#and like. she knows that! she knows full well what her Reputation is elsewhere even if she left her version of the Alliance early

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

listening to my Tideturners playlist was a mistake because I am having SO many feelings about the Sidewinder again.

she's not just any AU of Mai Trin; she's a version who's endured the absolute worst case scenario and lives every day in fear of losing everything all over again. but her story flips the entire narrative of Guild Wars 2 on its head; it's all a matter of perspective, and hers comes from an entirely different angle than we're used to.

what is a monster? as they say, to a bird, a cat is a monster.

the Sidewinder's monster is the Commander.

the first Commander she ever met was a tyrant who set the world on fire just to watch it burn. nothing could stop his rampage until there was nothing left to destroy. he made Scarlet Briar's war look like a playground scuffle; in fact, he did it by killing her and seizing her army to do it with. the Sidewinder doesn't have to wonder what a rogue Commander is capable of at their worst. she KNOWS.

and she also knows that if even a single one knew about her outpost, about her, about her people, and decided they were a threat to get rid of, there's absolutely nothing she could do to stop them. the most she could hope to do is be enough of a speed bump that the rest of the Turnabout can escape and make her sacrifice worthwhile.

she's spent decades building up a new world, a new society, and a new identity-- and in a split second a single person could bring it all crashing down. that absolutely terrifies her. it's all so fragile.

a major part of the Sidewinder's personal arc has to do with overcoming that dread to find common ground. because, truth-be-told, much as she'd insist otherwise? she's not so different from the Commander herself. she's fought long and hard to become someone worthy of the trust and respect that so many refugees from so many, many different worlds have placed on her. it's not enough to have it, she wants to DESERVE it. and even if she'd claim she's not there yet, most would agree she's succeeded. she's the beating heart of the Turnabout; none of it would exist without her. she's given all of them the hope that the heroes of their own worlds couldn't.

Mai Trin never wanted to be a leader or a hero or a politician. but as the Sidewinder, she's become all three out of necessity. she had no other choice. no one else was left alive to do it in her place.

so she puts on her mask, and she steps onto the stage, and she talks big, but deep down she knows that if the worst case scenario came back, there was nothing she could do to protect them, not on her own. the only thing that might stand a chance is another Commander, and is she really prepared to take a risk like that? is she willing to put it all on the line to fight for a future without fear?

and even if they are the right choice, even if they do agree to help in spite of it all... can she put one of the last good people at risk, knowing just what horrors they'd be up against? facing someone who's killed others like them a hundred times over, allowing them no rest even in death as their shambling corpses are conscripted into his undead army? how can she, in good conscience, expect anyone to face something so horrific with stakes as high as THAT? which is worse; that they turn against her, or that they trust her and die, adding another force of nature to their enemies' ranks? the Sidewinder doesn't know the answer to that question, if there is one.

there's so much weight on every choice she must make, and the consequences of every wrong move are unfathomable. she might not be the Commander, but that, at least, is one thing they have in common. the decisions they make will decide who lives and who dies.

all the Sidewinder can hope is that when she finally does make that leap of faith, she'll be ready to handle whatever results lay in store.

[demispark]

I Swear Mickey Did Not Abandon a Woman in Hell For Over A Decade (In Defense of Kingdom Heart's Mickey Mouse)

Excellent question! @notbrucewayne48 and @mintchocolatemagic , Mickey Mouse did not do anything wrong, and I will explain why.

Firstly, please leave you The Walt Disney Company-based opinions of Mickey by the door. If you have negative opinions of Mickey as a result of him being the mascot of an evil all-consuming corporation, those don't really apply here. Mickey Mouse, in Kingdom Hearts, is the king of Disney Castle and a talented Keyblade Wielder.

People seem to have a lot of animosity towards Mickey Mouse in Kingdom Hearts. Maybe its because his reputation has been ruined by the corporation he represents, I can't say for sure. It's fine if you don't like the guy or think he's annoying, but it personally grates on my nerves when people let that color his depiction and actions in the Kingdom Hearts franchise.

This post ended up pretty long, so if this is way too long of a post, I recommend reading the first two paragraphs, watching the video, and reading the last paragraph. Maybe not as good as a TL;DR, but it should give you enough context and understanding without taking up too much of your time.

Beyond this point, SPOILERS for basically the entire Kingdom Hearts series up to KHIII, excluding the mobile games.

To begin with, what am I even on about? That title is a pretty extreme and ridiculous statement, after all. So, here's the plan: I'm going to show you the clip, and then we'll go through the relevant points on the timeline to examine the truth of this claim.

Here is the claim, made by the supposed victim herself: Keyblade Master Aqua.

Aqua claims that Mickey abandoned her in the Realm of Darkness, knowing full well what a decade trapped there would do to her. However, her statements contradict reality at multiple points, likely due to the effects that sustaining an attack filled with darkness and being submerged in the waters of The Dark Margin, as well as the mental toll of being stuck in the Realm of Darkness for over a decade.

To figure out where everything went wrong, let's turn back the clock by about 11 years, to see where this all started.

At the end of Birth By Sleep, a prequel taking place a decade prior to KH1, Aqua is with Mickey in the tower of the wizard Yen Sid. Following the final battle at the Keyblade Graveyard against Master Xehanort and Vanitas (we'll get to them later, don't worry), Aqua and her friends are in bad shape. Aqua was really the only survivor, with Terra going missing and Ventus' heart being shattered, leading it to sleep elsewhere until it could recover (we'll get to them as well). Mickey, Aqua, and Ven were blown away after defeating Vanitas and destroying Xehanort's attempt to forge the X-Blade (Pronounced the same as Keyblade, and good lord we will get to that later), and Mickey brought Aqua and Ven to Yen Sid.

Leaving alone, and not really having told anyone at the tower where she was going, Aqua returns to her old home, the Land of Departure. There, she drops off Ven's sleeping body, and uses the Keyblade of her now-deceased Master to transform the land into a confounding castle that we'll come to know as Castle Oblivion. Following this, she senses Terra's voice and goes to a world called Radiant Garden. It is here that Aqua discovers the truth of Terra's disappearance. Terra had been manipulated throughout his journey to be consumed by darkness, which Xehanort took advantage of. Using his own Keyblade, he removed his heart and sent it into Terra's body, possessing it.

Long story short, Aqua won the fight but failed to free Terra, and he began to sink into the darkness. Aqua dove in after him, using her Keyblade Armor to protect herself and her glider to attempt to get herself and Terra out of the darkness. Realizing that herself and Terra were too heavy and wouldn't make it out in time, Aqua sent Terra ahead with her Keyblade and armor, launching him out of the darkness as she sank into it.

This will be very important later, so remember it, I won't be getting into it in this post, but it will come back later.

This is where she spent the next decade, wandering through the Dark World and the remnants of worlds that had fallen into the darkness, plagued by hallucinations, phantoms, wave after wave of Heartless, and even a dark reflection of herself that pointed out all of her mistakes and gave a voice to all of her intrusive thoughts.

Mickey didn't know where Aqua went, and it isn't easy to just enter the Dark World, so he was not able to find her. Between being the King of a world and training to become a Keyblade Master, he likely didn't have time to look for her forever, either.

Do we see Aqua sitting around waiting for help to come, as she claims? Nope.

... 0.2 - A Fragmentary Passage is an interesting game.

Anyway, silly new accessories aside, we see Aqua traveling though the Realm of Darkness, enduring the previously mentioned hardships. Here, she encounters Mickey, who slipped in via a world that was in the process of falling to darkness. He explains that the worlds are in trouble, and that he is searching for a Keyblade of the darkness, a counterpart to Sora's that will allow them to seal the Door to Darkness.

This coincides with the ending of Kingdom Hearts 1. After battling through more powerful Heartless, Aqua and Mickey see Riku running towards the Door to Darkness, and are beset by a Demon Tide, a powerful storm of basic Heartless known as Shadows. Aqua attempts to hold them off, which allows Mickey and Riku to assist Sora, Donald, and Goofy in sealing the Door from their side. Aqua tells Mickey to go on without her, before losing control of the Demon Tide and getting swept away. Her ending monologue is resolute, however, prepared to face the darkness and act as a guiding light for whomever finds themself trapped in the Realm of Darkness next.

Not only was this Aqua's choice, her sacrifice, but she stood by it. So what happened, and why didn't Mickey return for her immediately? The simple answer is that Mickey had a lot of more urgent things to worry about than assuming a Keyblade Master couldn't take care of themself.

Immediately after this, Mickey needs to look after Riku and get them out of the Realm of Darkness. This leads into Re:Chain of Memories.

Sora and Co. could help, except that they had their memories tampered with, and will spend the next year asleep while false memories are removed and their forgotten memories are put back in place.

Riku has been struggling with the darkness throughout KH1 and Re:CoM, so he isn't in the best place to be thrust back into the darkness.

Over this next year, the threat of creatures called Nobodies and the sinister Organization XII rears its head, and Riku doesn't exactly get better with his darkness.

Forced to rely on the darkness, Riku transforms into the spitting image of the man who used his darkness and possessed him - Ansem, Seeker of Darkness - and this isn't exactly great for his mental state, either.

Sora was weakened by his journey through Castle Oblivion in Re:CoM, and with the threat of the Organization looming, the hero had his work cut out for him before Mickey would even dare asking him for help.

Sora and Riku, who has finally gotten his darkness under control, end up at the Dark Margin by the end of KHII, but do not encounter Aqua there. Since Aqua was not there, the attack that overwhelmed her with darkness and sent her flying into the water that was mentioned earlier must have happened between the final world of KHII and this scene. They manage to escape, and return to the Realm of Light.

Sora and Riku rest back at their home, the Destiny Islands, during the events of Re:Coded, and eventually receive a message from Mickey calling them to Yen Sid's tower. These boys need to get better, hopefully becoming Keyblade Masters, in order to rescue the fallen Keyblade Wielders from their fates and prepare for the upcoming final battle. Dream Drop Distance comes and goes, and Riku is named a Keyblade Master.

Prior to the events of Kingdom Hearts 3, Mickey relays his experience in the Realm of Darkness with Aqua, to which Riku angrily questions why Mickey never told him or attempted a rescue.

You should know the answer to that by now.

Mickey explains that he respected Aqua's wishes, just as he did for Riku in the past, stubbornly refusing to tell Sora anything about his missing friend during KHII, as Riku was dealing with the whole Ansem and darkness thing and made Mickey promise not to tell Sora.

Yen Sid also chimes in, pointing out that if Sora and Riku had found out, they would've recklessly tried to find a way into the Realm of Darkness to stage an ill-fated rescue mission.

Now, however, the time has finally come. Since Mickey's Kingdom Key D is a Keyblade from the Dark Realm, he could use it to enter the Realm of Darkness without having to use the incredibly unreliable and dangerous method of waiting for a world to fall into darkness.

Mickey and Riku suit up in some new darkness-resistant threads made by Yen Sid and the Three Good Fairies (of Sleeping Beauty fame), and set out for the Dark Realm.

This doesn't go well, to say the least, leading to Mickey and Riku's Keyblades being damaged. Mickey's is recovered and used to create the Star Cluster (which Aqua can be seen picking up in the video shown at the beginning of this post), while Riku leaves the pieces of his behind and recieves a brand-new Keyblade.

Second time's the charm, and now we are all caught up to the aforementioned clip from KHIII.

Anti-Aqua happens, Sora shows up via the power of friendship and following his heart (oversimplification, you know KH isn't that simple), and Aqua is finally rescued from this dark hell.

So, to wrap it all up, Mickey very much did not abandon Aqua. Aqua disappeared off the face of the worlds - literally all of them - for ten years, sacrificed herself to protect Mickey, Riku, and the worlds when Mickey finally did find her, and then Mickey simply did not have the time or resources to stage a rescue mission that actually would've worked in the year or two following his original trip in the Realm of Darkness.

Thank you for joining me on this rather long-winded case. I feel like my writing ended up being a little stiff due to all of the recapping I was doing, so if you have any critiques I would love to hear them!

Until next time, may your heart be your guiding key.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

JAN MOIR: What do Charles and William think about the Spencers' very public embrace of Harry which could cast them in cold and unflattering light? by u/Von_und_zu_

JAN MOIR: What do Charles and William think about the Spencers' very public embrace of Harry which could cast them in cold and unflattering light? Witty prose from Jan. Ruddy of face, snowy of hair and thick of calf, the elder Spencers entered the cathedral like a shire farmer and his clan visiting a county fair to give the sugar beets a good old squeeze. \**And do you know what? I'm so very glad they were there for him. It's too sad to think of Harry flying over here, fretfully offsetting his carbon footprint, clutching his little box of medals, thrumming his fingers on his temples, his anxiety levels rising as the dog-bowl threat and the road less travelled rise up to meet him yet again. \**The Spencers don't have to forgive the Sussexes or accommodate their peeved intransigence or just seethe and suck it up. For Prince Harry has no beef with his Uncle Charles, nor has he ever hoisted his sauceboat of hot sulk to pour the usual grievance gravy over lovely Aunt Jane.He hasn't accused either of them, or anyone in their immediate family, of being racists, bullies, sneaks, liars and downright stinking rotters. He hasn't trashed them or betrayed them in books, podcasts or on television interviews watched by millions around the world. He hasn't caused reputational damage to their family, like he has elsewhere, ahem.He even thanked Earl Spencer and Lady Jane in the acknowledgments section of his autobiography, Spare — an honour accorded to absolutely no one in his inner blood circle.So their support was nice, and so was the small, cheering crowd of blimps who turned up for him, too. Not everyone hates Prince Harry for smearing his family — and by extension the entire country — as a racist backwater full of repressive thickos unable to see the bigger picture or wake up and smell the roses, like him and his sainted wife.Speaking of which, such a shame that the Duchess of Sussex was not at Harry's side this week, patting him like a puppy as per, holding his hand, sharing in the dim glow of this rare show of public popularity.Certainly, it is not like Meghan to miss a full on, super-swank opportunity like this; she's usually all over Invictus ceremonies like a regimental mascot on parade. It brings out her inner drum majorette, it gives her a sham regal sheen — so why the unexplained absence?Spencers or no Spencers, the Duchess hasn't got a proper excuse for avoiding the UK this week and the truth is that she doesn't even need one any more. The cavalry has been and gone, the dust has settled and we all know where we stand.Next stop, Nigeria. And I simply cannot wait for that.https://ift.tt/n6WN8AD post link: https://ift.tt/PbJBNfV author: Von_und_zu_ submitted: May 10, 2024 at 04:38AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[innocentcurse]

Walking through the picturesque streets of Cardinal Hill, you find Maxine Edevane, the 31 year morning show host & (anonymous) radio host originally from Cardinal Hill, WA. Living alongside them in such a small town, you know that they're engaging and precarious, but what you might not know is that they are a human, and that they’re hiding something… ― Hayley Williams, bisexual, woman, and she/her.

Content warnings - death.

Basics -

Full name: Maxine Elsie Edevane

Nickname/s: Max, Maeve Eden Xina (on air alias, no one knows it's her!)

Preferred name/s: Maxine professionally, Max otherwise

Gender: Woman

Pronouns: She/her

Age: Thirty-one

Birthday: November 17th

Zodiac: Scorpio

Magic status: Non-magical, a human

Sexuality: Bisexual

Relationship status: Single

Occupation: Morning show host & late-night radio host (unknown to most)

Hometown: Cardinal Hill, WA

Backstory -

Maxine was born and raised in Cardinal Hill, WA, with a reputation shaped by her small town famous father, Richard 'Dick' Edevane, a long-time news anchor.

She grew up under the scrutiny of the higher Cardinal society, as well as the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; she was made aware of the importance of having a polished persona and a clean reputation very early in life, though she quickly learnt how to present one way, while being authentically herself elsewhere.

Content warning - death. She lost her mother to illness when Maxine was just 11, an event that deeply affected her emotionally and still influences her actions and relationships.

She has a younger sister with whom she shares a close, supportive relationship, often acting as a mentor and a best friend, whatever she calls for at any given time.

From a young age, Maxine was interested in the dazzling position as a media personality her father had; even while only in a small town like Cardinal Hill, it seemed so fun to Maxine, and it was very quickly made her career goal.

As a young child, Maxine made various appearances in various programs, such as holidays specials, and as an older teen, she secured a position on the morning show in Cardinal Hill.

While raised in a devout Mormon household, Maxine doesn't fully adhere to all the teachings. She has yet to openly challenge the family's religious values, primarily due to her public reputation and her father's expectations, but she makes it known when she can that she doesn't follow all ideals.

Despite her public role as a good, wholesome daughter, she leads a secret double life as an anonymous host of a late-night radio show called the Midnight Confessions of Cardinal Hill, where she uses the alias Maeve Eden Xina. In this persona, she talks openly about town gossip, taboo subjects, relationship advice, and controversial topics that Maxine would never discuss on her mainstream show.

The contrast between her bubbly morning persona and the more outspoken, confident Maeve is a delicate balance that Maxine has perfected over the years; her everyday persona (the Maxine one might meet on the streets) is a perfect middle ground between the two broadcasted versions of her.

Personality & more -

Charismatic and engaging on-air, Maxine can easily capture attention with her clever commentary and quick wit. Off-air, she is down-to-earth and approachable but still carries a certain mystique and exciting charm.

Outspoken and blunt, Maxine is not afraid to speak her mind, though she tends to filter herself when the cameras are rolling, or around certain company. Her off-air persona is spunky, full of energy, and unafraid to embrace controversial topics.

Humorous with a dry, sarcastic edge, Maxine uses humor to navigate life’s challenges, especially in private conversations or during her late-night radio show.

Despite her confident and outspoken demeanour, she struggles with a deep internal conflict, struggling with her mental health and issues she keeps to herself even in settings such as her radio show, where she's the most outspoken and honest.

Loyal and protective of her younger sister, Maxine considers her sister to be her best friend, but she also struggles with trying to not be overbearing and suffocating in her attempts at taking care of her younger sister.

Despite her tough exterior, she is deeply empathetic, taking the time to listen to others’ problems, even if she doesn’t always express her own vulnerability. Maxine values meaningful connections but struggles to open up to people fully.

Maxine's relationship with her father is complicated. While she loves and respects him, she is often haunted by the sense that she is living in his shadow, unable to fully step into her own identity without disappointing him.

Sex and relationships are complicated for Maxine due to the contrast between her private and public lives. On her radio show, she embraces an open, frank approach to these topics, while in public, she feels the need to conform to a more conservative image due to her family's media presence.

She lives for others so very much, despite finding authenticity and expression to be so incredibly important. She doesn't realise how much she puts herself on the back-burner, because her focus on others comes from love.

[rainydaycafe]

A Shaken Espresso, Please

Pairing: Professor! Stephen Strange au x OC fem! graduate school student (and barista)!

Summary: Professor Strange has a reputation that proceeds him and a finicky taste for off-campus coffee. Enter a graduate school attending barista. This is their story.

Warnings: age difference (older Stephen), and an inhumane amount of fluff with tumultuous thoughts

A/N: hope u enjoy and hope it alters ur existence- send me prompt requests for this story or others and I'll kiss u !

Chapter 2

Professor Stephen Strange had many reputations. 

All of them were accurate descriptions of his person, admittedly. Even if a few of them were a bit hyperbolic and created by those students who were unable to properly keep up with the academic rigor his courses demanded. 

Regardless of these various titles- arrogant, belittling, hardass, irritable, impatient, demanding, extremely intelligent, omnipotent, and plenty more- he was a damn good professor. 

There was a reason why every semester he had an extremely long waitlist of students praying for a spot within his lecture hall and plenty of emails of students looking for a reason to jump the waitlist. 

His ability to teach and to demand only the best was something that somewhat masochistic college students sought despite their better judgment because he truly was the best of the best. 

Everyone knew that his reputation was hard earned as it was common knowledge that Stephen Strange had graduated high school and undergrad a year early. Excelling high above his elder peers in medical school and in his internship before there was an accident before his residency matching which caused him to settle into the life of a well respected professor at Dartmouth College. 

Those who can’t do, teach. 

Neuroscience was his playground, and the biological sciences department was just what he needed to teach courses full of the select few who would actually do well in their hopeful careers. 

Despite his intolerance for laziness and inability to understand it- Stephen did enjoy teaching. It was always a plus to inspire the newest generation of the scientific community. 

Emilia, however? 

She was completely oblivious to the very existence of Professor Strange and that reputation that followed him around campus. 

Stepping into Professor Barlow’s office on the third floor of the English department, she expected to receive the weekly quizzes Professor Barlow asked her to grade but instead she received the quizzes and a manilla folder. 

“The manilla folder is more of a favor for me,” Barlow said, “Would you be able to take this to Professor Strange? It’s a transfer request acceptance. Since he’s the head of the biological sciences department, he needs to sign off on the approval like I did,” 

“Oh sure,” Emilia said with a smile, “Where can I find him?” 

“Oh shit what time is it even?” Barlow said pulling up his sleeve, “I don’t really know his schedule but if he’s not in his office on the fourth floor then he’ll preparing a lab, I believe,” 

Emilia told him she’d find him and left Professor Barlow with a wave which he returned. 

Professor Barlow was never meant to be the professor she TA’d for considering the fact that she had rescinded her application to be a TA after obtaining a better job elsewhere but apparently her email went unopened because a week before the semester she was the TA to the head of the English department.

He was kind, however, so she didn’t have the heart to just quit and leave him without a TA for a course he so desperately needed one for. 

So she stayed and she was able to find the balance between her job at the cafe and as a TA quite easily since Professor Barlow wasn’t one to rely on TAs too heavily so she just did the little tasks he asked of her. 

The biological sciences department wasn’t one Emilia had ever actually stepped foot in. Or near. So she had to bring up the campus’ map to find where it actually was which happened to be across campus so she made the trek. 

The elevators happened to be commandeered by busy students so she huffed her way up the stairs and took a bit of a break leaning on a nearby wall to gather her breath because those stairs were no joke. 

For a department so well loved and funded a person would assume their stairs would be less steep somehow. 

Deep inside Emilia hoped he would be in his office because she wasn’t sure where the labs were so it would save her some time to find him somewhere that had a label with his name. 

Now that she thought about it as she read the plaques outside of the doors, she had no idea what the man even looked like so she couldn’t even look for him in the labs…

Before she thought herself into a spiral, she read the name Stephen V. Strange PhD & MD on a plaque. 

What could the V be for? 

StephenVery Strange? That got a bit of a giggle out of her but she straightened up because it wasn’t kind to make fun of the names people had. 

Emilia took a confidence boosting breath and knocked on the shut door. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

“Come in,” a deep voice said and Emilia grimaced a bit before opening the door to reveal a man typing away at his computer, not bothering to even glance up at her which was a bit rude perhaps. 

“Are you here to have me read over your lab report for Navigational and Spatial Orientation?” He asked. 

“Uh- no. I’m here for Professor Barlow. He asked me to bring this over to you,” Emilia said, waiting for him to actually look up from his computer to hand him the folder so she didn’t look like too much of an idiot. 

He did, thankfully, and man was he handsome. 

Taking the envelope, Stephen’s gaze lingered on Emilia, and she couldn’t help but feel like she was being studied and she moved her own gaze elsewhere towards the line of books placed on shelf as he opened the file. 

“Mmm, yes, the student who is transferring his master’s from neurobiology to… English,” Stephen said as his eyes glanced at the words, “I got an email about this and meant to respond but I put it off long enough to just forget,” 

Unsure of what to say, Emilia watched him quietly as he read through the words carefully. He had broad shoulders and nice hair. She quickly snapped herself out of those thoughts. 

“You’re not a biological sciences student, are you?” Stephen asked, looking up from the paperwork to pay her his full attention. 

“No, not at all,” Emilia answered with a shake of her head, feeling a bit nervous. 

“I didn’t think so. I would have recognized you. What are you studying?” Stephen asked curiously as his eyes took in her features. Something about the way she seemed to curl under his attention made him want to give her more. 

“English. I’m working towards my masters in English,” 

“English. I never understood the appeal of sitting around and discussing what Keats meant in this poem or what was implied,” Stephen told her with a bit of a smile as he leaned back in his chair, “Seems like an endless discussion,” 

“It’s not for everyone,” Emilia said with a shrug, not finding herself in the mood to defend her chosen career path. 

It wasn’t the first time someone had spoken ill about her career, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“The sciences never caught your attention?” Stephen asked with genuine curiosity since he couldn’t imagine a life where it hadn’t caught his own full attention. 

Emilia thought for a moment, attempting to find the words without being disrespectful towards Stephen’s career and studies as he observed her and got an eyeful. 

“I was never very good. I barely passed high school chemistry and intro to biology in undergrad,” Emilia confessed, “I also don’t do well with math,” 

Stephen huffed out a bit of a laugh, “You just needed teachers who taught well and thoroughly,” He said as he turned to grab a pen to sign off on the indicated line where Professor Barlow had helpfully highlighted in a bright pink circle he knew was meant to mock. 

Considering the fact Emilia didn’t know how to add fractions or any math after long division, she knew she had always been a lost cause but there was no need to have him think she had even more shortcomings so she kept it to herself.

Shutting the folder, Stephen handed it to her. 

“Tell Barlow that I wish Damien the best of luck reading all of those books and poems,” Stephen said, “He wasn’t up to neuroscience, I suppose it wasn’t for him,” 

Emilia knew he was teasing her own words and despite her strong will to avoid it, she blushed and took the envelope and looked down. 

“I will tell him, Professor. Have a nice day,” Emilia said with a smile and short wave that Stephen returned with amusement in his eyes before taking her leave and all but sprinting down the hallway towards the stairs. 

Going down the steps, Emilia sighed a bit to herself. 

There was something almost damning and humiliating when it came to finding someone unobtainable attractive but then adding the fact that they thought little to nothing of your major was really just the icing on the cake. 

Looking up to the pretty blue sky, Emilia took a deep breath and decided she’d dwell on it while walking to work after dropping off the damn manilla folder to Professor Barlow. 

Unbeknownst to her, Stephen was watching her from the window in his office with a smile as she made her way back to what he assumed was Professor Barlow’s office. 

__________

“He actually signed it right away?” Professor Barlow asked in shock, his freshman English student who he had been helping sat quietly watching the conversation, “He usually takes at least two days and even then I have to chase him around,”

“He also said to tell you that he wishes the best of luck to Damien reading all of the books and poems,” Emilia told him. 

“Yeah that sounds much more like Stephen. Curious that he actually signed it, but maybe he liked someone’s company,” Professor Barlow teased, but Emilia just smiled because she knew there was no way her presence in what had to be a holy office in the biology department would be enjoyed. 

_____________

Pinching the bridge of his nose as he exited the lecture hall, Stephen glanced at the clock on the wall and saw it was definitely time for a bit of a caffeine trip because he had not had his morning coffee in favor of tutoring a student. 

With two hours until his next class, he quickly made his way through the building without bothering to glance at anyone in the hall since they’d just serve to make his blossoming headache even worse. 

The on-campus Starbucks and other cafes would be chalked full of students and faculty so he decided his expedition would take him off campus to a smaller yet much more reliable cafe he had discovered the year prior. 

Modern enough to have their own versions of lattes but not enough to be a bit too obsessed with coffee for his liking and comfort. 

It was a 25 minute walk at a leisurely pace but he had never been one to walk leisurely anywhere so he made it in 18 minutes as he ran through his 4pm Ethical Conduct of Research. 

This week they’d be discussing the ethics surrounding research on larger more developed animals to say a rat or a guinea pig. 

Pulling the door open, his eyes quickly attached themselves to the menu to consider his options. 

He had always been partial to a black coffee but had come to the realization that espresso had more impact on him and his energy levels. 

Their shaken espressos had always got him through even the most tiresome of days so he thought it’d be unwise to stray. 

As Stephen was so busy weighing out his flavor options, he didn’t notice who was standing behind the bar munching away on a banana as she read through her weekly reading for Comparative Lit and Criticism during some down time. 

Attempting to make sense of Adorno’s criticisms, Emilia was completely focused but she was soon losing her focus when she heard a familiar voice ordering. 

A voice she had heard a few hours ago. 

“Hello, could I have a large chocolate malt shaken espresso? I’ll add a splash of half and half as well,” Emilia stared at him from over the edge of her reading to see Professor Strange ordering. 

Hoping he wouldn’t notice her at all, Emilia kept her head down as Eliza wrote down “Stephen” on the cup and she began pulling the shots of espresso from the large machine. 

Taking the cup from her coworker, Emilia began to work on the drink and willed herself to not even spare Professor Strange a glance because she didn’t want to gather any unwanted attention. 

Thankfully it seemed that he was busy on his phone so she relaxed a bit as she gathered the ice into the shaker alongside the malt powder. 

Stephen however was not an oblivious man which meant after he had checked his work email he looked up to see the barista was utterly familiar. 

The same girl from earlier was working here, as fate had it. He still didn’t know her name, however, as she hadn’t introduced herself and he couldn’t see a nametag on her apron. 

Smiling to himself, Stephen moved closer to the bar where she shook the espresso and ice together with her back to him before turning around, startling when she saw him there. 

“I had no idea you worked here,” Stephen said casually watching her ministrations. 

“Yeah, I’m a modern day jack of all trades,” She said without thinking, pausing when she realized, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude. It was more of a joke,”

“I didn’t think it was rude,” Stephen reassured, “I don’t see a nametag and I didn’t get your name earlier,” 

Pouring the drink into the cup, she glanced up at him with a smile before looking back down, “Emilia,”

“Emilia?...” Stephen asked beckoning for her last name. 

“Pearson. Emilia Pearson,” Emilia filled in before glancing at the cup where h/h was written, “Did you also want milk or just a splash of half and half?” 

“Just half and half, please,” 

Stephen smiled as she grabbed the half and half from a fridge somewhere underneath the counter and poured some in, showing it to him to see if it was enough. 

“That’s perfect,” 

Snapping a lid onto his drink, Emilia willed any caffeine loving God to make the drink good so he didn’t have any other reason to think little of her. 

Stephen swirled the drink around before taking a sip, giving an appreciative nod. 

“This is delicious, thank you, Emilia Pearson,” He said genuinely, “Have a nice day,” 

Waving bye, Emilia watched as he took his exit and she soon turned her attention back to her reading and banana, but her mind was elsewhere. 

She would have sworn that it was like a curse she had to find people that would never give her a second look attractive. 

It reminded her of having a crush on a celebrity that would never bat an eye if they crossed paths with you in real life. But it never hurt to have celebrity crushes either, nobody was at fault for them being so damn attractive. 

It was impossible to deny that the man was handsome, though. His intelligence was evident, adding to his overall attractiveness and she had barely learned of his existence today so she did not want to imagine how bad her crush would be in a few weeks. 

However she knew she could be grateful that she would probably never encounter him again and that she was probably a piece of dust in his overall busy mind and life. 

Of course there was going to be the off chance of encountering him again when he came around to the cafe, but there was no point in getting her hopes up so she turned her attention back to the reading entirely since she had a discussion post to answer before midnight. 

As she didn’t think of him, Stephen pressed the crosswalk button as he took a sip from his coffee and smiled to himself. 

With his work and his overall attitude towards romance Stephen had never been too caught up on dating or finding a partner as he hadn’t ever considered it and it had never been at the forefront of his mind. 

Which isn’t to say he was considering dating Emilia, but as he crossed the street he wondered to himself if she happened to have a boyfriend or girlfriend to whom she went home to. Someone she confided in and felt relaxed around. 

He didn’t think he’d mind being that person either as he began running through the upcoming lecture he had to give, knowing he’d be receiving emails requesting clarifications on this and that. 

____

The following day was normal and Emilia was grateful as she corrected freshman English quizzes during the gap she had between lectures. 

While it wasn’t too fun having three lectures back to back on Thursdays, the gap between the second and third gave her a chance to finish off assignments. Plus it freed up her Fridays so it meant she was able to work 7-4 and have the weekends off. 

Considering the fact that the quizzes she had graded were pop quizzes given as punishment for speaking when Professor Barlow was speaking, she didn’t think they were all that bad. 

In less than an hour she had finished the quizzes alongside the notes Professor Barlow liked to add either commemorating students for doing well or giving some bit of advice if they didn’t do too hot. 

After the quizzes she felt she was on the brink of starvation so she quickly threw together a salad while blasting music as she sang around her kitchen and waited for the chicken to finish up in the oven. 

“Green eyes, fried rice, I could cook an egg on you,” Emilia sang along as she danced around her kitchen, Late night, game time, coffee on the stove, yeah,” 

Sure her kitchen dance moves could use a bit of work but considering the fact that they had never seen the light of day as she had only ever gone to a club once, she thought they were pretty fitting for Music For a Sushi Restaurant

Pausing, she pulled out the chicken and thought about whether Stephen ever danced around his kitchen but chose to push those thoughts aside because one: she didn’t think he seemed like the dancing type, and two: those thoughts wouldn’t lead to a good outcome. 

All said and done, she was comfortably in bed relaxing by 9:30 scrolling through her phone after having checked multiple times that her front door was in fact locked and that it hadn’t magically unlocked itself. 

Living alone was nice, subletting was even nicer when she didn’t have to pay the full amount of rent and she got to live only a few blocks off campus and only three and a half away from the cafe where she felt she spent an equal amount of time. 

Waking up wasn’t ever an enjoyable experience- save for when there was something exciting happening but that rarely if ever happened so Friday morning made her wish she could just roll over and continue sleeping through the morning and into the early afternoon. 

However her job awaited and all things considered, she really did enjoy paying for life’s necessities. 

Despite her lack of enthusiasm, Emilia showed up that Friday and went about her job without too much hassle throughout the morning bustle that eventually weaned itself out into a much more manageable afternoon hum. 

The morning rush was always heavier on Fridays which kept her busy since Maggie, the owner, was manning the pastry and sandwich area and Nora was on cashier Emilia was on her own but at least the rushes made her shift go by faster. 

Her busyness meant she went about making drinks without bothering to think about them too much unless they had an alteration which she made a mental note about to avoid having someone practically slam themselves into the counter because God forbid there was too much ice in their latte. 

Not even a large, malt chocolate shaken espresso with a splash of half and half. 

“Stephen?” Emilia called out, sliding the coffee onto the pickup counter before her thoughts stuttered as it put together the drink and name. 

Looking up for what had to be the first time in at least half an hour, she saw Professor Strange heading over to the pickup bar. 

He had been watching her busily make drink after drink, calling out name after name, not glancing up for a second. 

“Professor. Hi. Hi Professor,” Emilia said dumbly. 

“Hi Emilia,” Stephen greeted, “Your hair looks nice today,” He noted her hair which was pulled back in two… French? Braids aside from a few strands which framed her face nicely. 

“Oh. Thank you. I like your uh- I like your pants,” Mentally, Emilia slapped herself. 

Complimenting pants was for the girls, not the guys. 

“Well thank you, I didn’t know you could see them over this glass you can barely see over,” He teased her shorter stature and she smiled a genuine smile before apologizing. 

“Sorry, it was the first thing which came to mind but I’m sure they are nice,” Emilia said as she walked over to grab another cup her coworker had kindly placed on the cup when Stephen’s next words were interrupted by a woman rushing up to the counter. 

“Excuse me, sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt you two but I forgot to ask for oat milk on my caramel latte. I’ll get back in line to pay for it but I wanted to let you know before you make it,” A woman said from behind him, causing him to move away. 

“Is it for Stacy?” Emilia asked and the woman nodded, “Okay, I’ll make it with oat milk but you don’t have to pay, it’s okay,” She told her as she waved it off and wrote the change of the order on the cup. 

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the line had decreased and it was only the person left who was ordering aside from a couple of drinks left for those waiting. 

“Did you like your drink?” Emilia asked as she turned her attention back to him, “If you didn’t I can remake it. I didn’t know it was for you or else I would have paid more mind to it,” 

Sipping it again, he shrugged. 

“It’s good, but I can tell it wasn’t made with love like it was on Wednesday,” 

“Let me remake it-” Emilia started but he cut her off. 

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” Stephen said with a grin, “It’s grand. Brilliant. You’re a lovely barista even when you don’t know it’s for me,” 

Unable to find something to say, Emilia smiled bashfully and attempted to conceal her flustered complexion but Stephen was quick to see it. 

“I have an undergrad intro course to teach in forty minutes, so I’ll see you soon,” Stephen explained as he glanced at his watch after feeling he had tortured Emilia enough but the flush on her cheeks was something he thought was cute. Sue him. 

“Have a nice day, Professor Strange,” Emilia wished, and he wished her the same as he left with a smile. 

The slight pep in his step made even the most tedious of courses seem not so bad since his coffee was great and he just felt giddy. 

Emilia continued working, but every so often her thoughts would flutter off to Steph- Professor Strange and his presence in front of the bar that morning. 

It had left quite the imprint on her mind and she couldn’t deny that. 

However when she found herself getting a bit carried away with her thoughts and mentally admiring him for any reason, she caught herself and chastised herself for it. 

Not only was the man a professor at the university she attended, she also knew well enough that she had absolutely no chance with him. 

He was a professional and apparently in a league of his own so he wasn’t about to go around scraping the bottom of the barrel to date her or even consider dating her. It was useless to even think about it because it would only serve to disappoint her. 

Professor Strange would never even think about her in such a way, she was just fooling herself with these tiny spurts of thought. 

It wasn’t even funny to think about how little chance she actually stood. 

But regardless, she still found herself smiling to herself when she thought about his smile and his teasing comments. 

Work went by just a bit faster with that, and Emilia was grateful she was able to enjoy her weekend without a shift dragging on too much. 

__________________

All things considered, Stephen did enjoy his profession. Regardless of the seemingly painstaking hours, faculty, and students it was truly as close to his dream as he would be able to get and it was one which commanded respect nonetheless. 

Academia had never been his initial pursuit since right out of high school he did everything he could to be admitted into his top choice of medical school with as little delay as possible. 

This was possible with both his work ethic and his eidetic memory at play, setting him well ahead of his peers and setting a good yet arrogant head on his shoulders because he was more than capable of succeeding in the medical world. 

Internship had flown by, and as he had known since he was fourteen- he was meant to be in the neuroscience speciality specifically as a neurosurgeon. 

That was until his car was flipped over at the age of 29 and his entire life was also flipped on its head like he found himself that Wednesday afternoon on his way to buy groceries. 

Oftentimes when the accident had just happened and he was in recovery unable to bear the thought of looking at his hands he thought about what would have happened if he had just stayed home and made a sandwich with what was there. 

But, like anything, it wasn’t enough and he needed more than what was already there. 

Stephen knew that his accident sent a shock through everyone and he was soon in physical therapy attempting to overcome a tremor when he began deciding what was next. 

Never having been wealthy, he needed to work somewhere but he knew it wouldn’t just be anywhere because someone with an MD and a PhD needed more than just a high school biology teacher. 

There just wasn’t any way that he would allow years and years of painstaking work and sleepless nights go to waste all because one path had been blocked off by unforeseen circumstances. 

Being a professor was his chosen plan “b”, but he had opted away from medical school because he knew that even medical school professors needed perfectly steady hands- especially in neuroscience. 

While John Hopkins had been his home for a while, he didn’t want to stay there and just be a model of what happens when things go wrong. 

It was true: those who can’t do, teach. 

Stephen knew he was the perfect example of that but that didn’t mean he wanted to be needlessly reminded every 15 minutes by a curious freshman or an uppity colleague. 

More than qualified, Dr. Strange became Professor Strange at the age of 29 (only a couple of months before his 30th birthday, but he still bragged) and he earned his reputation quickly and it was well deserved. 

Stephen had never suffered fools, and becoming a professor was not going to change that.

The reputation soon began and followed him only a week after his first day when he had a student leave his classroom in tears after she was unable to recall what the hippocampus did as a future neuroscientist.

However Stephen had worked hard and he had encountered his fairshare of possibly demonic professors but they also happened to be the ones which shaped him into the surgeon he almost was and the professor he now was, so he stuck to it. 

“I expect the discussion post to be answered by everyone tonight by midnight. I won’t accept late work. Have a nice day,” Stephen dismissed his lecture hall, praying to some force out there that nobody would stop to ask him about his opinion towards their drafted discussion post because he just wanted to get coffee before his next class. 

Time was limited as when he checked only moments beforehand he only had an hour before his next lecture in an hour. 

18 minutes to walk there and 18 minutes back needing to consider time to set up a couple of minutes before class… 24 minutes to get his coffee in between the two restricted times. 

Thankfully he was able to make his exit painlessly and he found himself pulling the door to his favorite coffee shop only 15 minutes later, shaving off an entire 3 minutes. 

Impressive. 

Ordering his usual, Stephen was almost surprised to see Emilia out from behind the barista bar sitting at one of the tables with a few sheets of paper in front of her as she evidently corrected something. 

A bit disappointed it wasn’t Emilia making his coffee, it soon disappeared as he went over and sat across from her, startling her. 

“You’re out from the inside of your box,” Stephen said with a smile. 

“Hi Professor Strange, I have a 20 minute break so I’m using it to finish off these quizzes for Professor Barlow,” She explained,  “Freshman English is tough,” 

Peeking over, he saw she had written a 62% in green marker at the top of the last test. 

“62? Holy hell. I sure hope he isn’t a sciences major if he’s failing freshman English,” Stephen said, a bit of his arrogance slipping through, and for the first time in a long time he wished he had kept his mouth shut. 

“It’s up from last time. He’s a good writer but he doesn’t test well,” Emilia attempted to defend with soft eyes, knowing that the transition into college level work was tough for some. 

“Or he plagiarizes,” Stephen debated, “But I don’t think we should spend this time debating whether or not a freshman is using his brain. How are you? How has your day been? Any plans?” 

This earned a smile from Emilia who set down her pen and rested her chin on her knuckles as she paid him his full attention which he really found himself enjoying. 

“I am well, a bit tired, but my day has been pretty average. I’m off at 2 so I’m going to go home and take a nap because I couldn’t sleep well last night. After that I’m just doing some homework. Nothing crazy. How about you?” 

Stephen pondered it as he looked at Emilia who waited patiently for his answer. 

“I am also well and my day has been going well so far, although the lecture I taught before coming here dragged on a bit as early morning lectures tend to do but I have no complaints, much less now. After my last lecture which ends at 3 I’m going home to get ready for his PhD faculty dinner that I’m going to with Professor Palmer. Do you know her? She’s a microbiology and immunology professor,” 

The intent listening expression Emilia had fallen, her hands dropping to the table where she grasped at her pen for the sake of doing something with her hands. 

“No uh- I don’t really know anyone that’s a part of the science faculty aside from you,” Emilia told him as her gaze went down towards the table and for some unnameable reason, she felt out of her depth and foolish. 

Stephen had noticed her change in demeanor and he didn’t know how he could change it back to how open and happy it had been just moments prior. He wasn’t given much time to think about it as his name was called from the pickup counter. 

Taking this as her opportunity to leave, even if she still had 5 minutes left of her break, Emilia began cleaning up her papers as Stephen went to pick up his drink. 

“Is your break over?” Stephen asked as he returned to see Emilia organizing her papers. 

“Yeah, I have to get back into my box,” Emilia said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, placing the quizzes back into their folder before standing. 

“I hope you have a nice time at the dinner and with Professor Palmer,” Emilia told him and Stephen felt desperate in a way, desperate to get down to the bottom of what had gone wrong and how he could fix it but time was not in their favor as they both needed to get back to work. 

Stephen told her he’d return the next day but she wouldn’t be working. He settled onto Friday when he knew she would be working. 

Again, Emilia smiled but it wasn’t that genuine smile he’d grown to enjoy but either way she bid him goodbye and turned to head back to work and he left to do the same although with a nagging feeling that wouldn’t go away.

The walk back to campus was thoughtful as Stephen tried to pinpoint the exact moment the conversation between them had gone to hell and how he could have been so foolish. It had been going well since Emilia had been open and smiling at him, paying him her full and devoted attention which was nice and suddenly like a book snapping shut; it was over and she had stepped back into her shell. 

Placing the folder back into her backpack which she kept in the break room, she zipped it up with a bit more force than necessary but she needed to find a way to get rid of the stupid whirlwind of emotions that were overtaking her. 

Grabbing her apron and retying it around her waist, she let out a deep breath because even if she felt frustrated she knew that at the end of the day, she was just really sad. 

Ever since Professor Strange had come into the cafe and had made conversation with her, despite her better judgment, a part of her hand actually got her own hopes up about it all. 

“What if” was a dangerous road to travel and Emilia had traveled it nonstop it seemed.

In an ignorant way, she had convinced herself that it all meant something. That he had been coming around because he wanted to talk to her and that he felt that little spark she felt between them but she couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Of course, as an older, well respected, well educated professor he was going to be into people who were also on the same playing field. Not some graduate student who was working two jobs and spent her nights alone in her apartment. 

Heading back out to the bar to relieve Maggie, Emilia thinks about how far out of her league the man is and how it’s actually a bit painful to think about again since it isn’t the first time she’s come to this realization. 

New Hampshire was home to countless intelligent and beautiful women 

Stephen wanted someone who was his equal, not an English master’s degree student who wore an apron to work and whose career path he evidently didn’t think much of.

Emilia’s career path was for her own sake because she loved the possibilities higher education in literature offered and she wasn’t about to start feeling remorse or as though it weren’t a good enough career path because of a ridiculous crush. 

Even though she knew she was successful and was making her way in the world- it was still as disappointing to know that your feelings were not reciprocated both equally at 13 and 25. 

Regardless of her emotional turmoil, however, drinks still needed to be made and caffeine was still a necessity so she got to work. 

_______________________

By the time Friday rolled around and Emilia began getting ready for work she convinced herself that the way she was meticulously picking out her outfit for work was not because of any particular reason. 

Okay. 

So maybe the way she had pulled her hair back into a half up half down style with a clip that just so happened to perfectly match the light cardigan she was wearing which matched her shoes which had the jeans that made her ass look fantastic… 

It was for her own sake, Emilia told herself because when she looked good she felt good. 

It also did not hurt to look great when Professor Strange was going to come by. That was just a fun little addition to it all.

The assumption that he would come in around the time he had last time was correct and Emilia began pulling the adequate shots of espresso as soon as he began ordering, pretending to be nonchalant and feigning ignorance. 

This wasn’t her strongsuit it seemed because Stephen had caught her glancing at him as soon as he stepped foot in the place but he thought it was sweet so he smiled to himself as it gave him the extra boost of confidence he needed. 

Walking over to the bar, Stephen greeted her and watched as Emilia grabbed the shaker bottle. 

“So if someone were to make you a coffee, what would it be?” Stephen asked. 

“What?” Emilia asked in a way she found stupid because the question was clear. 

“You know my coffee order,” Stephen said with a casual shrug, leaning his hip against the counter ever so slightly, “It’s only right I know yours as well,”

Emilia paused her movements as she thought about it.

 The taste of coffee itself wasn’t all too appealing to her, and it had never been. A bit ironic with how she worked at a coffee shop but she did enjoy coffee drinks when they were creamy, sweet, and didn’t make her gag with the strength of the coffee. 

From their own menu and, despite her support of small businesses, Starbucks- she always got a brown sugar shaken espresso with extra oat milk.

It hadn’t disappointed her yet and it was the perfect, most delicious- 

“Look,” Stephen said with a nervous strain in his voice Emilia had never been privy to, watching as he shifted his weight uncomfortable, “I’m trying to ask you to dinner,” 

Jesus Christ. 

Who knew a person could be so dense?

“So, Emilia, will you go to dinner with me?” Stephen asked, “I’d like to talk without a counter between us or a time limit,” 

The world seemingly narrows to the man standing in front of her. The professor she had encountered by just the chance circumstances life provided was all she noticed for that moment, even if in the back of her mind she knew that the cashier was watching intently and a few other lingering customers were watching because really, who didn’t love gossip? Plus Stephen had been exactly whispering. 

The world is Stephen- tall, handsome, intelligent, confident Stephen who could probably have any person he laid eyes on wanted Emilia. Small, shy, thoughtful Emilia who often goes unnoticed but not by him it seemed. 

Emilia opens and closes her mouth for a moment but she tells herself to get it together. 

“I- yes,” Emilia finally said, “I would love to,”

The happiness that painted Stephen’s face was enough to light up a city block. 

Was it weird how crazy she was about him considering she didn’t even know him? Maybe. But this wasn’t the time to dissect the inner workings of her affections. 

In another world, perhaps a romantic comedy of sorts, Emilia would have left her shift right then and there to go out with Stephen. Stephen would have also abandoned his Friday lectures and office hours and they would have gone out together. 

A lovely dinner would be shared with them where Emilia would open up and Stephen would also open up, breaking the ice and shaking off the seemingly permanent arrogant exterior he wore with everyone but her for the night. Maybe even forever. 

But this was not that world. 

“Do you live here or something? Can I have your number to contact you?” Stephen asks with the same smile. 

“Yeah I live here under the counter next to the milk fridge,” Emilia responds without thinking, smiling as Stephen laughs but she’s grabbing the Sharpie from her apron and writing her number on a nearby napkin because cliches are cliches for a reason, sometimes. Practicality and all. 

Emilia’s handwriting is neat, it’s cute, and it’s perfect. 

Stephen’s fingers brush her own as he takes it, and they both somehow know it’s intentional so they both share an inside joke smile before Emilia readies his drink by snapping the lid on, sending him on his way with a promise to call. 

The rest of the shift is spent with Emilia attempting to ignore her phone and pretending to ignore the seemingly unrelenting temptation to just sneak into the back like she knows everyone does to check her phone. 

When given the opportunity to check her messages Emilia tries her best to ignore the cold disappointment when there are no missed calls or messages from a new number. While Emilia doesn't think that Stephen is the type of person to ask someone out and then ignore them, she also knows that she doesn’t really know him aside from his drink order and his profession. 

Stephen could very well have plenty of phone numbers to pick and choose from as he pleases. 

This thought dims her mood so she chooses to let it go in favor of wiping the counter off. Again. 

Emilia couldn’t possibly know that Stephen had been staring at the napkin every opportunity he had gotten; saving the numbers on his computer, phone, and even writing it down on a sticky note he stuck into his wallet before his next lecture just in case. 

The same number he had already successfully memorized. 

It’s during her walk home after work when Emilia is planning out her evening’s dinner when her phone begins to vibrate in her backpack, excitement bubbling in her chest as she sees it’s from an unknown number. 

“Hello?” Emilia answers, hoping she didn’t speak too quickly. 

“Hi. Is this Emilia?” The familiar voice which is just slightly changed by a phone call asks, “This is Stephen. Boundary crossing professor and customer,” 

“Hi Stephen,” Emilia says with a grin she can’t stamp down painting her face as she presses the crosswalk button. 

“I hope this is an alright time to call, I just couldn’t wait any longer so I’m calling between lectures,” 

“Oh,” Oh. “No, no that’s fine,” Emilia feels she’s capable of doing a cartwheel at that moment. 

“I ended my last lecture early with the promise of it being so they could prepare for the midterm but I knew that they wanted to get of out there as much as I did so I did us both a favor,”

Emilia imagines Stephen rushing students out of his lecture hall as quickly as possible in order to call her seconds sooner. 

“I’m glad you called,” Emilia confesses, briefly missing someone distracted from crashing into her. 

“I am too,” There’s a pause and Emilia listens intently, “I don’t know your personal schedule but I know you don’t work tomorrow but are you free tomorrow afternoon?” 

Tomorrow!! Emilia thinks. Less than a day away. 

“I’m free,” Emilia has work to do for school but she knows she’d find time during finals week for Stephen. 

“Perfect. There’s this restaurant, it’s a brewery as well. It’s on Wheelbridge. I’d like to take you there,” 

While Emilia knows the area, not the restaurant. It’s not too close to home, but it would be okay. 

“Okay. That sounds nice. What time?” 

“Let’s do 2? I don’t want to interrupt you sleeping in and relaxing. Is that okay? I thought we could have lunch and then somewhere else not too far away,” 

“That sounds lovely,” 

“Great. Perfect. I will let you go because I’m sure you have things to do and I won’t be the reason you are distracted,” 

Stephen didn’t know he was Emilia’s favorite distraction. 

“Tomorrow, then?” Stephen asks, “2?” suddenly sounding hesitant, nervous almost. It didn’t suit him as he sounded unsure as if he needed to make sure it was happening and set in stone. 

“2pm I’ll be there,” 

“Okay. See you then. Bye, Emilia,” 

“Bye-bye” Emilia says before they both hang up and she wants to body slam herself through the Earth’s crust because who says “bye-bye” unironically? 

Instead of dwelling, Emilia saves his phone number carefully and there is absolutely nothing that can ruin her mood. 

Not the way that the leftovers she was planning on having were spoiled, or the way she had forgotten to revise an essay, or even when she couldn’t sleep out of sheer excitement.

[lightning-will-bovino]

For @thehandworld , I've put the messages together so it's easier to go the whole thing together. It's a bit edited. Tell me if there's more info you want to add.

Aftermath

-In Gokudera's Office-

"Lambo, How long have you had Yamamoto's cock up your ass?" While calmly doing his paperwork on his desk while Lambo is standing up in front of the desk.

Lambo is nervous and blushing. "...less than a month..."

"Did you two consider in like... locking the fucking door? Or like... not to do close to my office?"

Another level of blush was added to Lambo's face. "I DID lock the door...Yamamoto must've unlocked it. As in why not another room...Yamamoto's office was getting cleaned..."

"Did you consider that he wanted you two to get caught?"

"He was smirking when the...threesome happened." Lambo sat down on the couch since he felt his legs wobble when the dots connected that Yamamto wanted this to happen.

"Oh really? Im going to fuck him later then." He honestly didn't mind the ambiguous/open relationship, but it would be best to fix that now. "So what do you wish for? I did have sex with him before, but I don't want to make anything uncomfortable"

Lambo's eyes widened and looked elsewhere. "Well, I, we, never gave a full dive deep into what we are. He tried to say we're more than 'just friends'...I've teased him enough that we just ended up fucking..."

Gokudera kinda facepalms as he gets his phone and texts on it. "Mhmmm, so wouldn't be nice to actually put a name?"

"Friends-with-benefits? I don't know," Lambo sighs. "This started when I entered his room while he was busy, use him to direct your sister elsewhere by making it look like he's fucking someone, he trapped me, I tease him, he teases me, and well, fuck marathons afterward. How do you call that?"

"Friends with benefits with a dubious question of is that only that?" As the storm was typing aggressively on his phone. "Why didn't you two talk about it? Even if is just sex and nothing else, you two should have talked about it."

"We'll try..." Lambo purses his lips. 'Let's hope my mouth isn't full of dick or have enough free time to not just do a quicky.' Lambo thought sarcastically.

Text Between Gokudera and Yamamoto:

Dera: Get your ass at my office

Yama: If this is about work, Im busy

Dera: its about your fucking time with Lambo

Yama: im definitely busy

Dera: TAKESHI GET YOUR FUCKING ASS HERE NOW!

Yama: Can't Im fucking Lambo

Dera: ... he is right in front of me

Yama: [doesn't answer]

Dera: Im sending Uri

Gokudera makes Uri appear in her full glory. "Bring Yamamoto Takeshi to me, do whatever it needs."

Seeing Uri out, Lambo is confused and a bit sorry for the other man as he sees the big leopard dart out of the office. "Should I leave or...?" He's confused about what's going on.

"You sit down and wait. She is just going to grab an idiot." As the storm just relaxes and looks at the younger. "Anyway, if you don't want the cat chasing you, we are going to talk and figure this out."

Yamamoto is avoiding them both, mostly because he knows Dera is pissed at his lack of consent with Lambo.

"At least this isn't like my last ex-!" Lambo froze because he never mentioned in detail what happened. He simply said they had broken up and preferred not to think about it too much. In his mind, it was not 'that' bad, but for the others, it may be bad even if he took care of the situation.

[In context, Lambo has experienced relationships, but he rarely brings them up. Especially since they don't last long and have yet to meet the family. The last two exes...well, Lambo knows what to Look Out for in a relationship.

Lambo may or may not have done some pro-revenge on them. Not enough to take the Lightning to jail, but he did enough revenge for their reputations and put the exes into deep debt.]

Something told Hayato that he shouldn't poke it but at the same time. "You know, if you wanna talk about it, I'm more than happy to hear. I will understand if you don't wanna talk, tho." He takes his cigarette and starts smoking.

Lambo bit his bottom lip and gave a bit of info. "Let's just say I've dealt with it...And the ex was a gaslighter, and...I didn't want anything of mine to be memorabilia for his collection. He no longer has a collection."

"Okay. I trust you, Lambo." He relaxes as he smokes. "I mean, there is no crime I can't hide, so if you wanna do anything else, I'd sure know how to hide it." After all, they are in the mafia world, where Hayato is second in command of the Vongola Family. "Are you okay now?"

"About the ex? Yeah, they are in deep debt for years, and you know if one doesn't pay, they go to jail... About Yamamoto? I'm not sure, but I know "just sex" isn't ideal for the long run... but I'm not taking this seriously since well. Is this serious? I don't know if I'm making sense."

He smokes while hearing the younger and then sighs. "Lambo, you are making sense more importantly, I also wanna know if you want to take this seriously. Also, did you consider being a poly with me? Because quite honestly, I don't fuck just for fuck." Was he confessing in the middle of this? Yes. Does he care? Not exactly.

"I want to...take a relationship seriously, but...I don't if this one can be...this isn't my first 'sex friend' I had, but even those didn't last long." Lambo again bites his bottom lip as he looks elsewhere. "Poly never occurred to me until you've mentioned it. You and Yamamoto are fine together. Right now, I don't...see myself in that picture...."

Why is his vision starting to water? Lambo is stunned that he's shedding a few tears.

It's like one of those crying that doesn't happen until you talk. You're optimistic or neutral until you talk in-depth about what's happening to you.

He looks at Lambo, getting up and sitting at his side if he wants to lean against him, gently caressing his head. "It's okay, I understand what you mean. But Lambo, I would never join if I didn't want to be with you too." As he thinks a bit. "If you are scared, how about this, let the three of us go out, and see how we stay together?"

Lambo wiped a few tears and looked at Gokudera. There's silence between them as Lambo opened his mouth a few times but no sound comes out. "I-,"

*Boom* *Thump*

Before Lambo can answer, Uri comes into the office, making both of them turn towards the door, as she drags Yamamoto by the scruff of his suit with her teeth.

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin #36:

Love Has No Pride

My local record store is hard at work purging $5 titles from table top bins and dooming them to the higgeldy piggeldy Dollar Bins beneath. Are you longing for some Neil Diamond or Captain and Tennille? Well, you're in luck: you can seize their entire 70's catalogs for 93 pre-tax cents a piece. I've passed altogether on both artists so far, but who knows, maybe one day I'll discover that corpulent dogs, medalions and chest hair are the keys to great music.

I got gleefully down on my knees last week and combed through it all, emerging with 15 titles for 15 bucks. Here's the hoard:

Will I ever actually listen to Melanie's first record or Linda Ronstadt wingman Andrew Gold's attempt at a solo album? Maybe? Will I make good on my long ago promise to listen to an unmelted version of Art Garfunkel's Watermark? Someday.

I did listen to Poco's first record, which you can see above, with some anticipation: my famous brother recently recommended it as, basically, another Buffalo Springfield record. But when my eldest daughter asked me to please turn it the hell off I eagerly complied. It sounded more than un poco terrible.

But the treasure, so far, from this latest Dollar Bin haul are three Bonnie Raitt records from the 70's.

Raitt's Nick of Time was a big deal when I first discovered as a kid that VH1 was often less terrifying than MTV. And so I developed an early bias against Bonnie that still lingers. She didn't look like Janet Jackson or sing Tom Petty; plus I was uncomfortable with a lady having some gray hair while rocking the blues: 13 years old boys can be sexist little brats.

But I'm a guy who likes to second guess my biases, and so when I came upon her titles last week in the Dollar bin I remembered that Raitt is friends with Ronstadt and I know have more gray hair than Raitt. And so, I figured, what the hell did I have to lose for 93 cents?

And that brings us to today's topic: Eric Kaz's 70's torch song Love Has No Pride. Is it an essential piece of the 70's musical expression? Probably not. The song's a bit overwrought and features some regrettable nonsense about wishing you could buy your beloved's affections; either Kaz wasn't familiar with the song and/or concept Can't Buy Me Love, which seems pretty damn unlikely, or he wished his lady in question would give up her day job and become a woman of ill repute, which is hopefully not the deal, or he just ran out of things to say and grabbed at something silly.

For what it's worth, if you are gonna involve female sex workers in your music I recommend you either get weird and have them bend down to tie the laces of your shoe or go full Ringo and call them women of the night with a big silly grin.

Even so, Love Has No Pride clearly resonated with the record buying public in the early 70's as Raitt, Ronstadt and then Rita Coolidge each issued complimentary versions of the track between 71 and 74. Let's consider them in reverse chronological order, beginning with Coolidge's effort on what may be her best record, Fall Into Spring.

I want to start with Rita, whose records unfairly clog up many a Dollar Bin, because her version of Love Has No Pride is surely why the song dwells in my bones. Coolidge was in my extended family when I was born as she and Kris Kristofferson were still married and Kris, as you can read elsewhere, is my mother's cousin. And so I grew up utterly familiar with Rita's smokey smolder of a voice from my mom's 8 tracks and country radio.

I have no memory of ever actually meeting her, and I doubt I ever did. I was surely left with a babysitter on the rare occasion when my folks hung out with Kris and Rita because, after all, drunken debauchery, which was the performers' calling card, doesn't mix well with babies, especially homely looking ones. And I was mighty homely.

Anyway, take a listen to Rita's version: it's stately and elegant; nothing is forced and nothing is too complicated.

Nice huh? Coolidge consistently drags at the pace, indifferent to anyone who could ever rush her. And by the end we need reminders that she's got an ace band around her: everything in this song centers on Rita and we can't blame the cat on the cover for trying to claim her full attention.

It was a pretty gutsy move on Coolidge's part to record the track; after all, two years earlier Linda Ronstadt had ignored its torch song potential and instead lit up an entire barn. Listen to her throw everything at the tune: we've got back up singers, galloping percussion, 16 different guitar sounds, emerging strings and, at the center of it all, like a detonating star, her own titanic voice.

Ronstadt is one of my favorite singers of all time, and her take on Love Has No Pride is always welcome on my turntable. That said, I prefer Coolidge's slower, simpler arrangement, and I suspect Linda did too. After putting out her version of Love Has No Pride Linda let go of female backing choirs altogether and let a new producer, Peter Asher, help her streamline her arrangements in honor of her voice and solo gesture.

And so, now you know: Rita's take came through the bars of my crib and my own kids grew up with Linda's.

But The Dollar Bin is a mighty force, and it holds many secrets. And, until this last week, Raitt's original take from 71 was one of them.

And maybe, just maybe, her version is the best of the bunch:

Raitt sings the song so simply. Barns don't catch fire, torches are not lit. Instead we've got sweet picking, gurgling bass and a brave woman giving us some straight talk about how she feels and who she loves.

Wow. Bonnie Raitt, people! I'll race you back to those Dollar Bins; looks like it's time to track down the rest of her 70's catalog.

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Against the Tide - Three

Rating: Explicit Pairing(s): Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Original Female Character, Silvio Ricci x Original Female Character Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez (Bleach), Silvio Ricci (Ikemen Prince), Olivia DuBois (Original Female Character of Color) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent, Pirates and Princes, Slow Burn, Action/Adventure, Worldbuilding, Angst, Some Subtle Racism, Sexual Tension, Political Subplot

Previous Chapter: Two | Next Chapter: Four

Summary:

Her father looks uncomfortable. "I heard that you've been keeping company with a pirate."

"He's not a pirate," Olivia protests. "He's a merchant who just has an unfairly bad reputation."

"Reputations come from somewhere, Livvy," her father reminds her gently. "And even if they're mostly fabricated, there's always a kernel of truth in there somewhere."

Read on AO3

“I thought you’d be down there all night,” Prisca remarks, when Olivia ducks through the tavern door again.

“Why would I? Things are just starting to get lively here, from the looks of it.” 

The tavern owner gives her a knowing look. “Not many women can go onto the Hellcat at dusk and come back off of it before the sun comes up.” 

“Well then, I guess that makes me special, doesn’t it?” She looks around the room full of men, her intent to change the subject. “Where are the girls?” 

“Most of ‘em have already gone up with someone for the night,” Prisca replies. “Sabrina and Leonie are around here somewhere though.” The older woman leans in close, her voice lowered. “I think they’re waiting for Mr. Moneybags to come down.” 

Olivia wrinkles her nose. “I could’ve done without knowing that, Prisca.” 

“Well,” Prisca shrugs, “you said you weren’t interested.” 

“And I meant what I said - I’m not,” she reiterates firmly. “I keep telling you that what’s likely to happen is one of his younger brothers ends up marrying one of my younger sisters. Problem solved.” 

“He’s the Crown Prince,” Prisca points out, pulling two short glasses from a high shelf. She slides a bottle of expensive rum across the counter along with the glasses. “He’s gonna have to get married sooner or later.” 

“Not my problem,” Olivia murmurs. She tilts her head toward the bottle of rum and the glasses. “Where’s this going?” 

“Upstairs to room seven.” 

Olivia flips a tray over and places both glasses and the bottle on top of it. She makes her way through the crowded tavern, weaving between full tables where drunk seafarers are bellowing with laughter. Gone are the days when stray hands would find parts of her body along the way - a few broken fingers here and there over the years have always solved that problem quickly. 

At the top of the stairs, she repositions the bottle and glasses on the tray before raising her hand to knock at door number seven. Halfway through her first knock the door is snatched open, and she’s face-to-face with a pair of familiar blue eyes. 

He looks her up and down. When his eyes fall on the tray in her hands, he steps aside to let her in. 

Olivia takes a deep breath. Be civil, she reminds herself. Not only is he a paying customer, he’s also the Crown Prince. “Where would you like this?” She asks politely. 

“Right there,” he answers, his tone short. 

She sets it down on the table he motions to, noticing silently that the room is empty save him. She clears her throat. “Would you like me to take one of the glasses away with me?” 

He stares at her, his expression hard. “Do you have something you want to say?” 

“I’m only asking you if you require both of these glasses,” she smiles politely. “The house is packed tonight and if you’re only in need of one, the other can be used elsewhere.” 

“Maybe I was counting on my server joining me for a drink,” he says. She’s not ignorant to the sarcasm dripping from his voice. 

“Then perhaps I should send one of the other girls up for you,” she offers, her tone still sweetly polite. “As you recall, I’m not for hire.” 

“Only to pirates, it seems.” His voice is pitched low, but she hears the words anyway. 

“I’m sorry, what’s that supposed to mean?” 

He inclines his head to the side, his blue eyes piercing. “What do you think it means?” 

“I think maybe I’m confused about what it means, and it would clear up a lot of the confusion if you would just speak plainly.” She is trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. It’s a Herculean effort. 

“Are you sleeping with him?” 

The blunt question catches her off-guard. Her mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. Still, she’s unable to get any words out for a solid thirty seconds. “What did you just say?” 

Silvio takes a step closer to her. Then another, and another, until his face is only a few inches from hers. “You told me to speak plainly. I asked you a question. Are you sleeping with him?” 

“I… don’t think that’s any of your business,” Olivia sputters indignantly. 

He looks at her for a long time. “No,” he says finally after a few moments. “You’re not.” 

Exasperated, she puts her hands on her hips. “If you knew that already, then why’d you bother asking?” 

He turns away from her, filling a glass with rum and raising it to his lips. “I didn’t know,” he tells her, when he’s taken a long swig. “Until just now.” 

She wants to ask him how he knows. She wants to ask him what it means to him that he knows she isn’t, and why he wanted to know in the first place. But the words get stuck in her throat, and she finds herself unable to say anything at all. 

“You can go,” he says dismissively, when it’s clear she isn’t going to speak. “Leave the other glass. I’m waiting for a business associate.” 

“As you wish,” she manages through clenched teeth, offering him a tight smile. “Enjoy your night.” 

--

“Are you staying tonight, or should I have Murph or one of the other guys walk you back?” 

She hears the question but doesn’t register that it’s aimed at her until Prisca asks again, this time calling her name first. “Um, no,” she says distractedly. “I’ll stay - if that’s alright?” 

“You know it’s always alright,” the older woman nods warmly. “I can always use the help, and I know that little place of yours must get lonely, now that you’re not living with your family anymore.” 

Olivia shrugs. 

--

The first light of dawn has touched the horizon before the last of Prisca’s patrons stumble out of the tavern. Most simply walk to different ends of the dock and hoist themselves groggily (or drunkenly) onto their ships; the rest make their way up the stairs to the rooms they’ve booked at the inn. 

Olivia is wiping down tables when he comes down. At the sound of his footsteps, she looks up. “Good morning,” she says softly. The greeting is her peace offering. 

“You look tired,” is the way he responds. 

“Does everything you say have to be framed as an insult?” The question comes out as a sigh. 

“Less than eight hours ago, you told me to speak plainly so I wouldn’t confuse you.” He points it out as though it’s the most rational thing in the world. 

“I was… that was in a specific context,” Olivia huffs. 

He shrugs, turning towards the door. 

“How did you know?” She blurts it out, unaware she’s going to ask the question until he’s turning back to face her. 

“What?” 

Part of her wants to pretend as though she hasn’t spoken… or at the very least tell him her question was a mistake. But the bigger part of her wants to know, and so she takes a deep breath, straightening to look him in the eye. “You said you didn’t know I wasn’t sleeping with him until you asked me,” she starts quietly. “How did you know?” 

“You fall hard,” Silvio replies. “And you only seem to be casually affected whenever someone brings him up to you in that context. If it had been like that,” he goes on, “you’d either be a lot more obvious about being attached to him, or he’d be the object of all that venom you keep hidden in your tongue.”  

Her mouth turns down in a frown. “That’s not fair.” 

He shrugs again. “It’s the truth you wanted. Besides,” he adds, his smile growing sharp and his words rude, “we all know he doesn’t fraternize with the women he takes to bed. Not after he’s gotten what he wants out of them, anyway---”

“How is that any different from you coming here almost every night of the week?” She knows her question is an unfair comparison, but his summation of Grimmjow has rankled her. 

Silvio looks curiously at her, seeming to seriously consider her question. “Women know who I am when they agree to come to bed with me,” he says finally. “I give them no illusions about what’s going to happen. Or what isn’t,” he adds. 

“And you’re saying he does?” 

He inclines his head to the side. “Why do you care so much about his honor?” He asks the question mockingly. “What has he ever done for you? What has he ever done for anyone aside from himself?” 

“You don’t know him,” she sighs. “He does plenty for other people.” 

“For you, you mean?” Silvio raises his fine silver eyebrows. “You think bringing you trinkets from Vora makes him a good man? You think that means he loves you?” 

Olivia hates it - hates the way the words drip from his lips as cold and bitter as frost. He curls his mouth up in another of those nasty, knowing smiles. “I bet he’s asked, hasn’t he?” He goes on, leaning in close to get a good look at her face. “Why haven’t you let him fuck you?” 

She keeps her mouth firmly shut. 

“Oh,” he leans back, his nasty smile turning into a smug, self-satisfied one. “Don’t tell me there’s somebody else you’re hung up on. Not you, the independent, self-sufficient, courageous woman---”

“That isn’t fair, Silvio,” she asserts quietly. “You said you would never throw it in my face.”

“Well I lied,” he shrugs. “Seems like you lied about something, too.”

His words slam into her so hard they take her breath for a moment. “I was wrong to think you could ever behave like a decent human,” she snaps, pushing past him. “And I was right not to want to marry you.” 

Just for a second, the sneer falls off of his face, and his blue eyes cloud over with something that looks suspiciously like hurt. The second passes, and by the time she looks at him again he has carefully schooled his expression back into a scowl. “Well,” he says haughtily, “you’re no prize yourself, so I guess we both made out like bandits.” 

He slams the door behind him on his way out. 

--

“What?” He breathes the word into her ear, the warm puff of air against her chilled skin making her shudder. He’s being uncharacteristically affectionate, draping his limbs around her, his skin pressing against hers wherever he can reach it. “What’s with that look?” 

His hair brushes against her cheek, silken silver strands like a spider’s web tickling wherever they touch. The thin haze of alcohol is still blanketing her senses, and she laughs. “I don’t know,” she exhales. “I just… I guess I thought it would hurt more.” 

Cloudy blue eyes look down at her. “I can make it hurt, if you want me to,” he whispers. Fingertips dig into her sides, pressing against the soft flesh of her hips. He pushes into her a little deeper. “Do you want me to make it hurt?” 

The slide of him against her walls is the most intense thing she’s ever felt, and she’s barely able to stifle a moan. “N-no,” she breathes out shakily. “This… this is perfect.” 

His smile is smug. 

--

“Well now,” Antoine DuBois greets her warmly. “To what do I owe this treat? I was beginning to think I would never see my firstborn again.” 

“It hasn’t been that long,” Olivia laughs. “I just came by to say hello.”

“You look tired,” he remarks. His words are kind, his delivery completely different from the way she heard those words just a few hours ago. 

“I just finished a shift at the Sundance,” she confesses.

“Don’t tell your mother that,” he frowns. 

“I won’t if you won’t,” Olivia chuckles. 

He doesn’t laugh with her though, and Olivia braces herself for what is sure to be a deeper conversation. Her father takes a deep breath. “Why don’t you come home, Livvy-Love?” He asks softly. “It isn’t just your mother who wants to see you happily settled down, you know.” 

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. “I know you mean well, Papa,” she starts. “But I thought we were past this. I’m fine with my life as it is. If the royal family still has it in their minds to keep us hostage by means of a political marriage, Thalia is the obvious choice.” 

“And while I don’t disagree with you,” her father nods, “that isn’t what this is about.” 

Curiously, she looks at him. “Okay,” she says slowly. “What is it about?” 

Her father looks uncomfortable. “I heard that you’ve been keeping company with a pirate.”

“He’s not a pirate,” Olivia protests. “He’s a merchant who just has an unfairly bad reputation.”

“Reputations come from somewhere, Livvy,” her father reminds her gently. “And even if they’re mostly fabricated, there’s always a kernel of truth in there somewhere.” 

Olivia shakes her head. “Where is all this coming from? And who told you this?” 

There is only a split second of hesitation before he speaks. “Prince Silvio visited the manor a few days ago,” he admits. “We’d actually arranged for his younger brother Prince Alessio to have tea with Thalia. He came along as Alessio’s chaperone.” 

She tries to keep her expression neutral. “And why would you believe anything he says?” 

Puzzled, her father looks at her. “Do I have a reason not to?”  

It stings Olivia’s pride a bit, the idea that her father’s opinion of Silvio isn’t at all colored by Olivia’s experience with him. What tempers the sting of knowing that is that her father has never once berated her for the decision she made all those years ago.

“I just… don’t think Silvio Ricci is the right person to make moral judgments on other people.” 

Antoine’s eyebrows go up. “Oh? Do you know something I don’t?” 

“It’s nothing,” she sighs. “I’m really tired, Papa… can I sleep here for a few hours before I head back to the docks?” 

Her father looks set to pursue his line of questioning, but thinks better of it. “This conversation isn’t over,” he starts. “But I know where your stubbornness comes from, and I also know I’m not going to get anywhere with you when you’re tired.” 

She flashes him a grin, leaning over to kiss his forehead. “You’re the most incredible father in the world.”

“I don’t hear that nearly enough.” 

--

“You called me ugly.” She doesn’t mean for it to come out as an accusation, but it does. 

“I know I did,” he agrees, his blue eyes crinkling with mirth at the corners. “It was fifteen years ago. And I said I was sorry for it back then.” 

She looks up at him. His face is so close, so handsome. She reaches up to run a finger along his bottom lip. “I’m not ugly,” she murmurs. 

“No,” he agrees, “you’re not. You’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen, and you get even prettier when you’re under me like this.” He dips his head, dragging his lips along the skin between her shoulder and the hollow of her throat. He nips at her collarbone, and Olivia arches up into him with a groan. 

“Silvio---”

“Why won’t you marry me?” He lifts his head once more to look at her, his question abrupt. 

The words catch in her throat, but she pushes past the breath they get stuck on to look back at him. “You know why,” she says quietly. 

His blue eyes study her face for a long time. There is something there that she isn’t used to seeing: something open and vulnerable. 

“Would it really be so bad to be a princess?” He whispers the words, burying his face in her shoulder. 

“I wouldn’t be just a princess,” she rebuts, her voice soft in the darkness. “At some point, I would become your Queen… the Queen of Clario. That… Silvio, I couldn’t do it. I’m not cut out for it.” 

He doesn’t raise his head. She can feel him breathing, his back rising and falling. He’s still inside her, still warm and hard and heavy. She cards her fingers through his silken hair. “Silvio…”

“Don’t you love me?” 

--

The memory is still painful, even after five years. She doesn’t allow herself to think of it often, but every now and again it comes to her unbidden and she is powerless to stop it. 

She looks down at the jewelry box in her hand. It’s been sitting in her old bedroom at her parents’ manor for years now, collecting dust and hoarding old memories like a jealous lover. 

“Livvy!” The sound of her two youngest sisters clamoring up the stairs reaches her ears and makes her smile, despite the heavy feeling in her heart. The twins come bounding into her room, their cries of excitement drowning out even her noisiest thoughts. 

Nadine bounces on the bed next to Olivia, her big brown eyes on the box in Olivia’s hands. “Livvy, what’s in that?” 

Olivia narrows her eyes playfully at the little girl. “I’m surprised you don’t already know, Dina,” she starts. “You can be awfully nosy when you want to.” 

“Oh, we don’t come in here unless you’re here,” the other twin, Leina, pipes up. “Papa and Mama say your things are not to be touched.” 

“So what’s that?” Nadine asks again. 

“It’s a jewelry box,” Olivia smiles, opening the lid to show them the compartments inside. The jewelry within is just as she left it so many years ago, each piece nestled perfectly into its own compartment. 

“So pretty,” Leina breathes. “Did you buy all of that?” 

“No,” Olivia says softly. “A… friend bought it for me.” 

Leina bounces up and down beside her. “That must be a really good friend,” she giggles excitedly. “When I grow up, I want a friend like that!” 

Olivia smiles, a little wistfully. 

--

“Don’t you love me?”

He asks the question softly, more plaintively than she’s ever heard him speak. He doesn’t look up at her; she knows that it is a matter of his pride. 

“Of course I do,” she says candidly. “You know I do.”

“But you won’t marry me.”

“Silvio…” 

He raises his head once more, his blue eyes dark as he pulls his hips back. He gives her a smile: that same smug, self-satisfied smile he always gives her whenever she surrenders her body to his. “I won’t ask you anymore,” he whispers, his lips ghosting across hers in a kiss. “I promise.”

Previous Chapter: Two | Next Chapter: Four

[hiraethhq]

Welcome to HIRAETH, Donovan! Make sure to follow the checklist and send the link to your blog to the main within 24 hours.

admin sierra

name: donovan redfield

age: 33

gender & pronouns: he/him

sexual orientation: fuck if he knows anymore

status: visitor

class: vice

hierarchy: spade 

additional: 

occupation: bodyguard to santiago

housing: virgil’s hymn w/ santiago & carmen

face claim: lucien laviscount

good: flirtatious, respectful, warm

bad: jealous, secretive, noncommittal

ugly: [redacted]

background: 

Growing up in a military family meant constant relocation. Donovan quickly learned how to make friends and, just as easily, how to avoid attachment.

As the middle child, he often felt overshadowed by his older and younger brothers. In response, he worked hard to stand out in school—not through rebellion, but by being someone people could depend on.

He built a reputation early on as the guy who had people’s backs. Teachers trusted him, girls at recess felt safe around him, and he carried that into after-school clubs. His mother taught him respect, and in turn, they all taught him how to treat women. He was a protector, all while leading his kickball team to victory.

That same energy carried over to high school. He became the quarterback of the football team—JV turned Varsity by sophomore year.

He sometimes wondered how life might’ve turned out differently if he stuck to it, but at the end of the day, he believed things happened for a reason.

Determined to carve his own path and stand out from his siblings, he joined the Navy at 18, just like his parents before him.

During boot camp, he met a girl, fell in love fast, and they got married quickly. The marriage had its perks—it kept her from being stationed elsewhere and secured them better housing. A win-win.

They were close—dancing in the living room, sharing inside jokes, cooking for each other. It was real, and for a while, he felt like he had something solid.

Then, while he was deployed for a year, she had an affair with her best friend. He walked in on them the day he came home. The trust he had placed in her shattered in an instant.

Heartbroken, something inside him changed. He didn’t wallow—he reinvented himself. 

He became a flirt, played the field, and threw himself into fitness. Relationships were off the table. The second things got serious, he walked. He couldn’t help it. Maybe that was his one true flaw.

After leaving the military, he felt adrift. Instead of settling down, he hit the road, traveling across the country in search of himself.

He worked every odd job imaginable—bartender, trainer, tour guide, mechanic, server, security guard… he even took up entertaining for a while. He documented it all in a travel journal, carrying it everywhere he went.

His family always had his back, no matter what. They didn’t know about the stripping gig—not a chance in hell—but he appreciated their unwavering support.

One day, while passing through yet another job’s staff room, he opened a door and found something impossible—Hiraeth waiting for him on the other side. He was curious. And everything happened for a reason.

He landed in a Spade position at the Church, keeping an eye on the performers. The energy, the music, the lights—it felt like everything in his life had built up to this.

He thrived so well in his position that he was promoted to full-time bodyguard for one of the biggest performers in Hiraeth—Santiago.

They clicked instantly. They had a lot in common and it was actually fun having a best friend. He was watching his back, sure, but it was more important than that.

…It was a lot more important than that.

[memoriescut]

shoulders shrug lightly at question, a confident grin on her lips. she's always had to be observant one way or another, outcome of her days ditctated by her mother's current mood. it rarely was nice, but if anything it's given pudding an headstart about reading people as much as they would let her. she pretends to think about it for a moment - sardine oil wouldn't mix well with chocolate no matter what, its taste would ruin all the flavour. her trail of thought is broken by sanji's comment, humming in thought as fingers instinctively move to tuck short strands behind her ear. "thanks, you're very kind." she accepts the compliment lightly, still new to not letting the voices belittle the few good things she still got left. "guess we all need a change at some point." and while her long hair provided a sense of safety pudding thought she could never anywere else, now she can also recognise it was just as much of a cage as everything else.

chin rests on clasped hands as she watches sanji fall back into a professional manner, still an amused smile ghosts on pudding's lips t the way personal notes are added, nodding along in encouraging manner even upon hearing about the last dish of the menu - a pensive expression on features as she envisions it, mind already reeling with questions about its composition. "oh well, it sounds like i might be about to have the lunch of my life." no doubt about that, after all good reputations can't be buit over nothing. soft gaze remains on the cook for a moment, the arrival of more patrons eventually getting her attention. "i see you have your hands full so i won't keep you longer," a hint of disappointment still manages to slip in her tone, how nice it would be to catch up further. perhaps later. "the menu sounds lovely, i can't wait to see it."

gaze still follows sanji when he parts, expression relaxing as pudding finds cover in her own thoughts. a part of her misses it - the loud music, the crowd, the smell of good food in every corner of the establishment. her mind goes back to the cafe caramel more times than she would like to admit, seemingly simpler times still tugging at her heart. who knows if it's ever been replaced after its distruction, if her the citizens of chocolat town have found their favourite spot elsewhere these days. it's a whole life away she is not part of anymore, but in the it all boils down to one little detail: she hasn't stepped in a proper kitchen for years, and oh how she misses that feeling. before she realizes, a plate is already making its way to her table.

ㅤㅤThere she is, that sense of confidence of hers seemingly still intact, meeting Pudding’s words with a grin that broadens with the continuation of the joke, brushing a hand over his shoulder to denote the cook’s thoughts on his skillset. "Can’t get anything past you, eh? I hear he’s not too shabby but who knows, he might surprise you with his own unique spin on something inedible… sardines dipped in white chocolate."  There’s a playful grimace with the mere thought of the clashing flavours that should never grace one's palate together, comfortable laughter ringing out as Sanji finds himself using the segue to take in her appearance, noting how the overall style seems a little more mature in comparison with the concluding instance of their last encounter.  "You cut your hair."  There’s a lightness to the comment as realisation sinks in with fair line of vision piecing it altogether, smile unwavering as he provides the brunette with a final verdict  (  un avec sincérité  ).  "It suits you. Very chic."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤThere’s a small acquiescing nod from the blond, breezily falling back into the habit of addressing the main(?) reason for her visit, veering into a waiter's patter to divulge the day's courses ( comme à l'époque ), specifically choosing those that the restaurant would only have a limited number of servings - this was on account of the copious hours of pre-prep having taken place the prior night and over the period of the morning, the process of finalising the dishes merely the tip of the figurative iceberg.  "As an aperitif, a personal favourite is a dolce variety comprising of notes of rhubarb, orange and a selection of botanicals - comfortingly floral, but not overbearing. To start, I’d recommend the carrot schnitzel which are served with a coating of paprika smoked panko, accompanied by sunflower hummus and a spicy zhoug - they balance each other nicely, especially when served with a glass of white wine originating from our very own Sambas Region.

ㅤㅤ"For the main, we have a traditional bouillabaisse featuring lobster, red mullet and blue-eye trevalla with freshly baked baguette croutons and saffron rouille. A rosé from Dressrosa is our prized selection for the day, not detracting from the meal's richer infusions. And for dessert…"  There’s a pause of hesitation, the cook knowing fully that this was very much Pudding’s area of expertise, keenly interested in her upcoming feedback later on.  “...a tower of three fine layers of shortbread stacked and held upright by strawberries hulled and halved lengthways, all exquisitely assembled with Chantilly cream, served with an underlying splash of strawberry coulis anda dusting of icing sugar. How does that sound?"

[discoscoob]

You want more Eddissy hc's? No problem, my friend, because I have so many and I'm scared to post them elsewhere. (be aware, some implied non-con and angst) It's set in the same story line which I have sent before (Vecna is only but a little DnD figure, no one ever had to leave for California, everyone is alive and breathing) __

"Eddie, please, don't --" Don't leave me, is what she wanted to say. Please don't let me go. Please stay with me until the sky falls down on us, until Earth swallows us whole, until our last breaths are taken from our lungs.

"You know that this -- this thing between us won't work. Because you are Chrissy Cunningham, the Christian cheerleader next door with her handsome blond boyfriend, and I'm just white trash without parents and a lunch box full of drugs."

Chrissy had wanted to cry many times before in her life, and she certainly had followed her body's command. She had bawled her eyes out at movies, after her first win in a cheerleader competition, after the first time Jason had not listened to her whispered no's. But with Eddie Munson telling her that despite their kiss, despite their passionate talks in the middle of the night, stars and moon illuminating their flushed faces, they couldn't even be close anymore -- it was a different kind of sadness that crashed over her like a violent wave. It suffocated her, took away her ability to breathe.

"Why did I do wrong?" Her voice was quiet, almost unaudible. She had to know, yet she did not want to hear Eddie answer. Chrissy wanted to create a force-field around them two, a bubble no one else could ever break into, a space so safe that they were absolutely free until time itself collapsed.

Eddie stepped closer. She wasn't sure if it was a play of the light, if the street lamp made her see things, if it was the aura of the rain that was setting in -- but she wasn't the only one with tears welling up.

"You did nothing wrong, sweetheart," Eddie murmured into the night. His dextrous fingers played a tattoo against her neck. Short, short. Short, long, short, short. Long, short, long, long. I. L. Y.

They had started communicating in morse code after their second time of smoking weed at Eddie's. In now way had they been able to talk to each other in school; afraid that Jason would see them, scared how others would react, they had decided to keep their friendship -- who are you kidding, Chrissy? Friendship? Friends don't want to kiss each other until they're blue in the face -- secret. It was intoxicating, the feeling of clandestiness, it felt like they were spies with a mission.

"But --" I. L. Y. The staccato was restless, unyielding, completely consuming her every fiber. "I can't do this anymore. I want to -- I want to hold you. I want to show you off. I want to kiss you whenever I -- when I want." Eddie cast his eyes down. His possessiveness was something she desired. She relished in knowing that he wanted her to be his. "The riot we'd cause, it'd be funny the first five minutes. But you -- I don't want you throwing away your future, your status, what you've achieved."

"Why should I be throwing away anything?" The rain kept tumbling down. Eddie's hair was sticking to his forehead, his tears missing with the droplets coming from above. Poetic, is what it was, to get her heart broken with the sky cracking down on them.

"You know what I mean. Those scholarships? They come with the price of you being cheer captain, and we're both aware that your life would become living hell in the squad if anyone found out." She wanted to tell him that school wasn't their last stop in life, that it would all be over soon. The drive to be the most popular, the rumors that destroyed reputations, teenagers backstabbing each other to rise above the broken. But Chrissy wasn't dumb, she knew. While school may not have been their last stop, it was certainly their starting point, and if she wanted an advantage in life, she'd need all the support she could get.

"Why can't we --" Why can't we stay friends, at least? Why are you taking everything from me? Why have you taken my barely beating heart into your hands, why did you make it pulse again at every sight of you, just to crush it underneath teenage popularity contests and societal conformity?

"You know why, sweetheart." He kissed her then. Eddie was warm, a safety blanket in a world that clawed at her. His lips were escapism, his breath intoxicating, his love destructive and so right for her.

She wanted to stay like this for eternity, wrapped in the arms of someone she loved so deeply, covered by summer rain, lit up by a barely working street lamp. But Eddie pulled away. First, his lips. Then his hands. Then his gaze. With a dry sob, he turned around.

"I love you, Chrissy Cunningham, but that means I have to let you go. You deserve more than this."

I’m gonna kick Eddie’s ass just you watch.

No omg your writing is so captivating, I can’t believe you just send them straight into my inbox for free? How did I get so lucky? This one is heartbreaking, I never used to like angst but I fear I’m growing obsessed with it lately, as long as I know it’s going to pay off with a happy ending, please tell me they still get their happy ending 🥺

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

A place

A place.

"Can I just check to make sure that the real name of this place was 'The Room.'"

The Room had a name. It did.

A place, then.

"I can't get over how you managed to fuck up so many simple things so quickly. How did you even manage that?"

"I didn't, I did my best."

"No, you didn't. You have the ability and resources to do things right. But you can't do things right. You are a failure. You're worse than a failure. I don't know what you would need to do to become a better failure."

A place.

He was here on the verge of weeping, but also he was laughing. His laugh was full of sadness. It was the sound of someone who was aware that they were laughing only because they believed it to be a funny sort of sad. The sound of someone laughing so hard that they are about to laugh themselves to death. But they've already reached the point of "there is no laughter without tears."

"Can I come in?"

"Do you really want to?"

"I'm not really sure what to do. I mean, I could go somewhere else. I know that there are other rooms. But I feel like I should be here."

"That's not a good enough reason."

"I'm not very good at making decisions. I feel like I'm just making a bad decision over and over again all day."

"Yeah. It kind of is like that, isn't it."

He nodded.

"You're the wrong person to be a decision-maker with. That's just something to expect."

"I agree. And I don't have a plan. I guess I just want to be here."

"Alright. But I'm making a plan."

It was a plan, of course. It was the kind of plan that doesn't have many flaws, because the flaws will only be obvious once the entire thing collapses. The sort of plan that requires the world to turn out the way it was going to. It was also something else, and the world hadn't turned out the way it was going to.

"First, this place is a trap. I knew that. So now that we know that this is a trap, we can go forward from there. So: we know that the thing that killed us was the thing that brought us here. And that means that the thing that killed us was worse. That's good! That means this is a better place. We're in a place that's better than the place from which we came."

"I don't think it's that simple," Oates said. "I don't think it's like that."

She had an odd smile on her face, almost like a pout. She was a strange sort of person, who looked at the world through the lens of her own strange beliefs. He wasn't entirely certain whether it would be better to die or not, at this moment. It might have been. The place might have not been as bad as its reputation. But he couldn't tell. And Oates was trying to tell him, in this way, that the world wasn't simple. She was trying to tell him that he had to make a decision. She wanted him to make one. She was saying "you are trapped here, because the world has decided to trap you here. We should go forward." She wanted him to take a leap of faith. She wanted him to say, "well, I guess I will make a decision. Even if I am wrong, I will at least have made the decision." He didn't feel ready to do that.

"We are in a space here, Oates. Not a place. This place is not a room. It's not a place at all. It's not like anything else."

Her face changed a bit, and she nodded. He didn't really mean anything by it. He wasn't sure whether it was supposed to be a kind of agreement, or some kind of assent. It was the only way he could make sense of it.

"If we have to die, if that is what we are doing, this is what it is like. We are here in this place. We can't get to anywhere else. There is no elsewhere."

"I'm sorry, I don't think this is true."

"We are in this space because we are being killed. It's a space that we are trapped in. Or a space that kills us."

"I thought we were going to get killed. I didn't think we were trapped."

"This is what it is like to be trapped, Oates. This is a space that is trapped. We are trapped in a space that isn't like anything else."

She started to say something. But then he interrupted her.

"I'm tired. Let's not continue this line of conversation right now."

She didn't say anything, but just nodded. He knew she was disappointed.

That was all it was at first. She wasn't angry. She wasn't mad at him.

He felt embarrassed.

"We can start by examining the room," she said. "Or we can examine anything else. The thing we know. Let's start with the room."

"The Room is a place that is not like anything else. The Room killed us. The Room killed a lot of people. It's hard to see it as anything else but a space that kills. It's a space, and that kills. Let's just leave it at that."

Oates didn't look too happy, but she wasn't going to argue. She was not going to press him. For now, she just shook her head, and then went back to the room, and began talking again.

"What killed you was not the room. It was something else that it brought out of you. It was the room as an extension of you, as something that your nature was being forced to produce."

"And what were you, in this place?"

"What were we?"

"Yes, who were we? What is this room?"

She paused.

"I don't know who we were. This place is not like any other place. I don't have an answer for you."

"We are supposed to be in this place, aren't we? That means that we have to be in some part of this place. Where are we? Or not us, but something that is us. A thing that we used to be, that can be used. But I'm saying it this way so that it makes sense. What are we?"

"That depends on where you think we are."

"Where were you?"

"I am in the room. I'm here in the room. You're here in the room. That's where we are. Is

[vintersang]

Why is he the nervous-sounding one? That should be me right now, not him! Confusion quickly swirls around her mind, mixing quite well with her exhaustion. Even though she did not understand why he sounded uneasy, nothing he said could coax the tension out of her high-strung body. She may have gotten caught up in the tone of his voice, but soon her tired mind caught up with what he was saying. Her naked hand tightens its grip on the heavy candleholder as her mind registered only one word from the stranger's sentence. He called her what everyone called her, "Highness" is such a familiar word to her ears, but she knew for a fact she has never seen him before—

Well, actually, she can't see him so good from this distance in the dark church— Her vision is more accustomed to reading by candlelight, not eyeing up some man from head to toe without even a chaperone to watch over them. If she wasn't distracted by his sudden arrival, then she might be thankful for the darkness because at least darkness (and their distance) hid her inappropriateness for trying to examine him so much to try to identify him— Oh, did it matter what he looked like? She didn't recognize his voice; she made it her duty to remember faces as well as voices, but she does not recognize anything. He knew her, that much is very clear, yet here she stood with no information about him.

Quickly realizing her lack of information on the man cleanly sliced through her list of options, she did not dare to open her mouth to respond to him. Confusion and exhaustion weighed down on her, breathing down her neck, but she refused to open her mouth. Speaking without any form of information on the matter could easily lead her down a dangerous path. Others might be comfortable to speak their mind, maybe even try to make small talk. Elsa, however, did not have this mindset. She could not have it, not when speaking so freely could easily cause her future problems.

Choosing silence as her response to his polite yet nervous words, all Elsa did is grip the candelabra even tighter in her hand. What is she going to do if this stranger proved to be a threat to her? She is all alone in this sacred place at night. Neither chaperone nor guard are here to protect her as well as make sure her reputation, her everything, is safe. He sounded nice, maybe a tad awkward because of his nerves, but she knows all too well that people who go roaming in the night are full of secrets. She should know since she is one of them.

What should she do if he approached her even more? She had no form of blade on her person, not even hidden beneath her skirts or cleverly hidden elsewhere on her person. If she wasn't so skittish, she would have made a note to carry some form of protection on her person. Others may choose a sword in this moment, maybe even a cast-iron frying pan if they didn't have a "proper" weapon, but... What did the mourning heir to the Arendelle throne have at her disposal in this dark setting against a potentially dangerous stranger?

Elsa has a candelabra as her weapon of choice.

How...perfect.

She knew she also had this curse, the very power that has led her to coming to the private chapel for months to try to prepare for her Coronation Day when she becomes of age. It is the fault of her curse for placing her in this situation with a man all by herself. Why, oh why couldn't he be a female? To be left alone with another female wouldn't damage her. The universe, however, decided to continue punishing her. Was the sinking of the ship already the biggest punishment? Apparently not.

"Are you not capable of thinking within your bedchamber?" She finally speaks, cutting through the fear within her core.

Ah, there goes her silence.

Seconds begin to pass, but time felt like it's stretching so slowly once she realizes she had spoken aloud. It may have been a slip of her tongue, but it is still as icy as the candelabra in her bare hand. Her trembling had stopped at the horrifying realization she had spoken her thought aloud. How can I be such a fool to say that aloud? She sucked in her breath, suddenly wishing for the shadows of the empty chapel to hide her...keep her, if they will even approve of her. She tries to not grip the heavy object in her hand because she's already grasping onto it far too tightly.

Elsa should be relieved he has chosen to sit at the pew near the entrance, far from her and the frost beginning to cover their only source of light. Her power has yet to reach the burning wick tips of the three candles. It remains on the tall stem of the object, right where her hand is gripping. The faint frost has begun to spread downward, desiring to corrupt the well and the base since it has already covered the column-like stem. She hopes it think about moving upward towards the three arms. For now, the soft glow of the candles are not disturbed.

Focus on something else! Her mind screams at her, noticing the creep of the frost.

How do I focus when I said something awful to another person? She protested back. It only resulted in more of a rigid stance, though it did stop her fear and its trembling. Not only did she speak her mind, but she had also failed to remember they were within the walls of a chapel. God has already punished her and her subjects enough by stealing away her parents, the real rulers.

They were taken away too early, still so young... How many ideas and dreams died with them upon that ship? The sea takes and takes many souls, more than any war, yet their deaths will not please it. She should be the one in the sea, sinking within its depths. She will not feel its cold. She imagines being dragged to the darkest depths of the sea will be much like falling asleep. It's only a fleeting thought, however. She does not have much experience with swimming, so she is not the best swimmer. She, however, has not faced a stormy sea or raging currants. Aside from her burning lungs longing for air, she thinks she can handle the sea.

The mental image of her parents struggling for air and fighting the freezing temperatures of the water haunt her waking mind whenever she peers out at windows towards the sea. She did not know if their deaths were slow or swift, but the lack of knowledge only seemed to fuel her mind. The missing answers caused her to draw curtains shut, dismissing the sights of the sea. She went as far as refusing to eat fish these past four months, unable to look at it. Olina, the kitchen cook, quickly learned to stop serving seafood to the oldest princess.

I should apologize. I'm within a dwelling of holiness, so it feels like something I should do. She thinks about it as silence wraps around her, familiar and so easy to lose herself in within its embrace. Silence did not expect things from her. She did not have to be polite with strained smiles and polished words.

But all you said is the mere truth, is it not? The logical side of her mind argues back. Making a decision, even something as simple as giving an apology, only weighs her down even more. She is tired, too tired for a conversation with anyone. If she didn't wish to speak to the pleasant Lord Peterrson, then she surely didn't want to talk to a stranger in the middle of the night.

The sitting man seems to like silence... However, he could be merely stunned by her response? If she were in his shoes, she knows she would be shocked as well as more nervous. Maybe scared since their roles were swapped, then she wouldn't be afraid of herself since she wouldn't have magic. Judging by how his voice sounded, he also might reach a point of no return when it comes to his nervousness. Some part of her, the more frustrated side that didn't want to be around anyone in her grief, enjoys his silence. The blunt words and icy tone appear cruel, but his silence showed how easily she could silence someone if she chose to do so.

Out of nowhere, he speaks.

He tried to make a casual joke, but one word has already sealed his fate.

"Are you implying that you wish to be trapped with me in a storm?" She cannot see him and his smile, not unless he magically produces a light source, but it matters not what his face looks like. She instantly frowns at the mention of a storm, though the mention of being trapped only sours her mood. The Arendelle household have danced around saying that word, including her regent himself, because they knew what to expect whenever she heard the talk of storms. She didn't ask them to do so, but she did appreciate their attempt to not remind her of the still-fresh deaths.

"It doesn't sound like a comforting setting, no. I suppose you are correct. I can imagine far worse settings to be trapped in, actually!" Elsa knew she should bite her tongue, but she doesn't do so. Let him remember her family's tragedy. If she must be disturbed during a private moment meant for her and herself alone, then she will make him want to leave.

"The... The stained glass?" His abrupt observation startles her from everything, including her own mind as well as the frost gathering upon their light source and her weapon. Though she has been frequenting the chapel at night ever since the news hit her, she has not focused on the stained glass because she always focused through the ceremony without her gloves. His comment causes her focused gaze to, finally, leave his shadowed figure to look over at the windows.

Moonlight tries to spill through the colorful glass, but it struggles due to the clouds and dark night. Anna, if she were here, would most likely say it would look prettier during the day. The sun would shine through, casting a spell of warm colors to wash upon the people. Her earliest memory of coming to the chapel with her family were marveling at the colors, desiring to create something as beautiful as the glass.

If she remembers correctly, little Anna squealed loudly by saying she wanted to eat the shards of pretty glass. Their father got a laugh out of that remark, but their mother gently shushed Anna for being so loud. Extra careful of her tone of voice, Elsa curiously asked her little sister why she would eat something so dangerous. Her sister said it had to be made out of candy, easily showing her young age as well as her innocence. All three of them laughed at Anna's response. Their parents, mostly her mother, never let Anna forget about such a faint memory since she always brought it up on Sundays.

Every time her parents asked if she wanted to attend a service in the chapel when she was younger, her mother occasionally asked her if she wanted to join Anna in plotting to eat the stained glass windows. It has been her mother's attempt to lighten the mood, trying to ease the distance after the accident. Her mothers always put on smiles, but she knew how much it hurt her mother. When it came to her father, he was harder to read. Now, however, they will be forever impossible to read because they are gone. Even now, she struggles to recall their laughter.

When was the last time she heard their laughter?

"Yes, it is beautiful, isn't it?" Elsa finds her voice after pushing back the memory as well as the awful intrusive thought. She blinked away the forming tears, disliking looking at the display of art. She looks back at him, suddenly remembering that he is here. Thankfully, he is still in his seat. She still grips her weapon, ready to potentially use it if he dared to think about approaching her.

"It looks perfect when the full moon is shining through them on a clear night. It's more beautiful at nighttime..." She added more quietly, but she's completely speaking to herself when she says those words. In only a couple of years from now, she will be twenty-one. She will be expected to face the public by then, right within this very spot, no longer allowed to hide under the dark veil of the mourning period.

The mere thought of witnessing the stained glass windows during the day reminds her of the future. A piercing chill descends across the dark room at the cruel crash of reality. It's more colder than the the initial chill of the night and lack of a properly burning fire. Elsa doesn't notice the drop in temperature until the stranger notices it, but she can't pull back the cold from wrapping around his body.

Elsa can only stand there and hope he doesn't say or do anything.

@umbravirtus walked into the unknown.

Lord Peterrsen has served her family for many, many long years. The death of her parents, King Agnarr and Queen Iduna, led the kindhearted man to become her regent until she became of age to properly take the throne. Four months have now passed, but the mourning period is still in full effect. Even though her birthday is quickly approaching, Elsa dresses in black. She does not allow any celebrations to occur, though she still thinks Anna is going to try to do something for her birthday...

Though the gates were closed, Lord Peterrsen had invited someone from the Southern Isles to the Arendelle Castle to try to settle some important arrangements. It was private business, something that Elsa should know about... But she couldn't focus. Lord Peterrsen requested an audience from her, but she didn't answer his knocks. She told him to go away. Unlike Anna, the nobleman did not go away as easily.

She urged him to do whatever he thinks is best, telling him to do what he thinks is best for Arendelle. Still, he didn't leave. Growing with urgent desperation, she told him that she will see him in three days time. Somewhat satisfied with her agreement to see him, he left her to her own devices. A wise queen would automatically let him in, immediately address the important matters. But she is too deep in her grief, not wanting to see anyone except for two people she would never get to see again. Will she forget their voices?

She knows she is fortunate enough to have family portraits spread throughout the castle, but the fear of forgetting them spread as fast as the ice in her bedchamber. She feared the idea of forgetting their voices. She wished it was possible to record the sound of someone's laughter, every inch of their voices... Record everything they ever said. Writing down melodies and songs upon music sheets were easy, but no amount of parchment or ink can preserve the preciousness of someone's voice... You can write down the lyrics of a precious lullaby, allow the lullaby to be immortal upon the paper, but you can never preserve someone's beautiful singing.

Gone, gone, gone.

It was all gone...

Why didn't she write down their conversations in her private journals? She has dedicated herself to writing as much as possible during her years of isolation. She should have wrote down every drop of wisdom from her father's mouth, but she didn't do it. I won't have to do that, she once thought to herself, so very foolish. Papa and Mama will always be there for us. But now they were gone, forever lost at sea.

Elsa didn't want to write down just her father's endless wisdom. She wanted to immortalize her single inch of her mother and father's very souls, but it is far too late now. They were dead. She could ask people about them, but... Talking about them left her with the urge to scream. She has never been one to scream before, not even during moments of pure joy. She swallowed back the urge to unleash a loud sob, too terrified to know what would happen if she unveiled her emotions.

One day, Anna will leave her once she grew sick of being shut out by someone as coldhearted as her. One day, Anna will find someone to happily marry— Elsa cannot predict the future, but she knew that Anna's marriage had to be written in stone. In her mind, it was a fact. She simply didn't know when or how. Anyone would be happy to have her sister's hand in marriage, even if she never got her hands on the throne. One day, Anna will no doubt live elsewhere in her husband's home. These halls, these very grounds, will no doubt be where Elsa will spend all of her days until she takes her dying breath.

Elsa kneels down in the darkened chapel. Only a single candelabra, heavier than the royal scepter she will one day hold in three years time, with three brightly lit candles were her light in the otherwise empty royal chapel. She was once wrapped up with her mother's scarf, but now she removed it from her shoulders to cling to it with gloved hands. She embraces it to her chest, lost in prayers to a silent god— Not even the gods of old, the ones that her people once worshipped long ago, would answer her prayers— She has found herself in this chapel for two, maybe three, hours since she struggled to sleep. She thought, yet another foolish thought, that the chapel would be able to ease the storm of many swirling thoughts.

In the beginning, she stood and stared up. Ever since the castle received the news of the sunken ship, Elsa had began to regularly visit the chapel. In the earlier days, she tried to sought comfort through being in the presence of the quiet chapel. Her faith has always lingered in the back of her mind, never quite the strongest. Though she may have struggled with religion, she did still believe. How could she sit back and not believe when she was given such a dazzling power as hers? Even if she did believe in the existence of a deity, praying has also been a struggle since none of her prayers were answered.

Soon, her visits to the chapel quickly turned into something more productive. If prayers cannot held her, then she will make use of her nightly visits by practicing for her coronation day. Tonight is like no other. She is here, pulled by the duty of needing to practice without her gloves. She is alone on this cold night in December, but that will soon change. She didn't know when she rose back to her feet, but she had done so without much thought. Elsa had removed her gloves, something she only chooses to do when she knows she is all alone.

Though she was worried about ruining her mother's scarf, she still clings to the fabric with both of her bare hands. It felt so soft... How soothing to feel something that her mother created from nothing. She clung to it with both hands, temporarily lost in a reverie of nostalgia. Her mother was always busying her hands, often bouncing between detailed embroidery to her newest knitting project. She had a gift for creation, her mother. The thought of her mother brought a lump in her throat as she pictured her face, but all she can remember is the way her mother looked so sorrowful, no doubt still hurt by her decision to be all alone...

The sound of a door opening instantly makes her drop her mother's scarf. The knitted scarf will no doubt not mind the floor since the chapel was extremely clean, thanks to the more pious members of the castle's staff. Still, she feels a pang of guilt for dropping something so precious so easily— But her panic shoots through her, stronger than anything else, as she didn't have time to put on her gloves, which were resting neatly on one of the empty pews. Her hands quickly reach over to grab the candelabra with both hands, the next best thing for her. She spins around, surprise written across her face. She sees the silhouette of a tall man, though she cannot see his features so clearly.

"Who goes there!" Elsa called out, silently cursing herself for not being able to get to her gloves in time. Part of her wished it was only a worried Kai, but she knew very well that the proud steward was not shaped as tall and muscular as this stranger. Was it Lord Peterrsen, the very same man that vowed to be her regent until she could properly take the throne in three years time? She hoped it was the case, even if he would no doubt lecture her on how she shouldn't be sneaking off in the middle of the night. The silence stretched, immediately confirming her worries... This person, the same person who was now blocking her only exit, was no one that she knew.

"What are you doing here?" No trace of uneasiness, thankfully, does not seep into her voice. Her hands are trembling a little bit, but they appear as steady as can be from a distance. With no heat to stay warm on this December night, she can pretend that she is cold. It was a good enough excuse for a trembling monarch. Elsa is still reeling in shock, but she holds her head up high. She cannot show weakness...

She cannot show anything.

[spidernerdsblog]

Hi 🙋‍♀️I have a request if u take them. Cud u write sth about Tom Holland x singer reader and the reader is performing at the Grammys or sth and the performance and song and costume is like really seggsy and Tom gets jealous??? Idk 🤷‍♀️ Sorry to bother u I just love your writing

Sorry this took me so long was at a lack of ideas. I strongly believe Taylor Swift’s reputation deserved a Grammy. So I'm borrowing her album for the reader. Hope you like this.

Pairing : Tom Holland x Singer! Reader

Warnings : angst, fluff, jealousy, suggestive theme, missed typos

Mini Playlist : Endgame by Taylor Swift, There’s nothing holding me back by Shawn Mendes

Baby I'm jealous

You and Tom were seated at the back when your limo pulled over at the venue. You could hear the commotion from the inside even though you have walked numerous red carpets by now but it still seems to be a little nerve racking to you. Especially when this is the first time Tom is accompanying you to the Grammys which is going to be a big deal for the media. The security personnel opened the door and as you stepped out of the car you were flooded with flashing lights from the cameras. 

Tom held out his hand for you, you slipped your arm into his and walked with a dazzling smile posing for the cameras “you look amazing, darling” he knelt down to whisper in your ear. In the meantime a lady journalist came forward to ask you a bunch of questions. 

“So Y/N three nominations this year, how are you feeling?” 

“Well it’s always good to be back here and share the stage with all these talented artists as usual I’m excited and looking forward to the night” you answered.

“We see you have brought company this year” she remarked which had you blushing.

“Yeah, I couldn't think of a better company than him on this very important occasion” you said bashfully tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Tom, what do you have to say?” she poses the question to him.

“Uhh I mean she has always been an incredible singer and her songs are the reason that made me fall in love with her in the first place” he replied looking proudly at you.

“Aww you both are adorable. Wish you the best” she said before leaving.

“Thank you so much” you thanked her, walking inside the auditorium and sat on your designated seats. There you were met with lots of your friends from the music industry as you said hi and chatted with them for a while.

“Hey Y/N how are you?!” you heard Shawn from behind as you turned around and went to eagerly hug him. You and Shawn were really good friends from the beginning of your career and you have always been supporting each other’s works.

“I’m good, how are you?” you chirped.

“I’m fine now” he remarked cheekily and went to sit beside you as you started talking catching up on each other totally ignoring Tom. To be honest he was a little annoyed seeing you so over friendly with him but he brushed off his thoughts quickly.

The show began and a few awards were distributed with some performances in between by different artists. You too had to perform for tonight which also included a duet with Shawn and soon your time came as you stood up from your seat to go backstage.

“Best of luck, love” Tom said to boost your confidence.

“Thanks babe” you kissed on his cheek lovingly.

“See you on the stage Y/N” Shawn snickered.

“Oh I’m looking forward to it” you blew him an air kiss and headed backstage to change into your stage outfit. The stage was set and you could hear the loud cheers of the audience from backstage. Truth to be told you always get a little nervous before any public concert but this time it was different because Tom sat there in the audience and you are more excited than nervous to perform. The lights went out and the screen doors slid open as you walked on the stage with the spotlight on you. The notes begin to play as you vocalize striding across the stage with oomph.

I wanna be your endgame

I wanna be your first string

I wanna be your A-Team

I wanna be your endgame, endgame

The crowd cheered as the supporting dancers slowly entered the stage. Tom sat amidst the crowd in awe witnessing you in your full glory. You owned the stage like a queen. He knew you were the prettiest woman he has ever met but the bodycon suit you were wearing accentuated your curves all at the right places.

Big reputation, big reputation

Ooh you and me we got big reputations, ah

And you heard about me, ooh

I got some big enemies

You waltzed around the stage with a sultry look in your eyes, slightly swaying your hips making the crowd go crazy. Tom was very good at keeping his emotions under check but when it comes to you he’s a possessive man so when he heard a few men from the crowd passing comments of how hot and sexy you looked he was fuming from inside. You went on to sing two more songs from your album then transitioned to Shawn’s latest single.

You take me places that tear up my reputation

Manipulate my decisions

Baby, there's nothing holdin' me back

“Make some noise for Shawn Mendes!” you cheered as he emerged from the backstage playing the chords on his guitar and the audience screamed at the top of their voice.

I wanna follow where she goes

I think about her and she knows it

I wanna let her take control

'Cause everytime that she gets close, yeah

He sang with his gaze directed at you which didn’t go unnoticed by Tom who was looking at you both with narrowed eyes and clenched jaws. 

She pulls me in enough to keep me guessing (mmm)

And maybe I should stop and start confessing

Confessing, yeah

You joined in singing along the lyrics with him exchanging flirtatious gestures with each other. You encouraged the audience to sing along with you.

Oh, I've been shaking

I love it when you go crazy

You take all my inhibitions

Baby, there's nothing holdin' me back

You take me places that tear up my reputation

Manipulate my decisions

Baby, there's nothing holdin' me back

There's nothing holdin' me back

There's nothing holdin' me back

You were clearly having a fun time sharing the stage with Shawn as you both swayed to the beat with a wide smile and the crowd cheered you on. Tom heard  someone saying “they make a good pair” and he completely lost it. Now he was jealous even though he knows it’s wrong because you had always made it clear that you loved him more than anything but you in that ravishing outfit dancing and singing being way too comfortable around each other wasn’t helping much. 

Your performance ended after some time and Tom couldn’t be anymore happier. You were back in the audience again as Shawn couldn’t stop praising you “you just set the stage on fire Y/N! It was awesome”

“Oh shut up! You weren’t bad either” you quipped. Tom sat there silently feeling neglected at how you had time to talk with everyone except him. The show ended with you winning the three categories you were nominated for : album of the year, song of the year and artist of the year. You were elated at your achievements as your team escorted you for a photo session. You saw Tom standing at a distance and walked over to him.

“Why are you standing here? Come and stand with me” you said, grabbing his arm.

“No I’m better off standing here rather than being your arm candy” he says bitterly pulling out his arm from your hold.

“What?!” you were slightly taken aback as you looked at him in confusion.

“Hey Y/N!” your manager called out.

“Just a moment!” you told him to wait and dragged Tom to a corner.

“What the hell was that back there?” you hissed at him.

“You know it very well” you shrugged with a disinterested look on his face.

“I-I really don’t understand where this is coming from Tom but are you upset with something?” you were really concerned with his sudden outburst.

“Well isn’t that obvious? When your girlfriend brings you to a public event to treat you like a sidepiece and goes on flirting with her colleagues on stage it is naturally upsetting” he jabbed at you.  

“Are you even listening to what you are saying Tom? Everyone here are my work friends just like you have” you retorted in a hushed tone.

“Well it looked more than just friends” he bit back.

“Now you’re being ridiculous” you were totally done with him, fuming at his accusation.

“Y/N come fast!” your manager called you again.

“Yeah coming!” you replied and turned to Tom again “you know what it was actually my fault that I brought you along with me. I thought we were ready to take the next step in our relationship but it clearly doesn’t look like that” you snapped at him and walked back to have your pictures taken. You were stopped by various people, for interviews as well as to congratulate you for your win but you were so annoyed with Tom you couldn’t concentrate properly.

Towards the end of the night, you had almost forgotten about Tom’s comments as you busied yourself into conversations with different people from the industry, sipping on champagne. 

As soon as he cooled down Tom was quick to realize his mistake and tried to approach you several times, but you successfully ignored him by preoccupying yourself elsewhere. He eventually caught up to you, grabbing your arm before you could walk away “Y/N, please. Can we just talk for a second?”

“No I don’t think so because I’m quite busy flirting with each and every guy over here” you snapped, turning to walk away. He grabbed your arm again, “Y/N, c’mon love, I’m really sorry” he whined.

You whipped around “not now Tom. We will talk after we get out of here so if you will excuse me” saying so you walked away to be stopped by a reporter for another interview. The after party ended an hour as you and Tom exited the place. You climbed into the limo, quickly putting up the privacy window. Tom climbed in after you, taking a seat glancing at you.

“What?” you scowled, crossing your arms over your chest. You could tell he was really upset with what he’d said earlier. 

“Y/N.. I can't even explain how sorry I am” he started “I know I was being a dick back there and I feel terrible about it”

You leaned back in your seat sighing “you know what, I'm really tired. Can we talk about this after we reach home?” He nodded silently in agreement without uttering a single word on the drive back.

Once you got home, you walked through the living room and made your way into your shared bedroom. You sat on the bed taking off your heels and massaged your ankles. After sometime Tom joined you in the bedroom. He takes off his suit jacket and loosens his tie as you stare at him for a second. He looked so good in formal attire which filled your head with filthy thoughts. How you could have celebrated your win in a different way but he had to ruin it by acting out like that.

“Y/N, I truly am sorry. I.. I have no excuse for my behavior. It was completely my fault” he walked over to you, sitting next to you on the bed.

You sighed deeply and stood up walking over to your walk in closet. Your hands went to your back to reach out to the zipper of your dress “I really didn’t expect this from you at least. Of all the people I thought you would understand since you are in the same line of work” you said with disappointment clear in your voice. Tom hung his head low in shame.

“I know babe it was rude and totally uncalled for. I was a fucking idiot and let my insecurities get the best of me” he said with remorse.

“Then just think about how I feel when I have to watch you making out with other women on screen. I never said anything to you. Instead I always supported you and you on the other hand questioned our relationship just because I was singing and dancing with someone else who happens to be a very good friend of mine” you ranted still struggling with the zipper of your dress “a little help please?” you huffed slightly irritated and angry.

Tom bit back a smile as he walked over to you and helped you unzip your dress. He took your hands in his and pecked on them gently “I didn't mean to ruin the night for you” he apologized, looking down at your hands.

You pulled out your hands and crossed your arms “well it wasn’t that bad given that I won three Grammys but I wished you were there by my side” you said completely forgetting that you were standing there in just your strapless bra and very tiny pair of lace underwear.

Tom was eyeing you the whole time with a known smirk plastered on his face. You noticed that and looked down at yourself “oh, c’mon. I’m trying to have a serious conversation here!” you scoffed, throwing your hands in the air. You shook your head in annoyance and grabbed the black silk robe, tying it around your body.

Tom was broken out of his trance as he walked over to you, placing a hand on your cheek “Y/N believe me I’m really sorry. I wish I could take back all the horrible things I said to you. You didn’t deserve any of it. Sorry for being such a jerk to you”

Your expression softened as you held his hand gently “well I’m glad to hear that. And even if I try I can’t stay mad at you for a longtime so apology accepted” you said with a smile. 

“Thank you darling it would never happen again I promise” he says stroking his thumb on your cheek bone as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips “and I mean it” he stated a hand reaching up to untie your robe as your robe fell open, your breath hitched “though it was slightly your fault too, how do you expect me to not get jealous seeing you with someone else looking so bloody gorgeous in that outfit?” he hooked his index finger under the silk on your shoulder, pulling the robe down slowly, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin “but I’m really sorry” he whispers in a husky tone. 

“Then prove it” you looked at him challengingly, a smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. Without any further delay Tom crashed his lips to yours effortlessly lifting you up by your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

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

Reblogs are appreciated ❤️

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Mercenary- Cersei Lannister

Pairing: Cersei Lannister x Reader

Characters: Cersei Lannister

Warnings: N/A

Request: Wattpad- Can you maybe do one where the reader is one of the new mercenaries Cersei has brought and they meet while the reader is sparring with a few fellow mercenaries. Maybe a little subtle flirting and rude teasing as well? Cheers!

Word Count: 448

Author: Charlotte

It wasn’t a common job for a woman to have as a mercenary, but you took great pleasure in the expressions of your employers, allies or foes when they realised you were of the fairer sex. You had been hired by Queen Cersei to protect her as she believed that many people were going to try to hurt her, but knowing of her, it didn’t surprise you, and it wouldn’t surprise you if work would be coming your way to take her life but as long as the gold was coming from her, she was safe from your hands. You hadn’t met her, but your reputation preceded you and she sought you out.

Even though you were one of the best at what you did, you trained daily and that was where you were to meet the queen. You were sparring in your full armour, an easy task for you, no one nearby being able to be a challenge, but you enjoyed training, nevertheless. As you floored your opponent you noticed the queen approach.

“So, you are the one with such a high price,” she commented. “I must say your training showed that you are worth the gold.”

You removed your helmet, letting your long hair fall from it in a slight mess as it had been forced within the heavy metal.

“As long as you are filling my pocket, your majesty, I am here at your beck and call to keep you safe from any danger,” you stated.

The queen cocked an eyebrow at you, clearly surprised by your appearance.

“A woman? I have never seen a woman who can fight as well as my knights although I do appreciate that you know you are here to serve me,” she smirked.

“Serving your every need is my honour, your majesty- for the right price that is,” you commented, letting her know that money was your language and you were willing to continue to be her sword as long as she wanted to keep you well paid.

“I can only imagine your talents elsewhere, like in the bedroom perhaps,” she said, knowing what she wanted and knowing she would easily be able to get it.

“Perhaps we shall see, your majesty, but without an explicit invite to your bed chambers, I do not believe it would be honourable for me to simply arrive unannounced.”

Cersei nodded her head at you. “Then I shall invite you to accompany me to my bed chambers tonight, who knows who could be lurking along the hallways.”

“Yes, who knows.”

With a shared look, you knew how your night would end but weren’t going to say much more about it due to company.

[wasabito]

thank you to @sparkexplosive and @vs-redemption for beta reading it for me! merry christmas & happy holidays everyone ♥️

➽ synopsis: being a member of the royal guard is a grueling and thankless job, so you decide to remind katsuki a little of what it’s like to be young again—what better way to do that than with some healthy competition.

➽ word count: 1.7k

➽ tags: fluff, budding romance, royalty au, childhood friends

➽ author’s note: i had a ton of fun participating in my first ever secret santa!! this is my gift-fic to the lovely @katsushimaa​ hope you enjoy, yssa!

"So, this is where the hell you've been hiding?"

His voice tore through the midday stillness like a blade, equal parts raspy and gruff. He sounded irritated and mildly fatigued. Not that Katsuki Bakugou would ever admit to being anything less than a hundred and ten percent. He climbed off his steed, heavy boots crunching under the weight of his feet, and secured his horse against the stump you were leaning on.

You flipped the page of your book, not sparing the man even a cursory glance. You would prefer to keep your attention occupied by fictitious worlds, warriors, and battles fought in the name of love and justice.

It was much easier to allow yourself to become the bearer of fictional hardships, because at least they could be solved through a well-constructed plot with each turn of a page, as opposed to the realities of your actual life, a slow spiraling disaster in comparison.

Bakugou stood in front of you, vein ticking on his throat with every clench of his jaw. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, red gaze pinned on your hunched form. He wasn't at all the kind of person anyone could easily ignore. His very presence demanded attention and drew eyes like a magnet.

Case in point, no matter how much you tried to ignore him, you simply couldn’t.

"Please tell me you aren't going to stand there the entire time. Take a hint will you." You went to turn another page, but Bakugou reached over and snatched the book from your hands with deft fingers and speed you couldn't hope to match.

"Give. It. Back."

"Nah, I don't think I will just yet." He sneered, thumbing through the pages. "I was told to bring your dumbass back to the estate, so that's exactly what the hell I'm 'bout to do."

You blew a puff of air from your lips, eyes blazing with a kind of defiance that only burned harder the more you glared at him. "Then I guess you'll just have to drag me back kicking and screaming."

Bakugou only smirked, teeth spread in a feral grin that sent a chill down your spine.

That had always been his intention.

Almost an hour later, you stood before your parents, clothes dusty, creased, and smudged from having been manhandled like a sack of flour before promptly dumped in front of your waiting audience.

A frown marred your delicate features as they began their lecture.

Your mind drifted elsewhere the more they reminded you of your lineage and that you were royalty and how it was imperative you behave as such. You’d heard it all before, known this for as long as you could remember. As the King and Queen of your home country, your parents never failed to emphasize the importance of keeping your every move in check because of the reputation you had to uphold.

Katsuki stood somewhere behind you, and although he stayed mostly silent, you could almost hear him grinding away at his molars. The King and Queen were taking turns subtly digging into him as well, implying that his incompetence was a stain upon the royal guard perfect record of achievements. If he couldn't keep you in line, what was the point of holding rank?

They annoyed him way more than they did you, but he dare not voice it, not if he wanted to keep his head attached to his shoulders. Far be it from him to send himself to the guillotine

You both were in for a long night.

“Honestly, this kind of behavior is unbecoming of someone of your status. What will our countrymen think if they see you roaming about unattended like a vagabond?” Your father stroked his beard as if waiting for a response. But everyone in the room knew he really just liked to hear himself talk.

He was no better than a machiavellian swindler in expensive robes. A puppet if you would.

The real leader of the land was your mother. After all, she had only married into the family, having been the daughter of a mere advisor with no royal blood. She spoke little, but her glare was more than enough to convey just what she was thinking.

By the end of the lecture, you felt like all of your energy had been sapped from you, but thankfully your parents left you to retreat into your bedroom for the remainder of the day. Bakugou escorted you, following close behind.

“You’re gonna do it again, aren’t ya?”

You paused, foot nearly catching against the carpeted floors of your bedroom. Fiddling with a piece of your hair, you shrugged. “...maybe.”

“You’re a huge idiot.” Bakugou shook his head with a low laugh.

A tiny smidgen of a grin danced on your lips as you considered him. He was your childhood friend. No one knew you better than he did. And he was also the guard most assigned to watch over you and keep you safe from harm.

Despite that, you’d come to notice how much he’d changed. He wasn’t the same Katsuki you grew up knowing and you missed him dearly. Occasions like this, where a part of his guard was let down, were becoming few and far between. There had to be something you could do.

“Let’s make a wager. If you can manage to find me, I’ll do one thing at your command.”

“Challenge accepted.” He reached into the folds of his uniform, pulled out your little novel, and slapped it right into your open palm. "No matter where you run off to, I'll find ya. Trust me on that, princess."

His eyes were like candles in the night, ignited by a spark of passion. Not a single lie could be detected.

"I won't make it easy on you, Katsuki, just so you know."

"Heh, you better not." He sniffed, tucking his hands into his uniform pockets. And with a final half-wave, he was gone.

In and around the capital city, winter had completely lost it's bite. The weather was tepid, swinging a mild breeze that coasted through the countryside. It was the sort of winter where one felt as if woolen clothing were worn more for comfort than necessity. In what should have been the chilliest part of the year, Bakugou found himself traversing one of the many beaches that hedged the southern peninsula.

After a full week following the challenge issued in your bedroom, Bakugou realized you were entirely too good at evading him or any of the other guards at the kingdom’s disposal, for that matter.

Day in and day out, he spent his shifts searching tirelessly for you, just to stumble upon you in the most random of places and only when you had wanted him to find you. The running score was six to five in your favor, but he was determined not to lose to you again.

And there you were, standing at the very edge of the shore, as if a mere thought had manifested you right before his very eyes. Your loose billowing dress of soft satin waved to him like a white flag of surrender in the air. He'd finally found you.

"Not gonna run off this time?"

"Nope! You won this round." Your cheeks creased in a smile.

Given the boots he'd worn, it was no surprise that his feet kept sinking into the sand. You said nothing as he toed off his shoes and socks, bare feet settling into the depths of warm, grainy sand.

He couldn’t help but feel more relaxed. Over the past few months, he’d found himself losing sight of his goals, caught in the dredges of the mundane and routine.

The cool waters lapped at both his and your feet, fizzing and bubbling, leaving behind traces of salt. You went further into the water’s touch, your back to him as the tides licked at the your calves. Even he had to admit, the view was a beautiful one, possibly even more so with you against the backdrop.

“I’m glad you found me,” you called over the cry of seagulls. “For a second, I was worried you’d lose this round.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Tch, as if I’d ever lose to you, princess.”

“Naturally.” You laughed.

“What the hell are we doing out here anyway?”

He knelt to roll up his pants, a mere moment away from following after you like always.

“I... really just wanted to show you the view. Do you remember when we used to come down here as kids? Remember how we used to dare each other to see who could go the farthest into the ocean?”

Of course he remembered. Those were some of his most cherished memories of his time spent with you before duty to the kingdom took precedent.

You reached a hand out to him, an open invitation. “I just thought you needed a little reminder of what that was like.”

For some reason, Katsuki was determined not to meet your gaze, scowling at some point on the horizon, until you came over and nudged him with your elbow. “It wouldn’t kill you to admit that I’m right.”

With a sigh, he reached over and tugged you into a hug. You snuggled close to his chest, gripping the back on his uniform. It may have been your imagination but you could’ve sworn you felt the soft press of lips against your temple.

“Thanks... you know... for everything.”

Beaming, you leaned back to get the full view of his heated cheeks.

“Of course, of course.”

There was something earnest in his eyes that told you no matter how far you went, or however far you traveled, he’d always be a step behind you. It sent your heart hammering in your ribcage. You were suddenly all too aware of the way he held you secure against him like he would never let go.

“What are you thinking, princess?”

You blinked owlishly, taken over by your feelings and mumbling a hushed. “Oh, nothing.” The two of you were just a royal and a guard, bound to one another by duty.

If there could be anything more than that...well, only time would tell.