#London always seems and sounds SO much better for someone as judgemental as i am with this MONOTONY 😪

[zeraphimtwins]

The two things I miss immensely (besides cooking for a loved one lol)

Is definitely producing my music and following my trail of bright light in my Sanctuary's forest around again --

And long late night phone conversations.

[melis-ash]

have you watched elite's season 4 finale already? what are your takes on caye and phillipe? no judgements here tho, just want to know your opinion on them

 Hello, nonny! Yes, I did. My opinion about Caye and Philippe has several different aspects (which a litle bit conflict with each other).

Lets write long post.)) Sorry for mistakes and typos, English is not my first language and I`m not really good with grammar.

1) Caye and Philippe story is feminist retelling-reverse of the Beauty and the Beast, where main characters didn`t became couple and The Beauty left her Beast not for Gaston other romance, but for her own path. And their relationship helped the Beast to realize his past mistakes and make to want to fix it, even if it`s too late . Comparing with many other things in that season that storyline was not bad. Really. There MANY problems with s4, I think the best stolyline had Rebe and Mencia, it was really good, and in my personal opinion, despite many flaws, Caye and Philippe storyline is second one for me. Kinda it was not really good, but it had plot, idea, composition and message. Writers knew very clear, what they tried to say, and despite obvious lack of screen time, they handle it, and this story, despite it doesn`t connect with main plot, resonate with main storyline on the level of their ideas. (About it later.) I know, Georgina is feminist, so I wonder, could she give some advice writers? Kinda “it can work better if...” something like it.

2) Personally I`m very disappointed how OOC was Caye in that season and how few screen time she had. For me Caye from s4 feels like too much different person than in s2-3. I wanted character development for her, but something more slow and realistic. S4 Cayetana feels like all her character development happened between s3 and s4 (and partly in special, which really was very good), and I don`t believe in it. Caye from s4 is good character, but there is no real connection with Caye from s2-3.

I knew, she was very upopular character in s2-3, so maybe creators afraid to gave her too much screen time. But also they still wanted she was part of story and write redemption arc for her. And honestly, anon, these two thing can`t work together well. When you write redemption arc for well written nuanced character that Cayetana was in s2-3, you need give character enough screen time and nuances. But it seems, s4 writers don`t care enough about writing S1-3 characters in character. In s2-3 Caye was bad girl, but also she was comedy relief (but s4 has very few comedy moments), she had family (where the fuck her mother and granddad now? We know only that her mother cannot work in Las Ensinas, but don`t know, why), we saw, that she did`t sleep almost, because she learn in Las Ensinas, worked as janitor and still hung out with rich kids. (I think I began feel compassion for her, when realized it). It that seson she almost has not other scenes than with Philippe. OK, she was pariah in school during previous year, but if writers began that things with Caye and Rebe friendship, can they continue it. Rebe and Caye both had problem with their love interests and they never discussed it. Only time they speak about Philippe was in 402. Also Benjamin fired Azucena, and wanted to expel Samu and Omar, but Caye still works there? And Benjamin still protects her even? Why? I mean, after whole thing with scam in s2. Maybe it because protection of Polo`s mothers, but it never was said in s4 even. It seems, Benjamin knows things about her story with Polo (like he knows about Philippe`s past), and it could be really interesting possiblity to bring on scene that aspect of situation and Benjamin`s character and him and Caye interaction. 

Also there is something with Georgina`s acting in s4, in most of scenes she acts as different character, so maybe it was and her (as actress) decision too. I wrote before, she is feminist, and maybe she wanted to bring more feminists vibes in s4 Caye, because it makes storyline works better? Given how few connection with previous seasons on script level her s4 story had, it make sense even, it`s just feel OOC for me, because Caye is not feminist at all. She is strong and ambitious, but she is not type of women what call themselves feminists, and when she said “I became my own Fairy Godmother” in s2, she meant that she was forced to do it. Caye was girl who wanted to be princess from old school Disney animation. In s3 she wanted to live and study on Polo mother money in London and was fully OK with it. When she refused their proposition, it was because thoughts, that Polo could be alive and even more or lesser happy in other school without those her messages, haunted her. Plus when Polo died, he thought Caye was with him more because his money than because Polo himself. I remember, in her first scene Caye read  The Second Sex, but it was spectacle for her schoolmates. And when she spoke with them about her fake rich life, it always was “look how rich and glamour I am”. Partly she spoke in this way because she knew very few about rich people`s life, but also there were some of her dreams. She wanted to be rich and and be part of this glamour life. In s3 she became in some way, and she had a lot of possiblities to understand how many shit, pain and tragedies can hide for glamour facade. Theoretically she knew it before. But she was exctremely poor, so it was a little bit difficult for her to think about it too much.

3) So I think more mention of Caye`s story from s2-3 could make her and Philippe story better. Philippe himself have same problem as Polo in some way: he is rich guy, and his mother indulged him too much. Caye saw how Polo`s mother indulged him and saw where it ended. Not good for Polo and many other people. Marina and Polo could be alive and Samu`s family could live with him in Spain, if Polo`s mothers raised their son better. Even if Caye don`t care much about Guzman or Samu and she never knew Marina, she had enough time between seasons to reflect of situation. So with more s2-3 reference that “matter of education thing” Caye says to Philippe`s mother could sound not only as sort of feminist  slogan, but as something very personal and painful for Caye. She was in love with boy, who was spoiled too much by his parents (like Philippe), and it brought a lof pain him, his friends, Caye. I don`t say there are not at all attempts include previous Caye experience in s4. For example, when Caye does google research about Philippe and finds nothings, she is still suspicious because she know, how easy money could erase some thing.  Also that thing with Pilippe`s mother. I think after conversation with her,Caye realized that Philippe`s and Polo`s promblems had very much same roots. But such moments really have not enough space. Guzman had at least one scene, where he speak about his reflection on s1 evens (where he compares Mencia and Marina). I would like to see something like it with Caye.

4) Many things in Caye and Philippe storyline feel offscreen. We know they regularly talk in school, but see very few of it etc. Actors have good chemistry, and since they both like fashion design, it feels enough for beginning of communication, plus Caye had crush on Philippe long before they met, plus she was first who was really friendly with him in new school (in some way it`s repeat of Caye and Polo story, but with more positive vibes). But I want to see more illustration, why Philippe fell in love with Caye so much.

5) Now about Philippe himself. I saw many hateposts and hatecomments about him, and it`s really funny, because I constantly see how many people in this fandom love Polo and think he deserved better, despite Polo is murderer. Yes, he killed Marina out of emotion, but she is fucking dead. She will never resurrect. Guzman will remember till grave that his best friend killed his sister and then was killed by Guzman`s ex-girlfriend, because policy failed to handle their job well. Samu`s brother was forced to left Spain because it. But it took 2 seasons for Polo to understand he needs go to policy and confess he killed Marina. Caye didn`t understood how wrong her actions were till Polo`s death. I don`t know how long was Elodie`s rape, but at least Philippe didn`t need someone`s corpse to realize his mistakes. Inside standart of this show that guy isn`t hopeless. “Everybody deserve second chance” was important point in Caye`s story in s2-3, so now I wonder how writers will play this card in s5 in relationship between Philippe and Caye. 

Also I want to say I was wrong, when doubted in Pol Granch acting, he`s good additon to Elite cast.

6) Caye x Philippe storyline and main storyline. In that seson Elite brings of scene, in additon of another murder and drug traid, sex crimes. Prostitution, rapes. It`s interesting, that connection here takes place through Ari, girl, who has serious problem with sexual behavior, when she`s drunk. She`s know it`s perfectly, but also she knows, that when woman says “no”, it`s means “no” and end of story. I really like her role in Caye and Philippe story and I hope in s5 there will be at least some scenes with her and Caye. Also interesting point were Ari`s word that she never report to the police without prove. It feels ambigous. She knows, Phillippe is not angel at all. But also there is other side of coin. I think, she also knows, reputation can be ruined very easy. During s4 there was subplot with discussion club. And Samu speak that ex-criminals cannot become somebody else, even if they wants. Their reputation in society was ruined. In final of Philippe story he sent Elodie his confession. So maybe writers tried to write about theme “can criminal, who admitted his mistakes, to became somebody else?” through season and I think they will continue it in s5.

Sorry if this all sounds muddled and too long. Maybe later I will make some additon into reblogs to this post, I don`t know.

[missdawnandherdusk]

Country Girl

Muggle!Reader X Draco 

London Boy

Summary: Draco has your heart and you have his, a muggle and a wizard, but what happens when you take him home... to America, to your very muggle parents, and your very muggle small town? 

A/n: As promised here is some ridiculous fluff and shenanigans between these two dorks. Also, this gets very southern very quickly, so as a disclaimer: none of this is meant to offend anyone at all, it’s just simple writing fun. I know a lot of you come to Tumblr to destress from the news, so this is free from current events and can even be seen written around circa 2010 if you want. I love you all and let me know what you think because I love being validated your comments and reblogs

“Um, do you maybe want to come with me back home?” The question was timid as it left my lips.

“To America?” He raised an eyebrow looking up from his workstation where he was currently brewing Amorentia—not that he used it, but it brought comfort to me and worked surpassingly well in a diffuser.

“To put it broadly, yes.” I smiled, knowing he had no idea how expansive America really was. “I’m off for the summer and my parents have been nagging me nonstop to meet you, and well it’s home,” Shrugging I hopped up on his desk and he eyed me warily, moving some things out of my way.

“How long?”

“Well I suppose you could apparate back any time you like, but...”

“How long?” He pressed again.

“A week?” I was almost afraid of his reaction.

Not that I was afraid of him, but I knew him well. He liked order. He like routine. Everything had a place and he preferred it if it stayed in that place. Which included him, in London.

“I understand if you don’t want to. I know it’s a lot. Muggle parents, Muggle girlfriend, America...” I trailed off looking down. “Just thought I’d offer.”

“Love,” he tilted my chin up. “If you want me to go with you to meet your parents, I suppose I can manage a week,” he smiled.

Happiness fluttered in my chest as I threw my arms around him.

“Careful dear,” he scolded, easily pulling me into his arms, carrying me. “This stuff takes forever to wear off and I’d rather not have you drugged for the next few hours.”

“Could be fun,” I giggled, nuzzling into his neck.

“You say that now,” he chided, a smile evident on his face. 

_____________________________

“Now, they don’t know that you’re a wiz,” You reminded him. “And I’d rather not have to obliviate my parents, so if you could— “

“You act like I’m a teenager Y/n, I’m not stupid,” Draco rolled his eyes. 

You raised an eyebrow at him. A challenge.

“And, a very fair warning: I am very...posh compared to my parents,”

Draco laughed; the word so unfamiliar to your lips and your American accent. Nor could he imagine in any way that someone would regard you as posh. He loved you, of course, but a lady was something you were not—not that he didn’t treat you like one, but that was beside the point.

But nothing you said could ever prepare him for what waited at your doorstep. Not the hours on a flight. Not the ride back in another muggle car. Not the songs on the radio. Not the conversations he had with Hermione and Harry unbeknownst to you.

“Pumpkin!” An older man in a buttoned-up flannel pulled you into his arms. His drawl was thick, making yours sound almost normal. “You are too pale darlin’ ain’t enough sun over there in England,” he chided, a huge smile on his face.

“Oh nonsense,” your mother replied, her drawl having more of a twang. “She’s just fine. Our little Georgia peach,” You face went a little pink as you blushed.

“Momma, Daddy, this is Draco,” he heard more of a drawl slip into your words and Merlin was he in trouble.

“The Brit,” your father scrutinized him for a moment before the smile returned. “Pleasure to meet you son,” he held out his hand.

“The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” Draco almost purred, shaking your father’s hand. 

“Oh Lord, hear that accent,” your mother fawned. “No wonder you fell for him, Y/n,”

“Mom,” you whined, turning a shade of red.

“Well come in you two, you must be exhausted from the flight.”

Draco should have taken your warnings more seriously. Maybe you should have eased him into more. Because a very Muggle farmhouse in the middle of the country with your very American parents was something he was not prepared for.

The floorboards creaked under his socks—shoes left by the front door—as pictures hung on the wall, a lot of them of you in various childhood phases: fishing, in trees, driving your beloved Jeep, posing next to a dead stag—that one made Draco snort, if only Harry knew. There were also tiny little ‘t’s all over the wall that Draco just didn’t understand the meaning of. Were they to ward something off? Was it a collection? Did they stand for some name he wasn’t aware of?

“Y/n, you go on with your mom and fix up dinner,” Your father nodded you two off to the kitchen.

“Dad,” You warned, a familiar look in your eyes.

“You worry too much.” Your dad shook his head. “Now, go on,”

You paused a moment, your stubborn streak flaring before you disappeared into the house, leaving Draco alone with your father, feeling quite anxious.

“Come on in, boy, sit on down and tell me about yourself,” Your father beckoned him to sit on a well-worn leather sofa, a knitted afghan thrown over the back.

Draco knew how to keep light conversation—a perk of being a Malfoy—but this? This he had no idea how to do. Your father seemed to pick up on that as he chuckled.

“So, you like my daughter, do you now?” He asked, his eyes holding the same shade as yours. 

“Yes sir,” Draco nodded. “Very much,”

“Yeah, we think she's something else,” Your father shook his head, chuckling. “Her daddy's girl... mama's world.” His face became hardened, serious, “She deserves respect and that's what she'll get ain't it, son?”

“Y-yes, of course,” Draco stammered. “Always.”

The smile came back to your father’s face and Draco felt like he just passed some sort of test.

“Well, y'all, run along and have some fun while you’re here. Just keep her safe. She’s got a knack for trouble,”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Draco chuckled.

“Dinner!” Two voices called from somewhere else in the house.

“Comin’ darlin’,” Your father called back, standing. “Shall we?” He gestured for Draco to go first.

........................................

“Was that so bad?” You asked later that night as you got ready for bed. It was different, seeing you flit around the room with memorized paths and actions.

“One of the most bizarre things I have ever experienced,” he confessed. “But I have to admit, your mother is a brilliant cook,”

You laughed.

“Oh, tell her that tomorrow, she will love you to pieces,”

Your drawl was coming in thicker the longer you lingered home and Draco began to understand the fascination with his accent, because your drawl did something else to him. The small room you were in was yours. A true work of art that was merely shadowed by your room in London. The soft blue tone room was calming as fairy lights were strung and antique furniture filled the room. Dried flowers and various paintings and posters filled the room matching the quilt spread underneath him.

You came over to his sitting position on the bed, nestling between his legs. His hands slipped up the backs of your thighs and you swatted him.

“Behave,” you hissed. “You have no idea how long it took me to convince Daddy to let us stay in a room together. I’d like to not lose that battle on the first night.”

“You has to ask your dad for permission to sleep with your boyfriend, in your room, as an adult?” He raised an eyebrow. “And I thought my parents were strict.”

“Oh, you don’t know the meaning of the word, pretty boy,” you smiled and draped your arms around his neck.

“I think I quite like this side of you,” Draco grinned.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,”

“For the love of my sanity please use proper English,” Draco dismayed to your amusement.

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” You dropped your drawl easily.

“You know what? Never mind,” Draco grinned, causing you to laugh harmoniously.

Never once had Draco ever seen you be a morning person, except now. The sun filtered in through the flowing curtains and your eyes fluttered open, landing on his.

“Mornin’,” You greeted.

“Good morning,”

“You ready?” There was a mischievous look in your eyes.

“For?”

“Well, I don’t think you’re quite ready to meet my friends, so I thought today we could go fishing.”

“Fishing?”

“Well, it’s not deer season so... we can’t exactly hunt. But it is fishing season.” 

“There are seasons for you to kill wildlife?” He asked, watching you get ready.

“Yeah?” You paused, looking over at him. “Helps keep the animals from being over hunted while still keeping up the sport and population down. Daddy and I do it more for the population, not the sport,” Your smile was soft. “And venison is to die for when momma cooks,”

After a breakfast that Draco would be craving for the rest of his life, you loaded up the Chevy pick-up truck (you had informed him) with bait and poles and against his better judgement, he got in.

_____________________________

“I’m gonna seriously have to thank Hermione for takin’ you shoppin’ beforehand,” You grinned, eyeing Draco in a short-sleeved Henley and khaki shorts. “Knowin’ you, you only own suits and dress pants.”

“I own t-shirts,” Draco refuted, clinging to the door handle for dear life as I meandered the backroads towards the lake.

I rolled my eyes and turned onto the trail that would take us to the docks. 

“This isn’t even a road!” Draco dismayed. “It’s barely dirt!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what four-wheel drive is for,” I grinned. “And honey, I fear the day someone takes you muddin’.”

“Mudding?” He asked skeptically.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” I smiled, chuckling darkly, imagining the pristine Draco Malfoy anywhere near a four wheeler or ATV.

Hopping into the boat, Draco eyed me, hesitant on the dock. 

“You can drive this too?” He narrowed his eyes at me.

“It’s barely anything to drive,” I rolled my eyes, throwing my hair up. “Now come on, city boy. A little country ain’t gonna kill you,”

“No,” Draco agreed, settling in the boat beside me. “But a country girl just might,” The purr of his voice had me blushing and fumbling to kill the engine and grab a fishing pole.

Draco absolutely refused to touch the live crawfish. His face scrunched up in disgust as he watched me cast my line in.

“Oh, like it’s any different than you and your potion’s ingredients,” I pointed out. 

“That’s different,” He pouted.

Smiling at his theatrics, the day consisted of Draco dismaying at just about everything. Including but not limited to: sunscreen, mosquitoes, not being able to hold my reeling hand, the heat, the sun, Oakley sunglasses—of which he looked absolutely stunning in and it wasn’t fair—baseball caps, live bass, me handling said bass, me handling a knife, the live crawfish again, the heat... again.

“Oh my God, Draco,” I huffed, not nearly as annoyed as I sounded.

“I’m sorry,” He drawled. “But this is absolutely absurd,”

I might have shoved him into the lake.

When he resurfaced, utter shock was on his face, as well as anger as he scolded my name. 

“Yes?” I answered innocently. “Not so hot anymore is it?” I bated my eyelashes.

“You little—”

“Oh, and watch out for gators,” I grinned mischievously as his eyes went wide with fear. “Kidding!” I laughed, slipping off my crocs. “Probably,”

He was hanging onto the side of the small boat when I leapt off the side and into the icy water. 

“What in the world are you doing?” Draco swam over to me.

“Swimming? Since someone thinks that fishing is absurd,” I mocked his accent. 

“I don’t sound like that,” He grumbled.

“Yes, you do,” I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Stop being so uptight, Dray. Whatever you’re holding onto... reputation or whatever voice that’s in your head...” His face fell.

I knew that he had been raised to hate everything around him. The innocence and simplicity of it. Sure, it had taken some time and I had made a home in his heart, those prejudices fading, but he still fought hard sometimes. And maybe I wish he didn’t. And maybe I was selfish to think that.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered softly. “I just... Your world is so incredible, Draco. Filled with things that are beyond my wildest dreams, and maybe I wanted to show you into mine,”

His arms snaked around my waist as he held me close, resting his forehead to mine.

“I’m sorry too,” He murmured softly. “Of course, I want to be a part of your world as well, but— ”

“Maybe fishing was a bit over ambitious?” I mused.

“Maybe slightly,” He chuckled, pressing his lips to mine sweetly. 

“At least we have dinner tonight,”

“I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not,”

I wasn’t.

__________________________________

The next day wasn’t as ambitious as fishing with you, but it was still quite new to him. Dressed in a sundress, you took his hand and lead him down the main street of your small town, the small shops reminding him of a fairytale. He was surprised at how many people recognized you and said hello. A kindness that he wasn’t accustomed to in the Wizarding world. Especially when the café owner had a long conversation with you and then said that your lunch was ‘on the house.’

“Not too bad?” You asked softly, after finishing lunch. 

“Not bad at all,” He smiled.

After bringing in the groceries from a quaint muggle shop, into your warm little yellow kitchen, you took Draco’s hand and led him into the backyard. The sun was setting just beyond the horizon, painting the sky in crimson colors.

“Mr. Fancypants alright with climbing a few trees?” There was a smirk on your face. 

“What are we? Five?” Draco chuckled, following you into the tree line.

“Well, I guess that is when daddy and I built this,” You gestured to a certain tree, where an emasculate treehouse resided.

Despite the wooden construction’s age, it still held well. Draco was half expecting it to be bigger on the inside, a commonality in the Wizarding World, but no, what he saw on the outside was what was reflected on the inside. This treehouse held no secrets. Draco smiled as he watched you climb the tree with no shoes on—a commonality he had noticed. You went barefoot whenever you could.

You helped him up and his eyes darted around, taking in the little house with it’s rope banisters, many windows and various trinkets and knickknacks that Draco had no hope in naming or identifying. When his eyes found you again, there was a blanket folded into your arms.

“When I was little, I used to come out here and stargaze... I don’t know how many times Daddy would have to come up here and carry me home ‘cause I fell asleep,” A smile touched your lips.

Draco looked up to the wooden roof and raised an eyebrow skeptically. You caught his question and nodded to a rope to his left. His fingers grasped the course fibers and tugged it experimentally. A mechanism went off and the roof parted at the gable, letting him see the first stars that had come out to play.

There was something different about looking up at these stars with you. He had spent years studying them in class and couldn’t remember half of what he had learned, but with you, they held a different meaning. You knew all of the stories it seemed. The ones that he learned as a child and some he didn’t. It was jarring, hearing the familiar stories fall from your lips. After all this time, maybe your muggle world wasn’t so far off from his magical one.

True to your word, you did end up sleeping softly in his arms as he looked up at the stars, then down at your peaceful face. Knowing that you wouldn’t want to spend the night outside—and neither would he for that matter—he carefully scooped you into his arms, and instead of risking dropping you, he simply apparated to the soft grass below and headed up towards the house.

Your father was waiting on the porch, the light still on despite the late hour, nursing a can, a soft smile on his face.

“Good to see that some things don’t change with her,” Your father opened the door for him. “Sometimes I think I lose her to her fancy schools, halfway around the world,” There was an air of melancholy to his words.

“I can assure you that you’ll never lose her,” Draco smiled down at you. “She adores and loves you more than you’ll ever know. The way she lights up when she talks about home...”

“You’ve made an old man very happy tonight Draco,” Your dad smiled. “Now go on up, I’m gonna close the house up for the night,”

.................................

“I’d like to apologize in advance for just about everythin’ that’s about to happen,” You took his hand smiling.

“How bad can they be?” Draco mused. “You’ve met my friends, and that went well,”

“Uhuh,” You laughed. “Sure. I’ll take that vote of confidence.” You easily backed your truck up into the circle of other vehicles surrounding a rather large bonfire that gave Draco a bit of anxiety.

“Look at what the tide washed in!” Someone called from the back of a pickup truck. 

“No way!” Another gasped.

“Since when did you get home!?”

A girl rushed up and pulled you into a hug, dislodging your hand from his as he watched you spin with the girl, both of you laughing. A few others came up and hugs were passed out, hellos exchanged.

“Son of a bitch, you never said he was hot, Y/n,” The first friend who greeted—Rebecca— raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yes, because that’s all I look for in a guy,” You rolled your eyes, offering him a beer and taking a seat on the tailgate of your pickup.

“I’m just glad to see that you haven’t gone full brit on us,” Another—Megan smiled from the arms of a guy that Draco would have stereo typed to be on your arm instead. “Still think you can outshoot me?” She grinned.

“With my eyes closed,” You drawled, taking a sip of your own hard iced tea. “Seriously, y’all think I was just gonna forget everythin’?”

“We didn’t think you’d come back after find Mr. London over here,” Rebecca grinned.

“Yeah, you’ve been awful quiet over there Union Jack,” Megan narrowed her eyes at him, and he felt the same sort of anxiety he had around your parents. “What are your intentions with our Y/n?”

“Y’all really? What are we? High schoolers? And he has a name ya know.” You rolled your eyes, leaning against him, intertwining your finger with his. That eased his anxiety a bit as his eyes stayed trained on the dancing fire.

“Well, any guy worthy of catching your eye must be something special,” Tyler—the guy sitting next to Rebecca—shrugged.

“Oh, come on Tyler, we were freshman,” You scoffed, taking another swig from your can.

Draco’s interest was piqued at this new information. Was there something between you and Tyler that he wasn’t aware of? Was it something he had to worry about? His grip tightened around you and he caught the sly smile on your face at the action.

He learned a lot about you that night. You never were one to brag but stars did your friends like to embarrass you. You weren’t the top of your class, but you were pretty damn close. You always got yourself out of any kind of trouble and had about every boy at your heels in school and didn’t give them an air of interest—Tyler lamented quite obnoxiously. You could be out late Saturday night at a party, but every morning you were up early, in the choir at church—which shocked Draco, you had always been hesitant to sing around him, and he wasn’t exactly sure what ‘church’ was but... it was a question for another time.

The conversation lulled as food was brought out. You offered him a bit of mangled stretched out wire and a hot dog and shot him a dazzling smile before showing him how to roast it over the fire. It was messy and uncivilized, and Merlin, Draco loved it. Sitting cross-legged beside you, a paper plate in his lap filled with such rich food and sweet fruit, he truly caught a glimpse into your world again.

The buzz of insects and glow of others, the heat and warmth of the fire, the smell of grass and dirt, the sound of some country song blasting from a nearby truck, the sway of your body as you hummed along, the smile that rested on your face, the buzz of alcohol in his system, and the taste of it on your lips, Draco never felt more... free. The Dark Mark could be nothing more than a tattoo. His scars could mimic Alex’s dirt biking scars. His school career could be scoffed at like yours was. His parents could just be strict and rich. He could be free.

_____________________________

My thumb absentmindedly stroked the back of Draco’s hand as the night wound down. I had switched to sweet tea a while ago, knowing I’d had to drive home. There was something oddly comforting in seeing Draco in the midst of my small-town world. His careful blue eyes, stark blond hair, and pale creamy skin seemed to rebel at the mere thought, but the smile on his lips overrode it all, claiming he belonged.

In bed that night, my fingers traced over the scars that littered his chest. It was hard to imagine that the Harry I knew caused them. It seemed like worlds away. Even in Draco’s arms, London and magic and wizards sounded like a fairytale, some far-fetched dream.

“Your friends are... nice,” Draco murmured, drawing a chuckle from me.

“That’s one way to put it,” I propped up on my elbow. “Nothing too absurd I hope?” There was a slight teasing tone to my words.

He smiled lazily at me.

“It’s... different here,” Draco decided.

“Good different? Or bad different?”

“Free different.” He mused. “Like... it—my past... doesn’t exist at all. No one here knows, or judges me...”

“Well,” I whispered softly, running my hand through his hair. “It is a different world. Somethin’ you have to love about a small town,” A smile grew on my face. “And it’s not about your past, not anymore. It’s your future that’s important,”

“As long as you’re there,” Draco pressed a kiss to my forehead. 

“For as long as you’ll have me,”

“Forever,”

I spent the next day teaching Draco how to bake. He was a decent cook after spending some time with my grandmother and I in London, but backing was a bit different, as Draco found out. With classic rock on the radio and mom and dad out for the day, Draco and I had a blast. A few times I saw him cheat and use wandless magic. It earned him some flour in his face—which he also magicked away. When I protested, he pressed a kiss to my lips and maybe I forgot why I was upset in the first place.

With the pie in the oven, Draco and I lounged across the couch. His hands were fiddling with my hair absentmindedly, as we watched The Breakfast Club. Hermione and Harry had done an alright job introducing Draco to muggle movies and shows. But as much as I loved Doctor Who—we were all convinced that the Doctor was a wizard secretly—or Sherlock, some American normalcy was appreciated.

That night I couldn’t help but laugh as Draco was very confused about football. It was like translating something through three languages—Wizard, to British, to American. After a while I think he gave up on the notion and just nursed his beer. The game held my interest for the second half while my father was very adamant about coaching from his armchair.

“You should have seen him at her little league games,” My mother muttered, causing Draco and I to chuckle and my dad to simmer some.

“Softball,” I filled Draco in. “Like baseball... but for girls I guess.” He nodded.

Before I knew it, the week ended, and Draco and I were packing to return back home, well to London anyway. I traded in my sundresses for jeans and sighed as I unzipped my suitcase, starting to unpack.

“It’s not like we’ll never go back,” Draco wrapped me up in his arms.

“We?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Did you not want me to go back?” A playful smile graced his lips.

“No, I do! I just... well, I know you Dray,” I draped my arms around his neck. “You like things a certain way in a certain order, and well, that,” I gestured vaguely. “was anything but,”

“Maybe it’s time I leave this behind me,” He murmured softly. “Stuffy offices and grey skies...”

My eyes widened in surprise and joy.

“Not completely,” He amended. “I do still have to work, they need me as Head Healer, and you have uni, and then there’s Teddy to think about, but... maybe a summer home there wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,”

I drew him into a tight hug, tears stinging my eyes. It wasn’t even that he wanted to go back, it was that he wanted me with him when he did. He talked about a home like I’d be there beside him.

And when he was down on one knee, surrounded by my London family, with a simple ring, I knew that he did want me there beside him, and always would.

I gave him an escape from his past and he promised me a future.

.

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[thesilkentheater]

visit from a naga

Trinkets line the walls, charms of every type and size. Some are little more than reflective beetle shells coated in something clear to keep for a decade and then some; others stretch along the height of the entire wall, braided ropes and sticks forming intricate patterns with a relevance now lost to time, mostly. He remembers what's necessary- that is, their purpose and their use nowadays and some vague details about how he got them.

There are some drawers in the counter. They hold a few things- compensation for trinkets brought to him, a weapon, some of his own creations to part with. Glass bottles line the glass display facing the front of the store, filled with brews possessing a myriad of functions. The glass appears frosted from the inside, but that is only to him.

This place exists in a space-time uncertain, one place at one moment and another place at the same time. The entrance can't be occupied by multiple people, but someone from London and someone from the Otherwhere might step in one after the other without realizing the other entered the shop until they turn around. Considering he doesn't get ever so many customers, it's never particularly been a problem.

Business is always slow. As one would expect- the powers of such a powerful witch are costly, and not always needed in situations where he might help nonetheless out of boredom. People who don't intend to be only end up here when they need to be.

He's dozing off at the counter when the bell jingles lightly, the door jostled just a bit. Whoever has just entered slunk in through a crack in the door before closing it again, and as a result he only just barely recognizes the sound that plays. It doesn't help that his bleary vision doesn't spot anyone in the store at first glance, until-

"Hello?"

The noise jostles him out of his stupor, blinking the sleep out of his eyes and adjusting his wide-brimmed hat. "Yes! Hello, and welcome to my store~. Whatever were you looking for?"

When he finally spots the sound of the voice, he's met by a very curious sight. A naga who looks particularly embarrassed, eyes darting around as he peruses the shelves of things for sale. Anything that's on a shelf proper is for sale, that's the rules that everyone seems to naturally abide by upon walking in, and anything he's selling he made.

That is to say, it's quite amusing to see the curious little snake poke around a pile of charms he likely doesn't realize are for more lascivious purposes.

"I, um, ah…It's kind of embarrassing…"

"Oh, that's quite alright. Being a witch is like being a clinic, you know. No judgement, it's my job to fix things, not ask you how they started in the first place!"

"Er, well, this wasn't exactly caused- or, well, not by me…"

"All the better, that it's not your fault. I do much prefer helping people when they're not the ones digging their own graves."

"I feel like I'm verbally digging my own grave right now."

"And how so?"

"Er, see, the problem is- okay, so I was making a deal with someone, right? And I didn't realize it but they drugged me, but whatever they did only worked halfway cause I was disguised as a human, and- and now it won't go down."

"…Pardon?"

"It won't go down."

"What won't?"

"My-" he gestures downwards, and finally the witch understands. And lets out a cackling laugh befitting of their title.

"I didn't-"

"My apologies, honest! Sorry, sorry, it's just quite the funny situation, I am not laughing at you, I promise."

"…If you say so."

"So, you want, what? A potion to make it go 'down'?"

"That would work, yeah, if you don't mind…"

"Though I am curious, why not find someone to help you out with that?"

"I'm not really…into, my own species."

"No?"

"No, I like humans better."

"Oh, do you now?"

"Yeah, but, see, that's the problem. I don't like non-magical folk."

"Ahh, found yourself in a corner there, haven't you." The witch licks his lips, and thinks back to the past. It has been an awfully long time since anyone even came in with such a lewd problem, much less that he's interacted with someone in such a manner. "But, ah, wait a minute, hold on just a moment. Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Wh-what?"

"I'm magic, and I'm human. Well, humanoid- I'm a bit older than that, of course, and all that. But I certainly look and feel the part~."

"…I mean, yeah, I just, uh, well-"

Again the witch giggles, but this time it's a bit more playful. "Oh, don't be so shy. I'm the one propositioning you, silly, you're not coming onto me unwanted. Unless I am onto you?"

"…No," he squeaks out, "I'm just new to this."

"I'm sure you are," the witch easily replies, "and I'm just about ready to close shop anyways, so how about I close a few minutes early give or take and some, and we go to the back?"

"S-sure."

The witch happily pushes himself off his stool, flipping the sign on the front of the glass window, and beckons the naga further into his shop, though not before teasing him by running a hand down his tail. "By the way, what's your name?"

"Pier."

"Oooh, pretty. I'm sure you already know, but I'm Heinrich."

[padfootagain]

The King And You (XI)

Part 11: What To Do Now?

 Here comes the next chapter for my Caspian fic. After the last chapter, I felt like I had to update this story again, because we left our lovebirds… hmm hmm, well, you know where we left them, and it was cute af!!

I hope you like this new chapter. This is a bit… emotional, so get ready! Took a bit of inspiration from the Korean show Crash Landing on you for the end of this chapter.

Word Count: 4358

It had been hours, and Caspian could still not believe it.

He stared at the ceiling in his room, his eyes barely discerning any detail in the dark. The lamppost outside shed a yellowish light in the room, piercing through the white curtains, that made almost no effect on chasing the dark away.

You had kissed him.

Or… perhaps he had kissed you? He wasn't sure who it was who actually made the first step, it had no real importance, he reckoned. All that mattered was that… the two of you had kissed.

He played for what seemed to be the thousandth time the scene in his head. The lights on the rooftop, the music, how you danced together… he smiled at the thought of how clumsy you were at first.

But then he saw your joined hands again, and how the lights played in your eyes and…

And then the kiss…

By Aslan's name, he didn't know that something so wonderful could exist.

What was to happen now though?

You had barely ended the kiss, had just a few seconds to stare at each other, before a pair of drunk men would burst out of the building and onto the rooftop. You had gone home soon after, and none of you had dared raise the question that was on your tongues.

What to do now?

He closed his eyes, tighter and tighter as the thoughts formed in his mind.

He had to go. What now? He thought the question as if there were several answers possible. But there weren't. There was only one thing to do, because no matter how he felt, no matter how you felt, he was King. A vow he had taken and would never break. He repeated the pledge in his silence, his lips moving to let out no sound.

He would do anything for his people, sacrifice whatever needed to be sacrificed.

He had to go back to Narnia and leave you behind.

When he opened his eyes again, there were tiny white spots dancing before him.

What to do now?

Now, he had to let you go, before things could get worse.

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

 One last day.

That was what he had decided. He would spend one last day with you, and never see you again. He couldn't take the risk of hurting you by letting you imagine that he could stay. He knew, despite your interest for his stories, that deep down, you still didn't fully believe that Narnia was real. How could you see then that when he would cross the door back to his realm, it would be to never return.

Before, he thought he would take every moment he could with you. Cherish them to live the rest of his life. But things had changed with that kiss, and he couldn't take the risk to have you feeling for him the kind of feelings he had for you.

It wouldn't be fair of him to let you fall like he had fallen. You didn't know how this would end. But he did. He couldn't take the risk.

He would have less memories to carry with him back home, but it was okay. He had kissed you once, that was the best memory he would ever remember.

He spent the rest of the night deciding how to tell you about this. Maybe you would tell him it was a mistake, and he wouldn't have to go through it all, and a part of him longed for this to happen. You had been drinking a little, and even if he didn't believe you were drunk, maybe it was enough to blur your judgement. You would apologize. Tell him it was a mistake and it would be better if you just forgot what had happened, and remained friends. Would he take the risk to see you again then? No, or at least not the way he did now. Only with Agatha. He had but a few days left to spend in New York, so it didn't really matter anyway… or at least, that was the thought he was trying to fool himself at believing into.

His thoughts went on throughout morning too, and Agatha obviously noticed his strange behaviour. He was too quiet, too distant, too sad. After a couple of hours, she couldn't help but ask.

"Caspian, what's wrong with you this morning?"

He shook his head.

"Nothing."

"Now, after all that we are doing together, I reckon you can at least tell me the truth. You owe me that much."

He opened his mouth to try to argue his way out of the conversation, but he couldn't. She was right. He owed it to her.

He heaved a sigh.

"I'm sorry, you are right."

"I know I'm right, now, tell me everything."

She sat beside him on the couch, with a cup of warm tea in her hand, eager to hear what could possibly be such an issue in the King's life now.

Caspian took a deep breath, but didn't know how to tell her what had happened between you and him.

"You… you must promise me to not tell anyone," he asked Agatha, who gave him her word without a hesitation.

After another quiet moment, Caspian finally gathered his courage.

"I… Last night, Y/N and I went to her friend's birthday party and… something… happened…"

Agatha's eyes narrowed, but a smile was already creeping up her lips.

"Something? What do you mean? Between… you and Y/N?"

Caspian struggled to swallow, but nodded.

Agatha let out an excited cry.

"What happened? Tell me everything."

But before Caspian's puzzled expression, she calmed down.

"It is not a good thing, Agatha," Caspian clarified. "We are leaving for London in a few days, and if everything goes as planned, I will never come back to this world. We… we can never be together. This kiss was a mistake. It has to be. Because I can't stay here. Sooner or later, I'll have to leave, and there is nothing I can do about it. The doorways are not easy to find, and too much of a risk anyway. I will not come back. I… it's better if we simply… accept it and do not try to… make it more difficult than what it needs to be."

Agatha slowly nodded.

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I… I'm going to tell her that this was a mistake, and that we should part now."

"So… you're going to break the poor thing's heart."

"On the contrary, I am protecting her."

"Protecting her? Really?"

"Of course. Before she might… feel… before she starts caring for me."

Agatha shook her head this time.

"My dear… after all the time she has spent with you, and everything she has done for you, don't you think that she cares already?"

"But as a friend, not as… more."

"You should talk about it with her."

"That's what I am planning on doing."

"I mean talk with her, not announce her your decision."

"But Agatha, there is no other solution. Nothing to discuss, really. I have to leave, and we will never see each other again."

"Have you thought about her possibly wanting to leave?"

But Caspian shook his head frantically, and a colder expression settled on his features.

"Her life is here. She cannot leave. Just like my life is in Narnia, and I cannot stay."

"Are you leaving because your life is there, or because you have people depending on you there?"

"Both."

He seemed to believe in his answer, and so she chose to change her argument.

"You cannot take a decision in her stead."

"I am taking my end of the decision."

"But for the wrong reason. Maybe, even though you will leave, she would prefer to spend as much time with you as she can. Have you thought about that?"

Caspian didn't answer.

"Of course, you have. Are you sure who you are doing this for? Is it to protect her, or yourself?"

"Both of us, I guess. It'll be easier when I leave."

"The easy path is rarely the right one. You're probably right, it might give both of you less pain to part if you choose to stop everything now. But what about the happiness you would have found by embracing every single moment you could get? What about these memories you will get to hold onto? Take it from an old lady, who has her fair share of regrets. All the moments I would change, if I could, wouldn't be about money, about choosing another path. It would be to spend more time with the people I can't see anymore. These are my regrets. Not seizing the occasion to love them more. To spend more time with the people who made me happy. And you will find out that, after a while, when you lose someone you love dearly, you remember the good times more than the pain, and these make it all worthwhile. Always."

The King took a moment to weight Agatha's words. He looked in his heart to see if she was right. He thought about the Pevensies. About all the friends he had lost along the years.

First, he remembered their faces, and their laughs.

Then, he remembered the good moments. The Pevensies bickering. Edmund beating him at chess. Peter and him talking about Narnia. Susan showing off her skills at archery. Lucy running on the beach and laughing. Eustace's stupid talks with Reepicheep…

Indeed, he had to go much, much deeper to see the bad times. And if he felt sad at the thought that he would not see them again, he found out that he wouldn't have done anything differently. His memories were worth the pain of missing them.

Maybe Agatha was right…

"It's not only your choice to make. She has her say in this too. And you can't decide for her. You don't know how she feels. Or has she told you?"

Caspian shook his head.

"Then ask her. Ask her what she wants. Tell her the risks. Tell her how it will end. And if she still wants to stay by your side until you have to leave, then you have no rights to dismiss her."

"What if I don't want to have her by my side until this is over?"

But Agatha gave her a look that showed him that she was not to be fooled.

"We both know that it is not what your heart longs for. You wouldn’t be sitting on this couch looking so miserable if it were."

Agatha got up to put her teacup in the kitchen, and Caspian focused on the outside world instead. It was raining, and the water clung to the windowsill.

But Caspian shook his head. No, it wasn't the wisest thing to do. He had… he had to protect you, whatever the cost. He would not let you get heartbroken because of him. He would not let you ache the way he did. He would not let you suffer the way he knew he would when he would leave.

No, he had to stop it all. And he had to do it today.

He would spend one afternoon with you, and then it would be time for him to wake up from the sweet dream he had made for the two of you.

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

 You went to Central Park again, and simply walked through the park. The weather was cold but sunny, blue sky above orange leaves and bare branches replacing the clouds of the morning. There were so many skeleton leaves all around that some of the ponds seemed to have disappeared altogether, hidden under the dead foliage.

Children were feeding ducks a few meters away, you were walking in silence down the main path, the rain from the morning having turned the grass into muddy grounds.

You had tried to delay the inevitable question for as long as you could, but knew you needed to bring it up now. Caspian hadn't mentioned your kiss either, maybe he was waiting for you just like you were waiting for him. But there was something different about him too. Something… that made him look sad.

A part of you wanted to wait to see if he would eventually bring it up, but you decided that the game had lasted long enough.

"Caspian?"

He turned to you, humming to let you know that he was paying attention to your words.

"About last night…"

You studied his reaction, but you couldn't figure out what he was thinking.

"About… what happened on the rooftop…" you went on. "I… I reckon we should talk about it."

Caspian slowly nodded, his steps slowing down without him noticing.

"Of course. I… I do think we should talk about it as well."

You struggled to swallow the lump in your throat. He was acting strangely cautious and cold. But maybe it was simply because he wasn't sure of what you were about to say. A simple defence mechanism?

"I… what do you think we should do about it?"

He had to say it. He had spent the night and most of his morning thinking about what he had to say, and it was the right thing to do.

"I think we should forget about it."

Caspian's voice was firm and certain, a perfect opposite to the way his heart was breaking behind the protection of his ribcage, words reaching the beating organ like flights of arrows breaking through an armour.

He noticed the way you clenched your jaw, how your head bent a little more towards the ground.

"Okay," was all you could muster the strength to breath out.

"I am but a passing dream, Y/N. Soon, I'll be gone. It's better to remain friends. Don't you agree?"

You nodded.

"Wise words," you replied in a bitter tone.

"Last night was… surreal," Caspian went on, feeling the need to fill up any silence that could settle between the two of you. Silence would let his pain scream way too loudly for him to handle, so he chased it away instead. "The music, and the dance… we got carried away by the scenery. And… you were intoxicated…"

"I had one drink, I wasn't even tipsy," you replied with some outrage in your tone, looking up at him again. "Besides, if I remember well, you were kissing me just as much as I was kissing you!"

"That… is not what I meant…"

"What do you mean, then?"

"Simply that… last night was… a particular atmosphere. And that on other circumstances, things would have been different, and this kiss wouldn't have happened. Do you deny that? That you would have never wanted to kiss me in any other circumstances?"

"I don't deny that last night was… a moment. Doesn't mean that I didn't know what I was doing."

"Y/N… You wouldn't have acted this way under any other circumstances."

"What about you?"

He frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you say that if I had not been… shaken by my surroundings last night, I would have never wanted to kiss you. But what about you? Would you ever want me to kiss me without the dancing and the music and the lights from last night? Or are you talking about yourself not wanting me? Because I reckon that you talk a lot about how I feel and how I would act when, last time I checked, you had no access to my thoughts at all. So? What about you?"

If he were to be honest, he would have answered that the scenery had simply given the push to actually take the first step. He would have told you that he was dreaming about you every night. He would have told you that he wished he could kiss you now. He would have told you that he had stayed awake at night imagining what your lips would feel like against his.

But if he said these words he meant, it would make things more difficult. And he knew what he had to do. It was easier to lie. Easier to pretend that last night was nothing when it meant everything. He had promised you to tell you the truth once, and it was not one of his habits to break a vow, but this time, he would have to make an exception.

Because he couldn't let you hurt the way he was getting shattered now.

"It's just a dream, Y/N. It was a mistake. We are just friends, nothing more. And if yesterday was a moment… then that is all it was. A moment. And the moment passed. Reality is thriving again, and in reality, this kiss was a mistake we ought to make only once."

He fell silent. He felt exhausted. He knew that the second he would be alone, he would fall to his knees and cry all the tears his body could form. But he wasn't alone for now, you were standing there, motionless by his side, staring at him, and he had to keep his mask on for now.

And he did.

He looked calm and cold and distant, and it was hurting you so much…

Because after the previous night, there was no doubt left in your mind.

You were in love with him.

You always had been. And maybe that was why you couldn't stay away for long despite all the warning signs. Maybe that was why he made you happier than you had ever been. Maybe that was why your world was brighter now that he was in it.

But clearly, he didn't feel the same, and if you had thought before that your heart had been broken, it seemed that he was proving you wrong.

You wanted to fight back. Say something mean. Something that would hurt. Or perhaps you could agree. Hide that you were in pain. Hide that he was breaking your heart. Instead, you could nod and tell him that he was right, that this kiss didn't mean anything to you either anyway, that you didn't care, that you ought to move on indeed. You would be just friends, and that would be all. You didn't care. Would never care for him that way.

But there were lies too big to pass your throat, and this one was, without a doubt, the biggest lie you had ever wished to speak. And you couldn't say it.

Instead, tears blurred Caspian's features stinging and sour, and you looked away to hide them.

You tried to speak, but couldn't. You managed to force your head to move into a nod, and that was about all that you could muster for now. You wanted to run away, so you started to walk again.

And Caspian didn't understand.

Because of course, he saw that you were starting to cry. And he couldn't understand, because you weren't supposed to be crying. Maybe you would be a little disappointed? Even that reaction, he wasn't expecting. No, it was all going wrong. Why were you leaving now?

He didn't mean to hurt you. He never did. He was protecting you, that was what he was doing… right?

He thought again of Agatha's words, and maybe… maybe she was right…

"Y/N!"

But you didn't stop, you kept on walking, going faster even.

"Y/N, wait!"

He ran after you, taking your arm in a gentle and yet firm hold to force you to turn to him.

When he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks, all the air was knocked out of his lungs.

He was hurting you. You were crying because of him… That was not what he wanted.

"I… don't cry," he let out in a trembling voice, all piece of armour or masquerade broken, and when you looked up to look into his dark brown eyes, you could see nothing but worry and pain in these irises you adored. "Don't cry, please. I'm sorry. Don't be sad. I… I don't want you to be sad, I'm sorry."

You shook your head. You wanted to be strong, and stubborn, and proud, and you wanted to get a clever remark out. But you were crying already, revealing your heart on a silver platter, so what was the point in playing it tough when you were one the verge of breaking altogether?

"It's okay. I just… I guess I just hoped for you to feel… a certain way, and you don't. But that's okay. I can't force you to feel like that."

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay."

"No, no it's not okay. Please, I'm begging you, stop crying."

His large, calloused hands came to gently cup your face, brushing your tears away with his thumbs. His touch was so soothing, you soon calmed down.

"I'll be fine, Caspian."

But he wasn't blind. It was written all over your features that you would not be fine. The damage was already done. He had made you suffer, and he hated himself for that.

Agatha's words came ringing in his ears once more, and maybe she was right. Maybe you cared about him already. He couldn't imagine that you loved him the way he loved you, but maybe you cared enough to be hurt by him all the same. Perhaps Agatha was right, and it wasn't fair of him to not give you the chance to choose what you wanted to do next.

If he could, he would seize all the moments he had the chance to share with you. And maybe you would want to do the same, after all.

That wasn't fair to lie then, was it? Besides, you were crying again, eyes reddened and puffy already, and by Aslan's name, Caspian had never hated himself as much as he did now, for being the cause behind your tears.

"I lied."

He struggled to swallow while your eyes were suddenly full of hope. He didn't notice that his eyes too were filling up with tears before he felt them wetting his eyelashes.

"I… I'm sorry," he went on, voice unsure and low. "But… I'll be leaving soon, and I thought… I thought you didn't mean it, and then it would have been so much easier to just act like it had never happened. I didn't want you to care about me the way I care about you. Because it… it hurts then to know that I'm going to leave. It hurts to know that this won't last, and I thought… I thought I could save you from that pain, and I… I'm sorry. Please, don't cry. Don't cry. I can't see you cry. I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to kiss you so badly…"

His voice broke, and he let out a shaky sigh, trying to muster the strength to go on. But speaking his heart was so hard. He felt so fragile now. As if he were handing you his soul and heart… but then, that was exactly what he was doing.

"I'm sorry. I… I wish there would be another way, but there isn't. I have to leave. And I didn't want you to miss me the way that I'm going to miss you. I wanted you to forget all about me as soon as I would be out of your life. I don’t want you to think about me. I don't want you to miss me. I… I want you to be able to do what I won't be capable of. I want you to live without me and be happy. When I… I won't be able to do that now. It's too late for me. I won't forget you. I will never forget you. And when I think about what happiness means, it is your name I will speak. I… I shouldn't have said all that… I'm sorry… I'm sorry, please, don't cry. Don't cry…"

Before he could let out another sound, you were leaning to press your lips to his. And he was surprised, and it took him a few seconds to kiss you back, but he did. He let his fingers slide to rest in your hair, and you held on his long black coat like it was a safe line.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and resting your forehead against his, your voice was hoarse as you spoke again.

"I think it's too late for me too, to be fair. And what if… what if I really don't want to forget you? What if I don't want to forget anything about you?"

He let out a shaky breath, and closed his eyes tighter to stop himself from crying.

"I have to leave. This can't work."

"But for now, you're here. Can't it be enough for now?"

"I don't want you to be hurt because of me."

"I'm going to England with you."

He finally moved his head back to look at you.

"What?"

"I'm going with you," you repeated. "Agatha has already bought the tickets and planned everything for me to come as well. I'll go with you there."

"You don't have to."

"I want to. For now, I want to be with you, and that's enough for me. What do you want?"

He didn't answer, hesitating.

What he wanted more than anything, he knew he could never keep…

"Forget about Narnia for a second. Because you're not in Narnia right now. Just… what do you want, now? Because I want to go to London with you. I know what I want. I understand what you're saying. I understand you're going to leave. And I want to help, I want to stay with you, for as long as you'll be here. What about you? Don't you want me to stay with you?"

And as he looked into your eyes, he knew then, that Agatha was right.

It was your life, your heart, your choice. And maybe it would just make things worth to lie now. So, he didn't.

Instead, he pressed his lips to yours again, and you remained there, under falling red leaves, for an awfully long time that seemed too short still.

*****************************************

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[crockettmarcel]

day 6 - rain

Ava couldn’t remember falling asleep, and when she awoke, it took a few moments to realise she was somewhere completely unfamiliar. It looked like a cottage, but not one she’d ever been to before, and she couldn’t help the lump forming in her throat.

She pulled herself upright so she could take a proper look around the room, noticing for the first time the blanket that was covering most of her body. Someone had put it there, and taken the time to start a fire in the hearth, but Ava didn’t know who, or where they’d gone.

From what she could see, the room was pretty basic. There was an armchair in one corner, a big wooden trunk in the other, as well as the sofa she was still sitting on. Even the floor was just wood - varnished, but without even a rug in front of the fireplace like Ava was used to. Nothing about the room screamed wealth, and Ava was struggling to imagine the type of person that lived here.

The only personal touch was a little framed photo on the mantelpiece, and as Ava walked towards it, she saw that it was of a little girl with the curliest hair she’d ever seen, standing between her parents. There was a lighthouse behind them, and a little cottage next to it, which Ava assumed was where she was.

She stayed staring at the photo for a couple more minutes, until the sound of footsteps behind dragged her attention away from it.

     “Nice to see you’re awake. Are you feeling okay?”

Whatever Ava was expecting from the person who lived here, it wasn’t the woman leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed against her chest and a crooked grin on her face. She was the girl from the photo, about twenty years older but with the same bright smile as when she was younger.

     “I’m fine, I just-” she hesitated, looking away from the woman for a moment. “How did I get here?”

She was trying to stay calm, which was easy enough until the woman started walking towards her, eventually stopping in front of the sofa. There was nothing inherently intimidating about her, but she was a complete stranger whose house Ava had woken up in, with no recollection of what had happened, so she couldn’t help being wary.

     “I’m not going to hurt you. Please, sit.”

Despite her better judgement, Ava did as she was told, sitting as far away from the woman as the seat would allow and doing as much as she could to avoid looking at her.

     “Do you not remember anything?”

Ava shook her head, noting the way the woman’s brows furrowed and her teeth bit down on her perfect pink lips.

     “You don’t remember the storm? The moors? None of it?”

     “Nothing. I don’t even know where I am.”

The woman took a moment to collect her thoughts, then after what felt like an eternity, apologised for not introducing herself sooner. 

     “My name’s Sarah, and I’m the lighthouse keeper here. I’m assuming you know which lighthouse this is?”

Ava nodded. She’d been visiting Penare since she was a child, spending summers in her grandmother’s  cottage while her parents worked in London, and she’d always been fascinated by the lighthouse on the edge of the cliffs. It had always seemed so far away, like some sort of magical haven she’d be lucky enough to get to see in person one day. She’d just never imagined it would happen like this.

Sarah seemed to like this response, and got to explaining what had happened.

There’d been a storm overnight, and yet for some reason Ava had been walking along the moors alone, in the dark and pouring rain. No one should have been out in that weather, and Ava was drifting dangerously close to the cliff’s edge, so of course Sarah had to do something.

She was the one that had brought Ava in from the cold and the wet, who’d helped her lie down on the sofa with the fire lit, in the hopes it would stave off the hypothermia that Sarah knew was bound to set in otherwise. She’d had more than enough experience caring for sailors who’d found themselves too close to the rocks below, and Ava was no different. She needed help, and Sarah wasn’t going to just ignore her and let her succumb to the elements, or worse - fall to her death.

     “What was I doing out there?”

Sarah shrugged. “I wish I could tell you. None of what you said was coherent, and you weren’t awake for long once I got you inside. And to be honest, I was more focused on getting you warm and dry than trying to work out what you were saying.”

This wasn’t what Ava wanted to hear, and she could feel herself starting to tear up. She didn’t want to cry in front of a stranger, but by the sound of things, she’d been in a worse state last night, so a couple of tears wouldn’t matter.

Sarah held her while she cried, and when she was done, offered her a handkerchief from her pocket. She took it gratefully, even managing a small smile as their fingers brushed against each other.

The two of them talked for a bit longer before Sarah had to leave again, but she told Ava to stay as long as she needed. She’d be going back into town tomorrow to get some supplies, and Ava could go back with her then, or she could wait a bit longer. Either way, Sarah would be there to make sure she got home unharmed because, as they both knew, the moors were a dangerous place for a lady to be walking alone.

[katypickles]

Those who helped me with my disordered eating, and how they did it

!CW: disordered eating behaviours!

Subject A - A close friend

This particular friend was there for me from my diagnosis to the end of my treatment, and from the end of my treatment to the end of my recovery. Recovery is a rollercoaster. There were several points at which I thought I was fully recovered, when actually I was only part way through my journey. (Luckily, the last time I had such a thought was a long while ago now and I've not been thrown any disordered eating curve balls since then, so I would hope where I am now actually is recovered - but those who have suffered with disordered eating claim that you never fully recover, only learn how to cope with the illness...I digress). This close friend was there for me through each of those times, always reminding me that there was a light at the end of the recovery tunnel. They never judged me for planning what I would eat in their company a week in advance, checking labels and online menus obsessively before we cooked or ate out together, speaking my thoughts about food and body image aloud to them freely, calling them day or night just because I couldn't be alone, cancelling on them last minute because I was having a hard time, stealing their food when I went through a period of binge eating post-dismissal from my treatment, or any other scary behaviours that must have been very difficult to witness. The judgement free space they created allowed me to explore my disordered eating in a safe way, with their rationale at hand when I needed it. They would encourage me to keep on top of my recovery and challenge me without pushing me to do something I wasn't comfortable with. The key to this relationship was trust - at a time when I didn't even trust myself this was so invaluable.

Subject B - A superior

This person probably doesn't realise how much their support was appreciated, as they did so from a distance. This person was my senior at university, and I had always looked up to them since I was a fresher. When I told them I was struggling with disordered eating, which was my third year of university, their reaction was very calm and collected. They did not smother me, nor did they pity me. When I was at my worst, it was then that I received a gift from them, just before Christmas 2015. The gift included a candle and other comforting items, and a card that I still have to this day. In the card, they reassured me that they were there to support me though this difficult time, should I need them. They encouraged me to keep going, with only one term left of my time at university, and a portfolio of work to be proud of - regardless of my diagnosis of Anorexia they let me know that I should have been proud of what I had already achieved. The focus on what I was achieving academically rather than my eating disorder, which had been the focus for 6 months at that point, created a shift in my perspective. A month later, I returned to university, ready to take on my final term - and my eating disorder!

Subject C - Family

They couldn't have known, because I'd been living away from the family home for 3 years at the point of my diagnosis, but when I broke the news to my family that I'd been struggling, they remained positive. No tears, no dwelling - just pure fight and determination that we'd get me through this horrible illness. Whenever I needed it, my mother held me like I was a child again. She was by her phone 24/7. She was just there, like she always had been, even if she didn't understand what I was going through. She and my brother made me laugh like we always did together - that will never change! My brother came to visit me in London and listened to me whilst I spoke about my feelings towards food - which must have sounded so alien to him. My mother then visited me in London and spoke to my therapist about how best to support me at the time. At the core of this relationship, nothing changed between us, other than their willingness to understand.

Subject D - A professional

It can be really difficult to find the right therapist, and unbelievably difficult to secure one free of charge as the NHS have such a demand that only the severely ill seem to receive access. I was in an extremely bad way when I was first seen to by a professional. Luckily, I clicked with my CBT therapist immediately. It happened exactly when I needed it most. Since working with her, I have struggled to find the same connection with a therapist, but I'm thankful for the time I had with her. Part way though my treatment, she fell pregnant. She admitted to hiding her pregnancy from me for a long time in order to give me adequate time to push through my most vulnerable state. When she broke the news to me that she'd be taking maternity leave, she added that she knew I was in a place much stronger than when we first started my treatment, and that she had confidence in me that I would carry on thriving with or without her. At a time when I didn't have the confidence in myself, she had confidence in me.

Subject E - A co-worker

Admitting that you're struggling with disordered eating can be daunting - especially in a professional setting. At the time, I was managed by someone who would go on to be a close friend of mine for years to come, and who I still consider one of my nearest and dearest. I was anxiously waiting for her at a central London coffee shop, knowing that the time had come to tell her about my Anorexia, as it had begun to affect my work. With the giant smile she so frequently donned, she arrived with an air of positivity. As I explained what was happening with me, she listened so intently. Once I'd said my piece, she let me know that I was in control. She said that I could do as much or as little work I felt possible. In the following months, she didn't treat me any differently. The difference was that she had let me know that at any point I could take a break or slow down my output of work. I was given permission to take the time I needed to get better.

I understand I'm very lucky, and that I'm one of the privileged few. I had, and still have, access to a wonderful support network. For those of you who might be supporting a friend or family through disordered eating, I hope that this might provide some guidance when it comes to knowing exactly how to support them. Creating a judgement free space, encouragement, a willingness to understand, confidence in recovery, and permission to do what feels needed.

[harryimaginestuff]

Never Love Again

Anon: Can you do one with harry being a dick/asshole and is really mean to y/n hurts her feelings(they arent dating) and harry tries to win? her back major angst please :)))

The song lyric used in this is from ‘Never Love Again’ from ‘A Star is Born’.

The one where Harry’s never been meaner (acquaintances!harry&y/n)

Genre: Angst 

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: Mentions of death

      You’re thankful for the radiators on blast, their artificial heat hugging you allowing you to release the strong grip you had on your coat as the clear door slams shut behind you thanks to one of many strong gusts of wind.

      Wiping your feet on the carpet you wave animatedly at Jess, the receptionist, hurriedly taking off your scarf and coat hanging it on the pegs provided. Coming here had become a regular for you over the Summer, the prime time of music writing for musicians, so now in the freezing month of December getting ready for a writing session in one of London’s most famous recording studios had become second-nature to you.

      Jeff Azoff had contacted you years ago after hearing about your impeccable talent for song writing and admirable professionalism, something that he himself revered because he knew first-hand how frenzied operating within in this industry could get. So, when one of his father’s clients – John Mayor if we really feel like name dropping – had rambled on profusely about your undeniable talent he had no choice but to check you out. And that was almost 4 years ago. From then on the two of you had formed a close bond, tagging along on family holidays, being invited to the fanciest of parties and being the resident ghost writer for Full Stop Management.

      And today just like most days you were called into the studio to aid with the writing of yet another global superstar and according to the vague text that Jeff had sent you that morning, said artist was Harry Styles.

      Now, you weren’t completely unfamiliar with the man, after all having a friendship with Jeff automatically meant that you would constantly be in Harry’s presence, however you wouldn’t go as far as to call yourself friends. Your relationship with him had always been low-key and mediocre, chatting occasionally, and for lack of a better word, the two of you were merely friendly. Nothing more, nothing less. You had absolutely no issue with this of course, it wasn’t as if you both would never talk, you would exchange formalities, have light-hearted conversations, and his gentlemanly behaviour was evident from when the two of you had first met. You had always admired him, even in his boyband days, loving how he was never afraid to just be, respecting how he had the kindest and most gentle soul. You had no issue with admiring him from a distance.

      As you entered the recording booth you were greeted with warm smiles weirdly from everyone sans Harry it seemed. You shrugged off his odd behaviour, excusing his cold greeting with the fact that he has been stuck in here for hours, the stress from making a song stealing all of his attention as the deadline for his next album fast approached.

      “M’so sorry I’m late guys, got caught up at home.” You sheepishly mumbled an apology plopping yourself on the coach beside Mitch as you pulled your notebook out of your bag. You almostmissed the look Harry gave you, his face screwing up in distaste as he rolled his eyes. Almost.

    “No worries Y/N.” Jeff’s American accent ran thick, “You’re the one doing us a favour.” You ignored the sound of Harry huffing across the room, instead choosing to focus on finding the piece you thought would be best for Harry.     “We’ve been stuck here for hours,” Mitch groaned beside you, his head leaning back as he closed his eyes, “please tell me you have something for us.”

     You chuckled lightly, “As a matter of fact I do, it’s not much but it should be enough to kickstart a few gears,” reaching over you gently patted Mitch’s head to which he smiled brightly up at you.

      “Think I’ll be the judge of that thanks.” Harry finally spoke up; however, he was still huffing and puffing, “S’my album.”

     You ignored Harry’s harsh tone, instead choosing to smile brightly at him handing over your open notebook to which he took without even a whisper of a thank you.

      You watched on with nerves, your fingers fiddling on your lap as you Harry’s eyes skimmed over the pages covered with your hard work.

      However, rather than receiving the praise you thought you would get you were met with another scoff as his judgemental eyes turned to you.

     “S’supposed be prepared aren’t you? That’s why Jeff pays you.”

     “Harry!” Jeff shouts, yet the volume of his voice falls flat once it reaches Harry’s ears.

      “First your fucking late, s’not very professional is it? And then you hand me your supposed ‘chosen’ piece and it cannot be any further from what I am.”      “Don’t doubt my ability to write when I’ve been successfully for other artists for years.” You huffed, crossing your arms and leaning back into the leather sofa.      “M’ not doubting your abilities to write s’just even a basic amount of research would’ve been evidence that what you’ve just shown me is not like me.”

     Your heart beats erratically and your hands clench in an attempt to keep the rapidly growing irritation at bay. Reminding yourself repeatedly that it would not be okay if you were to kick him in the shins.

      “Like you said Harry, it’s your album you do have the final say,” you said through gritted teeth. “A ‘no thanks’ would’ve sufficed too though.”      Reaching out your arm you grab your abandoned notebook carefully turning to the page that had the other page with a post-it note hanging out. “I’ve got another one that I thought we could use.”

     Before coming you were sceptical of whether you would want anyone to look at these specific lyrics you had written, along with a couple others, you held these lyrics closest to your heart. However, it was this particular one that stood out to you as you had browsed through your book as soon as you received Jeff’s message. Maybe these lyrics could mean something to someone as much as it did to you.

     Please be gentle. You thought, once again handing the notebook back to Harry praying that he wouldn’t be as harsh with this one.

      Once again you were watching on, your body full of nerves more so than the previous time. But rather than receiving a death glare you were met with a breathy laugh as Harry read over the lyrics you had given.

      “Fucks sake,” you heard him mumble causing your heart to drop. “Have you ever even been in love?”

     “Wha-” you asked surprise ringing clear in your voice.

     “S’literally the most two-dimensional thing ever. S’not captured anything at all. And apparently you’re of the best writers today.” He complained. “Fucking lie s’what that is.”

     “Harry what’s wrong with you!” Mitch jumped to your defence, completely in shock at his mate’s behaviour.

     “M’just telling the truth, nothing wrong with that.” Harry pauses taking the time to read your work only to dissect it right in front of you. “Like seriously ‘Don’t wanna feel another touch’, pretty basic Y/N at least write something you have experience with.”

      Harry’s words were snarky and had no issue with cutting deep right to your bones.

      You sat there staring at the man across from you, completely dumbfounded with how your day had turned out. You never expected to be sitting across from Harry Styles, someone who had been nothing but nice to you since you first met and yet here you were, being ripped to shreds by the exact same man.      Your throat was tight as if being strangled with thorns, the words coming of your mouth strained as you fought the tears that were already threatening to spill. “You don’t even know me Harry.”

     “Yeah and I don’t need to to know what you’re like.”

     “I don’t know what’s warranted you to act the way you’ve been. M’just trying to help you get out of the funk that you’ve been in all day. No need to drag me through the mud.” You stood up, clutching your bag in your hands, shooting Harry one last look. “I’m going home I don’t feel too good, but feel free to browse through my book to find at least one thing that’s worth your time.”     You ignored the calls of your name from both Mitch and Jeff only sending them a small wave and a tight smile as you exited the room. You didn’t care if your actions seemed ‘unprofessional’ or ‘childish’ there was just no way you would allow yourself to break down in front of anyone.

     You weren’t ready to go back into the cold, not when you felt as if there was no more warmth left inside you. Who did he think was to say any of that to you? He had no clue what you’ve been through, what you’ve felt.

     You may have only been 18 at the time but heartbreak was still heartbreak and death was still death.

      You always struggled to think back to a time where he was there, when the dull ache in your chest hadn’t been torturing you for months on end. When you had felt free and loved.

      But one night he had been ripped from you, pried from your loving grip and taken away without so much as a last goodbye from either of you.

      It was a drunk driver. A tragic accident. One that you would never allow yourself to forget. He had been on his way to you that night, after you begged him to come over to keep you company.

      He was there until he wasn’t. And you hated yourself for a while because of it.

      Over the time your self-hatred had evolved to sadness, anger until finally peace. The first time you had ever felt such content was when you were sat at your desk, an untouched notebook resting in front of you, your hands moving before your mind could even process. Until hours later you finally stopped and what was once untouched was now full of words, lyrics and songs about what you felt, ups and downs and all.

      And now the same notebook rested on the small coffee table, ready to be dissected even further by a man who knew nothing.

     There was only one thing that could get you out of the hole you had sunk into. That night you found yourself sitting at the same desk, paper in-hand, where you wrote yourself to sleep, dreaming of a green-eyed man and a fatal collision. 

//

    It was a loud and startling knock that jerked you out of your slumber. Glancing at the clock you huffed in both confusion and annoyance, who would be here at 7am in the morning? The incessant knocking forced you to hurriedly walk to the door, calling out only to receive no answer, the sound of their knuckles overpowering your voice.

     And of course, the culprit behind the door would be none other than Harry Styles. After all who else would be up before 7am dressed in running gear, hair sweaty, a tell-tale sign that your place was a stop off after his morning jog.     “Harry?” you asked, confusion lacing your voice. “What are you doing here?”     Harry gestured to the door smiling shyly to which you nodded with a roll of the eye, swinging the door open he stepped in. “Nice.” He hummed, his eyes scanning the room.

     “Hello? It’s 7 in the morning Harry. Never mind how you even knew where I live but what are you doing here?”

     “Jeff.” He remarked still preoccupied with taking in your clustered flat. “I mean Jeff told me where you lived and I came back to give you your notebook.”     “Pretty sure Jeff’s not allowed to give out a client’s personal information.”     “He’s not.” Harry agreed, finally turning to look at you. “But I begged and s’more so to mend a friendship.”

     You shrugged your shoulders perplexed at the supposed friendship Harry claimed the two of you had. “Never aware we were friends to begin with.”     You were quick to cut off Harry’s reply, his mouth opening and his eyes shining with guilt. “I can see this conversation is going somewhere. Just give me a few to freshen up yeah? Just woke up.”

     Once you were in the safety of your bathroom, you let out a breath you weren’t aware you were holding and took your time to freshen up.

      “The fuck.” You mumbled looking at your scruffy complexion. “This man gives me a headache.”

       Hyping yourself up in the mirror, you finally deemed yourself ready to come face-to-face with the man who had hurt you the night before.

     “I didn’t know.” He said as soon as you walked in, almost as if he had sensed your presence. At first you were left confused by his words, but that was until you saw the frame he was gripping in his hands.

      “Of course you didn’t, why would you?” You spoke after a moments silence, gently prying his fingers off of the photo and placing it back where it belonged.      “Mitch knew.” you raise your eyebrows in question and what this had to do with anything. “You met Mitch years after me, but Mitch knew.” 

    “Can you blame me? We were never that close Harry, but I got to a point in my friendship with Mitch to feel comfortable enough to open up and for him to recognise when there was something wrong with me.”

     Harry huffed; his eyes downcast so to not meet yours. “S’my point! I’ve known you for almost four years now and I could never see beyond the front you put on. I couldn’t see that you were in pain.” 

    You were shocked at his broken confession, but it only did so little to cure the damage he had done yesterday when he had verbally ripped into you and your hard work. “You really hurt me yesterday.”

     At your words Harry looked up at you, taking your hand in his he gently pulled you to your sofa, his hand still on yours even when you sat down. “I can’t even express to you how sorry I am.”

     “You can start with why maybe. I may not know you well, but I know you enough to know that outbursts like that always have a meaning behind.”

     “I was just so frustrated.” Harry paused with a slight shake of his head as if to get rid of the memories he had made the day before. “Not at you, at myself. The deadline is so close, and I’ve not even got half of the songs ready. And then Jeff called you in to do my work.”

     He let out a breathy laugh, his hand only leaving yours to be raised over his head in exasperation. “I mean I’m supposed to be one of the top artists of my generation and I don’t even have the brain capacity to write enough decent songs to make an album. I was so embarrassed that my manager thought I needed a ghost writer, someone who’s work I would take credit for, to write my songs for me. And then to make matters worse you had this book full of these amazing songs and it just made me question where I stood in the music world. God I was so jealous.  And I know none of this excuses my hateful words, but I just needed you to know where they came from.”

     “Not any concealed hate I have for you and not because I genuinely thought your writing was shit. It was just ‘cause in that moment I was an insecure little boy who couldn’t handle someone being better than him.”

     “You absolute idiot!” you all but shouted causing his eyes to widen in shock, “First of all, you’re a jealous prick. I can’t believe you ripped into me so bad and embarrassed me in front of everyone because you couldn’t admit to yourself the fact that you needed help. Second of all you I don’t know if you’re aware, but you have an album full of amazingly written songs, something that you took a huge risk and then succeeded regardless. Third you know I don’t want to be known for anything until I’m ready, so enough with that taking credit bullshit and fourth thanks a lot for ruining my first writing experience with you I can’t even begin to tell you how long I was waiting for someone to ask me.”

     “Oh and fifth! I forgive you. But you better not pull that shit with me again. I can take criticism but only if its constructive and not used to attack me.”

     You mumbled in surprise as Harry’s arms wrapped around you pulling you in for a tight hug shivers running over your body from his whispers of what an amazing person you are against your neck.

      “Well are you ready now?” Harry smiled slyly pulling away from the hug, the almost-creepy look on his face starting to freak you out.

     “Ready for what?” You asked with caution, unsure of where Harry was taking the conversation.

      “Want you to help me write tha’ lovely song you showed me ‘nd I want you to be put down as the co-writer.” Harry beamed at you. “If you’re ready of course, just thought if you wanted maybe it’s time for the world to see how talented you are.”

     Your mind was reeling as you contemplated your answer, you knew that somewhere down the line you wanted to be recognised for the work that you did. You just had never decided when, but as you looked at the man sitting beside you, you finally reached your answer.

“I’d love to.”

[hearts-hunger]

“D’you need a pencil, love?”

Part Seven || Masterlist

Summary: Making good on his promise to show you the sights, Roger takes you to Tate Gallery, too busy romancing you to pay attention to the paintings. Later, you go by Roger’s and Freddie’s flat so Roger can get ready for the show, and Roger asks if you’d like to do his makeup.

Pairings: College!Roger x Reader

Genre: Fluff, just a lot of blushing and giggling mainly

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: None!

A/N: After 900000 years of silence, this series has been resurrected! God bless Ben Hardy and his ability to make me pine over him so hard that it makes me dust off a series I’d long since given up on. I’m so thankful for your encouragement and patience, and how a lot of you have kept hope alive that this series would come back one day. It means so much! I don’t know when the next part will be, but this is at least a start! ♡

“Which one do you want to look at first?”

You tucked your hand under Roger’s arm and looked at the pamphlet he was holding, taking a moment to read all the names of the different galleries listed. Roger had suggested taking you to the Tate Gallery for the first stop on your touristy trip through London, and you couldn't have been more pleased; you’d been wanting to go ever since you arrived in London, and you were much happier to be going with Roger than to be going alone. 

“Well, we could just start...” You tapped the room on the map that had a number 1 on it, labeled 16th and 17th Century Painting. “There. At the first one.”

He gave you a cheeky grin. “Oh, aren’t you clever?”

You giggled. “Why, which one do you want to go to first?”

He looked over the map. “Hm, we could try Romantic Painting,” he said. “Sounds right for us.”

You blushed and buried your face against the sleeve of his jacket, drawing a laugh from him.

“You’re very cute, sweetheart,” he said. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Shut up,” you said, nudging him lightly. He chuckled and kissed your forehead.

“We’ll start with the first one, like you said. That’s the better idea. We’ll get to Romantic Paintings eventually, and maybe by then you won’t be so shy and I can kiss you in front of all these posh art connoisseurs.”

You lifted your head and met his eyes, unable to help a smile at the thought of him kissing you. “Who says we aren’t posh art connoisseurs?”

“Quite right,” he agreed, gently steering you to the side of the walkway as a group of students came in. “Let’s go make wild critiques of art that nobody in their right mind would agree with.”

You laughed. “Okay. Lead on, Mr. Taylor.”

You kept yourself tucked close to him as he led you into the gallery proper, letting you take as long as you wanted to take in the beautiful high-ceilinged rotunda before finding 16th and 17th Century painting. The gallery was warm and quiet, the sound of shoes hardwood floors and people’s quiet comments creating a soothing atmosphere as you and Roger looked at the many paintings that graced the walls.

“So, you’re studying history,” Roger said, his voice low and gentle as he looked from one of the paintings to you, a cheeky smile on his face. “What happened in the 16th and 17th Centuries?”

You gave a soft laugh. “Lots. Shakespeare, Galileo, Sir Francis Drake, Milton, Newton... lots.”

“That’s five more than I would have been able to name.”

“You could probably guess someone off the top of your head and they would have been doing something in the 16th or 17th Centuries.”

Roger grinned. “Okay, um, how about da Vinci?”

“Yep, 16th Century.” You smiled. “See? I told you?”

He laced his fingers with yours as you moved to the next painting, a portrait of a pale young woman in Tudor-style clothes.

“I wish I knew more about art and history,” Roger said, studying the painting. He glanced over at you. “Sorry I’m a bit useless when it comes to this sort of thing.”

You stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “If I wanted an art expert, I would have come with Freddie.”

“You actually should come with Freddie sometime,” Roger said seriously. “He’ll spend the whole day here, and he actually knows things about art, like you said.”

You laughed. “Maybe I will, sometime.” You liked that idea, and you could imagine yourself whiling away the hours talking about art with Freddie. “But for now I’m having the grandest time with you, even if you don’t know anything about art.”

Roger smiled and you didn’t miss the endearing pink across his cheeks. “The grandest time, eh? Well, I’m glad. You deserve the grandest of everything, love.” He looked back at the painting, looking over it a little less self-consciously now he knew you were having a good time with him even if he couldn’t place the style or history of it at all. “I do like her style, though. Very flashy.”

You giggled. “I think Brian would love it if you suggested you wear Tudor-style outfits for your show.”

“That’d go over well with our audience at the pub, don’t you think?” he said with a chuckle. “Honestly, Brian could probably be persuaded. Freddie’s probably tried. It’s just Tim who’s always so resistant to anything out of the ordinary.”

You looked up at him, trying to make out how he felt by watching his expression. He noticed and gave you a kind smile.

“I’ve been told my face is rather hard to read sometimes,” he said. “But you can ask me if you want to know what I’m thinking.”

You blushed. “I don’t want to pry.”

“You’re not,” he said. “I promise, love, I’d tell you if I didn’t want to talk about something. But you can always ask. I’m pretty much an open book anyways.”

You bit your lip and thought of how to word it as you walked to the next painting, a landscape with a river and a little village in the background.

“Are you and Tim friends?” you asked.

Roger shrugged. “I mean, we’re mates, I guess. You can’t really play music with someone all the time and not be at least drinking buddies.”

“But...?”

“We’re not close,” Roger said. “Brian and Tim have known each other since secondary school, and they were playing long before I came along.”

You considered that. “You’re close with Brian, though, right? Or am I... misreading that?”

Roger smiled. “No, you’re not misreading that. Brian and I are - well, I don’t want to sound too sappy, but it’s like we’ve known each other forever. And Freddie’s the same. We just... I dunno. Fit.”

You smiled and gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. “You can be as sappy as you want with me, I won’t tell anybody.”

Roger chuckled. “I appreciate that. I’ve got to keep up this cool exterior somehow. Can’t have the two of them thinking I’m too fond of them. It’d go straight to their heads.”

You laughed and leaned your head against his shoulder. You had the feeling that whatever Roger said, Freddie and Brian knew how much Roger loved them, and that they felt the same in return. You didn’t want to make a snap judgement against Tim - after all, you’d known him for less than a week - but somehow he didn’t seem to click with the three of them like that, nor did he seem to want to.

“But, yeah, things with Tim are a little... frayed,” Roger supplied. “He keeps picking fights and talking about joining a different band.”

“Does he really?” you asked, a little surprised. “But you’re... you’re doing an album. Would he really up and quit like that?”

Roger shrugged. “I dunno. Tim’s always been one for a lot of bluster but it honestly wouldn’t surprise me if he did quit Smile. He’s always going on about these other bands that play the same circuit we do, like Humpy Bong - God, he’s really got a hard-on for them - ” He cut himself off, a fierce blush coloring his cheeks.

“Sorry, I -” He cleared his throat. “That was a bit vulgar of me.”

You laughed, not to be unkind, but because his embarrassment was very endearing. “It’s ok, Roger,” you said. “I’m not offended.”

“Yeah, but...” He gave you a bashful smile. “I’m really trying very hard to be a perfect gentleman, you know.”

You smiled and gave him a chaste kiss. “I know. And you’re doing a wonderful job, honey. Even if you do say things like ‘hard-on’.”

His blush deepened and he put a hand to his face to try and hide it.

You gave a soft laugh and took his hand in yours, pulling it away from his face. “What?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled, though he was fighting a beaming smile. “Just... that’s the first time you’ve called me some kind of nickname.”

You realized it was, and you smiled up at him. “Did you like it?”

“Not at all,” he said dryly. He smiled when you laughed. “Of course I did, silly thing, why do you think I’m an absolute mess? And it’s very American of you, too. ‘Honey’ isn’t a very common term of endearment here. It’s cute.”

You grinned. “Well, lucky for you, you’ve got an American girlfriend to call you honey all the time.”

He put an arm around your waist and drew you close. “Quite right, I have.” He kissed you gently, the tenderness of it making you a little weak in the knees. You didn’t even think of how it would look to the other gallery-goers around you to see Roger kissing you like that in front of God and everybody, but you didn’t mind. You actually kind of liked it, and you gave him a breathless smile when you came up for air.

“Was that ok?” he asked. “Not, I mean - well, was it an ok kiss, first, but was it ok that I just kissed you like that in front of the whole gallery?”

You put your fingers to his lips and he kissed them gently.

“Yes, it’s ok,” you said, endeared to his concern. “And possibly the best kiss we’ve had so far.”

He grinned. “Well, fancy that. I think we’re getting better with practice, don’t you?”

“Without a doubt,” you said confidently. His expression showed a bit of pride at that, and you couldn’t help a smile. You tucked your arm around his waist under his jacket, enjoying the feeling of his warmth and steadiness as you continued around the gallery, moving from 16th and 17th Century Painting into different galleries up to the turn of the century. Roger made up little stories and scenarios for each painting you saw, some funny and lighthearted and others showing a distinct passion Roger had for issues of social justice and politics.

He made good on his promise to sweep you off your feet when you got to the Romantics, too. Though he listened interestedly when you explained Romanticism as a philosophy, he made up elaborate romantic scenarios for the paintings and said so many sweet things to you that you wore a permanent blushing smile all the way through. 

You noticed as you walked through the gallery on Surrealism that Roger kept discreetly checking his watch; you hadn’t thought it was late enough for you to head to the Foxtail for the set, but you guessed you could be misjudging what time it was.

“Is it almost time to go?” you asked.

He looked a little bashful. “Well, not technically - we don’t have to be at the pub until seven.”

“But you’re ready to go?” you guessed.

“I was hoping to swing by my flat to change, if that’s alright,” he said apologetically. “But I don’t want to rush you. I really can just go in this, I’ll be fine.”

You smiled. “It’s ok, honey, I don’t mind. We couldn’t have done the whole thing in one day, anyway, so we can go so you can get ready for the show.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” you said, kissing his cheek.

He beamed at you. “Thank you. I can drop you by your flat if you want to get freshened up, or you can just hang out at mine and Freddie’s until we leave for the show, if you want.”

“Yeah, I’d love that,” you said. 

“Well, I'd love that too,” he said sweetly. “Come on, then.”

You followed him through the winding rooms and hallways until you got back to the main entrance, thanking him as he held the door open for you. The fall air was crisp and cool compared to the warmth of the gallery, and you tucked yourself close to Roger as you started the walk back to his flat. Brian had taken the van from De Lane so you and Roger wouldn’t have to worry about it, and he'd meet you at the pub with all the equipment and Roger’s kit later.

You chatted as you walked, asking each other questions and continuing to get to know each other. Roger lit up when you asked him questions about music, what he imagined for Smile and how he hoped to be able to contribute songs someday like Brian and Tim did. He admitted he had a few songs he was working on, though he didn’t think they were very good. You made him promise to show you sometime, and he just blushed and said he’d love to.

It was getting dark by the time you got to his apartment building, the cozy glow from inside the flats shining through the curtained windows onto the street below. Roger let you up to the third floor, stopping at the door sporting a tarnished brass 305. He didn’t bother to check if it was unlocked, and you assumed that meant Freddie was already home.

“Fred,” Roger called as he ushered you inside. “I’m back, and I’ve brought Y/N.”

You stood just inside the door, feeling a little bit shy, unsure where you should go as Roger hung his jacket and set his wallet on the kitchen counter. The flat was small but homey, the kitchen and living room separated by a small island; there was a hallway off to your left you guessed led to the bedrooms. A Jimi Hendrix record was playing, and the light of the lamp on the side table by the couch was warm and soft.

Freddie emerged from the hallway as Roger took your coat from you and hung it up, a beaming smile on his face.

“Y/N, darling!” he said happily. “Welcome to our home. It’s lovely to see you.”

You smiled. “Thanks for having me over,” you said. “Roger invited me to hang out for a bit while he got changed for the show.”

“You’re perfectly welcome anytime you’d like to come over, my dear,” Freddie said. “Our home is your home. Can I get you a cup of tea or anything?”

Even though you felt perfectly comfortable with Freddie and Roger, it always made you a bit anxious to go to someone’s house for the first time; you hated the idea of being an inconvenience and were always a little shy accepting hospitality. Roger must have sensed your hesitance, because he put his hand on the small of your back and gave you a gentle smile.

“We’ll both have one, please, if you’ve got any on,” Roger said to Freddie, saving you having to ask for yourself. You gave him a grateful smile and felt yourself fairly glow with affection as he returned it with one of his own.

“I’m no barbarian, Roger, darling,” Freddie said with a wave of his hand. “Of course I’ve got some on.”

He busied himself with making tea as Roger gently steered you into the living room, taking your hand in his as you reached up out of habit to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Don’t have to be nervous,” he reminded you, kissing your knuckles gently. You blushed and leaned your head against his chest to hide your face.

He chuckled and kissed your hair. “‘S ok, sweetheart. It’s just us. And I won’t be but a minute getting changed.”

“Okay.” You gave a soft laugh. “Sorry I’m being... weird. I don’t know.”

He smiled. “You’re alright, love. You’re welcome to explore, if you want, but it’s up to you. Loo’s the first door on the left down the hall, Freddie’s the door after, and I’m the door on the right.”

“Go get dressed,” you told him, giving him a light nudge towards his bedroom. “I’ll spend some quality time with Freddie.”

“Ooh, I love quality time,” Freddie said, affectionately teasing. He brought two mugs of tea over, handing one to you and one to Roger.

“Alright, then, I’ll leave you to it,” Roger said. He have you a quick kiss before heading to his room, leaving you and Freddie in the living room. You cradled your tea in your hands, sipping at it slowly.

“Did I make it alright, darling?” Freddie asked.

You smiled. “Yeah, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Nonsense, dear, you’re very welcome,” he said sweetly. “I’m just going to tidy the kitchen so I won’t have to do it after the show, you can stay in here or come sit at the bar or whatever you like.”

He crossed to the kitchen and started to wash the few dishes in the sink; you looked around the living room and found a large collection of records on one of the shelves of the bookcase.

“Hey Freddie?” you asked.

“Hm?”

“Can I look at these records?”

He smiled. “Of course you can, darling. You can turn Jimi off and play a different record, if you find one you like.”

You thumbed through Freddie’s and Roger’s record collection, discovering that they had excellent and slightly eclectic tastes in music. The records ranged from the Beatles and the Rolling Stones to opera and classical music. Each record looked well-loved, and you were endeared to the idea that Freddie and Roger’s home was one that always had music playing.

“Bloody hell,” you heard Freddie say. “Is that the time?”

You looked over and saw him frowning at the clock on the wall.

“I’m going to get dressed, darling,” he told you, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. “Oh, also, if you’d like, there’s Jammy Dodgers up in the cabinet above the sink.” He gave you a mischievous smile. “Just don’t tell Rog, he’ll eat them all if he knows where I’ve hidden them.”

You giggled. “Ok. Thanks.”

Freddie headed back to his bedroom and nearly crashed into Roger, who was coming out of his room with an eyeliner pencil and an eyeshadow palette in hand.

“Well hello, Rog,” Freddie said. “Where’s the fire?”

“Can you do my makeup?” he asked.

Freddie bit his lip. “I’ve still got to get dressed, darling.” He brightened. “Have Y/N do it for you. Hers is lovely, so she knows how to do it, and that’ll give me time to get dressed.”

Roger looked over to you. “Would you - I mean, only if you want, but - ”

You smiled. “Sure, I can do your makeup for you.”

Have gave you a relieved smile. “Thanks.” He came over and flopped down on the couch, offering you the eyeliner pencil and palette. “You’re wonderful, anyone ever tell you that?”

“You’re the only one that matters to me,” you said, making him grin.

“Is sitting here ok?” he asked. “I can do whatever you need me to do.”

You were a little distracted by how pretty he looked in the soft warm light, looking up at you. “Um, yeah,” you said. You set your tea down on the coffee table. “I’ll just, um - ”

You bit your lip. “Can I sit on your lap?”

His eyes widened. “Oh, uh, yeah, if you want,” he managed. You fought a smile at how adorably nervous he was and how obvious it was that he was trying to hide his excitement at the thought. He patted his thigh. “All yours.”

You briefly debated straddling him before deciding that both of you might implode, and decided on sitting sideways in his lap. His hands immediately went to steady you, resting on the small of your back and over your thigh. You could feel his warmth through the flouncy fabric of your skirt and felt heat rise to your cheeks.

“Hi,” you said, a little breathless with how close you were. You could feel his breath on your skin, his scent of laundry detergent and cologne and cigarette smoke a heady mix.

He smiled, showing laugh lines by his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before. “Hi.” He cocked his head as he looked at you. “You’re so beautiful.”

You blushed. “Roger,” you mumbled, suddenly shy. 

He chuckled. “It’s true. And you’re very pretty when you blush.” He tweaked your cheek gently as if to prove his point, and you felt a little dizzy with how enamored you were with him.

You shook your head slightly to clear it. “Um, so, eyeliner.”

He grinned. “Eyeliner,” he agreed. “And a little bit of eyeshadow, if you wouldn’t mind.”

You opened the palette and let it rest in your lap, looking over the few tones of gold and rose it held. You had the feeling that if you looked through Freddie’s makeup you would find more flashy and outrageous colors, which suited him, but you knew without seeing them on him that these colors would look good on Roger.

“What color were you thinking?” you asked.

He shrugged and gave you a smile. “Whichever one you think is best,” he said. “Freddie usually does my makeup because I’m not very good at it, and he just does whatever the hell he wants. It turns out well every time but I don’t have any say.”

You gave a soft laugh. “Well, I think the gold would look good with your outfit,” you said. He’d changed into snug, dark jeans and a loose-fitting black button down, conveniently forgetting to button the top three; you’d been trying to keep from outright ogling him since he came out of his bedroom. As if he wasn’t enticing enough, he wore a plain gold necklace that rested right at the base of his throat and a longer one with a gold charm in the shape of a bird. 

You couldn’t help yourself; you gently touched the little gold bird on his chest and felt your fingers brush over his warm skin. 

“Pretty,” you said softly. You were a little lost for words, so close to him and so drawn to him.

His smile was gentle. “Thank you.”

You looked up at him. “Close your eyes.”

He did as you said, a smile lingering on his face, his fingers against your back tracing little patterns over your sweater. You studied his face in concentration as you did his eyeshadow for him, using the gold like you’d said you would. It caught the light and shimmered a bit over those long, beautiful lashes that laid gently on his cheeks.

You took a steadying breath when you finished his eyeshadow, relieved you hadn’t messed it up. “I’m starting your eyeliner now, ok?”

He smiled. “Fine by me, love.”

You put your fingers to his jaw, tipping his face up slightly so you could see better. You felt his pulse beating steady and fast; your begged your hands to stop trembling.

“Hey,” he said gently. He opened his eyes and looked at you, putting your hand over his on his cheek. “You ok?”

“Y-yeah,” you managed.

He looked worried. “You’re a little shaky, love. You sure you’re alright?”

You bit your lip. “Um... you - you make me nervous,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Not in a bad way, just - you’re very pretty, and I kind of can’t believe I’m sitting on your lap and doing your makeup, and I want to kiss you so bad I can’t think straight.”

His smile was beautiful as wonder and affection replaced the worry in his expression, looking up at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. Your breath caught in your chest.

“Okay,” he said gently. He gave a soft laugh. “I’m sorry I make you nervous, love, I don’t mean to. But you should know that all of that going on in there - ” He tapped softly on your chest, right where your heart was beating fair to burst. “That’s all going on for me, too.”

You twisted the cap of the eyeliner pencil around and around. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” he said, meaning it. “God, sweetheart, I forget how to breathe when I’m with you. I feel like my heart’s gonna give out any second with you so close to me.”

You blushed and couldn’t help a smile. “Hopefully not. I need a drummer with a heart to take me to his show tonight.”

He chuckled. “You’ve already got this drummer and his heart, love.” He kissed you then, slow and tender, drawing you out and stilling the shaking in your hands. You were a little dazed when you parted and gave him a soft smile.

“You’ve got my heart too, you know,” you said softly. You laughed. “You’ve also got some of my lipgloss on you. Hold still.” 

You ran your thumb over his bottom lip, cleaning off the rosy sheen of your lipgloss. 

“I should do your eyeliner before Freddie freaks out at me,” you said.

Roger smiled. “He wouldn’t. He’d fuss at me, but not at you.” He closed his eyes again, and you rested your hand on his cheek to steady it as you drew in the dark color over his eyeshadow. It didn’t look half bad, you thought, but that was more a credit to Roger’s lovely features than any skill of your own. When you were finished, you took a moment to study Roger’s face while he waited patiently for further instruction, memorizing the curve of his cheek and the very light freckles over his nose and the way the corner of his mouth started to tip up in a slow smile.

“Enjoying the view?” he teased lightly.

You blushed and kissed the tip of his nose; he rewarded you with the cutest laugh you’d ever heard.

“What was that for?” he asked, looking up at you with those incredible blue eyes, his face lit up with his smile.

“Just because,” you said, feeling a little cheeky.

He grinned. “Well then - ” He gave you a quick kiss. “That’s just because, too.”

You smiled as you stood from his lap, setting aside for the moment the thought that you’d like to do it again sometime very soon, offering your hand.

“Come on,” you said. “Let’s go take a look and you can tell me how terrible I did.”

He laughed as he took your hand, walking with you to the bathroom. “I’m sure it’s perfect.” He stood beside you and admired your handiwork in the mirror, batting his lashes and giving you a smirk.

“I think it looks dashing,” he said. “Very well done, sweetheart.”

You could see the way your cheeks pinked at his tone and that expression on his face. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t botch it. Gold looks very pretty on you.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

You were going to try and say something quite charming about him looking pretty no matter what color he wore when Freddie came in, his hands fluttering in a bit of a panic.

“Roger, darling, you haven’t seen my - ooh, that gold looks lovely on you!” He put a hand to Roger’s cheek and looked at Roger’s makeup more closely. “God, your lashes are long, aren’t they? I’ll be jealous forever, dear. But that gold really does look quite stunning on you.”

Roger smiled. “Thanks.”

“Lovely job, darling,” Freddie told you with a smile. “However did you get him to sit still for you?”

“I have my methods,” you teased. You and Roger shared a glance and both couldn’t help your bashful smiles.

Freddie gave a delighted laugh. “Of course you do, darling. Well, in any case, I’m glad your methods were useful. Rog looks good enough to eat.”

“Quite a compliment, coming from you,” you said sweetly. Freddie was indeed dressed to kill, as he always was, in tight black pants, a shiny white shirt, and an outrageously flowered blazer. His studded silver belt matched the cuff bracelet on his wrist.

Freddie winked. “Got to make an impression, darling.” He looked over the counter, searching for something. “Though neither of you have seen my necklace, have you?”

“Which one?” Roger asked. “The dog-collar one?”

Freddie rolled his eyes. “Yes, Rog, though it’s not a dog-collar.”

Roger grinned as he rummaged around in the first drawer. “I beg to differ.” He found the necklace in question, a rigid silver loop with a little black jewel dancing from it.

“Dog-collar,” Roger confirmed as Freddie put it on. Freddie just gave an exasperated laugh and straightened it until he was satisfied it rested perfectly around his neck.

“Well then,” Freddie said briskly. “Are we all ready?”

Roger looked over to you in question and you nodded. “I’m ready.”

“Can I actually - ” Freddie started, reaching a hand out to you. “Can I do something really quickly to your hair, darling? I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

You smiled. “Sure,” you said, knowing Freddie’s efforts to style you would be an improvement on your look. You hadn’t done anything with your hair besides put it in a loose bun, and you were happy to let Freddie make you a bit more fashionable.

He grinned. “Lovely! I don’t want to do much, I’ve just got - ” He stepped around Roger, who graciously made room, and took the ponytail holder out to let your bun down. “I’ve got a lovely hairpin I think would go with that sweater.”

He fished around in the same drawer Roger had found his necklace in until he pulled out a slender hairpin with delicate blue flowers on the end. Freddie gently tousled your hair until it fell over your shoulders, loosely pinning your curls back from your face. The flowers caught the light and sparkled in your hair, giving you a touch of glamour, and you wondered at how Freddie was able to work such magic with so little.

“Oh, darling, that looks simply dazzling with your hair color,” Freddie said. “Do you like it?”

You beamed. “Yes, I love it,” you said. You turned your head to admire the pin better in the mirror. “It’s so pretty. Where did you get it?”

“We get all sorts of odds and ends at Kensington, dear,” he said. “I always keep a variety here, because you never know what an outfit might need, or if you might have a lovely guest who looks marvelous wearing little trinkets in their hair.”

You smiled. “Thank you, Freddie. It’s beautiful.”

He waved you off and gave a smile that was a little bashful. “No need, my dear. You brought out the beauty of the thing, not the other way ‘round. What do you think, Rog? Doesn’t it look lovely?”

Roger took you in, from the sparkly blue flowers in your hair to the heel of your shiny black shoes. You felt like a bashful schoolgirl under his gaze and thrilled at his smile.

“Beautiful,” he said, and for a second, that was the only thing in the world that mattered to you. He brushed his knuckles over your cheek and gently tugged at your curls. “Quite lovely indeed.”

You grinned. “Well, now we’re all dolled up, shall we go watch you play some rock ‘n roll?”

Roger offered you his arm in a gallant gesture, making you giggle. “Indeed we shall, my lady.”

Freddie followed the two of you out of the flat, locking it up behind you, and gave you and Roger a fond smile as the two of you walked hand in hand towards the Foxtail for Smile’s show.

forever taglist: @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl @hazah@dashlilymark@punkgeekchic @harrisunn @stephydearestxo@luckytrashgooprebel @someone-get-a-medic @chlobo6​ @devin-marie​

series taglist: @onceuponadetectivedemigod @somekindofroger @gingahpower @roger-taylor-owns-my-wigg @crushthewiredlove @marvel-lously @strawberryfields-forever @mrcleanisthicc​ @destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen​ @helena-with-an-a​

it’s been a while, so if you want to be added or dropped (i won’t be offended) from the series taglist, let me know!

[growingstronglikeahighgardenrose]

Night Divine

Title: Night Divine

Prompt: Night Divine

Pairings: Sidney/Charlotte, Babington/Esther, Clara/Crowe

Short: Based on an idea I saw on authorinmyhead’s Instagram account: at exactly midnight on new years eve, following their 22nd birthday, everybody possesses the body of their soulmate and tries to leave notes so the other can find them. Crowe had managed to ruin his chances by being too drunk to leave behind a clue. Sidney and Babington were determined to learn from his mistake. But not all soulmates want to be found.

AO3

Scholars had studied ancients texts for centuries trying to understand how it had come to be.

But in the end, they all came to the same conclusion: the beginning of the new year had always been celebrated. There were enough tales by the romans and greeks confirming they, and even the pagan regions had their ways of celebrating the event.

After the collapse of the roman empire, written documents were harder to come by. By the time another document was written about the celebration of the New Year, it was noted that all people of twenty-two years of age were transported into the body of their soulmate for sixty seconds at the end of the year in which they turned twenty-two.

Whenever someone turned twenty-two, the New Year Party was usually moved to New Year’s Day, so that on the last night of the year, the whole family could gather and organize a party for the family member turning twenty-two. It had become known as Night Divine, since God showed his divine judgement on that night, creating unions as he deemed fit.

Though this was tradition, many preferred to have at least some measure of privacy when it happened. It was also rarely celebrated by those in the highest ranks in society, where soulmates rarely married, and many young ladies were wed before they reached the age of twenty-two. They spent the night in private, and when they were transported into the bodies of their soulmates, they tried not to find out who the other was. They shed their tears in private as well, for having seen their soulmate without ever being able to meet them. Unless money troubles forced young people to wed, most refrained from it until they were past the age of twenty-two. This was not to say love was not found before that time. Many young couples dreaded the moment the first of them turned twenty-two.

Of course, the day wasn’t always a happy one. There were struggles: people who reached the age of twenty-two and weren’t transported into another being. In the best case their soulmate wasn’t born yet or too young so they couldn’t leave a note or name behind , and they would have to wait until their soulmate turned twenty-two so they could find them in turn. Then there were those who didn’t have a soulmate or a soulmate who had died too soon. There were quite some people who got notes in another language, or with an address from another country. However, most times, the person seemed to be from their own country, a grace of God.

 It was 1813 when Matthew Crowe was catapulted out of his own body on the Divine Night of New Year’s Eve, and thrown into the body of another lady.

He had been home for all of three months after the war had ended, and had not spent a day sober since. As the fourth son to a baronet, he’d tried gaining glory and rising in his father’s esteem by joining the military. This had not been an original idea, since sons two and three, who had always been better people, had joined first. However, Crowe was the only one to return home. And he was the only one of his friends to return home as well. He’d quit the military the second he set foot on English soil again, but the haunting memories hadn’t quit him. He quickly discovered that if he drank too much, he’d have a deep dark dreamless sleep. As one might imagine, he was in London away from his family, and had spent no thoughts on the importance of the New Year’s Eve he was about to have. He’d stumbled out of the cards room where Parker and Babington sat to relieve himself, when the bells started ringing to announce the new year.

In a spacious green living room he didn’t recognize, sat people he didn’t recognize. Everything was strange and weird and he was still drunk. He stumbled through the room, through a pair of white doors and landed in an apartment hallway, before being catapulted back into his own body.

He’d ran back towards the card room as fast as he could, and threw up before being able to tell his friends about it. He was glad they asked so many questions, and he was glad they weren’t as shitfaced as him, because the next morning, he woke up with an incredible hangover and didn’t remember a thing. His friends managed to tell him he’d gone into the body of a young woman somewhere in a city. But they couldn’t tell him anything about her name, country or looks. He’d fucked up beyond compare. But the shock of having squandered away his soulmate was enough to get his alcohol problem back to a manageable level.

Luckily for Crowe, there was a backup, since the day he had visited his soulmate, there had been a link between the two. He knew things he used to know nothing about, like slavery and politics. And sometimes his body ached without him having injured himself. It was the bond. Crowe found it a lot of bollocks. He didn’t need their pain or knowledge, he needed their name.

It had also been a lesson for his friends, who turned twenty-two the following year. They had prepared for the event as well as they could. They knew all pieces of advice out there: don’t waste time on any talking until you get your name and address out, try to write in multiple languages if you can’t figure out where you are, don’t let propriety keep you for calling out for help as quickly as possible, if all else failed they had to use pieces of furniture to spell their surname or write their name in their own blood. They had chosen to celebrate New Year’s Eve in private. They’d put down papers and pens, mirrors and personal attributes in case their soulmate reached the age of twenty-two as well. On top of that, Crowe would be there to talk to their soulmates when they entered their bodies.

But instead, Crowe sat there as the bodies of his friends slumped lifelessly into their chairs.

••••••••••

The first thing Sidney Parker registered was the sound of breaking glass. Looking around him, he spotted shards of glass at his feet, or rather, her shoes, for he was thrown into the body of a sizeably shorter woman.

‘Charlotte?  Charlotte?’

Sidney looked up in confusion.

‘You’re not Charlotte, are you? Oh dear, that’s quite the age gap. She’s five years younger’, the woman bemoaned.

‘No. So her name is Charlotte?’

‘Yes! But dear wife, five years is fine, it’s not too bad. I am her father, this is her mother, and these are her grandmother and grandfather on my side of the family, that’s her grandmother on her mother’s side, and these are her siblings.’

There were more siblings than Sidney could count.

Dear God, these people clearly loved each other a lot.

His seconds were dwindling however.

‘My name is Sidney Parker. I live in San-‘

He’d managed to get his name across, but was frustrated that he hadn’t caught hers. There were thousands of Charlotte’s in the country. But her family was friendly,

  ••••••••••

  Babington’s encounter was possibly even worse than that. For when he entered his soulmate’s body, she was already kissing someone else. He drew back quickly, red hair fluttering around his head.

‘Who are you?’

‘Who are you?’

‘You turned twenty-two too?’

The man with the blond hair nodded.

‘They don’t have pens or paper on them.’

‘They probably thought they were soulmates. Quick. Let’s call for paper and pens and tell everyone our name. We have no time to lose.’

‘Yes!’

They threw open the doors and started running, calling for paper and pens and servants. They weren’t about to end up as cautionary tales about people who took too long to analyse their situation and then failing to leave a trace behind.

‘Edward, Esther! What’s with the shouting?’

A moody old lady, whose look screamed wealth, looked at them with suspicious eyes.

‘Edward, what news of your soulmate?’

‘I’m Lord James Babbington!’

‘And I’m Miss –‘

 ••••••••••

  Sidney and Babington were thrown back into their own bodies.

‘Well?’

‘No one came here. Congratulations. You both got yourselves younger ladies. So tell me, how was it?’

‘She had a big family. A very big one. Her name was Charlotte. Her father mother said she was five years younger than me. But the father started introducing the whole family. I only got my name across, not hers.’

‘Sucks man. But hey, they can find you. There aren’t that many Parkers in England. Now Write everything down. Every little detail. Babbers, how about you?’

‘She was kissing someone else.’

‘Ow man’, Crowe sighed.

‘The man she was kissing had just turned twenty-two. The couple probably thought they were soulmates.’

‘I’m sorry’, Sidney said, and laid a supportive hand on his shoulder.

‘It was quite confusing. The girl in the body of the blond man wasn’t the girl whose body I was in, otherwise she would have recognized herself. So the couple had gotten it wrong. We started running around, looking for a way to get our name across. Then there was this woman who addressed both me and the girl on a first name basis.  I managed to say my name but then I was thrown back. I just wonder who is in the position to call both parts of a couple by a first name basis. Isn’t that odd? And then she only asked the boy about his soulmate.’

‘Perhaps the girl is still under the age of twenty-two?’

‘Yes, that’s what I assumed. But why would the woman address both parties with their first names? Come to think of it, why would you ask someone who already has a partner about their soulmate? It would destroy the relationship.’

‘If there is one.’

‘What?’

‘People only use first names in close family circles. If the couple were married, she would address at least one of them with their surname or title. So they’re not married. And the old woman knew both of them. They could be family, or very close friends. And the most logical reason one would ask such a harmful question would be if they were unaware of the inappropriateness.’

‘Have you even drank today?’

‘Not a drop. But now I can start.’

‘Those were some very strong deductive skills Crowe, you could be great if you didn’t drink so much.’

‘I’ve done my part for my country.’

‘So… They’re family… And in a secret relation?’

‘The last part makes sense, taking into accord the first. Congratulations, Babbers. You got yourself into a proper mess.’

‘Don’t talk about them that way. We’re just jumping to conclusions right now. I wonder if they’ll be able to find us.’

‘Time will tell’, decided Sidney. He hadn’t been looking forward to discovering his soulmate, after Eliza had ripped his heart out by marrying someone rich before either of them reached the age of twenty-two. He didn’t know whether he should be relieved or sad that his soulmate hadn’t been Eliza. But it did help him to process the years old heartache. He now knew he wasn’t destined to be with her, and knew he wasn’t intended to stay alone.

••••••••••

Three years passed, and they weren’t contacted by the girls. Sidney could only guess at the reasons, but Babington feared his soulmate might have decided to stay together with the blond man she’d been kissing. People sometimes didn’t want their soulmate. It had happened before. Most of the times they’d found love before finding out their soulmate, or they hated the principle that someone else decided what was best for them.

They did feel them though. Babington rarely felt anything. Sidney woke up with grazed knees a lot, and he sometimes felt annoying tingles on his arms during daytime. It was clear his soulmate was an active one. Crowe however, had it worse. He was woken up in the middle of the night a lot. His night shirt wet, and his body aching all over. Sometimes, even during the day in the middle of a conversation, he’d fall to the floor, suffering pains he could neither describe nor place. He never wanted to talk about it, but his friends were there for him.

On the end of the third year, something changed. They all kept each other from drinking too much before the stroke midnight, as they did each year since Crowe got drunk and lost his soulmate. They were playing cards at the New Year’s Eve party of the prince regent when Crowe suddenly shot up. Sidney recognized the sign and immediately took the pen and paper he’d put in his coat.

‘Who are you?’

‘Clara. Clara Brereton.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘He never looked for me before. He especially shouldn’t start now. Please, don’t let him start looking.’

‘Our friend was drunk. He couldn’t leave you a message because of it. He deeply regrets it. He knew not how to find you. Who are your parents?’

‘They’re very poor. I don’t live with them. Where am I?’

‘You are in the body of Mr. Matthew Crowe. I am Mr. Parker, this is Lord Babington. You’re at the New Year’s party of the prince regent.’

‘Oh my God.’

They’d never seen such a terrified and simultaneously impressed look in the eyes of their friend. If she was poor, it was no wonder that she felt shy to share any information when she was catapulted into such wealth.

‘Tell Mr. Crowe that I am so sorry for all the pain he must have felt. I tried to prevent it. I tried. I’m still looking for ways to put an end to it, for his sake. Do tell him I apologize. I’m fine as a person, it’s just that sometimes… Painful things happen. Don’t let him look for me please. Goodbye.’

A muscle spasm signalled that the lady had left Crowe’s body and that their friend had returned.

‘It feels so weird. When your soul isn’t the one doing the travelling, you actually stay put and you can feel them in you. She’s a strong feisty one. I like her.’

He grinned at them, but upon seeing their furrowed brows, his smile fided.

‘What?’

‘She didn’t want to give us her address.’

‘What – why?’

‘I believe she might be in bad company. She mentioned her parents being poor and being in a bad place to be visited. She also apologized for all the pain she’s caused you and wanted to assure you that she tried to prevent the pain. Crowe, could you tell us what that was about?’

Mr. Crowe ignored Babington and directed his next question at Sidney.

‘Didn’t she tell her name?’

‘Miss Brereton. Clara Brereton.’

‘I’ve heard that name before, I think. But it’s a really distant memory. I don’t know where from’, confessed Lord Babington.

‘Doesn’t sound familiar to me’, Sidney sighed.

‘But Crowe, what of it?’ Lord Babington encouraged. The curly haired man stood and shook his head.

‘I’ll be needing that drink. Night Divine my ass.’

His drinking worsened after that night. She wasn’t going to look for him, and Lord Babington tried really hard to remember where he got the name from, but he couldn’t.

Crowe checked the registers in every town he passed through, but there was no Brereton household in which any Clara lived.

He drank even more after that.

••••••••••

Once a year, he did his best to remain sober until midnight, so that he could help his friends. This year was the year Sidney knew his soulmate would reach the age of twenty-two.

Lord Babington still hadn’t heard a thing from his soulmate, he’d given up the hope that she would magically change her mind about him. So he started philandering like he had before New Year 1814, but he never got attached, and nothing ever satisfied him. She was still there, on the back of his mind, an invisible presence with no personality or surname, yet connected to him by divine fate. Though he’d gathered she was quite stubborn, from years of refusing to unite with her soulmate, or even just contacting him out of curiosity.

He hadn’t expected that, on December 31st 1819, he would get a visit from his soulmate as well.

Crowe, who was still hungover from the previous day since he hadn’t drank enough that day, Crowe, whose hands were shaking violently, almost jumped out of his chair when both of his friends fell backwards in their chairs before shooting upright.

His two friends looked around, the grouchy face of Parker being replaced by a surprised and amazed expression, and the face of his good humoured friend become guarded and haughty. It were quite strange expressions on their faces.

‘Right. Hello there, before you are mirrors so you can check out your future husbands. Please, write down your full names and addresses on these papers. Full names and addresses of Parker and Babbers are on them as well. Memorize them as well as you can, though my friends will do their utmost bests to contact you. I’m their friend: Mr. Crowe.’

Parker started writing immediately, but Babington stared at his hands, before reaching for the mirror. He looked to be quite apprehensive, touching his own face.

‘How is he?’ asked Parker’s soulmate.

‘Sidney’s a caring young man. Good sense of humour, but rather ill-humoured most days. Can be gruff, but I’m sure a kind wife will be able to knock that out of him. I’ve seen him being warm and friendly before. He’s the youngest brother of three, no worries though, he’s still rich. Yours is too, even more so, Miss.’

Babington looked up and frowned. It was a mighty strange look on him, and Crowe wished Babington would never scrutinize him in the way his soulmate was now scrutinizing him with Babington’s eyes.

‘I don’t care about wealth.’

‘He’s got a great personality too. Very friendly, very caring. He puts up with a lot of my shit.’

Babington looked away. He still hadn’t touched the paper.

‘Could you please write your name? He knows you might be together with someone else, and he won’t force himself on you. He just wants to know who you are.’

‘He would? That’s… Very kind. Tell him that even in my darkest dreams I couldn’t imagine him forgiven me for what I was doing at the moment he entered my body. That man is dead to me now.  It’s why I never contacted him. I was too ashamed. And I’m not worth having. I’m not going to contact him, and I don’t want him to find me. I don’t know him, he doesn’t know me. There’s no reason why we should be together. I –‘

Despite the fact that they had all talked at an incredible speed, there still hadn’t been enough time. The bodies in front of him shook, and his friends returned to him, looking at him with expectant eyes.

  Sidney grabbed the paper. ‘Charlotte Heywood. Willingden. Heywood Farm. Didn’t contact you because my parents wanted to make sure we were matched’, he read out loud.

Babington looked at the paper in front of him. ‘I’m sorry for what happened. I wish you well, Esther.’ She hadn’t given any new information.

His eyes connected with Crowe’s. His friend was crestfallen. ‘She’s not together with the man she was kissing. She was too ashamed by the event, that’s why she never contacted you. I don’t think she has a lot of confidence.’

‘She doesn’t. I could… I could feel her. It was so dark. There was humour, and a softness, but she’s not doing great I think.’

‘She said something about not being worth having. Welcome to the club man, these women just don’t want to be found.’

‘We’re forgetting someone, Crowe. Parker, how was your lady?’

‘She…’ He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep himself from laughing. ‘She’s like a ball of energy, excitement and joy. Quite overwhelming. She’ll be a handful.’

‘Congratulations, dear friend. Seems broody old you can finally meet your match. May she be the sunlight that lights your dark mood.’

Sidney Parker tried his best to scowl, but failed to do so. He set out for the Heywood farm the day after the holidays were officially over, a ring in his pocket.

••••••••••

Esther Denham hadn’t thought her life would go this way.

At the age of seventeen, she was certain that she and her stepbrother were going to be together forever. Edward wasn’t an affectionate man. But he was the only one who was there for her after her parents died. The only one who took the trouble to know her and keep her company. He also claimed to love her and promised to never leave her.

At the end of her eighteenth year on this planet, at the beginning of December, she’d overheard some town girls talking about how he’d been intimate with a maid of Lady Denham’s. She’d confronted him, and first he’d denied it, but then he’d admitted to it. He promised her that it was an accident and that it wouldn’t happen again, for she was his true love. In an attempt to prove how certain he was, he kissed her at midnight.

It had been the end of all promises. It was their first kiss, and their last kiss. Because she suddenly felt a presence in her body which was decidedly not Edward. The presence of this person filled her up with warmth. And he simultaneously felt like a cool bath on a hot summer’s day. Edward had never felt as soothing and gentle as the man. Edward was fire: burning everything he encountered on his path; he was ice: cold and unyielding. At the same time his body had been inhabited by a girl apparently, or so their aunt told them afterwards.

Her aunt wished she’d contact Lord Babington immediately, but Edward told her soulmates were forced upon them by deities and society. “What does some God above know what is good for us? Why do we let them decide.” Esther listened for a year, and kept anyone from contacting her soulmate. A year in which Edward grew even more money hungry and merciless, visited his aunt when she was ill as if her sickly form was some kind of theatre piece for him to watch, and kept screwing around.

She decided that perhaps God couldn’t know everything, but both God and she herself could clearly see that Edward was bad for her. She gave up on his empty promises. It had been a hard thing to do. He turned her life into a living hell, calling her names, berating her and exercising all male control he could. All the while he kept on screwing Clara in an attempt to disgrace her, but Clara managed to avoid the truth getting out to anyone except Esther. She became isolated. And all his comments on her stupidity seeped right through her skin. She was too proud to show him how they got to her, but in the privacy of her room she couldn’t help but break down a little more each day. She hated herself for ever having been in love with him. She hated herself for trusting men. She hated herself for being stupid and powerless. And the only thing which could have been good about her life, her soulmate, had been taking from her by her own stupidity as well. She’d been seventeen and had still been years away from turning twenty-two, but she’d known that others could get into her body at the stroke of midnight. The only impression her soulmate would have, would be that instead of awaiting a soulmate or celebrating the New Year, that she’d been kissing someone else, without a wedding ring in sight that would excuse it.

She refrained from contacting her soulmate in the following years as well. She felt she’d ruined it. He was a lord. He’d be wealthy and well acquainted with the ways of the world. Meanwhile she was poor, was involved in an improper relationship as far as he knew, and had spent all her life in a stupid seaside town. Nothing about her would be attractive to a lord. She hadn’t made a good first impression, the only thing she could do was avoid him to keep him from discovering more bad things about her. If they met, he’d find out she’d been kissing her stepbrother. If that didn’t make him run: her stupidity and lack of wealth would make it happen. Besides, she didn’t know if she could trust another man, even one whose presence felt like a comfortable blanket.

In her twenty third year of life, she knew their paths were bound to cross again. She wondered if he was the way he seemed when he inhabited her body for a minute. She wondered what he thought of her. Though she knew she wouldn’t get answers. She decided it would be for the best if she didn’t give him a way to contact her. The only thing she wished to do, was to find a way to apologize.

She hadn’t expected to interact with someone. She hadn’t expected him to be this prepared. She hadn’t expected to be forgiven. She hadn’t expected to hear what he was like, and she hadn’t expected to be able to look at his face. He was actually quite handsome. But her confidence was so low, hearing of his forgiveness only made her feel worse. She felt too self-aware. She couldn’t believe she was matched to wealthy lord, who was so kind he’d forgive her and wish her all happiness. She wasn’t worth the forgiveness, and she wasn’t worthy of such a fine spouse, she was so much less.

She was glad that she’d managed to apologize. But going into his body had been a curse, for now his face filled her dreams, and her mind kept conjuring images of situations which could never happen.

 ‘Is there something the matter, cousin?’

‘Nothing you should know of, Clara.’

‘I’m not your enemy.’

‘How can you be something else, if we’re vying for the same thing?’

‘I would like to have some of her money, yes. I have none of it myself. This is a competition, but it’s not worth this fight.’

‘You have no problem fighting over it with my brother in the most creative of ways.’

‘Don’t tell me you want him? Whatever you imagine, that is quite impossible. And he’s not a good man, you’re a fool if you can’t see that. Besides, it’s all on Edward. I never initiated anything. He keeps forcing himself on me, and I keep barely avoiding scandal. I don’t want him, and I don’t want scandal. A scandal will be the end of me.’

‘I don’t want him. And I don’t really care about the money either. That’s always been Edward. I just wanted a happy life.’

Clara nodded.

‘We could be allies, you know. The two of us are stronger and smarter than him.’

‘And do what?’

‘I don’t know. But we could stop him from influencing our lives so much. We could support each other… You turned twenty-two last year, do you know your soulmate?’

‘Yes but… I… We can’t.’

‘I rejected mine as well. I told you before I managed to survive Edward because I was used to someone a lot worse in my previous home. There’s an automatic connection between soulmates, he probably felt what happened to me. To anyone who knows the extent of what I’ve experienced, I’m ruined goods. And he’s so privileged. I would risk his reputation if he’d have me at all, since he probably knows or suspects what happened.’

Eshter didn’t feel comfortable confiding in Clara yet. She was still suspicious, despite her cousin’s openness. But in a matter of months, that changed. Clara made sure Esther spent a lot of time in Lady Denham’s house, away from Edward’s influence. The old woman wasn’t particularly enjoyable, but Esther managed to score some points for making an effort for her aunt.

In turn, Esther made sure to follow Edward and Clara. An end came to Edward’s days of trying to ruin Clara. In Juli of the same year, the women outed Edward’s gambling, dalliances with kitchen maids, and attempts to find and destroy Lady Denham’s will when the old woman took ill.

Edward was scrapped from the will, and banished from Sanditon.

 ••••••••••

 Charlotte and Sidney had been courting for six months. It hadn’t always been easy. Sidney had been imperious, hard, arrogant and guarded, despite being eager to get to know his soulmate. And Charlotte had been overly open and young. But by and by, they got to understand one another, and had brought out the best in each other. She’d altered him so much, that he even started feeling guilty for ignoring his brother’s pleas for help and support in Sanditon. And so, under Charlotte’s encouragements, it was decided that they were going to marry in Sanditon. Charlotte was a small country girl, and wouldn’t have minded a small wedding, but upon meeting his brother, she felt her marriage to his brother could help to put Sanditon on the map, which in turn would help Sanditon grow and bring money to the oldest Parker brother.

All Heywoods moved to the town for the summer months. As she lived there, she got to know Sidney’s ward Miss Georgiana, and quickly befriended her, despite the girl being quite reserved at first because she thought Charlotte would support Sidney in everything. But she learned very quickly that Charlotte wasn’t like Sidney, and that she didn’t have any problem opposing him if she thought it would make Georgiana’s life better. She also got to know Lady Denham and her cousins, the ladies were quite reserved and though she didn’t like the Lady or Miss Brereton too much, Miss Denham’s manners and humour reminded her of Sidney which lead to Charlotte taking an instant liking to her. She sometimes wondered if the Esther Denham of Sanditon had been the Esther she’d met at the end of the previous year. She knew that Esther hadn’t wanted to meet her soulmate, but she couldn’t help but think how delightful it would be if Sidney’s best friend would find true love in Sanditon, in a girl she liked very much. She tried to find anything which would give away whether Esther Denham was the Esther of New Year’s Eve. She was quite funny, and the Esther of New Year hadn’t been funny. This Esther also had quite a confident air, which the Esther of New Year didn’t have. She also didn’t know the age of this Esther. In the end she decided that it was unlikely that it was the same Esther, since this one gave no sign of recognition when she was introduced to Charlotte. While the Esther of New Year’s Eve should have recognized her name, and the face of her fiancé.

She befriended some of the workmen as well, and grew even closer to the eldest Parker. Before the wedding took place, Charlotte managed to create a series of events to draw attention to the town, from a regatta to a ball to entertain Sidney’s London acquaintances before the wedding.

It was a great success. Everything was booked. Even the newly built block of buildings was rented and inhabited before they had applied the finishing touches. The last licks of paint were for after the wedding. Tom was ecstatic.

••••••••••

Esther had known, the second she saw Sidney Parker after his years of absence, with a young lady holding on to his arm, that she would be in trouble.

He was the man she’d sat next to when she was transported into the body of her fiancé. If he was going to marry, his friends would no doubt come.

She felt the instinctive need to hide, but since she met the two at a dinner, she was incapable of doing so. So she just put on her habitual confident and indifferent air, and pretended not to recognize them when they were introduced. Clara had noticed her freezing when the Parker brother entered the dining room however, and asked her about it after everyone had left.

Gods ways were ineffable, it turned out, since Clara recognized the man as well. It was that even they realized they were destined to be with Mr. Parker’s two friends. And they both comforted the other with the knowledge that their soulmates didn’t know what they looked like. Though Mr. Crowe knew Clara’s surname. They vouched to keep the others identity safe in case one of them was revealed though.

At the dinner, Esther had inconspicuously asked when the guests would start coming in. First, they would the day before the wedding, but that changed when Miss Heywood made an event calendar to lure the guests sooner. News came out that Mr. Parker’s friends would come in early and participate in the regatta. Esther and Clara stayed away with their aunt, who had ‘no desire in running around on a hill to get mud on a dress , and risk twisting an ankle on the grass.’

The midsummer ball, however, was inevitable. But they were grateful for Charlotte for giving the ball a theme. In a popular twist on the divine night, Charlotte had decided to make it a costumed party. Everyone was to wear a mask. And at the stroke of midnight, everyone would reveal their identity to their dance partner, like the identity of soulmates was uncovered at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

Esther and Clara knew Mr. Crowe and Lord Babington would be present, and they knew a certain Esther Denham and the Clara Brereton would be present.

Since Miss Heywood mentioned a Clara and an Esther attending the ball, both Crowe and Babington had agonized over whether or not to go looking for them. Crowe had done the Crowe thing and gotten himself drunk, and Babington had done the Babington thing and accepted Miss Heywood’s negative answer on whether she thought it might be his soulmate called Esther.

••••••••••

Charlotte greeted Esther and Clara with a big smile. She was wearing a swan mask, and it suited her perfectly. Esther had opted for a dark blue mask covering her eyes. A blue floorlength veil was attached to it as well, hiding a good part of her hair. Clara wore a simple white mask hiding half of her face.

A tall figure which couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else’s than Sidney Parker made his way towards them, with three other men and a lady in tow.

‘Ah, ladies. I’d like to introduce my friends.’

‘Is this not a masked ball? You shouldn’t, Mr. Parker’, noted Esther.

‘Alright, but you already know my name?’

‘I think you’re a bit too recognisable, Mr. Parker’, laughed his fiancée.

‘But how am I to introduce my friends?’

‘Fake names. Anyone can be anyone tonight”, decided Clara.

‘I shall be Lord Dionysys.. sus?’, slurred a man with curly hair and a red mask obscuring his entire face except his mouth region. On both cheeks, wine bottles were drawn.

‘How fitting’, Clara smirked.

Esther couldn’t help but smile.

‘Ser Lancelot’, said another.

‘Lady of the Lake’, decided the woman with black hair in a long white and blue dress with many jewels. ‘Pleased to meet you, and nice to see you again, Charlotte.’

‘Lady Su-‘ Charlotte tried asking, but the woman laid a finger on her lips. ‘We must keep the mystery. Even though I cheated.’

Everyone now focussed on the last man. His hair was almost invisible underneath his black hat, and his face was concealed by a black scarf with holes cut out for the eyes. Fake whiskers and a goatee were drawn on his upper lip and chin.

‘I don’t want to be any ser or lord tonight, I shall be Claude Duval.’

‘I am Miss Swan tonight’, decided Charlotte.

‘I shall be Miss Bennett. Since I enjoyed Pride and Prejudice’, Clara decided.

Esther looked about.

‘I’m afraid I’m not feeling particularly inspired.’ She thought about popular works of fiction and myths and legends which might tell something about her.

‘I shall go by the name Rhiannon.’ A strong minded goddess who chose her own husband and was often misinterpreted wasn’t a bad thing to be.

    ‘Our friend assures us of good sport here, shall we find any?’ asked the inebriated incarnation of the God of Wine.

‘I believe there is very little shooting in the neighbourhood, sir’, Esther shot back. The sooner Mr. Parker’s friends left them, the better.

‘I wasn’t thinking of shooting.’

‘My friend was thinking of dancing, I’m sure’, the highwayman dressed in black laughed while looking at his friend.

‘Could we persuade any of you young ladies to dance with us?’

It was the opposite of what Esther desired. But Charlotte skipped to her fiancé, Clara was approached by the Arthurian knight and she herself was approached by the highwayman.

    ‘You do wish to dance with me, don’t you?’

‘I suppose the intention of a ball is to dance.’

‘That doesn’t mean you wish to be dancing.’

‘I didn’t think a highwayman would take into account what someone desires.’

‘I’m not just any highwayman. I’m Duval. I’m a gentleman thief.’

‘And a thief of hearts, who asks women to dance with him after robbing their husbands.’

‘Ah, I’ve forgotten something then. Pray tell where your husband is, so I can rob him first.’

Esther had to laugh and shook her head.

‘Unfortunately, I have yet to find a husband who can be robbed.’

‘Pick one, if memory serves me well, you picked your own husband.’

That certainly got a new connotation, taking into account how she was avoiding her soulmate at this very moment. She wished she could distinguish the colour of his eyes or the structure of his hair. But both were shielded by the black fabric and hat. She could currently be dancing with him. Either that, or he was dancing with the Lady of the Lake. Clara was most definitely dancing with Mr. Crowe. Mr. Crowe hadn’t worn a hat, and she’d recognized him immediately. She wondered if Clara knew she was dancing with her soulmate.

‘I do. But I have yet to find someone I deem worthy of the title.’

‘Ha! And pray tell, what set of accomplishments must a man show before you deem him worthy, or do you deem the one chosen by Night Divine to be the worthy candidate?’

If Esther stepped on his foot, it was entirely by accident. How to tackle that topic? She collected her wits, after a nervous giggle escaped her mouth.

‘We’ve only known each other for five minutes, and you’re already asking about my soulmate? You rogue. Let’s not discuss it. The whole point of tonight is to have fun and pretend that we’re looking for our soulmate  blindly, until the clock chimes midnight. It’ll be the only time we can choose whose identity we wish to be revealed. I like to choose a soulmate for tonight, let’s not discuss the more serious variant.’

The man bit his lip. ‘As you wish, my goddess.’

Her heart was definitely not beating faster, thank you very much, nor were her cheeks burning. Esther decided their interactions were going way too smoothly. She decided to remain silent for the rest of the dance.

‘You wish to remain mysterious’, he concluded at the end of the dance.

‘Isn’t that the way of deities? Their ways are a mystery to the mortals. I’ve got to keep up the pretence.’

‘And you do so excellently. In some way, nights like these are supposed to strip one of the pretence of our usual lives, so we can be our truest selves, but our true self remains a mystery still, since our covers add a new layer to us. I sometimes wonder when one can be without pretence, I’m starting to think my life has been too full of it.’

‘I doubt there are many among us who can say that they've lived a life free from pretence.’

‘Well, then, surely, if we're to lead a better life we're honour bound to free ourselves from such a burden.’

The dance required Esther to take the hand of another man, which gave her time to reflect. She did tire of pretending. Pretending to be fine to others, pretending being cold and uncaring, pretending she wasn’t worried about meeting her soulmate, but the pretence seeped deeper than that: she tried to pretend to herself that she was alright with not meeting her soulmate. She pretended the dreams filled with visions of a future with him didn’t happen. It was tiring. She did admire the highwayman for his openness and friendliness, but at the same time his openness intimidated her. She wished she could remain silent and maintain her façade, because right now, she was everything but calm. He made her laugh, he made her wonder, he made her reflect, he made her curious, and his tall form made her stomach uneasy.

Lord Babington was struggling with his emotions as well. Every day for the past five years, a girl had been on the back of his mind, popping up whenever he was enjoying himself with someone else. She did now too, as he was enjoying a dance with the vibrant young woman in blue. He knew that somewhere out there, a sad insecure Esther lived, who didn’t deem herself worthy of her soulmate. He felt guilty for enjoying himself while she was depressed, with a funny, witty and confidant woman who clearly didn’t care a fig about soulmates. He wondered whether the woman in his arms had experienced Night Divine herself. He assumed she had, most young women who hadn’t were all star-eyed thinking about the moment they could finally contact their true love, while she seemed unwilling to think about him. A woman who didn’t want to think about her own soulmate, would perhaps not mind to be with a person who had a soulmate but was still single, like himself.

‘I feel disinclined to be in agreement with you too much, too soon. I wouldn’t want to give the impression I’m enjoying the company of a highwayman.’

Lord Babington had to laugh again. ‘No, no, no, no. Whatever you do, you must guard against that. The humiliation. You have your reputation to consider.’

‘And you yours, though I’m sure yours is beyond redemption.’

The woman nodded. The dance had ended, but their conversation hadn’t, and against her better judgement, Esther was persuaded to give him the next dance as well, when he offered her his hand.

‘I admit, I am a highwayman. But I think you’d be surprised. I’m not such a good-for-nothing as I would like. Had the king known me, he wouldn’t have hung me.’

The edges of reality started to blur, as both kept on drawing from the stories surrounding their characters. Yet, though while pretending to be another, Lord Babington spoke only truth when he admitted that he had spent his life pretending to be a good-for-nothing dandy who enjoyed gambling and women, in his darkest dreams, he wished to have a domestic life, filled with peace. And he wished peace for his friends as well. He’d much rather see them all nicely settled, instead of them having yet another drunken story to tell.

‘Are you going to tell me you are a misunderstood Robin Hood, who gifted to the poor instead? How cliché.’

‘Cliché?’

‘All thieves pretend to be good. Why can’t any of them just own up to the fact that they’re thieves? Not everything on this planet is done with good intentions. One can be satisfied if something if one’s actions merit oneself, to have those actions merit others as well is quite rare.’

‘You wouldn’t mind me stealing for my own merit only?’

‘It’s not good, by any means. But I believe it is still better if your actions serve you, than if you do things simply because you feel forced by society or acquaintances, in such cases, your actions don’t serve anyone. Those are the worst kinds of actions, not the selfish ones which merit you, not those who merit others, but those you do simply because you are expected to.’

‘You are full of wisdom, goddess Rhiannon. I hope our society will, in some future, learn not to apply so much pressure on its people. But in the meantime we can fight it by leading by example. Let’s not do things simply because they are expected of us.’

Esther bit her lip. She felt that her original comment, which had been meant to be merely amusing, had escalated and turned into something far too revealing and outright. Her words surprised even herself. What had she done not for herself but for something like society or propriety?

‘Spoken as a man and a thief. Women do not have such freedom. Should we go against the written and unwritten rules of society, our reputations would be tarnished. A lady’s reputation is everything. I shall leave men to the task, since they get every other important task in the world as well, save for childbearing.’

‘My word’, he laughed. She certainly wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Of course, he could be just about anyone, instead of a Lord who indeed got all his money and his job simply by being born into the right household, and being born male. But it was still a bold statement to say to anyone. He knew quite a few women, in the higher ranks of society, who might exclaim similar things if they were wealthy enough, and they were either widowed or married to a particularly liberal husband. He had to admit he admired her spirit.

The song ended and the lady bowed.

‘Now I shall take my leave, so you might steal another woman’s heart. I’m quite attached to mine.’

‘But isn’t the fun in risking it?’ Babington couldn’t help but ask.

‘You have an awful idea of fun, you rascal.’

She disappeared, her stunning blue veil floating behind her.

  ••••••••••

Esther, Charlotte and Georgiana went outside to catch some air, and discuss the ball. Inside, the men were doing the same. The Lady of the Lake joined them and informed Charlotte that the oldest Mr. Parker was looking for her. She apologized and left.

‘How's your pursuit of the lady in blue progressing, then, Babington? I noticed you two shared two dances, and you seemed to be having a good time.’

‘Very well. She professes she must keep from agreeing with me, and has encouraged me to find other ladies for the evening. She's deliciously witty and smart. She had no problem playing the: men get to do everything card.’

‘Saucy bitch. And you, a peer of the realm. Has she any idea?’ asked Crowe.

Babington shook his head, smiling.

‘I love it’, Crowe laughed.

‘So, how long before you, er, bring her to heel?’

‘"Bring her to heel"? She's not a dog, Crowe, she's a young lady. Besides, there’s still Esther.’

‘She needs to be mastered. And mastering a girl is a great deal of fun. You’ve held on to her for over five years, Babington. Are you going to wait for her the rest of your life? All I’m saying is if you really like this one, why not go chase her? A real woman is so much better than some untouchable soulmate somewhere on the world’, venom seeped through his words. Years of his soulmate avoiding him while he felt her pain, made him grow bitter and frustrated. Lord Babington could hardly blame him, luck had never been on Crowe’s side. He couldn’t blame his friend from wanting to move on from his soulmate. But right now, during a ball, was not the time to have a serious conversation about it.

‘Mind you, I like a bit of spirit in a girl’, Babington admitted, continuing the conversation as if he wasn’t worried… and wasn’t seriously considering pursuing the red haired woman, which he was.

‘That Austen girl I was dancing with, she’s got some real spunk about her. I like that in a woman. If I found her in a certain other setting, I would definitely take her to my chambers’, he grinned.

‘You pig!’ scolded Lord Babington.

‘Now now, Crowe, perhaps a glass of orange juice would do you well’, frowned Sidney.

‘Not now’, his friend said as he noticed the girl standing beside an old woman.

He took off in her direction.

••••••••••

  By the time Esther went looking for Clara, it was too late. Clara had gone to her aunt, and Mr. Crowe had gone to Mr. Tom Parker, who had been talking to Charlotte, to ask who the old woman who didn’t bother with a mask was. He quite forgot the charade, and pointed out that it was Lady Denham, the wealthy patron of the town, with her ward Miss Brereton. Charlotte then saw Mr. Crowe marching towards Lady Denham and Clara.

Esther puzzled together Charlotte’s words with her own knowledge. Mr. Crowe might have been drunk, but not that drunk as to forget the surname of his soulmate. He had gone to her, demanding to know her first name, and Lady Denham had ruined it further by exclaiming: ‘Clara, what on earth is the meaning of all this.’

Mr. Crowe’s anger slipped out of him, and he turned on all his charm when replying Lady Denham that he was her soulmate, and she had been avoiding him for three years. He asked Lady Denham whether he was allowed to have a conversation with her while taking a turn about the room, and she had granted it.

Now the two of them were nowhere to be seen, and Esther most definitely panicked.

‘We must find them. You may not know, but they are soulmates. Mr. Crowe is drunk, and Clara has hidden herself from him for years. She only hid herself because it was risky to make herself known. Perhaps if he was sober I might have trusted them to have a civil conversation about it. But he isn’t.’

‘I had no idea’, Charlotte stammered.

‘What can we do?’ asked Lady Georgiana, clearly the most clear headed one.

‘We need to search. Each goes a different direction. Check for any open rooms or remote places.’

‘I take the upstairs’, Georgiana decided.

‘I take the left hallway, there are some two rooms open there, and some dark corners’, Charlotte said as she took her leave as well.

Which left Esther to do the hallway on the right. She tried to look inconspicuous at first, but grew more hurried as time progressed. But no door nor corner offered relief. She didn’t find a trace of her cousin anywhere.

She remained in the main hallway, unwilling to go in without finding her cousin, when suddenly, that very person emerged in the portal of the main door leading out towards the street. Everyone had looked on the inside of the building. It hadn’t crossed their mind that they may have left the building altogether. Behind her, an unmasked man walked, he was surprisingly steady on his feet. He seemed to have sobered overtime.

‘Cousin’, Clara greeted her without revealing her name, as they’d promised.

‘Are you alright?’

‘I am. We talked things over… Well, it was more like shouting from time to time… And crying. But I’m fine. We’re engaged.’

‘You are?’

Clara nodded, unable to hide her smile as tears started slipping out of the corners of her eyes.

‘I couldn’t have wished for a more understanding spouse. We always assume the world to be cruel and unfair. And we almost assume the worst, and after what we experienced, who can blame us? But whatever deity lives up there, they’re right about who they set us up with.’

‘Stop it. You’re making us sound soppy. I might just vomit if I hear any more love and sunshine shit’, Crowe moaned.

‘Then step back. I need to say something to her in private anyway.’

Crowe raised his eyebrows, daring her to command him around. She only raised her eyebrows in return, and he stepped back.

‘Cousin. If he could accept me, there is no reason to believe your soulmate might not accept you as well. Go and have fun tonight, and try to find him. All is not lost, I can scarcely believe it myself.’

‘I don’t know, Clara.’

Her thoughts slipped to the curly brown hair and bluish green eyes of the man she’d seen in the mirror last December.  But then they slipped to the tall man in black. She still didn’t know his identity.

‘Ah, there you are. I was starting to wonder where you… Oh, we were looking for you too!’ Charlotte and Georgiana walked into the hallway together.

‘We’re here. Everything’s fine’, Esther said quickly.

‘What’s fine?’ a deep voice asked behind her.

‘Everything’, Esther said in a haughty tone as she turned to face Sidney Parker.

Charlotte floated to the arm of her beloved.

‘Let’s return to the party. I want to dance’, she cooed. Sidney Parker tried and failed not to smile.

Ser Lancelot and the highwayman remained near the edge of the ballroom. She knew she should try out Lancelot to discover whether he was Lord Babington, but she found herself being asked to dance by Lord Babington again.

  ••••••••••

 ‘Why, you would think there’s not a single other maid in the room.’

‘Do you wish it?’

‘Fine.’

‘Gone cold again in an attempt to not be too agreeable?’

‘Why insist if you’re treated with so little civility?’

‘Perhaps it is the fascination of trying to keep up with your verbal sparring. All I know is the more I speak with you, the more drawn I am to you.’

Esther bit her lip. He was being way too forthright, but unfortunately, their earlier conversations had given him reason to speak earnestly.’

‘You’ve only known me for a couple of hours. First impressions are important but they’re rarely accurate. It’s all superficial.’

‘Was our conversation superficial? I don’t believe so.’

‘We were pretending to be a goddess and a thief throughout the entirety of our conversation. Besides, isn’t there a soulmate? You have to be over twenty-two.’

‘You yourself critiqued me when I made a joke about soulmates a couple of hours ago. And you critiqued me just now for admitting that I liked you based on a couple of hours of knowing you, yet you ask about my soulmate? Someone fate links me to, despite that I’ve never met her? If I would like her upon seeing her, nobody would consider it strange. Yet, to spend hours with you and then decide I like you, is somehow considered too soon?’

Esther found herself rendered speechless.

‘I shall ignore that you wish to avoid discussing your soulmate, and shall talk about mine, as I respect our mutual wish to live a life without pretence, and your wish that men lead by example’, he decided with a smile. ‘I have one, yes. And she has no wish of contacting me even though she knows my full name and address, while I only know her first name is Esther. I have no contact with her. I felt bad about it for a long time, but I believe that if she hasn’t looked for me in years, I’m allowed to choose a fake soulmate for one evening, don’t you agree?’

It was him. It was Lord Babington. All night, she’d been drawn towards her soulmate without knowing who he was, talking to him and laughing with him had been as easy as breathing.

‘You said that this night, you wished to be free to choose the identity of someone at the stroke of midnight, while ignoring real life soulmates. I do as well. It’s only for a night, after all.’

She shook her head, considering how ridiculous their interaction was now that she knew of his identity. ‘This is ridiculous.’

‘I’m serious.’

Oh, she’d said it out loud.

‘I wasn’t expecting this.’

She wasn’t expecting to be confronted with her own words, nor had she expected she would be drawn to her soulmate. She knew what would happen on midnight if she stayed with him. All masks fell off, and she would be face to face with her fate. Stripped of all pretence. She wanted him, the man in front of her. And she had loved every part of him, she enjoyed how his soul felt, she enjoyed how his face looked in the mirror on New Year’s Eve, and she enjoyed his openness, cheerfulness and jokes throughout the night.

But he didn’t know. And she wondered how he’d react.

The music changed, and their right hands slipped towards the other’s body, as their left hands formed a circle above them. It was a more intimate number.

‘I would hate to be a hypocrite. I too wanted to choose someone to discover the identity of at midnight. I believe I have now refrained from agreeing with you for a sufficient period of time. We’ve agreed on disliking pretence, let’s drop the last bit of pretence at midnight.’

Her heart was in her throat, and she could barely breathe.

His gaze was incredibly intense as they continued their dance, which existed of testing the space between them with hands which were a hair’s breath from touching. Every step closer was followed by two steps to create distance, and every time they reached for one another, was followed by a turn away.

Her arms were covered in goose bumps and her fingers ached to touch him.

She was dancing with her soulmate, and he had confessed to enjoying her. He enjoyed her when it was only she, he didn’t know of her poverty or position in society or Edward. Though all that would come very soon, at the stroke of midnight. But right now, she lived in a world in which he actually liked her, and she liked him. And in this short-lived world, a happy ending seemed almost within reach. She wished she could leave her name behind and be like this forever, her and him, stripped down to their personality, nothing more, nothing less.

A heat pooled in her belly. She was hot and cold all at once. Just two steps removed from fainting.

And just like that, the music stopped, and the countdown started.

She could only stare as he took off his hat, revealing lovely tousled brown curls.

‘It has been a lovely evening, goddess Rhiannon.’

Esther’s mouth was dry.

She could barely keep her hands from shaking.

Even her hearing was starting to shut down, the voices counting down seemed far removed, instead of near.

Her heart was now racing at an unprecedented speech.

‘One!’

She could dimly hear the people shouting and the music starting a joyful tune. The only thing her senses could focus on, was Lord Babington reaching for the back of his head, and removing the fabric covering half his face. He used it to swipe away the whiskers and goatee as well, though there were still grayish lines on his face.

Despite the dread running through her, she couldn’t help but smile.

‘What?’

She reached out, brushing over his upper lip and chin with her thumb to remove the makings on his face.

He didn’t move an inch. His tongue flew out to quickly wet his lips once she’d withdrawn her thumb. The air between them was buzzing.

Their eyes never left each other’s.

It was her turn to remove her mask.

Then the charade would end.

With shaking hands, she tried to remove her mask, but it was in vain. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, to focus on the feeling of the knotted satin sashes keeping her mask stuck to her face. She gasped for breath as her hands were covered by large warm ones.

‘Allow me.’

And within seconds, Esther’s dark brown eyes met those of Lord Babington.

She was even more beautiful than he’d imagined, despite that her mask hadn’t concealed that much.

He was still holding on to her mask, a fact he only became aware of when her delicate hands tried to take it from his.

‘I’m Lord Babington.’

As Esther opened her mouth, she could feel the air prickling her dry tongue. Only seconds now until the evening ended, and she would discover what the rest of her life would look like.

‘My name…’ Her voice gave up on the ‘a’, and she broke eye contact for a second before looking up. ‘Is Esther Denham.’

Lord Babington smiled at her.

‘Pleased to meet you.’

She frowned. She hadn’t expected him to act like this. She didn’t know what to expect, but it hadn’t been an easy smile.

Nor had she expected him to take her hand and press a kiss to it, as he was doing now.

He didn’t know her surname. He didn’t know.

‘And I’m your soulmate.’

His eyes shot up, but he remained there, bent over with his lips hovering above her palm. And in that instant, he saw how the façade had fallen as well as the mask. Insecurity, shame and sadness shone through her glassy eyes.

She had red hair like his soulmate.

She carried the name of his soulmate.

She hadn’t been intending on finding her soulmate tonight.

She’d shown deep and dark thoughts, but had shown a certain gentleness as well.

And she’d shown a humorous side as well.

It all matched.

‘I believe you are.’

They’d chosen each other, out of all people in this room.

He didn’t know how to navigate their interactions with this newly found knowledge. Just a couple of months ago, she had no wish for him. What were they to do, now that they had met and decided to like one another?

‘Now you know the truth. Now you know that I am the one who deliberately avoided you for five years. Now you know that this is the face of the woman who was kissing another man when you entered her body. Are you not disgusted? Are you not annoyed by my refusal to meet you?’

‘I don’t give a damn about your past, I never did. I always only wanted to know you. I wouldn’t have forced you to marry me if you were unwilling. I just wished to meet you, to discover the person I was matched with.’

‘I don’t wish to be your property. Or anyone’s. I don’t do well listening to men.’ She’d done enough of that, and had learned from her mistakes. She would never be as dependent on another man as she had been on Edward. She would never again rely on a man’s opinions, or allow him to decide for her.

‘Good, because I have no wish to own you.’

‘Why else would you want your soulmate?’

‘At first, I wanted you just because you were my soulmate. Then because I felt you, when you entered my body. I could feel your soul, and I admit I liked it. But then tonight I met you, and I was amazed by your spirit, your wit, your intellect, your humour, and now by your beauty. I can just imagine myself being in love with you. I only want to walk through life by your side.’

‘But, I’m poor. And I screwed up before.’

‘You said yourself that deciding on something for no one’s merit, like for the sake of society, is a horrible decision.’

‘Very well, then.’

‘You acc- you accept me?’

She bit her lip, to keep from reaching out to him.

‘I do.’

••••••••••

And if, after he asked her aunt, they disappeared in one of the dark corners she had checked before to exchange some real affection, no one had to know.

Who said a night could only be divine once a year?

•••••••••• 

FIN

•••••••••• 

For the 12 days of Sanditon challenge day 2, challenge hosted by @sanditoncreative​

You can also find this story on Archive of Our Own: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21814399

[jaeausten]

My thoughts on Sanditon 1x06 (Beware, here be spoilers...)

Okay, up until now I have been watching Sanditon with mixed feelings, most of it positive, but Sundays episode left me screaming WTF at my tv.

In this house, Andrew Davies is a legend. His television adaptations of the classics has always let me soak into the world of Austen, Dickens etc and has been a welcome escape from the various shitty things in my life. He has been adapting books for tv series for decades and I thought that Sanditon was going to be full of the things I love about Jane Austen’s works and subsequent adaptations (wit, satire, self possessed, independent thinking heroines and intelligent, impeccably behaved heroes) with anything else left strictly to the imagination. Austen’s works have always had elegance and propriety to them (even when dealing with sex and ruin) that simply does not appear in this adaptation. There is such a sense of pandering to modern tastes in this episode of Sanditon that I cannot get past...or forgive. This is not an Austen adaptation and I am a little upset that Andrew Davies has interpreted Austen like this. People like Austen for all the subtlety and repressed sexual tension and although Jane did not write more than 11 chapters of Sanditon, surely Andrew has had enough experience dealing with this genre and original material to have written the rest of the story the way Jane might actually have intended.

Anyway, to the episode. I was literally jumping in my seat at the end of episode 1x05 when Charlotte set off on her plucky adventure to Set Things Right and help bring Georgiana home. But when this episode started, it soon became clear that Charlotte had arrived in London with only the flimsiest scrap of a plan and little to no money! (Note- In the rest of the series, Charlotte can be impulsive, but not stupid). Next, Charlotte is made to demonstrate another act of uncharacteristic stupidity by aimlessly wandering around the back streets and alleyways near the docks acting the fresh country girl ripe for the plucking. And of course, someone grabs her. She is rescued by Sidney, but this trope of stupid, naive country girl puts herself in a dangerous situation and has to be rescued by the hero pisses me off.

Oh, and Fyi costume designer, Charlotte should be wearing her hair up, UP, UUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPPPP!!! 

When Sidney tells Charlotte off in the carriage, I kind of thought that he had a point; reminding her that there can be other motives for marriage than love, but her looking shocked that this could be so surprises me as she has not previously written to be so naive. But, if you see it from her point of view, Otis rocked up looking dandy af a couple of episodes ago (I’m assuming that Charlotte thought that Otis might not need Georgiana’s money with that snazzy outfit on) and spouting romantic feelings and the telling of a genuinely funny first meeting with Georgiana made her think that it was for love and that it must be prejudice as his fortune has been made from slavery! Charlotte accuses Sidney of being less than forthcoming about his objections to Otis and he is pissed that his vague af explanation did not satisfy our independent thinking heroine. But as I see it, if you can be a first class asshole and scream into the heroine’s face while losing your temper in the street, you sure as hell can be explicit about why you ask someone to keep an extra eye on your ward. Just saying....

Also, Sidney’s behaviour throughout this series to Charlotte has been so far from an Austen hero and has made me dislike him so intensely that I have rooted for young Stringer as Charlotte’s eventual husband (though we all know that’s not going to happen, don’t we). An Austen hero never lets his anger show too strongly nor bellows at the heroine in the street. But apart from the story, good manners in that era and at that social level would prohibit any true gentleman from doing so. 

Andrew, if you are not going to follow Austen’s style, then place it in the proper confines of the period. Good fucking manners always prevail!!!!!!!!!

Taking Charlotte to a Brothel?!?!?!?!?!? Gently bred females do not get taken by an Austen hero to a brothel, Jesus Christ! Would this happen in reality? Not really! This scene seems to have been lifted out of the pages of a bodice ripper (not that I have any objection to bodice rippers- I frequently read and love them myself- but in an Austen? No, just no).

Charlotte preventing Sidney from beating the shit out of Otis for ruining Georgiana’s rep with a gentle plea while he reigns in his rage for her by focusing on her face, oh my heart... Still not Austen tho...

There’s finally a flash of the old sensible Charlotte when she figures out that Georgiana might still be held in London, whoops, I sneezed, back to the naive country girl trope that doesn’t fit. 

Ewwwww, the fat, misogynistic fucker making a joke about breaking in horses being similar to handling wives while drooling over a forcibly restrained woman just had to be in there didn’t it?  

It just bugs me why Clara, Edward and Esther don’t seem to take Lady Denham seriously when she has said repeatedly thought the entire series so far that none of them will benefit monetarily from her death, yet when the will is eventually found, Clara and Edward are outraged when nothing is left to them?

I can’t decide if Charlotte is still the annoying country girl from the beginning of the episode or the plucky heroine determined to find out the truth when she refuses to stay in the carriage when Sidney goes into the brothel where he is clearly a regular member...

‘You haven’t made an honest man of our Mr Parker, have you?’ 

‘GrAcIOuS NOOOO!’

Sidney’s face. One second of pained outrage. Classic!

Ooooohhhhhhh, a dramatic carriage chase. Area man in a cravat leaping to another carriage to bring the horses to a halt and rescue a girl. Melodrama meets western...

Oh look, Clara has found the hidden will and taken the time to put on a new dress and villain smirk of crazed triumph. Fuck off luv!

Oh. My. God.

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jumping each other and having grunting, rough af sex on the cold marble floor to seal their devils deal? Um, ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

This is the most unAusten disgrace of the entire episode. This is what almost made me turn off the tv, but I wanted to see what else happened in the episode, so I put it on mute and glanced through my fingers occasionally. Wtf, Andrew Davies! You are so much better than this! Your experience and Austen lovers could have done without a gratuitous sex scene. Not only was it uncharacteristic in a work claiming to be based on an Austen, but it was jarring with the melodrama of the rest of the episode and quite clumsy in it’s execution. It took me completely off guard and tbh, it was fucking gross.

Here that? It’s poor Jane Austen, spinning in her grave...

Georgiana is restored to the bosom of her cold hearted guardian. Or is he? Finally, a Austenian trope! Thank fuck! Misunderstood asshole who can be capable of compassion and clearing an unworthy gentleman’s debts with his wealth to make the heroine realise he is not a complete dickhead? Can you guess which Austen hero I‘m referring to?

A manly heart to heart is in order. This is a scene that would never be in an Austen as Jane never wrote a scene that she herself could not have experienced, but I’ll let that go if it means Sidney won’t stay a twat...

Oh dear Lord, Charlotte doubts herself because she feels she has disappointed Sidney. Heroine doubts her previous harsh judgement of the hero is so Austen, I both cheered and groaned. Yay Austen! Nay Charlotte having a bad opinion of her own instincts which have been written to appear to come out of her perceived sheltered lifestyle and naivety. On the one hand, she is written as knowing nothing much about real life and needs firm handling to avoid becoming a complete idiot, and yet she is also written to understand architecture and shows clear headedness when old Stringer breaks his leg. I’m having trouble with this pendulum swinging here!

Dear God, why is Charlotte’s hair all scruffy like that? Why is it still not UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was rooting for Otis and Georgiana, but Otis proved himself kind of a douchebag. Georgiana realises that Otis is spouting bullshit when he says he only boasted of her beautiful soul to the gambling fucker, when in reality he had been dangling her and her fortune to appease a creditor. He seems sincere when he apologises though and it’s clear he does love her. But he wants to have his cake and eat it, so Georgiana out...

Oooh, that total sweetheart Babbington just showed up! I have to keep reminding myself that he isn’t Grenn from Got looking fit af in his regency gear. Rawr...

Why in the actual fuck is Charlotte refusing invitation to a London masquerade ball? Who does that? Sidney obviously expects her to be cheered right up by this and damn it, I do to! Georgiana is back safe and sound (almost) and Sanditon is about to be saved by the Regatta! She doesn’t feel sociable!? Her being sad by Sidney’s apparent bad opinion of her? Fuck that shit! Have some fucking self respect and get out there! A girl’s first visit to London on a mission (albeit in less than fun circumstances), friend is saved and you are invited to a big ass masquerade ball and you say no because of a man’s opinion?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Sidney spouts crap about underestimating her while looking sheepishly adorable and Charlotte agrees to go to the ball. Knew she wanted to really... But I don’t get Sidney’s sudden change of heart about Charlotte and as for underestimating her, what for? She bollocksed up everything, except for guessing that Georgiana was still held in London so they didn’t need to go off on a wild goose chase to Gretna Green. The episode up until that second has been Sidney treating her like she is a child who has made things unnecessarily difficult and not worthy of respect or a kind word. I don’t buy this. Sorry.

The ball!!!!!!!!

Poor Tom! No one gives a shit about the Regatta at the ball and one man even throws Tom’s card on the floor! Rude. Oh well, at least he looks da bomb in his burgundy silk ensemble.

Charlotte’s disappointed in the ball and wants to leave?!?!?!? Disappointed!?!?!? In a London ball! She’s only been there for five minutes and hasn’t done the obligatory sexually charged dance in a fabulous dress with the brooding hero yet! I know she is upset that they have left Georgiana at home and that’s fine, it shows that she has sensibilities and compassion for a friend, but come on! 

Why is she asking Sidney’s opinion to leave? Why is she putting herself down? Yes, Sidney’s behaviour has definitely led her to believe that she is too headstrong and opinionated, but I don’t think she’s too much. The way she has been written up until this episode has been what has made her interesting. Austen heroine’s do go through this in the last third of the story though.

Oh, now he thinks those things are cute. No wonder Charlotte is confused. I am.

Why in holy fuck is Charlotte telling absolutely everything to a total stranger?!?! I get that it is a human thing to want to pour out your heart and problems to someone who can take a step back and see things from a different perspective, but Austen heroine’s keep their fucking counsel! Also, in the time period at that level of society, spilling your secrets to a stranger opens everyone involved up to potential scandal. Good fucking God. This is not even reality at this point!

Charlotte in love with Sidney? Surely not Queen Susan. It’s glaring that Charlotte does love Sidney at this point. Treat them mean, make them fall in love with you, I guess.

Ooooh, the smoulder! Fuck, it’s even working on me!

Jesus Christ, this dance has everything. Not taking their soft eyes off of each others, gradually getting more intense as the dance goes on. Tender brushings of hands. The waltz with his head bent to hers with while being a bit too close for proprieties sake. The way they move in perfect harmony in a way that has not been in evidence in their interactions before. Lingering touches when they have to part in the dance. Taut sexual tension dripping from every step. Both suddenly grinning their arses off when the dance gets faster. The slow-mo shot showing them falling deeper into love. Ending the dance in extreme reluctance as it means they cannot be close in front of everyone anymore while looking stunned by their feelings. Divine! 

Uh oh. Enter old flame. Why did you have to spoil it Andrew?

I know that’s Theo’s actual real life wife, but there was no chemistry that I could see. I could go and get my binoculars. Eliza Campion, I know you won’t prevail, but please step it up for the next episode cos you haven’t convinced me yet.

Charlotte is happy and glowing with her new found awakening. I hope it will last. Of course not...

If you have managed to read to the end of this, well done! I certainly wouldn’t have! As you can see, most of this post has dealt with my feelings of incredulity at the way this episode has turned out. Don’t get me wrong, I really do like Sanditon, but Sunday’s episode has left me shaking my head in confusion. Andrew Davies work has always been top notch, but I wonder if the absence of full original source material has left him unable to write the fully realised characters of the Austen novels that we have come to expect. But injecting melodrama and bizarre about turns in terms of characters and their characterisation while introducing unnecessary scenes (you know the one I mean) has left this episode severely disjointed for me.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 7

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

—

Sunday

Turning her car off, Rose leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes, breathing deeply in preparation.  Things in the office had only grown more awkward and tense as they danced around each other, the uncomfortableness spilling over into her relationship with Clara, which only made her feel worse.

It’s a yes or no question, she reminded herself once again.  Just make a decision and stick to it – put all of us out of our misery, so the weirdness can stop and we can start making our plans.

The sound of another engine made her eyes open, and she climbed out as Malcolm pulled in next to her.  Locking her car she waited while he, Clara, and Danny emerged, mustering a wan smile for them all.  “Hey.”

“Hi.”  Malcolm nodded, grabbing a bottle from the backseat as Clara gave her a hug.

“Hey,” her bestie whispered in her ear, “how are you?”

Rose shrugged, holding her a little tighter.  “In knots,” she said honestly. “I still don’t know what to do.”

“There you are,” her father called, and they all turned to find him at the front door.  “C’mon in.”

They followed him through the house and out onto the patio, where everything was set up.  Tony was playing in the shallow end of the pool under their mother’s watchful eye from a nearby lounge chair, while the grill was ready to go off to the side.  Two long tables groaned under the food already out, with a few designated spaces for what Rose and the Tuckers had brought. Rose’s contribution was a bottle of white wine and a baked mac’n’cheese recipe Tony loved, while Malcolm had brought the whisky, Clara some cut up fruit, and Danny the brownies.

“Looks great, Mum,” Rose greeted Jackie, hugging her.

“Thanks, sweetheart.  Oi, Tony, out of the water!”  Releasing her eldest she turned to Clara, greeting her in much the same way.  “So nice to have all of you here, come, put your things down.”

“Thanks for having us, Mr. and Mrs. Tyler,” Danny said politely, making Pete chuckle and wave his hand.

“Very pleased to have you join us.  Really.  And it’s Pete and Jackie – I insist.”

As everyone greeted each other and began chatting, Rose smiled and watched.

This is my family.

-

Standing next to the grill on a warm, sunny day, holding a beer, was pretty much exactly Malcolm’s ideal way to spend an afternoon.  His daughter sat nearby, the occasional tinkle of her laughter music to his ears as she talked to Danny and Jackie, but in truth, nearly all of his attention was on Rose.

She’d changed into a swimsuit, a one-piece that was fairly modest for what it was, and was in the shallow end splashing with her brother.  It didn’t take his imagination much effort to picture her in the pool at the townhouse – in fact, it was too easy to see her with a toddler of their own, teaching their son (or daughter, he wasn’t picky) how to swim.

In fact, he didn’t just want it; he craved it, ached for it, sometimes dreamed of it so vividly he would wake reaching for her, expecting her next to him, confused and heartbroken when she wasn’t there until reality seeped back in.

Sometimes he didn’t want to wake up.

“Oi.”

A nudge startled Malcolm from his daydream, and he turned Pete, blinking in surprise.  “What?”

“D’you mind not ogling my daughter right in front of me while we’re trying to have a conversation?  When you’re not glaring at Danny for doing just the same, that is.”

His jaw dropped, trying to come with an answer.  “I wasn’t- that’s not- I-”

After a moment Pete laughed, waving a hand.  “Relax, I’m just messing with you,” his friend said easily.  “How are plans for the Gala going?”

Malcolm just blinked, trying to reboot his brain and cursing his overactive imagination.  It had been one thing, when his dreams were just that, but the intrusion into his waking life was bound to get him in trouble sooner or later.

And, strictly speaking, he hadn’t been ogling Rose.  Yes, okay, he might have been staring in her general direction, but he wasn’t picturing her naked – it’s early yet; how long is she going to stay in the pool? – though somehow he didn’t think Pete would appreciate what he was thinking any more than what he assumed.

Did he ask a question?

“The Gala’s going fine,” he finally answered, taking a long pull off his bottle and turning his back firmly on his assistant to focus on her father.  Her FATHER.  If Danny were looking at Clara the way I am Rose, I’d thump him – and he’s neither too old for her or a friend of mine, both of which I am.  Pull your shit together, Tucker.  “Rose is, of course, an incredible help.  No surprise she’s what makes the event what it is.”

“I would expect nothing less.”  Pete was still smirking, though, a look Malcolm didn’t appreciate.  “My daughter’s one of a kind.”

“That she is.”  Casting about for a change of subject, he asked, “Tony’s starting school this year, isn’t he?”

The other man didn’t seem fooled in the least, but went along with it.  “Reception.  Hard to believe.  Honestly, I’m not looking forward to his school years.  Well, the other parents, really. When Rosie was little we got looked down on for being so young, and I’m sure now we’ll be judged for being too old.  I don’t particularly care myself, but Jacks has been going on about it all summer and nothing’s even happened yet.”

“I know that feeling,” Malcolm agreed, smiling at the memory of Clara’s first day of school.  “It was the same for us – always judged and excluded for our ages.  Not that Missy or I particularly cared, but they tended to treat Clara as a pariah as well, and you can imagine how well I took that.  How do you judge a child for their parents’ decisions?  Unbelievable. Thankfully things were better once we moved to London, but still.  Judgemental pricks.”

They toasted, draining their bottles as one, and Malcolm didn’t hesitate to take the empties and exchange them for new, easily removing the lids.

“To tell the truth, I’m just glad to have the second chance,” Pete murmured, eyes flickering over to his wife to ensure she couldn’t hear.  “We’d long accepted she would be it when he came along, but I’m so glad he did.  I think I did well with Rose, but this time around I can really appreciate it, you know?  I was so focused when she was young on Vitex, on getting us out of the Estate that I missed things.”

Malcolm hummed but didn’t respond; they’d covered all of this before, and he knew his friend sometimes just felt the need to ‘speak it to the universe’, to quote Jackie.

“D’you think you’ll ever have another?”

Startled, Malcolm choked on his beer, going into a coughing fit that lasted long enough for Rose and Clara to shout in unison, “Stop it!”

“Your concern is overwhelming,” he wheezed, making his daughter roll her eyes and earning himself a rude gesture from Rose.  “I’m fine, thanks.”

When he straightened up Pete was waiting patiently with a napkin, arching an eyebrow when he took it.  “Not sure that qualifies as an answer.”

Wiping his mouth, Malcolm bought himself a few seconds to think before sighing.  “In theory, yes, I’d like another.  But practically… it just doesn’t seem to be in the cards.  And I don’t think Clara would take it with the grace that Rose did.”  He smiled wryly, remembering her reaction to the announcement – it had been at a Sunday dinner so similar to this one, and she had been so overwhelmed with joy that she was still bouncing off the walls the next day in the office, right up until they’d been mid-conversation and her face had contorted in horror.

“What’s wrong?”

Rose stared at him, gagging slightly.  “I just realized that if this baby was unplanned, my parents are having more sex than I am, and I’m the one in my mid-twenties.”

The memory made him chuckle, as had how she would periodically break out in full-body shivers every so often during the months of her mother’s pregnancy.  “She loved him from the first moment.”

“She did take it well,” Pete agreed, “and she’s such a help.  There’s nothing like a reliable, free childminder you can trust without hesitation.  She’ll be a spectacular Mum, when the time comes.”

Malcolm wholeheartedly agreed, but decided a neutral mhmm was the safer response, lest he let slip the secrets buried deep in his heart.  Things are weird enough right now, no need to make it worse.  Still, he couldn’t help but turn enough that he could watch Rose out of the corner of his eye.

A spectacular Mum indeed.

-

“So-”

Rose’s eyes fluttered closed as she fought back a groan at her mother’s would-be casual tone, not fooled for a moment.  Despite her best efforts she’d gotten caught alone with her in the kitchen, and it had been two agonizing minutes of idle chit chat as Jackie built up to her favorite topic of conversation, as if Rose didn’t know where it was headed.

The same place it always is, lately.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

There it is.

“Yes, only he’s an alien, see, and off travelling the universe and saving alien planets, which is why I never bring ‘im around.”  She rolled her eyes, turning around to face her mother, unsurprised at the death glare she was receiving.  “You know I’m not.  It’s just been too busy lately.”

“But, Rose, you’ve been saying that for years.  It was one thing when you were young, but you’re thirty now.  You’re running out of time.”

“Oh my God.”  Wanting to physically run from the conversation she settled for the mature thing of picking up a platter of food and heading for the door.�� “I am not having this conversation with you.  Is it really so hard to accept that I’m happy with my life?”

Not one to let anyone else have the last word Jackie followed hot on her heels with the other tray.  “How could you be!  No husband, no children… and while it might seem like it at the moment, a vibrator and your brother are not satisfying substitutes!”

Rose stopped dead, staring in dismay at the four horrified faces looking back at her.  Though she was still a few steps from the table and her mother behind her, they’d all clearly heard her, the whole fucking country probably had, and her eyes darted between them all gauging their reactions.  Her father was disgusted, poor Danny uncomfortable and now staring at his hands, Clara’s eyes were very wide and her jaw open, and Malcolm… Malcolm looked ready to bust a gut laughing, leaning forward on the table, and despite both hands clasped over his mouth, was unable to hide the smile in his twinkling eyes, and when their eyes met, he winked.

Her eyes darted to the pool and for one wild moment she seriously considered throwing herself into it before slowly spinning around.  “Shut.  Up.”

-

Malcolm stuffed a forkful of lettuce in his mouth, glancing idly around the silent table as almost everyone else ate.  While Jackie sat very stiffly across from him glaring at her daughter and not moving, Rose was on his left and bouncing her leg like her life depended on it as she looked everywhere but at Jackie.

For the third time in as many minutes her knee bumped the table, jostling it, and on instinct Malcolm settled his hand on it to calm her.  It worked almost too well as she froze, and their eyes met for only a moment before his gaze skittered away.  He thought about moving it, but rather than being tense at his touch she let out a deep breath and almost seemed to relax, and just because he’d always wanted to and couldn’t help himself, he slowly rubbed his thumb against the side of her knee.  It was as soft as he’d always imagined, smooth, and she didn’t seem to mind given she hadn’t swatted his hand away.  Did she just sigh?

“You know, there’s a nice young man working for your father,” Jackie started abruptly, Rose’s aggravation returning as quickly it had dissipated, based on how her leg tensed beneath his hand.

For fuck’s sake, doesn’t she ever stop?

The answer was no, apparently, as she continued to chatter, oblivious to their audience or her daughter’s humiliation.  “He’s looking for a girl to marry.  Maybe I should invite him to lunch next week.  Or!  Mickey says he’s got a friend you’d get on well with, you should ask him about that.  I know you think you’ve got all the time in the world, but really, it would take a least a year to plan the wedding, and thirty-two sounds young but you might be surprised how long it takes you to get pregnant, and your body won’t bounce back as quickly as you’d like- we can’t all be like those celebrities, back to looking like sticks six weeks after giving birth.  You know, this might be an idea- start planning your wedding now, you should book two years out anyway- then just find your groom along the way!  You can’t afford to lose any time, and really, by now all the decent men are probably married, if not in committed relationships.  The longer you wait the more likely you are to have an ex-wife to deal with, maybe even step-children, and God help you then.  And if there are, then the ex will probably be a total nightmare, ‘cause if she wasn’t they’d still be married, wouldn’t they?  And I don’t mean an annoyance like you complain about Missy, I mean a real pain in the ass.  Though you may get lucky and find a nice widower- come to think of it, maybe you should go to Tony’s school events once he starts, you might meet some single fathers-”

Doesn’t this woman ever breathe? Malcolm rolled his eyes, glancing over at Rose to see metaphorical steam coming out of her ears; the one time he’d screwed up badly enough to earn that stink eye himself it had been enough to scare him straight.  At least for a little while.

Even as he watched her he saw the final straw break her back, uncertain of what it was having tuned Jackie out, but nothing could have prepared him for how Rose interrupted her mother.

“Malcolm and I are getting married.”

[justlikeeddie]

black sails fic recs

I have got and continue to get so much enjoyment out of Black Sails and its fandom! It's so nice that this anniversary week of posts has made me realise it is two years since my dash was abruptly filled with people having full breakdowns over the S4 finale, and I was like, “man, I don’t know why this field of corn or whatever is so important, but I guess I should watch this show and find out”. And I did. AND IT WAS.

I don’t know how to make gifsets bcos I am an idiot, but luckily for this fan content Friday thing I CAN post a non-exhaustive list of fics in this fandom that I am absolutely obsessed with. You’re welcome!!!

Unaccommodated Man, The Peaceable Kingdom, and Congress by kvikindi / @septembriseur

James/Thomas, post-series

James looks at him, searching, and Thomas fears he will recognise that Thomas is not really Thomas, not quite Thomas, not the Thomas he had been, and so he says, “I have gone a little mad in this world without you, but now that you are here—” And James makes a sound, a sobbing, laughing sound, and crushes Thomas to him once more.

Like...obvs. This is one of the best series of stories I have read in any fandom, or, actually, that I have read in any context. Both on a macro level - with unbelievable fluency, this series encompasses trauma, recovery, intimacy, forgiveness, literature, the conception of madness, agriculture, 18th-century Native American tribal language, etc, etc - and a micro level, in which not a single word is wasted, and not a single sentence is unworthy of being read three or four times. Anyway. I have re-read all of these stories multiple times and Congress more times than I would admit to if I actually knew.

consider them both, the sea and the land by youremyqueen / @deathnoting

Flint/Silver, post-S3

Flint frowns, stiff and unbending, and leans down just a tad so that he is looking John directly in his eyes. If he’s uncomfortable with their proximity, he doesn’t let it show.

“Remember when you told me,” he grits slowly, each word weighted with emphasis, “that you had discovered the pleasure of being both loved and feared? Is that what you would like from me? It is not enough that you have earned my respect, my friendship. You would now like for me to be frightened of you as well?” His nostrils flare, his rage is quiet. “I am not one of your men.”

John can feel the words on his face and he bears them without flinching, says only, “And I am not one of yours.”

Flint’s brow twitches, and he moves a hair closer, disgustingly close, warm and sour with the smell of whiskey, a solid and immovable blockade between John and what he wants. And he says to him, of all the unbearable things, “Isn’t that exactly what you are?”

THIS IS LITERALLY THE FIC THAT CHANGED MY MIND ABOUT FLINT/SILVER. For like three whole series I just didn’t Get It. And then I read this and was like.....oh.....I Get It. It’s a weapon. Their attraction to each other is a weapon. And sometimes they like using it and sometimes they don’t. And I have never, my friends, looked back

and into what it will be changed by @sea-changed

James/Thomas/Miranda, pre-series

"The Hartfords left for the country last week," Miranda says; "they've merely invited us to view the painting. They cannot resist showing off, even in absentia." She and Thomas share a look, smirking at each other as if sharing an old joke. Then she looks back at James, and her mouth quirks up at him. "So you needn't worry about their judgement."

James considers protesting that that wasn't, exactly, what he was worried about, though upon second thought he wonders if it truly wasn't. "That's very kind," he says, hesitating.

"Is it?" Miranda asks, almost absently. "We do not invite you along as a kindness, Lieutenant; I believe I speak for both Thomas and I when I say we rather enjoy your company."

James feels his face heat, not unpleasantly, and he looks down at the carpet. Miranda is usually soft and kind, but occasionally she does this, speaks plain and pointed. She and Thomas both do this, push and keep pushing: Thomas seems to do so with curiosity, prodding until he finds something interesting, but Miranda does it as if she had already found the spot she wishes to target, and goes after it relentlessly. James thinks suddenly, and unexpectedly, that she would not make a bad Naval commander.

THIS IS LITERALLY THE FIC THAT CHANGED MY MIND ABOUT JAMES/THOMAS/MIRANDA. I used to be weirdly militant in the belief that James’s affairs with the Hamiltons only made sense if they were two separate affairs that didn’t even really overlap. And then I read this and was like....right okay....if they DID have a threesome it would have been like this

There’s Plenty of Men to Die by @autoeuphoric

Flint/Silver, post-S3

The five of them share a glance, passing it around the table, man to man. Flint’s mouth twitches and Madi laughs shortly. “I would wager every man here fancies themselves in charge. This is a meeting of chieftains. I say let it remain so.”

“Although…” Silver says slowly, pulling the others’ attention on to him. Flint’s eyes flick his way, and to his horror he realizes he has nothing else to say. No point, no segue, no plan for a redirection of the conversation. He had simply wanted Flint to look at him. A fierce longing for the days when it was just the two of them fills him, laying their plans together, even though the threat of sudden and nonnegotiable execution was much higher. But he knew where he stood. Here, there are complications. Confusions.

This is just a tiny little snatch of a scene but every beat of it is perfect! Silver navigating his obsession with Flint, in the midst of everybody navigating their new relationships with each other in the new fragile and tentative anti-colonial alliance.

a question of needs (and not rosary beads) by @seventymilestobabylon

James/Thomas, pre-series

Still: James wants to talk. If Thomas means this to be—what it is, what it clearly is, then he should have the fucking decency to say something about it. He also, and intensely, wants the whole business to be transacted without any conversation, but he knows better than to hope for that. Thomas is not capable of it, that implicit understanding. Even when he kissed James—

Thomas’s thumb very light at the hinge of his jaw. He felt a thrill like fear, when it happened.

Even then, Thomas said, “All right?” when it was over, and would have said more, except that James nodded mutely, minutely, and stammered something incoherent that required his presence elsewhere. Thomas and Miranda both looked hideously understanding about it, and James considered—as he walked home through ill-lit streets and inhaled familiar smells of smoke and fish and tar and shit—simply climbing aboard one of the ships in harbor and never returning to London.

This is one of the few pre-series fics I’ve read that really digs into James and Thomas’s incompatibilities and differences and misunderstandings - and sets them against how badly they want each other, and want to understand each other, nonetheless. Don’t get me wrong, obviously 1705 is The Only Time James McGraw Was Ever Allowed To Be Happy (tm), and I’m extremely into reading about him and Thomas making each other happy! But also - it’s so interesting to explore James being so frightened of how he feels about Thomas that he can be unkind to him, and Thomas being so immersed in how he feels about James that he can be complacent and sometimes a little thoughtless about it. And this pulls all of those things apart so well.

you and i survived by youremyqueen / @deathnoting

Anne/Jack, Vane/Jack, pre-series

“She’s not mine. That isn’t—we aren’t—I mean to say, do you actually understand what love is, Captain?”

“Love is possession,” Vane tells him, with his usual unselfconscious melodrama. “Not only of women by men, but of men by women. The point of owning a woman is to see to it that she doesn’t own you.” He speaks as if he’s explaining some very basic and widely known conceit.

Jack winces. “What a viciously horrible perception.”

Vane rolls his eyes. “Christ’s sake. Don’t you ever get tired of acting like a fucking woman?”

“Don’t you ever get tired of acting like a fucking man?”

And couldn’t they unpack that remark for days?

The extremely funny author’s note “if someone had told me two months ago that i would write a fic that featured charles ‘only straight person in nassau’ vane as a main character, i would not have believed them” is also a summary of how I feel about this fic. WHO KNEW that on top of every other fucking thing I have to care about in this fandom, I also care a LOT about Jack and Anne and Charles fuckin Vane! A principled, terrifying, Aslan-transfigured-into-a-human nightmare of a man! This fic is so excellent and does such justice to all of them. Their triumvirate gets kind of supplanted by the Max-Anne-Jack situation from S2 onwards, and I always forget how nuanced and odd and interesting this three-way dynamic is when we first meet them. This story does such a good job at trying to explain what the fuck that dynamic is.

Katabasis by unheroics

James/Thomas, pre-series, canon-divergent AU

There were Flint’s men, one leaving the cabin, another ransacking a chest for treasures, another still turning to speak to Randall; the words exchanged escaped Flint, as all else did, once his gaze fell to the Englishman.

He knelt barefoot on the deck, and wore the undyed, colourless linen of prison or asylum garments. For a precarious second Flint could only think that his hands had had nary a mark upon them, five years ago, and now were as scarred as those of a gamekeeper or veneur. He looked nothing like the man whose presence haunted Flint’s dreams, always at the corner of the vision, always cold to the touch and bleeding from the eyes and mouth.

In all his careful planning, and all his mirthless revenge, Flint had never thought to anticipate a variable in place of a set value. The presence of other men about was like an anchor at his feet, dragging him underwater, but it was Alfred Hamilton’s blood on his hands that kept him immobile.

“Will you kill me?” said Thomas Hamilton, in a voice harsh from paregoric. His tone had a note of morbid, queer hope. “I could pay.”

To spare you, or kill you? It was excruciating to wonder.

One of the very first James/Thomas fics I read! And certainly one of the first fics I read that started to probe and pull apart the McGraw-Flint dichotomy, by literally dropping Thomas right in the middle of it. And while the actual end of S4 is, obviously, the greatest and most narratively and emotionally satisfying thing that has ever happened on television, and you can quote me on that - one thing we do never get in canon is Thomas in Nassau, and I love getting to read that here.

[wolfpawn]

Life Is a Game Of Risks, Chapter 8

Chapter Summary -  Tom is at home with his family and Alexianna and her daughter are discussed, but Tom's comments hit very close to home for one Hiddleston.

TRIGGERS - Past domestic abuse, Past emotional abuse, Past sexual abuse.

Previous Chapter

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Tags: @damalseer

Tom stared at his niece absentmindedly. She was playing with one of her toys when he noted the little pink attired dog on her bag which was the same as the one he had seen in Alexianna's home. 'Hey.' He turned to see his sister looking at him. 'Are you okay?'

'Yes, why?'

'Because you are staring at Sophie, weirdly.'

'The dog bag.'

Sarah looked at her daughter's bag, 'What about it?'

'Is that popular these days?'

'Not that I know why you are asking, but yes, Paw Patrol is incredibly popular, in the two to five-year bracket.'

'She's six.'

'Yes, but that bag has fluffy ears and was a gift from Yakov's sister, so she loves it.' Sarah explained. 'Why are you asking about the Paw Patrol.'

'I met with Alexianna again.'

'Okay, this is the most scattered conversation ever, but you're all in a tizzy, so I'll bite and see if I can make heads or tails of this. Right, Paw Patrol and Lexi, what about her?'

'I kissed her.'

Sarah frowned, then nodded. 'I'm still with you.' Tom gave an anxious look. 'She did not want said kiss?'

'No, she was okay with it.'

'Then I am afraid you lost me again.'

'She has a daughter.'

Sarah's brows furrowed more. 'Okay?' she elongated the word as she spoke.

'She never mentioned that before.'

'Why would that matter?' Tom gave her a look. 'No, seriously, why would that matter? You are thirty-six Tom, you're getting to the age where anyone worth having has been with other people before and through something or another, has become single, but they will all have something, a divorce or kids usually, or both; anyone who doesn't is usually someone to worry about.'

'Hey!'

'Tom, you are thirty-six with no major previous partners, you are a walking warning, it screams there is something wrong with you that no one has been interested.' Tom gave her a hurt look. 'Where is the father? How involved is he?'

'I don't know, she never told me about the child, much less its father.'

'Tom, you told me already she's a girl, don't refer to her as an "it".' Sarah warned.

'I can only assume she is her ex-husband's daughter.'

'Alexianna was married?'

'A few years ago, yes, she is trying to get divorced for a while now but he's not around.'

'Those are difficult ones. So he has nothing to do with his daughter?'

'If she is his, no.'

'So, no awkward ex trying to pit her against you, that's never a bad thing. How old is she?'

'Lexi?'

'Her daughter, you idiot. I know how old Lexi is.'

'She is starting school next month.'

'So four then.' Sarah looked at her own daughter. 'I loved when Sophie was four, they are so cute.' she smiled in nostalgia for a moment.

'What's going on in here then?' Diana walked in with Emma in tow.

'Tom was just telling me that he was talking to Alexianna Hughes and that he may or may not have kissed her.'

Emma looked at her brother with a mix of shock and confusion, 'Wow, you really didn't waste time there.'

'I always liked that girl.' Diana smiled fondly.

'Isn't that the girl you were looking for an address for before?' Jack asked his wife.

'Yeah, Tom found her in London. So, other than making up for ten plus years of lusting after her, what are we discussing?' Emma looked between her siblings.

'Apparently, she has a daughter.' Sarah's statement was met with silence.

'Okay?' Emma looked around after a moment to try and understand the peculiar atmosphere in the room, 'I don't get it. I mean, I didn't realise she had one, but she is my age so I suppose it makes sense why she is only in school now if she dropped out before to have a kid. I can see her being a good mum.'

'It won't be from Marie she got it.' Diana pursed her lips after her comment, thinking of their old neighbour, who was nothing near what her children needed in a mother. Diana looked at her son, who seemed to have an odd expression on his face. 'Is there something wrong?'

'She has a child.'

'So?' Emma shrugged. 'Loads of people do these days.'

Diana eyed her son's expression. 'If you like her, what does it matter if she has a child?'

'You're joking, right? It complicated everything. Who wants to deal with that mess?'

The atmosphere in the room went from confused to Baltic cold immediately. Emma and Sarah stared open-mouthed while Diana pursed her lips again before nodding her head. 'Sophie sweetheart, go into the kitchen and have a bun.' Excited, the child jumped to her feet and left the room, not waiting to allow her mother to argue with her grandmother about getting a treat before dinner. When she left the room, Sarah closed the door. 'A mess? If having one child makes Alexianna a mess, what did me having three make me?' Diana challenged. Tom's breathing became shallow as the realisation of the effects of his words impacted on him, his mother's heartbroken expression adding to it. 'I went two years after your father and I separated worrying that no one would want to love me again because I had two teenagers and a young daughter. I felt as though I was going to never be in a relationship again where I would be happy, because of people judging me for not only my marriage collapsing but the fact I had three children as well.'

'Mum...' Tom's voice was tight. 'You never hid us.'

'Did Alexianna actively hide her daughter, or was she waiting until a good time to mention her? The fear that your children will become attached to a partner only for them to leave is terrifying, Thomas. It took me three months to even gently start bringing Paul into this family.'

'Not every mom wants to be defined as just being a mom, Tom.' He turned to look at Sarah. 'I hate it, it's one of the first things people label me. If Lexi is trying to get jobs, she's not going to mention a daughter unless asked, that's a huge no to a lot of people, and a single mom even more so. They are associated with taking time off and being flaky, who the hell wants that assumption of them in an interview. The same with meeting someone, one mention of her daughter and look at you, you ran for the hills, you actually sound disgusted. She is thirty-one years old, what, was she supposed to stay like a nun just in the off-chance she might one day meet you again? She was fucking married. This isn't some stupid mistake she made when she was fifteen.' Sarah's rage grew with each sentence. Beside her, though silent, it was clear Emma was seething also. 'You know what, she is hardworking and doing the best for her daughter, she is trying to make their lives better, she doesn't need some shallow shithead in her life. She is better off this way, who the hell needs someone like you in their lives if all you are going to do is get judgemental? At least she found someone to actually have a marriage and child with, what have you found, one night flings and a publicity relationship.' Sarah stormed out of the room after that.

As much as her words deeply stung, Tom did not reveal what Alexianna told him about her marriage, he felt he had hurt her enough in one week, revealing her information like that was not fair at all. Emma looked at him judgmentally, clearly agreeing with Sarah. 'If you are talking to Lexi, she...don't talk about her marriage.' was all he said, Emma frowned. 'Just don't, please.' Emma nodded and left the room also. Leaving him to face the person he dreaded most. Turning, he swallowed back tears as he realised his words had truly hurt his mother. 'Mum, I am so sorry, I never realised...'

'No, you didn't.' She stated sadly. 'I have no idea what Alexianna told you about her marriage, but clearly, it was not good.' Tom shook his head. 'And to say she kept that little girl under wraps means does not want her to be judged for it. You have no idea what is going on in her life. You said you liked her, you apparently showed her you like her, then you run when she mentioned her daughter. You have no idea what it feels like Tom, when someone's face changes after they hear about a child, to see them suddenly not want anything to do you with. The sense of rejection...' she swallowed, her voice breaking. 'It hurt more than the divorce, that I can tell you from personal experience.' with that, she too left Tom in the room alone with his thoughts.

[shutup-sorry]

A flower for every petal [1]

A/N: Sooo this is my first fic like ever! I hope you like it and if you do, let me know if you want me to tag you :) P. S. english is not my native language, so if there are some grammar mistakes I apologise haha

Words: 3.7k+

The wind was strong that morning. Only sound breaking the silence on this, unusually, still street, was the angirly roaring wind. They said that the big storm is coming tonight and mother nature is preparing us for that.

For Iris, London was always such a depressing city, she for sure didn't like it here, never knowing why. So many unhappy people, lost souls that are just trying to go back to the right path, afraid of a little bit of risking. She wanted an adventure. She wanted to travel the world. But she knew well-enough that that's not going to happen any time soon, so she had to deal with that, that's what her mother used to tell her.

But on this particular day, it was even sadder. Everything seemed to be in black and white, like other colors didn't exist. The sky was so gray and misty, it almost looked like it was about to cry, his tears representing drops of rain. She never liked rainy days, or even worse, storms. It always reminded her of her lonliness and how she didn't have anybody by her side. Her family was far away, all of her friends and people from hometown had probably already forgotten her, and she was nostalgic. She missed her home, the happiest and safest place on this planet.

She tried to light her cigarette, but the damn wind wouldn't let her do it, so she put her hand up to protect a little flame that was coming out of her lighter. After few more attempts, getting even more annoyed, maybe by the fact that she was already so late to her first lecture, or maybe by the fact that it was so cold outside and she had to walk to university, she finally succeeded and shoved her lighter back in the bag. She took a long drag before continuing her 20 minutes walk to university, cursing the fact that she still doesn't have a car or someone to drive her there.

After few minutes of walking the rain started. Great, that's exactly what she needed at that moment. She instantly hurried up and threw her jeans jacket on her head, to protect herself from wetting her hair.

When she arrived at the university, after what seemed like forever, she started fast walking towards her classroom. She could only imagine how she looked like, and in every way was negative. Her hair was probably a mess, so she quickly combed it with her hands, trying to make it seem less bad, and then wiping her a little bit smudged mascara, as she mentally prepared for judgemental looks when she walks in almost more than half an hour late.

She entered the lecture, murmirng a little 'sorry I'm late' under her breath, and quickly taking her seat in the first free chair that she saw. Some students whispered something looking at her, probably gossiping, and the teacher just sighed and continued talking.

After some time of trying to focus on the actual words that the proffesor was talking about, but failing miserably, and then giving up, the class has finally finished. She packed her things and quickly exited the classroom, rushing into the hall of uni.

The hall was crowded with students, some with their friends, talking, laughing, and some alone just walking or sitting and reading their books.

She stopped walking when she saw a big poster on noticeboard that had big "Queen" written on it. It said that they are perfoming at the local pub on Saturday night.

"You coming?", someone said behind her back, snapping her from her thoughts and scaring her. She turned around and saw a young man with big, curly, hair and beautiful smile looking at her, then at the poster. "Oh sorry, didn't mean to scare you", he said nervously, noticing her scared expression on face.

"Oh no, I just wasn't expecting anybody that's all", she smiled truthfully and he nodded. "And, uhm, I don't think I'll come. Don't wanna go alone.", she shrugged her shoulders.

"I think you should come, they are pretty good, you'll have fun", very familiar curly boy, that she thinks she shares a class with, told her smirking.

"I suppose that you've seen them play, when you say that like it is a fact?", she laughed.

"Well tehnically, yes", he nodded smiling, "I am in the band, a guitarisst", he said proudly and she raised her brow. "Oh yes, and I'm Brian by the way", he hold his hand to shake and she took it, still smiling.

"I am Iris, nice to meet you guitarisst", she smirked sarcastically.

"So you coming or not? I would love to see you there", she put her index finger on her chin, pretending like she's thinking about it and he laughed, "Oh come on, why not? You won't be alone, I'll be there"

"Well I don't know you, for all I know you could kill me there", she joked and he scoffed at that, "I'll see, but probably won't come"

"Okay, but have this incase you've changed your mind", he gave her a piece of paper, that probably had the address of the pub or his phone number, "Goodbye Iris", and then he left.

She stood there looking at him leaving, thinking about the offer he gave her.

It was the Saturday afternoon, she was cleaning her apartment from the mess she made over the week, when she accidentally found that piece of paper that that Brian guy gave her the other day. She had totally forgotten about it. It was this Saturday. She looked over her clock and it was 7:17pm, she had an hour to get ready. She bit her lower lip, thinking about it.

Was it good idea going there alone? But if she didn't go, she would probably regret that, always thinking about what-if.

Fuck it, she thought to herself, throwing her cleaning gloves, making her way to the bathroom.

She wanted an adventure, this is the closest thing to the adventure that she can get.

After 20 minutes of showering, she did her makeup and styled her hair the way she wanted it to be. The cab arrived and she started her way to the pub, feeling anxious.

She never liked going anywhere alone, even though she lived alone. The irony of that. She always wanted company in anything she was doing, even if it was just going to the market or just walking around town, and this lonliness was killing her. Not that she wanted to admit that, but deep down she knew that.

Her thoughts were interrupted when cab stopped, giving her money to the awfully quiet driver, and then turning towards the pub. Outside of the pub was suprisingly crowded, so she could just imagine what was inside. Surprised that this band was so popular, she entered the pub, scent of smoke and alcohol hitting her right in the face.

There were a lot of people, and she immediately regreted coming here alone, but she for sure didn't have intention on going back home. She sighed, making her way to the front place so she could have a better look at the band. She thought about Brian, if he would be happy that she came, but then quickly realised that he had probably forgot about her and that it was just a stupid thought.

Some people were talking, some people were already drunk, some people were making out, and some people were alone there, just like her. She felt a relief that she wasn't the only one, miserable. Lights went off and the crowd started yelling. First row were just girls, clothed in small pieces, big enough to cover the most vulgar parts of their bodies, and Iris rolled her eyes at them. They were groupies. There's nothing wrong with being a groupie, she just couldn't stand them. She looked at what she decided to wear and her body, feeling a little anxious. All of these girls were so much prettier then her. She was an average looking girl, with average body. And they were all like models, beautiful and smoking hot.

Her thoughts were interrupted by four young men filling in the stage. They had huge, wide, smiles on their faces as they were looking at the crowd infront of them. The crowd wasn't huge, but for a small band full of young students, it was more than enough. The lead singer, who she learned was named Freddie, had black fluffy hair, then there was Brian with his guitar, and two unknown guys. One with fluffy brown hair with his guitar, or bass, she couldn't tell, and then the blonde behind his drums. The blonde looked chaotic, he had angry look on his face, only one not smiling at the crowd. He just took his drumsticks in his hands, swirling them anxiously, waiting for Freddie to stop talking so they could start playing.

She knew that she was staring at him, but she just couldn't keep her eyes off of him. It's like he felt her deep gaze at him and he looked her right in the eyes, unfazed by it. She didn't know what had gotten into her, but she was confident enough that she didn't look away, and got even more confident when she noticed that he didn't look away either, sending him a flirty and playful wink. In response he just licked his lips, before the first song began and he focused on playing his drums.

The way he looked when he was playing his drums, with that chaotic blonde hair falling everywhere, with his button up shirt that was unbuttoned showing off his bare sweaty chest, turned her on. She bit her lip at the thought of him. Now and then, he would look for her in the crowd, and when his eyes finally found hers, he would send her a seductive smirk.

After several songs, the band, had finished their gig for tonight. Freddie thanked the small audience as they all clapped their hands, because truth to be told- they were wonderful. Probably the best show she had ever attended, they had the most breath taking energy. Everybody did their parts perfectly. Freddie's voice stood out the most, this band is going places.

She decided to sit down at the bar, who could know that dancing, singing and having this much fun could be so exhausting? She thought to herself. Or maybe she just got so used to boring life of just studying and doing nothing over the days that she forgot how it felt to loosen up sometimes.

It took her some time to try and avoid, now very drunk people, praying to get home safely, when she finally saw the bar. She looked over and saw a free chair. She sat at the high chair by the bar, looking through her purse for the pack of cigarettes, and when she finally found them she realized that she had forgotten her lighter. She sighed, with cigarette between her plump red lips as she continued trying to find a lighter, even though she knew that it wasn't there. She cursed under her breath.

"Here ya go", she heard a soft male voice next to her speak, making her jump from her seat a little bit. _Can people stop scaring her like that?_She thought to herself. She looked up and there he was, the drummer from the band, standing infront of her, grinning and before she had any chance to reply to him he had lit her cigarette, that was still between her lips, his big ocean blue eyes never living her deep green eyes. She just sat there, feeling her cheeks turning red, she blushed and that rarely ever happened, and seeing that made him smirk.

"Thank you", she said, shyly, trying to cover up the fact that she had just blushed at him, puffing the smoke from her cigar.

"No problem, love.", he said still smirking at her. It made her feel tingly, and she didn't like that feeling at all. The way he looked at her, practically undressing her with his eyes, picturing things he could do to her. The way his eyes focused on hers, then, as she puffed smoke, he would focus on her lips, but then, again, on her eyes. He still looked sweaty from his gig, hair sticking on his neck and forehead. That made him look even hotter, If that's possible.

Stop being so fucking horny and stop imaging things Iris.

"You don't look like a type of girl to be here, or to smoke too. ", firstly he pointed at the place they were in and then at cigarette in her hand, lighting his that was between his lips. She was taken aback by his statment, making a weird face in confusion.

She raised her eyebrow at him. "What's that suppoused to mean asshole?", she said with bitterness behind her words, not caring if the nickname she gave him would offend him in any way. And it didn't.

He chuckled. "Easy there, love. I was just saying. You're new here, I've never seen you before.", he said as he raised his hand so bartender could notice him. "Want something? It's on me", he winked and she rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head no in response, as he murmured 'why not'.

"I don't drink", she said taking his lighter of the table, without asking for it, and lighting a new one.

"See? Told ya you don't look like a type of girl to be here. You just proved me right. ", he smirked and she rolled her eyes, again. "But, I must say, you're a one hell of a smoker"

The more he talks, the more she regrets thinking about him in the way she was while he was performing. She found him really annoying and wanted him to leave.

"What can I say? We all have our addictions", she raised her eyebrows dramaticly and he laughed at this shaking his head and murming little 'I guess you're right', before she spoke again. "And by the way, what if I'm not new here and you just haven't noticed me before? I mean, you have a lot of fans here. Especially girls, I mean you couldn't possibbly notice every girl that enters this place, now could you?", she stated matter-of-factly, pointing at all the girls that were now looking at them, making angry faces at her for taking their 'man', and a little bit of sarcasm behind her words, but not too much.

"Oh, trust me, I would notice. ", the bantender interrupted his words as he gave him what he had ordered, this misterious drummer drinking whatever liqour in one shot, and then continuing, "Ugh, rough. ", he laughed, "Where was I, oh yes. Trust me I would notice a smoking hot girl like you anywhere. I have seen the way you looked at me while I was playing, and I would lie if I told you that that didn't turn me on just a little bit", his voice turned into whisper as he was now close to her ear, sending shivers down her spine. But of course, she wouldn't admit that and feed his, already, big ego.

She snorted at his cockiness, rolling her eyes, for the, probably, hundreth time tonight. "Don't even bother drummer boy, I know what you're doing. I know the guys like you, I have dated them. That's what devils look and sound like", he laughed at this biting his lower lip. That turned her on even more_._

"Oh really? So what am I doing, misterious girl? Hm? Tell me", he is still whispering, and that amused her a little too much. She didn't know where was her confidence coming from, but she liked this version of her, not afraid of saying wrong thing, being relaxed. Maybe it's the fact that this night, she felt so good after such a long time that she just didn't care. It was an adventure.

"You, mister drummer, are trying to get me to bed", she leaned in closer, tempting him as she knew exactly what was she doing to him. He just kept looking at her lips, not caring about her noticing that, as she bit her lower lip, in intention of seducing him even more. She succeeded in that as he quitely groaned at that act of hers. "And you were right. I'm not the type of girl who comes to places like this, as I'm not a type of girl who's just gonna be one of your groupies, so I advise you to just forget about it blondie and maybe find other girl to hit on and bore", she leaned back where she was before and he just snorted, now looking infront of him into unknown space.

"Tease. I like that", he admitted truthfully and she proudly smirked at herself for how amazing she was. Who would know that she had it in her? She was always an uptight person. "And could I get your name, love?"

"Does it matter? It's not like we're gonna meet again", she teased and that being said made him roll his eyes, playfully.

"Oh, darling, I think we will", he teased back and she giggled.

"And why's that?"

"Because", he leaned in, putting his hand on her thigh, making her have goosebumps all over her body, "I'm not that easy to get rid of. You're gonna see more of me, darling", he winked at her and just as she was about to come with the comeback, the yelling was heard and the drummer quickly moved his hand away from her tigh, that was travelling higher and higher, to her inner tighs, making her even more desperate. She silently groaned at the loss of touch.

"Oh here you are, you idiot! Roger, I've been looking for you for the past half an hour, you said you were just going to the bar quickly! Freddie is on the parking lot being hysterical as he always is and needs your help with the van and the instruments. You need to hurry up and leave that groupie alone. ", the curly, furious looking guy, that invited her here, named Brian spat at the blonde boy. His words hurted her a little, but she ignored his comment about her being a groupie as she annoyingly looked at him. Brian, realising who she was, looked guilty about his choice of words. "Oh hi there Iris, I didn't see that it was you. Uhm sorry for that nickname, I didn't mean it. I see the two of you have met already", Brian spoke just too quickly and she laughed at him, as he continued rambling, "I'm glad you made it here-"

"Oh so Iris?", Roger interrupted, earning a glare from Brian, but complety ignoring that, smirking as he had just found out her name, teasingly looking at her, already, annoyed facial expression, as he continued. "Nice name, very meaningful. Do you know that, that in Greek mythology, Iris was the goddes of rainbow, a messenger for Zeus and Hera, who rode the rainbow as a bridge from heaven to earth? Iris is actually considered a symbol of power and majesty, representing faith, wisdom and valor. Are you called after a goddess? ", he said, putting his index finger on his chin, pretending to be thinking about it, as he continued his philosophy, while she stood there, vividly, shocked and without any words, and that's a rare thing. This man is well educated, or just too good with his words, or maybe just lucky. "Or are you named after the flower? You know, they come in a lot of colours, and you remind me of some purple or blue just like your deep eyes that seem to hold in just too much sadness in them. Even though, in most of the cultures Iris means happiness and summer. "

Her eyes never left his as he had just put her in some sort of trance. She blushed at his words, and cursed at herself for letting herself blush just too easily, quickly trying to cover her cheeks, but failing. He already saw what he did to her and smirked, proudly, knowing he had won this conversation.

"What's wrong, love? Did I say something wrong?", he grinned at her, taking a drag of his cigarette and leaning back against his chair.

Brian just stood there, confused to what was happening, carefully watching Roger talking. He seemed to be, just as she was, in some kind of trance.

"You're full of shit, drummer boy", she laughed at this whole situation, as she tried to pretend that this actually haven't affected her, and he joined in her laughter. Brian still stood there confused and bored, as he didn't find this funny at all. He looked annoyed, but they didn't seem to care at all. "Do you say this to all the girls you pick up at one of your gigs, or should I feel special?", she raised her eyebrow, waiting, patiently, for his answer.

"Don't flatter yourself, love. I'm just good with my words. I've made your heart melt, didn't I?", he asked, but it wasn't a question, because he already knew the answer and he knew that she would never give it to him.

"If that would help you sleep at night then okay, blondie", she winked.

"You can call me Roger you know, not those ridiciolus nicknames you have." , he said and she nodded. He stood up starting to walk past het but for the second he stopped. "And I'm gonna call you Petal, that sounds cute. Right Petal?", he smirked at creative nickname he gave her.

"Why Petal? Most people call me by my name, or my usual nickname, Izzy", she said facing him with confused look on her face.

"Well that's a bit boring, don't you think? Mine is much more creative", he put his hand on his hip, letting her know how proud he is for making that up and she laughed.

"Yeah, okay. Whatever, blondie. ", she shrugged and he laughed.

"See you soon Petal", he just left and she watched him go until he disappeared behind the door that led to a parking lot, Brian disappearing with him as well.

Taglist: @killer-queen-ofrhye @magicwithaknife @rogertaylordome @yourlifeuniverse @pyrotechnic789 @supersonicqueerace :)

[mentallyinwalmart]

‘Dear Thomas’

A follow up to my last fic, ‘Dear Liza’ 

in this one, you get those same events from the point of view of Daci and Thomas~

My Dearest Brother,

I know you only left a week ago, but I already miss you loads. I’m bummed you didn’t get to meet my flatmates, they are positively lovely, but I guess that’s what I get for moving in a week early just so you could help me :) One of my flatmates, I believe is related to your summer employer. Her name is Eliza Wadsworth and she is just wonderful. She says she has a cousin who goes to your school. Isn’t that funny? What a small world. I doubt you’ll see much of her, there are so many students at the school, I just thought it was a funny coincidence.

If I timed this right, this letter should be arriving the day of, or the day after your orientation. So, how was it? Tell me the three most interesting deductions you made.

As for my orientation, I spotted two people who clearly did not get along in high school shooting each other glares across the group, a professor who actively checked out his female students with his wife on his arm!!! And a girl who appeared to be pregnant, but hiding it. That was most interesting, because at first I thought she just had some sort of lower back pain, and that’s why she stood the way she did, but after a little bit, when she refused the champagne we were offered and kept shooting nervous glances at her parents, it all fell into place.

Love, your favorite sister,

Daciana Cresswell

Ps- have you seen Ileana? I miss her terribly and wonder how she’s holding up.

--

Dear Daci,

I have met both of Dr Wadsworth nieces before. I remember Liza as bubbly and kind, I’m surprised you in all your emo brooding like her so much. As for Audrey Rose (the other niece), I saw her today at orientation. Before you get some idea in your head about me remembering her for any superficial reason, I only recognized her because I saw her standing between Dr Wadsworth and the man I can only assume to have been her father.

I was preoccupied with your challenge while I was descending the stairs and ended up slipping and making quite a fool of myself. I couldn’t bring myself to go and greet Dr Wadsworth after that, so I stuck to the back of the group.

I have to say, Daci, you May have me bested with that girls secret pregnancy. My three best observations were that Dr Wadsworth lingered awfully close to miss Wadsworth, and doted on her more than her father. It was subtle, but I dare say he thinks of her as a daughter as well. I also noticed a girl I (correctly) assumed, to be Audrey Rose’s roommate recognize her at the very beginning of the orientation, and spend the first hour working up the nerve to go over and speak to her. And finally, dear sister, I noted that miss Wadsworth’s roommate was awfully preoccupied with her phone, glancing at it every five minutes, flushing slightly and quickly responding to messages she was receiving. I only assume she was talking to someone whose opinion she valued grately.

Did I mention, dear Daci, that Audrey Rose’s new roommate is none other than our old friend Ileana?

I don’t know whether I hope it was you she was texting or not.

Love always,

Your favorite brother

—

Dear Thomas,

I don’t even know where to start with you, you absolute scrub.

Of course it was me texting Ileana. Don’t even pretend you didn’t know. You’ve known her three odd years, I’m pretty sure you’ve mastered reading her. Can you blame me, Thomas? We broke up because we wanted to have the opportunity to grow at Uni and not be tied to one another, but it’s unbearable. You know more than anyone how wonderful she is.

As for Miss Wadsworth, you seem quite taken, at least with her appearance. I don’t think any amount of second-hand embarrassment would phase the stoic Dr Wadsworth (unless you’ve lied to me about him in his entirety), which leads me to deduce that you were mortified to go and speak to him after embarrassing yourself so profusely in front of his niece.

Don’t be an absolute fool about this Thomas, you can be a perfect gentlemen when you want to be, and I have no doubt you could easily charm Miss Wadsworth into bed (since I know for a fact you are not a relationship man).

Now, onto my favorite topic, us being reunited. Liza and I have decided to make a trip down from Paris to London so I might see you and she can see Audrey. So please, for the sake of our friendship, if you do sleep with Audrey, at least call her after? I’d be terribly inconvenienced if my favorite flatmate were to hate me by association.

Love you, and see you after midterms.

Daciana

Ps- you calling me emo and brooding is like the kettle calling the pot black.

—

Dear Daci,

How dare you reduce me to nothing more than a womanizer. You know for a fact I have never hooked up with someone and not called them. In fact, usually it’s others not calling me back. I am constantly being used for my body.

Besides, Miss Wadsworth, it would seem, can't stand me. So, I believe I’m far from charming her.

Ileana and I got coffee this afternoon, and she filled me in on the information you have been so selfishly withholding. She told me about the day you have planned when you “come to visit me” in a few weeks. Be honest, Daci, is missing me just an excuse for you to make the trip to see Illy on fathers dime?

I promise I won’t be mad, in fact, it’s actually a brilliant plan.

Miss Wadsworth is in my principle study group, and she is quite astute. I would say nearly as observant as you (though not half as gifted as I am, of course). However, in my prowess I seem to be only irritating her more. It is odd, really, to have someone not simply grateful to have me solve all the problems for them. She is just as hungry for answers, it would seem, as I am.

She is also in my Forensics class, but as yet to notice me. We’re well into the second week, and I worry I made her uncomfortable because today (against my better judgement) I took up the seat next to her.

Though she didn’t seem particularly happy, she didn’t seem too upset either.

I suppose I have to continue to sit next to her now, for it may be even more awkward for me to suddenly decide I no longer wished to be her seatmate.

See you in a few weeks, Daci.

-Thomas

—

My dearest brother/favorite human,

I can’t believe it took you this long to realize the only reason I would want to visit is to see Ileana. It is positively ridiculous to want to visit my baby brother and meet the woman who seems to have captured his attention.

Who knew all it would take is her not swooning at your every move.

Audrey Rose’s cousin Liza has yet caught on that you and I are siblings, and has been showing me the letters she exchanged with her. I almost feel bad, because i am seeing this relationship blossom from both sides and just want to get my hands dirty and give you a push.

Good luck with your endeavors, dear brother. See you soon.

Daci

—

Daci—

What do you mean “watching this relationship blossom from both sides”?

Does miss Audrey Rose have feelings for little old me? That would be awfully embarrassing for her, since she seems intent on despising me no matter how charming I am.

No matter how many times I make her laugh with a whispered joke or doodle in lecture, she seems intent on remaining stoic towards me in our study group.

This afternoon in said study group, she mentioned how drained she was from the day and how she didn’t have a break until after our night class. I have noticed that most days, she drinks a large cup of earl grey from the campus cafe, so I think I will bring her one to class.

Hopefully it will brighten her day to get a little attention from someone she so admires.

Speaking of people who admire us, how is Ileana? I trust you’re still speaking frequently since you haven’t yet cancelled your trip down to see "me”. As much as I joke, I hope you are being careful. I don’t want you to get here and find out the two of you are on different wavelengths about where this relationship is headed.

I love you sister, keep your heart safe.

-Thomas

—

My dear, lovesick Tommy,

I cannot believe you are so taken with Audrey Rose. I simply cannot!

I won’t waste words trying to tell you how to proceed, I know you won’t listen.

As for illy and I, to my knowledge we are both in the same place. Unless you know something I do not, it will be a joyous time when we are reunited in two weeks.

Audrey has discovered a pub she will apparently be dragging us to with some strange American musical phenomenon called “surfer punk”. It sounds positively ghastly, but then again, so did Paris when I first heard about it, and now I love it here.

Can’t wait to see the look on Liza’s face when she puts everything together, and the four of us get to go out together. That promises to be funny.

I love you, and miss you more than words,

Your very emo sister.

Ps- A certain someone happened to mention a certain cup of tea in her last letter. Perhaps you e finally found your in.

Love you double,

Daci <3

—

Dear Sister,

We were assigned a massive midterm assignment in forensics, and for some reason, I thought Audrey might ask me to work with her.

To my chagrin, she did not.

However, because you said that tea was my in, I showed up unannounced to her door with a massive cup, and all of my notes, and much to my pleasant surprise she did not kick me out.

The past few nights have been spent going over theories, and watching American sketch comedy during breaks. Audrey Rose is very partial to SNL, and told me I was missing a huuuuge opportunity to start every letter to you with “dear sister”. (I was skeptical, but look it up. The sketch is funny).

I can’t believe that even after I told her of my sister abroad I wrote to, she hasn’t come close to putting it together.

I am starting to enjoy her company far too much for my normal aloofness. If this gets back to Romania, it’ll positively ruin my brand. Her room always smells faintly like cashmere and flowers, I don’t know where it’s coming from, it is the strangest thing.

I am starting to worry slightly about what she might think when the other shoe drops. But I don’t know what to do. How do I tell her how connected our lives seem to be, without coming off as an ass for keeping it to myself for so long.

See you in six days,

Thomas

Ps- Illy has been insufferably excited for the weekend. There’s a little heart around Friday on her calendar.

Maybe we can have one big sleepover in her and Audrey Rose’s room!

your deviant brother,

Thomas

—

Thomas,

I am neck deep in work, and tragically do not have time to do the whole letter writing thing this week.

However, if there is a development with you and Audrey, I INSIST you text me immediately.

I know it is not as ridiculously posh as letter writing, but it’ll keep me in the know.

Love always,

Your ‘dear sister’

Ps- tell Audrey I loved that sketch, and that she is going to be my new best friend if she is as wonderful as you’ve made her out to be (which I am sure she is)

—

Tuesday at 7pm, Tommy‍‍‍‍👯‍♂️🧛🏻‍♀️ sent:

“Headed to Audrey’s. I’m starting to worry we’ll never crack this assignment”

Tuesday at 8pm, I sent:

“Aaaaa Sorry this response took so long, that’s so annoying, I want allllll your time this weekend (sorry ar)”

Tuesday at 10pm, I sent:

“How is it going?”

Tuesday at 11:28pm, Tommy👯‍♂️🧛🏻‍♂️ sent:

“can I call you?”

Tuesday at 11:31pm, I sent:

“What is going on Thomas, you never ring me?”

Tuesday at 11:31pm, Tommy‍👯‍♂️🧛🏻‍♂️sent:

“Is Liza in the room with you?”

Tuesday at 11:32pm I wrote:

“No, she is out on a date, why?”

Tuesday at 11:32pm, Tommy‍👯‍♂️🧛🏻‍♂️ rang me:

I lifted the phone to my ear,

“What is going on Tommy? You never ring me.”

“Swear you’re alone?”

“Yes, Christ Thomas I’m by myself.”

“Cat’s out of the bag.”

I paused for a long moment,

“Audrey knows?”

“Yes. Ileana walked in on her and I and then--”

But I cut him off before he can finish,

“Walked in on you two doing what, exactly?”

I could feel my voice rising as I asked, a grin spreading across my face as he stumbled over his words.

“Well we were working on our project, and then suddenly, she has this, stroke of brilliance and I just,”

He pauses and it takes everything I have not to scream a little bit.

“I kissed her, Daci, I was so, excited about the breakthrough that I reacted on impulse. I mean, I would’ve kissed anyone in that moment,”

He stumbles over a feeble explanation and I drum my fingers against the phone. Get to the good part.

“Well, I pulled away, but before I could explain myself, she was all over me. So we’re kissing, and it was like sparks were bursting in my chest when suddenly, Ileana is at the door. So naturally we get off of each other and greet Ileana. Of course, Illy greets me like she normally does, and the ever astute Audrey Rose catches on. I didn’t know what else to do so I left Ileana to explain things.”

There is a long pause, and I can hear him clearing his throat. I don’t know what to say, and the line hangs in silence. If I were in Audrey’s shoes, I can’t figure out whether or not I would be angry.

“Thomas I don’t think she’ll be too angry. It may have been better had you not left so abruptly but--” But now it is his turn to cut me off.

“Someone’s at the door, love you, call you later.”

He hangs up before I have the chance to say anything else.  

Wednesday at 12:45am, I sent:

“Hello? Did you die in the last hour?”

Wednesday at 1:13am, I sent:

“Thomasssssss”

Wednesday at 2:07am, I sent:

“I’m going to bed. I will assume you are knocking boots, rather than the more grim possibility that you finally pissed off the wrong person and have been murdered. Love you, call me tomorrow.”

Wednesday at 3:06am, Tommy‍ 👯‍♂️🧛🏻‍♂️sent:

“AR came up to my room. Thought she would be angry but turns out she just wanted to finish up our project (and another taste of my lips). We have a date tomorrow night, and if all goes well, she will (hopefully) be with me when I pick up you and Liza from the train station.”

Wednesday at 8:45am, I sent:

“I can’t wait to meet her in person, and to get the full rundown on your date. Hope you slept well :)”

~~~

Hope you guys enjoyed!! I have at least one more fic planned for this mini series (spoiler alert, its Thomas and AR’s date)

Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list for my fics :)