#all these grand gestures to make her happier like the garden

[swordsandarms]

Went through some older posts after someone's reblog and found these tags of mine. Still tea and deserving of its own post.

[padfootagain]

A Very Rose Mistake (I)

Part 1: How It All Began

 Here we goooo!! New series! This is from a request from my 4.7k followers event, with the prompts 22 and 23 (I won't put them here, cause I don't want to spoil too much… you can check them on my post for the event if you want by doing a quick research.) by @paniconthepitch .

It's a fake-dating AU with the best friends to lovers trope, and it's gonna be a wile ride!!! There won't be any warnings in this fic except for some angst and tooth-rotting fluff, as usual for me :)

So, I hope you like it! I'm gonna structure the fic a little differently compared to what I usually do (even if it's nothing extraordinary), so tell me if you like this first chapter, so I know if you like how I've organized the fic!

Tell me what you think, please! I'm very excited and nervous to share the first chapter with all of you!

Oh, also, I don't like talking about the whole covid crisis in my fics (I write to mainly escape from it), so even though the fic happens this year, there isn't any virus around, so no one is breaking distancing rules or anything.

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count : 4516

                                                              I

                                                  Holmes Chapel

                                                         1999

 It was a warm summer in Northern England. Sun high and warm and skies bluer than blue.

Your parents were unboxing some of your stuff in your new home, but it was the afternoon, and the weather was way too nice for you to stay inside. Instead, despite your tiny body, you had managed to climb on top of the stone wall that enclosed your garden and separated it from the street. Just a little patch of grass on the front of the house, but it was nice. You looked at the cars driving across the street, a thin layer of sweat making your forehead glisten in the sun because of how warm it was. You could hear your parents' distant voices through the open window of the living room. The air smelled of gasoline and blossoming roses from your neighbours' house. From time to time, a dog barked in one of the tiny gardens further down the street.

You were eating an ice-cream, that your mother had prepared for you by putting it in a paper cup. Some of it was sticky on your chin, but you didn't mind. It was good, and you were having fun looking at the new neighbourhood.

A little boy pranced out of the house on your right, carrying a bag to put in the bin outside the house. He seemed to be around five years old, just like you.

As he saw you sitting on the low wall, a curious expression settled on his features, and he tilted his head in wonder. He had never seen you before, and it was very surprising, as he knew all the children living in the street, even the ones who were older than his sister.

He thus decided to walk over to you and investigate.

You beamed at him as he approached, hoping to make a new friend already. It was your first day in this town, you reckoned it would make a great start for the life in your new home.

"Hi!" You waved at him, and his cautious behaviour slightly faded as he smiled back at you.

"Hi. Who are you?" He asked bluntly, a frown wrinkling his round face, chubby cheeks turned pink by the heat, and a bundle of dark blonde hair getting messy as he pushed a few locks out of his green eyes.

"I'm Y/N. My parents and I are moving in this house. Do you live there?" You asked too, pointing at the house he had walked out of.

He nodded slowly, seeming satisfied with your answer.

"Yep," he answered, popping the p at the end. "Why are you alone?" he went on, a lisp making him trip over his words a little.

"My parents are cleaning stuff inside. And I don't have friends here yet."

Again, he nodded at your explanation.

You remembered your grand-mother's advice about making friends, and reckoned that if you wanted to make the little boy your first companion in the neighbourhood, you needed to offer him something. So, you handed him the rest of your ice-cream.

"Do you want some?" you asked with a bright smile.

The boy decided that he liked seeing you smile. You were missing a couple of baby teeth, and it was such a happy gesture that he wanted to make you laugh instead.

He remembered the joke that his sister had played on their cousin that had made the whole table laugh. He reckoned that it should do the trick.

So, instead of taking the ice cream you were offering him, he jumped up and pushed it against your face.

And indeed, your face covered in vanilla ice-cream was hilarious, and he exploded with laughter.

But you weren't laughing at all, as the boy laughed at you. Instead, hot tears started to form at the corner of your eyes, and you looked at the little boy with so much hurt and betrayal on your features that his laugh died in his throat as quickly as it had formed in the first place.

When you started to actually cry, he was panicking.

"Hey, don't cry," he said, as if asking for a favour. "I... I didn't want to make you cry. I thought it was funny."

But you just kept on crying, and he felt so terribly awful seeing you like this that he found himself on the verge of tears too. Your eyes were turning puffy and you were sniffing, and seemed so miserable... he didn't want to see that look on your face, ever. He liked your face too much, actually.

"I'm sorry. It was a joke. Don't cry. Is it because you dropped the rest of your ice-cream?"

You didn't answer, quietly crying still, and he rushed to his house, running as fast as his little legs could carry him. And you were even more miserable than before.

So much for making a friend...

You were about to go back inside, finding no fun in being out anymore and wanting to clean up your face when you saw him running out of the house again.

He was carrying what seemed to be a container full of ice-cream and a spoon.

"Here!" He handed you the two objects, struggling to catch his breath after his run. "You can have mine instead. I'm sorry you didn't find my joke funny. Please, don't cry anymore."

Hesitantly, you took the objects from him, awaiting a new trick, but none came. You opened the box to discover some chocolate ice-cream, as promised.

"I'm sorry. I don't have vanilla one. But maybe Mrs. Richard has some... she keeps this kind of stuff all the time for when her grand-children come visit... do you want me to check for you?"

He seemed earnest, and his green eyes were full of concern. But you shook your head, eating a spoonful of his ice-cream.

"It's good. Thank you," you quipped, making him beam up at you.

He noticed that you weren't crying anymore, but you were pouting still, and he didn't like that look on you either. He wondered what more could he do to make you properly smile again.

"Why did you do that in the first place though?" You asked, interrupting his train of thoughts as he considered running to his room to get his new toy, thinking that maybe if he let you borrow it, you would feel better. But only on the condition that you didn't put ice cream on the red plastic car, of course...

"My sister made that joke to our cousin once, and it made everybody laugh, so I thought it would make you laugh too. I don't know why you didn't think it was funny, I thought it was fun!"

"You're not the one who got covered in ice-cream," you answered with sadness in your voice.

He bit down on his lip, and sheepishly shook his head.

"No... You're right. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I like your ice-cream better," you admitted, and he beamed at you again.

"It's some very good ice-cream! My favourite!"

"Mine too. Want to share?"

He enthusiastically nodded. Climbing on the wall by your side. He handed you the tissue his mother always forced him to have in his pocket at all times. Maybe she was right, it was handy.

You took it with a quiet thank you, trading the tissue against the spoon and you cleaned up your face while he ate some ice-cream too.

And as you looked at him again, you reckoned that maybe it wasn't too late to make a friend, after all.

But you couldn't be friends if you didn't know his name. That would be rude.

"What's your name?" You asked.

He swallowed his mouthful too fast, making his brain freeze and you laughed at the silly face he made as a reaction. He had chocolate all over his mouth, but you reckoned that it made him look even happier.

"Harry. I'm Harry."

                                                            II

                                                         Malibu

                                                         2020

 "What do you mean lying to your family about us? What do you mean you need a 'plus one'?"

You heaved a trembling sigh. You knew that you were asking an awful lot out of your best friend but you simply had no choice.

Your cousin's wedding was in two weeks, and if you went alone you would spend the entire day hearing about how sad it was that you were single, and everyone would try to plan a date fpr you with this cute colleague they had. It wasn't helping that you had decided to move back to England after you would complete your PhD in California. You could not even begin to think about the people at the wedding who would actually make a move on you as the night advanced and veins were slowly filled with more and more liquor.

No, you most definitely did not have the strength to go through this. And all you needed was a tiny lie to escape it all. One tiny lie that would last only for a day and you could actually enjoy the wedding instead of trying to escape from it. You liked your cousin, and knew she would be devastated if you didn't go, so you really had no choice at all.

And all your hopes of spending a decent day relied on your rockstar of a best friend.

Harry was frowning at you, sitting across from you around one of the tables of the Cafe Habana, his pink cocktail since long disregarded as he struggled to understand what was it exactly that you were asking from him.

It was unbelievably warm in Malibu, and your table outside was only salvaged by the weak breeze blowing from time to time. You were nervously fidgeting, your hands resting on the wooden table between you and Harry.

He rubbed his eyes and readjusted his sunglasses upon his head, his green eyes piercing right through you as you explained the situation one more time.

"I need you to accompany me to my cousin's weeding and pretend you're my boyfriend, so I will escape my family's disappointment and all the drunk single guests who will try to dance with me."

"You want us to pretend that we're together. Like... romantically together?"

"Yes."

"During your cousin's wedding. In front of your entire family?"

"Yes."

"And you think that I'm the best man for the job because...?"

"You're my best friend. You've known me basically all my life. You know me better than anyone else on this Earth, it won't be hard for you to pretend like you know all the useful details about me because you actually know them. You get along so well with my parents. Plus, you're an actor now too! Even if it's part-time... You'll do great! Consider it like a training exercise for your career in the movie industry."

"Absolutely the fuck not."

"Harry! Please! I need your help!"

"It's a terrible idea! No... no actually, it's worse than that. It's the worst idea I've ever heard! I can't pretend to be your boyfriend! In front of your whole family! I know your whole family!"

"Harry... please... I need your help, okay? You don't know how they are, it's going to be hell... Half of my family considers that I am a failure because I was not married by the age of 22, and the other half begins to think that the reason I am still single is that I am insane!"

"For their defence, you do sound a little bit crazy right now."

"HARRY!"

"Alright, alright... calm down," he mumbled, raising his hands before him in a gesture of peace. "I was just joking."

"Look, my family is... on that particular point, they're a pain in the arse. I need your help. I will not make it through the day without punching someone if I try to go on my own. And Cassie is so excited at the idea of me going to her wedding! And it's in Scotland! It's gonna be so pretty! Harry, please. It's just for one day."

He heaved a sigh, but you could read in the way that his eyes travelled back and forth from left and right and the way he tugged on his lower lip in between his fingers that he was hesitating.

It was all because of your cute little pout and sad eyes. He couldn't resist those. Never had been able to, even when the two of you were just five years old. Damn you and your adorable face…

"I'll let you eat all the cherries I get from my grandma's orchard this year," you offered, making him smile and shake his head at you.

But you read in his body language that you were winning.

"H, pretty please... just one day... one day... I'll go to all your shows for your next tour. I won't ever tell you again when I don't like one of your songs."

He laughed properly this time.

"Liar, you're too honest. You'll never manage to keep that up. That's why I like you so much."

"Okay... but I will go to your shows. And I'll give you cherries..."

He heaved a final sigh, but nodded this time.

"Alright, I'll do it," he agreed.

"YES!" you cried, jumping to your feet to walk around the table and hug Harry so tightly he could barely breathe. "I knew I could count on you!"

"I mean... if I get cherries..."

"As many as you want!"

You kissed his cheek, loud and ridiculously enthusiastic, making him force a wince to hide the way he longed to grin at the gesture instead.

"Alright, alright, calm down," he gently pushed you away and you sat back down into your own chair. "I have a few conditions though."

"Sure, fire away!"

"Rule number one: no kisses, nothing happens during the day."

"Of course! That would be frankly disgusting!" you teased him. "I'd never want to kiss you!"

"Hey! No need to turn it like that! Careful, or I'll change my mind!"

You rolled your eyes, but waited for him to go on, counting on his fingers.

"Rule number two: I won't sing or do any kind of performance at the wedding."

"She already has a band and everything, no worries. Besides, my aunt doesn't like your music, so she would never let that happen."

"That... was the second blow to my ego in the span of two minutes..."

"It's big enough, it can take it."

He playfully stuck his tongue out at you, and you replied with an adorable giggle.

"Rule number 3: if some elderly member of your family starts being all mushy about us, we drop the act and reveal the whole thing. This only stands as long as it doesn't hurt anyone's feelings."

"Sounds fair."

"And last but not least," he added, shooting you one of his annoyingly charming cheeky grins, "You can't fall in love with me for real."

You scoffed.

"As if! Don't get over yourself! You might have pretty dimples and a nice voice, but you're not half as charming as you might think."

"So… it's all safe! Deal?"

He offered you his open hand, and you shook it with a grin on your lips.

"Thanks, H. You're a real life-saviour."

 "HI!!!"

The sound of your cousin's happy shriek was so loud, you had to pull your phone away from your ear. It seemed safer to put it on speaker.

You were back at your place, alone, and had decided to call Cassie to let her know that you would attend her wedding, and would bring Harry along. You were cutting tomatoes to prepare a salad for diner whilst on the phone, the device set on speaker resting upon the counter by your side.

"Hi, Cass! How are you? How is the planning going?"

"It's almost ready! We've just found the flowers and they're perfect! But I wanted to call you actually, you haven't replied yet to the invitation. You're gonna come, right?"

"Of course, I'm coming. That's why I was calling right now. I just..." you cleared your voice before finishing your sentence, your heart rushing as you lied. "I just had to check if my boyfriend was available too, so I could come with him as my plus one. And he can come so..."

Cassie let out another cry full of excitement, interrupting you mid-sentence.

"Your boyfriend!? How come you've never mentioned him before?!"

"Hum... we like our privacy, let's say. But we'll have more time to talk about that at the wedding."

"Of course! We have a whole week to catch up!"

You frowned hard, feeling panic rise into your chest.

What did she mean by that?

"A week?"

"Well, of course! You're coming to the family event, right?"

"The family event?"

"Haven't you received my email?! For the whole week leading to the wedding it's gonna be our closest family members and friends in Scotland! We'll finish getting ready and have lots of fun! I've planned so many activities! You're coming to that, right?"

"I..."

"Oh dear, I can't wait to see you there! It's been ages! Did you really have to move to the States? I've already asked Amy to get your favourite pastries, I know how much you love those snacks. I can't wait to see you... so, you're arriving on Friday or Saturday then?"

You had to tell her the truth. Had to tell her that you had only asked Harry for one day and not a whole week. He was so busy these days working in the studio, there was no way he could clear a whole week for you being notified only a couple of weeks in advance. A weekend could be done but over a week?!

You heaved a sigh. You would have to spend the week on your own, but at least, the news of a boyfriend coming for the ceremony would ease your family's mind. You could still escape most of their terrible comments about your love life.

"I haven't booked my flight yet. Not sure if I'll arrive Friday or Saturday. I'll keep you updated. My boyfriend will be working though, so he can only come for the weekend of the wedding."

"Oh, of course, I understand. What does he do?"

"Hum... he's in the... music business."

She heaved a sigh.

"Oh, Y/N, please, tell me you didn't fall in love with a penniless drummer again, like you did in high school. Not again, sweetie."

You laughed at the memories, shaking your head.

"He's not a drummer. And he's not penniless either. It's Harry."

"HARRY?! Wait… You mean… HARRY HARRY?!"

"I don't even know anyone else called Harry," you laughed. "Yes, Harry Styles, from Holmes Chapel."

"I thought the two of you were just friends."

"Hmm… We… decided to give it a try."

"Wow… Oh. My. God… wait until your mum finds out. Have you told her yet?"

"No, not yet."

"She's gonna freak out."

"Why would she? She knows him! She likes him."

"As your friend, sure! As your boyfriend… Your dad will chop his head off."

"Yeah… I'm a bit worried about my dad."

"You'll have to tell me everything about it, but I have to run now... There is apparently an emergency with the napkins."

"Good luck with that. See you!"

"See you!"

"Hmm... H?"

"Hmm?" He looked up at you from the cup of tea he held in his hands, his long fingers encircling the porcelain to warm his hands.

It was a little chilly, or as chilly as an evening in early autumn could be in LA, at least. You were enjoying a quiet evening with him, spent in his garden. You sat in the grass, with stars and torchlights shedding just enough light for the two of you to keep on playing scrabble. You had stolen his multicolour cardigan when the sun had set and the breeze had turned colder. Harry wore one of his Treat People with Kindness sweaters.

In the distance, a siren rang and then passed Harry's neighbourhood. You could hear muffled laughter coming from children playing in a garden nearby.

It was quiet still, the whisper of the busy city shushed for the most part. Time seemed a little slower now, an effect of the night and the lack of constant busy flow of people around you.

"About my cousin's wedding I told you about the other day... have you booked your flight yet?"

He shook his head, blowing upon his too-warm beverage.

"I figured we should book the same flight," he answered.

"Oh no! I'll be going a week early."

"I thought you were only staying for the weekend," Harry frowned before taking a sip of warm tea.

You could have walked back inside to finish your game now that the weather was cooler. But it was such a precious moment you were sharing that you were too scared to break your bubble if you did move.

After all, evenings spent alone with Harry were too rare to be wasted away.

You didn't blame only his busy schedule and his numerous friends though, you were a busy bee yourself. Entering your last year of PhD and getting ready to write your thesis to become a doctor as an history major was a lot of work. You also had friends of your own that you enjoyed spending time with, and if Harry sometimes joined you at a bar, it just wasn't the same as spending time with only him.

So, you didn't ask him if you could move in the house when you shivered as the wind blew with more strength. Instead, you enjoyed the way his hands moved across the board as he placed his letters to form a new word, his fingers bare, for once not wearing any piece of jewellery.

"No, my cousin is actually inviting the close family a week in advance to spend a few days with us. She has apparently prepared tons of activities and stuff."

"Oh... shouldn't I go to that too, then? As your plus one?"

But you shook your head, a little embarrassed.

"No, I told her you might not be able to attend that but you would be here for the actual wedding. It's alright. You have enough work as it is."

"You're telling me that you're gonna get a whole week alone with your entire family?"

"Only the close circle but... yeah. It's alright though... they're not that bad. Just annoying with the whole 'being single and soon 30' thing."

Harry groaned.

"We're only 26, don't make me older than I am, I don't need a reminder."

He seemed lost in thought for a moment, before he would ask another question.

"Won't they bother you for that week if you go alone?"

"I guess... they're probably gonna pretend like I'm not actually bringing anyone, criticize you a lot for not coming for the whole week, especially as you're a musician and they consider that you don't have a real job..."

"For their defence… I don't have a real job."

You rolled your eyes at him but couldn't refrain a smile.

"Anyway... as long as you come to the actual ceremony, I should be fine."

"Nah... that sounds horrid. I'll come with you to the whole thing."

"H..."

"It's alright! It doesn't bother me at all! Besides, I haven't seen your mum in a long time..."

His eyes grew round all of a sudden.

"Wait... we're gonna have to lie to your mum..."

"And to my dad."

His worried expression turned into one of fear.

"Oh fuck... your dad is going to kill me."

You laughed at him, but it was hard to hide your own fear at the idea of the two of you facing your father.

"Of course not! He likes you!"

"Likes me? Have you forgotten the closed-door incident that summer when we were 14? Cause I haven't... I thought he was going to strangle me or something..."

"We're not 14 anymore."

"Yeah, but we're going to tell him that I am really fucking his daughter this time. It's much worse..."

You couldn't refrain a bright wave of laughter, despite the genuine fear in Harry's eyes.

"It's not funny!"

"It is. It is kind of funny. Don't worry, he won't hurt you. You know my dad, lots of barking but no actual biting."

"What about when we mysteriously break up right after the wedding?"

"We'll just wait a few weeks before I break the news to them. I can even pretend that I'm the one who called it quits, if you'd like."

"I better hope so! Or I'm going to earn a good old sermon from my mum."

"Anne can be terrifying at times."

"That's because she's the sweetest the rest of the time. It's too rare, we can't get used seeing her angry at us."

"Hmm... I agree."

There was a short moment of silence while you played, placing letters on the board too and counting your points.

"So... when is your flight?"

"Friday in two weeks."

"Alright, I'd better check if there's some room left for me too then."

"Harry... you really don't have to do that..."

"I said I'd be your plus one for the event, and I will. It's alright. I'll come to the whole thing. But know that if your father ends up beating the shit out of me, you'll be the one responsible! If you weren't a broke student, I'd make you pay for my hospital bills too, but I'm not that cruel. The weight of my suffering and broken bones on your conscience will have to be enough."

You laughed, and he soon joined you, enjoying the way your happy features made crinkles appear at the corner of your eyes.

"Poor chuckaboo..."

"Oi! Don't start with that, lambkin!"

"Why not? You've been teasing me with that stupid nickname since we were 12, I can tease you with your own too!"

"Actually, they're pet names, not nicknames. Terms of endearment."

"Oh, sorry, Mr. Dictionary."

"Well, I guess I should have the title, as I am properly kicking your pretty arse at scrabble right now, lambkin."

"Considering that my boxing skills are far superior to yours and that I could actually kick your pretty arse if I wanted to, I would tune the narcissist down a little bit, chuckaboo."

"You've always been a terrible loser."

"You're even worse than I am!"

"How could you know? I always win against you."

You threw a few letters at him in response, making him giggle in the most adorable way.

And as he struggled to calm down and stop his snickering, you reckoned that you truly were lucky to have a best friend like him.

And if he wanted to come with you to Scotland then... how could you say no? After all, you did need all the help you could get to survive this week with all your relatives.

After all, Harry would be there, pretending to be your boyfriend. What could possibly go wrong?

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

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[youruinedmylifebynotbeingreal]

i have a question; ch. 2

AO3

First Chapter

...

Perfuma looked into her mirror as she finished getting dressed for Scorpia’s first ball.

They’d decided to color coordinate - both of them in varying shades of pink. They’d also decided to surprise each other with their outfits. Perfuma knew that Scorpia would love her outfit (a light pink bodysuit dress with an even lighter, sheer pink skirt), but was still anxious about the night.

She knew her anxieties didn’t just come from worrying about her outfit, but that’s what she kept telling herself. It’s not because I’m proposing to Scorpia tonight, she thought. Nope. Not at all. Just what she’ll think of my dress. And I want her first ball to go well! I’m just a concerned girlfriend. That’s all.

She put the finishing touches on the flowers in her hair (just enough to add some color, but not too many) when - BANG! - her bedroom door flew open.

She didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was, instinctually sending out a vine from her hand to catch the door before it could hit the wall. “Good evening, Frosta!”

“You didn’t even look to see if it was me,” Frosta harumphed.

“Didn’t need to,” Perfuma responded as she finally turned around. “I -”

A gasp escaped her throat upon seeing Frosta. Her ice crown paired with a dark blue dress with mesh sleeves made her look like the true ruler of the Kingdom of Snows. “Frostbite! You look so grown up!”

Frosta blushed through the indignant look on her face. “I am grown up! I’m sixteen and three quarters!”

“Yes, of course! How dare I forget?” Perfuma responded seriously, trying to stifle her grin. While attempting to control her expression, she turned around to check her makeup. “Anyway, I just know when you enter a room. Just like I can tell when Scorpia enters a room. I can recognize the sounds of the two most important girls in my life.

“Plus, you’re always slamming doors and clamoring around. I can hear you from a mile away.”

Perfuma could practically hear Frosta rolling her eyes.

“Have you been to see Scorpia? How’s she doing? How’s her braid holding up? Does she need me to re-do it? Does she need me with her? Is she calm? Oh no, she’s probably terrified and I’m not there with her. I should go -”

“Perfuma!” Frosta said, forcefully enough to get her to stop rambling. “Scorpia is fine. I promise. I was just with her.”

Perfuma breathed a sigh of relief.

“Are you ready for tonight?” Frosta asked, suddenly turning serious.

“I think so!” Perfuma said, practically bouncing on the balls of her barefoot feet. “I’ve practiced the flowers I want to create a thousand times. I think I’ve got them nearly perfect!”

“Perfuma, it’s a grand gesture coming from you. You could lay down on the ground and take a nap during the ball and Scorpia would applaud. She’ll love your proposal no matter what.”

“I know, I know, I just… I want it to be perfect. For Scorpia. She had so few things to bring her joy for so much of her life. She’s always made the best of things, but I want this to be the start of something new. A brighter, happier stage in her life with me by her side. Taking care of our kingdoms.”

Perfuma got a dreamy, faraway look in her eyes, imagining their future. This new kingdom, covered in Perfuma’s plants and created with Scorpia’s strong heart. Long days full of official meetings, but meetings with friends. Nights full of stargazing (everybody was still getting used to them - she and Scorpia enjoyed drawing out the constellations and other planets. Even if neither one of them could really draw.). Weekends full of tea parties and gardening. Mornings -

“Perfuma, I hate to break this to you, but you’ve already done that.” Frosta broke through Perfuma’s revelry.

“You know what I mean! Officially! As wife and wife, princess and princess. I know she’s ready for marriage, because we’ve talked about it, but you know how she can be. She gets stuck in her head and gets so nervous. You know that’s why she couldn’t ask me out for months, and I eventually had to break it to her that I’d been attempting to flirt with her for ever and ended up asking her out. Now, we’re ready to bring Etheria together through our love, like Adora and Catra.”

Frosta mimed gagging, but Perfuma could see the joy in her eyes behind the teenage snark.

“Now, run along Frostbite. I need to do my evening meditation to make sure my nerves don’t get the better of me tonight.”

“Okay. Do you want to go over the plan again?”

Perfuma went through her mental checklist.

Flowers, music, Frosta to help make sure everything - and everyone - is in order…

She shook her head. “No, I should be good. Just make sure that Scorpia makes her speech onstage. Alone.”

Frosta nodded and turned away. “All right! Will do! Bye!”

Perfuma waved to Frosta’s retreating back - which meant she missed the look on Frosta’s face as she left. One of pure mischief, the kind of look somebody with nearly-omniscient knowledge of the future might wear. Neither bride-to-be knew what was coming.

Frosta couldn’t wait to see how things would unfold.

…

Huge thanks yet again to the amazing @authenticcadence18 for proofreading and beta reading this! I genuinely don't know what I'd do without her incredible suggestions! This fic probably wouldn't exist without you.

Thank you all for being so patient waiting for this second chapter! Unsure when chapter 3 will be out - probably another month or so from now, haha. I promise, it'll be worth the wait!

[siriuslyshewrote]

Tell Me - Finn Shelby

Request - Hey girl can I just say I love your fics and I’m sorry they’re not getting the same amount of notes that they used to!😘 I think you’re fabulous and if it’s not too much trouble can I request Finn Shelby where he has to marry for a business deal? It can be angst/fluff:

A/N - arranged marriage AU’s I swear... they’re one of my favs. Also can I just thank @ the lovely requester of this for being so freaking nice??!?

1927

You both stood in the kitchen (your new kitchen, you reminded yourself), in what was the opposite of a comfortable silence. You both still wore the clothes you had worn to the wedding party, but the drink had worn off now, and you had both suddenly realised that you knew nothing about each other.

“I know this isn’t what you’re used to.” Finn Shelby’s hand gestured to the room. “The house, I mean. Well, I guess this too.”

You shrugged, filling the kettle and placing it on the stove, searching for something to do.

“I think the house is beautiful.”

He was right in a way. You had grown up in a grand country manor, with more rooms than inhabitants could ever fill, though their egos most certainly did. Your father had struck a business deal with Thomas Shelby - and the product of that was yours and Finn Shelby’s marriage, their alliance. You hated that they had bargained with people - especially that one of those people were you, but it didn’t surprise you.

Growing up, you had known you would end up in an arranged marriage - all the women in your family did, one of the most important choices in their lives controlled by men who acted like they knew better. Some part of you had always thought that perhaps it would be wonderful. Your mother and father truly had loved each other, before your mother passed away. Some part of you thought you would end up with the same, with a rich boy who maybe would be a bit of a prick, but would love you all the same. But instead of that, you had been engaged to a Peaky Blinder . And not only that, one of the Shelby boys.

You had thrown a fit at first - not wanting anything to do with the life that being married to a Shelby entailed , the drugs, the drink, the cheating, and more importantly , the constant threat of death if they made another enemy.

“My sister, Ada, she decorated it. She thinks she’s some sort of interior designer.” He let out a laugh, though it was halting and uncomfortable. He sounded as if he had about as much clue as what to do as you.

“She did it well.” You poured the hot tea into two mugs, going to pour milk, before realising you didn’t even know if Finn liked milk in his tea. You let out an exhale.

“Look, lets not pretend that either of us wanted this. Let’s just get on with it, yeah?” You didn’t intend to be harsh - in fact, your tone was soft, but you knew it came across as cruel.

He paused. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You tried to pretend that you couldn’t hear the hurt in his voice, as you cradled the mug of tea in your hands.

___________

Two Months Later

Finn appeared home relatively early for once, slamming through the door loudly in his usual day, at around half seven, startling the cat snoozing in your lap.

“I’m home!” He yelled.

“I think the whole street knows that!” You replied with a laugh, as he entered the living room, shrugging off his jacket, letting it drop onto the floor behind him, not particularly caringly, as he shot you a grin.

Ever since that conversation in the kitchen, you and Finn had lived together as nothing more than friends, though it took a while to build your relationship up to even that point. You thought it was the best way, at first, convinced you could never have feelings for him, and him, to you. Recently, however, you couldn’t deny that your feelings towards the Shelby boy were beginning to change.

He paused at the mantelpiece for a moment.

“You put up photos?” There was a smile in his voice, a small one, as he looked back at you.

You stood up, walking next to him, at your collection at the mantelpiece - his family photos and yours mixed together , almost as if you were a real family. For a moment, it felt like you were.

“I finally got round to unpacking, yeah.” You laughed a little.

“Is that your mum?”

You looked at the photo, the laughing woman, who looked so much like you, holding a five year old you on her lap, and nodded.

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“She was beautiful.”

“She really was. I can’t remember much about her, of course. She died when I was only little.”

“Like mine.” Finn spoke softly, his eyes glancing to the photo of his mother, and all of his family, all of them looking a lot younger, and a lot happier.

“Do you remember much about her? I... I mean, I can’t about my mum. Just a couple memories, the rest is just... fog.”

“Not much. I remember this one time really vividly, though, I don’t know if it was just a dream. We were in the living room, just us two and Ada, and I remember her dancing with me. I remember her laugh, the most. I can still hear it, if I close my eyes.” His voice was soft, and his eyes were firmly focused on the photo, as if he was lost in the memory. “What about you?”

You paused for a few moments - you never really talked about your mother, but with Finn ... though you didn’t fully know him, you trusted him, a lot, already.

“I must have been only three or four at the time, but she took me out to the grounds of the house, and I picked a tree, and she made me a swing, from scratch. My mum loved stuff like that. I loved that swing. My dad cut it down after she... after she passed. I don’t think he could bear any reminders of her.”

You both stood in silence for a few moments, lost in the past.

“Your dads a bit of a...” Finn began, then stopped himself as if unsure if he was going too far.

“A prick? Oh, definitely.” You both laughed a little.

You rearranged one of the photo frames so the grinning boy in it faced you.

“Who’s that? I don’t remember meeting him-“

“That’s my older brother. Eddie.” Your voice caught a little as you looked at the photo - his war photo, the one they took when he was enlisted. It was the last one you would ever have. “He died - in the Great War , I mean.”

“I’m so sorry.” Finn’s voice sounded sincere, sounded truly sorry, was the first person who ever really had had that reaction.

“He raised me, really, after Mum died. He was my best friend.” Your fingers traced over his smiling face. “He promised me he’d come home. He nearly did - he died two days before Armistice.”

“Shit...” His voice trailed off for a moment. “Do you know... where he’s buried? Is it in England?”

“They sent us a letter, telling us where he is. Somewhere in France. Calais.”

“Maybe we could go there, someday.”

You turned your face, tears welling up in your eyes.

“Sorry - was that stupid to say?” His voice was slightly panicked.

“No, no, no.” You said hurriedly,not wanting him to get the wrong idea, wiping away your tears. “That- that would be wonderful Finn.”

You reached out your hand to his, linking your fingers together, shooting him a grin, watching the corners of his smile pull up.

__________________

It was several days later, when you were walking home from the market, with the intention of cooking Finn a meal you had discussed a few nights ago, the one his mother always made for him as a kid.

You’d only just pushed open the gate to your cottage, when you noticed Finn rather haphazardly balancing in the branch of the old oak tree in the garden.

“Finn! What are you ... doing.” You trailed off as you got closer, noticed what he was doing.

Dressed in only a shirt and suit trousers, a small gash on his face that hadn’t been there when you left only a few hours ago, Finn was carefully securing rope onto a tree, that was connected to a small, wooden swing. You bit your lip, trying to keep your emotions in.

He shot you a startled grin.

“I thought you’d be out longer, I wanted it to be done-“ He carefully lowered himself to the ground, so he was facing you. “Before you got back.”

“You made me a swing?” You fingers brushed the rope, lip trembling.

“I remembered what you said the other night, about your dad cutting down your swing - I wanted to make you one here. I wanted to make it like... I don’t know, home.” His cheeks were flushed red, his eyes darting around awkwardly.

“This might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” Your voice cracked.

“You like it then?” He grinned.

“I love it.”

Spurred on by emotion, you stepped forward, one of your hands cradling his cut open cheek, eyes looking into his. Gently, unsure, you kissed him. He kissed back, not showing the awkwardness you knew he felt from his flushed cheeks, his hands going to your waist, and you realised how much you liked them there.

You pulled away after a minute, eyes going back to your swing, Finn’s hands still on your waist.

“Should we try it then?”

Your voice indicated towards the swing, but really, you thought, you meant your relationship. For the first time, you were certain you could grow to love the auburn haired freckle faced boy in front of you - if you hadn’t fallen in love already.

I forgot to tag people (I’m doing it now sorry)

Permanent Tag List

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@meteora-fc

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@lovemissyhoneybee

[stxphxn-strange]

what? a beautiful wedding? pt. 4

a/n: wow, this is the last part! thank you for all your support on this little series, i’ve had such fun writing these💓 you know the drill by now, we’re following this au and part 1, part 2, and part 3 are linked!

In a disorderly clump, the entire friend group as well as various other family members and friends (of both brides) walked to the outdoor venue. Stephen looked around the garden with wonder, drawing on the back of Anthony’s hand with his thumb.

“This is pretty,” he murmured, simultaneously thinking aloud and talking to Anthony. “I think an outdoor wedding would be nice, weather and seasonal allergies permitting.”

Anthony nodded. “Can you imagine you’re about to say ‘I do’ and you sneeze because the pollen count is too high? I’m sure it’s happened to somebody before.”

“Good thing Christine is a med student and has the foresight to take allergy medicine, and Hope is somehow lucky enough not to have allergies,” Stephen replied.

The couple took their seats, continuing to hold hands as they waited for the ceremony to begin.

“I think an outdoor wedding would be nice,” Anthony said. “My mother used to say that she imagined my wedding in her rose garden.”

Stephen didn’t miss the fact that Anthony’s voice dropped at the mention of his mother. “Natasha’s wedding wasn’t there, was it?”

“No, she always dreamed of getting married in Paris, like we know she did. But Mom was always proud of her roses, and she always hoped one of us would get married there,” Anthony explained.

Stephen saved this information for a later date, wrapping an arm around Anthony as his face fell. Stephen kissed him softly, trying to prevent him from spiraling into old and upsetting memories. He didn’t want to see the love of his life upset, especially when he felt somewhat responsible.

“I’m fine,” Anthony murmured, leaning slightly against Stephen. His words said one thing, but his body language (looking around somewhat nervously, playing with his sunglasses in his hand) said another.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen whispered. “I love you.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong!” Anthony assured him. “And I love you too.”

Stephen kissed him again. “Why didn’t Natasha come today, by the way?”

“Hope didn’t invite her. Not to be meanspirited, or anything, but they’ve never met.

“That’s a little weird, given that she’s your half-sister, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know if Natasha would have come if she got invited, honestly,” Anthony replied. “She really never liked being around this many people. Even still, she wanted to show support and her way of doing that is through gestures.”

“So is yours,” Stephen said with a smirk.

“Yes, but Natasha is much more lowkey about everything than I am. In fact I think she’d agree with you that islands are weird wedding gifts,” Anthony said. “How else are you supposed to tell people you love them, if not with a grand gesture?”

Stephen’s heart clenched. “You know you’re far too precious for this world, it’s really unfair. I’m lucky you’re mine.”

“Feeling possessive, are we?” Anthony asked, giving Stephen a little, good-natured shove.

“Not really, just introspective,” Stephen replied, as his phone began to buzz. “Oh wait, drama in the groupchat.”

The seat switch occurred just before as the organist announced the arrival of the brides. The brides and their bridesmaids would be walking down the aisle in two parallel lines, tailed by Hope’s niece as the flower girl. Christine’s father, ordained specifically for this day, was the officiant (while Hope’s father would emcee the reception) waiting at the end of the aisle. It was a beautiful arrangement, and the entire group was happy to see both of their friends radiant and glowing in the afternoon sunlight.

Even Pepper, from her place behind Christine, had a peaceful smile on her face. Peaceful was the perfect word to describe her, as it seemed she had found a way to make amends with her feelings. She was even the first one to toss a bouquet in the air when Christine and Hope shared their first kiss, and wasn’t that nice?

++++

“I always underestimate how loud you can actually be,” Stephen teased, wrapping his arms around Anthony.

“I’m not being that loud!” Anthony was indignant, despite the fact that he was practically shouting. “It’s just important that you can hear me over the music!”

“I can hear you fine, and beyond that I’m listening to you,” Stephen replied. “So talk, you have my attention.”

Anthony was interrupted by Sam, forcing himself behind the couple. “What are you doing?”

“Hiding! Didn’t you see the texts? Bucky is after me with the confetti cannon!” Sam said. “I need you to cover me.”

Anthony smiled wickedly, continuing to hold onto Stephen even as he faced Sam. “Fine, but I need a favor from you. See Rhodey and T’challa flirting over there? I need you to run past them, leading Bucky behind you while he’s chasing you, and somehow knock them into a corner.”

“Fine I’ll do it, just hide me for a minute!” Sam pleaded.

He continued to stand behind them, periodically looking around for Bucky.

“Why would anyone hide behind you? Even with this startling amount of hair gel, you’re tiny,” Stephen teased Anthony.

“Uncalled for, on so many levels!” Anthony replied. “It’s not that much hair gel! Besides, you try dancing the night away while maintaining immaculate hair.”

“I don’t need to try, I’ve perfected it,” Stephen quipped.

“Where’s Sam? Has anyone seen Sam?” Bucky had the confetti cannon slung over his shoulder like a bag, his hands forming a makeshift megaphone as he dramatically searched for his boyfriend.

“I’m making a run for it!” Sam yelled, sprinting to the left.

Bucky appeared as quickly as Sam had sprinted away. “Where did he go?”

Anthony simply pointed to the left, returning his attention to Stephen. “Have I told you how nice you look today?”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing it again,” Stephen replied. His mind drifted back to earlier in the day, to lazy kisses being traded as they prepared to leave for the wedding. It felt like it was days ago when Anthony grabbed Stephen’s shirt collar and kissed him in their closet. Even though Anthony generally preferred hugs, he never shied away from an opportunity to kiss Stephen.

He knew he was grinning like an idiot when Anthony caressed his face and whispered, “You look great, Steph.”

“That’s high praise coming from you,” Stephen preened at Anthony’s words, leaning in to kiss him.

“Hmm, and you do love my praise, don’t you?” Anthony whispered against his lips.

“I love all of you, if you don’t already know that,” Stephen said.

“I love you too,” Anthony murmured, leaning in for another kiss as someone clinked a glass.

“May I have everyone’s attention please?” Carol asked. “Wow, lots of PDA here tonight, huh? Anyway, it’s come to my attention that some of you want to toast to the happy couple, and since dinner is about to be served I figured now is a good time for some toasts! The dance floor isn’t going anywhere, everyone return to your seats!”

In an even less orderly clump than before, the wedding guests returned to their seats. Excitement buzzed in the air as people whispered to each other, finalizing their toasts.

“Now, who’d like to go first?” Carol asked, once everyone was seated.

Rhodey’s hand was up before Carol could even finish her sentence, and no one opposed him going first. Clearly, a lot was on his mind. “I’d just like to start out by saying congratulations to the both of you, I couldn’t be happier! I wanted to actually give you your wedding gift now, although this is directed at Christine. Why, you may ask? Because she was the only one who thought me and T’challa were together where the rest of our friends have assumed we’ve just been pining for each other! Christine— you were right, we’ve been together since February.”

Anthony stood up immediately. “You mean I’ve been trying to play Cupid for nothing?!”

Rhodey took a bow as all the wedding guests clapped.

“Thank you Rhodey, this might be the second best early wedding present I got today!” Christine declared with a wink.

Stephen followed her line of sight, confusion on his face. She wasn’t winking at Rhodey...

Christine winked at Pepper.

[sareyen]

A Machine Without Feelings: A Jane Eyre AU (Part 6/11)

Read on ao3

Chapter 6

“It is so very odd.”

Charles looked as Moira as the woman drummed her fingers on the table. Moira crinkled her nose, taking a bite of the sweet cake on her plate and washing it down with a sip of fresh tea. She then pursed her lips thoughtfully before looking at Charles.

“What is your opinion on the topic, Charles?”

“On what?” Charles asked, marking some of Peter’s English work with a pencil with one hand, taking a sip of his tea with the other.

“On Mr Lehnsherr and Miss Frost,” Moira supplied, Charles coughing and choking on his tea, spitting a little onto Peter’s work book. Moira clicked her tongue, throwing him a napkin, which he used to dab at the book and along his chin.

“What about them?” Charles asked, voice squeaky and not because he almost choked on Darjeeling.

“Well, it has been almost a month since Miss Frost and her party returned home, but Mr Lehnsherr hasn’t gone to visit her at all in that time. It is only natural after courting for him to propose, but he has not even seen her since! It is not a long trip by horseback, and the master is a skilled rider. So, as I said, it is very, very odd.”

“Is it for sure that Erik intends to propose to Miss Frost?” Charles asked, pain twanging in his seemingly hollow chest cavity. Moira, as always, looked a little startled every time Charles called the master by his first name, but she was slowly getting used to it. The first time, Charles thought he had to go and mount a horse and ride to fetch Dr Hank McCoy. Now, Moira just gave him a funny look every time he did it, but otherwise pretended she didn’t hear anything.

It was not like people didn’t know that Erik and Charles got along well, even if they sometimes heard what sounded like a heated argument coming from the drawing room over a chess game, the two men often drinking whisky as they played and debating politics. They were used to Erik’s occasional bouts of rage, but Charles was usually such a serene being, that hearing him deliver a biting retort against someone like Erik with equal vitriol was startling, and potentially even more terrifying. Hearing Charles raise his voice was scarier than the shark-like grin Erik would shoot at Charles whenever the tutor said something amusing.

Erik did not treat Charles like he treated other subordinates, and it was obvious that their master favoured the young tutor quite a bit. Everyone that worked at Ironfield thought that Charles was extremely charming, and he was always apt at making conversation, but they didn’t think that the Charles Xavier charm would have worked on the seemingly impervious Mr Erik Lehnsherr.

It clearly had, though, and people were all the happier for it. Charles seemed to temper Mr Lehnsherr’s sour moods, and Alex had even taken to calling upon Charles to appease Erik whenever he noticed the master’s mood declining. Charles was always able to divert Erik’s mood over a game of chess or with a walk around the estate, sometimes even making the master forget his anger by playing a horrible rendition of a Liszt piece on the piano.

Even if Charles was not able to soothe Lehnsherr’s fury every time, he was the only one that could withstand the brunt of it without crumbling into tears. Alex had asked him how someone so small and soft like him could brave it, and Charles would just give him a lopsided smile, saying either “I’m tougher than I look” or “Erik is just impassioned, but not scary”.

So, Moira often asked Charles about their master now, knowing that if anyone knew what was going on in Lehnsherr’s labyrinth of a mind, it would be him. Unfortunately, Charles looked as stumped as Moira, the older woman sighing.

“I understand that you are young, and don’t really know the ways of courting,” Moira said, stuffing another morsel of cake into her mouth. “But a man does not pay attention to a woman like that without having the intention to propose. They looked quite taken with each other during their last few days here, and Miss Frost was even spending time with the staff, like Scott. If a woman of high birth like her takes the time to ingratiate themselves with the help, then it is obvious that they are planning to take over the household.”

“I see,” Charles said, voice tight. Charles had begun to indulge himself too much in his feelings for Erik, beginning to read too fancifully into the lingering touches and heated gazes the older man showered him with. From Erik’s tale about Magda, and how he had taken numerous other lovers on his travels, and now with Miss Frost, Charles knew that Erik’s tastes were not… like his own. Erik was not unnatural, and what Charles hoped were touches meaning something more were likely just how Erik treated a close friend.

Charles knew Erik did not have many friends, if any at all. He did seem taken with Miss Frost, but apart from her, Charles was really the only one Erik seemed to let his neck tie down for. Charles treasured that, but now with Erik’s engagement drawing nearer, Charles realised that he couldn’t go on like this any longer.

Charles had to find a new situation, which meant that he had to leave Ironfield Hall and everything contained within it. The thought filled Charles with a heavy feeling of emptiness, but he knew it was what he should do; once Erik was married, he and his wife would need to send Peter to school, and Charles’s presence would be rendered useless. Charles would rather leave on his own two feet before he was forced out by Erik and his new, beautiful and rich wife.

“I need to find a new situation, then,” Charles said, Moira’s eyes growing downcast. The woman reached across the table to rest her hand atop Charles’s, patting it tenderly.

“It saddens me to hear you say that, but I understand. I’m sure the master will find you a good situation. We will all miss you when you leave, though. Especially little Peter, he’s grown quite attached. Hopefully you can find something close by, it would be a shame if you were sent away to somwhere distant, like Ireland.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Charles sighed, getting up from his chair. “Is Erik in his study? I should discuss these things with him ahead of time.”

“Yes, he was there last I checked,” Moira replied, Charles kissing her cheek before heading upstairs to look for Erik. Charles knocked on his door twice, but the movement garnered no response from within, and when Charles opened the door it was confirmed to be devoid of human presence.

Charles searched the drawing room, and came up empty as well. The tutor walked the now-familiar halls, until he looked out the window and saw Erik strolling through the back gardens.

Charles quickly headed down that way, legs moving swiftly in case Erik decided to disappear to another corner of the large estate, and was relieved to find him still there, observing some bloomed pink flowers.

“Erik,” Charles called out breathily, the older man turning with a smile on his face, one that was growing more permanent by the day.

“Charles,” Erik returned, turning to face him fully. “Did you run here from town? Your cheeks are bright red and you’re struggling to catch your breath.” Erik’s tone was slightly teasing, knowing full well that Charles was not nearly as physically fit as Erik, the scholar just rolling his eyes as he slapped his chest to get some more air in.

“I need to discuss some things with you,” Charles said, Erik raising a brow, a movement that endeared Charles more every time. ‘Christ, stop, Charles. Do not fall for him more now that you are exerting your independent will to leave him.’

“About what?” Erik asked, gesturing towards the large open field speckled with a few grand trees a little further off Erik’s property, an invitation to venture there. Charles and Erik walked, Erik standing close to Charles like always, arms brushing. Charles coughed, side-stepping a little, causing Erik’s brow to crinkle.

“You are to be engaged soon, so I need to seek a new situation,” Charles explained, Erik’s head snapping to look at him as they walked, the grass soft and rustling under their boots. Charles pointedly kept his eyes trained ahead of him, noticing how the clouds were beginning to drift in, the late afternoon air growing a little muggy.

“And where did you hear that from?” Erik asked, Charles exhaling loudly.

“Everyone, and it is obvious that you intend to propose soon,” Charles countered calmly, shrugging. “Moira says that it will happen any day now.”

“And you trust Moira to know about my intentions? About my heart?” Erik asked, Charles giving the taller man a slightly frustrated look.

“I don’t need Moira to tell me, I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the way you and Miss Frost look at each other, and even if I was blind, I would still be able to see that you two are an excellent match,” Charles said hotly, Erik regarding him silently. Charles filled the silence quickly. “Look. I have very much enjoyed my time here, and very much love Ironfield. I love the friendships I have with Moira and the others, and I love teaching Peter. And I love-”

“And?” Erik pressed, the two of them stopping to stand beneath a large oak tree, whose trunk was circled by an old and worn wooden bench.

“And, since you are to be married, I need to find employment elsewhere. You will send Peter off to school, and with no pupil there is no reason for me to stay here,” Charles said, Erik scoffing.

“I can think of plenty of reasons for you to remain here,” Erik said, Charles rolling his eyes.

“Erik, I thought you knew me. I… I love being here, but I cannot sit idle with nothing to do. I want to teach children, to educate them so that they can go forth in the world on their own two feet. So, I cannot stay here once you marry. I will not. If you are unwilling to help me find a new situation, then I will advertise myself.”

Charles turned his nose up and spun around, aiming to head back to the mansion. Charles was only able to take two steps before his arm was seized by Erik, who whirled him around forcefully. Charles opened his mouth to utter a slew of rude words at his soon-to-be-ex-employer, but any noise building in his throat was cut off when Erik sealed his mouth over Charles’s.

Charles gasped into the touch, hard and possessive, Erik’s lips rough and all-consuming. His hands tightened around Charles’s biceps, the tutor’s hands flying out to grip the front of Erik’s waistcoat in a bid to not fall to his knees.

Charles was frozen into place, Erik groaning as he tilted his head a little more to slot their mouths together more tightly, and Charles whimpered. Erik’s tongue ran along Charles’s plump and berry-red lower lip, before sliding in and tangling with Charles’s, tasting him.

“Ngh- Erik- What are you-” Charles gasped, growing a mind to gently push at Erik’s chest, their mouths pulling apart with a slick smack. Erik’s chest was rising and falling heavily, but nowhere near as much as Charles’s, whose breaths shook as his cheeks were painted red with heat.

“Stay here. If you don’t find any other reason to stay, I will give you one,” Erik murmured, nudging Charles’s nose with his.

“But… You’re marrying Emma. You- We can’t do this, Erik. This is wrong. We’re both men, and- Oh, God help me. What do I-” Charles stammered, blue eyes growing impossibly wide, frantic. Erik just growled, moving his hands from Charles’s arms to cup his face, pressing his forehead against the younger man’s.

“No, Charles. Do not tell me that this is wrong. You are my equal and my likeness, I’ve known it from the moment I first beheld you. It’s you that I want, you infuriating, intelligent, singular man,” Erik said, voice rough and dripping with passion, Charles’s legs wilting as he whimpered, leaning into Erik’s embrace.

“You… You can’t. You’re not like me, Erik. You can’t… mock me like this. You love women, you’ve told me so yourself. I’m not… I’m not going to be some mistress that you lock away in a tower while you have dinner with your wife! Do you think, because I am poor and little, that because I am a man, I am soulless and heartless? I am not a machine without feelings! I have as much soul as you, and full as much heart, and just because I am unnatural it does not mean that I don't deserve to be loved, fully and completely. I deserve that, just as much as any one!” Charles cried out.

Erik groaned and clunked his forehead against Charles’s again, thumbs stroking Charles’s cheeks, which grew damp with desperate tears.

“Charles, I offer you my heart, my soul. I love you, fully and completely. Please grant me the honour of having you by my side,” Erik said, kissing Charles again, softer this time, but no less passionate. Charles sobbed as he slid his arms from Erik’s chest to wind them around the man’s neck, rising up onto his toes to kiss Erik back with abandon. Erik seemed to sigh into Charles’s returned embrace, wrapping his own arms around the younger man’s soft waist, drawing him closer.

“You love me?” Charles asked against Erik’s mouth, the older man chuckling, pulling back to look into Charles’s eyes, which shone with tears and glimmered like the ocean at dawn. Erik thought he was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and Charles gazed up at his Erik with overflowing adoration.

“Fully and completely,” Erik repeated, Charles letting out a choked laugh and pulling Erik back down to kiss him again, giving in to the blissful feeling of Erik’s lips against his.

“I love you,” Charles whispered to Erik when they finally pulled apart, burying his head into the crook of Erik’s neck, breathing him in deeply.

As they held each other, there was a crackle of thunder, rain beginning to pour down from the heavens. Charles and Erik looked up at the sky, rain pattering against their faces, before looking back at each other and laughing, sharing another kiss under the rain.

“Let’s go back inside, liebling,” Erik murmured, Charles’s heart stuttering at the endearment. They kissed for a moment longer, before linking their hands and running back through the field. Charles didn’t care that the rain was soaking through his threadbare coat, nor that the mud from the field was caking his fraying boots. Charles didn’t care about anything apart from the man beside him, the heat radiating from their joined hands overcoming the chill of the rain.

The two men were giggling like schoolboys by the time they made it back to Ironfield Hall, stepping under the outer covering and shaking their wet clothes uselessly, soaked to the bone. Charles laughed as Erik ran his fingers through his hair, and he was sure his own was plastered unattractively across his forehead, but Erik looked at him like he was the most radiant being he had ever laid eyes upon, and Charles had to kiss him again.

Erik leaned hungrily into Charles’s touch, their mouths moving in synchronisation like their lips were made to slot together. Charles groaned when Erik’s hands gripped at his back and his hips, digging through his soaked layers and warming him up.

Erik crowded Charles against the heavy wooden door to the mansion, Charles laughing as Erik grudgingly fumbled behind Charles to unlock the door but unwilling to pull his lips off Charles. Erik kissed Charles like a drowning man and Charles was air, while Charles kissed Erik with equal need in return, a man in a desert while Erik was his oasis.

The two of them stumbled inside once Erik finally unlatched the door, the tutor and the master trying to stifle their giggles as the ran upstairs, tracking a trail of rainwater and mud behind them. They passed by Charles’s room first, and when Charles turned to open it, Erik murmured a brief ‘no, bed is too small,’ before tugging Charles’s arm further down the hall.

Erik took Charles to his own chambers, which had been relocated after the fire incident, and closed the door behind the two of them. They were both breathing heavily, Charles standing in the centre of the room, water droplets dangling on the fringes of his wet hair and already looking dishevelled.

Erik made his way towards his lover from his position by the door, leaning down now to kiss him slowly, and a little chastely.

“I’ve been dreaming of this for so long,” Erik said gently, cupping Charles’s shoulders, before sliding his hands down until they held Charles’s wrists. “I looked everywhere for you abroad. I went to Germany, to France, to the Americas, but never found you. And then, when I thought I was truly alone, I found you here, waiting for me.”

“You’re not alone,” Charles said, letting Erik guide his hands so they rested on his chest, over his beating heart. “Not anymore.”

The two kissed again, for what seemed like both the first time and the millionth time. As they kissed, Erik untied Charles’s neck tie, discarding it onto the ground as Charles did the same for him.

Hands fumbled between them, not wanting to move apart but needing space to undo the buttons of their waistcoats, which soon fell to the floor beside their ties. Trousers pooled at their feet, and when Charles was only in his shirt he walked backwards until the backs of his thighs hit Erik’s tall bed. The older man reached down to grasp him under his legs, hoisting him up effortlessly, Charles’s shirt rucking up to reveal pale, untouched thighs.

Erik hovered above Charles, kissing his lips, his cheeks, his chin, his neck, before removing the last piece of clothing from the beautiful man beneath him. Erik touched Charles like he was the most precious thing he has ever held before, and so gently that Charles might as well have been made of glass.

They held each other for the first time that night, and when Charles fell asleep curled up in Erik’s arms, the older man leant down and pressed a kiss to the crown of his hair, praying to God to let him keep Charles by his side for the rest of his life.

***

Charles and Erik did not part from each other’s side from that moment on. They woke in Erik’s bed every morning, bodies satisfyingly sore while rolling around naked under the sheets until either one of their stomachs rumbled, and even then, they would lay there tangled in each other’s arms until both of them grew unbearably famished.

Charles began taking all of his meals with Erik, much to Moira’s surprise. Charles felt awkward asking her to serve them their meals, and began to take it upon himself to carry two dishes on a silver tray to share with Erik wherever they wanted. Sometimes they dined in the drawing room while finishing up a game of chess, other times they ate at the table in the back gardens. Most of the time, though, they ate in Erik’s grand dining room. Erik usually ate there alone, and being the lone diner at a table fitting 15 was a solitary and lonely affair. Once Charles joined him, however, all of Erik’s meals were filled with talk and laughter, and the occasional rub of an ankle discreetly beneath the table.

Moira had pulled Charles aside a week after the sudden change in their dynamic. The woman hand frantically asked Charles about what was wrong with Mr Lehnsherr, and had somehow deduced in her confused mind that Erik and Miss Frost’s engagement had fallen through, and now he was trying to diminish his loneliness by spending time with his only friend. Charles had fallen into hysterics and assured Moira that that was not the case, but the woman had not relented.

Charles and Erik were not particularly discreet, though they refrained from kissing each other or touching too intimately in front of others. But when you live amongst people for so long, they are bound to notice things, like how Charles’s room never had a fire going any more, or that there was the sound of chatter emanating from Mr Lehnsherr’s chambers long into the night after the candlelight has darkened.

The person who found out first was Scott, though that was understandable, for a reason Charles was still trying to wrap his head around.

“You lied to me,” Charles seethed, tears collecting in his eyes. It had been a week since Charles and Erik had consummated their secret relationship, and it was far too soon for it to all come crashing down.

“What are you talking about, Charles?” Erik asked, shoulders stiff as Charles thrust a finger out the window.

“You told me that you weren’t marrying Emma Frost! You promised me that you… that you loved me, and now you’re inviting her to our home? Without telling me?”

Erik looked at Charles, blinking twice, before he burst out laughing. Erik slapped the surface of his desk as he laughed wildly, the sudden noise startling even Charles.

“You’ve misunderstood, Charles. Emma is not here for me,” Erik said, smirking a little as he got up from his chair. “Come, let me show you.”

Erik joined Charles by the large window behind his desk, pressing a large hand to the small of Charles’s back. Emma sat on a brilliant white steed in her matching white riding uniform, somehow devoid of dirt specks despite having ridden from her neighbouring estate. Charles had not seen her since before he left for Westchester, but she was still as radiant as ever.

“I don’t understand what you are showing me, Erik,” Charles grumbled, turning to his lover with downcast eyes.

“Just watch, Charles,” Erik said, smiling down at the younger man, who narrowed his eyes at him but turned back to the scene below. Erik’s hand rubbed gentle circles at Charles’s back, a deep swell of affection building inside him as he looked at his intelligent but sometimes short-sighted lover.

Charles continued to look down as Scott appeared from behind a pillar, Emma lightly hopping down from her horse when she saw him. Scott grabbed onto the horse’s reins as always, Emma saying something to him, Scott smiling in response. And then, in a movement that was far too practised to have been novel, Scott leaned forward to kiss Emma square on the mouth, the woman returning the touch by cupping Scott’s cheek with a white-gloved hand.

“What in the dickens?!” Charles exclaimed, eyes wide as Erik started laughing again. Apparently, the noise could be heard from outside, because both Emma and Scott looked up. Scott looked embarrassed, but Emma just smiled, waving up at the two men.

The other couple soon joined Charles and Erik in the study, Scott more scandalised about being caught smooching by his employer and friend than the fact that those same two individuals were also smooching in their spare time.

Of course, once Scott knew, his brother Alex was also informed. He, too, did not care – apparently, he once had a relationship with a man called Armando in the past, but that was tragically cut short when the man passed from consumption years ago.

Unfortunately, word spreads like wildfire amongst servants; once the Summers knew, Angel too found out and was overly supportive of Charles and Erik, just glad that someone could now permanently temper Erik’s foul moods. Lorna was also unbothered, because Peter was always easier to look after when he was in a good mood, and being chastised by Erik when he was angry always dulled Peter’s own temperament. Charles did not know how Anna-Marie felt about it, but on the rare occasion that he saw her, she would give him a small smile that looked like it held a secret, one that made the hairs on Charles’s neck stand up.

Moira was the last to find out, and only realised it when she had walked in on Erik leaning down to peck Charles on the lips one evening. She had screamed, and the rest of the help and run in frantically, only to find Moira a blushing mess and Charles burying his face into Erik’s chest, mortified. Erik just grinned at them all smugly with his shark-like smile, sending them all scuttling off.

Moira didn’t mention it to Charles again, but she would give him worried looks when she thought he wasn’t looking. Charles, for the most part, ignored it – the response from the household was, for the most part, overwhelmingly positive, and that was more than Charles could ever ask for. Amongst these people that he considered family, he never felt like an ‘unnatural child’ or wrong. He just felt like Charles, a man who happened to love Erik.

Charles still felt giddy when he remembered that Erik loved him back.

Now, Charles and Erik sat in the undercover stone pavilion in a corner of the estate, shadowed from the sun and view of the servants. Charles sat on a stone bench, Erik lying across its remaining length with his head resting on Charles’s rounded thighs.

Charles held a small book in his hands, reading it out to Erik in his dulcet voice, the older man’s eyes closed while his mouth was sloped upwards in a relaxed smile.

“Misery and degradation and death and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you of your own will did it,” Charles read, holding the book with one hand while the other carded through Erik’s hair. “I have not broken your heart – you have broken it, and in breaking it you have broken mine.”

“Heathcliff is an idiot,” Erik huffed, Charles closing the book with an amused grin. They had been working their way through Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, and Erik often piped up with grievances about the characters, which Charles found amusing yet annoying at alternating times.

“Why? I find it rather romantic for him to believe that their love is so strong that they would only be parted if one of them willed it, that there is no power in the universe that could break them apart unless they wished it,” Charles said, placing the book down on the bench beside him, now focusing on the man reclining on his lap. Erik just snorted, rolling his eyes.

“It is not romantic, it is foolish. He just won’t get it through his thick skull that Cathy may have had a legitimate reason for leaving him,” Erik explained, Charles raising a brow.

“What do you think is a legitimate reason for someone to leave the one they love?” Charles asked, Erik pondering for a moment, turning his gaze away from Charles.

“Opposing ideals, maybe. Or having the same ideals, but not being able to agree on how to achieve them,” Erik said, Charles chuckling.

“Then maybe I should leave you. We hardly agree about politics, Erik.”

“Don’t joke about that,” Erik said, Charles smiling as he leaned down to press his mouth to Erik’s, the angle awkward with how they’re sitting but the touch pleasant nonetheless. When Charles was about to pull back, Erik let out a disgruntled noise and hooked his arm over Charles’s neck, tugging him back down.

Their lip lock was broken when Charles could no longer contain his giggles, Erik huffing and rolling over so his cheek pressed against Charles’s thigh now.

“What’s another valid reason for someone to leave?” Charles asked again, stroking his fingers through Erik’s hair, his lover exhaling a long breath.

“Maybe if they found out the person they loved withheld something from them, something damning,” Erik said, his voice still and quiet.

“But if they love each other, they wouldn’t withhold anything important from each other, would they? The deceiver must not love the other person very much,” Charles said, Erik shaking his head before turning it to lean into Charles’s thigh, hand squeezing his knee tightly.

“That doesn’t mean they don’t love them. Maybe they just don’t know how to say something. But they love them. They really do love them,” Erik repeated, and Charles felt him press a kiss to his thigh, sighing warmly.

“Mm, if you say so. Do you want me to read more to you now?”

“No,” Erik murmured quietly, eyes closing. “I just want to stay like this, for a while.”

***

“Charles, really?” Erik said, glaring at the shorter man, who only smiled back at him sweetly.

“Peter needs new clothes too. It is only practical for him to accompany us,” Charles responded, holding Peter’s hand as the little boy clambered into the carriage. Charles stood on one side of the door, and Erik on the other, the two of them staring at each other. While Charles just smiled languidly, Erik’s eyes were hot and his mouth was set into a hard line, an expression intimidating to everyone but Charles.

“You are my torturer, Charles,” Erik eventually muttered, deflating as Charles just laughed, climbing into the carriage to sit beside Peter, making Erik glare at him again. Erik stomped his way into the carriage, sitting on the side opposite to Charles and the little beast. Once Scott kicked the carriage into motion, Erik grinned and reached forward to pull on Charles’s arm, the young man yelping as he matched the lurch in the carriage to fall onto the seat beside Erik.

“Erik! Peter is right there,” Charles hissed as Erik held him close to his side in the confines of the carriage. Erik looked at Peter, who was too busy staring out the window at the fields and buildings whizzing past them to even care.

“Peter,” Erik called, the boy turning to him quickly. “If you count the number of buildings that we pass correctly from here until town, I will buy you two new suits instead of one.”

Peter’s eyes gleamed, the boy nodding enthusiastically before turning his eyes back outside with newfound focus, his fingers tapping on the carriage walls as he counted.

“You are impossible,” Charles huffed, but the smile on his face tempered the frustration in his voice.

“You love that about me, especially now that I can just lean down and…” Erik said, leaning down to kiss Charles’s mouth, not too passionately since Peter was in the carriage, but daring enough.

Charles rolled his eyes but gave in to the feel of Erik’s kisses, hungry for them even after indulging in them for the past three weeks.

The rest of the carriage ride went quickly, Peter eventually blurting out a number that Charles and Erik were sure wasn’t correct, but said it was fine any way. Peter beamed, skipping into the tailor’s and beginning to run his fingers through the soft display fabrics and making awed sounds at all the different colours.

The tailor saw Erik, immediately recognising him as the wealthy but stony Mr Lehnsherr from Ironfield Hall, and quickly coming to service him. The man was shocked when Mr Lehnsherr wanted to order five whole new suits for the man that accompanied him.

When the tailor looked at Charles, he was surprised to see that the boyishly attractive man was wearing a terribly old and ill-fitting suit. The tailor wondered why someone of Mr Lehnsherr’s station and reputation was buying so many expensive suits for someone that looked every inch a servant, but did not dwell on it too much when Mr Lehnsherr was paying him such a weighty sum for his work.

Erik ended up ordering six suits for Charles; three day suits and three evening suits, all of varying colours. He even bought Charles three more neck ties, leather gloves and a soft scarf, knowing Charles got cold easily.

Charles thought that would be it, but Erik then dragged him and Peter into a shoemaker’s store, order three pairs of dress shoes and boots.

Mr Lehnsherr paid an extra sum to have the items made up as quickly as possible, the tailor and shoemaker pushing aside other orders to get Mr Lehnsherr’s done. It was not very often that the man bought so many things, and it was even more surprising that it was for someone else. Clearly, that meant this was an important job, and the workers used it as an opportunity to advertise their services to such upper-class gentleman.

It was two weeks later that a carriage laden with boxes of new clothes and shoes arrived at Ironfield Hall, and Charles’s barely-used chambers was converted into a wardrobe. His new clothes covered the untouched bedding, and was draped over the armchair and desk in the corner.

“This is too much, Erik,” Charles complained, Erik watching him fondly as he sat in the middle of a pile of clothes that Erik had forced him to try on, thoroughly enjoying seeing Charles dress up in fine things that were worthy of him. He also thoroughly enjoyed seeing Charles take those fine things off, eventually growing tired of watching him dress and undress and ravaging him amongst the pile of new clothes instead.

That was the first time the two of them slept in Charles’s bed, much smaller than the one in Erik’s chambers, but allowing them a convenient excuse to press tightly together as they slumbered.

***

It was a few days later, after Moira had helped Charles reorganise the mess of clothes that required a new closet to fit into, that Charles retired to bed alone. Erik had been caught up with business, and sent Charles to retire first, the young man having dozed off multiple times as he curled up in the armchair in Erik’s office while the master worked.

Charles did not mind sleeping alone, though he did prefer it when Erik was beside him. Blowing out the candle on the bedside table, Charles lay on his side of the bed, back facing the centre. He had already been half asleep by the time he crawled upstairs and into bed since it was late into the evening now, and drifted off into sleep easily.

Charles’s dream that night was oddly dark, however. It began with Charles standing outside the gate of Ironfield, which was closed and barred with twisted metal, like a goliath had gripped it in his hands and bent it around and around the metal slats.

Behind the gate stood Erik and Emma, hands clasped together. Emma was dressed in white like always, but what was different was that her face was obscured by a gaudy lace veil that sparkled with diamonds.

‘No!’ Charles tried to cry out, but for some reason no sound came out. Charles clawed at his throat and screamed and screamed, but Erik and Emma could not hear him. Charles watched in horror when Erik smiled at the woman in the wedding gown, lifting her veil before closing his pale eyes, then leaning in to kiss his wife on her plush lips.

The scene of the dream changed suddenly, Charles’s body pulled backwards with a phantom force from where he gripped the bars of the Ironfield gate. Charles was plunged into a room full of red, his body small and the faces of Cain and Kurt Marko grinning down at him. Charles screamed again, and like before, no sound fell from his lips as Kurt took off his belt and looped it in his hand, while Cain held a book dripping with blood in his meaty fingers.

Kurt and Cain raised their arms at the same time. When Charles expected the blow to collide with him, an orange light flashed behind his shut eyes, and Charles gasped in surprise.

At the sound of his voice, Charles opened his eyes and found that his vision was blurry, having teared up during his fitful nightmare. He blinked, the strange orange glow of his dream carrying into reality as a candle’s flame flickered dangerously close to his eyes. Charles froze, eyes widening as the candle floated close to him, and he raised his hand instinctively to shield himself from the bright glow.

A candle did not float on its own, though, and Charles visualised a ghost-like figure swathed in a tattered white night gown. The ghost had long, matted blonde hair that cascaded down its back in clumps, and it hunched over itself like its bones were made of liquid. It was a woman, the shape beneath the gown curvaceous in a way a man could not be, but before Charles’s eyes could adjust to the flame’s light it disappeared in a flash, plunging Charles into darkness.

The change in lighting disoriented Charles, and he blinked and rubbed at his face before he heard the sound of cloth tearing, punctuated by the feral noise of growls and grunts. Charles’s heart thumped erratically in his chest as the ghost-like figure tore up the new clothes Charles had worn that day, which he had left hanging on the back of Erik’s desk chair before he went to bed.

‘The Ghost of Ironfield Hall,’ Charles thought to himself, afraid. He kept still, the ghost not seeming to be bothered with him and just angry at the brand-new clothes, which were mere tatters on the floor. The ghost held a knife that looked sharp yet worn, the metal glinting under the moonlight as it slashed through the fabric. Charles observed in still terror as the ghost looked at him again, wearing a face that was not Angels, nor Moira’s, nor Lorna’s, and not even Anna-Marie’s. The ghost wore an unfamiliar face that would have been beautiful if it did not twist in a way that was inhuman.

The human and the ghost stared at each other, the phantom-like woman smiling with deranged abandon, before scuttling out of the bedroom with a terrifying cackle. It was the same laugh that Charles heard the night of the fire, and it struck him in his core.

Charles was too afraid to get out of bed immediately, in case the ghost was still there, lingering in the halls. When he was sure that the laughter had tapered off a long while ago, Charles leapt out of bed and wrapped a thick blanket around his shoulders, the only thing that could cover him that had not been torn to shreds.

Charles did not care that he only wore his night shirt an d a blanketas he raced downstairs, almost tripping on the cloth wrapped around him.

Light still flickered from beneath the door to Erik’s study, and Charles did not knock as he barged in. Erik jumped slightly, looking like he was about to bark out an angered yell at whoever disturbed him so rudely, but when he saw Charles in such frantic, panicked state, the master jumped up with concern.

“Liebling, what happened?” Erik asked hurriedly, Charles throwing himself against Erik, shaking like a leaf. Erik swore under his breath, wrapping his arms around his Charles, kissing his head as he murmured “Du bist sicher, Liebling. You are safe. Tell me what scared you. I’m here, you’re not alone.”

“The ghost,” Charles shuddered out as he buried his face into Erik’s chest. “I saw the ghost.”

Next chapter (7/11) →

[night-raven-dorms]

Scenario where the reader is a quiet yet sincere person and wishes to express her feelings towards the one she loves, aka: Vil (can she be a part of Heartslabyul and Riddle is like a brother to her; he wants what’s best for her, but doesn’t trust Vil enough to be her guy? He also catches Vil speaking w/ another girl and assumes he’s leading the reader on? Something along the lines of Romeo and Juliet, but w/ no bloodshed)? Hope this is a good enough request, GW. BTW, keep up the good work!

Apple Blossoms

Vil Schoenheit/Reader

Love will always bloom. Not matter the circumstances.

~

It had all started because of a tea party.

It wasn’t a grand and magnificent party. Simply a small one, specifically one for six people. Even more specifically, it was a rare tea party hosted by the dorm leader himself and the attendees were his for aces and you. His darling little not-sister. The four were shocked to say the least. Riddle Rosehearts, the second year dorm leader with anger issues, had a sweet, sincere, adorably quiet best friend that he considered a little sister. What was even more shocking was how quickly you were able to calm him down after Ace jokingly gave you a wink. It was like watching a fluffy white rabbit taming an angry chihuahua.

When the tea party was over, Riddle had ordered the four to “clean up the mess” while he allowed you to go explore the rest of the dorm grounds (all while a certain Ace of hearts was whining about special treatment). After giving your not-brother and his friends a polite curtsy, you went straight to the place that intrigued you the most: the rose gardens.

The Heartslabyul dorms had an impressive rose garden that was properly cared for and perfectly grown. The beauty of the roses wasn’t the thing that attracted you in the first place. Rather, it was the mysterious hedge maze that winded away into oblivion, and you were determined to find the other side. Upon arriving at the entrance of the maze, you noticed a large black dog with it’s back towards you. Noticing your presence, the dog looked at you, back to the maze, and back at you before running in. You called out to it before chasing after it wondering where it came from.

After several twists and turns, you made it to the other side and into an apple orchard. You looked around trying to find the black dog. However it seemed to have just disappeared into the forest of apple trees. Sighing, you knew you had to head back, but you turned and slammed face first into someone’s chest. You would have fallen over too if it wasn’t for that someone to catch you and keep you steady. “My, my, I must apologize if I startled you miss,” a smooth voice said.

When you were able to get your bearing back, you tilted your head up to see the most beautiful man you have ever laid your eyes on. He let you stand on your own and you took a step back. He spoke up before you could, “Well, you’re a face I haven’t seen before! You must be new here. My name is Vil Schoenheit, and it is a pleasure to meet you.”

He gave a bow. “If I may ask, who are you?”

You gave your own curtsy to him, “My name is (y/n). And you’re right. I’m a new transfer here... um, what is this place exactly?”

Vil gave another charming smile, “This place is the apple orchard in the Pomefiore dorms. It seems like you’ve found the connecting area between the two houses.”

You wanted to ask more questions. A lot more, but you suddenly became aware of how late it was getting. Not wanting to worry Riddle about your disappearance, you both exchanged your good byes before you sprinted back out of the maze and into the familiar territory of the Heartslabyul.

Riddle was waiting at the front of the maze by the time you found your way out. “I had a feeling you were in there.”

“Sorry Rid, I was just-“ he shook his head, cutting you off from continuing.

“Don’t worry I’m not mad at you, I just came looking for you since break will be ending soon. Come on, we can walk back together.”

As the two of you walked, you looked back to the maze. Sitting patiently at the entrance was the black dog that lead you to the Pomefiore dorms. It seemed to smile as it happily wagged its tail. Riddle noticed your gaze and looked back at the hedge. Nothing was there but you continued to stare as if wanting to go back. “Hey, is everything okay?” He asked.

You looked at him and blinked. “Yeah I’m fine. I... I thought I left something there but I guess not.”

He raised his eyebrow. You smiled and shook your head, “Let’s just go back, you need to show me around the dorms right?”

“... yeah...”

You continued to walk side by side until you made it back to the dorm. While you walked into the giant castle to find your bedroom, Riddle went to find Trey. He needed someone to check the maze.

...

For the next couple of days, the you had fallen into a routine with Vil. Everyday you would sneak away after class with small hand made goodies – ranging from baked goods to flower crowns to trinkets – and meet Vil in the apple orchard. The both of you would spend time together and talk about anything.

Today you were sitting in his lap as he played and styled your hair. Next to you, was the basket of heart shaped baked treats you had baked in the morning. In all honesty, you would be lying to say you hadn’t developed feelings for the Pomefiore dorm leader. He was so gentle with you and treated you with so much care, and in all honesty, Vil was also falling for you as well. Those hours spent together soon became both your favorite past times. “Vil, can I tell you something?”

“You can tell me anything my sweet little apple.”

You blushed at the nickname. “Vil... Thank you for spending time with me.”

He hummed, “I should be saying that to you.”

You smiled as he finished with your hair and wrapped his arms around your waist. “You’re one of the only people that has looked passed my beauty. You actually cared to ask how my days are and made it an effort to see me everday.”

You leaned back into him enjoying the comfortable silence. Unfortunately all good things must come to an end, “I better get going, Riddle will be worried.”

Vil laughed and helped you to your feet, “He must care about you a lot to be worrying this much.”

“Well, I am his ‘little sister’ after all.”

“Or so you say...”

You pouted as he pushed a stray hair behind your ear, “I’m only kidding. I’ll see you again tomorrow?”

You nodded in response. He walked you to the entrance of the maze where you traveled back to the dorms. Unknown to you that a couple of cards were watching your retreating figure.

“What do we do now?” Ace asked.

“We report it to Riddle,” Deuce replied, “he trusted us to find out where she goes everyday remember?”

“Yeah, but doesn’t she look happy with him?”

Deuce only stayed quiet and walked away leaving Ace standing there.

...

The next morning you were woken up by Riddle angrily yelling at you through the door of the bedroom. You were confused to see Riddle, Deuce, and a pretty guilty looking Ace on the other side. “Huh? Whas going on?”

“You’ve been sneaking off to see Vil?”

You froze on the spot. How did they... you looked between Ace and Deuce and groaned. “You were spying on me?”

“Yes I have because I’ve been wondering where you were whenever you disappeared. Tch, had I known you were seeing Vil I would have stopped you a lot sooner.”

You squint your eyes at him, “What do you even have against him Rid?”

“What I have against him is the fact that he’s particularly popular with the girls. I just don’t want you to be heart broken if you find out he’s leading you on.”

“He’s not leading me on.”

“And how can you say that so confidently?”

“How can you not trust me?”

“Listen (y/n), I’m only trying to protect you. Besides, a first year and a third year? Sis, do you know what people would think of you? I’m only trying to make you happy.”

You were getting frustrated and screamed out, “WELL MAYBE I’M HAPPIER WHEN I’M WITH HIM.”

You slammed the door in his face and he stood there stunned. You were always so sweet and nice. You never, if only rarely, raised your voice to yell. The look on your face is what shocked him the most. After all his years of knowing you, you had never looked so betrayed. It was at this moment, he knew he may have messed up. May have. Okay, he did a big mess up. He stood there and rubbed his temples. He hadn’t meant to make you upset (and more than likely cry), he was just trying to keep you from being heartbroken.

He sighed, “Ace, Deuce.”

The two first years looked at him. “We need to go shopping.”

...

Sam the mysterious shop keeper was more than just the go to guy for goods. He was also, surprisingly, a wonderful advice giver. He simply smiled when the three walked into his shop. “How may I help you gentlemen today? Wait, let me guess, is this about the little princess of Heartslabyul?”

Riddle deadpanned. Sam laughed, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The shopkeeper pulled out a deck of tarot cards from under his counter. He gave it a good shuffle, making a spectacle that left Ace and Deuce awed. He fanned out the cards for Riddle to pick. “Pick three,” Sam said with a wink.

Riddle grabbed them and handed them back to Sam who put the thick deck away. He flipped each card over. The first one depicted the vice dorm leader of Pomefiore, Rook Hunt, with a black dog. The second depicted a heart with a tiara wrapped in thorns and roses to protect it. Upon closer look, the heart was bleeding. The third showed an apple tree with small apple blossoms in bloom. Sam explained, “The past, present, and future. It seems like the little princess first met Vil through Rook. Now it seems like she’s heart broken. Not because of Vil...”

Riddle furrowed his brows, “It’s because of me isn’t it.”

Sam only gave a nod, “based on what I see, she feels trapped. She knows you care, and she knows you protect her. Just a suggestion, and it’s up for you to take, but I believe you should let their love grow.”

He gestured to the third card with the apple blossoms which magically changed to grow ripe red apples. Sam picked up the card and handed it to Riddle who stared at it. The dorm leader abruptly turned around and began walking out. Sam quickly asked before he could leave, “Where are you going?”

Riddle stopped at the door. “I need to have a talk with Vil.”

...

Later that day, you were called into Sam’s shop only to find Riddle waiting (rather impatiently) with Sam. Your figure slumped a bit as you walked closer to them. “Am I in trouble?” You asked.

Sam gave a laugh, “Far from it! We called you here because you’re transferring dorms.”

You were shocked to say the least. Transferring dorms? Where would you go? You looked at Riddle for answers. “Riddle... where am I going?”

Before you could answer, the door of the shop opened. Vil had walked into the shop. “I apologize for being late.”

“You’re lucky my patience didn’t run out Schoenheit.” Riddle said glaring at him.

If you were confused you were even more confused now. Riddle sighed and began explaining the situation, “I had a talk with Vil and we came to an agreement. From this day forward you’ll be transferring to the Pomefiore dorms... so you don’t have to keep sneaking off dorm grounds to meet with him.”

You blushed from embarrassment at the last part, but you still hugged him and thanked him with all your heart. Sam had sorted everything out and gave you your new uniform for you to wear, and soon enough the three of you traveled to the Pomefiore dorms. Waiting at the entrance was a tall man with a bobbed haircut; next to him was an awfully familiar black dog. The three of you stopped so you could give your good byes. “Thank you Riddle. I promise I’ll visit you so you don’t miss me too much.”

“You had better,” he demanded, “and you better come over when I host tea parties. Or if I invite you over in general. If you don’t I’ll Trey or Cater to bring me your head.”

He turned to Vil, “You better remember our deal.”

The blonde replied with a smile, “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of breaking it.”

You and Riddle shared one last hug before walking you walked away hand in hand with Vil. As Riddle walked back to his own dorm, he took notice of the countless apple trees the bordered the dorm. All of them in full bloom, showcasing their beauty.

~

A/N: This came out longer than I expected. Still, I hope you enjoy it and hopefully I did it correctly! Also, thank you for the compliment – and I’m talking to everyone when I say this – they really keep me going.

-GW

[imaginepirates]

Norri x Pregnant! Reader.

I am unmotivated and very sorry. This is for @elenawrit, now that I've gotten around to it. It's one where the reader is having a hard time telling James that they're pregnant. Sorry again for awful formatting; I can only use mobile rn.

2100 words

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

You had known for a week. The first morning spent kneeling over the chamber pot had been an awful one; you’d been afraid that you were sick. The third morning, your brain began to make sense of things. You should’ve seen it coming, being a married woman, and yet you had been utterly taken by surprise. 

Your husband didn’t know. James was off too early in the mornings to catch you retching in the bathroom, and he often came home after you’d fallen asleep waiting for him. He was worked harder than any man you knew. There had been more frequent pirate sightings in the last weeks, and the navy was taking every precaution. You hoped that James would be promoted for his extra hours. He worked hard, and came home worn out each night. 

What you wouldn’t give for him to have some time off. With the state of things, it wasn’t likely, but you desperately needed time to talk to him. With each passing day, you grew weary with keeping secrets from him. He needed to know of your pregnancy, but you feared that you’d never find the right time to tell him. 

With James constantly away, you went to your friend Elizabeth. She hadn’t married yet, and she had little knowledge when it came to children, but her company was sure to bring you some peace of mind. It always had, in the past, when you were afraid of this or that. You had been thick as thieves for most of your young lives, and she was the one you went to when you fell in love with James. 

Each time you found yourself at the sprawling estate, you looked up to the house sitting among the gardens. It was a grand place, to be sure; like a palace among the vibrant reds, yellows, and greens. Elizabeth reminded you of a princess, too. She was composed and put together, and there was nothing she couldn’t do with effortless grace. You’d envied her in your younger years, but she had always claimed you were the smarter of the pair, and many seemed to agree. 

It was one of the things you loved about James. He wasn’t deterred by intelligent conversation with a woman. Men tended to frown upon your interests in the studies of history and mathematics. James was different. He’d always indulged you, and lacking the classical education of the lords around him, he’d articulated his interest in what you could teach him. The navy didn’t take time to teach history, though James was perfectly proficient in sums and beyond. He would often talk of triangulating a ship’s location. Once, he’d actually taught you how to do it, and it was one of the moments you blamed for loving him. 

Standing under the balcony and before the great doors of the Swann estate once again,  memories melted from your mind. There was only apprehension left in you. Elizabeth could surely comfort you, but when you went back home, would worries worm their way back into your mind? Until you could speak to your husband of your condition, there would be no peace for you. 

The footman let you in and directed you up the stairs. Half way up, Elizabeth came out to meet you. She leaned over the bannister and called out to you. “Y/N! How are you?” She grabbed your hand, tucking your arm in hers as she led you back to her bedroom. 

“Sick with worry as usual. I’m afraid I’ll never see James’ face again with all the work he’s doing. Lord, I’ll be showing before I can even tell him!” You placed a hand on your stomach. 

“The navy can’t keep him busy forever.”

“I fear they will.”

“You should write to his superiors. They would understand.”

“I’m not sure they would.” You didn’t want to voice it, but the admiral in charge wasn’t a kind man, and he was the last person on earth you wanted to write to. Likely he’d burn the letter before opening it. “It’s lonely without him.”

Elizabeth held you by the shoulders. “I know. Hopefully, the pirate problem will be solved quickly.”

“Oh Liz, what if they send him away? I can’t bear the thought of him out on some ship fighting when I’m with his child. He’d return to find me pregnant, if he returned at all.” Something about your condition made you worry more about your husband. In all the years he’d served, nothing had happened to him. He was good at his job; it was doubtful that anything would befall him. 

Elizabeth laid a hand on your arm. You’d gone through it all before. For a while, the two of you sat in silence. You felt awful for putting your worries on your friend. Hopefully, you could return the gesture someday. 

“What should I name the child?” You tried to change the topic to something happier. 

“That’s your decision. And James’.” 

“What would you name your children?”

“I haven’t particularly thought of it. I think, if it were to be a girl, I’d name them after my mother.”

“I think I’d name her Charlotte,” you said. “I wouldn’t know what to name a son. I think I’d leave it up to James.”

“Would he name the child after his father?”

“I doubt it.” James hated talking about his father. Every word seemed a bad memory. 

You left Elizabeth’s estate feeling much better. Your house still felt a little empty when you returned, but you did your best to ignore it. You curled up in a chair with your book, sometimes looking up to watch the breeze blow through the flowers. You dozed off, and that was how James found you when he returned home. 

You vaguely felt hands lifting you from the chair. Bleary, you woke tucked against James’ chest. You shifted in his arms just enough for him to know you were awake, and smiled down at you. You kissed his jaw, and he set you down on the bed. Looking through the curtains, you watched the sun setting. 

“You’re home earlier than usual,” you said with some confusion. 

James’ expression soured. “It would seem that I have business to attend to on the open waters.”

You lifted yourself to a sitting position, a frown forming on your face. “How soon?”

“Two days,” James said miserably. 

“Two days?” You wrapped your arms around him. He was just as sad as you were. “I can’t believe it. They’ve never given you such short notice before.”

“Nobody’s happy. I’m sorry, Y/N.” He let his face fall into his hands a moment. When he straightened back up, he said, “It is what it is.”

“But you’re all so tired! It’ll put you all in danger is what it’ll do. You boys don’t have the energy you need to fight. You’ve been worked to the bone these past few weeks; I don’t think any of you have it in you to sail.”

“I’ve been tired before.” The look on his face spoke his displeasure. He didn’t want to go. 

You sighed. “At least come to bed with me. You need some sleep. Tell me, have they given you leave tomorrow before the voyage?” A little fluttering in your chest began. You would have to tell him on the morrow; you couldn’t put it off any longer. 

“I do.” He sounded a bit relieved. “I might have to go in a short while in the afternoon, though, to supervise provision loading. I am the captain, after all.”

“Of course.”

James didn’t even try to hide how tired he was. You combed your fingers through his hair and kissed his face, eventually settling down with your head on his chest. He toyed with the ends of your hair. He was stiff; he was always stiff when he had to leave. It reminded you both how lucky you were. 

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you awoke still curled against him. He snored gently, and you watched him for a while before calling a servant to get breakfast. You ate with the windows open, a fresh breeze carrying the sounds of singing birds and thrumming cicadas. The tropics were abuzz with noise. 

You spent the day relaxing, just the two of you. You discussed the latest news from London and the East India Company’s newest trade deals. It seemed that they had finally established a firm hold on some land in Africa, and that they were trying to get certain types of tea from China. Just like the British, you thought, to be so invested in new types of tea. 

It was a pleasant day, but a worm crawled through your stomach. You still hadn’t told him. You didn’t know why it was so hard, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. You didn’t want to worry him more than he already was. 

The sun set too soon. James was just putting something in his office when you slipped into bed. Anxiety grasped at your chest. When he came into the room, he sat on the bed and kissed you. He was a sweet, gentle man, and his affections were always pure. 

Soon enough, his kisses had deepened, and he moved to unbutton his waistcoat. It had been a long time since you’d last lain with him. He hardly ever came home before you were asleep. 

You gasped when he sucked at the skin on your neck. “I hope you don’t mind,” he whispered. 

“I suppose I won’t be going out in public tomorrow,” you replied.  

He hummed. “I should buy you more dresses with high collars.” He smirked, which was maddeningly attractive, and something he hardly ever did. 

You feigned shock. “Why, you scandal!”

He chuckled, only to go back to kissing you. You curled your fingers into his hair, and he took it as a sign to begin unlacing your bodice. 

“James.” Your voice was soft, and you weren’t sure he’d heard you. “James.”

He looked up. The worry must have been evident on your face, as he cupped your check with a hand. “Yes?” 

“Can we talk?” You felt rather small and frightened, even though you shouldn’t have. 

“Of course.” His brows knit together. He shifted his weight, coming to sit beside you. 

You took a breath before continuing. “I don’t mean to worry you, and I know this is really the wrong time to tell you...” His face had grown only more concerned. You grabbed his hand, running your fingers gently over his knuckles. “I-” you faltered. “I’m with child.”

James’ mouth formed a small ‘o’, clearly taken aback. He turned away for a moment, processing the information. Watching him, a smile began to creep over his face, and he turned beaming towards you. He grabbed your face with both hands and kissed you excitedly. You laughed against his mouth, and you broke away smiling. It felt good to have gotten the news off your chest. 

His smile faded and he began to look concerned again. “Tomorrow... I don’t like to leave you here alone.”

“Don’t worry too much about me. It’s you I’m worried about. I want you to come back to me.”

“I always have.”

You stared at each other a long time before falling into a fitful sleep. You knew that when you woke, you would have to say goodbye. 

James left. He returned a month later, and you met him at the docks. People smiled at you, noting the swell in your stomach. You were showing, and it had become the talk of town. Waiting at the docks was torture. Even when the ship had been tied down, and the gangplank laid, the knot in your stomach wouldn’t unravel. It was only when James stepped off deck that you relaxed.

You could tell he was trying to keep his professionalism about him, but he was practically jogging over to where you stood. He had you in his arms in an instant, and his face was buried against your neck. It seemed like hours before he let you go, though you knew it had only been a few minutes. He pressed a kiss to your lips, and then, dropping to a knee, kissed your stomach. By the time he looked back up at you, there were tears in his eyes.

He stood again, taking your hands in his. “The admiral has been generous.” He planted a kiss on your nose. “It seems I have a month off to care for my wife. I’m rather looking forward to it.”

You gasped in delight. You hadn’t expected such a thing, and were elated. He smiled down at you, and you heard a few congratulations from other officers. 

You were just glad to have him home.  

[theheartofpenelope]

Simple Things : Chapter Thirteen

Excerpt - Yet here she was, strolling through the Schönbrunn Palace Gardens, her hand safely tucked in the palm of the man who had promised to come whisk her away for the evening. Tom had informed her that he had planned on wooing her that night. Tag list: @winterisakiller, @devikafernando, @scorpionchild81, @messy-insomniac-bookgirl, @smutsausage, @hiddlesbitch1 @noplacelikehome77 @wolfsmom1 @meh1217 @dina-bln @lilaeye39 @tinchentitri @fairlightswiftly @nonsensicalobsessions @wolfsmom1 @stmeiou @ink-and-starlight @givemecocoaa @profkmoriarty13 @nikkalia @massivelemon @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @argo-shila @emoietmoi @redfoxwritesstuff @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @raining-litter @theoneanna @coppercorn-and-cauldron @turniptitaness @shadyskit @memoriesat30 @antyc67 @just-the-hiddles @sheris532 @marggot4 Author’s Notes/Warnings: tags will follow later on Anyway thank you in advance for feedback - would love to know what you think…Also on AO3 through this link Masterlist available through here Bonus: click here for the pinterest moodboard (always updated)

Chapter Thirteen : Vienna 

1. Charlotte did her best to keep her facial features under control. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her mind focused on something else, anything else, fearing she just might break out in a besotted smile if she didn’t. And this was not the time nor the place to do just that. 

From inside the hotel lobby Charlotte had a clearly view of see Tom waiting on her. As she neared the sliding doors she noticed him standing tall next to a taxi. A taxi?  

To her delight he’d caught her walking up to him and his lips curved into a content smile, his one eyebrow slowly lifted disclosing his (though slightly anxious) excitement. Well, that didn’t help things at all. And Charlotte was surprised at the amount of willpower she needed to prevent herself from just running up to him and falling apart in his arms. 

No, no, she would be cool about this, she reminded herself as she walked through the hotel’s entrance and steady on closer to Tom. So very sophisticated and ladida, acting as if nothing could ever knock her of her feet. Not his admiring gaze (there goes my heart), not the smile that reached up into his eyes (hello good sir) and certainly not the softest kiss on her cheek that might have lingered on a tad bit too long.

Charlotte pressed her fingertips into his arms as Tom’s cologne dizzied her. Oh how badly did she want to slightly tilt her head and brush her lips up against his. But she shouldn’t, she couldn't. They needed to be discreet. 

She gladly allowed him to escort her into the awaiting taxi. And when he’d urged the driver to head on, she wanted to remark in all honesty how completely silly and unnecessary this was. Her hotel was smackdown in the center of Vienna. Everything was within walking range….

But then it dawned on her. Just a ride around the block. Just enough time to put his lips on hers. 

“Good heavens darling, this day went on for too long....”

2. It felt a bit strange to her, strange it that funky out-of-your-body-type of experience. Was this her life? Was this her reality? Wasn't she supposed to be networking, making connection for future endeavours, mingling with the in-crowd? Stretching her mind in academic discussion about legal competence and end-of-life care? 

Yet here she was, strolling through the Schönbrunn Palace Gardens, her hand safely tucked in the palm of the man who had promised to come whisk her away for the evening. Tom had informed her that he had planned on wooing her that night. She'd chuckled in absolute delight as he laid out his plans. Things had evolved so fast up until that point he now solemnly believed he needed to slow down the process. More than that really; he wanted to go back a few steps and make a start the way things he found should start. He wanted to pull back from the hussle and bussle of everything and just take his (and her) time. Together. But discreetly. Always so very discreet.

The Palace Gardens were a great place to start. The courtyard was mind blowingly big, enormously outstretched. It held so many types of flowers, and all shrubberies were tweaked to perfection. It was simply perfect and with the maze and all, nothing short of a fairy tale. The crown of it all however was the Gloriette, a pavillion type of building with grand windows. It had been designed to glorify Habsburg power and the “Just War” (a war that would be carried out of "necessity" and lead to peace). 

These days the Gloriette houses a café and an observation deck which provides panoramic views of the city but unfortunately it was already closed by the time Tom and Charlotte passed through.

Charlotte sighed at the sight of so much splendour and, without realising, held on tighter to Tom’s arm. He chuckled warmly and shared his admiration with Charlotte before urging her to tell him more about her current plans… There were so many questions, so many things he wanted to learn about her. 

He led her to a cosy little Italian place near the river. Highly recommended by Ben and Sophie, who described it as a nice and quite yet authentic restaurant where they would surely be able to enjoy a ridiculously good pasta in all privacy. Tom didn’t need to hear about this place twice and made reservations - himself - as soon as possible.

Ben and Sophie were clearly very reliable advisors. That became quite clear when Tom sat down on the patio of said restaurant. With Charlotte across the table, toasting with a glass of red wine, the evening was already all he had hoped it to be. They wined and dined, they talked so easily, with a fair amount of flirt that was steady on growing stronger through the course of their meal. His hand searched out hers at the table and squeezed it gently while he quietly proposed they would take their dessert elsewhere. Charlotte lifted a brow under a playful chuckle and flirtily added he’d made her quite curious now… about that dessert...

3. Never in a million years would Charlotte have guessed there would be some last minute running involved after that incredibly delicious meal. She’d spontaneously declared Tom insane, loudly questioning what he was up to as she rushed after him towards to some sort of house by the river.  

But Tom would not be Tom if he hadn’t prepared the evening. He was enamoured with her and he felt happier than he had felt in a long time. But he hadn’t walked the parcours to all of this like he usually would and he nervously and desperately wanted to make up for that. He want a night of perfection, a night of romance, an evening out in which we could prove to her that he - personally - made an effort. Just for her. And that he had gladly ruled out any other intrusions beyond themselves. That part was a tricky bit though. But he happily went for it. For her.  

And that’s why he felt they needed to catch the very last riverboat that night. The absolute last one that was to depart that evening in fact; because the summer sun was about to set. With this last boat ride

Charlotte had giggled and merely shook her head as they boarded. Yet she couldn’t resist but to quietly and playfully reprimand Tom with, “I’m here. With you. That is all that matters. To me, that is.”

He’d nodded in understanding, but under a bashful smile, gladly guided her to the back of the pleasure boat; out on the terrace on those wooden benches. Tom mindfully draped one of the fleece blankets over Charlotte’s legs as dusk had now started to set in. Charlotte exhaled blissfully at his thoughtful gesture. And when Tom put his arm around her shoulders, she allowed herself to relax and lean closer to him. There were absolutely no paparazzi here. Nor other spying eyes. Everybody’s attention was clearly turning on the scenery outside of the boat, not inside. 

“I know darling,” he finally replied to her, “and I apologise for rushing you, but… I want, or I need, tonight to be perfect. I just want this to be ‘us’. Nobody else.”

“Us... ,” Charlotte’s lips curved into a smile, “I like the sound of that.”

She chuckled some more as she flicked her fingers against the baseball cap he’s put on during their mad dash for the boat. It was an nice attempt for anonymity, but she hated the thing. Tom looked back at her sternly, but his eyes twinkled with mischief. 

“Steady now, love…” 

Charlotte tittered before setting her sights back onto the beautiful scenery as the boat glided across the Danube river. It was quite here, serene even. No crowds, no traffic, only the sound of water lapping the hull of the boat. She admired the Austrian architecture, but her breath got caught when she could very clearly now see the sun setting against the horizon. And Vienna’s city lights came to life. 

A small shiver ran across her back and she felt his arm pull her in closer. Charlotte slid out her seat a bit and allowed herself to shamelessly lean against his strong chest. His familiar cologne immediately soothed her and she sighed while admitting to him the scenery was simply beautiful. 

Tom smiled to himself and looked down at her lovingly before he ever-so-sweetly placed a longing kiss on her lips which she most definitely did not reject. Charlotte gladly molded herself to his position and gratefully returned the kiss she did expect to be receiving in public.

Two days ago, they had spent their afternoon in London talking in earnest over lunch, and then lounging in his living room afterwards. They had taken their time with discovering the other, with kissing and feeling, with lounging and talking. But they hadn’t slept together again since Edinburgh, and right now this somehow - and very acutely - only added to the longing. 

A small whimper escaped from her Charlotte’s mouth and Tom pulled back with a slight curse under his breath when he realised the boat tour wouldn’t be over for another 20 minutes…

While their kiss softly but surely deepened, his hand snuck lower and under the blanket where it caressed one of her legs and the upwards before softly bit surely clasping her inner thigh. Charlotte squirmed in her seat uneasily, locking her eyes with him surprised. 

“I thought you were all about discreet,” she mumbled with an eyebrow raised in delight. 

“Oh but I am darling,” he whispered into her ear while he adoringly massaged her thigh. 

“B-b-beg to differ…” she stuttered, a slight blush rising to her cheeks..

His crystal blue eyes met her chocolate brown ones. 

“So happy. Here. With you,” 

4. Charlotte wasn’t entirely sure how they had managed to make it safely from the boat back to the hotel room and franky at that time she couldn’t care less about it. Because Tom’s lips were leaving a deliciously enthralling trail of kisses down her neck. Leaving a path of gentle nips from the column of her neck down to her clavicle, Charlotte dropped her head back in surrender and blissfully gasped his namen.”

Tom groaned appreciatively as he sweetly pressed his lips onto her almost bare shoulder. Charlotte’s hands ran over his shoulders and then over his neck and up into his hair. She curled her fingers and softly tugged at his curls in an implicit attempt for him to place his lips onto hers. Words were a bit of a struggle for her now that arousal had started to cloud her mind.

Their mouths very quickly came crashing back together again. The word frantic came to mind. When they pulled back their gasps for air were slightly mingled with idiotic chuckles. 

“It’s been too long,” Tom whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

“Mmm, I agree,” Charlotte breathed. 

“Give me a second, will you,” he chuckled, “else I fear I won’t last long…” 

She loved how he gently stroked her long hair while seemingly grounding himself for a moment. His eyes were closed and she distinctly heard him taking a deep breath in and out. And while she contemplated on following his example but failed to do so as her heart was still savagely beating within her chest. She did manage to close her eyes while he slid his hands over her body, carefully tracing her curves. But slowly this time. He wanted to take his time. That was obvious. 

She felt his hands slid down over her waist, over the swell of her hips and down her thighs. While his mouth slowly claimed hers again. His tongue slowly gliding against hers, tasting of wine of the promise of a wonderful night. His fingertips rimmed the seam of her dress and trailed upwards over her thighs while Charlotte’s agile fingers patiently yet deftly unbuttoned his shirt. Her hands slid under the light fabric, firmly splayed out against his toned chest, up to his shoulders where she proceeded to push the piece of clothing off. 

And in return she gladly lifted her hands over her head so he could lift her summery dress up over her head as well. 

He murmurs something she couldn’t hear and probably wasn’t meant to hear. She would ask in normal circumstances ask but then his hands reached out the the curves of her breasts where they stroked and teased and readied the path his lips and tongue were so eager to follow. 

Words not important now.

It was only a matter of seconds before the last pieces of clothing found their way to the floor and Charlotte slowly laid down on the luxurious hotel bed. Desperate for any kind of friction now, she was ever so delighted when Tom skilfully undulated his toned body over hers. A slight moan got caught in her throat when his teeth softly sank into her lower lip and she raked her fingernails playfully over his lower back in retaliation. He shivered in response, muttering she was a “bad girl,” before ravenously continuing his teasings. 

When his fingers trailed down to her apex of her legs, she flinched and her head lulled back. A muffled whimper escaped her lips, much to Tom’s pleasure … And with even more adoration for her then before he bent down lower and decidedly ran his tongue over her little bundle of nerves. 

Charlotte proceeded to gasp, this time not so slightly anymore. Her hands clutched onto the sheets in all her might while Tom teased on, adding pressure with his thumb before steadily spoiling her on. A little peak disclosed to him how beautiful she truly was, all pretences stripped away, blushing feverishly and moaning delightful things in response to him. 

He took pride into bringing her to a climax and enjoyed witnessing her fall to pieces, knowing it was his doing.. Truth be told, it wasn’t a moment too soon for him though. With a speed and ease he anxiously chased after his own release that came much to soon to his liking. He needed to learn to pace himself again, he reprimanded himself jokingly. 

They rolled into each other’s embrace easily, lovingly, catching their breaths in unison. 

“Good heavens,” Tom joked, “you’ve ruined me!”

“How’s that?’’ Charlotte frowned under a laugh. 

“I don’t last that long with you. Christ” 

Charlotte lost herself in a fit of giggles. 

“Seriously,” he continued, “I want a rematch later on.”

“Later on?” she teased, “oh my, do you think you can manage that?”

“Hey!” he shot back, “why did you think I insisted on picking up these?” he winked devilishly to the cake boxes he’d picked up at Café Prückel on their hasty flee from the boat to the hotel. 

But Charlotte happily delved in though. Both skimpily covered with a hotel sheet, they savoured the stupendous cakes with vigour, and stealing a morsel from the other’s cake with their plastic forks. 

“Could get used to this,” Charlotte confessed with a smile.

“Mmmm, yeah,” Tom blissfully agreed, “I admit,” he added while munching on, “this one is the best ever though.”

He fed her another piece of his Sachertorte and jokingly pulled away when she wanted to take a bite. Charlotte cursed him under a loud giggle. 

But it was true. The cake was extremely good. And it was also true that Charlotte could get used to this just as well. Easily so... 

[spacecanary]

Jade Roses

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: drinking, cursing

Request:   @sweaty-collector-candy - So I want to ask you something if you still request, I really wanted to. one imagine that Loki saw (s / n) , on behalf of someone and he would try everything to make her happy again

A/N: I really like this one. Let me know if you want to be tagged!!

“(Y/n), what’s it like, having to stand in that exact place for hours and hours?” The sly voice questioned.

Silence.

“Don’t you grow tired of babysitting us lowlifes?”

Silence.

“I don’t remember you ever wanting to be on the guard when we were kids.”

Silence. 

“(Y/n)... you can’t just ignore me forever,”

I sigh from my stationed spot. My eyes dart to his chamber. Loki’s form set comfortably in one of the chairs, arms crossed as a smirk makes its way onto his face. 

“I despise you,” I mumble, rolling my eyes.

“That was a different story when we were children, (Y/n).” His eyes light up, noticing how he struck a nerve. 

“Shut your mouth before I do it for you,” I lash out, gesturing to my staff. 

“Ooo...touchy subject?” He grins, leaning forward in his seat.

“You know nothing, Loki.” My voice comes out quieter, less intimidating. He rises with a shrug, dragging the chair back to it’s intended place. Loki grabs an apple and one of his many books, plopping down on his bed, beginning to read. 

Why’d I ever decide I wanted to be on the royal guard?

The clanking metal draws near, signaling the end of my shift. 

“I’ll take it from here, (Y/n). Go get some rest.” My fellow guard gives me a pat on the shoulder with a smile as I walk past. 

“Thank Odin,” I chuckle.

“See you in eight hours, (Y/n),” Loki remarks from his cell.

     I make it back to my living quarters relatively quick. With a groan, I strip every piece of armor off my body, starting with the helmet. I hang each section on it’s specified rack. I sigh in relief, my body feeling about fifty pounds lighter. My feet shuffle lazily over to my mirror, glancing at my bare body for any signs of dirt. Slowly, I begin undoing my unbearably tight braids, revealing gorgeous waves that waterfall down my shoulders.

     Content, I drape my body with a flowing green cardigan that pools around my feet. I take the sides of the fabric and wrap them around my waist, securing the fabric with a small silver belt. After fiddling with my sandals, I glance one last time at my reflection. The dark green material hugs my arms up to my collar bone before plunging into a deep v-neckline, stopping just above my belly button. The skirt fitting just perfectly. And with that, I head out to the gardens. 

     The setting sun casts a deep glow over the trees, illuminating the water spewing from the fountain. The commoners wander aimlessly in pairs, gazing into each other’s eyes. A twinge of jealousy washes over me as I see the couples laugh and love. 

I never had that... not since...

I sigh, wandering to the bar.

I wake with the worst headache I have ever experienced. With a groan, I prepare for the tedious eight hours to come.

     With my armor assembled, I walk down to the dreaded dungeons. Sluggishly, I relieve my guard-mate and take my post, leaning my head against the wall. Loki, on the other hand, sees this as the perfect opportunity. 

“Someone had a rough night... who’d you bring home this time?” He grins, leaning against the back wall. 

I close my eyes tightly, willing every atom in my body not to strangle him. 

“Fuck off Loki,” I groan. He, however, finds this hilarious. 

“Or, perhaps, maybe it’s the fact that you’re all alone...” The trickster wonders, a hint of giddiness in his tone, knowing he hit a sensitive subjectt. I sigh, trying to look anywhere but at him. My silence practically confirming his suspicions. 

“So you are alone...” He mumbles, no trace of annoyance or intentional hurt in his voice. He says it plainly, as a matter-of-factly.

“What does it matter?” The question comes out, sadness laced within.

     For the next few hours, he stays surprisingly silent, not that I’m complaining. The routine metal clanking pulls me from my thoughts. We exchange nods, and I look back at Loki. He sits on his bed, hunched over on his knees, watching me. No grin, no snarky attitude, just a stare. I shrug it off, walking back to my quarters. 

      The routine’s the same, shed the armor, bathe, then undo my hair. I dress in my sleeping gown, my gaze seemingly shifting to the half full bottle of liquor from the previous night. Giving in, I snatch it before sauntering to the balcony area. The night air greets me, flowing over my body. I gaze at the world before me, full of happy, content people. I take a swig wishing I could fit in to that category. Before I know it, the bottle’s gone, and I’m sprawled out on the unmade bed. My eyelids get heavier with every blink. 

I give into the dreamless sleep. 

Clank

Clank

Clank

My shift begins oddly quiet. No snarky comments, no grins or glares. Just silence. Glorious silence for a good half of my shift.

That is, until I look at Loki’s cell. 

There he stands, one arm supporting his weight on the pillar corner. In the other... is a jade green rose. The same rose from our childhood.

“Do you remember this? I gave it to you when we were young... when I confessed my fondness for you. I plucked it from my mother’s personal gardens. She wasn’t very happy with me.” The god chuckles, smiling at the memory. By now I’m inches from the glowing field between us. 

“I gave it to you when we were forced by our parents to attend one of the grand balls. I took you around one of the corners and kissed you. We were going to be together forever, I even told my mother, remember?” I nod with a laugh, tears starting to form in my eyes. 

“Of course she was very fond of you,” He laughs. 

“Whatever happened (Y/n)? We had something... what happened?” 

I shrug, my staff falling to the ground. “I don’t know... you changed.”

“Should we...try it again?” He offers.

The sounds echoing from the hall signal the end of my shift.

I turn back, “Get yourself out of here, and I’ll think about it.” I give him one last  grin, to which he reciprocates. I grab my staff and change shifts, going back home.

I go through my routine, just the same. Except for one thing, I’m happier. Like a weight’s been lifted off of my shoulders. I walk over to my bed, and on the bed table... a rose. 

A Jade green rose. 

A note sits next to it addressed to me in beautiful writing.

“(Y/n), I can’t wait for that day. Soon, I promise. Goodnight, my rose.”

-Your Prince

Tags:

@oxforddrama

[cordonianchoicesqueen]

Rewritten: The Royal Romance: You’re the Prince of What Now? (Part Three)

A/N: I never read the diamonds chapter for this but this is how I’d want it to go. I like to think that most people wouldn’t believe Liam outright when he says he’s a prince and actually question him on it.

Summary: Riley comes to terms with the fact the handsome stranger she has been spending time with is a prince. She decides to take him on an adventure to see the Statue of Liberty.

Choices Chapter: Book One, Chapter One, Second Half

Disclaimer: Characters and main storyline from Pixelberry’s Choices.

Word Count: 2653

Warnings: none

You’re the Prince of What Now?

He took my hand gently, “I’m sorry. I’ll tell you the truth.” “What is that then?” “The truth is, Riley… I’m the Crown Prince of Cordonia.”

I scoffed. This man is insane or at least insane to believe I would believe… I looked him dead in the eyes. I saw nervousness but not deception. “You’re a great con-artist. I almost believe you,” I shook my head, pulling my hand away. “You can google it! I promise! I know it sounds crazy. It’s a tiny country. It’s not like I’m claiming to be next in line to the thrown of Great Britain. Although, I do know their family very well…” he rambled as I pulled out my phone. “How do you spell Cordonia?” As he spelt it out to me, I searched: prince of cordonia. Immediately, images of Liam at all sorts of grand events popped up. Articles about his elder brother passing the thrown to Liam earlier in the year. Pictures of Liam wearing a crown, sat beside a man who could only be his father and king of this country I had never heard of. I slowly lowered myself back into my seat. I was in shock. The day had just been progressively becoming more like a fantasy. Liam looked as though he was about to speak but I stopped him. I wasn’t ready to speak and I read page after page. I even spotted Tariq and Maxwell in a few pictures. Finally, I landed on a tabloid page which was titled What Will Our Prince Get Up to in the U.S.A? “You’re a prince?” was the only thing I could muster. This felt like a conversation you could only have in a movie in a beautiful garden with a prince dressed like a beggar taking off his disguise and declaring his love at first sight for the girl in front of him. The reality was that we could barely hear each other over the blaring pop music and cheers of the crowds on the dancefloor of Kismet. Did this change what I thought of him?   “Perhaps I should’ve been more upfront with you… But I’m not normally allowed to go around without the Royal Guard, and I was only allowed out on the condition that I kept my identity a secret. I got to be free. I’m very aware that I have a duty to the monarchy. I’ve never known anything else. But what about you? You could be anything, do anything. What drives you, Riley?” Struggling to figure out how the conversation had come back around to me I said, “what I really want is to see the world. I’m saving and one day I’m going to go see everything.” “That’s beautiful,” Liam said, his voice light and wistful. I glanced up, taking him in again with all the information I had just learned. It weirdly didn’t change anything about how I’d viewed him. He’d seemed caring, selfless and kind, which he obviously was from his philanthropist acts as prince. He seemed both down to earth and from some other world entirely. Mostly, I was just sad to know I’d probably never get to see him again. I guess in our short conversations, I had already started to have feelings for him and had hoped we could maybe have met up again but now… this night was all I was going to have with him. So I was going to make it count. I broke his gaze and spotted the guys on the dance-floor, mingling with other club goers. Maxwell was waving his limbs all over the place, making many people on the dance-floor laugh. I could, almost, hear him egging on Drake to show off his moves. Drake stood almost still, swaying to the beat, a large glass of whiskey in his hand rolling his eyes at Maxwell but smiling. Tariq had joined them on the dance-floor, holding his glass of champagne high so that it wouldn’t spill. It was time to stop being the over-thinker I always tended to be and live in this moment. In some crazy turn of events I was out clubbing with a prince from a foreign country who was interested in me and trusted me enough to share his big secret. “Let’s dance,” I took Liam’s hand confidently. I led him down onto the dance-floor. He seemed amused by me taking the lead and his smile melted my heart. We helped ourselves to more drinks and joined his friends. They all seemed so different but fit together like puzzle pieces from different boxes creating something new, cohesive and exciting. I barely knew them but I felt included and happier than I had felt in months. I wrapped my arms around Liam’s neck, swaying and laughing with him as pop song after pop song played. His hands felt warm on my hips and I wanted to pull him closer but dared not push any unspoken boundary. “Looks like your friends are having fun,” I gestured. “Good. I’m happy for them. They deserve to have fun… tomorrow, it’s back to Cordonia for the start of the social season,” he whispered in my ear with mixed emotion. I stood on my tip-toes to reach his ear and whispered back, “It’s not tomorrow yet…” “What are you suggesting?” he said, his face so close to mine I could feel the dimple of his smile form in his cheek. “You said you wanted to see the statue of liberty. Let’s do it!” I said. “It’s so late! Won’t all the tours be closed?” he questioned. “I have my ways,” I said sneakily.

Getting Liam to ride the subway with me was a challenge. He stuck out like a sore thumb as he looked around in awe at the public transport system he had heard so much about but never seen for himself. We had swung around poles on the almost empty carriage and annoyed everyone with our giggling. Finally, we made it Whitehall street where the Staten Island Ferry docks. “So I can’t get you all the way to the statue of liberty,” I admitted, “but I can take you on a boat with the best view in town, I promise.” As if by magic, the Ferry came into view and began to dock. I explained to him that the Staten Island Ferry runs 24/7, is frequent and doesn’t cost a penny. “I used to love riding the ferry after a night out and eat some take-out food with a view. It feels classy but on a budget,” I laughed. He shook his head at me in disbelief, “what a lucky man I am to have stumbled upon you this evening.” I looked away before he could see me blush and led him onto the boat. We situated ourselves in some of the ugly plastic seats with a view out of the windows. As the boat left the docks, I felt the wind get chillier and shivered. “Are you cold?” Liam asked, concern in his voice. “I’m okay, really,” I lied, missing my sweat pants that were still sitting in my locker at Elliot’s. We sat in comfortable silence until suddenly out of the darkness, the unmistakable sight of the Statue of Liberty came into view. Liam stood, his mouth open in awe, staring at the sight. I had seen the statue enough times to no longer be hit by the history of the monument but looking at it through his eyes made me feel like it was the first time. I thought of the history of immigrants arriving in New York and seeing Lady Liberty, ready to welcome them through. Times had changed since then, some positive and some negative. History has a way of repeating itself and remembering how prejudice has affected the world can help figure out the problems of today. “Did you know,” Liam said, still transfixed on the statue, “that there are seven spikes on her crown? They represent the seven oceans and the seven continents of the world. Reminding us of the universal concept of unity and liberty.” “I did not know that,” I stood next to him. He placed his arm around me and it felt like the perfect fit. “Thank you for this, Riley, really,” he said quietly. He felt how cold I was and took off his jacket, draping it around me. “This really is turning into a corny fairy-tale you know,” I said laughing at his kind gesture. “How so?” he smirked. “Come on. Prince and his pauper on a night time boat ride in New York city, the attractive male lead puts his jacket round the girl’s shoulder so that she feels protected and cared for.” “And what happens next in his story?” he asked. I tucked a hair that was blowing in the wind behind my ear. I felt all the confidence in my body surge as I stood on my toes and kissed him. His lips were soft and tasted like a mix of honey and champagne. He took my face in his hands and pulled me closer, kissing me deeply. I could feel his nose pressed up alongside mine as he lightly nibbled my lower lip. I felt anxiety leave my body, all thoughts and worries were gone and replaced with the thought of the man who stood before me. When the kiss ended, we both blushed beetroot red and giggled. “I feel like I’m five years old,” Liam laughed. “You’ve completely captured me, Riley.” He shook his head in disbelief. I wanted to tell him that that was ridiculous, that I couldn’t possibly have done anything to make me care for him that much in the short few hours we had known each other. But I couldn’t because I felt the same. It wasn’t love at first sight but it was definitely chemistry, attraction, care and a lot of other bubbling, butterfly feelings. Enough that I knew saying goodbye would hurt.

A short while later, we stood outside the door to my apartment building. Liam, ever the gentleman, had insisted he make sure I get home safe. The stars above us twinkled. A beautiful night, for a beautiful story I would tell for years to come, I was sure. The story of my night with a prince in New York City. “Well I guess this is me,” I said, letting go of his hand. “Thank you for your company, Riley. Tonight has been… for lack of a better word incredible from the moment I met you,” Liam stepped closer to me so that I could feel so body heat radiating. He kissed me, pulling me in deeply. It was a kiss tinged with sadness, of a story that was never going to be told, of what could have been. My arms still around his neck we kept our foreheads touching, enjoying this final moment. “I am a better person for having met you,” he said softly. “I’ll never forget this night.” He kissed me on my forehead. “Neither will I. Goodnight, Prince Liam. Good luck picking a bride. She is a really lucky woman,” I said. We stepped apart. I walked up the few steps to the building and unlocked my door. As I stepped inside I looked back. Liam hadn’t moved an inch. I waved sadly. He bowed and walked away...

The next morning, I woke up with only a slight hangover headache. I grabbed some water and looked at my dishevelled morning after face in the mirror. The night before had been a dream… a memory I would have to hold close to me otherwise I’d never believe it had actually happened. It was time to get back to the real world and that meant preparing for another shift at Elliot’s. Dragging myself to the bar took a lot of coaxing but I still managed to get out my apartment with enough time to get some fresh air walking over. Just as I reached the door of the bar, I heard a familiar voice shouting behind me. “Riley! Riley!” I turned and saw Maxwell from the night before panting as he ran up to me. “Glad I caught you.” He stopped, putting his hands on his legs as he caught his breath. Maxwell then stood up straight, shook off the run and smiled widely at me. “We’re heading back to Cordonia so Liam can find someone to marry and all that jazz. But before I go, I wanted to officially extend to you an invitation to join us for the festivities in Cordonia.” “What?” was all I managed. I hadn’t expected to see any of the men again from last night, never mind Maxwell surprising me the next morning before work with an invitation to go travelling with him. “You wouldn’t usually be allowed to join… but I want our family to sponsor you!” Maxwell goofily smiled and gave me finger guns. “Sponsor me?” I was still so confused. “I’m from a noble house, but I don’t have any sisters, so we don’t have anyone in contention to marry the Prince. Instead, we can sponsor any girl we choose,” he said. “And I want you to be our pick.” “Why me?” I asked aghast. “I’m not just doing it for you. I saw how Liam looked at you last night. I’ve never seen him so happy. Honestly, I don’t want him to lose that,” he said. He waited a moment for a response but seeing my speechlessness said, “We’re kinda crunched for time, though. I’ve got a plane leaving within the hour…” “You’re moving a little fast, don’t you think? You want me to drop my whole life and move to another country with strangers to marry a prince?” I asked abruptly. “No time to waste! The opening Masquerade ball is tonight! It’s the start of the… uh, I guess you could say, it’s the start of the competition,” he said un-phased. “What do you mean competition?” “There’s a whole horde of gorgeous, rich, noble women vying to become Cordonia’s next queen. And it’s not just about winning the Prince’s hand. You’ve also got to prove to the council that you can rule Cordonia with him. But I think you’ve got what it takes. You’re witty, charming, beautiful, intelligent and Liam’s already suuuuper into you so you’ve got all that going for you!” he explained excitedly. “So… a fancy masquerade… so if I said yes… what else would I be getting myself into?” I said wondering how my mind was already talking myself into this. “Fun stuff! I promise! You’ll get to go yachting in the Mediterranean, ski-ing in the Alps and dancing in the Royal Palace… and it will all be funded by the Beaumont family as our sponsor,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows. Travelling and experiencing the world had always been my dream. This offer sounded too good to be true. “I just…” I felt reality stopping me from jumping up and down yes.   “Or you know, you can stay here… and go back to your waitressing gig with your shitty boss. That’s probably just as fun.” For a moment I thought about the life I had in New York. My friends had all moved away. My family ties were not tight. I hated my job and most days living in my tiny apartment. I felt crushed by the expectations of the life I felt like I had to lead. I then thought about the night before. Was I really going to give up everything I had for a man? But I wasn’t really giving up anything. I could do this for me, for adventure, for a positive change. I slowly started to smile. “I’m in!” I said, not quite believing what I was saying. “Yeah! GO PACK! This is going to be the adventure of a lifetime!” Maxwell yelled in glee wrapping me up in a big hug.

[blindersbeach]

dad’s plan

wc: 1364

blurb: when the reader comes home crying, Linda notices and Arthur and her come up w a plan for Valentine’s Day.

Being the daughter of Arthur Shelby was never easy. People always had an opinion and you never cared to hear for it. It didn’t matter to you because you knew how kind your father and his brothers were. You always wished people would see the other side of them and not just judge by actions. You also wished for people to not judge you for having a Shelby last name.

You came home from your friend Abby’s house, which was on the way from yours. You had stopped in to say hi to her mother and have a snack. Abby told you all about how her crush had asked her out. No, it didn’t make you feel good, but you didn’t show it. You never really showed emotion unless you were by yourself. Not even around your step-mother, Linda, and you were really close with her. Once you got home, instead of going straight to your room you went outside into the small garden that you started to build with your father. Your books dropped behind you before full fledged bawling. You sat near the conval lilies. In your small garden there was also cheddar pink flowers, roses, sweet peas, and marigolds. Only a few were naturally sprouting and the others you planted with the help of Arthur.

As you continued to weep among the flowers, you keep thinking about just giving up with guys your age. Even Linda said she hated even thinking about liking or dating a guy when she was a teenager. You hadn’t noticed her peering through the window wondering if you were okay. She called upon Arthur to go check on you.

You heard the crunch of the grass under his boot as he approached closer. You realized that it was him and tried to stop crying, wiping your tears away. You sat up straighter and pretended that you were okay. Your father sat next to you putting a hand on your back. “What happened? Why is My Little Girl crying?” He asked. He wiped away the rogue tear.

“Nothing, just a hard day.” You said, but it wasn’t convincing him.

“Then look at me and say it.” He continued knowing that it was the only way to get something out of you.

“Okay, Abby got a date along with everyone else I know and I didn’t. She went into every single detail that I didn’t care for and of course I am happy for her. It just sucks that I didn’t and I have never.” You said being to cry again. Your father pulled you close to him.

“You don’t need a man and you’ll want someone special. Look how long it took for me to find Linda after your mom.” Arthur said. Your mom had left both you and your father more than ten years ago. She didn’t want to bare the thought of being with a Peaky Blinder and raise a child that would end up one. She left in the middle of the night and left a note for Arthur. You found him crying in his room.

“What if I never find anyone?” You ask finally being able to look at him. It broke his heart to see you like this.

“Then you don’t and that’s okay. Surround yourself with people that love you. Now, will you come in the house. It’s freezing outside and I believe Linda is making your favorite soup!” Arthur said with a nice pep in his voice to bring you to a happier place. You both stood up and began walking back inside the house. “Those flowers bloomed nicely. We should pick some later and bring them inside the house.” He put his arm around you hoping that his comfort would cheer you up.

“Linda, I just feel bad. She shouldn’t feel like this over some guys. Finn tells me that some of them are afraid of her because she beat Finn in a fight before. You know that’s not her fault, Finn is so little.” He said with a chuckle. Linda push a finger in front of her mouth for him to be quieter. You were sleeping on the couch in the living room. You couldn’t really make it up the stairs from being so mentally and physically drained. You didn’t know how much it actually affected you.

“Darling, take her to dinner or something. Do something nice for her. It’s not the best, but it’s better than your idea of hiring some guy to ask her.” Linda said putting a hand on his arm.

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“No! She is your daughter and Valentine’s Day is about all kinds of love. We will have many more to celebrate. So, we can start thinking of ideas.”

You woke up to uncomfortable back pain. That couch wasn’t as comfortable as you had remembered for times before. The quilt felt heavy as you pushed it off. The smell of breakfast was coming from the other room. You heard your little brother squirming as Linda was trying to bottle feed him. You entered the kitchen to see your family sitting at the table.

“We didn’t want to wake you, but the food just got done cooking.” Linda said. She was a great cook, way better than your father.

“Where is dad?” You said as he appeared through the kitchen door. He had a bushel of flowers in one hand and a knife, which you assumed cut the flowers, in the other. Arthur set the knife down and tied the flowers with some ribbon that was on the counter. Linda was smiling at him. You were fond of how much they loved each other and wanted the best of the other. It was something that you would eventually want in life with someone. Arthur handed the flowers to you. “This vase is already full of fresh ones.” You said, gesturing to the one in front of you.

“They are for you. I am also going to take you to dinner. I wanted to do something special for My Little Girl.” Arthur said with a smile. You had always had a great relationship with your father and always looked up to him.

“Why thank you, but I am fine watching Billy while you and Linda go out. I actually want to.”  You said with a large smile. Your family was glad to see it back, You put the flowers beside your plate and starting to serve yourself. Linda gestured with her head for Arthur to begin talking again.

“I am not taking no for an answer.” He said proudly, but Linda almost let out a burst of laughter for how he looked. He was standing tall with his chest puffed out like how he had been the first time they went on a date. You looked at your father and then to Linda.

“Okay. What is our grand adventure going to be?” You said as your father sat down next to Linda. Arthur and Linda began to smile knowing what they were planning.

After stopping at the Garrison for unknown reasons to you, your father brought you to a nice restaurant. You didn’t realize that Small Heath had any. Once you sat down, Arthur ordered his usual drink. Your face turned bright red and your eyes widened. Arthur looked at you worried.

“Abby is here with her date.” You said putting your chin in your hand.

“Have a good night, don’t get into trouble!” Arthur said getting up and pressing a kiss on your forehead.

“Wait, Dad! Where are you going? Why are you leaving me? You can’t just leave me” You said, but he already left. When you looked back Isaiah was sitting in his spot. “What are you doing here?” Isaiah and you were just friends, so this was weird for you.

“Don’t worry, y/n. I am just here because Arthur rang me and just wanted you have a fun night. So, let’s make the fookers jealous and confused.” He put his hand on yours and you both started to laugh. It ended up being one of the best nights, mainly because Isaiah always has a way of cheering you up.

[shaizstern]

Article from WSJ: Why Being Kind Helps You, Too—Especially Now

Research links kindness to a wealth of physical and emotional benefits. And it’s an excellent coping skill for the Covid-19 era.

ILLUSTRATION: VERONICA GRECH

By Elizabeth Bernstein

In January, Rachel Glyn’s husband of 36 years died of cancer. Two months later, the pandemic and lockdown hit. Alone in her Philadelphia apartment, Ms. Glyn spent her time worrying about the coronavirus, the financial markets and the civil unrest happening a few blocks away. Some days, she says, she wished she would die. “I’ll never have another day that doesn’t stink,” she told herself.

Then one morning, Ms. Glyn, who is 66, heard about a local blood drive and thought, “My life isn’t a pathetic mess after all: I have the ability to give.” She walked to a nearby hospital and donated. Afterward, she was “exhilarated,” she says.

“It felt wonderful to do something useful for someone,” Ms. Glyn says. “I no longer was this nobody who has nothing to do except endure a wretched situation.”

Want to feel better? Be kind.

Rachel Glyn and her late husband, David, in 2017. Ms. Glyn says that helping others helps her cope with this difficult time. PHOTO: MICHAEL GLOZMAN

It’s a good thing to make another person feel good. But being kind—doing something to help someone else—can help you, too. Research links kindness to a wealth of physical and emotional benefits. Studies show that when people are kind, they have lower levels of stress hormones and their fight-or-flight response calms down. They’re less depressed, less lonely and happier. They have better cardiovascular health and live longer. They may be physically stronger. They’re more popular. And a soon-to-be published study found that they may even be considered better looking.

Being kind is an excellent coping skill for the Covid-19 era. In a time of isolation, kindness fosters connection to others. It helps provide purpose and meaning to our life, allowing us to put our values into practice. And it diminishes our negative thoughts. “Our attention isn’t something that is infinitely expansive,” says Emiliana Simon-Thomas, science director of the Greater Good Science Center at the University of California, Berkeley. “What we are feeling at any given moment is related to what we are doing, so if we are behaving kindly, that experience will occupy our emotion.”

Psychologists call kindness altruism and talk of two types: reciprocal (you help someone because it will benefit you in some way—like giving money to get a tax break) and pure (you have no expectation of reward). Humans evolved to do both. We’re not the biggest, strongest or fastest animal in the kingdom, so we needed to band together to survive. “The key to our success is not the survival of the fittest,” says Jamil Zaki, a neuroscientist and associate psychology professor at Stanford. “It’s survival of the friendliest.”

Of course some people are kinder than others—specifically, people born with the personality trait of empathy. Yet, nature accounts for just half of our propensity to be kind, says Dr. Zaki. The rest is nurture—we learn it from our parents, our family and our community. And we can also teach ourselves. “Kindness is a skill we can strengthen, much as we would build a muscle,” says Dr. Zaki, who is the author of “The War for Kindness: Building Empathy in a Fractured World.”

Kindness can even change your brain, says Stephanie Preston, a psychology professor at the University of Michigan who studies the neural basis for empathy and altruism. When we’re kind, a part of the reward system called the nucleus accumbens activates—our brain responds the same way it would if we ate a piece of chocolate cake. In addition, when we see the response of the recipient of our kindness—when the person thanks us or smiles back—our brain releases oxytocin, the feel-good bonding hormone. This oxytocin boost makes the pleasure of the experience more lasting.

It feels so good that the brain craves more. “It’s an upward spiral—your brain learns it’s rewarding, so it motivates you to do it again,” Dr. Preston says.

Are certain acts of kindness better than others? Yes. If you want to reap the personal benefits, “you need to be sincere,” says Sara Konrath, a psychologist and associate professor at the Indiana University Lilly Family School of Philanthropy, where she runs a research lab that studies empathy and altruism.

It also helps to expect good results. A study published in the Journal of Positive Psychology in 2019 showed people who believed that kindness is good for them showed a greater increase in positive emotions, satisfaction with life and feelings of connection with others—as well as a greater decrease in negative emotions—than those who did not.

How can you be kind even when you may not feel like it? Make it a habit. Take stock of how you behave day to day. Are you trusting and generous? Or defensive and hostile? “Kindness is a lifestyle,” says Dr. Konrath.

Start by being kind to yourself—you’re going to burn out if you help everyone else and neglect your own needs. Remember that little acts add up: a smile, a phone call to a lonely friend, letting someone have the parking space. Understand the difference between being kind and being nice—kindness is genuinely helping or caring about someone; niceness is being polite. Don’t forget your loved ones. Kindness is not just for strangers.

And if there’s no opportunity to be kind at the moment, recall a time when you were generous or helpful. Research suggests that remembering past acts of kindness can also increase your well-being.

In reporting this column, I heard from many people who are trying to be extra kind since the pandemic started. They are taking meals to elderly neighbors, then watering their plants; mentoring teenagers stuck at home; leaving bigger tips for restaurant staff; stopping to let other drivers into traffic more often.

Deirdre Moran posts a joke each day on the phone pole in front of her house in South Brunswick, N.J. Many are “cringeworthy,” she says. (“Can a frog jump as high as an average tent? Of course! A tent can’t jump.”) But Ms. Moran, who teaches at a local school, has seen neighbors take pictures of the jokes and once received a note reminding her that she forgot to post a new one that day.

Kat Vellos and her partner exchange gifts with their older neighbors, leaving gingerbread cookies, lemon blueberry cake and homemade granola on the fence between their homes. They’ve received lemons, herbs and tomatoes from their neighbors’ garden, an extra bag of flour, and a bouquet of flowers in return. “There are innumerable ways to share moments of connection even when you can’t get together in person,” says Ms. Vellos, a digital product designer in Berkeley, Calif.

Mary Gossman keeps a cooler of cold water and a basket of snacks at her front door for mail and delivery people. PHOTO: MARY GOSSMAN

Mary Gossman keeps a table outside her front door with a cooler full of cold water and a basket of snacks for the mail and delivery people. She sometimes pays for the meal of the person behind her in line at fast-food restaurants and gives gift cards to cashiers at the grocery store. “There are so many things we can do—they don’t all have to be grand gestures,” says the retired office manager from Homestead, Fla.

Ms. Glyn has looked for more ways to help others since she donated blood. She thanks people for their advice and tells them how it helped her. She crochets gifts for family members, most recently shawls for her daughters-in-law. And she posts encouraging messages to strangers who share sweet or poignant stories in the online comments section of the newspaper.

“Maybe if I give someone strength that person will be empowered to go out and do something very special,” says Ms. Glyn. “Kind deeds can produce more kind deeds.”

Want to Be Kinder? Here’s How.

Make it a habit. Earmark time in your schedule to help someone else. Volunteer. Donate. Call a friend. Bake for a neighbor.

Lower the bar. Kindness doesn’t have to be a big deal. Practice being kind each time you go out—smile at people and say hello. Text a friend who is struggling. Take out a neighbor’s garbage. “It can take a minute and cost nothing to change someone’s day,” says Jamil Zaki, associate psychology professor at Stanford.

Be kind to yourself. “If you try to be kind to others while being cruel to yourself, you will burn out,” Dr. Zaki says.

Make small talk. In a time of isolation, this can brighten someone’s day. Say hello. Remark on the shared experience. (“Crazy weather we’re having.”) “Just acknowledging another person’s common humanity is an act of kindness,” says Emiliana Simon-Thomas, science director of the Greater Good Science Center at the University of California, Berkeley.

Change it up. Research shows that doing a variety of kind acts makes you happier, says Sara Konrath, an associate professor at the Indiana University Lilly Family School of Philanthropy.

Remember your loved ones. Kindness isn’t just for strangers. When you’re kind to the people you live with, “everyone reports being in a better mood and having more positive emotions,” says Stephanie Preston, a professor of psychology at the University of Michigan.

Look for role models. Emulate them.

Don’t get discouraged. Sometimes other people don’t respond in kind. This doesn’t mean they didn’t appreciate your effort. Remind yourself of another time it went well. Keep going.

Recall previous acts of kindness. Research suggests that remembering past acts of kindness also increases your well-being.

Teach your children. Model kind behavior.

Recognize others’ kindnesses. Thank them. Share on social media. It’s easy to pay attention to people who are loud and mean. Elevate the voices of people who are quiet and caring. “When we make kindness visible, we also make it contagious,” Stanford’s Dr. Zaki says.

Original article found here: https://www.wsj.com/articles/why-being-kind-helps-you-tooespecially-now-11597194000

[somewhereapart]

This Soul with Sorrow Laden (OQ, Missing Year) for SpookyOQ prompt: Black Cat

Robin is used to All Hallows being observed, but never quite like this.

Usually, it's a time for masked banquets and offerings to those who've passed on, a time of reflection more than of celebration. But it seems things were different in the Other Land, because autumn arrives and with it the castle becomes festooned with cottony faux cobwebs, bats and spiders made from paper and leaves and paint, pumpkins all gutted and carved into beaming, toothy lanterns (Roland loves those in particular, had been blissful at the slimy, seedy mess of excavating stringy insides with the help of no less than Prince David himself), linens draped over gourds with ovals painted on for eyes and mouths. He's told they're to be ghosts, but they bear no resemblance to the real thing as far as he's concerned.

And ghosts are very real in the castle these days. Spectres haunting from the shadows, rising up in the quiet moments, unsuspected, and lashing out at those around them.

There have always been ghosts here for Regina, he knows – the parents long dead in the crypt, the untold scores of victims who fell to her wrath, the King whose sarcophagus lies empty (it's a secret he's kept for her – that empty tomb, the bones of her husband scattered to the mercy of animals decades past, picked over by dogs as he ought to have been; Snow White pays visit to nothing but air and nobody knows except Robin and the Queen). But there is something about this season, something about the festivities of Hallowe'en, that seems to haunt her doubly so. She is foul-tempered, and sharp-tongued, vicious in her words and scarce in her presence.

For weeks, she has grown darker and darker, a shadow-walker herself now, a ghostly remnant of the vibrant woman she'd become through the summer months (never happy, not that, but there'd been a liveliness to her, and a slow-growing kindness that surfaced now and again for a lucky few; time may not heal all wounds but it teaches us how to hide the bleeding).

He'd realized the reason for her darkening moods that day with the pumpkins. He'd been grinning at his son, the boy slick from fingertips to elbows with pumpkin guts and never happier, his grin stretching wider and wider as the Prince had told him about other Hallowe'en traditions – costumes and candies and tricks and treats.

It's a holiday for children.

No longer an observance of things lost, but a celebration of fantasy and sugar and mischief. A time for adults and children alike to frolic and stuff their gullets full of tasty treats.

But what of those who have no children?

Not all ghosts are dead, he thinks, and the most damning of Regina's lives on, across a veil seemingly even more impassable than the one between life and death. A boy who somewhere, sometime, is carving his own pumpkin, and choosing his own costume, and anticipating his own treats – without her.

Anticipation rises and rises in the castle halls, and Regina is dragged down and down with every passing day. He wonders if anyone else has noticed. He wonders, sometimes, if anyone else looks after her. Snow White, surely, but there's a masked banquet to be planned – a ball this year, a festival even, with games and dancing and much to be decided, much to be planned. The Princess's mind is in other places these days, lighter places, an almost manic drive toward revelry underscoring her daily agenda. (The Princess shines in pain while the Queen's light gutters out.)

He skips the party.

Roland attends, surely. Robin sees to his costume (a knight, he'd settle for nothing less), and delivers him to the grand hall, tucks him away with a knot of other children all taking turns at attempting to stick a cloth tail onto a pillow shaped like a donkey's rear end. But he leaves him there in Belle's capable hands, and goes off in search of ghosts that don't say BOO! or bear a striking resemblance to the table linens.

He checks all the obvious places: her chambers (unlikely, he knows – Snow had been adamant she attend the ball, Regina equally adamant she would do no such thing), the east library, her orchard, even dares creep his way into her crypt. There's a small shrine there, four squat candles burning, and the thick, smoky scent of incense still smoldering a hazy pillar that curls around the low ceiling. (Robin takes a moment to murmur a quiet blessing, a charm for souls departed; these returned travellers may no longer observe the Hallows but he still does and so, it seems, does the Queen.)

But there's no sign of Regina.

He checks dungeons, and untended gardens, and even that empty tomb, all to no success.

He finds her, finally, when he stops in search of a drink, his throat parched.

The stablemaster keeps a bottle of wine tucked away in the tack room, he knows, and won't miss a sip or two. And it's just there ahead, not twenty paces off his path.

He finds more than wine in the dim-lit shadows. A voice, soft and sad, murmuring quiet nonsense from an empty stall. He has the bottle still in hand as he goes to investigate, but he'd know that voice anywhere.

There she sits, Regina, leaning against a stack of hay bales, hands in her lap, head down. At first, he thinks she's speaking to nothing, to herself, to the ghost of a young boy not yet dead but never again to her keeping, but then he sees the movement. She's dressed all in black, but simply - her gown a solid swath of it, now flecked with clinging bits of hay and dusted with the dirt from the ground she sits on. But there, in the hollow of her crossed legs, there's a glint of light, a flash of amber; the Queen's slender finger wiggles, the painted tip disappearing into ebony fur.

A kitten.

He's happened across Regina, the former Evil Queen, playing with a kitten in the stable on All Hallows. It seems the night is full of surprises for them all.

She hasn't noticed him, or she's studiously avoiding – either a likely option – so he steps more fully into the doorway of the stall, shuffles his feet slightly to make his presence unmistakeable.

Her head snaps up; hadn't noticed him, then.

She is utterly unmasked, her face unpainted aside from the pink flush of emotion, the rosy tip of her nose, the bloodshot red of eyes only recently dried of tears. Her hair is down and untied, draped over one shoulder in loose waves. He hasn't seen her like this since the illness, hasn't seen her without her usual war paint – dark stain for her lips and smoky kohl around her eyes. Without the pallor of fever and desperation, he finds her naked beauty rather alluring. The monarch that broods over the council chambers and castle hallways smacks of intimidation and power, but this Regina is a bit more… human. And perhaps, he hopes, a bit more open to kindness.

He clears his throat and lifts the bottle in offering. "Care for a drink, milady?"

She "Oh"s, and then straightens her spine. She's about to tell him to head back the way he came, he thinks – but more inventively and with more threats involved.

But she doesn't, not this time. Doesn't even bother to correct the erroneous title he'd bestowed upon her; her usual It's Your Majesty stays trapped behind silent lips. Instead, she slips on a mask of her own making, a subtle shift into derision and boredom (it's ill-fitting, transparent), and mutters, "I think I'll need more than one."

Robin takes that as invitation enough and makes his way to her, settling beside her in the hay and leaning back with a sigh. He holds the bottle out to her in offering. Regina takes it one-handed, and drinks deep. The kitten in her lap gnaws at the thumb of her other hand, sharp teeth and sharp claws pricking against her skin, but she doesn't seem to notice.

He's drawn to the line of her throat as she gulps and gulps. Feels twin threads of sympathy and desire tug at his middle – she's downed almost a quarter of the bottle before she lets it fall with a gasp, no doubt trying to drown out whatever tortured feelings have urged her to seek solace with the animals. But even knowing her pain, he can't help but wonder what that graceful column of neck might taste like, how wine would taste from her lips.

But now isn't the time to discover such things, he thinks. Not on All Hallows. Not here in the dim lantern light of a stable.

"You're missing the party."

Her voice is brittle and flat, her dark eyes sullen as they meet his own. She hands the wine back his way and Robin takes a sip for himself before shrugging a shoulder and getting more comfortable against his pile of hay. A piece pokes sharply into his back, but he pays it no mind, just shifts until the discomfort abates.

"I may be old-fashioned," he tells her, "but I was raised to believe that All Hallows was a time for remembrance more than a time for half-drowning yourself in a barrel of water and pears."

She snorts indecorously, a gesture so unbefitting a queen that he can't help but grin. Is she drunk, he wonders, or just comfortable in his presence? After nearly a year together in the castle, and a dozen other nights just like this one (when solitude and melancholy find them, when the stars arrange themselves just right in the heavens, when they're drawn together in the late hours like tide to shore), he hopes it's the latter.

"They're supposed to be apples," she informs, and he tilts his head curiously. "The pears. They should be apples."

She draws her fingertip down a soft, furry belly, and Robin watches tiny claws stretch and hook and grasp again. Regina doesn't so much as flinch.

"But nobody trusts the apples here," she sighs, and then, "I suppose I can't blame them, considering most of the nearby tenants are Snow's people, and, well…"

She gives him a knowing look, one that says We all know what happened there.

Robin nods in response, unbothered by the reference to her past misdeeds. No use in being scandalized by that which the victim seems to have forgiven.

"It wasn't even my apple, you know," she murmurs, ducking her head down closer to the furry critter in her lap, her hair a dark curtain that throws her face into stark profile. Heaven above, she really is beautiful… "The cursed one."

The kitten has gone suddenly alert at the tantalizing fall of her hair, its tiny paws rising to bat at the dangling strands.

"I didn't know," he replies, almost absently, his attention focused on the slope of her nose, the softness of her bare lips. He ought not to dwell on her, he reminds himself. This is a night for indulging the dead, not the living. So he forces his attention back to her eyes (what he can see of them anyway) and inquires, "Whose was it, then?"

She spares him a glance, a look up and through her lashes that might seem coy from anyone else, but she accompanies it with a wicked flash of teeth, a grin of mischief as she tells him, "Maleficent. By way of a certain blind witch."

And then that gleeful malice fades, it, too, a mask she seems unable to fit properly to her countenance. The kitten draws her attention again, scrabbling at the ends of her locks and then wriggling, flipping over in her lap, the very picture of playful abandon.

Her voice is an absent murmur when she adds, "All my apples are safe. But then you'd know that."

Robin has the decency to duck his head in guilt. He and Roland have sampled apples in her orchard more than once, his boy drawn by the promise of sweetness just out of his reach, Robin by the allure of forbidden fruit waiting to be plucked. He'd never been one for following the rules, after all, nor keeping his hands off the property of others. And he's seen her munching on them time and again, her own willingness to consume such a weapon assuring him of their poison-free status.

"Roland has a fondness for apples," he excuses, knowing her soft spot for the boy will earn him pardon by proxy. Sure enough, Regina's lip curls in the shadow of a smirk, a quick thing, over and then done, leaving behind an air of melancholy, of longing.

"Henry loved them, too," she whispers, "when he was young. Before he learned the truth." Her head lifts slightly, or maybe only tilts, but it draws her hair out of the kitten's grasp, and he flops about for a moment before his eyes light on the ruffle of Robin's shirtcuff. The kitten goes still and intent, and Robin braces himself for the inevitable capture of his own hand to claw and fang. "After, he wouldn't touch them."

The wee thing's pounce is impressive, if a bit foolhardy, a clumsy leap that has the little devil plunking nearly head-first into the bottle propped against Robin's thigh instead of landing properly on his arm. But he's young, then, he's time to learn.

Robin scoops the tiny body up one-handed; Regina liberates the wine. A swapping of parcels, it seems – her livestock for his spirits.

She sips instead of gulps this time, and Robin leaves one hand resting surreptitiously nearby his more tender parts as needle-sharp teeth assault his fingers, the fleshy spot beneath his thumb, kitten claws tangling up in his cuffs, scraping his wrist (the idea of an errant claw to the bollocks is a sobering one, to say the least). He tamps down the urge to hiss, a sudden masculine need to not be bested by a sullen Queen keeping his discomfort quiet.

She picks at an invisible bit of dirt on the neck of the wine bottle, cradles it in her lap like a babe, and Robin suddenly feels bad for the kitten's migration. She's a mother without a child, and he wonders if the wee one's attentions had been a terribly poor stopgap to soothe the gaping hole in her heart.

"Do you want him back?" he asks her, grimacing at a slice of claw on the tender skin of his inner wrist. What happened to the docile little furball she'd been stroking when he'd arrived?

"No." Her smile barely reaches the corners of her own lips – much less her eyes – so weighted with sadness, and there's a distance to her gaze as she says thinly, "He's happier there."

"He's carving me for supper," Robin attempts to jest, anything to tease a true smile from her. It doesn't work, but he thinks there's a twinkle of something in her eye for half a moment.

"He knows you're easy pickings." He recognizes the haunt of ridicule in her voice and thanks the stars for it – he'll take her barbs tonight, if they'll serve as a distraction to her grief. "Too tender, easily chewed up."

"Ah, I see. And you were, what, then? Too tough for his milk teeth?"

She nods, shifting the bottle to lean against the hay between them and drawing her knees up, crossing her arms atop them. "All gristle and bone," she tells him with surety. "Not a bit of tenderness left to gnaw on."

"I think we both know that's not true," he tells her, and she looks to him, tightens the grip of her fingers over her elbows, then becomes studiously absorbed in something outside their little nest. Staring and staring past the stall's open door. He'd said too much, it seems. Broken the jest of pretense by acknowledging its underpinnings.

He lets her have her silence for a moment, shifting his attention instead to the beastie in his lap, taunting it with wiggling digits and drawing them away at the kitten's every renewed attempt to dine on his flesh.

"Does this little carnivore have a name, then?" he asks, before the quiet between them stretches too long.

"Binx."

"Binx, hmm?" It's less a question, more a curious declaration. "That's an odd name."

She smiles, or tries to; it comes out more like a grimace as her shoulders lift and fall with a labored breath.

"There's a movie. Henry loved it, it's… for Halloween. Hocus Pocus," she explains, squinting a little across the stall as she recalls, "It's about these teenagers who accidentally awaken three witches who've been kept dormant for centuries, and they wreak havoc in their modern town. And there's a talking cat, Binx."

"A talking cat?"

There's much from the Other Land that Robin would quite like to see, movies among them – he wonders what kind of magic must be required to make it seem as though a cat can speak.

"He was a boy, the witches cursed him to be a cat," Regina explains.

"I see," Robin says before hissing in pain. The little critter he'd not been paying nearly enough attention to has taken momentary advantage of his lack of focus, capturing Robin's hand in gripping claws and kicking feet, slicing gouges in it as his teeth sink into the fleshy place below Robin's thumb. "Little devil," he curses, trying to draw his hand away, but only succeeding in riling the little butcher up even further.

Regina chuckles, and he looks up in time to find her watching with genuine mirth in her eyes. It seems his inability to keep a handle on such a wee charge as a young kitten is quite amusing to Her Majesty.

Still, the pain in his hand doesn't seem a large price to pay for the way she bites at her lower lip and then reaches over, plucking away the devious beastie and plopping it onto her knees. It's back where it belongs, as far as Robin is concerned. Best he be returned before he shreds Robin's hand to ribbons.

The kitten wobbles a bit in an effort to find purchase and balance atop Regina's kneecaps, and is not successful in the slightest—it's but a moment before wee Binx is tumbling forward and down her shins.

Robin watches as the little thing scrabbles for purchase in the queen's dress, one of her hands shooting out to scoop it up under its rear before she lowers her knees, crosses her legs again, and deposits the flustered little fluffball in the hollow of her lap.

Binx seems quite pleased to be there, rolling over onto his back and busying himself once again with her teasing fingers. Robin can see thin red scratches, tiny raised welts along her smooth skin, but Regina doesn't seem to be at all bothered by the minor injuries her new charge has bestowed upon her.

He wonders if he's gone soft living inside these castle walls, or if she's grown too numb. She'd plucked her own heart once, he's heard, in an effort to dull her agony. Perhaps the nip and slice of minuscule claws pale in comparison to the ache within?

It's a terribly sad thought, one on which he doesn't particularly wish to dwell, so he tries to distract them both with a question: "Does he survive the movie, then? Binx, the cat."

"He does," she tells him with another of those sad smiles. "They vanquish the witches, and his soul is freed at last. He's reunited with the sister he was unable to save from her fate at the witches' hands so long ago."

Robin thinks of Marian, of his mother and young sister, and remarks, "That sounds a lovely fate, if you ask me. I like to think that it's so, that in the end we get to rise to the heavens and sit amongst the stars with those we've lost."

Regina's gaze drops to the kitten again, the little devil now making a meal of the knuckle on her third finger.

"That would be nice," she murmurs, in a hushed and rueful tone that speaks plainly of how unlikely she must deem such a fate for herself. That distance has returned to her features, that mask of unease, and Robin wishes he could turn back the clock a few moments and swallow his words down before they ever had a chance to slip from him.

The dead and lost are fresh in everyone's minds tonight – everyone not engaged in bobbing for apple substitutes and pinning tails on donkeys, that is. He should have known better than to bring up such a thing on a night such as this one. Not with the carefully lit candles burning away deep in the castle, or with the half bottle of wine poured down her gullet here beside him.

"I think you'll see them again," he tells her quietly.

It would be better said that he hopes she will, because they both know that her sins will weigh heavily on the scale of judgement. She may well descend to the depths rather than rise to the heavens, but he'd rather not think of that. He finds the idea of her in eternal torment or solitude far more distressing than he has any right to.

"Perhaps," is all she says. Quiet. Blank. Unconvinced.

Robin's heart aches and aches, his fingers itching to reach for her own, his mind searching for something he might say to ease her sorrow. Nothing comes, though.

Binx has managed to get himself quite tangled up in her skirts during the last few moments of frolicking and thrashing about; Robin watches the Queen come to his aid, dutifully shifting the fabric until his little head pops up again, wee paws dragging him up, up, out of her lap and intrepidly over her legs toward the straw-strewn stable floor.

Regina watches him venture away, a bit of straw his new target. He chases it, pounces upon it, flops about like a mad little thing, and all the while those deep brown eyes watch him, all the while Robin's eyes watch her.

She really is remarkably lovely, the Queen…

And kind tonight, it seems, for she's holding out an open palm (her attention still on the kitten) and urging, "Give me your hand; I'll heal the scratches."

They've beaded up with blood, throbbing warmly, but they're not serious as far as wounds go. They'll heal on their own just fine.

But Robin's not one to overlook such a gesture, leastways not from her, so he surrenders his palm into her care.

Regina looks away from the kitten, her soft fingers sliding gently along Robin's. (They're cold, her hands; it's a brisk night. For the first time it occurs to him that she might catch a chill in that simple dress of hers, and he can't help the little swell of worry beneath his breastbone.) A moment later, there's a sort of crackling tickle across his skin, warm and pulsing before it fades and takes all evidence of his humiliation at the hands of a kitten with it.

Robin curls his fingers around hers (a risk, for certain, but he's never been afraid of such), giving them a squeeze and a sincere offer of thanks.

Regina nods and—much to his pleasant surprise—does not remove her hand from his, so Robin lets their pressed palms come to rest against her knee.

"Why the stables?" he asks after another few moments spent in silence.

It costs him her hand.

She draws it back, crosses her arms over her middle tightly and stares hard at the kitten dancing wildly with his piece of straw in front of her.

When she answers, it's to tell him, "I knew Snow wouldn't come looking for me here – or if she did, she wouldn't try to talk me into leaving." She swallows heavily, her lips pinching, voice dropping to just above a whisper. "My true love died in a stable, and it's All Hallows. She may be all about the spooky wonder of Halloween, but she still has respect for the dead and grieving."

Her quiet confession has a lance of guilt spearing through him. She'd been here in observance of one lost, not simply avoidance of all the revelry, and here he'd come and barged in like a buffoon. He should have asked that question of her from the start, should have left her to her solitude.

Robin draws a breath to apologize, but never gets the chance – the Queen is already speaking again, jutting her chin toward the kitten, and telling Robin, "And his mother died today. Trampled by one of the horses, along with his brothers."

His jaw drops slack, stunned, his attention drawn to the kitten playing happily on in front of them.

"How awful," Robin murmurs. "And odd, for a barn cat. They're usually so good at keeping out from underfoot."

"Yes, well," she sniffs, her spine straightening in a way that's terribly regal. "One of those idiot tenants Snow insists we let live on the grounds, and dine in our hall, and have free fucking reign of the place—" she's angry about what happened, spitting fire as she speaks of it "—got it in his mind today that he should take Cyclone for a little ride around the pastures. He didn't even make it out of the stables; Cyclone despises everyone who's tried to ride him – he's simply not tame. He was wild too long; I don't care whose prized stallion he was before the curse."

Regina huffs a little, and pushes at her hair – she's been arguing for the release of the jet black stallion for months, he knows. Or at least, for him to be left to gallop about and graze as he pleases without anyone trying to saddle him up.

And with good reason, it seems.

"He didn't make it out of the stable, but he did manage to make it close enough to where Penelope's kittens were playing, and she's a mother, so of course she rushed to protect them." Her jaw clenches, shifts, tears welling in her eyes and then blinked immediately away; she hasn't stopped watching the kitten play in front of them. "They got caught underfoot and were trampled – along with the idiot on Cyclone's back. Nobody told me about the cats until after they'd found me and had me unbreak that fool's femur – and of course, I was in no hurry, because it was his own damn fault. By the time they told me, Penelope was just so miserable…" Her gaze shifts, empties, goes somehow bottomless and impenetrable all at once as she confesses in a whisper, "I took away his mother."

Gods above. No wonder she's been sitting here, her rear end surely having gone numb from this hard ground (his certainly has), the chill seeping through her dress, her hands slowly carved by kitten claws. She'd been summoned as executioner on the Hallows of all days.

He imagines now that she considers the bites and scratches due penance for her crime – she would, Regina, even though as far as he can see, there's been no crime committed. Not by her, anyway.

"You took away her pain," Robin tells her gently, reaching out in an attempt to grasp her hand again only after she lifts it to wipe away a traitorous tear from her cheek.

She lets him, but her fingers stay limp in his, her voice brittle and thin as she says, "He should know his mother. She should be there for him. He shouldn't forget her."

Robin's quite certain she's not speaking only of the cat.

His fingers squeeze around hers and hold, his heart quite at a loss for how to comfort her properly. He wants to assure her that the kitten seems none the worse off at the moment, but he doesn't want her to think the same of her boy – that he's just fine somewhere with a different mother, the woman who raised him now inconsequential. It would be both a comfort and a heavy pour of salt into already raw wounds, he's certain.

So Robin simply rubs her fingers, her palm, her wrist. They're icy; he tries to draw warmth into them with friction and sheer will.

"Binx is safe," Robin says, finally. "He doesn't appear… traumatized."

Regina lets out a single, wet chuckle and leans back further against the hay bales, reaching for the bottle of wine he'd all but forgotten was still wedged between them.

"The stablemaster says this little boy has a habit of sneaking off and causing mischief. He wasn't sure what had happened to him until he emerged from halfway up the wall of baled hay, yowling and hungry but none the wiser." She sips at her wine again and says, "They gave him a saucer of warm milk, and he trotted back off to his bales. But that was hours ago, and he needed supper; everyone else is up at the banquet."

"So you came," Robin realizes, looking around the stall again and noticing this time the tiny crystal bowl nestled in the hay nearby. She'd come to see that Binx didn't go hungry. "You brought him his supper."

"Yes, and…" she glances up, above them, and he wonders how he didn't see it before, the little signs of her true reason here tonight hidden all around. There above them floats three little lights, flickering blue flames in what looks to be soap bubbles. Magic. "I thought someone should remember them, too. Penelope, and the other two kittens. They shouldn't be forgotten."

She'd lit them each a candle, of sorts. A little light to guide them home. If he's not careful, Robin thinks he could fall terribly in love with the Queen's tender heart.

"I think that's lovely," he says to her, waiting until her attention slides back to him to add, "Truly. Not many would think to honor them."

She swallows thickly, casts her gaze down, away. A little clearing of her throat, and she tells him, "They'll burn out once they use up all the air. I didn't want to risk… anything else happening in the meantime."

Fire, he thinks. More death at her hands. She can leave candles to burn in the cold stone of her vault, but not here, not amongst all this hay and wood.

"And I thought… When they go out, it'll be dark," she murmurs. "It's already after nightfall, he has to miss her soon. She won't be there when he sleeps, he might get frightened, or cold. He'll certainly be lonely. He hasn't realized yet that she's gone."

Her eyes are damp again, that mother's heart rooted firmly in her chest crying out for the wee orphaned thing. Crying out for something to fill it, always.

He's a poor substitute for the child she'd lost, but this little fellow needs care and Regina needs something to nurture. She makes do with Roland as best she can, Robin knows, but it's not nearly the same, and the giddy childish energy of a young boy seems so often to wound her as much as restore her.

"He needs a mother," Robin says to her, and her brow knits. "He's too young still to be a mouser; the mice are nearly half the size of him. You should bring him up to the castle, let him practice on spiders in your chamber."

Let him curl up in front of the hearth and become a lap cat, but somehow he thinks she'll balk at that.

Sure enough, she's shaking her head, and saying, "He's a barn cat. He wouldn't like it there."

As if on cue, Binx abandons the bit of straw he'd been gnawing at and hops his way back over to Regina, offering a little squawking mew before she's scooped him up in her hand again and helped him over the hump of her crossed legs. He finds that well between them and curls up there, wiggling a bit and then beginning to knead at the inside of her thigh and purr softly. It seems he's spent from all his hunting and devouring.

"I think you may be mistaken, Your Majesty," Robin taunts in jest, "It looks as if the comfort of your keeping is exactly where wee Binx would like to be."

She smiles a little at that, another weak, melancholy thing, before she's letting free a little sigh, and conceding, "I suppose I could move him to the castle. For a little while, at least. While the weather is cold, and he's out of family to keep him warm."

"I'm sure someone can find him a warm quilt, or a cozy fur to curl up in."

She has both, he knows. Plus that warm hearth fire, and, he suspects, a welcoming divot alongside the heat of her own body should the kitten require it.

Robin leans over a bit, dares to reach out and scratch the beastie's furry belly (heavy amber eyes turn his way, but the claws and teeth stay safely put away for the time being).

"What do you think, little one?" he asks. "Would you like to leave this poor stable behind and enjoy a life of leisure alongside Her Majesty?"

Binx tucks his head down against his paws, sleepy eyes sinking shut, and so Robin looks up at the Queen with a grin.

"I think that's a yes," Robin declares.

Regina simply chuckles hollowly and shakes her head at him. But one hand has sunk itself into the kitten's soft fur, cupping his little body protectively. Robin thinks they'll do just fine together, the orphaned kitten and the lonely Queen.

Silence befalls them after that, words apparently spent and dried up as all those cottony cobwebs in the hall.

When she speaks again, it's to ask of him, "What brought you to the stables?"

"Oh," he answers with a little smile, nicking the wine from her and taking a quick sip, licking the taste of it from his lips before he shrugs and says, "I came looking for you."

Her face softens ever so at that, a quiet, "Oh," falling from her lips. "Why?"

"It seemed a shame for someone so obviously hurting to pass the Hallows alone," he says, adding, "I hope I didn't overstep my place," for good measure.

"You did," she tells him archly, but there's a tension in her lips that quickly slips into a smile for the briefest of seconds before flickering out. "But I don't mind, tonight. Just don't make a habit of it, thief."

He already has, and they both know it.

Still, Regina relaxes back into the hay, reaching for the wine with one hand as she drops her gaze to the kitten snoozing in her lap. She sips, and then offers Robin the bottle to do the same in turn.

And there they stay, side by side, passing the wine back and forth until it runs out. Keeping vigil over those slowly dying flames above them until those die out, too.

In her lap, Binx purrs and sleeps soundly.

It's a somber affair, but he'd not trade the company, nor would he prefer the revelry of the castle's masked banquet to the croak of frogs and rustle of horses around them. It feels right, this quiet observance of All Hallows, this sitting with ghosts, both fresh and far away.

Robin's not fool enough to think a bit of company and a new pet are enough to exorcise the haunting that's taken root down deep inside the Queen. But he hopes that for tonight, at least, they've managed to let in a bit of the light.

[undercovermcdfan]

1/Travyln

First kiss

title: in the space between

AU: dads au

summary: he has to make it count. Travlyn.

a/n: I finally wrote a piece about thesetwo in this AU—which, technically doubles as a ‘childhood friends to lovers’ aufor travlyn lmao. I had fun writing this. If you want to know the timeframe(it’s after)/more about Travis’s confession, clickhere! I co-made this AU with @crybabytime, so please check out and rb heramazing art in her Dads AU tag!

warning(s): travis anxiety takes the wheel; helphim, fluff, smooch

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There’s notreally a ‘how to’ book when it came to dating.

Even less soto dating your best friend-slash-next-door-neighbor-who-been-in-your-life-since-forever.

For starters,the line of being best friend and being boyfriend was much moreblurred than he realized; frankly, there wasn’t even a line! The before andafter—though yes the confession being lifted off his shoulders was a weight that hewas happy to get rid of—was almost indistinguishable.

The holdinghands to the bus wasn’t too new; up until middle school, the two of them werealways seen hand-in-hand. And their goodbye pecks on cheeks came naturally,there wasn’t much of an awkward shuffle about it; but he’d admit, thefluttering feeling of happiness when she did take his hand or press a quickkiss to his cheek before running off to catch her bus was an added bonus now.

But theirparents or families didn’t bat an eye, there was a sense of finallycoming from their friends—or utter casual ‘ew’, counting Ivy in the reactions.

“Well, do youwant to feel something different?” Vylad asked him, looking up from his laptopwith a brow raised.

Travis sighed,a tad bit dramatically as he buried his face in his hands, then whined, “That’sthe thing! I’m not sure if I’m suppose to feel differently. I alwaysthought she was pretty. Cool, y’know. I always loved her as a best friend…” hishands dragged down his face, voice more muffled as he lowered his eyes, “a-andI’m pretty sure I love her as the other love too.”

“I don’t seethe problem then…” Vylad returned to his screen, musing, “It’s quite lucky foryou to find that sort of love so young.”

“You’re notbeing really helpful,” Travis huffed.

Vyladshrugged. “You’re the only one who knows how you feel, Travis,” he glanced upagain, the corners of his lips curling into a small smile, “But take it easy.Love is messy and confusing—it wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t. You don’t need tofigure out right away.”

And hisfather, Vylad, did offer sound advice. Because what he felt wasn’t weirdnessabout their relationship but the fact it felt almost too simple.

But it wasn’t quiteeasy—he wasn’t the type of person to make anything easy for himself,considering his run around before confessing to her.

He never knewwhen it was a date and when it was just them hanging out; between their extracurricularactivities, jobs and responsibilities, when they find time, it was late nightwith a greasy pizza and streaming some show to binge into unhealthy hours.

His otherdad listened to his dilemma… but like Vylad, he seemed amused by theself-inflicted predicament.

Laurancehummed, switching off the running water as he looked over his shoulder inTravis’s direction. “Has she said that you are her boyfriend?” Travis nodded. “Andyou call her your girlfriend?” Again, he nodded. “Then I don’t see what’seating you up.”

Travis slumpedin his chair, letting out a loud groan. “That’s the problem—I don’t see iteither! I feel… no different. Well, a little happier but I’m not sure if it’sbecause I got my best friend back or because she’s my girlfriend or…”

His fatherturned to him, drying his hand on his shirt as he had a considering expression.“Have you talked to her about it?”

Travis paused.“…no. I kind of forget to?”

Laurancenodded. “And have you ever told her, when out together, that you want this tobe a date? An actual date.”

Travis shrunka little, his voice getting softer. “…no.”

Laurance noddedagain, before he paused. Strangely, his expression flickered, averting his eyesfor a moment. “Um, this would be a little awkward to ask but… have you.. um,you know?” He makes a gesture with his hands. Travis squinted at him. Hisfather laughed awkwardly, “Well, kissed. It’s none of my business, I know butmaybe your frustration is… lack of—“

“Dad you can stop,”Travis interrupted, his hands on his face again.

“Thank you,”his father breathed, before turning away, “But I guess your problem still isyou… don’t communicate. Tried that.”

“I.. um… Iwill.”

And he did.

Well, actuallyhe did more just talk. His legs wouldn’t stop their fidgeting, arms crossed ashe leaned against the wall of Katelyn’s gated school. If he’s going on thewhole relationship deal blind, grand gestures worked for him so far. Was theflower too much? He snuck some from his school’s gardening club and really itwas a simple rose—basic but reliable romantic flower.

Safe to say,it surprised Katelyn.

She curiouslylooked at him, brows furrowed as Ivy gave him a cautious look and Teony nudgedher when she muttered “Great. Why is he here?”

Travis’s smilefaltered a moment, taking Katelyn’s hand and placing the flower in her hand. “Ilike to ask you out. L-Like on a date.”

When she gavehim a bemused expression, he illustrated it more. “We… haven’t had a properdate yet. And we need to fix that. I have forty bucks in my pocket, my bike andthere’s a nice diner about a few blocks away,” he held out his hand, “So, wouldyou do me the honor?”

She laughed, affectionatelyso and asked, “Why are you like this?” but… she still took his hand.

Like how theydid middle school, Katelyn carefully took spot on the seat, placing a hand hisshoulder while the other waved to her friends and wishing them a nice weekend.

True, he sort’veunderestimated they weren’t preteens anymore but between her worrying glancesand his ego, he didn’t let up. Arriving at the diner out of breath butprideful, he decided her soft smile was worth all this trouble.

***  

Safe to say,though, riding back home was out of the question. It felt a little lame but asthey found a park to wait in while Katelyn dialed for her father to come pickthem up, he was thankful that she spoke up when she did.

The park wasempty, but considering it was already past sunset, that was understandable.They sat side by side on the swings, idle chatter as they looked up at thestars.

“Thank you,”Katelyn said after a moment of silence. Travis turned his head towards her,finding her looking right back, eyes soft and smile genuine. In the lowlight,he couldn’t tell if she was blushing or not, but by tone of voice, he couldtell she was a little flustered. She stuck her hand out for him to take,squeezing his hand when he did. “This was… nice. I know I said you shouldn’tmake a habit of surprising me but…”

“Everybodylikes to be wooed now and again, Katie. You’re still human.”

She laughed,letting go of his hand and instead starts to swing, “Well, I’m a lot of things.I guess it’s nice to be reminded of that too.”

“I’d be happyto remind you of that any time, babe,” he turning his eyes to the stars,“I’m happy we finally went on a date.”

“I know,” shesaid, “I still prefer comfy time with Netflix but this was nice. Next time, I’llpay though.”

Travis rolledhis eyes, “You won’t let me have this?”

“Nah. Beside,remember?” she came to stop, now smirking, “I make more money than you. Plus Iquite a bit saved up. Named the place and I’ll take you there.”

“Aw shucks,”he pursed his lips, cupping his chin in a thoughtful, “Actually, it would benice if we switch out every now and again. It doesn’t have to be often, though.Could be a monthly thing.”

“What aboutbi-monthly?”

“That worksfor me.”

Katelyngrinned, “Does this mean I get to show up at your school? I seen your plays, Ican do a mean dramatic monologue about how I wish for your hand to take minesand blah blah blah.”

They both thenlaughed, hearty and Katelyn’s snorts making him laugh even harder.

Really, thiswas perfect. Laying his heart bare over some of burgers, fries and shakes abouthis insecurities—and finding Katelyn wondering the same thing left him feelinglighter. Though Laurance’s sound advice and Vylad’s amused vagueness pushed himalong the right direction… it really did fall on them to figure it out.

But… there wasone thing left to do.

Katelynnoticed his shift, but she didn’t call it out, nor asked why he got up, pullingher out of her seat as well. Travis felt the familiar nervousness of when hefirst confessed to her, that night a couple of weeks ago. “You know, we forgotto do one last thing,” Travis murmured, touching her cheek and brushing her hairaside. Understanding lit her eyes, and she placed a hand on his chest, slidingup to his shoulder, as she smiled.

“And that is…?”

“Well,” hestarted to lean closer, and she slowly closed her eyes as he whispered, “A veryimportant thing. A first kiss.”

And with that,he confirmed one thing he always thought: yes, her lips were as soft asthey looked.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Ten Sides (Part 30)

Sorry if the formatting is weird this time, I'm on mobile because my laptop doesn't want to connect to the internet today.

I also don't know how to do the read more under the cut on mobile so I'll fix that when I can.

Zuko is still thinking about their conversation days later. He doesn’t think that he has ever seen her so uncertain about anything. It is strange to see her as anything but confident. Strange to have seen her looking at him with such apprehension. To hear so much confusion and conflict in her voice. So much turmoil.

He thinks that it has been festering within her for a long time, perhaps years--a knowingness that she needed to change. To free and find herself.

She seems to be in better spirits now.

Seems to speak and act more openly.

She is no longer subtle about her affections either. More often than not her hand is in Aang’s. More often than not she lets him play with her hair and brush his nose against hers. More often that not he finds them sitting side by side, eyes closed and palms up; he is certain that the meditation is doing her many favors. She is calmer, less tense.

Perhaps it helps her get a better sense of herself.

He wonders if he should take up meditation himself.

Azula opens her eyes before Aang does, according to him, she usually does. She lays back, hands behind her head and looks towards the sky, up at the leisurely strolling clouds. A spray of cherry blossom petals gusts across the garden.

Zuko can't help but wonder what she is thinking. She looks to be at peace but then, he can never tell what she is thinking, how she is feeling.

Finally Aang opens his eyes. "Done already?" He asks.

"I didn't have much to think about today, Avatar." She rolls onto her side to face him. He reaches out and brushes her bangs back and behind her ear. Zuko isn't sure that he'll ever be able to get used to seeing her part take in such tender moments.

He knows that he can't get used to Aang taking her hand and kissing her first on the cheek and then the nose. Can't get used to her accepting the gestures of adoration.

But it certainly makes things easier for him. She doesn't seem so angry and temperamental now that she has Aang's open affection.

He wonders if now would be a good time to approach her once again about making amends.

Decidedly it is best to just let her come to him. To not push his luck; she is easier to talk to when she approaches him.

"Seriously?" Mai rolls her eyes.

"What!?"

"You're just gonna watch those two?" She quirks a brow.

"I'm just not used it, okay?"

Mai shrugs. "I guess it is weird that the Avatar has questionable taste."

Maybe in time Azula won't be such a questionable choice. Maybe Aang just sees something in her, some side if her that everyone else hasn't.

Zuko thinks that he might have gotten a glimpse of this side. That he has just received another glimpse of it.

"She seems like she treats him well."

"He's the only person…"

Perhaps he is being a rough optimistic, "I think that she's working on branching out." But he isn't holding his breath on an apology.

.oOo.

Her head doesn't hurt as much anymore, it feels somehow spacey but plesntly so. It is less cluttered. She takes Aang's hands and strikes the back of his hands with her thumbs. It is beginning to feel more natural to do so. Less awkward, less like a parody of affection.

They don't talk, sometimes they don't need to.

Sometimes words only ruin a perfectly good moment.

He lays back and she rests her head upon his chest, letting him kindly strike her back. She closes her eyes. She might be able to meditate better if he would do this with her.

This feels natural too. She is certain that she couldn't force these feelings--this... love--if she tried to. She doesn't think that anyone could.

Now that she has it. Now that she has love. Now that she has felt it for herself, induced it on her own, she knows that there is a difference.

This love doesn't come with shame.

This love feels deeper than anything she has felt as Ai-Emi

It is authentic.

This in itself is terrifying in its own right as uncharted territory.

Aang brings his stroking to a hault. She frowns, "I did not tell you to stop, Avatar." He chuckles and resumes rubbing circles upon her back. She hums softly to herself.

However resentfully it is to do so, she has to admit that speaking with Zuzu has helped; to get affirmation from someone who knows her, perhaps, more than anyone.

To hear, from someone who has gone through it before, that changes on such a grand scale are normal for the goals she is trying to achieve.

To hear, from someone unfortunately close, that she is still the same at her core, that the things that matter are still there.

She realizes that it is less about change and more about substitution; swapping one unsatisfactory trait for a more savory one that is befitting of her personality.

It is about recognition, about finding those things she is ashamed of and having the pride and dignity to swap those things out for something new.

And so hatred turns to love--her strange version of it and anger becomes determination. Lies become blunt but respectable truths and manipulations...decidedly she will do away with those entirely. It is probably better if she does until she has fully chosen her side.

Until mind games no longer being her back to her darkest moments.

"I think that I am ready, Avatar."

"For what?"

"To stop being angry." And afraid. To fully accept what it means to make something if her introspection. "To be someone else."

And for some reason he laughs. She realizes why and corrects herself, "to be myself but...better?" Happier, more approach able, stabler.

He ruffles her hair.

"Stop that."

He withdraws his hand.

"Now I am going to have to get it restyled."

Aang rolls his eyes. "You don't have to be perfect, you know."

She does. She thinks that she is ready to accept that too. She has plenty of other imperfections, the physical flaws are the most mannagable ones, the petty ones. "I might not have everything in order, Avatar, but I'd like to at least look like I do." She believes that this is fair enough.

"Alright." He replies, sitting up. He kisses her forehead and her lips. Somehow it still leaves her tummy with a small flutter. She thinks that it is the reminder that she isn't alone anymore. The reminder that she isn't impossible to love.

.oOo.

Aang thinks that conversation is coming easier to her now. Discussions at dinner are nowhere near as intense and he thinks that Zuko, Mai, and TyLee are begining to get a feel for which of her off color remarks are nothing more than social stumblings.

She laughs with Zuko, jokes with the man. And Aang begins to realize that he has been approaching their conflict the song way. That he has been sporting Air Temple wisdoms in a Fire Nation place. Neither of them are ever going to apologize to each other. But, as far as he is concerned, there had already been one; it is in a silent and mutual agreement to move on.

And maybe it isn't a Fire Nation thing at all--even if Fire Nation pride had been on the line--but a sibling thing.

Aang sits on the edge of her bed and watches her strip out of her day clothes. "Hand me that nightrobe, Avatar."

He tosses it over and watches her slip into it. She comes to sit down next to him. She is strangely quiet now that he has grown accustomed to her speaking more.

"What's wrong, Azula?"

She holds her silence for another moment. "It feels...perplexing," she answers at last, "to feel...content. To have friends, I think that I have friends now. Do I have friends, Avatar?"

Aang grins, "I think that it's safe to say that you do."

And it is nice to be able to tell her so. Nice to see the relief in her eyes. There is a special kind of beauty in a returning peace of mind. A beauty that shows on her face.

.oOo.

She nods, "I didn't think that I would get this far." Things are still somewhat tense between she and Mai and TyLee is still weary but at least they are letting her in. At least she can work with this.

At least she doesn't feel like a lost cause, an irredeemable evil anymore

She isn't sure that she is adequately able to express why this makes her feel however she is feeling.

Truth be told, she thought that she would end up dead or braindead. Instead she feels a sense of openness. She thinks that she has unlocked several opportunities, new paths.

She has made something of the air chakra's lesson and with it the pieces begin to fall into place. A ripple effect; with the return of love and the achievement of having earned it for herself came a sense of pride and strength. She thinks that she understands exactly with it means to find pride in shame and greatness in weakness.

She feels bolder in that the decisions and oaths she has chosen for herself Are already more rewarding than the destiny that her father had picked for her

But it comes with a sense of discomfort, a knowingness that she once again has precious things that she is able to lose.

And she is afraid to lose them. Afraid lol lose her rediscovered sense of stability. This is what she explains to Aang.

"You've already lost everything once, I feel like that only happens once in a lifetime." He pauses, "and I've had several of them so I can confirm that."

She allows him to scoop her up and tuck her in. In the back of her mind she wonders what Sangyul would make of her falling for the Avatar on her own. At the forefront of her mind she decides that it is time.

"I had three goals, Avatar."

"Three goals?"

"Mind, soul, and heart." She pauses, brushing her fingers over the silken hem of her sleeve. "I wanted to take Sangyul down, mend old relationships, and...and learn to," she can't keep her face from flushing, "learn to live you."

Aang Snicket's at her scarlet cheeks and comes to join her under the blankets. "And."

"I have completed two of my goals. It is time to work on the third "