#also have had fancy afternoon tea just once in my life so um. going off of that >.>

[xx-justsomeguy-xx]

Couldn’t draw him anything for his birthday so here’s him and Dola celebrating his bday for the first time together >w< This has been playing in my head over and over and now it’s finally out of it aha

Notes: Just some familial fluff I guess, she’s like 15 in this and they’ve known each other for half a year? She made him some afternoon tea.

—

"You know, it's when you pull off things like this that I'm reminded that you were raised by aristocrats."

Wriothesley eyed the display Dolasach had set on his desk. A tiered server filled with well-made snacks befitting afternoon tea—on the bottom were cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches, some herbed prawn mayo ones, a couple of savory cheese tartlets. In the middle were scones served with clotted cream and three types of jam (sunsettia, valberry, and to his pleasant surprise, wolfhook too), and on top were a few cupcakes that he was sure Dolasach had decorated herself with how each one resembled an impasto painting of Fontaine's meadows and mountains. Each tier was garnished with edible flowers and decorative herbs, and made him think of his meetings with Neuvilette and Furina.

The tea itself was served in the usual kettle Wriothesley used, but today it smelled different from the usual black tea he was used to. As he poured it out for the both of them, he caught a scent he’d only ever smelled once or twice fresh; that of lamp grass, windwheel aster, and a hint of mint. He chuckled to himself. Was this for really a treat for just him? Or was Dolasach indulging herself too?

“Afternoon tea isn’t exclusive to nobility, Wriothesley.”

She sat across him and gently nudged a slightly displaced scone back into position.

“I know.” He held a hand up in playful surrender, the other halfway to raising his teacup to his lips. “But I can tell just from how this looks that your tastes are that of someone who grew up surrounded by this level of sophistication.”

Dolasach rolled her eyes at him and snorted. “Whatever. Happy birthday. If anything here isn’t to your liking, save it for tomorrow. I’d like to have the chance to be pleased with my handiwork today.”

“I mean… Is there really anything in here that you think I should be worried about?” he asked, raising a brow as he glanced between her and the spread she’d somehow managed to sneak in while he was doing his rounds. It all looked amazing, served, garnished, and plated meticulously.

“Not really, I know I can follow a recipe or two just fine,” Dola answered. She reached for one of the sandwiches and ate a couple of bites (oh thank goodness, it tastes alright) and watched Wriothesley’s face light up in pleasant surprise as he ate one of the prawn ones.

“But I’ve only ever cooked for myself, usually at a campfire… And not nearly this ‘sophisticated.’”

He took a sip of his tea, humming his satisfaction at how the tea complimented the food quite nicely. Admittedly, most of the wow-factor was only in the aesthetics and the overall taste was rather normal—not that that stopped him from feeling like he was at a king’s feast.

“There’s nothing to worry about, you did great on these,” he praised, not playful or teasing. Just genuinely proud and honestly, a bit touched, making no effort to hide the warm fondness in his eyes. “Even if they didn’t look like they came out of Debord, I’d still eat all of it.”

Dolasach made a noise between a snort and a laugh, but still found herself smiling in relief.

“Thanks, I suppose. Even if I can’t tell if I should be happy about that or not.”

Usually it’s just Sigewinne who cooks him anything for his birthday, and while he of course appreciates her gifts (this year she followed a recipe fit for humans—Poissonchant pie, and whatever was left from all three of them sharing it for lunch together was sitting in his cold food storage as they spoke), there was something about having Dolasach go through all this trouble for him that was a little extra heartwarming, and enough to keep his lips in a permanent smile as they drank their tea and ate.

Who’s he kidding? He knows it’s because this felt exactly like how a father would feel when he finds out his kid woke up at ass ‘o’ clock to make their parents a nice breakfast for their anniversary. Except instead of waking up at dawn to make some pancakes or omelettes, she’d probably spent most of the day preparing all this in her home before rushing down to the Fortress at an hour when she knew he’d be busy; and instead of breakfast, it’s afternoon tea; not an anniversary, it’s his birthday.

Well. Technically today is an anniversary of some kind, but she didn’t know that.

Did she ever do anything like this for her actual parents? He couldn’t help but ponder the thought as he watched her taste a bit of the valberry jam, her eyes lighting up with delight and nostalgia.

He hoped so. At least once.

They both had gone through all of the savories and half of the scones by the time either of them spoke again. It’s hard to talk when all the food was begging for your attention—and when the other person you’re eating with seemed a little nervous about you eating the food she made.

“This is nice.”

Dolasach looked up from scrutinizing the frosting on her cupcake. “Hm?”

“I said this is nice,” Wriothesley repeated, that little smile of his still softening his features. “Should do something like this for you on your birthday, but maybe in the Overworld instead. I know how to cook a thing or two, and it’d be good to maybe have a picnic out in the sun.”

“Sounds like something to look forward to,” Dolasach said. “You have a year to prepare, so by then I’m sure you’ll have figured out what I like.”

Wriothesley quirked a brow, his smile growing into a smirk. “A whole year?” He echoed. “Knew it. This setup’s partly for you too isn’t it?”

“No?” She quirked a brow right back at him. “We don’t have the same birthday.”

“We don’t?” His smugness dropped a little once he registered the fact. “When’s your birthday, then?”

Dolasach swallowed down a bite of scone before answering.

“Um…. Four days ago?”

Wriothesley nearly spat his tea out.

“What?!”

[wizkiddx]

hiii!!! omg please please pleasee do a part two of 3 hearts broken cus it fucking slaps miss girl

part 2 to 3 broken hearts!!! ive been so 🥺 at all the lovely comments+interest pt 1 had so thanku all !

summary: serious serious angst again will tom somehow get it back (unlike looking cos boy is a fool)

warnings: again lots of swearing (im British sorry not sorry) / wayyyy too much tea / slating Dom abit (obvs fictional but idk if I like the guy sorry his opinions are :/) / commitment issues

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

read part 1 here!!!!

That was three days ago now. Three days since you'd spoken to your boyfrien- well, Tom. It wasn't evident what the situation was.

The typical British weather brought with it the most ironic pathetic fallacy you could ever see. The clouds were dark and glooming, firing angry pellets of rain out as hard as they could. When you had pulled up on the roadside, it had just been a light drizzle but synchronised with your anxiety levels rising - so did the rain. When you finally opened up the car door, you threw your hoodie open with a sigh before running up the pathway to the front door.

It was the same burgundy red that you knew so well, but this time instead of just letting yourself in - you stood in the rain used the brass knocker thing twice. To be honest, you were hoping that no one was home - but in that house, it was pretty unlikely. After 30 seconds of getting drenched in the downpour, you were about to let yourself in with the spare key before the door swung open.

"Oh! Er Y/n?"

"Yeh um hi." You had to shout a bit over the sound of what must now be classified as a storm.

"Toms not-"

"I know. Can I come in?" As awkward and stunted as this conversation was, if you didn't get out of the rain asap you would literally end up drowned.

“Oh er yeh-yeh yeh come in.”

Harry stammered as he held the door open, gesturing for you to enter into the tiled hallway. Gratefully, you followed, throwing your sopping wet hood back down and wiping your feet on the floor.

"Sorry for just showing up, but I left some scripts here. My management are on my arse to read them and-"

"And you waited till Tom left for mum and dads?" The fluffy-haired boy has caught you red-handed; there was no defence, so you didn't even try.

Because yes, you knew on a Friday afternoon when Tom was home he would always, like clockwork, go to his parents just to kick back and watch gogglebox with both of them. It was only natural then that you chose Friday afternoon to come and pick up your stuff.

"I've been waiting in my car for half an hour till I saw him leave." Harry half laughed at that, still the two of you standing opposite each other in the hallway. "Um, do you… do you hate me Harry?"

Clearly, he hadn't quite been expecting your question going by the way his eyes almost bugged out his head.

"No, I-I, of course, I don't… look, I'm home alone so you fancy a cuppa?" Not being able to help the small chuckle, you nodded appreciatively, following Harry through the house.

"Your answer to everything is tea."

Harry had prepared the two mugs in silence as you sat at the table waiting patiently - if nervously too. You didn't miss how Harry had still used your favourite mug, having had to dig through the cupboard to find the weird square-shaped thing. Once done, he rounded the kitchen island and placed it in front of you, which you instantly cradled in two hands - for the hope of warming you up.

"You cold?" Obviously, it was pretty evident that sitting in your rain-soaked hoodie was not cosy at all. "Hang on a sec."

The boy sprung up again, returning moments later with a hoodie in hand, one he offered out to you with a little smile. The issue was that him and Tom shared clothes, so the hoodie he was kindly offering to you also had been worn by Tom before. Which made it hurt a little bit to wear. It was better than sitting soaked through though.

"How have you been then?"

"Not the best, to be honest, but uh… how about you?"

"Being with Tom while he's fighting with you? Oh, it's a barrel of laughs. You might've escaped it, but I haven't." He was trying to lighten the mood, and you appreciated it, offering him a half-smile that didn't really meet your eyes.

"Yeh sorry about that."

"Don't apologise; it doesn't sound like it's your fault Y/n."

That surprised you. Tom, especially when he was in moods like he was when you argued, wasn't one to admit when he was wrong. It was usually how the world was against him and how he was so hard done by. Accepting responsibility was something he hadn't said to you yet - but at least, small steps.

"He say that?"

"Pretty much… doesn't seem like he's angry at you, but-but he's still angry."

"At the world?" You rolled your eyes; this seemed to be the same old Tom through and through. Still immature. Still not with the right mindset.

"At himself." Harry countered, slightly entertained, when he saw the flash of surprise in your face as he sipped his drink. "And me… if I dare to so much as breathe this week."

This time you properly laughed, and Harry joined in too before the room fell back to silence - except the noise of the rain hitting the garden patio slats. You swirled the tea round in your mug, feeling the brunette's eyes on you. He'd always been your fake little brother too, since you'd met the Hollands way back 3 and a half years ago. Tom and yourself were barely adults, which meant the twins were still proper children. Harry had always been the one that understood you. Hollands, by nature, loved humans - loved to talk, to chat, to gossip. But sometimes, doing all that socialising got too much for you, as it did for Harry. He was the only one that seemed to understand social exhaustion. So when those moments had hit, you'd kept each other company in silence.

He got you, sometimes in ways your own boyfriend didn't.

"You know why he got so worked up, right?" You shook your head, looking up curiously. "Dad got under his skin on his birthday zoom thing."

Ah, now that did seem to coincide with the start of Tom's more petulant phase. To be fair, Tom had been asking to move in together for near enough a year now - but it was only in the past month it seemed to be the only thing you'd talk about and obviously only three days since the flight back. Dom's birthday barely a week ago, whilst you and Tom were both filming - except Tom had managed to get a day off where you hadn't. So you hadn't heard this conversation.

"What'd he say?"

"Was talking about how he and mum were settling down at Toms age, joked about how you rejected him, said maybe you were holding out for something better."

"Something better?" Harry sighed, leaning forward onto his elbows.

"He'd seen an article just off a trashy tabloid… it named you Hollywood's golden girl or something, said you could have the pick of any person on the planet…"

Of all the people in the world, why is Tom affected by shit journalism? He knows how much bullshit people write. He knows how it's all made up, exaggerated nonsense. And what he should know, completely and totally, is how much you love him. And if he didn't, was that your fault? Had you done something wrong, something to make him doubt you?

Harry seemed to notice the internal dialogue going on in your head, adding to the point. "It wasn't the article though, it was the fact dad said it."

Hmmm.

You and Dom got on; it wasn't like you hated the possible future father in law or whatever. Just…. you had very different outlooks. As much as Tom prided himself on how' grounded his family keeps him' -to you at least, they aren't entirely at sea level either. They'd never really had any particular struggles in life. They were the definition of middle class, and that's about it. They lived in a posh suburb of London, had all their family still around. It was the perfect family.

And whilst you were in no illusions about how privileged your life was now. It hadn't always been. You'd never had the 'nuclear' family. Instead, only your dad and a string of dodgy and fleeting stepmothers while struggling to make ends meet. So you were just always wary of Dom, of his opinions that so often his boys took for gospel. They always seemed pretty sheltered and close-minded.

And yet, Tom was a grown man.

"I get that, I just… Tom should know that we know more about our relationship than his dad. I mean,… have I done something wrong? Made him think I'm not in this for the long haul?"

"No nonono Y/n he's just… well he's an idiot, isn't he? I don't think he properly understands why you're cautious about moving and everything. He's just an idio- "

Harry was cut off for lightly insulting his brother by the sound of the front door opening, both of your heads swivelling towards the source. You then met Harry's eyes in a panic, to which he replied relatively simply.

"Just talk to each other. For my sake." You would've argued if it weren't for the fact you were so focused on Tom's shuffling around in the entrance hallway - back early from his parents.

"Baz? Where you at? I thought I saw Y/n's car and-"

"Kitchen!!!" Before Tom could say anything else, possibly landing himself in more trouble, Harry interrupted as his chair screeched while standing up. And then Tom was just there. Standing in the doorway, his arms dropping limply to his side as he noticed you. Everything about that moment seemed to freeze, when you locked eyes with him for the first time in three days. It didn't go unnoticed, the way his Adams apple bobbed, the way his eyes widen. The boy looked plain and simply terrified.

It was Harry who broke the silence, after giving you a stern look that said 'stay'. The younger Holland boy walked up to Tom and spoke.

"Try actually talking and actually listening about your problems with each other." And then he was gone, down the hallway and up the stairs.

For a few moments, Tom stayed absolutely stationary, now staring at where Harry had been when speaking to the both of you (but mainly Tom). Long enough to put your sense of unease at an all-time high, ready to make a break for it.

"If you don't want to talk, then I can leav-"

"NO!" Apparently snapping out of it, Tom exclaimed loud enough to make you flinch from your seat. "Sorry! I-I just… I wasn't expecting to… you know, to see you."

"Yeh I just uh- just came to pick up some scripts… Harry cornered me with a tea, though; otherwise, I'd be…."

"Baz thinks the whole world could be fixed with tea."

"that's what I said!" You instinctively responded, forgetting the fact you're supposed to be mad at him, and just for a second falling back into your normal flow.

Tom didn't even try to hide his grin in response, until you quickly corrected your face- then he did too. Turning around to put the kettle on for himself. Because right now, he needed to fix his whole world, and he needed all the help he could get. For a period, the only noise was the sound of the kettle boiling, then the teaspoon clinking against the mug as he stirred - until he padded over, taking the seat across from you.

"So."

"So."

"It's been a while," Tom stated the bloody obvious.

"You never called."

"Didn't think you'd want me to."

You thought that the early signs weren't all that auspicious. His ability to read a situation once again failing.

"I wanted you to say something."

"Say what?"

"What do you think Tom?" He replied to the sarcastic tone by sucking in a sharp breath, holding it for a second, before slowly exhaling. As if trying to compose himself, take time to think of a response - a mature move for him.

"Well, I think you want me to say sorry? For being so moody and not waiting for you and for upsetting those kids. And thanks too, for covering for me?"

You just hummed. Waiting for him to continue. Because yes, you did deserve all those things. But you also deserved more. An apology for, oh I don't know, saying he didn't think you loved him? It was a wait that never ended, he had nothing more to add.

"Going by your face, I take it I missed something?"

The bloody cheek of it.

"Theres nothing else? Nothing else at all? …" You gave him that chance, the opportunity but all he could respond with was a shake of his head. "You thought I was fine about you saying that I don't love you?" You hadn't intended on raising your voice, but really you hadn't realised you did till after the fact. To blinded by rage at his ignorance.

"You want to talk about this now?"

"When else Tom?" You sighed, realising he perhaps wasn't ready for this conversation. Maybe he needed more time to think things through, have sense talked into him by various wiser family members. Or maybe, he never would be. That was the worst-case scenario. But also… you're most likely prediction.

He shuffled in his seat, clearing his voice but not saying anything. Not a peep.

"I have spent three years of my life with you. I've had countless nights of too little sleep because that was the only time you could facetime. I've exposed my relationship to the world and people's opinions because you didn't want to hide. All I've done is love you. How could you even say that?" There might've been tears in your eyes, yet you were determined to keep them at bay. You needed to have this out, one way or another, to be clear and cohesive and logical. No time to cry.

"Y/n I know that, I…" He sighed, instinctively reaching for your hand, but you were quicker to pull it away. There was hurt in his eyes, but so there should be. "It just sometimes feels like that's it for you. That yeh you love me but you just want to standstill. That this is as much as it'll ever be."

Your emotions were suddenly uncontainable. Your voice croaked as you whispered, "Have I done something wrong?"

"No love, nonono if that's how you feel then that's okay. But it's something I'm not… shit this is hard." He took a pause to take a sip of his drink, your glazed eyes never leaving his. "I don't think I can stand still anymore. And yeh I was pissy and childish the other day because my dad got under my skin about the whole moving in thing… But these past few days, it just has got me thinking. Because I love you, so much."

This time when he reached out to grab your hand, you actually leaned into it yourself. Not because you were giving in, but because this hurt. This hurt so fucking much that you needed something to ground you, or else god knows. Because the way he was speaking, it sounded so finite.

"I love you too."

"I do know, which is…is why this is so hard." At the very least, Tom had conceded that.

The conversation ceased to silence yet again. The room felt so cold; even Tom/Harry's hoodie was doing nothing to keep you from the endless empty cold that seemed to be coming from within.

"When I re-registered my health card last month, and I made you my emergency contact on it. I-I made you my next of kin on everything actually. I didn't think about it twice. And-and this-"You pulled your phone out of your back pocket, immediately pulling up the app onto the open page. "This is my Pinterest board for our baby's nursery theme. I know-" You paused, to quickly wipe your cheeks clear of the tear tracks that may or may not have been there. "I know it's probably a long way away, but I just love the Scandinavian theme." You laughed at yourself, suddenly embarrassed at your blabbering and quickly pulled up a different app. "And this… this was from the other week when I was helping Y/bf/n start her vows." Hands trembling as you turned the phone around for Tom to see again. "She was finding it really tricky so she said, what would you say to Tom on your wedding, so-so I made this list." You only dared to look at him when you were sure he'd be reading through that note.

It was bizarre because he looked… well, he looked happy. Here you were feeling traumatised, showing things that you'd barely even deeped how committed they were - and he was pleased? Feeling the fire burn once again inside of your chest, you quickly swiped the phone away and back into your pocket. Only then did he look up, eyes widening - presumably at quite how psychotic you looked.

"So don't you dare say that I don't want a future with you."

You said it with such force, there was a pause. Tom letting those words sink deep into his brain. The way his expression flickered minutely gave you hope. You thought he got it. You thought he really understood now.

"But why don't you want to move in then?"

There it was again. He knew why. But he didn't get it. And, probably, he never would.

You were about to crash completely. So you ran. As fast as your legs could carry you, not even aware of your chair crashing to the floor in your wake. You ran out of that house and away from him. Away from who you had thought was the love of your life.

?give tom a final chance w one last part?

feedback is always v v appreciated <3

tom taglist : @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala @tom-softie @sunwardsss @spiitfiiires @radcloudenthusiast @ladykxxx08

people i think might be interestd in this (sorry if not just let me know and i'll remove the tag!!!): @obiwanownsmyass @wildxwidow @parkersvogue @coffeewithoutcaffeine @tomhollandlol @thefallenbibliophilequote @clumsymandu @hiraethenthusiast @mannien @abrielleholland @evermorehabit @niallberry @greatpizzascissorstaco @runawayolives @annathesillyfriend @letsgotothemoonlight @lovelybarnes

[moonlit-han]

my favorite flower ↠ han jisung

(gif by @han-jisung)

genre: fluff, florist!Jisung x barista!reader word count: 2k warnings: none request: Sort of? Enjoy, Sara! a/n: credit to @junhuisflower​ for the idea for this fic~

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio✧

*✧･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Jisung was having a dreadful day.

The florist where he worked was overrun with people buying their significant others flowers for Valentine’s Day, even though it was still a week away, and they all insisted on their bouquets being impeccably arranged and be-ribboned. Those who bought the little trinkets the store offered, in addition to the large array of flowers, wanted them wrapped nicely—with a gift receipt included, please, if it’s not too much trouble. It was also rainy and cold, which meant customers kept tracking water and mud into the shop, making the floor ever so slightly slippery. He’d already dealt with one child slipping and the subsequent meltdown, and really didn’t want to go through that again. And, to cap it all off, he had a headache, which had started around 2 pm and would not go away.

Since a holiday was fast approaching, Jisung was working later than usual and had a break before the evening rush. He decided that what he needed was coffee and lots of it, preferably with several shots of espresso to keep him awake and to quell the pounding in his head. So, he threw on his coat and scarf, kicking himself for not remembering a hat nor an umbrella, and headed across the street.

As soon as Jisung entered the small, cozy cafe, he relaxed. The sharp smell of coffee and the sweetness of baked goods mingled tantalizingly before his nose, and a lazy smile spread across his face without him even realizing it. He joined the mercifully short line to the counter, thinking that he could really go for something simple, as long as there was plenty of caffeine in it. Preoccupied with his phone, Jisung didn’t notice he was at the beginning of the line.

“Hi, what can I get for you this evening?” a light voice asked. After a pause it said again, “Hello?”

Jisung’s head shot up, looking a bit sheepish, and he blinked. A beautiful young woman stood in front of him, head cocked to the side and waiting to take his drink order. Suddenly, his day had gotten a lot better.

“I- Sorry. Um, could I have a medium latte with an extra shot of espresso, please?” Jisung said, trying his best to seem casual when, in reality, he was practically shaking.

“Sure, that’ll be ready in a few minutes at the counter to the right,” you said as Jisung paid and went to stand to the side.

He knew it would be rude to stare, but he couldn’t help it. Jisung was instantly drawn to you without prompting nor reason. You were the prettiest person he’d ever seen, and he was friends with Hyunjin, whose delicate features usually drew the attention of every person in a room. Maybe it was your smile and the way your eyes sparkled. Maybe it was the way the loose strands of hair fell around your face. Or maybe it was just the mellifluousness of your voice. He could barely think. Oh no, he really needed to keep it together since he was in public.

Jisung went to the counter to retrieve his coffee once it was ready, and tried not to yelp as his hand brushed yours. He scurried out of the cafe as quickly as possible, not wanting to embarrass himself anymore than he already had.

The next morning, Jisung returned to the little cafe across from the florist. He went back the day after that, and the next, and even the next day after that. Without fail, he was there at 8:30 am to get his latte and sometimes a bun. He never stayed long, since he had the shop to open, but it was nice to have this new routine. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t gone there before. By the fifth morning of him going to the cafe, you knew his order and even had the coffee almost ready.

“Morning!” you said brightly, “Same as usual?”

“Yeah, and a bun, too, please. Any flavor is fine!”

“Sure thing! Also, what’s your name? You come in here all the time and I can’t believe I’m just now asking,” you wondered.

“Oh!” Jisung was surprised you’d even ask. He was just a customer, no one special, right? “My name’s Jisung. Han Jisung. You’re Y/N, right? I noticed your name tag and all.” He stopped before he could say more, not wanting to admit that he’d noted your name the first day he saw you and committed it to memory.

“Yep, I’m Y/N,” you said, “And you have a lovely name. It sounds like the wind blowing through willow leaves. I like it.”

Jisung blushed, not used to compliments, especially from a pretty girl on whom he had such a crush. “Th-thank you. I like your name, too.”

You finished swirling steamed and frothed milk, espresso, and caramel together as Jisung squirmed on the other side of the counter.

“So, you work at the florist, right?” you said. “Has it been as busy over there as in here? I feel like I’ve seen at least twenty couples of high schoolers going on awkward coffee dates just in the past week.”

“Oh my god, it’s been crazy. Everyone wants special flowers and we only have so many because, wow, it’s the middle of winter. People just don’t seem to get that flowers have to grow and that takes time. The rain hasn’t been helping moods, either. Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear the rants of a frustrated florist.” Yet again, Jisung’s mouth had tried to run away of its own accord. “Those high schoolers must be annoying, though—I can’t imagine having to deal with them. At least my customers are mainly adults.”

You laughed, and Jisung thought he’d never heard anything so free and beautiful. “It sounds like a busy week for you, too! Yeah, they’ve been a bit . . . loud? Constantly here?” You handed Jisung his coffee and one of the special currant buns the owner of the cafe had made just that morning. “Here you go, Jisung!”

“Thanks, Y/N. Good luck with the high schoolers.” Jisung took a sip of the coffee. “Oooh, caramel! Thanks!” he said, appreciatively, meeting your eyes and praying that you wouldn’t notice him blushing while he paid.

“Well, at least they have dates for Valentine’s Day,” you said, looking directly at Jisung. “Good luck with the last minute flower orders. See you tomorrow, then!”

Jisung smiled in response and made his way to the door. Had you been trying to hint at something? It was the day before Valentine’s Day, after all.

Throughout the day, Jisung couldn’t stop thinking about you. How, despite only seeing you six times in his entire life, did he manage to have such a big crush on you? How?! As he helped customer after customer who wanted roses, orchids, hydrangeas, and every other fancy flower they could find, Jisung wondered which flowers would suit you best. Certainly something happy and carefree, yet strong and beautiful. You weren’t one for opulence—he could guess that much. Maybe sunflowers or tulips would do.

During his lunch break, Jisung went into the refrigerated room that held the flowers waiting to be brought out into the shop proper. He wanted to make you a bouquet, and it needed to be perfect. Jisung walked up and down the row of flowers in buckets, trying to find complementary blooms for one large sunflower and four deep crimson tulips. Every so often, he’d stop and bring a flower to his nose or hold it next to the sunflower and tulips. He finally choose a few fern fronds, and sprigs of baby’s-breath and feverfew. The white and green would set off the deep yellow and red nicely. The bouquet almost seemed to smile at him, the colors were so warm and bright. Just like you.

Jisung set the flowers down on his station, arranged them to his satisfaction, and carefully wrapped protective paper around the bouquet. He even tied a deep red ribbon around the paper to better highlight the tulips. Pleased with his work, he continued his break and the rest of the afternoon with a light heart. When it came time for him to leave that evening, Jisung gathered his things and the bouquet, and steeled himself. If he didn’t do this now, he guessed he’d never be able to bring himself to do it again.

Jisung stepped into the cafe, hiding the bouquet behind his back. You looked up from the book you were reading, since, somehow, there was a lull in the steady stream of customers you’d had all afternoon. The smile on your face when you noticed it was him gave Jisung the extra courage to walk up to the counter.

“Jisung!” you exclaimed. “You’re back! What’s up?”

“Um, well, I wanted to give you these,” Jisung said, only a little nervously. He handed you the bouquet, hoping you’d like it. “You’re really pretty, Y/N. And, you said you didn’t have a date for Valentine’s Day, so I thought I’d see if you wanted to go on a date with me! I understand if you don’t, since we’ve only seen each other a handful of times, but it’s always nice to have company, right?” Jisung finished, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

“Thank you!” you said earnestly. “H-how did you know these are my favorite flowers?”

“I guessed?” Jisung’s blush became more pronounced and he glanced away before meeting your eyes again. “You’re my favorite flower, and you’re always so cheerful—but also steady and strong—so I thought sunflowers and tulips would be perfect. I hope that wasn’t too forward . . ..”

“Jisung, this is perfect,” you said, beaming at the young man in front of you. “I’d love to go on a date with you! You’re always so sweet and, uh, you’re pretty cute, too.”

The look on Jisung’s face should have been distilled for future use as a remedy against sadness, he was so happy. “Really? You’ll go out with me?” he asked, still not quite believing it.

“Of course—how could I resist being courted with flowers? Oh! We should go ice skating!”

The next evening, Valentine’s Day, Jisung met you at the outdoor ice rink. You’d brought hot tea—you had enough of coffee at work—to fend off the chill. He was glad to have a chance to just stand with you in comfortable silence as you watched the other skaters. You were easy to be with, and didn’t feel the need to talk all the time, which immediately endeared you to Jisung even more. When the two of you did speak, it was all the more meaningful because you shared what you really cared about: books, music production, the cutest small animals you could think of, etc.

Jisung hadn’t been skating in years, so he laid himself at your mercy to help him stay upright on the ice. It also gave him the excuse to hold your hand for long stretches, but you didn’t seem to mind either. It wasn’t long until he got his feet back under him and was skating smoothly.

As the two of you skated around the ice rink, the snow started to fall gently as other couples laughed and spun around you. You looked up at Jisung. He had his head tilted up to the sky, much like a sunflower, and was catching snowflakes on his cheeks and eyelashes. He had a blissful smile on his face and paid no mind to the strands of blond hair falling into his eyes.

“Jisung?” you said.

“Hmmm?”

“If I’m your favorite flower,” you mused, “then you’re my sunshine, right?”

Jisung’s eyes flew open and he skidded his skates so the two of you stopped. “Yes, of course,” he murmured as he wrapped you in a tight hug, and, surprised as you were, you hugged him just as tightly. When Jisung drew back slightly and looked at you, a gentle smile touching his eyes, you leaned up and kissed him. It was just a light touch on the lips, but it felt as warm and sparkling as the first truly warm day in spring when the sun breaks through clouds to dispel any lingering tendrils of frost or cold wind. Everything just seemed so right with Jisung—you couldn’t explain it but the feeling was lovely and you wanted it to stay. After all, a sunflower needed the sun to grow and the sun needed things on which to shine.

[welshdragonrawr]

For the Valentine's Day asks: 1-5, 7-11, 13-17, 19, 20, 22-27, 29-33, 35, 39, 41-43, 44 (fuck, marry, kill: Amanda, Audrey, Ally), 47-49 pleeeeeeease?? I know I said I wouldn't request a million but I'm a curious bean hehe ;)

Seeing as it is actually Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d finally answer these. Under the cut, because it’s a loooooong post and I didn’t want to overtake peeps’ dash. Well here goes;

(Also, the post format messed up, but I couldn’t be bothered to fix them because this already took ages so they’re just in the order asked and I bolded answers so they stand out)

do you have a crush on anyone? - I do indeed, and I am fairly certain they are well aware of it ;)

what’s your favorite candy? - It changes all the time because I have such a sweet tooth but right now chocolate-wise it’s probably cadbury or kinder chocolate, and actual candy probably haribo (tangfastics to be precise)

favorite love song? - There are too many to choose from or list here but right now it’s probably still ‘Wasteland Baby’ by Hozier, You Are In Love by Taylor Swift, or for entirely cheesy reasons a certain someone might know Hero by Enrique Iglesias 

what was your first kiss like? - Terrible because I didn’t know what I was doing and was with entirely the wrong person at the wrong time and I didn’t know it then

what was your last kiss like? - If it’s the one I’m allowed to think of in this context, pretty damn good ;)

do you prefer poems or love letters? - Both - I can’t decide, because I love anything remotely like that, when someone goes to the length of composing something like either of those because they were thinking of me? Incredible! 

favorite fanfic trope? - Slow-Burn if that counts, with a side order of fake dating or mutual pining, potentially both at once heheh 

have you ever been in love? Mayyyybeeee, maybe I aaaaam, I’ll just have to let you ponder that one ;)

favorite milkshake flavor? - Chocolate brownie, even if I can’t have too much because then it gets sickly but in small quantities? Yesssss! Or cookies&cream in any variation

dinner dates or brunch dates? - This one was tough because I don’t really have any experience with either, but I think Brunch dates, and not just because I would have much much less anxiety about awkward food ordering and stuff, plus I feel like Brunch dates have much less formal expectation about them, and you have the rest of the day after to do more things if you want to!

favorite perfume/cologne?  - Probably the Ghost one that has a bottle shaped like the moon, or Good Girl by Caroline Herrera (the bottle looks like a high heel?)

favorite candle scent? - There’s a seasonal Yankee Candle one they do around Christmas time that I cannot remember the name of for the life of me right now, but it’s just the right kind of sweetness in the air when you have it burning for a lil while? If I ever remember what it is I’ll come back and edit this post haha

what’s your ideal first date? - I’m not really sure, because all types of dates make me nervous especially first dates haha. I’d like to leave it up to the other person to decide what we do, as long as I could treat them in some way with whatever it is/wherever we go? 

favorite love story? - Are we talking classics or fandom or...? What currently springs off the top of my head though is Hades & Persephone - I’m convinced he didn’t ‘steal her’ to be a dick, he stole her away to somewhere cool and calm away from the pressures and terrors of life on the surface so she could catch her breath for a couple months, and can we blame her? And he makes her his Queen, like - if he was gonna be mean, he could have made her his slave, or his concubine or his pet or something, but instead he gave her his whole world to rule with him. Sounds like a better guy than that bastard ol’ Zeus, no? (Historians/Classics students please don’t fight me) 

what’s the most attractive thing a person could wear? - Happiness. Doesn’t matter to me whether you’re wearing a trash bag, or a Chanel dress or your faded ol’ pjs or not a single thread. So long as you’re happy and you’ve got that glow about you and that bright shine in your eyes? Yeah..

snow, rain, or sun? -  I love all three for different reasons (I’m indecisive, don’t judge me, or do) give me a snow day with my dog or my lover with hot chocolate and snowmen and flurries out the window, or an afternoon reading inside while it rains with blankets and a cup of tea, or a sunny afternoon walk with just the right amount of cool breeze to keep it balmy but bright? Yes please. But again, if I had to choose, probably rain... Because I live in England for one thing, but there’s something so comforting about the rain.

sweetest romantic memory? - My partner at the time took me to a second-hand bookshop and let me browse the stacked shelves as long as I liked, and I found a hardback copy of a book by a fave author but it was too expensive so just admired it and put it back, then when my birthday rolled around 2 weeks later, they turned up with that same book they had gone back for without telling me as a surprise gift

fictional crushes? - Cordelia Goode, Theo Crain, Mildred Ratched, I could keep listing but that means we’d be here forever and if you’ve been following me long enough you probably already know anyway...

what’s your dream wedding like? - This would need a whole post on its own to answer if I could actually be decisive and sit down with some thought over it. But alas... I don’t really know, I’d like things to be somewhat fancy and romantic, but I’d also like for it not to feel all stuffy and super serious like, that everyone can have fun and be a little goofy and a little merry and not have to worry about oh am I doing this certain thing right or feeling all self-conscious while dancing. So I’m not really sure how to narrow it down into specific details or events...? Except, there’s a really dumb nerdy part of me that wants to be able to do the cake slicing with a sword rather than a knife. Because reasons. 

what makes you blush? - Too much. Usually compliments. 

do you believe in love at first sight? - I believe in *attraction* at first sight, and *affection* you find or work for later. 

do you believe in soulmates? - Yeah, but I also believe a soulmate doesn’t have to be someone you’re in love with or a romantic partner, a soulmate can just as easily be a friend you keep on keeping on through this silly little game of life with, y’know? You’ve both been dealt shitty hands, but you’d be willing to share each others cards to get through, and some other cheesy af analogies...

denim jackets, leather jackets, or bomber jackets? - Leather jackets, tho technically I have worn and do wear all three so - I hoard jackets like some people hoard shoes and handbags, it’s a problem

are you single? - if you know you know, and that’s the that on that ;)

do you prefer to charm, or be charmed? - Both? I love to see the look on a partners face when they’re charmed, all blushing and cute and sparkly eyes and big smiles - I think I like to be charmed too but I would also get suuuuper awkward and not sure what to do with it or in response to it because I’m not used to being on the receiving end of attention like that?

guitar or piano? - I love both, and girls who can play either/both are heavensent sirens who can have me under their spell for hours (I think it’s the hand thing again, see?) but if I had to choose it would have to be Piano.

favorite romcom (or any romantic movie)? - Um... Does Love & Other Drugs count? Or Imagine Me And You - I’m not big on too many ‘traditional’ rom-coms because they make me cringe way too often, and often not in a good way, but there’s sometimes the odd one I enjoy! (Though I must admit, being British, Bridget Jones and Love Actually are like, historical treasures so...)

do you fall in love easily? - Nope. I mean, do I love people easily? Yeah I try to give the best of myself to the people I cherish as much as possible. But do I *fall in love* easily? Nah, takes a while before this oblivious lil heart realises it.

would you prefer to propose or be proposed to? what’s your dream proposal? - Oh gosh, honestly, I don’t know... I’m one of those people that *love* to do anything and everything to bring a smile to my partner’s face and make them happy and there’s just something so magical about seeing their face light up and their eyes sparkle, y’know? So I feel like I would want to do that by giving them the perfect proposal for them (but on the flipside this means I would also be incredibly *terrified* of ever doing it remotely wrong/not exactly how they wanted it, or getting the wrong kind of ring or all of that plethora of details and minutiae that could be messed up ahha). But also, I kinda wouldn’t mind being proposed to either? Like I’m so used to taking care of other people, it might be nice, at the risk of sounding like a bad pokemon promo. to have that validation of someone else saying ‘I choose you’ y’know? As for dream proposal, much like dream wedding, I’m not entirely sure? As long as it’s memorable and with the one I love? (Which is such a cop-out answer) I honestly don’t know, I’ve never really thought about it, probably because I never really thought it was happen so I figured why think about something that’s never gonna happen ahhah. Somewhere picturesque I guess? So I could really capture the picture in my mind for the rest of my lifen, not like for a social media photo post or any of that shit but just for myself to look back on, if any of that essay ramble makes any sense. 

kittens or puppies? - How DARE- Nope. It’s both. I’m sorry but it’s both. They are both adorable AF and I will love and pet and cherish them all. 

favorite soda? - Cola I guess? And don’t try to rope me into the Pepsi V Coke thing, because honestly I like both for different reasons and choosing one over the other seems silly when either of them tastes good if you’ve got enough whiskey or rum in them ;) 

do you prefer gazing wistfully out the window or lying dramatically over the sofa? - I rather like doing both tbf, but if I’m gonna be honest, give me ‘cosied up under a blanket, with a mug of hot tea/coffee gazing wistfully out the window at whatever weather is going on outside, any day.

favorite ABBA song? - How dare you - umm... Slipping Through My Fingers or The Winner Takes It All because I am at heart a soppy dramatic fool.

fuck/marry/kill? (anons name 3 people of your choice) - You meanie, how dare you make me decide such a thing. Buuuut Fuck Ally (cuz you just *know* that canon wlw got some mooooves), Marry Amanda (because she seems like someone I could get along with in all the day to day stuff y’know? Like, I could settle down with her, you feel me?) and don’t hate me but you asked the question but Kill Audrey (*runs and hides*)

do you think about love a lot? - Yeah, I think so, in all its different incarnations. As a writer I’m kinda obligated to? But I think I think about it even when I’m not super aware of it or the reasons for or why. 

a walk in the park or a walk on the beach? - It’s a tough once because I love it when the light filters *just so* through trees and looks so pretty, but the beach has the lapping waves and soft sand to walk on and pretty colours at sunsets and sharing ice creams/chips/doughnuts/pretzels and- Yeah so beach probably.

hand kisses or nose kisses? - Hand kisses, fo’sho, because haaaands

[irmacornelia]

I had a Kalinor fic that I never got around to finishing that im going to cannibalize ideas from for my longfic, so have some of the bits I do have and will probably never finish;

Title: Untitled Kalinor Drabbles Pairings: Kalinor, Cassidy/Nerissa Tags: Pining, minor language, canon-typical violence and angst Rating: T-ish

Apparently everyone has been having the same dream. For a week and a half straight.

Nerissa laughs and suggests magic.

You retort that if you had some fancy magic power, how come you burn the toast every other morning?

Cassidy grins and tells you that you are just bad at cooking.

-

Three months later you are fighting for your life with your friends at your back. This is a much better way to burn energy and rage than tennis. You think that this is the last year you will have an extracurricular like that (or at all -what with how Kandrakar doesn’t give a damn about your education). 

You duck a sword and twist heat and sparks into your palm to shove into your assailant's chest. Fluid and practiced, Kadma twists around and slams a boulder into him as you lean out of the way. A brief moment of eye contact and half-formed :feelings: thrums between you and you both leap back into the fray.

You work well together, your brawler-esque fighting compliments her fluid and reactive style. Yan Lin flits about to deliver death from above and to watch out for threats as Nerissa commands the most amount of attention by your enemies to divert from Cassidy going for the objective. Nerissa is very flashy and does her job well. It’s worked enough times that you and your companions have it down to a routine. You and Kadma pull the grunt work, Nerissa is a massive and threatening distraction tossing lighting and energy blasts, Yan Lin scouts and provides air cover, and Cassidy does the stealing/activating/rescuing. Not that you and your friends can’t do other jobs, but it works best that way. Everyone has a task to do without any prior organizing. Nice and neat and simple(if fighting could be called neat and simple).

Searing another few vaguely humanoid bird-ish enemies and ignoring the acrid tang of burning feathers, you feel like you could do this forever.

-

You have been doing this for a year now and it shows. Strangers are afraid to make eye contact with you, and you have toned muscles underneath your obligatory dresses. You do average in school and while your parents aren’t too happy at the slight drop, it’s doable. You are often tired and busy, and you are quite a bit more confident (because you can kick most everyone’s ass and you have bigger problems) and get into fights a lot during downtime.

You are so much closer with your companions now, as well. You wouldn’t have dared sitting that close with anyone before. You wouldn’t have dared to lean against Kadma while Cassidy braids your hair and chats about most anything.

Its helped, in part, by the telepathy. You and yours had begun to lean on it quite a bit to explain motives and :feelings:. Twining your Presence with someone mentally was oddly pleasant and comfortable, like a sort of warm hug but for your feelings and not your body.

Explaining this caught giggles from your friends.

Kadma was pretty when she laughed.

You were so screwed and couldn’t ever explain why.

A week later you are nimbly jumping across rooftops with your wings aflutter (they are now almost two feet long each and feel a bit sturdier, but they can only slow your fall a bit). You follow Kadma and Yan Lin with Cassidy on your heels as Nerissa blows up the front gates to a stronghold.

You try to avoid the thought that you would be so very lost without being able to fight for your life.

-

It’s been two years since you became a Guardian and you are nearly an adult. You have never dated anyone (you couldn’t -you like girls) and Things are going wrong. You don’t know when they started going wrong, but they are. Maybe it started when Nerissa began a harsh training regimen after a close shave on some world you can’t even begin to pronounce the name of(all harsh clicks and sounds no human throat can make for long without becoming hoarse). Maybe it started when The Council refused to give important information one time too many. Maybe it had always been bad, but no one noticed.

Cassidy came to you one day and told you that she was worried about her.

“Sometimes- Sometimes she talks about scary things, Im not really sure I should say what, but I-i’m really worried.”

She wrings her hands and leans back on the park bench.

“I- um We, um, w-well, she sometimes wakes up screaming and-and I think our, ah, Job,”

Cassidy says with emphasis in-case anyone was listening in,

“Is-Is getting to her. You, ah, you know she does risky things but I can’t help but fear it going to get worse. I, ah, I care about her. A lot. And I don’t know what to do.”

Cassidy trails off toward the end into a whisper. You suppose that’s confirmation enough that they are involved with each other.

“I know.,” You say, “I’m not sure what to do either. Maybe the others might be better help, but we can get through this.”

You both are very much aware how the last group of guardians all died before you were even appointed.

You don’t talk about it.

Your research spree to try to find things to aid Nerissa served more as nightmare fuel than solutions, so help from outsiders was out. Thus you ask the others what to do about Nerissa’s increasingly snappish and reckless behavior the day after.

Yan Lin offers up the idea of distraction during downtime, and you all jump on board. If you can distract her from your other life, perhaps she would relax a bit.

And so you and the others spent a lot of time in-between missions trying very hard to be ‘normal teens’. Cassidy taught the group how to dance over the course of a few afternoons and you all end up at one of the local soda fountains about once a week. Nerissa also spends her time composing songs on her flute again, she names one of them after herself and gives Yan Lin a handwritten copy of the sheet music when asked.

For awhile you feel like it’s like it was Before, and you feel happy and everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, but you still feel extra energy to burn curling in your gut. You know Yan Lin is always paying more than a little attention to what’s going on, who is where, and where all of the exits are. Cassidy is stuck to Nerissa’s side like glue and Kadma barely speaks half the time.

(You still all walk silently and twitch at the sight of flashing lights and the sound of metal screaming on metal)

You get a few group shots of the five of you and pretend that the flash didn’t feel like magic firing on you.

-

You had been spending quite a lot of time with Kadma these last few weeks. In the effort to wind down from constant missions from Kandrakar to far off worlds, you had all tried to do only mundane things with mixed results. You’re pretty sure Cassidy leaves glamours on her bed in the mornings to go sleep at Nerissa’s house without getting caught.

You yourself use telepathy with the others nigh-constantly and your tea never goes cold.

You learn that Kadma can sometimes get :Impressions: from animals while you and her go feed birds at the park. Simpler than ones from you and the others, she says, but there all the same.

You brush your magic against Kadma’s and inch closer.

“Can you show me?”, you say.

Her hand brushes against yours in return and sparks of flame burn along your spine.

The corner of her lip curls upwards and she passes along :Impressions: from the Dove pecking at a sunflower seed a few feet away.

You feel more distracted and fuzzy than you have in ages and Yan Lin grins at you the next day like she can tell and you shoot her a :??:.

She rolls her eyes and replies :Warmsafefuzzy-Presence more-than-before:.

She taps her fingers gently on her desk and leans back a bit, :Kadma-and-you?:.

The thrumm to that last Impression nearly made you choke on air.

You suppose that would be fitting considering whom you are Communing with.

:Almost:

The teacher begins her lecture and that was the end of that.

The rest of the group knows you can heat your body temperature to nice and toasty levels and this is exploited mercilessly once Heatherfield started getting chilly. You are only slightly affronted the first time Cassidy ‘calls dibs’ on one of your shoulders. When Kadma leans against your other shoulder your half-formed complaint turns to smoke on your tongue and you just obligingly turn up the heat.

Yan Lin gives you a wink from her spot at the stove next to the teapot when Kadma shuts her eyes and humms in contentment. You nearly throw the nearby pillow at Yan Lin for the following eyebrow wiggle, but you don’t want to ruin the moment.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Crush // Shawn Mendes mini-series part 2

part 2 wohoooo!! this is honestly such a cute story i love writing it, im currently finishing the last part so i’ll probably update very soon!

part 1

masterlist

The awkwardness soon vanishes. This clear new chapter we just opened with Shawn allows me to loosen up and just enjoy a nice evening. Aaliyah and Eric seems satisfied with the outcome, the parents seem to hit it off quite easily and when we leave they already start making plans for another meetup.

“It was so nice meeting you!” Karen sighs happily as she hugs goodbye to all of us.

“You too, email me that recipe you told me about!” Mom points at her and she nods her head laughing.

I’m just about to step out of the house when Aaliyah grabs my wrist and pulls me back. I look at her with furrowed eyebrows.

“I need your help with a little something. Can you come over sometime tomorrow?” she whispers confidentially.

“Um, yeah. Around what time?” I ask.

“Three pm?”

“Sure,” I smile at her and she lets go of me.

On the way back home I’m thinking about what Aaliyah could need help with and the only thing I have in mind is Eric’s birthday that is on the 29th. She must be planning something special for him.

I call Maddi around midnight when I’m already in my pj’s, but I know she must be still up, maybe even drunk. For my surprise, she answers the phone quite modestly.

“How was the family union?” she asks chewing on something. I throw the cushions off of my bed and crawl under the blanket.

“Um, very interesting,” I chuckle closing my eyes and just shaking my head at the thought of the evening.

“Uh, spill the tea!” She cheers clearly very thirsty for some drama, though this story is not as juicy as she would want it.

“Guess who Aaliyah’s brother is!” I say, but I don’t expect an answer so I just continue. “Shawn Effing Mendes.”

“What?! Are you kidding me?” She gasps. “How did Eric forget to tell you this small detail?”

“Apparently, he thought it doesn’t matter to me, which is kind of true, but there is more.”

“What more? Did he hit on you? Because I’m not talking to you again if he did. He is hot!”

“No, he didn’t, but what you don’t know is that we have history.”

“Okay, now I’m confused!? How do I not know about this?”

“Well, remember my ex, Dylan? I told you about him.”

“Yeah, the asshole who cheated on you,” she hums.

“Well, Dylan and Shawn used to be best buds when we started dating, but the guy hated my guts, or so I thought. He was always mean to me, talking against me and just… avoiding me like the plague.”

“I thought he is the nicest person on earth.”

“He might be now, but when I knew him, he treated me like shit. So it was pretty awkward to see him again after all these years.”

“And how did it go? Was he an ass again?”

“No. He was… nice. Well, we both acted awkward in the beginning, I didn’t know if he would continue his act with me, but he turned out to be nice. And then at one point he told me he is sorry for everything in the past and he was just acting like that because he wanted to amuse Dylan.”

I turn to my side and stare out the window.

“That’s good, right? I mean, he grew out that mean phase and he is all good now.”

“Yeah, it’s just still weird to be around someone I knew from my Dylan phase.”

“But it’s Eric who is dating Aaliyah, why would you be constantly around him?”

“Aaliyah asked me to go over tomorrow, I think she is trying to put a surprise together for Eric’s birthday, so I’m spending the afternoon at the Mendes house.”

“Oh, then keep me updated about the details and sneak me a shirtless photo of Shawn please.”

“Maddi!” I scoff laughing. “Why would I even see him shirtless?”

“Maybe he likes wandering around in his home without clothes on, how would I know?!”

“Unbelievable. I’m going to sleep.”

“Bye bitch,” she sighs making me roll my eyes at her smiling.

“Bye.”

  I sleep late the next day, it’s past noon when I actually make it downstairs looking like a real human being. Eric and Dad are watching a documentary on WW II. while Mom is reading the newspaper at the dining table. I join her with a bowl of cereal.

“Do you have any plans for today?” She smiles at me over her narrow glasses as she turns a page. I lean closer hitting a confidential tone.

“I’m helping Aaliyah today, she asked me to go over around three.”

“Oh, birthday surprise for Eric?” she asks clearly excited.

“I think yeah.”

“Great. And you will probably see Shawn again.” Winking at me she puts the papers down.

“Why does that matter?” I ask with my mouth full. She caresses my cheek before standing up and walking over to the sink for some water.

“Isn’t he a nice young man? I think the two of you would look cute together.”

“Mom, you are literally talking about the biggest pop sensation, he is not really the kind of guy who just casually dates,” I say.

In my mind all these celebrities are living their wildest life. Even if I were interested in Shawn in any way, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t even get in the game, he must have thousands of girls waiting for him in line. We are not really on the same page.

“Oh, come on. You guys knew each other in high school, you have a past, that connection must mean something!”

“He was an ass to me!” I blurt it out making her eyebrows raise.

“He was? What did he do?”

“It’s nothing,” I roll my eyes, but Mom gives me a demanding look. “He just didn’t seem to like me no matter what I did, he was avoiding me most of the time when I was with Dylan and also made some pretty rude comments sometimes.”

“Maybe he was into you,” Mom shrugs and I almost choke on the milk.

I start coughing like I’m about to die and my eyes start watering when I’m finally able to breathe evenly again.

“No fucking way!”

“Charlie! Language!” She hisses at me, but there is a smile hiding in her eyes. “You know, young boys tend to do it. They are mean to the girls they like.”

“Mom, it wasn’t in kindergarten, it was ninth grade or something. I think he just really didn’t like me back then and I don’t blame him.” I was annoying, thinking back at it. But hey, all teens are annoying!

“You can never know,” she sighs.

 I totally ignore the theory Mom tried to make me believe, there is absolutely no chance of the nonsense she told me, and this is what I keep telling myself as I’m on my way to the Mendes house.

“Hey!” Aaliyah greets me with a wide smile. She is now wearing some more comfortable clothes than the last two times I saw her, the grey sweats and lose white shirt must be her home wear. “Come in! My parents are out at a friend’s place, and Shawn…” she starts, but just when she is about to finish he appears on the top of the stairs.

“Is here,” he chimes in. I look up and there he is, in a pair of checked pj pants and a black shirt. Looking at it, I think Aaliyah has his shirt on, it seems like the same size.

“Hi,” I smile at him.

“Come, let’s sit.” I follow Aaliyah into the living room and we sit down to the couch next to their Christmas tree. From the corner of my eyes I see Shawn going into the kitchen and for a moment I’m actually disappointed he is not coming with us.

“So. I want to surprise Eric with cooking for him, but I have no idea what. I tried to find out what’s his favorite, but he says it’s his favorite to everything!” she growls frustrated. I shake my head laughing.

“That’s typical.”

“Yeah. So do you have anything in mind?”

“Well, he really like tiramisu. He can eat tons of it, all the time. That’s good for dessert,” I offer. Aaliyah has her phone in her hands and she is typing everything I say down.

“Okay, got it.”

“Um, he likes gazpacho. He thinks it sounds fancy and you know, he likes everything with ketchup, so a soup that tastes like tomato was made for him.”

“Oh yeah, he pours so much ketchup into his sandwiches, it’s crazy,” she rolls her eyes jokingly. “Okay, so gazpacho. Anything else?”

“Um…” I try to think about the times we went to restaurants and Eric got really excited over the food. “Oh, we were once at a place and he ordered grilled mushrooms and he couldn’t stop moaning, it was very embarrassing, but I guess this meant he really liked it.”

“Grilled mushrooms, perfect,” she nods to herself noting everything down. “Do you mind helping me pick out his gift too? I have a few ideas, I want to go into the city and buy it tomorrow, I already looked up some jumpers online, but I can’t really decide.”

“Sure, show me!”

We spend the next thirty minutes scrolling through everything she had saved as a possible gift. She found some really nice ones, her taste is fantastic. As the time is passing I’m starting to feel like I’m with a friend and not with my brother’s girlfriend and I’m just hoping Eric will keep her around for a long time.

She asks me to stay a little bit longer so she can show me the awkward photos she has taken of Erik since they’ve been dating, but she gets a call and excuses herself quickly. I stay there in the living room, looking around a bit, I haven’t really had the chance yesterday, I was too occupied with the situation.

Shawn walks in, this time he has a headband on, keeping his locks back from his face.

Damn, Maddi is right. He is hot.

I shake my head at the thoughts and try to look as casual as possible.

“How is the birthday planning going?” he asks plopping down on the couch next to me.

“Good, Aaliyah basically had everything right, I just had to choose the best options.”

“How crazy is that our younger siblings are dating? I mean, I was thinking about it yesterday, the last time I saw Eric, he was about twelve or something. No wonder why I didn’t recognize him when I met him,” he chuckles and I nod agreeing. Aaliyah changed a lot in the past years too.

“Yeah. Strange that they are not babies anymore. I mean, I’m still mad that Eric is taller than me.”

“Oh I remember how you always wanted to get taller!”

“You remember?” I ask surprised. I used to never stop talking about my height, later I accepted my fate.

“Yeah, I remember once you told Dylan how you want to wear the highest heels to the dance so you two can be the same height.”

I laugh at the memory. I remember it too, it was quite early in our relationship and Dylan asked me out for the Halloween dance. I wanted to look taller and told Dylan I would wear heels. Of course, I ditched the plan as I found out how uncomfortable they are and ended up wearing my Converse.

“And at the end I looked like a punk princess with my Converse and mini skirt,” I scoff at the thought of my outfit for that night.

“I think you looked pretty,” Shawn says and I look at him. I catch his small smile before he shakes his head clearing his throat. What the Hell? “High school feels so far away, right?” he quickly says.

“Um, well for you I guess, for me… not really,” I chuckle shaking my head. “Your life got turned upside down, but not much has happened to me since then.”

“What? I don’t believe you. I’m sure you’ve been having plenty of fun. Parties, dates and everything.”

I can’t help, a sad smile plasters across my face. He can’t be more wrong.

“Not really… I had some rough years after Dylan and I split.”

“Can I ask what happened? I mean, after the split,” he shyly asks.

“Well, since I was a dumb naïve little girl, I needed an entire year before I could even think about getting to know other guys. Now it all just seems like the biggest bullshit. I shouldn’t have cared that much. And I’m not a fan of partying, I only go out on birthdays and maybe New Year’s Eve,” I shrug. Maddi has been trying to boost me up a bit, she attempts to drag me out every month or so, but I’m really not that kind of type. I thought I was, when I was with Dylan, he was a popular guy, I kept going to these lame parties with him in the last year of our relationship, but I never really enjoyed them. Shawn was long gone by then.

“I’m sorry Dylan played you so bad.”

“It’s fine, I mean, not your fault,” I chuckle. “But what happened to you and him?”

He sighs scratching the back of his neck.

“Not sure, I guess we grew apart and I realized that he is an ass. When I became a private student we kept in touch, but I met new people and I saw how different a friendship can be, so… I cut him off, I guess.”

“Did you guys fight?”

“Not really,” he shakes his head. “Well, we had one last very awkward phone call when I was in Atlanta, if I remember right. It was forced and… just awkward, really,” he chuckles shaking his head.

“And your life has been better since Dylan is out of it, right?” I grin at him.

“Yeah, you must know about it.”

I laugh nodding. I know everything about it!

Before I could even think about what I’m saying, my mouth just opens and the words roll down.

“The only good thing I got from my relationship with Dylan is that I know you now.”

My eyes widen and I wish I could take it back.

“I- uh I mean…”

I don’t even know why I’m so nervous suddenly, I didn’t even tell much. But for some reason, I can feel myself blushing.

“I meant that he basically ruined my senior year and I needed so much time to get myself over him, but at least now we can talk like, normal people,” I quickly add somehow saving the situation.

“What do you mean he ruined your senior year?” he asks with furrowed eyebrows and I’m happy he didn’t get caught up on what I said before that.

“Well, he successfully made me push all my friends away, leaving me totally alone when we broke up.”

“Wait, what? How about that friend of yours, um… I don’t remember her name, you always sat together at lunch.”

“Rochelle. Oh Dylan played us dirty. He told me Rochelle keeps hitting on him and being my dumb naïve self I believed him and not her. We had this huge fight and I called her a bitch. No wonder why she didn’t care about me when I was alone in the last couple of months of senior year.”

“Ouch, that sounds horrible. I’m sorry he did that.”

“Why did we even like Dylan in the first place?” I ask laughing to myself. It still bothers me how blind I was, I wish I could just shake myself.

“I have no idea!” He sighs rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry your senior year got fucked up, I wish I could be there to have lunch with you.”

I turn to him and swear to God he is blushing! And it is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I feel the urge to touch him, anywhere, to take his hand in mine, but I stop myself.

“That’s… nice. Thank you,” I whisper touched.

As I’m staring at him I realize this is probably the closest I’ve ever been to him. I wonder how many girls want to be in my position, they see the popstar, the heartthrob from the stage, while all I see is the guy who used to be mean to me in high school but now we are friendlier than ever. I could never see him as a celebrity.

“Okay, so I found some- Oh am I bothering?” Aaliyah walks into the room with her phone in her hands and she is giving me a knowing look. I quickly clear my throat turning away from Shawn.

“No, you girls just… do your thing. I have to make a few calls.”

Shawn jumps up from the couch patting his sister’s shoulder before walking out of the room. Aaliyah takes his place, still grinning.

“What?” I ask her playing dumb.

“You guys… I felt the sparkle,” she says wiggling her eyebrows.

“What sparkle? Aaliyah, you see everything in pink because of my brother.”

“Oh stop, don’t tell me you don’t like him.”

“I don’t know him,” I say truthfully. “The last time I saw him I was dating a douche and he was also being a douche to me. I can’t tell if I like him, because I don’t know his new self.”

“But you seem to get along with him pretty well and I’m sure you are attracted to him.”

“I’m not talking about this with you, you are his sister!” I gasp feeling myself blushing again.

“Whatever. But I think you two would look cute together.”

I refuse to carry on with the conversation about me and Shawn and Aaliyah fortunately doesn’t force it on me. I leave the Mendes house around five, Aaliyah thanks me the help and I can’t help but feel disappointed I don’t see Shawn anywhere when I’m leaving. Aaliyah’s speech about me and Shawn is slowly getting to me.

By dinner, all my thoughts are racing around him and soon I find myself stalking his social media profiles. I knew he is very famous, but seeing the numbers on his pages makes me gasp. Millions of people are following him, waiting for him to post anything. The last photo he uploaded to his Instagram is with his family, Karen and Manny are smiling proudly into the camera while Shawn and Aaliyah are messing around next to them. Before I could realize what I’m doing I double tap the picture liking it.

“Oh shit,” I suck my breath in. I hesitate, but then I realize how dumb this is. He must be getting millions of notes every minute, he won’t see this.

Gaining some confidence from this, I decide to follow him and continue my stalking session. I’m a few months deep into his profile when I get a notification. Opening the tab my eyes widen.

shawnmendes followed charlieprkr

I guess I was wrong about the notification getting lost. A moment later I see that he has liked two of my photos.

One was taken on a family vacation. Eric and I are posing at the beach, I have a red swimsuit on and the wind is blowing my wavy blonde hair that was so much lighter back than from all the sunshine. The other one is a picture Maddie took of me last month. I’m sitting in our armchair with a mug of tea in my hands, smiling shyly at the camera. We had Christmas lights in the window and the lights made me look colorful in the photo.

I’m just about to put the phone down and go to bed when I get a dm. I’m not surprised to see Shawn’s username, but I definitely get excited.

shawnmendes I’m happy I’m not the first one to accidentally like your photo, though I was minutes away from that haha

I smile at the message rolling my eyes.

charlieprkr Ha. Ha. I was hoping I can easily hide in the millions of your followers.

shawnmendes You could have, if only I weren’t stalking your profile as well. Fate?

charlieprkr I guess.

My fingers linger across the keyboard, trying to think of something else to write and keep the conversation up, but nothing comes to my mind. I almost give up when I get another message from him.

shawnmendes I’m in a nostalgic mood, I want to have a walk in the neighborhood, around our school tomorrow. Would you like to join me?

My smile grows wider than ever reading his lines.

charlieprkr Totally.

shawnmendes Great! Sometime around 4 pm?

charlieprkr Perfect. Where?

shawnmendes I’ll meet you at your house and we’ll go from there.

charlieprkr Then see you tomorrow!

shawnmendes Yeah, good night Charlie.

[devotedrigelianflower]

Get to know Lady Rinea

Stolen From (tagged by); @jasperlion Tagging; @cavaliant, @unwaveriinghearts, @convxction, @fatedcomrades, @sireneia,...and anyone else who wants to try this out.

//This will be right before her demise since that’s what her FEH verse is//

Name? “Lady Rinea of Rigel.”

Are you single? “I am engaged to Prince Berkut of Rigel.”

Are you happy? “Well I cannot say I am completely happy with war going on around me...”

Are you angry? “…Not really angry but sad is more accurate.” 

Are your parents still married? “Yes they are...if they are happy, I am not sure.”

NINE FACTS –

Birth Place? “In Rigel in a more rural area. My family is a lesser house so it is not as fancy like the others.”

Hair Color? “Blue.”

Eye Color? “It is also blue but a little bit darker than my hair.”

Birthday? “I don’t really mind if no one cares...but it’s 64th of Flostym. That is May 25th in the Askr Calendar if I remember correctly. 

Mood? “Mostly quiet and content I think.” 

Gender? “Female”

Summer or winter? “Summer...or Avystim as we call it.”

Morning or afternoon? “It really depends but I would have to say morning.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE ? –

Are you in love? “Oh yes I am.”

Do you believe in love at first sight? “Hmm...well I would like to think so but I like to get to know someone more so before I can say I am in love. So I guess I am hesitant in believing in love at first sight.”

Who ended your last relationship? “Well if arrangements for courting counts, I guess my parents would be the one to end it? Lord Berkut is my first actual relationship. 

Have you ever broken someone’s heart? “…Not intentionally no but it does happen.” 

Are you afraid of commitments? “No I am not, but I can see why others can be afraid of it.” 

Have you hugged someone within the last week? “I don’t believe I have but I have been hugged by Lord Berkut. Does that count?”

Have you ever had a secret admirer? “If I did, I would not have known.”

Have you ever broken your own heart? “Hmm...Maybe? I do always worry I am not good enjoy for Lord Berkut...”

SIX CHOICES –

Love or lust? “Love.”

Lemonade or iced tea? “Lemonade I think...”

Cats or Dogs? “I would have to go with cats. Dogs can be a little bit too energetic for me.”

A few best friends or many regular friends? “Um...does many acquaintances count? If not a few friends then...”

A wild night out or romantic night in? “Romantic night in for sure. Just being with the one I love is something I treasure dearly.”

Day or night? “I like the day a little bit more than night time, but that’s because I can do more gardening during the day.

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS –

Been caught sneaking out? “Well...normally I do not venture out too far from home, but I will admit I did sneak out with Lord Berkut. We never got caught as far as I know.”

Fallen down/up the stairs? “No? I almost fell down once but Lord Berkut caught me and held me tightly. It was sweet of him.” 

Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? “…I suppose so...”

Wanted to disappear? “…Maybe...”

FOUR PREFERENCES –

Smile or eyes? “Both are nice but I think eyes are better.”

Shorter or Taller? “Taller? I guess?”

Intelligence or Attraction? “Hmm this one is a tough one. I like to get to know someone first no matter how attractive that person may be. So I suppose Intelligence?”

Hook-up or Relationship? “Relationship for sure. I would never hook-up...it is not proper.”  

FAMILY –

Do you and your family get along? “…not as well as others think. We make it appear that we get along but my parents would have married me off regardless of how I felt.”

Would you say you have a “messed up life”? “...Hmm...yes you can say that.”

Have you ever ran away from home? “I have wanted to, but I never went too far.” 

Have you ever gotten kicked out? “No I have not.”

FRIENDS –

Do you secretly hate one of your friends? “No? Why would you do that?”

Do you consider all of your friends to be good friends? “Well the people that I have met are nice. So yes?”

Who is your best friend? “Countess Josephine I guess? She seems to be the one who helps me out the most.”

Who knows everything about you? “...I don’t think anyone knows everything about me. Perhaps Lord Berkut but there are some things even I am too afraid to tell him.”

[how-manygalileos]

Yes, Minister - A BoRhap Politics AU

//Chapt 1//Chapt 2// Chapt 3

A/N: me and @rachelweiszs-areawoman finally got another chapter done! between uni deadlines another shit, but here it is, there’s a fair few juicy developments in this instalment  👀👀👀👀👀

Word Count: 2315

Chapter 4

“Refugees are moving across our continent on a scale we have not seen since the second world war, with a third of a million trying to cross the Mediterranean this year, many ready to pay their life savings to criminal gangs who board them on to overcrowded boats and then leave them to drown. Fifty-two people were found dead in the hull of a boat. They had been forced into an airless hold, forced to pay to come up to breathe, and those who could not pay suffocated to death. The pictures of Alan Kurdi have moved a continent—the image of a three-year-old on a beach, a picture that should have been full of life and joy and instead was a tragedy.” (from Yvette Cooper’s speech of 8th September 2015)

Gwilym watched in awe as Kick passionately argued with a member of the opposition. He didn’t know what to think.

He’d thought she was incredible since he’d met her; now, with this speech, she proved him right.

He’d thought she was beautiful since the dinner at No. 10. The dress she was wearing, standing up and arguing her point, was a knockout.

But now, now he thought he might be falling in love with her. Her compassion, her intelligence, her beauty, they all made him fall for her more.

In fact, he knew he was in love with her.

He was, to paraphrase Jane Austen, in the middle before he knew he had begun.

All Gwilym knew, in that moment, was that he needed to be with her.

Gwilym practically ran out of the House of Commons after Kick at the end of the day’s sitting. He caught up with her, and found himself tongue-tied.

“Hello Gwilym” Kick said as they walked through Central Lobby towards the House’s coffee shop.

“H-hi Kick. Look, um, you were fantastic in there….really phenomenal” He said nervously, quickly buying a coffee for him and Kick.

“Thank you, though I’m guessing there’s an ulterior motive to buying me a coffee?”

“Well, um, would you like to go to dinner with me? As- as a date?” Gwilym asked, quietly. He was sure she’d say no.

“I’d love to” Kick replied as they exited the Houses of Parliament and jumped into a cab. Gwilym smiled down into his coffee for a moment.

“Shall we call this our first date, Gwilym? Pick me up at 7 tomorrow for the second?” Kick asked. Gwilym smiled at her.

“See you then” He said as he kissed her cheek, and jumped out of the cab.

-- Joe sat at his desk re-reading Elsie’s column. Even though she had written a whole piece tearing him and his family to shreds, he couldn’t help but be charmed by her. She knew he’d read this. She must have wanted him to see it, she knew he’d read her column after all. Maybe she wanted his attention, maybe she liked his attention and maybe she hadn’t realised that yet. Logging in his computer, he opened up Twitter and typed a name into the search bar. He lingered slightly before pressing enter on the keyboard. He read the most recent tweet to himself.

@elsie_stew Honoured and excited to be speaking at @univofstandrews tomorrow afternoon, open to the public as well as students! More details on the SU website, see you there!

St Andrews. That’s west Scotland. Joe checked the calendar on his phone, he had a free day tomorrow, he could make it. He just wanted to talk face to face, not through Twitter, not through a series of op-eds and public statements; but in person, preferably when she wasn’t chained to a statue of some sort.

“Natalie!” Joe called his assistant into his office, “Could you book me a flight to Edinburgh for tomorrow morning?”

“Of course, Ambassador Mazzello.” she responded, “Can I ask why? - for the accounts” Joe smiled slightly at her curiosity.

“It’s… a personal visit,” he said, not really sure how to define a flight needed to surprise the woman who’d been slamming him in the press, as of late, at a lecture she was giving at a university. Natalie raised an eyebrow, slightly confused, before nodding and walking back to her desk. Joe then turned back to his computer and liked the tweet, thinking this might give Elsie some prior warning for his appearance.

Joe sat back in his chair for a moment and replied to a few emails before taking a some time to look out the window at the London skyline. There was an abrupt knock on his door.

“Come in!” he called, Natalie poked her head around the door.

“It’s Minister Lee for you, sir.” she started, “he says it’s an urgent.” Joe stood up, slightly panicked. What could it possibly be?

“Of course, please send him in.” he responded. A flustered Gwilym rushed into his office, not really making eye contact with him.

“Gwil, what is it? What’s the emergency?” Joe said walking towards him.

“Uhhh - I asked Kick out. Kind of on a whim.” Gwil rambled out, “But she said yes, and now I realise have literally no plans. So I thought ‘who’s got the best reputation with charming women?’ and now I’m here.”

“I’m flattered, Gwil, I really am.” Joe chuckled in response.

“Joe, I really need your help.” Gwilym pleaded.

“Easy.” Joe started, “drinks, dinner, dessert with two spoons. Then of course you make sure she gets home safe.” The panicked expression left Gwil’s face.

“That’s actually great.” Gwil said, Joe nodded knowingly in response, “But where do I take her? I really need this to be special.”

“I could get you a reservation at the Criterion, Marco Pierre White’s a friend of the family.”

“Oh my god, Joe! That would actually be incredible” he knew it was maybe a little much for a first date, but he really wanted it to be special.

“Anything to help a friend.” Joe said smiling.

---

Gwilym jumped out of the cab and asked the driver to hold it. He walked up to Kick’s front door and knocked, nervously straightening his jacket as he waited. She opened the door, and metaphorically knocked him off his feet. The silver and gold dress trailed behind her as Gwilym helped her down the steps from her front door and into the cab, the beading overlay sitting perfectly on her chest. Gwilym could hardly speak. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Kick couldn’t keep her eyes off Gwil for the whole drive to the restaurant. She didn’t know where they were going, but she hoped she wasn’t overdressed. Guessing by Gwilym’s three piece suit, she wasn’t.

The cab pulled up outside the Criterion restaurant in central London. Gwilym hopped out, and almost ran around the cab to open Kick’s door. He paid the driver and offered Kick his arm. She took it, and they walked in together, praying that no photographers were around.

“This is very fancy, Gwilym. How did you get a reservation at such short notice?” Kick asked as they were seated in the corner.

“I...have my ways” Gwilym replied, perusing the menu and wincing slightly at the prices. It was worth it though. Kick would always be worth it.

Kick looked up at Gwilym as their spoons clashed. They shared a white chocolate and marron glace mousse as a dessert, just as Joe suggested, and it seemed to be working a treat. Every time Kick looked up at him through her eyelashes, Gwilym swore his heart would beat out of his chest.

The air was chilly as they left the restaurant, and Gwilym draped his suit jacket around Kick’s shoulders. They hailed a cab and made their way out of central London.

“Come to mine for a nightcap?” Gwilym asked, looking over at his date.

“I’d love to” Kick replied, resting her head on his shoulder.

20 minutes later, Kick found herself sat on Gwilym’s sofa, feet tucked underneath her, with a cup of tea in her hands. Gwilym sat down beside her.

“Thanks for dinner, Gwilym” Kick whispered. It all felt a lot more real once they were back at Gwilym’s house.

“It was my pleasure, Kick” He replied, laying an arm gently over her shoulders, sipping his tea.

“That was one of the nicest things anybody’s ever done for me” Kick said, placing her mug down on the coffee table.

“You deserve to be treated” Gwilym replied, doing the same and looking into her eyes. Kick placed her hand on Gwilym’s thigh as an invitation, and he crashed his lips to hers.

--

The following morning, Joe stepped out of his front door and stepped into the car waiting for him out front.

“Where to, Ambassador Mazzello?” the chauffeur asked, smiling at him politely.

“London City airport, please.” Joe said, returning the smile, before going to check his phone.

“Going anywhere nice, Ambassador?”

“Just visiting a friend in Scotland.” Friend. Was Elsie a friend? Well, no. But he couldn’t exactly tell his chauffeur that he was paying an unannounced visit to a woman who doesn’t like him but he felt drawn to in an unexplained way. That would make it sound like he intended to kill her.

He arrived at the airport and boarded his flight. It was a reasonably uneventful flight, he had at one point gotten talking to an older gentleman who recognised him. Putting his copy of the Financial Times down for a moment, the man had asked what was bringing Joe to Edinburgh. He gave the same response. That he was visiting a friend. The term friend certainly wasn’t the correct term for Elsie Stewart, but then neither was enemy. He’d work out what to call her eventually, for now ‘friend’ raised the least suspicions in from any angle.

On the car ride from Edinburgh to St Andrews, Joe found himself browsing bars and restaurants in the area. He could take her for a drink, just to talk… it wasn’t like he had an ulterior motive. Thanking the driver, he stepped out of the car. He took in the scenic campus for a moment before walking to the lecture theatre Elsie was speaking at, it was due to start reasonably soon.

Trying to keep a low profile, Joe took a seat towards the back of the theatre amongst the students and members of the public also in attendance. Elsie walked to the lectern and began to speak. Public speaking was something she had always excelled in, even in primary school. She was passionate and articulate, and Joe could see that. He might not have agreed with what she was saying but he found himself almost persuaded, just for a moment. About an hour passed with Elsie discussing political theory and social issues, in her peppy and yet occasionally sarcastic tone, Joe sometimes getting a little distracted by her accent and the way it wrapped around the words leaving her mouth.

“Any questions?” she said to the lecture theatre, scanning the faces that stared back, some with raised hands. She selected a student in the third row as he asked his question.

“What advice would you give for discussing politics with people who don’t agree with you?” the young man asked, Elsie continued scanning the room. Her eyes met Joe’s, he gave her a coy wave and she subtly raised an eyebrow in response.

“Great question,” she began to respond to to student, “When you cross paths with a person who opposes you it’s important you keep a level head, they’re certainly not going to take in anything you’re saying if they see you as a member of the ‘hysterical, intolerant left’. Also don’t be afraid to acknowledge the negatives in political systems you support, no political system is perfect after all.”

Elsie continued to answer questions for another 20 minutes before being urged to wrap things up by one of the political sciences professors. As the audience were filling out, Joe walked down the stairs to where Elsie was packing her notes back into her bag.

“Can I help you, Easy Street?” she didn’t even look up from her bag, Joe smiled slightly at the nickname.

“Nothing specifically, just thought I’d let you know how much I enjoyed your most recent piece.” he stepped closer towards her as she put her coat on. Elsie raised her eyebrows at him, slightly urging him to continue his point before starting to walk up the lecture theatre stairs to the door.

“I particularly enjoyed the way you implied that i bought my way to my position,” he started, following her up the stairs and out of the lecture theatre, “and said, and i quote ‘Staff Sergeant Mazzello and, by extension, the entire Mazzello family, unashamedly and grossly benefit from the very systemic injustices that they claim to oppose’... I’ve gotta to say Miss Stewart, you’ve really outdone yourself”

Elsie stopped walking and turned to face him, smirking slightly, “And you’ve committed it to memory? Easy Street, I’m impressed.”

“Well I do try.” he said with an air of cockiness. Elsie laughed a little, somewhat surprised that he was still attempting to charm her.

“Now, if you excuse me,” she said looking at her watch, “I have a train to catch.” she began to walk away but a warm hand grabbed her wrist, she turned to face Joe, she wasn’t going to shake him that easily. Not today.

“Are you going via Edinburgh? I’ve got a car waiting if you want a ride, maybe we could get a drink.”

Elsie rolled her eyes, was he really going to do the whole prince charming act? She thought for a moment… a drink did sound good, and she couldn’t pretend that she didn’t have questions for the ambassador.

“Alright then, just one drink.” Joe was taken aback slightly, thinking he might have had to try a little harder to convince her.

[merryfortune]

Fizzy Feelings

Fandom: Uma Musume Pretty Derby

Ship: Gold City/Yukino Bijin

Warnings: A bath bomb is eaten & characterization is based on the mini-comics but otherwise, it’s all fluff!

Word Count: 2.3k

Synopsis:  Gold City takes Yukino Bijin on a grown-up city girl date and on that date, Gold City specifically takes Yukino Bijin to Lush.

  Gold City’s heart was still hammering, and they were approximately already forty-five minutes into their date. That is if you added up all the minutes and seconds between here and leaving the dorm and that had taken quite some time due to Gold City’s regular morning hypotension. Regardless, they got there in the end and were able to leave together. They had taken the train to the inner part of the city; where the CBD was and where a shopping mall was. And that had been the most nerve-wracking experience of her life because as much as she loved and crushed on Yukino Bijin, the girl was bit of a ditz.

  No. She was a lot of a ditz. But it was endearing and cute and gave Gold City a good excuse to hold her hand. After all, the country bumpkin couldn’t get lost if they were connected so tightly with interlocking fingers. But, of course, being exactly who she was, Yukino Bijin didn’t entirely get that Gold City was holding her hand as a romantic gesture. In fact, Gold City was beginning to wonder if this date was one-sided and that thought terrified her.

  So, for now, she played it cool. And that was relatively easy for Gold City because she was most at peace when she could be in a crowd and as they got closer to their destination, the more people clustered them on the city streets; not even glancing past them at all despite the fact they were two Horse Girls quite far from the school at this point.

  Yukino Bijin hummed a little tune under her breath as she held onto the strap of her purse and onto Gold City’s hand. She moved to the beat of her own drum, all of the time but it was nice for Gold City to have some clue as to what that tune was and, admittedly, it wasn’t all that great. It was a quirky little tune which showed that Yukino Bijin had no aptitude at all for music, but Gold City adored it nonetheless as they entered the underground complex.

  “Where do you want to go first?” Gold City asked, breaking Yukino Bijin’s tune.

  She blinked and mused thoroughly on the question. Her eyes glazing over as she weighed the pros and cons.

  “I’m right for racing shoes, at the moment.” she said at long last.

  Gold City laughed. “This isn’t a racing store; we’ll be lucky to find skirts or shorts with tail holes.” she replied and without thinking, she gave two flicks of her sandy-coloured tail.

  “Oh dear,” Yukino Bijin said, “I was hoping to buy a new casual skirt… The city has so many more options. Back home I had to sew m’own. I know! Is there a sewing shop, we can go to? And what else? I want the bon-a-fide city slicker experience, Goldie.”

  Gold City smiled. She hated it when anyone called her “Goldie” or “Goldielocks” and yet, somehow, she didn’t mind it when Yukino Bijin called her it. So, she smiled softly down on her companion.

  “Well, I suppose we could visit a few luxury shops then.” She said.

  “Ooh, for make-up and stuff?” Yukino Bijin asked.

  “Exactly!” chirruped Gold City. “I know, why don’t we visit Lush?”

  “Lush?” Yukino Bijin blinked owlishly and her face lit up with joy. “That’s the fancy sweets shop, ain’t it?!”

  “Er, no… This is an, um, bath and body lotion and hair care product shop.” Gold City explained; she was surprised that Yukino Bijin hadn’t heard of it – or had maybe gotten her wires crossed at all.

  “That sounds lovely. You have such pretty hair, Gold City. I would like my hair t’ be so silky too…” Yukino Bijin said.

  “I will very happily buy you anything you want there, hon.” Gold City quickly told Yukino Bijin because she had Gold City wrapped around her little pinkie finger – and she didn’t even know it!

  Yukino Bijin’s simple but adorable face lit up with joy. “Really?!” she exclaimed.

 “Really.” Gold City confirmed.

  “Then let’s rock’n’roll, Goldie! Let’s go shopping!” she whooped and hollered.

  Gold City smiled and soon enough, Yukino Bijin was marching them both right through the shopping centre. They got lost a few times here and there but that was okay. It gave them time to peruse the other shops on the way to Lush. They weren’t able to find any shops with pants or skirts or dresses which accommodated their needs, but they were still able to try on the occasional shirt here and there. As well as other accessories such as scarves and purses. They also wandered through the insides of a technology shop for the latest music and movies. Though Gold City had already illegally downloaded the bulk of such trendy things and Yukino Bijin had more vintage and obscure tastes. Even learning that Yukino Bijin had an affinity for ancient, country music wasn’t enough to cause Gold City to rethink her crush on her.

  Nonetheless, they were able to get where they were going, but they did stop for macarons and drinks first. An iced coffee for Gold City and an apple juice for Yukino Bijin. After that little pit-stop, the two Horse Girls continued on their way and eventually made it to their end goal destination and when they arrived, it was like Yukino Bijin’s eyes had been opened to the promised land. They utterly sparkled as she looked around the rather narrow and skinny little place that Lush resided in. Gold City didn’t quite understand the appeal but maybe it was because she was used to these sorts of things.

  Regardless, they milled around the insides of the shop with a few other customers and the staff as well. The store smelt very strongly of all its different, all-natural products. It gave Gold City something of a headache but Yukino Bijin embraced it as she admired all the little knickknacks available on the shelf. Gold City followed after her, explaining the uses of all these different things.

  Eventually, Yukino Bijin decided on some sort of leave-in shampoo and a body scrub but then, they got to the final frontier that Lush was known for and Gold City won’t lie, she had her reservations about it due to the type of idiotic girl Yukino Bijin was. She was very quickly infatuated with the baskets of bath bombs available. Her eyes widened over them as she inspected the different, crumbly spheres and she licked her lips.

  “I was right,” she said, “they do sell lollies here.”

  “N-No, they don’t,” Gold City said, “honey, these are bath bombs.”

  But it was too late. Yukino Bijin was far too in her own head to want to listen to anyone else and with great gusto, she took a bite out of the bath bomb. She hummed as she ate it like one would eat an apple. White powder dusted her lips as she mused over the taste.

  “Mm, crunchy!” she said, enthusiastically. “I like it.”

  “Th-Those are bath bombs, sweetheart.” Gold City stuttered.

  And it was in that moment, so awkward and embarrassing, that Gold City was truly able to confirm how far her feelings for Yukino Bijin ran. If her liking of dorky music couldn’t kill off the infatuation, then neither could her ability to eat bath bombs apparently because Gold City was swept head over heels for just how unique a girl Yukino Bijin was. She was so stupid and so cute all at once. Gold City’s heart thumped in her chest as she wished, quite dearly, to kiss Yukino Bijin on the lips; even if they were crumbed with bath bomb dust. It was a fizzy feeling which she genuinely enjoyed no matter the circumstance.

  “Um, excuse me, ma’am…?” a voice, terrified and exasperated, appeared from behind them.

  A chill was sent down Gold City’s spine as she turned around so that she may address the poor, beleaguered employee who had to deal with them. Meanwhile, Yukino Bijin was still enjoying her snack. Gold City awkwardly fidgeted with her hands; her ears twitched as she forced a smile.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll, um, pay for that…” she said.

  Yukino Bijin nudged Gold City then thrust the half-eaten bath bomb towards her. “You want some? It tastes really good. Mostly sugar though. Like a jawbreaker! But easier on th’ teeth.”

  “I’m right, thank you, Yukino Bijin.” Gold City told her, brushing her off as courteously as she could.

  Yukino Bijin shrugged. “Awright, if ya say so.” And then, she went back to blissfully tucking into her bath bomb.

  “Yep, don’t worry… I’ll pay.” Gold City told the Lush employee.

  “Thank you; this way then girls, I’ll – I’ll, um, ring you up.” She said.

  “Not a problem.” Gold Citu said through gritted teeth.

  She followed the employee and Gold City sighed dejectedly as she glanced back towards Yukino Bijin who was still purveying the wicker baskets of bath bombs. Thus, Gold City thought she would come to the counter prepared and got out extra money so that Yukino Bijin could buy another two bath bombs. Whether or not they would be for the intended enjoyment was a different story but honestly, as long as Yukino Bijin was happy then it was money well spent.

  With that, Gold City had decided that Yukino Bijin had gotten up to enough rabblerousing in the big city and made the executive decision to send themselves both back home. That way, they could join the other girls in the dorm for afternoon tea; although the temptation to duck into a WcDonalds was present but Yukino Bjin absolutely did not need sugar in her system. Not after eating an entire bath bomb, anyway.

  Still, despite the hiccups, Gold City had enjoyed her little quasi-date with Yukino Bijin. Together, with all their bags in tow, they stepped off the train and started to make their way back to the dorms at the school. They were slowly beginning to run out of conversation topics as Yukino Bijin had looped back to the same sort of idle musings that she had begun their morning together with.

  As they walked, Gold City still found herself enamoured with her companion. She was so cute and stupid, how could she not have fallen in love with Yukino Bijin?

  “Hey, Yukino…” Gold City murmured as they drew in closer to the school gates, breaking off Yukino Bijin’s reverie about the state of crops back home and how she didn’t mind the hot weather even if it was detrimental, but it made playing under sprinklers fun.

  “Yeah, Gold City?” Yukino Bijin chirruped; completely blanking from all her previous trains of thoughts.

  “Did you have fun today?” Gold City asked awkwardly.

  “Well of course I did!” she beamed. “I feel like a real city girl today. Going to Lush an’ buyin’ make-up. It was great fun.”

  “I’m glad.” Gold City murmured. “But, um, would consider what we went on…” Her cheeks began to go red and her heart pounded. “But would you consider it a date?”

  “Huh?” Yukino Bijin stopped right in her tracks and her eyes went as wide as dinner plates.

  Gold City stopped too, but only after taking a few regrettable steps forward because she hadn’t immediately noticed that she had stunned Yukino Bijin like that. Her palms began to sweat and her mouth dried. She worried upon worries that perhaps she had overstepped things and was now compromising her solid friendship with the wildly different Horse Girl.

  “Y-You mean… This was a…? Well I’ll be… A sexy… A sexy city girl like you Goldie… wants to take me on a date?” she asked.

  “Well, um, yes.” Gold City replied, and she was miffed by such words coming out of Yukino Bijin’s mouth; they didn’t quite suit her, but she was flattered, nonetheless.

  “Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle…” she murmured. “Yes! Yes, a thousand times yes, Goldie!”

  “You’ll… You’ll be my girlfriend then?” Gold City asked.

  “Abso-blinking-lutely!” Yukino Bijin cried out.

  Gold City squealed in delight and she dropped her bags, without thinking, and pounced on Yukino Bijin with a great hug. She squeezed and squeezed and squeezed her newly crowned girlfriend until Yukino Bijin had to tap out due to not being able to breathe.  Reluctantly, though with much panic, Gold City did let her go.

  “Sorry.” She murmured, her face still red and she was vibrating with uncharacteristic excitement which was hugely endearing to Yukino Bijin.

  “Aw, no skin of my teeth, Goldie.” Yukino Bijin told her flippantly.

  “Do you want to, um, kiss, Yukino?” Gold City asked.

  “Would I?!” exclaimed Yukino Bijin and before Gold City could even blink, Yukino Bijin took the iniative.

  She went up on her tip-toes and planted a sloppy kiss on her girlfriend’s lips. Completely ruining Gold City’s lipstick but Gold City didn’t mind as she kissed back with just as much passion. She held onto Yukino Bijin’s tiny hands with her coarser than she imagined but she didn’t mind. She also didn’t mind how Yukino Bijin’s kiss very strongly tasted of soap and sugar and what might be blueberries.

  Eventually, they broke from their kiss with shining eyes and emptied lungs. But their bodies were filled with this reverberating excitement, exchanged through colourful smiles and lovestruck glances. It was sweet, and Gold City felt very accomplished with herself. Yukino Bijin, feeling very similar as this cushy and sweet feeling swelled in her chest.

  “We should go on another lush date soon, I reckon.” Yukino Bjin chirruped.

  “I love you, but absolutely not. I’m so not letting you eat another bath bomb.” Gold City quickly scolded her, though her expression left much to be desired. It was more cutely amused than annoyed, after all.

[gruvia-raid]

The Strength in Fragilty

Chapter 2: Fatigue

AN: Anything in italics is a flashback

TW: Cancer and mentions of death

Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Fairy Tail nor do I own it's characters. They belong to Hiro Mashima & Co. This story uses coarse language.

"Juvia sweetie, I'm coming home today."

"Really! Why? Juvia thought mom wasn't able to come home for another couple of months."

Juvia was ecstatic. She hadn't seen her mother in over a year, since she had moved aboard for work. Well she wasn't her actual birth mother, she was her adoptive one. You see Juvia never knew her birth mom, for she died during childbirth and her father died when she was seven due to an undetectable cancer. She was sent to an orphanage and was treated horribly by the other children there. But one day, a beautiful brunette came and fell in love with her. A few months later, after all the paper work was done, she adopted Juvia and has been with her ever since. She was an infamous fashion designer, thus she travelled a lot, and recently she had left for an upcoming joint fashion line which required her to move away.

"Well hun, I told them of your 'condition', so I was given permission to move back and take care of you. Isn't that great?"

No it really wasn't.

"Aha mom doesn't need to return on account of Juvia's condition. She can take care of herself. Mom mustn't burden herself." A month ago Juvia was diagnosed with lung cancer. But she believed she was a very independent women now, her mother didn't need to come to her rescue like she used too.

"Nonsense Juvi-bee," her mother chuckled over the phone. "You are much more important than a fashion line. I want my baby feeling worry free as she over comes her illness. So it's no burden."

"But mother," Juvia whined she really didn't need help." Juvia is perfectly fine by herself don't worry abou-"

"Juvia" Her mother spoke in a stern voice. Juvia could imagine her face now, eyebrows scrunched worriedly together but with a glare that could kill. If anyone else attempted that look they would seem ridiculous but on her mother it was terrifying. "I am coming home whether you want me too or not. I know that you are strong, you are my child after all. But everyone needs a little help in life. And you missy do not have a man to take care of you so a mother is perfect during times like these. Plus, I'm already at the airport waiting to broad the plane."

Seriously, her mother took any chance she got to point out that Juvia didn't have a 'man' in her life. She had a man but he was too much of an ass to stay with her. Juvia was independent anyway, she didn't need a man, hasn't her mother ever heard the song "I don't need a man" by the Pussycat dolls? Yet, mama shouldn't be talking 'cause she didn't have a man either. Though she claims that she "couldn't have a stable relationship in her line of work" yeah, nice excuse mom.

Juvia sighed, nonetheless she did miss her. "Fine what time should Juvia pick mom up?"

Her mother chuckled. "at 8 sweetie. And you should really try to not speak in third person that's probably why you don't have a man."

"Bye mom." She deadpanned.

"Bye darling love you." She smooched.

"Love you too." The call ended

Two hours later, Juvia received a phone call informing her that her mother's plane had crashed, and that they were still searching for survivors. Unfortunately, her mother was not one.

As Juvia was awakening from her deep slumber, she immediately felt another presence within the room. She cracked one eye open to reveal her oldest friend Gajeel Redfox sitting around the small coffee table.

"Gajeel-kun?" she mumbled in a hoarse voice.

"Oi Rainwoman, You finally awake?" He asked, even though he could clearly see she was.

Gajeel was the only person willing to talk to Juvia on his own accord during elementary school. All of the other children thought she was weird, ugly and depressing. They all used to make fun of her saying that if she "were a smurf she'd be named gloomy" or that she "looked like those people in avatar, ugly and unhuman" these were all references to her blue...well, her blue everything. But one day Gajeel came along and threatened all the kids, both boy and girl, that if anyone ever talked shit about her again, he'd punch them square in the face. Thus, they became friends.

Well, not exactly, after that she would always follow him like a little lost puppy. He always complained, but never abandoned her. And eventually, he finally became accustom to her presence.

She nodded before asking "What is Gajeel-kun doing here?"

"Fuck that! What the fuck Juvia, didn't Dr. Stripper say to take it easy?"

"Gajeel-kun there is no need to swear. Juvia was just a little tired is all. Nothing too serious."

"I don't give a fuck that you were 'a little tired'" he attempted to mock her. "You're not invincible woman. You're sick, so calm the fuck down with all this shit you keep doing."

"But Gajeel-kun." She whined. Seriously, what was wrong with everyone? Just because her lungs were weak didn't mean she was...well sort of. It was annoying that everyone else saw her as a fragile flower, when she felt like superman, well most of the time anyway, everyone was just over exaggerating.

"WOMEN, YOU NEED TO TAKE A FUCKING BREAK! YOU CAN'T KEEP PUSHING YOURSELF TO THE FUCKING LIMIT LIKE THIS!"

Just then, Levy McGarden Gajeel's fiancée walked in with two steaming cups of coffee and a cup of tea.

"Gajeel, calm down, don't you see she feels bad enough as it is?" Levy reprimanded in a soft tone. Levy was another one of Juvia's close friends, though not as close as Lucy or Gajeel, she was always there when Gajeel would yell over whatever he didn't approve of. Juvia thought she was a good fit for him though, she always seemed to keep Gajeel in check when he was swimming in dangerous territory. They were each other's yin and yang, she was happy for them.

"Thanks Levy-san" Juvia stated as Levy handed her the cup of tea and handed Gajeel the other coffee.

"Ah wait you can't drink that Juvia." Gray spoke as he and head oncologist Erza Scarlet entered the hospital room.

"Why is that Dr. Fullbuster?" Juvia inquired with a look of puzzlement.

"Well I was about to perform those tests I informed you of earlier. And you can't drink anything other than water within eight hour of the tests." He smiled apologetically.

"Hello Juvia, How are you feeling?" Erza smiled as she strolled past Gray towards the bed, her fiery red hair flowing behind. One look at Erza and your immediate reaction would be "Wow" as she was stunningly beautiful. But once you got to know her, you'd realize she was a bit on the scary side personality wise.

"Better than earlier," she chuckled. "How is Erza-san? Juvia hasn't spoken to her in a while."

"Ah I'm very busy, I can tell you that. Being in charge of this one and Natsu, plus all the paperwork for this department is a lot to handle." Juvia smiled, she knew Natsu for a while since he was Lucy boyfriend and him alone was a lot to handle.

"But I saw Gray walking this way and just wanted to stop by to say hello. Like I said though, I am very busy so I must bid you goodbye." Erza left as Juvia waved to her goodbye. Gajeel and Levy also bid Juvia their goodbyes as Gray was ready to begin his tests.

"Now then, shall we?"

The testing ran over the course of a long excruciating week. Until the fateful day when Juvia could finally return home, she grew weary of just laying in her hospital bed. Gray stood over her, clipboard in hand, was just near done with his paper work, and was ultimately ready to discharge Juvia.

"Well Juvia, we are all finished here and you young lady are being discharged today." Scribbling a few last words on a small piece of paper, he handed to Juvia. "This is the prescription for the new medication I'm subscribing you. And when the latest test results arrive I'll contact you." He finished with his signature smile-smirk-thing.

"Thank you once again Dr. Fullbuster. Juvia appreciates everything you have done for her."

"Aha, well it's my job to take care of you." Gray stood there contemplating for a minute. He really wanted to ask her something, but while he was on the job it would be completely unprofessional. But as he spared her a glance, she stared at him so expectantly as if she was waiting for him to come out and say it. Screw the job, he'd just take it like a man and ask. "Hey...um...Juvia?"

She stared waiting for him to go on. He scratched the back of his head and continued. "Would it..um." Come on Gray, what's gotten into you? He cleared his throat. "Would it be inappropriate to say that I am off work tomorrow afternoon and I'd enjoy it if you were to go out with me?" There he said it, the damage was done.

Juvia couldn't help but notice how his cheeks were dusted a faint pink. One could say she did fancy the young doctor's company. He was sweet, handsome, funny and from what she could assume protective, as he always seemed worried about her. One could say she had an attraction for the man when she first laid eyes on him. Oh who was she kidding? She was completely smitten. She beamed at him.

"Juvia would love too!"

AN: Alrighty guys that's a wrap for chapter 2. The next chapter will be their date so expect so fluff. And like I said in chapter 1, it is 85% done. Let me know if you guys are liking it so far.

[ellebeebee]

Guillaume Comtois, Revairan diplomat, spends a day fixing the mistake of an underling.  Unfortunately, this day has more significance for him than he generally allows himself to acknowledge.

5213 words, various pairings referenced (m/m and f/m), mild warning for language

Lord Guillaume Comtois, Under-Ambassador at the Revairan Embassy in management of domestic affairs, was just putting in his left cufflink when his butler Yates knocked on his bedroom door.

“Come in,” Guillaume stated.  His manservant Henri hovered at his shoulder, holding up his coat for the day with his clean white gloves.  The black silk had been carefully brushed and held not even the smallest speck of lint.

Yates cracked the door open.  He’d worked under the previous butler for fifteen years.  The previous butler had worked for the Comtois house for nearly sixty.  Nobility and their servants tended toward lifelong affairs with one another.

“Sir,” Yates said quietly. “A Mister Morel from the embassy to see you.  He says it’s urgent.”

Guillaume frowned at him.

“Did he say what about?”

“No, sir.”

“Sun’s barely up, and he’s already pushing a new crisis on me?”

“Shall I send him away?”

“No,” Guillaume stated.  He gestured to Henri and let him help him with his coat. “Human life presever happens to be my chief responsibility.”

Yates followed him out the door and down the dark-carpeted hall lined the portraits of all the Comtois lords and ladies from the ages, human layers down to the depths of the Great Wars.  Some of them shared the dark sepia skin, the broad and pronounced cheekbones, and the lush lips that he had inherited.  As Guillaume climbed down his grand stairway with sharp, quick taps from his hard heels, Morel at the bottom stared up at him uneasily.

“What is it now?” Guillaume said, his voice echoing in the wide and high foyer.

Morel coughed nervously, fiddling with his hat in his hands.  A few years younger than Guillaume, but from the sort of family that had been ingrained into the diplomatic service for aeons.  And had the good sense to adapt quickly to changing policies, changing regimes.  Morel, nervous and blatantly ginger-haired, had hung on to his position and stumbled up promotions by din of his people skills.  In other words, he didn’t mind being the butt of the jokes of foreign dignitaries and letting them outdrink him.

“Ah, sir,” Morel said. “There was-- well, I was at the-- the thing is--”

“You were at the Starre last night, playing nursemaid to that Fetti-- Fettiman person-- That Arlish pompous bootlicker.”

“Lord Fettiplace.  And I was at the Starre with him.  And the Corbet brothers, and--”

“Get to the point, Morel.”

The younger man did that jerky nervous cough again. “Okay, well.  You know how I’ve been using that Bathurst grandson-- the one with the doctorate, because Fettiman-- Fettiplace fancies himself some sort of trade genius.”

“Yes, and Jon Bathurst had strict instructions to dumb it down for the man,” Guillaume said.  His tone was getting more and more clipped and polite, in the way that meant his inner ire was growing.

Morel licked his lips. “Yes, well.  We all got a little-- well, a lot drunk and forgot to keep Bathurst from getting drunk, and then he and Fettiplace got into it--”

Guillaume raised a hand, and Morel shut up, the whites of his eyes gone broad.

“Just tell me how bad it is,” Guillaume stated.

“Ah,” Morel started. “We may have all begun chanting at him, ‘Revairan mores for Arlish whores’ at one point.  Or maybe it was Revairan whores.  I don’t quite, um, remember.”

Guillaume closed his eyes and exhaled.  All in all, it was far too early in the morning to have such a tension headache coming on.  When he reopened his eyes, Morel was staring at him anxiously.

His jaw shifting, he said, low and calm, “I will fix this.  I want you to go home.  In fact, I want you to go home for the next two weeks until Lord Fettiplace gets back on a boat to whatever dull hole he crawled from.  And you had better pray that it’s still two weeks from now, and not this afternoon.”

Morel opened and closed his mouth.  Finally, he nodded.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

He made a sort of half bow.  Henri had reappeared with his hat, which Guillaume took.

Putting on his own, Morel gestured to the door as the doorman opened it. “I’m going toward the embassy, shall I walk you part way?”

Guillaume stopped on the threshold to stare back at the man.  The freckles on Morel’s neck seemed to scatter and contract as his adam’s apple bobbed.

“Or I can take the scenic route,” Morel stated, slightly pitchy.

“That would be advisable,” Guilluame answered with a hard smile.

Despite Yates’s polite reminder (read: admonition) that he hadn’t had breakfast, Guillaume left his city manor for the quiet lane his family had spent decades and decades of social seasons on.  The sky still held that delicate touch of violet and canary yellow of the early hours of morning, which belonged to the laundresses carrying large sacks of their livelihood on their hips.  The hours that belonged to the manservants taking gaggles of white yipping lapdogs out of their mistresses’ hair.  It would be hours yet before the nobility took to the parks or the shops.

Guillaume crossed two streets over and passed a few blocks of well-to-do white cake-topper mansions.  He stopped at the Namaire manor.

-

“Darling, it is far too early in the morning for such angry requests,” Sabine stated.

She was seated in her sunny morning room, tawny with dark curls half-up and wearing a dressing coat too elaborate for so early in the day.  But she was never one to be told there was a certain protocol for overwrought embroidery.  The baroness stared at him over a steaming teacup.  Guillaume sighed and unbuttoned the bottom button of his coat as he sat across from her.

“It was not an angry request,” he said.

He waved away a servant when he tried to give him a setting for the breakfast array on the table.  Sabine beckoned the servant back.

“Your face says otherwise,” she stated. “Eat.  You clearly need the sustenance.”

“If it’s too much of an imposition--”

“I didn’t say that,” Sabine said. “It’s just that I had all these lovely little plans today.  I’d like more details if I’m going to cancel them.”

Guillaume accepted a cup of tea and a slice of delicious smelling quiche.  This gesture of obedience seemed to please her, as the baroness smiled for once.  He gave her back the false smile that she always knew was false but also made light of his inner wrath.  She laughed.

He took a sip of tea. “Really, it doesn’t have to be anything elaborate.  You know Jan Allard, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said. “Through Didier.  You want me to invite him?”

“Allard, yes.  Didier, no,” Guillaume said. “I need Jan Allard, a casual affair-- not a full dinner or anything too obvious, and you and all your charming glory.”

She gave raised a brow at him. “Outright flattery.  You’re really giving it the hard sell.  Either that or this person we’re wooing has somehow beguiled you shamelessly.”

“It’s not that sort of wooing,” he stated. “It’s more along the lines of ‘you could take your trade agreement to Corval because some idiot minor diplomat here insulted you, but look-- something shiny, woo.’”

He made appropriate finger motions at the sound effect.  Sabine laughed, falling to the back of her chair.

“You really are in a state today,” she said, giggling. “Fine.  Who is this mystery man of the hour?”

“Lord Nealson Fettiplace, of Arland.  Member of the Arlish royal secretariat, liason between the treasury and various embassies.  I say ‘various’ because it seems that his self-righteous pontificating on things he has little understanding of gets him politely shoved off into the pools of some other unsuspecting diplomatic corps with alarming regularity.”

“Arlish?” Sabine said. “Are you sure about this?  They’re terrified of widows over there.  Think we’re all soul-sucking harpies or something.”

“That or they’re banking on it,” Guillaume said drily.

She put down her teacup and frowned at him. “No need to be so crude.  It’s morning.”

“You brought it up,” he returned.

Sabine gave him a look.  He gazed back placidly.  And then they both couldn’t help snorting and grinning at each other.

“Trust me,” Guillaume stated. “He’s the type to think he’s being worldly or something by gracing your home.”

“Charming,” Sabine said.  She shook her head with exaggerated primness. “Alright.  A little gathering just thrown together-- my, aren’t you a fascinating person, Lord Fettiworth--”

“Fettiplace.”

“Fettiplace,” she agreed solemnly.

Guillaume stood and rebuttoned his jacket.  He rounded the table to her chair, and bent to kiss her on the cheek.

“Thank you,” he told her.

She gazed up at him.  Something passed in her eyes, and she took his hand in one of hers.

“Guillaume...” she hesitated. “Today is…”

He lightly squeezed her hand.  He didn’t exactly warn her with his eyes, but she must have understood all the same.  She smiled in a thin way.

She exhaled. “Well.  You may as well go on.  I have an impromptu run-in with Allard on my itinerary and other arrangements to make.”

Guillaume nodded and left the Namaire city manor for the slightly busier lane.  The Lorraine manse faced directly across the way, but Hugo Lorraine was out playing polo and failing at hunting out in the countryside for about a week.  Hugo never got up before noon, anyway.  And Guillaume had better uses of his time than having his ear chattered off by the ninny-headed prat.  Why were they friends again?

Pulling his hat more snugly against his close-cropped scalp, Guillaume went on.  It was a bit more of a walk to the embassy from Sabine’s than from his own street, and he spent the time ruminating about all that he had to do.

The Royal Embassy of Revaire resided in a relatively new building compound, only two centuries old, that had been built after that particularly nasty Corvali invasion which reached as far inland as the capital.  The previous embassy had been burned and pillaged, and the new one sprawled across nearly an entire block that was a stone’s throw from the royal palace.  No one could be mistaken about the Crown’s shadow eternally falling on the business of diplomatic relations.

Guillaume climbed rapidly up the broad expanse of steps into the embassy, nodding to the men and women he knew.  At this hour, most were the commoners at assistance jobs and the more minor secretary positions; the nobles who held the majority of the higher ranks rarely came in before the lunch hour.  He made it all the way across the over-large and over-decorated foyer that nearly defeaned you with echoes during the busiest hours (read: end of the day rush out), up the stairs to his floor, and half-way down the dark-purple south wing that held the domestic Revairan ambassadors before he was stopped for a conversation.

“Lord Comtois,” said the Skaltan man exiting a door to his left.

“Secretary Urel,” Guillaume returned with a practised smile.

Urel of Skalt had not actually returned to his homeland in nearly a decade.  His father was an Arlish merchant’s son that had gotten “kidnapped” by a Hisean captain and after a few years at sea deposited in Skalt rather than returned to Arland.  A Skaltan warrior had married him, and subsequently “divorced” (as their country did allow) when the relationship soured.  Urel, the product of this relationship, ended up taking diplomatic positions for his tribe at quite a young age.  He’d spent eight years in Corval and the last eighteen months in Revaire.

Urel wore traditional tattoos across his hands, a fine Corvali cloak over a somewhat unusual Revairan suit, and a full head of mahogany curls.

“Early bird gets the worm?” Urel smiled, his gray eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Something along those lines,” Guillaume stated drily. “You’ve done well, I heard.  Handling the treasury and the exchange rates.”

“Well for my country or yours?” he returned, teeth flashing.

“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?  Promises of fine knowledge and miraculous remedies is one thing, but producing realities…”

“That is the kicker, isn’t it?” Urel laughed lightly. “Well, certainly makes my negotiated rate all the more impressive, no?”

“Certainly.”

“In fact,” Urel continued with his eyes narrowing and that particular dancing smile flitting about his well-featured face. “I was thinking of you during the talks.”

Guillaume did not register a bit of surprise in his expression, did not look around to see if others were listening.  You learned long ago not to draw attention at these moments; either that or suffer suspicion and ridicule stemming from your own ineptitudes.  The hall was broad and empty, anyway; only their reflections across the polished marble floor kept them company.

Guillaume’s jaw shifted. “Really?  And here I thought I had left your regard completely.”

Urel tilted his head slightly with an apologetic and charming smile. “On the contrary.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  I’ve always admired your negotiation skills.”

“I don’t know,” Guillaume said carefully. “Your experience in these matters seem much more useful than any skill I could claim.”

The Skaltan diplomat chuckled as he took a step closer. “Either way, I’ve enjoyed my time here and I’m planning to stay longer.  In the future, I hope I can count on your friendship.”

Guillaume smiled, aware of Urel’s proximity and all the things it brought with it (scent and that unbearable unseen pressure).  Like a warm lake, deep and dark.

“Of course,” he returned instead with all due protocol.

“Are you free for lunch?” Urel asked lightly.

Guillaume paused.  Behind them, a pair of under-secretaries passed down the hall with ringing heels and a quiet conversation.  Guillaume took his own step forward, as if he were going to pass the other man by completely, but stopped to turn his head until they were nearly bumping noses.

He whispered, “If you want to screw, you don’t have to act like you’re courting me.  You don’t have to ask me to lunch, or to tea, or the club.  And no, I’m unavailable today.”

Urel considered him.

They’d met, over a year ago now, not long after Urel had first arrived in Revaire.  It had begun rather quickly; an invitation to the club, the next week an invitation back home for a nightcap.  And then the ridiculous circus of highs and lows, suddenly waxing and waning interest.  It was understandable in a way; they did not have the luxury of freedom from social judgment, and to have an interest at all outside of marriage vows had opprobriums.  But still.  

Guillaume did not appreciate being toyed with.

“Perhaps next week,” Urel stated.

“We’ll see,” Guillaume returned.

They tipped hats to one another and went on their ways.

At his section’s office, he gave his cloak and hat to an assistant and knocked on the open doorframe of Baron Savagn’s personal office.  The older man, with a terra-cotta swarthiness and a frame given to bulk, glanced up at his entrance through little gold rimmed round spectacles.  He slapped down the sheaf of papers to his desk’s ink-stained green felt blotter.

“Morel went to you?” the baron asked.

“The most charming of wake-up calls,” Guillaume answered. “I’ll handle it.”

“Good,” Savagn stated.

That was a dismissal.  Baron Savagn ran his section of Revairan domestic diplomats with a hands-off policy that tended to weed out complete incompetents.  If you couldn’t at least float in this pool of piranhas, then you were quickly rid of by the brunt of your own mistakes.  It suited Guillaume quite well; he could take his own prerogatives rather than have some nepotistic fool who’s forefathers had been bumbling through the exact some job for generations breathing down his neck.

Guillaume spent the rest of the morning riffling through Morel’s notes on Fettiplace for all the good that did him (read: they did no good at all).  And he sent a note to an acquaintance among the Arlish envoy that owed him a favor: instructions to stop Fettiplace in the foyer at day’s end by whatever means necessary (note: the sort of triteness that passed for conversation with the man).

Around noon, a messenger delivered a card from Sabine:

Cards.  I hope the man is good at winning, because we are very good at losing, aren’t we, dear?  Light repast at the game table, wine yes or no? Lovely Jan sends his regards.

He told her yes to the wine, but to keep it pale and innocent-looking; rieslings and chardonnays.

In the afternoon, Guillaume wandered to the Covali wing (which overlooked the embassy’s one garden, the rich bastards), to ostensibly check up on some gossip.  In reality, he was feeling the waters on the subject of the one crucial trade agreement Fettiplace had his grubby little hands on.  The verdict: Corvali opinions were obtuse, useless, and mildly threatening.  As usual.

Four candlemarks past noon, and the ambassadors and secretaries began filing out of their offices to linger in the halls and community areas for those end of the day conversations which mattered as much as the day’s work at times.  Guillaume gave his apologies to the men and women in his section, and calmly strode through the maze of corridors for the embassy’s main foyer.

“Fanny Luyten,” Guillaume called when he spotted his target.

The Arlish under-secretary looked up at his greeting.  Fanny Luyten occupied a position in which she was decidedly outnumbered.  Arland maintained a definite baseline for their ambassadors: noble, rich, conservative, and male.  Fanny had the disadvantage of being none of these and the great mystery of having overcome all of them.  Guillaume was curious about her story but knew only half of it and doubted anyone would ever know the full of it.

“Lord Comtois, good evening,” Fanny Luyten smiled and curtsied at his approach.  Her skin shone golden against black hair, her dress formal, clean-lined, and high-collared.  She turned to her companion beside her. “Lord Fettiplace, may I introduce Lord Guillaume Comtois, Revairan Under-Ambassador.  Lord Comtois, Lord Nealson Fettiplace of Arland’s royal secretariat.”

The gentlemen exchanged bows.

“Lord Fettiplace, your reputation proceeds you,” Guillaume said, flashing a white smile.

“Mmm, I’m afraid you have the better of me then, sir,” the Arlish dignitary said.  He had a way of standing, with his large and rather poofed red cravat, his chest thrust forward and one hand tucked into the interior of his waistcoat, that reminded one of some sort of bird.  The complex and singular curl laying across his forehead did little to repair this image.

“That is often the case, sir,” Fanny interjected. “Lord Comtois seems to know all occupants of the room no matter the occasion.  He is quite--”

“Yes, Revairans do seem to know a lot, don’t they,” Fettiplace interrupted with a bit more force than the light conversation called for.  When Guillaume and Fanny smiled politely at him during the pause, he added, “About things.  All sorts, it would seem.”

“Well!” Fanny said brightly, ignoring the awkwardness entirely. “You said you had a carriage waiting, Lord Comtois?”

“Yes, the baroness was kind enough to send one,” Guillaume replied.   He turned back to Fettiplace. “Are you engaged this evening, my lord?  I have heard you have fascinating views on international trade and would love to hear more.  My friend, the Baroness of Namaire, is having a small gathering tonight and invited myself and Miss Luyten here.  Cards, I think, and a light dinner.  You are welcome to join.”

“Who?” Fettiplace all but demanded of Fanny beside him.

“The Baroness of Namaire.  Earlier, Countess Ylda and Lord Farrow were discussing a gala she held not long ago.”

Fettiplace tapped his elaborately topped walking cane with two decided knocks. “Oh yes, the widow.”

Guillaume smiled over his own inner bristling. “I think Jan Allard will be there.  Do you know of his work, my lord?”

Fettiplace sputtered a bit, Of course-- everyone in my field knows Jan Allard and The Seven Components of Controlled Trade, and without much further prompting he followed them to the carriage Sabine had sent.  Many exclamations were made over how honored they all were to have such a guest as Fettiplace among them.  Thank heavens the trip to the Namaire mansion was short, as the Arlish dignitaries puffing up as Guillaume and Fanny ooh’d over his circuitous expounding on market forces became an entirely untenable charade.

Of course, as they were ushered into one of her lounges, Sabine dazzled them with her usual charm and warmth.  And Guillaume’s opinion of Fettiplace solidified as he watched the Arlish dignitary be completely spellbound by Sabine’s long lashes and the pretty figure she cut.  The man pretended to be immune and cool-headed about her smiles and sweet comments that greased the wheels of their conversation -- but it was obvious.  Guillaume rather wanted to backhand the idiot.

Jan Allard seemed amused by the whole affair.  The economist and writer had a square jaw and boyish freckles dancing across his masculine nose.  Sabine must have primed Allard before their arrival, because he required little prompting to expound eloquently on his own theories, twisting them even to somehow feature Arland as a paragon of a judicious economic and political power.

“For example,” Allard was saying, “I’m sure Arland would never permit the humiliations to the institution of the crown as they do here in Revaire.”

“Here, here!” Fettiplace harrumphed.  He was a little red from all the white wine and the winnings he’d pried from the card table.

“Just the other day, I was passing the Grand Square-- right in the center of our fair city-- where they were burning the latest pamphlet of that scoundrel Fox Foxley.  You know him, my lord?”

“Rebellious firebrand of some sort, no?” Fettiplace sniffed.

Allard raised his glass in salute. “The very same, sir.  Shameful stuff, sir.  Just shameful.  Spreading dissent and dissatisfaction in this sensitive time.”

“They ought to catch him and string him up!” Fettiplace barked.

Sabine brought a hand to her cheek and her face became the very picture of maidenly dismay. “Really, gentlemen, I appreciate such manly passion.  But there are ladies present.”

Fettiplace coughed. “I apologize for offending your more delicate sensibilities, my lady.”

Sabine smiled at him with those sparkling blue eyes of hers.  Fettiplace practically preened.

To Guillaume’s right, Fanny Luyten was trying to stifle a giggle.  She leaned into the card table with a conspiratorial whisper.

“I’ve seen one of those pamphlets, sirs.  And the man can write.”

Guillaume threw down his hand. “I’m out.” No one was really playing anymore, anyway.  He continued, “Then it’s all the more shameful that such talents should be wasted.”

Jan Allard began chuckling. “Well, wasted talent or not-- it is bound to be dead talent soon enough.  The Crown will run that Fox Foxley down with their dogs soon enough.”

Sabine interjected, her tone raised, “I believe that’s enough of such dreary talk, gentlemen.  Lord Fettiplace, do you play the pianoforte?  Come, we shall have music.”

Fettiplace stumbled along in the hostess’s wake to an adjacent music room.  Fanny tagged along, altogether too amused by the spectacle of the Arlish man’s ponderous interpretation of a light Revairan ditty and Sabine’s whimsical singing, wandering from note to note with undue confidence.

Allard, still seated at the table with Guillaume, watched the scene down the long room and through a broad arch.  The writer wore a half-smile.  And the half-smile incrementally widened when Sabine glanced up at them from her position standing beside the seated Fettiplace.

Ah.

Allard turned back to Guillaume, getting up to take a seat directly next to him.

“You are shameless,” Guillaume told him, amused.

Allard raised a brow.

Guillaume shook his head. “It’s alright.  She’s very careful.  We won’t be overheard.” He waved vaguely around the candlelit room, the darkness outside having come creeping in to nurture the interior shadows.  Guillaume grinned. “What was it?  The Crown’s dogs will run you down?”

Allard laughed.  “Did I sell it too hard?”

“Your head is going to roll for such stunts,” Guillaume told him, reaching for the wine and two glasses.

Allard accepted the offering. “I’m surprised it hasn’t already.  Nice to hear that I actually have talent to waste, though.”

Guillaume considered him.  “I suspect there was another pair of lips you’d rather have heard that from,” he said over his wine glass.

Allard, having had one eye on the scene in the other room and one ear on their conversation, turned fully to Guillaume at this.

“Look, I don’t want to step on any toes,” the writer said, low and apologetic. “I know she’s doing all this for you, and--”

Guillaume raised a hand to stop him. “Relax.  It’s not like that between us.”

Allard’s broad shoulders visibly loosened. “Oh.  It’s just you’re always something of a pair at social events--”

“We’re friends.  We help each other out,” Guillaume smiled.

Pausing, the writer grinned slowly.  He leaned in with twinkling (read: twinkling) eyes. “So?  What do you think?”

Guillaume shook his head; they were all clearly feeling the wine. “She likes a brooding intellectual.”

Allard chuckled. “Well, I’m up a shit creek, then, pardon my Old Revairan, as I am clearly neither of those.”

The evening ended better than expected with Fettiplace sufficiently pampered and flattered.  Guillaume did not approach the subject of the trade agreement; that wasn’t how this worked and he was comfortably assured that the man wasn’t running off on the next outbound ship for Corval.  He would drop by the Arlish envoy in the morning to check on Fanny, say a brief hello to Fettiplace, and invite him to lunch later this week.  One needed a certain amount of coyness, after all.  Negotiation was a game of finding who needed the other more.

It was always obvious which was the loser in the end.

-

After the guests had been shuffled off in one of her coaches, Sabine tiredly dragged herself to her room.  She lost her shoes at the foot of the first flight of stairs; someone would get them eventually.  They were used to it, her dear staff.  She was pulling her long earrings out when she pushed open her room’s door, and found Guillaume half-sprawled on a settee.  She jumped, and dropped the lacey diamonds in her hand.

“Heavens, you startled me,” she scolded him as she bent to scoop up the earring.

Guillaume straightened a bit, looking owlish and tired and a bit crumpled.  His collar hung loose and he’d also kicked his shoes off.

“Sorry,” he said. “Victoire let me in.”

“I thought you wandered away a while ago.”

He shrugged.  She turned away to wet a cloth at her wash basin and wipe away at her makeup.  He watched her: these simple domestic actions so rarely seen.

She was pulling pins out of her curls when he said, “Sabine.”

She looked at him.  At his gesture she approached his settee and sat.

He leaned into her.

“Allard likes you,” he told her.

She sighed and curled her feet up underneath her, and made a bed of silk and tulle with her skirts that whispered and protested as Guillaume leaned into them.

“I know,” she said. “I know, and I shouldn’t.  The Summit isn’t too far now.”

He glanced at her.  At his look, she couldn’t help cracking a grin.

“I really shouldn’t.”

He snorted as she giggled softly.

Their laughter subsided into quiet.  This had been the room she’d shared with the baron; she’d never changed rooms, even after his death.  Guillaume had been to this house many times but could count on one hand the times he’d entered this room.  He should feel like an intruder, an interloper.  But he didn’t.  Just like the nature of her marriage had changed through the years, the meaning and significance of this room, those portraits, and that bed had changed as well.

“It’s been six years,” Guillaume finally said. “Six years since his death this day.”

Sabine shifted.  She put an arm around his shoulders.

“I thought--” she said slowly, pausing. “You’ve never wanted to talk about this before.”

Guillaume shrugged. “A mistake, I think.  Do you mind?”

“No, of course not--” she stated.  Her arm tightened around him and he closed his eyes.

“I spent years running after someone who was never going to give me what I needed,” Guillaume said. “It wasn’t much, I told myself.  He’ll come around.  I was too young and--”

He stumbled. “I was too young and in love to see that I needed to move on.  I was foolish and blind, and it made me permissive to the way he treated me.  I could blame him entirely, but in hindsight I know I should have been more honest about what I wanted.  To him, and most of all to myself.”

He leaned further into her shoulder, and she rested her cheek against his temple.

“Oh, darling,” she whispered.

“I just needed a few words,” Guillaume continued. “That’s all.  I didn’t need a promise or some grand gesture.  I see now I was actually asking for the hardest thing.  But he didn’t have to make it so difficult for me to let go--”

He faltered. “He didn’t have to keep reaching for me.” He paused. “Well.  I suppose I didn’t have to keep reaching back, either.”

He snorted humorlessly.

“And then he had the nerve to die on me.  And even after all these years, I will suddenly look up and miss him-- miss him like someone beating me bloody. Like someone stabbing me again and again.  I don’t know how many times I’ve thought, fine, it would be fine if he kept using me, just please let him come back, if he were just here--”

He stopped.  She’d begun crying, or was that him?  He was very, very tired.

And it was all so difficult.

-

He woke to dim early morning sunbeams toying with those inexplicable dust motes silhouetted like little lives adrift in the cosmos.

They’d fallen asleep on the settee, clothed and rumpled, with her arm around him and him tucked into her chest.  He sat up, sighing, and tried not to disturb her.  But she still stirred and brought up a hand over her eyes, making a soft little unhappy grunt.

He scooted away, planting his feet back onto terra firma and leaning into his palms, elbows resting on his knees.  He finally looked up to meet her gaze.  He reached out, and she took his hand.  Their fingers squeezed, reassuring in the pressure and realness.

“I love you,” she told him. “Nothing will ever mean more to me than your friendship.”

He gave her a look. “Knock on wood.  You’ll make a liar of yourself one of these days.”

She returned to him her own pointed look. “I mean it.  I love you.”

He smiled. “Thank you.  I love you, too, Sabine.”

Their palms grew warm.

“Do you think Victoire could spirit me out of here?  Unseen?”

“Embarrassed, are you?  Very well, come along.”

“You know I didn’t mean--”

“Oh, I know what you meant, Guillaume Comtois--” she laughed.

He left the Namaire manse, not even dreading the sight of Lord Fettiplace later on that day.

[audreycritter]

Audrey, if you're still doing the flash fic thing..Dev and steph going grocery shopping

UM SO I AM A MONSTER. I got this and I was like “oh this will be fun and sweet” and well. It’s me, a monster. Also I spent way more than five minutes on this only because once I had the idea, I wanted to attempt to do it justice. Dev and Steph

Kiran Devabhaktuni turned the key in the ignition and the engine died down with a gentle hiss, and he bent over the steering wheel laughing.

“You plonker,” he accused, trying to catch his breath. “You nearly made us wreck.”

“I told you I knew all the words to the Gaston song,” Steph smirked, pressing pause on her phone. “You never should have doubted me.”

“I won't again, bloody hell,” Dev said, climbing out of the car. “Right then, come on. Let's get this over with.”

They walked toward the Whole Foods store together as a fall breeze blew across the car park. Steph pulled her hair back into a ponytail as they walked.

“What's the list, then?” Dev asked as they stopped to get a cart.

Steph pulled a piece of folded paper out of her pocket and read through it.

“Organic raspberries, ginger anise tea, gluten free oat flour, dairy-free carob chips, and Siggi’s fl--fil--something.”

“Oh, so you can sing along with Disney but you can't read?” Dev teased, taking the list. He glanced down at it. “Siggi’s something,” he confirmed in a heartbeat, not even attempting the word.

“Ha,” Steph said. “Don't talk smack until you know you can play.”

The interior sliding doors opened with a faint whine and they stepped into the air conditioned market. The produce aisles beckoned, every unit made of polished wood and glass.

“I don't think I can afford to breathe here,” Steph said, making a face as she looked around.

“Wayne’s paying,” Dev answered, “so breathe as deeply as you like. We’ll charge all the rarefied oxygen to his account.”

“I dunno,” Steph said, taking the list back to look at it again. “Our lower class carbon dioxide might kill the floral displays.”

“That joke is rife with Timothy Wayne’s influence,” Dev commented, coming to a stop in front of the raspberries. There were five different kinds and all of them were labeled ‘organic.’

“Shite,” he muttered, looking at them.

“I can make smart jokes,” Steph protested. “Tim doesn't have a monopoly on intelligence.”

“You're absolutely right,” Dev agreed, taking one of each raspberry carton. “And I'm sorry.”

“We could text him,” Steph said with a skeptical glance at all the raspberries. “This is like...oh my god it's $45 worth of fruit. I don't think I've ever...ugh. Never mind, just, let's keep going. Why didn't we go to Shop n Save again? Remind me.”

“Alfie’s instructions,” Dev said, “and if we muck this up, you know full well he'll never let us run an errand again.”

“Ginger anise tea,” Steph read off. “So, basically, medicinal licorice.”

Dev snorted a short burst of laughter and then sighed, “Bollocks, speaking of tea, I had far too many cups this afternoon.”

“There has to be a bathroom,” Steph said, looking around, “but it might cost us.”

Dev laughed again, spotted the aisle for hot beverages and shook his head.

“Nah, I'm quite alright. Everything's just a bit funnier than usual.”

“So, normally I'm not funny?” Steph demanded with a mock-offended gasp and hand to her chest. “I try so hard and I never get any thanks from this family.”

“Trying too hard is likely the problem,” Dev shot back, turning the cart sharply.

“Uncle Dev,” Steph said seriously, stopping dead in the aisle so he slowed and looked back at her. “I'm gonna need some burn ointment for that. We should pour this much tea into you all the time.”

“Alfie tries,” Dev said, scanning the shelves. “Come look. There's a million of them.”

“Good Posture Tea,” Steph read off. “Midday Detox with Jasmine Blossom. Hint of Passion Brew. Oleander Oil with Calm Blend. God, this is the whitest place I've ever been in my entire life.”

“Oleander is poisonous,” Dev frowned. “I'm quite certain.”

“Maybe it's for killing yourself,” Steph said. “When you're standing here and realize what you've become.”

“It's not that awful,” he scolded gently. “Alfie shops here.”

“Yeah, for Bruce,” Steph retorted. “But I can play nice. It's just all this money makes me nervous. I could eat for a week for what this tin costs.”

She picked up a metal tin of ginger anise tea and handed it to him.

“‘Sachets,’” she said in a prim and high tone. “Not tea bags, ‘sachets.’”

“We've fancy flour to find,” Dev said, dropping the tea tin into the cart. “Let’s hurry before you implode from your money allergy. I've not an epipen with me.”

“Har har,” she said dryly, leading the way.

They found the flour and the carob chips easily enough and wandered around aimlessly for ten minutes joking and laughing while trying to find the last item without even knowing what category of food it was, until Dev gave up and asked an employee.

“A yogurt smoothie,” Steph said, when they'd been led to the dairy fridge unit. “Why not just say ‘yogurt smoothie’?”

Dev contemplated the flavors and went again with one of each.

“It makes people feel sophisticated to eat foods they can’t pronounce,” Dev said, looking a bottle over. “It's a social construct oddity, the juxtaposition of ignorance and perceived superiority.”

“Don't justify them with science,” Steph warned, “and Bruce probably does know how to say it. He probably can speak the whole language.”

“Finnish, I think. And it's not justification, it's analysis.”

“You and Nerdface are a match made in heaven, I hope you know. I'm not even listening anymore. I'm going to make Bruce pay for a mango pineapple yogurt smoothie for me, though.”

“Do you see any savory ones?” Dev asked, scanning the shelf.

“What the hell kind of question is that?” Steph demanded, laughing. “Ew, no. I won't let you. For your own good.”

“Not for me,” he said defensively. “I just want to observe the depths to which people will--”

Dev stopped because he realized Steph wasn't paying attention. She had been standing next to him, leaning over the case, but had turned at a sound behind them and her whole body had gone rigid.

He straightened and glanced at her face, which was blank and paper white, her eyes wide.

“Steph, love?” he asked, concerned, turning to follow her gaze.

Across the aisle, by a display of cubed and sliced cheeses, a woman in yoga pants and a messy bun was pushing a cart. A small girl with plump, round cheeks and dirty-blonde hair pulled into pigtails was in the child seat, slurping a juice box and giggling at whatever the woman was saying to her.

“Steph,” he said again.

She swallowed, her eyes still locked on the child.

“I'm going to go wait in the car,” Steph said without moving, her words small and tight like the set of her shoulders.

“It's locked,” he said quickly, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He put them in her hand and without turning back, she ducked her head down and left him standing in the aisle with the cart. The woman put a pack of cut shapes of cheese in with her own groceries and moved on.

Dev took his time going to the register. He paid and tucked the receipt in his wallet, requested paper bags, and lingered for a bit at an exit display of snacks pretending to study the labels.

When he forced himself to move on, he walked slowly with the cart. Wordlessly, he opened the boot of the hatchback and transferred the bags. In the passenger seat, there was a deep sniffle. He closed the boot and took the cart to a corral.

Then, finally, he opened the driver’s door and sat behind the wheel. For a long time, he didn't even look over, wishing he could give her more time or space. But he also couldn't bring himself to drive off without addressing her or the situation, and besides, he didn't have the keys and couldn't see where she'd put them.

Dev looked over and Steph was looking down at her hands, clasped on her lap. She wasn't crying, but when she lifted her head to meet his worried frown, her eyes were puffy and red.

“I…” she started and stopped.

“Steph, love, there's no way of knowing it was--”

He wasn't sure why he thought this would be reassuring but she was already staring back down at her hands and fiercely shaking her head.

“No,” she said. “On her good days, my mom used to do my hair like that. I have pictures. She looked exactly like--” her breath caught and she put a hand over her mouth, fingers pale with the pressure. After a moment, she pulled her hand back. “It was her. I just know. It was her.”

“Alright,” Dev said, shoving his own doubts down. They didn't really matter, after all.

“I mean, it's a good thing, right?” Steph asked, with a forced and tearful smile. She used her thumbs to scrape stubborn drops away from the inside corners of her eyes. “I've wondered for so long, and, I mean, at least…”

“She looked happy,” Dev said, when she trailed off.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steph nodded. “And it looked like a mom and not a nanny. And they shop here, which means, like, I was thinking about it while you were still inside, and it means they've got money, right? And they take good care of her?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Dev agreed, dismissing his own inner protest that the two things weren't always correlated. It, again, didn't matter, and the girl had seemed cheerful and at ease. Those were the more important things. “She looked well, Steph. Honestly.”

Steph nodded again and buckled the seatbelt and handed him the keys.

“Sorry I just left you there,” Steph mumbled.

“It's quite alright,” Dev said gently. “Would you rather me drop you off somewhere else? Home?”

“No, I'm okay,” Steph said. “Let's just go back to the manor before Alfred worries.”

“Steph,” Dev said again. “You don't have to--”

“I'm fine,” she snapped, sniffing again. “Please. Let's just go.”

Dev put the keys into the ignition but he didn't turn them. He sighed and looked across the car park, and then put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, once.

Steph curled her legs up on the seat of the car and wrapped her arms around them, leaned across the small middle divider of the hatchback to rest her head on his upper arm, and sucked in a long, shuddering breath.

They sat in the car park like that, not moving, for a long time. When it started to get too stuffy, Dev turned the keys just enough for the battery, and cracked the windows, and then turned it back off.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, sounding steady, when she sat back up and stretched out again. “For being patient.”

“Sure,” he said. “You should get all the bloody time you need.”

Steph nodded, a tiny and quick jerk of her head, and he turned the car on.

“I'm glad, I think. I mean it. It was good to see her okay.”

“You let me know if you've a need to talk,” Dev said, a little sternly. “And I'll listen or find somebody. Babs or Leslie if you'd rather.”

“I will,” Steph agreed. “But just getting to sit and think helped a lot. I'm ready to go. I've got some yogurt smoothies to give Bruce a hard time about.”

Dev grinned even though his heart ached for her. He knew she was doing the same thing, but that the afternoon would go on and it would ebb and flow with time.

“I'll help,” he promised. “He’ll regret ever putting them on the list.”

“Please shout at him,” Steph said, her eyes bright and haunted at once, excitement covering a far away reserve. “If you yell and make him nervous about yogurt, it'll make my day.”

“Steph, love, you don't have to beg,” Dev said, as they pulled out of the car park. “I love to shout at Wayne. Consider it done.”