#and my younger cousin will be cool but surprised

[totopopopo]

so i’m getting top surgery some time between the months of february and august of this year (would rather february obv but seems like summer might make more sense logistically). the thing is my extended family does not necessarily know that i have any kind of gender thing going on, not because they don’t have access to this information, but simply bc they don’t care enough about me to think about any aspect of my identity (because the world revolves around my cousin and i have always been peripheral). which means there is a very real possible future this year when i roll up to a week long extended family beach vacation like….. sans tits and with two new massive scars……… i don’t plan on explaining anything in advance bc i’m sure my cousin will be emailing everyone her own personal accommodations beforehand and i wouldn’t want to get in the way, but like…. surely at least one of them will notice? even if i don’t go shirtless and i wear a bikini despite not needing one, they will notice, surely? and from there, what happens? it’s a mystery, but also has the potential to be very fucking funny in my opinion

[apollos-boyfriend]

so my younger cousin is flying in to visit from brazil on sunday, and will be staying here for like, the entirety of july. which, don't get me wrong, is super cool! i love the kid! but it felt like a super weird move, considering his parents are the SUPER strict and borderline helicopter parents. even the smallest prank/roughousing with him/his little sister would lead to a strict talking to from his parents, he couldn't ever do anything without their clear permission, that sort of stuff. so letting him fly at alone at 16 to a whole different country and stay there for a whole month seemed WILDLY out of character. additionally, it just felt like a super last-minute trip. it's not like we have any plans to do when he gets here, and the flight itself and stuff only got booked like, midway through june.

and i was talking to my mom about it, kind of trying to nudge some answers out of her, and after a while she went, "yeah, i think they're sending him over here to get away for his boyfriend. see if the distance breaks them off." which, first of all, surprised me because last i checked, they didn't KNOW he had a boyfriend. literally everyone in the family did EXCEPT for them because while that entire side of the family being semi-conservative, his parents (mostly his dad) are EXTREMELY old-fashioned. so clearly something already went wrong. and considering the only reason the rest of the family knew is because one person found out and it spread like wildfire, i have a sneaking suspicion he wasn't the one to tell them, either.

and second of all. they're sending him HERE. to try to make him forget his homosexuality. i couldn't do anything but just wordlessly gesture to the multiple pride flags scattered around my room, then to myself, because really? he has like two other cousins in the us and they're sending him to me? honey i am about to introduce this kid to queer scenes you have never even heard of. he'll be returning home with labels only shrimp can perceive

[ms-spkhd]

It's not like there's anything inherently wrong with Steve. Just...weird. Odd. A wealth of other various synonyms to describe his decidedly bizarre behavior.

Well, Bizarre's a strong word.

But Eddie's point still stands! Steve's a little to the left and it makes Eddie feel endlessly awkward for noticing. The fact that he's uncomfortable about it compounds his unease over it.

"Wanna talk about it, then?" Jeff asks, riffling idly through the record crate. Of course, the one day off they spend window-shopping in Indianapolis results in Eddie getting the fucking 'let's discuss our feelings about things' talk from Jeff. He wonders how the man isn't green with sickness from therapizing all the goddamn time.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "I'd look like an idiot."

"Would the idiot keep running or confront his problems head-on?"

"This feels like a trap."

"Oh yeah," Jeff says simply.

"Like the ones with the cardboard box and the stick."

"Pre-cisely."

Eddie's shoulders slump in defeat. Better the idiot who speaks, he supposes. "He's very smiley about me being gay."

"Smiley."

"Smiley. As in he's acting like I vomit flowers and shit rainbows." Eddie shakes his head in frustration. "I'm not opposed to the support and everything...it's just that. He's like an octave higher than usual about it."

Jeff purses his lips in thought. "Like, his voice?"

"No--like...like, he's very enthusiastic about my sexuality."

Eddie leans back against the shelf behind him. Steve's a nice guy, really, but the way he goes about his support of Eddie feels like he's trying to compensate for something. A lack of empathy when he was younger, perhaps.

"He always asks if I have a boyfriend, or if I've been hooking up with any guys lately--which, hello, does he not know that queer metalhead nerd isn't a very hot item here?"

Jeff pulls a face but nods in understanding.

"And when I tell him obviously no, he says he can hook me up with his, what? Fucking father's brother's cousin's former roommate? It's like he's begging for a double date with him and his new squeeze, it's goddamn ridiculous." "New squeeze?"

"I'm hyperbolizing." Eddie blows a raspberry and shrugs. "He says it's sad that I don't have someone for how good-looking I am. You're making the face again."'

Jeff snaps out of whatever trance he's in, his drawn eyebrows shooting up to his hairline in surprise. After his gawking mouth clacks shut, he cautiously gestures at Eddie to continue.

"It's stupid," Eddie concedes, "but I really don't understand what changed, y'know? He used to be this cool, confident guy with a dorky side, but now he's just so...I don't know."

Jeff smiles lightly and knocks Eddie's shoulder with his. "I have a theory."

"Go on."

"I think Steve isn't being supportive."

"Uh-huh."

"Far from it, actually."

"Yeah. Whatever you say, chief."

"He isn't smothering you," Jeff points out. "He wants to fuck you."

Eddie blinks. Takes a moment to access and really take in what Jeff just said. "What?"

"Or at least, he wants you in an entirely non-friendly and possibly even carnal way."

"Excuse me?"

"Biblically."

"Dude," Eddie insists. "What. The. Fuck."

Jeff raises his hands placatingly. "Steve clearly likes you. A lot. He probably sees you being gay as an in for him."

"Okay, well, I don't understand. He tries to set me up with randos he knows all the time."

"He called you good-looking."

"While he was trying to set me up with said rando!"

"Guys like him have a really backward way of doing things." Eddie crosses his arms sternly. "Or he's straight," he says.

"Again," Jeff asserts. "Good. Looking. Dude, he's fucking obsessed with you! You said he's an octave higher around you now, right?"

"Because he's a well-meaning friend?"

"Eddie, remember when he crashed band practice last week?"

Oh yeah, Eddie remembers that. The man of the hour randomly parked in Gareth's driveway, leaned against his Beemer with his arms crossed, and watched Eddie play like he fucking hung the moon. Afterward, he'd sung his praises for the band and gave Eddie a yellow guitar pick attached to a sparkling silver chain. "Found the pick a couple of towns south with Robin the other day. Reminded me of you," he said softly. "Since you lost your last one."

It went unspoken where Eddie lost 'the last one'.

Eddie remembers smiling back at Steve with the force of a thousand supernovas, and thinking later in the night that it felt like a scene from a romance movie. Steve's favorite color is yellow, isn't it? It was like he wanted a piece of himself with Eddie at all times, right next to his heart.

Eddie didn't want to give himself that stupid hope. That Steve Harrington wanted in on his heart.

It doesn't feel so stupid anymore.

He looks back at Jeff and says, "Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

[callsign-rogueone]

hour thirty-eight

Bodhi Durran x reader (darling!) words: 1.7k 🏷️: set during fourth wing, aftermath of reader's RSC (not described in any detail, just that you're injured from it), dain and love cameo (you'll eventually be getting love's pov of all this!), xaden gets sucker punched (he kinda deserved it tho), feral bodhi and then sweet soft bodhi in the same post, I'm not the happiest with this one but here it is anyway.

Thirty-seven hours. Thirty-seven fucking hours since Bodhi has seen any trace of you. 

You clearly aren’t out with your squad doing land-nav or anything, because they’re still here, enjoying their weekend off. And they have no idea where you are, either. They haven’t seen you since before he did.

He’s retraced your steps a dozen times by now. You’d had dinner, washed up and spent the night in his room, woken up early for a leadership meeting, then vanished off the face of the planet, and everyone is acting like it’s business as usual.

Everyone except Xaden. 

He might be mister unaffected and cool to everyone else, but his cousin can smell that something is off with him — cornering him and Garrick in the hall after dinner. 

“I’ve checked the infirmary, I’ve checked the death rolls, and the rest of her squad has no idea either, but I know you know something. You’ve got that look on your face. So please, tell me,” he begs, his voice wavering.

He watches the two older boys exchange a look, knowing neither of them want to be the one to say it. 

Xaden sighs, evidently having lost the silent battle of eye contact. “I just need you to trust me. She’s going to be fine — she should be back in the morning.”

“Back from where? Where are the fuck is my wife, Xaden?”

He winces. “Part of the second-year course is interrogation training,” he begins carefully.

“You mean she’s being tortured?”

Xaden exhales. “Yes.” He doesn’t bother to dodge the first punch Bodhi throws — letting it hit him right in the jaw. 

It’s Garrick who lunges forward, grabbing the younger man around the waist and pinning his arms to his sides to hold him back from throttling his cousin. Bodhi thrashes in his grip, uselessly trying to get free. “You didn’t think to mention this to any of us? To your own fucking sister? Because she’s missing too, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Bo,” Garrick says softly, “you need to take a breath. She’s going to be fine. Both of them will.”

Garrick’s words don’t mean anything to him. “Don’t fucking start with me, Gare. You had plenty of opportunities to tell us, too. You could have mentioned it a year ago, when you found out yourself.“

“We didn’t tell you for the same reason that Cuir didn’t tell you, nor did the Lieutenant Colonel,” Xaden says levelly, his arms crossed over his chest. “Everything they do in RSC is supposed to be a surprise that you can’t prepare for. It’s all classified, and those who have completed it are forbidden from telling anyone what happened.”

“Bullshit. When has that ever stopped you before? Since when do you give a singular shit about the rules?”

“Bodhi,” Garrick warns, glancing around the hall, but thankfully nobody is around to have heard them.

“Fuck — off,” he pants, finally cutting loose from the section leader’s grip. “If you tell me to breathe again, I swear—”

“Bodhi,” Garrick repeats, louder, nodding toward the end of the hallway. “Look.”

The younger boy turns, his anger immediately replaced with relief as he sees you. 

Xaden’s shadows rush up to cushion your bruises as Bodhi gathers you into his arms. “Gods,” he breathes into your hair, “I was worried sick — I had no idea where you were. Was Callwell with you?”

“Yeah. She’s in the infirmary, with Dain.”

Bodhi pulls back to look at you, taking stock of your injuries. “Why didn’t you go with them?” he asks gently. There’s no scolding in his tone, just the same soft concern you can see in his eyes.

“I wanted to find you, and make sure you were okay. I didn’t know if they’d taken you too,” you say softly, your voice dry and scratchy. 

Xaden and Garrick both look guilt-stricken. Good, Bodhi decides. They should be.

“We stayed after class to talk to Kaori, and I got that feeling, but I didn’t know what was going to happen, or to who. As soon as we stepped out into the hallway…” you don’t finish the sentence. “They messed up — they weren’t supposed to take me, just her and Dain. But I was walking with them, and I guess they thought we were in the same squad.”

There’s a second of silence. “M’sorry I scared you,” you say softly. 

“Don’t apologize, cridhe. I’m just glad you’re safe now. Let‘s get you to the healers, okay?”

You hum in acknowledgment, fighting to keep your eyes open. It’s going to be a challenge for him to limp you back down the stairs and across the campus in this state, with your energy completely drained and your legs injured as well.

“I can…” Garrick offers, stepping forward.

“I’ve got her,” Bodhi snaps over his shoulder, steadying you with an arm around your waist. “She’s my responsibility, not yours.”

“Don’t be too hard on them,” you murmur, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. “Knowing it was coming would just have made it worse.”

Oh, gods. Now he knows — now he and Imogen and the rest of your friends are going to be waiting to be whisked away to the dungeons for a weekend of suffering, constantly anticipating an ambush, bags being thrown over their heads and getting dragged down to the dungeon to be beaten. That must be how you feel all the time with your signet, always focused on some looming tragedy or catastrophe. 

You haven’t let it break you thus far, so he won’t either.

Your walk to the infirmary is mostly silent, save for the occasional soft praise from Bodhi, gentle murmurs about how well you’re doing and that you’re almost there.

——

Dain’s forehead and nose are bloody, a dried up cut splitting his cheek, but it’s nothing compared to the state of your friend who sits beside him, tears slowly dripping down her face.

“She shielded us,” you explain to Bodhi in a soft voice. “So they took it out on her the worst, and made us watch.”

His heart twists as he realizes exactly how cruel and how realistic this training is, to punish someone for protecting their friends. They’d probably done that with the goal of getting you or Dain to crack, to exchange information for relief from the sight of her being broken bit by bit and the sound of her screaming.

But from the looks of her, the two of you had held fast — not telling them anything.

Dain continues whispering to her, his thumb stroking over her knee as a healer presses a hand against her ribs, inspecting for cracks. They must find one, because she curls in on herself with a soft whimper of pain, squeezing her eyes shut.

Another healer appears, beckoning you forward. She doesn’t protest as Bodhi comes with you, keeping a hand on your back as you walk. “Second year?” she asks, a soft sadness in her voice.

“Yes ma’am,” you say quietly, realizing that at her age, she’s probably bandaged up a thousand cadets after they’d gone through the same thing. 

That means someone else on this campus has beaten a thousand of you half to death.

“You think anything’s broken?”

“No, ma’am. Just some cuts and bruises.”

Bodhi helps you out of your ruined flight jacket, baring your arms, but the healer doesn’t flinch at the sight of your relic, nor the purpling bruises across your chest and shoulders. She’s gentle, silently working on disinfecting and stitching and bandaging with a learned hand. 

You let your head loll against Bodhi’s shoulder, your eyes closing. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck. 

“You picked a good one,” she remarks, a knowing smile on her face. “He’ll take care of you, like a warrior should.”

You turn your head to look at her. The sentence doesn’t quite make sense in the common language, but in Tyrrish, the words “husband” and “warrior” sound nearly identical.

“Smart girl,” she praises, knowing you’ve figured it out from the look on your face.

“I am in your debt,” Bodhi says softly, not wanting the other healer to hear. “She is my world. Thank you for holding her so gently.” 

She offers you both a soft smile. “May she one day be free.”

Your eyes widen, but you quickly force the rest of your face into a neutral expression. This might be a trap — a way for the school to see if you’ve inherited your parents’ ideology. And any evidence of any of you having thoughts about a second attempt at secession will mean the end of Xaden’s life.

She doesn’t pry or say anything further, just rising from her seat and cleaning up the tools she’d used before crossing the room to help the other healer.

You cast another glance back at your friend. Dain is still with her, letting her rest her head on his shoulder as Nolon works to fix her broken bones. Her eyes are closed, her breathing steady now that the pain has dulled.

“I’ve got her,” he promises quietly, seeing your hesitation. “Get some sleep, if you can.”

You nod in acknowledgement, letting Bodhi guide you back to the rider’s dorms and mindlessly following his lead as he gets some things from his room, then takes you to the showers, helping you out of your bloodied uniform and washing the blood from your skin in near-silence. 

The rest is just muscle memory — brushing your teeth and tugging one of his shirts over your head, padding across the hall to his room and climbing into your side of his bed, tucking yourself under his arm and pulling the blankets over you both. 

He plants another kiss to your forehead, his heart softening at the way you nuzzle your cheek into his shoulder in response — you’re too tired to lift your head up enough to return the kiss, but he knows that the way you’re curled into his side is an ‘I love you’ in itself, an indication that you feel safe with him, to let your guard down in this death trap of a school, to finally relax and sleep after two days of pain and fear.

[cutielando]

christmas dinner | m.v.

synopsis: in which you finally introduce your boyfriend to your family

a/n: based on this request!

my masterlist

Christmas Eve was always a big deal in your family.

The warm glow of string lights decorated every corner of your tía’s house, the smell of tamales and roasted pork filled the air, and the unmistakable sound of your cousins arguing over whose turn it was to bring the drinks echoed from the kitchen.

It was tradition. Chaotic and loving, but it was tradition.

But this year, you were dreading it.

You could already hear the teasing that awaited you. “Still no boyfriend, mija?” your tía would ask with a sly smile. “You’re not getting any younger, you know”. Your cousins would make exaggerated joked about you ending up alone with a dozen cats.

What they didn’t know, however, was that this years things were different. You did have someone. Someone who wasn’t just “some guy”.

You had kept the relationship pretty quiet, out of desire for privacy for one, but also because you didn’t know how you could possibly explain to your close-knit family that you were dating Max Verstappen, four-time Formula 1 World Champion.

You’d been dating Max for almost an entire year. The two of you had met through a mutual friend while you were traveling in Europe.

Despite coming from completely different worlds, the two of you clicked instantly. He loved your sharp sense of humor and the way you always spoke your mind, while you admired his drive and his ability to stay grounded despite the whirlwind of fame surrounding him.

Max had heard plenty of stories about your family and how much they would tease you for not having a boyfriend, so when you mentioned the Christmas gathering, he’d insisted on coming with you.

“I’m not letting you face them alone” he had said with a mischievous smile. “Besides, I’m curious to meet the people who raised someone as fierce as you”

Now, as you both pulled up to your tía’s house, your nerves were in overdrive.

Max looked effortlessly cool in a crisp white shirt and dark jeans, carrying a carefully chose bottle of wine in one hand and a plate of stroopwafels in the other.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” you asked, glancing at him nervously.

“I’ve faced media scrums and wheel-to-wheel battles at 300 kilometers an hour. I think I can handle your family” he smirked, his blue eyes sparkling.

“We’ll see about that” you muttered as you rang the doorbell.

The door swung open immediately, and there was your tía, her eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

“Mija! Finally! We thought you’d never-“ her words trailed off as she noticed Max standing beside you, her eyes widening in surprise.

“Tía, this is Max, my boyfriend” you said, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

The words hung in the air for a moment before your tía broke into a beaming smile.

“Ah, tan guapo! Come in, come in!” she ushered you both inside, calling out to the rest of the family. “Todos! Look who’s here!”

As you stepped into the living room, the reactions were immediate.

Your aunts and uncles looked Max up and down, their expressions a mix of curiosity and confusion.

Your cousins, however, froze, their mouths dropping open in unison.

“No way, that’s Max Verstappen” your cousin Diego whispered, his eyes darting between you and Max.

“The Max Verstappen?” chimed in your cousin Sofia, clutching her drink like she needed it to stay upright.

Max, ever the professional, extended a hand with a polite smile.

“It’s nice to meet you all. Y/N had told me a lot about you” he said.

The room erupted into complete chaos.

Diego and Sofia launched into rapid-fire questions about the races, his car, and his most intense battles on track, while your uncles exchanged confused glances, muttering “Quién es éste? Un deportista?”

“He’s a Formula 1 driver” Diego explained, exasperated. “He’s a four-time World Champion. He’s, like, the best in the whole world.

Your tío, Miguel, raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

“World champion, eh? Can he fix a car?” he asked.

Max chuckled, taking the teasing in stride.

“Not as well as your niece can” he said smoothly, earning a round of laughter from everyone but Miguel, who grunted in grudging approval.

Meanwhile, your cousins were still buzzing with excitement.

“I can’t believe you’re dating Max Verstappen” Sofia said, pulling you aside. “How did this even happen?”

You shrugged, a smile tugging at your lips.

“We met through some mutual friends. He’s just…Max. He’s not that different from anyone else, you know” you said, your eyes twinkling at the thought of Max.

Sofia gave you a look that said she wasn’t buying it, but she didn’t push any further.

As the night went on, Max charmed everyone in the room. He laughed at your uncle’s jokes, complimented your abuela’s cooking, and even joined in a spirited game of Lotería, picking up the rules quickly with your help.

By the time dessert rolled around, he was no longer just “your boyfriend”, he was Max, part of your family.

“You did good, mija. He’s a keeper” your tía whispered to you as you passed by with a tray of flan.

You glanced across the room to where Max was laughing with your cousins, holding up a Lotería card triumphantly.

He caught your eye and gave you a wink, making your heart swell with love.

For the first time in years, you weren’t dreading the next family gathering anymore.

In fact, you couldn’t wait to bring Max to the next one.

And the next one, and the next one…

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[henry7931]

Playing in the Attic

Kenton:

Chris and I are cousins (the youngest in the family), our whole family is gettin together this weekend at my Uncle Al’s house for his big birthday celebration. I was so excited to see Chris that I talked my dad into letting me come stay with them a night early. Al (my dad’s older brother) is Chris’s dad and when I got there I was surprised to see that my other uncle Tim (my dad’s younger brother) came to stay early as well.

Chris and I were having a good time catchin up but then Chris brought up how his dad never lets him go into the attic.

So curious me, talked Chris into going upstairs. We waited until we knew Uncle Tim and Al were too busy to notice that we snuck upstairs.

Both of us sneaked our way up and opened the door. We quietly shut it behind us and giggled out of excitement to see what’s upstairs.

Once the door was shut, we found a light to turn on. And both of us were surprised to only find one small box.

“What the heck? What do you thinks in it?” I said to Chris.

“I don’t know, should we open it?”

I gave him a mischievous grin and said, “we made it this far!”

I walked over and carefully took the lid off. Inside was an old lookin statue.

“Booo!!! That’s not exciting at all!”

I grab it and show it Chris and immediately felt strange. Chris touches it as well.

And that’s when things got crazy!!!!

One second we’re upstairs. And the next the second I’m in his living room looking at Uncle Tim.

I look down and notice my tummy is huge! So arms and my feet!!!

I wiggle my toes just to make it’s not a dream.

I look over at Uncle Tim and he looks just as confused as me!

“Uncle Tim?”

Uhhh no…. Dad?”

“Nope!,” I say back to him.

That’s when I start to put some of the pieces together.

I get up and go to the closet mirror I could find. That’s where i see my Uncle Al staring back at me!

“Holy crap!!!,” I say out loud giggling.

I turn over to Uncle Tim, “it’s me Kenton!”

“Kenton!!! I’m Chris or I guess—“ Chris looks at his new reflection seeing Tim’s face looking back.

“IM UNCLE TIM!!!”

We both grin excited about our new discovery.

“Wait a minute what about our bodies?!?”

We both dash up to the attic and see both of our bodies lying on the ground.

“Wow! That’s freaky!”

“So where is my dad and Tim if they aren’t us?”

“I don’t know maybe they’re still in here with us but we’re in control?”

“Freaky!!”

“Here grab your body and I’ll grab mine. Just don’t touch that status.”

“Haha okay!”

We both carefully pick ourselves up and it’s so funny carrying myself. I’m so light with Uncle Al’s big arms.

We place our bodies in bed and head back downstairs.

That night was the most phone I think I’ve had in a long time!!

Chris and I went out on the town. We went shopping, I bought Uncle Al a couple of things I thought he’d look cool in. I also got Chris all of the video games he’s wanted the last of couple months since I’m now his dad.

After we got dinner and I tries sushi for the first time. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about it but Chris and Al eat here all of the time. Even the waiter knew Uncle Al’s order.

I didn’t want to make it weird so when he asked me if I’m going to have ‘my usual’ I said sure!

It was actually pretty good!

That night Chris and I got into some bathing suits and went into the hot tub together. We even both had a couple of beers which I kinda liked as well.

By 3 am both of were so tired, Chris and I went upstairs to bed. We both tugged off our clothes and was surprised that Chris got completely naked in Tim’s body.

I looked at him from head to toe, covered in hair— I pull off Uncle Al’s bathing suit and his junk came flying out.

“Kenton!! I don’t wanna see all of my dad!!”

“Well you started it!”

Chris and I laid in bed together. I couldn’t help but stare at both of our naked bodies. I kinda liked the way we looked.

I looked at Al’s big feet and rubbed them against Tim’s big feet.

Chris gave me a look and I said, “what??? These big feet are cold! I was hopin I could warm them up with yours.”

“Ugh fine!”

We wrapped our new big feet together. And I felt a rush go through me. I looked at his hairy belly, I wanna run my fingers through it but I stopped myself.

“You ready to go to bed?”

“Yeah I’m sleepy!”

The next morning I wake up and looked down at myself. I’m still uncle Al, I look over and Chris in Uncle Tim’s body still sleeping.

I pull back the covers and look at Al’s junk. I get a little handsy and start playing with it.

I try to slow myself down but it feels sooo good.

I watch my uncles big hands go back and forth. I rub his big feet together and rub my other hand up and down his hairy chest.

I tug faster and faster about 15 minutes until I make a mess everywhere!

Chris wakes up and doesn’t seem to notice the mess I just made.

He grins at me with half open eyes and says good morning. He gets up and heads to the bathroom. I guess he had to go real bad.

I get up as well and I pass the other room. I can hear Chris, he’s making a lot of noise in there.

I carefully crack the door open and see he’s standing in the shower tugging away at Tim’s junk!

I back away from the door and let him finish up.

Today’s the day everyone is coming over so I knew our fun had to end.

Chris walks out and I tell him we should probably get dressed and try to figure out the statue.

After we get ready both of us head back upstairs. I look at the statue and without much of a plan I say to him, “I guess let’s just grab it?”

We grab it and the same time. I feel kinda funny again but nothing happens!

“Well… that’s not good,” he says to me.

We both go back downstairs…

That’s when we hear voices coming from Chris’s room… it’s our voices!

2 months later…

So… turns out that when we touched that statue that just put Uncle Al and Tim right into our bodies.

We were in sooo much trouble! Especially when we found out that we couldn’t switch back to our bodies for an entire year!

Soo now im uncle Al for a very long time and Chris is gonna be Tim for a while as well.

But it’s all good, neither Al or Tim are mad at us anymore. No one in our family knows about it outside of us. So Tim lives full time with me in Chris’s body.

And the best part is Chris comes over every weekend! And we still get have a lot of fun even if Uncle Tim gets annoyed with us. Who cares! We’re the ones in charge now!

[falafelluva]

warnings: not a warning but to the anon who sent in a request with a flower emoji and something with that my fics make them giggle pls resend it because my phone glitched and it got deleted n now I feel bad 😞😞💔!

Girllll 🥹🥹🥹🥹

I forgot it HAHAHAHAHAH BUT I HAVE SOMETHING NEW 👀 kenny crushing on his younger cousins babysitter and is literally making things up just to stop by etc.

; 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐃 - 𝘬.𝘺𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘻 ✮

summary: the req

warnings: x

author’s note: scuse my disappearance yall, they r trying to put me in a mental hospital. This is so short because im trying to eat my rice and I made u guys study psychology in this 😔😥

It started as nothing more than a coincidence—or at least, that’s what Kenan told himself. His cousin Leila had a babysitter now, someone his aunt had raved about over the phone. “She’s amazing with kids,” his aunt had said, “Leila loves her.”

Kenan didn’t think much of it until the first time he stopped by his aunt’s house and saw you sitting on the couch, Leila sprawled across your lap with her favorite picture book in hand.

You looked up and smiled, warm and effortless, and Kenan swore his heart stopped for a second.

“Hi,” you said casually, brushing off the dust from the book

Kenan cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “Hey. Uh, I’m Kenan. Leila’s cousin.”

“I know,” you replied with a small laugh. “She talks about you all the time, star boy, right?”

Star boy.

From that moment, Kenan couldn’t help himself. Anytime he had a free afternoon, he found a reason to stop by his aunt’s house.

Dropping off snacks for Leila, picking up a book he ‘forgot’ the last time, or even randomly asking his aunt if she needed help with errands.

The truth? He just wanted to see you.

One Wednesday afternoon, you were in the kitchen cutting up some fruit for Leila when the doorbell rang.

You frowned—his aunt wasn’t due home for another couple of hours.

When you opened the door, there he was. Kenan stood on the porch, hands stuffed in his pockets, his signature sheepish grin plastered across his face.

“Hey,” he said, glancing over your shoulder. “Is, uh, my aunt home?”

You raised an eyebrow. “No, she’s still at work. You didn’t know that?”

“Oh… right. Must’ve mixed up the time.” He scratched the back of his neck, clearly caught off guard by your question.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a teasing smile on your lips.

“You’ve been stopping by a lot lately. Are you sure you’re not just here for the snacks?”

Kenan laughed nervously, feeling his ears heat up. “Maybe. Leila does have good taste.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, unconvinced but amused. “Come in. She’s in the living room drawing.”

Kenan stepped inside, pretending to head straight for his cousin, but his gaze kept drifting toward you.

You were wearing a simple outfit—jeans and a t-shirt—but somehow, you made it look effortless.

He sat with Leila for a few minutes, watching her color in her sketchbook, but when she got distracted by her favorite cartoon, he wandered back into the kitchen.

“You’re good with her,” he said, leaning against the counter as you wiped down the cutting board.

You glanced at him, a hint of surprise in your expression. “Thanks. She’s a sweet kid. Makes my job easy.”

Kenan nodded, his heart racing as he searched for something else to say.

He wasn’t usually like this—nervous and fumbling for words. But there was something about you that made him feel like a teenager again.

“You’re, uh, studying?” he asked, motioning to the notebook you’d left open on the counter.

“Yeah, just some school stuff. Nothing exciting.”

“What are you studying?”

“Psychology,” you replied, setting the board aside. “I want to work with kids one day. Maybe as a counselor or therapist.”

“That’s cool,” Kenan said, genuinely impressed. “You’d be great at that.”

“Thanks.” You smiled, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

Just then, Leila called for you from the living room. You excused yourself, leaving Kenan alone in the kitchen, staring at the counter like an idiot.

“What am I doing?” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

—

The next time he stopped by, he didn’t even bother coming up with an excuse. He showed up with a bag of snacks for Leila and walked in like he belonged there.

You were on the floor with Leila, helping her put together a puzzle, when you glanced up and spotted him.

“Back again?” you teased, your eyes sparkling.

Kenan shrugged, trying to keep his voice casual. “What can I say? I like spending time with my favorite cousin.”

Leila looked up and beamed. “Kenan!”

“See?” he said, grinning as he sat down next to you. “She’s always happy to see me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Uh-huh. And it has nothing to do with the snacks you always bring.”

“Hey, I know how to win people over,” he said, smirking.

As the afternoon went on, you noticed the way Kenan’s attention kept shifting from Leila to you.

He asked you about your classes, your favorite movies, even what music you liked. It was almost… sweet.

When his aunt finally came home, you were packing up your bag while Kenan lingered by the door.

“Need a ride home?” he offered, his tone casual but his heart pounding.

You looked at him, surprised. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he said, grinning. “But I want to.”

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, sure. Thanks.”

As you climbed into his car, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Kenan was charming, in a slightly awkward but undeniably endearing way.

And Kenan?

He felt like he’d won the lottery just having you in the passenger seat, laughing at his jokes and filling the car with your presence.

Maybe his excuses weren’t so bad after all.

[thecrayonindisguise]

Chapter 2: An Unexpected Connection|| Bonds and Barriers

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Original Female Character

Masterpost || << prev || next >>

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: no particular warnings

Summary: After their very first ball, Caterina and Teresa Medici make quite of an entrance at Lady Danbury’s ball, turning heads with their charm and captivating the attention of London's elite. Teresa effortlessly draws Lord Ducker into her orbit, while Caterina, determined to avoid emotional entanglements, catches the eye of Benedict Bridgerton. Their witty and fiery exchanges spark both curiosity and leave the ton abuzz with whispers about the enigmatic Medici sisters. As the days unfold, the tension between Caterina and Benedict becomes undeniable, hinting at a deeper connection that neither is prepared to face.

Authors Note: Heyy! How are you? I’m back with the second chapter, I hope you like it! I know...I wrote way too much but I wanted to introduce you better to the characters :) As always I apologize if you find any mistakes but English is not my first language

Dearest gentle readers,

As the glittering halls of Lady Danbury's annual ball came to life, it was clear that the season had officially begun, and with it, the customary swirl of gossip, intrigue, and, of course, scandal. The evening was a spectacle to behold, but rest assured, it is the guests rather than the décor that provided the most entertainment.

Fresh off the boat from Italy, two radiant gems have graced our shores and stirred the waters of the ton. Allow me to introduce the Medici sisters. The elder, Lady Caterina Medici, has taken to London society with an air of cool indifference that is certain to attract every gentleman's attention, and perhaps drive them mad with her elusiveness. Her wit is as sharp as her beauty, and I dare say, there was not a dull moment in her company. Though she spent much of the evening avoiding the dance floor, her conversations were anything but dull. One might wonder whether Miss Caterina is here for sport or something more substantial. If her interactions with the eligible bachelors of our society are any indication, we may find that her icy demeanor will melt only for the right match, or perhaps for no one at all.

And then there is the younger, Miss Teresa Medici, whose sweetness is as charming as her sister’s sharpness. She, too, seems well on her way to captivating hearts, but do not be deceived by her innocent smile. It seems the Medici twins are not just diamonds in the rough, but polished gems with a sharpness that can outwit even the most astute gentlemen. It appears also that Lord Edward Ducker, cousin to the esteemed Bridgertons, was seen twice on the dance floor with the enchanting Miss Teresa Medici. Could there be an alliance between the Scottish nobility and the Italian beauties of the season?

Speaking of which, one cannot ignore the Bridgertons, whose reputation for creating drama seems to persist. One cannot help but notice the sudden and fervent interest of none other than Benedict Bridgerton, the second son, known more for his artistic pursuits than for indulging in the formalities of our society, it is highly unusual to see Mr. Bridgerton so enamored by the charms of the ballroom. Could it be that the Medici allure has cast a spell on him as well? His eyes followed Caterina Medici throughout the evening, and one cannot help but wonder if a new romance is on the horizon.

As for the Queen’s search for this season’s diamond, the royal eyes have yet to make their decision. But make no mistake, dear readers, the Medici sisters have undoubtedly caught the attention of many, and it would surprise no one if one of them found herself the subject of such a coveted title.

In a season already filled with anticipation, one thing is certain: the Medici sisters have arrived, and London society may never be the same again.

Yours truly, Lady Whistledown

─────────

The early morning light crept into Caterina’s room as her maid, Vanessa, gently tried to rouse her from her slumber. "My lady?" Vanessa called softly.

"Mmmh?" Caterina groaned, her voice muffled by the plush pillows as she buried herself deeper under the covers.

"Your sister is ready, my lady. Your mother could come in any minute," Vanessa continued, moving gracefully across the room to draw open the curtains.

Caterina squinted against the light now pouring into the room. "But what day is it today? Is it a special day? Why do I have to wake up so early?" she moaned, pulling the blankets over her head.

"No, miss, it's not a special day," Vanessa chuckled, her tone lighthearted as she opened the first curtain. Caterina let out a noise of displeasure, squeezing her eyes shut against the invasion of daylight. "I shouldn’t have drunk so much last night," Caterina mumbled as she sat up groggily, her hair tousled from sleep. "Can you repeat to me the reason for this sudden awakening?" she asked, still half asleep, watching Vanessa move briskly around the room, opening the last curtain and then the window to let in fresh air.

"Your mother ordered me to wake you up early, miss," Vanessa explained. "It is possible that some gentlemen from last night’s ball may visit this morning, and you must prepare. Come on now, miss, we don't want to keep them waiting," she urged, gently pulling back the covers.

Caterina groaned in protest. "But I wanted to visit London today," she muttered, her voice full of disappointment.

"You can always do that with one of the gentlemen, my lady," Vanessa teased with a smirk as she began pulling out a fresh gown from the wardrobe. Caterina rolled her eyes while her fingers ran through her tousled hair as she let out a long sigh.

Vanessa bustled around the room, laying out a soft lavender morning gown on the settee. As Caterina slowly stood up, she cast a glance toward her maid, noticing the curious gleam in Vanessa’s eye.

“You look like you have something on your mind, Vanessa. Out with it,” Caterina said, her voice still groggy but edged with a faint smile.

Vanessa, clearly delighted at the invitation, couldn’t suppress her question any longer. “Well, my lady, how was it? Your first ball, I mean. It must have been grand! So many lords and ladies, so many suitors all vying for your attention.”

Caterina snorted, shaking her head as she padded barefoot across the room toward the vanity. “Oh, please. It was as grand as it was exhausting. There were far too many people pretending to be interested in me, and even more pretending not to be bored.”

Vanessa laughed softly, handing Caterina a silver brush to tame her wild locks. “I thought you might enjoy the excitement. Surely the dances were fun, no?”

Caterina rolled her eyes in the mirror as she brushed her hair, the sarcasm evident in her voice. “Yes, if by ‘fun’ you mean being twirled around by men who have absolutely no idea how to lead without stepping on your feet. Honestly, Vanessa, I had more fun watching the footmen trying to juggle trays of champagne than I did dancing with half of those gentlemen.”

Vanessa grinned, clearly amused by her mistress’s sharp tongue. “But there must have been at least one gentleman who caught your eye, no?”

Caterina raised a brow, pausing mid-brush. “If by ‘caught my eye,’ you mean nearly putting me to sleep with endless talk of their ‘family estates’ and ‘social connections,’ then yes, plenty of them caught my eye.”

She sighed dramatically, setting the brush down and standing. “One of them droned on about his collection of rare hunting dogs. Dogs, Vanessa! For nearly fifteen minutes. I think he expected me to be impressed by his…hound expertise,” Caterina continued with a smirk. “I swear, if I have to endure one more gentleman boasting about the length of his ancestral lineage, I’ll start taking naps during waltzes.”

Vanessa chuckled, shaking her head as she helped Caterina into her morning gown. “You’re always so sharp, my lady. But I’m sure there were some interesting moments at least? Or something exciting that happened?”

Caterina shrugged nonchalantly, fastening the delicate buttons at her wrists. “Oh, of course. There was a riveting debate over whether pheasant or venison made for a better roast. I was on the edge of my seat.”

The sarcasm was heavy in her voice, and Vanessa burst into laughter, unable to contain herself. “Pheasant or venison? I can’t imagine that conversation holding anyone’s attention for very long.”

“Exactly my point,” Caterina said with a wry smile. “And you should have seen the way they tried to impress me with their wit. One gentleman thought it clever to comment on the ‘exoticness’ of Italy as if I were some rare artifact on display.”

Vanessa’s eyes widened. “Oh no, he didn’t!”

Caterina waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, he did. And not only that, he mispronounced half the Italian words he tried to use to impress me. Terrible effort.”

The maid shook her head in disbelief. “I’m surprised you didn’t put him in his place, my lady.”

“Oh, I did,” Caterina said with a sly grin. “I smiled sweetly and thanked him for his ‘astounding knowledge’ of Italy, and then proceeded to ask if he could name one city other than Rome or Florence”

Vanessa stifled a laugh behind her hand. “And?”

“Let’s just say, his face turned as red as the drink he spilled on himself shortly after,” Caterina replied with a chuckle.

Vanessa finished lacing up the gown, her eyes still bright with amusement. “It sounds like you survived your first ball well enough. And surely, there are more to come.”

“Survived is the key word,” Caterina muttered, smoothing down the skirt of her gown. “At this rate, I’ll need an entire vineyard to get through the next one.”

Vanessa handed her the silver brush again, this time with a knowing smile. “Still, my lady, it seems you made quite the impression. I overheard some of the servants this morning, everyone’s talking about the Medici sisters.”

“Let them talk,” Caterina said with a sigh, turning back toward the vanity. “I have more pressing matters to worry about than who noticed me at a ball. Like figuring out how to avoid these tedious suitors for the rest of the season.”

Vanessa grinned as she stepped back, watching her mistress from the corner of the room. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find a way, my lady. You always do.”

Caterina smirked, glancing at herself in the mirror one last time. “That, Vanessa, is the only thing I can guarantee.”

─────────

The morning sun bathed the Bridgerton dining room in a soft golden hue, casting long shadows across the polished mahogany table. Breakfast was in full swing, with the usual hustle and bustle of a large family settling into their seats, but it wasn’t the food that occupied everyone’s attention this morning.

Violet Bridgerton, seated at the head of the table, looked out over her brood with her usual mix of fondness and light exasperation. Next to her, Anthony sat with his arms crossed, eyes sharp as he observed the lively conversation between his siblings. Francesca was engaged in a quiet discussion with Colin, while Eloise, true to form, had a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, occasionally glancing up to join in on the conversation.

At the center of it all, however, was Lord Edward Ducker, who, like Benedict, sat with an easy, languid grace. His dark hair, slightly tousled from the morning, caught the sunlight as he glanced over the freshly printed copy of Lady Whistledown’s, which had just been delivered moments before. He flicked through it casually, but when he spotted something interesting, he cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention.

"Ah," Edward began, his voice dripping with playful mockery, "I see that Whistledown has deemed me worthy of mention."

Benedict, lounging opposite him with a bemused smile, raised an eyebrow. "And what scandal have you stirred up now, cousin?"

"Well," Edward replied with mock gravity, holding up the paper as though about to recite an epic verse, "It appears I have committed the grievous sin of dancing twice with Miss Teresa Medici."

A collective murmur rippled across the table. Eloise looked up from her book, Francesca’s eyes widened with interest, and even Anthony, ever the vigilant head of the family, seemed to lean in slightly.

Benedict chuckled. "Twice in one evening? Clearly, you’re more dedicated to causing a stir than I gave you credit for."

Edward grinned as he began to read from the paper, affecting a haughty tone: "Lord Edward Ducker, cousin to the esteemed Bridgertons, was seen twice on the dance floor with the enchanting Miss Teresa Medici. Could there be an alliance between the Scottish nobility and the Italian beauties of the season?"

Violet set down her teacup, a wry smile playing on her lips. "I must say, Edward, Whistledown doesn’t waste any time, does she?"

Edward feigned a pained expression. "It seems I am to be thrust into matrimony before I’ve even had my second cup of tea."

Benedict leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming. "You always did have a way with the ladies, Edward. Though I must say, two dances with Miss Medici? You might as well have proposed on the spot, by Whistledown’s standards."

Edward shot Benedict a sideways glance, his smirk deepening. "Well, not all of us can hide in the shadows, avoiding the spotlight."

"Hide?" Benedict echoed, amusement lacing his voice. "I’ll have you know, I am a master of subtly avoiding entrapment by the likes of Whistledown."

"Oh really?" Edward teased, his eyes dancing with mischief as he turned back to the paper. "Because it seems you’ve managed to make an appearance here as well, my dear cousin."

Benedict’s smirk faltered, just slightly. "Me? Nonsense. I’m perfectly innocent."

Edward scanned the paper before reciting aloud with relish: "One cannot help but notice the sudden and fervent interest of none other than Benedict Bridgerton, the second son, known more for his artistic pursuits than for indulging in the formalities of our society, it is highly unusual to see Mr. Bridgerton so enamored by the charms of the ballroom. Could it be that the Medici allure has cast a spell on him as well? His eyes followed Caterina Medici throughout the evening, and one cannot help but wonder if a new romance is on the horizon.”

Benedict groaned lightly, shaking his head as a few chuckles echoed around the table. Francesca raised an eyebrow and glanced at her brother. "Two Medici sisters? How very intriguing."

Eloise piped up, clearly enjoying the attention being thrown in Benedict’s direction. "How scandalous, Benedict. Perhaps you’ve found your muse?"

"I assure you, it was nothing of the sort," Benedict said, waving off the playful jabs. "Miss Medici is… interesting, yes. But I’d hardly say Whistledown has reason to believe I’m courting her."

Eloise leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table with a grin. "You forget, Benedict, that the ton doesn’t need much reason to believe anything. A look, a dance, even a mere conversation, suddenly, you're halfway down the aisle."

"And with a Medici no less," Colin chimed in, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "You certainly don’t do things halfway, do you, Benedict?"

Benedict rolled his eyes, though his lips curled into a smile. "The last thing I need is Whistledown playing matchmaker on my behalf."

"Indeed," Edward added with mock seriousness. "Especially when it seems I am already being prepared for my own romantic destiny."

Eloise exchanged a glance at that "I wasn’t aware that dancing twice meant an engagement was imminent," she said her eyes sparkling with humor.

"Ah, Eloise" Edward replied, turning his gaze to her with a playful smile. "In the eyes of Lady Whistledown, two dances might as well be a declaration of undying love."

Violet, who had been watching the banter with amusement, finally spoke up. "It seems that this season will be full of surprises, especially if Lady Whistledown continues to take such an interest in our family affairs."

Edward looked at Benedict. "Then we’ll just have to give her something worth writing about, won’t we?"

Benedict lifted his cup in a mock toast. "To surviving Lady Whistledown’s gaze. And to ensure that whatever scandal she writes, we at least look good doing it."

The table erupted in laughter as the cousins clinked their cups together, both fully aware that the games of the ton had only just begun.

─────────

The morning light filtered through the tall, elegant windows of the Langstone dining room, casting a warm, golden glow on the pristine white tablecloth and delicate china that adorned the long table. The Medici and Langstone families, now gathered together for breakfast a quiet conversation was filling the room.

Caterina sat at the table, her hair elegantly tied back, though her posture betrayed a slight weariness from the previous night’s ball. Across from her, Teresa was nearly vibrating with excitement, her eyes alight as she eagerly helped herself to a scone. Their mother, Lady Medici, sat beside Teresa, conversing lightly with Lady Langstone, who sat at the head of the table, while Olympia and Cynthia Langstone, the daughters of the house, chatted excitedly about the night’s events.

But the real excitement had only just arrived with the morning delivery of Lady Whistledown, which sat untouched at the center of the table, waiting, like a mischievous spirit, to stir up trouble.

Cynthia, ever eager, was the first to reach for the paper. “Oh, I cannot wait to see what she’s written about last night!” she exclaimed, her voice bright with anticipation. “You know she never misses anything.”

“I wonder who has made her infamous pages this time,” Olympia added with a sly smile, leaning forward to peer at the column as her sister unfolded the crisp paper.

Caterina leaned in, her curiosity piqued. “Is that the famous Lady Whistledown everyone has been speaking of?” she asked, eyeing the paper with mild interest. “I’ve heard her name whispered in nearly every corner of the ballroom last night.”

Teresa, equally intrigued, glanced at the Langstone sisters. “Yes, what is the fascination with her? I’ve never heard of such a thing in Italy.”

Cynthia, her eyes alight with enthusiasm, eagerly took the opportunity to explain. “Oh, Lady Whistledown is the most infamous writer in all of London! She writes about the ton, the scandals, the romances, the gossip, and no one is safe from her sharp wit.”

Olympia nodded, adding, “She seems to know everything before anyone else does. If you’re mentioned in her paper, it can either be a blessing or a curse, depending on what she writes about you.”

The Medici sisters exchanged intrigued glances, clearly fascinated by the idea of a secret chronicler wielding such power over the social scene.

Caterina raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a slight smile. “So she has the power to make, or break, someone’s reputation with a single word?”

“Precisely,” Cynthia said with a nod. “And no one knows who she is. Her identity is the greatest mystery in London. Everyone speculates, but no one has any idea.”

Teresa’s eyes widened with excitement. “How thrilling! It’s like something out of a novel.”

Olympia chuckled softly. “It’s far more real than any novel. Last season, she practically ruined a debutante with a single article. She has the ability to shape the entire season. Some people are terrified of her.”

Caterina, ever the skeptic, leaned back in her chair and sipped her tea. “Fascinating. And yet, it seems so… impersonal. To be judged by someone who remains hidden. It’s almost cowardly, don’t you think?”

Olympia shrugged with a grin. “Perhaps. But that’s what makes her so powerful. She’s everywhere and nowhere at once.” Teresa was enthralled, her curiosity growing with each word. “And you’ve been mentioned before?”

Cynthia beamed proudly. “Oh yes, several times. Usually about our gowns or our partners at various balls. But nothing too scandalous, thankfully.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Once, she commented on how Olympia’s gown nearly outshone a duchess’s.”

Olympia laughed, waving off her sister’s comment. “That was ages ago. But the point is, you never know what she’ll say, or when she’ll say it.” Lady Medici, who had been listening quietly, looked at her daughters with a mix of amusement and caution. “Well, let us hope our first mention is a favorable one.”

Before Teresa could respond, Cynthia gasped dramatically, her eyes wide as she scanned the paper. “Oh my! Here it is!”

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to her. She cleared her throat and began to read aloud, her voice bright with excitement.

“And then there is the younger, Miss Teresa Medici, whose sweetness is as charming as her sister’s sharpness. She, too, seems well on her way to captivating hearts, but do not be deceived by her innocent smile. It seems the Medici twins are not just diamonds in the rough, but polished gems with a sharpness that can outwit even the most astute gentlemen. It appears that Lord Edward Ducker, cousin to the esteemed Bridgertons, was seen twice on the dance floor with the enchanting Miss Teresa Medici. Could there be an alliance between the Scottish nobility and the Italian beauties of the season?”

Teresa’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, but her smile was radiant. “Oh! That’s wonderful! I can’t believe I’m mentioned!”

“Twice, no less,” Olympia added with a wink. “It seems Lady Whistledown has a soft spot for romances.”

Before Teresa could respond, Cynthia’s eyes darted back to the paper, a mischievous smile curling on her lips. “Oh, but that’s not all…”

She glanced meaningfully at Caterina before continuing. “One cannot help but notice the sudden and fervent interest of none other than Benedict Bridgerton, the second son, known more for his artistic pursuits than for indulging in the formalities of our society, it is highly unusual to see Mr. Bridgerton so enamored by the charms of the ballroom. Could it be that the Medici allure has cast a spell on him as well? His eyes followed Caterina Medici throughout the evening, and one cannot help but wonder if a new romance is on the horizon.”

Caterina’s expression didn’t waver as she took another sip of her tea, though her eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement. “a spell?” she repeated dryly, placing her cup back on its saucer. “That’s a generous interpretation. I’d say it was more like a man desperately trying to survive an evening of unbearable conversation.”

The table erupted in soft laughter, though Teresa shot her sister a playful look. “Come now, Kitty, it wasn’t that bad. He seemed quite taken with you.”

Caterina leaned back in her chair, smirking slightly. “Taken with me, or taken with the idea of escaping all the simpering debutantes that were flocking around him? Either way, I’m flattered that I provided a distraction.”

“Oh, please,” Olympia teased. “You looked perfectly happy out there. And if Mr. Bridgerton is as charming as they say, I doubt you were bored.”

“Charming is one word for it,” Caterina mused, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Though I will admit, his attempts at humor were… admirable. For a man who escapes such formalities, he certainly talks a lot.” Teresa rolled her eyes affectionately but couldn’t hide her excitement as she reached for the paper herself. “Regardless, it’s thrilling to see both of our names in Lady Whistledown.”

Caterina smiled warmly at her sister, her teasing tone softening. “Yes, well, just don’t let it go to your head, Tess. You still have a whole season ahead of you. And who knows what else this Whistledown will have to say?”

Teresa, undeterred, beamed. “I can’t wait.”

Lady Medici, watching her daughters with a fond smile, raised her teacup. “To a successful season, then. And may we continue to make the pages of Lady Whistledow, for all the right reasons.”

─────────

As the morning bathed the Langstone estate. The Medici family, ever poised, were expecting a full day of visits from eligible gentlemen who had attended the ball the previous evening. Caterina, however, appeared completely unbothered by the prospect, her mind seemingly elsewhere.

“Caterina, darling, please do remember that we are expecting quite a few visitors today,” Lady Medici reminded her daughter from across the room, adjusting her posture as she awaited the arrival of the day’s first guests. “You mustn’t be so cold to them, darling. This is a serious matter.”

Caterina sighed, swirling the tea in her cup lazily. “I’ll be perfectly polite, Mother, but I’m afraid I can’t promise much beyond that. I would rather do other things today than sit, listen, and smile.” Her voice carried a note of amusement that her mother did not appreciate.

"You have to take this seriously, Caterina. You cannot afford to offend every man who dares approach you."

Before another word could be exchanged, the first knock echoed through the grand estate. A parade of gentlemen had begun, much to Caterina’s restrained dismay. She straightened her shoulders, bracing herself for what would undoubtedly be a long day.

The butler, ever efficient, opened the door, revealing Lord Barrington, a tall man with an awkward gait but a kind smile. He approached Caterina with flowers in hand, bowing deeply.

“Miss Medici, it is a pleasure to see you again. I brought these from my family’s garden. The ones I told you last night during our wonderful dance” he offered, handing her the bouquet of roses.

Caterina’s polite smile barely concealed her disinterest. “Thank you, Lord Barrington. Roses, how charming.” She took the bouquet and set it on the table without a second glance. “What brings you here this fine morning?”

Lord Barrington seemed slightly flustered but continued. “I hoped to invite you for a stroll through the gardens. The weather is delightful, and I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to converse in a more intimate setting.”

“A walk?” Caterina tilted her head, her gaze flicking briefly out the window where the sun shone brightly. She seemed to weigh the offer for a moment before her smile grew just a bit sharper. “I’m afraid I’ve had enough of the gardens for one day, Lord Barrington. But do enjoy them on my behalf.”

Lord Barrington blinked, clearly taken aback, but managed a polite bow before excusing himself. As soon as he left, Teresa leaned over to her twin, giggling softly.

“Oh, Kitty, you really are impossible.”

“I never promised to entertain every dullard who knocked at our door,” Caterina replied with a smirk, eyes sparkling mischievously.

Not long after Lord Barrington’s departure, another knock came at the door. This time, it was Lord Fairfax, a dashing gentleman with a quick wit and easy charm. He greeted Caterina with confidence.

“Miss Medici, a pleasure as always. I was hoping we could share a ride through the countryside, it's the perfect day for it.”

Caterina looked him up and down, clearly sizing him up. “You are quite bold, Lord Fairfax, to assume I would agree so easily.” She stood, walking to the window as though contemplating. After a moment of silence, she turned, her eyes narrowed slightly in amusement. “I am not so easily won, my lord. But do continue your efforts. They are…entertaining.”

Lord Fairfax raised a brow, sensing the challenge in her words. “Then, Miss Medici, consider me up for the challenge. I shall win you over yet.” He bowed deeply and left, a confident smirk playing on his lips.

The hours passed, and the gentlemen came and went like clockwork. Some brought gifts, others tried to charm her with witty conversation. One by one, Caterina dismissed them with the same composed elegance she had mastered over the years.

The drawing room was now filled with the scent of the floral bouquet presented to her by Lord Wilkins, a gentleman more nervous than the others. He stammered through his conversation, constantly glancing at Teresa as though hoping for help.

“I—Miss Medici—I’ve brought you lilies…from my estate,” he said, his voice shaky.

Caterina raised a brow, glancing at the flowers. “Lovely. I imagine they must be quite beautiful at your estate,” she commented, her tone neutral.

Lord Wilkins took that as encouragement, nervously continuing. “They are. You should come to see them sometime, I mean… if you would… if you’d like to.”

Caterina leaned back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap as she studied the flustered gentleman. “Perhaps,” she said noncommittally. “Although I’ve never been particularly fond of lilies.”

Wilkins paled, his earlier bravado quickly evaporating. “Oh, well, I could…bring something else next time?”

“There’s no need,” Caterina said, her voice kind but final. “You’ve done enough for today.”

When he left, Lady Medici let out an exasperated sigh. “Caterina, how will you ever secure a match if you continue to send them all away?”

“Mother,” Caterina began, now completely weary of the parade of suitors, “I have no intention of securing a match simply to satisfy social expectations. The gentlemen who have visited today have been…fine, but none of them stir anything in me. Do you really expect me to spend a lifetime with someone who does not?”

Lady Medici's brows furrowed in frustration. “You cannot wait forever, my dear.”

Caterina turned her gaze towards the window, watching the sunlight flicker across the gardens outside. “Perhaps I can. But I have enough for today. Vanessa!” she exclaimed, calling her maid “It’s time!” she added.

So then she made her way to the grand staircase, pausing at the top to compose herself. With a deep sigh, she forced a bright smile and addressed Vanessa, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Ah, what a wonderful day for a promenade, don’t you think, Vanessa?"

As she descended the stairs, she was immediately greeted by a line of more and more eager suitors who were still waiting, each clamoring to gain her attention. "Oh, Miss Medici, allow me to escort you through the streets of London!" one gentleman offered, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

"Miss Medici, you must let me go first! Some streets are dangerous, and I would be honored to protect you!" said another, pushing forward slightly.

Their voices overlapped, each trying to outdo the other with offers of assistance. But Caterina, her eyes sparkling with mischief, ignored their advances, descending the staircase with a slow, graceful stride and a sly smile playing on her lips.

When she reached the bottom, she turned to face the group, her tone polite but firm. "Please, any of you who have come here today to court me may as well leave now. I’m not in the mood anymore to be adored. But you can still try your luck with my sister or one of the Langstone ladies. They would be more than pleased to entertain you all."

The room fell into a brief, stunned silence. Several of the men shuffled uncomfortably, their expressions turning sour at her bluntness, some even letting out quiet huffs of frustration.

But before Caterina could leave, her path was blocked by none other than Benedict Bridgerton and his cousin, Lord Ducker. Benedict, standing in front, held a modest bouquet of wildflowers in his hand, his crooked smile making Caterina pause.

"Mr. Bridgerton," she greeted him, her voice laced with playful mockery. "So eager to see me again?"

Benedict bowed, offering her the flowers with a charming smile. "Miss Medici, might I have the honor of escorting you through London today?" His tone was teasing, though there was a sincerity in his gaze that caught her attention.

Caterina tilted her head, pretending to consider his offer with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "Do you really wish that, Mr. Bridgerton?"

He blinked in surprise, clearly expecting a different response. "If you wish it, Miss Medici."

With a smirk, she shook her head. "No… not really." Her words caught him off guard, and he stared at her, momentarily at a loss for words.

Before he could respond, she turned to his cousin with a polite smile. "Have a nice day, Mr. Bridgerton. Lord Ducker."

And with that, Caterina gracefully brushed past them, leaving Benedict standing at the bottom of the stairs, bouquet still in hand, watching her with a mixture of amusement and intrigue. As she exited the house, he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

─────────

The sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Lady Danbury’s house, casting a soft glow across the drawing room where Lady Medici and her daughters sat, engaged in polite conversation with Lady Danbury. The aroma of freshly brewed tea mingled with the scent of roses that adorned the table, creating an atmosphere of refined elegance.

Lady Danbury, with her ever-watchful eyes, leaned in slightly, her voice dripping with curiosity. “So did you already find a particular interest in someone at my ball, ladies?” she asked, her gaze flickering between the ladies.

Teresa, ever the more sociable of the two, immediately responded with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Undoubtedly, there were some notable gentlemen, Lady Danbury. I even made the acquaintance of a few this morning," she said, her voice light and melodic.

Lady Danbury, intrigued, raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And do you recall any of their names, my dear?”

Teresa chuckled softly as if amused by the question. “There was Lord Dumbling, Lord Harrington, and also Lord Melrose, who brought me the most beautiful peonies from his family’s garden this morning. But if I am to be completely sincere, most of the other gentlemen were quite captivated by my twin sister Caterina, were they not?” she teased, her gaze sliding over to her sister, who sat quietly, sipping her tea as though she were miles away.

Caterina finally glanced up, her expression impassive but her tone laced with cool detachment. "Well, those were the ones who were able to enter the room. I had afterward ejected many others." Her words hung in the air, sharp and unexpected.

"Caterina," Lady Medici said, her voice filled with maternal scolding as she shot her daughter a look of disapproval. But Caterina merely shrugged, unbothered by the reaction she had caused.

Lady Danbury, ever the sharp-witted observer, chuckled softly at the display. “And may I ask why, Miss Caterina? I thought the whole reason you embarked on such a journey to London was to find a husband, was it not?”

Caterina didn’t falter. "It most certainly is," she replied calmly, though her mother gave her a reproachful glance, silently urging her to act with more grace. Still, Caterina remained unflustered, sipping her tea with steady composure.

“The gentlemen who arrived this morning were quite enthusiastic,” she began in a measured tone, “but I wasn’t feeling particularly disposed to entertain them. The dance you hosted, Lady Danbury, was so splendid and engaging that I found myself needing some rest afterward.” Her voice was smooth, her words carefully chosen. “Besides, I had a great desire to explore the streets of London. It’s a beautiful city, especially on such a lovely sunny day. I hear there aren’t many like it in England.”

Lady Danbury leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. “So, if I may be so bold, what exactly are your expectations for this… husband you seek, Miss Medici?”

Without missing a beat, Caterina replied with perfect poise, but her words caused a visible shift in the room. “Well, I am certainly looking for someone with significant financial wealth,” she stated flatly, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.

Teresa’s eyes widened, and she cast a glance at her mother, who was already sighing in resigned exasperation. Lady Medici’s lips thinned, though she refrained from any verbal reprimand, clearly accustomed to Caterina’s candid nature.

Lady Danbury, always one for a bit of scandalous conversation, gave a bemused smile. “Wealth, you say? My dear, there is much more to marriage than wealth.”

Caterina’s gaze did not waver. “Of course there is,” she replied evenly. “But security is paramount. A man of wealth can offer a comfortable life, and that is something I will not compromise on.”

Lady Medici shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes briefly closing in silent frustration at her daughter’s bluntness. Teresa, in an attempt to lighten the mood, chimed in.

“But surely, love must play some part in your decision, sister?”

Caterina tilted her head, considering her words carefully before answering. “Love is a luxury, sister. It is not essential for a match.” Her voice was devoid of emotion, her gaze steady as she addressed the room.

Teresa exchanged a quick glance with their mother, both of them understanding the deeper meaning behind Caterina’s words. Lady Medici sighed, looking at Lady Danbury with an apologetic smile. "You'll have to excuse Caterina's… practical nature."

But Lady Danbury, ever perceptive, smiled knowingly, her eyes lingering on Caterina. "Practicality has its merits, but sometimes, dear, the heart has its own plans, plans that may surprise even the most pragmatic among us."

Caterina, for once, seemed to pause, her fingers tightening ever so slightly around the teacup. But she quickly masked her reaction, offering a polite smile. "Perhaps, Lady Danbury. But I prefer not to rely on surprises."

─────────

The evening of the second ball arrived, casting a soft glow over London as carriages rolled up to the grand entrance of the lavish estate where the event was being held. The Medici sisters, Teresa and Caterina, had planned for this night with the utmost precision. Their gowns had been crafted in Italy, a design that, in their homeland, might have been considered daring but elegant. In London, however, it would be nothing short of scandalous.

As their carriage drew closer to the estate, Teresa fidgeted with her gloves, casting a glance at her sister. "Are you sure about this, Kitty?"

Caterina’s lips curled into a knowing smile, her eyes gleaming under the soft lamplight that filtered through the window. "We knew exactly what we were doing when we had these dresses made, Tess. Trust me, we’ll make an impression. Isn't that the point?"

Teresa bit her lip but nodded. "I suppose so. But I can already hear what Lady Whistledown will write about us tomorrow."

"Let her write," Caterina said with a flick of her wrist. "We’ll be the talk of the ton. That's what matters."

─────────

The carriage rolled to a stop, and the footman opened the door, offering them his hand. Caterina exited first, her gown a stunning light gold, catching the light as she descended the steps with graceful confidence. The dress clung to her figure in all the right places, the fabric shimmering with every movement. But what truly caught attention was the back of the gown, or rather, the lack thereof. From the nape of her neck down to the small of her back, her skin was left exposed in an elegant swoop of fabric, the boldness of the design sending ripples of shock through those who saw it.

Teresa followed her gown a softer, more muted pink. It shimmered with a subtle glow under the candlelight, highlighting her delicate features. Though softer than Caterina’s, her dress was no less daring, with a similar open back that revealed much more skin than any proper English lady would dare show.

As the twins stood side by side at the entrance of the ballroom, their presence commanded attention. The grand hall had been abuzz with conversation, laughter, and the murmur of gossip, but as the Medici sisters made their entrance, almost complete silence fell over the room.

Caterina held her chin high, fully aware of the eyes upon them. Her smile was serene, calculated, as if she relished in the shocked gasps and murmured whispers that followed their every step. Teresa, though slightly more reserved, matched her sister’s poise, her head held high as they glided into the room.

The fabric of their gowns caught the light, drawing attention to the elegant curve of their exposed backs and the finely embroidered details along the edges of the material. Every step they took seemed to be designed to command attention, the soft rustling of their dresses the only sound in the otherwise hushed room.

The looks on the faces of the ton were a mix of disbelief and judgment. Elderly matrons clutched their fans in shock, and young debutantes exchanged scandalized glances. Lord Ducker, standing near the entrance, nearly choked on his drink when he saw Teresa. His eyes widened as he tried, and failed, to look anywhere but the bare expanse of her back.

"Good heavens," a lady murmured from across the room, her eyes narrowing as she turned to her companion. "Did you see what those ladies are wearing?"

"Wearing? More like not wearing," another woman replied, her tone scandalized.

As the sisters walked further into the ballroom, Lady Ducker, standing near Lord Ducker, arched an eyebrow and let out a quiet hum of disapproval. "It seems the Medici sisters have decided to bring their fashion to England," she said, her eyes lingering on Teresa. Her tone was pointed, but beneath her words, there was an edge of amusement as if she knew exactly the effect their entrance would have.

Caterina caught sight of Benedict across the room, his eyes already fixed on her. She met his gaze, her lips curving into a subtle, knowing smile. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of surprise, admiration, and perhaps something else, a flicker of something more primal beneath his well-mannered exterior. But he didn’t look away.

Teresa, on the other hand, had her attention drawn to Lord Ducker, who was now standing frozen near the refreshment table, unable to tear his gaze away from her. He looked positively bewitched. She glanced at Caterina, who nudged her lightly. "See? We have their attention."

"Too much of it," Teresa whispered, though there was a faint blush on her cheeks, not entirely out of embarrassment.

They stopped near the edge of the dance floor, their presence undeniable as the ballroom began to hum with activity once more. The music resumed, but the gossip spread like wildfire, whispers following the Medici sisters wherever they moved.

A nearby group of young women exchanged judgmental glances, their voices low but not low enough for Caterina to miss. "It’s indecent, really," one of them said, her voice filled with disdain. "They might as well have come in their undergarments."

Caterina turned her head ever so slightly, catching the eye of the girl who had spoken. With a calm, confident smile, she lifted her chin and gave a subtle nod, as if acknowledging their words but dismissing them with a quiet power. They may talk, she thought, but it was she who had the attention of the room.

"I told you," Caterina murmured to Teresa, her voice low but filled with satisfaction. "We’ve already won."

Teresa sighed, though her lips twitched with a smile. "I just hope we survive the night."

Caterina chuckled, her eyes scanning the room once more. "Oh, we will. But I suspect after tonight, the ton will never forget us."

─────────

The ballroom was alive with music, light, and laughter, but all Benedict could focus on was the woman standing across from him. Miss Caterina Medici. As soon as he caught sight of her at the entrance of the ballroom, everything around him seemed to be still. For a moment, he was utterly captivated. His breath hitched, barely perceptibly, as his eyes raked over her, trying to fully comprehend what he was seeing.

She was breathtaking.

The gown was scandalous, yes, but more than that, it was a work of art on her body, every curve and line of the fabric designed to seduce. His gaze traveled from the delicate curve of her exposed shoulders down to the elegant dip of her bare back, the smooth skin gleaming in the soft glow of the chandeliers. The deep gold of the dress seemed to make her skin glow, every inch of her a tantalizing combination of elegance and temptation. Her hair was pinned elegantly, though a few rebellious strands framed her face, giving her an air of effortless beauty.

Benedict’s grip tightened around the glass of champagne in his hand. Damn her. It wasn’t the first time Caterina had rendered him speechless, but tonight… tonight it was different. Something raw, something primal unfurled inside him, tugging at his restraint, pushing against his usual composure. There was an air of defiance in her tonight, a woman who knew exactly what she was doing and was reveling in the chaos she caused. And God help him, he couldn’t look away.

His mind raced with thoughts he shouldn’t be having. The delicate slope of her back, the smooth line from her neck to her spine, made him ache to touch her. His imagination filled in what his hands wanted to do, run over that exposed skin, feel the warmth of her under his fingers, claim her in a way that wasn’t even appropriate to think about in a crowded ballroom.

She was temptation personified, and it was driving him mad. She knew the effect she was having on him; he was sure of it. The way her lips curled into that infuriatingly serene smile when their eyes met across the room told him everything. She was aware, and she enjoyed it.

Benedict swallowed, shifting in his stance as he tried to regain some semblance of control. But as she moved deeper into the room, her eyes locking with his for a brief moment, the sharpness of his desire returned, making his blood run hot beneath his skin.

I should not be thinking about her this way, he chided himself, but the thought only served to make his craving for her more intense.

He wanted her, and not just in a simple, gentlemanly fashion. There was something far more primal in the way his body reacted to the sight of her tonight. Something that went beyond flirtation, beyond the witty exchanges they’d shared. It was possessive, all-consuming, and utterly undeniable.

As she made her way through the room, collecting whispers and shocked gasps like jewels in a crown, Benedict’s decision crystallized.

He needed to have her attention, to remind her that no matter what game she was playing tonight, he was part of it, and he intended to win.

He set his glass down on a nearby table with purpose, his gaze never leaving her as he crossed the ballroom. His steps were confident, and deliberate, the buzz of the crowd dimming in his mind as he approached her. There was a flicker of something in her eyes when she noticed him approaching, anticipation, perhaps? Or was it the same desire that roared in his chest?

“Miss Medici,” Benedict’s voice was low, dripping with a mix of amusement and challenge. He bowed slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. “I believe you owe me a dance.”

Caterina’s lips curved into that familiar, teasing smile. “Do I?” Her voice was like silk, her brow arching as if to mock his request. She lifted her chin, clearly prepared to banter, but Benedict was having none of it tonight.

He stepped closer, his presence dominating, his tone dropping to a near growl. “Oh, you do. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” His eyes flickered down to the exposed skin of her back, then back to her eyes, his voice taking on a sharper edge. “You come dressed like this, catching everyone’s attention, and expect me not to claim my due?”

Caterina blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the intensity in his voice, but she quickly regained her composure. “I didn’t realize you had anything due to you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He smirked, a wicked glint in his eyes as he extended his hand toward her, waiting for her to take it. “Oh, I think you owe me more than just a dance.” His voice softened, turning into a low murmur meant only for her. “After all, if anyone’s going to be stealing glances at you tonight, it’ll be me.”

Caterina stared at him for a beat, her lips parting as if to retort, but the intensity of his gaze, the way he held himself with such confidence, silenced her. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she placed her hand in his. A spark shot up his arm the moment her gloved hand touched his.

“Shall we?” Benedict’s smile was almost predatory as he led her onto the dance floor, aware of the eyes following them.

The moment they were in position, and the music began, Benedict took her in his arms, their bodies closer than they had been in days. The tension between them simmered just beneath the surface, and he could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her gown.

"After the event at your house, I was expecting a bit more resistance to my invitation, Miss Medici," Benedict said, his voice low as he twirled her around, bringing her back in front of him with a graceful spin.

Caterina’s lips curled into a smirk as she came back into his arms, the spin bringing a fresh wave of her intoxicating perfume with it. "An invitation from an attractive man is always accepted, Mr. Bridgerton," she replied smoothly, her tone light but edged with a certain seductive confidence.

Benedict’s eyebrows shot up at her remark. "Attractive?" His voice dipped playfully. "So, you find me appealing, Miss Medici?"

She met his gaze, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Certainly I do," she said, her voice almost a purr. "I’m a woman, Mr. Bridgerton, and I have eyes too. I can hardly deny such a thing."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, there was a spark of something dangerous in her gaze, something that made Benedict’s pulse quicken. He tightened his hold on her waist just slightly, guiding her effortlessly through the steps of the dance.

Benedict let out a low chuckle, caught off guard by her directness. He couldn’t recall the last time a woman had spoken to him with such brazen honesty, especially not while looking at him like that.

"Additionally," Caterina continued, her smile widening, "I heard you don’t attend many balls…" She arched an eyebrow, her tone playfully inquisitive.

Benedict snorted, shaking his head slightly. "You’ve been reading Lady Whistledown, haven’t you?" There was a trace of irritation in his voice, though not entirely directed at her.

Caterina chuckled softly, clearly noticing his reaction. "I must somehow integrate into the English ton, Mr. Bridgerton," she said, her voice dropping into a sultry, teasing tone. She raised her chin ever so slightly, making her intentions clear, and yet keeping everything veiled in playful banter.

Benedict’s expression tightened for a brief moment. "Aren’t you bothered by what was written about you?" His eyes flicked down briefly to her dress undoubtedly one of the subjects of tomorrow’s paper and then back up to her face. He was testing her, probing to see if her confident demeanor was as untouchable as it appeared.

Caterina’s laugh was soft but full of amusement, her eyes sparkling as she met his challenge head-on. "Why would I be? Those are just words, Mr. Bridgerton. Gossip. Nobody really knows me." Her tone was dismissive as if she found the entire concept of caring about public opinion amusing.

Benedict’s eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued by her indifference. Most women in the ton would be mortified by such scandalous attention from Lady Whistledown, but Caterina seemed completely unphased. There was something deeply alluring about a woman who refused to be swayed by the whispers of society.

"I see you’re not one to let words affect you, then," Benedict remarked, spinning her once more, his grip firm on her waist as she twirled effortlessly back into his arms.

"Not at all," she replied with a light shrug. "In Italy, we care about gossip but here, it seems like it’s the lifeblood of society." Her lips twitched into a smirk. "A curious difference, wouldn’t you agree?"

"Curious, indeed," Benedict said, still studying her closely. "But not everyone is as impervious as you, Miss Medici."

She laughed again, a soft, musical sound that sent a strange thrill through him. "Perhaps they should be. After all, Mr. Bridgerton, isn’t it far better to live by one’s own truth than to be shackled by the opinions of others?"

Benedict was silent for a moment, turning her words over in his mind. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting from this dance, maybe more of the flirtatious banter they’d been engaging in, but Caterina’s insight caught him off guard. "And what is your truth, Miss Medici?"

Caterina’s smile grew, her eyes flashing with something unreadable. "That, Mr. Bridgerton, is something you’ll have to discover for yourself." She leaned in just slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "If you’re brave enough."

The challenge was clear, and it sent a spark of excitement through him. "I think I’m up for the task," he said, his voice steady but charged with a new energy.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the bustling ballroom seemed to fade into the background.

They moved in perfect harmony, the music guiding their steps but their attention solely on each other. Caterina’s gaze flicked to his lips for the briefest of moments before she pulled away, the distance between them lengthening as the dance continued.

Benedict couldn’t help but smile. He had expected many things from this night, but meeting someone like her, a woman so unafraid to be herself, so unapologetically bold, had certainly not been one of them.

As the music began to wind down, Caterina gave him a sly, knowing look and with a graceful curtsy, Caterina stepped back, her gaze lingering on his for just a second longer than necessary. "Thank you for the dance," she said, her voice soft and yet filled with promise.

Benedict bowed, watching her as she turned and walked away, her scandalous dress drawing even more attention as she rejoined her sister and the other guests.

He exhaled, realizing he had been holding his breath.

As she disappeared into the crowd, Benedict couldn’t help but think that Caterina Medici was far more than she seemed, and perhaps, that was exactly what intrigued him most.

─────────

Dearest readers,

The ball of last night was nothing short of a spectacle, but it wasn't the glittering chandeliers or the flowing champagne that stole the evening's attention. Oh no, it was the attire of the notorious Medici sisters that set tongues wagging! Miss Caterina and Miss Teresa Medici shocked the ton by arriving in daring gowns with their backs scandalously exposed. How very… audacious of them!

It would appear the Medici sisters have introduced a new fashion to our ever-watchful London season, a daring display of Italian boldness, with backs bared more than one might deem appropriate for a respectable young lady’s wardrobe.

But that, dear readers, was merely the beginning. Lady Ducker's keen eye seems to have settled on a match for her son, Lord Edward Ducker, and it would appear Miss Teresa Medici is the favored candidate. A match to unite two prominent families? We shall see.

Yet, nothing has caught my quill quite like the simmering tension between Miss Caterina Medici and one certain Mr. Benedict Bridgerton. I saw everything, dear reader, stolen glances, whispered words, and a dance that left the room breathless. One wonders: what exactly is brewing between those two?

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

The morning air of the day after was cool, and a gentle breeze whispered through the bustling streets of London. The Medici sisters were walking gracefully along the streets of London, their dresses fluttering slightly in the breeze as their heels clicked against the cobblestones. The light murmur of their conversation was drowned out by the hum of activity around them, carriages rattling by, the calls of vendors, and the occasional laughter of passersby. However, all of that seemed secondary to the glances and murmurs from the other women, heads turning as they recognized the sisters, especially now after the most recent publication of Lady Whistledown.

Caterina held her parasol delicately, tilting it just to keep the sun from her face, while Teresa moved with an air of quiet reflection. The previous night’s ball, with all its gossip, danced uncomfortably in both their minds. Caterina, of course, was more amused than anything else. Teresa, however, was still processing what had been written in Lady Whistledown's Paper.

As they strolled, Caterina smirked and unfolded the paper she had been holding since breakfast, giving it another glance. "Well, Tess, if we weren't known before, we certainly are now."

Teresa sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging slightly. "Do we have to talk about it, Kitty? You know how Whistledown exaggerates."

Caterina’s eyes twinkled as she read aloud, her voice filled with mock drama. "it would appear the Medici sisters have introduced a new fashion to our ever-watchful London season, a daring display of Italian boldness, with backs bared more than one might deem appropriate for a respectable young lady’s wardrobe."

She laughed and looked sideways at Teresa. "Respectable? I believe Lady Whistledown may have finally run out of more scandalous things to write."

Teresa flushed, though a small smile crept onto her lips. "I didn’t think the gown was that scandalous. It was elegant. Tasteful, even."

"Tasteful, yes. But perhaps London society is not yet ready for this kind of taste," Caterina teased, folding the paper and tucking it into her reticule. "Still, we managed to turn quite a few heads. I think it’s a triumph."

"Mother will faint as soon as she will read the paper," Teresa said, shaking her head with a soft laugh. "I’m certain she would write to our aunt in Naples, asking for advice on how to handle such improper daughters."

Caterina grinned, clearly enjoying herself. "Oh, but we haven’t even gotten to the best part yet." She glanced at Teresa, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Lord Ducker."

Teresa’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. "Kitty, stop."

"I will not stop. Lady Whistledown practically devoted an entire paragraph to how Lord Edward’s attentions were fixed solely on you throughout the evening. And let’s not forget Lady Ducker’s strategic glances in your direction. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s plotting a match."

"You're reading too much into it," Teresa said, though she couldn’t entirely hide the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Lord Ducker was simply being polite. His mother… well, she’s just observant."

"Observant, yes," Caterina teased. "Observant of her son’s growing interest in you, perhaps? Tess, the man couldn’t take his eyes off you during your second ball. He’s clearly smitten."

Teresa let out a long-suffering sigh. "You're impossible."

"I’m only impossible because it’s true," Caterina grinned, nudging her sister lightly. "Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy his attentions."

"I… well, he is charming," Teresa admitted, her tone soft. "But there’s no need to get carried away."

Caterina smirked but decided to let her sister off the hook. For now. She was about to change the subject when something caught her eye. "Ah! The market’s ahead. Let’s go see if those accessories Olympia recommended are still there. I’m certain I saw a table with the exact stones I need for my gown tonight at the theater."

With a shared glance, the sisters altered their course, heading toward the market square. The air grew thicker with the smell of fresh-baked bread, sizzling meats, and the fragrant waft of flowers being sold from nearby carts. A cacophony of voices called out, from vendors selling their wares to buyers haggling over prices.

The market itself was a vivid tapestry of colors and sounds. Caterina led the way with the same determination she brought to every task, her eyes scanning the trinkets and jewelry laid out on various stalls.

She paused at one table, admiring a set of glimmering stones that matched her dress. "These are perfect," she murmured, picking up a delicate emerald-colored gem. "Olympia always has the best taste."

Teresa, standing at her side, admired the piece. "They’re beautiful, Kitty. Are you planning on wearing them tonight?"

Caterina nodded, distracted as her eyes flicked across the market. But then something unexpected caught her gaze, a small, unassuming stall near the end of the row, one that wasn’t adorned with the usual finery but rather had brushes and bottles of paint stacked neatly.

For a moment, Caterina stood still, the noise of the market fading around her. Her chest tightened as her eyes rested on the small collection of oil paints and canvases. Brushes of different sizes were laid out, the sight of them immediately conjuring a flood of memories. She remembered the days spent at home, under the dappled sunlight, painting… The world had felt so open, so full of possibility back then. Her hands, now adorned with jewelry, used to be stained with paint, marks of freedom and expression.

Her breath hitched slightly. It had been years since she had touched a brush, and yet here they were, simple and unassuming, waiting for someone to use them.

"Kitty?" Teresa’s voice was gentle, pulling her back to reality. "What is it?"

Caterina’s fingers hovered over the brushes, a strange mix of longing and sadness swelling within her. "Nothing" she whispered, barely loud enough for her sister to hear.

Teresa smiled softly in her direction. "You were brilliant at it."

"I…" Caterina said, her voice thick with emotion. Her fingertips brushed against the handle of one of the brushes, and the familiar texture sent a shiver down her spine. Could she still paint? Did that part of her still exist?

"You should get them," Teresa suggested quietly. "It might be nice to start again. You always seemed so at peace when you painted."

Caterina hesitated, biting her lip. The thought of starting again, of rediscovering that part of herself, felt daunting. Yet at the same time, something inside her yearned for it. She missed the feeling of losing herself in the strokes of a brush, the way the world melted away when she was creating something entirely her own.

"I… maybe," Caterina said, her voice barely above a whisper, but the thought lingered with her as they continued through the market. The paint, the brushes, and the memories clung to her as she walked alongside her sister, feeling as if she had uncovered a piece of herself that she had almost forgotten existed.

─────────

As the opera house buzzed with the excitement of London’s elite, Lady Marie Medici and her daughters, Caterina and Teresa, settled into their private box. The family had garnered quite the attention since arriving from Italy, especially at recent social events. Tonight, however, the opera promised to be a relaxing reprieve, or so they thought. Just as they were adjusting to the view of the grand stage, a soft tap of a cane and the distinct presence of Lady Danbury signaled a different direction for their evening.

"Lady Medici," Lady Danbury greeted with her sharp eyes gleaming, her voice cutting through the hum of the room. She leaned slightly on her cane, casting a knowing glance over at Caterina and Teresa, who smiled politely.

"Lady Danbury, always a pleasure," replied Lady Marie Medici, nodding respectfully.

“And of course, your charming daughters,” Lady Danbury added with a sly smile, her gaze lingering on Caterina, who raised an eyebrow but returned the smile, knowing better than to take Lady Danbury’s compliments at face value.

“Lady Medici, come with me. There’s someone you must meet,” she insisted, gesturing for Lady Medici to follow.

Caterina and Teresa exchanged a curious glance with her mother as she stepped across the box seats to the hallway to the others' adjoining boxes. There, Lady Bridgerton was engaged in conversation with some ladies.

“Lady Bridgerton, may I present Lady Medici?” Lady Danbury introduced.

“Lady Medici,” Violet greeted with a warm smile, her kind eyes settling on the Medici lady. “I’m delighted to finally make your acquaintance.”

“The honor is mine, Lady Bridgerton,” replied Marie Medici with a graceful nod. “I’ve heard much about your family in London.”

Violet chuckled lightly. “I do hope it’s nothing too scandalous! My family has had its share of adventures.”

“Oh, I assure you, we are no strangers to excitement ourselves,” Lady Medici responded with a smile.

“Your daughters have caused quite the stir in society, I must say,” Violet replied, casting an affectionate glance toward Marie.

Just then, Lady Danbury interjected, “And I must add, they have brought such a refreshing energy to the season. It’s a breath of fresh air.”

Violet nodded in agreement. “Indeed!”

Lady Medici chuckled, her gaze drifting toward the stage. “Well, we certainly encourage a bit of mischief. Life is too short to be dull, wouldn’t you agree?”

Violet leaned in conspiratorially, her smile was calm but meaningful. “Absolutely! And speaking of, I must confess that I’ve noticed that my nephew Lord Edward Ducker, seems to have taken a liking to your younger daughter, Lady Teresa.” She leaned in slightly, her tone a bit more personal. “I believe they make quite a charming pair.”

Lady Danbury cut in with a playful grin. “Indeed. It appears young Edward can hardly keep his eyes off her.”

Violet nodded thoughtfully. “In light of that, I would like to extend an invitation, Lady Medici, to you and your daughters. Please join us for a small, dinner tomorrow evening at Bridgerton House. I would very much like to get to know you all better.”

Lady Marie exchanged a brief look before smiling at Violet. “That would be lovely, Lady Bridgerton. We would be honored to attend.”

As they exchanged a few more pleasantries, Lady Danbury’s knowing smile never wavered, her sharp eyes flicking back and forth between the families as if plotting her next move. Soon, the lights dimmed, and the opera was about to begin, forcing the conversation to a close.

Later, as the performance was about to begin, Lady Medici announced the exciting news to her daughters.

“There’s news,” Marie began, folding her hands neatly in her lap as she looked at her daughters. “We have been invited to dinner at Bridgerton House tomorrow evening.”

Teresa’s face lit up instantly. “Dinner with the Bridgertons!” she exclaimed. “Mama, what a wonderful thing!”

In the semi-darkness of the opera house, Teresa leaned over to Caterina, her voice barely a whisper. “Dinner at Bridgerton House! Can you believe it? Mama seemed so calm about it.”

Lady Marie smiled warmly at her daughter. “Indeed, my dear. Lady Bridgerton extended the invitation herself, and it’s clear there’s some interest on behalf of their family.”

Caterina, however, leaned back against the chair, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “Interest, or matchmaking?”

“Both, perhaps,” Lady Marie said thoughtfully. “Lord Ducker has certainly taken a liking to you, my lovely.”

Caterina smiled faintly, though her mind was elsewhere. “She’s probably more interested in the alliance this could create.”

She gave her sister a sideways glance. “Lord Ducker, hmm?”

Teresa flushed but remained composed. “He’s…” Teresa’s face turned bright pink, and she nervously smoothed out the folds of her gown. “He’s very polite, kind, and attentive. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm,” Caterina teased, though her voice lacked its usual edge. Her mind was drifting.

Teresa pouted. “Kitty, stop it.”

“Enough, ladies,” Lady Marie interrupted with a gentle laugh. “It’s a good match. But we mustn’t get ahead of ourselves. Tomorrow is about making a good impression, not encouraging gossip.”

Caterina’s teasing faded, and she glanced in front of her, to the opposite box.

As the opera began, Caterina found her eyes drifting once more across the room, landing on Benedict Bridgerton, who sat attentively watching the stage, into the opposite box.

The dim light softened his sharp features, his focused expression surprisingly at odds with the lively, almost mischievous energy he exuded during their conversations.

There was something different about the way she felt when she was looking at him tonight, a strange, quiet ache in her chest, as though something within her was shifting.

The sharp retorts she always prepared for him felt less necessary, and instead, she found herself wondering about the dinner.

Would they speak? Would she see him across the table, his eyes searching for hers?

The thought caused an uncharacteristic flutter of nervousness in her stomach, and she quickly tore her gaze away, focusing back on the stage. What was this feeling? Anxiety? Excitement?

She exhaled softly, willing herself to stay composed, though her mind wandered. Tomorrow would be something, a test of her ability to maintain her composure, to keep Benedict Bridgerton at a distance. Yet, deep down, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to.

Across the way, in the Bridgerton box, Benedict Bridgerton was trying to concentrate on the performance too. Yet, his eyes were drawn across the room to Caterina.

“Are you going to stare at her all night, or do you plan to watch the play?” Anthony teased, smirking.

Benedict shook his head, chuckling lightly. “I was admiring the view, brother.”

“Right. Admiring. Just make sure you don’t miss the second act,” Colin added, grinning.

─────────

The soft glow of twilight filtered through the curtains as Caterina sat at her vanity, brushing out her curls in front of the mirror.

Teresa stood near the window, adjusting the necklace that sparkled against her neckline. They were both preparing for the much-awaited evening's dinner at The Bridgertons, a dinner that would place them directly in the company of the all family.

“Kitty,” Teresa began, her voice lilting with a teasing tone as she admired herself in the reflection of the glass. “You can’t deny it. He’s interested in you.”

Caterina, her hands still in her hair, met her sister’s eyes through the mirror, a wry smile forming on her lips. “Every gentleman of the ton is interested in me, sister,” she responded dryly, her voice edged with sarcasm. “It’s hardly news.”

Teresa laughed, shaking her head. “No, Kitty, I’m serious this time. Mr. Bridgerton. He’s really interested, and tonight, I’ll prove it to you.” She stepped away, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Caterina’s expression tightened as she whipped around to face her sister, her eyes widening in alarm. “No, you will not,” she said firmly, her tone bordering on panic. “Tess, don’t you dare say anything compromising tonight. Please.”

Teresa merely smirked, her eyes still fixed on her reflection as her maid fixed her hair. “Why not? You two have been practically eyeing each other every chance you get. And I’m sure the entire ballroom noticed last time.”

“Teresa Medici!” Caterina hissed, her voice rising in exasperation. She rose from the vanity and turned to face her sister fully. “I mean it. Don’t say anything compromising.”

Teresa just chuckled, her smug grin never fading. “Oh, Kitty. You know I won’t embarrass you… much.”

Caterina huffed, knowing her sister well enough to realize that once she had a plan, there was little hope of stopping her.

She turned back to the mirror, carefully smoothing down her gown and trying to push aside her growing apprehension. “Tess, please,” she said in a softer tone, hoping her sincerity would make an impact. “I don’t want to make a fool of myself tonight.”

Teresa stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on her sister’s shoulder. “You won’t. Trust me. But it wouldn’t hurt for him to know you’re interested too, you know.”

Caterina let out a frustrated sigh, unable to suppress the nervous flutter in her chest at the mention of Benedict. “It’s not that simple,” she muttered, more to herself than to Teresa.

“Of course, it is,” Teresa replied lightly, giving her sister a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’ll see tonight.”

─────────

The dining room of Bridgerton’s house was alive with laughter and conversation, the room filled with the glow of candlelight as the Bridgertons and the Medici ladies gathered around the grand table. The warmth of the evening seemed to mirror the ease of the company, though Caterina couldn’t help the twinge of unease in her chest every time her eyes met Benedict’s from across the table.

She sat next to her sister, who was seated across from Benedict. The conversation flowed easily between the families, with Lady Bridgerton, Lady Ducker, and their mother sharing pleasantries about the evening's festivities.

The discussion naturally shifted as Lord Ducker leaned in and said to Teresa “…but he is not nearly as talented as my cousin Benedict. He truly excels in drawing and painting. A natural artist, you could say.”

Teresa’s eyes gleamed, and Caterina immediately tensed, sensing what was about to come. “You do, Mr. Bridgerton?” Teresa asked, her tone dripping with curiosity.

Benedict smiled humbly, casting a quick glance toward Caterina before replying. “I dabble, but it’s nothing serious. Just a recreation, really.”

Caterina froze, her fingers tightening around her fork. She hoped Teresa would drop it, but her sister wasn’t one to let an opportunity slip by.

“You know,” Teresa continued, grinning broadly, “My sister also draws. In fact, she’s rather good, isn’t that right, Kitty?”

Caterina’s head snapped up, her face flushing at the mention of her art. She could feel Benedict’s gaze on her, amused and curious. She swallowed hard, wishing for a moment that the ground would open up beneath her. Under the table, she shot a discreet but firm kick to Teresa’s shin, but her sister simply smiled.

“You do, Miss Medici?” Benedict asked, his voice rich with interest. His eyes never left hers, and the slight curve of his lips told her he was enjoying her discomfort.

Caterina forced a small smile. “Not anymore,” she said quickly, trying to downplay it. “It was just a childhood pastime. Times have changed… and so have I.”

“That’s not true,” Teresa interjected, clearly ignoring the daggers Caterina was glaring at her. “My sister is incredibly talented. You should see her work back in Italy, it’s stunning.”

“Teresa, that’s enough,” Caterina snapped, her voice cutting through the lively hum of the table. Everyone paused mid-conversation, their attention now turned toward her. The sudden silence was palpable, even the children stopped their chatter to stare.

Lady Medici, ever composed, sent both her daughters a reproachful glance. “Ladies,” she said firmly, though her tone remained quiet. “This is neither the time nor the place for bickering.”

Caterina swallowed her embarrassment and mumbled an apology. “Sorry, Mother,” she said, glancing down at her plate, feeling the weight of everyone's gaze on her.

Teresa chimed in, still looking amused, though slightly chastened. “Sorry, Mother,” she echoed, her voice light and carefree, though she shot a playful look at Caterina.

The rest of the dinner passed in relative calm, though Caterina couldn’t shake the lingering embarrassment. She could feel Benedict’s gaze flick toward her several times throughout the evening, and each time, her heart raced. But no more was said about art or her talent.

─────────

Later, after returning home, Caterina stormed into her bedroom, her cheeks still flushed with irritation. Teresa followed closely behind, closing the door behind her.

“Why did you bring that up at dinner?” Caterina demanded, whirling around to face her sister. Her voice was sharp, and she glared at Teresa with all the frustration she had been holding in throughout the evening.

Teresa shrugged, entirely unbothered by her sister’s anger. “I didn’t do anything wrong! It was Lord Ducker who mentioned Mr. Bridgerton’s art, and I just thought it was the perfect opportunity for you two to connect.”

Caterina let out a frustrated groan, pacing back and forth. “I told you I didn’t want to be involved in that conversation. It was irritating!”

“Irritating?” Teresa raised an eyebrow, her tone softening. “Kitty, it wasn’t irritating at all. Mr Bridgerton was clearly interested. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

Caterina scoffed, shaking her head. “That’s not the point, Tess. I didn’t want my art to be a subject of discussion, especially not in front of him.”

Teresa stepped forward, her expression softening as she placed a hand on Caterina’s hand. “I’m sorry, Kitty, truly. But I just want you to see how interested he is. You’re so closed off sometimes… Let him in.”

Caterina’s anger wavered slightly at her sister’s words, but she remained resolute. “Goodnight, Tess.” Her voice was final as she opened her bedroom door, signaling the end of the conversation.

Teresa sighed, knowing better than to push her sister further. “Goodnight, Kitty,” she whispered before stepping out into the hallway.

As the door closed behind her, Caterina leaned against it, her mind still swirling with thoughts of Benedict’s lingering gaze.

[theitgirlnetwork]

Better

Ch. 7: 772 Miles

Note: I'm lateeee but I'm here nonetheless! Thank you all so much for all of the love and support. I love all of the likes, reblogs, comments, notes! I hope you all enjoy this one. We're making some headway and I hope to have more out soon. Some people have asked me about a taglist, which I'm gonna be real, I don't know how to do, but I will learn and then I will add whoever wants to be added to it! There is an awkward entry to a little explicitness in here so MDNI fr. Feel free to skip that part if you are an adult and just don't want it, anything important that is discussed during it will be brought up again! Once again, thank you so much <3

Picture Lip Took of Charlotte at the museum:

“You know, I’m starting to get a little offended by how you’re not excited Kev and I scraped together the rest of the money to get you home.” V says, pushing into Charlotte’s bedroom, plopping onto the bed next to a pink suitcase. “Did you get a lock for this?”

Charlotte pulls her white top over her head, careful not to let her makeup smear onto her outfit and smooths her hair again. “I’m very grateful, V, I’m just gonna miss you and Kev.” 

“Bullshit, me and Kev.” the woman grumbles, helping smooth out the back of her cousin’s shirt. “It’ll be good for you two to spend a couple of weeks apart, cool off a little.” 

The younger woman sighs, slinging her bag over her shoulder and stopping briefly to look at her cousin. “I’ve got to go. You’ll have shipped me off to Virginia and away from Phillip by tomorrow, okay?”

V softens at the look on Charlotte’s face. The girl had been so excited to be going home for Christmas when she and Kev surprised her with the other half of the money. She hadn’t even minded buying a one way ticket, considering she’d be going for a couple of weeks. But as the date of her departure pushed closer, the excitement turned into sadness and worry. 

She would hear her and Lip in the room throughout the week, on the nights he slept over, mumbling reassurances, arguing in hushed tones, exchanging promises. V doesn’t like raining on her baby cousin’s parade, but if she doesn’t ground her, who will? Charlotte’s always been a dreamer, her parents treated her like a little princess, and for good reason. V would only see her when her mother would take her to Virginia, her auntie and uncle refusing to let Charlotte come to Chicago. They kept her sheltered from the rest of their family, even watching closely how she and V played together. So Charlotte was not very…experienced. She didn’t think twice about people asking favors of her, borrowing money, leering at her. She lives in fairytale land, expecting everyone to be kind, accept apologies, have good intentions. And V watches her cousin be absolutely devastated when the world proves her wrong. 

Now that Charlotte was getting older, it was important that Charlotte learned to care for herself, it was necessary that she learned how to live in the real world. V loves her cousin, so she volunteered to take on that project. It was never part of her plan to throw her into the deep-end that is Lip Gallagher. V feels personally responsible for the inevitable fallout that would come from this relationship. All she can hope for is that these next few weeks will let the two young adults fizzle out, and clear their heads.

“I’m not against you, Lottie.” V says. Charlotte turns at that, going over and pulling the other woman into a familiar hug. One that reminds them both of being little girls, seeing each other for the first time in a year.

“I know, V.” she whispers.

“It’s only a couple of weeks, babe.” The older cousin soothes, rubbing her hand over Charlotte’s hair. The two of them hear the front door open, and Kev’s voice starts filling the living room.

“Not a scratch on my baby.” They find Kev in the living room, towering over Lip, who’s simply looking forward, clearly spacing out and ignoring what the older man is saying. “Or Charlotte. And get her to the airport on time.”

“Got it. Total the car and make sure Charlotte misses her flight.” Lip jokes, standing and reaching for the keys, sighing when Kev pulls them away. “Alright, man, I’m kidding. Thank you for this.”

Charlotte saddles up next to him, throwing her arms around Kev, hugging him tightly. “Thanks, Kev. I’ll miss you! I’ll be back soon.”

Kev looks down at her, brows softening and sighing as he makes eye contact with V. “Sure, kid.” He says, ruffling her hair. “Get goin’, traffic.”

Lip and Charlotte make their way outside, V and Kev watch from their porch as Lip opens the passenger door, boosting Charlotte in before nodding at them and going around to the driver’s side. As the car pulls off the couple looks over to the porch next door, finding Fiona sipping a beer, shaking her head before nodding them over.

“Are you excited?” Charlotte damn near bounces next to Lip as he studies the map at the front of the museum, determined to map out a route that will keep them away from the exhibits he had deemed not worthy of their time. He drags his finger along the line he intends to follow, his other hand clasped in Charlotte’s.

“Uh, yeah.” he says, deep in focus. Charlotte just smiles as she watches him mumble to himself about the most time effective way to get them through everything. Yeah, he is, she thinks to herself, letting him guide her to the first stop.

This whole thing is not really Charlotte’s style. Most of the exhibits are focused around science and that had never been her thing. She had been more of a social studies and reading girl herself, those subjects told more stories than required her ability to understand formulas. But she was so fucking happy she’d bought these tickets. Even though his expression is schooled into a nonchalant, moderately interested look most of the time, she could tell from how Lip’s eyes light up. 

He’s been looking at her differently since that day in the park. At first she’d thought it was the tickets. Then she’d thought it was the fact that she was leaving for a while, but neither seemed to describe how those bright blue eyes study her. Whatever it is, Charlotte wants to keep causing that look. 

So she leans against his chest and listens as he points out the different parts of the submarine exhibit, attempting to describe the mechanics of putting together something he’d apparently researched in his own time.  She asks, she’ll admit, stupid questions when he tries to explain the physics behind one of the displays, just sticking her tongue out at him when he looks away, snorting before composing himself and actually answering her. 

She gives him space as he observes the portraits of different scientists of all areas, reading the little bios. Charlotte wanders to the side, finding a picture she finds a little interesting and stopping to read the little paragraph on the plaque beside it. The sound of a camera phone clicking makes her turn around and look at him. “Did you just take a picture of me?”

“You look pretty.” he smiles, stepping forward and pulling her into his arms. “Gotta add to my collection, have somethin’ to look at when you’re gone.” 

Charlotte looks up at him smiling crookedly, “You have a collection of pictures of me on your phone? What’re you obsessed with me or somethin’?”

“Nah, you just won’t fuck me and I gotta do somethin’ to help me and my hand along-ow!” he laughs when she punches his chest, wincing at his muscle against her hand. Lip wraps his arm around her shoulders, bringing her in for a kiss. “Yeah, I’m obsessed with you or somethin’.”

The tenderness of the moment makes the ache that formed in Charlotte’s chest as soon as she’d purchased the ticket throb. She sighs, scrubbing her hand along her watering eyes. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Lip groans, running a hand through his hair before cupping her cheeks, thumbs sweeping across her cheeks. “Stop, bunny, we said we weren’t doing that anymore. Because if you cry, I’m going to say something you won’t like, and then we’ll start fighting and shit and I don’t wanna fight right before I drop you off.”

“I can’t help it!” she whines.

“Don’t go.” he replies.

“Stop saying that!”

“Stop crying-” Lip glances around at the other patrons of the museum retreating toward the front, the speaker letting them know it was closing soon and Charlotte silently sobs dropping her face to his chest. “Bunny.”

“Excuse me, sir, we’re closing soon, you all should start making your way to the exit.” A security guard says, approaching.

“Yeah, okay just gimme a second.” Lip sighs, rubbing Charlotte’s back.

“And now I have to go to the airport.” she cries into his shirt. “And you’re gonna leave me there.”

“Sir-”

“Alright man, give me a fucking second.” The blond yells at the guard, who was still grumbling about them holding up the museum closing up. “Charlotte,” he says softly, pushing her away lightly, looking at her large, teary eyes. “Hey, hey, we’ll talk right? I call you, you’ll call me. And it’s only a couple of weeks right? You promised you’d come back in a couple of weeks.”

“I am.”

“Okay, then we’ll be fine.” Lip relaxes a little as the girl slowly stops crying. He wipes away the remainder of the tear tracks on her face. “Right?”

“Right.” Charlotte sniffles. “Okay, I’m ready.”

The car ride to the airport is a quiet one. Both afraid to upset the other, they sit silently as music plays lowly on the radio. Lip’s hand rests on Charlotte’s thigh, squeezing reassuringly every couple of minutes. One of her hands is on top of his, playing with his fingers as the large airport pulls into their sight and the sound of planes taking off fills their ears. 

Lip pulls into the drop off area and puts the hazards on, facing forward and watching other poor fuckers wave a somber goodbye to their loved ones and is embarrassed to say that this is about to be him. He never envisioned himself to be the ‘drive you to the airport, kiss you all over your face, call me when you land no matter what time it is’ type. But here he was, murmuring those exact words into Charlotte’s ear after doing the first two things. He takes a deep breath after releasing her from his embrace and letting her walk a little ways away before shouting in front of the rest of the travelers, staff, and his fellow sad fuckers,

“Aye, Charlotte, tell that pilot to fly safe, alright? My fuckin’ girlfriend’s gonna be on that plane.”

He laughs as the girl pauses for a second before shoving her suitcase into one of the employee’s hands and running toward Lip, slamming into him so hard his back hits the car as she kisses him. Onlookers aww at their display, causing Lip to turn a little red as Charlotte continues to kiss him before finally letting him take a breath. She leans in, nuzzling her nose against his, sing-songing “Boyfriend~” and kissing him again. 

Charlotte fully pulls away a second later, Lip lets her literally slip through his fingers as she backs away toward the terminal, laughing when she calls back, “No take-backs, Gallagher! You’re mine now! Better still want me when we’re not a couple of miles apart!” she jokes.

Lip’s bright blue eyes follow her as far as they can until she disappears into the building. “772 miles. A couple.” he snorts despite himself, climbing back into the car and pulling off, cursing when he realizes he’s gonna have to face the exit traffic by himself.

The next morning Fiona’s few hours of sleep is interrupted by the sound of pots and pans clattering. At first she’d sleepily rolled over, assuming that it was Charlotte starting breakfast for the kids. She shoots up when she remembers that Lip had dropped her off the night before at the airport so it couldn’t be her.

Creeping along the hallway so as to not wake her siblings she grabs the bat, holding it up, ready to strike in case it’s an intruder. Or Frank. When she sees a bunch of random drawers pulled out, and the pillows for the couch on the floor, she grips the bat, preparing to swing when she sees a man’s form, sifting through the drawers. “Get the hell outta my house, motherfucker-!” she yells while swinging, stopping just short of Lip’s face.

“Shit, Fiona!” he yells back, catching the end of the bat in his hand and lowering it. “What the fuck?”

“Jesus.” she sighs, dropping the weapon altogether and running a hand through her hair. Fiona pushes past her brother, starting a coffee pot before turning around to look at him. “What the hell are you doing creepin’ around the house?” 

“Lookin’ for the money for phone minutes. I need to use it on mine.”

“Sorry.” Fiona says, pouring a mug and passing it to her brother and repeating the process for herself. “That became the acid fund when Monica and Frank stole it last month. You already out of minutes?”

Lip curses his parents under breath, shaking his head as he gulps down the coffee, slamming the mug down when he’s done. “Awesome. Well, when was the last time you heard from uh, Steve? Think he’ll have some work for me I can do like, today?” 

“Really? You think work from Steve is a good idea?” Fiona asks, pulling out the frozen waffles and plugging in Kev and V’s toaster. “I don’t want you mixed up in his shit, I’ve told you that before. Anyway, no, sorry, haven’t heard from him.” Her brother scratches his hair irritably, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and putting it between his lips, leaning forward when his sister produces a lighter for him. “You didn’t come home last night. You go out after droppin’ Charlotte off?”

“Drove around for a little bit, dropped the truck off and uh, went on a walk.” he blows out the smoke, working his jaw. “Fuckin’ road the bus up to the college to talk to Youens, trying to see if I could get an advance on the next few weeks and all the fucker wanted to do was lecture me about finding another internship. Wouldn’t front me the money.” 

“Well, what do you need the money for?” 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Fiona observes her brother, watching the stress rolling off of him, tense shoulders, chain smoking, eye doing that twitchy thing it does when he’s upset. There was no question of what was bothering him either. He’s checked his phone at least three times since this conversation started. “She’s comin’ back.” She puts her arms around her little brother’s shoulders. “She call to tell you she landed?”

“Yeah the flight is only 2 hours and 7 minutes, she called me 3 minutes after that. And again once she got to the house.” He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Little much, huh?”

“Uh,” Lip shrugs, embarrassed to admit that he felt the opposite, mumbling “Not really. I just uh, need some money to put more minutes on my phone, for the next few weeks. You know?”

Oh. Fiona thinks. She sees how miserable her brother looks and realizes she hadn’t really considered that he might be taking this seriously since this whole Charlotte debacle started. She and the rest of the kids are used to Lip getting himself wrapped up into semi-serious relationships, either thinking he’s in love or making someone else fall in love with him every couple of months. Each time something ruins it, whether it be his crippling commitment issues, nasty habit of cheating, unaddressed rage and on and off alcoholism, you name it. Or the occasional husband that the woman of the month has. It was shocking to think he’s run into that situation twice while he’s still so young, but Fiona couldn’t judge. 

She’s not sure what the nail in the coffin will be for Charlotte and Lip, and she still thinks that they’re a bad idea. But something about how upset the kid is makes her go into the coat closet, reaching up onto the top shelf and grabbing one of her old socks. She reaches in and produces a small wad of cash, dropping it into Lip’s hand. “It’s not much and I was gonna use it to get a jump on the heat bill for next month, so it’s just a loan.”

Lip looks down at the money before looking at his sister. “Yeah, okay, thanks.” He stands and gives Fiona a side hug, pressing a kiss into her hair. “Seriously, uh, thank you. I’ll pay you back.” He smiles to himself as he pulls his coat on, going to the door immediately to go to the store, pausing to look back. “I asked her to be my girlfriend by the way.”

As the door closes and she goes back to making food for her other siblings, Fiona wonders to herself what this go round will mean for her brother. And prays to whatever god that will listen that it’ll be something he can make it back from.

“And um, Kev and V are thinking about trying for kids soon. So that’s cool.” Charlotte shifts in her seat, trying to get comfortable. Her father doesn’t even bother to look up from his menu, his glasses low on his nose as he scans the booklet. Her mother offers her a small smile, putting up a finger and gesturing for her to wait. 

“That’s very good honey, just give us a second while we figure out what we’re getting.” 

The young woman nods, taking a sip of her water and looking around the restaurant. She hums quietly along to the instrumentals they were playing in the background. She’d told her parents that she didn’t need to go to a fancy dinner when she got home, that she’d prefer eating something at home with them, but they’d insisted saying they ‘didn’t know what type of nutrition she’d been getting in SouthSide with Kevin and Veronica’.  

“So you got a job?” Her dad finally asks as he snaps the menu closed, lifting his hand and summoning the waiter over with his finger. Charlotte hates when he does that. “Where?”

“Um, a restaurant, it’s actually pretty fun working there, Daddy, I like it-”

“He’ll have the filet mignon medium rare with the baked potato, none of the dressings, really, he has a cholesterol issue, don’t let them drown it in butter. I’ll have the snapper with a salad, we’ll share it, Charlotte, and she’ll have tomato soup with sliced broiled chicken and again…no butter.” Her mother cuts in. 

“Um, Mom-”

Her mother’s eyebrows shoot up, her eyes fixing on her. “What? Did you not want that?”

Charlotte wilts under the downturn of her mother’s lips, biting her own and shaking her head. Before the waiter can finish writing the orders her father is collecting the menus and shoving them into his hands. Both of her parents turn to her, who is mouthing a ‘thank you’ to the retreating waiter. 

“So Veronica is pregnant? And by that boyfriend of hers? Jesus, Carol what have you been doing?” her father groans, shaking his head in disappointment.

“They got married, Daddy.”

“I don’t remember going to any weddings. Or receiving any pictures of them in a church. Or hell, a courthouse. Veronica could be doing so much better. She’s such a beautiful, smart girl, always has been. Guess she inherited my sister’s habit of giving up opportunities to chase behind men from that shithole-”

“Victor.” Her mom mumbles, putting her hand over her husband’s arm. “Please, Veronica is doing us a favor helping out Charlotte, keeping an eye on her. Besides, she’s only in her twenties. She’s still got time. Now, Lottie, baby, what else have you done? Made any friends?”

Charlotte takes another gulp of her water, squeezing her phone in her lap as she thinks about how to approach this topic. “I um, the girls at work are really nice most of the time, so we talk. And V’s friends are great, like Fiona and her siblings. She has this brother Ian who’s really great and I have fun with him-”

“Not too much fun.”

She sighs, smoothing her hand over her hair she has slicked into a bun. “No, Ian is gay, Mom. He has a boyfriend. Mickey. Who is also…nice” Sorta. 

“Good.” her mom chirps.

Taking a breath, Charlotte’s mouth opens and closes as she fights with herself internally. She missed her parents so much. She was reunited with them after being apart for the longest time, and she doesn’t want to ruin it. But she knows what they’ll say if she tells them about Lip. How they’ll act. What they might do. But then she reminds herself of the whole point of her moving to Chicago. She was supposed to be growing the fuck up, and that included telling her parents she was was in a relationship. “And I’m, now I’ve-”

“Have you found a doctor out there yet?” Her father’s question takes all of the wind out of Charlotte’s sails. She immediately deflates, looking down at the table and huffing out a breath in irritation. “Baby, it’s important. I’ll look up some names and give them to you before you go back in a couple weeks. Don’t let me forget okay?” 

“Okay, Daddy.”

“Good. Now, I wonder how long it’s gonna take for us to get some damn food.”

Charlotte hears her mother head out for the day, the front door closing and immediately dives for her phone. Her dad had gone to work early that morning and for the first time in the two and a half weeks she’s been home, she hasn’t been home alone. 

It was cute at first. Watching movies with her dad, baking sweets with her mom. Going to the mall together, church, the country club that she’d always hated because they were just barely rich enough to go and her parents always felt the need to overcompensate. It was embarrassing to say the least. And Charlotte was tired. 

But most of all, she missed her boyfriend.

So she runs up the stairs to her childhood room, closes the door and flops on the bed, dialing her new favorite number.

Lip picks up on the second ring, and a smile spreads across her face as soon as she hears the familiar, “Hi, baby.”

“Hello, boyfriend, you busy?”

“Uh…” On Lip’s end he’s balancing the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, his hands busy with hurriedly unscrewing the rims from an expensive car that someone made the arrogant choice of parking too close to the line where SouthSide begins. “No.”

“You sure? What’re you doing?”

Lip grunts as he loads the rims into Mickey’s trunk before closing it, slamming it closed and patting the back, letting him know he was good to pull off. “Just got finished stealin’ the rims off a car.”

Charlotte sits up abruptly, eyes widening. “Really? Phillip-”

“‘M kiddin’ bunny. I’m just headin’ home, how have you been?”

“Since we last talked this morning? Missed you, got my nails done with my mom, had lunch with some girls I used to cheer with, missed you some more, called.” she shrugs. 

Lip smiles at that, keys jangling in his hands as he pushes into his house, mouthing a ‘hi’ to Debbie and taking Liam from her arms. “Yeah? Your other boyfriend not keepin’ you entertained?”

“Now, if I play along, you know it’s like you pissed yourself off right?” Charlotte says. 

Liam’s head lifts at her voice and he starts trying to take the phone. “Who’s that? Who’s that, buddy? Baby, say hi to Liam.”

“Hi, Liam!” she says sweetly. “I miss you!” making kissing sounds into the phone.

“Lottie!” the little boy giggles, blowing a kiss back.

Lip places his brother in his playpen and rubs his head before walking up the steps. “Okay, enough of that, you wanna keep talkin’ to Liam, you better call his phone. Or better yet, come home.”

“I’m working on it. I talked to my Dad today about some return flights earlier this morning, so we’re making progress. Before, he wouldn’t even let me work it into conversation.” 

“Yeah, I guess that’s somethin’.” Lip sighs, closing his room door behind him and sitting on his own bed. He’s been trying to be as patient as possible, especially since he didn’t know them, but Charlotte’s parents were doing exactly what he’d thought they’d do, drag their feet on sending her back. Hell, it’s what he would do. It took every ounce of selflessness he had, which was not much, combined with the fear of what V would do if her money was wasted, for him not to purposefully make her miss her flight out there. He’d understand them never wanting her to come back. But it’d fucking suck for him. 

Charlotte hears the other side of the phone go quiet and knows Lip is worrying about the same thing she was last week. What if her parents changed their minds? What if they decided they didn’t want her moving away, regardless of whether V was checking on her or not. “Careful, Gallagher, I might think you miss me or something.”

“You’re funny.” he scoffs, staring at his ceiling. “And I do.”

“Well, how’s that photo collection working for you?”

“It’s uh, a lot more effective when my bed smelled like you, but the pictures are pretty fuckin’ hot, so, s’working pretty well.”

Charlotte feels her cheeks heat up and rolls her eyes as if he can see her. “They’re mostly candid shots of me walkin’ around your house or mine, they can’t be that hot.”

“They’re of you.” Lip says matter of factly. As if it wasn’t something to be discussed. Just a fact..

The woman shifts again, playing with the strings of her hoodie absently as she mutes the phone briefly, Lip’s quiet breathing on speaker in her room as she sorts out what she’s gonna say next. Taking the phone off of mute she takes a breath, gathering her courage. “So, does that mean you don’t need any…help?”

She sits, staring at her phone nervously as she waits for his reply. There’s a beat of silence that makes her stomach twist uncomfortably until it dissipates at the sound of Lip’s laughter filling her room.

“Are…are you trying to initiate phone sex with me?” he wheezes, cackling into the phone. Charlotte yelps, taking the phone off of speaker and putting it to her ear.

“Fuck you, not anymore!” 

Lip smirks to himself on the opposite end, trying to choke down his laughter. He wasn’t laughing at her per se. Well, actually, he was a little. But aside from that, the fact that she was nervous was what made him laugh. The irony of it all. Lip had been all but begging her for a crumb of pussy since he’d met her. Once they had gotten to that weird limbo of pretending to be just friends, she’d opened the door to making out and heavy petting, but Lip was letting her take the lead. Even now, he never wants to push, he’s always pushed, but now, he was happy with what they were doing. Well, not actually, but he was willing to wait for her. 

The fact that she’d be hesitant, or think they live in some kind of alternate universe where Lip might not want it, was hilarious. Either, she doesn’t know him very well, or his girl doesn’t know how sexy she is. Both options seem ridiculous.

“No, I’m sorry, come on, set the mood, bunny, m’ready.”

“No,” she whines, “I already don’t know how and now you’ve laughed at me. You fuckin’ do it.”

He chuckles lowly again as he pushes off of his bed to lock the door. “Well, I really miss you. I miss seeing you. Touching you. Waking up to you in the morning, being on top of you.” Lip listens for the change in Charlotte’s breathing, trying to focus on the task at hand and not let this end almost immediately because he’s envisioning what she’s going to be doing on the other end of the phone. “Take your pants off for me, bunny?”

“Already did.” she breathes. “And if you laugh, I’ll hang up.”

Lip starts undoing the buttons on his own pants, nodding as if she could see him. “Nothin’ to laugh at. Good job, baby.” A sound on the other side of the phone makes his brows go up as he spits into his hand. “Yeah? You like me tellin’ you how good you are? Gotta talk to me, sweetheart.” 

“I miss you too, how you take care of me,” Lip bites his lip and takes himself out of his boxers as she whimpers into his ear. “Kissin’ you.”

“Fuck.” Lip groans quietly, rubbing his hand along his dick, smoothing his thumb over the tip, sweeping over the precum forming there. He hears every lilt in Charlotte’s voice as he feels himself already building. He keeps trying to remind himself to talk to her, trying not to be too dirty because he doesn’t know her style yet and not just moan into the mic. He grits out praises lowly. ‘Good girl’ ‘C’mon baby’ ‘So fuckin good, so fuckin’ sexy’.

But he keeps being distracted by the sounds that she’s making, the sound of his name. He’s never been so thankful to Monica and Frank for naming him Phillip because the sound of that name rolling off of his girlfriend’s tongue could make any man nut. 

He hears her voice pitch even higher and he knows that she’s close. That delicious pressure is building in his lower stomach and sinks his teeth into his lower lip. “K-keep talkin’ baby, a little more, let me hear you bunny. You takin’ care of yourself over there”

“Yes, fuck Phillip, m’gonna cum.”

Shit does he want that. He’s never wanted anything more. But then that goddamn number starts floating around in his head. 772 goddamned fucking miles. Fucking two weeks. No, don’t think about this now. Focus. He begs his own mind not to piss him off. Sweat slides down his temple as he tightens his grip on himself and lets her whimpers ring in his ears. Lip groans, pleading with himself not to miss this opportunity. Something is fucking missing. This isn’t fuckin’ enough. I need…I fucking-

Lip puts his phone on speaker, Charlotte’s cries fill the room and he literally edges himself as his fingers fumble with his phone in his free hand. Blue eyes light up as they find what they’re looking for. “Okay, come on baby, cum with me.” he grunts.

Lip’s abs clench as he comes into his hand, trying to contain the mess as much as possible and muffle his moans so his siblings can’t hear what he’s doing. He settles into a groan of Charlotte’s name, biting back following it with three words that have been rattling around in his brain for a while now. He tries to commit the sounds Charlotte is making to memory, feeling pride in his chest at knowing he caused it, and a paired feeling of emptiness knowing he couldn’t pull her to him now that they’re done. 

Sitting up, he reaches on the ground, grabbing a discarded t-shirt, wiping his hands off on it and putting it back on the floor. 

“Phillip?” a small voice calls out. His attention is brought back to his phone, briefly smiling at the picture he’d left open on it before frowning again as he hears something strange in Charlotte’s voice. “Are you still here?”

“Yeah, m’still here, bunny.” The weakness of her voice forces a softness into his own. 

“Can we talk a little now?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can talk to you.” Lips says, furrowing his brows at the sound of Charlotte’s voice. There’s a meekness that makes his stomach drop as he scoots up on his bed, suddenly feeling the need to both cover himself and rob someone for the little bit of money to buy a ticket to fuck ass Virginia. “You okay, baby?”

A shaky breath is released on the other line and there is silence for a moment, the blond pulls the phone from his ear to check to see if the call disconnected, hurriedly placing it back when he hears her again. “M’fine. I…um, like that you call me that. I like bunny too.”

Lip releases his own breath as he hears her voice become a little more normal, letting himself smile again as he lights a joint. “I know you do.” 

“So fucking full of yourself.” she giggles, the sound making Lip feel like the sun shining directly into his room. 

“Aye, watch your mouth. You must have some bad influences out there, what happened to my sweetheart?” he says, trying to light the blunt quietly.

“You curse every other word.” she hums. “But, I was thinking.”

“Interesting.”

“Phillip.” 

“Okay, sorry, Charlotte, go.” He snickers, reaching for his ashtray on his nightstand, flicking ash and relighting the blunt. Lip grunts, pushing off of the bed, unlocking the door and peaking out to listen to hear if Liam was crying, satisfied to close it again when he isn’t.

“You need a nickname,” Charlotte says, the sound of her rustling around in her own bed making its way through the phone. “I’ve got like five. Baby, sweetheart, bunny, sweet thing, and the mean one-”

“Woah, what do I call you that’s mean?” 

“Um, brat?” she snarks.

Lip rolls his blue eyes, settling back on his bed, unable to contain the smile on his face. “That’s not one of your nicknames, that’s more like an uh, assessment of your behavior.” 

“Regardless! I wanna give you a nickname. How about Lippy?”

His lips curl in disgust, the actual shock at the name making him cough on the smoke, breathing it out through his nose. “Yeah, I will not fuckin’ answer to that.” 

She laughs again mumbling a, ‘yes you would’  and Lip is irritated by the fact that despite fucking hating it, he would answer to whatever she called him as long as she kept calling. “Pookie? Pooh Bear?”

“Am I Liam?”

“Bubba, or bubs, or bub! For short!”

“What happened to boyfriend, huh? You liked that?” he groans.

“Boyfriend isn’t going away.” Charlotte says, and Lip can basically picture the smug smile on her face she always makes when she’s about to get her way. “He’s just gonna be joined by bubba.” 

The blond is humiliated by what he’s become. Cringing to himself he prays to any god that will listen that Ian and Mickey never manage to hear Charlotte chirp out his newfound pet name and mourns the version of himself that would never let a girl call him anything but Lip. “Bubba, that’s what you like?”

“And babe. Mostly bubba and boyfriend. What’d you think I was gonna call you? Daddy?” she says in a playful seductive voice. Unaware that on the other side of the line her boyfriend was adjusting himself.

“Not unless you’re down to go again.”

“Hmm, unfortunately my mom should be home soon.” Charlotte sighs. Lip immediately feels that ache in his chest again, never really thinking about the lows of her hanging up that come with the highs of their phone calls. “I miss you, bubba.”

He nods as if she can see him, mouth opening and closing, he wills down the want to beg her to stay on the phone. “Miss you too, princess. You forgot one.”

“That one’s Mickey’s.” she laughs.

“Nah,” Lip says softly into the phone. “They’re all mine.” 

The couple reluctantly hangs up and Lip’s head is racing. Full of thoughts of Charlotte, distance and new territory. He’s never been here before. He doesn’t know how to navigate being the type of boyfriend Charlotte deserves. He doesn’t think he’s ever been a boyfriend before, and now he was going to have to be a long distance one?  He couldn’t do this. He needed her to come home. Charlotte needs to come home.

He’s shaken from his thoughts by the sound of his phone vibrating again. And because he’s fuckin’ whipped now, a smile immediately spreads across his face as he grabs it without looking, happy that Charlotte missed him enough to call back so fast. “Missed me already, bunny?”

“Oh..um, is this a bad time, Phillip?” 

Lip pauses, unable to register what’s happening as he holds the phone against his ear as the only other woman he’s ever let call him Phillip waits for him to say something. Anything. 

“Phillip?”

“Helene?”

[needlesandnilbogs]

writer asks! 13, 36, 81

ask game in question

13. talk about a writing experience that has pleasantly surprised you.

uhh... I have too much of a Complicated relationship with mirrorverse to totally call it pleasant, but it's nice that I've managed to stick with it and I'm still happy to write it most of the time, that should count?

really, a better answer might be the recent fic I published about mb going to the equivalent of the state fair, which popped mostly formed into my head, complete with both format and several lines already written, so it didn't feel like I was ever stuck on it! I liked that a lot lol

36. do you base your characters of real people or not? If so, tell us about one.

Sort of. I steal bits of outfits and personality from people I know for canon characters, but really the one-off OCs are more of real people. Two examples come to mind obviously: high school au mensah, who is very much my school's stage manager during my jr year, a senior who was like the epitome of coolness to me that year and remained enough of an inspiration to be a big part of HSAU Mensah, and Arden fairoak, a character I made up for a one-off mirrorverse thing who is now. not a one-off character. and also is very much based off my high school best friend.

the rest of the mirrorverse one-off OCs, excluding Arden's family who are all except for Bharadwaj named for local libraries, are named and loosely personality based off of historical figures or fictional characters, including: Caroline Bingley and Emma Woodhouse from Jane Austen books, Nikita Gill, Vikram Seth, Fabiola Cabeza de Baca Gilbert...

81. if you could go back in time and give your younger self a piece of writing advice specific to you, what would it be?

Okay, there's two answers to this. both apply to my past self in 7th-9th grade

Generically: Stop being embarrassed of your stuff, idiot. (Expanding slightly more on that, you're not going to be seen as stupid for writing fanfic and (tagging @kellumnights and @clustxr because they'll know who and what I mean and laugh) if kellum could literally do That Story and JdS could do Hot Day in Hotwrong about it, you could totally put your stuff in the writers guild magazine and not just rolls and role-players original flavor.)

extremely specifically, re a thing I started then which became my favorite original universe:

Dear Past!Prime!Bardic,

actually write down exploring frontiers, please. I want that stuff now and I want more than I put on paper.

relatedly, you did not need to write the whole boring story to introduce everyone before you wrote the fun chapter. but thank you (genuinely) for the seven paragraphs of auri lore that I needed in eleventh grade when I restarted it

you did not need to feel so embarrassed about Plory and Ara having A Thing. it was what you needed to write at the time.

stop naming characters after your irl cousins bc eventually they find it and mock you

don't name the main character after yourself. they might be a self insert but you'll make it ten times harder to share it when you're my age because then you have to check every snip and make sure you renamed [name] to Ampara every freaking place.

seriously. names. Ampara, not [name]. Danessa is good, keep that. Savfira is gonna become stupidly hard to get spellcheck to understand but it's fine. Zynnia's great. dump Ariya and find a better R name that still lets you use Rya as a nickname. Ladira, not Lady. also by the way you add a seventh house later.

love,

present!prime!Bardic (PS we change our name.)

[gummilutt]

Happy Halloween!

I don't usually post stuff from my game on here, but I posed out a little themed scene this week and I wanted to share it :) I promise I will try to bring some treats as we head into the final two months of this year, I got a lot of things that are done I just need to buckle down and get to it. But in the meantime, enjoy some pictures from my 14-year old custom hood Evergreen! :)

Trick or treat! 🎃👀💀The Sawyer-family kids are enjoying their newfound freedom to do fun things by dressing up and going out and asking for candy 🍭🍪

Lulu Belle volunteered to chaperone her younger siblings, which surprised everyone, but it really shouldn't considering the Sernman-Nilsson house was among the destinations. They are finally here and Lulu is excited!

"Omigosh Karl, I didn't know you were going to be Danny this year! You look so cool!!" But of course, she knew 😉 No self-respecting teen girl will be unprepared for such an occasion! She overheard him discussing it with his buddies during lunch break, and her choice of dressing up as Sandy was most intentional. She is a smitten kitten and is just waiting for a sign that he feels the same 💘💝

"That's cool baby. You know how it is, just rockin' and rollin'."

Karl has been acting the goof ever since he grew up to a teen. Flexing, styling his hair… he thinks he's the coolest. No doubt Lulu's constant fan girling over him contributes to that belief. He's secretly pleased to see her costume matches him. Every Danny needs his Sandy, after all! 😎

Joe Bob is a little shy about this whole going around to people's houses thing, but when he's holding Anna Nicole's hand it's okay.

Her costume is his favorite, dragons are cool! And if that knight guy even thinks of coming for his dragon sister, like the knights in the stories his mother reads to him, he's going to show him what bears are made of! He can growl real scary, just you watch him! Rawr! 🐻

Tamie Lee bravely holds out her pumpkin to ask the lady in the dress for a treat. She's not sure what Halloween is but if it means she gets a bunch of candy, she's all for it! 🍭🍬🍫

Emma, the mother of this house, is very happy to see the Sawyer kids come by. She runs a play center for local kids that offers play-time for children that don't have space at home, or whose parents can't afford much toys. Karl who visited the Sawyer home once has told her how depressing the trailers these guys grew up in were, and she's been especially welcoming to the Sawyer kids ever since. These guys get extra candy rations! And an invitation to come to the play center real soon 🥰

Sigrid is pleased that her friend Junior stuck to their plan to dress up as Santa's Elves. She wishes she could go with him and his siblings on their rounds, but her parents already arranged for her to go with her cousins later. Dang parents! Maybe next year Sigrid! 🙂

[insanefastone]

it was a lot easier to ask for things for christmas when i was younger. i was five, so if i was shown a toy i probably would say i wanted it. being a five year old, i mostly cared about the receiving part - a stuffed dog, a bucket of tiny horses, a playmobil train, didn’t really matter, it was mine now. a few years later pokemon began airing on tv and anything with pikachu on it was guaranteed to be a hit. im unsure of the occasion but i remember being given literal math practice books at some point and loving doing my additions and multiplications because they were pokemon themed. it was truly so, so easy.

then i got a little older and my desires started to get a little more complex. pikachus were still pretty cool and all but i wasnt happy with just any toy anymore: i cared about my cartoons and the things i saw in commercials, and so i would ask for those things. i knew about super soakers, and nerf guns, and moon shoes, and sock ‘em boppers, but i also knew the difference between, say, a stuffed animal of a brown dog and one of scooby doo. i knew disappointment, too, because i could tell when i was handed something in lieu of the other. at the time i couldnt have possibly understood why the substitutions got made, but i could see when it happened.

then i got a little older and developed hobbies and preferences. i had opinions on things, i had feelings, and i started to learn how to express these ideas. i could articulate why one thing could not be a substitute for another, and how i felt when it was handed to me anyway, and also what i thought about being given a great many things i did not ask for instead of those that i did. i became frustrated with clothes and socks and other such things because i knew that when i needed them we could go get them. they didnt feel special or thoughtful. they seemed like an excuse to have one more box to hand me, one more thing to play coy about, one more thing to ooh and aah at and take photos of when i eventually held it up. and so the ideals of gift-giving began to erode.

of course, i hadnt quite learned of the whys. they were specifically kept from me, and from my sisters, so we could play family (as it were). theyre pretty evident now, knowing what i know as i type this, but at the time things kind of just. crumbled away. there were some nice surprises where the spirit felt alive and real, like the year we received ipod nanos. (3rd gen, i think? they were skinny but still had a touch wheel with the button in the center.) i remember crying incoherently as i held mine, and i also remember my entire family being stunned and confused (they clearly hadnt expected that reaction either). i think i was simply overwhelmed to have been given such a nice thing after coming to expect disappointment.

there was also the year we were given the gamecube, and our game boy advance sps, but they didnt feel as special because we knew it was mostly since an older cousin had given us her super nintendo and our parents wanted us to entertain ourselves. it actually led to a lot of frustration that our parents didnt attempt to understand, because you cannot do ‘similar to’ with a video game unless you actually bother to find out what it is. which really started to highlight what felt weird about the gift-giving all those years: whose thoughts, exactly, have gone into this ‘thoughtful’ gift?

it’s a hard question to answer, and really depends on who you are talking to. this being tumblr, i can assume someone reading is familiar with ‘i see a cool bug/rock/blorbo’ -> ‘i send it to my cool bug/rock/blorbo friend’. it’s kind of ingrained in the culture. but we also (largely) understand that theres variance and specialty within these categories, that not all blorbos are the same, and that most blorbos are very different, actually, to the point where people debate what constitutes an ‘actual’ representation of the ones they care about. but theres also people that dont care that deeply and are mostly only there because their friend is, or because they like the character’s design, or any number of other reasons, and knowing where to meet them on their interest kind of requires knowing more than just ‘oh they like this’.

and so we get disconnects, and misunderstandings, and disappointment, and frustration. and we get not knowing why one thing is ok but another isnt, or why you can interchange two things but this third one is unacceptable, it seems like theres no way of knowing but could you have known? was this there all along? did i skip i question or, more importantly, pass on an answer i was given? and so i think upon such things. and i see where things could have diverged, or evidence thereof. and i consider that to give and receive not only requires two, but also a connection to have been made. ‘oh!’ you might say, ‘that mug has a pikachu and some snowflakes on it! i always send something with a pikachu, this will be that this year!’ and you mail it and it sits on my shelf, unused. collecting dust. i dont even use it to store anything.

and so i began seeing what the thoughts were. i saw that i was given twelve balls of yarn in six different colors because theyre fun and aesthetically pleasing, but the thought did not contain ‘this is not enough of an individual color to make anything larger than hat and scarf’. i saw i was given a shirt that says ‘# serf life’ on it because it was meant as a family joke and i do think it is a funny shirt to wear, but the thought did not contain how i felt about what the joke references at the time it became a ‘joke’. i saw i was given some books i had asked for by title and volume number because i have been trying to get the entire out-of-print series, but the thought did not contain ‘i wonder why candy only ever asks for these specific books’. over several years i saw i was given many books that are similar to but not within the series (or even genre) i was obsessed with because they get sorted together as ‘humorous coffee table nonfiction’ at bookstores, but the thought did not contain what i liked about that series (trivia compilations), why i stopped reading that series (poorly verified), or why i had nothing to say about most of the previously gifted books.

and it goes on. years of this. we even do a grand show of sharing our christmas lists with each other, and fussing about getting under one roof to share them, and making a whole ceremony (complete with photographs) of opening everything, and sharing ‘oh i was at this place and thought of you when i saw it’, and it goes round and round and round and i am always just sitting there wondering if the next thing thats handed to me will actually have me in mind or it will simply be ‘thoughtful’.

i just dont know what to ask for christmas anymore.

[iheartgirlzn]

ANGIE IN THE RIORDANVERSE HEADCANNONS

🐡 notes: get to know me as a child of poseidon at camp half-blood! inspired by @sunnitheapollokid , @child-of-apollo & @pinkdiorluvr (ik i wasn’t tagged BUT THIS IDEA IS SOOO COOL!)

depending on when i arrive at camp, i don’t know when i’d be claimed. like if it’s before percy shows up maybe a month? but if it’s after him a week at most.

but i do know i’d be claimed before i become a teen, like 11 or 12 at oldest !!

i also don’t think i’d be a year rounder, but i’d 100% go during the holidays if i’m not busy

ANYWAYSS it’d probably happened when i was alone - maybe swimming or sunbathing and BOOM! there’s a trident above my head

i’m not sure if it would’ve been a surprise to some people, but i think some campers would be like ‘yeah makes sense.’

i the other options were ‘they’re a hermes kid’ or ‘that’s probably hypnos’ child.’ (ignore the fact those two gods couldn’t be more different)

until percy shows up it’d be just me.. so obvi i’m the head counsellor 🫡 the cabin would be SO clean with me running the place.

campfire sing alongs are defo my favourite part of the day (if i didn’t have anxiety i’d be a theatre kid just saying </3)

and i don’t play any instruments anymore, but if i could i’d totally play the guitar around the fire 🤸

either way i WILL sing any musical that comes to mind with no shame whatsoever (mamma mia.. hamilton.. epic.. encanto..)

i like to think that i’d be close with percy and tyson!

me and perce wld clash sometimes but we’re related so ig we’d HAVE to get along /j (coming from someone with 2 younger siblings 😣😣)

↑ SPEAKING OF MY OTHER FAMILY i’m also close with all my other cousins and nieces?? nephews??

i’m closest with the og trio (grover, annabeth, and percy), children of apollo, aphrodite and hephaestus!!

(↑ me and leo would be bffs.)

and maybe the hypnos cabin cuz i love sleeping and i will be visiting them often 👀

BUT I LOVE ALL THE DEMIGODS ANYWAYS AND WLD PROTECT THE YOUNGER ONES W MY LIFE!! i love kids (don’t take that weirdly.)

but also speaking of sleeping i cannot fall asleep without a bit of light. like EVEN NOW I CANNOT THE PITCH DARK SCARES ME SO BADD

my relationship with my mum would be fine, she’d just miss me a lot and be overprotective !

my powers are breathing underwater and controlling it and whatever else percy has.. and maybe a tail — JUST LET ME LIVE MY MERMAID DREAM

my weapon of choice would be two celestial bronze daggers or like a giant golden trident /hj

i’d defo train with piper or annabeth bc of this

i couldn’t care less if that meant getting beaten up by two gorgeous women — #bipanic 🤭

my favourite chb activities would be the sword fighting lessons/archery/or capture the flag!! (i love archery irl too sooo)

i LOVE HUGS!! so i’m always hanging off of someone if they don’t mind :P

I ALSO LOVE SWIMMING!!!! lowkey duh tho cuz my dad’s the god of the sea.. BUT I LOVE SWIMMING

wears glasses. i hate wearing glasses but i hate contact lenses even more.

closest friends with rachel dare, annabeth chase, leo valdez (ik i said this but we a chaotic duo frfr), the stolls, piper mclean, etc!

speaking of me and leo being a chaotic duo WE WOULD TOTALLY HANG OUT LOADSS

and if i’m not with him then i’m by the lake or in the strawberry field eating them all 🗣️

obsessed with the art ‘n crafts cabin — will be in there painting or doodling away OR with rachel in her cave and drawing while she does oracle stuff

anyways i like to think of myself as a cool older sibling to the younger campers bc i’d let them do whatever they want (within reason) but also wld protect them w my life !!

#oldersistercore

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Seven

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

AO3 Link

CHAPTER SEVEN - THE LOOK YOU GIVE

Abby and Helaena find their voices in different ways, and we have new arrivals at the Red Keep.

Abby pressed her hands against her bared collarbones, feeling the prickle of heat that crept down her cheeks and flushed across every bit of skin that was revealed by the square cut neckline of the new gown. Wylla Karstark’s ruby red pout was pulled into an amused smile while she tugged at the laces of the other girl’s bodice. The pale blue taffeta had a satin shine and was, by far, the loveliest thing she’d ever owned. The neckline and cuffs of her fitted sleeves were edged with the finest ivory lace. Her golden red curls hung freely down her back, with delicate, mother of pearl combs keeping her hair from her face and the light, ivory veil that covered her hair in place. She watched Wylla move in the reflection of the mirror, wishing her own hair could look as thick and lovely as the elder girl’s raven curls.

“You look lovely, my lady.” Wylla’s northern accent was a song in itself, her amusement nothing but lighthearted. “You might make him swallow his tongue, since he already can’t keep his eyes off you.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Aegon’s…” Abby bit her lip before Wylla tsked at her like a cat so she could dab some coral paint onto her mouth. Abby remained still and silent until she was done. “Aegon does, well, I mean I do catch him looking. But,” her brow furrowed and her hands fluttered and smoothed over the bodice of the dress. She missed her woven belt, and the feel of the tiny mends she’d made in the fabric.

“But what?” Wylla asked with a finely arched eyebrow and promptly reached up to pinch Abby’s cheeks until they went a deeper pink. She’d been here only a fortnight, having come south with her brother while he discussed some sort of trade agreements, and was promptly pulled into service by the queen. Better than a Hightower cousin, in Abby’s book. With Wylla, she didn’t feel spied on like Lady Penrose, nor belittled. In the short time they had known one another, Abby thought she might be making a friend.

‘Maybe', came the shy, giddy thought, 'she could be a sister.’ She loved Helaena, who had been her sister and companion, with all her heart, but Wylla had quickly filled the empty spot in Abby’s chest that she suspected her own sister, Corynna, should have filled.

It was a strange feeling to not have to take care of someone. While she was still struggling to get used to the idea of being waited on, she wouldn’t deny that there was something in her that ached to be cared for. Wylla’s no nonsense and relatively pleasant manner, and surprising sarcasm, was a delight and a surprise and she found herself hanging on her every word, looking to her for guidance in only these last few days.

“But what, my lady?” Came Wylla’s repeated question, and her cool fingers touched her chin, rubbing off a bit of stray lip paint with her thumb. Abby crinkled her nose and huffed.

“But I feel as though this is too much. That I shouldn’t be… that it’s unseemly to attract attention.”

“Och!” Her fingers flicked the tip of Abby’s nose. “What southern nonsense are you spouting now? You’re betrothed to a prince, are you not?” Abby nodded. “You want him to admire you, and no others, right?”

A heated sensation curled in her chest thinking about Aegon looking at other girls, and resolutely ignoring her. “Well, of course I want him to admire me. I want to please him.”

“And he should also please you, that’s what my mother always says. A woman takes her own pleasure in a marriage, just as much as the husband, and if you flush any redder, you’ll turn into one of those apples, I’m sure.”

Abby nodded again, pressing her hands once more to the expanse of collarbone on display. She felt so silly being self-conscious about her dress. It was nowhere near as revealing as some of the dresses the ladies of the court wore. Nowhere near as revealing as what some of the women she’d seen Aegon flirt with wearing. Collarbones and shoulders and the swells of their breasts teased in the candlelight; Aegon flush with wine and preening beneath the attention.

“Mayhaps I should tug the shoulders down some more?”

Wylla did little to disguise the indelicate snort she let out and Abby felt her hands tug along the tops of her sleeves. “Won’t work on this dress but maybe you should push your breasts up.”

“My what?” Abby squeaked, her hands now pressing against her perfectly concealed bust.

Wylla rolled her eyes, and shoved her hands down her own top to adjust her breasts. “Now you try.”

“I… Oh, just…” Muttering soft curses beneath her breath, she reached down into her tightly fitted bodice to push her breasts up so they swelled ever so softly, framed by the lace. “Do you think he’ll like this?”

“My dear girl, he won’t know what to do with himself. Lucky for me, I get to watch. Now come on.”

Abby’s fingers carefully clasped the thin, silver chain around her neck. The charm was the shield and rivers of her house, tiny against her decolletage. It was so delicate she was always afraid of snapping it, but it was the one bit of jewelry she had. So fretful over herself, Abby did not immediately notice Helaena falling in step beside her, dressed in pale pink and silvery blue, sleeves puffed at her shoulders and elbows. Abby noticed her breasts looked nice in the wide cut of the neckline, not as deep as her own.

“It’ll be better once you have the jewels on you,” Helaena said as if picking up Abby’s self-conscious thoughts, or maybe she simply understood the look. “I like it when Aemond looks at my breasts. Aegon likes breasts, he talks about them all the time. Aemond says Aegon talks about yours a lot.”

Wylla, half a step behind, positively cackled. “Oh, this is going to be glorious.”

Abby knew she was as red as her hair. “I-I can’t do this, I have to change.” Helaena grabbed her by the arm and jerked her back, her other hand coming up to straighten the necklace around Abby’s neck.

“No you don’t. You change nothing, do you understand? There is nothing lacking, and there is nothing wrong with you,” Helaena said softly, brushing a kiss at the corner of her mouth.

She opened her mouth and then shut it with a click of her teeth, nodding mutely and took a deep breath. “I’m not this nervous seeing him day to day,” she said softly.

“Nor when you pulled him behind the tapestry outside mother’s room to kiss him,” Helaena said knowingly, a smile playing across her face. “Or when Aemond found you pushing him up against the bookcase.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Abby could see Wylla’s face going red from how hard she was trying to keep her grin at bay. Failing, of course, but she appreciated the effort. She shifted on her feet and smoothed her fingers over the delicate satin bodice once more. “I don’t think that’s true. Tis I who…” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely into nothing. “It’s rather unbecoming. He never initiates anything. He’s exceedingly good about it.” Which continued to confuse her to no end because she’d seen the way he’d ogle serving maids and the other ladies, not to mention how he did, in fact, like kissing her. She’d seen him reach and pinch a lady’s hip while passing, that stupid and devastating smirk crossing his features. His hands would encompass her waist or cup her cheeks, but other than that, he surprisingly did not reach for her.

He also didn’t complain when she reached for him. Aegon didn’t resist when she was the one who dragged him into quiet spots, grinning at her giggles and returning her kisses.

“It’s Aegon. He’s a fool, and he drinks too much, and if you don’t think he’s as nervous about you as you are of him, then I don’t know what you’ve been paying attention to our whole lives.” Helaena’s tone was gentle, if firm, as if patiently explaining to a child that the sun rose at dawn and set at dusk. Her lavender eyes looked down the hall towards the grand staircase and then reached up to adjust one of the combs in Abby’s hair. Helaena’s own silver-gold hair was braided back from her face, a vine of pearls woven into it. Guilt stung her that she hadn’t been the one to do Helaena’s hair.

“So you’re saying he’s too nervous to, um…”

“Accost you?” Wylla supplied helpfully. “In a good way.”

Abby huffed. “Yes. Accost me the way I want to accost him. No, surely there’s a better word than that.”

A smirk crossed Helaena’s features, wicked and lovely across her pretty mouth. “You want him up your skirts the way you want to see beneath his breeches.”

“Helaena!” Abby gasped just as Wylla let out a bubbling screech of giggles, unable to contain them. Helaena joined in the mirth and Abby growled at them both. “I am not dignifying that with an answer.”

The Targaryen princess, a dragonrider in her own right, with a mount older than most, leaned in to brush her cheek against her own, mouth close to her ear. “I know you were thinking about Aegon when we practiced kisses,” Helaena murmured, mirth in her voice but even amidst all the teasing, Abby didn’t feel belittled. “And you’ve been putting it to good use.” She pulled back, and Abby breathed through the heated pool in her belly and all the squirming wriggling that came with it. “It’s Aegon,” Helaena repeated.

She nodded. “It’s Aegon.”

“He calls his horse Mighty Mighty, and if he could get away with it, he’d likely go sleep in the Dragonpit next to Sunfyre.”

Abby felt herself smiling at that, a soft hint of a giggle escaping her. “Mighty Kostōba, the mighty mighty horse.” None had the heart to correct him when he was young, but the eventual teasing still made him growl. Helaena pressed her hands to her shoulders, turning her back towards the stairs and pushing her forward, smacking her bottom for good measure and earning a yelp for the trouble. The princess grinned, tongue poking between her teeth and blushing, Abby returned it, heading through the growing throng of people moving through the corridor.

“You’re not used to this, are you, my lady?” Wylla murmured beside her.

“Abby, please,” she returned with the anxious thread still in her voice, picking up her skirt out of habit. Thankfully her skirts did not trail. She wouldn’t want to ruin the finery worrying about picking her way through the city.

“Mmm, we’re in public now,” Wylla said but bumped her shoulder against her and the warm fondness usually reserved for the clutch bloomed in her chest at the elder’s camaraderie. “How scandalous.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Abby giggled, inclining her head in greeting as they passed Lord Tyland on the stairs, who only spared a surprised look at her as he headed up. “You’re ridiculous and I love it, truly.” She felt the northerner keep close and Abby reached a hand behind her to take Wylla’s and give it a reassuring squeeze. The Keep was a lot, she knew, and she’d grown up there. She couldn’t imagine how much it was for a woman from the edge of the world and silently hoped that chaperoning them through the city would not be too much.

It was then her eyes fell upon Aegon, lounging at the foot of the stairs against the bannister, arm slung over the carving of the dragon that reclined along the the end, its forelegs and head resting at the pillar. His moonlit hair was a cloud of soft waves around his head, his pale skin pink and very scrubbed clean. The leather jerkin he wore was new: buttersoft black leather with shining, golden clasps in the shape of dragon heads, their gaping mouths swallowing the flame closures. The shirt beneath was red, of all things, instead of the green his mother forced him and Aemond into. As crimson as the Targaryen dragon embolized on the banners around them, the cuffs of the linen were tied with gold lacing that criss crossed their way up his sleeves, his arms crossed while he waited. The golden belt around his waist was carved to represent dragon scales, and a dagger in a matching scabbard hung from it, the pommel also a golden dragon. Even the leather trousers he wore, shoved into shining black boots, had the same gold lacing up the sides.

She bit her lip, admiring him while he hadn’t noticed her approach, until she saw that his gaze was towards a group of women laughing near the doors. The fluttering, heated squirming in her belly increased, and she made a sound in the back of her throat, aware of it only because of how it scratched.

“Did you just growl?” She barely heard Wylla mutter before she was making her way down the stairs.

“There you are!” Abby declared, a smile on her face, feeling the chain of her necklace slide against her collarbones, feeling the warm metal of her sigil charm fall into the slight space between her breasts. Her voice felt too loud, for she did her best to ignore the other gazes that turned in their direction, focused only on Aegon who craned his neck at the call before he jerked up from his languid position to turn fully towards her.

There was a deeply satisfied feeling that trickled down her spine at the way his head meant to turn before looking back again, his lilac eyes widening and turning fully toward her. She smiled far more genuinely this time, feeling the flutter start up again as she approached and took the hand he offered her. “You look very handsome,” she told him softly as he simply gaped at her, her own mouth dry. Her belly fluttered again, and she reached up with her free hand to hook her fingers in the gold necklace he wore, the sapphires winking in the light streaming through the windows. She used her hold on it to tug him down enough to brush a soft kiss against his cheek, leaving behind just a slight shine of the coral paint over the flush of pink that suffused his own cheeks.

She heard Aegon exhale a muttered curse that had her swallowing, his hand warm where it enveloped hers, and he turned his head as she pulled back so his nose could bump against hers. It surprised her, and she let out a soft chuckle that had a grin spreading slowly across his face. Sharp and playful, safe and edged in danger all the same.

His pupils had blown black, the lilac a vibrant ring.

Abby rocked back on her heels, smiling back at him and let go of his necklace.

“Good thing we’re taking the damned carriage,” he said, his thumb stroking against the palm of her hand while he guided her down the last few steps.

“Why is that?” she asked and Aegon tugged her closer so she could slip her hand into the crook of his arm. They were being watched - they were meant to be watched - and she wanted to hide her face against his arm, but instead she only tilted her head towards his as he inclined his own.

“Because I fear someone would try to pull you from the horse and spirit you away,” he said, a sidelong glance towards the guards. She squeezed his arm, her other hand coming up to press against his chest while they made their way out the main doors to the courtyard. The usual smell of the baking red stone had given way to something that was earthier and fresh - the storms the previous few days having washed away the dust and dirt that clung to the air.

The carriage was waiting, the pair of horses attached pawing at the ground, their bay coats freshly brushed and harnesses clinking with the shakes of their heads. The Cargylls were both mounted on their horses as their escorts for the outing, Ser Harrold beside them, his polished helm gleaming beneath his arm.

Kostōba, Aegon’s horse, nearly as precious to him as Sunfyre, stood patiently beside the carriage, reins held by one of the stablehands while the footman stood at the open carriage door. The stallion was a gift for Aegon’s eighth name day nearly a decade ago, and had grown larger than most of the other horses in the stable that didn’t belong to the Kingsguard. His coat was a creamy gold color, dappled in a way that made it seem like he had scales of his own. Kostōba’s eyes, bright and brilliantly blue, took in his surroundings, and he let out a soft sound when Aegon whistled to him.

Abby’s fingers tightened in Aegon’s arm when he started to pull away, confusion tripping at her words. “A-are you not, are we not riding together?” The previous warmth had given way to an icy discomfort, and she reached up to press a hand to her belly, her fingers scraping against the fabric with nervous tension.

“We’re going into the city, so I thought you’d feel more comfortable riding with Lady Karstark.” He avoided her gaze, looking at some other spot on her face. His eyes darted lower, along her low neckline. Heat prickled against her skin, but she was not as giddy for it now.

“You said we’d be riding in the carriage, Aegon.” She hated how unsure her voice sounded in her ears, and she dropped her hands from him and instead held her skirts. A deep breath, and a glance at Wylla to give her a slight, reassuring smile. “Is this because we’re not alone? Because of last time?”

Last time they’d come from the Dragonpit had resulted in them being caught upon arrival, Abby half dragged across his lap, her fingers in his hair and his hands bunched in her skirts. The Queen had subsequently forbidden them from riding Sunfyre together. Abby’s feet were to remain firmly on the ground until the wedding.

She’d been the one to initiate that as well.

Aegon shook his head, a sound escaping him, and he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Immediately, she felt her mouth water, wanting to bite on the tip of his finger, and she allowed him to tilt her head back. The jealousy that lingered hoped those ladies saw this; that he touched her so intimately and not them.

“I meant what I said about rather you being in the carriage than someone thinking that you’re ripe for the picking.” While it was endearing in its own protective way, it now rang hollow to Abby’s ears. They were burning beneath her curls and the soft, ivory veil that hung around her.

“We have the Kingsguard, Aegon, I don’t understand. For that reason, I shouldn’t leave the Keep at all.” Aegon pulled away, brushing a kiss against her forehead, and she longed for more. She longed for his lips in other places. “Aegon-” she made to follow him but Wylla caught her elbow and ushered her towards the footman.

“Get in, make yourself cozy, I’ll handle this.” She said it so matter of factly that Abby could only stare at her. Wylla merely smiled back, bobbing a curtsy, and gathered her dove gray skirts in hand, marching over to Aegon.

Abby climbed in, but lingered in the doorway to watch in fascination as Wylla Karstark hissed something to Aegon, unafraid of whatever royal protocol should be followed. There was some gesturing, and she watched her lady point toward the carriage, angling her way into Aegon’s space, not to flirt, but very clearly to intimidate. Aegon seemed to hesitate, and then shoved the reins back in the stable boy’s hands, tenderly petting the stallion’s neck and murmuring to him, before he marched towards the carriage. Abby hurriedly drew back and took her place against the far corner from the door, smoothing her skirt.

“Better this than me getting Ser Harrold,” she heard Wylla mutter, half in the carriage to glare at Aegon who was behind. “I’m not afraid of some pampered southern boy, dragonriding prince or no.”

Wylla gave her a smile as she climbed in and Abby stared at her in confusion while Aegon followed, throwing himself into the seat across from her as the door latched shut.

“Kostōba not so mighty today?” she asked, her hurt feelings demanding she needle him, even as her usual cheerful mask slid over her features. Aegon barely spared her a glance, pouting like a child instead of a man grown.

The carriage jerked as they headed through the gate and down the road. Wylla had turned her attention to unlatching the lattice covering on the window to peer out, the illusion of privacy appreciated. Aegon’s neck was as red as his shirt. He was clearly refusing to look at her and it wasn’t the first time he’d done this. In fact, Aegon had jumped from any casual touch she gave for the past few months. It was why they hadn’t ridden on Sunfyre together until they’d gone flying on the picnic and he’d apologized to her. Where she’d kissed him. In the subsequent weeks, between kisses she’d stolen because it was her stealing all the kisses, and dragging Aegon behind blind corners, although he never complained.

“I meant it, you know. That you look handsome today.” While she didn’t mind silence, she didn’t like this silence. The type where it felt like there were teeth along the edges, chewing into it if they weren’t careful. “I don’t know why that seems to have offended you so much.” The words came out a little harsher than she meant, her arms wrapped around herself and her gaze turned away.

“It didn’t offend me. I just thought that you’d like some privacy.” There was a crack at the edge of Aegon’s voice and it drew her gaze to the prince. Her betrothed. The one who tasted like whatever sweets he’d stolen from her, and whose hands felt like they’d swallow her whole, so hot that she could feel them through the layers of her gowns.

Abby turned from the window to look at him and met his gaze. Not as black as it had been in the hall. His eyes always went dark when she kissed him, so she knew that it was supposed to be a good thing, and she couldn’t understand why he was acting like this. She had been agonizing for days about this. She had just been lamenting to Wylla and Helaena about this and thought ‘This is just silly, Aegon cares for me, look at how he watched me come down the stairs’ but his mercurial behavior was nearly as bad as his mother’s.

The comparison was on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she met his lilac gaze with her own, blue eyes fixed upon his face, and said, “One moment, your hands are in my hair, and you look at me like I’m some sort of salvation or that you want to devour me. The next moment, like just now, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Lady Wylla had to threaten you to get in here-”

“She did no such-”

“I absolutely did,” Wylla interrupted. “Oh, wait, I’m not supposed to be listening.”

Aegon’s mouth snapped shut, and Abby didn’t glance over at the other side of the carriage. She kept her eyes on his. “If you don’t want me, then we’ll turn the carriage around and tell your mother.” She smoothed her hands over her skirt and took a deep breath. She was worried that tears would threaten, but her eyes remained mercifully clear and she raised her eyebrows at him. Aegon was staring at her, the pout faded from his sullen expression to look wide eyed in surprise. “We can. You can stop this. It’ll fade away, only just a rumor. A dalliance. There is no shame in being a prince’s momentary plaything, since we haven’t… I kissed you first, after all. I have only ever kissed you first and I will not let you keep doing this to me-”

One second, Aegon was frozen in his seat staring at her, the next, his hands grabbed hers and yanked her to him. Abby fell into him with the rocking of the carriage, and before she could straighten herself, Aegon kissed her.

Aegon kissed her first.

One large hand wound around her back while the other cradled the back of her head, his fingers tangled in the hair that escaped her veil. His mouth wasn't as soft as it had been before, this time moving as if he would claim her here in this carriage. She gasped when he tightened his hold against her, and he used the opportunity to slide his tongue between her parted lips, to curl it behind her teeth. She swallowed his sigh, her fingers bunching up the soft, red linen of his shirtsleeves.

Wylla’s presence was forgotten. All that existed was the way Aegon was kissing her like he was starving, as if someone had tried to take her from him - like in a song, like she was the source of every breath he needed. When they finally parted, Aegon tilted his head back against the side of the carriage, watching her with half lidded eyes and his mouth smeared with coral lip paint.

He hummed and she could feel it vibrate through her and she found herself humming in return, still holding herself with her grip on his arms. “I’ll fight anyone who suggests you’re a mere dalliance,” he said with his voice heavy. Abby reached up to cup his chin and stroke her thumb along where the color had smeared, wiping it away.

“So you’ll fight yourself, Your Grace?” She couldn’t help but point out that kissing her senseless was well and good, but her heart still felt sore and confused by his treatment.

Aegon scoffed and drew her closer with his fingers still cradling her head. She felt warm, and soft, and the sound that escaped her was equally so - a little mewl and a question she didn’t have the words to voice but that he seemed to understand because he licked along her cupid’s bow, teasing her and nipping at the swollen pout of her lower lip. “This is why I am the way I am, hunītsos.”

“I don’t understand,” she murmured with a shake of her head. Aegon’s fingers tightened briefly and drew a soft gasp from her when his grip tugged at her scalp. She shivered and his eyes glanced down to her low neckline, his teeth scraping over his own lower lip like he wanted to bury her face between her breasts. The understanding of why Wylla was in the carriage with them nudged at her, because had they been alone, Abby didn’t think she would even deny him. In fact, she thought she might even invite him to do so.

“What don’t you understand?” he asked and his fingers slowly loosened from her hair and pet her curls back into place before drawing his fingers slowly down her jaw and along her hammering pulse in her throat. “Do you not understand how badly I crave you? Because I thought that I made it abundantly clear.”

She blushed and shook her head. His thumb stroked along the front of her throat and she stilled, the weight and warmth of his hand making her tremble, the ache in her breasts taking her aback. “Sometimes, maybe. I’ve felt very…” She tried to find the words amidst her shyness. “I’ve felt like I’ve been chasing you, that I desire you more than you do for me.”

The wicked smirk she adored cut across his plump mouth and he squeezed her throat gently, pulling a gasp from her. “Abrogail Strong, I desire and crave you to madness and if I let myself go, I fear that I won’t keep myself from devouring you whole.”

Helaena pretended not to notice that there was a smudge of what looked like strawberry jam on the corner of little Floris’ mouth. Instead, her eyes took in the way one of the girl’s black braids was a little looser than the other. It lacked symmetry in a way that made her fingers itch to fix it. The girl’s dark eyes were wide with excitement and she could hardly keep still - a grasshopper bouncing on her feet and trying as hard as she could to contain herself in their presence. It did little to stop her from darting her gaze around, little mouth parted in wonder. She supposed the Red Keep was a magnificent sight to one who’d never seen it up close like this, let alone on dragonback.

Helaena’s lavender eyes slid to the elder girl.

Cassandra, the eldest of Lord Borros’ daughters, was more sedate in her observations. She did not share the same bubbling excitement as her little sister, and the black traveling gown she wore underscored the radical differences between her and the butter yellow clad Floris. Despite outer appearances, there was a blatant curiosity in her gaze as she took in the bustle of the courtyard; the Baratheon caravan had arrived ahead of the ladies, and the last of the trunks had just been carried inside to their new lodgings. Now it was courtiers and guardsmen, and servants all.

She felt Cassandra’s eyes fall on her critically, not unlike other ladies at court. Helaena had grown used to their gazes and the fact she did not fit the mold of a princess. She was not vibrant the way stories of her elder sister painted her - The Realm’s Delight, laughing and shining and riding and dancing. Helaena was quiet, far preferring the solitude of the garden to being in crowds, but she made every effort to be nice, to be friendly, and while she’d never heard a whisper about some perceived cruelty, Helaena felt as if she couldn’t quite get it.

She could not mirror the way Cassandra Baratheon looked to her, a golden necklace made up of antlers around her regal throat - a look that even a good week in a carriage could not take away how utterly put together she appeared..

How much of a princess she looked.

‘Sharp and soothing,’ Helaena thought. ‘The mint winds and chokes like ivy. The children can’t breathe, it’s bursting from their mouths.’

She blinked, shifting, and her shoulder brushed against Aemond’s where he was a warm presence beside her. His mouth was pressed in his usual stern expression, but at her movement, he lifted a hand to touch between her shoulder blades.

It was moments like these where Helaena felt most grateful for Aemond. Not when he was railing about their future together, the one that he’d decided and she didn’t deny, or about his place in life. It was the softer moments, when it felt like before: before the loss of his eye, before Vhagar, when it felt like her brother was there beside her once more. Quiet in his companionship, unwavering in his support, near supernatural in his understanding of her.

This was the Aemond she missed. The Aemond she cared for, the Aemond who was so absent.

Emboldened by the moment, Helaena straightened, a smile soft on her face. She did not need a crown or a herald to announce her place.

“It is our pleasure to welcome you both to King’s Landing. I hope that your journey wasn’t too difficult,” Helaena said, pushing past the urge to scream nonsense and make scary faces at them both to send them running all the way back to Storm’s End.

“We saw a bear!” Floris exclaimed with bright excitement. “Didn’t we, Cass? It was huge! I thought the guards were going to kill it, but they managed to chase it -”

“What my sister means to say is that the journey had its moments, but thankfully was uneventful, your Graces,” Cassandra cut in, a hand placed on the younger’s shoulder and a smooth curtsy performed. Her voice wasn’t unkind, but perhaps the long journey had made Lady Cassandra less tolerable to her younger sister’s excitement.

“Hmmm,” Aemond said, and Helaena smiled. Floris’ gaze was darting back from Aemond’s face to Helaena’s hands and she felt her brother shift beside her uncomfortably. “If you’ll follow us, we’ll take you to her grace, Queen Alicent, to be greeted.” Floris’ eyes went wide and Aemond was already turning on his polished boot to lead the way.

Cassandra’s own eyes widened some, her hands spasming against her skirts before reaching for Floris’ hand, jerking her behind. “Come along and don’t gawk,” she hissed softly, and Floris whined in response, a grumbling, “Not so tight, Cassa.” Helaena pursed her lips and followed Aemond, leading the pair.

It was, amusingly enough, Cassandra who let out the first quiet gasp entering the entry hall to Maegor’s Holdfast. The ceiling rose up so high that it was obscured with shadow. It was the early afternoon and the place was bustling with courtiers and administrators, all giving Aemond wide berth as he cut a path like a shark through the water.

“Your rooms will be within the ladies apartments,” Aemond explained when they reached the second landing. He paused, gesturing to the right. “It’s where the unmarried attendants of our mother’s stay.” His voice was even and steady, ever the proper one, ever the confident speaker. Ever everything, that was Aemond. Yet it rankled her that he would take charge of this when it should be her.

‘He’s only trying to protect you’, Helaena thought and while he was good at that, while she was grateful for it, Mother did the same. Everyone did the same.

“However, since you shall be serving me,” Helaena said, raising her voice and plastering a smile on her face, remembering that smiles could be heard in voices, “And Lady Abrogail, you shall come to us in the mornings for duties once things are settled. No need to worry about that now.”

Floris nodded excitedly, but her sister looked on more sedately, her expression polite. “Is it possible to have our own rooms until you… have everything sorted?” She asked. “I hope you can appreciate that given our station and our familial connection, such things would be appropriate.”

Familial connection? Helaena thought. She did not look at Aemond, not needing him to think he had to step in for her.

“I appreciate your concerns, Lady Cassandra. If you are concerned about your sleeping arrangements, you may bring it up with our mother, the Queen.” Helaena smoothed her hands over the soft pink of her skirt and gestured for them to follow. “This way!” Her voice rang through the hall and she fell in step beside Aemond, head held high.

Wylla stepped on her heels again with a half-distracted ‘sorry’ that Abby waved off, again. King’s Landing was bursting with activity that threatened to rival the crowds that were sure to arrive in the next moon for Aegon’s nameday tournament. The festival was to go on for a fortnight at least, as apprentices across the guilds presented their masterpieces to be judged and reviewed. It meant that the stalls were filled to bursting and more had sprung up in every nook and cranny and side street of the city. From finely woven fabrics and dyes, to ropes and carefully crafted saddles, the market was bright and loud with the calls of commerce.

Aegon’s right hand gripped her left, fingers entwined, and kept her between him and the stalls rather than risk losing one another in the stream of traffic down the center lane. They paused in front of a smith, the heat of the forge not as uncomfortable in the heat of the city for the breeze that kicked through.

“Oh, he’s a handsome one,” Wylla murmured, and Abby followed her gaze to the handsome smith covered in sweat and black soot, his linen shirt soaked, his arms bulging with the effort of hammering. Abby giggled softly, humming in agreement. She glanced at Aegon, who was perusing over the line of daggers on display, and noticed his own gaze flicking towards the blacksmith with clear appreciation.

Abby hummed and leaned over to brush her mouth against his ear. “Do you think he’s prettier than me?” she whispered.

Aegon didn’t glance at her, he didn’t even pause in his dual inspection of the merchandise nor the man before him. His tongue darted out, pink and wet, to slide along his lower lip in thought as he reached for another dagger. “I think he’s taller than you, which has its own advantages, especially with those shoulders,” he told her softly, tapping the hilt of the dagger. “Open, I want to see if it fits you.” She held out her free hand - she still hadn’t let go of his and he had not let go of hers - and he pressed the dagger into her palm, instructing her to wrap her fingers around it. “Sometimes one needs a good handling.”

Abby’s gaze flicked up at him, Aegon’s lilac eyes fixed on adjusting her grip. “I don’t usually hold a dagger like this. Aemond did teach me properly. Also, are you implying that I couldn’t give you a good handling?”

“I don’t think you are big enough to pick me up over your shoulder and slam me down on something.” Aegon’s lilac gaze met hers from beneath the soft bits of silver hair hanging in his eyes and he pulled the dagger from her grasp and set it back down. Even as she blushed, Abby didn’t look away. She smiled prettily at him instead and was pleased when he grinned back. She liked this side of him. No, she adored this side of him. The way he flirted, and held onto her, and the way it felt as easy as breathing between them like it always had. Only now, her gaze was more obviously drawn to that infernal tongue of his that kept swiping along his lower lip.

He was doing it on purpose. She was sure of it.

“I feel like you’re challenging me, Your Grace. Must I also now throw myself in the training yard and hope that I grow as big and strong as my brother? I think you’ll be sorely disappointed.” Aegon snorted and picked up another dagger. This one had an ebony handle carved with grooves for the fingers to fit and a thick silver inlay that encircled it and along the guard. “I don’t need a dagger,” she protested when he had her hold it and frowned at the fit.

“You see,” he murmured, releasing his hold on her hand and having her properly adjust her grip. “I already know you can handle me, my Lady. I think you’re a natural at it, even small as you are. But if you’d like to be handled, be exposed to new ways of doing things…new techniques…” He trailed off and made an approving sound at how she was holding the weapon. Somehow it made her flush all the more. “I’m at your service to give you whatever demonstration you desire.”

He met her eyes then, mouth twitched in a slight grin, but she saw the nervous look in his gaze.

Abby pushed up on her toes to press a kiss on his smirking mouth and drew away before either of them had a chance to deepen it. “I’ve been told I’m a very astute learner, and I always like to learn new things, especially with demonstrations.” Flushed, she reached for Wylla who was still admiring the blacksmith and took her hand. “We’re going to look at the fabrics over here.”

She’d much rather they do that than make a scene in front of the attractive blacksmith.

“If you two wanted privacy, then we’ll find it. I’ll stand guard outside the carriage door. Or, he’s the prince, I’m sure he can just get a room somewhere.” Wylla’s look was innocent and compassionate when Abby looked over her shoulder to glare at her, cheeks flushed red. “You know, people like us don’t marry for love often, but if you have that with one another, there’s no shame in being so affectionate before marriage.” Wylla nudged her shoulder against hers while they plucked at the delicate spools of ribbons and carefully embroidered lace.

“Being accosted in front of the blacksmith is something I’d hardly call simple affection,” Abby said.

“Weren’t you only just complaining that he didn’t accost you?”

“I need to find another word for that, and yes, I know I was! That’s not what I mean.” Abby ran a length of silky, vibrant green ribbon through her fingers, and tried to find shades of red and blue to match. “I just mean there’s a difference between doing it in public! And…”

“And?” Wylla prompted, plucking up a spool of black linen thread in hand.

“And I simply get very flustered. That’s all.” She reached into her the small purse hanging off her arm to retrieve the delicate fabric samples the seamstress had brought the previous week. “I need embellishments to go with this.”

“Oh,” Wylla breathed and ran her fingers gently over the ivory satin. “Abby, these are lovely.”

“Do you think so?” She held the pieces up to the spools of lace. “I’m half tempted to simply make my own lace but that feels so extravagant and excessive.”

Wylla clucked her tongue. “Must I remind you again, Lady Strong, that you are marrying Aegon Targaryen, Prince of the Realm? You will become a princess on your wedding day. You should have extravagance and excess because if you don’t have it for that occasion, what occasion will you allow it?” Her voice was not quiet and Abby noticed the pair of girls managing the stall perk up from where they were attending to another lady and her daughter at the mention of marrying Aegon Targaryen. The other customers looked at her as well, and Abby smiled politely back and resumed her perusal of the lace embellishments. She let her veil fall forward enough to hide some of her face, uncomfortable with the attention now that Aegon was not distracting her, moving easily through the crowds as if he were born for it.

That’s because he was born for it, she reminded herself.

“These look a bit like dragon scales, don’t they?” Abby ran her thumb gently over the uniquely shaped scallops of soft lace, mind thinking of decorations and embellishments and appliques for the gown that they were making. So many Myrish knots to embroider. She knew there was more fabric on its way, and that the delicate and sought after Myrish lace would be beyond comparison but presented with what was before her, Abby’s mind turned in contemplation. “Excuse me, my lady.”

The woman did not appear much older than Wylla, with a shock of golden curls peeking out of her little white cap. She was the younger of the pair who were manning the booth, and she bobbed awkwardly behind the counter.

“I am no lady, milady,” she said, her accent a proud, Westerlands clip. “Neva, if you please. Is there anything that you like before you? This isn’t everything we have but-”

Abby smiled, raising a hand to slow the girl down. “Neva, is this all your work? It’s absolutely beautiful.”

She glowed as bright as her hair, nodding exuberantly. “It is, milady! I’ve been an apprentice for nigh on ten years. I’ve submitted my masterpiece for guild acceptance.”

She couldn’t help but keep smiling back at the excitement Neva shared and gestured for the threads that Wylla was picking up. “Well, I’ll take these, if you’d be so kind, as well as… well I don’t want to take the whole spool of this.” Abby pursed her lips.

In the pause, Neva continued. “I can also make custom pieces, should you need something particular, milady.” The girl blushed but pushed on. “I did hear you mentioning a wedding, but I wasn’t dropping eaves! So if there is something in particular you’re looking for.”

Abby hummed softly, fingers still holding the delicate spool of scalloped lace edging. “I would like that very much. If you have more samples, I want you to bring them to the castle a sennight from today. The seamstress is coming back to do a fitting and I would like to look at what we can make. Is that too soon?”

The blushing cheeks of the Westerland girl went pale before flushing even deeper and she looked as if she was about to burst like a Dornish fire flare right there in the street. “Milady, I don’t know what to say! Yes, yes I will certainly be there. Thank you…” She trailed off suddenly, eyes widening before dropping into a curtsy, followed by the other women behind the booth. Abby felt Aegon brush against her back as he leaned over her shoulder to pluck at the lace.

“Pretty,” he said. “Do you like them?”

She nodded. “I thought the-they would look nice for my wedding dress. Do you like them? I want you to like them.” Abby tilted her head to look at him, teeth catching at her lip while Aegon’s cheeks flushed lightly pink.

“Aye, I like them.” His voice was soft and he gestured to the lot, almost negligently. “And the ribbons? We’ll take it.” Aegon spared a look at the gaping Neva, plucking the bag of gold from Wylla’s hands and tossing it to the girl.

Abby blushed, glancing between the gaping girls and Aegon, who was already looking around. “Thank you, Neva,” she said, which seemed to pull the other girl from her shock and start plucking items. “I do hope this isn’t all of your hard work.”

“Oh, no, not at all, milady.” She was positively glowing. “Good fortune to be sure."

[Chapter Eight]

[theriddlersunderwear]

HotD Prompt Fic

Featuring a WIP OC named Emine :D

Prompt: Even a Bad Hair Day Can Have a Happy Ending

Whoosh!

Emine frantically dodged to the left as her half-brother Jacaerys�� sword sliced through the air. Although this was merely a sparring match and she knew he’d never seriously injure her, the dodge was reflexive from years of training.

There was a pause of silence as Emine noticed that the right side of her head was unusually cool, like there was a breeze. Jacaerys was frozen, staring at his half-sister with wide eyes.

“Oh my Gods,” their younger brother, Lucerys, exclaimed from the sidelines. “Emmy your hair.”

Her sword clattered to the cobblestone ground as she touched her face. Sure enough, the right side of her hair had been chopped off. Long silver strands of hair fluttered away in the breeze, curling around her feet. Emine’s silver hair (a signature of her Targaryen heritage) was long. In fact, it was nearly longer than her father Daemon’s silver locks. So a slice like this one would not go unnoticed.

“JACAERYS VELARYON!” Emine said, her voice pitching with rage. Jacaerys dropped his own sword and put his hands up in surrender. Frantic apologies fell from his lips as Lucerys cackled in the background.

“Let me get Daemon,” Jacaerys offered. Lucerys wasn’t going to be any help, as he was wheezing on the ground with obnoxious laughter.

“Don’t you dare!” Emine was going red in the face, “I do not need any of my father’s snide comments right now.”

“Well I don’t know what you want me to do!”

Emine grabbed her sword and used the blade to check her reflection. Realistically, the cut wasn’t that bad. While side shaves were uncommon in Westeros, they weren’t taboo in any way. Daemon would have some contemptuous comments about his daughter’s predicament, and Lucerys would likely burst into laughter every time he saw her for the next week, but she would survive.

Emine’s panic was interrupted by a smooth voice to her right, “Is that you’re new haircut?”

It was her future betrothed, Prince Aegon Targaryen II. The sulky prince had a rare, miniscule smile on his face as he inspected her. Emine probably looked like a fish, opening and closing her mouth in silence.

“It was an accident–” Jacaerys began, hoping to placate the easily angered noble.

“I like it,” Aegon said pointedly, staring down at his cousin. “I think it’s unique.”

Now it was Jacaerys’ turn to look like a fish.

In hindsight, this sentiment wasn’t too surprising. Aegon was known for his rebelliousness, and he probably saw the unorthodox haircut as a sign of rebellion. Either way, Emine’s heart rate skyrocketed and her face turned pink.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” she managed to squeak out. 

Aegon’s amethyst eyes flicked up and down her figure, and a smug smile crossed his features, “Call me Aegon, my lady. We are going to be married, after all.”

Emine waited until he was out of earshot before squealing into her hands. Lucerys’ laughter was now joined by Jacaerys at their sister’s expense.

“What happened to your hair?”

All laughter ceased as the cold voice of Daemon Targaryen reached their ears.

[futurequibblerjournalist]

Hihi!! :3

I'd love a yap session about your fav Knights!! If u want ofc :D

If not,, some Marauders content would be super cool!!!! Especially for Remus!! I'd love to hear about his parents and his relationship with them, but I'd be 100% totally and honestly down for anything!! Ooh defo any headcanons for him! Ahhh wowie I feel so special with all the attention uve given me !!

Have a good day :33

- 🍃

It's been so long since I've gotten to answer one of your asks vjfnjgnbg I've missed iiiiiit,,, it's been so fun answering your asks!!

I’m gonna be talking more about the actual knights of Walpurgis but I’m gonna take this as an excuse to talk about my girl Lucretia cause I love her so much

Her full name is Lucretia Elladora Black and she’s born in 1925 though I’ve yet to set an actual birthday for her,, I need to figure that out. She was born with Esotropia in her right eye, polydactyly (she had extra pinkies when she was born but they were removed) and she’s infertile (these are all because of the inbreeding that the Black family is known for).

She’s in the same year as Walburga at school and she was obviously a Slytherin. She was the seeker for the Slytherin quidditch team (though her brother and cousin would often somewhat tease her that it was not proper).

Her best subject is potions and she’s very fond of them. Other hobbies, save for quidditch, include entomology (specifically lepidopterology) and a fascination for the French language. She’s also quite interested in the magical artefacts that the Black family possesses.

She grew up in 12 Grimmauld Place with her younger brother Orion (he’s four years younger than her) and their parents Arcturus and Melania Black. Their house elf was Kreacher when she was growing up and like the woman, she got her middle name after she was notoriously bad to the house elves

I picture her with very long, sleek obviously black hair with bangs, upturned grey eyes, lips that are fuller in the upper lip, a long nose and a beauty spot under her right eye and one on her left cheekbone. She’s tall for like,, Black family standards but that’s not really saying a lot? She’s taller than both Walburga and Orion but just a smidge shorter than Cygnus and Alphard. She got narrow shoulders, average bust and a tiny waist and her skin is incredibly pale like the rest of the family’s.

I think she’s the one who starts out with a crush on Ignatius and everyone considers her a bit of a bitchy mean girl cause she’s one of the girls from the Black family and she’s got a fairly stern personality and a resting bitch face but when she’s around Ignatius she’s all giggly and smiling and twirling her hair and I think she spends a lot of time trying to subtly talk him up and get either her brother or her cousins to approve of him

As for Remus!!! Ahhh I love him so much cjnfjcnf

He was born to Lyall and Hope Lupin on March 10 1960 in Abergavenny, Wales, after the two got married. Lyall is a half-blood born to parents Ulric and Altalune in 1929 also born in Abergavenny. I really like Polish Hope who moves to England/Wales at some point after the war. She is, as we know, a muggle. She meets Lyall, they have their whole meet-cute with the boggart and they get married. Neither thought that they would end up having children but they had Remus as a surprise and he made them both very happy.

I am not a Remus has distant parents/parents that hate him/anything of that sort kind of person. He’s got parents that deeply love him and that are trying their best with him despite the situation they end up with, with Remus’s lycanthropy and that shapes Remus as a person!!! Which is why it’s so important!!! He is gentle in spite of everything partially because he has been surrounded by it for all of his childhood. He’s not been able to have friends but he’s had parents and especially a mother who tried her best to make sure he wasn’t missing anything

I think Remus is really close with his mum, he’s a bit of a mummy’s boy. He’s less close with Lyall, but that’s mostly because Lyall struggles to approach him sometimes because he feels guilty for what happened to Remus because of his actions.

As for some Remus headcanons:

He grew up in a dual faith household with Lyall being Christian (though not particularly practicing) and Hope being Jewish

Blonde Remus!!! It gets darker with age but it’s still light enough to be called blonde. He’s also got hazel/green-ish eyes and a shit tonne of freckles

The nose on this guy!!! Yes,, big < 3

He smokes menthols. He hides that he smokes from his parents but especially his mother

His closest friends are Peter and Lily. He considers Sirius and James very close friends as well of course, but I think he always thinks that there’s a bit of a distance between them cause they’re “so much cooler than him”

I think he met Peter on the train before he met anyone else and the two bonded. This is why Remus was so adamant that Sirius and James include Peter in their group because he refused to exclude his first friend

Feels like stating the obvious but huge collection of jumpers

On that note, Hope knits him stuff like all the time, he’s got knitted vests, knitted jumpers, knitted socks, the whole lot. Hope will sometimes knit socks for James, Sirius and Peter as well and ask him to bring them along

He grew up in many different places since they were forced to move around a lot, but the place he stayed the longest was a fairly remote cottage that he’s very fond of. It’s not particularly fancy, but it’s very cozy and homey

For the wolfstar fans out there I think Remus is the gangliest most awkward looking motherfucker and people are always confused when they learn that wolfstar is a thing because of all people Sirius Black could end up with he chose the one who looks like he’s been through a paper shredder?

A very good storyteller I feel? If he reads a book out loud he makes different voices for the characters, but even if he’s just telling a story in general it’s always very engaging

On that note he speaks a lot with his hands

He’s a horrible dancer lol

A lot of people headcanon that Remus is very warm I feel, but I imagine he feels cold all the time even if to other people he feels warm yk?

I don’t think he’s a bad singer, he might be kinda average, but he thinks he’s an awful singer. He’ll at most do a bit of humming in a very low vibrating voice and he usually does this either when he’s cooking or when he’s in the shower

When he blushes the tips of his ears also get really red

He is the farthest thing from a morning person. It’s almost always a race in the morning to see whether Sirius or Remus will toss a pillow at James first when he’s trying to get them to get up

Remus would wear full pyjamas but none of it would match

He really likes chocolate with orange crunch in it

I could see him being the kind of person to call people love (even more so when he’s older), especially in casual passing like if he bumps into someone he’ll go “oh, sorry, love” without really thinking about it

His favourite subjects are Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms

I think that's all I've got for now? I have other asks that vaguely include him so there might be some more coming at some point vjfnbjgnb but yeah ahhhh thank you for the ask have some moodboards as well < 3