I summoned up, only for it to reject her and punt her halfway across the country!" The mother dragon gave a sob and cradled her unconscious child against her. Despite my pain, I was a little bit moved by the sight. "She went crazy and chomped down on my arm like it was her favorite food. Weird gibberish words coming out of her mouth." I winced and rubbed my wounded arm, but couldn't make it feel less bad. Izzy's mother turned back to me. "Oh dear, oh dear." She narrowed her eyes at the blood. Her eyes were red, unlike the pink Izzy's eyes had started out as, but like the red they had been when she freaked out. "Overloaded with magic, body and mind. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. Let me heal you, please?" I paused, then held out my arm hopefully. "Uh, alright?" She said something under her breath-was it my imagination or did it sound similar to the weird language that had come out of her daughter when she was ...possessed, for lack of a better word? There was light, and the pain ended. My torn jacket sleeve even repaired itself. "Huh, better than expected!" The dragon chirped happily. "Oh! I'm Cynthia, by the way. This is Isabella." She kissed the top of her daughter's head, between the horns. "Oh, well, I'm-" I was interrupted by Isabella giving a loud moan and writhing in her mother's grasp. Cynthia made a face that, in spite of being stretched out over a reptilian snout, was the picture of maternal concern. "Oh, she's still a little bit messed up. I think she expelled all the excess fey-dragon energy she absorbed though. Sometimes, you just have to accept that you're never going to become bees, and that's that." Dumbfounded, I merely nodded my head in agreement. I'd heard that dragons could be strange, but had chalked it up to lingering bigoted attitudes towards them. If I knew the full story, then maybe it would all make sense. "Well, thank you for healing my arm. And I hope that your daughter makes a full recovery from... whatever that was." I was as sincere as I could. I was still mad at Izzy for biting me, but if she literally hadn't been in her right mind, well, I was still angry right now, but could probably forgive her once I had time to cool down.  "Yes, yes, better take her home, right now!" Cynthia hugged Isabella to herself tighter, then everything... swirled. The dragons, the air, the area. It swirled until it swirled away into itself, and everything was back to normal. Except the dragons; they had vanished. I was still in a bit of shock, and remained standing there for a few minutes. "Hell of a night." I still needed to go back to the hotel, and arguably needed to get some sleep even more than before. "Geez." I pulled back my sleeve to re-examine my formerly bloody arm in the pale moonlight. Instead of red holes, there were yellow spots in my skin, but at least the skin itself was whole and un-punctured. Hope it faded away with time. "Huh." I shook my head and walked as fast as I could back to the hotel. Going inside, I went to my room, brushed my teeth, took off my clothes and practically threw myself into my bed. Hopefully, this American's second night in London would not be as wild and crazy as my first night had ended... A FEW DAYS LATER... Isabella stared at her exact double, who had a terribly woebegone expression on his... her... their... face. Cynthia sat at the nearby table, sipping some tea and watching her new 'daughter' with nervous eyes. "So you can't change back?" Not-Isabella shrugged. "I dunno. If I can, I don't know how. Don't know what 'muscle' to flex or something at the very least." Her words were slow, deliberate, and slightly slurred due to being unaccustomed to speaking with an an elongated reptilian snout filled with fangs and a long tongue to fit. "Probably lack of experience and understanding of the core magics involved with transfiguration." Cynthia suggested in a chirpy tone. "Yes, quite possibly." Not-Isabella replied dryly with a roll of their eyes. "Tried becoming a human male again, nothing. Tried just becoming a human but staying a girl, nothing. Tried just becoming male again but staying a pink-yellow dragon, nothing. The one time I did manage to change into something else, it was just this weird result that made me want to change back into a yellow dragon girl immediately." Isabella grinned and perked up. "Oh, you DID manage at least one transformation? Well, that's a start! Show me and Mum what you can do, and it'll give us something to start working with." Not-Isabella raised an eyebrow. "I REALLY don't know, it was... ugh. Just bizarre! But okay, I'll try." She closed her eyes and concentrated.  There was a hot, pink, POOF! and where Not-Isabella had once stood was now a buzzing mass of thousands of tiny bees, all with itty-bitty little yellow, pink-haired horned Isabella faces on them. Isabella blinked, absorbed this sight, then reacted with the proper amount of poise, grace, and British Stiff-Upper-Lipness that the situation called for. "Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you!" she screamed, while wildly waving around a rolled-up newspaper, swatting as many bees out of the air as she could. Cynthia spat out her tea. "DEAR!"

[thelostjournals]

Today we watched the storm.

We moored in a forgotten pier after a few hours of sailing. The island was still visible, the tiny stick that was the lighthouse and a silver light on its end, pointing up. We slept for the remaining of the night, but at dawn, the wind woke us. There was no sunrise, just a thinning of the darkness, enough to let us see dark clouds, rushed by the wind, swirling beasts with hands of lightning and teeth of raindrops,

Maria znała słowa na takie widoki, czarne chmury gnane wiatrem, kłębiące się bestie, ciemnogranatowa kipiel, posiniaczone niebo. Szum deszczu, porywy wiatru, tak głośne, że inne dźwięki tracą prawo bytu. Być może myślała je, zamknięta w krabim truchle pomiędzy zwierciadłami, kiedy całe to piekło pędziło w jej stronę. A być może była zbyt zajęta przeklinaniem mnie.

The island that was my home for the past few years was being devoured. There is no way the herb garden survived this. Mint and chamomille will regrow, but what made this garden a garden, and what made it mine, is surely gone. I left the boat on the shore when the fog came when Maria was my beacon for the first time, and I'm sure it is gone too, broken into splinters along with the pier. And with the tree on the cliff. It was sturdy, but not sturdy enough I don't think.

I bet the birch grove is fine though. Some fallen specimens for sure, but the colony always survives.

The storm got to the town too, and from what we've seen the port didn't survive.

There is no easy way to get to the lighthouse now. But the light stays on, pulsing, like a heartbeat.

Storms are one of my favorite things in the world. Like, top ten. Being alive during the climate catastrophe really rules for me, because there's been a lot of them in past few years.

They are also one of my favorite things to describe and DOES POLISH HAVE WORDS FOR STORMS. I tried to stick to English, but it doesn't have the right sounds, sorry. I suffered enough when I couldn't write about Nathaniels boat "bezszelestnie dobijająca do brzegu". "Noiselessly" is not "bezszelestnie", it lacks the elegance.

Luckily Maria was Polish from the beginning (I'm still on the fence when it comes to the Keeper, I imagined her as a classic London urchin, but on the other hand she did sing an Belarusian song at one point), so I could write a stormy paragraph that sounds as it should. It was also a surprisingly intense, emotional moment roleplaying-wise. Having two languages, one for saying more raw, true things, and the other for normal stuff is a cool concept, I'm going to play with it a bit more I think.

And writing-wise I feel like there's something interesting to tap into here. I wonder if the shape of the words conveys something for the reader, it is the same alphabet after all, if you look at it, you have the rough estimate of the sounds the text would made. Also I feel that a text that reader doesn't understand also relays something, and I'm curious what it is and what it does to my writing.

And of course my friends who are Polish also read this blog, so this is a whole other chapter of meanings and feelings and ways to connect with text.

So overall, even though the story ended in the previous entry, this one is very exciting to me, creatively. I have some interesting questions and no answers and this is all I can ask of a text that I've written half an hour ago.

"You are a beacon" was a great journey. I loved the evocative prompts and the way the game is lyrical, magical and rooted in everyday life, asking me about Keeper's work, making me imagine the island, and while doing that making me feel at home. It's been a while since I imagined a home for myself, I thought I lost the ability to do it, and this game gave it back to me. Once again, check it out, buy it or grab a community copy, play it, imagine a home on an island for yourself. https://radiantfracture.itch.io/you-are-a-beacon

Imaginary homes are a whole other topic though and these notes are already longer than the entry. So just a word about the photo, because it's teasing the next game I'm going to play here: The Flicker and the Fade which you can find here: https://nyessa.itch.io/the-flicker-and-the-fade

I was planning to do something else to be honest, but I had a hard time saying goodbye to Keeper, Nathaniel and Maria and the strange world that I started to imagine, so I thought hey, maybe I can play other solo games to keep building this world? The Flicker and the Fade seems great for that, especially since Keeper and Nathaniel already did a bit of research about constellations.

[dustdeepsea]

Tagged by @littleplasticrat (thank you!) -- this made me think about the fan work that's stayed with me throughout the years. Some of the stuff I tried to unearth is simply lost to the internet wilds and time, but here are the ones I managed to find.

Final Fantasy 8 stories by Bishounenink (Tenshi and llamajoy) Squall/Seifer; Squall/Zell; Seifer/Fuujin

"I walk in possibility, along the edge of coming night as if along a polished steel-fine blade. I hear you speak my name in the hushed resounding whisper of a thousand beating wings, and my world darkens around you-- stronger still than pain, or fear."

I mean, literally all of them, printed off in computer lab classes and read during lunch break. I also learnt what a sestina was from Sorceress Dreams and after that, I was insufferable in literature class for the rest of the year.

Go Not Gently by Guardian1 (Tami) Final Fantasy 9

"For my birthday, when I was ten, Papa gave me hair ribbons and chocolate and a new set of spanners and the chance to pilot an airship without Erin at the co-pilot's wheel. For Vivi's birthday, when he was twelve, he got a houseful of dead children and left us a very gentle little note and went off and Stopped."

This story. My god. It altered me in fundamental ways. There are lines from this story that sometimes still pop into my head while writing. I named an entire work based off a chapter title from it.

This is also the first time I drew fanart for fic! I didn't realise how huge it was at the time but last year I discovered it has its own TV Tropes page. 

P/s: The artwork of Eiko on TV Tropes was actually drawn by teenage me :) I've lost the original file and closed the DeviantArt account, but it's very nostalgic to see it still floating on the internet.

The Least of All Possible Mistakes by @rageprufrock BBC's Sherlock Mycroft/Lestrade

"The first time George meets Mycroft Holmes, she tases him."

The pairing might sound crazy, but this is actually the best written slowburn love story I've ever read.

I read it when I was on the cusp of my first adult relationship (where you seriously discuss the mundane things like bills, rent and moving to be with each other) and it felt completely different from anything that I'd read before that. It's also a heartfelt love letter to London, a city I was enamoured of for a long time.

Give it a shot. I re-read every couple of years and have a big, old cathartic cry.

Exile's Rose by prodigy Fallen London Reader/Once-Dashing Smuggler

"The man was distractible. Attracted to you, certainly, you were confident of that--though it factored less into his negotiations than you would have liked. And attractive, too. But also just distractible. Even as you presented another promising offer for his grave-gold like a debutante at a ball, he had his chin in his hand and was looking off to the side, out of the window of his London parlour.

And he had the most damnable green eyes. These were your very first impressions of him. When you were strangers."

Fallen London is an entire game world crafted with only a few pictures and mostly words. I fell for the Smuggler based on just a few lines of text. To this day, I wonder how myrrh-scented roses would look and smell like. 

This is an interactive fiction game. There is no win condition, only a gently unfolding mystery and recollection of a romance.

Bonus round; just trust me on this

howling dogs by Porpentine Charity Heartscape

"Every day you think of ways this photo could have been improved: better lighting, better surroundings, closer to see the subtleties in her expression, further back to see her form and better imagine embracing her…"

This isn't a fanfic and I hope they won't be annoyed with me if they see this, but I'm adding it to the list because it's a work of art, offered up for free. I love interactive fiction and you should definitely play/read it.

This story has been living rent free in my head for years. It lives in the marrow of my bones. The ending still gives me shivers each time I replay it. One day, perhaps, I'll write as economically and elegantly as Porpentine.

Occasionally, I'll remember I've read masterpieces written by fanfic authors that I will forever carry with me and that have shaped me into the writer I am today.

Not enough love is given to fanfic writers.

We do it all for free, and we get to touch so many hearts and make someone's day better with words.

So when people complain when we ask for engagement and feedback, try to remember that the written word carries a power that is seldom matched.

Ask yourself why you're reading fanfiction in the first place.

To feel.

To love a character through the words of someone else who is able to bring them to life in a way that allows them to take root in your heart and feel an immense sense of gratification and passion.

They live through you because someone out there decided to sit down, click their pen and put into words how much that character means to them.

And they will mean so much more to you because of that.

And that is fucking powerful and priceless.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Family Ties // Benedict Bridgerton

Request: hey lovie!! i wanna start by saying i adore your writing for bridgerton and harry potter and i always find myself coming back to it,, if you’re up for it, would you mind writing a benedict imagine? i was thinking something sweet and domestic?? like maybe him and the reader have kids and they’re going to visit the rest of the family? take it however you want!! <3 - @ddaeng-danvers​

A/N: Thank you so much!! I truly hope you like this. This is the first thing I've written in close to a month now and I love how happy it is. There’s love, and family, and fluff. I am so happy with it. This features characters seen in the prequel books ‘The Rokesby’s’ - I finished reading book 2 today and I think I'm going to own all of Quinn’s books by the time we reach summer.

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: children, marriage, fluff, female reader, she/her pronouns, bridgertons being bridgertons, family fluff, love, romance, kissing, cute, mentions of pregnancy. SPOILERS FOR THE PREQUEL SERIES BUT I CANT BE SORRY, I LOVE GEORGE TOO MUCH.

Word count: 3.3k

Giggles and gasps lighten the morning air as you take those first steps outside. The grass is still wet with morning dew and it dampens the hem of your dress, but you cannot bring yourself to care as the laughter of your children surrounds you.

“You can’t catch me!” Your daughter declares, laughing loudly as her steps quicken on the slick grass.

A quiet smile crosses your face as you watch the scene unfold in front of you.

Your daughter, Violet, continues to laugh wildly as Benedict grabs her from behind, lifting her onto his shoulders. She settles there quickly; having spent a lot of time on Benedict’s shoulders when her little legs wore themselves out from running and exploring.

“My love,” Benedict greets, smiling widely at you, “Did you sleep well?”

“I did until I realised I was alone.”

Benedict casts his eyes upwards, gesturing to the four year old currently busying herself with trying to tidy the permanently messy locks of her father. “Someone,” Benedict emphasises with another glance upwards, “Woke up too early and I didn’t want to wake you.”

Your body warms at the obvious love in Benedict’s voice – for you, for his daughter. Close to a decade being married and he has every capacity to reduce you to a lovestruck fool. It’s perfect, really.

Chuckling, you gaze lovingly at your daughter. “Did you wake your father up?”

She nods; not an ounce of apology on her small face as she continues to mess up Benedict’s hair. “I couldn’t sleep anymore,” she defends, “I’m excited to see Grandma Violet.”

“I’m sure she’s excited to see you too,” Benedict comments, reaching for his pocket watch to check the time. “We’ll have to be setting off soon. Are we all packed?”

You nod, meeting the loving eyes of your husband. “The footmen have everything covered. Where is John?”

Benedict gestures to the overgrowth behind him. “He joined us when Violet wouldn’t keep quiet. He shouldn’t be too far behind.”

“I’ll go in search. Get Violet ready for me?”

Benedict nods, smiling down at you before dropping the first kiss of many to your lips. You watch the pair leave; Violet chattering away about the birds singing in the trees before heading off in search for your eldest child.

“John Edmund Bridgerton,” you call out, voice loud in the quiet garden, “Where have you gotten to?”

“I’m over here,” John calls; his dark brown curls popping up between the rose bushes.

“Shall we head inside? We need to get ready to make the journey to London.”

John smiles, making his way to your side. “You look more like your father every day,” You comment absentmindedly, running a hand through your son’s hair.

John flushes at the compliment; his father was an exceptionally strong man as well as incredibly talented in whatever he pursues. “Thank you,” John replies, reaching for your hand to begin the walk back to your home.

---------

Bridgerton House had always grown violet hyacinths; they perfumed the air, making every inhale sweeter than the last. The door to the Bridgerton London home is opened before you get chance to place your feet on the ground after stepping down from the carriage.

Benedict steadies you as you straighten your skirts whilst trying to keep an eye on your children, making sure they hadn’t fallen out of the carriage. The laughter of your children floating on air has the tightness in your chest relaxing.

You take a moment to stand beside your husband, enjoying the feel of his hands on your waist. It had been so long since a moment alone had been found between the two of you; one of you running after Violet before she scared off another governess. Her stubbornness was to be admired, but it made it hard to teach her the basics in terms of literacy.

“Are you alright?” Benedict asks, noticing your hesitancy.

You smile widely at the love of your life. “I’m fine, my love. I just wanted to be close to you.”

Benedict’s face softens at your confession; he would be the first to admit that he found himself missing you even when he was sat next to you. There were no problems in your marriage but being so busy meant that there was little time for the two of you.

Benedict takes your hand; dropping a kiss to the back of it before turning it over and placing a lingering kiss to your wrist, over your pulse point. You gasp at the intimacy of it, your toes curling at the promise in his eyes.

“Mama!” Violet cries, taking your hand and dragging you through the house in the direction of the portrait gallery with all her might.

You chuckle, turning to Benedict with a helpless look on your face. He holds his hands up, letting you take the lead with your headstrong daughter. “I shall announce our arrival,” Benedict laughs, blue eyes focused on the way his daughter’s slippers slip and slide on the marble tiles of the entrance hall. “John,” He calls, “Would you like to join me?”

Imperceptibly, John takes a step in your direction. An incredibly smart but shy boy from birth, you sometimes worried over his place in the loud, boisterous family of the Bridgertons. “If it’s okay, I want to see where mother and Violet are going.”

“Of course,” Benedict smiles, ruffling John’s hair, knowing how he needed to get used to a new environment before feeling comfortable.

Benedict presses a kiss to your mouth and then to your cheek before taking the steps two at a time to hurry to the drawing room where he can greet his mother and siblings before answering their questions about your whereabouts.

Letting yourself be led through the ornate home of Violet Bridgerton, you can’t help but smile at the determinedness of your daughter. Her little feet stomping away on the marble tiles as she pulls you to the portrait gallery – her favourite place in the whole house bar her grandmother’s knee.

The gallery hasn’t had a new addition to its walls in years; the last painting being of Anthony and Kate on their fifth anniversary. Violet saw it as fitting that their London home had an up to date portrait of Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton. Anthony had argued, but one look from his mother had him falling silent – knowing a losing battle when he sees one.

Generations of Bridgertons line the walls; their famous blue eyes watching the latest generation walk the halls of their once home. John remains silent by your side as he meets the gaze of the men of which his name is descended; if he feels their pressure at such a young age, he doesn’t say.

One painting catches your eye. A young woman and her husband; his hand is resting on her shoulder as she remains seated. They both stare out of the painting; their eyes filled with the stories of generations passed but utterly silent on the matter.

“Who is this?” Violet asks, effectively distracted by the bright colours of the painting.

“That’s your Great Aunt Billie and her husband,” You comment absently, mind occupied with Billie Bridgerton’s eyes.

“Have we met her?” John asks, hand reaching for yours.

“You have, John. She and the Rokesby clan came to your christening. I doubt you remember, you were so young, my darling.”

John flushes at your use of his childhood pet name. Not even ten years old and he was already growing too old for such things, but you didn’t care – he would always be your darling, your first born, the very boy that made you a mother.

“Where are they now?”

“I suppose they are still at Crake House in Kent. We should have to pay them a visit the next time we visit your Uncle Anthony.”

“Can we?” Violet asks, her Bridgerton blue eyes wide with promise and excitement.

“If your father allows it, I see no problem with it.”

The children seem placated at that. With their hands in yours, you make your way to the drawing room where the rest of the family have gathered. Benedict spies you immediately despite being deep in conversation with Colin and Hyacinth; his body and soul finetuned to your presence – feeling uplifted when you’re beside him, feeling as if he was missing a vital part of himself in your absence.

“Grandma Violet!” Your youngest child cries, launching herself for the skirts of the Bridgerton matriarch. Her small arms barely make their way around the legs of the elderly woman who cannot contain her amused giggle at the exploits of her granddaughter. Instead, she gathers young Violet in her arms, placing her on her knee to get a better look at her.

“You have grown,” The matriarch murmurs, brushing back the dark brown hair of her granddaughter.

“John!” Anthony calls, drawing the attention of his nephew. Releasing your hand, John crosses the room to talk to his beloved uncle; the topic of conversation, you know not but they both look incredibly animated and devoted to the matter.

“Where were you?” A low voice sounds in your ears, making you jump. The voice turns amused as a low chortle escapes your husband’s mouth. “I’m sorry, my love,” he offers in apology as an arm wraps itself around your waist, tugging you closer to him.

“If you must know, we were in the portrait gallery.”

“What drew you there?”

“Your daughter,” You comment, tone amused.

Benedict moves to inquire further but is cut off but the gong signalling that dinner has been served. At once, the family moves as one – all ravenous and desperate to begin their meal.

“(Y/N)!” Colin calls out, catching up to you on the way to the dining room.

“Colin,” You greet fondly, “How is married life?”

“Wonderful,” Colin sighs, “Penelope is… Penelope is wonderful.”

You laugh, elbowing the third eldest Bridgerton. “Surely, you remember the early days of your marriage,” Colin states, “The honeymoon period.”

“It doesn’t leave you,” You reply, catching sight of the love of your life just ahead of you. His head is bent as he reaches for the hand of your daughter; her whole hand wrapped around one of his fingers. It sends your heart into a tizzy as you inhale sharply; the love you feel for Benedict Bridgerton could rival the love of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy, of the sonnets written by William Shakespeare himself.

“No,” Colin comments, glancing between you and Benedict, “I don’t suppose it does.”

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

Dinner with a large Bridgerton crowd was never a quiet feat; conversations flowed in every direction. Societal propriety non-existent as everyone spoke over each other; happy to have the company of their siblings, nieces and nephews, sons and daughters.

“Anthony,” You begin, reaching for your glass as you draw the attention of the head of the family, “When would you next be at Aubrey Hall?”

“Kate, the children, and I travel back in two days. Why?”

“We were in the portrait gallery earlier. Violet was rather taken with a portrait of Billie Bridgerton and her husband, George. If Benedict has no qualms, could we travel with you? I think Violet would like to meet them.”

Anthony beams; rather liking the idea of bringing the Rokesby’s back into their lives once more. “I must admit that I haven’t travelled to Crake House in a long time. What a terrible nephew I must seem.”

Violet frowns, picking at the food on her plate. “What a terrible sister-in-law, I must be. It must be close to a year, probably longer since I’ve seen Billie and George. Longer since I’ve seen Edward and Cecilia.”

“That does it,” Anthony declares, “We shall all travel to Aubrey Hall before dropping in on Crake House.”

Meeting Benedict’s eyes across the table you smile at the clear affection written on his face. “You have no objections do you, my love?”

He shakes his head. “Never, my love.”

Turning your attention to Anthony, you nod your affirmation. “Should we write in advance of leaving here?”

Anthony wipes his mouth with his napkin. “I’ll send a missive with the morning messenger; if I tip generously then there shouldn’t be an issue.”

“I’m sure they won’t mind,” Violet adds absently, “I just can’t believe I’ve left it this long. I’m so rarely in Kent and they never journey to London.”

Colin reaches to his right, placing his hand on top of his mother’s. “They will more than understand. Aunt Billie was father’s sister after all. I think even Aunt Billie finds it hard to return to Aubrey Hall.”

“Then it’s decided,” Benedict smiles, “We shall journey to Aubrey Hall and get settled there before descending on Crake House.”

“Do you think Gregory would like to join us?” You ask, thinking of your youngest brother-in-law.

“He’s in his final term at Oxford,” Colin replies, “He’s sitting all number of exams right now, I don’t think he’ll have the time.”

“A shame,” Anthony comments, thinking of his youngest brother and the stress he must be under, “But I’m sure he can complete the journey in the summer.”

“He always was Aunt Billie’s favourite,” Benedict states darkly. You raise your eyebrows at your husband in question. “Gregory struggled with the pronunciation of some plants when he was a child; Aunt Billie thought it was adorable,” He explains, sounding far off as if trapped in a memory of his youth.

Smiling widely at your husband’s tone, you coo, “I’m sure Violet will be her new favourite when we explain what inspired our visit.”

Dismissing all social expectations, Benedict rounds the table, reaching for your hand, pressing a long kiss to the back of it before stating loudly. “You, my love, are a genius.”

“It has been said before,” You laugh, watching your husband return to his seat with promises of the night alight in his eyes. His eyes remain bright as he gazes at you over the rim of his wine glass, no longer paying attention to the conversation pertaining to the history of the Bridgertons and Rokesbys. Instead, his gaze remains fixed on you as he thinks of all the good you have brought to his life – loving him, marrying him, bearing his children. His love for you is endless, and he’ll spend the rest of his life proving that to you.

--------

Crake House was just as grand as Aubrey Hall. The Rokesby’s gaining the favour of the monarch in the seventeenth century leading to an earldom and a rather large estate that bordered on the Bridgerton’s at Aubrey Hall. From then, the two families had been intertwined – as close as two families could get.

“It’s very big,” John comments quietly to Benedict as they leave the carriage.

“Don’t let that intimidate you, John,” Benedict says, “There’s nothing to be worried about.”

As Benedict finishes his sentence, the door to Crake House is pulled open by a strong hand. Deep blue skirts are the first thing you see, and you know that Billie Rokesby nee Bridgerton has arrived.

“Bridgertons!” A feminine voice cries, “I have Bridgertons on my doorstep once more!”

“Billie,” Violet sighs, a fond smile on her face as if the sound of her sister-in-law’s voice has transported her back to times long thought of as memories.

“Anthony Bridgerton,” Billie admonishes as she hurries down the stairs, her elderly frame not a hindrance to her speed whatsoever. “How long have you taken residence in Aubrey Hall? How long has it been since you came to see me?”

“Aunt Billie,” Anthony murmurs, “I don’t suppose you could ever forgive me.”

Billie Rokesby nee Bridgerton eyes her nephew; looking him up and down before taking his face in her strong hands. “Are you well, my boy?”

For a moment, tears shine in Anthony’s eyes as he is reminded of his departed father. He nods wordlessly; trying to get a grip on the feelings rushing through him at the love that emanates from Billie. “I’m well, Aunt Billie.”

Billie nods, stepping back, clearly happy at the information offered by Anthony. She casts her shrewd gaze over her brother’s family; happiness alight in her eyes as she takes sight of your daughter, hiding behind your skirts.

“Who do we have here?” She asks, stepping closer to Benedict and yourself.

“You met John when he was just a babe in arms, but Violet is our youngest,” Benedict introduces, an arm wrapped loosely around your waist.

“Violet?” Billie gasps, dipping at the waist, “Violet Bridgerton, it is an honour to meet you.”

Violet giggles from where she has her face hidden in your legs. You reach down, tapping her on the shoulder. “Come now, sweetheart. Let’s say hello.”

Violet peeks her face out of your skirts, her blue eyes meeting the kind, aged ones of Billie. Violet curtsies, remembering her manners despite her age. “I saw your painting at Grandma’s house.”

“Which one?” Billie asks gently, eyes flickering to the Bridgerton matriarch. “Please tell me it wasn’t the one that Edmund commissioned as an anniversary gift for George and myself.”

Violet Bridgerton covers her mouth to stem the laughter that threatens to bubble over. “The very same.”

Billie huffs, turning to you, “I was six months pregnant, and Edmund thought I would want nothing more than to sit for a whole day with nothing to keep me company.”

“I think you look wonderful,” Your daughter compliments, tripping up on her pronunciation of ‘wonderful’.

Billie’s eyes shine with happiness, “Thank you, my dear.”

“I think our guests might like some tea,” An exasperated but fond voice calls from the doorway. Billie’s face softens at the sound of it; she turns to her husband, finding him watching her with a loving smile on his face.

“They aren’t guests, George. They are my family, and by marriage, your family.”

“All the same, I’m sure they would like something to drink and to rest a little.”

Billie pouts, knowing a losing fight when she saw one. You take in the sight of the pair; their hair had greyed over time, their face becoming wrinkled but their love – it was so palpable, it could be felt in every aspect of their conversation and every expression they sent each other.

Billie and George manage to wrangle the whole Bridgerton clan into their drawing room with promises of food, tea and stories of their mother’s youth. Violet pales at such a promise but Billie’s hand on her arm steadies her.

Your children, John and Violet, join their many cousins on the carpet. They all sit cross legged, eyes intently focused on the elderly couple sitting on the pale green couch. Billie gestures animatedly as she begins one of her many adventurous stories. George leans further back into the cushions, happy to let his wife regale his extended family with the very story of how they had fallen in love. A story told many times, but a story he would never tire of hearing, especially not from his beloved wife’s lips.

You watch all of this from where you sit, perched on the window seat. You smile at the sight of Anthony, Colin and Hyacinth watching Billie with nothing short of wonder written on their faces as they are reminded of the aunt that had explained the way of the land before they had truly understood what it meant to be part of a family with such a large responsibility.

Benedict joins you on the window seat, crossing his legs at the ankles as his heart sings at the sound of his children’s laughter. Silently, he reaches over to take your hand in his. He rests your tangled hands on his thigh; needing you close for a reason he cannot seem to find the words to explain.

“I love you,” You whisper, needing him to hear the words that have begged to be released since you had rolled up to Crake House.

“I love you too,” Benedict responds, his hand tightening around yours.

*********

Bridgerton taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream @darkestbeforethedawn16 @gryffindors-weasley​

[wrenhyperfixates]

Milkshakes

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Overwhelmed when Loki saves you, you respond to his kindness with fear. Determined to apologize, you seek Loki out to thank him with a couple of milkshakes and some fries. Warnings: a tad angsty but much fluff A/N: This is actually one of my favorite fics I’ve ever written. Hope you all enjoy :)

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot @what-a-flammable-heart​ @marvelouslovely​

Disclaimer: Picture not mine

Of course it had to be during your lunch break that a supervillain attacked the city. Of course today you decided to go out to eat instead of packing something. And, of course you had to be walking by the building right as it crumbled. You started praying to any god that there may be to save you from being crushed. Though, you hadn’t actually expected one to save you.

In the moments before you would have been flattened, Loki put an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. Raising his free hand, a glimmering green force field appeared around you. The falling matter bounced off of it and landed around you, the shield offering strong protection. Of course you were thankful to be rescued, but did have to be Loki? You knew he was supposedly reformed, but so many news outlets still ran stories about how he was dangerous. A ticking time bomb. You’d never quite formed an opinion on him, and it was causing great conflict in you now. On the one hand, he looked very intimidating from this close, what with his impressive stature and horned helmet and all. But on the other, he was saving you from the actual super villain destroying the city. Perhaps if there wasn’t so much going on, you could think more clearly. Alas, your thoughts were a messy, confused jumble, leaving you fearful of the super-powered god in front of you.

“Are you alright?” he asked in his deep, smooth accent as the shield shimmered away into nothing. The god brought his arm to shield your eyes from the small pieces of debris still falling, the other one still around your waist in a protective manner. “Are you injured at all?

“I, um, uh, I- I,” you stammered, backing up. “Mhm. All good. Uhhh, thanks.”

You were certain you must be the most awkward person in history, but instead of making fun of you, Loki just looked sad. Even with the hurt behind his eyes, his arms shot out to catch you when you stumbled over the wreckage. He guided you away from the obstacles to a place where you could walk unhindered. He moved back from you as soon as he’d finished escorting you.

“You are welcome,” he finally responded. “I am sorry for frightening you. You should get somewhere safe.”

Without waiting for a reply, he left to rejoin the battle. You started retreating from the scene, steering as clear of any large structures as you could, cursing yourself the whole time. Loki had saved you, and you’d been afraid of him. What kind of nonsense was that? And you were certain he got that kind of reaction all the time, based on the way he’d looked at you and realized your bumbling actions were a result of fear. Fear of him after he’d so carefully and gently saved you.

You felt stupid and petty as you joined a throng of people being guided away from the scene. After nearly two years of working to protect the city, Loki should have gotten more praise and love than he did. You realized it now, only moments too late. Someone should tell him he was appreciated, a hero. And if no one else was going to do it, you resolved to do it yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The meeting was dreadfully boring, but someone had to go. Seeing as all the other Avengers were busy, that someone was Loki. Besides, Stark had told him it would be good for his image to head up the restoration of the city this time round. The committee and resources were all a part of Stark Industries, of course, so Loki felt there should be some employee to take care of it instead of him. But whatever, he’d been roped into it now, and he figured that there was some merit to what Tony has said about his reputation.

Luckily, with a week having passed since the battle, great headway had been made with the repairs, and the meeting was much shorter than expected. Itching to get outside, Loki headed to the main doors.

“You don’t understand,” Loki heard someone say to the receptionist as he approached the front desk. “He saved me the other day. I have to thank him. Please?”

Loki just rolled his eyes as he pushed through the turnstile. He couldn’t even begin to count how many fans had tried this tactic to meet their favorite Avengers. Granted, no one had ever tried to see him, but he was coming to terms with it. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder which of his colleagues you were trying to get through to see. Perhaps Steve, or maybe even Thor. Loki was so lost in thought it barely even registered when the voice switched from pleading with the receptionist to calling after him.  

He turned and stopped, recognizing the person jogging after him as you, who he remembered from the battle. “May I help you?” he asked in the most pleasant tone he could manage.

“Yeah. Uh, hi. I don’t know if you remember, but you saved me the other day,” you explained sheepishly. “You know, during the attack.”

“Yes, I recall.”

“Oh! Good. I just wanted to say thank you for that. For saving me, I mean. And the city.”

“I see,” the god replied, suspiciously raising an eyebrow. “Well then, you are welcome. Really, I was just doing my job, though.”

“Well, I still appreciate it.” There was a lapse in the conversation, as neither of you were really sure what to say next. “Can we go somewhere? Like for coffee or something. Can I buy you a coffee?”

Oddly enough, that made Loki distrust the situation even more. Ok, maybe you were actually a super nice person who had a guilty conscience for making him feel bad, and maybe that prompted you to come thank him properly. But that you wanted to buy him something, presumably to show your newfound appreciation? Absolutely preposterous. The only people who ever did something remotely as kind as that were his fellow Avengers, and not even all of them or particularly often. Any of the other people who openly supported him didn’t show appreciation, per se. It was more that they felt he’d done enough to redeem himself at this point, which wasn’t exactly the most thrilling phrasing either. But here you were, awkwardly shuffling your feet and asking to buy him coffee. Loki supposed he shouldn’t pass such an opportunity up. And yet, he probably was going to.

“No thank you,” he finally replied, shaking himself from the shocked, catatonic state he’d fallen into. “I do not much like coffee.”

As he walked away, he thought that would be the end of it. That perhaps you’d only been talking to him in the hopes he’d invite you to see the other Avengers, too. That maybe you’d go back to trying to wheedle your way inside at the front desk. Much to his surprise, you came hurrying after him.

“Wait,” you called. “Ok, so scratch the coffee. How about ice cream or tea or a milkshake or something? Anything really, you name it.”

Now that you were outside, he observed you again while he thought, as if hoping the sunlight would reveal your true intentions. He couldn’t find anything malicious in your expression, just some sort of anxiety. Loki must have taken too long in coming to a decision, because you started rambling.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to pressure you into it or anything, but I wanted to do something nice to say thank you and-” you cut off and bit your lip. “Is this stupid? It sounds stupid. It’s probably stupid. I’ll go now. Again, I’m really sorry to have bothered you.”

“One moment,” he said before you could make your retreat. “You said anything I want, correct?” You eagerly nodded as Loki got an idea. “Alright then. I would like a five course meal at the nicest restaurant in London, please and thank you.”

“I, um. I know I said anything but, uh...” You noticed his serious expression had turned into a sly grin. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. My apologies, but I simply could not resist,” he chuckled.

You began to laugh, too. Not in a way that made him think it was out of courtesy or pity, but an honest to goodness laugh. Briefly, he thought it one of the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard, before quickly shaking the idea from his mind. It was ridiculous; he hardly even knew you. But you seemed pretty adamant on showing your gratitude. Plus, you’d apologized to him, which was more than he could say for most of the people in his life.

“You know, I would usually say tea, but a milkshake actually sounds quite lovely right now,” he told you once you’d calmed down. “That is, if the offer is still open.”

“Of course it is!” you happily told him, the smile on your face growing. Not to mention you seemed much more at ease. “I actually know a great diner that’s just a short walk from here, if that works for you.”

“By all means, lead the way.”

It took approximately ten minutes to get to the restaurant. After properly introducing yourselves, you kept up a light dialogue. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly; just hesitant, as if both of you were afraid of saying the wrong things and shattering the blissful moment. Loki still couldn’t bring himself to fully trust you. Such a feeling just wasn’t in his nature, especially not when it came to someone he just met and had a considerably rocky start with. Even so, he found himself enjoying your company.

Arriving at the diner, Loki held the door open for you as you walked in. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait for a seat, the classic red stools at the bar free at this time of the afternoon. Loki swiveled the seat back and forth ever so slightly, and found himself chuckling when he caught you doing the same thing. You offered him a shy smile as a waitress handed the both of you a menu.

The God of Mischief had only ever had the pleasure of drinking a milkshake once before, a vanilla one when the team had convinced him to try it on one of their outings. He’d thoroughly enjoyed it and planned on playing it safe by ordering the same thing now. When you asked what he was getting, though, you were having none of that. After nearly five minutes of rousing debate, you’d finally talked him up to chocolate. Part of him was having so much fun with the discussion and how animated you became about the topic that he almost didn’t want to concede. But the waitress came back to take your orders, and he didn’t want to make her leave and come back again.

“Oh, and some French fries too please,” you added after ordering your favorite milkshake.

Loki shot you a perplexed look. “French fries?” he asked after the waitress moved away.

“Yeah. Please tell me you’ve heard of them before.”

“I have. I have even eaten them a few times before, believe it or not,” he answered as you turned to face him, leaning on the counter. “But are you certain they go with a milkshake?”

Your jaw dropped open. “Of course they do. Listen, Loki, you haven’t lived until you’ve dipped French fries in a milkshake. You’ll love it, I promise.”

You continued to help him expand his knowledge of Midgardian cuisine as you waited for your order to come. Once it arrived, you dipped a fry in your shake, just as you had said, trying to convince him just how delicious it truly was. The trickster skeptically picked one up and mimicked your actions, plunging it into the frothy liquid. The second it hit his tongue, his face lit up in pure delight.

“See, I told you,” you laughed.

“Indeed you did,” he said back, the corners of his eyes crinkling from how wide his smile was.

An hour and another order of fries later, the two of you finished your snack. Loki was in a better mood than he’d been all month. Honestly, he was a little sad when the bill came.

“Are you certain you do not want me to pay?” he checked as you fished out a twenty from your wallet to cover the low-cost meal. “Or we could split it, at least.”

“Loki, it’s fine,” you giggled. “This is me thanking you, remember? And, honestly, it’s me apologizing, too. I was just startled the other day and there was a lot going on. I hadn’t ever really thought about what I’d do if I met an Avenger, least of all if it happened while they were saving my life. I was overwhelmed; I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about yourself or anything.” Without really thinking about it, your hand moved to rest on top of his. It was a surprise to Loki, but a welcome one. “Because—and I can say this with absolute certainty—you’re amazing, Loki. You do so much for the city. I hope you know how appreciated you are, at least by me.”

His other large hand came to cover yours. “Thank you, darling.” He didn’t mean to say the pet name, but it just slipped out. “I cannot express how much that means to me.”

Somewhere in his heart, he wanted to tell you everything, make you privy to all his inner turmoil. But that was buried underneath years of pain and rejection, too heavy to move for someone he didn’t know all too well, no matter how connected he felt to you in this moment. So he let the urge pass over him, hoping his thanks would be sufficient enough in expressing how he felt.

“You’re welcome, Loki,” you told him, squeezing his hand. Then you stood up. “So, I guess I’ll be letting you get on with your day then. This was really nice, though. Thanks for agreeing to it.”

“You’re welcome and thank you,” he replied. “It really was.”

After waving goodbye to each other, you exited and Loki stayed where he was, picking at the last few nubs of fries left in the basket. He didn’t know exactly why he didn’t leave, too. Just that something was missing.

“Ah, young love,” the elderly waitress who had been serving you all day said to Loki as she came to collect the empty dishes. “Magical, isn’t it?”

“Love?” Loki choked out. “I am afraid you are quite mistaken. It was not even a date. I hardly even know them. I will probably never even see them again.”

“And you’re just gonna let them walk out?” she tsked. “It’s a right shame, sonny. Let me tell you, you don’t just let something like that walk out on ya.”

He looked at the door for a second in melancholic contemplation before bolting out after you. He shouted his thanks to the waitress as he pushed open the glass door, exiting out into the harsh sunlight. As his eyes adjusted, they scanned for your form before it walked out of his life forever. Spotting you, he jogged in your direction and called your name. Funny, he thought, how just earlier that day the roles had been reversed.

“Loki?” you asked, stopped on the sidewalk as he caught up to you. “Are you ok? Did something happen?”

“Actually, the problem is what did not happen.” He kicked a rock with his shoe, as suddenly the ground became very interesting to him. His insides were a nervous mess. Clearing his throat, he gathered his courage to continue. “See, I do not have any way of contacting you again. And it had been my sincere hope that you would want to do this again, let me take you out somewhere.”

“That sounds amazing,” you agreed, jotting down your number on an old receipt you’d found in your wallet. Smirking, you parroted back his words from earlier. “How about you take me for a five course meal in London?”

“Oh, so you have turned my own jokes against me. How very clever of you,” he laughed. “What if we just went to see a movie, instead?”

“Perfect,” you nodded. “Just text me a time and place, and I’ll see you then.”

“I look forward to it. As soon as I buy the tickets, I shall let you know.”

“Sounds awesome! It’s a date.”

As you parted ways, for real this time, it registered in Loki’s mind what you’d said. He hadn’t particularly been thinking about his phrasing or in what way he was asking you to hang out. But apparently you’d taken it as an invitation for a date. As Loki arrived back at the Tower and flopped onto his bed, already dreaming of your laugh, he found he was quite happy that you had.

[asleepinawell]

since i tempted a decent handful of my followers into fallen london i decided as recompense to make a guide/hints/tips thing to a few early on things that might not be as easy to pick up on. the first couple may be a little more obvious but some of the later ones are more obscure. enjoy, delicious friends!

1) Use Plans!!!! That little bookmark icon on the top right of an action will save it to your plans page so you can easily reference if you can't complete it now. great for remembering what you were doing and how many items you need. extremely good for ambitions

2) Use Your Opportunity Deck. It's easy to get caught up in the making your name stuff, but there's a lot of good and important things in your opportunity deck you can miss out on. Bronze cards often help open little stories even if it's not immediately obvious. You get a ten free actions card once a week in there too

3) Look Through the Social Activities. There's a lot of stuff buried in social activities, some of it not in the most logical places. You can resign from your current profession under send a message to a contact. If a friend sent you a letter to let you boost a skill you have to use it under epistolary matters -> sort through incoming mail. And more.

4) Training Professions. Enquirer, Minor Poet, Pickpocket, Tough. You don't have to do anything with these, they just give you a weekly boost in the associated stat when time the healer rolls around. Once you hit 70 on a stat the profession will no longer boost it and you can resign and pick up a new one for free. After you are a person of some importance you can look into getting a fancier job with more perks.

5) Favourable Circumstances. You may have noticed you get something called favourable circumstances every week with time the healer. This is an item in your inventory under curiosity. Its primary use is to force draw a specific opportunity card. When you're just starting out the best use may be to arrange a meeting with your contacts, which lets you draw a connected card of your choice (like urchins, hell, etc). This lets you get a favor right away so it's good to use it every week.

6) DON'T GO TO POLYTHREME. Look, I know the option is right there in the docks but it is a very confusing area and not that useful at low levels. I got stuck there once early on and may be slightly traumatized. Definitely go there later, maybe when you have your own ship and get the map for it.

7) Mrs Chapmans Boarding House. This is in Spite. The options there all give you a few of a resource that's often a pain in the ass to grind other ways. The amount scales with your base watchful. It is just a nice little free way to get some resources. The items available change every week on a four week rotation. See the season in soup guide on the wiki for more info.

8) Mr Chimes Grand Clearing Out Activities. This was an event that happened in the past but left behind a few activities that are unparalleled ways to gain some resources. These are: Descend to the Underclay Quarter in Spite, The Spider Symposium (head into the cellars) in the Singing Mandrake, Seeking Documents in the Sunken Embassy in Moloch Street, Hunt Bees in the University, Brawl with Dockers in the Blind Helmsman (not sure if the was part of mr chimes but the mechanics are similar), and LB Industries in the Blind Helmsman. They all work by gathering a certain amount of some item through the storylets and then handing it in for a resource reward. You generally get one nice reward and the rest is paid out in a low level resource, making it a decent grind for echoes as well (i use moloch st for that).

9) Expedition Supplies for your base camp. Descend to the Underclay Quarter mentioned in the point above is a fast way to get strong backed labor to cash in for supplies during your watchful making your name (and after). Go there, work with unfinished men, get 50 convincing falsehoods (the second option gives you 25 a pop) and send an unfinished man to spite for labor x3. This makes watchful myk so so much easier.

10) Buy Gear. All resources have a use so don't go spending them all like crazy, but it really is worth spending some to buy gear, yes, even +2 gear because if you have +2 in every slot that is a nice boost at a low level. Holiday events are also a great way to get a ton of very good free gear.

11) CP. Change points, basically XP. You need as much CP as the next level to reach that level. So you need 3CP to get to level 3, 4CP for level 4, etc (this caps at 70). You get more CP for succeeding in things that you have a lower chance of success for. 60-90% chances are a nice range to aim for. Also! You get CP for failing which also scales with your percentage chance of success. So if you have a 0% chance of success you may get way more CP than succeeding on something you had a high chance of success for (example: a 90% success gives you 2CP, a 0% failure gives you 4CP... this is why the weasel of woe is good).

12) What are the Bizarre/Dreaded/Respectable stats on gear used for? So you may have noticed that you sometimes get points of Making Waves. Once you become a person of some importance you have the ability to cash in making waves to get a stat called Notability. Notability can be used for getting advanced professions, upgraded lodgings, and more. BDR gear lowers the amount of making waves you need per level of notability. They're also used in checks later on much the way your base stats are and they have uses at the bone market when you get there. Basically, grab gear with them if you can but don't worry too much about how it all works now. It will make more sense when you get there.

13) Cross-Conversion Carousel. This is a slightly more advanced thing that you don't need to know about yet but can be very very useful even at low levels. You know how you can click on most resources in your inventory and combine a lot of low level ones into a few high level ones? There's a bunch you can also cross convert, meaning convert to a different category of item of the same level. These are: brilliant souls, tales of terror, compromising documents, memories of light, zee ztories, strangling willow absinthe, whisper-satin scrap, journal of infamy, correspondence plaques, mysteries of the elder continent, incendiary gossip, and memories of distant shores. You need 50 of one to convert it and you get 51 of the item you convert it to.

What this means is if you have 50 of ANY of these, you can turn it into 50 of any other by converting it around the loop until you get the one you need. This often saves you from having to grind items that can be annoying to get (mrs chapman gives several of these too to help you get the initial amount). ALSO if you notice some of the conversions give making waves which can be a decent way to grind them. See the wiki page here for more info.

14) Last but definitely not least: the wiki is your best friend. It has guides for everything. It tells you what every single action does. It tells you where to find resources. It has terrifying math graphs. Use it. Love it.

And there is also the fifth city wiki which has lore on it. It contains MASSIVE spoilers, but the lore of fallen london is obscure and spread out across multiple games now so sometimes you just wanna know wtf everyone is talking about.

15) Don't Look In Wells!!!!!!! Just. Do not. (Hunters Keep well is an exception. It is a very nice well).

[viking-raider]

Hoist the Colours - Part I

Summary: Your father is given a governorship of a Caribbean island and you accompany him on the voyage, a new start, for the both of you. But, it doesn’t go as either of you planned, or well.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 8,841

Warning: Pirate!Henry, Fluff, Angst, Mention of death, Violence, Language, Kidnapping, Ransom

Inspiration: It’s Henry and Pirates! I got the idea after watching Pirates of the Caribbean one day!

Author’s Note: I wanted to post something new to treat the fandom. As always, thank you to the lovely @wondersofdreaming​ for helping me along with my stories.

The room creaked and groaned, swaying back and forth at a quick and nauseating pace, the booms and cracks coming from outside the door were muffled by the thick wood. He pushed you into the corner, panting, sweating and bleeding heavily.

“Henry.” You whimpered, trembling with fright and adrenaline.

“Sshh, it's all right.” He wheezed, breathing labored and sat down on the bed that was in the corner. “Here, look at me, my love.” He said, forcing a smile as he cupped your cheek in his shaking hand, leaving a bloody print with it. “We'll be all right, my sweet. The men are strong and capable, they'll rid the ship of these mongrels.”

“It doesn't seem like it.” You fretted, biting your lip and glancing at the barred door as something very heavy struck it.

Henry chuckled and kissed the corner of your mouth, you could taste the blood from the split on his bottom lip. “We've encountered worse on these seas, I assure you.” He groaned softly. “But, I must tell you, of all the treasures and gold I have plundered in my lifetime as a Pirate, you are the greatest of them all.”

3rd August 1686

It was a sunny morning in London, the sea air sweeping over the city, keeping it cool as Londoners and it's other residents went about their daily business. You stood on the balcony of your parents' home, taking deep breaths of the sea air and could hear your maid bustling about your room, packing your things for the voyage you and your father would be taking the next day. Your father, Thomas, had been appointed Governor of the newly colonized Lockemirth Island in the Caribbean, and you were to accompany him, with no other prospects for staying in London, and after the death of your mother the year before, he felt the both of you needed a fresh start in the world, and the governorship was that opportunity.

“Miss?” Your maid called, appearing in the balcony doorway.

You turned towards her, lifting a brow. “Yes, Jane?”

“Everything you've asked me to pack has been so.” She informed you, bundling the sides of her skirts and bowing softly to you.

“Thank you, Jane.” You smiled softly at her, saddened that you would be leaving the place that had been home all your life, away from your friends and all the seasonal events that kept London busy.

You doubted there would be such high society events like London's, on a teeny island in the Caribbean, expecting and loathing the boredom and loneliness that would no doubt fill your days there. Sighing and softly closing your eyes for a moment, you stepped back into the house as sweaty movers appeared in your room to collect the crates of the things you would be taking with you on the voyage, and taking them downstairs to the foyer, to later be moved to the storage haul of the HMS Kilmartin.

“Ma'am.” One of the movers tipped the brim of his sweat stained and worn flat hat, as he and the other mover muscled the heavy wooden crate out the double doors of your room.

“Sir.” You nodded your head politely to him, then they were gone, grunting and groaning down the spiral staircase. “I shall miss this place, Jane.” You sighed, sitting down on the edge of your bed and stared out the window. “I heard the island region is prone to hurricanes, that kick up tremendous winds and rain, capable of flattening everything in its wake.”

“Gracious.” Jane gasped, sweeping the dry packing straw that had fallen to the floor, while things were being packed into the crates. “Sounds frightening.”

“It does.” You agreed with her, a knot of fear in your stomach at the thought of being caught in such a storm.

What would you and your father do, if such a storm hit the island whilst you were there? Even worse, what if one happened, while you were still sailing to the island? It would undoubtedly cause the ship to sink, taking you, your father and everyone aboard down with it!

“And the pirates, Miss.” Jane added, after a moment of silence.

“No pirate is stupid enough to attack a ship of His Royal Highness, King James II.” You huffed, rolling your eyes at her. “It would be a grave mistake on their part, the King doesn't suffer pirates, nor does my father for that matter. It's part of the reason he was appointed Governor of the island, to prevent pirates from getting their greedy and filthy hands on it.”

“Like they did with Nassau.”

“Of course.” Jane nodded, shyly.

You sighed again, but deep down you were concerned about the pirates, your father had mentioned only the night before that one of the royal ships had been attacked and boarded by pirates on their way to Port Royal. They had taken most of the cargo and killed several of the crew members, before finally returning to their own ship and vanishing on the horizon. You tried to soothe your own fears by repeating the same you told Jane inside your mind, that no pirate would attack a royal ship. But, it barely eased that fear and anxiety.

If anything, it made it worse.

The next day, Jane woke you earlier than usual and helped you dress, before you went downstairs for one more breakfast in the house. Your father was already sitting at the table, a steaming cup in front of him and the daily newspaper in his hand. He set it down as you entered the room, standing to greet you with a smile and gently kiss your cheek, before you took your seat at the table and Jane laid out your breakfast before you.

“Thank you.” You smiled at her, picking up a fork.

“Are you ready for our voyage, my dear?” Your father asked, sipping his tea and regarding you over its rim.

“As I can be, father.” You replied, picking up your own cup of tea. “How long will it take?”

“With good weather and wind, hopefully no longer than seven weeks.” He informed you, setting his cup down on its little saucer. “With terrible weather, it could be as long as three months.”

“Let's hope it is the former, instead of the latter, then, shall we?” You smiled over at him, nervously.

“Don't worry about the journey, my sweet petal.” He said, smiling at you in a way parents did, when they were trying to be reassuring, while also hiding their own fears and worry.

“All will be well.”

You didn't argue with him.

Besides, your father had far more sailing experience than you did. He had once been a member of His Royal Majesty's, King Charles I's Royal Navy, reaching the rank of Captain, before meeting your mother, retiring and trying his hand in politics, quite successfully, at that. You on the other hand, had never been on a boat, unless you counted the little rowboat James Turner took you in to cross a small river to a picnic spot he had set up for you, during last year's social season, with Jane as chaperon. You had wondered then, as he half struggled to row the vessel, why you were doing so, when there was a small, and perfectly useful, foot bridge not ten meters away from the small dock he had pushed off from.

But, just like now, you didn't argue or question it, he wanted to be romantic, and your father was trying to be protective and reassuring.

Your father took his pocket watch out, the highly polished gold cover popping open, its soft ticks reached you as he frowned down at it, then snapped it shut again and tucked it back into his pocket. Heaving a sigh, he downed the rest of his cooled tea, neatly folded his half read newspaper and rested back against his chair, quietly regarding you across the table, while you finished your breakfast.

“Edward, have the carriage readied, we must leave in no more than twenty minutes.” He called out to his servant, before rising to his feet.

He bowed politely to you and left the room, you knew where he was going, to your mother's rooms. Your father had shut up her rooms the day of her funeral, not wanting a single item inside to be disturbed out of the places she had put them in. She had been sick for some time, but in the last month of her life, she had gotten far worse. Your father employed every respectable doctor London had, even the physician the King himself used. But, all of them had a different diagnosis and treatment for what supposedly ailed her, and none of them worked, most of them only made her worse. So, she wasted away until there was nothing left of her, but skin and bones, and she passed away. Your father was understandably distraught and brokenhearted by her death, only mechanically doing his obligations, always standing, motionless, in her dark and tomb-like rooms, as if he stood there long enough, time would rewind and bring her back to him.

There was no doubt in your mind, that's where he was going, to say one last good-bye to her, before you both set sail for Lockemirth, for what would likely be several years, if not forever. You had already sneaked into her room, during the night, taking a ruby necklace that she loved to wear, as a token to remember her by and to feel as if, in a way, she was accompanying you both on the journey.

“Are you ready, my dear?” His voice asked as he descended the staircase to join you in the foyer, lifting a graying brow at you.

“As I can be, Father.” You replied, stomach clenching inside your corset.

He smiled at you, fingertips gently brushing your cheek, while Edward opened the front doors. “Into a brave new world, my loving daughter.” He said, looping his arm with yours and escorted you out into the rising morning sun, the family carriage already waiting for you both, door open and horses patiently standing at attention.

Your father helped you inside the carriage, then followed after you, rapping his knuckles on the door to signal the driver to move forward. Both of you watched as the beloved house slowly disappeared from view, soon falling away to the wharves of London harbor. The sea air was even stronger on the wharves, mixed with the strong scents of seaweed, fish, the unwashed bodies of sailors long at sea and hot tar. The HMS Kilmartin was easy enough to spot on the wharves, its masts standing tall amongst the others, rocking in the gentle swell of the waves coming off the ocean, it glittered in the rays of the new day, showing off its blue, white and gold paint job, it was immaculate. It gave you a great measure of relief to see it, it seemed infinitely more steady and reliable than the other ships in the harbor.

“Shall we find out if you have sea legs like your dear father?” He teased you, as you approached the gangplank leading up onto the deck.

You tried to give him an amused smile, before following him up the swaying plank, but you weren't truly amused at the prospect of finding out if you were prone to seasickness or not. You dearly hoped you wouldn't be though, all you needed was this voyage to be even longer and more miserable then it already would be without you losing your stomach with every movement of the ship.

Stepping onto the deck, you clutched your father's arm tighter and planted your feet against the unaccustomed sway. Your father chuckled and helped you steady yourself, standing there for several long minutes to allow you to acclimate, then started forward again, slowly, baby step by baby step. A pair of doors swung open and a man appeared out of them, dressed completely in Royal Navy attire, giving away his station as the Captain of the ship.

“Sir Thomas.” The Captain smiled at your father, striding over to you both with the confidence of a man walking on land, instead of on the swaying deck of a ship. “This must be your lovely daughter.” He smiled at you next, sweeping off his hat and bowing to you.

“Indeed, sir.” Your father smiled, looking at you with all and more pride. “My dear, this is Captain Davis.”

“My lady.” Captain Davis greeted you, taking your offered hand and kissing it. “It is a pleasure to have you aboard my ship.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Captain Davis.” You replied, feeling a warmth creep into your cheeks.

Captain Davis's smile broadened at your words, before letting your hand go and looking back to your father. “We have your cabins ready for you, sir. The things you've asked to be taken into them are already there, awaiting you both.” He explained to your father.

“So, shall I show you to your cabins?”

“Please, lead the way, Captain.” Your father nodded and gripped your hand tighter, following Davis into a dim passageway and down a small set of stairs, to the second level of the ship.

“Sir Thomas, your cabin is here.” Captain Davis said, leading the way down a narrow hallway and motioned to a door on the left. “My lady, your cabin is just through there.” He pointed to a door across from your father's. “I do hope the both of you find comfort in them. If you are in need of anything, please inform myself or my Chief Mate, Mr. Gray.” He instructed the both of you.

You and your father thanked him and entered your respective cabins. Your cabin was narrow in length and just wide enough that your fingertips, with your arms stretched out from your sides, barely touched the walls, it reminded you of your closet at home. Sighing, you approached the bed to one side, it was built into the side of the ship, for obvious reasons, with a feather mattress laid into that, and a lip, to keep the bed's occupant from being either rolled out or tossed out with the ship's movement, no matter its speed and the type of waves it was sailing through. There was a porthole across from the bed, where you could only see the side of a ship that was docked beside the Kilmartin.

At the other side of your room was a heavy and deep chest, a chest full of your things, clothing to change into, toiletries and some other home comforts to keep you company, like a book or two. Sighing, you sat down on the bed and stared out the porthole, to what teeny strip of blue and cloudy sky you could see at the top of it.

“I already miss home.” You frowned, chewing on your lip.

It was three weeks into the voyage to Lockemirth Island from London, and you had, more or less, gotten your sea legs; as your father put it. You had only spent the first day and a half hanging over the railing of the main deck, spilling any substance you put in your body, that wasn't already there to start with. All things considered though, you found yourself rather enjoying the life on board the ship, watching the crew go about their duties, pulling and tying ropes as thick as your arms, climbing the rigging like monkeys in trees; you marveled at their ease of doing it without falling or getting tangled up. You would join your father every evening or morning for a row around the main deck, keeping each other company and sane on the long journey.

But, on the second day of the fourth week, as you woke and dressed that morning, something felt different, off to the normal air and movement of the ship. Frowning, you made your way to the top side and heard all the noise and ruckus that was going on. You had grown used to all the noise that came with the ship, but there was more of it, frantically yelled orders and every crew member was in a manic rush to and fro, carrying this and dragging that, not even looking or uttering their usual greetings to you.

It frightened the wits out of you.

You quickly found your father in Captain Davis's quarters, both frantic as the crew, but also angry. Angry at each other, something else or both, you couldn't tell, but you knew the look of fear on your father's face, you had seen it only in times of great peril and strife.

“Papa, what's the matter?” You asked, moving forward to rest your hand on his arm, trying to give him some type of reassurance.

He started, feeling your warm touch on his arm, his billowing sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “My petal.” He gasped, blinking as if it was the first time he had ever set eyes on you. “You should go back down to your cabin, Petal. It's not quite safe for you, just now.”

You frowned at him, increasingly concerned. “Why?” You asked, blinking at him and glancing down at the map on the Captain's vast desk.

“My--” He paused and let out a harsh breath through his nose, a clear sign he's annoyed and at a stalemate for what to do and say. “It's nothing to be concerned with, my Petal. The dear Captain believes he saw an...unfriendly...ship on the horizon this morning.”

“Is it a pirate ship?” You let out in a rush, eyes wide with alarm.

“Of course not, Petal.” Your father chuckled, shaking his head at you. “It was flying the colors of a French flag.”

“It's easy enough for a pirate to fly a false flag in place of their own, until they get close enough to fly it, and at that point, it would be too late for us to escape their guns or their attempt to board us.” A man standing on the other side of the desk said, pessimistically.

“Mr. Gray!” Your father roared, slamming his fist down on the desk and causing several small, lead figurines to jump and fall over. “I would request you holding your tongue with such talk in front of my daughter.” He growled, dangerously.

“Bad luck to have a woman aboard, as is.” Mr. Gray continued, ignoring your father and glaring at you with unmasked distaste.

“It seems the only bad luck on this ship, Mr. Gray,” You hissed back, jaw stiff. “is your attitude.”

Your father repressed a snort of proud laughter into his fist, covering it up with a clearing of his throat. “Be it as it may, Mr. Gray. My daughter is on this ship, and if there were anything of luck to be had, it would be with her.” He told the First Mate, but smiled adoringly at you. “You have nothing to fret over, my Petal. All will be well. That French ship was most likely just sailing back to her home port with merchant goods.”

He took your hand from his forearm and escorted you to the open door of the Captain's quarters. “Didn't you start that lovely needle point work, just yesterday?” He inquired, stepping out of the quarters with you and closing the door behind him. “I simply can not wait for you to finish and show it to me, my dearest.” He told you, sounding most interested and desperate to see the finished product.

“I did.” You nodded, still uneasy about the information you received.

“Then, go back down to your cabin and work on finishing it.” He brought you to the doorway of the passage that led down to your cabins. “I'll be down shortly and we'll take our customary round about the deck. How does that sound?” He asked, grinning at you sweetly, too sweetly.

“Of course, Father.” You acquiesced with a soft sigh, you could tell he was overwhelmed with worry and frustration and didn't wish to add to it, so you conceded, bowing your head obediently to him.

“That's a dear girl.” He smiled at you, kissing your forehead, then returned to the Captain's quarters. “So, who do we think it was?” He asked, leaning against the desk and surveying the map, the knocked over figurines having been put back in their places.

“This time of the year?” Mr. Gray replied, stroking his smooth chin. “It could be anybody. Actual French, the Spanish, but more than likely, pirates.”

“Oh, come off it, Richard.” Captain Davis huffed, mopping his sweaty face with his handkerchief.

“I'm serious, Godfrey.” Gray huffed back at him, angered that his word wasn't being trusted. “It's hurricane season in the Caribbean, the Spanish and French, unless on official business wouldn't be sailing out here. We only are because we must get the new Governor and his daughter, to Lockemirth, or we too would be anchored in London Harbor. The only people crazy enough to sail in these waters are those and pirates, that know other ships will be anchored in harbors, or trying to reach harbor before a storm brews in, so they could take advantage of their desperation.”

“It was sailing clear in the other direction, Richard.” Davis answered, shaking his head at his First Mate's paranoia. “That was at first light this morning. If it was a pirate seeking advantage, we would have seen the change of course and reappear in our wake.”

“That was four hours ago.” Thomas replied, pressing his lips together. “They wouldn't have been able to stay in our wake and out of our sight for that long, in fear of losing us.” He explained, trying to be rational with the two of them.

“Sir Thomas is correct, Richard.” Davis agreed, dropping into the chair behind his desk. “They would have been re-spotted in some capacity. They have not been, so it can only be a French ship returning to her port, most likely a head of any storms that might form.” He said, pressing his fingertips to his thumping and sweaty temples. “I have Mr. Michaels on watch duty, he'll tell us if another, or the same ship, is spotted in our wake. So, until then, gentlemen, I recommend not wasting your energy and strength of fretting about it.”

Looking at each other, Sir Thomas and Mr. Gray nodded their heads at the Captain and excused themselves from his quarters, returning to their usual morning places. Your father came down to your cabin and after answering several of your worried questions, the pair of you went up onto the deck and started doing your rounds about it, the crew was in less of rush and panic, now that Mr. Gray had given them orders to ease their distress, greeting you and your father as you passed by them.

The two of you were having lunch together with Captain Davis, when Mr. Gray came barreling into the room, out of breath and only making the smallest apologies for barging in without knocking or ceremony. Captain Davis wiped his mouth and dropped his silk napkin beside his plate with a deep air of irritation, then pushed his chair back and stood.

“What is this about, Mr. Gray?” He demanded, rounding the table to stand face to face with him.

“The ship, sir.” Mr. Gray wheezed, gulping thickly and trying to regain himself. “The French ship has been spotted again, six leagues behind us, Sir.” He informed his Captain, taking a deep gulp of air into his burning lungs.

Captain Davis's head snapped over his shoulder to your father, who was instantly to his feet and going out the door with Davis and Gray. You looked out the large bay window behind the Captain's chair to the endless and sparkling track of ocean and sky, but saw nothing in it, but choppy waves. Jumping to your feet, you rushed out of the room, catching your father's coat tails as he ran up the staircase leading to the upper deck, where the helm was stationed. Captain Davis snatched a folded spy glass from the helmsman, extending it to full length and spied out over the ocean, where Gray was pointing his finger, supposedly where he had seen the ship in question, not moments before.

You watched Davis's stiff shoulders slowly melt, making your anxiety spike, knowing if there was nothing of alarm to be seen, his shoulders would have stayed stiff, but they relaxed, like he was in agreement that there was something trailing behind the ship, and it was nothing good. You looked up as your father looked back at you and saw the same language of Davis's body, in his face.

“There's still no evidence the ship is sailed by pirates.” Davis said, handing his spy glass to your father. “There could be any number of reasons for her to turn back.”

“Why are you acting as if nothing is possibly afoul?” Gray asked, his teeth gritted as he tried to hold his temper with his commanding officer.

Captain Davis did not reply, his unfocused eyes stared off in the direction of the quickly growing black spot, you could now see, on the bright horizon, chewing on his lip as he tried to come up with something to do, some action to take against not only the possibility of the ship being indeed French and either in need of their help or sought to harm them, or if it was a pirate ship sailing under a fake French flag for evil pretenses, such as boarding, plundering and scuttling them.

“Captain!” Gray roared in his face, patience lost. “Orders!”

Davis snapped out of it and his face turned into an expression of hardened steel. “Let out the sails, catch as much of the wind as we can, try to get ahead of them as much as possible, but run out the guns in case we can not!” He snapped, then pushed aside the helmsman manning the ship's wheel.

Gray rushed to the railing overlooking the main deck and shouted the orders down to the crew, who paused for a moment, looking at each other as alarm and the urgency of it set in, then started running around to fulfill the orders. You stood frozen in place, you weren't part of the crew, those orders meant nothing to you in the slightest. So, you knew not what to do with yourself, other than stand there and watch that black spot steadily take the shape of a ship, and a mighty looking ship it was, even at such a distance, you shuddered to think what it would look like even closer still.

Your father clapped shut the spyglass and turned towards you, he looked ashen as your eyes met, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped down his own anxiety and fears, getting a handle on his resolve like a hand snapping closed around something valuable. He blindly held the closed spyglass out to the helmsman, who took it, and strode over to you with deep purpose, catching your elbow in his hand and turning you down the stairs.

“Sir Thomas!” Captain Davis yelled out, catching your father's attention. “Take her into my quarters, she should be safe there!” He said and the two men nodded heads at each other and your father helped you down the stairs and into the Captain's quarters.

“Papa?” You huffed as he escorted you inside, then turned on his boot heels and started out again, without a word to you. “Father!” You snapped, annoyed with him, and truly frightened.

“My Petal, fret not! All will settle down.” He told you, stopping in the doorway. “Once we out run that ship.”

“And if we do not?” You asked, brows lifting at him.

“We will.” He replied, sounding as if he was trying to convince both of you of that fact, before going out, closing and locking the quarters behind him.

Huffing and shaking your head at the door, you paced the room, trying to calm your nerves. Your father never lied to you, so if he said the Kilmartin would outrun the ship, then that's what it would do, and when it did that, it would no longer matter if the ship had good or ill deeds as its intentions against your ship, they would be lost behind and likely give up the chase. Sighing, you sat down on a padded bench under the long window at the back of the ship, staring at the ship that grew closer still.

Within the hour, the ship was considerably closer to the Kilmartin, so close, you could see the little dots of crewmen scurrying about the rigging. It did nothing to ease your anxiety and fear, if anything it made it worse, and knew your father had to be feeling the same way. With another hour or two, the ship would no doubt be alongside yours, then the real trouble and anxiety would set in.

What would they do?

What did they want?

All questions that kept circling your mind as you watched the gap between the two ships narrow more and more as time passed.

You hadn't realized you had dozed off, lulled by the rock of the ship, until you heard a loud boom and a splash of water, making you jerk and gasp. Your eyes snapped out the window and a strong dizzy spell made the room spin a full three hundred and sixty degrees, before steadying on the sight of the ship that had been chasing the HMS Kilmartin for the last several hours, you could see the bow of the ship now, clear as day, as well as the ship's figurehead, a lion's head with a rose in its mouth.

The noise that you had heard was the ship firing one of its cannons as a warning shot, an aggressive suggestion to stop trying to run and yield to them. But, you could tell by the pull of the ship, it hadn't let up an ounce of its speed, still trying to outrun them. You watched two more sails drop into place on their masts and knew, in that instant, that the pursers hadn't been using their ship's full strength to overtake the Kilmartin, they had been toying with them, the whole time.

The ship gained considerable speed in only a few minutes, leaning slightly to the starboard as it was maneuvered to pull alongside the Kilmartin. You jumped up onto your feet and looked out the windows to the side of the ship, watching as the ship slid into place beside yours, you could see the open cannon ports and the guns in place, ready and waiting for the ship's captain to give the order to open fire.

The doors to the quarters burst open and you yelped, startled, but sighed, seeing it was just your father. He gave you a half sympathetic smile, but his expression was agitated and frantic, sweat pouring from his brow and his usually immaculate clothing disheveled. He strode over to you, pulling you bodily away from the windows, eyes darting between you and the ship outside them.

“Get away from there.” He snapped, hastily. “It isn't safe.”

“I thought we were to out run them.” You said, gripping his hands in yours.

“So, we thought we would, but it seems these people are not to be underestimated.” He replied, squeezing your trembling hands. “Stay away from the windows, and no matter what you hear and what happens, do not come out of this room, until I come for you. Do you understand me?”

“If you--”

“Do you understand!” He barked, hotly.

You drew away from him, surprised at his temper towards you. “I do.” You replied softly, brows creasing.

“Good.” He nodded, letting go of your hands and left you locked in the Captain's quarters, yet again.

It wasn't twenty minutes later another shot rang out, this time from a musket, instead of a cannon. You weren't sure what ship it had been issued from and weren't sure it even mattered, it wasn't a good sign by and by. Your heart was hammering against your corset strings, there was a battle coming, even you knew that much. You dared to peek out the window again and regretted it, as the guns from both ships opened fire. Yelping, you dropped to the floor and scurried over to the Captain's desk, taking cover underneath it.

There were reports from cannons, muskets and pistols, mixed in with shouts of orders and insults, the screams of the injured and dying, the shattering and splintering groans of wood as cannonballs ripped through both ships. It felt like forever since the battle started, soon joined with the resounding clang of metal as the men from the other ship managed to board the Kilmartin and a battle of swords broke out. This was all the worst case scenarios that your father and the Captain had been trying to avoid since first spotting of the ship that morning and all you could think of was the image of your father laying on the deck bleeding to death or already being dead.

You peeked at the door from over top the desk, not willing to come out of your hiding place, once you heard the sudden and unsettling silence that fell between the ships. Had the crew of the Kilmartin won at defending their ship, or had the other ship won? Maybe, neither ship won and they had all killed each other! What would that mean for you, being the only one still alive? You couldn't sail a ship on your own, even if you knew how to. Did that mean you would be left here to starve or feel the mercy of whatever the sea and weather threw at you. Maybe you would get lucky and another ship would pass by, investigate why two ships were motionless in the middle of the ocean and would save you. Or the ship would be pushed in the direction of some spot of civilization, saving you that way.

But, the more your mind came up with these possible scenarios and questions, the more and more outlandish and infinitely impossible they became.

Sir Thomas, your father, and Captain Davis watched as the ship not only dropped two more sails, but also lowered the French flag it had been flying since it had been spotted that morning.

“Please, not a red one.” Thomas muttered under his breath. “Please, not the red.”

“What's the matter with a red flag?” A deckhand, who had been standing behind him asked.

Thomas half turned to him, lifting a brow at him. “New to a ship, I'm supposing.”

“Aye, sir.” He nodded, looking even more nervous.

“Pirates flags are signals to those the pirates are pursuing.” Thomas replied, pushing his jaw forward. “A black pirate flag means that anyone who surrenders will be allowed to live. But, a red pirate flag means, 'no quarter given'.” He explained, but saw the naive look in the green deckhand's eyes.

“In layman's terms, no matter what, everyone on board will die, despite them surrendering peacefully or not.”

The deckhand's face drained of all color, as the true gravity of the situation struck him, before he bolted for the railing and vomited over the side. Thomas shook his head at the boy, turning back towards the gaining ship, just in time to see the pitch black flag unfurl at the top of the main mast, baring a white skull with a red rose in its mouth, letting out the teeniest amount of tension from Thomas's body. He and Davis exchanged looks with each other, the same thought going through their minds at seeing the black flag, instead of the red one.

A moment later, as the ship pulled alongside the Kilmartin, a musket shot went off, whizzing past Thomas and Davis, and struck the green deckhand between the shoulder blades, knocking him over the railing and into the ocean with a splash. Thomas looked across the small gap between the ships, his eye meeting the eye of the man standing beside its wheel, as he lowered the smoking musket from his shoulder, a smug and unapologetic expression on his face as the crew of the ship lined the railing closet to the Kilmartin, their own weapons loaded and ready for whatever was to come next.

“Surrender now!” the musket wielding man shouted across. “No harm will come to you or your crew!”

Captain Davis took a step forward, resting his hand on one of the handles of the ship's wheel, grasping it so tightly his knuckles turned bone white. “I haven't surrendered to a pirate's demand in the twenty years I've been a Captain.” He hissed, under his breath and between clenched teeth.

“I don't bloody intend to now.”

“Captain, we can not afford to fight these men.” Gray hissed back at him.

“This is His Majesty's Ship and it shall stay that way.” Davis snapped, turning his head to glare at his First Mate. “Pirates be damned!” He roared out loud, turning his venom back to the other ship.

“Fire!” He ordered aloud.

There was a momentary lull, before the firing started, blast after blast of cannon fire from blew the ships' decks and the firing of muskets on deck. Men taking cover between shots to reload their guns, then popping back up again to return fire. The splashes of missed shot and dead bodies falling into the raging sea between the ships, splinters of wood rained down on top of them as balls smashed through railings, masts and hauls. A scurry of men on the pirate ship climbed the rigging with ease, grabbing onto loose lines to swing across the no man's land between the ships and boarded the Kilmartin, pulling their swords and cutlasses, cutting down any poor fellow in their way, before they themselves could pull their metal, and swept through the deck.

The Kilmartin was soon overwhelmed after that, forcing Captain Davis to wave a white flag and surrender to the organized and clever pirates. A gangplank was laid between the bobbing ships, but no one crossed it, instead, a tall and bearded man stepped forward, his hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, he wore a dark brown jerkin over a billowing white shirt and tight leather pant; lifting a brow and tilting his head at the assembly of the remaining Kilmartin crew, before settling his piercing blue gaze on Davis.

“You are the Captain of this ship, I presume?” He asked in a deep voice.

“I am.” Davis replied, not hiding his disgust with the man, whose clothing was stained and spotted with the blood of his men. “Who might you be, then?”

“I'm the Captain of the Crimson Jersey.” He replied, jerking his head towards the other ship.

A low murmur went through the Kilmartin men, their fright became even more profound hearing the name of the ship that had attacked them, side eyeing each other and their captures. The Crimson Jersey was one of the most feared Pirate Ships on the high seas, there was only one other ship feared more than the Crimson Jersey and that was Black Beard's Queen Anne's Revenge, and even Black Beard had a measure of respect for the Captain of the Crimson Jersey. While the Captain of the Crimson Jersey, Henry the Red, rarely left people alive from his attacks on their ships, he was well known for attacking well off ships and taking either people or materials as captives, until a set ransom was met, if the ransom wasn't met, then he would kill the captive or keep the materials to sell to the highest bidder at one of the Pirate Ports.

“We have nothing of value on the ship.” Captain Davis said, narrowing his eyes at the other Captain.

“Then, what is the HMS Kilmartin doing out so far from her beloved port?” Henry the Red asked, lifting a suspicious brow at Davis.

“His Majesty the King has ordered us to sail to Port Royal to retrieve the Governor there and bring him back to London, for personal commendation.” Davis told him, lying easily to the Pirate Captain's face.

“It must be some commendation for him to order it this late in the year, the threat of hurricanes are quite common about this time.” Henry replied, sensing Davis's lie, but his eyes moved to Thomas, noticing his shifty behavior and the way he kept trying to subtly look towards the doors of the Captain's quarters.

“Is there something bothering you?” He asked, stepping closer to Thomas. “Like a secret you know.”

“I know nothing of what you speak.” Thomas replied, glaring back at the man.

“Is that so?” He replied, a knowing smirk on his lips. “Then, you'll have no quarrel with me going to have a look.” He said, striding over to the locked doors of the quarters.

“Don't!” Thomas suddenly shouted, his resolve breaking away to his fear of the pirate finding you inside.

Henry turned back to Thomas and laughed at him, more than sure now there was something of great value inside. Taking a step back, he kicked the doors open with a crash of his big boot and entered. At first, he didn't see anything of value inside the room, but he didn't get deterred easily, especially when there was the prospect of treasure involved. He searched the room and as he neared the desk, saw the hem of a dress underneath it and grinned, knowing now what that treasure really was.

“Well, well.” He cooed, stepping around the back of the desk. “Who do we have here?” He laughed, watching you draw yourself further underneath the desk.

Bending down, he reached underneath the desk and grabbed a hold of your arm, yanking you halfway out before you sank your teeth into his meaty forearm. He hissed as you broke his skin and the copper-y taste of his blood touched your tongue, but his vise-like grip didn't relent, he only gripped you tighter and finished dragging you out of your hiding place.

“Oh, feisty and pretty.” He chuckled, surveying you with an unguarded eye. “I like that.” He smiled, then grunted as you stomped on his foot. “Watch yourself, wench.” He hissed, knotting his hand in the back of your hair and painfully jerking your head back, making your vision swim. “Try such a thing again and you'll lose something precious to you.” He warned, then dragged you out of the quarters.

“Let her go!” Thomas roared, taking a step towards you both, only to be stopped with a punch to the gut.

“Father!” You shrieked, jerking against Henry, only to be yanked backwards against him and his free hand wrapped around your throat.

“Father?” Henry mocked, smiling between you and Thomas. “Is this your dear daughter?”

“Let her go.” Thomas wheezed, straightening himself up. “I'll give you anything you wish, just please let her go.” He begged.

“She's all I have left in this world.”

Henry grinned at your father and turned his face into your hair. “I'm sure you would give me anything in the world to have her back.” He whispered against the skin of your temple. “So, tell me, what is it you're willing to give me for her back?” He asked, looking at your father from the corner of his eye.

Thomas floundered, his heart racing as he held your terrified gaze. “I'm on my way to take my station as Governor of Lockemirth Island, in the Caribbean.” He gasped, trying to get a hold of himself. “That is the purpose of the HMS Kilmartin being at sea. Once there, I will be in command of a very large sum of money and goods, I will give you half of it, for her safety and return.”

Henry pursed his lips and clicked his tongue as he considered the offer, then shook his head. “Three fourths of it.” He demanded, twisting a lock of your loose hair around his finger. “No less, Governor.”

Your father floundered for another moment, before his shoulders dropped and he nodded his head. “Fine.”

“Excellent.” Henry grinned, gripping your arm again and pushing your forward, towards the gangplank bouncing up and down between the ships.

“Wait, no!” You shrieked, turning and trying to get back to your father. “Father!”

“It'll be all right, Petal!” He shouted back, blocked by three of Henry's men.

“You can't!” You protested, pushing back against Henry as he hustled you forward.

“I can and I am.” Henry laughed, grinning at you, then tossed you over his shoulder and stepped onto the gangplank.

“Papa!” You screamed, flailing on Henry's shoulder.

Your father shouted your name back, but it was lost in the wind. The pirates disembarked from the Kilmartin and back onto the Crimson Jersey, careful that the Kilmartin crew didn't try to storm them and try to return the attack, in an attempt to rescue you. Once everyone was onboard, the gangplank was drawn back and the ships were separated.

In no time, the HMS Kilmartin was starting to disappear in the dying light of the horizon.

Henry kicked open the door of his quarters, then kicked it closed again, before setting you down in front of his desk. He crossed to one side of the room, plucking a bottle of dark green glass from a table, uncorked it and poured a brown liquid from inside of it into a goblet, tossing it back and poured himself another.

“You monstrous swine!” You growled at him, sneering at his broad back.

He turned towards you, lifting his glass in salute. “Aye!” He laughed and downed his drink again, before pouring yet another drink. “You'll be kept here, in my quarters, with me.” He informed you, sipping this glass.

“I would rather rot on deck.” You barked at him, upper lip twitching with disgust.

“Oh, that can be arranged, if my lady wishes it.” He chuckled, swirling his drink. “But, I must inform you, pet.” He set his drink down and approached you, pinching your chin between his thumb and index finger and tipped your head back to look up at him. “It's been several months since my men have set a foot on land, so it's been many a month since they've had the pleasure of a woman's warm body.”

You gulped, your stubbornness starting to fail you.

“While I am far more educated and in command of myself, my men are not.” Henry continued, seeing the blooming realization and fear in your eyes. “So, you can take your chances with them, which you will have none, or you can stay in the relative safety of my quarters.” The register of his deep voice lowered. “Here, my men know better than to enter and anything inside is purely mine, under my protection.” He let go of your chin and strode to his door, yanking it open.

“Your choice.”

You stared at him, gulping and biting into your lip, but didn't move from the spot he had dropped you in, seeing the validity and safety of staying where you were at. A smile crept over his lips and he slammed the door shut again, seeing you had made your choice to stay in the safety only he could give you on board. He moved back to the table, pouring a drink into a second goblet and held it out to you, but you didn't move or say a word. He shrugged his shoulders at you and downed it instead, before taking up his first one around to his desk, settling himself in the high backed chair, to do the needed paperwork that came with piracy.

“Sit down.” He ordered you, motioning to a chair beside you. “Now!” He barked, when you didn't move.

Huffing at him, you pulled the chair sideways and dropped down into it, refusing to look at him or acknowledge his presence. None of which bothered him in the slightest, he was content in the quiet privacy of his mind and work, not paying you all much mind, other than making sure you stayed where he told you to be. After sundown, a soft knock sounded at his door and, at Henry's permission, opened to a crew member, who entered with a silver tray laden with food. He set the tray down on his Captain's desk, nodded his obedient head at him and left. Henry picked up one of the plates on the tray, then pushed the tray towards you.

“If you wish to starve, that's on you.” He commented, when you didn't move. “But, don't whine about it later.” He told you, tearing off a chunk of bread and popped it into his mouth.

Rubbing at his eyes in the dim candle light, Henry stacked his papers together and put them in the bottom drawer of his desk, locking it up with a key that hung around his neck, then stood. He toed out of his boots and crossed the room, hanging his sword and pistol on a hook by the door, removed the brown leather jerkin he was wearing over his shirt and hung it up on the same hook, then locked the door with the same key that was around his neck. He turned and regarded you, still sitting, motionless and sulky, on the chair in front of his desk and rolled his eyes.

“The stubbornness of women.” He huffed to himself, going to a set of heavy curtains to one side of the room.

“The ilk of men.” You growled back at him, angry eyes burning holes into his back.

Henry laughed, jerking back the curtains to reveal a bed behind them, then turned around to grin at you. “Something we agree on, pet.” He chuckled, amused, then sighed and reached behind his head, tugging loose the tight leather string that tied his hair back and shook his head, setting free a mop of dark cinnamon curls, that softened his look considerably.

“Lay down.” He ordered, jerking his curly head to the large, curtained bed.

You snorted at him. “No.”

“That wasn't a question, pet.”

“Don't call me that.”

“I'll call you what I want, now lay down.” He barked at you, eyes hardening.

You turned your own hardened eyes towards him, but didn't budge.

Growling deep in his throat, Henry took several long strides towards you, yanked you out of the chair and back over his shoulder, unphased by you beating on his back to be put down, then dropped you, bodily, onto his bed. With you where he wanted you, Henry turned towards the large bay window behind his desk and made himself comfortable on the cushions there, stuffing one of them behind his head, before dozing off.

You laid there, surprised he hadn't tried to force himself on you or the very least crawl into bed beside you. You half expected him to wait until you fell asleep to try something, but his soft snores soon reached you. Biting your lip, you sat up at the edge of the bed and looked over at him, he was laying half propped up, the quarter moon illuminating one side of his face. He wasn't faking, he was actually asleep. Sighing, you laid back again, your mind spinning, trying to work up the nerve to steal that key around his neck and escape. But, where would you go, once you did have the key and the door open? You had a ship full of his men, on an open ocean, where the ship had already put countless miles between you and the Kilmartin.

Perhaps, you could buy your time, until and in hopes, they made port, to wait for your father's word he had the ransom, then steal away, finding safety somewhere in the port until your father and the Crown could rescue you.

“Pirates.” You huffed, then drew the bed curtains closed, not wanting that bloody pirate to be the last face you saw before you managed to fall asleep.

[creativeashproductions]

Lost Time // Luke Patterson

Summary: Things changed since Sunset Curve fell apart literally as three out of four members died before a gig. Leaving a sad girl behind Luke by chance runs into the reader with someone else. Death tore the couple apart, and time can’t fix this.

Warning: Talk of death, depression, angst and fluff

Words: 2.2k

Might as well join the Julie and the Phantoms fan club!

*For the sake of the story the time frame has been altered, it takes place in the mid-2000s. Also! I tried to make the reader as generalized as I could to make sure that everyone can relate. The reader is Alex’s sister, for inclusion that can be biological, adopted, half or stepsiblings. I want to make sure all people can be the reader.

Masterlist

THIS IS FROM MY SECONDARY BLOG! REPOST!!

The 1990s was definitely some of the best years of your life watching your brother grow more comfortable in his identity. Alex had kept his sexuality secret, taking the frustration of the secret by learning how to play the drums. You would often be found curled on the chair listening to his growing talent; Alex was a great brother.

Alex found friends in three local boys Reggie, Bobby and Luke, even a little more than friends with Luke briefly. By 1991 the boys had formed a band Sunset Curve with each other and a loyal fan in you. By mid-1994 the band had a fanbase and some gigs, but playing The Orpheum was the goal.

Luke had admitted to Alex, he had feelings for you, and with a lot of encouragement from Alex, he approached you. Luke had been focused on music since his parents gave him his first guitar, so relationships weren’t even on the backburner.

“Hey.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to your cheek backstage, “Missed you.”

His hair tickled your skin, bringing a bright smile from the teenage boy and a deep blush from you, private time wasn’t as often as it once had been. After Luke’s fallout with his parents a few months back, he had couch surfed between Reggie and Alex’s rooms; he wasn’t allowed in yours.

“You saw me last night.”

“A monumental time.” Luke bent his bend to place a lingering kiss on your bare shoulder, his jacket having fallen down, “Three years together and a bright future ahead.”

Last night had been the third anniversary of your relationship and hopefully the previous night worrying on parents walking in, cheap dates Luke often felt guilty about. Luke knew in his bones playing The Orpheum tonight would open the door to a legendary future. A future where money wasn’t tight and he could you on dates he deemed acceptable for the love of his life.

Bobby voiced brought Sunset Curve’s lead singer back to that moment, you dropped from the stage to settle in the empty audience to watch the soundcheck. With a wink from Alex, he started making the beat to Now or Never, you beamed as they poured their souls into the song. The four were talented and made to be in a band together even if you didn’t really like Bobby.

Cringing at the awkward wink Bobby sent you turned on your converse to head to the bar for a glass of water. Thanking the bartender, you tuned out the conversation with the waitress and the band only jumping when arms wrapped around your waist.

“We’re getting street dogs.” Luke spoke, bringing your body to rest on his chest, “Do you want one?”

The thought of those street dogs honestly horrifying given they were cooked in some random guys car. The one time you tried, it had permanently tattooed the taste in your memories forever, and just remembering was vomit-inducing.

 “I’ll pass.” You wrinkled your nose, turning to wrap your arms around his neck, “I don’t know how you guys like those.”

“Tradition.” Luke shrugged caressing your cheekbone with the pad of this thumb. Gazing at features he wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life, “Still down with the plan?”

“The minute I’m eighteen, we go to the nearest chapel.” You grinned playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, “I’ll be waiting Rockstar.”

Luke pressed a long passionate kiss on your lips, pulling away to jog over to Alex and Reggie waiting at the door. Bobby having declined the street dog invitation to flirt with the waitress Rose. Alex waved before the door closed. Little did you know that would be the last time you saw them alive.

1995 was the worst year of your life. 1996 was the hardest, especially with the forever reminder of your love. You wouldn’t trade 1996 for the world however, only wishing for one change.

Los Angeles, 2004

Alex, Reggie and Luke had learnt a mere few days away from that life had drastically changed forever. Firstly, the three boys had died from eating the street dogs mere hours before performing on the stage of The Orpheum. Secondly, it was no longer 1995 but instead nearly ten years had past bringing the three ghosts into 2004.

The most jarring wasn’t being able to be heard playing music with a random girl named Julie but that the most constant part of the band no longer was there. You hadn’t died that night, and Alex was pretty sure you were still alive. Luke felt lost waking up without you beside him and the deep regret of not reconciling with his parents.

It would be a week before Luke would swallow his pride enough to orb himself into his unchanged childhood home. Emily, Luke’s mom, was in the well-worn chair knitting a scarf Luke recognized as his favourite colours. Mitch was in the kitchen, putting the groceries away. It was heartbreaking being invisible to his aged parents.

“Hey, Mom.” Luke sniffled sitting on the couch nearby staring at his silent mother, “Sorry for not visiting sooner.”

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes feeling hopeless, not being able to ease his parents’ pain, the regret and guilt bubbling to the surface.

“How is Y/N? I bet she’s living in New York of London now. We promised to travel the world together. Part of me is guilty of wishing she had eaten a street dog that night so we could be together.” Luke sobbed, wrapping his arms around his midsection reminiscing on the beautiful girl he had unwillingly left.

“Hey.” Mitch spoke, kissing his wife’s forehead. Her eyes closing in contentment.

“I wonder if you know where Reg and Alex’s parents are. Reggie’s neighbourhood was torn down who knows when. It makes me scared to see if Alex and Y/N’s parents still have their place. I don’t think so. They lost their son.”

“Hey Luke.”

Luke glanced over his shoulder to see Alex at the door, reluctant to impose of Luke’s privacy.

“Yeah.”

“We’re rehearsing.” Alex spoke, smiling as the other teenager took one more wistful look at his parents before orbing out of his house to the Molina family’s garage. Minutes later, the front door opening and feet thudding brought the noise to the Patterson home.

“Grandma!”

A four-foot blue of green and black blur covered the room in seconds nearly sprawling Mitch to the floor. Why was that 1996 year difficult? Well, ’95 was when Sunset Curve tragically died, and a stick changed your life. ’96 was spent going through the last five months of pregnancy without Luke.

October 1995

You kept your lips pressed tightly together, unable to look at the smooth, shiny mahogany rectangle surrounded by flowers. Looking up meant the reality kicking in. Funerals sucked. Especially the third funeral in the last handful of days. It was surreal thinking that one week ago you had kissed your boyfriend and hugged your brother and now they were dead. Gone. Not even a goodbye.

“Are you okay?” The broke voice asked, gaining your attention. Swollen red eyes matching yours held unimaginable pain. While the last few months had been icy with your parents, it didn’t mean losing one of their kids didn’t sting.

“I will be.” You whispered clasping your hands over the scratchy black velvet dress, one you had worn three times too many.

The sobs broke out seeing the best picture Alex had taken in his life, it encapsulated his best features; his beaming smile and kind, caring eyes. Alex was gone. Your brother was gone because he ate a bad hot dog with his friends. You would never see your boys again. Never feel Luke’s skin or share a laugh with Alex or complain about things with Reggie. You wouldn’t get to meet in the chapel with Luke wearing second hand ‘fancy’ clothing. In one night, your life changed.

It changed further seeing the two lines on the test later that night. The heartache growing. The baby you carried would never meet his uncles and his Dad. Would never hear them play or learn to play. ’95 and ’96 sucked ass.

You sighed, closing the door to follow the rambunctious ball of energy into the living room where he entertained Mitch and Emily. Some days it was difficult to stare into the green eyes he inherited from his father.

“Benjamin Lucas.” You spoke crossing your arms, meeting the gaze of the eight-year-old boy, “What did I say?”

“To not runoff.” Ben quietly replied, playing with his hands. His messy brown hair, in need of a trim, falling into his eyes, “Sorry Mom.”

“Please don’t do it again.” You gently told the little boy elated as he quickly found the toy box in the corner of the room.

Ben was loved deeply by Mitch and Emily, who had stepped up when your parents made the decision to sell your childhood home. Wanting Ben to know his paternal grandparents, you had struggled to find an apartment and job to say in the neighbourhood. Since the baby was the last part of their son, the Patterson parents’ had welcomed you into the home where you stayed until Ben was two.

“Do you want us to come around for Luke’s birthday?” You questioned sitting on the love seat, the same love seat you had made out on with Luke many times during movies.

The room turned sad at the question and reminded that for the ninth year, you would celebrate Luke’s birthday without him. A day where Ben wouldn’t fully understand. Emily simply nodded her head.

 “Have you met anyone?” Mitch asked, leaning over to clasp his hands together. For the last few years, they had been pushing you to date. They wanted your happiness and for Ben to have a father even if Luke couldn’t be it.

“Mama can we stay here tonight?” Ben’s innocent voice cut the tension, saving you from answering the question again. Mitch and Emily each nodded their heads at the question, unable to tell the young boy no.

“Have you ate?” Emily asked, turning to look at you in concern. The chuckle left your mouth at the question she frequently requested, she missed cooking for more than two.

“We had pasta before we came.” You replied, turning to gaze out the window to the dark sky, “I should put Ben to bed.”

The soft whine from your son and denial was a nightly routine and very much a mirror image to Luke’s character as well. With a smile, Emily held out her hand to her grandchild, she was notoriously the only one able to get Ben to sleep fast.

 “Come on Bug.”

It seemed the universe was keeping Luke from seeing you and discovering Ben, but when that night came, he was shocked. Emily was curled up on the patio couch, watching Ben in the newly bought sandbox. The patio doors opened. Inside, Mitch had invited a stranger who knew his son into the house.

 “I think I heard the doorbell. I’ll be right back.” Emily called out to you. You had found shade under the tree reading a new book.

The soft cry had you up and running to Ben before you even realized, on his knee was a bleeding wound. You had already scooped the boy into your arms to quickly get into the kitchen. The moment your foot stepped into the home, the sound of a familiar voice and song filled the house.

Gently placing Ben on his feet, you followed the sound to the living room. Across the room behind a young girl stood a boy.

“Luke.” You breathed floored at the sight of the teenager who looked exactly like he did back in ’95. The ghost singing widened his eyes at yours, taking in the mature features and change of fashion.

He continued to sing the song Unsaid Emily he had written as an apology to his mom following the last big fight. The song he never got to show her. His voice faded as the ending of the song came around.

“Mama!” Your attention broke from Luke’s when a tiny hand reached for yours. The pain in his voice bringing you back to the most important part of your life, “It hurts Mama.”

Despite being sad, Mitch was the one to cross the room to lift the little boy into his arms. Placing the little boy on the counter, the man gently wet a paper towel to wash the area.

“I think he needs stitches.” Mitch sighed, furrowing his brows.

“Who is that?” Luke asked the Molina girl. The girl shrugged taking in the features she could recognize. Julie asked Emily.

“That’s Ben.” Emily beamed, looking over her shoulder at the little boy that filled the void of Luke’s death. It didn’t fix the wound or erase the pain, but Ben’s existence helped with the loss as he was a precious gift, “When Luke passed away his girlfriend Y/N found out she was pregnant with Luke’s baby.”

The choked sob fell from Luke’s mouth echoed by the thud of his knees, hitting the floor in the pure shock. The heartbreak painted so clear Julie was sure she could feel Luke’s agony.

God, why did Luke have to eat that fucking street dog. Fuck his band dreams. Nothing hurt as bad as finding out about Ben and Y/N having to be a single parent.

“I have a son?” Luke cried, orbing himself as far as he could from the Patterson home and his most tremendous loss.

Part Two

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[gxccistyless]

the untitled song

The one where he royally fucks up. Y/n is friends with Harry and has been for a long time, but he hurts her in the worst way possible. TRIGGER WARNINGS: mention of attempted suicide.

When Harry first wrote the song he had never intended for it to see the light of day and he had most certainly never intended to hurt you. Sometimes he finds himself writing songs as a form of therapy and sometimes as a gentle reminder of memories he never wants to let go of, this song was a creation born for both of those reasons. You had been his lifelong friend and had seen each other through all different seasons of life, he had been your friend first and then somewhere along the line he had begun to feel something more toward you, but he had a complicated life and he didn’t want to throw you into the circus of it all, he liked that when he went home he was just Harry to you and not Harry Styles the celebrity. Truthfully somewhere along the way, your feelings toward him had also began to be something more but you were unaware of the way he had felt about you and so you never acted on it

A week after his stepfathers funeral and almost a year to the day since your own mothers’ death you found yourselves in his backyard slightly intoxicated. Harry had a rough time figuring out his emotions and would often turn to writing, it gave him a way to put everything into words. You on the other hand did everything in your power to hide yours. Six drinks in however, you had both been able to open up, Harry sharing his struggles, his fears and his worries and for the first time ever you were sharing yours too.

You had known him before he was anyone to be known, and although his life had become quite the circus, the two of you still remained close.  When you heard the news about his stepfather, he asked if you would come and you were quick to oblige dropping everything to head to be with him for the week. It was your last night there after what had been a long week and Harry had decided they should have a few drinks and just relax and let off some steam. He told you about how in awe of you  he was, how you’d handled your mums death so gracefully and had remained so well put together afterwards, he hoped he’d be able to do the same and be as strong as you had been. Harry’s words eat at you, he grows concerned that his comments had upset you when your head falls toward the ground, you can feel the tears welling in your eyes.

He’s a bit taken back, he was only trying to compliment you, show you how much you inspire him. You wipes the tears that have now begun pooling on your cheeks and then sharw with him something you hadn’t dared talk about to anyone since it happened  I tried to kill myself, Harry. It all went down shortly after your mothers death when everyone who was significant in your life had dispersed out of their small town after the funeral and back to their jobs. Your brother had found you and managed revive you. Between a short stay in the ICU, ten days in a ward and then a stay in the psych ward you had been in the hospital for weeks afterward. Harry shakes his head at your revelation, this couldn’t be true, he would have known. It’s true Harry, I didn’t expect you to know though. You had barely enough time to be here for the funeral I didn’t even see you that day that’s his quick you came and went, and then you were on tour... it’s okay that you didn’t know, I didn’t want anyone to see me like that. Harry didn’t know what to say or how to feel, he just brings you a little closer to him and grips you a little tighter, thankful that you’re still here. Harry was sure that if anything had happened to you that Anne would have told him. At this point you are really intoxicated and Harry is starting to feel the effects of the alcohol heading closer to the point of recklessness. The two of you call it a night.  

You left town the next day to head back to London, you had recently taken a job in the city and were able to afford rent there which finally got you out of this small town and kept you busy, the two of you returned to normal life and never talked about it any further. But still the conversation played on his mind, how you has been in your darkest moment and he hadn’t been there. How he had barely had enough time to be there for his closest friend when her mother had just passed, how he had failed to check up on you in the weeks that followed, how you could have actually died. 

When he finally got back to writing, his conversation with you was one of the first things he wrote about. It was one of the first pieces that he wrote beginning to end, he never intended for it to get further than him and a guitar and a recording on his phone, something he might play to you someday, but then one night whilst he was high he accidentally showed it to his engineer who immediately fell in love with it. His engineer convinced him to just see the song through, told him it wouldn’t have to be in the final cut for the album but that it deserved to be finished properly, so Harry obliged and he finished the song in its entirety.

The album was close to being finished, his label telling him they just needed one or two more songs that were slower in tempo and had more emotion you know like  a tear jerker were Jeff’s exact words. Harry you should show him that untitled one we had been working on at the beginning Harry silently curses his engineer in his mind, he’s reluctant to play the song to Jeff but he does it anyway. Jeff loves the song says that it should be the second single, the public will eat it right up. Once again Harry reluctantly agrees.

He knows that one way or the other you are going to hear this song and you are going to know that it is about you, and specifically about that night when you had shared your darkest secret with him. Harry wanted to be the one to play the song for you, he thought it would be best coming from him in a controlled environment and he most certainly didn’t want you to hear it for the first time at his launch party or on the radio. The week that he intended to drive home to show you, your father suddenly passed, it didn’t seem like a good time and he didn’t want to cause you any more grief than you were already going through. He tried again two weeks later but you had been in such good spirits, he didn’t want to ruin your time together by making you upset. 

The original plan was that he would drive back to his mum’s the day after his listening party and play it for you before it would be released to the public. The listening party was only going to be intimate and was due to be held two days before the release of the album, and since you had to work and wouldn’t be there he didn’t see anything wrong with the plan. Except this is Harry and almost nothing goes to plan. Gemma and Anne who are unaware of the song arranged for you to have a ticket, to surprise Harry on one of his biggest nights. He doesn’t see you till he comes out into the room and it’s already too late they’re already about to press play on the album, he thought he felt nervously sick before but now seeing you here in the room he feels even worse.

Everything was going smoothly and everyone seemed to be enjoying the songs as they continued to go through each of them, Harry introducing them and talking a bit about them before hand, when he gets to track 5 his throat dries up and he feels as if he can’t talk. He doesn’t give this song an introduction just pressing play. The song is halfway through the first verse when you begin to realise this song that you are listening to in a room full of people who don’t know you (minus Anne and Gemma and Harry of course) is about you, is about that night by the fire where things got a little too deep and dark and emotional. You stare at him waiting for him to make eye contact with you, but he never does, he’s too scared to lift his head and have your eyes meet. He knows he will look up to undoubtedly find you crying and that he has let you down and right now he can’t think about it too much, he needs to push through the last eight tracks. You excuse yourself quietly, telling Gemma you aren’t feeling well before the chorus even hits and slip out the back exit.

Harry knows that he has royally fucked up. He tries calling you when he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, it goes straight to voicemail a few times and then after that your number doesn’t even dial at all. He has disappointed you, he’s disappointed himself. When he gets back out and spots his mother and sister the anger and disappointment is all over their faces too. The car ride back to his house is silent, Anne taking in deep breaths so that she won’t scream in front of the lovely driver Harry’s management had hired to get them home. When they finally make it through the door and they are by themselves she absolutely lets him have a piece of her mind. You should have asked her permission before putting out something like that. Harry tries to reason with Anne, explaining he had no choice when he knows deep down that he did, explaining that he tried to show you the song but he couldn’t catch you at the right time. It’s Gemma’s turn to chime in now  There was no right time Harry, should have never been on the album in the first place. Gemma was right, but it was done now the only thing he could do would be to try and salvage things with you as best he could. But you wouldn’t take his calls, didn’t respond to his texts and truthfully he had no idea where to start looking for you.  The following morning when Anne had calmed down some, she had found Harry sleeping on the sofa still in the clothes from last night gripping his phone on his chest, she knows he must have fallen asleep there as he desperately tried all night to get in touch with you. When he woke up he told her everything from beginning to end, he knew that song shouldn’t have been on the album and she knew that there was nothing he could do now to change the fact that it was. 

Whilst you weren’t replying to Harry’s texts or answering his calls you had no intentions of doing the same to Anne. The first time Anne rings you, it goes to voicemail. Anne leaves you a lovely message, tells you she’d love to see you before she leaves London to head back home. Only when you know that it is her calling, you send her a quick text back to explain that you are okay and that you have escaped for the week back home to Holmes Chapel, but would love to see her regardless.  It had been too long since you had last seen Anne. You think it may have been at the funeral, or in the days after, but your weekends have been busy and you hardly make it home. Even when you do make it home, recently your weekends had been filled with looking after your sick father and your brother who even at 24 years old was unable to do anything for himself. Regardless of how long it had been since you last saw Anne, she held a special place in your heart. Her and your own mother had been close and Anne had been there for you in the months after losing her, she came every day that she was allowed to see you in the hospital, to make sure you knew you were loved. She promised to never tell Harry, you made her promise. You didn’t want to worry him and you didn’t want to distract or burden him, you somehow still worried for everyone else even though you were the one struggling. It’s almost noon when she arrived at your house in Holmes Chapel on Sunday. At this point Harry’s album had been out for 24 hours and had shot straight to the top of the charts. Even though you were angry at him, you were still proud.  Anne brings you in tight for a hug as soon as you open the door. You are relieved that she has come by herself, not having decided yet if you ever want to talk to or see Harry ever again. Once tea is drunk and scones have been had Anne flips out her phone. Y/n love, have you had a chance to listen to Harry’s album... in full? She knows it’s a tough ask, especially because of the song. I haven’t, no. I hear it’s doing wonderful though... he must be so happy. You secretly hope that this conversation is nearing its end, not wanting to talk about Harry anymore. He’s not doing the greatest love  Anne pauses for a moment. She knows she shouldn’t get involved, but she has loved you like a second daughter since you and Harry were young and has always secretly hoped the two of you would end up together. I know he shouldn’t have put the song on the album, but my wonderful numbskulled son really didn’t know you were going to be there at the party and apparently he had been trying for weeks to share it with you but between your dad and then you having really good days he didn’t want to mess it up... I know it might be hard for you, but if I’m being honest, it’s one of my favourite songs. Will you try to listen to it? Because she is like a second mother to you and because you don’t want to let her down or cause her any pain, you agree. She hugs you extra tight when she leaves and makes you promise to visit when you’re back in town again next. 

You fulfil your promise to Anne listening to the song two nights later after making your way back to London and having five too many wines. It was hard for you to listen to, but when you finish it the first time you instantly want to listen again and suddenly it’s on repeat and you instantly regret leaving before the chorus. In between sobs you manage to dial Harry’s number, the phone barely ringing before he answers. Y/n? Ello? You there? He hears your muffled sobs on the other end, where are you? Are you back in London? Please tell me where you are? You tell him your address and twenty minutes later there are some light taps on your apartment door. When he comes in you’re still sobbing and the song is still playing. He puts out his arms and wraps them around you and you sob, the two of you standing there whilst the song plays three times over. It’s a beautiful song you manage to somehow get words out between sobs and laboured breathing I mean it’s okay, it wasn’t supposed to make the album, but it’s there and there’s nothing I can do and I’m going to be sorry for the rest of our lives. Somehow the two of you make it to the couch. You share with him your anger and frustrations and thoughts about everything, how he’s broken your trust, how you’re scared to tell him anything anymore, how you’re angry that his team made YOU sign and NDA but he’s free to write songs about your disclosures and how that isn’t fair. He agrees that it isn’t fair, and he apologises again and again over and over until you can’t take it anymore. 

It takes you some time to trust Harry again after this. He has his lawyers draw up an NDA for him to sign, with a promise that you can sue him if he ever discloses anything private about you ever again. 

[weelittleweasley]

will you still love me tomorrow? (b.w.)

prompt: saying goodbye to bill was like saying goodbye to your whole world. but before he leaves for egypt, there is one last thing you need to ask him.

pairing: bill weasley x fem! reader

warnings: 18+ sexual content minors do not interact, fingering, female receiving oral, unprotected sex, language, soft smut

word count: 3.1k

taglist: @rosaliepostsstuff @harrysweasleys @gcdric @lumos-barnes @whizboingies @lumosandnoxwriting @pxroxide-prinxcesss @c-t-h​ @lol-idk-oops @another-lonely-heart-blog​ @starlightweasley @parseltongueswriting​ @shilohpug​ @peachypotter @spacexcowgirl @paintballkid711​ @vogueweasley​ @gryffindcrghost​ @wand3ringr0s3​

The sounds of the shower filled the room as you stood underneath the hot water, letting the water hit your hair and cascade down your body as you lazily dragged the bar of soap over your skin. The steam of the shower fogged your vision like your thoughts fogged your mind. You were too consumed with them to be focusing on your shower routine. You didn’t know how long you had been standing under the hot water, too occupied with your own qualms and curiosities. But however long it was, it was enough to make your fingers shrivel up with wrinkles.

With a sigh, you turn off the water and immediately regret the decision, the cold air hitting your body as you peel back the shower curtain. Goosebumps erupt all over your skin as you grab the towel that rests of the bathroom counter, wrapping it tightly around your body with shivering teeth. You step out of the shower and look at yourself in the mirror, saturated with water as the fluffy gray towel clings onto your wet skin. Your eyes are clouded with too many emotions to find just one to describe them. 

Another ten minutes in the bathroom and your hair is dry and comfortable pajamas replace the gray towel. You brush fingers through your hair with a sigh before opening the door and starting to walk down the hallway of the Burrow, dragging your feet as you walk. Normally, this was your favorite part of the day. Walking down the hall to cuddle up next to Bill as the two of you debriefed the day and talked about the next day or the future. Daydreaming with Bill was the best part of the day. But much to your dismay, this would be the last time for a while.

Slowly, you pushed the door open to Bill’s room to find him laying on his bed, sprawled out, as his luggage laid next him. He just stared at the clothes that were sprawled out around him, not knowing what to pack to an adventure such as this one. Even though Bill talked about how stressed he was for the journey, there was always a smile on his lips and wonder in his eyes when he spoke of going to Egypt for his job. Bill loved what he did and it was quite evident that this was dream job. Who were you to stand in the way of the dream?

“Don’t forget to pack socks,” you tease him as he looks up at you, standing in the door frame, smiling softly at him. Bill lets out a light chuckle before you step farther into the room, closing the door behind you as you press your back against it. “I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow,” you breathe out, trying not to sound too sad.

But you fail and Bill gives you a sad smile, flopping his long legs over the bed, so he sits facing you. He pats his lap with one hand, signaling for you to come to him. The small gesture makes your heart skip a beat before you walk over to him, standing between his legs, his hands finding your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze as you look down at him, placing a kiss on his forehead. Bill pulls you closer to him as you straddle his lap, now at eye level with him, staring into his deep eyes. “My darling,” he sighs as you cup his face with both of your hands, memorizing every inch of his handsome face. It would be a while before you saw it again. “We’re going to make this work. I swear on it,” he whispers to you as if he didn’t want anyone to hear your conversation even though you were in the privacy of his bedroom. “I’ll come back to England every once in a while and you can always visit me. Plus...my offer still stands...” he trails off, giving you a look as you sigh.

Bill had originally proposed that you move to Egypt with him. He insisted that you could find a job there and you two could live without miles and miles of distance between you two. The thought was exciting, you had to admit. Moving to a completely different country, different continent at that, and starting a new life with Bill. It was a dream. But the thought of leaving your family and friends behind made your stomach do a flip. Not to mention, you already had your dream job here in London. Leaving all of that behind just seemed like too much. It was a difficult decision, but it was one you knew you had to make. “You know I can’t,” you sigh as Bill shakes his head, knowing that he knew that answer already. “There won’t be a day that goes by where I won’t miss you,” you admit to him as he gives you a sad smile before kissing your lips softly as if they were made of glass. Bill was so gentle with you; as if he moved too quickly or touched you too hard, you would shatter under his touch. You would miss that dearly.

“There won’t be a minute that goes by where I won’t miss you,” Bill tops you as you smile. He lays back on the bed as you scoot over next to him, resting your head on your hand, so you can watch his face as he speaks. As he speaks of what he has let to pack, you can’t help but tune out his words and focus on the way his face looks in this moment. Bill Weasley would be the death of you with those eyes that spoke a thousand words. The light of love rested in his eyes as he spoke to you, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. “What are you thinking about?” he speaks before placing a kiss on your chin. You place another kiss on his lips as he smiles before kissing you again. You’d take every touch you could get. 

You were excited for Bill, starting this new chapter of his life, but for selfish reasons, you didn’t want him to go. Besides, the fact that the love of your life would be miles away, you feared that he would find someone else. That this new chapter of his life meant new love. Bill notices the look of worry in your eyes as he cups your cheek in his hand, pulling your face closer to his, foreheads pressed against to each other. His eyes stare into yours, compelling you to come clean with him. “Will you still love me tomorrow?” you ask him with complete sincerity in your voice. 

When the words fall off your parted lips, Bill is in shock. His brows furrow, creating creases in his face that scream with confusion. What kind of question was that? Bill sits up straight now, giving you his complete and undivided attention. “What do you mean? I will love you tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and all the days after,” he tells you with every inch of honesty he can pull from each cell of his body. He couldn’t be more serious with every word he spoke to you. However, the worry doesn’t falter out of your body. Bill sighs, “Love, this is going to be hard for the both of us, but I need you to know that you’re the only one. Now and forever.”

Sitting up to face Bill, you take his hands in yours, feeling how his fingers were calloused and harsh underneath your soft skin. A sensation you grew to love. You press your palms together, pushing your fingers against his with a deep inhalation. “I’d like to know that your love is love I can be sure of,” you speak softly before peering at Bill, your heart thumping against your chest as he gives you a soft smile. The look in his eyes was enough to answer your question, but you still waited for an answer. “So tell me now, and I won’t ask again. Will you still love me tomorrow?” you repeat.

Bill scoots closer to you and with a happy smile on his lips, sighs out a light chuckle. There was a certain magic in his sigh that made you want to believe every word that fell from his lips. “(Y/N),” he breathes. “This love...the love I have for you...is a lasting treasure. Not for a moment does it dwindle,” he shakes his head as you smile, chest alleviated from worries. “And I don’t need to keep telling you that because I know you know that I would go to the ends of the Earth to make you happy,” he tells you, kissing the tip of your nose. “So, short answer, yes. I will.”

You giggle at his answer and wrap your arms around his neck. Bill chuckles before pressing your lips together, kissing you slowly, enough to make you feel faint and weak in the knees. If you weren’t already sitting, you would have fallen. Bill’s kiss is tender and sweet, but tonight was your last night for months. Tonight, you wanted to be memorable. Pulling away gently, you mumble against his lips, “Bill?” He hums in response before kissing you agains, this time deeper, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you in closer. You moan into his kiss, melting into his touch. There was no need to continue talking. The both of you knew exactly what you wanted and Bill was about to make your wish his command.

Slowly, Bill pushes you down against the mattress, lips not daring to leave yours as you wrap your legs around his torso, pushing him close to you. Bill slips his tongue past your parted lips, massaging his tongue softly and slowly against yours as you tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling softly which causes him to groan deeply against your lips. His response makes the wetness between your thighs grow as you buck them up to brush his covered pelvis. Bill grinds his hips down into yours as you moan softly, feeling his hardened erection in his boxers. 

Temporarily breaking the kiss, Bill wandless-ly casts a silencing spell on the door as it locks itself. He looks down at you, brushing your cheek with his thumb as your eyes grow darker with lust. The sight of you underneath Bill’s body was enough for him to fall in love all over again. “Tonight you’re mine completely,” he speaks lowly before peeling the shirt off of your body to expose your bare chest. His lips meet yours again before they trail down your neck, down your chest, and down your stomach as you breathe deeply, closing your eyes at the sensation of soft kisses. Bill watches as you flutter your eyes closes, relishing in the feeling of his lips on your skin. He pulls his shirt over his head, leaving him in his boxers before he peels your pajama shorts off. “I want all of you. All the time. Every minute. Of every day,” he speaks in between kisses that he places all over your thighs, torso, and chest as you softly moan, biting down on your lip. 

His hands takes both of your breasts, massaging them gently before he attaches his lips to where your neck meets your jawline. He sucks gently, sure to leave a dark purple bruise there the next day. Bill wanted to make sure that even after he was gone, you knew that you belonged to him. “Bill,” you breathe out, tangling your fingers in his hair and one of his hands brushed against your stomach, slithering down between your thighs, separating them.

He takes one finger and gently slides it between your folds as you gasp lightly, making him chuckle deep in his chest which only makes you want him more than before. Without further hesitation, Bill pushes his two fingers inside your wet pussy as you close your eyes and roll your head back. Slowly, he starts to pump his fingers in and out of you, him watching you the entire time as you bite down on your lip and dig your nails into his biceps. He curls his fingers inside you as you arch your back at the feeling with a string of profanities following. “My princess has a dirty little mouth,” he whispers, pumping his fingers in and out of you faster as you whimper underneath him. “Let’s hear it again, shall we?” he teases before he ducks his head down between your thighs and attaching his perfect lips to your clit, sucking down on the sensitive bud.

“Fuck, Bill,” you cry out, bucking your hips against his face as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of your aching cunt, mouth sucking on your clit. You look down to his head face buried in your pussy, red hair falling around his face as he hums against your core, making you cry out with pleasure. “Fuck, just like that, fuck,” you moan, pulling his hair as his tongue circles your clit, making you a moaning, writhing mess. 

Bill places both of you legs over his shoulders, pushing his face further down onto your throbbing pussy, licking your clit, fingers curling inside of you, hitting your g-spot as you grab the sheets in fistfuls, reeling with an unbearable amount of euphoria. The sounds you make causing Bill’s erection to become unbearable as he grinds his hips against the mattress to alleviate himself, the friction against his dick making him moan out against your cunt, making you groan out his name. Hearing his name fall from your lips makes Bill fuck you with his fingers harder and faster, sucking harshly on your sensitive nub as you arch your back. “Come all over my face,” he speaks as you feel the familiar sensation in your stomach rise. He continues to relentlessly fuck your pussy with his two fingers, pushing you over the edge as his tongue swirls all over your clit, sending you over the edge and coming all over his mouth and tongue as he laps up your release. 

Your chest is heaving up and down heavily as you catch your breath from your high as Bill smiles down at you before sticking his two fingers in his mouth, licking up your remaining come. The sight of him flushed from eating you out is enough to make you come again, but instead you sit up and pull his boxers down, his erection slapping his stomach as you look up at him. Bill pushes you back down onto the bed, hovering over you as you stare into his eyes, his fulled with desire, but they soften when he looks at your face. He gulps before speaking, “No more talking. It’s just you and me.”

His words make your heart soar as you nod your head before he ducks his head down and kisses you again deeply. You wrap your legs around his torso, spreading your legs open for him as he lines his hard cock against your aching core. He looks into your eyes before pushing himself into your tight pussy, walls clenching around his large member as he moans at the feeling. You inhale sharply, adjusting to his size as your walls clench around his dick. With a short nod, you give him signal to start moving his hips and he obeys, gently rocking his hips in and out of you, rolling against you as you moan out. One of Bill’s hands slides up your sides, up your arm, and laces his fingers with yours, pining it down to the mattress. He buries his face in your neck, placing love bites all over the exposed flesh, cock rocking in and out of you. The sounds of heavy breathing and moans mix in the air as Bill makes love to you, fucking you slowly and slowly, making sure to remember each stroke he makes. Each thrust makes you dig your nails deeper into his back, scratching gently as he groans out. Your heels dig into the small of his back, pushing him in deeper, hitting that all too familiar spot as you moan out his name loudly. 

The sounds of your soft whimpers and moans makes Bill thrust in and out of you faster, the sounds of skin slapping mixing with his jagged breathing. Your walls clench around his dick as he groans out, profanities falling from his lips with the sound of your name, making you throw your head back in euphoria. Only you two could make the other feel like this. Tonight with words unspoken, he tells you that you are the only one. The moment is so intimate, making your head reel with how much you could love someone. 

Bill bites down on your soft flesh, leaving another dark purple bruise as you arch your chest into his as he rocks his hips faster against yours. Your eyes lock on each other, lips parted as moans and heavy breath falls back them. You were close to your second orgasm and you could tell Bill was close to his climax. His thrusts were becoming uneven as you moved your hips against him, which sent you both over the edge. His eyes screwed shut as he groaned out a low fuck before quickly pulling out of you and releasing all over your stomach. You released again, waves of pleasure rushing over your body as you came down from your second high of the night.

The two of you caught your breath before Bill climbed off of you and reached over to grab the towel from his shower earlier, cleaning his come off of your stomach as you laughed gently. No words needed to be spoken as he wiped you up and pulled the sheets over your body. Bill handed you a clean shirt of his as he pulled on his boxers before joining you in the bed, pulling you close to his side as you cuddled into him. Bill pressed one, two kisses to your forehead as you sighed happily into him. Tonight was the perfect last night with Bill and you both knew to enjoy it while it lasted, rather than speak about what tomorrow would bring. You knew your heart would be broken when the night meets the morning sun, but you pushed the thought out of your head. 

“I love you,” he interrupts your thoughts that swirl around your head. “I can’t wait for us to start our lives together.”

You look up at Bill with a soft grin and speak, “I love you more.” Bill kisses your swollen lips softly. The future for you and Bill was uncertain as of now, but one thing was for certain. He was in your future and you were in his. 

[writingsfromhome]

Nuclear Family I

A/N: As requested (accidentally deleted the ask soz) a Dad!Harry where you visit him with your daughter and you live together as a family even though the reality is far from it. But for the sake of your kid you put up with it. The next part gets better promise!

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V

--------

“Charlie don’t get too far,” I call out to my three year old. She gives me a disappointed look but I return one of my own and she drags her feet back to me.

Sometimes it felt like it had always been just me and Charlotte and other times it was hard to believe it would be almost four years since I’d had her. The moment she was born-two weeks early-on a rainy August day, I knew I made the right choice to keep her.

“When are we getting on the airplane?” my daughter pouts. She reminded me so much of her father with her bold eyes framed by her lowered brows. I remember when I held her for the first time in my arms and she blinked up at me, her big eyes were a dewy field reflecting her father. It was then that it hit me that no matter where he and I were on earth-we were still somehow connected. And since I was still in love with him then, it hurt. But I learned soon to pour my love into Charlotte and focus on raising her the best I could.

“We’ll be boarding soon." I pick her up and hold her on my knees to keep her from running off again. This was my first time travelling with her-her father generally came down to LA a few times a year to visit her so we never had the need to make the trip. This time, for her fourth birthday, we’d decided to go to London and stay there for the month. And since I was my own boss, I could take my work anywhere.

“I want to see daddy,” Charlie whines.

"We will babe,” I try to soothe her.

“Daddy” was Harry Styles, the Harry Styles. We met through a friend over six years ago when he was in LA. Up until meeting him, it felt like I was living a grey version of my life. Our chemistry was explosive and our connection instant--colouring my world a vibrant hue. We were in love-so in love I moved to London a few months later to be with him and it was going perfectly until I got pregnant. We agreed to keep the baby-it was a no brainer, but as the months went by and the reality sunk in, our relationship took a hit. Suddenly we were arguing about insignificant things, Harry stayed out late with friends or in the studio and wasn’t as supportive as he should have been, and I wasn’t happy. When I brought up the separation Harry looked almost relieved-which hurt. When I brought up moving back to LA he was enraged, but after a few days he agreed. Now, our Charlie saw him a few times a year when he lived in LA and she would stay with him. Our interactions were limited to picking her up and as I’d heard it Harry had a steady girlfriend for the past year. Despite all that, I still loved him. What we had was unlike anything I’d felt, seen, or read about before. I knew he'd felt it too, the music he released spoke the words he never said. But the ugliness of the last few months of our relationship always kept me from remaining wistful. Harry didn’t want commitement. He only had room in his heart for our daughter and I was fine with that.

We were staying around the corner from Harry’s at an air bnb for convenience. Ever since having Charlotte, I hadn’t been outside of the US so this was exciting yet daunting. The idea of seeing London again, all my old friends, and Harry gave me a rush of mixed emotions.

The landing and locating of our luggage had a few bumps and a minor tantrum but our taxi takes us to the flat where we are met with the hostess.

“There’s been a terrible mistake,” she wrings her hands as we stand in the heat of the summer afternoon.

“What kind of mistake?” My heart drops and there’s a tugging on my dress. Charlotte demands to be picked up.

“We accidentally booked another couple to the flat.” The woman responds.

“What?” If I wasn’t this tired, I would be shouting. “How can you make a mistake like that? I booked this well in advance!”

“I understand,” the woman says. “Your booking must have been accidentally cancelled and I-the couple is fine with sharing the flat-”

“I have a small child with me as you can see,” I cut her off not going into detail why our privacy was extremely important. “I’m not living with two strangers when I secured the place for all of August. This is bullshit,” I spit out, forgetting Charlie could hear me. This trip was not going how it should be. “I’m contacting air bnb and-”

My rant is cut short when my phone vibrates. Harry.

“Hi,” I answer.

“Daddy!” Charlotte yells into my ear. I hush her with a glance and try to listen to what Harry was saying.

“-landed? I was trying to reach you where are you?”

I sigh and give the woman a dirty look. “We’ve just arrived at the bnb and apparently there’s been a ‘mistake’ and it’s double booked so now I don’t know where-”

“Shit, stay with me,” comes Harry's steady voice.

“I couldn’t,” comes my own, slightly less steady voice. Staying with Harry would be bad for me. It would only stir old emotions back up and make it harder to leave once again. I just knew it.

“I’m right around the corner Y/N. Just stay until you find another place at least.”

I couldn’t argue with that. I agree and order an Uber, giving the woman a piece of my mind before I go.

Charlotte had fallen asleep on my shoulder in the midst of all of it so I struggle with the child, our luggage, and my phone when I reach Harry's.

“I’ll be right down,” he says. My stomach is suddenly doing sommersaults and I can barely feel my legs. I saw Harry near Christmas! Why was I suddenly so nervous?

“Hey,” Harry enters the lobby in a black shirt and jeans and his glasses sit atop his mess of hair. “You look lovely Y/N, but that’s nothing new.”

Harry's grin is like a crack in the ice surrounding us and I give him a quick hug hello.

“Let me get that.” He grabs the luggage and we wait for the elevator again.

“She fell asleep,” Harry brushes our daughter’s hands and she shifts on my shoulder.

“She’s been doing that since the ride,” I say. “I think jet lag is already doing her in.”

Harry smiles at her and the tenderness in his gaze holds me captive. It was a while since I saw Harry look like that.

Harry gets the luggage onto the lift and I follow him in. The mirrored interior reflects the glimpses he takes of me but I stay staring forward, not wanting to give in.

“Won’t your girlfriend mind?” I ask Harry when we enter his flat. “That we’re staying with you.”

“About that,” Harry scratches his nose. “I’m sure she’ll understand. We should talk though…about the trip.”

“Of course, let me just put Charlotte to bed.” Harry points out the spare room and I can tell Charlie will like it here with the amount of stuffed animals Harry's decorated the bed with. She was spoiled.

“So you can stay as long as you want here,” Harry begins. “Or if you want to find someplace else I understand. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

He holds my gaze as he talks and I nod along. It was all very proper and polite, almost as if we’d never had anything more than a friendly relationship.

“What’s your schedule like?” I ask. “I know we already figured things out but if I’m staying for a few days here will I be in the way of anything?”

“I’m filming in a few days, I took a lot of time off the next couple weeks for Charlie but that’s it. Then I'm in the studio after that." Harry scratches the back of his head. “Just make yourself at home don’t worry what I’ve got to do.”

“I don’t want to get in the way. I know we didn’t plan for this,” I flush. Harry reaches over and squeezes my shoulder.

“I want you to feel comfortable, love...”

I’m suddenly 21 and Harry and I are on one of our first dates at a bar. He holds onto my hand and tells me he really likes me. He asks me if we wanted to take our relationship past the dating stage. I’m giddy and drunk on love and kiss him yes.

“Mom?” A small voice calls out.

“Yes!” I jump up and shake the memories off, rushing to the spare room. Charlotte sits up in bed with a frown on her grumpy face. “I’m right here babe.” I scoop her up and she holds onto me, already holding a stuffed koala in the other hand.

“So you’ve met Mr. Blake.” Harry walks into the room and points to the koala.

And just like that Charlotte is jumping into her dad’s arms and bubbling with laughter, explaining how his real name is Oreo. My heart squeezes watching the two interact. Charlie is more awake than before the plane ride as she continues with her endless chatter. Harey is wide-eyed and drinking in everything she says. She says something funny and he throws his head back laughing, kissing the side of her head while she giggles. Seeing them two made my heart full.

“Momma I’m hungry,” Charlie says abruptly.

“You must be,” I look at the time. “It’s been a while since we ate.”

“Let’s have an early dinner out,” Harry suggests.

“That’s not necessary-” I try to say but Charlie cuts me off with a big cheer and soon Harry joins in and he’s off with her riding his back with her hands clasped tightly around his neck. I would never win with those two together so I find my wallet and join them.

“I didn’t realise how much I needed this,” Harry says on our walk to the restaurant. It was a ten minute walk Harry wanted to take, reassuring me that we wouldn't be bothered. Charlotte holds her dad’s hand and stares in wonder at the new city around her. “I can’t believe you-she-Charlie hasn’t ever been down here.”

“She was so excited to finally see where her Dad lives,” I laugh at the image of her bouncing off the walls in happiness.

“I think the weirdest thing for me is that my baby has an American accent,” Harry comments.

“I never thought about that!” I laugh. “At least she won’t be saying things like crisps and the loo!”

“Oi that’s offensive,” Harry jokes. “My english is just as good as yours mate!”

“Now you sound Australian!” I tease.

Harry laughs and bumps his shoulder into mine.

“Australia has kangaroos,” Charlotte comments randomly.

“We’ve got a clever one,” Harry winks at me. “They’ve got massive spiders too.” Harry says to our daughter but little does he know she actively picked up spiders.

Charlie starts jumping like a kangaroo and soon Harry picks her up and sits her on his shoulder where she shouts to anybody who listens that she was on top of the world.

“I always tell people she’s got that energy from her dad,” I tell Harry quietly. There a shine to his eyes as he looks to Charlie and she looks down at him and shouts it louder.

“My mum and dad were thinking of coming around this weekend to see her,” Hadry suddenly says.

“That would be nice for her. To see her family,” I say.

“I mean you’d be there too?” Harry says.

“Oh, right.” My mouth dries at the thought of having to see his family. They were a great bunch but the way Harry and I ended things so abruptly was an uncomfortable reminder. “I’ll try to make it.”

“Charlie can have some sort of a normal family dinner,” Harry jokes.

“Both parents and grandparents? That would make her trip actually.” I say with a little bit of sadness. Charlotte wouldn’t grow up with both parents like Harry and I had the privlege of and that hurt me thinking about it.

“I wish she could have that all the time,” Harry sighs. He glances over at me as he says it and there’s something unspoken. But Charlie grabs a fistful of his hair and he has to get her down in her drunken power.

The restaurant is cozy and Charlie talks a mile a minute with the attention of both her parents. Every so often when she says something ridiculous or something related to an old inside joke from years past, Harry will glance over at me with a smile. It’s a secret language between us, and I swear I even feel his hand brush my own but I chalk it up to accidents. Harry had a girlfriend, he had no business doing that with me.

It gets more confusing later that night. Harry had plans to go out at 8 and Charlie falls asleep by half past 7. Being in LA time, I stay snuggled in the couch, watching a random movie Harry recommended. My eyes drift shut halfway but I’m awoken by a bang. My eyes squint in the dark as my hand feels for my phone. 1:47AM the bright display reads.

“Sorry,” comes a voice. The lights flick on and Harry stands dishevelled in the clothes he went out in. “I was trying to keep quiet I di'know you were sleeping!”

He was drunk-whispering which meant his voice was only slightly lower than normal. He stumbles towards me and falls onto the sofa, yanking his shoes off with a great deal of effort.

“Were you sleeping?” He asks me up close.

“I guess so,” I respond. “Did you have a good time?”

A part of me feels awash with sadness, the dull and familiar ache settling into my chest. Another part of me is angry at myself for still being in love with a man who could not love me the same way.

“It would have been nice if you came,” Harry reaches out and twists a strand of my hair. “Are you naturally a brunette?”

“I am,” I say gently. “You should drink water before bed.”

“No-no don’t start taking care of me!” Harry puts a pillow on his lap. “I’m supposed to be taking care of my girls. But I’m doing a shite job I guess.”

He stifles his laugh. I try to stifle the pang in my chest when he says 'my girls’ because it meant nothing more than just words. I couldn’t afford to read into these things. But when Harry switches the pillow to my lap and lays his head down, all self-control gets chucked out he door.

“It’s been so long since we talked,” Harry tries to whisper again. He reaches out to touch my hair again, his fingers lingering on my face before lowering to his side again.

“You came to LA a lot,” in my statement is also an accusation. He never came in to my apartment or asked me to go out.

“You never invited me in,” Harry says quietly.

“Surely I did?” I tell him.

“No,” his reply is almost a sigh. I realise maybe I didn’t make it so explicit.

“My mistake,” I admit. “But you know you were always welcomes.” I trace the bridge of his nose.

“I know,” Harry says with a boyish smile. “I was slightly nervous when we were on your terf. I didn’t ask either-you’re right.”

Involuntarily I brush my fingers through Harry's hair. Instantly, his body relaxes with a sigh as he closes his eyes. So I remove my hand immediately and nudge him.

“I should go to bed,” I wait for him to clumsily get up. We walk to the stairs together where Harry wishes me goodnight. He leans foward and misses my forehead by an inch, kissing my eyebrow instead.

“Night,” I back away into the spare where Charlotte sleeps, rubbing my eyebrow. In bed, I try to sort through my feelings. My eyes land on the sleeping body next to me and I pull her into me. She was all I needed, I try to remind myself. I was only here for her. Harry and I were never getting together again.