#also my excuse to make my boy luca pink for no reason other than it looked cool

[breezesongs]

i keep forgetting abt uploading those af attacks OOPS.. this was part revenge part excuse for me to draw me n @romantichor 's ocs as vampires <3

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @saraben00 @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane @odi-et-amo85

~^~

Tuesday, 10:33

Song: The Neighbourhood - Sweater Weather

Jens paces across the doorstep as he tries the call a fourth time, jamming his thumb against the button before raising the phone to his ear. It buzzes, and buzzes, and buzzes, and Jens curses under his breath.

“I’m not giving up, so fucking pick up,” he mumbles.

On the sixth ring, Lucas does.

“What the fuck, Jens? Can’t you take a hint?”

“No, and please don’t hang up, okay? I’m outside.”

“You’re what?”

“I’m at the front door of your building. At least, I hope it’s your building.”

“How do you even know where I live?”

“You told me last week when I was going to come pick you up, but I don’t know the apartment number, so let me in. Please?”

There’s silence on the other end, and after a few seconds Jens is worried the other boy has hung up. But when he checks, the call is still connected.

He injects some extra pleading into his voice. “Just give me a few minutes to explain. C’mon, I’m freezing my balls off for you right now.”

The silence extends, and then Lucas lets out a sigh. “It’s number seven. Three flights up.”

The line disconnects and Jens fumbles not to drop his phone as he hears the door buzz and quickly moves to push it open. He tucks the mobile safely into his pocket before climbing the steps, not wasting any time taking in the building in his rush. At the top of the third set of stairs, Jens casts his gaze around for a door with the number seven and instead finds Lucas at the end of the short hall, leaning in an open doorway.

Jens falters in his steps as he slowly makes his way to him, suddenly unsure. He hasn’t actually come with an apology in mind; he’d simply told himself with Lucas in front of him, he’d know what to say.

Now that Lucas is in front of him, his mind runs blank. He barely looks at Jens, instead rubbing a tired hand over his face. His eyes are droopy and the skin of his cheeks is a light, rosy pink, the same colour as the sweater he has tossed on over black sweatpants. He looks sleep-soft and cuddly. He begs to be greeted with a kiss. Jens barely manages to refrain.

He may have spent the weekend freaking out. He may still be freaking out. The feelings filling his chest, his stomach, are unfamiliar, and he’d taken Lucas’s few days of silent treatment to attempt to sort them out. To ponder. To research.

He’d spent yesterday doing quite an extensive bit of research.

When he realises that Lucas has caught him staring, he clears his throat. “Hey.”

Lucas crosses his arms over his chest. “Hey.”

His voice is raspy and sleep-soft, too, and Jens decides this was probably a really bad idea. He sweeps his gaze over Lucas once more and raises a brow. “Did I wake you up?”

Lucas scoffs. “Three missed calls, Jens. One right after the other. Yeah, you succeeded very well in waking me up.”

Jens winces. “Sorry. But I mean, it’s half ten. I assumed you’d be up.”

“It’s the holidays,” Lucas sniffs, and Jens supposes he can’t argue with that.

Jens nods, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “Uhm—can I come in?”

Lucas shrugs and otherwise doesn’t move. “You only need a few minutes, right?”

“Yeah.” Jens tries not to feel disappointed, but it’s difficult. It’s difficult to hold onto any control at all, faced with a Lucas who is so closed-off, a Lucas who’s definitely mad at him. Jens wants to get angry, too. He wants to tell him to stop overreacting. He wants to beg and plead for forgiveness. He wants Lucas to stop shutting him out.

He wants Lucas to at least smile at him again.

“Okay.” Jens blows out a breath. “I’m really sorry. I mentioned that Jana wanted to meet up?”

Lucas nods, drawing his arms around himself tighter.

Jens nods back, and he doesn’t really know where he’s going with this. “And you know I was confused, after Friday. I needed to clear the air. The whole thing stressed me out and I just had a serious brain-glitch, or something. I genuinely forgot. I know excuses can sound like shit, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t mean it, Luc.”

“So your ex-girlfriend—who you don’t wanna get back together with—messaged you, and your brain short-circuited to the point you forgot I existed?”

At this point, Jens understands that Lucas is still thoroughly unimpressed.

“No, I didn’t—that’s not what I’m saying.”

“So what are you saying, Jens? Because to me, it sounds like it’s yourself you’re lying to.”

“What?” Jens furrows his brows. He isn’t lying to anyone.

Lucas softens slightly, but shakes his head. “You’re seriously still saying you don’t feel anything for Jana?”

“She’s leaving.”

That makes Lucas pause. “What?”

“She wanted to talk to me because she’s leaving. At the end of the week. She’s going to New York.”

“New York?”

“She told us about it during the summer, but back then it was just a plan that had fallen through. When she came back to school, I forgot about it. But it’s happening now. That’s why she kissed me.”

Jens didn’t really expect that this is what he’d have to explain, but it’s now that he sees Lucas’s defense begin to slip. The reasons for why—the potential that Lucas is mad not because he was ditched, but because he’s jealous—sets something stirring in Jens’s chest. The something feels a little too much like an excited thread of hope, and he snaps it immediately.

“Why, exactly?” Lucas asks hesitantly.

“She needed to prove to herself that there really was nothing left. And she did. I already knew. Like I told you. It wasn’t about wanting Jana. It wasn’t even really about Jana in the first place. My head was already a mess because my dad was bugging me that morning, and then Jana messaging me just reminded me that we hadn’t spoken, and I blanked. And I’m really fucking sorry. I’d never purposefully miss out on time with you. Seriously.”

It’s more than he usually likes to admit, but he seems to be in the habit, around Lucas, of giving away more than he probably should. He also knows it’s probably the best course of action—and his hope is confirmed when the rest of Lucas’s defense falls away.

“Dads can be a pain in the ass,” he allows.

Jens grins. “Yeah. I knew you’d get me, if you just heard me out. You’re a stubborn fuck, you know that?”

“You deserved it. I froze my balls off for you first, and you didn’t even show up.”

Jens laughs, and permits a shrug. “I deserved it.”

Then there it is—Lucas’s smile.

Bright and easy and beautiful. It begs to be kissed.

Jens resists.

“That’s what I wanted to see,” he says instead, soft, and he’s granted a blush and a roll of eyes in response. Then Lucas finally holds the door open and nods inside.

The change in temperature is immediate, and Jens sighs as the door shuts behind him and he’s wrapped in warmth. He shrugs off his coat and pulls off his beanie, letting Lucas take both from him and hang them on a hook by the door. It’s only when Lucas begins leading him down the hallway that he realises he’s in the boy’s apartment.

His hands grow clammy, and he wipes them discreetly on his sweats as they enter the kitchen.

“Hot chocolate so you don’t lose any body parts?” Lucas teases.

Jens snorts. “Of course you’d offer hot chocolate.”

“What does that mean?”

“Mr Sweet-Tooth, right?”

Lucas side-eyes him. “So you don’t want hot chocolate. Good. More for me.”

Jens makes a small noise of protest. “I never said that.”

“Uh huh,” Lucas smirks at him. “That’s what I thought.”

He moves around the kitchen with ease, taking two cups from one cupboard and the hot chocolate from another. Jens feels warm as he watches him pull up his sleeves to fill the kettle, exposing lightly-tanned forearms, thin but corded.

Jens has to snap his gaze away when Lucas speaks up again. “Stop being awkward. Sit down.”

“I’m not awkward,” Jens mumbles, awkwardly avoiding Lucas’s gaze as he pulls out a chair. Lucas merely turns his head to hide a smile and doesn’t comment.

“Are you here alone all week?” Jens asks, as Lucas busies himself with wiping down the spotless counter.

“Yeah. Apparently offices don’t get the same holidays as schools. Pity.”

“Aren’t you lonely, though?”

Jens regrets the question as soon as it leaves his mouth, and then ten times more when Lucas turns around to look at him. He leans back against the counter, wrapping his hands around the granite top. He shrugs, tilts his head, and asks, “Aren’t you?”

“Most of my time is spent babysitting,” Jens points out.

“Lotte isn’t a baby.”

“I’m talking about Lies.”

Lucas snorts, and the tension dissipates. “She’s the one you didn’t want me to meet?”

Jens rolls his eyes. “You could have met her if you wanted to.”

Lucas hums, unconvinced.

“Really though, Lucas. I’m sorry I fucked up.”

“S’okay,” Lucas shrugs. “Maybe I was being a little harsh.”

“Maybe a little.”

Lucas tilts his head, unimpressed.

Jens says, “Let me make it up to you.”

That seems to be of slightly more interest to Lucas, who raises a brow before moving to pick up the kettle. “How so?”

“Come hang out with me again. This time I’m going to pick you up from right here so you can’t be left waiting in the cold.”

Lucas asks, “Milk or no milk?”

Jens blinks. It takes him a few seconds to realise he’s talking about the hot chocolate. “Whichever way you prefer it.”

Lucas gets some milk.

Then he asks, “When?”

“Anytime you want.”

“We’re hanging out right now.”

“That doesn’t count. Come on. I’m giving you a once-in-a-lifetime, all-access pass here. I’m completely at your mercy.”

Now Lucas appears intrigued. “Really?”

Jens is not one to backtrack. He hums affirmingly.

“Friday?”

Jens nods, and that same feeling is stirring in his chest once more, the thread unwinding into rivulets of apprehension.

Lucas’s gaze is challenging. “But I’m not organising it. Your apology, your work. I expect big things.”

He sets Jens’s hot chocolate in front of him as Jens grins. “I’m sure something will come to mind.”

[chappedandfadedvds]

Dec 13th, Sunday 13:32

oh no, guys!!

I was out all day and just got back home to realise that I didn’t set the time when to publish todays’ clip... it just sat there in my drafts... so could everyone reading just imagine to be teleported back to this very early afternoon?

I’m so so sorry!! 😰

__ __ __

Hey Jens,

I know this may be a bit out of the blue as I hadn’t contacted you for over two years. I hereby do not ask for forgivness if any shape or form. A lot had happened and for a while it was close to impossible to have contact outside of work. Obviously it doesn’t excuse my absense. I am pretty confident that I may even not have written you yet, wouldn’t it have been for Helena.

Your mother was also the person to give me this email-address, I hope you aren’t too cross with her. She meant well.

I am very positive you aren’t interested to read of anything that had happened to me since our last meeting in 2016. Already four years have passed. It doesn’t feel that long ago. But obviously you may feel different about that.

So where to begin? 

Helena wrote me a long text, detailing the main events of the last year and her diagnoses. I had to read it a couple of times for it to settle. It still feels surreal to have to accept her leaving earth that early. I am most sorry for you. I wish I could have been of more support from the very beginning. But now I have the chance to do something and I hope you will consider my offer.

She told me of Lies and that she no longer lives in Belgium, which leaves you at home with your mother and Lotte. I can barely imagine how very hard that Must be on you. I do hope you have enough people who can take care of you, when you put your energy towards your family.

There isn’t much I can do from my position here. But be assured that I already signed the documents to waive my choice of guardianship over Lotte. You mother was strictly clear that that was your preferred arrangement and I am in no position to interfere in your affairs at home. So they should be on their way and at yours rather soon, hopefully in time early next week. Just in case, I attached a pdf scan. Should you need anything else, please do not hestitate to ak.

I also hadn’t forgotten that you turned 18 and unfortunately I haden’t yet congratulated you. I would like to do that now, even if it may seem shallow. But I send you all my best wishes and do genuinly hope that you will find success and love along your way. I am proud that you have the strenght in you to get through such a difficult and exhausting time and I believe with all my heart that you will make it to the other side.

Regarding my mentioned offer:

I want you to be able to persue your goals in life. Surely you must have some dreams about the future you’d like to see come true. It isn’t much, but I am obviously sending money into your mothers, and now your, bank account, for Lotte and yourself since our separation. And if you would allow me to increase the amount by whatever the house or the corresponding insurances may cost, I’d be more than happy to do that. As well as money for university. A good education takes you far in life.

This is not the greatest help of course, I know this. And I hope that you’ll understand that I can’t just leave my work behind, but I am already areaging to go visit Helena in January. I have to see her before I nay no longer have a chance, and she as well asked me to.

If you, for some reason, want to meet me as well, it would make me quite happy to see you too. I understand though if that is out of question for you.

I hope to hear back from you, so we can discuss the reality of help I can provide and anything I may have forgotten to bring up. I didn’t wanted this to get too long.

You’ll find my mobile number in the document as well, but as I said, a signal is a rare occurance.

With kindest regards,

Hendrik

— 

Jens, who had been hunched over his laptop for the better part of the email, leaned back, resting his head against the wall behind them on the bed.

Reading the long message hadn’t helped to clear up any conflicting emotions he had felt since the notification had arrived a couple days ago. Jens had expected the worst and the best simultaneously, and what he actually had received left him uncertain about the right reaction to such a message. Was it anger or gratitude?

„So? What does it say? Is it bad news?“

No it wasn’t really, was it? If it wouldn’t have been for the sporadic contact with his father, and the suddenness of this mail, Jens perhaps would only have a more positive attitude towards it. However it wasn’t that simple unfortunately.

Jens hadn’t told Robbe about the content of the mail or why he hadn’t opened it yet. But when he had announced that it had been his father, Robbe hadn’t asked anything else. Instead he had draped an arm around his back, before putting his attention on his phone, promising not to look. Jens trusted his best friend to keep his word and had thus quickly opened the message. Before he had a chance to change his mind.

That didn’t meant that the boy snuggled to his side wasn’t curious.

„I don’t know. I honestly don’t fucking know. I’m glad to hear from him, but I am so pissed about the way he wrote it. For example: Already four years have passed. It doesn’t feel that long ago. But obviously you may feel different about it.“ Jens read out loud, ending on a heavy sigh. He probably could have just quoted everything but that would be bringing up topics that Jens wasn’t ready to share.

„Or this bullshit of three sentences: I also hadn’t forgotten that you turned 18 and unfortunately I haden’t yet congratulated you. I would like to do that now, even if it may seem shallow. But I send you all my best wishes and do genuinly hope that you will find success and love along your way.“ He continued, almost mockingly, huffing an unamused laugh when he reread parts of the mail. „Like, fuck him. What am I supposed to do with that?“

„Seriously? That’s why he wrote you?“

It was very nice to know that Robbe seemed a little pissed off by it as well. It definitely validated Jens‘s belief, that this was a shitty thing to write given their history.

„No.“ Jens sighed again, this time a little deflated. His eyes darted briefly towards his best friend, feeling rather timid as he contemplated how to formulate his next words.

„I needed a signed document from him for the thing that is stressing me out.“ As if he couldn’t be anymore vague. „And my mom was so kind to get into contact with him first. So he basically just let me know that he send it off and attatched a pdf as well. That’s something I guess.“

„I see.“

Robbe’s second arm sneaked around his stomach, thus wrapping him into a tight embrace, as he rested his head against Jens’s shoulder.

„I think I would have preferred him to just let me know about the document and leave out the whole other stuff.“ Jens replied, leaning his own head into of his best friend’s.

He felt Robbe nodding, while his fingers stroked his back gently in an attempt to comfort his best friend.

„What did Lucas think?“ He asked Jens, receiving a soft snort in return.

„Nothing yet of course. I opened this for the first time here with you, dumbass.“

„Right. Sorry, my bad!“ Robbe shrugged a faint pink on his cheeks, as he instantly realised the his mistake at the same time Jens answered him.

„I think I’m glad that he wrote me. At least I know that he supports me in some way and I‘m not simply indifferent to him. It would have been worse, had I needed to chase him down for weeks to get the documents.“ Jens quietly said and swiftly closed the laptop. He pushed it away from them. Jens would definitely talk to his mom and perhaps let Lucas read the mail later on his own.

Robbe sat silent next to him. 

„He offered to pay for stuff if I needed him to. Don’t ask me why. But it feels shitty. It is good to have, and I may take him up on it. But it is not what I really need.“ I’d rather have him around, back then and now, Jens finished his thought unspoken.

It was the truth something that felt hard to say out loud. He wasn’t unaware of the fact that he close to never spoke about his father. It wasn’t an important part of his life for years now. He wasn’t even sure what people thought about his father, his friends included. He had met them all way after he left. Did they assume he was dead? No one ever had directly asked Jens before. At least he couldn’t remember anyone had before. There were only a couple of pictures that excist in his home that showed him, and they were almost all a decade old.

“If you want my opinion despite only getting the tiniest details from you, I’d tell you to straight up take the money. My father is always a little stingy if I need more for a month. So if your father offers you something, say thank you and accept it. It is the very least he can do for you. Don’t feel bad or sorry about it, as he should do much more for you. Honestly.”

Jens sat up straighter at his best friends words, Robbe following suit as the unwrapped themselves from each other. It definitely sounded like a shitty thing to do, but then so was the offer. Perhaps Jens would just as Robbe had told him. Why not?

“And if you don’t want to spend it on yourself, use it for Lotte or take out your boyfriend or help your mom with the bills. Whatever.” Robbe added and then shuffled of the sofa, as his phone was ringing on the desk calling for his attention.

Jens watched him, not paying much attention to anything but his thoughts and feelings regarding his father. He was glad that he had come to his best friend who simply accepted Jens withholding most of the details and still helping out. He appreciated it so fucking much.

“Alright, we’ll be there in fourty minutes, I think... yea... sure... okay see you then!”

Robbe told the person on the phone, his best friend’s hand reaching for him to pull him rather clumsy off the bed. Jens laughed at the sorry attempt. Robbe just wasn’t strong enough. But he gave in the second the other boy glared at him.

“Come on. Mayo is already on his way and I’m gonna text Aaron. You can bring your laptop and everything, or you can come back here later to get it.”

“Nah, I have to pick up Lotte at seven from her best friend’s place.” Jens replied, getting up while he packed everything as fast as he could around an impatient Robbe, searching for his missing board. As if a whole fucking skateboard could just vanish?

Seriously how did Sander managed to endure this daily?

Jens must have said that last question out loud, because he was hit in the chest, luckily not by the found skateboard, but by one of Robbe’s loose scattered sneakers.

__ __ __ tagged: @odi-et-amo85, @tayspots

[imaginesbymk]

PINK + WHITE.

—CHAPTER SEVEN ; FINN, ALL GROWN UP.

summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta.

pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby

tags in this chapter: swearing, smoking

[ chapter index / meet my oc / wattpad link ]

"Just remember, never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line." - The Princess Bride (1987)

"PENARTH ART GALLERY." Tommy cleared his throat before speaking to the operator on the telephone. He pulled a long drag off his cigarette as he waited, even though he knew his call would lead to no avail. He hasn't heard back from her in hours. It wasn't even that difficult of an instruction: reach back to him with her mind made up once she finished her errand in Camden town. Either Teresa forgot, was abducted, killed, or she never kept true to her word when she agreed to phone him. Tommy needed a response so desperately. It had been a while since the vendetta began, and he doubt he would be spared a second to take a deep breath before the Changretta mob comes in to take them out by surprise. He needed an answer now.

No response. He slams the receiver shut, almost nearly breaking the telephone, and sighs. If Tommy had to pick up and reach the operator, the same response of no communication on the other end of the line would come up once more. No point.

Groaning in exhaustion, Tommy rubs his nose bridge as Polly walks in, noticing him leaning back in his chair.

"I told you," she says. "she won't come back."

Tommy grunts. "She will. Just give it a few hours."

"We gave her a day, Tommy. Now we're giving her a few hours?" Polly slams Tommy's diary containing weekly schedules & anything important jotted in black ink, each were separated with a blank box. She flipped to the bookmarked page that highlighted one day of the week, a star coloured in the margins. She jabs a finger on it. "The boxing match. We're losing time."

"Yes, Pol. I'm aware," Tommy says, annoyed. It's not like he wasn't giving Aberama Gold's son a dream of being a boxing champion and possible boxing career in exchange for extra hands to have blood on them in a vendetta. "And what other things I'm aware of that you have to tell me?"

"Are you also aware that Teresa Griffith is no walk in the park—"

"Neither of us are, Polly."

"Are you aware that Teresa Griffith is no walk in the park," Polly repeated her sentence, sternly this time, "and that begging for her help is no use? We've got what we already need, why do you still need her? You miss her?"

"Teresa will reach out to Luca Changretta."

"For what? A fuck while he isn't looking?"

"I've dug deeper, Pol. He's scavenging for things to claim in all of Britain. If he'll start with Alfie Solomon's business, that means he's not shy to come after Teresa's. The Penarth art gallery will be signed under the Changretta name so she will try to withdraw the unjust negotiation, which will give us more time to reach out to Michael's updates before Bonnie and Goliath will face each other in the ring." Tommy slammed his diary, brushing off his wonder on how Polly was able to gain access to it in the first place when it's usually Lizzie who technically is only allowed to touch it.

Polly stared at him with a hint of dread.

"What is it?"

Frustrating as it is, Polly really didn't have the answer to pinpoint. "I read her tea leaves before she walked out on us. It said she'll lose what she loves the most."

"What or who?"

"I couldn't tell. But I imagine it being her new chapter. But now it makes much more sense. She'll lose the gallery, perhaps."

Tommy leans forward to look up closer to Aunt Polly. "So like I said, give it a few hours. I know she will come back. I doubt she keeps a handgun in her glove compartment anymore. I'll ensure her safety and keep the gallery up under her name. She needs us just as much as we need her."

Polly let out a small sigh, collecting the heavy-weighted diary to carry out with her through the same way she came in. Let's hope...

Returning to Penarth was a relief. Teresa was far away from the next person who could get on her last nerve, unless one of the tour guides or management decides to point out a small circumstance to the owner, but the Welsh woman found comfort and bliss when she looks up at a painting made by an iconic artist that speaks through their canvas.

"We should really put up more exit signs, Miss," one of the tour guides said to Teresa as they walked down the halls together. "some of the guests have been getting lost with the new corridors. And they were wondering about the empty room upstairs?"

"I've spoken to people from Nice. They loved what we did with the exhibition and they want to place up more paintings, so I saved some extra room."

"On... the second floor?"

"Why not?" Teresa shrugs. "We've set up enough for the main floor, second floor should be okay as well." And she walked down the opposite direction, hoping the tour guide wasn't gonna follow her and object the display plans.

"Miss Griffith," an exhausted employee rushes over to her, clearly out of breath from searching around the entire building for one woman. "Your office is being blown up with phone calls from Birmingham."

Teresa frowns. Did Mr. Shelby not take the hint already?

"Shall I leave a message?"

"Just ignore it. Probably someone looking to pest. We've no time for that," Teresa let out a sigh, continuing down the way she meant to go through, passing a couple of guests who read each art piece like a picture book. She had to frown again. The least she could do was answer one phone call from the man, say the word and he'd leave her be. Ignoring him would push him towards her even more.

Teresa rested her walking by standing in front of the painting. The painting, to emphasize—the one Luca pointed out to her when they first met. She hadn't looked at it in so long. Every time she passed that wall, she just had to avoid making eye contact. How ridiculous it is to look away from art, which is the opposite of the common reaction. But it was a painting only Teresa felt like a curse. Teresa doubted Luca even cared about what the painting was, since his excuse to reel her attention was to poke fun about what she loved. If only she could gain that much luck of approval to remove the piece off of that wall with her bare hands. Disrespectful and unprofessional, yes. But if she had the chance to, she would do it.

Now his voice spoke just as loud as the form of the oil painting. You were just another woman.

Teresa shook her head. It was indeed an awkward encounter, and if she had to describe it; maybe it was a heartbreak about another.

It doesn't matter anymore. Luca is here on business, to kill the man whose phone calls you're ignoring, but that is okay. You're not a Peaky Blinder. It's time to turn around and move on...

She did turn around actually, just to be greeted with another familiar face.

"Finn?"

SHE had to chuckle in disbelief. Seeing Finn holding a cigarette in his hand so casually just proves that he was no stranger to the addicting habit. He was the youngest of the family and Teresa used to chase him around the streets in a game of tag. He was much shorter than she was, voice higher, and after watching them, he mimicked the little things his older brothers did, even though it was dangerous for a young boy like him to fully understand.

"Do they know that you're here?" Teresa took a puff out of hers.

"Arthur sent me," Finn replied.

Teresa rolls her eyes. "Right," she mutters under her breath. She kicked a few rocks on the large paved steps that laid out as the entrance of her gallery. "Don't tell me. You're here to scold me for ignoring Tommy. It's not like I don't get migraines from my telephone ringing so fucking much."

"Why are you avoiding him, Teresa? Even when you were at the Garrison, agreeing to let Tommy fill you in on what needs to be done. He would of thought you got shot, otherwise."

"I went to Camden and then came back here."

"Without giving him a final decision?"

"He should get the hint by now. Is that bastard so desperate for a decoy? I doubt the Italians would fall for another trap." That was another thing she was informed about. Polly and Tommy's plan was a semi-success, however Luca Changretta is still alive, and his blood must be boiling because of how much time he had wasted sparing Michael's life when he had the chance to shoot him in cold blood.

"Luca Changretta will come after Alfie Solomons' business, as he will yours," Finn says. "He will come here and make you hand it over to his family or he will kill you. Whether he does that before or after killing us all, it will happen sooner or later."

Typical Luca. If he really thought she was just another woman, he would definitely threaten her over her business. "Did Tommy tell you to say all of that?" she chuckled.

Finn shrugs. "Maybe. But it's good that you know now. So, that gives you a valid reason to help?"

Teresa grinned. "The last time I saw you, you wore tiny suspenders, even your shoes were tiny. I could of lifted you like a doll from a toy store. Look at yourself, Finn."

"I can't, that's physically impossible."

"Finn, all grown up!" Teresa teases, using her hand to pinch together his rosy cheeks.

Finn groans in annoyance, rubbing his cheek to sooth the stinging pain after shoving her hand off him. "Fuck's sake, Teresa! We need you! You were big help when you were last with us, and you can still be the big help. Seriously, you're all our last bet."

"Tell Tommy I need more time to think about it."

"Teresa, there isn't any more time. We're out of it. We need a solid answer now."

"You guys did fine without me. Am I still being used a distraction? What if Tommy wants me as a mole?"

"He won't. That's not something we do often, most of the time it doesn't end up working out."

"Finn..." Teresa shook her head, taking him seriously this time. "I can't help kill Luca Changretta. I thought about it but I promised to never get involved with the Peaky Blinders, or anything that would paint me as a criminal. If things didn't happen the way it did, I would of said yes without a second thought."

Finn furrowed his brow. "What are you talking about?"

She let out a soft sigh, hoping the pain would burn out like the end of her cigarette. "Because I knew Luca. He and I were once lovers."

+ basically,,,,, teresa wants to help but at the same time she doesn't want to help lmfaoo.

[dearyams]

december 16, 1985

Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?

— It’s A Wonderful Life, 1946

[ day 1: love, actually, is all around ]

Today is Monday. Winter break has started but Mondays are still Mondays whether vacationing or not. Snowball or whatever high schoolers called it—basically the winter formal for ‘85—was the night before, the first winter dance for high school freshmen, and Mike didn’t attend. He didn’t see a reason to even though Lucas, Max, and Nancy kept trying to convince him otherwise. Even Dustin got on the floor and danced to a few tunes according to Lucas’ overly excited report on the night’s activities. It almost makes Mike wish he dropped by, but he couldn’t stomach hanging about in the corner watching everyone dancing and hugging and kissing when his heart drove away stuffed inside a packed box of Byers’ belongings in the back of a U-haul two and a half months ago.

Maybe Mike would have gone if he called up El and asked how she felt, even though they hadn’t talked in at least two weeks. Ever since the Wheelers visited for Thanksgiving, things between Mike and El have been a tad...awkward. He couldn’t tell who made their every interaction more tense than a trip wire but he knew he couldn’t absolve himself of all blame. He’d take accountability for his actions if he knew what he did that made El decide a break would be best for their friendship. For the first few days after Thanksgiving, Mike and El still talked but December came around and finals kicked Mike’s ass and calling El slowly fell off the list of most important tasks on the day.

Will still called though. Mike never hesitated to pick up the phone and send him a hello when he did. They still had a lot in common and Mike found it silly that he ever thought moving away would suddenly mean they can’t be friends anymore, but it seemed like a valid concern at the time. It was difficult coming to terms with distance as a barrier blocking him from the tactile friendship he grew up fostering, nurturing, and protecting for longer than he could remember. Mike quickly found he missed the way Will’s breath hitched on certain words, little notches in consonants that were swallowed by the static found in a phone call. He also missed that he couldn’t see Will’s face when they talked. He forgot how often he watched the other boy’s face to read his expressions and words far more than he would listen to his actual words. Not that he didn’t listen but...Will’s face said a lot in the glow of his eyes and the small upwards tilt of his lips.

And maybe Mike didn’t attend Snowball ‘85 because he tried to call the Byers residence Saturday night and no one answered. And maybe his imagination had him thinking that El and Will were out at a dance for their new school, having fun with strangers and mingling with people Mike only knew the names of from Will and El’s stories about their new school. And maybe, Mike just wanted an easy excuse for staying home alone as the rest of his family went out, so he could hide behind scribbles in his writing journal, painting phrases meant to echo the sound of his beating heart, hollow in his chest as winter chilled his mind.

So, it’s Monday. It’s cold, damp, and snowy, and the scarf Mike’s mom draped over his shoulders and the lower half of his face filters stingingly cold snowflakes from drifting up his pink flushed nose. He’s been sent out to grab eggnog from the shop downtown, the one Joyce used to work at in fact. Mike would have protested but his mom and Nancy agreed that since he stayed home all day yesterday, it was only fair he went outside himself for a short spell.

The bike ride is easy. His fingers are stiff on the handle bars despite the thick gloves protecting his fingers from the worst of the cold. The ice on the roads was cleared off early in the morning so he doesn’t skid very often making his way down the asphalt streets. Snow continues to swirl around him in a dainty breeze, peppering white specks in what hair peaks out from under his wool hat, making his hair look washed with bits of white as if he’s older than 15, which he only just turned a month ago either way. Mike’s mind wanders to his birthday party, the first one without Will since he turned 6, and he angrily grits his teeth and pedals faster. Various other snowflakes melt on his red freckled cheeks and sparkle on his lashes. Mike hums lightly and turn around a corner until he skids to a gentle stop at his destination. He hops off his bike, booted feet crunching against a thick pile of snow, and parks it before making his way inside the building.

Mike pulls his damp scarf from around his nose and mouth with a rough exhale. He snatches off his hat, shaking it off as he walks inside, and takes a hand to his hair in a messy attempt to make it look more orderly than before. Stuffing the hat in the wide pockets of his puffy snow jacket, Mike traipses toward the refrigerated isle. He keeps humming as he did on his bike ride, grabbing two cartons of eggnog and snatching a red and green container filled with candy canes he passes on his way through the nearby candy isle. The candy canes made him think of Will, who was always so eager to start eating the peppermint flavored treats once December came around. A tiny smile slips onto his lips as he stares at the goods in hand, remembering drinking eggnog in large mugs, chewing on candy canes and making eggnog mustaches that they would tease each other about as they imitated Hopper and his brutish tone.

“Is that all for you, Wheeler?”

Mike blinks out of his memories. “Oh? Yeah. Just picking up some eggnog for my mom.” He places the items on the counter and scrounges his pants for pocket change. “She’s been really on top of making sure we have everything for Christmas even though we’re still a bit over a week out. Just on Friday we went out shopping for a lot more food than I think any of us could eat. I don’t even know why we need more eggnog.”

“It’s never too early to prepare yourself,” the cashier takes Mike’s money and stores it in the register. “She could be preparing a surprise for all you know.”

“A surprise?” He takes the plastic bag passed along with a snort. “Yeah, my mom doesn’t really do surprises. Outside of presents but everyone knows those are meant to surprises.”

He gets a hum in response. “Well, enjoy your surplus of eggnog, Michael. Take care of yourself out there. The snow is coming down harder.”

Mike looks out the storefront window and sighs. “I’ll be fine. It’s not like I’m biking through a blizzard.”

“You’re welcome to stay inside for a few and wait for the snow to calm down.” A soft smile dons the other’s face. “I can call your mom and let her know about your delay.”

“Oh,” Mike stares at his goods. “I don’t want the eggnog to get warm.”

“No worries; you can put it back in the ‘frigerator and I’ll be sure to remind you to pick it back up.” Mike nods slowly. “Let me call your mother now.”

He nods again, brow wrinkling as he puts the eggnog back. His hands only hold a plastic bag filled with candy canes. Mike pulls out the container and rips off the plastic to take out one of the cane-shaped candies. He walks back to the counter, hearing but not listening to the last dregs of the shopkeeper’s conversation with his mom, and starts to chew on a candy cane. He remembers when Joyce used to man the store and how she would let him and the boys jump up and sit on the counters during rainy days when she didn’t want any of them walking outside getting soaking wet. Sometimes Mike’s mom would stop by and say hello, chat with Joyce for much longer than she needed to if just to let Mike have a few more minutes with his friends before he was carted back home.

The memories are washed with the sweet yet strong blanketed taste of peppermint that fills his mouth thanks to the candy cane. Mike sighs and pulls the candy from his mouth, smiling to himself as he already sees he’s started to suck a sharp point from the tip. Dustin and Lucas loved to sword fight with the pointy end, which Mike found pretty gross since it was all covered in their spit but it was still fun in that typical boyish kind of way. He bites the pointy tip off and turned to look outside just in time for a bundle of cloth to barge its way through the doors as the snowstorm outside indeed gets stronger.

Mike belated wonders why he didn’t bother to check the weather, and then grows confused about why his mom sent him outside knowing the upcoming weather—she’s always on top of things like that so her kids don’t get sick. He turns to the intruder who’s interrupted his trip down snowy memory lane, and then unintentionally drops his candy canes once the figure uncovers enough of his bundled face. The candies break on impact but it’s a distant noise to the rush of blood pounding through Mike’s heart. All Mike would have to see is his hair, let alone his eyes—those always familiarly homey green-hazel eyes—to know exactly who stands before him.

“Will?”

The mentioned boy turns on his heel and then drops the scarf he had been untying from around his neck. “Oh my god, Mike!”

Mike can’t move; his feet seem frozen in place as if he’d been standing outside for three hours straight. Will makes his way forth, hat in hand and—oh, a haircut. Mike’s throat dries up but he manages to move his arms for a hug. Will’s warmth shatters the ice around Mike’s legs and he practically crumples into the shorter boy’s arms. He burrows his face in Will’s hair with a crooked smile. “What’re you doing in Hawkins?”

“Mom said we could come by and visit since you came up to see us last month.” Will pulls away with a wide grin that makes Mike’s heart climb up his throat. “I didn’t expect to see you here, though! What a coincidence.”

Mike looks over at the store clerk who is washing off the counter and acting as if she can’t hear their conversation. “Yeah, coincidence.” He turns back to his friend and places his hands on his shoulders. “You’ve grown even more already.”

Will shrugs. “Guess it’s my time to grow a foot in a year, huh?”

“Try me,” laughs Mike, squeezing Will’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “It’s great to see you, honestly. You left a big hole for us to try to fill.”

“Did you really try to fill it?”

Mike shakes his head. “Nah, not really. It’s a Will Byers shaped hole anyway. No one else could have it even if they tried.”

The warm smile that curls on Will’s lips sends Mike halfway into a hysterical conniption. How can he miss one person this much? How is his entire life so affected by the presence—or lack thereof—of one person? How did Hawkins as a whole feel so bleak without this boy? Mike didn’t think he grew this attached, but looking back on things, of course he did. Of course it was so obvious; now, if he can get a handle on how attached he is...

“I think you dropped your candy canes.” Will bends down to pick up the pieces and Mike, startled by the sudden action, ducks down to help as well. They both reach for the same piece, Mike’s warm fingers brushing against Will’s chilled ones, and their eyes immediately lock. Pink blossoms against Will’s soft cheeks and Mike is sure the same can be said for him.

“Sorry,” he whispers, snatching his hand away but Will reaches out. His hand is shaking, whether with the cold or the emotions racing his chest, Mike can’t tell but it’s a comfort either way. He stares at their hands, the slight tan of Will’s against the lighter pale tone of his own, pink at the knuckles and tips of his fingers. Mike has always been prone to easily flushed skin thanks to how pale he is, and while it was a bother when he was younger, right now at least, he likes seeing the difference between himself and Will, even if it’s not a startling difference.

Will’s thumb brushes against the back of Mike’s hand. “I’ve missed you a lot. You haven’t called recently.”

“I called on Saturday,” he blurts out, “but you didn’t answer.”

“Oh.” Will squeezes Mike’s hand and he looks up to see the other boy smiling as he watches their fingers. “We were on our way driving to Hawkins.”

“We?”

“Yeah, me, Mom, Jonathan, and El.” He looks up at El and Mike cringes slightly. Will’s hand stills. “Uh, I can go get her if you want to say hello?”

“No! No, this is...you’re fine.” Mike scrambles to gather his splintered candy canes and shoves them in the grocery bag as he stands. Will stands as well. “Don’t worry about that. We’re not...I mean we’re still friends but...”

“Yeah, I know.” Will stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks on the heels of his feet. He’s not slouching as much anymore and that brings a soft smile to Mike’s lips. “I just thought you might want to catch up with her.”

“Later. Later for sure but right now just,” Mike looks back outside and see the storm has gotten worse. He thinks back to the conversation with the clerk about surprises and ducks his head as he smiles. “This is fine, just you and me. I’m glad you’re here.”

He feels something brush his hand and turns his gaze to Will’s fingers dancing against his hand. He turns his palm up and blushes when Will goes for the plunge and holds Mike’s hand in his own, their fingers slotting together with the ease of matching puzzle pieces. Mike looks up but Will isn’t facing him, though he doesn’t need to see Will’s face to know he’s happily blushing, too.

[music-es-vida]

SOULMATE AU - LUCAS/DOYOUNG

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Seven Years Ago…

It was the first week of middle school for you, and you had just changed school districts, so you had no friends. There was this one kid, though- Lucas, who helped you find your way around the school. He was at an advantage because he had an older sister that showed him where everything in the school was, weeks before- on back to school night.

You thought he was the cutest boy ever, and just the fact that he was so helpful made you develop a crush on him, so obviously- you told him that.

Little did he know, you’d end up becoming his best friend.

…

When recess came along, you ate and then followed Lucas outside. Compared to elementary school, recess was pretty dry. 

There was only a basketball court and hopscotch marks on the ground. Everyone else was just walking around with their friends, so you decided you wanted to walk around with Lucas.

When you found him, he was busy though.

“Hey,” “Hey, Y/n.. I’m kind of in the middle of-- playing a basketball game right now,” Lucas tried explaining to you as he passed the ball to someone else.

“I know, sorry- I just wanted to thank you for how helpful you’ve been to me all week. I really appreciate that,” “Oh yeah, no problem. You looked lost, so I had to help you,” he laughs a bit, not taking his eyes off the basketball.

“..I like you.”

Lucas freezes when he hears that, and turns to face you with wide-eyes.

“You what-?” He asked, right before getting hit square in the face with the basketball.

..He had to go to the nurse’ office after that.

…

You felt like it was your fault he’d gotten hit in the face- because you’d distracted him, but at least he didn’t reject you (which he would eventually do the next time you told him).

As you were walking through the hallways after being denied entry into the nurse’ office, you turned a corner and bumped into this kid who was reading a book.

After regaining your composure, you scowled at him, saying, “Watch where you’re going, bookworm!” You recognized him from your homeroom- he was always reading some book. 

To your surprise, he scowls back at you and blows a raspberry in your face. “Ew- Doyoung, you’re so gross!” You complained, running off to the bathroom to go wipe your face off. 

Doyoung rolled his eyes and went back to reading his book.

…

Finally, after what seemed like forever, classes ended. 

For some reason, the days at school just seemed longer now.

Since you lived right down the street from the school, your mom picked you up everyday instead of having you take the bus. 

As you were walking out of the building, Bruce, who had just happened to come across this same school to enroll Isabella in, was walking up, but quickly hid himself and his daughter around the corner of the building as soon as he saw you. “Y/n goes here?” He panics to himself, watching as you walked through the sea of students to get to your mom’s car. “Sandra…” He muttered to himself. Part of him wanted to go over there and speak to her before she drove off, but he knew he couldn’t.

“Daddy? Why are we hiding?” Isabella asks, wondering why her dad was holding her against the wall like some monster was on the other side. “Oh, um.. No reason.” He answers, letting go of her. “You’re acting weird..” “ I know, I just... I just saw somebody I used to know,” he says with a distant look in his eyes.

“Come on Bella, let’s go back to the car. I changed my mind on this school. We’ll find a better one,” Bruce says, and she stares at him in confusion for a moment, but then shrugs before following him back into the parking lot. 

Bruce figured since he was making more money now- sending Isabella to a private school wouldn’t be such a big deal. They could afford it, so why not? 

Anything to avoid an encounter with his past...

…

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Isabella crossed her arms. She was sitting next to her mom on the other couch, across the room from her dad and you.

She had no idea what any of this was about- neither did her brother, Will, who was standing in the corner with Yangyang, Melody’s other son.

“I don’t even know where to start..” Bruce trailed off. “How about with what happened before we got together,” Melody suggests, and he nods.

You still hadn’t looked up from the ground. It was like you were there in the room, but your mind was somewhere else.

“Was I a mistake?”

“Okay, so.. kids— I know I should’ve told you both this long before we got to this point, but.. I wasn’t always with your mother,” Bruce says nervously, obviously to Will and Isabella. 

“What?” They both say simultaneously, and Yangyang already knows where this is going since he’d already experienced this himself.

“But daddy, you said you and mom were high school sweethearts, and then also turned out to be soulmates,” Isabella says in confusion. “Seems like everyone’s heard a different version of this story,” you realize, bitterly.

“Yes, that is true- but I left out that me and your mother weren’t always soulmates..” Bruce says carefully, but it confuses Isabella even more.

Bruce pulls out his phone to show them the same picture he’d shown you that day at the car dealership. 

“This is Sandra, Y/n’s mom… my first soulmate—” 

“Your what?!” “Did you two get married?” The 5-year old asks, noticing the outfits. “Yes we did, Will.. you see our soulmarks?” “Red roses! But yours is pink now..” Will says, making the connection before Isabella did. She was still hung up on the fact that her father hadn’t always been with her mom. She was hurt that he never told them about this important part of his life- even if he did consider it his past.

Melody was silent, but looked at the picture as well. It was making her think back to her ex-husband, and how they used to have matching soulmarks too. 

“Daddy, what happened? How did you end up with mom then?” Isabella asks, looking shocked and hurt. “Well, I had been dating your mom when soulmarks came in, but ours didn’t match, so we broke up..”

Bruce continued talking, but you just drowned his voice out since you’d already heard this part. 

The part you were waiting for him to get to was the one where he explained how you and Isabella were basically the same age. You knew it involved cheating, but needed to hear him confirm it. “Mom probably doesn’t even know.”

“And Sandra and I ended up getting married..”

…

Two years after Bruce and Sandra got married, he got a call from Melody- to his surprise. He hadn’t spoken to her since they parted ways, all those years ago.

Melody told him that her soulmark changed. 

She wasn’t certain of it, but she just had a feeling that Bruce’ had changed too. She knew they were meant to be together from the beginning. As soon as Melody told him, he got up and walked out of the apartment to continue the call. He didn’t want Sandra to overhear anything. Afterall, he’d been hiding his own changed soulmark from her for weeks.

After he told Melody his changed too, she started crying tears of joy, but also of sadness. She didn’t want to leave her family. She already had a young son.

They ended up talking about this for a while, and soon it had gotten late. 

Melody suggested they see each other in person to make sure they really matched, and Bruce agreed to it, telling Sandra he was just going to a last minute work conference, and she foolishly believed him.

…

Bruce made a mistake that night.

Maybe it was because they were emotional after seeing each other for the first time in years, - maybe it was because they had one too many drinks. 

Maybe it was because their soulmarks matched now, and they thought it would be okay. 

They both made a selfish decision without thinking about anybody else but themselves.

Bruce didn’t go home that night.

…

The next morning, when he returned, he was welcomed home by a smiling, yet teary-eyed Sandra, who was holding up a pregnancy test. 

As soon as Bruce realized what was going on, he became teary-eyed as well, but not for the same reason. He regretted cheating with Melody. He knew it was a mistake, but couldn’t gather up the courage to tell Sandra what happened. 

Instead he just decided to act like it never happened. He tried cutting Melody off, not replying back to any of her texts, just trying to focus on his family- Sandra, and the baby. He didn’t want Melody to think he hated her, but he just didn’t know how else to handle the situation. She eventually gave up and stopped trying to contact him.

…

About a month later, he got another call from Melody- which he ignored, but she was persistent and kept calling him, so he eventually answered.

“What do you want? I told you to stop contacting me- what we did was a mistake! Who cares if the soulmarks changed? We already chose who we’d be with--”

“Bruce, i’m pregnant… It’s yours.” Was all she said, and he dropped to his knees.

Of course this would happen to him. He had to pay for his mistakes.

…

Instead of telling Sandra the full truth, he decided to use the ‘soulmarks changing’ thing as an excuse to leave her. Bruce knew that if Sandra found out the whole story, she'd be so hurt- maybe even sick.. He didn’t want anything to happen to the baby, so he just told her half of the story, finally revealing his changed soulmark to her.

She was in complete shock when she found out. She’d never heard of something like this happening before. 

They ended up fighting about it, which led to her kicking Bruce out.

She didn’t really expect him to leave, but she just felt betrayed. He didn’t want to leave either, but knew he had to- if he was going to keep this ‘changing soulmark’ charade up. It was just easier for him to leave her, than to admit to being unfaithful.

…

After he left, Sandra went into a depression.

She hadn’t seen Bruce again until the day you were born— which was the last time she’d see him for years. She told him she didn’t want him around her baby— again, not expecting him to actually leave. She was just saying things because she was hurt.

...

Thankfully, you brought the light back to her life, and she was eventually able to get through the hardships of being a single-mother.

...

After hearing the whole story, you ran out the front door. You couldn’t take anymore of this.

The tears were blurring your vision, and you tripped over your own feet, landing on your knees in the grass. You couldn’t even pick yourself back up, you felt so weak.

“Y/n..” A voice you didn’t recognize said, above you.

It was Yangyang.

He’d told everyone else to stay inside while he talked to you. He explained that he was the only one that truly knew how you felt- but even he couldn’t completely relate- since his mother never abandoned him.

Yangyang knelt down beside you, just patting you on the back softly as you sobbed.

Eventually you looked up at him. 

He looked nothing like Melody.

“..Why do I feel like I was a mistake that shouldn’t have happened? Like the soulmarks... What if my dad and Melody were meant to be together all along, and he should’ve never been with my mom?” You ask him. Your lips trembled as you spoke with a shaky voice. Yangyang just shook his head. 

He’d had those same thoughts once too, but his parents assured him that he definitely was not a mistake.

Melody was with Bruce now, but she made sure Yangyang knew that she loved his father once, and that she didn’t regret a thing. She didn’t regret having him for a son. It was what he needed to hear— and it was what you needed to hear now, as well.

“Soulmarks don’t make mistakes. Maybe at some point, your mom and Bruce really were meant to be together. And then they had you. Maybe that was the reason they were soulmates.. So you could be brought into this world,” he tells you.

“But i’m not even that special,” “Don’t say that.. I thought the same thing- but my dad told me I was the one who pulled him out of his depression after mom left him. I’m sure you had the same effect on your mother.” He says, and you nod, sniffling a bit.

“Maybe he’s right..”

…

Meanwhile, inside the house, Isabella had run up to her room and slammed the door. Her whole life had been a lie. She thought her parents were the best people in the world, only to find out they’d caused so much trouble. 

Isabella already had a strained relationship with her mom before— for what she did to Yangyang and her ex, (After hearing it from her half-brother’s point of view, she began to despise her mom for what she did) but they had recently worked it out, and were starting to get along again. That’s why she considered herself a ‘daddy’s girl’— in her eyes, he never did anything wrong— never messed up. But now, she knew the truth.

She actually felt bad for you. For what happened to you and your mom— getting abandoned like that. “I was a mistake..” she says to herself, plopping down onto her bed. 

Her thoughts echoed your own.

She thought she was the mistake, since her parents cheated on their original soulmates. 

“What if the soulmarks were never supposed to change?”

She realized that her parents' marks changing had ruined two families.

It wasn’t fair.

…

Eventually you got up and left to go home.

You were still sad, but thanks to Yangyang, you felt a little less broken now.

“So, how’d it go?” Your mom asks, with a hopeful tone in her voice once you got back home.

As soon as she asked that, you broke down into tears again. You didn’t know how you were gonna tell her about your dad's whole other family— about how she was cheated on and never knew about it. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t tell her…”

“I probably should because what if she finds out herself, someday, and is angry with me for not telling her..”

“Honey, what’s wrong?” She asks you, looking concerned.

“You were right.. I shouldn’t have trusted him,” you said through your tears. A somber, but knowing look came across her face. She wanted to say ‘i told you so,’ but refrained because she was worried about what happened. 

A part of her really wanted this thing to work out. She was sorry that you’d never had a real relationship with your dad, but she just didn’t trust him.

…

After you told her everything, she could feel her blood boiling. Her anger towards Bruce grew- but not even because he cheated and lied about it, but because he’d hurt you so much. “I don’t want you going back to see that man ever again, you hear me, Y/n?” She says in a serious tone with a deep scowl on her face.

You were both cuddled up on the couch, and you looked up at her and nodded.

“You know.. he said he did want me to meet my little brother and sister eventually, but that he wanted to ease into that instead of just telling me upfront.” “Bull.” “I know.. But it’s crazy because he even lied to them— they didn’t even know I existed.” “I’m not even surprised. Once a compulsive liar, always a compulsive liar. He can’t own up to his mistakes unless he’s forced to,” your mom rolls her eyes.

You sighed, getting up for a glass of water.

“Are you okay?” “..I don’t know if I ever will be, mom,” you shrug with a bitter smile. “My own sister is my best friend’s soulmate, and not me,” you said bitterly. It felt weird, saying that you had a sister. “Why?! Why does she get Lucas— and dad? It’s not fair,” you yelled all of a sudden, wondering if you were only brought into this world to suffer, but then Yangyang’s words returned to your memory. 

“Soulmarks don’t make mistakes.”

...

After all this drama, you’d forgotten about the party tonight.

Both you and Isabella didn’t even feel like going anymore, but when you’d gotten a text from Aisha saying, “y/n, the party started an hour ago! are you still coming?” you’d decided, “Why not? I need to get my mind off of things anyway..”

Eventually you’d realize this was a mistake, and that you should’ve just stayed home.

[gray-autumn-sky]

Happiness Can’t Be Arranged, Chapter 30

Regina’s still giggling as she makes her way out of the back room and already she can hear Ruby’s sewing machine whirring. Her cheeks are warm with embarrassment and she’s tingly with excitement. She’s never been one to shy away from imprudent behaviors; in fact, most people who’d known her long enough would say she gravitated toward them. More times than not, she acted on feeling, doing what felt right in the moment, consequences be damned. But even then, she kept it to herself, involving only those who were absolutely necessary. In front of others, she was proper and dignified.

So, asking Ruby’s assistance in seducing her husband was a bit out of her comfort zone, but not so far removed that she couldn’t bring herself to do it or be excited about the result.

The lace she’d selected for the robe had a pretty pattern of fleur de lis and she picked a red satin ribbon to trim the edges. Ruby sketched out a design with bishop sleeves and suggested using the red ribbon as cuffs, but she’d held her breath and shook her head, explaining she wanted the sleeves to be less confining. Ruby blinked, and for a moment just stared at her as understanding set in, and as her cheeks turned pink, Regina bit down on her bottom lip and looked away as Ruby stammer through an awkward so trumpet sleeves would be better, then.

When the sketch was complete, Ruby took her measurements to ensure the robe would fit more snugly than her dresses, and she could barely look at her when she told her she’d had to measure her bust… without barriers. Slowly, Ruby helped her out of her dress, then locked the door as Regina stepped up onto the stool before the mirror. Her hands trembled as Ruby measured, barely making eye-contact as she did so—and then every now and then, one of them would erupt in giggles and set the other off.

In the end, though, she was happy with the decisions they made. The lace would pool around her feet with a chapel-style train. The robe would be snug around her shoulders and breasts, then taper away from her body, in almost shapeless form once it reached her hips. The mid-section was a bit more fitted and the ribbon would be sewn along the edge with another going the opposite way to create a sash to close up the robe, if she chose to—a feature she had no intentions of using, at least not for their assumed purpose.

But of course, she couldn’t actually bring herself to admit that particular detail.

Ruby helped her back into her dress, fastening up the back as she explained that once the lace was cut, it wouldn’t take long to make—after all, she was simply trimming fabric and sewing in darts. She held her breath as Ruby told her she could probably have it to her that very evening—and that set her heart aflutter.

She offered a sincere thanks as her cheeks flushed. Ruby just smiled and nodded and thanked her for delivering Belle’s letters. Then, as she made her way out of the backroom, she grinned as Ruby tore open the first letter, losing herself in Belle’s note and no longer thinking about their awkward exchange.

Now, she stands at the back of the shop, watching as Robin leans against the counter and chats with Granny Lucas.

For a moment, all she can do is stand there and watch.

He’s smiling in that charming way that often makes her blush—fidgeting with a bobbin as he talks about her nimble fingers and incredible talent—and she giggles softly to herself at the realization that he’s flirting.

Robin says something that can’t quite make out, but it elicits a hearty laugh from Granny, and again, a giggle bubbles up from her chest as Granny swats at his arm, obviously enjoying whatever he’s said.

She catches Robin’s gaze and he offers her a quick wink before looking back to Granny and whispering something low.

“You’re a lucky one, you know that?” Granny calls as she crosses the room toward them. “You got a good egg for yourself.”

“I know it,” Regina says as she reaches them. A grin draws onto her lips as Robin links his arm through hers. “I think I’ll keep him.”

Robin offers a laugh as he murmurs a Thanks, and Granny nods, her eyes still fixed on Robin.

“I don’t usually like it when my customers bring in their husbands,” Granny says, slowly looking from Robin to Regina. “There aren’t many places around here that are a woman’s place, and I like this to be one.”

“Of course—”

“Most of the time men come in here nosing around and—” Granny’s voice halts and she laughs. “Well, that doesn’t much matter. The point is, I like when you come in.” Regina grins as Robin beams. “There’s not many men who flatter me.”

Robin’s brow arches. “Well, I can’t imagine why.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s something to do with the gray hair and wrinkly skin, not to mention the calloused fingers.” Granny laughs again and shakes her head. “I appreciate you being so willing to humor an old woman. It’s been a long time since anyone’s even bothered.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” he says, quickly offering Regina a wink before looking wide-eyed at Granny. “Highly doubt that.”

“I’ve been a widow longer than I’ve been anything else. So, yes, it’s been awhile.”

“Did you never want to marry again?” Regina asks with a genuine curiosity.

“No,” Granny admits. “Never.” She shrugs and looks between them. “I like my independence, and as much as I hate to say it, the only way for a woman like me to be independent is to be a widow.” Her smile fades as her eyes shift to focus on Regina. “Being a young widow is hard and I say my independence is my reward for enduring it.” Regina’s brow furrows as a grin twists onto her lips. “As much as your reward is a second, good marriage.”

“I am quite the reward,” Robin teases as he nudges her.

Regina laughs softly as she bites down her lip, her eyes turning to Robin as she considers how true Granny’s words are. She is lucky and she doesn't consider that enough. “He’s alright, I suppose.”

Robin leans in and presses a soft kiss to her cheek, and again, her cheeks warm at the public affection. Granny just smiles, not giving her any reason to pull away, so she leans into it a little, enjoying the sweetness.

“Did you pick out something stunning?”

“I… I think so.”

“I’d ask if I’ll like it, but I always think you look beautiful. You could wear a sack and I’d think it was gorgeous on you.”

Her cheeks flush deeper. “I think you’ll like it.”

Granny just shakes her head and grins. They say their goodbyes as she continues winding thread around bobbins, and as they make their way out of the shop, Regina explains that she’s been thinking of commissioning Ruby to update the boys’ wardrobes. Robin agrees that it’s needed—Henry’s breeches are looking a bit snug at the knees and Roland’s been tugging at his sleeves—and she decides that once they’re back at Sherwood, she’ll write.

Robin is quick to point out that they could easily go back, but Regina disagrees, wanting to write as an excuse to send Belle to Ruby. As they round the corner he murmurs something about her being a hopeless romantic and she rolls her eyes.

It’s lighthearted and easy, and she doesn't want it to end, so she asks if he’s hungry and suggests they have luncheon in town. Robin agrees easily, also not ready to return to Sherwood, and together, they turn in the direction of their favorite pub.

“I almost forgot to ask,” she says, looking over at him. “How did your meeting go?”

“Meeting?”

“Yes, you went to a meeting and I went to the dress shop.”

“Ah, right.”

“Are you avoiding—”

“No, no,” he quickly interjects. “I just… wanted to put it out of mind.”

“Didn’t it go well?”

“I… I don’t actually know,” he admits, looking back at her with an incredulous look. “I have no idea.”

“How can you—”

“Gold was… speaking in riddles,” he sighs. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Did he have anything to say about Zelena?”

Robin shrugs. “Just… that I should count my pennies.”

“Pennies—”

“I assume that’s his way of telling me to look out for my inheritance.”

“Possibly,” she agrees. “Did he say anything else?”

“Nothing that made sense.”

“Oh—”

“I knew I shouldn’t have gone to him and paid for—” Robin stops and sighs. “It’s all been a waste of time and energy, and only caused me anxiety. I know no more than I did going in.”

Regina’s brow furrows. “Did he… riddle anything else?”

“Nothing coherent.”

“Was he drunk?”

“Perhaps.”

“Oh, well… maybe…”

“He kept singing sins of the mother over and over.”

“What?” Regina’s face scrunches. “Zelena’s mother?”

“I don’t know.”

“She’s dead.” Robin only shrugs. “And Zelena has no children.”

“I know. I told you none of it made sense.”

“That’s all he said? That and to count your pennies?”

“And something about finding strange bedfellows.”

“Well, that one makes sense,” Regina says, sighing as she thinks of her father-in-law’s sickly sweet relationship. “I wish it didn’t.”

“Yeah—”

“Nothing else?”

“The last thing was something about two sides of a coin and having no preference over either of them. I didn’t catch the exact words, I was too busy trying to figure out what the hell was happening.”

“A penny?” she asks, a grin tugging up at one corner of her mouth. “A two-sided penny?”

Robin’s eyes roll. “Hell if I know.”

“Well, I’m sorry you didn’t get any answers.”

“I am, too,” Robin admits as they wind down the road toward the public house they’ve occasionally frequented when in town. “But at least it’s done and over.”

“It is?”

Robin nods. “I paid for information. He thinks he gave it to me. We’re done.”

“And good riddance.”

“Here, here,” Robin calls out as they approach the pub. “Now, can we please talk about something else? I’m getting a headache.”

“Alright,” she says, easily agreeing as a little laugh bubbles up from her chest. “How about how you were shamelessly flirting with Granny Lucas in front of me.”

“Are you jealous?”

“No,” Regina admits. “It was… sweet.”

“I like her. She’s a good woman.”

“She is.”

“And I do like her.”

“That was clear.”

“I like people who like you.” Regina’s eyes widen as Robin reaches for the door, pulling it open. She doesn't reply; she’s not quite sure what to say, but nonetheless, she smiles. “Come on,” he murmurs. “I’m starved and I can smell the corned beef from here.”

They step inside the familiar, dimly lit pub and she looks around, spotting an open table by the window—and as she looks around, she can’t help but notice the bartender’s clenched jaw. She watches as the man, who normally smiles when they enter, tosses down a rag and rounds the bar, walking briskly toward them.

He looks upset, she notes as her stomach lurches. Upset with her.

Though she can’t quite pinpoint why that is, she’s sure that they’re about to find out.

In a fleeting thought, she tells herself that she’s overreacting, that she’s misreading something. After all, they’ve been here a handful of times and never had there been a problem. They often stopped in for a drink or a quick sandwich, they occasionally brought in the boys for a scoop of ice cream or some raspberry cordial, and never had anyone taken issue with her presence. She thought back to the last time they were there, just before heading north to the Hunting Lodge for the Harvest Ball and nothing had seemed off then. They were easily seated, the boys were given extra sweets, and the very bartender that was marching toward them now looking so sullen and serious had spent the better part of an hour standing at their table chatting with Robin about some ideas for renovations.

Nothing had changed since then, she reasons.

But that wasn’t exactly true.

All of those times—the last included—were before Zelena’s little dinner party, before her dirty laundry was publically aired for everyone and anyone to hear and gossip over. And the look the bartender wears is one she’s seen before. It was the one the housekeeper at Dragon Head wore when she handed in her resignation just after Regina and Henry came back to live there, it was the one the Ladies’ Maid who’d dressed her on her wedding night had worn as she stared at her through the mirror as she hesitated to touch her as though the scandal could somehow be caught, and it was the same as the one Celeste wore whenever she entered a room. It was a look filled with disgust and disdain, and a look she’d earned.

Robin extends his hand, as he always does, but the bartender shakes his head—and her stomach flops.

This isn’t good.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a low voice. “I’m going to have to ask that you leave.”

“Leave?” Robin repeats, his brow furrowing as he looks to Regina, as if he didn’t hear the bartender correctly. “You’ve more than enough free tables—”

“I’m sorry.”

Regina watches as Robin blinks. “I don’t understand.”

“I… can’t seat you.”

Her heart beats a little faster as the bartender’s eyes shift to her as if to explain.

It’s not that he can’t seat Robin; it’s that he won’t seat her.

She understands, but Robin doesn’t.

“Are you refusing me service?” Robin asks, obviously offended and clearly stunned. “Why on earth would you refuse me service? I’ve always paid my tab and—”

“I am sorry, but I… I can’t allow…” Again, his eyes shift to her and again, Robin doesn’t catch it. Regina feels her own eyes sink closed as she wills herself to keep her tears at bay and prays that Robin lets it go, but he doesn’t. “I am sorry.”

“Do you have a reason?” The bartender hesitates and though she can’t see him, she can feel his eyes on her. “Do you—” Robin’s voice halts. “Oh.”

“If you’ll just—”

“You won’t seat me because I’m with my wife.”

“Yes. This isn’t… that kind of establishment.”

“What kind?” Robin counters, anger rising into his voice. “The kind where I own the property that this pub sits on? The kind where my name is carved into the sign out front in a town named after my family home?”

Regina’s eyes open and she draws in a breath. She wishes she could shrink away, that she could disappear.  A few men have turned to look, obviously aware that something is amiss, but she refused to let herself look at them, instead focusing on the floor. “Please don’t make a scene,” she whispers in a voice that’s barely audible—and in a voice Robin doesn't seem to hear.

“You can’t refuse me service. I own this pub.”

She can tell it's difficult for the bartender, and she wonders if he’s gotten complaints the handful of other times she’s eaten there. “Actually,” he says, his voice still low. “Your father does.”

That only makes it worse.

Robin’s face goes red and his jaw clenched tighter, and again she murmurs a quiet let’s just go that he doesn't seem to hear.

But the bartender does, and he looks guilty or maybe just ashamed.

She thinks of all the times she’s been here, long before Robin came into her life and long before the bartender before them worked in it. As a young girl, her father often brought her here for a limeade and biscuits whenever her mother was being particularly rough on her. They’d sit at the bar and he’d have a beer, while she happily sipped her drink and kicked her feet against the stool. They’d talk about horses or whatever her lessons were focusing on at that point, and Dragon Head and Cora’s anger would seem a thousand miles away.

After she’d grown up, she came to realize the pub was her father’s home-away-from-home. It wasn’t uncommon for him to spend an entire evening drinking and playing billiards or even a few days in a room upstairs with a good book. Undoubtedly, a great deal of money had been spent in this pub by her family over the years, and though she was firm in the belief that a person shouldn’t be allowed to pay their way through life, this somehow seemed so unfair.

But then, this was just another consequence of her choices.

It had nothing to do with her father or Robin or Robin’s father. It had everything to do with her.

“Did my father tell you to refuse us?”

Regina draws in a short breath. “Robin, please…”

“No,” the bartender answers, “But I have my principles, just as your father does.”

“Principles,” Robin scoffs. “I’m sure.”

“I can’t have… certain types of people here,” he explains. “I don’t want people talking, and I can’t afford to lose business because my pub is… marred.”

“Marred—”

“Tainted.”

“Because of… my wife?”

The bartender offers a half nod, and again, her eyes sink closed to keep her tears from falling. “Please, Robin,” she says again, this time an octave louder. “Let’s go.” Her eyes flutter open just in time to see Robin look to her, and just in time to see everything about his demeanor change—he feels sorry for her, or pities her, or maybe he’s just embarrassed of her. “Please. Don’t make a scene. Just leave it alone.. We’ll go.”

“Alright,” he murmurs as he takes her hand, giving it a soft squeeze. “But this isn’t over.”

“Robin—”

“Thank you.”

Robin’s eyes narrow as the bartender’s shoulders straighten. “I’m not giving this up for your benefit. Let’s be clear, and I mean it when I say it’s not over.”

“I’m sure you’ll do what you must,” the bartender says, “just as I’ll do what I must.”

Robin’s jaw clenches and Regina’s fingers tighten around his hand, giving it a little tug as she takes a step back, desperately wanting to leave. Her face is hot and her stomach is in knots and the longer she stands there idly, watching the two men staring each other down, the harder she finds that it is to breathe.

“Please, Robin…”

Finally, Robin breaks the bartender’s gaze and nods, looking to her. She takes another step back and he steps back with her and then, as they turn to the door, Robin freezes and she follows his gaze to the bar where Jefferson Hatfield sits, drinking.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Robin glares at the bartender whose shoulders straight as his chin tips up. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Like hell you don’t. I—”

“Can we please just go?’

Robin looks to her, his jaw tight and his eyes filled with anger. Silently, she pleads with him—pleading to go without issue, to not make a scene, to not make this whole situation worse—and he seems to understand her. He offers a little nod and gives her hand a squeeze, and her heart is beating so fast and so loud, she doesn’t quite catch Robin’s last words to the bartender before they leave.

“I’m sorry,” she says in a burst as soon as the door closes. “I’m—”

“You did nothing wrong.”

“Well, that depends on—”

“No,” he says, cutting in as he pulls her toward him. “It depends on nothing. He was wrong.”

For a moment, she lets him hold her, hoping it’ll calm her down. But all she can think of is how much she’s complicated his life—he can’t even go and have a simple drink without causing a stir. Her stomach flops and the tears she’s been holding back come rushing to her eyes.

She pushes away. “I think we should go.”

“There are other—”

“No,” she cuts in, her voice rising over his as she shakes her head. “That was too embarrassing. I can’t do that, not again.”

“Regina, you—”

She bristles, feeling like she might be sick. “Can we please just go back to Sherwood? I’ve already been away from Henry for too long. What if he’s sicker or—”

“Alright,” Robin says, easily agreeing. “We’ll go back.”

She nods as he takes her hand, pulling her into his side as they walk toward their carriage. He rubs her arm and tries to make small talk about the boys, but she can still hear the anger behind his voice and her stomach feels too queasy to respond. So they end up riding back in silence as she stares out at the countryside, hating herself.

_____

Robin sighs as he watches the bedroom door close behind Regina. He falls back against the wall, tipping back his head and wondering how they went from enjoying such a carefree day to… this.

The whole way back from town, Regina didn’t speak. Instead, she stared blankly ahead, refusing to look at him. He could see her flushed cheeks and teary eyes, and he didn’t quite understand it.

Of course, he understands why she’s upset. He’s upset, too. What happened that afternoon at the pub was unnecessary and uncalled for. He hated that she bared the brunt of the guilt for what happened between her and Jefferson and he hated that she was expected to hide away and adjust her life while he was able to keep on living his life as if nothing happened. He’d been over it again and again, and though he wasn’t exactly an unbiased party, he couldn’t see how she was the one to blame.

Yet, every time that one night cropped up, it was thrown in her face, ripping off the bandage and making her wounds new again.

All while this time, Jefferson sat back and sipped his scotch.

But she knew that she didn’t have to be embarrassed, not with him, and she knew that he knew all of her secrets, that he didn’t hold them against her. She didn’t have to clam up or avert his eyes in fear of judgement. She didn’t have to accept the so-called consequences of her sins without complaint. She didn’t have to tolerate it. Though he knew his opinion smacked with the privilege that came with his status—the privilege that came with their status—people in town didn’t have the right to throw her lowest moments in her face, they didn’t have a right to deny her service, and they didn’t have a right.

But she let them.

And, now, he realized, so did he.

By turning around and leaving, he let them use her mistakes against her. He let them think it was acceptable to deny her, to speak about her as they did. He let them think that they had the upper hand.

“You look… like hell,” Mal says as she walks down the long corridor that connects the boys’ rooms to theirs and wipes her hands on the white apron tied around her waist. “You’re not catching the plague, are you?”

“No, it’s… it’s something else,” he tells her. “How’s Henry?”

“Definitely on the mend.”

“And Roland? Still no symptoms?”

“Just boredom.” A grin twists onto Mal’s lips. “Nothing’s fun without Henry.”

In spite of himself, a grin tugs up on his lips. “You’d never know that it wasn’t that long ago when Roland was an only child.”

“How easily he forgets.”

Robin nods. He likes that his son seems to have forgotten that detail of his childhood. “They get on well. Regina and I are lucky.”

“You are,” Mal agrees. “The girls I was last with were always at each other’s throats. They were little hyenas.”

“Hyenas—”

Mal nods. “The littlest one was sweet, but her older sisters were… well, for lack of better description, catty little bitches.”

Robin’s brow arches. “You don’t sugar-coat things, do you?”

“I try not to,” Mal tells him, her shoulders straightening. “There doesn’t seem much of a point in selling a false version of things.” She shrugs. “They were pretty. Their awful personalities hardly mattered in their world.”

“So, they married and—”

“Are the mistresses of their own houses, probably raising their own terrible children.”

Robin laughs at that. He appreciates the candor, especially now. “Weren’t they… practically related to you?”

“Mm, practically, yes. But not quite, and even then, I’ve no reason to make family seem better than they are. There’s little point. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone has flaws, myself included. Why pretend we don’t?”

Robin’s eyes narrow as he stares at Mal, considering her words. Since coming to Sherwood, Mal has been Regina’s ultimate defender. She’s looked out for her and protected her, she’s stood up for her and given her a friend in the house. It hadn’t quite occurred to him that everyone in Mal’s good graces hadn’t been given the same benefit that Regina had, and he wondered why. But he wouldn’t ask; he didn’t care enough to. After all, he liked that his wife had an ally, and that was that.

“That’s… an interesting perspective.”

“And an unpopular one.”

“It shouldn’t be though,” Robin tells her. “That sort of honesty could do the world some good.”

“Perhaps,” Mal shrugs. “But I’ve never cared much about popularity. If I did, I wouldn’t be where I am now.” She pauses and he bristles, wondering if that’s about taking a position at Sherwood. “If I did the popular thing, I’d be married to a pig farmer two towns over.”

Robin blinks a couple of times. “What?”

“I was promised to someone and… I ran away and went to school instead.”

“I thought you had your father’s blessing to pursue a career?”

She grins. “And to run away.”

“Ah—”

“Not that I needed it. I’d have done it anyway.”

Robin grins, thinking again of Regina. She once had that same spark, but unlike Mal, life had too effectively tamped it down and he wondered if it could ever be rekindled. He thought he saw signs of it—here and there, usually when they were away from Sherwood—and he’d seen it earlier that afternoon in Granny’s shop, but then, as always, it was stomped on.

“So, are you going to tell me why you’re sulking or are you going to make me guess?”

Robin blinks. “I’m hardly sulk—”

“Roland does the same thing when he’s mad.”

“Oh.”

“What happened?” she asks, her voice softer as she nods to the closed bedroom door. “Does it have something to do with the reason you’re out here and not in there? Or something to do with the fact that Regina’s all but vanished?”

“She... hasn’t vanished,” he sighs. “She’s laying down.”

“Is she well?”

Robin shrugs. “Just a bad day.”

“So, she isn’t sick—”

“No,” he confirms. “Neither of us are sick.”

“If I make you some tea, will you tell me about it?” Robin’s eye narrow as a soft grin edges onto Mal’s lips. “Another thing you have in common with your son.”

Robin laughs softly and sighs, then nods and follows her down the corridor to the small sitting room outside her bedroom. It’s a tight space that fits little more than a table, chairs and a stove, but Mal moves around it easily as she reaches for a second tea cup that sits on a shelf above the stove.

He sits down when she asks him to, and looks through the open door to her bedroom, finding it tidy and warm. He remembers the pains Regina went to to get it ready, and how she and Belle had raided the attic trying to make the room look cozier than it did when it belonged to Celeste. Mal seems to have added some personal touches—a quilt and a tiny little portrait of whom he can only assume is Rose—and the open window framed in curtains shows off a relatively nice view of the estate’s property.

“So, what happened?” she asks, joining him at the table and pouring the tea. “Everything was fine when the two of you left, and you’re not sick.”

“No, not sick,” he reiterates with a sigh. “Um, so we had some business to attend to in town.”

“Yes, I remember that part.”

“Right,” he murmurs. “Well, Regina went for a dress-fitting and I ran another errand.”

“Alright. So you went one way and she went another…”

“And we rendezvoused for luncheon.”

“Nice.”

“Except not.”

“No?”

He shakes his head. “We went to the public house in town—”

“I remember it. My father used to go there.”

Robin nods, his jaw tightening again and he feels heat rising up the back of his neck. “We were refused service.”

“On what grounds!?” Mal demands, matching his outrage.

“Regina.”

“Regi—oh.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve gone there before?”

“Countless times.”

“With Regina?”

“Yes,” he says again. “Often, actually.”

“And you’ve never not been seated before?”

“No.”

“What changed?” Robin sighs and his brow arches as he watches as understanding settles in Mal’s eyes, remembering what happened weeks before at Zelena’s little dinner party. “I could kill that wicked, red-devil.”

Robin nods. “Apparently, it’s not that sort of establishment. The barkeep didn’t want gossip spreading.”

“Yes, but all the respectable ladies hang around public houses to do their cross-stitch.”

“And the worst of it was that, all the while, Jefferson Hatfield was sitting at the bar, drinking.”

“That bastard.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he murmurs. “Well, with a few additional expletives added in.”

Mal’s jaw tightens. “I held back.”

“I just… I was so stunned.”

“What did you do?”

Robin sighs. “Channelled by inner Richard Locksley and made a threat.”

Mal takes a sip of her tea, looking so strangely demure as she says, “To disembowel him? That’s what I’ve had threatened… and meant.”

“Uh, no. Just… to, um… revoke his tenancy.” He frowns, feeling oddly inadequate. “I wanted to haul off and punch him, or—”

“But Regina would have done the same to you. She hates making a scene,” Mal tells him, sighing as her eyes momentarily press close. “The after effect of being raised by Cora Mills. She hates a scene.”

He nods. He knows that.

And he hates that whenever she goes, she seems to cause one ensuring that she’ll never publicly be comfortable in her own skin and never feel fully at ease.

Robin takes her through the day, sparing no detail, and he feels an odd mix of validation and inadequacy as Mal listens and adds her opinions.

But before they can get too far into the discussion, Henry’s head peaks into the sitting room as he calls Mal’s name.

She’s up in a second, her anger fading as she goes to him and he tells her that he’s hungry.

Robin stands, making his presence known, and he scoops up Henry (and his dragon) as Mal goes down to the kitchen to scrounge for some sort of bland snack—a task that shouldn’t be too hard, given his father’s distaste of flavor.

“Where’s my mama?” Henry asks as Robin carries him.

“Laying down.”

“Is she sick?” Henry asks. “Did I get her sick?”

“Oh, no. She… just a had a little headache.”

Henry nods. “There’s a powder for that, you know, and it tastes like chalk.”

Robin grins as they enter into the nursery. “Sounds like you’ve got some first-hand experiences with that.”

Henry frowns. “I’ve had too many powders lately.”

“I’ll agree to that. Being sick is no fun.”

“None!” Henry agrees, sighing. “Roland’s not here.”

“Still not allowed in?”

“Not yet,” Henry tells him, frowning again. “I even miss my lessons.”

“Well,” Robin murmurs, pushing his hand up to the boy’s forehead and finding it cool. “Why don’t we get you into some proper clothes and see if we can set up a game—”

“Can we go on a treasure hunt!?” Henry asks, his hazel eyes wide. “Please?”

“I was… thinking something with a bit less activity.”

“Oh.”

“Like checkers, or chess.”

“Mal’s been teaching me and Rol—” Henry’s voice stops abruptly and clears his throat. “I mean, Roland and I… or…” He sighs and looks helplessly to Robin. “Or is it me? I can never remember. Ever.”

“I think you’re thinking a little too hard about it and I also think I remember hating learning grammar.”

“You did?”

Robin nods. “But don’t tell Mal.”

“I won’t,” Henry giggles.

Robin sets him on his bed and picks out some clothes, noting that Regina’s right, his breeches are a bit snug. Nonetheless, he helps Henry gets dressed, allowing him to wear just his socks to the sitting room where Roland’s been camped out on his own for the day. Robin takes his hand and Henry takes his dragon’s hand, and all of them join Roland.

Roland immediately lights up when the door opens and bounds toward Henry, rambling on about watercolors and German and arithmetic. He reaches for his brother’s hand and pulls him to the desk, showing off a series of papers that Henry only grins at.

Robin gets out a chess set and sets it up, then calls the boys over to join him. Henry sits on one side of the table and he holds Roland in his lap on the other, and when Mal joins them, she sits beside Henry—and Roland mutters something about automatically losing now that Mal’s involved in the game, a detail that makes Henry beam.

They’re half way through the game when the sitting room’s door opens, and Regina peeks in, smiling meekly as her eyes meet Robin’s.

“Are you feeling better, Mama?” Henry asks, brightening as he looks to her. “Because I am!”

“I am so glad to hear that,” she says, coming in and closing the door behind her. “And yes, I am much better.”

“Are you really?” Robin asks, as she joins them at the table.

She nods, offering him a shy, but genuine grin. “I am.”

“Good.”

“Glad to hear it,” Mal echoes as she rises. “Now, you sit here. I was just keeping your seat warm.”

“Oh, I’m rubbish at chess. You should—”

“Oh, great,” Henry mutters under his breath as Roland giggles. “I’m gonna lose now.”

Regina makes a joke of it as she slides into the seat Mal had just occupied—and then, as the game resumes, she makes a comment about being happy in her little bubble with the three of them, and he feels his anger bubbling again.

Not at her, but at the fact that the only place she seems able to relax is in these rooms, that the rest of the world is too unfriendly, and that a few desperate and youthful decisions will forever confine her.

_____

They spend a quiet evening in with the boys, playing games, drawing and telling stories. Though normally, this sort of thing would drive the boys mad and have them practically climbing the walls, on this night, it works for all of them. While Henry’s feeling better, he’s still a bit weak, and Roland’s simply glad for the company of his mother and brother. And for them, it’s nice to just relax and try to let the events of earlier in the day go.

For Regina, it seems to work.

By the time dinner rolls around, she’s back to her usual self, smiling and laughing with the boys—and he has to remind himself how good she is at faking her emotions for their sake.

For the most part—though, he’s not sure if it’s for better or worse—they manage to enjoy the evening and he’s able to forget.

But every now and then, at the most inopportune of times, he finds himself thinking of Jefferson, sitting at the bar and drinking, enjoying himself while Regina was denied; and then, the thought was followed by the memory of Regina’s tears.

For awhile, he’s able to shake it, but each time it comes back harder and stays longer, and eventually, he finds it impossible to focus on anything else.

Which only makes him angrier.

“You know,” he begins, distracted. “We came back in such a hurry, I don’t know that I locked the stables.”

Regina blinks. “The stables—”

“Well, the stalls.”

“So, you’re telling me it’s possible the horses are… running free?”

“That sounds fun!” Roland says, innocently looking between them. “Can we go and wrangle them?”

Robin laughs gently, averting Regina’s gaze and focusing on Roland’s wide eyes. “No, but I think I may have to.”

“We can’t come?” Roland frowns, pouting out his bottom lip. “But it sounds fun, and we haven’t had fun all week.”

Regina’s eyes narrow. She doesn’t look convinced.

“I’ll just run down and check—”

“And if you’re not back, you’re… wrangling the horses?” Regina asks, her brow arching. She knows that he’s lying. “You’re seriously going to—”

“Precisely.”

“This isn’t fair,” Roland whines. “I never get to do anything.”

“Well, if that’s not a sign that it’s nearly bedtime, I don’t know what is,” Regina says, sighing and shaking her head as she turns her attention to the boys. “Let’s go get you both changed.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Robin says pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, then tussling the hair on top of both boys’ heads. “Promise.”

Regina offers a curt nod while Roland grumbles and Henry blinks up at her with hooded eyes—and once more, she chooses to focus on them rather than him and his obvious lie. Roland continues to grumble as she pauses to hoist Henry onto her hip, then she laughs gently and takes Roland by the hand, taking them back to the nursery. For a moment, he just stands there, watching them go and wondering if he really wants to leave them but no sooner than he questions it, he thinks of Jefferson drinking and having a good time, likely playing darts or billiards, gambling and playing cards, and he thinks of Regina’s embarrassed tears—tears cried on account of him.

He bristles as Regina starts to hum the beginnings of a lullaby, and he hates that she always has to be so guarded. He watches her press a kiss to Henry’s forehead as his head falls to her shoulder and he cuddles to her, and all he can think as he watches them is how unfair life has been to her—unfair to her while rewarding Jefferson.

As he turns away from the nursery, his fists clench as heat rises up the back of his neck—and despite his best efforts to convince himself that all he wants to do is clear the air and have a conversation with the barkeep, he knows deep down that’s not what’s going to happen.

It’s not what he wants to happen.

And if Jefferson Hatfield is still there—there, freely enjoying himself—he’ll be having more than just a conversation with him.

He takes a shortcut through the woods and when he arrives into town, he can see the pub aglow. As he draws closer, he feels himself growing angrier; and as he draws closer, he can hear cheers and laughter coming from it. It’s a busy night and as he jumps down from his horse, hastily tying him to a post, he sees several regulars gathered at the tables and at the bar. When he scans the crowd, he sees neither the bartender who denied them service nor Jefferson.

Someone else is schlepping drinks and someone else is sitting in Jefferson’s place, and for a moment, he just stands there, unsure of what he wants to do. But as he stands there, sorting out his thoughts and feelings, he spots a smoky corner where a card game seems to be underway. At first, he’s not sure why he zeroed in on that particular table, then he watches a man stand and toss down his cards in a huff, and as he grabs his beer and stalks away, he sees Jefferson, sitting back and smiling smugly as he collects his earnings.

It’s as if everyone else senses his rage and as soon as he steps forward, a pathway is formed.

As Robin walks toward Jefferson, he feels his cheeks redden with anger and his fists clench. With every step and with a rapid fire pace, he thinks of Regina—the way she’d focused on the floor, refusing to make eye contact and wishing she could disappear, the way she’d refused to leave Sherwood after the stunt Zelena and Jefferson pulled at the dinner party, the way she expected him to distance himself as so many had done.

He thinks, then, of the story she shared—how desperate she’d been to find a way to support herself and Henry, how she felt she’d had no other options, how all other options had failed. And he thinks about the position that Jefferson had been in, too. He knew her and still, he took advantage of her.

Regina and Jefferson had never run in the same social circle—the tension between the Locksleys and the Mills created two factions that kept them separated, and Regina always kept herself on the periphery of high society—but still, he knew who she was and the hardships she endured. Daniel’s death had spread like scandalous rumor through the town and through the countryside and with it came whisperings of what would happen to Regina and her son—to Cora Mills’ daughter and grandson. People speculated that she might fall to ruin, others assumed Henry and Cora would funnel money to her somehow, and others speculated that she’d create a whole new life for herself in a distant place where no one knew the scandal that surrounded her.

That speculation usually ended in one of two ways—that she either got what she deserved or that her life worked itself out as it usually did for those born into her position. Nonetheless, for most who speculated, Regina Mills’ fate was out of sight and out of mind.

But for Jefferson, she was anything but that.

He knew that life hadn’t worked itself out for her and he knew how desperate she was. He had an opportunity that few in their social circle did—he had an opportunity to help. And instead, he took advantage, only thinking of himself and his own pleasure, and then, then when it was denied, he made an already terrible situation worse. He spread rumors and lies, making sure everyone knew just how low Regina Mills had sunk. No longer did they need to speculate.

So, finally, when she did find reprieve, when help did come to her, she returned to Dragon Head shrouded in more shame than when she’d left it.

Most could forgive a youthful dalliance and most would agree that Daniel’s death was sufficient penance for her sins, but thanks to Jefferson, she had a new set of sins to live down—and this time, as they’d been reminded that very afternoon, most could not easily forgive.

Jefferson barely looks up as he reaches him, likely assuming that Robin’s another man looking to win back his money in a game of cards. His lips part and he smiles smugly, looking like he’s about to say something crass, but before he can, Robin’s fist smashes against his jaw.

A gasp and murmur travel through the pub as Jefferson is knocked to the floor. Robin’s shoulder’s square as he watches Jefferson squirm and struggle to find his feet. He’s vaguely aware of the forming crowd, but he can’t focus on them; instead, he watches as Jefferson gets up. He touches his fingers to his busted lip, and looks back at Robin with wild eyes—and for a moment, all Robin can do is scoff at his confusion—then, as he watches Jefferson’s fist tighten and his confusion turn into a little laugh, Robin feels his rage building up again as his shoulders instinctively square, ready for a fight.

He takes another swing, this time, only knocking Jefferson back a couple staggering of steps—and that’s the hit that seems to piss him off. Again, Jefferson touches his lip, this time finding it bloody, and as he looks at the blood on his fingertips, his fist begins to ball up. Jefferson charges forward, but he’s too drunk to keep his balance, and when Robin steps slightly to the right, Jefferson turns into the edge of the table. It stops him for a brief moment, but it’s long enough for Robin to get in one more good shot. This time, he punches him square in the nose and harder than the first time. The blow knocks Jefferson down and this time, he slams the back of his head on the edge of a hard, wooden chair.

For a moment, Robin just stands there, watching as Jefferson writhes on the floor. People around him are hollering and laughing, but he can’t seem to make out any of their words. His ears are ringing and his heart is pounding, and he’s vaguely aware of that this doesn’t feel done—and he’s vaguely aware that if he stays any longer he might not be able to stop himself.

The whole way from Sherwood to the pub, he kept telling himself that just one punch—one good, hard punch—would make him feel better. But now that he’s here, he realizes that’s not at all the case, and he realizes that he always knew that it wasn’t.

He takes a step toward Jefferson who’s laying on the floor, rubbing at the back of his head, and before he can take another step, someone steps up behind him and pulls him back. He doesn’t see who it is, but he pulls back his arm and keeps his eyes fixed on Jefferson.

He can’t look away, and he finds himself fantasizing about grabbing him up by the collar and dragging him to his feet, only to knock him down again, and he thinks about how good it would feel to ram the tip of his boot into the pit of Jefferson’s stomach—but as he steps toward him again, he’s once more pulled back and he hears a voice he doesn’t recognize mutter a low Stop, he’s not worth it.

Robin pulls away and when he turns back, he can’t tell who pulled him back. He searches the faces of the men around him, and he can’t make out a single one, so it gives him a moment to think—and it’s then that he realizes the voice was right. Jefferson isn’t worth it. He spots the barkeep in the back of the room. He’s standing back and watching with wide, curious eyes, and Robin thinks of how different he looks now than he did then. When he turned them away that afternoon, he’d been so quiet and short. He’d avoided eye contact, often focusing his attention on the floor or on a spot of wall just beyond them; but now, he’s just standing there watching and not intervening.

Robin looks away, turning as he looks at Jefferson, still lying pathetically sprawled out on the floor and hears another low warning of He’s not worth it.

It’s odd the way that shifts his thoughts to Regina, remembering how she begged him to go that afternoon without causing a scene, and he can’t help but think how upset she’d be if she were there with him, or even if she knew where he was. He sighs to himself, thinking of his flimsy excuse—one only his young and gullible sons bought—and he feels guilt prickling up from his core.

And then, before he can change his mind, he turns on his heels and leaves, jumping onto his horse and running him as fast as he can back to Sherwood.

______

When he arrives at Sherwood, John is waiting by the door.

He offers him a nod as he takes the reins of his horse, and as Robin enters the long foyer at the front of the house, he wonders if John has been waiting there the whole time.

There’s a fire glowing in the library and it occurs to him that he could check in on his father—that perhaps he should confide what happened that evening at the pub—but when he hears Zelena’s high-pitched and nearly manic laugh, he turns away, deciding that conversation can be saved for the morning.

He goes up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

His shoulders relax as he reaches the hall that leads to his and Regina’s rooms, and suddenly, the thought of curling up in bed with her as a warm fire crackles in front of them, sets him completely at ease. But when he pushes into their bedchamber, he finds it empty. The bed is still made up and Regina’s dressing table is untouched, and a smile draws onto his lips as he realizes that she’s likely still with the boys.

He finds her in the rocking chair with each boy at her side, their legs tangled over her lap as she reads to them. Roland is sucking on his thumb and Henry’s head is on her shoulder, his little fingers playing with the lace piping on her dress. Mal’s door is open and he can see her mending some of the boys’ socks, listening as Regina reads Keeper’s Travels in Search of His Master

a book Regina’s been reading to the boys—and a book Roland’s missed reading for the past several nights.

Robin chuckles softly as he sits on the edge of Henry’s bed and Regina grins, momentarily looking up from the page to acknowledge him. She doesn't say anything; instead, she just keeps reading the tale of a little dog’s harrowing journey home. Robin looks between them boys—Henry is sated, looking on the verge of sleep, while Roland hangs on every word, enthralled as though he could listen for several more hours.

Regina keeps reading, but he can’t help notice the way her eyes zero in on his hand, and it’s only then that he realizes how red and scuffed his knuckles are. Her brow arches as he pushes his hand into his pocket, like a child who’s been caught, but again, she says nothing. It’s not until Henry falls asleep that she folds the book closed and turns her attention to Roland, promising they’ll continue the story the following night. Begrudgingly, he sighs and nods, and agrees that it’s not fair for Henry to miss a part of the story just because he wants to stay awake for more.

Robin rises from Roland’s bed to take Henry from Regina, and from the corner of his eye, he watches Mal sit up a little straighter as she stares into her sitting room; then, with a hurried glance toward the nursery, she puts down her sewing and goes toward the room. He hears the door close behind her, and he can hear her voice, speaking lowly, in the hall just outside the nursery.

Regina doesn’t seem to notice any of it, and neither do the boys—and as he tucks Henry into his bed and positions the blanket around the boy’s shoulders, he tells himself that it’s likely nothing to worry about.

He and Regina switch sides, and he watches momentarily as she leans in to kiss Henry’s forehead, then he turns his attention to Roland. He sits on the edge of the bed as Roland yawns, but before he can wish him sweet dreams, the nursery door opens.

John is standing there and Mal is beside him—and behind them are two men in black suits and hats.

Roland gasps and sits up and Regina stares wide-eyed into the hall—and then, she slowly turns to look at Robin, her eyes sinking closed as she focuses on his scuffed knuckles.

“Mr. Locksley,” John says in a low voice, mindful of Regina and the boys, “These men would like to speak with you in the hall.”

Robin blinks. “These men—”

“Yes.”

“Who are they?” Roland asks in a small, innocent voice.

“Just some men from town,” Robin tells him as his eyes shift to Regina. “I, um… I must’ve forgotten that I had with a meeting with them.”

Regina’s jaw tightens, and even Roland doesn’t believe it. “They… they look like watchmen.”

“Mr. Locksley,” one of the men calls. “We need to speak to you now.”

His voice is loud and firm, and it wakes Henry, who sits up in bed with wide eyes. “What’s happening?” he asks, groggily looking to Regina. “Who are those men?”

“They’re watchmen!”

Henry looks to Roland.

“Why are watchmen here?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Henry,” Robin says.

“Now Mr. Locksley,” the other calls.

And this time, Robin nods and steps away from Roland’s bed.

“What the hell is going on?” Regina asks, whispering loudly as she follows him to the door. “Where did you go?”

“It’s… it’s probably nothing.”

“Robin—”

“Stay with the boys.”

“Robin—”

“I can stay with them,” Mal cuts in—and momentarily, he and Regina both look back to the boys who are both teary and nervous. “I can—”

“No,” Regina cuts in. “I should stay with them.”

“I won’t be lo—”

“Though I’d love to know what’s going on,” Regina cuts in, her voice cool.

“Mr. Locksley, we won’t ask again.”

Regina's eyes sink closed and she turns away from him. A knot forms at the pit of his stomach as he leaves the nursery, careful to close the nursery door.

“Can I ask what this is—”

“We’ll ask the questions, Mr. Locksley,” one of the watchmen says. “Now, were you at the Sherwood Pub this evening?”

“Around nine o’clock.”

Robin swallows as he thinks of Jefferson and that stupid, smug smile and the pathetic way he floundered on the pub’s floor. “I was.”

“And when you were there, did you see a Mr. Jefferson Hatfield?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Yes,” the watchmen agrees. “Quite unfortunate.”

“Quite unfortunate, indeed,” the other watchmen says as he reaches into his pocket. “Because Mr. Hatfield is charging you with—”

Robin grimaces. “Can we discuss this elsewhere, gentleman?” He looks back at the closed door. “Perhaps out of the earshot of my wife and sons?”

The watchmen agree and they all go downstairs, except for Mal who joins Regina in the nursery.

Robin pulls them into the drawing room, a room that is generally unoccupied, and away from the prying ears of hallboys and footmen who would quickly report anything back to the butler who’d report directly to his father. John hovers at the door to ensure that no one enters as the watchmen recap Jefferson’s story—and Robin nods along with it, not disagreeing with any detail.

“Is there anything you’d like to add?”

“Only that it was a long time coming.”

“Is that is?”

Robin nods. “I… assume you know of my history with the Hatfields?”

The watchmen look uncomfortable, but they both nods and one murmurs more of your wife’s family’s history, as he avoids eye contact.

“So, then, I can assure you that what happened this evening was unprovoked.”

One of the men nods. “That doesn't change the charge.”

“Or that we’re here to arrest you for the charge.”

Robin blinks. “For defending—”

“Mr. Hatfield did not hurt your wife.”

“Like hell he didn’t!” Robin replies, his voice rising. “Perhaps not tonight, but—”

“From what I understand—”

“You understand nothing,” Robin cuts in. “What happened tonight between Jefferson Hatfield and I—”

Robin’s voice halts abruptly as the door opens and John steps aside to let Richard into the drawing room. “We can hear the yelling straight from the library. What the hell is happening here?” His brows arch as he takes in the watchmen. “What brings you here?”

“We’re here to arrest the younger Mr. Locksley.”

“On what charge?” Richard demands. “That’s preposterous.”

“It isn’t, though, sir,” the watchman says. “Mr. Locksley’s admitted to it all.”

Richard blinks. “And what is it all?”

“Assault,” the other watchman tells him. “It seems your son got into a little scuffle with Mr. Jefferson Hatfield.”

Richard’s eyes narrow as he looks to Robin. “What sort of scuffle?”

“I… hit him a few times,” Robin says. “It was deserved.”

For a moment, Richard says nothing and Robin bristles, waiting for the likely lecture about how Regina’s tainted his life. But the longer he waits, the less likely it seems to come. Instead, Richard stares at him, almost blankly, before turning his eyes to the watchmen.

“Don’t do anything,” he says at last. “I’ll be back momentarily, and then we’ll all sit down for a chat.” Richard turns on his heels and on the way out, he whispers something to John, and then John goes to the little bar near the hearth and pours two glasses of brandy.

The watchmen accept the drinks, looking a bit befuddled, but otherwise compliant.

It doesn't take long for Richard to return and when he does, he again whispers something to John. Robin watches curiously as John’s jaw tenses, but nonetheless, he nods, then disappears out the door.

“Now, gentlemen,” Richard begins. “We all know that a little bar fight between young men is nothing uncommon, and while I’d like to think my own son is above such low and childish feats, I’m not stupid enough to think he’s incapable of them.”

“He’s admitted—”

“I understand what he’s admitted,” Richard says cooly. “But lots of boys get into scuffles when alcohol is involved, and you and I both know the Hatfields are known cons.”

At that, Robin’s brow arches.

“I don’t know why my son felt so inclined to strike him—”

“Multiple times—”

“That seems irrelevant,” Richard decides. “What is relevant, however, is the fact that the Hatfield boys have made a habit of making enemies. They squander their wealth and steal it back through card tricks and schemes. Everyone knows it and everyone tolerates it because their father was an honorable man.”

“That doesn’t—”

Richard doesn’t seem to hear the watchmen speak. “So, how much will this cost me?”

“The charge—”

“You can’t tell me you’re going to arrest my son on the account of a Hatfield.”

“The charge is quite serious, sir. I can’t, in good faith—”

“Do you have children?”

Robin watches as the watchmen both nod.

“A son and two daughters,” one of them says.

“And I’ve a child on the way,” the other tells him.

Richard nods. “All charges come with a price, you see. You can arrest my son and take him away, and in the morning, I’ll go into town and post his bail, and all your efforts tonight will be undone. Or, I can pay it now, and give you each, a... I suppose we could call it a bonus… for your efforts in expediting this process.”

Again, Robin watches as the watchmen exchange a questioning look.

“I assure you, it’ll be worth your while,” Richard says, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulling out a cheque book. “I don’t imagine you couldn’t use this,” he murmurs, as he moves to the little desk in search of an ink well to dip his pen. “And if you can’t immediately put it to use, perhaps you could invest it, and give your children their start in life.”

Richard finds the ink well and dips the tip of the pen into it, then on a scrap of paper, he writes another. “I’m no mathematician, but I think this should cover it?” He turns the paper toward the watchmen. “Of course, this would go to each of you.”

Robin cranes his neck and his brows arch at the amount written on the paper scrap. Then, when he looks to the watchmen, they’re standing there with wide eyes and slack jaws, staring at an amount likely more than they’ll ever earn as watchmen.

“Can we agree to this?” Richard asks. “I’d like to know before I waste a note on—”

“I… I think… I think that’ll be sufficient,” one of the watchmen says.

“Yes. Sufficient,” the other agrees.

“Good,” Richard tells them as he turns back to the desk. “I appreciate your willingness to expedite this process for us.” He blows on the cheques before turning back to the watchmen. “And, of course, I’ll appreciate your discretion in this matter. You see, it’d be quite embarrassing for my family if this got out.”

“Of course.”

“Understood.”

The men accept the cheques and leave, leaving Robin and his father alone in the drawing room.

“Um, thank you. I—”

“I can’t afford more scandal brought onto this family due to your wife’s indiscretions.”

Robin’s brow furrows. “Regina wasn’t the one who—”

“No,” Richard says, shaking his head. “She didn’t. But you did on her behalf.”

Robin blinks, stiffening and feeling like he has whiplash. Richard didn’t have to write the cheques and he’d done it in a way that made it seem rather insignificant, in a way that made it seem like he understood. “I… won’t apologize for defending her honor,” Robin says, clearing his throat and collecting his thoughts. “And when I see a double set of rules—one for her and one for everyone else—I won’t accept it.”

Richard’s brow furrows. “Rules?”

“The pub refused us service today.”

“Regina?”

“And me.”

Richard nods, considering it—and though Robin’s hardly an expert on his father’s thoughts, he notes that Richard seems bothered by that detail. “Because you were with her.”

“Presumably.”

“And what’s this to do with Jefferson Hatfield?”

It seems a stupid question, considering how closely tied Regina and Jefferson’s stories are, but Robin answers it anyway. “Well, it has everything to do with him, but to add to the insult, while we were being denied, Jefferson was being served.”

“Served—”

“Yes, he was sitting at the bar drinking.”

“I see.” For a moment, Richard ponders it, and once again, Robin can’t quite tell what he’s thinking. “I won’t condone you acting so foolishly—”

“I’m not—”

“I knew this would happen, eventually, once you married her. You always need to play the hero, and now look where it’s gotten you.”

“Regina isn’t at fault for—”

“Well, it’s done, now,” Richard says dismissively. “And know the amount I wrote on those notes will come off of your inheritance.”

Robin’s eyes roll. “I should expect nothing less.”

They go their separate ways—his father to check on Zelena and himself toward the nursery, and when he reaches the end of the hall, he spots Regina standing outside the door.

He smiles a bit awkwardly as he starts toward her, planning out some sort of apology as he goes.

But he doesn’t get out the words.

“Wrangling horses?” she asks, her brow arching.

“I… I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I shouldn’t have lied. I just—”

“I can’t believe you did this.”

He blinks, unsure of what she’s talking about exactly.

“I can’t believe you’d do something so stupid!”

“While, I admit, the actual act was rather foolish, my intentions—”

“What if you’d been arrested?” she interjects. “Oh, my god, Robin, what if you’d killed him?”

“I… think that’s a bit extreme.”

“Is it?” Regina counters. “Because I’ve seen those sorts of fights—the sort of fights where two drunk and angry men—”

“I wasn’t drunk.”

“That’s not the point. The point is that it just takes one punch for things to go terribly awry.”

Robin’s jaw tightens—that had occurred to him, at some point. “Regina, I think it’s important to consider—”

“And what would have happened had that happened?” Her voice hitches and it’s only then that he sees how upset she is, and he doesn’t quite understand it. “What would’ve happened if you’d been hauled off to jail on murder charges or—”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. I hardly—”

“What would’ve happened to me and Henry? To Roland? I can’t imagine that your father would’ve let us stay or let me still see him. I doubt—”

“Regina,” Robin says, cutting in and letting his voice raises over hers. “It's useless to dwell on what could’ve happened. It didn’t. That’s that. It’s over.”

“But it’s not, Robin. It’s not. I constantly worried about what’ll happen if I lose you.”

“You won’t lose me. I’m not—”

“Well, I didn’t plan on losing Daniel either, and look how that worked out!”

“That’s… that’s different.”

“Is it? Because a half an hour ago, two watchmen were here ready to haul you off to jail.”

“But they didn’t!”

“Because your father paid them off!”

“Are you…” His eyes narrow as her voice trails off, unsure of which part of this is making her so upset. “What exactly are you mad about? Jefferson? Because—”

“I asked you to leave it alone. I asked you to ignore it. I asked you not to make it worse. And you did! You didn’t listen, Robin. You didn’t think about anything other than what you were feeling!”

He’s taken aback by that. The only thing he thought of was her.

Regina’s jaw tightens and she shakes her head as she looks away from him, obviously pissed. “You have no idea what it’s like to live at someone else’s mercy!”

And that pisses him off. “Mercy?”

It might be just an issue of choosing the wrong word, an issue of semantics, but the word she chose seems to imply control and worse that he somehow controls her, and that she’s trapped.

Since their marriage, he’s made a concerted effort not to do either of those things, to include her and make her feel a part of every decision made. At first, he’d done it to prove to her that he didn’t marry her for some sort of ulterior motive, to prove that she was more to him than someone to warm his bed; then, it became about defining a partnership and creating a marriage of equals.

“You think you’re living at my mercy?”

She looks straight at him. “Aren’t I?” It’s worse than a sting, and he has to bite his tongue. Regina looks away, dropping her eyes down and grimacing, and for a moment, he thinks she might apologize and say she didn't mean that. But instead, when she looks back, she shakes her head. “I’m going to bed,” she tells him. “I’m tired.”

“I am, too, but I think we need to talk about this.”

“There’s little point in that,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “You’ll just ignore me.”

With that, she walks away, leaving him standing in the middle of hallway, unable to sort his thoughts and feelings. In the back of his head, there’s a little voice that tells him she’s partially right—she did ask him to leave it alone and he did lie to her that night—but still, to imply that she has no autonomy because of him, that she lives completely at his mercy suggests something he’s uncomfortable with and suggests something that’s patently untrue.

And again, that implication gets under his skin.

Nothing about this day has gone the way he intended, so why would it end in the way he intended?

Turning on his heels he sulks toward the stairs. If he goes to bed now, he’ll either end up in a fight with Regina or lie there alone tossing and turning, and neither of those things are anything that he’s interested in doing. So, instead, he goes down to the empty library and pours himself a large glass of bourbon, deciding to drink his feelings until he passes out.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

[arigathanksgozaimuch]

Number 70 with jaehyun or lucas (i love them both any is fine) please and thank youuu

70. “You’re warm.”

[A/N: I hope you don’t mind that I chose Jaehyun because i’m in the middle of writing a lucas fic to make him standout better!!]

Having a med student for a boyfriend has its perks. Besidesthe free checkup you get regularly (“Will you please quit fussing overme?” “[Y/N], once I become a doctor, I’ll be charging you for this,so take advantage now while it’s free. Quit arguing and let me take your bloodpressure.”), there are the conversations with Jaehyun that never get boring ever (“You know how I was running late for my shift thismorning?” “Yeah?” “And it turns out there was a womangiving birth that moment? Yeah, I ate my breakfast while I assisted in thedelivery.”), his tools that could entertain you for hours on end(“Babe, how do you use this?” “No, [Y/N], don’t touchthat!”), and his nerdiness in general that you found so endearing(“Topologically speaking, a straw is like a donut that only has one hole,not two.”).

But sometimes it gets pretty annoying. There are pettyreasons, you admit, like his habit of texting you random biological facts inthe middle of the night when he studies (“Babe, did you know you can fit awhole fist into the urethra?”), his bad pickup lines (“You’re theonly disease I won’t get treatment for.”), his ugly petnames for you(“Hey, measles.” “Excuse me, what did you just call me?”),and all the disgusting things you’ve found in his mini fridge(“Jaehyun?” “Yeah?” “What’s this finger doing in acoffee cup?”). There are also serious ones, such as his overwhelmingworkload (“What do you mean you have a shift? It’s Christmas day!”),constant lack of sleep (“Babe, what day is it?” “Thursday.Why?” “So you mean I slept through Wednesday entirely?”), andoverall busy-ness that get to your nerves. Despite his issues, however, youdon’t think you’d want him any other way.

When you’re sick, however, it’s a different story entirely.When you’re sick, Jaehyun brings an entire team of med students to check up on(read: nag at and annoy) you. You’ve gotten sick plenty of times throughout theyear, so most of the time, his friends take the initiative of caring for youeven without Jaehyun asking. You understand they only have the best intentions,but sometimes you feel like they’re treating you as a lab experiment. Like now.

You haven’t been feeling well since yesterday, what with theabnormal change in weather and all. Jungwoo, one of Jaehyun’s closest friends,notices this quicker than your boyfriend did. It only takes him one long lookat you before he says, “You’re sick, aren’t you?”

Tired from running all over the campus for your classes, younod. “A little.”

Jungwoo takes his phone and begins typing quickly.“We’ll be at your dorm in half an hour.”

Sure enough, they arrive just a few minutes after you’ve setyour things down in the quite spacious flat you’ve deemed your dorm room.“Do they do this with your girlfriend, too?” you ask Jungwoo as theboys filed in. A faint shade of pink tints his cheeks at the mention of hisgirlfriend. This tells you they haven’t gotten past the shy, honeymoon phase ofdating yet, so most probably, Jungwoo hasn’t shown his full crazy mode on yeteither.

Yuta sticks a thermometer into your mouth the moment you liedown in bed. From the corner of your eye, you see a mop of auburn hair that youwere sure you’ve never seen before. “Who’s that?” you ask. Yuta castsa quick glance behind his shoulder and shrugs. “Oh, that’s Jeno. He’s afreshman.”

You hum in response and wait quietly until the thermometerbeeps. Once it does, Yuta snatches it quickly from your mouth.

“Guys, she has a fever!”

Taeil approaches you afterwards with a switched on penlight.“[Y/N], follow my finger with your gaze,” he instructs, and you tryyour best to follow the movements of his pointer finger despite the blindingglare from the penlight.

Jungwoo comes to your side next with his stethoscope aroundhis neck. He presses the chest piece against your sternum and directs you totake deep breaths. Afterwards, he types something on his phone that you don’tquite see.

“Hey, does Jaehyun know you guys are here?” youask before he could turn his back on you.

“Uh, no?”

You’re about to say something more, but the new kid beatsyou to it as he hesitantly approaches you with a small plastic cup in hishands. “We’re going to need your urine sample,” Jeno says, discomfortevident on his features as the words leave his mouth.

Now annoyed, you turn to Jungwoo. “Really? A urinesample?”

“We have to check thoroughly, you know. It might notjust be your everyday fever. It might be dengue fever for all we know! Ortyphoid fever. Rheumatic fever, hay fever, valley fever… Or worse, yellowfever.”

“Okay, Jungwoo, you need to calm down,” you say,standing up and taking your phone with you in the process.

The boys turn to look at you and start to close in. You feelless like someone trying to escape overreacting friends than a lab rat attemptingto escape mad scientists. Quickly, you seek for shelter in your bathroom andlock the door behind you. You love the boys, there was no doubt in that, butnow you just needed Jaehyun with you. Once you’ve put the toilet lid down tosit on, you send an SOS to your missing-in-action boyfriend and hope he comesto your rescue soon.

You don’t notice how long it took, but somehow the insistentknocking on your bathroom door stopped and the loud voices outside toned downto mere hushes until they were completely gone. You press your ear against thedoor to listen, and get surprised when a soft knock sounded beside your head.

When you don’t respond, the voice that turned out to be yourboyfriend’s speaks. “Babe? It’s me.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, you step back and open the door,rushing out to meet Jaehyun’s embrace. It feels like a lifetime since you’veseen him.  "You’re warm,“ hesays as a matter of fact, pulling away from the contact so he could look at youproperly. Taking in your flushed complexion, Jaehyun gives your back acomforting rub. "Let’s get you to bed, mhm?”

You follow him quietly, tired from having to put up withyour friends’ incessant checking, and plop down on your mattress withoutputting up a fight. He takes his own thermometer to check your temperaturewith, and hum quietly to himself once the tool beeped. Jaehyun stands up anddisappears into the bathroom, emerging afterwards with a pill and a glass ofwater. You take both from him and drink. This seems to please him, because hetucks you more comfortably into bed with the blanket up to your chin.“You’re sick, alright,” Jaehyun says. “But it’s nothing a goodrest and lots of water can’t fix.”

“Jungwoo says I might have something worse, like yellowfever,” you say meekly, your eyes starting to close.

Jaehyun laughs. “He’s an expert on looking up diagnoseson WebMD, and you trust him?”

He lets out another hearty chuckle at the thought, but closerthis time as he slides into bed with you. “Trust me. I’m your futuredoctor.”

[blouisparadise]

We were asked to make a list of some of the bottom Louis fics that are “classics” for any new bottom Louies, so here’s that rec list. We mainly based this list on number of kudos and also chose fics that are more well known or discussed frequently, but please keep in mind that there are countless incredible fics that are just as good if not better than some of the fics on this list. Please support BL fics and even if you’re starting with the fics on this list, don’t be afraid to branch out and read the many other amazing BL fics in this fandom. We promise you won’t regret it. Happy reading!

1) Like An Animal (I Want To Feel You From The Inside) | Explicit | 4466 words

Harry and Louis get a little stuck. Literally.        

2) To Be A Muse May Be Enough | Explicit | 6846 words

Note: This fic has since been deleted, but we’ve added a link to the PDF.

When Zayn came to him with a job, Louis never expected to be sat in a studio, wearing lipstick and reading a book about Death whilst being plugged with a vibrator. Did he also mention he’s being filmed by the fittest photographer he’s ever seen?

3) A Virgin To That Money | Explicit | 7366 words

AU. Harry and Louis are broke university students who hate each other and make a sex tape. (In which Louis gets fucked a lot, Harry can't find the camera, and the road to falling in love is different for everyone.)

4) Makes Perfect | Explicit | 8610 words

“What if you practiced on like, a mannequin?” Louis presses. “Or one of those blow up sex dolls? Or even just like, I don’t know, a pillow or something. Whatever it’d fit around.” Harry tilts his head thoughtfully, curls catching the light so entrancingly that Louis finds himself reaching up to push his fingers through them. “It’s different, though, innit? When it’s a real person. A pillow won’t snog me.” “Why should it?” says Louis. “You can’t even take its bra off.”              

5) Just Walk My Way | Explicit | 10271 words

Louis is a Victoria's Secret Angel, and Harry is the main act of the night.

6) With Love Comes Strange Currencies | Explicit | 16508 words

One day One Direction will be over and Louis won't be around Harry every waking moment. He'll be able to finally get some space, let their bond dissipate as it's bound to do, if they don't mess up again. He can move to Costa Rica and forget that Harry Styles popped his first knot inside him. Until then, he's going to have to deal with this.

7) These Roads We Stumble Down | Explicit | 18233 words

Harry picks up a hitchhiker in Oxford, and it’s a long ride to Glasgow.

8) My English Love Affair | Explicit | 19198 words

The one where Harry writes a song about his English love affair and Louis sleeps with someone in White Eskimo and all he gets is a stupid song written about him.              

9) A Grocery List Pinned In Blue | Explicit | 19839 words

After eight years, Louis finally has everything he’s wanted. Except for Harry.

10) Like A Bastard On The Burning Sea | Explicit | 22981 words

AU. Harry breaks Louis, Louis breaks everything.         

11) Up To No Good | Explicit | 26525 words | Sequel #1 | Sequel #2

Harry doesn’t think of himself as a womanizer, not at all. Sure, he enjoys sex, enjoys how women feel underneath him, and by some people’s standards he has sex with quite a lot of people, but that’s no reason to tell him that he can’t have a female PA anymore.

It’s especially no excuse for giving him a male PA who’s possibly the most gorgeous boy in the world who won’t even let Harry look at him for too long.

Sometimes Harry hates his life.

12) Have You Coming Back Again | Explicit | 31086 words | Sequel

It’s five o’clock in the morning. Louis has a lecture at half eight. He could be using this time to study or to do his readings or to go to the gym, but - well. He doesn’t have any exams coming up, he’s not going to his seminar today anyway and he hates the gym.

Instead he’s using this time to fuck with Harry Styles’ poor little brain.

Louis jogs across the street and jabs the key into the car door. It opens easily, not that he was expecting anything else. He copied the key for a reason, after all.

He’s got Harry’s schedule memorized, more because the guy keeps following him around than anything, so he doesn’t bother looking around before climbing behind the wheel and setting his bag on the passenger seat. It’s a Monday, which means that Harry doesn’t even get out of bed before noon unless he’s planning on harassing Louis.

13) If I Should Stay | Explicit | 31185 words

Louis is a television actor who suddenly needs a bodyguard.  Harry is the bodyguard he ends up hiring. 

14) Like A Timebomb Ticking | Explicit | 31734 words

Louis loses everything. Harry's still there. 

15) Mine Now | Explicit | 32254 words

Note: This fic was deleted, so we’ve linked to a PDF.

This is the story of how Harry finds himself pouting in Louis’ passenger seat with a raging boner on the way to seduce his ex boyfriend.

16) Nicotine | Explicit | 32245 words

"We're two different types of people, Liam. He likes sex and drugs, I like theater and tea. Trust me, we'd never date." Except they would, they do, and neither of them plans on letting go anytime soon.

17) (Your Heartbeat) Rang True Inside My Bones | Explicit | 32945 words

Harry goes as Louis' date for a weekend wedding. He ends up taking the role a bit too seriously.

18) Once Upon A Dream | Explicit | 33319 words | Sequel

Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.

19) Some Things Take Root | Explicit | 50269 words

AU. Louis’ ex doesn’t get jealous of anyone besides Harry. Harry helps Louis use that to his advantage.      

20) Tug-Of-War | Explicit | 63000 words

Louis' husband dies suddenly and he is left with nothing. Well, not really nothing. He has Harry. And a St. Bernard puppy named Link, whom his late husband left behind for him. Louis takes care of Link and Harry takes care of Louis. Everything is okay until suddenly, it isn't.

21) Louis Lucas | Explicit | 67999 words

Pornstar!AU. Louis is a pornstar with more issues than he can drink away. Harry is a bisexual singer/songwriter who is desperate to be signed to a major label. Zayn and Liam are Louis’s long-suffering best friends (who also happen to be pornstars, and also happen to be dating each other). Niall just wants to play his guitar.

22) This Wicked Game | Explicit | 70010 words

An AU in which The Bachelor is gay, Louis is a contestant, Harry is the bachelor, everyone drinks a lot of champagne, the entire world gets to watch them fall in love, and no one plays by the rules.

23) Pinkies Never Lie | Explicit | 83616 words

AU in which Louis hates his job and loves Harry, Harry just wants a distraction, everyone else wants them to get their shit together, and Louis learns the hard way that new beginnings are only possible when something ends.

24) Your Name is Tattooed on My Heart | Explicit | 86809 words

Note: There are mentions of TL in this fic.

Louis is ready to find the love of his life, but first he has to stop falling for the punk rocker next door.

25) And Down the Long and Silent Street | Mature | 86090 words

Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis' past finally catches up with him.

26) Here In The Afterglow | Explicit | 88649 words

1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

27) Swim In The Smoke | Explicit | 101778 words

“What about this, Captain?” Liam asks, nudging the boy kneeling between their feet with the toe of his boot. The boy hisses and swipes at him, slurring out something unintelligible around the makeshift gag Niall had to stuff in his mouth. He misses by a mile and tries again, just as ineffectively.

Harry looks down at him, at the way the sun streams over his face and shoulders, at the way the gag stretches his mouth, lips pink and chapped. He’s lithe and pretty, smudged all over with dirt. They had found him tied up below deck, mostly unconscious, next to a barrel full of gold. He’s clearly a prisoner, but there’s something familiar about him, something that niggles at Harry’s brain. Something he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Put him in my cabin,” Harry decides, turning back to deal with the rest of the loot. The boys screams out jumbled curse words at Harry’s back, muffled by the gag, and Harry can’t understand any of it.

28) Baby Heaven’s In Your Eyes | Explicit | 120878 words

They couldn’t be more different if they tried. Louis Tomlinson is 17 years old and in his last year of the most prestigious private school in Doncaster. If there’s one thing that completely annoys him, it’s that there is a poor community college right across the street.

Harry Styles is 19 years old, and (once again) in his last year of college. He goes to community college in Doncaster. He never shows up to classes and if he actually bothers to, he’s either high or drunk; sometimes both. His skin is littered with tattoos and if there’s one thing he absolutely hates, it’s the snobby students attending the private school right across from his.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[namjoonsteeth]

Circles (Part 1)

Summary:

 Like watching a movie and already knowing the end No matter how hard we try to run away We’re always in the same place Always come back to me Again in the same place In the end, like this Back in place again Why is it so hard to leave Again in the same place - G Soul Circles

Paring: Dabin X FC (Jasmine)

Word Count: 2.1k

He’s drunk, Jasmine,” I shouldn’t have answered my phone. The only time Christian calls me is if it’s about Dabin. Considering we never actually grew to like each other, despite how much time we spent together, we didn’t make it a habit to speak. Over the last year though, his name has popped up on my phone more times than when I was actually dating his best friend for two years. 

“I’m busy, Christian,” 

I look over at my date who is busy grating a block of parmesan cheese over the pasta we spent n hour making. Dinner was finally done, the movie we’d ordered already set up, the condoms in my purse begging me to free them. 

“He’s asking for you,” he sighs. “He’s-,” 

He pauses, exhaling a large overdramatic breath. 

“He’s been crying, Jasmine. Please, just come get him. You know he’s good for the gas money,”

“I’m on a fucking date,” I whisper harshly. I didn’t mean to be cruel. Not to Christian at least who hasn’t done anything wrong other than letting him get this far. 

“That fucking explains it,” he says quietly. 

It stings. It burns. It ignites a fire in my chest. He has no right to do this every fucking time. He’s selfish. He’s an asshole. He’s the one who broke up with me. 

“What do you want me to do?” I sigh, already scanning Lucas’s apartment for my things. 

“Just come get him, take him back to yours, calm him down,”

“I’m not his babysitter, Christian. That’s your job, remember?” I say bitterly. As shameful as it is, how close they are really used to irk me. If he wasn’t with me, he was with Rome. If I called him, Christian was always in the background reminding him that they had work to do. If I wanted to spend the night at his place, Christian was usually the first person I saw in the morning as Dabin sleeps too late even for me. 

“I can’t take him back to mine. Nicole has-,” 

“Fuck, I know, Christian. Whatever it is going on with your girlfriend, once again you can’t take care of your best friend,”

It’s harsh again, I know. I’m frustrated. 

Ironically, I don’t think Nicole is particularly fond of Dabin either. I was always protective when Christian had to choose her over Dabin. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m just...this has to stop, Christian,”

“I’ll see you in a little bit,” Christian says hopefully. 

“Yeah,” I say, clicking the call off. 

I look behind me again. Lucas unties the adorable apron from around his waist and reaches up to grab two plates from his cabinet. How organized everything is here always freaked me out. I’m not used to neat boys. I’m used to Christian’s protein powders taking up half of the coffee-stained counter that had at least one empty americano plastic cup. I’m also not used to real matching dishes in a man’s house. 

He’s good for me, I tell myself. I’m going to ruin this because of my ex-boyfriend who I run to save whenever he calls. Sighing, I get up and grab my purse while slipping on my heels. 

Lucas looks up at me a frown on his pretty face. 

“Is everything ok?”

I shake my head. My fingers pick at the strap of my bag. Dabin used to laugh at the point in all my straps that shows my nervous habit. This is a new bag, I scold myself forcing my hands to drop along with my eyes. 

“I’m really sorry, Lucas,” I begin. 

What’s your excuse Jasmine? My ex-boyfriend is drunk and crying in a bar because he misses me and for the third time in half as many months, I’m going to take him back to mine because I’m the only person he has to take care of him. 

“My friend is really drunk at a bar right now. I have to go get him,”

He doesn’t even blink at the fact that I’m leaving to go to another man. He just moves to grab his keys off the counter. 

“Jesus, Jasmine, I’ll take you before he gets himself in trouble,”

He’s nice. He’s really totally nice. I’ve always had a thing for genuinely sweet guys. Dabin is sweet. He’s nice too. He’s not Lucas nice and maybe that’s why I’m choosing him. 

“It’s my ex-boyfriend, Lucas,”

He pauses for a second before shrugging. “It’s fine,”

I sigh. “No, it’s not fine because this is going to happen again and every time I’m going to leave and go get him because we’re all each other has really. Eventually, it’ll come between us and I’ll still choose Dabin and I don’t want to put you through that,”

His head tilts adorably. “Are you, are you breaking up with me?”

I nod slowly. I feel bad. I feel angry. With myself mostly. 

“I’ll call you in the morning, Jasmine,” he says finally. 

“Lucas-,”

He interrupts me. “Just go do what you have to do. I’ll call you,”

Lucas is one of the ones who won’t realize what I’m saying until he shows up at my apartment and sees Dabin half naked on my couch. Still, I don’t have time right now to give him anything else. I leave, turning my head when he tries to kiss me. Luckily for Dabin, Lucas lives halfway between the bar and my place. It only takes me twenty minutes to get to him. 

I park my car and make it to the bar just half-past nine. I spot Christian right away, mainly because eyes usually follows his every move. I move toward him as quickly as I can in these heels. He’s hunched over someone, patting them on the back. Dabin. My heart sinks. Despite everything, I ache. 

I cross my arms over my chest psuedo-protectively. 

“Hey,”

Christian turns, his brown eyes brightening when he sees me. He moves out of the way so I can get to Dabin. His cheek is pressed against the bar, one hand tunnels through his hair while another grips an empty shot glass.  

“What the fuck is wrong with you guys?” I whisper, shaking my head. They’re both at fault. Christian for letting it go this far and Dabin for yet again being an idiot. 

“Dabin,” I call. 

He doesn’t move. I lean over to the other side to step into his line of vision. His eyes are squeezed shut like he’s trying to hide in plain sight. 

“Can she see me?” He slurs. He’s cute even when he’s shit face drunk. The hand that’s been funneling through his hair moves down to cover his face. I roll my eyes and pull the hand. I actively ignore how his skin pulses against mine when I touch him. 

“Let’s go,” I say. “Can I have two bottles of water?” I call out to the bartender. He nods and hands me two bottles shaking his head when I try to hand him a wad of cash I pull out. 

“I swear I’ll leave you here. Let’s go,” I instruct again. 

His eyes pop open, he lifts his head and turns his whole body, his arms wrap around my waist as he holds me tight against him. His shoulders start to shake, and I drop my head back. 

I can’t cry. Not right now. Not here. I try to talk to him calmer, coasting him to come with me. 

“Dabin, just come with me,”

He looks up at me, his watery eyes blinking. “I’m sorry, Jasmine. Are you mad at me? I’m mad at me. You should just leave me here. I don’t,” He hiccups. “Deserve you. I don’t deserve you,” he repeats the phrase, his tears coming down slowly. 

My eyes burn with every tear that soaks through my dress. I can’t keep doing this to myself. This is the last time, I promise while wiping my eyes quickly. I pull at his arms until he stands. I shoot Christian a glare before leaving with my arms around Dabin’s waist and his arm on my shoulder. 

Luckily get him seated and buckled isn’t hard. He falls asleep as soon as I start driving. He wakes up when we’re just about ten minutes from my place. His head taps against my window, only stopping to take large sips of his water. He’s sober enough to be embarrassed now. The air in the car is filled with tension from everything he doesn’t say and everything I don’t yell. 

I never yell. Not at him. I can’t bring myself to do it. Why can’t I just hold him accountable for his actions?

I grip the steering wheel tight in my hand. 

“You can’t keep doing this to me,” I whisper. My throat feels dry from all the tears I’ve been keeping back. 

“I know,” he says softly. “I’m sorry,”

“I can’t be in your life like this anymore, Dabin. Not when-,” I still love you. I cut myself off quickly. 

“I’m sorry, Jasmine,”

“Are you, though? It seems to me that you’re fine with keeping me around just so I can come clean up after you,”

Dabin stops banging his head on my window and looks straight ahead out the windshield. For however long we’ve been together I never got tuned to his thoughts. I can pick up his mood, but I would never be able to tell you exactly what he’s thinking. I used to think that it was because weren’t able to get close, but that’s not it. That’s just him. He knows how to hide well. 

“Have you ever heard of classical conditioning?”

I roll my eyes because I know where he’s going. He’s not wrong but right now I don’t give a damn about Pavlov and his dog. I pull my lip between my teeth a habit that happens when I’m trying to hold my tongue. Snapping on him does nothing. Telling him that he’s slowly turning into a dependent mess won’t help either. 

“I was on a date, Dabin. I was with my boyfriend in his apartment about to eat pasta because for the first time in a long time I wanted to be with someone else,” I sigh as I come to a stop at a red light. 

“And then you call and it’s like I’m Pavlov’s dog again. I see Christian’s stupid name and dopamine just shoots up to my brain because it’s you. Because for some reason my dumbass is ok with you being a douchebag because at least I get to see you again. At least you want me again,”

Dabin looks at me for the first time since he got in my car. His dark hair is a little longer, his full lips a usually pretty pink are so pale like he’s been gnawing on them. 

“Don’t come,”

“What,” 

He pushes his hands through his hair and drops his hair back on the seat. His eyes close again. 

“Next time just don’t come,”

“Fuck, Dabin. You think I’m going to just let you fucking die of alcohol poisoning. Get your shit together and then I won’t have to stop my life every single fucking time,”

We’re silent for the rest of the ride home. I know he’s still too drunk to have a real conversation. And I’m hungry, tired, and if I’m honest sexual frustrated. I park in my building’s lot and wait for him to get out. He moves slowly, still stumbling a little but at least he can walk on his own. Still, I hook an arm around his waist so he doesn’t fall and knock his head. 

When we get up to my place I let us in. I watch as he flops on my couch, his head thrown back and eyes shut. I roll my eyes in frustration and go to get him some Advil, blankets, and a pillow from my room. I set it all in his lap before going into my room to get ready for bed. 

I leave my door open so I can see him from my bed. This is what you do for people you love. You take care of them. You make sure they’re safe and comfortable. But there’s a limit. There shouldn’t be and obviously, right now there isn’t but I run every time he calls; only to be reminded in the morning when he’s gone before I wake up that nothings changed. It’s a cycle of that we’re stuck in. And as much as I could yell and scream, as bad as he feels in the morning, nothing will ever change. 

When he’s this close again, as bad as it seems, I know that I don’t want it to.

[truthofherdreams]

of baseball bats and psychic powers

Steve can’t exactly point out which events led him to where he is today – out of his cadet uniform after a long day of work, sitting on the hood of his car in front of the arcade – but if he had to make an educated guess, he would say it all started with a can of red spray paint and a pitiful fight in a back alley. Not that he particularly regrets anything that led him to this moment but. Well, he would like it better if the little dipshits could actually leave the arcade on time. But that’s asking too much of them.

The bitter part of him hopes one of them – his money is on Red, for obvious reasons – will get their driving license soon so he’s no longer the designated chauffeur. But let’s be real, he kinda like it. It’s a nice break from Hopper breathing down his neck all day long, and the kids are actually fun to be around most of the time. They make him laugh. He likes them, even if he’ll never say it out loud.

Even if they always push their luck with timing. Six o’clock is six o’clock, Jesus fucking Christ. He’s about to stand up and go and grab them by the collars of their nerdy shirts to shove them out of the arcade and inside the car, when a minivan parks next to him. The engine is loud enough to startle him, his heart beating fast – add that to the long list of shit that never goes away. He gives the vehicle a quick glance before he focuses back on the Zippo in his hand, flicking it open and close out of habit. He can’t even remember the last time he had a smoke. Hopper made the station a cigarette-free zone ever since El forced him to stop.

“Hey. Give me a spark.”

Steve doesn’t quite jump out of his skin this time, but his eyes are still a little wild when he turns to the person who appeared next to him. And then a lot wild. What she lacks in height – almost a full head shorter than he is – she sure as hell makes up in charisma. And fashion. Her brown skin looks so smooth and soft it clashes with the heavy eyeliner around her eyes and the buzz cut on the side of her skull and the leather she’s wearing from head to toes. Steve has never seen punks before, not outside of like, magazines and MTV, and. Wow. Just wow.

It takes him a few more seconds to remember she asked something. “Oh, yeah, sure. Yeah. Come closer.”

She doesn’t seem too impressed, and Steve suddenly wonders if that’s what being in one of the dipshits’ shoes feels like. He doesn’t particularly enjoy it. Still, she does move closer to his now lit Zippo, cigarette in her mouth, and maybe he stares a little at the way the flame turns her brown eye into molten gold.

(One thought: the fuck?)

Her cigarette doesn’t exactly smell of tobacco, but he’s too confused for a second to remember he’s the damn police. Also he’s out of uniform. Also, he has a feeling she would just laugh in his face if he told her anything about it. So, really, it has nothing to do with her eyes when he decides to drop it. Nothing at all.

Thankfully for him and his mental wellbeing, it is the moment the dipshits finally choose to get out of the arcade in all their loud, rowdy glory. Dustin spots him first, as he always does, grinning and waving at him. Will is next to him, Lucas and Red behind, Mike and El coming last with holding hands and heads tilt toward each other in secret whispers. How two kids can have a better relationship than adults twice their age, Steve will never understand. He does admire and envy it, though, just a little.

“Never learnt to read time?” he calls after all of them with an exasperate sigh.

Red replies with a middle finger while the boys start complaining back at him. Fucking typical. He’s about to say something about how their parents are after his ass if they’re late for dinner, when punk hottie next to him shifts a little on the spot. And then El raises her head, and stops in her tracks, and goes so pale Steve actually forgets anything he was about to say. He frowns, ready for – whatever. He’s just ready.

“Kali?” the girl asks, so soft he barely hears it over the boys’ chitchatting.

He looks to the punkette. Her mouth isn’t exactly into a smile, but the corners are twitching slightly when she says, “Hey, Jane.”

It takes Steve a second to realise she’s referring to El. Nobody calls her Jane, ever. Not even the teachers, who have taken to her nickname too, so it’s easy to forget she’s technically, officially Jane Hopper. She’s just El, for everyone, and nobody questions it.

Except pretty punk here, apparently.

By now, even Dustin has shut up, and they all look between the two girls in a mix of curiosity and confusion. There are several beats of a silence so tense you could cut it with a knife, before El lets go of Mike’s hand and runs toward the other girl. Punkette’s arms are already open, welcoming El into a thigh hug that leaves everyone else all the more confused. Red whispers something to Lucas, who shrugs. Will elbows Dustin, who elbows him back. Mike, poor kid, just frowns.

They stay in each other’s arm a little while longer before letting go, punkette’s hands cupping El’s face instead. Tear are rolling down El’s pink cheeks, and she sniffs a little.

“He’s dead,” the older girl tells her. “It’s over. He’s dead.”

El raises her eyebrows, incredulous, her lips wobbling. “For real?”

“Yeah. We’re free.”

There is more hugging involved – geez, isn’t Steve glad El and Red are not that touchy feely, this is unnerving. That is until Dustin, bless him, decides he’s had enough. “Excuse me. Who the fuck are you?”

Punkette sends him a glare above El’s shoulder, and Dustin takes a step back. Which. Okay, Steve would have too, to be honest. It’s quite an effective death glare. El looks back at her friends even if her hand is now holding the other girl’s, unwilling to let go.

Whatever she is about to say, whichever new bomb she’s about to drop on them, Steve has an inkling she’d rather not do it right there, in the middle of the street for everyone to see. They already have a bit (lot) of a reputation as it is, what with Will’s case and how El appeared from nowhere as the Chief’s daughter and whatsnot. Let’s just not aggravate everything, okay.

“Let’s go to the cabin first,” he tells her. And then, when nobody moves, “Car! Now!”

Thankfully for him, The Voice has an effect on most of the dipshits and they all go running, Will sitting on the front sit while the others pile up in the back. Not so thankfully, El remains just where she is, and her brand new friend puts up a fight.

“Jane can drive with me.”

A small laugh escapes him because, “Nope. Nu-uh. No way.”

She comes head to… well, head to collarbone really, with him, managing to both look up at him and look down on him at the same time. Which. Impressive. He’s about to keep going, because there is no way some punk stranger is kidnapping his psychic child in front of him, thank you very much, when…

When everything goes dark. He blinks around the darkness, frowns in confusing when the only thing he can see is her in front of him despite the lack of light. Everything is oppressive, suffocating, but. He’s Steve fucking Harrington. He swung a bat at a monster, lit a bunch of Demodogs on fire, and lived to tell the tale. He won’t be terrified by a girl with psychic abilities and too much eyeliner.

“Get out of my head!” he snaps at her. “El is coming with me.”

It’s like she switched the lights on again, arcade to his left, kids staring at him to his right, El and her psycho friend in front of him. She tilts her head to the side, long purple hair falling in front of his face, and Steve very much feels like he’s being judged right now.

“Fine,” she says finally. “I’ll be close behind.”

“Yeah, you do that.” He looks at El then, all the fight out of him, “In the car, kiddo.”

She doesn’t complain once. Bless her.

They make it to the end of the road before all the kids explode with questions, speaking over each other until it’s just a mess of sounds and yells and ridiculousness. Steve is so, so tired already.

“Okay, enough. HEY! ENOUGH!” They all comply, sitting back in their seats. Steve look at El in the rearview mirror. She’s sitting on Mike’s lap and looking back at him, nothing in her eyes to give away a clue of what the fuck is going on. Go figure. “Who’s she and how dangerous is she?”

El hesitates, just for a second. Steve makes a left, and watches the bloody minivan following him close. Geez, she wasn’t kidding.

“Her name’s Kali. She’s my sister.”

New explosion of noises. Yeah, Steve didn’t exactly expect that either. It gets so loud so quickly that El doesn’t reply anything at all, which, fair enough he guesses. He glances at her in the mirror once more, watches her let Mike take her into his arms as if to protect her from the world around her. He’s been awfully silent, which isn’t that big of a surprise. If anyone knows about what happened, it’s Mike. It’s always been Mike.

They all stumble out of the car when he parks as close to the cabin as possible. The minivan stops so close to his rear end he thinks the crazy punkette will bump into him at first. But she doesn’t, instead turning off the ignition and slamming the door close. She’s into El’s space in a matter of seconds, as if she needs to be close to her, and it sends all of Steve’s alarm bells ringing. He grabs the radio and switches it to the station’s frequency, asks Flo to get Hopper to talk to him.

“Better be good, Harrington,” comes the gruff voice a few seconds later.

Steve folds his arms on the wheel, and lets out a chuckle. “Oh believe me, it is.” He licks his lips, looks for the right words. “Know how El never told us what happened in Chicago?” he asks.

Hopper is silent for a moment too long, before he answers with a, “Yeah?”

“Well, now we know. And you’re not gonna like it.”

“Fucking hell.”

[duchesslablanc]

MEOWTAINNNN

🌱- When is their birthday? Where were they born? What was the time of day?

Their first child, a beautiful little girl, is born January 25 at 6:30 am. Their second, a handsome baby boy, is born August 3 at 5:45 pm. Both are born in France.

🔠- Who named them? What does their name mean?

From thee moment of conception the group discussed names. In the end Duchess won out on naming their first child Renee Rose Khan O’Malley. Their second child, while planned, is a bit harder. They fight over his name because Duchess, being the woman that she is, has already picked out names. But Thomas and Shere both want to have their say. In the end the boys got their way and Advik Connor O’Malley Khan was chosen.

💤- Was it difficult to get them to fall asleep at night?

Both babies were particularly fussy when it came time for bed. But they could be soother. Renee often drifted off easier while listening to Duchess’ lilting French songs and Advik dosed off to stories told by any of his parents. It was safe to say both children enjoyed their parent’s voices.

🌀- Were they a social, giggly baby? Or were they a shy baby who did not like forced socialization?

Surprisingly, Renee did not like socializing. She was very shy and often stuck close to her parents. Advik on the other hand. Oh my God that boy was a flirt and a social butterfly. It was so easy for him to make friends.

🍳- What is their favorite childhood dish?

Just like her mother, Renee was very fond of coq au vin (the very same recipie Duch’s nanny made). Advik was the pickiest child and only ate freshly made tomato soup and grilled cheese.

🐻- Did they have a favorite teddy bear/stuffed animal?

Renee had a raggedy Anne doll that she toted around everywhere. Duchess mended it so many times it was ridiculous. Advik, ever the peculiar child, had a stuffed aardvark he got on a school trip to the museum. Everyone was confused by it but no one questioned it. Duchess also spent a ton of time mending it.

🏡- What kind of environment did they grow up in? Was it in a rural or farmlike home? Or did they grow up in the cities? Or were they a small town/suburban child?

Once the children were born, they all settled in Swynlake even though both children were born in France. Duchess stayed fond of the town and both Thomas and Shere wanted to stay at their places of work. It was an easy decision to stay in Swynlake where the trio had met.

👦🏻- What was preschool/kindergarten like?

A nightmare. Duchess wanted to do a private institution but it wasn’t possible so they attended a public school. It was nerve wracking and they totally went over board by being those parents who attended every single PTA meeting and every teacher conference. The kids loved it. They liked finding their little group of friends and enjoyed being able to play all day with less strict rules.

👧🏻- What was elementary/middle school like?

IT DID NOT PREPARE THEM FOR ANYTHING. Renee Rose had a boyfriend by the time third grade rolled around and Advik got into trouble for being the class clown and overly social. 

👱🏻‍♀️- What was high school/college like?

High school gave everyone gray hair. Both children had come out of their shells by high school and it was just… so much. There was constantly teenagers at the house and a never ending barrage of school events. But sending them off to college was the actual worst. Duchess cried when they left, both studied abroad, wanting more than what PrideU could offer them.

🌋- How often did they get caught doing something bad?

Advik was always caught with his hand in the cookie jar. When Renee got caught she offered innocent looks that sometimes got her out of trouble. Not always, though.

🌡- Did they get sick a lot as a child? Did they ever have to go to the hospital for any reason?

There was one time when Renee was a couple of months old that she had to go to the hospital. It was the scariest moment in all of their lives. She’d gotten the flu and they couldn’t get her temperature down and she cried, oh God she wailed. In the end they spent two days in the hospital praying for their baby girl to get better.

🎀- What kinds of games/activities did they like to play?

Renee enjoyed dress up. Saturday mornings were always the days where Duchess would let the little girl into her closet and dress her up and even do her make up. Advik enjoyed playing games that required imagination. The den always had couch pillows and throw pillows on the ground to protect them from the lava or made up into a fort. 

And every Friday night the whole family would build a very elaborate fortress out of pillows and linens and blow up mattresses and watch movies. The children often opted to crawl all over their parents, disrupting the movies, but none of them cared. The house was filled with laughter and that was important.

🎏- Did they have a lot of friends? Can you describe a few? 

Christ almighty. Advik had so many fucking friends. There was Thomas, who liked to eat glue (or so their son said), and Charlie, who was actually a girl her parents just liked to be funny, and Lucas who could climb any tree and not be scared.

Renee had Cynthia, who liked pink just like her, and Samantha, who had two moms!, and Lucy, who wasn’t really allowed over because her parents didn’t understand how Rose could have one mom but two dads.

💢- Did they ever have a rebellious phase?

Renee got very angry once and wore nothing but black and dyed her hair outrageous colours (her parents didn’t really care but they understood they needed to act like it was #bad). And Advik, spent much of his pre-teen and teenage years acting antisocial and yelling whenever they asked him to do something.

❓- Did they ask a lot of questions when they were younger? Did they like to explore the world?

They were fairly curious kids. Being the kids of two teachers and a well traveled woman, there were plenty of trips to foreign places where they could put their curiosity to the test. Most of the time Shere and Thomas would devise little treasure hunts for them whenever they went to new cities to keep them interested and satiated in terms of knowledge.

🗯- How well did they get along with their siblings?

They got along pretty well, actually. Of course there were little spats here and there but at the end of the day they loved each other very much and was always there to defend each other.

🔷- Free question!

excuse me while I go cry

@professor-lungri, @omalleyofthealley