#also hyacinth flower mention!!!!!

[rainedroptalks]

Finally a nat 1. It had to happen eventually

[stormhearty]

Pairings: Former Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Triggers: nightmares, mentions of blood, death, depression

Summary: It has been several years since your death and your tenth death anniversary is coming up once more. It had, and always will be, a difficult time for the Inner Circle — the regret and remorse evident in the River House. Even though it had been a decade, the evidence of the loss of your light still echoed heavily throughout Pyrthian. Here are how the Inner Circle copes and mourns during the death anniversary.

Note: From this request! Thank you for sending this request and for loving Pushed to the Edge! I do hope this is a bit of extra angst for the ending. It's mostly in Azriel and a bit of Rhysand's POV. We all know that Feyre mourns often the reader's death (since she goes to Day Court during the burial), so I thought it would be good just to mostly focus on Azriel's and a bit of Rhysand's. Also, the meanings of the flowers I placed in the description for Helion’s ceremony for the reader’s death:

Calla - beauty Cattail - peace White Heather - protection Purple Hyacinths - sorrow Ivy - affection White Poppies - Consolation, eternal sleep Tea and dark crimson roses - Mourning and I’ll always remember Sweetpea & Cyclamen - Goodbye, departure Amaryllis - Pride Pink Carnations - I’ll never forget you Iris - Your friendship means so much to me

I hope you all enjoy!

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

His hands shook as they dripped in blood, warm and sticky. Hazel hues followed the trail of blood to a familiar body.

A cry of grief escaped his lips as he crawled over to your body, Truth-Teller piercing through your chest. Your body was unmoving from its prone position. Azriel gently cradled your body in his arms, tears blurring his vision as he looked at your features — one that was etched with so much pain that his heart ached at the sight of it.

“I’m so sorry, my love… I… I’m sorry that I abandoned you, I’m sorry for my infidelity towards you… I’m sorry that I killed you. I’m just… so sorry…” He was sorry for many things. There were too many things he could apologize for but none of them he could whisper to you to bring you back to him. He would have to pay for his transgressions for the rest of his immortal life — the Gods would never give him another chance with her; the Gods would never gift him with another mate as amazing as her.

He was about to press another kiss against your forehead only to watch shadows, his shadows, rise from the ground and slowly start to wrap around your body.

Azriel growled at them, “Leave us alone, leave her with me.. that's all I ask. Don't you fucking dare take her…!”

They didn't listen to him as tendrils of darkness fully wrapped your body before taking your body in whips of shadow. He tried to grab your body before it disappeared but failed.

“No…!!!”

Azriel woke up with a start, chest heaving as he painted, his hand stretched out as if to grab something — your body — from the shadows. His body wracked with a strong shiver, before he slumped against the headboard, a groan escaping his chest as he ran his hand over his face.

Another nightmare.

Every night, for the last decade, he would dream of you — in all different scenarios — ones he would have you in his arms, in bed, sweet and gentle moments; others ( and most of the time ) it was your death, feeling the echo of the mating bond resonate in his chest, watching your body die in his arms, or even watching himself stab you through your heart.

Ever since that fateful day, he has not gotten a decent night’s sleep. Dark circles stained underneath his hazel eyes and those hazel eyes, that used to shine for you, have dullened. Very little things had made him brighten up nowadays — probably the only thing was the birth of his nephew, Nyx. And Nyx has been the only thing that has kept him surviving all these years — along with living with the guilt and pain of your death.

Azriel let out a muffled sob, pressing a hand against his lips as he allowed the nightmare to pass wracks of shivers through his body. Hazel hues shifting from his sweat-stained bed to the large floor-to-ceiling windows, the glow of the full moon beaming down into his room.

He knew he wasn't going to get another wink of sleep tonight. Slipping out of bed, bare feet pressing against the cool wooden floors, he slipped on a simple black tee and sweatpants before stepping out of his room, and down the spiral staircase to the massive garden of the River House.

Azriel usually avoided the gardens, knowing that Elain would be there tending to them.

Their relationship was non-existent at this point. After your death, he cut off all contact and interactions with her, feeling disgusted with himself with even just the sight of her.

For the first couple of months, Elain tried to rebuild her relationship with the Inner Circle; however, after her lies were exposed, it had been a tough road. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel had ignored her, to the point that Rhysand had ordered Elain to live in the old Townhouse to give comfort to the rest of the family. She would only come to the River House when Feyre would ask her to help tend the gardens. Otherwise, even the Archeron sisters had little contact with the middle sister.

Azriel’s feet led him to a familiar part of the gardens, the only place he would go to that would calm the echo of the empty mating bond in his chest.

After your burial, Feyre sent the image of the statue that Helion had created in your making to the Inner Circle. And in honor of you, Rhysand made one as well — a statue of you, but in Night Court fashion — the opposite of your image in Day Court. Wearing a dark blue dress, one covered with stars, with a moon circlet on your head.

Azriel basked in the statue’s liking to you, seeing the moon’s light radiate behind the statue like a halo made him smile — just a tiny bit. He shifted, sitting down on the bench that was in front of the statue. He leaned forward, pressing his elbows onto his thighs.

“…Hi my love…” he whispered as he looked up at the statue, “Another nightmare… brings me to you.”

A sigh escaped his lips as he felt tears prick the edge of his eyes, and he blinked to fight them away. He has fought so many tears every night, that Azriel felt like his whole body had dried up with how many tears he had shed since your death. He knows he shouldn’t complain, that his grief was evidence that he deserved all the things he had done to you. We all will continue to live with our betrayal. Live and regret, as Rhysand and Cassian told him that day.

Staring back up at the statue, his eyes glanced up at the twinkling stars above Valeris and muttered the singular wish, a wish he had wished for every year, “I hope that at Starfall I will see your light twinkling in the skies above, where you will streak across that beautiful night sky, finding your peace…”

After sitting in front of that statue for several hours, he decided to fly up to the House of Wind to the training balcony and train there. He forgone his black shirt and focused on his training, using every ounce of pain and grieving to train. He stayed up there, time passing quickly until he felt the claws of his brother scrape down his mental shields. Azriel sighed and looked up at the bright blue sky, not even noticing how the day had become midday, the hot sun beating down against his sweaty skin.

“…Azriel…” a light, airy voice called his name.

He let out an animalistic growl before he grabbed his shirt from the chair he had flung it onto, slipping it on his form before spreading his wings to fly. He heard the quickened steps, seeing Elain in his peripherals, the middle Archeron’s sister’s eyes begging at him to look at her.

“…Stay away from me, Elain… I swear to the Gods, if you try to look for me again, I’ll have my High Lord and High Lady dump you on the borders of the human realm to leave you to their discretion…”

Elain frowned at him, stepping into his view, “You cannot put all the blame on me. I have tried to win you and my family’s graces back… I don’t know what I can do to get on your good graces again…”

Azriel glared at the Made-Fae, “… No, I cannot put all the blame on you, I blame mostly myself on falling for you. I never realized why I had after being mated to (Y/N) for nearly fifty years… I could have had my forever with her… And yet, my blind infatuation with you cost us that. I don’t want to do anything with you, as my way to repent… my way to live and regret for the rest of my immortal life without her…”

With one last glare, and without letting the Made-Fae say anything else, Azriel shot off into the mid-day sky, waving through the cool air of Valeris and back to the River House. He landed on the balcony and entered, walking into the large dining room where his family was situated. He noticed the solemn air that coated the room as he sat down in his usual spot, next to Mor and across from Cassian. Hazel eyes wandered the table and noticed the absence of his High Lady.

Rhysand noticed the look from his Spymaster and answered the unasked question, “Feyre went to Day Court this morning…”

That was all it took for realization to hit Azriel — it was your tenth death anniversary this week. A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back against his chair — ten years without your light. No wonder he felt horrible that day, no wonder why his nightmares seemed to be worse than ever before.

It was as if his subconscious knew.

Azriel knew that after this breakfast, he would be able to crawl back into bed and cry there — he didn’t have to do anything for the rest of that week. He would be able to wallow in his depression in the comfort of his room.

Rhysand, after the first year of your death, had declared that week a period of silence — a mourning period that allowed Valeris and most of Night Court to grieve over your death. To repent and live. It was a week where he didn’t send anyone on missions, and stores throughout Valeris were closed over the week.

The Inner Circle ate in silence, the clattering of silverware was the only thing that echoed in the grand space. No one said a word, though Azriel could feel the shifting gazes towards his way. His fingers gripped the silverware in his hands, feeling the metal bend in his strength. A frown tugged on his features, suddenly losing his appetite. He placed the utensils down, the evidence of his slight anger on the bent pieces of metal, before standing up.

He could see Mor, in his peripheral shift slightly. Azriel huffed slightly, unaware of the looming energy he was radiating until he felt a tap against his mental shields. Hazel eyes looked over to his High Lord who had given him a raised brow.

“Reign in your anger, brother… We are just worried, as usual,” Rhysand had whispered into his head.

They know how hard it has been for him over the past decade. The Inner Circle had been present through every nightmare, every depressive episode, every self-loathing that Azriel had gone through — and is still going through to this day. All of them had tried to help him lessen the burden of regret; however, they knew that the Spymaster would never let anyone shoulder his pain — not when he was the cause of it.

Azriel felt his tears line his reddened eyes, “…I know, and I thank you for that, brother… May I just grieve on my own… May I be excused?”

Hazel and violet eyes stared at each other for a moment before Rhysand nodded his head, “I will tap on your shields again when Feyre is at the ceremony…”

His head nodded before the Spymaster stalked out of the dining room, feeling all eyes on him. He climbed up those spiral staircases again before entering his bedroom with a slam of his door. A shiver wracked through his body, eyes shutting close as he tried to prevent another breakdown. He shuffled his feet, towards the bed and lay there.

He will never be okay — no matter how many decades, how many centuries have passed, he will always feel that emptiness of the bond in his chest. He would never feel you tug on that golden string that connected the two of you, nor he won’t hear your laugh whenever Cassian or Mor would tell you a joke. He won’t feel your fingers trace along his scars or place ointment on his hands whenever they were cramped and strained after a mission.

There were days — which were the worse of them — when he would hallucinate you were still alive. In that very bedroom, he would feel, smell, and see your very figure walking through that room. He could see your light, he could hear your voice… but whenever he would reach out to try to hold you, touch you, you would be gone in a whisp of light.

Azriel hated those days. He would find himself in a heap on the ground, crying. His brothers or even Mor would find him in that state at the end of the day and would plead for him to go to bed and rest. And with their help, he would lay in that large bed, bigger than his wings would span out to, to just stare at the expanses of that ceiling. Rest would never come to him easily anymore, not without a tonic from Madja or if Rhysand would slip into his mind and coax him to sleep.

He would continue to live on as an empty shell — one that would continue life without feeling your light.

Rhysand let out a shaky breath after Azriel had left the dining room, a hand running through his dark locks as he slumped against his chair.

It had been difficult, the last decade was like walking on broken glass around Azriel. The High Lord knew that his brother was suffering, but Rhysand also knew it was the consequences of his actions — of all of their actions against (Y/N). All of them, especially himself and Azriel, would continue to suffer for it.

Rhysand was thankful to the Mother that Feyre had been there throughout the past decade to help shoulder the pain, to shoulder the regret. And he had tried to do the same with Azriel; however, the former Shadowsinger wouldn’t let anyone touch him, wouldn’t let anyone help him through his emotions. And he watched as Azriel broke himself apart because of his pain. The High Lord watched every single day, every year, for the past decade, his brother becoming a shell. Even when he had sent Azriel on missions, the Fae would come back, finishing his assignment quickly and swiftly, though Rhysand could see blood and bruises that contrasted against leather.

Every time, every single time, Azriel had returned from those missions, Rhysand had seen the increased amount of wounds against immortal skin. And when confronted, Azriel had whispered in truth, “It’s the only time I feel pain… To feel the echo of the pain against my skin… Any other time, I can’t feel anything…”

That had broken the High Lord.

He had banned, much to his dismay and Azriel’s anger, the former Spymaster to go on said missions. He had changed Azriel’s title, and became an emissary, along with Mor to the Continent. Azriel hated him — and probably still hated him to this day. But it was the only way to keep his brother from hurting himself, from being hurt, and to keep his family together — as much as possible.

The High Lord stood up from his chair, giving a small smile to his family as he left the dining room and walked his way to his office, allowing the silence to seep into his body. Rhysand busied himself with work, the only thing that would occupy his time and mind during the week of mourning. If he didn’t, he would, like his brother, be stuck in his mind — in his nightmares — of failing you as your High Lord.

He felt a tap of his mental shields, his mate scraping and sending down a wave of love towards his end.

"Are you okay?” Feyre asked him and Rhysand leaned against his chair and allowed his mate to send visions of her time at Day Court.

“I think so… Just, trying to keep myself occupied you know. How is it at Day? How is Helion?”

“He’s probably the same as you and Azriel.. all of us, mourning. But he’s keeping up appearances, he is ensuring this year’s ceremony will be grand. It is her tenth year being gone from this world…”

Rhysand wouldn’t hold it against Helion if this ceremony would be a grand, beautiful one to celebrate your life… to mourn for your death. You had, after all, deserved it. You had risked your life, your light, to protect all of Prythian… you had to be celebrated one way or another.

He watched the vision of the grand Day Court halls, lined with Calla, Cattail, White Heather, Purple Hyacinths, Ivy, White Poppies, and Tea and dark crimson roses — all flowers that echoed the sentiments of all of Prythian. It was a gorgeous sight, one that Rhysand wished to see in person. Tears pricked his eyes as he wiped them away with a finger, as he felt another wave of support from his mate.

"Be safe, darling Feyre… If you need me to take Nyx, do just call me… I can take him from your hands…"

A small laugh echoed, and in his head he could see the image of Nyx standing next to his mother, looking up at the golden statue of you.

"I think he deserves to know who she is, Rhys… He will be fine…"

With one last tug on that bond, Rhysand closed the connection between the two of them.

A book, he had thought, a book would be good to immortalize your story. With ink and paper, he started to write… determined to ensure your story would be known for centuries to come.

A tap against his shields started Azriel from his stupor. He straightened in the armchair he had occupied in his bedroom, eyes darting to the window to see what time of day it was. He hadn’t slept for the past few days, his nightmares plaguing him even while awake. He would mindlessly walk around that room, keeping himself occupied to keep the nightmares at bay. He didn’t sleep, he hadn’t showered — he wallowed in his sadness.

And so when that scrape of darkness against his mind startled him out of his sadness, he lowered it slightly to allow his High Lord to send him the vision that his High Lady was sending him.

Tears pricked at the edge of his eyes as he saw that magnificent statue of you at your grave.

Oh, how he wished and begged for the Mother to allow him, even for a brief moment, to bask in that golden statue — to feel Day Court’s sun mimic the warmth that you had always radiated.

He watched from that armchair the ceremony, hearing Helion speak so fondly of you. Azriel could hear the High Lord’s voice crack and break at every mention of your name. He could see the pain in his features as he talked about how it had been ten years since your death. He watched as Helion looked at that statue with so much fondness — a father, mourning the loss of his child.

The ceremony lasted a couple of hours, allowing people to walk up to the statue to place all types of flowers on top of that gravesite. He watched as the familiar hands of his High lady held up a bouquet — a mixture of Sweetpea, Amaryllis, Pink Carnations, Cyclamen, and Iris — to the statue before placing it down on the grave as well.

He heard her whisper words of fondness, love, and regret before stepping away and back to her spot in the crowd.

The last thing he heard, was from his nephew, who whispered to his mother, “I wish to have known her… She is well loved, even after she has died…”

That had choked not only Azriel up, but he could feel the pain in Feyre’s voice as she looked down at the boy who was merely ten years into his immortal life.

“…I wish you could have known her as well, Nyx… She was a light in everyone’s life. She had made your uncle’s life the best it had been when she was still with us. We wish we could have done so much better to her…”

Azriel watched as Feyre caressed the black locks of his nephew before the vision passed. And all Azriel could do was cry — cry his love, his sorrow, his regret.

[writingrock]

a lost dream

pairing: katsuki bakugou x reader (gender neutral) summary: katsuki has been missing you a lot recently, so he decides to visit you

notes: angst, major death, mourning, hurt, slight toxicity, moving on, time skip, mentions of alcohol, traumatic flashback

word count: 3.3k

a/n: recently made a prequel to this here!

“Hey, is Dynamight in? Got some papers he needs to sign.” 

“Oh.. um– honestly not sure. He’s been in and out all day. Why don’t you leave them on his desk?”

Simple enough. The office mailman wasn’t going to complain about that. It beats personally handing this to the pro hero. It’s always been fifty-fifty that the pro hero is either grumpy or decent. The man walks towards the pro-hero’s office, shuffling the stack of papers awkwardly as he opens the door with his elbow. Hoping that he opens it without making a mess. He knows he couldn't be bothered to pick them up if they did spill onto the floor. Muttering a line of prayer under his breath, his elbow sits on top of the doorknob. Pushing it down as he readied himself for the papers to fall.

Thankfully, the stack of paper remains stable. A small exhale of relief leaves his mouth as he walks into the office. Dynamight’s office is vacant and dark. Only a small section of the office is illuminated by the light seeping through the open door. Using the side of his shoulder, he manages to press the light switch to turn on. Flickering on with a low buzz, the office comes to view. The office is neat despite what one might think. Organised shelves filled with numerous documents and files with labels. Well kept and clean office space.

Yet on his desk were scattered piles of paperwork, almost as if he hasn’t been looking at any of them today. Usually even when looking at them, he’s still very tidy with them. Always keeping them in sections. Odd. The pro hero is usually diligent and retroactive. It wouldn’t make sense if he hasn’t already blazed through them. Carefully arranging the stacks of paperwork on the desk, he makes space for the new delivery of papers.

The simple office mailman continues to come up with various scenarios on why the boss isn’t here. His mind coming up with wild ideas that were pure fiction. He was about to leave when something clicked in his head. A sudden thought enters his head as he sets the papers down. "Could it be.." he sucks his breath in. Confirming his suspicions, the mailman looks at the calendar. On the wall is a well used calendar with marks and indications of deadlines and events. The ninth is circled. Suddenly, it makes sense.

“Ah.. it's the ninth of August already?”

Driving down a quiet road is a sleek, velvety red sports car, the low purr of the engine cuts through the air. Newly tinted windows hiding the identity of the driver. One hand on the steering wheel whilst the other turns off his phone completely. The screen turns black and in the reflection, you can see the famed hero Dynamight. Slinking back into the carseat, his steely gaze remains on the road. The one hand on the wheel smoothly manoeuvring the car perfectly to the road. Almost as if he’s driven through it multiple times. With a click of his tongue, Katsuki places his other hand on the steering wheel. It's as if someone was next to him, telling him to do so. But there’s no one but himself.

The roads are narrow, gently curving through the forest, the tree branches forming a natural canopy overhead. Turning his wrist to face him, his eyes peek at the time displayed on his watch. Ensuring he would be alone. Everyone had their set time when they visited you, he preferred it when he was alone when he did. Most knew this and never came by when he planned to visit you. Parking his car near your place, he gets out of the car with the bouquet he always gets for you.

Pure white lilies and purple heliotrope flowers paired with hyacinths painted with a beautiful gradient of blue and purple hues. You’ve always loved hyacinths. He also can’t forget that expensive sake he promised you. God forbid he did. If he turns up without flowers and alcohol, he probably wouldn’t hear the end of it. 

Heavy footsteps crunch against the soft, damp grass. Brushing over the blades of grass with each step. The sound changes to low thuds as he moves from the grass to a stone pathing. You’ve managed to find a beautiful place to live in. The area is abundant in maple trees with well maintained stone pathways. It's well taken care of: carefully pruned bushes and manicured lawns, the grass trimmed almost perfectly. There’s an air of serenity and peace here. You’ve always said you were going to live in a luxurious area surrounded by nature. The walk to your home isn’t far and before he knows it, he’s in front of your place.

You’d go up to the door and greet him with a hug. Your same cheerful greeting that he’s grown fond of. Like usual, he’d pretend to be annoyed at you. But it’s different. Not because the two of you got into a fight where the two of you aren’t on speaking terms. Katsuki would actually much prefer that rather than the one he’s currently experiencing. Heck, he’ll deal with petty fights, dumb hypothetical questions and even your indecisiveness. He’d much prefer to have you annoy him every day of the year. All of it is better to deal with than to live in a universe where you’re dead.

You can’t hug him because you’re buried under his feet– instead of you, there is only a slender, polished tombstone. 

“I’m here, Dumbass.” The usual gruffness in his voice turns soft as he places the bouquet on the base of your grave. Fresh, fragrant blooms giving colour against the cool grey slate. 'Dumbass' becoming a term of endearment for you. Around your grave, there are some recent offerings from the morning when you had other guests. Starting with the basic respects, he lights the incense, letting the thin line of smoke waft in the cool air before sticking it into the small incense holder. He gives a deep bow to greet your soul. Every year, he’d pay for a professional team to clean your grave. There wasn’t a chance he was going to let your grave be overgrown and turn into a mess. Hell would have to freeze over before he let that happen.

Katsuki is silent as he sits down on the ground, bringing out two ornate sake glasses as he pours one for you and another for him. Without a second thought, he downs the shot of sake, letting the slight burn settle in his throat. “I bought you this darn sake so you better enjoy it.” a grumble leaves his lips as he pours another for himself. Honestly, he drinks straight from the bottle but he could already hear your nagging from the grave so he stops. Putting the bottle aside, he gestures to his current outfit. His hero attire. Katsuki definitely looks incredibly out of place in this cemetery but he doesn’t give a damn. It’s for you. “You’ve always said you wanted to see my hero outfit. I can’t lie there hasn’t been a huge change but this is my most recent one. Figured you’d still want to see.” He explains as if you’re sitting next to him, “my gauntlets are probably the ones that changed the most though.”

He removes one of his gauntlets and starts to demonstrate the intricate details to his hero gear, disassembling it and reassembling it for you. Not a slightest sign of worry on his face as he expertly showcased the gauntlet. Describing each part and how it all worked together to become his weapons of destruction. You were always interested in his gear and how it worked. Finding all sorts of excuses to ask him about his hero outfit or gauntlets. 

“In the future, you’d better update me on your gear.” Your voice firm as you look up at your blond haired classmate. The two of you huddled over his hero gear, inspecting it curiously. Screws and loose bits were pushed to the side neatly to ensure they did not get lost. Snaps of metal prying open filling the dorm room. Complex mechanisms on the ground, cracked open to investigate the inner workings of the gauntlet.

Why would you care about his gear in the future? You’re just being nosy. He only scoffed at your words, “I’m not doing that. It’s none of your damn business,” his hands busy reassembling the gauntlets, your head peeking from his shoulder. Katsuki did not manage to reassemble his gauntlet. He got in trouble and had to do without his gear for a week. Despite his words, he always did end up updating you on every detail regarding his gear or costuming. Usually because you noticed a difference and bugged him about it. 

Slotting his gauntlet back on, Katsuki turns to point at the car parked under the maple trees. The deep, vibrant red paint gleams under the soft, filtered light that passes through the leaves of the maple tree. The polished alloy wheels had a metallic sheen to it, twinkling in the soft light. “You’re the reason I drove that damn thing here. You better take a good look at it.” Slight embarrassment laces his words as he turns away from the car. Unable to look at it. He feels like some asshole, show-off driving that car all the way here. Like some rich numbskull who has nothing better to do but show his car off at a cemetery. Who even drives a sports car to the cemetery? “I haven’t gotten those imported sports cars you used to talk about. But I’ll drive it over when I do.” Even if he looks like a lunatic driving a sports car to a cemetery.

He wouldn't have done it if not for you. Back when the two of you were classmates, you often talked to him about racing or any new sports cars that piqued your interest. Ranting about any recent races and how it was either rigged or perfect. Gushing about your favourite drivers who performed well in their races. Sometimes it wasn’t clear if you liked them for their talent or looks– honestly, it was probably a mix of both factors. Katsuki always acted like he didn’t care but he was always listening to you go on and on about them. The way you pulled magazines up to his face and essentially forced him to look at some cars. He always told you he didn’t care but it’s never stopped you from continuing your ramble. In a way, your endless talking did benefit Katsuki. Often at any event, someone eventually brings up those topics and thanks to you, he can actually chip in with a few thoughts. 

“Hey– when you get loaded, can you buy a sports car and drive me around?” A loud laugh and scoff left his mouth when he fully registered your words. Katsuki could not believe you just said that. What did you think he was? His eyes stared you down in pure disbelief. “Idiot, who the hell do I look like? I’m not buying some shitty sports car and then driving you– of all people– around.” His laughter filled the dorm room as he processed your words. At that moment, he thought your brain cells burned off from training.

“Why don’t you get one yourself?” He shoots back, still recovering from the dumb question you asked. Katsuki still remembered the look on your face. The blankest expression on your face as you bluntly say, “I don’t think I’ll ever make enough money to buy one.” Katsuki remembers this as if it happened yesterday- the way he chortled at your words and used his hand to rub your scalp roughly. His fingers running through your hair as he messed it all up. Your hair ended up looking like you just got out of bed. He thought you looked cute though. 

Katsuki can’t take you for a ride. But he can at least show you that in the end, he did buy one of those shitty sports cars. The wind blows past Katsuki, the palm of the wind running through his wild, dusty blond locks. Slowly, he turns back to the bottle and pours himself another shot. It’s been eight years. He’s moved on the best he can. At least he tried to. Nightmares of your death plaguing him occasionally during the month of August. They’ve gotten lesser over the years but they still occur. Detailed ones as if he was transported back to your death.

Sometimes he still asks himself if he could have saved you. The answer is no but he still lingers on the thoughts where he could have saved you. Etched into his brain is the sight of your mangled and bruised body lying lifelessly on the ground, beyond saving. Blood soaked through the rubble under your body. The air thickened with devastation and tragedy. In these night terrors, he’s always holding your body close to his, cradling your frail body as he wept. Choking through sobs as your name leaves his lips. Rocking his body slowly as he registers your death. A blank, empty stare staring down at your face. A painfully deafening ringing plays in his ears when he revisits the memory.

Katsuki doesn’t even realise how tightly he’s gripping the glass whilst the painful scene plays out in his head. A curse slips past his lips. Snapping out of it, he puts the glass aside and looks back at the erected tombstone. Your name written on the polished stone. His quivering red orbs tracing the curve of the letters in your name. Memorising the carved name on your tombstone.

Katsuki always thinks of you when he has a shit night. Memories of you entertwined with his emotions in the stillness of the night. When the weight of the world presses him down into the earth, the thought of you lightens the load even just slightly. Comfort tinged with sadness. He lays in his bed, thinking about every aspect of you. Your smile and the way you always spoke– the way you knew how to comfort him during trying times. During these nights, your absence is palpable and raw. All he wants to do is reach for your touch but you’re just a hollow space. 

“I’ve started seeing someone,” he awkwardly starts, the words don’t feel right leaving his mouth, “I know you would have wanted me to find someone. Because in your own words, ‘I can’t be alone.’ .” Katsuki rolled his eyes, it was like he could hear you say that phrase again. He describes his current partner to you. Every detail from how they met and every ‘dumb’ thing he did to court her. In a soft voice, he tells you of how she’s helped him move on and learn to regulate his emotions. How she lets him lean on her whenever he requires. As well as how she dragged him to therapy. She’s the rock he can lean on and he’s also hers. He’s devoted to her, wanting to take care of her as much as he can. To protect and be the man she needs him to be. Strangely, his current partner understands how much you mean to him and respects it. Words cannot describe how thankful he is for such a wonderful partner to enter his life.

Honestly, she reminds him of your stubbornness and wit. Almost as if you sent her to find him. His special lady is probably the most understanding and strong-willed woman he’s ever met. Besides you of course. Nothing could ever compare to you though. You are the dream he lost. Probably one of the best things that’s happened to him in his life. You’ll always hold a part of his heart no matter what. Because you’ve always been that irritating stain on his heart.

Painfully, he had to admit that the number of times he’s seen you in his new lover only fills him with guilt. It should have been you. He hates it when this thought springs through his mind and all he does is bury it deep. Katsuki swears he’ll never say it out loud because it’s unfair to his current partner. He hates himself for even harbouring that thought. Guilt and disgust coils in his stomach when that thought comes up. He refuses to acknowledge such a disrespectful thought. You'd find it appalling and scream at him if he ever revealed such thoughts. Hence why he takes his time in therapy seriously and pays no mind to such thoughts. His lover deserves that at least.

Katsuki allows himself this one day every year to mourn you again and reminisce of old memories. The ninth of August is when he comes here to sit in peace and talk to you, his lover. To fall back in love with you just for one day. The rest of the year, he does not think of you– or at least he tries not to. There’s no forgetting you no matter what he does. Hours of therapy or drinking will never be able to untangle you from him. The two of you essentially grew up together, meeting in UA and going through the whole ordeal of becoming friends. Not to mention that whole messy timeline where neither of you confessed the blatant feelings you both had for each other. He sighs at those memories. A pair of fucking idiots the two of you were.

Possibly the only regret in his life is that he didn’t ask you out sooner. But there wasn’t a way for him to know he’d have such little time with you. Katsuki accepts that you’ll always linger in his life, and he doesn’t mind. He never wants to forget you. But he’s learnt that he can make space for others too. Hours pass and he sits there, talking to you. Not registering the time that has already gone by. It’s only when the sky starts to turn into a deep orange, he gets up from the floor. Cursing to himself as he dusts any debris on his pants. His low gaze stares at where your body is buried and manages to curl his lips into the smirk you loved so much.

“I’ll see you next year. Savour the rest of that sake yeah?” Katsuki says goodbye to you. Hands in his pockets as he turns away, walking back to his car. “And I know, keep two hands on the wheel.” a long drawn out sigh leaves his mouth as he automatically repeats what you always told him. When he first got his licence and drove you around, he swears that’s all you said. Coincidentally, the wind runs by the blond and gently caresses him as he leaves. As if you had taken the form of the wind to give him a peck on his cheek.

Soft sounds of his footsteps echoing as he leaves your grave. Time slows as you watch him go further and further into the distance. The engine of that sports car you’ve always talked about purring to life as he gets in. You can hear the car drive off into the distance back to the city. Presumably back home and to his new lover. It should be you right? It should have been you. Your heart swells at the sight, slinking back into your home. At least you still had the sake right?

A dry chuckle leaves your ghostly form as you take the sake. Katsuki was right about one thing, your corpse would have rattled in your coffin if he did not bring this for you. Possibly haunting him out of spite.

In this lifetime, you’re simply a dream that will never come to fruition. The only thing you can wish for is to be reborn into another universe where you are next to him tonight. You'll wait for him to reincarnate together.

a/n : i wrote this for myself but i hope yall enjoy it <3

border credits: @enchanthings & @adornedwithlight

© writingrock 2024 do not copy, translate or repost.

[bosbas]

Chapter 11: if my wishes came true, it would've been you

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 4.7k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, mutual pining

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

July 21, 1814 - In a rather interesting turn of events, Miss Y/N Beaumont was once more seen promenading on the arm of Anthony Bridgerton. It appeared that the two were quite happily chatting away, an increasingly common sight that comes after almost a month of barely any social appearances for our lady of the season. Was this just another friendly promenade, or could a romance be brewing between the two? Given the closeness of the two families, a union between them would be unsurprising. However, this author was most surprised that it was Anthony who decided to pursue Miss Beaumont rather than her long-time companion, Benedict.

"So you two are properly courting?" asked Hyacinth, shoving the latest Whisteldown column in both of your faces. You were sitting beside Anthony in the Bridgerton sitting room, your book set haphazardly on your lap after Hyacinth had barged in demanding answers.

"Something like that, yes," answered Anthony, grabbing the sheet of paper from her and skimming it over for where it mentioned you.

"What do you mean 'something like that'? You're either courting or you aren't, Anthony," came Hyacinth's exasperated response. You laughed softly at her impatience, understanding her frustration. You, at times, felt the same way. It was an unusual partnership, to be sure, but you were enjoying yourself thus far. You found you could attend social events again, not feeling any pressure to engage in conversation with slimy or uninteresting men.

"It means that I am attending balls again, Hyacinth. It also means that I can continue writing down detailed summaries of these balls and giving them to you the morning after," you said, hoping to distract her from asking any further questions about your courtship with Anthony.

And it seemed to have worked. Her face lit up, knowing you were the only person who currently attended balls that was kind enough, and attentive enough, to keep her informed about the goings on of the ton. She squealed and rushed to hug you, exclaiming "Thank you thank you thank you!!!" into your neck. You hugged her back, amused by her antics.

Suddenly, Hyacinth turned to Anthony, eyes narrowed. "You had better be a good suitor to Y/N. Will you be attending balls with her? And if so, will you be dancing with her? And will you be calling on her? Will you bring her flowers?" she interrogated. Hyacinth considered you to be one of the sweetest from the older bunch of Beaumont-Bridgertons. At least, you never made fun of her and you took her seriously enough that she could have grown-up conversations with you. So Hyacinth wanted to make sure that you were going to be properly courted by her brother. Truthfully, she had hoped you would end up with Benedict. She thought the two of you were in love, based on how he talked about you and how you looked at him, but she supposed she was too young to understand the more complicated aspects of romantic feelings, and perhaps she had misjudged whatever was going on between you and Ben. Nevertheless, she wanted at least one of her brothers to court you the way you deserved, especially after reading about the mostly unpleasant encounters you had with potential suitors thanks to your accounts of your evenings as a debutante.

Anthony patted Hyacinth on her head, laughing at her protectiveness. "Yes, I will be doing whatever Y/N would like me to do. Now run along, I've been attacked in my own home long enough." With a satisfied huff, Hyacinth ran out of the sitting room just as fast as she had come in, snatching Lady Whistledown's column out of Anthony's hand and taking it with her.

You smiled after her, shaking your head fondly. Anthony had let you take the lead on the speed and nature of your courtship, and you were more than grateful for the ability to choose the pace at which the two of you progressed. True to his word, he had not pressed you for an answer to his unusual proposal, and instead let you come to him once you were ready.

And sure enough, a week ago, you had made your way over to the Bridgerton household and asked to speak with Anthony privately. In the quiet of his study, you had accepted his proposal, finally laying to rest your dreams of spending the rest of your life with your best friend. It was a bittersweet moment for you. In a way, you felt relieved that you didn't have to pine after Benedict uselessly anymore, having a solid plan in place now and getting as close to what you wanted out of a marriage as possible, barring the possibility of romantic love. But a louder and more insistent part of you was feeling this loss to the bone. Loss of what you didn't know, since you and Ben had never been romantically involved, nor had you ever expected to marry him. Though you supposed a small part of you always held out some hope that Benedict might feel the same way about you as you did about him. That he also thought about you every night, laying in bed alone and wishing you could be in his arms. That the sketches of you and forehead kisses and endless pages of correspondence and hours spent talking together could mean more than just friendship. But in the end, you knew you had been foolish to think that two decades of friendship could be undone by a half-joking comment asking if he wanted to marry you.

Anthony, for his part, had been delighted, giving you an encouraging smile and a firm squeeze on your shoulder once he heard your final answer. He hadn't expected anything from you, of course, but he was happy that he could provide a solution that would benefit both of you. However, his proposal and your subsequent acceptance created a new challenge. Though you did intend to marry him, this wasn't what was usually considered a 'real' courtship, and you were hesitant to widely announce this fact to the gossip-hungry members of the ton.

"Anthony," you began, taking a seat opposite him. "I think we should discuss how we'll present this to the ton. I don't relish the idea of scandal, and I imagine neither do you."

"Mmm the pesky Lady Whistledown continues her reign of terror," hummed Anthony amusedly, shifting in his seat. "In all honesty, I believe any rumors would more negatively affect you, given the nature of our respective positions in society. I also know this is probably a more delicate situation for you than it is for me, so I'd be happy to go along with whatever you would like," said Anthony, sending you a sympathetic smile at the unspoken mention of Benedict.

Clearing your throat and ignoring the tightness in your chest, you pushed through your hurt. "Well, I think the most obvious question is of who we should tell. About the terms of our partnership, that is," you said, putting your hand on your chin and dreading the headache this whole ordeal would be. "I fear my mother might slit your throat and mine were she to find out that I am purposefully giving up on the possibility of a love match, especially after she told me repeatedly there's no rush," you said, looking up at Anthony with an apology in your eyes.

But he shook his head in response, "That's no bother, it is to be expected. I'm slightly scared my mother would react the same." You let out a snort at the thought of Anthony, at thirty years old, still scared of his mother. He rolled his eyes at you, knowing exactly why you were laughing at him, and continued speaking. "Regardless, I don't think we should tell anyone. We can be vague about our intentions and the specifics of our courtship until I propose publicly."

You nodded, trying to plan out that far ahead and feeling your heart speed up when you thought of Anthony on one knee proposing in front of other people. A real proposal this time. "Perhaps a month will be enough time? For it to be believable that we fell in love. That seems like a reasonable timeline, right?" you asked him, trying to imagine how long it might take you to fall in love with someone. Thinking back on your friendship with Benedict, you could recognize that you had been in love with him for years now, even if you didn't know it at the time. But you didn't have twenty years to fall in love with someone else, so a month with Anthony would have to do.

"Considering we've known each other two decades, I'm sure the ton would believe we were in love if we married tomorrow. It's our families we have to convince," Anthony reminded you. Because we all know you and Benedict are in love, he thought.

You nodded, thinking through all of your family members and their possible reactions to finding out you were marrying Anthony Bridgerton, of all people. If anything, they would probably expect Benedict to be the one to propose, no matter how absurd and impossible the idea was to you now. But this only made it more crucial that your courtship with Anthony was believable.

"I don't think we'll be able to convince Alex after the night we had in your study," you said finally. "Besides, it might be beneficial to have someone else on our side helping convince our families."

Although he seemed unsure, Anthony eventually conceded, letting out a grunt. "I'm inclined to agree. I could tell him later tonight at White's," he suggested. "We were planning on going with Colin and the twins but I'm sure I'll get a moment alone with him. It will probably be best to tell him earlier rather than later if I don't want a black eye," he joked, winking at you.

"Thank you," you answered gratefully. You weren't quite sure how Alexander would react to the news, knowing that you had just had your heart broken by Benedict and were now jumping into a partnership with his older brother, so you were happy Anthony offered to tell him instead of facing him yourself.

"So, how should we start courting?" you asked. "Well, not actually courting, but you know what I mean," you quickly corrected yourself.

Anthony smiled softly at you, understanding your need to specify that this wasn't a real courtship. Unlike you, he wasn't deeply in love with his best friend, so it was much easier for him to start pursuing someone, however real or fake it might be. But he knew that, at some level, you felt like you were betraying Benedict. Or at least betraying the feelings you had for him. At that moment, Anthony truly wished that Benedict would stop being a complete idiot. If not for Ben's own sake then to stop the absolute torment he saw in your eyes every time you thought of a future without your best friend.

"Ah, yes, our incredibly cunning ruse," Anthony responded, trying to keep his tone light. "I think we could probably start with a promenade a few days from now if you are amenable. It might be good to start with something a bit more casual," he said carefully.

"That's a good idea," you agreed. "Perhaps two days from now? It will give Alex enough time to digest the idea and I can mention to my mother that you asked if I wanted to get back into the social scene after such a long hiatus. I'm sure she'll be ecstatic enough to ignore the minor details."

Anthony nodded, already planning his speech to your older brother. "I can also start making off-handed comments around my family to really sell it," he suggested.

"Oh, that's perfect! I think we might just pull it off," you said, smiling at Anthony and feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders.

But Anthony could not relax yet. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, knowing you needed to address the issue of Benedict but also understanding that it was a relatively painful topic at the moment. After shifting in his seat slightly and receiving a quizzical look from you, he finally spoke up. "How would you like to tell Benedict?" he asked delicately.

You winced at the mention of his name. You had no idea, to be honest. How were you going to tell your best friend that you were marrying his brother? Saying it in person and having to see Benedict's reaction in person would be incredibly painful, but saying it in a letter would be worse, you reasoned. Especially since you had avoided any mention of potential suitors in your correspondence thus far, and were planning on continuing to do so. The letters exchanged between you were too precious, too intimate, to be ruined by the mention of one of your suitors. You stared at Anthony, resigned. "It would probably be better coming from me, wouldn't it?"

Anthony gave you a sympathetic smile. "I'm not trying to get out of doing it, I know this will be one of the most difficult parts. But I believe it'll be better if he hears this from you. He would be crushed if he found out you were getting married from anyone other than you."

You sat back in your seat, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what was to come. If Ben reacted negatively to your relationship with Anthony, you might never see him again. You were desperate to make the blow as soft as possible and preserve as much of your friendship with Ben as you could. "I suppose you're right. I want to tell him in person, though," you said, nervously playing with your fingers. You felt thick tears in your eyes at the realization that if Benedict were here right now, he would be the one rubbing your hand with his thumb as he usually did when you were anxious.

Sensing your inner conflict, Anthony jumped to provide you with a solution. "If you want our courtship to last for a month, that aligns almost perfectly with our country house party in Kent. It would make sense for Benedict to come to Aubrey Hall for the party anyway, and you could have some time alone with him to tell him."

You nodded, quickly blinking the tears from your eyes. It was a perfect plan, indeed. Everything fit together perfectly, you realized with a sinking feeling. You were still half-hoping that there would be a reason you couldn't go through with this, or a massive oversight as to why the plan wouldn't work. But it seemed to be foolproof. Even the painful bits were accounted for and Anthony had made them to be as painless as possible.

And so began the biggest deceit of your life. All things considered, it was good fun. You and Anthony had decided to see each other four times per week, attending a minimum of two balls together and promenading once. Although it had only been a week, you found yourself enjoying the change of pace. You could now attend balls without having to interact with any desperate bachelors vying for your hefty dowry. What's more, Anthony had been bringing you a bouquet after every ball, which served to placate your mother above all else.

Even promenading with Anthony was enjoyable, seeing as the two of you understood each other quite well. It was nothing compared to how deeply Benedict understood you, or how engaging discussions were with him, but Anthony was miles ahead of anyone besides Ben. After only a week of courting, you found yourself better able to think about Benedict without dissolving into a puddle of tears, desperately wondering whether or not he was thinking of you while in the countryside. Your letters to him became less painful and more frequent, as you were able to push through your debilitating love for him and just enjoy speaking about art and literature.

As time went on, you were growing more and more confident that you had made the right decision, especially now that Lady Whistledown had written about your courtship, as Hyacinth had so kindly informed you. Whistledown's words were gospel to the people of polite society, so her mention of the two of you helped cement the validity of your budding relationship. Hopefully both your families would follow the rest of the ton and accept that Anthony, and not Benedict, was the one you were spending the majority of your time with now.

Although you had hoped Alex would help you in this endeavor, he had been unyieldingly silent on the matter. The day after Anthony explained your plan to him at White's, he came into your room and informed you that he knew what you and Anthony were doing. You had expected him to show at least some form of emotion, but he had simply said that he would not stand in your way and walked right out without any further discussion. Even now, a week later, he refused to talk about it with you, immediately changing the subject or just outright leaving the room when the matter of you and Anthony came up in conversation. You were disappointed, feeling like you were living a lie in and out of your home, but you supposed it was for the best. You could sacrifice talking to someone who knew the whole story for the assurance that none of your family would find out the truth. Especially not your mother.

---

As you looked out of your window to the beautiful grounds of Aubrey Hall, your mind couldn't help but drift to Benedict's latest letter. His reply had been short, which was to be expected given that you had asked him to return from the countryside to meet your future husband. Writing the letter had been almost physically painful, but you knew it was necessary. You could only hope that the tears on the paper were not too noticeable once they reached Ben.

After nearly a month of faking a courtship with Anthony, you were much more well-adjusted when it came to talking and thinking about Benedict. But a month was nowhere near long enough to quell the now all-encompassing love you had spent years growing. You didn't think you could ever stop loving Benedict, not entirely anyway. He was your Benedict, and he would be forever. You had grown up so intertwined in one another that he was as much a part of you as you were yourself. The love you felt for him was not a feeling, exactly, but more of a part of your identity. And it was all good and fun until you had to give that up to be with someone else. Though Anthony, bless him, was making it as easy for you as he could. He expected nothing more than what you were willing to give, and you couldn't thank him enough. It had been surprisingly easy to fall into a partnership with him, not feeling the undue stress of having to promptly get over Benedict that you had felt with all of your other suitors.

Your thoughts were interrupted as Theo and Bastian knocked on your door, barging in when you opened the door just a fraction. They ignored your exasperated sigh, opting instead to sit on your bed. Seeing Bastian's shoe-clad feet on your white bedding incited an anger in you that only your brothers knew how to elicit. But your murderous intentions were cut short by Theo's question.

"So, will Benedict be joining us?"

Your heart skipped a beat as you gazed from one twin to the other, trying to gauge the intention of their question. Seeing your anxious eyes, Theo rushed to explain. "We only wanted to check because... you know... yeah," he finished lamely.

"Because what?" you demanded, slightly put off by what they were implying. Thus far, your family had abstained from mentioning Benedict when speaking about your courtship with Anthony. Although they had been visibly shocked by the idea at first, they had now grown used to seeing you with Anthony instead of Benedict and it had become somewhat of the norm. Except perhaps for Cass, who was still young and a hopeful romantic. You knew she secretly still wished that Ben would return from the countryside in some kind of grand romantic gesture that would sweep you off your feet. Unfortunately, you simply couldn't afford to think that way for your sanity. Instead, you ignored her sad looks whenever Anthony sent you a particularly large bouquet of roses. So it came as a little bit of a shock that Theo and Bastian were being so forthright about the subject, showing little to no tact in handling what was a very painful situation for you.

You saw your brothers exchange a panicked look, clearly not expecting your bristling tone. "Because we haven't seen him in a while!" blurted out Bastian.

"Yes, exactly," said Theo, nodding aggressively. "It's just been some time since we last saw Benedict and we're wondering whether you knew if he'll be coming. So we can see him and all. Is he doing alright?"

You sniffed, crossing your arms stiffly and uttering a curt reply, "I see. Well, yes. He will be coming. He should be arriving in a few hours. And yes, he's alright. He's been faring quite well but I think he's coming back to town properly now."

Catching the wide-eyed look they exchanged, you rolled your eyes in annoyance. "And yes! He knows I've been courting someone, which I know was your next question. Though he doesn't know it's Anthony so don't you dare tell him. I will tell him myself once he arrives," you warned them.

"Wouldn't dream of it," assured Theo.

"Sorry about that. Let us know if you need anything," added Bastian.

You hummed. "Thank you very much. Now please get your dirty shoes off my bed or I'm afraid I will have to kill you. And we wouldn't want to make Mother sad over the death of two of her sons, would we?

They stood up off suddenly your bed and straightened up, clearly not having expected this to be such a hostile conversation. But they were glad you had at least cracked a joke, even if the comment threatened their untimely death. They laughed nervously and bid their goodbyes, exiting your room quickly.

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you closed the door after them, placing your forehead against the cool wood. You had most likely overreacted, but you would have to apologize another time. The sinking feeling of anxiety in your stomach took precedence over your brothers right now, as much as it was inconvenient for them.

The earlier flutters in your stomach had turned into giant somersaults, and you felt like you were going to be positively sick. You would have to tell Benedict that you were engaged to Anthony soon since you knew it would be unimaginably cruel to let Ben learn about your courtship to his brother as he was proposing to you.

The easiest thing would be to tell him during one of your nature walks. Whenever you were at Aubrey Hall, you and Benedict went on nature walks around the grounds, where you would often point out familiar flower and plant species, and he would remind you to take in the beautiful landscape. These walks could often last for hours, just the two of you wrapped up in each other's presence. And although it was usually Ben who suggested them, you had planned to ask him on a nature walk tomorrow morning to break the news that Anthony was the man you intended to marry. It would give him ample time and space to process the information, and some precious privacy to sort out any unresolved feelings on both sides.

Yet, the meticulously thought-out plan you had come up with did absolutely nothing to soothe your fears for the actual moment that you would tell him. In all honesty, you had no idea how Benedict would react. You weren't even sure how you wanted him to react. You supposed the best-case scenario would be if he calmly listened and said he understood your choice, and perhaps even thought it a good idea since you would be able to remain close to him. But you couldn't help a very tiny part of you that had previously been locked in the depths of your brain from hoping that Benedict wouldn't react calmly. That he would be impossibly angry. Angry with you, and with Anthony, and with himself. So angry that maybe he would realize that he did love you, after all, however unrealistic that might be.

With a determined exhale, you pushed yourself off the door and started getting ready to go downstairs to Anthony's study. The twins' unexpected inquiry had thrown you off balance, but you couldn't afford to let it linger in your thoughts. Anthony had asked you to stop by once you arrived at Aubrey Hall to iron out the details of his proposal. In less than a week, he would officially be your fiancé, and you had to start figuring out how it would actually happen.

---

As Benedict rode through the picturesque countryside toward Aubrey Hall, the weight of the impending conversation with you settled in his chest. The familiar scenes outside the carriage window, once a source of solace, now seemed to blur as his mind whirred with conflicting emotions. The letter you had sent him requesting his presence at Aubrey Hall so he could meet your future husband lay heavily in his pocket. Ben could barely breathe from the weight of the knowledge that you were so close to being out of his grasp forever.

Reading that letter for the first time had evoked a sharp pain in his chest that he couldn't shake even now, almost a week later. Benedict was beyond nervous to meet whoever you might be marrying, unsure if he would be able to successfully hide his overpowering love for you. However, he couldn't seem to forget the faint tear stains slightly smudging your handwriting of the letter in his pocket. A selfish part of him wished that you might be sad to be marrying this mystery man. That you had settled for someone less worthy and Ben could continue to be confident (if you could call what he was feeling right now confidence) in his decision to forgo a marriage with you. But this fleeting hope was immediately replaced with guilt. You deserved more than an unhappy marriage, even if it meant embracing a future that felt like a cruel twist of fate for Benedict's own heart. Despite the agonizing ache he was feeling, he knew would do this again ten times over if it guaranteed your happiness.

Arriving at Aubrey Hall, Ben dismissed the carriage with a nod of thanks to the driver. With his belongings in tow, he decided to stop by Anthony's study first. His older brother had surely already met your suitor and could perhaps offer some insight so Benedict wasn't entirely blindsided when you officially introduced him.

As Ben approached the door, he caught the sound of your voice, a sweet sound that made him smile wider than he had since he left you. He couldn't help but linger for a moment, enchanted by the familiarity of your tone and wishing he hadn't spent so long away from it.

But his attention sharpened as he overheard your conversation with Anthony. "I think it might be best if it's not a massive surprise to our families, especially Hyacinth. So, would you want to announce our engagement before everyone gets here? Sometime in the coming days? And then you can propose to me properly once all the guests arrive?" he heard you speak.

Benedict's world ground to a halt. The words hung in the air, a revelation that left him stunned. He went numb, pure anger coursing through his veins as he burst open the door and barged into his older brother's study. His eyes, aggressively narrowed into slits, fell on his best friend, sitting at his brother's desk as Anthony leaned against it. Time froze as you and Anthony turned towards him, expressions of shock clear on your faces.

"I beg your pardon?" he spoke, tone low and venomous as he breathed heavily. "What the bloody hell did you just say?"

—

A/N: just wanted to say thank you everyone so much for reading ahhhh I'm so happy to see all of your reactions after every part and I just LOVE YOU okay kisses bye

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[nicolosercredit]

the new episode is great and all but yall are missing so much from this panel and as a self proclaimed flower simbolism enthusiast I will be breaking it down for you

CALENDULA FITS HIM PERFECTLY

and not just cuz it's a yellow flower, most yellow flowers symbolise positivity, but calendula just FITS THE BEST with it's various symbolism across different cultures

Calendula can bloom in a big range of conditions and are considered fairly hardy so they can also symbolise resilience and strenght which fits Chase really well.

In some cultures, they are also assosiated with grief and rememberance, which again fits Chase, with the loss of his father and him still going to visit his grave and still crying over it.

Not to mention how 'cinderella' and 'calendula' look similar as words.

Now onto hyacinth and how perfectly it describes Buddy and how it might describe him into the future...

We saw plenty of his jealousy in this chapter and the fact that purple hyacinths SPECIFICALLY symbolise seeking forgiveness, we can assume something with Ex Libris going down in the future, based on the many theories connected to the 'dreams by night' chapter and Buddy having to redeem for it

Also how the vampire guy talked about how Chase could never compare to a hyacinth?

I might be reading too much into it, but it might as well symbolise their relationship and how there's still a wall between them or to show off their Sun/Sunshine and Moon/Grumpy dynamic

Now, as for Deacon hyacinth, could also represent him with his jealousy for main characters and seeking forgiveness in this arc for what he did in the book of Deacon.

Tho blue hyacinths represent sincerity, I don't know how much it really fits him since I don't see it as a strong trait of his and think hyacinths are here to represent Buddy, I thought I should still put this out there.

I'll find you a flower Deacon.

Anyway, that is all from me. As soon as I saw this panel I went crazy over the flower symbolism and to think no one seemed to pay attention to it - I had to make a post

Thank you so much Punko for giving me something to hyperfixate on and consume every part of my being with for the next several weeks instead of studying

[hxney-lemcn]

Could I request a malleus fic for the 2k follower event with 🌹💍😍😴🫥?

Sorry for the late night request..

a/n: I couldn't for the life of me think of anything for the "come back to bed" prompt so I hope you don't mind I didn't include it. Also, back from a day break, just needed a bit of a breather from writing.

tw: none.

wc: 0.3k

2k follower event | master list

It was a cloudy, gloomy day as both you and Malleus walked through his palace gardens. It was a beautiful day in Briar Valley. There were many kinds of flowers, belladonnas, iris’, hyacinths, pansy’s, petunias, violas, and that’s just naming a few. They were breathtaking, and all of them were deep shades of purples, blacks and blues. It was your favorite spot, the tranquill weather mixed with the lovely view, the background sounds of birds chirping and bees flying from flower to flower. A perfect place to read or have some tea. A spot that Malleus found himself frequenting more and more with you by his side. 

Your engagement was arranged, but you both found yourselves enjoying the other's presence. You both got along well, finding solace in the other in the lonely world of nobles and royalty. Bonding over how alienating it felt to be so high ranked in society (albeit Malleus was much higher than yours). Not to mention how caring he was towards you. Politeness turning into affection, respect melting into adoration. 

“I swear the flowers are more breathtaking every time I visit,” You mutter, eyes tracing every petal. 

“And yet they will never compare to you,” Malleus hummed, green eyes watching you fondly. As isolated as he was, he seemed to be a natural charmer.

“If you keep this up I might just fall for you,” You replied with a smirk. As much as his words made your heart flutter, you found yourself amused with how cheesy he sounded.

“I hope so,” He chuckled in response. “I would wish that my future spouse is as happy with the arrangement as I am.”

“You’re so sappy,” You chuckled back. But it seems his sappiness seeped into you as you plucked a deep blue hyacinth and tucked it into his square pocket on his suit. 

“I see,” He teased, eyes shining with amusement. “A strange way to propose, but the answer is yes.” You let out an amused huff, gently swatting at his arm (a terrible crime if Sebek were to see), “I can’t stand you.”

(Blue hyacinths represent sincerity (according to google)).

[sunriize]

you know, he won’t

anton x fem!reader

warnings: (his name is mentioned once so you can very much imagine anyone else in his position) angst angst angsttttttt, mention of period, cussing, questioning his sexuality and damn its just angst guys. fluff if u squint and face away from ur screen👍(proofread but take it w a grain of salt its 5.20am rn)

your relationship with anton was complicated. it seems crazy to say that because you were dating him —have been for years. you knew you loved him, or else you wouldn’t have stayed all those years. it was just how he treats you.

he didn’t treat you badly, you dont think he was even capable of doing so, he was just… so, absent minded? inattentive rather. he just never paid attention. of course theres the cute things that he does like, buying you a fresh bouquet of flowers every weekend, or buying you snacks when you’re on your period. but it was never your favourites, it was never fresh smelling hyacinth, the only flower you found yourself obsessing over, or your favourite bitter-tasting dark chocolate. you remember listing these early on into dating, thinking he would’ve atleast noted it down, but, nothing.

it was all trivial at the end of the day, you know he loves you… he just has an odd way of showing it, you guess. his love was never accommodated to you, he loved you the way he wanted to, there’s nothing wrong with that, you think, but you just wish you could be loved the way you wanted, you wish you could morph him into your perfect man. which sucks, because you knew he was good for you, you knew you loved him, you just wished he was better.

you tried to accept him for what he truly is —distant. but sometimes it hurts? not being able to receive what you want from this relationship knowing he receives what he wants. you know he loves you but why won’t he show it? properly.

you want to hold him in the night, you want to caress his hair to relieve his stress, you want to jump up and down excited with him, you want to love him, but you just, can’t. you can’t look at him without feeling resentment, without feeling like you’re the problem, and sometimes you are, you can admit that, but this.. this is different, its not a fight, its not a disagreement nor is it an argument. you just don’t feel loved, the way you want at least. this makes you feel selfish, but he’s the one being loved, not you. you know that he knows you feel like this, but he won’t do anything about it. you know he loves you, but he wont show it.

he makes you feel disgusting, like you’re unlovable —or rather unworthy of love. but you know he loves you.

it hurts, honestly, it really fucking hurts. you see how he acts with his friends, how he’s comfortable with initiating skinship with them, how he gets excited around them, how he remembers little things about them. honestly? sometimes you think he’s gay.

maybe this is all out of jealousy, but you’re his girlfriend, he just doesn’t fucking act like it.

for some reason, even though you know it’s not your fault, you cant help but feel guilty and tear up at these thoughts, he’s your boyfriend, you’re meant to love him wholeheartedly. and you did, but thats exactly the problem, you did.

maybe, you truly just loved him.

a/n: guys i’ve never been in a relationship i have no clue where this angst came from 👍 also im ngl the whole time writing this i felt like i was in that one sad video, daddy is the sweetest in the world, daddy wants me to be the best, i love my daddy, but…. but he lies 😭😭😭 guys did i eat w the fic name yes or naurrrrrr 🫦

[tea-stained-notes]

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader – One Last Summer

Y/N is many things: Daphne's best friend, gifted artist, new money, honorary Bridgerton – and hopelessly in love with Benedict. But when she finds herself suddenly engaged to a brutish army captain stationed in India, she is faced with the loss of everything she has grown to adore. With time running out, one last visit to Aubrey Hall will decide her fate.

Months ago I had a random phase of obsessing over Benedict Bridgerton (don't we all at some point) and dove head-first into this – then somehow took an eternity to finish it. It's angsty af, but don’t worry, there’s also plenty of Bridgerton shenanigans and tooth-rotting fluff because Benny is too adorable for this world

Warnings: angst and anxiety

Word Count: ~8400

A warm summer breeze caresses my heated skin as I finally emerge from the carriage and lay eyes on Aubrey Hall. Lush flowers and greenery adorn the inviting front and I am still taking in the sight when I notice Eloise and Penelope rounding the corner, the Bridgerton sister gesticulating in what must be one of her political rants. Behind them, Gregory and Hyacinth emerge, chasing each other and screaming in delight. My stomach swoops at the sight – how I have missed them all. “Good morning!” I call over to them, waving with an excitement I would scarcely allow myself to display anywhere else. But here, everything is different. Has always been different.

“Y/N!” They all rush over to me, enveloping me in hugs and chattering over each other. “Finally! It’s been ages!” “Daphne has been insufferable without you around!” “Come play with us!” I laugh, begging them for a moment to breathe after the journey. Daphne appears in the entryway, closely followed by Violet. I walk quickly towards my best friend, arms wide open. “Daph!” “Oh thank Goodness you have made it!” She hugs me tightly, her familiar perfume mingling with the smell of grass and sun-warmed skin. “Have you been playing croquet without me?” “Oh, has Anthony already come moaning to you about his well-deserved loss?” “I can smell it on you, along with your smugness” I say with a grin. “And your brother has grown quite even-tempered since the wedding.” “Well, unfortunately he is still the sorest loser I know.” “Which is a feat in itself amongst this competitive bunch,” Violet says with a twinkle in her eyes before taking my hands in hers and looking me up and down. “Welcome back, darling. You look thin, please do not tell me that you’re trying to fit into one of those outrageous wedding gowns that seem to be made for dolls.” I wince at the mention of my upcoming nuptials but hastily cover it up with a chuckle. “Quite the opposite, at the last fitting my seamstress was rather disgruntled that she would have to take in the waist even further. It is just a bit of a nervous stomach, with all the impending change.” “But as a young bride you should be more happy than nervous, no?” “Mama,” Daphne scolds softly, while Eloise openly rolls her eyes. “I suppose I should.” “Why not at least wait until dinner with such questions?” comes a voice from my right, “Your forwardness single-handedly erodes our renowned British reserve.” I grin at Colin before pulling him into a hug and ruffling his coiffed hair. Being a year older, I have always indulged in playing big sister with him. He sighs in feigned annoyance. “I was going to say that it’s good to see you but I am already regretting that sentiment.” “Liar,” I snicker. Violet’s glance dances between us. I believe she once suspected a blossoming romance between Colin and me, but while I love him dearly as a surrogate brother, he has never made my heart flutter. Not that I could have ever betrayed poor Penelope anyway, whose bright eyes are locked on him as always. And not that I would ever actually marry a Bridgerton. I may have dared to dream of it ten years ago, when I first met Daphne and immediately became fast friends with her despite our age difference. When her family welcomed me into their home with such fervour and warmth that I could hardly believe my luck. With my mother having died from influenza when I was little and no other siblings to grow up with, the Bridgertons became the family I could have never imagined for myself. And the idea of marrying into it one day, of making my bond with them all official, that was the greatest aspiration I could envisage. But the one brother who has always fascinated me is nowhere in sight and I try to be glad for it. “Come, let’s get you settled before the rest of the battalion descends upon you.” Daphne pulls me inside while I give a grateful smile to the servants hurrying after us with my luggage. “So where is your charming husband?” I ask as we ascend the staircase. “And little Amelia? I have been dying to see her again.” “Simon was held up by business, he will arrive in a few days. And the little one is in the gardens with her nanny. I will call for some lemonade and once you have freshened up, we shall go out to see her and catch up. You have so much to tell me.” “I last saw you two months ago and we write constantly,” I laugh. “But all the things that have happened in those two months! Your engagement first and foremost. I simply must know everything, I certainly require more detail than the few lines from your letters.” My insides squirm at her eagerness but I manage a somewhat enthusiastic nod. She comes to a stop in front of a door. “Your usual guest room is having some work done, so I had my old room prepared for you – I hope you don’t mind.” “Not at all, it will be nice, I haven’t been in there since your wedding.” “And Mama has kept it exactly the same, you know how sentimental she gets.” Daphne sounds teasing yet her smile is nothing but fond. She gives me another hug. “I am so glad you are here. I’ve missed you. We all have.” “And I have missed you.”

Once my bags and I are safely inside, I inhale deeply and take in the stillness for a moment. Arriving at any Bridgerton residence always feels like being caught in a whirlwind and as much as I love them all, it can be overwhelming at times, especially after the often stifling silence of my own home. I wander over to the window, letting my eyes trail over the gardens, alive with an abundance of colours that makes my heart sing. Until it stops abruptly. There he is. Deeply lost in his brush strokes as he recreates the wonders around him. His vest is unbuttoned, his shirt carelessly gaping open at the top, his sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. Even from afar, Benedict Bridgerton ignites a well-known fire inside of me. Whenever I am away from him, I can almost convince myself that this age-old infatuation is nothing but a figment, a silly flight of fancy. Sometimes I can almost forget about him entirely, distract myself with my artistic pursuits, with other friends or travel. But then I notice a piece of melody flowing from my fingers that somehow reminds me of him or look down at a drawing in surprise, having unconsciously once again traced his familiar features. Still I repress it, abandon the fantasy of someone so far above my station. Someone who sees me as a family friend and nothing more. And now that I am engaged to be married I should purge my mind of him entirely, yet especially in these last few weeks I have scarcely thought of anything else, convinced that my longing could not possibly grow stronger. But the mere tangibility of him unravels me completely. I long to rush downstairs to see him and at the same time it is the one thing I fear the most. After a long moment I tear my gaze away and turn to the washing bowl. To my dismay, the cool water does little to calm my racing pulse and thoughts. Clean and unpacked I head towards the door, but halt half-way. Because as always, when I am in Daphne's room, my eyes fall on the painting of us. It is wonderfully serene, the two of us sitting on a picnic blanket in the gardens. She is engrossed in a book, but I am looking over my shoulder, smiling softly at the artist. It was Benedict of course. I remember vividly how I turned around to find him crouching with a sketchbook in his hand, capturing the scene in quick strokes. His face lit up and he winked at me before deftly outlining my expression. Later he transferred the motif onto a proper canvas, so I never got to see the original sketch. I have always wondered whether I had really looked at him like that. So openly enamoured.

I wander down the halls towards the open French doors leading into the garden when a voice pulls me from my reverie so suddenly I almost trip over my feet. “There you are.” I look up only to be met with a dazzling smile, gleaming eyes and a hint of spicy aftershave in the air. My stomach drops. “Mr. Bridgerton.” His smile falters briefly. He always insists on me calling him by his first name, yet I have never been able to. When we met he was already eighteen, a grown man at first sight. It had felt only right to address him with the same courtesy as his older brother. And even as we grew closer, as I learned of his boyish temperament, often bordering on immaturity, I never found the courage to simply call him Benedict. If only to keep up the semblance of a wall between us, a desperate attempt at shielding my heart. Not that I have ever succeeded in that endeavour. “Everyone’s been speaking of your arrival. How wonderful you have found time to join us.” “The pleasure is all mine, as always,” I reply, ignoring the pull in my chest. “Have you finished your painting?” I gesture at the art supplies in his arms. “Not quite, but I’m afraid duty calls. Some business I need to talk over with Anthony.” “Ah, I too have an enormously urgent appointment with your sister.” We share a light chuckle. “I am sure she has scheduled three hours at the least to learn all about your… plans.” The word comes out strangely forced but he catches himself quickly. “Will I see you at dinner?” “How could I ever miss one of Mrs. Brodie’s delicacies? I have had actual dreams of her rosemary chicken.” “You are not a true Bridgerton until you’ve had one of those dreams,” he says with a grin but it wavers slightly as the words sink in. He knows as well as I do that no number of dreams will ever make me a true Bridgerton. I swallow thickly before putting on a smile. “If you will excuse me, I am quite parched after the journey and Daphne has promised lemonade.” “Oh, of course, yes. Don’t let me keep you.” “Goodbye, sir.” “Until tonight, Y/N.” Something in his tone, in the way his lips curve around my name, sends shivers down my spine. With a swift curtsey I turn and practically run out into the open air.

I manage to ward off Daphne’s inquisition well enough. Yes, Captain Parker will be able to provide for me. Yes, he is handsome. Yes, my father approves of him. Luckily, we are regularly interrupted by the various Bridgerton siblings and distracted by little Amelia who is perfectly content as the centre of attention. “I am quite certain one day she will be the diamond of the season,” I declare, ruffling her hair. “Do you really think so?” Daphne is all too happy to swoon about her firstborn and I gladly steer the conversation away from my upcoming wedding. Eventually, I propose another game of croquet, having missed the previous one, and before long the dinner bell is rung. Everyone settles into the dining room and I sink into a comfortable chair, Daphne and Eloise on either side, Benedict across from me. I only notice now that we have always been seated like this during my visits and wonder if it was I who once sought out this particular arrangement. He quickly engages me in a conversation about art and music, the topics that have always connected us, and minute by minute I grow more comfortable in his presence. We fall into passionate discussions and light-hearted banter, only occasionally intercepted by the others around us. And I cannot help pondering if he has ever felt it, too. The sparkling potential between us. The mere idea of what we could have been. No matter how unrealistic, as long we were both unwed, a tiny part of my heart remained reserved for that hope. And every time I arrived at the manor to find him seemingly carefree about the future and with no bride in sight, I was flooded with relief, simultaneously blessed and cursed to hope for a little longer. Until a few weeks ago when those dreams were finally shattered. “So, are you looking forward to India?” Colin suddenly asks. “I would love to visit you there sometime, it must be incredible.” “Surely it would not be proper to interrupt their honeymoon,” Benedict says, somewhat strained. “Oh, it’s not for our honeymoon,” I reply. “My… Captain Parker will be permanently stationed there.” Benedict’s fork clatters onto the plate and we all flinch, the chatter around the table coming to a halt. “You will move to India?” He has gone frighteningly pale. “Yes. Has Daphne not told you?” “I must have,” she sputters, “when I was last in Lon–“ “No, you haven’t.” His words come out unusually harsh and my stomach twists. Everyone is staring at either him or me and Daphne’s eyes flicker between us before she forces a casual smile. “Brother, don’t be silly, I am certain I have. And either way, I shall be the one to miss her the most, no?” She puts an arm around me while giving a pointed look at Kate who quickly collects herself and pulls Anthony and Violet into a chat about their plans for the nursery. Slowly, the usual bustle recommences and I turn back to Colin. “Once we are settled in, you are more than welcome to visit. You all are, of course.” Benedict’s lips are pressed tightly together, his food forgotten.

I find little sleep that night, the image of Benedict imprinted on my mind. He seemed so genuinely upset. I expected him to miss me, of course, but the hint of melancholy I had detected in his features even before the revelation of my upcoming departure to India now haunts me. Losing him was always going to be torture but realising how it might affect him as well has doubled the pain and I start to regret this indulgence of coming to Aubrey Hall for one last summer. When the first sun rays filter through the half-opened curtains I inhale deeply, trying to infuse a little hope and joy into the beginning of this new day. And when Daphne surprises me with the idea of a relaxed breakfast in bed I almost believe it has worked. A while later we find ourselves in the parlour, Eloise engrossed in a book after Penelope’s earlier departure, Daphne rocking a fussy Amelia to sleep in her arms, and I sketching absently. I startle when Benedict walks in, slightly more dishevelled than usual. “Daph, Y/N. Just the pair I’ve been looking for.” “Good morning to you as well, dear brother,” Eloise says with a smirk. He bows excessively in her direction and I cannot help but smile at their antics. “Good morning, my darling sister.” They share a grin before he turns back to us. “I wanted to apologise for my little outburst at dinner. I was tired and the news took me by surprise.” He clears his throat. “I do hope you forgive me.” “Of course, sir,” I hasten to reply. “One could have almost suspected you of being jealous of a certain Captain Parker.” “Eloise!” Daphne chides but she too eyes her brother and me curiously. Before I can try to decipher either my feelings or his expression, Violet walks in, rubbing her hands enthusiastically. “Good morning, children! Who of you will kindly join us for a walk?” Daphne rises as Amelia starts crying once more and Violet immediately offers to take her. While they deliberate on the benefits of a walk for the baby, Benedict settles beside me, merely a few feet between us. I try to ignore the goosebumps forming on my skin at his soft smile. “May I?” He points at my sketchbook. I press it shut with hurried force. “No.” “Oh.” His face falls a little. “Forgive me, I did not mean to pry.” There is dejection in his eyes, but also confusion. I have always shared my sketches with him, just as my compositions, needlework and poetry. We have always valued each other’s opinions and advice. So naturally he is taken aback by my sudden reservedness. But how can I explain the shift from peaceful, colourful motifs to the utter gloom that has been dominating my sketches lately? The impending thunderstorms, the dark forests. And possibly worse, the countless drawings of him. Sometimes just his fingers, delicately holding a paintbrush, sometimes his entire silhouette, but mostly his boyishly handsome face that my eyes unerringly find the second I enter a room. If it scares me how much of my waking thought he is taking up – how much would it scare him? “I– I’m sorry, sir. I have not been feeling very… confident about my work lately.” “I can hardly believe that to be justified in any way. You have always possessed a raw talent I can scarcely dream of.” “That is not true.” “Well then, I challenge you.” Mischief sparkles in his eyes and an inadvertent giggle escapes me. “You mean it? We have not done that in ages.” “All the more reason to do it now.” “Y/N, are you coming?” Daphne calls across the room. “She is otherwise engaged,” Benedict grins before I can reply. “Is that so?” “Your brother has thrown down the gauntlet and I’m afraid I shall have to pick it up.” Daphne rolls her eyes, amusement playing on her lips. “Are you having one of your silly art competitions again? What is it this time?” “Portraits,” I say hastily. “We will paint each other. Fifteen minutes, as usual.” I wonder what possessed me to choose Benedict’s face as the subject, of all things. Most likely pure masochism. I do not dare gauge his reaction although I can feel his eyes on me. “Well, Amelia needs her walk now.” Daphne glances at the crying baby in Violet’s arms. “I suppose we shall see you both later. I’ll be happy to choose a winner then.” “You’re hardly impartial,” Benedict grumbles. “Neither are you when it comes to Y/N,” she retorts. Before I can begin to untangle her accusation she has breezed out the door.

Eloise is as bad a chaperone as ever, engrossed in her book a few yards away in the shade, while Benedict sets up his canvas beside me. Mine is leaning up against my chair. Despite my excessive practice I was not quite able to capture his essence. Perhaps because it felt so strikingly different from the other times he sat for me. I had asked him not to speak, as to not strain my jittery nerves even further, and he had obliged, albeit reluctantly. But with every passing second the silence between us grew heavier, along with his expression. It weighed down my piece of charcoal, making it impossible to find my usual ease in sketching. Just when I feared it might crumble between my tense fingers, Benedict murmured, “Time’s up” with a glance at his pocket watch. Before he could peek at the result I hurriedly asked for a lunch break which we spent with an unusually talkative Anthony. Now we have returned to our previous spot and he sets up his own work. “May I ask,” he says after the first few strokes, “why the quick engagement? Did you know immediately that he was the right man for you?” His jaw clenches while he firmly stares at the canvas. My hands grow clammy, clutching his watch tightly. “I could hardly afford such luxuries anymore. At four-and-twenty my chances of finding the ‘right’ man have been dwindling about as fast as my father’s faith in me receiving a proposal at all.” “You make yourself sound like an old spinster.” “Well, in the eyes of the ton I am. I should consider myself lucky to be engaged at last.” “But you don’t?” His eyes search mine intently until I drop my gaze, scared of what he might find in it. “Of course. Very lucky indeed.” Once more a long silence hangs between us. I suddenly feel impossibly tired. And as much as I want to blame the summer heat and sleepless nights, I know this weariness runs much deeper. The exhaustion of holding up the pretence that I am even remotely content with my lot. “Look at me, please,” Benedict murmurs and I follow his request without hesitation, taken aback by the deep concern in his features. He thanks me softly before resuming his quiet work. “Will you not be terribly lonely in India?” he finally asks. I bite my lip. “Not for long, I hope.” What I cannot say is that I am almost glad to go. To miss them all from so far away they will hardly feel real. To not see them fall in love and lead lives I will barely be a part of. To not sit and watch Benedict await his bride at the altar, breaking inside because it should be me walking down that aisle towards him. To not look at the children who have his wild hair and lopsided grin and not find a single trace of me in their faces. I blink away tears, desperate to change the subject before he manages to poke even more holes into my façade. “And what of your plans for the future, sir? Anything exciting on the horizon?” He pauses for a moment, seemingly debating whether to indulge me. “You will think me foolish, but lately I've been thinking about opening my own academy one day. One where your wealth and sex do not matter, where you are accepted on merit and passion alone. And perhaps when you are a personal friend of the owner.” He winks at me and I stare at him in feigned indignation. “Are you saying my merit and passion would not suffice?” “Not at all. If anything, you possess too much of both, so I would have to keep you in a private class as to not discourage the other students.” I glance down at my lap, hiding both my smile and the blush forming on my cheeks. “Well, I think, it sounds anything but foolish. You could grant opportunities to so many people who will never find them anywhere else. Promise you will write to me when that dream becomes a reality.” I look back up at him, surprised at the soft wonder in his eyes, then let mine travel down to his lips as they curve into a half-smirk. “When, not if? You flatter me.” “I believe in you. I always have. And I dearly hope that one of us will be allowed to live his dream.” Benedict swallows, all traces of mirth erased from his features. “Y/N, you–” “Time’s up,” I say, without a single glance at the watch. He bites his tongue while an entire palette of emotions flits across his face. “Here you are!” We both startle when Daphne appears beside me, placing her hands on my shoulders with a wide grin. “Brother, stop capitalising on my dear friend's time. She is my guest after all.” “And here I thought she liked to spend time with all of us,” Eloise comments and I suddenly wonder how much of our previous conversation she has eavesdropped on while appearing lost in her reading. The other Bridgertons trail behind Daphne, evidently tired from their stroll in the sun. Colin immediately snorts as he peeks at the canvas. “You cannot be painting Y/N again. Do you not have an entire portrait gallery of her already?” “Well, none of you little gremlins ever hold still for even a minute.” “I've sat for you plenty of times,” Daphne protests. “Yes, and you look like you'd rather hang every single time.” “Benedict!” Violet scolds gently. “Well, let’s see them then. You do need a few judges after all.” Despite my weak protests, both sketches are propped up beside each other a few moments later. The Bridgertons remain unusually quiet. “They are both fine works,” Violet says eventually. “But you two seem so…” “Gloomy,” Kate finishes. Everyone nods. “Did Eloise bore you with an excerpt from her book while you were drawing?” Colin quips and ducks as said book comes flying at his head. Within seconds the family is caught in familiar chaos and I let myself be dragged off to another lunch despite feeling so queasy I might never eat again. When I glance back at Benedict he only manages the barest of smiles.

The week and a half of my stay at Aubrey Hall passes in a turmoil of emotions. As much as I love spending time with the Bridgertons and try to fully revel in their company, it unnerves me. Feeling their observant eyes on me, the underlying tension in the air, I have been growing more short-tempered and nervous, increasingly avoiding the presence of the people I love the most to escape their questions, both voiced and unspoken. The portrait of Benedict lies buried in his studio. I could not bear having his charcoal eyes stare at me with the same apprehension as his soft green ones. Being around him has lost all the ease we used to share despite my infatuation. I am glad when Simon joins us, creating a distraction for Daphne and thus some room for myself. But no amount of wandering the familiar halls and gardens, hiding away in the library or furiously filling page after page of my sketchbook can calm my racing mind. Anxiety has nestled deep inside my chest, constricting my lungs and churning in my stomach. And then it arrives: My last day at the manor. They surprise me with a picnic under clear blue skies and despite my incessant sorrow it turns out rather lovely. Before long, the little ones are running around and I find myself pulled in all directions, playing and frolicking in the sun. The adults disperse as well, picking up games or strolling through the gardens in deep conversation. Eventually, I sink down onto a blanket next to Daphne and Amelia, out of breath and surprisingly cheerful. My friend looks over at me, a wistful expression on her face. “I hope you’ve been enjoying your time with us,” she says softly. “Of course,” I reply automatically. “I always do.” I let my eyes wander over the scenes around us and the despite the joy in the air, panic and despair once more rise in my throat. Cotton fills my ears, then my entire skin starts to tingle. And suddenly it comes crashing down on me. The intense finality of these last few days with the Bridgertons. The very real possibility that I might never return to Aubrey Hall, never again chatter with Daphne, joke with Colin, debate with Eloise. Never chase the younger siblings across the rolling greens or laugh at a seething Anthony after an eventful croquet match. Never have a single moment alone with Benedict. I have been a fool for believing that distance would make me miss them all any less. Because at this moment I am certain that I will be longing for these days for the rest of my life. Still, the sob that rips from my mouth takes me by surprise. “Y/N?” Daphne turns to me, little Amelia on her lap eyeing me warily. I want to reassure her but instead tears start flowing uncontrollably. “Oh my dear!” Daphne sets her daughter down on the blanket, then throws her arms around me. “Y/N, whatever is the matter?” I cannot find my voice for several minutes, overwhelmed by the most intense sorrow I have felt since my mother's passing. When I finally speak, the words come out raspy and broken. “I am going to miss you all so much.” “Well, how awful would it be if you didn't?” Daphne says, a half-smile on her lips but it fades as she inspects my face. “Is it more than that? Are you truly not looking forward to marriage at all? I know it can be daunting, Simon and I have had a rocky path as well, but now I cannot imagine a life without him.” “Because you love him!” The words come out rougher than intended and Amelia winces, her mouth curling into a frown. I quickly cradle her in my arms before she can start crying as well. Nuzzling her soft hair I avoid Daphne’s eyes. “You've always loved him, Daph. Even when you could not yet admit it to yourself, even when you did not know that he returned your feelings.” A tense pause stretches between us. “Do you truly believe you will never love Captain Parker?” she finally whispers. I bite my lip, unable to answer. “Y/N, why on earth did you accept his proposal if you cannot see a happy life with him?” I want to scream at her, want to rage at her naiveté, her inability to grasp the gravity of my situation. But I cannot. Not at my best friend who does not know and can never know how this engagement came about. “If you do not want this, I can help you,” she says softly now. “We will find a perfect match for you next season. Who knows, maybe even somewhere along the way until then?” Daphne attempts another soft smile and my tears start flowing again. If only it were this simple. She reaches for my hand while I am pressing Amelia closer with the other, relishing in her warmth and quiet babbling. “It pains me to see you like this. There must be something I can do. I realise that Anthony and I have been very lucky to have found our partners, but if it is not love that persuades you to marry, it should at least be mutual respect and fondness. I am certain we can find such a man for you, if only–” “No,” I say determinedly. “I am grateful to you, Daph, but it is too late.” “Too late because you're afraid to break off the engagement or because your heart is already taken?” I gasp. “Daphne–” “Is it someone I know?” “No, it's no one. There is no one.” I press a kiss to Amelia's head, then place her in her mother's arms. Wiping my face, I rise to my feet. “I am sorry for my outburst. Do forgive me. I just need a moment to myself.” “Y/N–” “Thank you for the picnic.” Brushing away fresh tears I flee the picture-perfect scene that now only breaks my heart.

Hours later everyone is bustling about in the parlour, impatiently awaiting dinner. I have claimed the piano in the corner and let my fingers wander over the keys, following a soft, melancholy tune. My gaze loses focus in the middle distance as I calculate the number of hours I have left here. There is no clock in the room and yet I can hear an unrelenting ticking. “Is that your latest composition?” I flinch before my eyes find Benedict's, his lacking their usual sparkle. “I– I am not certain...” I clear my throat and Daphne briefly glances over at me, worry in her features. “I'm still working on it.” “It's beautiful.” “You do not sound quite convinced,” I say with a weak attempt at a smile. “No, I mean it. Every piece you compose is beautiful. It's just... It sounds so deeply sad.” I suddenly sense how the atmosphere in the room has changed. Even the little ones have gone quiet, with everyone stealing looks of concern at me. “I am so sorry, I did not mean to ruin the mood. Please carry on.” I chuckle nervously and the Bridgertons are kind enough to return to their antics, albeit slightly forced. “Y/N, are you alright?” Benedict's voice is low but strained. I turn back to the keys, once more biting back tears. “Of course, sir. I am perfectly fine.” “You do not seem like yourself,” he murmurs. “You are usually.... softer. But also stronger. With such a zest for life. I've never seen you like this, so burdened, so sombre.” I raise my chin, attempting to look challenging rather than heartbroken at his astute observation. “And what about you, Mr. Bridgerton? These past few days you have hardly been the carefree man I've come to know.“ “Then you must know that you are the cause.” We both still. Blood is rushing in my ears as I try to steel myself for something I fear and crave in equal measure. But after a long moment he shakes his head, swallowing heavily. “I worry about you, Y/N. We all do. I know things have not always been easy for you but until now I believed our family could provide you with comfort. And if that is somehow no longer the case, surely the prospect of starting your own family should excite you.” I hopelessly rifle through my mind for an answer that might assuage him once and for all. “Dinner is ready, my lady.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “Wonderful!” Violet smiles at the servant who has appeared in the doorway, then claps her hands. Her offspring rises from floor and sofas, muttering about being starved while jostling towards the dining room. I stand up so quickly the piano stool topples over and I reach for it at the same time as Benedict. Our hands briefly touch in mid-air, sending a spark through mine before I can pull away. He stares at me, the ticking even louder than before. “Y/N, you must know that you can confide in me.” “There is nothing to confide, sir.” “Benedict.” My face runs hot at both the insistence on his first name and the multitude of my confessions boiling so close to the surface. His features soften as he subconsciously draws closer and I scramble to my feet, heart pounding wildly. “We should go, everyone is waiting.” Before he can reply I rush out of the parlour, pressing clammy hands to my cheeks to soothe the fire in them.

Dinner is strangely quiet and whenever I glance over at Benedict I find him already looking at me. For the millionth time this week I wonder if I should not have discredited his motives so quickly, should not have dismissed his attempts at forming a tighter bond between us for the fear of falling too far. Is it possible I might have misread him all these years? Too blind in my self-deprecation, too caught up in worries about money and class when he never seemed to care much for these things, when perhaps he could have easily seen beyond them? Should I have rather flown too close to the sun than never have flown at all? When the children have gone to bed I linger with the others, barely engaging in the conversation over drinks but unwilling to embark on the hours of anxious brooding in the dark ahead of me. Eventually, the yawns become more frequent and one by one the Bridgertons retire until at last Daphne and I make our way upstairs as well. I halt as we pass the library. “I’m not quite tired enough for bed. I am going to peruse the books for a while.” Daphne turns to me, deeply mournful. “Y/N, I so wish you would tell me what is going on.” I feel my bottom lip begin to quiver and shake my head vehemently. “I can’t.” “Why ever not? Are we not confidants? I have always told you everything.” “And I am so grateful for your trust and friendship.” I envelop her in a tight hug. “I will be alright. Do not worry about me.” “How can I not worry when my best friend is so clearly unhappy?” She draws back to examine me once more. “I have had my happiness. With you, with your family. That shall be enough. Not everyone finds a happy ending.” “But you so deserve it,” she says, grasping my hand. “Both you and–“ She stops herself abruptly. “Who?” “Never mind.” I want to ask again but nod instead. She seizes a candleholder from a side table and lights it with the flame of her own. “Take this. And don’t stay up too late. We will speak again in the morning.” “Goodnight, Daph.” I slip into the dark library and carefully close the door behind me. After a few deep breaths I walk around the room, lighting more candles, until I am startled by a soft knock. With a sigh I move to open the door. “Daphne, please, can we–“ The words die in my throat. Benedict stands before me, carrying a grave expression. “I need to speak with you.” “Sir, you have to leave,” I splutter. “What if someone sees us? Daphne might still be nearby.” “She was the one to tell me where to find you.” “What, why?” “Because she knows.” “Knows what?” A long pause. Then he carefully pushes past me and presses the door shut. I can do nothing but stare at him in disbelief. “Sir, you–“ “Are you fond of your...”, he clears his throat, “your fiancé?” “Excuse me?” “It's a simple question.” My chest tightens as panic once again seeps into my veins. “I am hoping I can learn to be.” His eyes burn into mine, brimming with concern. “Y/N, are you scared of him?” “Sir–“ “Benedict, please. Please.” “No. I– I'm sorry, I...” I am so tired of crying, so I bury my nails painfully into my palms to hold back the tears. Still, I am shaking before him. He slightly raises his arms, as if wanting to pull me into a hug, and I wish more than anything I could let him without risking to fall apart entirely. “You must break off the engagement.” “I can't.” “Y/N, you're terrified. That is not a life you're entering, it is torture. And it’s killing us to know that you are hurting, that you might not be safe – it’s killing me. Is he choleric? I swear, if he ever laid a hand on you, I–“ “He already has.” “What?” “At the midsummer ball. He seized me in the gardens and touched me... Kissed me. Lady Clementine saw us and reported to my father. Father claimed that we were engaged and thus we were.” Benedict has turned to the nearest bookshelf, lips in a tight line, knuckles white from grasping the wooden board like a vice. He is trembling and my stomach sinks even further. “Did you explain the situation to your father?” he presses through gritted teeth, eyes boring into the volumes before him. “Of course. But he is deathly afraid of scandal. Our standing in the ton is on such thin ice as is.” “That's not true.” “Yes, it is.” Frustration starts boiling within me, one that I have been harbouring since I first set foot into their manor on Grosvenor Square ten years ago. All this splendour, so nonchalantly taken for granted by the entire family. All those visitors so obviously enchanted by the grand Bridgertons, never questioning their rightful place in this world. “You have no idea what it's like. Your father wasn't just barely rich enough to gain some footing in the ton but not to provide you with an appealing dowry. You have never been an only child, never had to be scared that your family's legacy might crumble if you ever step out of line for even a second, even when it's not your fault!” I am vibrating with restrained anger but quickly run out of steam when his face falls along with his shoulders. “You're right,” he whispers. “Please forgive me.” “I have to apologise as well. You have been born with an array of privileges from your sex to your wealth but I know that you do not flaunt them. However, my options aren't as wonderfully unlimited.” I swallow thickly. “So you see, I cannot end this engagement. My already slim chances would be ruined, who else would make me an offer after this?” “I would.” His reply is immediate, certain, and it crashes into me without warning. My mouth is dry, every nerve in my body alight. “That is incredibly kind, but I could never accept.” My voice nearly fails me. “You deserve a grand life, Benedict.” His eyes widen at the name finally spilling from my lips where I have kept it hidden for so long. “You will be a renowned artist, a gift for society in so many ways. And you deserve a woman you adore by your side, one who will never leave a stain on your good name.” “I have already found her.” His words hit me unexpectedly at first, an instant stab of jealousy in my chest. Then a lump forms in my throat as realisation sets in. A realisation I have never allowed and am not ready for still. “But I cannot seem to make her see that she has held my heart for an entire decade. That her smile and wit and artistic endeavours captivate me more and more with every passing year. That I could have lived with her romantic disinterest in me, had she found someone whose soul matches the beauty of hers.” “Benedict...” “That my name from her lips is the sweetest sound in the world.” “Please stop.” He pauses briefly. “Are you scared of me as well?” “Yes,” I blurt out, “I have been scared of you since the moment we met because you make me forget myself. You make me forget that you are entirely out of reach, that no matter how much I love you, I–“ My hand flies to my mouth, heart slamming into my ribcage. I stumble backwards while muttering senseless apologies. Benedict is stunned into silence. It feels like years pass between us. When he finally speaks, his words are hoarse and quavering. “You... You love me? All these years every advance of mine seemed futile because you thought–“ “Please forget everything I have said. Promise me you will.” “Forget? Forget the most wonderful words I have heard in my life?” “Benedict, I’m begging you…” I give into the tears at last. Whether they are born of desperation, frustration or simple pain, I can no longer tell. He walks towards me, a barely-contained storm on his face. “I refuse to live in a world where I do not hear you say my name every single day. Where I see you but once a year, your light slowly dimming in a loveless marriage. Carrying the children of that... bastard.” Now he is crying, too. “Please do not do that to yourself. Do not submit yourself to such misery. Whether you choose me or not, I will support you. I will do whatever I can to give you a good life. The life of an artist if you want it. That I can promise you. You will always have me.” He sinks down on both knees, his fingers carefully closing around mine. “And if you do choose me... I will do the same and more. I will give you everything I've held in for so long. My love for you will never falter.” I am frantically searching for reasons to deny him because none of this could ever be real, his skin on mine, his unbelievable offer in the air. My mind is reeling, trying and failing to catch up with everything that has transpired these past few moments. Years of dreams and longing, so briskly swept aside to reveal a glimpse at a reality that must be impossible because it always has been. “What would your family say?” I say shakily. “What would everyone say?” His hold on me tightens. “You know my family adores you and would accept you with open arms, no matter the circumstances. And I could not care less about anyone else. The gossip would die, it always does. Lady Whistledown would surely distract them with something else within a week.” A rivulet of hope trickles across my heart. “Could this... could this truly be?” “Tomorrow you will meet him in the city. All you have to do is talk to him one last time. I will be there if you want me to. Heavens, the entire Bridgerton clan will be there if you want us to.” We both chuckle through the tears. “You are not alone in this, Y/N.” I let his words sink in for a long moment. “And what if I choose you?” “Then we can go into town right after to pick out a ring and speak to the vicar.” His thumbs caress my knuckles reverently. “Will you? Will you do me the incredible honour of accepting my hand?” My knees buckle and I lower myself onto the floor before him. The blazing anxiety I have grown almost accustomed to has faded into glowing embers. After having wandered through hell for weeks, I find peace in his hopeful gaze, comfort in the soft contours I am so intimately acquainted with. A kaleidoscope of memories flashes before my eyes, all tinted in new colours. It has always been there, right in front of me: He loves me. And all I have ever had to do was say yes. “The honour would be all mine, Benedict Bridgerton.” A strangled noise escapes him before his eyes frantically scan my face as if they might find a single trace of doubt there. They could never. Not anymore. His hands come up, hovering beside my cheeks. “God, I really want to– Is it alright if I–“ “Yes!” He grins, breathless and blushing. “I haven't even–“ I lunge forward and press my lips to his. It is clumsy and overwhelming but also everything I have ever wanted. He almost tumbles over in surprise, but seconds later we are completely entangled, seeking each other's mouth over and over. Heart pounding, skin aflame, I am certain this is the happiest I have ever been. Because while my body nearly gives out with the strange exhilaration of it all, I also feel perfectly safe. As if this is exactly where I belong, where everything finally makes sense. In between kisses he whispers my name like a confession of love. It is from his lips. When we finally part for air we stare at each other with endless wonder, then start smiling deliriously. I reach out to cradle his face in my palm and he leans into it with a sigh. “Ben,” I murmur, the name unfamiliar but sweet in my mouth. He beams at me. “Come here, darling.” Without hesitation I let him pull me into his lap, just as desperate to be close. I no longer care if anyone finds us like this, am no longer terrified of scandal. Not when I know for certain that I will marry the love of my life, unfazed by gossip and propriety. I nestle into the crook of his neck, deeply inhaling his scent, revelling in the warmth and solidness of his chest. His arms encircle me as I feel his heartbeat slow. Knowing it was I who made it race in the first place fills me with a fervent glow. “Do you have the slightest idea how incredible you are?” I say quietly as I lean back a little to look at him. “I cannot believe you would have provided for me if my father had turned me away.” “Without hesitation. You're everything to me, Y/N.” “What would your future wife have said?” “I cannot imagine there ever would have been a wife.” My eyes widen. “Oh Benedict…” “Never mind that.” He gives me a half-smile. “I would have had my family. And hopefully you in some way still.” My heart aches for the unhappy people we would have almost become and I pull him in for another kiss, assuring him and myself that will never be us. Then I am hit with one more realisation. “Wait, when you said that Daphne ‘knows’, did you mean...?“ “About my utter adoration for you? Sweetheart, they all know. Always have. You were the only one who never seemed to see.” “But no one ever–“ “I made sure they wouldn’t bring it up. Although you can imagine how excruciating it was for them.” “But why? Maybe one of them could have pulled me out of my head for once.” He gently caresses my face. “I wanted you to find your own way. Whether it would lead to me or not.” My heart swells with love as I lean my forehead against his. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For waiting. For saving me from myself. For everything.” “You have always been worth it.” We once again lose ourselves in a long kiss and I wonder how I would have made it through life without even a fraction of this bliss. Eventually, Benedict draws back, pure warmth in his eyes. “As much as I would like to stay here forever, I’m afraid we have to leave. Daphne may or may not still be standing guard outside.” I raise a hand to my mouth, trying in vain to suppress the giggle spilling out. He grins widely, then releases me and lets me pull him to his feet. “She is truly the best friend one could ask for.” “Oh, make no mistake, she will use this against us for the rest of our lives.” I smile up at him. “And I will cherish every second of it.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

MASTERLIST

[nikethestatue]

Salted Cashews

Despite all the ickiness in this fandom, my Elain Archeron Week continues.

This little fic was based on the quiz that is found on SJM's website.

Happy Summer Solstice!

June was in full bloom across Velaris. The city was always a thing of beauty, but springtime and early summer were especially lovely. The sea took on a special cerulean colour and all the parks and boulevards were clad in blooming flowers and trees of every hue and blossom.

The River Estate of the High Lord and High Lady of Night Court was swathed in blue and white. These were the colours that Elain Archeron had decided on for the garden’s colour palette. There were fat, shaggy hydrangeas of every shade of white and blue, beds of violets, rows of forget-me-nots, tall stalks of grape hyacinth, a smattering of bluebells, and plenty of white and cream peonies. She had taken special care to plant blue wisteria around one side of the estate, and jacaranda trees had been delivered from Day Court and replanted here. 

Currently though, all the beauty around her was lost on Elain. She was, what one might call, hate gardening. Whether that was a real thing or not, Elain didn’t care. She was hot, the soil was giving her pushback, her knuckles were skinned, something was digging into her knee and her dress was sticking to her back. Also, she was giving real serious consideration to just cutting off her hair and going with a nice, short haircut. The heap that was currently baking her head was enraging her. Even in a tight braid, the hair was still hot and uncomfortable.

She was almost elbow deep in the ground, sweating and cursing under her breath, when finally there was some relief from the sun. A cloud covered the blazing rays and offered a bit of shade. Elain sighed, wiped her brow and continued to dig and pull. 

It was Summer Solstice and she wished that there was something interesting and entertaining happening in the city today, but there were only smaller, localised celebrations happening, and she didn’t want to go alone anyway.

“Cauldron damn it to Hel!” she groaned, when she pulled on a weed, but it didn’t budge, and instead, she rolled back on her ass and jerked like a fish.

To her utter horror, she heard a hearty snort, followed by a chuckle.

She scrambled to her hands and knees and looked up. 

Azriel stood above her, arms folded on his broad chest. He was dressed in a simple shirt and light jacket, instead of his leathers. A day at the office then…She already knew what he typically wore, depending on what he had planned for the day. If the day demanded a lot of flying, he usually dressed in his leathers. If he spent most of the day with the High Lord or in Velaris, dealing with his informants, then he typically dressed in a simple tunic, or a shirt and a jacket. And if, by some miracle, he ever had a day off, he just wore a black, knit shirt. Elain wouldn't admit it, but those shirts were her favourite–the way they draped over his immense, muscular form, subtly emphasising every curve of his biceps and his shoulders, not to mention the perfect washboard stomach that he possessed so casually. 

Which brought Elain to her current reality–she was on her hands and knees, her breasts straining the neck of her dress, her ass up in the air. Like she was ripe and ready for mating. Azriel was watching her with a smirk, his massive wing stretched out and blocking the sun.

“It was…you…you,” she muttered, embarrassed. 

“Gave you a bit of shade? Yes,” he confirmed.

“How long have you been standing here?”

He smiled.

“A while.”

Gods. He was standing there, watching her for however long, shading her from the sun.

“Well, you shouldn’t do that!” she said primly.

“Oh?” he cocked his head, “which part? The shading? The standing? The watching?”

“All of it!” she exclaimed, blushing like a strawberry. “You...you shouldn't sneak up on people.”

“Spymaster, remember? It’s kind of my job. To sneak up on people.”

“Well…well, you shouldn’t! And also, you shouldn’t use your wing like that,” she scolded him.

“Why not?”

“Because it can burn!” she said firmly.

“And you are such a wing expert?”

“I know enough. You shouldn’t sneak up on unsuspecting people.”

“Did you not enjoy a bit of a cool down?”

“Maybe. But that’s not the point!” she insisted.

She didn’t like being alone with him. It confused her.

He said that they were a mistake.

Which was his right, of course.

But then he shouldn't have been chasing after her in his own way. He shouldn't be here right now, shading her from the sun and watching her.

He was always watching her. She knew it. She could feel his eyes on her, even when she was in the garden, or in the kitchen. Once, she noticed a blob of shadowed darkness in the corner of the kitchen. She wouldn’t have noticed it, if it weren’t for that blob reminding her of something. She had continued shelling peas, and then sliced the green beans, and went to fetch basil from the garden. When she returned, the blob was still there. It hadn’t moved. And just when she began telling herself that it was nothing more than shadow play, and nothing to worry about, she remembered. In the recess of her mind, an image came to her–a memory–of the same dark shadowy blob keeping vigil in her room, right after she was Made. Typically, only Nesta would come and visit her. Sometimes the twins, who became her friends, because they brought food. But no one else really visited her in those miserable weeks. No one. But she’d noticed the darkness in the corner. And for some reason, when it had gathered there, and stayed, ever watchful, she didn’t feel quite so lonely.

Azriel was watching her face and then commented, “Seems like something just dawned on you.”

She didn’t answer, shocked by her realisation. Was it true? Did he hide himself within his shadows and did he watch her? Has been watching her since day one?

“What might it be?” he pondered.

“Nothing!” 

He made a sound, but didn’t push. Instead, he extended his hand to her.

“Not that I mind watching her like that,” he teased and she coloured even further at the remark. “But I think that you should probably get up, lest someone gets the wrong idea.”

She was scandalised by his implication, but took his hand and he lifted her with alarming ease. 

“You sure you don’t want to tell me what it was that you had suddenly realised?” he probed.

She shrugged impudently and said, “no, not at all!”

“Shame,” he murmured to himself. 

She smoothed her dress on her hips and legs and muttered nervously, “I have to go…go see about dinner.”

“Well then,” he announced jovially, “then we are going in the same direction.”

His broad warm hand lay on the small of her back and she had no other choice but to walk next to him. 

“Do you, by any chance, keep a journal?” he asked suddenly.

“Umm, no. I don’t. Why do you ask?”

“If you did,” he said with chilling honesty, “I would’ve wanted to read it.”

Her head whipped to him and she asked, shocked, “what?!”

“Yes, I would’ve loved to be a daemati–and believe me, I wouldn’t have been asking anyone for permission to read their thoughts, unlike Rhys–but I am not a daemati. And as much as my shadows provide me with useful information, reading someone’s thoughts must be incredible.”

Elain glared at him in disbelief.

“Wait a minute!” she cried. “That’s horrible! That’s utterly dishonourable too! You cannot read people’s thoughts or their diaries!”

“You can, and you should,” Azriel contradicted her ruthlessly. 

They entered the quiet, cool mansion and walked towards the kitchen. Everyone was out, and it was just the two of them. The twins were probably around somewhere as well, but they didn’t make themselves known.

“See, if I had that information,” he continued nonchalantly, “I would’ve known how often you think of me. What you think. What worries you. What excites you.”

She paused by the cupboard, as she took out two bowls and turned away from him, so he wouldn’t be able to see her face.

“I don’t think about you,” she whispered.

He didn’t say anything for so long, that she thought he’d left. So when she turned around, she was faced with his wide chest and the fact that he was standing almost right next to her.

“Gah,” she gasped.

“We both know that’s a lie, don’t we, Miss Archeron?” he breathed, bowing to speak into her ear.

“No,” she shook her head, breathing heavily. “No it’s not. I…I don’t think about you.”

“Hmmm.”

“I, I need to cook,” she stammered. Despite the coolness of the house, she was feeling very hot.

“Cook then. I will help,” he offered. 

“Umm, you don’t have to.”

“Why not? If I am going to eat, I might as well cook as well. What will you have me do? I am putty in your hands,” he opened his arms widely in invitation.

She sighed dramatically, and then dumped a bunch of cucumbers in front of him and said, “you may slice these. Not with Truth-Teller!” she added quickly.

He chuckled and took a knife, and then began slicing.

She pulled a fresh chicken out of the ice box and placed it in a baking dish, before grabbing a bulb of garlic, some onions, lemons and fresh thyme. 

Glancing discreetly at where he was standing, she noted how precise his slices were, as he ran his knife through the cucumbers with ease.

“You know,” she said suddenly, “I don’t need to read your diary to know everything about you.”

He looked at her in amusement and inquired, “is that so?”

“It is,” she nodded. 

“And what do you know about me?”

“If you listen closely enough, and observe, you can find out everything you need to know,” she said confidently.

“Alright then, indulge me,” he welcomed.

She minced garlic on the chopping board, and said, 

“Fine. Here it goes: You are haunted by your past and cannot reconcile your need for peace with your warrior nature. You cherish the gifts that you receive from some of your friends–and strangely, you like jewellery. You have silver rings and your syphons that you tend to closely, polishing and cleaning them often, you wear leather bracelets and a silver forearm band, and you have a pierced ear. You don’t show it to others often, but sometimes, you wear an earring.”

At her words, Azriel stopped slicing and just listened, his face inscrutable.

She continued, 

“You have a terrible sweet tooth, because you didn’t have sweets when you were a child. However, your favourite snack is salted cashews. What’s more, you like reading people’s diaries, and when you cannot find what their thoughts or motivations are, it frustrates you.”

“Anything else?” he asked, his voice stony.

“Sure,” she nodded. “You are loyal to a fault, but your loyalty battles the need that you have for freedom and independence. It’s a constant struggle. You like to eat. You especially like to eat what I’ve cooked,” she said the last part so quickly, it came out slurred. “And you don’t realise what others value in you the most. And it’s not your bravery, or your acerbic humour, or your shadowsinging abilities,”

“What is it that they value then?”

“Your incredible kindness.”

She finally looked at him. 

His face remained expressionless.

“How did I do?”

“Wrong about everything,” he told her tersely. 

“Oh.”

“Except one thing.”

He got up and laid the knife down.

“I just remembered that I had to be somewhere,” he lied.

She knew it was a lie.

“Alright, thank you for your assistance,” she said simply.

“But I do like eating what you cooked,” he said at last.

Elain watched him, her big brown eyes following his every move.

“I will see you later,” he said and headed for the door.

“Wait!” she called out, and hurried to the cupboard.

He stopped, a slight expression of annoyance on his face.

“I have something for you,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel. The next moment she emerged from the pantry, holding a packet.

She walked over to him and then extended her hand, so he had no choice but to take the packet.

“I know I was wrong about everything, but I still got you this. Happy Solstice.”

He looked at her for a long time.

“Happy Solstice, Elain.”

With that, he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

The moment he was out, he shot into the sky, his breathing heavy. 

She…she saw too much.

Too much.

Once high up in the air, he soared over the roofs of the buildings and then curious, he opened the packet. Inside, he found a bag of salted cashews.

His favourite snack indeed.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

hello-ellow!

due to your interest in alchemy, do you have theory why Peter used what he used to resurrect Voldemort? ok with Harry blood, but other, what it have to mean? what substance was in cauldron before Peter pull Voldemort in?

Hello!

Okay, so I actually have, like, a bit of a headcanon about the potion and why Voldy is snake-faced post-resurrection since I don't believe the Horcruxes caused his body to look like that, but that it was because Peter messed up the potion.

As I mentioned in the past, in Alchemy, everything is alive and comprised of 3 parts:

Salt - Body

Mercury - Spirit

Sulfur - Soul

So, the soul already exists — we have a wraith Voldy who is already a complete soul.

And we have a rudimentary body that holds this soul, which is also an ingredient of this potion. I believe it gives, like, the basic instructions of how the body should be made ie two arms, two legs, and a head. It's a body component that is the template the potion builds upon.

Then we have "bone of the father". This is another salt component. I think this is there for the genetics portion. It's the closest body part to a blood relative of Voldemort, so it's there to represent what his body was before his death. An image of the past.

"Flesh of the servant" is an odd one because Wormtail just drops his entire hand in, which, really, he shouldn't have to, because the ritual stipulates "flesh", and I think that's purposeful. Bones are templates, building blocks, flesh is what covers it. It symbolizes life in a way, which is why I think it's both a salt component and a mercury component. Again, the entire hand is dropped in, blood, bones, and flesh, all different ingredients that Wormtail chucked into the potion together but that should symbolize life and devotion in general. (It's Likley a finger might've been enough but Voldemort told Wormtail to chuck his whole hand in to mess with him. I think Voldy would do something like that)

Harry's blood is a spirit component as blood represents life and it's also imbued with Lily's sacrifice magic which Voldemort wants to circumvent (which is life-related magic). But Harry's blood is a soul component as well because of the Horcrux, Voldy doesn't know that though. This might affect the potion negatively as it might set it out of balance.

We also know the potion included Nagini's venum and I think this is where Wormtail messed up.

Medieval alchemists believed the mindset you have while making a potion, or doing any alchemical process affects the results. This is why it was of utmost importance to keep anyone other than yourself out of the lab so they don't mess it up by just thinking the wrong things. Especially if the procedure is a more complex one. This is that intent aspect I always mention magic having. How your thoughts and feelings affect the magic you produce.

So, the reason I headcanon for why Voldy is snake-faced post-resurrection is because Wormtail added Nagini's venom as a body component when he should've added it as a soul component due to her being a Horcrux. Her venom was supposed to strengthen the bond between the new body and Voldemort's soul, and I believe it still did that. I just also think Wormtail thought her venom was there to help create the body, and he mixed it into the potion under this wrong impression and it butched how the body looks as a result.

At least, that's my headcanon on why he looks like a snake and not like a creepy DILF.

As for other ingredients that were in the potion, I think it shares some of its ingredients with the Phlagaton Potion I theorize is part of the Horcrux-making process.

There would probably be healing ingredients such as Dittany, dragon liver, valerian root, and mint.

And there would be ingredients corresponding to resurrection and rebirth. If you can get Pheonix ashes, all the better, but if not ingredients such as Saffron spice, Hyacinth flowers, or Golden crocus flowers could also work assuming you burn them into a fine dry powder that is almost white in color.

As the ritual we witness in the graveyard covers the components needed for the actual body creation, there probably aren't many ingredients already in the potion related to that.

[maximilliansblog]

Welcome Home Hyacinth Theory 🏠🪻🐛

Hello Tumblr! Most Welcome Home theories are just little bits and pieces or “Wally is evil, guys look!”/”Wally is not evil! He is a goober!” etc.

This theory is fully fledged and provides a plot and evidence. I call it the Welcome Home “Hyacinth” theory, after the myth that it is based on. This will be a very long post so here is a TLDR: Julie kills Eddie while they are playing croquette-bowling out of jealousy because he is getting too close to Frank, who is supposed to be her boyfriend/best friend within the show. Either just Eddie or everyone involved gets replaced, except for Wally, who witnessed everything. This is why we have all of those videos of Wally dissociating.

I have been sitting around in my toom rambling to myself about this theory like a madman for over a week so I decided to share it.

Please reference this post from @/partycoffin (the creator of Welcome Home) when discussing Welcome Home and be respectful in the comments and reblogs.

Extra information from @theneighborhoodwatch:

Welcome Home Observation Document

Welcome Home Livestream Trivia

Welcome Home Archive Links + Backup Screenshots

Fanmade Welcome Home Wiki (I don't recommend the Fandom wiki)

Extra information on exploring the website from @angel-lyah:

Welcome Home Website Secrets

Alright, let’s get into it! I have evidence to back up every single one of those claims, and I will include it in this post.

I want to be very thorough with explaining this. I’ll start by establishing that there are three main plots within Welcome Home (that I have noticed, anyways):

The plot of the late 60’s - early 70’s TV show, Welcome Home - only related to published episodes, books, audios, etc. that would have been shown to the public at the time of airing Welcome Home

“Behind the show” - feelings and actions of the puppets outside of the show (such as Frank and Eddie being a couple, or Frank being nonbinary)

The Welcome Home Restoration Project - people working to restore the TV show, Welcome Home, and find any and all information related to it and who made it

Okay so for the rest of this essay, when I mention BtS, it is related to the “behind the show” plot. I will color these things blue. When I write WtS, it is related to the “within the show” plot. I will color these things green. When I write WHRP, it is related to the Welcome Home Restoration Project. I will color these things pink. I will also mention things that have been said either on Clown’s Tumblr blog, Clown’s Twitter, or old streams. I will say CS, meaning “Clown source” to denote these things and color them orange. Clown source and behind the show areas often overlap, so Clown source information is dominant over behind the show information (if it is both I will just color it orange). Good? Good.

Now let’s establish our characters (only the ones related to this theory) and their relationships to one another. We’ll go alphabetically, starting with Eddie, then moving onto Frank, Julie, and Wally. 

I’m going to assume that if you are reading this, you have already visited the website (clownillustration.com) and have a basic understanding of who Eddie is. So I will only focus on the elements of his character that will be relevant in this theory.

Eddie (WtS) is clumsy and overworks himself. He is often dragged into Julie’s games. His house (post office) looks like this:

Note the hyacinth flowers and the butterfly. Eddie (BtS) loves Frank. (CS) He is married to Frank in one art on Clown’s Tumblr. BY THE WAY IT TOOK FOREVER TO FIND THIS IMAGE!!!! THEY ARE IN THE BOTTOM LEFT CORNER!!

Frank (WtS) is Julie’s boyfriend as it is implied that they are a couple within the show (I know a lot of us don’t like hearing this, but remember the three plots) (also for everyone that is going to argue with me on this, go look on their little profiles in the neighborhood section of the website and come back to me) and best friend. His house looks like this:

Note the sunflowers. Frank (BtS) loves Eddie.

(CS) As I said before, in one art on Clown’s Tumblr, Eddie and Frank are married (you can tell by the rings on their fingers in that image) . Frank is nonbinary but uses he/him pronouns (Clown refers to Frank on his blog with only he/him pronouns, so that is what I will use. Nonbinary people do not have to use they/them pronouns! Pronouns are not equal to gender!)

(WtS) Julie is a rainbow monster. Her thing is that she likes to make up and play games. She seems to be very strong (perhaps related to her being a rainbow monster), as she can easily lift Wally and is indirectly referenced to [throw a baseball very well] by Barnaby in the Live Interview audio. She also incorporates bowling into a lot of games where it is unnecessary. She seems to be immature, which is usually used to make her a playful character. Her and Frank are a couple. In several arts, her horns are different shapes or even nonexistent, implying that she has some ability to change her form. Her house looks like this:

Note the heart motif throughout the design. (BtS) Julie is best friends with Frank. (CS) She is genderfluid (she is only referred to using she/her pronouns on Clown’s blog, so that is what I will use). 

(WtS) Wally is the main character in Welcome Home. His house is alive and is named Home. Home is often considered to be a ninth neighbor. Wally often communicates for Home. (WHRP) Wally signs Home’s name in the guestbook (as Home does not have hands) (please stop with the tentacles I have seen the art please stop for the love of god where did that even come from). (WtS) The other neighbors frequently ignore and talk over Wally, but he doesn’t seem to mind, saying that he loves all of his friends in the live interview audio.

Okay so now that that is established, let’s look at some promotional art. Promotional art is not necessarily canon and may contain outdated designs, but may hint at the plot of Welcome Home. 

There is one more artwork that I would like to add, but it is on Clown’s KoFi. Here is a link to it that you can look at if you are subscribed to Clown’s KoFi:

[link to Clown’s KoFi here]

I won’t describe the image because some of you may not be subscribed to Clown’s KoFi. But if you are, you will see that the image supports my theory.

While we are discussing that image, I would also like to say that I believe that the puppets are some kind of biological organisms. I don’t have much evidence for this right now, but I may make a theory in the future. 

We will come back to those promotional arts soon. Right now, let’s look at Frank and Eddie’s houses and discuss some symbolism and mythology.

Frank’s house has sunflowers outside of it. Sunflowers are a symbol of Apollo. Eddie has hyacinths outside of his post office, obviously a symbol of Hyacinthus. Hyacinthus and Apollo were lovers, but Hyacinthus tragically died. Let me tell the story so we have context. (I am really into Greek mythology by the way, it’s always been a special interest since middle school but I am also a Hellenic pagan, you should follow my witchcraft and paganism blog, creatively named @maxiswitchcraftandpaganblog)

So Apollo, god of the sun, art, archery, and LOTS of various other things, loved Hyacinthus, who was a mortal Spartan man. And Hyacinthus loved him too, by the way. The god of the (west? don’t feel like googling it) wind, Zephyrus, was jealous of Hyacinthus, because he also loved Apollo. 

One day, Apollo and Hyacinthus were playing discus (like frisbee but the frisbee is giant and made of metal, kind of like a shield). Apollo threw the discus to Hyacinthus, but Zephyrus blew the discus off course with the wind, causing it to hit Hyacinthus in the head and kill him. Apollo created the hyacinth flower from Hyacinthus’ blood as he died, but in some myths made him a god. (read more on Apollo and Hyacinthus here)

I’m going to draw some parallels here. Frank = Apollo, Eddie = Hyacinthus, Julie = Zephyrus. Now Frank’s and Eddie’s parallels make sense because of the flowers, but where did I get Julie=Zephyrus from? Recall that (WtS) Julie and Frank are supposed to be a couple. Now, (BtS) Julie may or may not like Frank in that way, but she certainly enjoys being close to him as his best friend. Since she is already established as an immature character, it would make sense that she would be jealous seeing Frank get closer to Eddie.

Pause. So WtS, Frank and Julie are together. BtS, Frank and Eddie are together. If these are separate, then what is Julie jealous about? (WtS) Frank has been seen getting closer to Eddie even in the official material of the show. An example of this is him telling Eddie that he works too hard at the end of the “Eddie’s Big Lift” storybook record. So his BtS love for Eddie is leaking into the WtS canon. That is a problem for Julie, who is supposed to be Frank’s girlfriend WtS. So she comes up with an idea to fix this, much like the jealous god, Zephyrus. 

So what does she do? Let’s turn our attention to the “Just So” song demo. This song was never finished with instrumentals, and for a reason. The puppets function as actors in the show, as it is obvious that they have their own free will, and Julie does something that the writers do not expect later in this episode. So the song was never finished because the episode was ruined. 

In the “Just So” song demo, Frank and Julie are about to play croquette bowling. It was supposed to be just croquette, as Frank put on his croquette bow tie, but last minute, Julie added bowling to the mix. 

Wally knocks on the door and interrupts their song, saying that Home wants to play croquette bowling too. This implies that Julie told someone else that they would be playing croquette bowling after she added bowling. I feel like Wally and Home overheard Julie telling Eddie that they would be playing croquette bowling. This would make sense, as Wally often stands by and listens while the other neighbors talk. It is not unusual for Eddie to participate in Julie’s games, either, as we see from Julie playing “business woman in the big city” with him. [add a photo]

The song recording ends before we see them playing croquette bowling together. But I have a piece of evidence to tell us how it ends. Look at this promotional art again.

You probably assumed that the figure in the back was holding a hammer, but that could actually be a croquette mallet!

It’s covered in some gory-looking stuff, probably from Eddie. Now look at the flower. Whose eyes look like that? Almond-shaped, round pupils. Only one character: Wally. Wally was a witness, which would make sense for him, since he often watches on as the other neighbors do things. 

Julie is holding the flower in front of her, looking innocent. This is a stretch, but I think that this might be symbolism for her saying that she didn’t do it on purpose, Wally saw the whole thing, ask him! And Wally doesn’t know what to do. I don’t know what he does from there.

Maybe this image is a clue? I genuinely don’t know. Once again, promotional art is not necessarily canon, but we can use the concepts from it in theories.

This next part is also a bit of a stretch. The neighbors having a memory of something like that happening would ruin their “acting” (I think they are just being recorded as they do what they would naturally do). The show can’t have that. The solution? Replace everyone involved. 

Now go back and look in the promotional art section and look at that art of Frank. It looks like Frank is laying among extra puppet parts. They have extras!

And this is why Wally is dissociating in the videos we see when we click on the bugs. They did not replace him, because like the neighbors, they didn’t even notice he was there.

Okay yeah that’s the theory. It was really hard to get this into a coherent Google Doc and gather all the links. I was just rambling to myself about this in my room over and over pacing around for like a week. But yeah here you go, hope it's a good theory, sorry if it's not lol please be nice to me

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Me & You & Everyone We Know | Chapter 7 | S.R

Not my gif

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - sorry it has been so long since I updated this, I have not have the impetus to write this fic but I am trying to restart it. Massive thank you to @reidselle for encouraging me to start writing this again and for reading chapters and discussing ideas with me, you are an angel 🖤

Chapter Summary - Spencer’s still reeling from the aftermath of his drunken mistake. With Luke’s words playing on his mind, he starts to realise his feelings towards his broken marriage aren’t as black and white as he thought.

Pairing - Single Dad! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, smut minors DNI.

Warnings - mentions of affairs, Spencer questions everything, swearing.

WC - 5.1k

Chapter 7 - All At Once

And all at once the crowd begins to sing,

Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.

Maybe you want her, maybe you need her,

Maybe you started to compare to someone not there. 

The weekend's events had taken so much out of Spencer he didn’t have a chance to call you and apologise for his drunken behaviour. 

In fact, if he was perfectly honest, with everything else going on he’d completely pushed it to the back of his mind. 

On Sunday he spent the day at the mall with the girls in an attempt to cheer Daisy up. 

Spencer loathed shopping. He only went shopping when he absolutely had to. Malls were too busy for his liking and most things were overpriced. But Daisy and Lily loved to shop, mostly because it wasn’t their hard earned money they were spending. 

He spent the day traipsing after them, lugging bags full of their hauls around while they ran from shop to shop excitedly. 

He practically brought Daisy a whole new wardrobe while Lily damn near put the toy store out of business. 

They ate pretzels in the food court while Spencer rested his aching arms from being their designated bag carrier. 

Lily fell asleep on the car ride home surrounded by all her new toys while Daisy excitedly looked over her new clothes. 

He spent hundreds of dollars trying to make up for the way Maeve had hurt her. He even let the girls talk him into buying an even bigger, plusher and more expensive bed for a dog he hated who never slept in his own bed anyway. 

By the time they made it home he was exhausted. He was too tired to cook so he ordered pizza which they ate in the living room while they rewatched Encanto for what had to be the fiftieth time. 

When he put them to bed they were both singing We Don’t Talk About Bruno, which Spencer also had stuck in his head when he crawled into his own bed. 

He also found himself humming it absent-mindedly in the shower the next morning, mentally cursing his girls for making him sit through that movie again. 

It was still whirring its way around his brain while he made the girls breakfast. 

He drove them to school after breakfast and dropped Taco off at the kennel and it was only after he was finally alone, his thoughts fell back to his monumentally stupid drunken mistake. 

Checking his watch and seeing he had time before he had to be on campus he made a pit stop at the florists. 

It was a good job he had time to spare because he spent an unfathomable amount of time staring at a wide variety of flowers in various colours.

He must have looked utterly lost as a young girl soon came over and asked if he needed help. 

Yes, he most certainly did. 

“I uh…I need something that says I’m sorry.” He toyed awkwardly with the strap of his satchel. 

The girl gave him a slightly playful smile. 

“You wouldn’t believe how often we get people in here looking for the exact same thing.” 

“What would you recommend?” 

“Well, lilies are great for apologising as they can express a new chapter. But roses are really romantic. White orchids are also good as they represent sincerity. And blue hyacinths look stunning in an apology bouquet.” She motioned around the various flowers she was describing while Spencer stared wide eyed in confusion. 

“Uh…” he scratched the back of his neck. “All of them. Just put all of them in a bouquet. A huge one. It doesn’t matter what it costs.” 

“Sure.” She looked a little startled by his choice, most guys just went for whatever was cheapest. 

She admired his decision. 

Spencer tapped his foot in the ground while the girl went about fashioning a giant bouquet of whites and blues and reds and yellows. 

She tied them all off in a big red ribbon and looked proud by her creation. 

Admittedly it did look beautiful and Spencer knew next to nothing about flower arranging. 

He paid two hundred dollars for the privilege and thanked the young girl before hurrying out of the store barely able to see over the large array. 

He quickly stopped at a coffee house and ordered an extra large cinnamon latte which was your favourite. 

The flowers took up the whole front seat of the car and the smell was overwhelming so he had to drive with the windows open. 

He felt heads turning and eyebrows furrowed into frowns as he got out of his car with the huge bouquet. It was like a large flashing beacon that he’d fucked up. 

He tried to ignore all the eyes on him as he waited for you outside the psychology building, flowers in one hand, coffee in the other. 

The weather was desperately trying to warm up and was slowly succeeding and the morning sun beating down on him made sweat gather at his temples. 

The nerves didn’t help. 

You couldn’t have looked any less amused when you spotted him, only just able to see him over the almost comically large bunch of flowers. 

If he wasn’t standing right outside the building you needed access to, you would have walked any other direction to avoid him. 

You clenched your jaw tightly and hugged your purse close to your body as you approached him. 

“I’m sorry.” He spoke the second you were in earshot. “I am so, so sorry. I was drunk, not that that’s an excuse but I was. I had a bad day and I was a fucking idiot. I am so, so sorry Y/N.” 

You didn’t say anything. Not a word. Honestly you didn’t have anything to say that wouldn’t either be fuck you or go to hell. 

He proffered the flowers towards you. 

“I’m really, really sorry.” He pouted a little.

He did look apologetic, almost pathetically so and there was a part of you that felt sorry for him. 

Not a big enough part to forgive him though. 

You took the flowers from his hand and Spencer momentarily believed things were going to be ok. 

But then you dropped the bouquet on the floor and stamped heavily on them with your heeled boot.

You didn’t stop there. 

You took the coffee out of his hand, removed the lid and poured the scalding liquid all over the crushed pile of flowers.

Spencer’s face fell.

“Oh come on, that was two hundred dollars worth of flowers.” He groaned, shoulders slumping. 

“You think coffee and flowers are going to make up for what you did?” You spat at him. 

“Not entirely. But I thought it might be a start.” He shrugged meekly, toying with his satchel. 

“Well it isn’t.” You stomped on the flowers again. “You were a world class asshole, Spencer. You do not get to show up at my apartment drunk in the middle of night and try to force me into bed! And the things you said to me…I am not a fling. I am not looking to be a casual hook up and if that’s all you want then you should find someone else.” 

“Y/N, I didn’t mean for you to-“

“Go to hell, Doctor Reid.” You cut him off, stamping on the flowers one more time for good measure. “Respectfully, go to hell.” 

He watched you storm past him inside the building, knowing nothing he could say was going to make this better. 

He’d really fucked this one up. And he had no idea how to fix it.

***

He left a cinnamon latte for you every single day for the next week in Monroe’s classroom. 

He left post it notes on your car that told you how sorry he was. 

He tried at every available opportunity to tell you to your face how sorry he was but every time you caught a glimpse of him, you would turn and walk in the opposite direction. 

He didn’t blame you. But he wished you would give him a chance to explain. 

Not that there was much to explain. He was drunk and he’d been forceful. He’d said horrible things to you. 

An explanation wasn’t really warranted. 

But that didn’t mean he was going to give up. He wasn’t giving you up without a fight. 

It didn’t matter that the two of you had only been on one date, you were all he could think about. You’d left a lasting impression in his heart and he wasn’t letting you just walk away. 

But he knew he couldn’t keep pushing you. You had to want to talk to him. If he kept trying to force you forgive him, he would end up pushing you away. 

He had to give it time and hope that you would come to forgive him on your own. 

In lieu of making things up with you, he had made up with Luke, even if slightly begrudgingly. 

They’d talked on the phone for the best part of a whole evening after the girls were asleep. Luke apologised for the way things had come out. He hadn’t meant them quite as they sounded 

Spencer in turn apologised for reacting the way he had, even though he still felt he was completely justified. 

Luke surprised him somewhat when he asked him, “did you ever really deal with Maeve’s affair?” 

“What do you mean?” Spencer frowned, putting his feet up on his desk and leaning back in his chair. 

“When you talk about it, you always talk about the effect it had on your kids but never how it affected you.” Luke was in full on profiler mode. Spencer had heard that voice countless times. 

“The fact that it affected my kids, affected me.” Spencer’s frown deepened. 

“I know you say it was a marriage of convenience but you were together a long time, Reid. You must have had some kind of feelings for her. It must have hurt.” Luke’s tone was soft yet held a hind of accusation. 

“Not especially.” Spencer shrugged. 

“Spencer,” Luke’s timbre shifted. “The woman you spent a large portion of your life with cheated on you. Your house is still like a goddamn shrine to the life you used to have. And you’ve never gotten over your anger towards her. I think that’s because she hurt you more than you want to admit. You like to pretend you didn’t love her and that you’re unaffected by what happened because you think it’s easier to deal with if you pretend it doesn’t hurt. But sometimes, pain needs to be felt.” 

“Have you ever thought about being a therapist?” Spencer rolled his eyes and sat up in the chair. “I’m fine Luke. I’m angry because she tore my family apart. I’m angry because my kids now only get to see their mother twice a month. I’m angry because I had to reevaluate my whole life after she left. 

But I’m not hurt, I’m not heartbroken. And my house is not a shrine. I work and when I’m not working I’m taking care of my daughters and now some stupid dog too. I’ve been meaning to call Morgan to help me renovate it. I just haven’t had time.” 

“If you insist.” Luke sighed. “I won’t keep pushing it. But just know I’m here if you ever need to talk.” 

“I know. Thanks. But I really am fine.” Spencer stood up and stretched his back. “I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah no worries. Talk soon.” Luke replied and then hung up. 

Spencer kept his phone in his hand and typed out a quick text to you, almost identical to the ones he’d sent you every night this week. 

📲 Y/N Y/L/N: I’m still so sorry. I miss you. Please talk to me. Goodnight, beautiful. 

He checked in on the girls who were both sleeping soundly before having a quick shower and crawling into his own bed. 

And once again, he dreamt of you. 

***

It was probably for the best that you weren’t talking to him and that he hadn’t made plans with you for his child free weekend because he didn’t get a child free weekend. 

He picked Lily and Daisy up from school on Friday and drove them to Maeve’s only for Daisy to refuse to get out of the car. 

“Pumpkin, it’s your weekend with your mom, you have to go.” Spencer turned in his seat to face her. 

“No.” She spoke stubbornly. “I don’t want to see her.”

“You can’t stay mad at her forever.” Spencer leaned over the centre console and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Yes I can.” She huffed. 

“Why don’t you want to see mommy?” Lily spoke up from the backseat. 

“Because I hate her.” Daisy stomped her foot on the floor. 

“Daisy, please don’t say that in front of your sister.” 

“Why? It’s true.” 

Spencer sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“What about if Taco comes to mommy’s with you?” It would be doing him a favour too. 

“Yes! Let’s go get Taco!” Lily beamed. 

“No!” Daisy raised her voice. “I’m not going in there and you can’t make me!” 

She was right, he couldn’t. 

So in the end Lily had stayed at Maeve’s and Daisy had come home with Spencer. 

It was strange just having one of the girls, it wasn’t often the two were apart. It was almost like the days before Lily was born. 

He cooked dinner for the two of them and they ate ice cream for dessert. 

Daisy sat in Spencer’s office with him, laying on the floor with Taco while he graded papers. 

Usually Spencer liked to work alone, the kids rarely came in his office. But he found the sounds of Daisy cooing over the dog relaxing and every now and again when he heard her giggle over the mutt it made his heart swell in his chest. 

“Are you having fun there, pumpkin?” He asked her with an amused smile as he scrawled some notes on one of his students papers.

“Yeah, Taco is the best.” She giggled, giving Taco a belly scratch which he adored. “And it’s nice and quiet, like before Lily was born.” 

Spencer’s pen dropped from his hand as he looked at the back of his daughter's head where she laid on her front on the floor, her thick dark hair tied up on the back of her head. 

“What?” He frowned a little, thinking he must have misunderstood her. 

She rolled over onto her back and propped herself up on her one good arm. 

“I miss it sometimes. Before Lily was born and it was just you, me and mom. Did mom have an affair because of Lily?” She asked curiously. 

Spencer tried to hide his shock, knowing his daughter could read his features. 

He pushed himself up from his chair and rounded the desk, coming over to where Daisy and Taco laid. 

He lowered himself carefully to the floor, grimacing a little as an ache spread through the old injury in his leg. 

He sat next to her, stretching his legs out across the dark carpet. 

“What your mom did was neither of your faults. You know that, don’t you?” 

Daisy shrugged. 

“Why did you have Lily? I miss being an only child.” She changed the subject. 

“She’s your sister, don’t say that, please.” 

“We were happy before Lily.” Daisy shrugged again, crossing her legs and pulling Taco into her lap. 

“And we were happy after Lily too.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she instinctively leaned into her fathers body. 

“Do you think mom would have cheated on you if you didn’t have Lily?” 

“I don’t know, pumpkin.” He sighed, pulling her closer. “But Lily isn’t the reason she cheated. And neither are you. I guess…I guess I just couldn’t make her happy.” 

“It’s not that I don’t love Lily.” Daisy tugged at Taco’s ear. “I just miss having all of your love.” 

Spencer felt his heart tear in half. He moved his hand from around her shoulder and cupped her jaw gently, guiding her to look at him. 

“Daisy,” he spoke seriously. “Just because I love your sister, it didn’t for a second make me love you any less, ok? You’re my baby girl, the first time I held you in my arms I felt like I could breathe properly for the first time in my life. The first time you looked at me, I finally knew the reason I was put on this Earth. And that was to love you and be your father. Please never think I could love you any less. You are my whole world ok, pumpkin?”

He felt choked up by the end of his speech and he noticed Daisy had tears in her eyes. 

She was quick to sit back and wipe her eyes on her sleeve. 

“God, mushy much dad?” She scoffed and Spencer chucked. 

He leaned in and placed another kiss at her temple. 

“Love you too, pumpkin.” He laughed against her skin. 

***

Spencer found Luke’s words were taking up too much space in his brain. 

When he awoke Saturday morning he laid in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling and just enjoying a moment of peace before Daisy woke up. 

Although it wasn’t all that peaceful.

He was ruminating on Luke’s implications of him living in a shrine. 

It wasn’t as though Spencer meant to do that. He really hadn’t had the time to even think about redecorating. 

Ok, maybe that wasn’t true. He had thought about it, quite often in fact. But there was always some kind of blocker between the thought and the action. For whatever reason, he’d never gotten over that hurdle of actually making a change. 

But it wasn’t because he was clinging to his old life. He didn’t pine over his broken marriage, he didn’t wish for Maeve to see sense and come home. 

But maybe there was a small chance that the reason he’d held off for so long was partly due to the fact that once he changed the house, there was no going back. 

If he decorated it was effectively shattering his dreams of the future he’d planned even though, really, those dreams had been destroyed over a year ago. 

Had he really been grasping at his old life so hard and not even realised? 

Something had to change. 

After breakfast he and Daisy went to the hardware store and he let her pick out a new paint for the living room. 

It wasn’t much but it was a start. It was something to prove he wasn’t living in a shrine to his ex-wife. 

Initially she’d chosen a gawdy bright green shade but thankfully Spencer had talked her down to a much more eye pleasing sage.  

The two of them spent the day painting the room, well Spencer did most of it while Daisy kept getting distracted by Taco. And Daisy did only have one good arm, which she kept reminding him. 

But by the time he was finished he felt accomplished. The new colour was much more his style than the buttermilk yellow Maeve had painted the walls when they moved in. 

The only room he’d really aided in decorating was his office with its dark walls, leather desk chair and dark oak desk and bookshelves. 

He’d still be working at the BAU when they moved in and as such wasn’t around much to help make decorating decisions. 

He’d never disliked the way she’d designed the house but maybe it never quite felt like home as it should have. 

The sage green walls felt more cosy. It was reminiscent of his old apartment, the apartment he’d loved so much. He felt comfortable with a darker aesthetic, which was probably strange but to Spencer it felt more homely. 

Spencer always felt more at ease in darkness, he decided not to dwell too long on that thought and what that meant about his mental state. 

He should call Morgan and have him gut this place and start again from scratch. But he wasn’t quite ready to take that step. And not because he was pining over his old life. 

He didn’t know why. But not everything needed to have a reason. 

Once the painting was done and feeling much more satisfied with his living situation, he cooked dinner for the two of them and after he let Daisy choose a movie which he fell asleep halfway through. 

The closing credits woke him and he rubbed his eyes before focusing on Daisy who had her smartphone pointing at him. 

“What are you doing?” He grumbled, feeling the weight of the dog was laying on his chest. 

“Taking pictures.” She giggled. 

“Why?” He shuffled up the couch a little. 

“You look funny.” She snapped one more picture before her dad got mad. 

“How do I look funny?” He scooted the dog off of him and sat up properly, rubbing his eyes again. 

“See for yourself.” She handed him her phone and he stared at the photograph of his sleeping form, mangy dog sleeping soundly on him. 

But that’s not what he was looking at. 

“For the love of god!” He groaned, jumping up and dashing to the mirror by the door. 

“The paint must still have been wet.” Daisy giggled again. 

Spencer had two very distinctive sage coloured doggy paw prints on his face and many more covering his shirt. 

He glanced around and saw a spot on the wall near the TV where the idiotic mutt had put his front paws in the wet paint. 

There was a trail of the sage prints in the carpet from the wall to the couch. 

“This is why I didn’t want a freaking dog.” Spencer huffed as he made his way to the kitchen to clean his face. “What time is it?” 

“Uh…eight?” Daisy sounded unsure of herself. 

“Which means it’s actually later than that and you don’t want to tell me because you don’t want to go to bed.” He chuckled, wiping his face with some kitchen paper. 

“No.” Daisy whined. “Not true.” 

“You know I’m wearing a watch, right?” As he said this he glanced at it and saw it was a little after ten. “Bedtime missy.” 

“Boo!” Daisy sulked. 

He finished up cleaning his face, thankful the paint seemed to come off easily and came back through to the living room where his stubborn daughter sat vigil on the couch. 

“Come on, pumpkin. I can read to you if you like? We haven’t done that in a while.” 

She pulled a face like she was contemplating this for a moment or two. 

“Can Taco come to bed with me?” 

“Sure, why not. It’s not like I’ve brought him two dog beds or anything.” He sighed. 

Daisy happily picked up the little dog and carried him upstairs where she set him on her bed. 

Spencer sat with him while she went through to the bathroom to change and brush her teeth. 

He tucked her in and Taco curled up by her side. 

Spencer slotted himself on the small part of the empty mattress that was left and Daisy handed him a book. 

He read to her until she was sound asleep, snoring a little. She got that from her mother. 

He kissed her forehead and switched off the light before creeping from the room. 

He thought about having a drink but he was still ashamed of his actions the last time he drank so he decided against it. 

He pulled out his phone as he flopped to the couch and sent you a text. 

📲 Y/N Y/L/N: I really am so sorry. Please can we talk? I miss your voice. Goodnight, beautiful. 

Spencer stared at the freshly painted wall and the paw prints left in it, still having Luke’s words swirling around his brain. 

He didn’t love Maeve. He wasn’t heartbroken over her infidelity. He didn’t need to deal with what she’d done because he hadn’t affected him. Had it? 

Somehow he found himself on his feet and moving books aside on the bookshelf that shielded his gun safe. 

He hadn’t actually kept a gun in it for years, not since he left the bureau. But old habits die hard. 

He entered the combination and opened the thick metal door. His hand shook a little as he pulled out the photo album kept hidden inside. 

It was white once but was dirtied from fingerprints over the years. It was a little scuffed around the edges but that was probably from him stuffing it inside the safe that was just a little too small for it. 

Spencer didn’t know why he kept in there. He supposed it was because he didn’t want the kids stumbling across it and having to look at it before he was ready, before he had the capacity to take this particular trip down memory lane. 

He hadn’t even thought about the album in the year since he’d put it in there. He’d physically locked it away whilst mentally locking away the memories that went with the photographs. 

He took it back over to the couch and tentatively flipped to the first page. 

The first photograph depicted an unusually sunny fall day outside of DC city hall. Spencer wore a suit from his closet and Maeve wore a simple white summer dress, her pregnant belly very noticeable with the slim fitting nature of the dress. 

They both smiled brightly while Morgan snapped the photograph of them showing off their matching gold wedding bands, Spencer’s free hand cupping her stomach that housed baby Daisy. 

He saw no doubts in his eyes, no hint that he was only marrying this woman because he’d gotten her pregnant. He looked genuinely elated to be married. He didn’t remember ever feeling that happy. 

On the next page was a series of photos with the backdrop of a hospital room. 

Images of Spencer fussing over Maeve while she was in labour, a slightly fretful look on his features. 

There was a photo of Maeve with the newborn on her chest, seconds after she was born and Daisy was held by her mother for the first time. 

Another of Spencer in the worn leather chair next to the bed with the tiny seven pound baby cradled in his arms as tears streamed down his cheeks. 

There were a couple more of the three of them together in the hospital room and as they left the hospital the following day, Spencer and Maeve held hands while his free one carried Daisy in her rocker. 

The look on Spencer’s face in each one could only be described as pure bliss. 

There were pictures of Daisy with each member of her new family, with her Aunties Emily, JJ and Penelope and her Uncles Derek and Aaron and grandpa Dave. 

There were photographs from a few weeks later when they’d travelled to Vegas so Diana could meet her granddaughter. 

Diana’s smile when she held Daisy for the first time was the brightest he’d ever seen on his mother. She’d been lucid that day, thank god, and had cried and cooed over the gorgeous little bundle her son had created. 

Other photographs of Daisy’s first steps, her first time on the potty, her first Christmas and birthdays littered the pages. 

Birthday cakes and presents wrapped for a child too young to understand what they were. 

Gaudy Christmas jumpers set against the backdrop of an overly decorated tree. Paper hats from crackers adorned on heads. A small child overstimulated by a holiday she couldn’t comprehend. 

And in every single one he and Maeve looked so happy. The images showed them sharing loving looks, exchanging soft touches. 

If the photos didn’t exist, Spencer wouldn’t have believed it. His memories didn’t allow him to recall the joyful moments, only the hurt and the anger. 

Even as he looked at them he struggled to remember ever feeling the way the man in the photographs looked. 

The further into the album he got showed Maeve’s belly growing for the second time and more hospital photographs with Lily featuring Aunty Tara, and Uncles Luke and Matt. 

More holiday photos lined the pages, this time with Daisy helping her sister open her presents. 

Lots of photos of the two girls together riddled the pages. Daisy holding Lily’s hand while she learnt to walk, Daisy reading to her little sister. Daisy cuddling her new little sister and beaming proudly. 

They looked like the perfect family, smiling for the camera. But what was hiding beneath? Were they ever really happy at all? 

About a year after Lily’s birth, the photographs just stopped. The empty pages at the end of the album taunted Spencer. 

They just stopped. Ended with no warning. It was as though all the happy, smiling faces of the pages before had died. 

Maybe they had. 

Tensions had been high between him and Maeve after Spencer gave up the BAU. He resented Maeve and to a certain extent his beautiful daughter, for having to give up a job he adored. 

He was frustrated and exhausted all the time. He was making less money at Georgetown, which didn’t matter so much in the present as he had a substantial amount of savings, but not enough to send two kids to college. His future problems crossed over into his present day. 

It took its toll on Spencer. He went to work, came home and doted on his daughters and barely said two words to Maeve. 

He had a quick temper. His exhaustion manifested in anger and when he did talk to Maeve it was usually to argue with her about something. 

He’d been distant, far away even when he was at home, and she’d been lonely. So she met Bobby who made her feel wanted. 

Could he blame her for that? Was Luke right? He hadn’t been attentive to his wife and so she’d sought comfort elsewhere. Was it his fault she’d strayed? Had he pushed her to it? 

He flipped the album back to the first page to their wedding photo. Was he to blame in all of this? 

He was so wrapped up in his self pity, the knock at the door startled him. 

He frowned to himself as he pushed himself to his feet and padded over to the door. 

Who was knocking at his house so late at night? 

He unlocked the door and cautiously it opened a fraction so he could see who was on the other side before he committed to opening it. 

His frown only deepened when he looked into a familiar pair of eyes staring back at him from the dark. 

He opened the door fully and braced himself against the door jamb. 

“Y/N,” he swallowed. “What are you doing here?” 

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @takeyourleap-of-faith @ssa-uglywhore27 @foxy-eva @kbakery @chrissyflo3 @simxican @aysixdy @givemeth @its-yagirl-raelynn

[blackhairedjjun]

flowers of every color | 10. red roses

overall summary: when your father is assigned as the new head gardener to the royal family, you are also tasked with helping him maintain the castle's many gardens and extensive floral arrangements. by chance you find yourself crossing paths with the "ice-cold" crown prince, choi yeonjun... who turns out to be not as ice-cold as everyone says he is.

chapter summary: yeonjun bumps into someone unexpectedly. amends are made.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: brief mentions of death (assassination) but in a trivial way

author's note: here we go 🙂 my friend introduced me to the queen charlotte soundtrack and it sets the perfect mood for writing this fic! recommended music while listening, esp. for the second half of the fic: if i ain't got you, i will always love you

prev | masterlist good ending | bad ending

it’s ten minutes to midnight when yeonjun gets out of bed, throws a robe over his nightclothes, and steps out of his room to visit you. he brings with him only the card and a few of the hyacinths you gave him, placed in the pocket of his robe; he considered bringing a lamp to light the way, but he figured that the light would also make it easier to spot him and arouse suspicion. besides, he thinks he knows the way from his bedroom to the gazebo well enough since he’s lived in this castle his entire life.

he moves from his bedroom to the long staircase at the end of the hallway, the thick carpeting thankfully muffling his footsteps, and he descends to the first floor of the castle with no problems. he starts heading down the main hallway towards the front entrance, the one closest to the gazebo, until he remembers that there are guards stationed nearby and he has no way to sneak past them. c’mon, choi, use your head. he exhales and turns around towards the kitchen side entrance, which is small and inconspicuous enough to be unguarded.

as he nears the kitchen his nerves start to get the better of him as he starts to wonder what on earth he would say to you. have you really suspected his true feelings? would you reject him if you knew? did you think that he and princess ajin are actually in a happy match? he’s so caught up in the swirl of nervous thoughts in his head that he doesn’t notice a small decorative table topped with a bowl of wax fruits in his way, and he walks right into it.

so much for being able to navigate without a lamp.

“aagh!”

he bumps his shin against the side of the table and yowls in pain. the table wobbles and the bowl of fruits starts to topple, and yeonjun dives to keep the bowl from falling and breaking. “no!”

he manages to catch the bowl with only a single wax apple falling off, but not without making a lot of noise. in his mind he starts praying, begging, that no one was around to hear him.

his prayers are unanswered.

“who’s there?!”

princess ajin, of all people, is standing in front of him and flashing a lamp in his direction. yeonjun’s heart thuds in his ears.

she narrows her eyes at him. “what on earth are you doing...”

“y-your majesty!” he straightens himself up and places the fruit bowl back on the table. “i... i could ask the same for you.”

“my room is too hot. this is the coldest part of the castle so i went here to cool off.”

“oh.” yeonjun runs a hand through his hair. “we can get you a cooler room if you want一”

“you didn’t answer my question. what on earth are you doing here?”

he starts to fidget, tugging at the sleeves of his robe. “the... the same as you...”

princess ajin coughs. “you’re a terrible liar, your majesty.”

“no, i mean一”

“are you planning to assassinate me?”

“what?! no!”

“are you planning to assassinate my mother?”

“no!” yeonjun stares at her, now offended that his future bride seems to have such a low opinion of him and his royal house. “c’mon, do you really think we’re a court of backstabbers?!”

the princess crosses her arms. yeonjun tries to read her face, but her expression is even more unreadable with only the dim light of her lamp illuminating her. his heart thuds even faster at the thought of what questions might come next. all she had to do was prod him a few more times and his secret rendezvous would be revealed.

finally, she sighs. “you know what? i don’t care.”

he blinks. “you... don’t?”

“i really don’t, your majesty.” at that moment the impenetrable facade she has put up finally fades, and all yeonjun sees is exasperation. princess ajin, more than anything, is tired.

she coughs again. “look, this... engagement between you and i, it’s all just politics. you know that, i know that, every damn member of your court and mine know that. why do we have to pretend to like each other and say nice things and have tea? it’s all a game. so if you want to do something that isn’t part of that game, go right ahead! good for you, actually.”

yeonjun’s mouth falls open. “do you... really mean that?”

“as long as you aren’t threatening me or my court, i don’t care at all.”

“what if... what if we are planning to assassinate someone?”

the princess laughs. “you? you and your family are too earnest, i doubt you’d do that. we did our research on your house, remember? no history of shady dealings whatsoever.”

“that’s true.” he looks away from her and tilts his head, trying to hide the embarrassed smile now forming on his face. somehow this encounter has gone from nerve-wracking to mortifying… and relieving.

“i mean it, choi yeonjun.” princess ajin catches his attention with his full name. “if you’re off doing something that isn’t politics, do it. i envy you. i’ve spent my entire life being my mother’s pawn. don’t… end up like me.”

he never thought of the princess as anything more than an extension of her mother’s will, and a twinge of guilt pierces him.

“i’m sorry, your majesty.”

“don’t be. now whatever it is you were doing, go.”

“is there—”

“don’t pity me! i said go!”

“okay, okay! sheesh…”

yeonjun starts to walk past princess ajin, and as he spares one more glance at her, he swears to himself that he sees a hint of sadness forming on her face.

he wishes that he could help her too, but right now he doesn’t have the time to help everyone. it’s nearly midnight, and his first priority is you.

—

at five minutes past midnight, you pace around the gazebo. you tried to get a bit of sleep in your quarters before your rendezvous, but you were filled with so much nervous energy that you couldn’t even close your eyes. your mind swam with all sorts of worries about how your meeting might go, and now that you were at the meeting place itself, the nervousness swirls around even more in your stomach and the worries nip at you even more.

you aren’t expecting yeonjun to arrive on the dot, not with how labyrinthine the castle can be, yet your mind can’t help but dream up worst-case scenarios. what if he was caught sneaking out and ordered back into his room? what if someone found out about your rendezvous and locked him in? or worse, what if he changed his mind and decided not to accept your apology after all?

just when it seems that the nervousness will consume you whole, he arrives.

he’s hastily dressed in only a robe over his nightclothes, but it doesn’t matter. relief washes over you as he runs toward you and wraps you in an embrace, and for the first time in weeks you bask in his warmth and breathe in the floral scent clinging to his clothes. his arms wrap around your waist and he rests his chin on your head, and at last your worries fall away and the tension in you breaks. 

you start to sob against his chest. he holds you as you let out every single regret and fear you’ve held in your heart out through your tears. even as you cry, you still take in the feeling of him around you, the rhythm of his breathing, the touch of his hands on your back, and it’s enough to soothe you and ground you despite all your worries. you calm down eventually, bringing your own arms around his neck as you lift your head up to look at him.

“i’m sorry,” you say, your voice hoarse. “i didn’t mean it when i said we shouldn’t be friends. i was so stupid…”

you feel the tears start to form and yeonjun only embraces you again, this time with a tighter hold. “shh, it’s okay. i know you didn’t mean it.”

even with a thousand apologies left to say, you say nothing. you don’t need to, not when yeonjun is holding you so close, his hands rubbing circles into your back, swaying the two of you ever so slightly. a part of your heart starts to mend and you start to feel that, just maybe, everything will be okay.

“i should’ve done more to protect you,” he murmurs into your ear. “i got you into all that trouble, and i heard how the staff didn’t trust you and all... of course people were going to be suspicious, i should’ve been more careful...”

this was not what you wanted to hear. his words snap you out of your regrets and you pull away from him. 

“y/n一”

your voice finds its steadiness. “yeonjun, please don’t blame yourself. you didn’t do anything wrong, okay? all you wanted was someone to be there for you and see you for who you are and there is nothing wrong with that. i said i would be that person and then i wasn’t there for you. i’m the one who failed.”

“then you can’t put all the blame on yourself either! i put you in a hard position. i’m the prince here, i’m the one who could’ve changed things, and i didn’t do that for you.”

“you don’t need to change anything for me! you already have enough on your plate! you’re engaged, that’s enough to worry about!”

“i know that!” yeonjun’s voice is desperate as he grabs your hands. “i don’t need to worry about you, but i still do. i want to worry about you. i want to care for you, even though there’s a million other things i should care about. when you pushed me away, when i was off getting engaged, it was still you i thought about. it’s always been you.”

you tremble at his words. you move towards him and this time you initiate the embrace, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him towards you. he buries his face in the crook of your neck and you feel his breaths become more uneven and a few tears brush against your skin.

your hand comes up to stroke his hair as you come to terms with what he just told you. your heart fills with an odd ache, one that somehow feels both relieving and painful at the same time. you want to take the care he has for you and hold it in your heart, but something has to budge first.

the wall of emotions looms over you once again, taller than ever, but yeonjun’s words fill you with a new bravery. you don’t just climb over the wall — you vault over it.

“yeonjun, look at me, please.”

he lifts his head and gazes at you with slightly parted lips. he is so close to you and it fills you with that familiar warmth.

“i care about you too, so much, and i can’t stand not being around you. but i heard that you were getting engaged to someone else and i hated it! i hate that you have to look at someone else and call her yours! and i felt like i couldn’t do anything about it, so i pushed you away because i was so damn scared that i’d lose you to her anyway. but it wasn’t your fault and all i did was make it hurt more for both of us, and i... i just...” your voice cracks but you keep going. “all i want is to be yours, yeonjun. not any princess 一 me. i’m in love with you, and maybe i shouldn’t be, but i can’t hold it in anymore.”

by the time you finish your whole body is trembling. there are so many emotions coursing through you that you can’t even name them, but all you register is yeonjun gazing back at you. one of his arms pulls you close as his free hand cups your cheek. his face softens and his voice is so low that you barely catch his words:

“you don’t have to hold it in.”

the world stops. he leans forward, his face mere inches from yours, and in his eyes you see more than just the fondness you’ve always seen. this time, you see love.

you give in.

he kisses you and you lose yourself completely in him. all you feel is how soft his lips are, how gently they move against yours, how his arms bring you close until the warmth of his body collides with your own. he kisses you tenderly, slowly, and in the safety of his arms your inhibitions melt away. your wall of emotions crumbles to reveal the yearning you’ve always held.

you kiss him back more fervently, pressing against him and tangling your fingers in his hair, and you never want to let go. he meets your intensity and deepens the kiss and you let him, sighing into his mouth and sinking more and more into him until he fills your senses completely. you’ve wanted him for so long that you can’t hold yourself back.

even when you break apart for air you keep your hold on each other. he presses chaste kisses on your lips in between breaths and you lean toward him, your forehead touching his.

he smiles at you, and you’ve never seen him look so beautiful. “i really wanted to do that,” he says.

your face starts to warm. “me too.”

for a few moments you simply hold each other. yeonjun buries his face into your neck again and you can still feel his smile; you run your hands through his hair while his hands rub up and down your back. you wish that you could freeze this moment and never leave it.

then a sobering thought interrupts you and you break the silence. “what’s going to happen to us?”

yeonjun lifts his head and holds your face in both his hands, stroking your cheek with his thumb. he says nothing but his eyes lock with yours, and that alone speaks volumes. you can tell that he wishes he could say the right words that would somehow end his engagement and free him to be yours.

“we’ll figure something out, together. i promise,” he says at last.

“please don’t promise me anything you can’t keep.” 

“y/n, i swear, we will solve this! for both of us. please.”

he falls silent but his eyes plead with you to believe him. despite his promise both he and you know that he cannot guarantee a stop to the engagement, and your heart starts to feel heavy again as the doubt and fear settle in.

but you take one look at yeonjun and think that you can’t let those feelings win just yet — not when you have him, not when you fought to give yourself even a scrap of hope. “can you promise me something else too?”

“anything.”

“come to the greenhouse with me first.”

you take him by the hand as you lead him out of the gazebo, through the gardens, and into the greenhouse. the feel of your hand in his has never felt so warm before, and you miss the warmth immediately when you let go to push the greenhouse door open.

you light a spare lamp inside and, with only the dim light, you make your way to a row of roses. they’re neatly arranged by color with the thorns already trimmed off for delivery, so it doesn’t take you long to find what you need. yeonjun’s eyes widen as you head past the yellow ones, past the pink ones, over to the red roses, and you take three of them.

i love you.

you head back to him and he meets you halfway. he takes your hands as you still hold the roses.

when you speak, your voice is surprisingly stable. “no matter what happens… promise me you’ll keep these, okay?”

his fingertips brush your knuckles. he doesn’t need an explanation to understand what the flowers mean and what you’re really asking of him; he can see it in the way you look at him. promise me that you’ll always love me.

yeonjun pries the roses from your hands, then closes the space between the two of you to brush his lips against yours. 

“i promise.”

notes: 🥰🥰🥰

as of this writing the good ending has more votes in my poll, so i will be posting the good ending first! note that both endings take place after a time skip of several months to nearly a year.

taglist (CLOSED) @seosalad @lilplilplilp @yeonboy @pyuae @hyuneyeon @strawbrinkofdeath @yushiu @mazeinthemoon @banggyu0308 @shytubatu @kyaneosprincess @agustdiv1ne @whippedforbeomgyu @justineasian @skywithf1 @wrongbathroom @choizzn @bangchansbae @huskyhunny @catsyoon @flowerbe0m

[perfect-bloodcovered-family]

Event: Christmas gift, future sight.{Bad ending}

(TW: suicide(mention), abuse, insanity, bullying(mention), terrorism, children being married to other children at a young age(mention), teen pregnancy(mention), murder, quick mentions of rapists and attempted drugging. You have been warned)

You woke up in a giant garden. A lot of pretty but creepy flowers decorated the garden. You landed in front of shrines. There were 12 of them with some items that were placed in front of them on a fancy velvet black pillow.

Shimizu Nijiue: Died from drowning during her execution. She tried to be the perfect mastermind to please Team Danganropa and protect her little siblings. She had a bowl of crystal clear water with a Nymphaea Caerulea on the water, and a small wooden figure of an accurate  Greek siren. Died at the age of 16.

Irofuka Nijiue: Died from being burned alive alongside his love, Yolei Aisei, during his execution. He died, leaving a baby girl behind. A Serial Killer disguised as a butler. Would have been a wonderful father if he lived past the age of 16. He had a black and red rose, a duster, and a bottle of deadly nightshade on the pillow.

Yolei Aisei: Died from being burned to death alongside her love, Irofuka Nijiue, during his execution. A spree killer who had been enslaved and raped at a young age after her parents’ death, soon took revenge on her former master and swore to kill all rapists and child abusers before she died. Would have been a wonderful mother if she had lived past the age of 16. There was a book called “A Thorough Investigation of Genocide Jack”, a black and red rose, and a crow plushie on her pillow.

Chitaki Nijiue: Died being ripped apart during her execution. Lost her mind from the abuse that was given to her by Team Danganronpa and fell for a man who just toyed with her emotions out of pure curiosity. Was a great doctor at the age of 13, a lovesick killer and mastermind who died at the age of 16. She had a bottle full of a drag she had made to speed up blood production, a needle, and a sage flower.

Kanto Nijiue: Beaten to death during his execution. Found out to be one of the masterminds and sent himself off to his execution, apologizing for putting them in a killing game against their will. He was an amazing brother and friend to many, even loved by the killing game participants who were supposed to hate him. He had coloured bandages, a bracelet with the words “Lil Bro'' on a boxing glove charm, and a gladious on the pillow

Iroryuko Nijiue: overdosed on 50 bottles of vitamins, committing suicide. Bullied at a young age due to his father’s past and actions. He committed suicide after his twin brother’s execution. There was a Gladiolus Flanaganii which is also called “Suicide Lily”, a pair of sunglasses that looks like Hajime Makunouchi’s sunglasses, and a bracelet with the words “Big Bro” on a boxing glove charm on the pillow.

Iroha Nijiue: Suicide, hanged herself to death. She was a wonderful sister, a wonderful mother, and a wonderful painter. She will be missed by so so many, and I am sorry, dear mother. I’m sorry for not saving you and for existing, please forgive me. The pillow had a purple hyacinth, a white Carnation, and an Okoden(a money offering) of 132,765,000.00 Japanese Yen(a million us dollars).

The rest were Iroha's older siblings and parents. It states that whoever made the shrines didn’t know the siblings but put money, their favourite food, and white lilies on their pillows. Iroha’s parents got only orange lilies, a message to the dead parents saying “Fuck you”, and a bloody dagger that might have been used to kill said, parents. It was clear that the meaning of the orange lilies in this situation aren’t positive.

You noticed the ground near a trash can with rotten food and dead flowers in it was wet. You looked around to see a 16-year-old girl sleeping in a bunch of flower beds of beautiful but creepy flowers. She had long, messy, orange hair; tired eyebags, Iroha’s fair skin tone, a Hope’s Peak Academy uniform jacket on her shoulders; a black dress that looks like a funeral dress and a ball gown at the same time, made from satin. She had a silver crown with a black veil covering her face, just enough for her face to be seen from up close, but covered when far away. She looks to be in distress, a nightmare instead of a dream. She kinda reminds you of Irohana Nijiue.

[farah1247]

So this is part of a project I'm making to design all the Greek gods( as many as I can anyway) in modern times!

It's part of my world building that is basically modern fantasy

I already have few drafts for other gods but these two are the final draft!

For those who are curious about my process when designing these:

Apollo: the long blonde hair was too iconic to not use, almost every text I've come accross that talks about Apollo or even just mention him calls describes his hair, who am I to deny the Greeks after all the effort they've put into pointing his hair out?

Some statues and art have Apollo's hair tied up, so I added a bun it also helps make the curly hair look more tamed rather than messy

I gave him many sun symbols mainly because I'm combining the Roman and Greek gods into one, I just feel like they're too similar and tied up together to warnt making them seperate gods( I'm not making it a split personality thing like Percy Jackson, it's just the gods changing as the world goes on)

I have him one earring with the moon because it's meant to be a gift from Artemis( also went with a yin yan theme for the shape since they both mirror many aspects of each other, civilization vs the wild, moon vs sun, both are protectors of youth)

I wanted him to have a young feminine body, he's very regularly described as clean shaven extra, but he's also athletic so I tried to show that with my poor attempt at abs ( I'm just a hobby artist, I have limits to my abilities)

I also made his outfit more feminine because he's depicted wearing women ropes oftene

I added many gold accessories, he's just the kind of god who pays a lot of attention to how he presents himself

I added the laurels to show his love and memory of Daphne and the hyacinth tattoo to show the same for Hyacinthus ( they're arguably his most famous love stories and his greatest lovers) I added the hyacinth as a tattoo for two reasons, one, since I'm going with the : his love for Daphne is because of Eros's revenge version of the myth, he holds greater love towards Hyacinthus ( also it was reciprocated so I think he'd love him more regardless just because of that) , two, because I genuinely couldn't figure out a better way to add it into the clothes lol

Artemis: I wanted to show that they're twins/fully related subtly by making them have the same face shape and curly hair

I made her body more masculine because she's described as being more masculine

Her outfit is also more masculine because she wears her chiton at the same length as men do, so I thought this is a good way to show it

I made her wear the bear fur to showcase the spoils of her hunting, also a call back to the Callisto myth

The flower used is one of her sacred flowers, though idk if you can even tell what flower it is lol, I tried my best

I decided to add the boar as a tattoo also because I couldn't fit it into the outfit itself, also I just thought it'd look cool if she summoned her killer boar and it got out of her tattoo!

I tried to show her hair as messy, she just woke up that way and put it into a ponytail, she doesn't care enough to put anymore effort into it ( Apollo hates it because his hair would look like a bird's nest if he doesn't care for it lol)

The moon symbols again, because I merged her with Diana, the sun earring is a gift from Apollo!

Artemis is usually associated with silver and Apollo with gold, it's why I made their jewelry be that, though their bows in mythology are actually the opposite, Artemis has the golden bown and Apollo the silver one, I'm not sure why, I read somewhere it might mean that her archery skills are slightly superior to Apollo's, if anyone has any other explanation I'd love to know!

Bonus information: in my world Artemis is an aromantic lesbian, I know she's in the myths probably just aro ace but I just like doing it like this, Hestia and Athena though are still just aro ace in my world

Anyway, hope you all find the designs good : ) I've worked for weeks on them lol

Ps: I ship Apollo and Hermes lol, I absolutely plan to draw them together once I'm done

[honoringthor]

I got curious about Apollo’s lovers after someone pointed out there wasn’t just Hyacinth or Daphne so I looked.

I found out that one kid can have a lot of different candidates for their mother.

Disclaimer: a lot of this comes from Wikipedia. I’ve included their sources in italics. It’s a long, incomplete list.

🎵🎶male🦢

There is Ademetus of Pherae in Thessaly. He was an Argonaut and hunted the Caledonian boar. His wife loved him so much that she exchanged her life for his so he could live until she was supposed to die. She did this with the help of Apollo. At one time Apollo was sent to work for Adementus as punishment for killing Delphyne, the serpent at Delphi. Apollo fell in love and after his punishment served Adementus out of affection.

Maybe Hymensias (Hymen*) god of marriage ceremonies. He’s also a Erotes**. In most stories he’s a son of Apollo by one of the Muses. Sometimes Dionysus is his dad, sometimes it’s Magnes. There seems to be a lot of instances where someone is either a son or lover depending on who’s telling a story. When he’s the son of Magnes, Apollo Falls in love and stays at Magnes house for a while. (Megalai Ehoiai) Unrelated but he and a bunch of women get captured by pirates and he and the women killed thier captors.

Adonis who it’s said “acted like a man with Aphrodite and a woman with Apollo”. (Ptolemy Hephestion, New History Book 5)

Maybe Boreas 🌬️ who’s the personification of the north wind, storms, and winter. You may know his name from the Hyacinth myth. Some of Boreas’ sons, Zetes and Calais, described Apollo as “beloved of our sire”. (Valerius Flaccus)

Branchus was a former Shepard in Miletus in what’s now Türkiye. Apollo gifted him with prophecy and he introduced the worship of Apollo to Didyma in the Ionian part of Türkiye then mysteriously disappeared.

Carnus was Acarnanian Greek and seer who was taught divination by Apollo who helped raise him. But in some stories they are friends and/or lovers. Unfortunately Hippotes used Carnus’ obscure prophesies as an excuse to murder him. And that’s how the Dorians got a plague, Apollo got a new cult, and the Spartans began celebrating the Carnia.

Cinyras was mentioned by Pindar as “beloved of Apollo” and priest of Aphrodite. (Pindar, Pythian Ode 2) Mars murdered him supposedly because he posed a challenge to Apollo. No idea why Mars would be involved, I’m pretty sure Apollo could handle it.

Cyparissus was loved by Apollo. He also accidentally killed his pet stag and turned into a cypress tree. The cypress then became associated with mourning and now it’s found in many cemeteries. The tree is also sacred to Apollo.

Helenus of Troy/Scarmandrios was a son of Priam and Hecuba and twin of Cassandra. Like his sister he was also a prophet. His name was changed from Scarmandrios to Helenus. (Photius Bibliotheca excerpt)

Hippolytus of Sicyon in the Peloponnesus (Plutarch, Life of Numa 4.5)

Iapyx/Lapis was a lover of Apollo who chose healing as his gift instead of prophecy. He became healer to Aeneas and founded the city of Apulia/Puglia in southern Italy, the stiletto part. He may be the brother of Icarus. (Aeneid XII 391-402).

Maybe Phorbas/Phorbaceus, son of Triopas and Hiscilla, prince of Thessaly, and hero of Rhodes. He was either a rival in love of Apollo or actually his lover.

🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢🌿🌿🌿🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐺🐺🐝🐝🐍🐍🐭🐭🐭🐬🐬🐬🐬🐂🐂🌻🌻🌻🏹🏹🏹🎵🎵🎵🐀🐀🐀🤧🤧🤧

🌿female🐍

Acacllis/Acalle, a princess of Crete. A daughter of Minos and Pasiphae and Ariadne’s sister. She may have had multiple children by Apollo and maybe other gods. Acacllis was a Cretan name of A narcissus flower.

Various Muses. Apollo is their leader and occasional lover who has father multiple children by some of them.

Aegle/Coronis the Lapith*** was a princess of Thessaly and mother of Asclepius. Coronis was turned into the constellation Corvus. (According to Istrus).

Celaeno of Phocis mother of Delphus by Apollo. Phocis is the area of Greece that Delphi is in.

Melaens/Melena was the sister of Celaeno and may have been the mom of Delphus by Apollo instead of her.

Aethusa was a daughter of Poseidon and Alcyone. She bore Apollo Eleuther and Linus making her the great grandma of Orpheus. She’s usually identified as a Thracian****

Chione daughter of Daedalion, By Apollo she bore Philammon, maybe. She’s also mother of Autolycus by Hermes. Then she got cocky and bragged that she was hotter than Artemis. Artemis shot her through her tongue, killing her. Her dad didn’t take it well and Apollo had to turn him into a hawk to save him. Philonis has the same story.

Alciope mother of Linus by Apollo. Maybe.

Chrysothemis maybe a lover of Apollo, she was a poet. She’s also the daughter in law to Dionysus and Ariadne.

Rhoeo was mother of Anius by Apollo. Her mom was Chrysothemis by Staphylus making her grand daughter of Dionysus and Ariadne.

Anchiale according to Servis, she was the mother of Oaxes by Apollo. Maybe.

Areia was a nymph from Crete, daughter of Cleochus, and mother of Miletus by Apollo. (Apollodorus, 3.1.2)

Arsinoe may have been mother to Asclepius instead of Coronis. She also had a daughter by Apollo. Arsinoe was honored as a heroine in Sparta.

Corycia was a naiad from the springs of the Corycian cave on Mt Parnassus in Phocis. She had a son, Lycorus, by Apollo.

Cyrene/Kyrene the lion killer was a Thessalian princess and queen of Cyrene. She killed a lion w/her bare hands and Apollo thought it was hot. She had Aristaeus, Atuchus, and Idmon by Apollo. Idmon was a seer, Aristaeus became a god. Apollo made her queen of Cyrene in NE Libya.

Dia may have been the mother of Dryops by Apollo.

Evadne, Apollo was her first love. She conceived a child, Iamus, on her.

Hecuba was queen of Troy and may of had 2 kids with Apollo, Hector and Troilus. According to Stesichorus,Hecuba was rescued by Apollo during the sack of Troy. She may have been turned into a dog in 2 different stories, one because of her reaction to being given to Odysseus as a slave. In either story This allowed her to escape, now she travels with Hecate.

Hyria/Thyria/Hyrie/Thyrie was mother of Cycnus/Cygnus. May have been turned into a swan like her son.

Issa/Amphissa. Her story was woven by Arachne during her contest with Athene. Achilles may have used this name when he pretended to be a woman.

Leuconoe was a daughter of Lucifer and mother of Philammon. Maybe.

Othreis was an oread in a relationship with Zeus and Apollo. With Apollo she had Phager.

Parthenope of Leleges*****daughter of king Ancaeus of Samos and Samia. She had one of the Lycomedes by Apollo.

Phthia was mother of Doris, Laodocus, and Polypoetes.

Psamathe her chile was torn apart by dogs sometime after she abandoned him. Her father had her murdered for some reason and Apollo avenged her and the child’s death with a plague.

Rhodoessa bore the hero Ceos.

Stilbe was the mother of Centaurus and Lapiths. Centaurus is the ancestor of Centaurs.

Syllis was mother of Zeixippus.

Thero, daughter of Phyla’s and Leipephilene, mother of Chaeron

Thyia is associated with the cults of multiple gods. One of the candidates of the mother of Delphos by Apollo.

Zeuxippe is daughter Athamas and maybe mother of Ptous. Ptous is also an epithet of Apollo.

*no relation to the body part.

**In some myths, Eros is separated into multiple deities called Erotes collectively.

***Lapiths were a legendary ethnic group who lived in Thessaly in the Pineios valley. They were related to centaurs and were excellent horsemen. Unlike their centaur cousins, Lapiths looked like regular humans. They were descended from Apollo. They also fought with the centaurs and won. (centauromachy)

****Thracians were cultures that lived in Bulgaria, Romanian, N Greece, and NW Türkiye. It seems to be an umbrella term, like Celtic or Slavic.

*****Leleges we’re president Greek inhabitants of parts of Greece