#and the emotion is delight because I love painting curly hair

[floweroflaurelin]

Super quick painting because Lilith’s new look is so !!!!!!!!!!!!

[curlysgirl0202]

HEAD CANNON STORY:

How Curly Bill and Johnny Ringo Would Respond When You Comfort Them...

We all need to be comforted, that's part of being alive. Even animals seek out comfort from one another.

Men like Curly Bill and Johnny Ringo tell themselves the only comfort they need is a ramera and a bottle of nose paint (whiskey). Traditional cowboys engaged in cuddling (yes these jackeroos were that lonely on a drive) and some men in the old west were involved with cross dressing to provide the illusion of a woman for the sake of comfort...Hard to believe...But remember, the wild west is often described as the lonely west...So receiving comfort wasn't as easy as it can be today. If you think you have difficulty finding a strong shoulder to cry on, imagine living back then so you get the picture. It was lonely...

So when Curly or Ringo are in need of something more than what a lady of the line can provide, they tend to shut down and pretend they're fine. They're not men to show emotion because like many men today, they saw it as a sign of weakness.

So when these two are down in the dumps, what will it take to comfort them and how would they respond to YOU providing comfort and cheer them up?

Curly Bill:

Curly Bill doesn't usually have too many bad days and he is looking to have fun most of the time. If one of his cowboys are mopish, Curly is more concerned about how they will mess up his good time. No need to get all sentimental; some women and whiskey are just what the doctor ordered. However the old cowboy does have his moments and he usually keeps it to himself. Cowboys don't receive counseling from anyone and they're a bunch of filthy dudes who just want to blow off steam.

When you first notice Curly Bill looking down, it's a concern for you because he's usually the one making everyone else laugh with his odd sense of humor and practical jokes. He likes to live in the moment most of the time. If you ask him, he'll tell you he's fine because he doesn't want you to think he's weak or that he can't solve his own problems. It's not so much that he doesn't want to trouble you, he's just not the type to be overly sentimental or sensitive. And why would old Curly be that way? He spent lots of time in chains or behind bars, stealing cows, getting drunk, gambling and spending his winnings on whiskey and caliquo queens. Whores don't ask too many questions... But they only provide so much..If he's got the funds, Curly can fall asleep with his head on her bosom and pretend there's something more. So, getting Curly Bill to admit to you that he needs some comfort would be as strange to him as it would be to you. But he likes you and when he's near you, he always feels a little better; as of there is a sense that everything will be alright when you're around. All it takes is your smile to get the old rustler to warm up.

So, like the lovely woman you are, you persist. Since he's told you he's fine, you back off with any more questions. That will only exacerbate things and you're the LAST person he wants to snap at for getting too nosey. Your approach with Curly will be different than with Johnny Ringo, who would never get tired of your concerns. And Curly Bill doesn't get annoyed for your concerns; in fact, a woman's genuine concern is priceless. Curly would get impatient and frustrated from too many questions.

First, you find out what Curly enjoys such as oatmeal cookies or apple pie (who doesn't love pie)? Then you ride out into town with a basket of your baked goods. When you see your cowboy, you wave from across the street and show the smile Curly Bill loves so much! He'll wonder what's in the basket.

"I know you've been a little down lately, Curly Bill," you begin. You smile up at him and his heart lifts. "I wanted to do something for you so I baked you some cookies." You shrug your shoulders and flip your hair with your free hand. Curly' eyes will grow wide with delight! Nobody cares about how he feels so having a beautiful woman like yourself actually take the time to bake something he loves would have Bill's head swimming.

You hand the basket to your cowboy and he's beaming from ear to ear and he's so moved by your kindness, he is at a loss for words! He shakes his head and continues smiling at you as you unfold the towel and show him a freshly baked batch of delicious and soft oatmeal raisin cookies.

"Well, ain't that mighty sweet!" He finally says. His heart is so full of joy at that moment that he suddenly forgets about his bad mood. He keeps smiling at you and you smile back, biting your bottom lip, which you do when you're feeling shy and it drives Bill crazy when you do that!

Curly Bill is so delighted by your gesture of kindness and he'll feel like you are the sweetest, kindest, tenderest and prettiest woman he's ever met. He won't be able to contain his happiness so don't be surprised if he places the basket of sweets down, cups your face with his big hands and kisses you gently. Your trembling will cause him to chuckle and flick his tongue like he does when he's amused by something. Not that he's pleased your nervous; he finds it adorable and endearing. Of course you're a little nervous... He's Curly Bill Brocious, King of the Cowboys and he's got quite the reputation for swift retaliation against those who hurt the ones he cares about.

"Well, do you want to try one?" You smile while playing with your hair.

Curly Bill smiles at you again and knows you want him to and since it's not everyday someone does something nice for this old cowboy, he takes one cookie and munches it. It's the most delicious oatmeal cookie he's ever had...He tells himself that because you're the one who baked them and you're the only person who ever cared about his feelings and you cared so much, you made something to make him smile so your cookies naturally taste better...They taste like your hugs which is something Bill can't get enough of.

"You baked these for me and my boys?" Curly asks. You shake your head and smile.

"No...Just you!" At that declaration, Bill is so overwhelmed by your sweetness, he takes you in his arms and holds you tight. His heart lifts when you wrap your arms around him and hug him tight. He then brushes your hair away from your face as the breeze keeps blowing it around... People walk by and stare at the both of you. Some whisper, "that's Curly Bill Brocious! He's a outlaw. What is that beautiful lady doing with him?" And Curly Bill has asked himself that same question over a dozen times.

Curly Bill will pick up the basket of freshly baked cookies and put his arm around you. While you walk together, he starts to speak. "You're real sweet," the big cowboy says. "Real sweet." He stops and looks at you. He still can't get over that you were so intent on cheering him up with one of his favorite things to eat! While walking together, Curly Bill will always feel great when he's with you. You overlook so much and he can't help but love you for that.

"Why are you so sweet?" He asks. "To me I mean? I ain't done nothing to raise your eyebrows!"

"Yes you have," you answer, kissing him on the cheek. Your spontaneous gestures of affection drive him wild. "I really like you, Curly Bill Brocious."

"Say that again...Soft on my shoulder. Say it real sweet.". You lean towards his ear, rest your head on his strong shoulder and whisper, "I really like you, Curly Bill Brocious."

Johnny Ringo:

When Ringo is having a tough time, it's tough to tell because he is usually morose. When his gang are busy drinking, laughing, flirting with prostitutes or gambling, Ringo is quiet. Sometimes Curly Bill will look over at his lieutenant and let his cowboys know to just let him be. Curly knows that when Ringo falls into his pit of depression, women seem to be the only thing to pull him out of it. And not just any woman; Ringo has his favorite rameras and although he's paying them for the illusion of their concern which is so gratifying, he'll pay double just to hear them say, "you be careful, senor Reengo.." Ringo never really believes they care, but those four words are among the sweetest he's ever heard.

So when it comes to cheering Johnny Ringo up, he'll be less impatient than Curly Bill when you ask what's wrong. Ringo would never think that you were being nosy or annoying. Your genuine concern for him makes Ringo feel like he's never felt before. He's very pleased you're not a wag tail and that when you compliment him or show you care, Ringo knows it is from your heart. Johnny Ringo doesn't want to trouble you. While Curly Bill is concerned about looking weak, Ringo simply doesn't want you to worry for him although he secretly loves it! Ringo doesn't want his darkness to corrupt you and he doesn't want to share with you how broken he really is. Not because he doesn't want to scare you off (although that's part of it), Ringo never wants to be anything but chivalrous with women. Women are the only beings that have ever showed him love and Ringo like Curly Bill, cannot go for long periods of time without the company of women.

Baking delicious sweets is definitely something Ringo would love and appreciate. For him, it wouldn't be enough to comfort him; he would want more...And to be fair, so would old Curly. Ringo would want to take you to his tent at the cowboy camp and hold you until he falls asleep. When he wakes, he'll want to know you're still there and that the dirty camp wouldn't sicken you. His misbehaving rustlers who would know to never upset you in front of Ringo...They know how Ringo is with women and how touchy he is when it comes to women. Ringo whole heatedly believes women are capable of driving demons out of him and it is only the comfort of a woman's touch that can awaken his dark spirit and let it stand in the light. For Ringo, he would do anything for a woman. Especially you because of your unbelievable kindness.

You decide to bake for him too. You learn that Ringo's favorite dessert is apple pie with a sweet crust. So you gather fresh apples and bake a pie just for him. While you're sprinkling extra cinnamon and sugar on top, you smile when you think about how Ringo will feel about your gesture.

Since Ringo doesn't really spend time with his own gang often, Curly Bill is the one he usually drinks with. Curly Bill knows how Ringo's darkness swells out of nowhere and although the cowboy king is concerned, he just figures Ringo will drink his way out of it or spend time with his favorite prostitutes either getting peeled like a bronc or just hold her while she strokes her dark hair. Ringo loves women with dark hair and dark eyes so it's no wonder he enjoys Mexican rameras; he can recall as a boy and hearing about Mexico and the beautiful women with their olive skin and he would dream about sweat glistening on their bosoms.

You know where Johnny Ringo stays from time to time; at an old shack that's been abandoned and often used by the Cowboys when they want a break from sleeping in tents. Or when it's raining. After your pie is baked, you pack it warm in a towel and put it into a basket to bring it to your cowboy. The shack the Cowboys occupy is just outside of town and is in walking distance. As you stroll away from town, you can't help but notice the plush, colorful wildflowers that seem to be bursting into a beautiful bloom that carpets the desert floor. The Palo Verde trees provide some shade while you walk to where Ringo is. Some monsoons came through Tombstone in the last few weeks so there are shallow ponds with water so clear, it dances on the surface and would be blinding if the bodies of water were a bit larger. You see the shack and a few cowboys are sitting in front smoking and drinking moonshine. You can hear their laughter as you get closer. Curly Bill sees you and calls for his lieutenant.

"Juanito!" The old cowboy declares. "Something real pretty and sweet to see you." Then he flicks his tongue, eyes the other cowboys and stands up to greet you. Curly Bill is protective of you because he thinks you're special and loves that his best friend has someone adore him and tolerate his bouts of sadness.

Ringo emerges from the shack and when he sees you, he's very pleased to see you, but embarrassed that you're seeing how he really lives. The last thing he wants is for you to look down on him as a lowly cowboy who never amounted to anything in his life except staring at a mule's ass while plowing a field or running off Mexican stock.

Your smile is so beautiful, it lifts his heart. The Clanton's, McClaury's, Stillwell and a few others smile at each other. Of course they're dying to hoot and howl at you, but wouldn't dare. Curly Bill would admonish them with a punch to the face or harsh threats, but Ringo is less predictable; he may shoot the idiot that shot his mouth off and made you feel scared. And it wouldn't matter how long you felt frightened; any sap head who bothered you is as good as dead. So they behave themselves as tough as it is. Ringo eyes his fellow rustlers and they rise and tip their hats to you and show you the upmost respect.

Curly Bill gestures to his gang to leave the two of you alone. They go back in the shack while Ringo moves toward you, wondering what is in your basket.

Ringo takes his hat off and holds it in his hands. The deadliest pistoleer can only be made weak by women. Especially you!

"Johnny," you begin. "I know you've been so down lately." You look to the ground and take a deep breath. "I wanted to do something to cheer you up so I..." You feel nervous and almost foolish, but you press on. Ringo looks at you with wide eyes.

"I know your favorite dessert is apple pie so I uh..." You giggle at your own anxiety. "I baked one for you!" You unwrap your freshly baked pie. It's still warm and the familiar and comforting aroma flood his nostrils and suddenly he feels the darkness slowly turn to light. A light that dances in your smiling and loving eyes; eyes that look up at him with such a sweet innocence, Ringo is surprised by his sudden light hearted feeling. He begins to smile and allow himself to feel the pleasure of the moment. With you around, there is no room in his heart for guilt and shame and he loves that you can provide that for him. His heart lifts and he suddenly sees that the sky seems a little clearer and bluer when you are around, he can smell the flowers over the usual horse shit and smelly cowboys he's used to.

Johnny looks at the pie you baked and then back at you. His eyes are wide with pleasure, but has a conservative and yet almost cautious half smile. He takes a deep breath and he beings to wonder what you looked like when you were making this dessert for him. He lets his mind wander for a few seconds and imagines you peeling apples, rolling out the dough and baking this just for him. That your intention was not to give this to anyone but him. He is taken aback that you do not seem to fear him the way most people do; the Earps and Doc Holliday and others have expressed their concerns to you and that Ringo is nothing but trouble. You ignore those warnings and allow Johnny Ringo is be who he is without shame or guilt. Some of the cowboys are looking out one of the broken windows and wondering if they'll get a peak at the two of you kissing! But Ringo is a gentleman borne so he is not going to lay a kiss on you in front of his gang like Curly Bill would. Not to say Curly isn't somewhat of a gentleman when he wants to be, but Bill seeks attention and admiration from his gang.

Johnny finally speaks. "I...Thank you, Y/N. I..." He stumbles over his words as he cannot find the right ones to fit what he is feeling. He wants to take you into his arms and shower you with affection and drive you to ectasy, but he's patient...While he tries to finish his sentence, you put your hand over his mouth and say, "you're welcome, Johnny!" Too moved to speak at all, Ringo drops to his knees and holds your body while his head is on your chest. He can't believe what you have done for him. Nobody seems to care about The Cowboys so receiving something this wonderful is as welcome as it is marvelous. Ringo feels a little intimidated; he's never had a woman in his life who cared so much about him and had genuine concern for him. He regards you as a priceless gift. He stands up and faces you. Your smile melts his heart and he takes your basket and puts on a nearby makeshift table Curly and the others made out of scraps of wood. He takes his Bowie knife and slices two pieces of pie. He tells you he's going indoors to get a few dishes, but you take your piece and begin eating it with your hands. Ringo can't help but smile because he thinks you're adorable. He too begins to eat his piece. When you are finished, the Clanton's ask if they can have a slice. You look at Ringo as if to say, "it's up to you!" And of course he is pleased that you show kindness to his cowboy companions. They may not be the smartest dudes around, but he's got an unbreakable bond with his red sash friends. While the other cowboys including Curly help themselves to the apple pie, Ringo takes you for a short walk.

"Well, he sure is lucky," Billy Clanton starts. "Pretty lady who makes sweet stuff."

"Yeah," Ike answers with a dreamy look in his eyes.

"That's what Juanito needs," Curly answers, shoving pie into his mouth. "I always said he needs a woman. A good one."

"Well, I am sure they'll finish off what's left. Not everyday we get a sweet present from a lovely lady like yourself. Johnny can feel his face grow warm and flushed. He feels calm and safe when you take his hand. "I hope I have bad days more often," he jokes before turning to you and holding you close.

[waveringmaniac]

There I stood in the backyard of my childhood home. It was nestled in a California suburban neighborhood filled with high profile celebrities, or rich folk that could actually afford to live here. We, the Quinn’s, were on the latter side of that. Born into filthy money, so much fucking money that we were practically wiping our asses with it. 

Growing up, my twin brother Forty and I often found ourselves alone while our father was out on ‘business trips’ and our mother was busy with her current niche, which at this point was establishing a small pristine grocery store in town filled with all non-gmo items.

--- Anavrin. (Nirvana spelled backwards) ---

“Some day, this place will be all yours, Love.” 

But at the age of sixteen, I had no interest in owning a damn grocery store. What I wanted was a loving /devoted/ family who showed just an ounce of care for my brother and I. While other families around us were going on family vacations and spending time with one another, our parents had decided to bring in an Au-Pair from Albania to play the role that they were supposed to.

Our Au-Pair (Sophia) was surprisingly a delight. We quickly became close friends, and she became someone I could confide in. She wasn’t old enough to be a mother figure to me, but more of a best friend. I trusted her. Or so I thought. 

So, again, there I was in the backyard of my childhood home. I wasn’t quite sure how I got there but as I glanced down and spotted splatters of blood all over me, sheer panic quickly washed over. The blackouts hadn’t happened in quite some time, and usually when they did happen, it was because so much emotion would bubble up in me, that my brain just couldn’t possibly keep up. 

Rage. Sadness. Loneliness. Jealousy. Even happiness. 

I would feel it with all of me.

Extreme acts all in the name of LOVE.

There was so much soul in me, that oftentimes, it would pour out of me like the raging seas. No control over my being. 

Sophia had betrayed my family. She betrayed Forty. The red images of me driving a knife into her back over and over as she sucked on my barely conscious brother’s dick, flashed repeatedly in my head. Forty was 16, Sophia was 19. She drugged him, she took advantage of him, and I caught it all with my own rage filled eyes. 

Forty was still passed out despite a very dead Sophia on the ground next to him. I had pulled out the knife that was lodged into Sophia’s back and sat it near his hand, wanting to paint the illusion that Forty killed her due to the fact that he was the golden Quinn child. He’d get away with this more than I would. Our parents could easily cover this up, pay for it to not look suspicious to Sophia’s family back in Albania. That’s what wealth does to you, for you. . . 

When I emerge from a much needed hot shower and a quick change of clothes, I find a sobbing Forty out in the yard clinging to his precious Sophia. 

“She abused you, Forty. She deserved it. Mom and Dad will cover it up, don’t worry. You’ll get through this…. WE will get through this.”

╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝ ╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝

And through it, we got.

Some 15 years later, Forty and I were now the owners of Anavrin. Turns out, it was the perfect stepping stone in my journey to attend culinary school on the side. I’d spend my days at school, and my nights prepping and baking for the store. Forty would work registers and was in charge of the hiring process, which was probably a really dumb move on my part..

School was long and exhausting today, so when I arrived at Anavrin, I headed straight back to my work station where I could get lost in the art of cooking and baking. Release all of my pent up emotions into whatever meal I decided to prepare. Upon gathering items from the fridge, I spotted something in my peripherals that demanded my attention. It was a curly haired male, perhaps my age, not too tall but also not short..  He looked my way, and the ridiculous flirty smile that painted across my features seemed to be telling, because soon Forty was at my side and nudging me profusely.

“Are you aware of the effect you have on men?”

Bit blunt, but that's the way Forty was wired..

“I’m serious, Love. That one is off limits. He’s the newest hire. We can’t afford you driving another poor bastard away from this place.”

Hmf. Maybe he’s right. After-all, it seemed my aura planted early gravestones with every man I’ve ever been involved with. Everything I’ve ever (eventually) let go of, walks away with my vicious claw marks etched on their skin and soul.

Ironically, love just wasn’t in the cards for me. . . .  not yet, at least.

For now, I’d focus on me, myself, and I.

The wavering maniac.

[slashersaremylovers]

Hey lovely!! I love your blog!! Can i request NSFW alphabet with my lovely thomas hewitt? Please and thank you!! <3

Hello, dear, yes for sure more than delighted. and I appreciate that you like the blog.

────────────────

NSFW Alphabet:

Thomas Hewitt.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

This big Texan is very fond of strong hugs and kisses on the forehead, although he also loves to relax with you in bed since a hot night with this boy. He will not like you to get up yet, he will still want you next to him and he hugs her, you are very strong and tight, but you are not complaining, are you?

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Thomas does not have a favorite part because he loves any part of you, although sometimes he likes your soft lips a lot, he thinks it is because of the sweet words that come out of your little mouth, but in a way he likes it because you can make it melt , if you understand me, wink, wink.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He loves to come inside you, what else could I say, he loves to see you completely stained with his essence, that your internal walls are painted white. Tommy has a problem with reproduction (if you have a uterus), he gets horny just thinking that you can get pregnant, that makes him put to double work and also his hips will hit you harder.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It is something that Thomas has started to have and that is the hobby of giving you light spankings or that depending on his mood, and more than once he has faced Luda May who has given him scandalized looks.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

This man has no real experience, but he knows what to do because Hoyt has taught him, although not in a good way, but thanks to Mom, those apprenticeships are over.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

The cowgirl, what more could this great Texan ask for? Thomas loves that position, he loves watching you ride his cock and watch it bounce as he slaps your ass with his strong hand, although he likes it too traditional, the missionary, likes to watch you squirm under him as he slaps his hips count them yours.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

If he has a hair vine imagine down there, it is a little jungle, but if you ask him nicely he will try to disappear all that grassland. It is thick, curly and quite thick in color black.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is not a boy who plays with your emotions, Tommy is a grown man. Thomas is very serious about his feelings for you, so any show of love is always sincere. He is not used to showing his emotions in front of other people than you, nor in front of his family it is uncomfortable for him, but if they are alone it will not last to show his affectionate side.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Thomas has always held himself back so he doesn't, but when you came into his life, he did it a few times and that made him avoid you for days and he couldn't see you in the face, now that they're together he doesn't need any of that, why do that if he can enjoy it with you?

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He's a bit voyeuristic, it doesn't matter if you don't do anything dirty, he just likes to see you. This boy has a small (sure) problem with reproduction, just thinking about you giving him a child or imagining that your stomach swells because of him that attracts him a lot. Praise, praise, he will love that, tell him so many beautiful ncoas and you have him at your feet.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In the basement or in their shared room, he is a boy more than reserved instead of shy and he also would not like to be interrupted in his love sessions, much less someone seeing you naked, you are only to the delight of their eyes.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

The simplest things can turn him on, for he has been starving for a long time, have you given him an innocent little kiss? He is excited, did you rub yourself by mistake next to him? Oh, he's excited.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Degradation, humiliation or beatings, Thomas has been abused in his life and those traumas are never forgotten, it is a big NO for him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Both of them, although he loves to make you feel better, but I don't know they deny that you take care of him. He has a taste in sports and he does it excellent.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

That depends on your mood sometimes I will be slow and sensual when in the mood for some soft sex, on the other hand if you have an animal mood, oh doll, Thomas will be brutal and merciless, he will move his hips with ferocity.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He is not finding a quick, but he prefers to do it the right way one where he can show you how much he loves you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I would try for you, but he usually takes no chances, although once at lunchtime Thomas's hand slipped between your skirt.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This great Texan has great stamina, which is very beneficial for the bedroom. Tommy worked long hours in hot Texas and Hoyt once told you about the time he broke a motorcycle's hand. Thomas's stamina is amazing he can last for several rounds before asking to stop.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He had never thought about it, because he prefers to give you pleasure, not a rubber object is the one that gives it to you, however if you like he would not reject you although it is not to his liking. Once Hoyt gave them an anniversary gift, it was a dildo, you still can't forget Thomas's face was so red.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh, since you've been together it has given him a new confidence and that also shows in how he usually plays with you. At first it seemed so strange to have so much sexual power instead of intimidating, but he is getting used to it. And that is starting to show when he makes fun of you. Have you ever had a kiss stolen from you that has left you breathless and wishing for more or even a spanking that has taken your breath away.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Delicious grunts, heavy breathing in your ear, and the occasional indecipherable word.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Tommy has started collecting things from his victims that seem pretty to you, like lipsticks, accessories and some trinkets.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He is not small at all, it is quite obvious he is a big boy in size and that also means his precious cock. It is long and thick, with a nice vein that surrounds it, about a fabulous 22 cm to fill you up and leave you more than satisfied.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Thomas's sexual desire is quite good, it is not very exaggerated, he is still human, who is someone of habits would not ask you for sex 24/7, but on a regular basis.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He would wait for you before you go to sleep, he likes to observe you a little before sleeping knowing that you are real and not a dream. If you haven't fallen asleep yet, he likes to hug you with his big arms to make you feel protected.

[likesomekindofcheese]

Promised Part Five (The Great Mini-series, Arranged Marriage AU)

A/N: Here it finally is!!!! Sorry it took forever, life happens.

Word Count: 4K

Summary: When the Emperor’s behavior gets your families alliance with Russia in danger, you agree to marry his best friend Grigor in order to make sure the alliance does not fall apart. You’re tossed into the Russian court and into the arms and bed of a Russian count, dodging his jealous ex lover, trying to survive the unpredictability.... but...what about yuou two? Are you and Grigor finally...feeling something for each other?

Warnings: Swearing, drunkeness, mentions of sex and nudity, marriage, and an in universe reference I couldn’t resist.

“Come here Sonya! Come here!” Lady Svenska cooed, wiggling her fingers.

The puppy trotted to her and she squealed in delight.

Tatiana bent her knees, her lime green dress bunching below her like icing on a cake as she did.

“Sonya! Sonya come!” she gestured.

With a happy trot, Sonya waddled over. She reached up, her tiny tail wagging.

“Oooo, good girl! Good girl!”

You had been invited to a tea party with the other ladies. Although you had gotten closer to the empress, you feared if they would see you as an enemy. Especially hearing of Catherine’s last tea party with them. So walking in, you brought your secret weapon. And it worked.

The only woman it seemed who was not having the time of her life with what was happening was Georgiana. Dressed in her purple gown and largest wig, she sat a little slumped on the couch. She was sipping her tea every now and then but crossing her arms. She stared daggers at the dog and how it trotted. She preferred any small circle that came over to obsess over the latest scandalous affair, but even then she kept one eye on Sonya as if the dog was a wolf ready to attack. She didn’t dare say a word to you. And you didn’t say a word to her. But if there was nothing said, then nothing bad could happen.

Smiling, you helped yourself to a red macaroon, delighting in the crunch and cream of it’s taste. Lady Svenska walked over to you and asked.

“Can she do tricks?” she questioned.

“Almost. She’s getting better at walking. She used to pull and run a lot, but she’s better at being obedient.”

“And she doesn’t tear things up?” she asked.

“Only sometimes. I have to watch where my dresses are stored,” you answered.

“Ah! She’s such a good dog! How lovely of you to bring her here, Madame Dymov!”

Georgiana’s eyes went dark.

“Will you come to our ball throwing this evening! It is most fun! Mine might go another inch!”

“I’d be delighted to! And be sure to tell me more about that maid with the baron old enough to be her grandfather too! And with copous details!” you added on.

“Oh! I do like you! And what of the Empress?”

“Well, we read. And we chat…”

“But all that reading!? Isn’t it time consuming!”

“A little. Her books can take time. I reread pages over and over…but in the best way. I suppose. It keeps her happy.”

“If you have any gossip about her, please share!”

“I..I, uh, will!” you promise.

“First of all, have you any plans or gifts to give her on her birthday, it’s coming up in about a month!”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” you mumbled.

At that moment your husband entered the room. He seemed a little uncomfortable with all of the flowers and pastel dresses, eyeing birds singing ditties in shiny cages and macaroons piled to his chest on platters.

“Oh, Y/N…where is Y/N?” he asked to one lady in a pink dress and grey wig.

She pointed in your direction and he smiled.

As he walked by, he passed the couch where Georgiana was sitting. Her shoe tapped his calf and he turned.

“Hello, Grigor…” she said with a faded grin.

“Hello, George,” he replied politely. Somehow, your blood felt hot. But yet, the marriage was over, so what if they even talked? He probably just enjoyed you talking with him and occasionally sleeping with him. But no, they had to be soulmates. And it was better not to disturb them. After all, despite the suddenness of the marriage, it would work. He would be happy.

“How is the party?” he asked, hands placed behind the back.

“Going perfect. We’re being introduced to the loud, hairy creature that lifts her leg when she pisses. Her dog is there too.” She quipped with a surprisingly relieved smile.

You froze. Little Sonya recognized Grigor and ran up to him, oblivious to how white his face was turning. A few fans were spread, and you barely heard feminine whispers of “…quite bitchy…” It got a little quiet. Even with the string quartet in the back was playing at a piano as if they wanted to hear what would happen next to.

Getting up, you turned around to leave them alone. Let them take it out. Let him laugh, Let her smile. Maybe even fuck against the wall like you noticed the odd couple doing on a night of reveling in the palace, no matter who might see or hear.

“George. I can’t control what you do on your own. But when you are with me, you will not speak about my wife in that matter.”

Pausing, you turned around. A couple quiet tears fell down your cheeks.

“You’re an esteemed lady of the court with the world at your fingertips. She’s a poor creature thrown into an arranged marriage, stolen from another country, and little to never to see any of her family or friends again while you just lay down and let Peter put fruit in your pussy and drink champagne.”

Wiping away tears with your hands, you stood still, not sure what to say. Grigor continued, truly angered and passionate.

“I didn’t marry her because of you. And she didn’t marry me so she could have my cock when you couldn’t. I did this so that we all- we all-“ he gestured to the people in the room “won’t be fucking ripped apart by Swede’s in a fortnight thanks to her families army. You will show her what little compassion you have in your tiny heart. You could even show her an ounce of gratitude for the sacrifice she and I made for the safety of everyone here, including yours. Or else I could have said no and let the swedes stab you in your tits when you’re asleep in the emperor’s bed. And I wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep over it too. But I did.”

She froze. There was even a couple of gasps.

Scooping the tiny dog in his arms, he turned ot you promptly.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I…I am…” you answered. “But I’m tired, let’s go home and play cards.”

“I agree.”

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 A week later, Grigor had partied so much with the Emperor last night, wrestling and playing with some man named Leon or whoever. You peaked in the door, and yawning, retired to your own apartments to sleep even if alone.

Waking up briefly in the grey air, you felt him crawling into bed at four in the morning. So you let him sleep in as you took Sonya on her morning walk. Besides, she would pout and whine if you didn’t walk at her certain time.

“Here you go, I know, Papa can’t be there-but I will,” you assured the dog.

You made your way through the halls into the gardens. Sonya was already getting bigger. The collar and leash made for her a while ago was getting snug on her fluffy body.

Enjoying the forest, you heard the rhythmic crunch of the leaves and sticks beneath Sonya’s prancing paws. The cold air stung your lungs in the best way. The sky looked clear and crisp.

Sonya pointed her snout in one direction. She began pulling and barking.

“What is it? Some sort of creature!” you thought, walking forward.

It wasn’t a mouse of squirrel, there was a person slumped against a tree, sitting on the dirt. Walking closer, you made out a dark green skirt and a hat, but a head of dark, curly hair made loose. She reeked of vodka and beer. Her face was pale to where she seemed ill, rather than the lovely cream color of her skin. And beneath her eyes there were several bags.

“G..Georgiana…”

She turned her head to you, squinting.

“Yes…” she grunted.

“What are you doing here?”

She began to laugh a little, bitterly.

“I could ask the same…what are you doing here?”

“I’m walking Sonya…she needs to be exercised so she won’t get into trouble from being bored,” you explained, gripping the leash.

“Huh, I know sometimes…sometimes Grigor goes with you…” her voice was deep and throaty, far from her usual speaking tone. As if every word was choked up.

She seemed so pitiful you didn’t have the heart to chafe her.

“Yes, yes he does…”

Her exhausted eyes wandered forward into the grove of trees. She kept speaking to you.

“Sometimes we’d walk together. Only if it was nice. We did everything together. Walking. Eating. Dancing. Bathing together. Did you know…I even got my portrait painted and he kept it in his room! Right next to his bed…he…he cared for me so much to where I was right there with him every morning even when I wasn’t next to him and now…now he hates me…”

She began to sniffle, and a few tears worked up.

“No. No, I don’t think he hates you at all…”

“Why did he speak to me that way?”

“He just…he got emotional. And he has been emotional because he loves you. He’s every bit as sad as you are for not marrying…”

Sonya walked over to the crying woman. Alerted by the sounds, she walked over and sniffed at her wet face. She broke out  a smile.

“But the truth is…in this court, there’s plenty of women who’ve fucked Peter. More than half. That’s just a fact of life. But I… I love it. I love having men want me, being worshipped, loved, is that wrong?”

“It’s normal,” you admitted. “it’s normal to want to be loved.”

“And the things it gives you. It’s not the least bad. I have all sorts of things. Dresses. Hats. A high position in court. Security. Comfort. Occasionally I can change laws and save lives with just a word-imagine that! And jewels. Jewels I used to dream of having. And I get to enjoy making love to a man who’s skilled at it. It might be the only way for a woman here to move up. That’s the way it is, is that wrong? Is it wrong to enjoy fucking and love a man too? For them to be separate men? They do it all the time and no one bats an eye bit when I do…”

She finally fell down into sobs.

“And he just...he couldn’t accept it. He claimed he loved me, and I… I love him, I still do, he just couldn’t accept me as I am and this world as it is…I thought he knew me…and that I knew him…”

She began to cry more; Sonya reached over and began to lick her face. She laughed at the ridiculous feeling of a dog’s tongue right on your nose and you began to laugh too.

“Georgiana…I’m so sorry I yelled at you that first day…I saw you as a threat and didn’t stop to think what you would feel. How I would feel if I was in your shoes…”

“Ugh, you’re…you’re as saccharine as…as…I don’t even know, Y/N. I’d put you in my…my mouth and my blood would rush, and they’d have to let it out with slugs.”

Taking out a handkerchief, you began to wipe her tears from her face.

“I’m not the one in tears…but…he used to keep a portrait of you…” you questioned.

“He did…is it there? Maybe….”

“Not anymore…” you explained flatly.

So that explained the circular area on the wall next to the bed.

“I know you really do love Grigor. And you care for him…but loving someone is hard. I love my family and friends back home, or unless I wanted to make all of them suffer or even get killed, I had to let them go to come here…sometimes, there are things you have to let go and move on from…” you assured her. You aren’t a bad person for wanting those things. You’re a smart person for figuring out how to get them. I admire you for it.”

“I just keep wondering…I keep wondering what would happen if he said yes…if he agreed to the terms…we’d be so happy…”

And he would see you with Peter and be miserable. Then god knows what would happen you thought.

You took her arm and helped her to her shaky legs.

“But there’s no use in that. Here, let’s get you back to the palace. I think after you get some water and some sleep, you might feel better…”

“But Y/N, Grigor I think…he’s in denial how Peter works here. If a woman needs anything in court, and if Peter picks you…he picks you. And, well, there’s nothing you can do about it…”

Your stomach lurched.

    “Grigor might want a faithful wife. He might’ve thought he got that with you but…defying the Emperor is a risk. Too huge. Why say no? After all, he’s a genius at fucking so it could be worse…”

“You need water, Georgiana. And you need to clean up. Then you’ll feel better…” you interrupted, trying to mother her away and ignoring the fear in your gut.

 But as you were strolling later in the week, returning from another one of the Empresses’s private discussions, you saw a few ladies eye down at the book. Perhaps they judged you. Perhaps they were jealous. But one bespecaled face saw you, smiled, and then hurried up.

“Orlo! How are you?”

“Y/N-er-Madame Dymov! Enough about me already- I heard the Empress gave you a copy of the Rousseau! What do you think!?” he asked excitedly.

His dark eyes glittered at the book in your hands. Holding it up to him you let him inspect it.

“I was…I was shocked at first. His ideas felt like…like a blast of cold wind. But I…he made good points. And I found myself agreeing after some time…” you explained with a shrug.

“He’s one of my favorites, and tehre’s so much…so much inside there. But I…I wish I could explain it all…”

“Let’s go to my place, I’ll call for a plate...” you offered with a shrug and a smile.

Introducing him to the drawing room, he settled down shyly on the seat in front of the fire. You brought in some tea with a strawberry cake and wound up talking for a straight hour. He got his own turn to pet on little Sonya as she licked his fingers from the cake crumbs. You discussed Rousseau, then he went on to talk about Voltaire, Plato, Paine. Ideas stretched you and you found yourself talking about things you could never imagine debating about with anyone. About people. Power. Faith. Life. Death. Purpose, if there was one at all. Your cup became cold and you had to reheat it by pouring some liquid into it.

Orlo glowed as he explained it all. He was not condescending. In fact, it felt like being in school with  a good teacher. You understood and appreciated it even more. You were amazed with the depth of knowledge he had. Beneath his mousy exterior, there was a brilliant mind. Perhaps even genius. You were amazed in him. Strands of his hair loosened out and he smiled more, seeming relaxed and confident. Far more confident than you ever knew him to be in public.

“But out of all of them, I think my favorite is…”

The door creaked as it opened.

His head turned and you saw Grigor walking in. His face was pink, and his eyebrows crossed.

“Hello Orlo, what are you doing with my wife?” he asked, his lips tight and his voice firm.

“I, uh…” he found himself blubbering. His posture slouched and his hands retreated.

Standing at once, you walked up to Grigor with as much poise as you could.

“The empress gifted me with a book and Orlo was asking me about it over tea, nothing more…” you explained plainly.

“It’s fascinating. Isn’t it!” you added, throwing back a look.

Orlo nodded shyly, getting out of the seat like it had spikes.

“Very.”

“Oh, alright…” Grigor replied quietly.

Once Orlo thanked you for hosting him and shuffled out, Grigor’s eyes never left his steps.

 He was quiet over dinner. You had to ask questions about his day and have Sonya’s begging fill the silence. Later, you changed into your nightgown to see Grigor was already in bed.

You saw him curl up to the other side. Not turning around, holding the blanket over his shoulders and leaving your side disproportionally cold.

With a huff, you placed your hands on your hips.

“What is it?” You had a guess, but you wanted to hear it from him.

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong” he said in a tone that said something was definitely wrong.

“What is it…tell me…” you wheedled, sitting on the bed and leaning closer to him.

He turned around.

“I understand we agreed to follow orders to marry. Not for us. Our countries, the safety of your family and for their workers and tenets to not go hungry, for protection, the alliance, and for Russia to succeed against the Swedes… but I know you didn’t choose to marry me…if you…if you…are in love… then I guess it would make it easier…but you will at least be honest with me and not play around when you fall in love with some man!”

“In love? With Orlo?!” you added.

His head snapped back at the sound of his name.

“If you love the prick, then that’s fine! It will make you bear being here better- it’s all fine!” He if it will make you bear this, bear being married to me…”

“I’m not in love with Orlo!” you laughed, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched a little, but didn’t turn away.

“What…you aren’t? Both of you always talk together.”

 “I always talk with the empress, and Tatyana and everyone else too. They’re my friends. He’s my friend as well… and…I…I promised you I won’t hurt you. That I will do my best not to hurt you…and you’re obviously hurt…” you reasoned.

The clock chimed the hour in the back.

“I…yes, I was…I had memories of when…you know…” he muttered out, looking down.

You folded your arms and turned away from him.

“Well, have you ever kissed Georgiana since our marriage? I guess you can run back to her, like I’m apparently running to Orlo. Should I be worried about her?”

“Uh-no! Not at all! We’ve barely talked since the betrothal! I talk more to Sonya than I do to her in a fortnight!” he said, pointing to the dog curled asleep on her pillow.

You crossed your arms and started to laugh a little. A smile cracked on his thin face as well.

“If I have no reason to suspect you of anything with George, you have no reason to suspect anything of me and Orlo!” you reasoned with a shrug.

Leaning forward, you pulled more of the cover to your side. He relented.

 Both of you were tense. Words left your voice.

“Just dinner and drinks with your friend, nothing more. Perfectly normal.” You assured.

Even if it meant eating in his chambers with large portraits all over the wall and a big green bed on the other side. Peter stood up and greeted you both. His arms were wide, pearls dangling from his neck.

“Ah, hello! Join me!” Peter cheered. “Grigor-make yourself at home! There’s already some food.

You carefully walked in, placing yourself on the couch and folded your hands in front of your lap. Unsure of what to do or say. A finger nudged you.

“Here, Y/N…here’s the seat for you!” your husband said, taking his large hands around your waist and picking you up as you let out a smile.

Grigor placed you on his lap, like he did on your wedding. Smiling, you accepted the feeling of him nearby and settled your weight. The closeness far more natural than ever. Grigor’s arms were warm as they passed dishes around from one man to the Emperor. A serf poured a Kiev vdoka and you enjoyed yourselves.

“I tell you- fucked a horse! It’s just a rumor-but can you believe it!” he said.

Laughing in spite of yourself, you shook your head insisting “no, I don’t!”

Smiling. Laughing. Everything felt normal. You laughed so hard you almost snorted your drinkand covered your mouth, laughing more at the dirtier humor. Years ago, your mother would have become so uncomfortable at such words she would excuse herself and complain about it later. Laughs held back were finally released, you jaw uhrt and your cheeks felt hot.

“And that’s what hapoens when you use the duck whistle on the balcony-“Oh, Grigor! Have I fucked your wife yet?”

The drink you were sipping almost spat out of your mouth and you coughed it out. Both of you froze again. You felt Grigor tense up. His breath quickened. His face turned white and then red and then white again. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared.

Turning your head back, you began to give a charming smile at the emperor, even giving the little half smile you noticed to do. You decided if the subject came up, you would be prepared.

“Your highness, of yes, of course we’ve fucked. Several times!” you said.

Where he couldn’t see, you kicked Grigor’s leg to alert him.

“Oh, really!” he said.

“Ah! What a Casanova you are, Emperor! Losing track! But…”

You circled the rim of your glass, and then added on.

“I have an eternally dry pussy, can’t suck cock to save my life, and an ass so tight that deflects any object near the hole so it’s been rather disappointing. It’s a miracle my husband tolerates me. He’s hardly been able to finish the job!”

He tilted his head, pondering it with a hmmmm. Glancing at Grigor, you quickly mouthed “play along.” His eyes bright, he nodded at you, and then to the Emperor in agreement.

“Yes! Fucking Y/N is a total disappointment. Remember her place? They’re boring, plain people even when fucking.”

Peter nodded in agreement, his eyes up to the sky as if thinking about the fake experience. Not that it was to think.

“Humph. I…I think you’re right. It was disappointing. Grigor, if you need me to order you a whore, let me know.”

You kept your hand on his and you saw his eyes dart in confusion and realization, his brain thinking a hundred thoughts.

“Please pour me another drink…” you said, holding your cup to a serf.

“Besdies, Catherine…she’s been having all these ideas about art. And I saw a portrait and I…I cried! I fucking cried-can you believe it? I never knew she could..could even make me feel like that!”

 As you left the chambers, you squeezed his hand. Both of you let out a breath and continued some nervous laughter until you were both home.

“That was brilliant!” He praised, sinking in relief in the chair. There was already a fire crackling, drawing warmth into the chilly room.

“I knew he would bring it up, soon. So, I might as well. Now you don’t have to worry about anything…at least for now…” you said with a shrug.

“Oh, but the party tomorrow…you’ll be careful. I think people will be very merry and he might…get carried away…”

“Just give him a galloon a vodka then, he’ll won’t be able to stand.”

 --------------------------------------------------

As the party the next night raged on, it struck you that it was Grigor who was well on his way to drinking a gallon of vodka. The rooms glowed yellow orange with all of the candles. Stringed guitars played out dancing tunes with throaty Russian lyrics where although the words were hard to understand, you had to tap your toes. Women walked by with snakes draped over their necks and you stared in frightened awe at the creature, as if in Eden. Your own gown was a pale pink with bows on the stomacher, a ruffled skirt beneath the first one, and you hair done up in flowers and feathers. You even agreed to wear a beauty mark of a small dog on your cheek. Girgor himself had a grey wig and his finest, deep green suit. He eyed plates of vodka, reaching for two small glasses and downing them…and supper would be served in an hour.

You noticed and Empress and Emperor dancing. She swished her pale pink skirt and he twirled in a black skirt, carefree. It was almost like watching a fight, how they were both powerful yet matched each other.”

“Come on, you sad bastards!? Why aren’t you dancing!? Dance! I command you!” Peter cried out in joy.

“Y/N! Y/N- we haven’t danced too much-let’s dance! Dance with me!” Grigor insisted, pulling you further down.

“Grigor, that’s the vodka talking!”

The musicians were warming up for the next piece in the corner.

“I…I don’t know the…” you mumbled in a panic as other couples filled the floor.

“Oh no-just follow me!” He said with a big smile and his face flushed.

  Still you ran out with him, mimicking hand movements and your feet trying to keep up with the steps. If you felt him leading you somewhere, you followed. If you sepearted in lines, you kept an eye on him.

“Girgor…do the trick! The trick!” Peter insisted, running up in the middle.

Eyes wide, you saw your husband grab hold of your body.

“Here. Y/N! I can do it- hold on! Jump up.

He lifted you up in his arms and twirled you up, his arms adjusting to hold you up so that he held you up by your legs, your stomach to his face. You could hear him muffling beneath your clothes.

“We need smof practif…”

But Peter laughed and you heard loud applauding as faces turned to look at you. Even George’s own face had a smile, albeit a sad one.

He set you down.

“Let’s try it again, put your leg on my shoulder…now your other leg..ooof! Now, this one is better!”

He lifted you up so high, you realized you were on his shoulders, and emabarrasingly his head was near your crotch. The court applauhded and laughed and huzzahed. It was so fun you almost forgot your fear of being dropped. you laughed as you held onto his shoulders for deaer life, thrilled to see everyone smaller before you. As if they dhrunk or you became a giant. The chandeliers dripping with diamonds were easy to your touch, your fingertips grazed one as Grigor walked in a circle.

“Ha! I knew you could do it good chap!” Peter applauded before asking.

Grigor placed you down with a smile, he placed his hands on your cheeks and for a moment you thought he was going to kiss you, then his eyes wandered to some vodka and he took another shot.

 He was singing as the party ended late in the night. You struggled to support him over your shoulders.

“Grigor…be careful…”

Once you got into the room, Sonya woke up from her nap and barked, jumping at your feet. Staggering, you brought him to your bedchambers.

“Let’s get your clothes off…” you said, pulling his coat off and placing it on the floor.

“You wish to see me naked, you could’ve asked, darling…”

Sighing, you poured the hot water into the golden tub.

“If you don’t bathe, then you’re sleeping with Sonya…”

He leaned down in his shift and breeches to the wagging tail beneath him.

“Oh….hello doggie, cute doggie…good doggie…”

“To bath, Grigor!”

Eventually, you got him to bathe enough to where he didn’t reek of alcohol. Once he dried off, you pushed his breeches onto him.

“None of that tonight with you drunk off your head!”

“Can’t I at least kiss you?” he complained childishly.

“Fine, but it stops at kissing!”

Once you finally settled within your own sheets, legs and feet sore from dancing, you barely put the blankets over you when  you felt two large arms wrap themselves around you and hug you tight, pulling you close. He laughed a bit before kissing you on top of your head. You smirked and let him obloge. Then you felt him relax.

“Y/N, I love you….”

You froze solid, your stomach dropping.

“What?”

He took a hand and placed it on your cheek again, before it sloppily fell down.

“Y/N, my sweet angel…I love you…”

Shaking your head, you pulled the covers above you both.

“That’s the vodka talking, now go to sleep….”

He went back to holding you, turning you so that your back was turned to him, you felt and smelt his breath as he kept speaking.

“I love you, Y/N. I’m falling in love with you this minute and…I’m fucking terrified…”

You let his arms settle.

“Don’t wanna…get hurt, get shat on…but every day I’m….falling more in love with you…and it makes me both so happy and scared I could fucking scream…that was why Orlo fucking scared me, and Peter, that wonderful, bastard. I love him, but if he lays a hand on you, I swear to god…”

“Grigor…you need to sleep. You’re drunk. Only time will wear it off.”

Besides, it was better to not get your hopes up.

‘I can’t believe I’m fucking falling in fucking love all over again…never thought after George that I would….never would let myself…thought ”

“But Grigor…you….”

“I’d like to see you…see you happy. See your smiling face before I sleep.”

You gave him a small smile and his eyes fluttered shut.

“Grigor…do you…do you love me….do you really love me…”

You gave him a small smile. He then rolled on his belly, spread like a starfish. He was snoring deeply in minutes.

“Because I think I’m falling in love with you too…” you wanted to say.

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Somebody To You: 26

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CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Last night was draining and Zoey hardly got any sleep. There were too many thoughts running through her head. Being back home gave her mixed emotions. There were so many great memories filled with lots of great people, but there was so much loss, as well. She felt like she was on a death march, visiting a terminally ill man, a son who is about to lose his father, and bereaved parents. The knowledge of the losses made her normally bright and cheery little suburb feel dark and gray. How was she supposed to make light in these situations? She stressed, trying to figure out how she was supposed to act when she met Mr. and Mrs. Lewis for lunch.

“Just relax, it’s going to be fine,” Michael tried soothing her in the car on the way to their house. “You don’t have to impress them. They’ve known you for years. Just act normal.”

Zoey took a deep breath, nodding. He was right. This isn’t her first time spending time with them. But it was her first visit since she’s moved to LA on their dime and she felt pressured to explain or justify all that has been going on in her life since moving there. How do you thank the people responsible for changing your life in so many different ways?

The first thing Zoey noticed when they pulled up to the house was the different flower beds by the front door. They had done some rearranging. Honestly, it was refreshing to see at least a minor change in scenery. Still, her nerves began to grow as they made their way to the front door. She began to contemplate whether she should knock or just go right in, having always done that in the past. But she figured its been too long since she’s been here to just walk in, so she knocked, bouncing anxiously on her toes. Within seconds the door flew open and was instantly being enveloped by Mrs. Lewis’s curly blonde hair. Zoey’s worry eased at the sound of the woman’s delighted laughter, pulling away to take a good look at each other. 

“Oh, Zoey, you look beautiful with your hair down,” Mrs. Lewis cooed, smiling adoringly at her, “Come in, Mr. Lewis should be back any minute with the pizza. Hello, Michael, how are you?”

“I’m doing well, thank you,” Michael grinned as they followed Mrs. Lewis inside, closing the door behind them and making their way to the eat-in kitchen. 

Mrs. Lewis looked different than the last time Zoey saw her. She was more put-together, wearing a little bit more makeup and in business-casual clothes, instead of the robes and oversized sweaters that she had gotten used to wearing after the death of her daughter. Her eyes weren’t sunken and dark any longer, instead, they were bright blue and she had a glow about her that radiated through her smile; something she hadn’t seen Mrs. Lewis do in over a year. She seemed to be doing better, and Zoey couldn’t have been happier about that.

“I was so happy to get that phone call from you yesterday, Michael. I didn’t know you were going to be in town,” Mrs. Lewis turned to Zoey, pulling out cups and plates in preparation for her husband’s arrival with their lunch.

“I didn’t either,” Zoey admitted, “It was a last-minute plan to come after hearing about Paul.”

Mrs. Lewis nodded seriously, “Yes, I’m so sorry to hear about your dad, Michael. How are you feeling?”

Mrs. Lewis listened intently as Michael confessed himself to her; something Zoey was surprised by. Michael was never one to delve into his feelings too much, but it seemed that he had so many thoughts pent up, understandably, that when provided with an outlet to express his feelings without the worry of judgment or hurting anyone else’s feelings (like he would have had he expressed these thoughts to his parents, perhaps) he was able to really dig deep to the root of his worry and have a weight lifted off his shoulders from the burden it carried.

Michael wasn’t an emotional person. He could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen him cry. So when she saw a tear trickle down his cheek, Zoey couldn’t help but get emotional and cry along with him. She felt for him. What do you say to a person who is about to lose their father?

She felt guilty for not being there for him sooner. For letting their ties loosen so much that he felt he couldn’t confide in her anymore. It was no wonder he didn’t absolutely hate her for it. He deserved much better than what she’s offered him in the past five months. 

When Michael had reached the end of his rant, Zoey felt the urge to hug him, pulling him into the tightest, warmest hug she could muster as she pushed her tears aside. He relaxed into her embrace and felt the shuddering of his body begin to calm until his breathing evened out. She’d never seen him in so much pain before and she couldn’t blame him for breaking down in front of Mrs. Lewis. But if anyone would understand what he’s going through, it was her. 

Mrs. Lewis rounded the table and wrapped her arms around Michael, motherly shushing him and gently rocking him back and forth making a grown twenty-eight-year-old man look like a child in her arms. Michael seemed to calm from his uneasiness and cleared his throat, wiping his eyes as Mrs. Lewis sat back down in his seat. He was embarrassed, but neither of them criticized him for it. How could they? He had every right to feel what he was feeling. 

Not even a minute later, Mr. Lewis came stumbling through the front door, making his way back and beaming when he saw the two of them sitting at the table.

“You made it!” he exclaimed, plopping the boxes of pizza in the center of the table and reaching out for a quick hug while his wife began serving slices. He noticed Michael’s puffy red eyes and looked as though he was about to say something, but decided not to at the last minute, resorting to, “Dig in, I want to hear all about what you two have been up to.”

They each had a bite of their pizza while Mrs. Lewis eyed them curiously, asking, “So, are you two back together, or…?”

“No,” Zoey hurriedly responded, swallowing down her bite of food, “No, Mikey, here, has found himself a girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend yet,” Michael narrowed his eyes at her.

Zoey grinned in amusement, wiggling her eyebrows at Mr. and Mrs. Lewis who laughed, “So how did you meet this girl?”

“She’s a new hire at work. She’s the receptionist.”

“So no dating apps for you, then, huh?” Mr. Lewis joked before turning to Zoey, “What about you? Any boyfriends in LA?”

Zoey shrugged, feeling a little more confident in being more open now that she knew she didn’t have to worry about Michael being hurt. But she didn’t want to get into too much detail. Surely they didn’t need to know about all of her one night stands, friends with benefits, and sleeping with an international celebrity. So she simply said, “I’ve been dipping my toes in the dating scene, but nothing serious so far.”

“No?” Mrs. Lewis asked, expression bordering confusion, “I thought your mom said you had a boyfriend who took you and your sister to Italy for your birthday?”

Zoey’s eyes widened, unsure of what to say. Certainly, no one ever told her mother that Harry and she were a thing. Mrs. Lewis must have misunderstood. At least she was none the wiser on who the supposed ‘boyfriend’ was. She shook her head, laughing in an attempt to conceal her surprise, “No, no, no. I mean, yeah, I went to Italy, but it was with several of my friends. Boy friends, not boyfriend.” 

She stared at them fixedly to make sure they believed her. When they nodded and continued to ask her about her trip to Italy, she felt Michael’s suspicious gaze on the side of her face. She ignored it, telling them all about the guided tour, Katie’s crush on a cute Italian boy, shopping in the lanes, pizza making, wine tasting, and all of the dreamy nights spent poolside underneath the stars. 

“We’ve only been there once on our honeymoon,” Mrs. Lewis fondly recalled, smiling dewy-eyed, “I’m so glad you were able to meet some nice friends in LA. Jess would be so happy for you.”

Mr. Lewis placed a supportive hand on his wife’s back and Zoey pursed her lips with wide puppy-eyes. She missed Jess and wished, more than anything, she could have experienced all of this with her. She wanted to make new friends in LA with her, immerse themselves in Italian culture, she wanted to go on double dates with Jess, she wanted to go on more beach trips with her and ride on the back of sketchy motorcycles side-by-side, she wanted to tell Jess all about Harry and all the gross, cliche, sappy little moments between them that made the butterflies in her stomach go crazy. She wished Jess were here as a lending ear to hear her rant about the absurdity that came along with stupid boy crushes and as a shoulder to cry on when the unavoidable overwhelming grief took over her when Paul was no longer here. 

They’ll be together, she told herself. She’ll be in safe hands with Paul. They’ll be looking down on all of us, proud. They did this. The two of them. Jess and Paul were the light of this town, the reason why so many were compassionate, kind, and happy. And Zoey took solace in knowing that the world was a better place because of those two people. She was a better person because of them. And she will love them until the day she meets them again.

The minor display of emotion caused a group hug between the four of them and when they pulled away, they all laughed. After lunch, Mr. and Mrs. Lewis took the two of them to the poolhouse to check out Jess’s old living space. They hadn’t done much with it. They explained that they had plans to eventually make it into a guest house. They wanted to paint and get new furniture, but they hadn’t had the heart to change it entirely just yet. Most of her things were still there. Framed pictures of her with her friends, books that she was reading, most of her wardrobe still in the closet and dresser drawers. But it looked cleaner and more organized. There weren’t random clothes strewn about the floor or makeup covering the vanity. It felt different.

“Do you mind….can I have this?” Zoey asked, holding up a framed picture of her and Jess sitting on Zoey’s trampoline.

Mrs. Lewis smiled, nodding a yes. They talked a little longer before they decided it was probably time to get going and the couple led them to the front. “I’m so glad you were able to stop by, you guys. Thank you for thinking of us,” Mrs. Lewis sang.

“Thanks for having us. And for the pizza,” Michael smiled, giving them each a hug, followed by Zoey.

As they made their way towards Michael’s car, Zoey suddenly remembered and turned, calling out, “Oh! I almost forgot. My parents are having a BBQ tomorrow around 2. It’ll be my last night here before I catch the red-eye home. Would you two like to come? Michael’s parents will be there, too.”

The two of them smiled, looking at each other briefly before nodding and Mr. Lewis said, “We’ll see you two tomorrow, then.”

She grinned at them before jumping in Michael’s car and heading back to her parents’ house. The journey back was mostly discussions reflecting on Mr. and Mrs. Lewis and how happy they were to see the two of them in a better mental state than the previous year, but by the time they reached Zoey’s house, the conversation had changed to bets on which parent got drunk at the BBQ first. Zoey bet Paul would be first while Michael had bet on Mr. Lewis.

She had assumed that Michael would only be dropping her off at home, saying a quick goodbye to her parents on the way out. But her mom had cornered him, practically forcing him to stay for dinner as she was making her ‘world-famous shepherds pie’, which honestly had no taste to it and had no business being called ‘world-famous’. Not wanting to be rude, Michael accepted and stayed to eat. Throughout dinner Mary subtly hinted at her desire for Zoey to move back home, discussing the office remodel, mentioning little trips they could take as a family, and visits to Katie in college. It was clear that she was suffering from pre-empty nest syndrome, but she was laying it on thick.

After dinner was finished, Zoey had offered to clear the table, and with the help of Michael, loaded the dishes into the dishwasher. She dried her hands on a spare dish rag that sat on the countertop, staring at the framed picture of her and Jess that she had placed there right before they ate. Michael looked over at her, then to the yard, and back at her. 

“Come on,” he urged, taking the picture and leading the way towards the back door.

Zoey followed him outside, the sun setting and the faint, flickering glow of the lightning bugs hovered and the warm porch lights illuminated the garden. Michael climbed onto the trampoline, bouncing on his knees as she climbed on after him. The lack of netting surrounding the trampoline always terrified her mom, but she and her sister always hated the idea of being confined, so she left it open. 

The springs from the trampoline squeaked and creaked as they sat cross-legged, facing each other. Zoey slipped the picture out of Michael’s hands, running a few fingers across Jess’s face. She hadn’t seen her in so long that she was beginning to feel like Jess was a made-up imaginary friend. She needed these pictures and trinkets, like her bracelet, as proof of her existence. 

“Can’t believe it’s been a year,” Zoey hushed.

Michael nodded, pausing before wondering, “What do you think we’d be doing right now if she was still here?”

“We’d probably still be together,” Zoey said, laughing and looking up at him, teary-eyed “My life has changed so much in the past year. I’ve experienced more in the last four months than I have my whole entire life and she wasn’t here for any of it.”

“She was there,” Michael placed a reassuring hand on her knee, “you know that.”

“It’s not the same,” she shook her head, laying down on her back to look up at the stars, her hair scattering around her while holding the picture to her stomach.

Michael laid down beside her, sighing. The two of them had been through so much in the past year, and it still wasn’t over. He was glad that someone else understood what he was going through, but the fact that they had to go through this at all was ridiculous. There was a long silence before Zoey finally spoke again, the subject changed.

“So...tell me about this new girl of yours. Has she met the parents yet?”

Michael groaned again, “No because it’s not serious yet.”

“Oh, come on, you don’t have to be afraid to tell me. I broke up with you, remember?”

“There’s just not much to say. It’s too new,” Micheal shrugged, turning his attention towards her. “Besides, what about you?”

“What about me?” she asked defensively, furrowing her eyebrows at him.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he smirked, “you don’t think I noticed the panic in your voice when Mrs. Lewis mentioned the ‘FRIEND’ who took you and Katie to Italy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she blushed, looking back up at the night’s sky.

“I was with you for over four years. I know when you’re lying.”

Zoey rolled her eyes in annoyance, hating how predictable and easy-to-read she was. Hating the fact that she was about to talk about a man she considered to be her soulmate to a man she thought she would end up marrying. When did her life become this complicated?  

“First of all, he was never my boyfriend. Nothing even happened before the trip to Italy,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, so things happened in Italy, then?” He sounded cheeky, “Tell me about him. What’s he like?”

Zoey chuckled, trying to connect the dots of the stars above her, seeing what sort of pictures she could make out of them, “You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you,” she said under her breath. Sighing, she spoke louder, “It doesn’t matter, though. We kind of got into a fight. I don’t think it’s going to work out.”

“A fight about what?”

“Something stupid,” she admitted, “I called him out because he can’t ever make up his mind about what he wants and I basically told him I didn’t want to waste my time. He’s the one that called at dinner last night.”

“Is that why you came inside looking all upset?” Michael turned to look at Zoey, earning a nod in response. Michael slowly turned to look back up at the sky, putting his hands behind his head to elevate it a bit more, “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re right. You deserve to be prioritized. You’re worth it.”

“Thanks, Mikey.”

“No problem.”

The two of them laid there in comfortable silence for what felt like an hour, counting the stars when they heard a crack from the back door opening and closing. She figured it would just be Katie wanting to join in on the conversation. But when a deep, humble, monotone voice sounded her name from behind them, the two of them sat up, surprised by the unexpected visitor.

“Harry?!”

KEEP READING

------------------------------------------

Taglist for Somebody To You:

@thurhomish​ , @stilljosiegrossie​ , @odetostep​ , @apples2019​ , @stylesmioamore​ , @inyourhaven​

[unfragilelove]

when all is lost, then all is found.  (1/1)

This is the idea that’s been knocking around in my head and refusing to let me rest until I spat it out on paper.   I hope you all enjoy.  <3 (begins post-Frozen 1, and ends post-Frozen 2.)

Frohana/Kristanna    ||   No warnings/rating    ||    ao3 link

“If you don’t mind my asking, why did you travel with ice harvesters as a child?   Why didn’t you live in an Arendelle orphanage?” Kristoff just shrugs.  “Because there isn’t one.”

aka:   The royal family establishes the first orphanage in Arendelle, and the children are not the only ones who find a home within it's walls.

Arendelle has always prided itself on being well-run kingdom, fortunate enough to have an abundance of resources, plenty of trade, a fairly stable economy, and residents who rarely disturb the peace.

Which is why it comes as such a shock to Anna and Elsa when, in a conversation with Kristoff, full of quiet admissions and tales of their childhood, the topic comes up:

  “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you travel with ice harvesters as a child?   Why didn’t you live in an Arendelle orphanage?”

  Kristoff just shrugs.  “Because there isn’t one.”

  Anna’s jaw drops and Elsa looks a combination of surprised and uncomfortable, both of the women falling silent for several long moments, seemingly at a loss for words.

  “There isn’t one?”  Anna speaks up first, her voice incredulous, “Not anywhere in our entire kingdom?”

  “No.   But, to be fair, it’s not like there are a lot of displaced kids in Arendelle.”

  “But when there are,”  Anna says, her voice rising with her building emotions,  “When it does come up, and there are parents who can’t take care of their baby, or a kid whose parents die,”  Elsa and Kristoff both wince a bit at that, and the waver in Anna’s voice speaks for itself,  “We don’t have anywhere for them to go?”

  Kristoff presses his lips together in a tight frown, unable to find the words to ease her mind.  Admittedly, it does bother him, too— the thought of other children growing up without homes, and perhaps not ending up as fortunate as he did.  (Trolls they may be, but they’re his family, all the same.)

  “I feel awful, for not even knowing.”  Elsa says, her voice quiet and eyes pensive. 

  “Up until a few months ago, you two spent your entire lives inside the castle walls.  It’s not your fault that you don’t know every inch of Arendelle yet.”  Kristoff says, looking at the two downtrodden sisters, and hoping to assuage some of their guilt.

  “But we can change that, right?”  Anna asks, though her voice leaves little room for argument.  “We could create a place where kids can be safe.  Somewhere that they can stay until they find home and families, somewhere they don’t have to be alone anymore.”

  None of them seem inclined to disagree.

  It’s a fairly small thing, Arendelle’s Home for Children, but it’s plenty homey, with plush blankets on warm beds, and boxes full of toys, and a view of the fjord through the dining room window.   It’s located right outside the castle gates, too, which makes overseeing the building process all the easier.   (They all play a role in it’s creation, Kristoff helps with a lot of the hands-on work, Elsa oversees the plans, and Anna is the creative force behind it all, offering ideas and helping in any way she can.)

  The demand for an orphanage was not immense, but it's a cause that proves itself more than necessary.

  This rings particularly true, when it hasn't even been a week after they finish painting the outer walls, and they are approached by a woman, tears rolling down her face, a young toddler in her arms.   A child that is not hers, but her brother’s, who went out for what was supposed to be a two-day trek into the mountains and failed to return alive, and she simply can’t raise the boy herself anymore, she’s sorry, so sorry--

  (It isn't long at all before a couple-- two lovely women, both skilled blacksmiths-- tentatively come into the Home.   They’ve wanted a child of their own for years now, and considering the way the couple’s eyes well up with tears when the two tiny hands reach up toward them,  Anna, Elsa and Kristoff all have no doubt they made the right decision.)

  As time passes, the amount of children in the Home ebbs and flows— thankfully, they’ve rarely had more than five residents at any given time, and in the two whole years since it’s been open, they’ve said tearful farewells to almost a dozen children who’ve found happy homes with new parents.

  Turns out, there are kids in Arendelle who need a safe place to live, but there are also plenty of couples--  same-sex couples, or ones who cannot bear children, or individuals who simply want to adopt a child into their life--  who are equally grateful for the opportunity to expand their family.

  It may be far from a lucrative business, but it’s brought them far more fulfillment than any amount of coin could.

   When they first opened Arendelle’s Home for Children, Gerda had offered her assistance in running the place.   Anna, who remembered how kind she was to her as a child, knew she’d be as good a fit as any.   And now, coming up on two and a half years into the endeavor, it still rings true.    However, while Gerda remains the primary live-in caretaker, the royal family’s presence has been far from absent.

  Kristoff spends a fair amount of time down in the Home, often bringing Sven, who happily brays and lets the kids hang off his antlers, or ride on his back.   He can’t help but talk for Sven, too, which almost always makes the younger children giggle and squeal in delight.    

  There’s one little girl there, Sylvi, with pale skin and tangled blonde hair, who mostly keeps to herself— she’s nonverbal, and hasn’t quite warmed up to any of them yet, curling away from any sort of physical contact. 

(They’re not sure if she was born that way, or if it’s a coping mechanism, or some combination of both. They know next to nothing about her past, but they’ll do everything they can to ensure her a happy future.)    

  She still remains rather closed-off, despite being at the Home for a few months now.   But then, on a crisp Spring morning, something incredible happens-- Kristoff breaks out in Sven’s voice, and Sylvi’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.   She smiles-- the very first smile they’ve seen cross her face in all the time she’s been there-- and she wanders over to bury her hands happily in the thick texture of the reindeer’s fur.   It’s the most progress they’ve seen her make thus far, and Kristoff has never felt prouder.

      Meanwhile, Anna spends any free time she has at the Home, too-- enthusiastically telling the kids stories of her adventures, (usually with Olaf at her side, reenacting the scenes with equal enthusiasm.)   And she’s almost always bringing the kids more toys. (“Your highness, how many times must I insist there are already too many toys to keep the place tidy!”   “Oh, come on Gerda, how am I supposed to be considered a kind and generous princess if I don’t spoil my favorite little Arendellians!   Plus, Kristoff and I already started building them bigger toy boxes, don’t worry.”)   

  There’s a boy there, Fredrik, with wild curly locks and a gap-toothed grin, who always runs and flings himself into Anna’s arms.  He, too, always has a new story to tell— of he and the other kids playing pirates, or this baby rabbit he saw in the woods, or the way he swears there’s a sea monster in the fjord.    Sometimes he’ll stop himself mid-sentence, as though realizing he’s rambling, and stumbles over an apology-- in a way that feels painfully familiar to Anna.   But she’ll be damned if she makes a child feel any of the same inadequacy she did.    With a shake of her head and a smile, she’ll urge him on, “Well, don’t leave me hanging!   You’ve gotta tell me what happened next!”   

The way his face always brightens in response is worth more than anything in the world.   

    Elsa stops by frequently, as well— though at first it had taken her a bit longer to get used to being around children, mostly due to the fear she still wasn’t fully in control of her powers.     Once she had begun to visit, though, the children quickly grew on her, and she’ll often make them little flurries and piles of snow to play in during the hot summer months.   There’s an older girl in her late teens, named Runa— who starts to sit next to Elsa while the younger children play.   Runa is mostly blind, but she often requests little ice sculptures from Elsa, a smile always gracing her face as she runs her fingers along the frigid curves of each figurine.    Of course, they have plenty of wooden toys that could serve the same purpose.  So one day, Elsa can't help but to ask, “Doesn’t the cold bother you?”  

Runa shrugs,  “I’ve never minded it.”  

  Perhaps it’s not so much the ice figurines she enjoys, as much as it is the company and kindness of another.

   Of course, all the children who have come into the Home hold special places in each of their hearts.   It’s a complicated sort of love, as every farewell they have is a bittersweet one (it means they’ll see the child far less, if at all--  but it means they've found a real home, which is so, so good.)   

  And on a similar vein, every child they watch get passed up by potential families breaks their hearts.   

  It's Autumn when a lot changes in an incredibly short span of time.   By the time the dust fully settles in Arendelle, Anna’s both engaged and coronated as Queen, Elsa lives in the Enchanted Forest with the Northuldra, and there’s an entire chunk of their kingdom’s history that needs retelling.    For Anna, in particular, the queendom comes incredibly natural to her— but the journey it took to get there, the mass of secrets their family kept, holding Olaf as he perished, the gripping fear that she was truly alone , followed by nearly dying on the dam--  well, that all is a bit harder to come to terms with.  

  Eventually, though, things calm down enough for them to fall back in to a mostly normal routine, and they waste no time visiting the Home regularly once more.   There, they find a couple new residents, and, unfortunately-- three familiar faces who’ve yet to find homes.

Sylvi, despite most families passing her by, makes great strides-- she warms up to Kristoff through her comfort around Sven, and begins to trust the sisters, too.   Elsa, with her calm and composed demeanor, seems to put her at ease.   And Anna, though far more excitable than her sister in nature, is always careful to not to overstimulate or stress the child out.   Eventually, the first time Sylvi makes proper eye contact with someone is with Anna, her curious little eyes becoming absolutely fixated on the princess’s face as she tells her a story.    The little one doesn’t even seem to realize she’s doing it, and yet it takes Anna all the willpower she can muster to stay focused on the tale she’s weaving, and not start to cry right then and there.

  Fredrik, meanwhile, is a lovebug with just about everyone, as outgoing as ever and never seeming to run low on energy.   He loves nature, always asking to ride Sven, or picking up little snails off the cobblestone path and moving them to safety, or doodling different plants he finds throughout the town.   He can almost always be found running around playing with Olaf, or dragging the other children into games, or asking Kristoff and Anna to take him on hikes, or running headfirst into a snow pile Elsa made-- (to which she quickly has to add extra snow to cushion him from hitting the ground beneath, and dear gods , these children will never fail to keep their reflexes sharp.) 

  Elsa, although no longer living there, still visits Arendelle rather frequently.   While it’s their family game night that keeps her coming back weekly, she makes time to visit the Home, as well.    Despite it being a regular occurrence, Runa’s face never fails to light up when she hears Elsa’s voice.   It always makes her heart feel full-- that is, until the day Gerda pulls her aside and shares that they haven’t had many potential adopters, lately, and those that do visit are almost never interested in Runa.   

“Beyond being blind, she’s nearly an adult, in most people’s eyes.” Gerda tells her in a whisper, her voice thick with sadness.  “And I fear she may not find a family before that day comes.”    

  It sticks with Elsa, the words ringing in her ears and refusing to grant her peace.   She feels like it’s the siren’s call all over again, something nagging in the back of her mind, except instead of being mysterious and exciting, it’s an echo of a far more grim reality.   She returns to the Enchanted Forest that night, and it’s several weeks before she visits the orphanage again.

  “You came back!”  Runa exclaims when she returns, “I was starting to think you forgot about me.”

  “Quite the opposite, actually, I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.   There’s something I need to speak to you about.”  A sharp breath, and then:  “How would you feel about coming to live with me and the Northuldra?”

  A few more months pass, and while the newest children have come and gone from their system in nearly record time, Sylvi and Fredrik still remain.   It’s just the two of them in the Home now, and with the holidays only days away, it doesn’t appear they’ll find homes before the new year.

  As a result, Kristoff and Anna, in addition to the time they spend with them during the day, have taken to inviting the kids for dinner with them in the castle, most nights. (“They deserve to eat in a proper home, you know?” “Of course, and I’m sure Gerda will enjoy having the afternoon off--”  “Right, and Fredrik didn’t get a chance to finish telling us about how he saved that baby bird!”

“And really, no child deserves to feel alone this time of year.”)

It’s not the first time they’ve all eaten in the castle together, but there’s something about the way Sylvi erupts into a fit of loud giggles when Fredrik puts a carrot up his nose to imitate Olaf,  or the way Kristoff feigns shock to amuse the kids each time he looks away only to find more and more brussel sprouts being snuck onto his plate,  or the way Fredrik, with a belly already full of hearty food, looks at the dessert tray being brought in and says, “Man, I love you guys.”   

  The moments are happy ones, and yet Anna’s chest aches  while watching how well these two children seem to settle into their everyday life.  The Home would continue to keep them safe and comfortable, yes, but it’s still not… well, a home .

  The short trek back to the orphanage that night is a heavy one, as they know the kids need to be back in their own beds, but find that it’s getting harder and harder to say goodbye each time.   Sylvi tucks her nose into the crook of Anna’s neck as she carries her, no longer terrified of touch as she once was (at least, not from Kristoff and Anna.)    And Fredrik sits on Kristoff’s shoulders, his boundless energy finally waning as his eyes droop closed.  

  They tuck them in and say their goodnights, returning home to a castle that suddenly feels far too empty.

    It’s only a few hours later, when Kristoff and Anna decide to retire to their room for the night.  The two of them are quietly getting ready for bed when Kristoff speaks up, his voice tentative.  

  “Anna, do you, uh-- do you still want to have kids?” 

  “I do.   Why?  Wait, are you having second thoughts—“

  “No, no, definitely not!   I still do too.  I really do.”

  Anna watches him, her fingers playing absent-mindedly with his hair as she waits patiently for him to get to the point he’s clearly trying to build toward.   He takes a deep breath, and then:

  “Do you want only... biological children?”

  Her heart swells as it occurs to her where he’s heading with this, and she wonders how she got so lucky, to find someone whose soul aligns so perfectly with her own.

  “Not at all," Anna says, and oh, she can already feel the tears building in her eyes,  "I’d be happy raising a child with you, however they come into our life.” 

   “So say there was a boy with curly hair and a kind heart, as feisty as you, to slide down the bannisters with--”

  “Or maybe a little blonde like you, who trusts us more than anyone, quiet but brave as can be, who comes out of her shell more and more every day--”

  “Or both?”   He asks with a sheepish, yet oh-so radiant grin, and Anna mirrors it tenfold.  

  “Yeah.  Both sounds good to me.”

[jughead-is-canonically-aroace]

The Man Who Was Too Awkward To Mention He Had Amnesia

i wrote this for @spookyson-zine! the art is by @katanacupcake-art

summary: yknow that one john mulaney bit where he’s like “if i had amnesia no one would ever know because when someone you don’t recognize acts like they know you you pretend you know them and pray you remember”? like that

pairing: moxiety

wordcount: 3952

disclaimer: this is a rom-com. it is not attempting to be an accurate portrayal of amnesia or post-coma recovery or medical practice. creative liberties have been taken.

Virgil, upon awakening, knew approximately three things: his name, the fact that he was horizontal, and that there were at least two people in the room with him. He could tell that last bit from the loud sobbing and comforting noises coming from his right.

“It’s not your fault, Patton. He’ll wake up soon, and he’ll tell you.”

Virgil opened his eyes. He was in a rather brightly white room. To his left, a soft, roundish man in a blue sweater covered in puppies and kittens sat in a folding chair, crying into a handkerchief. A man in truly ridiculous amount of glittery gold eyeshadow and a violently red sweater had his arms wrapped around the other in comfort, whilst a man in a dress shirt and tie sat primly and somberly in a third chair near his feet.

This was all he registered before the three noticed his open eyes and the soft one (Patton?) launched himself forwards with a cry of relief.

Smothered in hugs and with a warm, fond feeling filling him as he hugged back and a kiss was pressed to his hair, Virgil thought, I love him. And then: This must be my boyfriend.

—

Virgil was discharged from the hospital within the hour* and was quickly piled into the backseat of a bright red convertible with Patton. Business Casual watched him over his shoulder from the passenger seat as Glitter Eyeshadow (I really need to figure out their names) started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, but as they turned onto the freeway he turned back forwards, apparently satisfied with what he had (or hadn’t) seen.

“Roman, would you please put the top up?”

“Do you not enjoy the feeling of the wind in your hair? The sensation of speed? The taste of adventure??”

“No.”

Roman put the top up, and Virgil noted his name with relief. Two down, one to go.

As Virgil settled against the window, staring out at the swiftly passing shrubbery and rough-cut rock lining the road, he recalled what the doctor had told him**.

“You were hit by an ATV at an intersection where you had right of way. All your medical bills have been handled by the other driver. You, miraculously, received only minor-to-moderate abrasions and contusions, aside from a rather nasty head wound, and appear to have no lasting effects.” The doctor smiled down at Virgil, and he briefly attempted to say “Actually, I do have one extremely present lasting effect,” but the doctor breezed onward without giving him a chance. “You were extremely lucky, Mr. Sanders.”

Ten minutes later, they were pulling into the driveway of a suburban 4-bedroom house.

—

[ID: 3 panel comic, panels stacked. virgil is upstairs, anxiously looking at different bedroom doors and trying to figure out which one is his, saying “Huh…” He’s wearing a black hoodie and the background is purple. A fly flies past behind his head.

The first door has a banner that reads “PRINCE”, a crown, and sparkles. it is captioned “No”. the second is a blank door. it is captioned “Maybe.” the third is covered in flowers and hearts, and has a unicorn on it. it is captioned “No!”. the fourth is also blank. it is captioned “...Maybe?”

Virgil closes his eyes, looking nervy yet determined. he is thinking “Well... There’s only one thing left to do...”

end ID]

[ID: 3 panel comic, panels stacked. virgil is in the living room, sitting on the couch and waiting for a clue for which room is his. He looks very anxious, thinking “This is fine.” there are sweat/nerves emotes around his head and he is blushing. there is a houseplant on a stand to the left and a red lamp on a side table to the right. the background is purple.

There’s a closeup on virgil’s face in profile. he is thinking “All I have to do is wait until four-eyes picks one of our less obvious rooms.” he is on the right and facing left, and there is a stylized drawing of logan’s face with angry eyebrows and a frown on the left. the background is a black-white gradient fading into the middle, with black emphasis lines pointing into the middle.

Patton suddenly appears beside virgil and says “HEY!!”, startling him. a zig of surprise emote and the word “zoinks!” are beside virgil’s head, and his eyes are boggling. patton’s face is stylized like a cat emote, with a 3 mouth and greater/less than signs for eyes. patton is wearing a blue shirt with a red cardigan tied around his shoulders. patton’s speech is in white bubble letters, and emphasized with many exclamation marks and a tilde. the background is purple.

end ID]

[ID: 5 panel comic, with panels 1, 4, and 5 stacked, and panels 2 and 3 stacked next to panel 1. Virgil flops over sideways onto patton’s lap. patton is sitting on the couch and virgil is curled stiffly on his side. they are stylized. the background is white.

A stylized icon of patton’s surprised face is looking down, with a loading bar next to his head, and a pink circle behind him. the background is white. Below that, the same stylized icon of patton’s face is happy and smiling, surrounded by yellow flowers and delight emotes. it is captioned “cuddle time!”

Next is a shot of virgil’s face where he is lying down. he is thinking “Wow this guy definitely is my boyfriend...” he is blushing, and looking to the left. there are white hearts around him and the background is navy blue.

A view from behind the couch over logan’s shoulder shows the stylized back of patton’s head surrounded by delight emotes and yellow flowers. logan’s face is in the right of the panel, looking suspiciously at the camera. it is captioned “suspicious A F” with a curly arrow pointing at logan.

end ID]

—

Later…

Virgil followed Patton up the stairs. They stopped in front of one of the blank doors. Please please please let this be my room and this not just be Patton stopping in front of the upstairs bathroom door or in front of Business Casual’s door for some reason or maybe I completely misjudged him and this is HIS room- “Well,” said Patton, “Goodnight! Sleep well!” With a final hug, he turned and crossed the hall back to the sticker-encrusted door, stepping inside, and Virgil nodded with a quiet “You too.”

Virgil tried to convince himself to try the door, but the imminent fear that Business Casual would appear, find him breaking into his room, and immediately unearth him as an amnesiac imposter and no longer the friend they knew and loved and kick him out on the street with only the clothes on his back and he’d have to resort to dealing drugs at Denny’s-

Business Casual, dressed in actual pajamas patterned with actual erlenmeyer flasks and test tubes of bright liquids, stepped out of the bathroom at the end of the hall and walked past him to the other blank door, opening it. He paused, and turned back. “Virgil, are you alright?”

“Yes! Fine!” Virgil jolted into motion and opened the door before him, stepping inside and turning to close it quickly. He caught a glimpse of Actual Chemistry Pajamas’ face, confused, mildly concerned, and contemplative, as he closed the door.

Virgil turned to look at his room.

Posters for The Nightmare Before Christmas and Welcome to Night Vale hung on one wall, while album covers for My Chemical Romance, Gorillaz, and a myriad of other bands covered another. An easel with a black canvas stood in a corner next to a bucket of oil paints, surrounded by a drop cloth. Next to it, a desk cluttered with notebooks, colored pencils, pastels, watercolors, and other art supplies. A paint-splattered pair of white jeans and large t-shirt was tossed over the back of the chair. Filling the remaining wall was a large bookshelf. Miscellaneous clutter formed a patchy layer over his floor, and a laundry bin half-full of clean clothes sat beside a pile of dirty clothes by his dresser.

Virgil’s eyes pricked with exhaustion, and he delegated all… that to tomorrow. He carefully stepped over to his bed, and sat down.

Reaching over to his nightstand, he picked his phone up and unlocked it.

Wait.

Virgil quickly popped into settings and removed the password, then set about searching the rest of his phone for clues.

Contacts had only “Puff🐶💙💜” (Patton, who is definitely my boyfriend), “Moi✨💄🌟” (Roman.), “Nerd🍇🤖🌡” (@god why. Please I just need to know his name), some tech support numbers, and “Manager”. He had Temple Run and Subway Surfer and Geometry Dash, but not much else. He had the Tumblr app, but it crashed as soon as he opened it. Finally, he checked Notes.

I don’t know why I didn’t start here. The Notes app was a jackpot. His social security number, directions to an unknown location, the address of a cafe in Rochester, his computer password (!), and “hamlo”, whatever that was.

Searching through the rest of the notes yielded slightly less lucrative results - numerous notes with random thoughts apparently written whilst trying to fall asleep (“dog pants?” “burger pant’s son, burger shorts. jr pants. shorts = young pants?” “Dumbell/Sawdust” “rubix cubes physically manifesting in your home” “burger pusher/at least im not a burger pusher. im a coffee pusher. im a cat?”), a note with translated roman numerals, and a note that simply read “modo g^5 plus”.

Virgil shrugged, called it a success, and went to get ready for bed.

—

Roman has an arm on Virgil’s chest, preventing him from grabbing his (“Be careful! That’s new!”) phone back as he quickly changes the contact names, adding several emojis to each. Business Casual leans over the back of the couch to read the screen.

“Why am I a thermometer?”

“It’s the closest thing I could find to a test tube.” Roman looked dramatically into the distance. “Sometimes, we have to make do with what we have.”

Virgil, upon return of his phone, reddens at the blue and purple heart emojis Roman put in Patton’s contact name. But he also doesn’t change them.

—

Virgil woke up the next morning at 6:58. He lay in bed for several minutes, blinking sleepily at the ceiling, before he registered the smell of pancakes drifting under the door.

Downstairs, he found Patton putting on his coat, shoving folders into a backpack, and eating the last few bites of his breakfast while glancing frantically at the clock. “Morning Virgil! You’re up early! Can you put this in the sink?” Virgil took the sticky plate as Patton slung the backpack over his shoulder, wriggled into his other sleeve, and darted out of the kitchen. “Bye Virge! Love you!” The door slammed.

“Bye,” he replied to the empty room. He put the plate down.

Investigating the cupboards, he eventually found a plate and fork, and pulled a few pancakes off the cooling rack in the middle of the table. Chewing slowly, he listened to the birds chirping out the window and the sound of someone jogging by.

Jogging up the steps.

Roman swung sweatily into the kitchen in running shorts and a tank top emblazoned with a logo of a yellow “watch out for children”-style road sign with two people running across a stage. He breezed over to the cabinets without noticing Virgil’s presence, dancing a bit to the pop music faintly drifting from his headphones, and humming a few notes. He turned to the table and startled violently.

“Virgil! You’re up early.” He quickly pulled his headphones off.

“Haha, yeah, I mean,” Virgil frantically dug for an excuse. “I have just been asleep for a month.”

Roman laughed, settling into a chair. He forked five pancakes onto his plate and splashed fruit sauce onto them before diving in. Virgil quietly finished his breakfast to the tinny tune of Lady Gaga’s Boys Boys Boys still drifting from Roman’s headphones.

“Hey, so, um, what’s the situation with like, work?” Virgil prayed he had been fired. He could not handle having to do this with his coworkers, too.

Roman looked awkwardly to the side. “I’m sorry, dude. They said they couldn’t keep you on past three weeks. So.”

Virgil nodded, trying not to let the relief show on his face. “That’s valid.”

Roman barked out a short, surprised laugh. “I saw a hiring sign at Starbies this morning though, you could try there.”

Virgil nodded again, and they lapsed into silence. Roman turned off his playlist.

Later, Roman tugs the last of the pancakes onto another plate and sticks them in the microwave, muttering something about how “pocket calculator probably pulled another all-nighter”. Virgil treks back up to his room to look up which Starbucks is near enough to be the one Roman was talking about, and Roman disappears into the bathroom to take a shower. 15 minutes later, Business Casual runs past his open door trailing a tie and a partially-unzipped backpack, and soon after the door slams once more.

—

Virgil walked the 4 short blocks to the hiring Starbucks, bought a coffee, and completed & turned in his application within half an hour. He got a call a week later, sweated and bullshitted his way through the interview, and miraculously got hired anyway. He was scheduled for 5-hour timeslots at various times Monday-Saturday. Thus, the following Sunday, neither Patton nor Virgil had any work they needed to rush off to.

The two had almost absentmindedly migrated from breakfast to the dishes, and they quietly coexisted while Patton washed and Virgil dried. As Virgil put away the last plate, Patton tapped him gently on the shoulder.

“Hey, Virgil?” asked Patton quietly. He looked down, fiddling with his fingers uncertainly. “D’you want to do some painting with me?”

“Yeah, sure,” replied Virgil, smiling. “Sounds fun.”

The change in Patton’s demeanor was immediate. He bloomed like a cereus in the night, rising and filling the room with his bright smile and luminous aura. “Alright! I’ll get the stuff!” He bustled off upstairs, leaving Virgil, stunned and very gay, in the kitchen. He recovered after a minute and went to change into paint clothes.

Patton and Virgil set up in the living room, spreading a large piece of thick brown paper over the rug and scattering paints and glitter within easy reach. He plopped cross-legged on the paper, and Virgil followed suit.

“What are we making?” he asked.

“Whatever we want! This is one of my favorite projects to do with my kindergarteners, just give them a big piece of paper and a lot of craft supplies and let them do wherever they want.” Patton opened up a bottle of blue paint and squirted a bit into his hand. He continued, “Kids have something really special when it comes to art, they don’t focus on the end, they just grab some paint and go.”

Mixing in some white, he spread the paint in his palm in a wide circle over the brown paper. “I think we forget how to do that when we grow up, and I’ve been trying to relearn it from my students with this activity.”

Virgil hummed. He grabbed a bottle of purple, and, squirting it into his hand, began to add little dots and curlicues to the paper with his pinky, carving tiny cracks with his fingernail.

Patton continued to talk quietly about some of the other art projects he had done with his kindergarteners as the picture began to take shape. The two crawled and reached around their workspace and each other, trying their best not to smudge the paint. Virgil put his hand down in a colorful patch, shrugged, and slapped it down in a bare space.

They continued for some time, until eventually they both tired. Virgil leaned against Patton and they looked over the smudgy, colorful, glittery painting. Patton leaned into Virgil, too, with a happy sigh.

—

Virgil stared at the black canvas in his room. He tilted his head to the left. To the right.

I don’t get it.

Turning to the desk, he flipped through a few notebooks. They held heavily pigmented, shadowy works in pastel, deeply layered colored pencil, and many, many half-finished sketches, some violently scribbled out. He found one sketch of what was apparently going to be an oil painting, with a list of what sections were going to be added on which layers, but the background was purple, not black.

Another notebook held loose sheets of watercolor paper, some filled with so much paint portions were almost black, others with only a few layers, clearly in the early stages.

Dang, I sure do like dark colors.

Turning back to the canvas, he shrugged and picked up a pallet.

Fuck it. I’ll just Bob Ross it and do whatever.

—

Virgil snarls at the canvas. Nothing is coming out like it is supposed to. In a fit of anger, he grabs his largest brush, and slaps black paint over the entire surface, obliterating the slightly wonky figure of a person in profile. With another growl, he tears out the page the sketch for the piece had been on and crumples it up, pitching it into the trash. Stripping out of his paint clothes, he crashes straight into bed. The clock greenly blinks the time at him: 4:37 AM.

—

Saturday afternoon, Virgil had learned, Patton volunteered at the SPCA. Virgil lounged in the living room with a book as Patton bounced around, humming as he gathered his coat and his bag.

Patton poked his head in. “Hey Virge! Wanna come to work with me? I think Buster misses you.”

Virgil looked up from his book. “Hm… Yeah.” He smiled, marking his place and standing. Leaving the book on the coffee table, he followed Patton out the door.

When they got to the SPCA, Patton immediately led him into the back and over to where a tiny corgi and a large mastiff lay together in a pen. The two dogs jumped up as they approached, the corgi hopping eagerly over to say hi to Virgil.

“Let me just grab Keaton…” muttered Patton, reaching over to take the mastiff’s collar. Virgil, however, had already reached out and was scratching Keaton behind the ears. Patton raised his eyebrows, then smiled, bouncing on his toes a bit. “Virgil! I’m so proud of you!!” Virgil nodded absently, leaning further into the pen to waffle his hand along Buster’s back.

“You can step into the pen,” Patton told him with a laugh. Virgil was quick to do so, plopping down on the floor.

Checking their collars discreetly to be certain of their names, Virgil murmured various baby-talks at Buster and Keaton as the two tumbled over him. Patton cooed at them, watching the three as Virgil tried to pet both dogs all over at once. He took many photos on his phone.

—

“…And Virgil did so much better around Keaton, too! They were like best buds, Keaton was all over him and he was fine! I’m so proud,” Patton finished, stirring the dregs of his soup as he spoke.

“Oh, well done, Virgil,” said Business Casual through a mouthful. He swallowed, and continued. “I know larger dogs have been a difficult issue for you for quite some time. I’m glad you’ve taken the initiative to work on your fear.”

Virgil tried desperately not to show his panic. I was afraid of big dogs?? Ffffff-

“Yeah, uh, I just felt bad about separating Buster from his buddy when I visited.” He awkwardly fiddled with his empty water glass. Business Casual was giving him a weird look. What did that mean.

Thankfully, Roman inadvertently saved him by changing the subject to his own day at work, running a Saturday workshop on improv at the youth theatre company he worked for.

—

There was a box of brownie mix in the cupboard.

Virgil leaned into the living room, where Patton was working on a lesson plan. He waggled the box. “Wanna make brownies?”

Patton’s head popped up, beaming. “Yes!!!” He stood, putting a hand to his back, then bounced over. “I forgot that was in there!”

He started pulling out measuring cups, and Virgil glanced over the instructions before opening the fridge to grab eggs.

Virgil measured the oil, eggs, and water into the bowl as Pat stirred. Once the liquid ingredients had been thoroughly combined, Virgil measured out half the bag of mix and poured it in. Patton folded the two together, blending carefully before stirring more vigorously. Flecks of batter flew out of the bowl, and Virgil grunted in surprise as a drop hit him in the cheek.

Patton stopped and looked over at him. He giggled, glancing back down at his own shirt. “I guess I battered it a bit too much, huh?” He grinned cheekily up at Virgil, sunlight breaking over the horizon. A bit of batter had landed on his lip.

Virgil leaned down and kissed him.

Patton jumped back with a loud shriek, eyes widening in shock. “What!?”

Virgil took a step back, raising his hands defensively. “What?” Should I have given him more warning? Isn’t kissing something you do with someone you’re dating? Am I wrong about that?? Did the brain injury screw up my factual knowledge too???

Footsteps thudded from upstairs, and Roman bounded into the room, followed by Business Casual. “What happened?!”

“What!” Patton squeaked again.

“I’m sorry!” Virgil frantically replied. “I’m not- I’m confused. I’m sorry!” He waved his hands frantically.

“What happened?” Business Casual asked, stepping between the two. “Wh. Why are you covered in batter?” Virgil and Patton ignored him.

“What- Why did you kiss me??” shrilled Patton.

“Because we’re dating???” Virgil replied incredulously. Patton’s eyes blew even wider.

“I- You- Virge, since when?”

Virgil paused. What?? “Are. Are we not dating?”

“No! I think I would know if I was dating you!”

Everything Virgil thought he knew was crashing down around him. The world was ending. This was his worst nightmare.

“But! I thought! Everything adds up to you dating me! You spend more one-on-one time with me than anyone else! You hug me more than anyone else! You look at me different and you smile at me more! You said you loved me! You kissed the top of my head when I first woke up!” he explained frantically. Everything is over. Patton will hate me now and they’re going to kick me out and realize I have amnesia and I’m going to be homeless and lose my job and-

“Yeah, because I’m hopelessly in love with you and can’t handle how gay I am!”

For a moment, everything stopped. What?

“You’re in love with me?”

“You thought we were dating!”

“You just said we weren’t!”

“Virgil, why would you not recall that Patton and yourself were not dating?”

Everyone turned to Business Casual, who had stepped away from the two and was now leaning against the opposite counter.

“Virgil, you said you had extrapolated from Patton’s actions that the two of you were dating, citing specifically when you, quote, “first woke up”. Odd phrasing in any situation, but particularly when compounded with the rest of this situation. So, Virgil. Care to share why it was you needed to extrapolate from such details your and Patton’s relationship status?”

Virgil slumped hopelessly. This is it. I’m going to have to sell drugs at Dennys. “I don’t remember anything. I have amnesia.”

Business Casual smirked. “As I suspected.”

“You knew?? Why didn’t you say anything? Do you know how worried I’ve been that you all’d find out and be mad at me for not telling you sooner and kick me out for being an imposter?? I don’t even know your name! Do you have any idea how stressful this has been for me??”

“It’s Logan. And you could have just said something yourself.” Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but like, there was never really a good time… and I didn’t want to be rude and be like “Who are you!” ‘cause you all were so happy to see me awake… and then it had been so long that it would have just been weird…”

—

Virgil and Patton sat awkwardly on the couch, facing each other. Logan had volunteered to call the doctor for Virgil, and Roman had quietly disappeared back upstairs.

“So,” said Patton. “Um. I guess you know I’m in love with you now. I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable to be around me now, I can leave you alone for a while if you want, and I’ll try to get over-“

“Patton,” Virgil interrupted, perplexed. “I kissed you.”

“Yes! But! That was just because you thought we were dating!” Virgil had never heard anything more dumb in his life (the past month). And he worked customer service.

“Pat, I wouldn’t have thought we were dating if I didn’t like you too.” Virgil took a breath. “I thought we were dating because, when you hugged me after I first woke up, my first thought was that I loved you. I may not remember you, but I remember how I felt about you. And how I felt about you was that I loved you so much that even a major brain injury couldn’t take it away.”

Patton stared into Virgil’s eyes. “So you like me too?”

“Yes.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Virgil leaned down in reply, and Patton met him halfway.

—

“And so as you can see from the compounded evidence, combined with his recent confession, Virgil definitely has amnesia.”

“Why was this necessary?” asked Roman. “You just listed all the times you saw Virgil doing something suspicious and out-of-character. We already know Virgil has amnesia. You didn’t need to make us sit down and watch a powerpoint about it.”

“In my defense, I spent a very long time doing this instead of my homework and wanted to share it with someone.” ***

—

*dont @ me, you read the disclaimer

**DONT FUCKING @ ME

***the note in my outline for this is: logan: here is my powerpoint on how virgil definitely has amnesia

[agl03]

Hi! Idk if you are taking request for a fanfic but... So... after that end... maybe (for a miracle, bc in the canon is very impossible) Jemma was pregnant at the end of the season?

Hi Anon,

Well someplace has frozen over because my muse decided to cooperate.  Also massive thanks to @eclecticmuses and her enabling.

Never Alone

Deke walked down the halls of the Zephyr, still trying to adjust to the changes that had been make in what seemed like the blink of an eye.   Well, it was for him at least.   Jemma had yet to specify exactly how much time they’d had but Deke knew his Grandparents work and the leaps they had made and it had to be years at the very least, even with help.

In his hands he carried two steaming mugs of tea, the drink something he was slowly started to take a liking too with his Grandmother’s influence.  He’d noticed she preferred to curl around a cup as the day would wind down and the mission was done.  

He came to a stop in front of the door to her bunk and paused for only a moment.  Even though it had been Jemma who’d placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and asked him to come by after his debrief he still felt slightly intimidated standing outside her door.  

Ever since she had saved them from the temple there had been a quiet sadness about her.  At first Deke thought it was because she was separated from Fitz and the stress of the new mission.  But as time went on Deke felt there had to be something more.  After all, she was at least able to speak with Fitz every so often on a very secured line Enoch helped set up. 

Finally he summoned his courage and gently wrapped on the door with his foot, the door sliding open just seconds later. 

Jemma had changed into what looked like one of Fitz’s old T Shirts and leggings, her hair pulled back in a loose pony tail, and a smile, a real smile, graced her face as she looked at her tablet screen.   

“He’s just arrived,” she said and looked up at Deke.  

Deke felt his heart soar as he saw Fitz for the first time since he jumped away from this lab what had seemed like ages ago now.

“Bobo!” he cried and rushed forward and hastily dropped the mugs of tea onto the table before he flopped onto the bed next to Jemma.

“It’s so good to see you,” Deke said sincerely and tried to pick up on clues as to where his grandfather could be, he looked to be in quarters very similar to Jemma’s, though there was an odd amount of pink items scattered behind him.  And was that a cat sleeping on the sofa?

“It’s good to see you too,” Fitz said warmly.  “I’m sorry for what I said to you in the lab and that you felt like we didn’t love or accept you Deke.  You are part of our family and no matter what happens we will always love and support you.”

Deke felt tears well in his eyes and Jemma placed a comforting hand on his shoulder with a slight squeeze.  

“For what it’s worth I’m sorry too,” Deke said “I knew it was wrong to use your tech as inspiration but it was so brilliant and it could help so many people I just got in over my head a wasn’t sure how to get out.”

“You are brilliant Deke,” Jemma said “your ideas can and will save lives.  Fitz and I can’t wait to see what you create.  And we’ll be here to help every step of the way.”

Deke finally allowed the tears to fall. Too overcome and honestly not prepared for this to be what was going to happen when Jemma asked him for him to visit.  

“There is more,” Jemma said as she glanced at Fitz on the screen longingly and he offered a soft smile in support.  “You said you would share my burden and this separation from Fitz isn’t going to be easy.  It goes against everything Fitz and I have ever done, we’re usually tearing apart the Universe to get back to each other, not knowingly hiding from one another.”

Deke had so many questions about that but decide that could wait, he could feel a weight in the air, that there was so much more to this.   

“We had time,” Fitz started. “But what we didn’t realize immediately was the Universe had one last loop to throw at us.”

“I said we’d find something Magnificent in Space and we did, in more ways than I could have imagined,” Jemma interjected but she was clearly too overcome with emotion to continue.

Deke pulled her into his arms and Fitz continued.  

“Jemma was pregnant,” Fitz said quietly and Deke pulled Jemma even tighter.  “We found out after Enoch had set us up in that base.”   

Fitz paused again and look just off screen and opened his arms, within seconds a beautiful little girl who had to be at least four with long brown curly hair and bright blue eyes flew into those arms and Fitz embraced her with a bright smile.

“Is it Mummy?” the little girl squealed and wriggled around in her fathers arms until she was looking at the screen.

“Yes,” Jemma said tenderly running her fingers on the screen “It’s Mummy, and look who I have here with me.”

“DEKE!” the girl cried.  “Mummy and Da said you would be okay after Mummy went on her special mission!  Did you like the Lemons I painted in the room?”

Deke found himself at a loss for words, the odd piece of art above his bed suddenly becoming one of his most treasured items.  The pieces slotting into place and the true depths of Jemma’s pain and his Grandparents sacrifice was revealed.   

“Deke,” Fitz said proudly “We would like you to meet your Aunt, Charlotte Shaw Fitzsimmons.”

“Hello Charlotte, it’s nice to meet you,” Deke said and squeezed his grandma even tighter.   “And yes, I love my Lemons.”

Charlotte smiled in delight before she turned her attention back to her mother, excitedly telling Jemma about their day working in the lab, learning about history, it seemed a trip to the 40′s was coming to protect someone named Sousa, and finally the pancakes they had made for dinner.  

All too soon there was a soft chime indicating their time was up and it was time to say goodbye.

“Can Deke talk again?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes, Jemma assured “Well make sure you get some special time with Deke at least once a week.”  

“You got it Lemon Drop!  I can’t wait to see what you Dazzle me with next time we talk.”   Deke said the little girl practically beaming back.  “You take care of Bobo too…between you and me he can be a handful sometimes.”  

Another more urgent chime sounded and Deke waved his final goodbye and stepped away to his now cold tea, to allow Jemma a few precious moments alone with Fitz and their daughter.   

He knew the call was done when Jemma let out a shaky sob and dropped her tablet onto the bed.  Deke was at her side in and instant.  Holding her as she cried and shedding a few tears of his own.

It wasn’t fair, they fought so hard to find each other again, to have the family they so desperately wanted, and a bunch of world conquering androids were taking that away from them.  

“Thank you,” Deke said.  “Thank you for trusting me with her.  I know that couldn’t have been easy and I know how important it is to keep them both safe.”

Jemma stayed huddled in his arms but her sobs had stopped.  “I can’t tell the others, if they were to get captured or the Chronicoms were to learn about her and Fitz…” the words dying on her lips.  Deke didn’t need them, the world be damned, Fitzsimmons would give it all up to protect her.  

And Deke would too.

“You have me,” he said “you won’t carry this alone.  And when we kick these Chronicoms asses I’m going to buy her the biggest castle in Scotland I can find and a whole stable of ponies for her to ride.  You guys are going to get to happily ever after.”

Whatever it takes, he added to himself.  

End

[white-kween]

Birthday Girl

Summary: Today’s your birthday and your boyfriend Brian wants to make it a special one. The two of you spend the whole day together, presents being given to you left and right. Brian hopes you’ll like one in particular though.

A/N: this is my first fic I’ve ever written and posted on the internet. This is mostly just fluff with a couple sexual innuendos? Constructive critisism welcomed as well!! Anyways hope you guys enjoy:)

Warnings: Couple cuss words and a few sexual comments. Kinda long ?¿

Fem!Reader X 70’s!Brian May

gif not mine

“Good morning, birthday girl” You stirred to your boyfriend, Brian, peppering kisses all over your face.

“It certainly is a good morning isn’t it,” you giggled at the man. God, did he love to hear your giggle. Even though you guys had only been dating for a couple months, he know that you were the one and that he absolutely loves you. Neither one of you has said “I love you”, but it was clear that what the two of you had, was special.

“How’s it feel to be one year older?” Brian asked you.

“No different honestly. Feel the same,“ You hummed caressing his hand that laid on top of you. He looked so handsome laying next to you. You could tell he had just woken up as well since his curly hair was a mess. It was the best part of your day, waking up next to him when you spent the night together.

“Is that so?”he smiled. “I have a lot in store for you today, so why don’t you take a shower and I’ll make breakfast, yeah?” He started getting out of the bed which made you frown slightly since you lost his warmth.

“Sounds great,” you said. He kissed your forehead and then left his room to start cooking. After a couple minutes of still laying in bed, you finally decided to get up and take a warm shower that was much needed.

Making your way down stairs the smell coming from the kitchen became more apparent and it smelt delightful. You were flooded with the smell of cinnamon, coffee, and oatmeal. You looked around and saw an assortment of strawberries, blackberries and apples laid out as well on the table. All your favorite fruits. You saw Brian pouring a cup of coffee and handing it to you.

“Right on time darling” he smiled to you, pulling out your chair for you to sit, which you of course did. Seeing you with damp hair from your shower and an over sized t shirt and sweatpants had him feeling some type of way. His thoughts were cut short when he heard your voice.

“Wow, Bri. You really did out do yourself. Thank you,” your heart swelled at what was before you. The man that you adored dearly, was spoiling you like a queen.

“Well of course darling. It’s your birthday after all,” he said kissing your cheek and taking a seat next to you “I’ve planned out the whole entire day to be a special one.”

“Mmm, so what’s in store?” You asked while taking a bite out of your breakfast.

“It’s a surprise,” he wiggled his eyebrows. “I can say though you’ll want to dress warm,” that last part just confused you. He knew you weren’t a fan of being in cold weather.

“Brian May are you going to have me stand out in the cold on my birthday?!”You said a little over dramatic.

“Yes. But it won’t be too cold, I promise Y/N” he said while pinching your cheeks, which made you just laugh along with him. His touch made you feel on cloud nine. You loved it when he kissed you, held your hand, or just laid his head on your shoulder. He was like a drug and you couldn’t get enough of him.

After breakfast, you went back to your own apartment to change and get ready for your day with Brian. He dropped you off and told you he’d be back to pick you up at 1 p.m. so he could set some things up. Knowing that made you feel giddy inside and made you wonder what his surprise was for you. Since you had a few hours to get ready, you put in a little more effort in your appearance today. After all, it was a special day.

You decided to put on a pair of loose fitting jeans, along with a black long sleeve turtle neck. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you felt like something was missing. It finally hit you that you what you needed was a red toned lip stick. As soon as you finished getting ready, your heard a knock on your door. Looking at the clock you smiled to yourself because he was right on time.

“Coming!” You called making your way to the front door. “Hi, love!”you greeted your boyfriend. To say he looked amazing was an understatement. He looked perfect. He was dressed in black trousers, a loose fitting white button up, and of course clogs. He noticed you were staring at him, which caused a light blush to rise on his cheeks.

“H-hello, love.” He looked you up and down. You looked amazing. He had a hard time trying to refrain himself from kissing and pouring out all his feelings right then and there. “Ready to go?” You nodded and slipped on a pair of ankle high boots and grabbed a jacket, just in case.

You two walked hand in hand to Brian’s car and started your little adventure. Your thoughts were interrupted by Brian’s voice.

“You look beautiful by the way,” he turned to look at you and then back to the road.

“T-Thank you, Bri,” You choked out. He’s complimented you thousands of times and every time you would go tomato red and forget how to even speak. You were in deep for this man. He had your heart.

After a few more minutes of driving, you finally pulled up to what you assumed was Brian’s destination. You exited the car and looked around at the sight before you. It was a paint studio. This made you bubble in excitement since you’ve been wanting to take paint lessons for ages now.

Brian was watching your expression on how you would react to this. He knew how bad you wanted to learn to paint, but he just wanted to be sure you wanted to do this. When you turned to him with a bright smile on your face, he knew he did a good job.

“Excited?” He asked, taking your hand and leading you to the entrance.

“Understatement of the century. I’m ecstatic!” You said, squeezing his arm. He smiled even wider hearing you say that.

The two of you checked in to the painting class and took a seat behind two white painting canvases. You were practically jumping up and down in your seat from giddiness. You calmed down once Brian placed his hand on your knee.

“Hello class! So happy for you all to join us today!” The painting teacher grabbed everyone’s attention. She had such a warm aura and soft tone. “Today we will be painting the night sky,” hearing this made you smirk and turn to Brian. He looked at you and chuckled.

“I promise I had no idea,” he leaned over and whispered to you.

The class was a step by step process which you listened to intently, wanting to make your own painting perfect. However, Brian struggled with paying attention on the teacher and instead focused on you. He watched as you carefully painted the canvas and listened to the teacher. He noticed the creases in your forehead that appeared from concentration, and the little grumbles you made when something didn’t go your way. He had to be reminded by you a couple times to focus on his own painting.

Two hours later, you and Brian were walking out with your ‘masterpieces’. It was evident that you two had no idea what the hell you were doing, but it was fun nonetheless. Both of you climbed back into his car and drove off to the next destination.

“Thank you, Bri. I had a lot of fun.” You leaned over and kissed the side of his head. More like the side of his mop of curls.

“Good I’m glad,” he said while entangling your hand with his. “Next destination now love is lunch. I can hear your bloody stomach gurgling.” he chuckled out to you. Gosh his was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard, along with his voice of course.

“Oh shut it, May!” You laughed with him. He pulled up to your favorite cafe. It was small, but the food was delicious and it was a hit with the public. The two of you took your time at lunch and talked about anything and everything. Conversation ranged from his studies to the meaning behind plant names. Odd I know, but that’s what made you and Brian so perfect for each other. The fact that you guys can just talk, with out fear of what the other might think.

Before you two left, Brian had to go to the bathroom. And when he was walking back, he flashed you the toothy grin that he always does, but this time it was different. It was like a wave of emotions over took you and you realized how perfect he was. You’ve always known how impeccable he was, but in that moment, with his curly hair, clogs, and his everything you realized something. You realized that you were in love with Brian Harold May. Before you could go deeper into your feelings of love for your boyfriend, you were interrupted by a hand waving in front of your face.

“Love did you hear a single word I said ?” He asked.

“I.. uh.. sorry Bri. What did say?” You pretty much said in a whisper.

“I asked if you were ready,”

“Oh yeah...” you nodded and stood up “lets go,” you grinned to him and started walking, leading the way for him to follow.

While buckling up, Brian had told you that this drive was gonna be longer. Around an hour or so.

On the drive you noticed how the masses of people and towns was becoming a little sparse, and instead was replaced with on going fields.

“Bri, please tell me you’re not taking me to the middle of nowhere to kill me...” you said half jokingly. Hearing you say this made Brian crack into a fit laughter.

“I would never, Y/L!” He told you still grinning.

“I don’t know, Bri... you could be some mad scientist,”

“Astrophysicist,” he corrected.

“Right. Some mad astrophysicist,” you said, smirking. Of course he would correct you.

Eventually he pulled up to a trail, that led to who knows where.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. That caught Brian’s attention.

“What? Is something wrong?” He asked with a tone of concern.

“YOU REALLY ARE GONNA KILL ME!” You bellowed.

“Y/N, I swear on my life and Queen’s, that I’m not going to kill you!” It’s like you did a whole 180 in your attitude because your turned to him and said “I know,” and kissed him. Both of you go out of the car and locked the doors.

The trail Brian was leading you down was roughly a mile long, which made you regret wearing your boots. The scenery was pretty though, and the view of Brian’s behind was even better...

“Y/N, I can feel you starring at my ass,” Brian said coyly.

“Can’t help it love, you’re just so handsome,” you told him, and giving him a quick peck on his cheek. You doing that made him blush even more than before. “So, where are you leading me to Mr. May?”

“You’ll see love. We’re almost there.” You could tell that he was becoming a little nervous. The reason behind why he was nervous, you had no idea, but you decided not to push it. You noticed that the sun was starting to set, and that it was becoming a little cooler. You cursed yourself for not bringing a warmer jacket with you for tonight.

“We’re here,” Brian said. You looked at the site before you. There was a blanket laid out on the field with a little picnic basket on top. Surrounding it was a few candles, along with a vase filled with your favorite flowers. And of course laying next to everything was his guitar.

“Brian,” you gasped. Tears that you didn’t know you had, started to flow down your cheeks.

“Do you like it?” Brian asked quietly.

“Oh Brian... I love it!” You hugged him tightly. He hugged you back just as tight. Neither of you wanted to let go of each other, so you just stayed there for a moment, enjoying each other’s embrace. Eventually you guys pulled back and walked to the blanket and sat down.

“I thought that we could watch the sun set and enjoy the night sky away from all the chaos in the city,” Brian told you, with a shy smile on his face.

“Sounds perfect, Bri” you smiled back, cupping his face in your hand. “I might have a hard time not starring at you though,” you winked at him. He just rolled his eyes and pulled you to where you were laying between his legs and against his chest. The two of you watched the remainder of the sun disappear and the night sky envelop everything around you. You felt like you could lay on Brian forever, that is until he moved to light the candles.

“Setting the mood, lover boy?” You asked playfully. He shook his head and smiled at your comment.

“I guess I am,” is all he said.

“Good,” you laid down on your back “I’ve always wanted to do it outside,” that made him choke. He had no reply to that at all. He was absolutely baffled at what you said. He looked over at you and saw that you were shivering so he dug into the basket and handed you a blanket.

“Thank you Bri,” you smiled at him, with your teeth chattering. You looked back up to the sky and heard Brian sit down next to you, grabbing his guitar. You smiled when you heard him play a riff and softly singing. You looked at him and it was like you forgot to breath. He looked so beautiful under the night sky, playing his guitar perfectly, along with his amazing voice. You were about to tell him you loved him but he spoke up before you did.

“I have a few presents for you,” he said as he stopped the sound of his guitar.

“Bri you didn’t have to do that. Today already has been enough,” you said while sitting up. You knew he didn’t have a load of cash to spend on you, so you always felt bad when he did pay.

“Y/L, stop. It’s your birthday,” he pulled out a bag out of the basked and handed it to you.

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” He was so fidgety from the suspense of whether or not you were going to like his gift. You plucked out the tissue paper one by one just to tease him. In the bag was a black box and an envelope. Instinctively, you chose the envelope first, which made Brian tense up a bit. He was incredibly nervous now. You opened up the envelope carefully and pulled out the letter that was inside. You eyed Brian for a second before turning back to the letter to read it. Immediately, you started smiling because it was so sweet what Brian had wrote. He talked about all the little things he adored about you, and some of his favorite memories the two of you shared. He talked about how in the short time of being together, how you two have grown so much. All of this was making you cry like a sprinkler. It wasn’t til you read the end when your breath got caught in your throat. You read what he had written over and over again. ‘I love you, Y/N Y/L/N’

“Y/L...” Brian spoke up. His heart was about to beat out of his chest. Your eyes looked at his, to see if there was any hints of untruthfulness.

“Do you mean this, Bri?” You asked him in a hushed tone.

“I do...” he nodded, still staring into your eyes.

“Every single word. I love you,” After he said it out loud it was like a weight was lifted off of both your shoulders and you could both breathe again. Without warning, you lunged forward and connected your’s and Brian’s lips together. The kiss was soft and passionate. You didn’t even have to say it back, the kiss was enough for Brian to know how you felt. You pulled back to catch your breath.

“I love you too,” You said, heaving a bit. Brian kissed you again, which you melted into. After a few moments Brian pulled back and that made you groan because you never wanted the moment to end.

“Open the rest of your gift, love” you nodded and reached for the box inside the bag. You opened it slowly and found a beautiful silver necklace with a coin shaped pendant hanging off of it. Engraved in it was the shape of your zodiac sign constellation. You grinned at the necklace, then at Brian. He’s such a dork.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you, Brian.” You leaned over and pecked him in the lips. “Mind putting it on me?” Your turned around and moved your hair to the side to allow him to clip the necklace on easier. You could tell that he was struggling a bit since it was so dark, but he eventually managed.

You both laid down on your backs and looked up at the sky letting the sound of the night and your own breathing being the only thing heard. Until you spoke up.

“I don’t think I want this night to ever end,” you looked at Brian with a little smile on your face.

“Nights not over yet, love” he winked at you. You grinned at his comment. You knew exactly what that meant.

“Does that mean I have one more present in store for me?” You asked him, batting your eyelashes with an innocent look on your face.

“Love don’t start something you can’t finish,”

“You know I always finish with you Bri,” you said smugly. Your comment caused him to chuckle. God you loved that man.

[rainbowsntears]

jealousy

summary

↳ halloween was supposed to be spent hanging out with friends and trick or treating. but with finn’s obvious jealousy towards you and noah, nothing was going to be normal tonight.

warnings

↳ angst y’all. jealous!finn is kinda hot.

words

↳ 1230

note

↳ yes, halloween is back in the old days but i actually wrote this before halloween and just never got back to publishing it. also aye two imagines in one day! anyway, i’ll make a part two soon but on other hands, enjoy! x

"Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore," Your voice turned into a high yet strong tone of delicacy as your eyes moved up to nowhere, looking thoughtlessly ahead of you. You tried to sound and look as ethereal as possible, and with the happy and lit up expression on Finn's face, it must have been good.

And by his next choice of words, it was.

"See? You even sound perfect! Just stay like that for the rest of the night and you'll be the most perfect Dorothy," Finn exclaimed, grasping onto your shoulders excitedly as a large grin worn on his pale face, his freckles poking out even from the layered makeup. "Must I say you're gorgeous in that outfit, anyway. I'm sure everyone will be focusing on you."

"Thanks, Finn!" Noah chirped from beside you - him cutting you off before you could thank Finn for his compliment - and wearing a smirk as he played with his fake dark brown floppy ears. "I never knew being Toto could be the greatest thing ever. Plus, Y/N and I make an iconic duo with this look." The brunette added, swinging an arm around you which made Finn let his hands go from your shoulders hastily. He just wanted some peaceful time with you, but with a crazy group of friends like the stranger things cast, it was merely difficult.

You grinned widely as you looked over at Noah, "Well, there can never be a Dorothy without her Toto," You added, booping his nose with your finger and Noah smiled as wide as possible. Obviously, you and Noah had a very incredibly platonic relationship with one another, and even though you two sometimes didn’t like it - small gestures made the fandom go crazy - you've already spoken to each other about your friendly feelings.

Finn darted his eyes between the two of you and he rolled his eyes, a stern look on his face with his jaw clenched as possible to stop himself from snapping, "Definitely," He exaggerated his words as he then looked over his own shoulder, "I'll go put my outfit on and then we can start trick or treating." He explained before quickly hurrying off. And with that exact moment, the rest of the cast came up to you and Noah, turning their heads to watch after a now grumpy Finn who stomped his feet away like a little child not getting a big lollipop at a candy store. You smugly smiled at his childish behaviour, knowing it had to be about Noah.

Look, you and Finn weren't together. But you sure as hell had chemistry and everyone knew that, and you did too. But obviously, Finn didn’t. You never expected Finn to ever be so jealous of small actions boys made towards you, especially Noah. And like said before, you and Noah were platonic with one another, and everyone knew that, but just not Finn.

"Isn't this just exciting?!" Millie suddenly asked as she happily jumped up and down in her dark black gown, clapping her two green painted hands together. "I mean, we really went overtop with these costumes and I'm living for it!"

"This dress is extremely puffy and heavy, but I like it a lot. It makes me feel cute," Sadie confidently spoke, twirling in her pink gown as she lazily waved her wand around, a small giggle leaving her lips and she flattened her dress a bit while adjusting her red hair that was all wrapped in loose yet angelic curls.

Gaten sniggered, shaking his head, "Are you kidding me? I'm sweating ass in this lion costume!" He threw his hands up in the air, even if Gaten actually loved is outfit the most out of everyone. Probably because then he could do his 'flirty' growl and he knew everyone would hate him doing it.

Beside Gaten, Caleb, shook his head, "Well, I don't know about you all, but being Tin Man is pretty cool. Now I can show off my cool dance moves and robot walking," He smiled, showing off his small yet impressive dance moves.

Letting go of Noah, you pulled your brown picnic basket - that would soon be filled with candy - tighter to your body as you sent all of them a proud grin, "Well, I think we all look delightful, the fans will love it also!" You chirped, rocking on her heels as you watched your friends nod their heads in agreement at your statement. You stopped your small nervous action as you dropped your smile, quickly scanning the room to see if the curly headed boy's presence was anyway and much to your dismay, he wasn't anywhere to be seen. "Have you all been noticing Finn's mood lately? He's being moody and annoying. I mean, even with Noah saying something only just a few minutes ago set him off yet again."

Sadie smacked her lips, "Yeah, I see it as well. I think he's just come to the point of jealousy where he'll literally rip out his hair if a boy comes in the span of five metres near you." She stated, sighing ever so heavily.

"And Finn is never like this. He hardly ever shows his emotions so you're definitely taking a turn on him," Gaten added.

Caleb nodded his head, "Sadie and Gaten aren't wrong, maybe you should talk to him about it." He suggested, "For the sake of us not getting hurt, please, Y/N, you need to do something about him."

"Must I add that I joked about you and Noah getting together and being 'married' before we started the comic con and he deliberately didn't sit next to me the whole entire day even though he was supposed to," Millie hummed.

"And you know who he swapped with every time? Me. Because I was supposed to be sitting next to you and because I was sitting next to you, Finn thought it was appropriate to switch places with me just so he could stay away from Millie and be next to you." The human Toto spoke beside you, Noah laughing back on that day and he folded his arms. "Yeah, Y/N, you really need to talk to him. We all know you two like each other, even you know it. But you just need to let Finn know that you feel the same way."

You felt yourself suddenly become nervous at the thought of talking to Finn about this kind of topic even though you knew about his obvious liking towards you. Finn always had this power on you and you bit your lip softly, "I'll try," You mumbled out, hearing your friends sigh in relief, "only! Only if none of you guys are there and listening on to the conversation, it'll be weird watching you all eavesdropping. I’ve seen you do it before, and you suck at being secretive."

The rest of the cast look between one another before agreeing and sealing the deal. You hummed in satisfaction before watching as Finn started to walk back to your group, the same look of anger and irritation on his face as he dawdled over. "Oh no, Finn's coming back. Nobody speaks of this!" You whisper-shouted as you glanced at your friends then at Finn, trying to look as normal as possible. Though he looked incredibly cute in his scarecrow costume and you couldn't help but let your lips curve up into an awing and dreamy smile.

Once Finn reached your group, with his eyes scanning you up and down one last time, he fixed his hair and hat a bit before inhaling sharply, "Ready to go trick or treating?"

[mariniacipher]

J’en ai revé

A big thank-you for @quillfics42 for beta-ing this monstrosity! 

Summary: 

“The singer wore a veil that let his bronze skin gleam in the candle light, golden embroidery and precious pearls on his red dress a token of his skill and a staple of the wealth it brought him. His red painted lips stretched into a charming smile that showed rows of white teeth. All three men turned to him, just like the other nobles in the room, and as the musician started playing on the piano and Roman slowly started to sing, Virgil’s world shrunk, until all he could focus on was the gorgeous singer with the heavenly voice. It stretched around the notes with grace, inflected with heavy emotion as he sung of love and betrayal and grief, swaying to the melody, grass green eyes travelling over his audience- until he met Virgil’s gaze. Red rose to Virgil’s cheeks, and he wanted to look away, but found he couldn’t, eyes locked with Roman’s as the singer subtly smirked; he enjoyed the attention of the adorable noble in his audience. The song continued, and all others fell away as Roman saw the other become besotted with him. He loved the other’s sweet smile against better knowledge, winking at him with the last few notes, carried on by melancholy.”

(Royalty AU, with noble!Virgil and singer!Roman)

Ships: Prinxiety, background logicality, familial moxiety

Characters: Virgil Sanders, Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Logan Sanders, Remy is mentioned

Warnings: slight angst because of the class difference, danger of cavities because of the abundance of fluff

Word Count: 5.681

Virgil “Angoissé” Sanders’s original reason for visiting his cousin, Marquis de Chiot, was to escape his parents and brother for a few months, their pestering about wedding plans and possible suitors finally driving him away. But, as he conversed with Monsieur Berry, a friend of his cousin’s, about the recent developments in astrology, he found himself suddenly aware of how little he missed his home, how seamlessly it’d been replaced by Patton’s château and, more importantly, those inhabiting and regularly frequenting it. The revelation had a careful kind of joy curling around his heart.

The noble looked up as his cousin joined them. Patton sat down next to him, his curly  black hair in an impressive up-do, a pastel frock coat highlighting his dark skin. It was easy to spot Monsieur Berry’s flush on his pale face.

“I hope you’re having a good time,” he smiled, and Virgil suppressed a snort as he could watch the other’s mind reboot, not minding being ignored if only for the entertainment it brought him. Berry quickly straightened though, polite facade setting back into place. The only trace of his anxiety was his unsteady hands unnecessarily adjusting his glasses.

“Of course, Monsieur,” his smile turned sheepish, “you know I always enjoy your gatherings.” Patton blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I have heard you’ve employed a new singer to perform today?” Logan asked, somewhat brusquely, hoping to ease the noble’s flustered state but still not having regained his composure.

“Oh yes! He should start right about-” he stopped as he heard a servant begin introducing the coming performer: Roman Prince. “-now.”

The singer wore a veil that let his bronze skin gleam in the candle light, golden embroidery and precious pearls on his red dress  a token of his skill and a staple of the wealth it brought him. His red painted lips stretched into a charming smile that showed rows of white teeth.

All three men turned to him, just like the other nobles in the room, and as the musician started playing on the piano and Roman slowly started to sing, Virgil’s world shrunk, until all he could focus on was the gorgeous singer with the heavenly voice. It stretched around the notes with grace, inflected with heavy emotion as he sung of love and betrayal and grief, swaying to the melody, grass green eyes travelling over his audience- until he met Virgil’s gaze.

Red rose to Virgil’s cheeks, and he wanted to look away, but found he couldn’t, eyes locked with Roman’s as the singer subtly smirked; he enjoyed the attention of the adorable noble in his audience. The song continued, and all others fell away as Roman saw the other become besotted with him. He loved the other’s sweet smile against better knowledge, winking at him with the last few notes, carried on by melancholy.

He bowed to his audience of one, having forgotten the men, women and enbies applauding him, only seeing the violet-clad man that slowly regained his senses as Remy stood next to him, sending him a smirk that Roman elected to ignore. -It wasn’t like he wanted to do anything but to talk, to flirt, to enjoy himself. Even commoner were allowed some fun, weren’t they? Besides, he wasn’t naive enough to start something with a noble . He’d learnt his lesson.

But before he could head to the sweet gentleman, he was already swarmed by lords, ladies and serrahs, voices overlapping, smiles blurring and perfumes dizzying. The singer gave them a charismatic, practised smile, knowing these people could employ him one day, that his living depended on their fancy, but he inched away from the crowd as quickly as he could still. Still replied to questions he couldn't understand with pleasantries that held no meaning in fear of seeming rude.

Thank the gods, he managed to escape and spy the cute noble, who was being teased by his employer- oh, cruel world, why must you torture me so - who in turn was being pined after by a scholar sitting with them.

Roman took a breath, steeling himself as he walked towards them, the epitome of nonchalance.

~

Virgil saw the singer head towards him out of the corner of his eye, and, eager to escape Patton’s incessant teasing, he excused himself, hoping the scholar wouldn’t be offended by his abruptness. He met the singer who’d bewitched him only seconds ago halfway, offering him a skeptic glance, which was met with a confident grin.

“You’re a magnificent singer, Monsieur Prince.” Virgil said, for it was the truth, and although Roman was used to people complimenting him, he blushed. Huh . No matter. He stepped closer, to an almost indecent degree- not that the other seemed to mind.

“I would hope so, tesoro ,” he twirled a lock of hair between his fingers, “either way,  I’m glad to have performed here... It’s so rare to find good company nowadays.” Roman delighted in seeing the other blush, his tough facade cracking; not that it took him long to fix his mistake, sadly enough.

“Of course, singers are always so limited in their place of business, after all.” The wry reply wasn’t expected and Roman was left gaping for a second- rude! - but he couldn't just let the other get the better of him so easily! The singer quickly put a smile on, hoping to cover up his faux-pas.

“Oh, but we are, skeptical one-  whether the courts I sing at are Spanish, Finnish or French, in the end they’re all the same. We may not be limited to a place, but to a scene, a type of people- although you seem... distinct, -”

“-Sanders, Virgil Sanders,” Roman took his offered hand, ”And please, Monsieur Prince, don’t take me for a fool,” Virgil’s smirk twisted into a self-deprecating grin, “A man as far traveled as you should notice I’m no different than any other.” They let go. Virgil’s hand felt cold without the other’s around it.

“Quite the opposite, I fear,” Roman charmed. Virgil laughed, not convinced, but amused.

“Well, I hope you’re worth my time then,” he teased.

Roman gasped, hand raised to his chest. “Such slander! It is truly a disgrace, to be treated so rudely by the one I’d hoped to be my company tonight!” He raised a hand to his forehead, careful not to displace the small tiara perched on his dark hair, noticing how pretty Virgil’s amused smile looked. “But then, how dare I expect anything else from those born into arrogance, those that drink from goblets of gold and sleep in beds of silver-”

“It’s mahogany, actually. Silver would be a bit show-off-y, don’t you think?” Virgil’s smile only grew at Roman’s deadpan look.

“You know what I meant-” the singer froze before his teasing reply could escape him, suddenly reminded of just who he was talking to “- I- I’m sorry, I… I am more than overstepping my bounds, Monsieur,” he said, mortified at his break of etiquette, eyes on the floor- he’d just gotten so involved in their banter- but that’d be meaningless if the noble- noble , Virgil was no commoner, he was off-limits, above him, noble - decided he didn’t like him anymore. Even if Virgil seemed like… like he was kind, and witty, and sometimes even sweet, that could change. And if it did, Roman would be left behind with nothing but rumours to circle around him, keeping him from ever getting employed here again. He couldn’t risk that.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” Virgil saw the singer’s anxiety, his insides twisting at the thought that he’d caused it. “It’s not like it was unrequited.” A hesitant smile. “And I cannot speak for you, but I quite enjoyed having someone to banter with.” Roman chuckled at that, relief letting his tense muscles easing up again. Virgil’s smile grew.

“Oh no, your enjoyment is certainly reciprocated,” he grinned, gaze growing distant for a moment, before he returned to the present again. “But if you’re a Sanders, then you should know this mansion well, shouldn’t you? Family ties and all that.”

Virgil’s eyebrows rose in question. “Well, duh. I do live here, Princey.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind showing me around? It’s so boring always seeing the same rooms- there’s bound to be something more interesting behind all these closed doors.” Judging by the skeptic look Virgil shot him, he knew Roman wasn’t being quite truthful, but that was fine with him.

Away from prying eyes, their teasing continued, and Roman had to keep himself from preening as he got Virgil to laugh. It was a beautiful sound. He’d love to hear it again.

~

Virgil blinked as he saw the name on the envelope, before opening it, blushing as he noticed the paper smelt of the same perfume Roman had used at the soirée. He quickly unfolded the rose colored paper, snorting as he saw the extravagant, loopy cursive. Of course the singer ‘s handwriting would be unneededly dramatic, anything else would’ve clashed with his aesthetic.

Dearest Virgil,

I hope not to disturb you too terribly, but after our meeting, I found myself reminiscing about our conversation, and yearning to once again find you in my presence to match wits and exchange quips.

Therefore, I am asking whether you shall be attending the soirée on the 16th of this august at Marquise de Lafayette’s Salon as I shall be singing there, of course considering your cousin’s approval. I hope to have piqued your interest, and to see you there...

Answer me soon, mio temporale-

Sincerely,

Roman Prince

It took Virgil a few seconds to stop his mind from reeling, feeling the redness cover his cheeks, reading and re-reading the letter over and over again, thinking of the flamboyant singer, of him wanting to spend time with him, converse with him, be seen with him-

It was absolutely ridiculous. Ludicrous, even! -Almost hysterical. An asinine idea- if his parents ever found out, they’d be scandalised! Besides, this was probably nothing but a fleeting interest of Roman’s, he’d be after some other shiny quickly enough, really, it wasn’t worth the heartbreak-

His eyes found the invitation again, the proof of Roman's affections. His chest filled with warmth as he read the words again, written in such a loopy script it was sometimes hard to decipher them.

He got his stationary, cursing himself and the world at large, but still wearing a silly smile.

~

Roman fiddled with his cuff links as he waited for his cue. The harpist, a slight woman who was further dwarfed by her giant instrument, shot him an annoyed look. He pacified her with a charming grin, but his nerves remained. Which was dumb . After all, he’d sung in front of much larger crowds before, to much more important people. Really, this should be easy, effortless, child’s play.

He peeked through the door separating the performers from the nobles, and saw Virgil, mingling with the crowd, and his heart jumped into his throat. He almost beat his head against the door frame, but it wouldn’t do to destroy the work Talyn had put into turning his shoulder-length hair into something resembling an updo fancy enough for Roman’s tastes. He hadn’t been this nervous when a servant took him to prepare for his show- for hell’s sake, he’d kissed the other on the cheek!

And Virgil had blushed, looking for all the world like a dream come true… Roman wished he could sneak back to him, exchange jabs and banter, forget the judgemental stares boring into his back. It shouldn’t bother him at this point; ever since he took to singing before nobility he’d been beloved on stage and a commodity off of it, it wasn’t anything new at this point. But that didn’t mean it didn’t irk him still…

“It’s time, get on your positions!” barked another servant, Roman scowled at his rude tone, but did as he was told. Arrogant imp. He stood next to the harpist; she gave him a sympathetic look, but Marquise de Lafayette was already herding her guests inside, smile bright and easy.

She wasn’t young anymore, laugh lines around her mouth and creases between her brows, freckles dotted across her cheeks, sweet and caring to everyone she met. If she was the only one he had to interact with, he wouldn’t mind singing for her more often, if he was honest. She had a way of making people comfortable that was similar to that of Virgil’s cousin.

He was ripped out of his thoughts by the first notes of the harp. He straightened, putting on a sweet smile to fit the romantic ballad. The lyrics were mystical yet sentimental, a song he’d grown up hearing, the words imprinted in his brain, along with the memories of his family, his siblings, their home, filled with music to distract from the emptiness of their stomachs.

He caught Virgil’s gaze, caught the wonder in his eyes, the tenderness.

He sang with renewed vigour, the room fading until all he felt was Virgil’s soft gaze on him, their eyes locked, his fingers twitching to reach out. So close, even with a whole room in-between them.

The song ended too soon and didn’t last long enough.

Virgil had to force himself to clap and applaud with everyone else instead of running up to Roman and do something dumb, like taking his hand, like cradling his face, like kissing him. He was almost relieved at the gazes constantly on them; if it weren’t for them, he didn’t know if he would’ve kept his composure. He still hated them as they surrounded Roman, crowded him with questions and advances alike, his discomfort obvious in the tense line to his smile, the way his gestures, so grand and flamboyant as they first talked, were now subdued.

A protective, cold kind of rage boiled in his gut, gave him the courage to wade through the crowd until he was next to Roman, next to this charming man he wanted- needed - to protect.

He took Roman’s arm, smile sweet and false, saying something he wouldn’t remember later- asking the other to join him for a breath of fresh air? Roman gave him a grateful smile that stole his breath, and before his blush could ease, they were already on the balcony, his eyes plastered to the gardens below to avoid having to look Roman in the eyes, suddenly self-conscious. What if he’d read the signs wrong, what if he’d just taken Roman out of the spotlight unwillingly, what if the singer would never want to speak with him again, what if he never forgave him? What if-

“Thanks for saving me back there.” Virgil looked up just in time to glance at the other’s beautiful- sheepish smile, his hands twisting on the railing. Their eyes met and for a second, there was only stillness, before Virgil finally managed to reply.

“Well, you looked uncomfortable…,” he murmured, hoping his anxiety wasn’t as obvious as the heat on his cheeks. Roman smiled at him; it seemed the other could see right through the false smiles that beguiled so many. It was almost exciting, talking to someone who cared for more than the shows he put on, were they literal or figurative.

“Still, thanks for the rescue,” Roman grinned, gently shoving his shoulder against Virgil’s, making the other chuckle. It was such a pretty sound, almost addictive.

“You know me, the knight in shining armour.” Virgil scoffed at the inanity of his statement, wry smile in place.

“Please!” Roman pointed at the noble in accusation. “It is I who would be a knight, noble and bold!” His smile grew nostalgic for only a second as he remiscined about dreams long dead. “You…,” he hummed as he thought, banishing the silly thoughts, “most probably, mio temporale…,” he snapped as it hit him, “you’d be an enigma! A living mystery with their home at court but their mind elsewhere, a dark, mysterious figure, well-known for their dry wit and awful fashion sense-”

“Hey!” Virgil pulled a mock-offended face, but didn’t bother to hide the amusement in his eyes. “I am so fashionable.” He threw his hair back with his hand and a distinctly dramatic flair that wasn’t supposed to imitate anyone at all . Roman pouted.

“Nothing but scorn for my efforts… truly, it’s a travesty,” he sighed. “After all, is it my fault you dress like you’re still in mourning? No; I’m naught but the messenger, and yet I have to endure such cruelty-”

“Jesus, chill,” Virgil grinned, even as he rolled his eyes. Roman threw a hand to his chest in shock and offence.

“ Never! ” How dare the other even imply for him to abandon his unearthly charms and magnificent personality? So rude… “I am the epitome of grace and elegance, to even think of critiquing my flawless self is blasphemy , you-”

Virgil tried to keep a smile off his face as Roman continued ranting.

~

Patton watched from inside as his cousin argued with the singer, smiling to himself as the two men both attempted to hide their obvious amusement. They were such an adorable pair! He really hoped Virgil would introduce him soon, so he could gush over them up close!

“They certainly are ‘adorable’, as the youths would say,” Logan commented and Patton jumped as he noticed the scholar leaning into his space, having followed his gaze. His friend quickly moved to steady him. “I apologize, Monsieur.” Patton nodded, flush on his cheeks, even though it was made subtler thanks to his darker complexion.

“It’s okay, nothing happened, after all,” he smiled; Logan blushed, nodding mindlessly. Only as he looked down did the scholar notice his hands still encircling Patton’s waist- such an inappropriate act! He quickly untangled himself, hands folding together behind his back, trying in vain not to miss the solid form of the Marquis under them. Patton cleared his throat, smile having grown sheepish.

“Uhm, sorry, I- do you want to go get a drink? With me?”

It would be incredibly rude of him to deny a Marquis’s offer, Logan reasoned. He’d risk offending him, maybe even falling out of his good graces, he couldn’t risk that, surely. He had to think of his future, if he ever wanted to reach the kind of renown he so ceaselessly worked for he couldn’t afford displeasing a noble as popular as Patton- it had nothing to do with his sweet smile, with his warm eyes, with his pretty, black curls, partly pulled back, framing his face perfectly, with the fire so often alight in his expressions, with his warm, infectious laugh, with his boundless excitement for everything, with the warmth of his skin when Logan kissed his hand in greeting, with how- How lovely he looked, pastel pink ensemble highlighting his dark skin, freckles dotted across his cheeks like little stars, arm stretched out for him to take-

“I- I’d be delighted.” Logan coughed slightly to hide the crack in his voice, tucking his arm into Patton’s, letting himself be led to a loveseat. The other thankfully overlooked his faux-pas, filling the silence with talk of the newest tidings of the astronomer’s gild Logan belonged to, asking for the his opinions only so he could hear him talk, seeing the passion lit in his eyes, the wild movements of his hands, the way his whole posture opened up.

Logan leaned into Patton’s space, hand resting on Patton’s thigh, and even a fool could’ve identified the look on the noble’s face as lovesick as Logan talked on.

A pity that Logan was a scholar.

~

Virgil looked up from his sketchbook as a servant entered the sitting room he and Patton were currently occupying, a letter in hand. He already moved to return to his sketch, as the servant cleaned his throat. “Monsieur Sanders, a letter for you,” the servant said, and Virgil tried to quell the excited grin attempting to find its way onto his face.  

“Oh?” He motioned for the servant to give him the letter, thanking him mindlessly, already opening it with unsteady hands. A blush came onto his face unbidden as he saw Roman’s now familiar script. He discarded the sketchbook without a second thought.  

“Ohhh, did Roman reply already? I’m so glad you finally made a friend!”

Patton smiled guilelessly as his cousin spluttered.

“Shut up! Besides, you don’t know if it’s him, it could be- I mean… shut up.” His shoulders hunched up to his ears as he moved to read the letter, hiding his face behind the sheet of paper and muttering ominously.

Patton nodded exaggeratedly. “ Sure .”

His focus on Roman’s reply, his addition to their most recent argument, spared Virgil from noticing the other’s pitiful attempt at a suggestive grin.

Dearest Virgil,

As much as I am tempted to agree with your excellent reasoning, I sadly must oppose you on the basis of one simple oversight- As much as Nathanael’s infatuation with Olimpia may have been caused by his loneliness, there are scenes wherein his perception of her changes because because of the telescope, an object given to him by Coppola and thereby the Sandman, leading me to believe in a shared guilt found between both supernatural and psychological causes-

Virgil couldn’t help smiling as he read the letter, obvious and adorable in his lovesickness, if you asked Patton.

He couldn’t help it, the letters they exchanged had only made it more obvious to him how smart and witty Roman was- not that he’d ever tell him that- and discussing plays and prose with him was just as fun as gossiping or trading childhood memories. He’d never felt this kind of ease with anyone before- the ease with which they could tease each other in writing and in conversation, the ease with which he found himself trusting the other man, the ease with which he fell for- grew to care for him. Especially paired with the nervous excitement that cursed through him whenever he wrote a response, whenever he saw Roman grin, saw him sing, saw him talk , voice infused with passion. It was like the world faded whenever the other man ranted about anything from Shakespeare to Schiller to his most recent employer- Virgil would gladly listen to him forever.

Patton looked up as he saw his cousin startle. He furrowed his brows, curious and slightly worried, but deciding to observe for now. Virgil blinked, re-reading what appeared to be the last passage of the letter over and over again, disbelief and joy warring on his face-

Virgil couldn’t believe this, only just holding back a burst of laughter.

I hope I’m not overstepping any boundaries when I tell you that I’d be absolutely delighted to accept your invitation, and to spend the holidays with you- there is no one I’d rather be with, to be frank… as unspoken as it may be, between us, I value our friendship most fervently. You are a most respectable and admirable person, Virgil, and a joy to converse with to boost. I cannot wait to see you again, and I shall count the hours spent away from you.

Sincerely Yours

Roman Prince.

And as indifferent as Virgil felt towards the holidays, for some reason, he suddenly couldn’t wait for them to come.

~

Roman looked up at the Chiot family’s great country house. He stepped out of the carriage, watching two servants come out of the mansion, finely dressed, taking his luggage, the smaller one asking him to follow her. He nodded, mindlessly bidding the coachman good-bye. He wrapped his arms around his torso, even the short trek over the snow-covered pathway had him freezing, despite his thick cloak.

“Monsieur Chiot and Monsieur Sanders are in the salon, they asked you join them,” she informed him. Roman looked up- away from the marble floors, the plush armchairs, framing the hall leading to the grand staircase splitting in two directions halfway up, the frescoed ceiling and walls, the heavy curtains beside the grand, clean windows, offering a clear view of the snow-clad yet cherished gardens outside; looked away from all the signs of wealth and riches and status . Of all he never had and would never gain. His mind was suddenly cleared. Another servant took his heavy cloak. He noticed the warmth in the room, compared it to the cold that used to seep through his home, unless you were close to the always-burning hearth in their kitchen. He thanked the servant without looking at their face, before turning to the maid.

“Lead the way, please, mademoiselle.” It had been easy to forget Virgil’s status when they were together, when the only sign of it was the sudden lack of judgemental looks shot his way.

He regarded the details on the fresco with dread coiling in his stomach. It must’ve cost a fortune to have it painted. He looked at the maid’s back, the beautifully patterned short dress over her stays. They must pay her well. He never should’ve forgotten the distance between him and Virgil. The noble was born into lavish mansions, expensive clothes and luxurious parties, and Roman… he was Common. The thought stung. He shook his head to chase it away.

This was no occasion for such doubts; Virgil had invited him here, to spend the holidays together, and he had no intention of letting anything ruin that. Not even his own thoughts.

He bravely smiled at the maid, thanking her with a kiss to her knuckles as she held the door to the salon open for him. She rolled his eyes, but did it fondly. It was a familiar reaction. Roman felt earthed again.

~

Patton looked up as he saw Virgil turn towards the door, lighting up as he saw Roman in the doorway. He really did look dashing, in a red frock coat and an embroidered rose waistcoat, confidence draped over him like a shawl. His cousin seemed to agree, judged by the blush on his cheeks. It rivaled the pink details on his purple dress.

“Roman! I’d feared you got lost on the way from the foyer,” he teased, and Patton waved the singer over, who plopped down next to Virgil.

“You know me, dastardly devil, I’d never waste a chance at pleasant company- how are you, Patton?” Patton giggled as Virgil rolled his eyes, sinking back into the back of the coach, muttering ominously.

“I am feeling quite wonderful, Roman.” Patton motioned at Logan. “You know each other, right?” Logan nodded, straightening his waistcoat.

“Yes, we have made each other’s acquaintance.” It was hard not to, with them both so often in the cousins’ company. “It is pleasant to see you again, Roman.”

“I know, my presence is always a blessing.” Logan shared a look with Virgil, both rolling their eyes.

“Right, Princey, you tell yourself that.”

Roman gasped in faux shock. “How dare you-”

“It’s quite simple, really, I just tell the truth-”

“-The truth?! To proclaim such slander to be verity is a slight against the mere concept of it!” Roman gestured wildly with his hand, eyes looking at the mild distance. “It is a betrayal of what it stands for, to even utter it in the same breath as such- such-”

“Falsehoods?” Logan supplied, amused quirk to his lips.

“Falsehoods! Yes! Thank you, Logan! See, he gets me,” the singer huffed.

“Aw, I’m sorry, darling.” It was obvious that Virgil was teasing, but Roman still froze, blush spreading over his face at the pet name.

“Well, you should be!” The noble, who’d frozen as soon as he’d noticed the pet name that’d snuck past his lips without permission, smirked as he heard the singer’s voice crack, obviously flustered.

“Hey Logan, do you want to see the view from the observatory? It’s such a clear night, you could show me that constellation you talked about- Canis Major?”

“Oh, uhm, I don’t think it’ll be-” Patton motioned at Virgil and Roman, not bothering with any subtlety whatsoever- “Uhm- I mean, yes, of course, I’d be... delighted to show you.”

“Great! You have fun with each other, kiddos!” Patton took Logan’s hand to lead him out of the room, the scholar shooting he two other men an awkward smile.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Logan wanted to ask what Patton had planned- he was silenced by a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for going along there,” a blush to meet Logan’s was on Patton’s cheeks. “I hope you’re not averse to stargazing with me?”

Logan looked at Patton, sweet, sheepish smile, warm brown eyes and plump lips. The epitome of beauty. Then he kissed him. Their lips met for only a few seconds, before Logan pulled back. His hand had moved to cradle the other’s cheek without him thinking about it, there was a pair of arms around his waist- Patton took a step towards him. Their noses almost touched. Logan looked up at him with big eyes, and for a second, feared to have overstepped. Then Patton kissed him again.

His fears deserted him, replaced with euphoria.

This- this was nice. Patton tasted sweet, like the sugar he always put in his tea. This- it was really, really nice.

Logan never wanted for it to stop.

~

Virgil let out a breath as the door shut, trying to dispel the sudden awkwardness hanging in the air.

“Well… that was subtle,” Roman muttered, Virgil snorted.

“They probably wanted to have some alone time,” Virgil leaned against Roman’s side, “I swear, they’ll get together every day now.”

Roman hummed. He debated putting an arm around Virgil, surely it’d be too obvious? “Well, I hope it happens sooner rather than later, they are unbearably obvious in their advances.” He decided to go for it anyway.

Virgil nodded, leaning further into Roman. “Yeah, it’s almost embarrassing- how do they not notice that they’re in love? I don’t get them…”

“It is utterly absurd!” Roman used the hand not wrapped around Virgil to gesture wildly. “They are usually so intelligent too, I cannot comprehend how they’re overtaken by such selective bouts of blindness! It is simply-”

A knock interrupted them.

The two men quickly separated, blush dusting their cheeks, both avoiding to look at the other.

“Monsieur Sanders, a postman just came-”

“-at this hour?” incredulity rung in Virgil’s voice.

“Yes, Monsieur, they said Lord Sanders had been most urgent about this letter’s timely delivery.”

Virgil tried not to groan. “Of course he was…” His tone turned authoritarian as he turned to the servant. “Make sure the man stays here overnight, there should be a room available for him. Patton wouldn’t forgive me if I sent him out into the cold again. And the letter- please?”

Roman watched as the butler gave the letter to their master, gulping down the discomfort he’d done such a good job of forgetting. It was silly; of course Virgil acted differently towards his servants, of course he felt no qualms about such things. It’d be silly, and Roman was being silly, finding such an issue with the ease Virgil had when dealing with his butler. It was only natural. Virgil was a noble. No amount of bickering, of shared smiles, of cautious butterflies, would change that.

Roman knew that, or he was supposed to, at least. The door shut quietly, and Virgil looked at him oddly.

“Are you okay? You look… unwell.”

Roman put on a smile, practised and bright. The crease between Virgil’s brows deepened. “I am fine! Don’t mind me, just a bout of slightly irksome thoughts, nothing to worry about-” Roman cut himself off before he could add a title. It’d tip Virgil off and the noble already looked at him so doubtfully. He rested a hand on the other’s arm. “Come on, mio temporale, I won’t break in two.”

There was still suspicion in his eyes, but Virgil let him lie. “If you say so…”

“I do, so no need to grimace like that- whose letter even is that?”

Virgil sighed, suddenly weary. “My father,” he used his left hand to rub at his eyes, “he’s always had a penchant for killing the mood.” Before Roman could even formulate a question, Virgil sat up straight again, exhaling as he put himself together. Roman nervously played with the cuffs of his frock coat. “I’m sorry, I am being unfair,” the words sounded uncomfortably practised to Roman, but he let Virgil go on, “he is just a rather… traditional man, regarding some things. It’s why I’m even here; our opinions don’t quite… match.” A wry smile on Virgil’s face, a snort escaping Roman.

“Such surprise!” Virgil snorted at Roman’s teasing, the singer wanted to trap the sound between his hands, to keep it close to his heart when the world turned grey. “Well, if he’s such a downer, why don’t we postpone reading this darling letter to a time when we aren’t having such a gay, old time?”

Virgil shrugged, not resisting Roman tugging him close again. “I’m sure as hell not complaining.” he cuddled close to the other’s chest, hands wrapping around Roman’s, playing with his fingers.

“Aren’t you a poet,” Roman muttered, rolling his eyes, but it held no bite. He settled back into the couch, pretending not to notice when Virgil threw a leg over his, just like Virgil pretended not to notice when Roman freed one of his hands to trace patterns over the noble’s collarbones, exposed by his dress.

They drank in the other’s presence, watching the fireplace burn, talking with hushed voices, exchanging laughter and ignoring the warmth they both felt in their bellies, the butterflies in their stomachs, the infatuation that slowly grew into something more. It was a problem for future them to handle, a problem for a time when their limbs didn’t feel heavy with cosiness, their eyes slowly drooping, the trust they shared and the affection they held enough to lull them off to sleep.

Roman pressed a kiss to Virgil’s hair when he was sure he was asleep, the noble only huddling closer to him.

They were together, and, for now, they were peaceful.

[traumaqueenie]

💌 - … they love (or crush on, or in a platonic way, etc.)

🥰 - … they like a lot

🔥  - … who they think is hot

💍 - … they want a closer bond with

-"Oh dear..."

Maddy was already blushing under her veil. Her cheeks felt hot. She touched her face with her gloved hands, thinking about a person who could cause such a reaction in her. One came to mind, and she found herself lowering her head, even if the veil obscured any view of her face.

-"They all more or less regard the same person, I admit. It's... Dear me... Embarrassing to talk about. It's the first time I have even experienced such emotions. They're are both delightful and frightening at the same time. There is just something about this persona that makes me feel all giddy like a school girl. They have this dark curly hair, that looks so lush and soft, and like it has such a wonderful scent. Big, brown eyes that look so gentle and so warm. With long dark eyelashes... And their smile! Shakespeare will have no words, Socrates no ideas, Mozart no music and Michelangelo no paint, all because of that smile. And they make me laugh! Something I have truly been in need of for so long. That kind of laugh that comes from deep inside your heart and makes you feel so, light, so warm and soft on the inside. Sadly I have been warned to stay away by several people, so I keep ny distance and admire them from afare..."

[duncedgoofball]

New Memories

Sirius Black has made his way back to his childhood home at 12 Grimmauld Place unaware that someone has already moved in.

Just thought of this one on the spot and ran with it. 

Word count: 1138 (approximately)

And as always, I hope you enjoy!

There was something different. 

Sirius couldn’t put his finger on what exactly was different as he stood with his back against the front door to 12 Grimmauld Place looking at the long hallway.

The atmosphere of the house seemed brighter since the last time Sirius was here; although that was many years ago, the darkness of the whole house stuck with him.

Feeling brave, Sirius ventured further into the house, following the sounds of conversation and laughter which were filtering up from the kitchen, one floor below. 

He was shocked, but not alarmed, to find that his Mother’s portrait hung in the hallway where she could watch over her old residence. Sirius had actually expected her to have started screaming the moment he came into view of her portrait but though she was looking at him, she didn’t open her mouth. 

He also noticed newer wallpaper and carpet covering the entirety of the hallway and he remembered that there had been house elf head plaques on the wall near the stairs leading to the floor above and no indication on the wall now that there ever had been. 

On the opposite wall and next to Walburga’s portrait, two impressively large paintings of generic landscapes hung proudly. Definitely new yet perfectly complimenting to the new look. 

The door to the dining room was open as he passed it and he was impressed with the brightness of the room to make it feel just as inviting as it looks. He didn’t stay there long as the laughter grew louder and pulled him closer to the stairs leading down. 

As he approached the first step, he was hit with the smell of freshly baked bread and other delights and with each step down, he began to feel the warmth hit him and wrap snugly around him; offering him a comfort he had not received in a very long time. 

Footsteps approached the bottom of the stairs and made Sirius stop his descent in surprise. Shocked to discover Remus’ smiling face greet him and usher him down. “What’s going on?” Sirius asked his old friend as he finished walking the last couple of steps and fully entering the kitchen.

Arthur Weasley waved at Sirius with a smile from his seat at the kitchen table. Remus walked back over to where he was sat before, opposite Arthur, and gestured to the kettle, “we’re just waiting for Molly to return from collecting the children from the station. Do you want a drink, mate?” 

“I don’t understand.” Sirius explained, running a hand through his hair, “I didn’t think anyone would be interested in the house and would leave it to rot yet there’s all this.” He threw his arm out indicating all the changes that had been made to make the house lively. 

“Oh yeah,” Arthur chuckled, “Y/N made some changes when she originally moved in because she was uncomfortable with the way the house looked.” 

“Y/N?” Sirius asked, “my Y/N? Where is she?” 

“Yeah.” Remus laughed, “she’s either with Molly or shopping in Diagon Alley.”

The sound of the front door opening and closing caught the gentlemen’s attention. 

“I’m back!”

Sirius felt his heart miss a beat and quickly speed up as he heard your voice. He felt abnormally nervous as he realised you were getting closer. 

He just hoped you remembered him and didn’t hate him for what he supposedly did to be sent to Azkaban. 

“We’re in the kitchen!” Remus shouted up and footsteps thundered from above as they hurried over to the stairs. 

“Remus? When did you get here and I hope you- hello.” You were taken completely off guard by the presence of a dark haired male standing in the kitchen with Remus as you were pretty sure you left Grimmauld place at the same time as Molly, leaving just Arthur behind. 

Extremely transfixed on the male, you were vaguely aware of Arthur and Remus leaving the kitchen. The more you looked at this man, the more you were willing to believe that your hopes and dreams had come true last. His hair had grown longer and although still wavy, was a lot less curly and a beard and mustache had made themselves know on his face and even though he could do with many meals to fix his weight, you were still swept away by his handsome looks.

“Sirius?” Surprising yourself that you even managed a whisper considering that your lungs had no air in them from the breathlessness you felt upon seeing him. “You’re really here?”

He too felt the breathlessness from all the emotions buzzing inside of him, “I’m really here, Y/N.” He confirmed resolutely with a small, unconscious step forward towards you.

Which was all you needed as you rushed towards him, securely wrapping your arms around his neck. His own secured themselves around your waist and he pulled you into his embrace, closer than one would believe possible, lifting you off the ground in glee; his nose buried in your neck as you both familiarised yourself with the other. 

You were uncertain how long you both stood there in your tight embrace before you leaned back, resting your forehead against his and running your fingers through his hair and just running your fingers over his face, secretly enjoying the feel of his beard against the sensitive pads of your fingers. 

Sirius lost himself in your eyes as he rested his forehead to yours, his hands absentmindedly wandering up and down your back, over your hips and through your own hair, which he noted with pleasure that you had let grow out.

Just looking at him was unbelievable right now because you never thought you would ever get the chance to do so again. The chance to hold him in your arms; the chance to kiss him, to be able to caress his face and his hair. 12 years is a very long time to be without the one you loved and a very long time to suffer heartbreak, doubt and uncertainty. 

A deep breath filled your lungs as you collected yourself. You smiled brightly at him, taking his hand and leading him back up the stairs towards the dining room knowing that that would be where everyone would congregate when they arrived.

As you approached, you walked past Walburga’s portrait, Sirius tugged on your hand and gently pulled you to a stop. “Do you mind explaining everything to me? I’m so confused, love.” 

“It’ll take too long to explain in details, so I’ll keep it short. Your Mother actually likes me.”

[emilycl-aire-blog]

why plot bunny jumping is not evil (and why you shouldn’t feel guilty about it)

When I was 14 years old, I watched Star Wars. What?! You didn’t watch Star Wars when you were three years old like the rest of us?!

Nope! I watched Star Wars when I was 14 years old – picture me on a big couch, with really frizzy oily hair (that wanted to be curly but that’s a different story) in a pair of faded pajamas and worn out socks. And as the big reveal took place and Darth was thundering, “Luke, I am your father!” all I could ask myself was a huge question that suddenly popped into my mind and would inspire a project that I have had for nearly seven years now:

“What if Luke Skywalker had grown up with Darth Vader and was totally for the Dark Side until he realized he was on the wrong side of the war?”

Wow.

And so the big story was born. I had to take that idea and forge it into a tale that grew like freaking Alice in Wonderland.

It’s called Project Meior. I will tell you the gist of it all. A young prince realizes that his dad, the emperor, is running for the bad guys, the wrong side of the war and this prince has to do something about it. It spans on for five books and counting. I created a whole universe as I grew from 14 to 15 and then to 16 – and then I stopped.

And I’ll tell you why.

The Project Meior Universe is really really big. I’m not even bragging right now, it’s just my life and my choices. My fate, really. I’ve got chapters and characters and locations and arcs and everybody’s got clothes that need to be designed, lands that need to be charted, biographies that need to be written. To top all that off, I was and am still studying digital painting and slowly but surely discovering my art style. And when that’s done, I’ve got to make a script and after two drafts of that, I’ve got to design the panels and pages.

And all of that hits me at the age of 16 – like a ton of bricks.

I’m a storyteller and plot bunnies hop around constantly, especially when you’re 16 and bored on it. I got tangled up in another story idea. And when I got bored on that, I had another plot bunny to think of. And it’s not that the story ideas were bad (on the contrary, I can’t really completely delete quite a few of them from my mind!), it’s just that through the excitement of starting a new project, it’s difficult to realize that eventually, you will struggle with it. You can’t even see difficulties and plot snags because you’re in this euphoria of a fantastic idea.

It’s easy to get started on something new and exciting and even easier to get bogged down into details.

That’s what happens. You get tunnel vision and focus on the problem because you’re trying to fix it so you can move on and keep going a hundred miles per hour with the story. And when you can’t fix it, you either give up on the story or you give up on yourself. Or both.

“Maybe it was never a good idea in the first place.”

“Maybe I’m a bad storyteller.”

“Maybe it’s not original enough.”

“Maybe I have no talent at all.”

It all starts building up and cascading down into you. It snowballs into your soul.

I was nineteen and at the end of my rope when I remembered Project Meior. And all the work I had invested in it, all the characters I had made, all the love I put into it. I picked it up and dusted it off. I thought I had been wasting my time with other stories that I didn’t love as much as this one. Maybe I had spent hours and hours needlessly on stories that weren’t mine. Not like Project Meior is mine.

So I beat myself up pretty well and good and then I got back to work with Project Meior. I wrote out the outline to the first book. I made new characters and new arcs, fixed plot holes and added new exciting ideas. I made characters more three-dimensional, deepened the angst and let it simmer!

And then it happened like it always does. I got stuck on a plot hole and I couldn’t get out. I got cold feet in front of all the other work I’ve still got to do for it. Script, panels, pages, art style, design. Plus, preparation for all the other arcs I want to weave through the first story to the third story.

I can stand still and walk away from it. I can freeze and feel guilty about it.

But I’m here to say something to myself and to anyone else who needs to say it with me: I am not going to be guilty about backing up, getting out of the tunnel vision and walking a realistic pace through this story.

I have realized that the time I spent taking a break from Project Meior only helped make it even better. These characters would not have been as deep had I not been practicing with characters that are not in use anymore. These arcs would not be in existence if I had not given them a shot with other stories. These plots holes would not have been fixed if I hadn’t watched Andrew Stanton give a TED talk while I was working on a different story.

The new exciting ideas would not have been planted if I hadn’t been flexing my storytelling muscles and working.

When it comes to our art craft – whether it’s writing or painting or blogging or Youtubing or whatever it is you do – as long as you are doing your art, you are not wasting your time.

Writers, write your fanfiction; you are writing and that is enough.

Artists, paint your fan art and practice, practice practice.

Youtubers, trial and error is a valuable teacher, don’t be afraid of it.

Bloggers, don’t be afraid to write, rewrite, rewrite.

And as for the problems you’re struggling with? That plot hole that you and I are dealing with right now? Or the hiccup you’ve reached in your videography or the writer’s block that has hit you?

Know your story is so much bigger than that. Your imagination is so much bigger than the infinitesimal dot you think is a black hole. Look for the new angle and take it apart if you have to. Or walk away from it, take a break.

I’m going to talk about those two options. First of all, on looking for the new angle. Here’s a great story.

When the writers and artists of Pixar were developing the first Cars movie, they came upon a scene in which Lightning McQueen tells his girlfriend Sally that he hears the legendary Route 66 is back on the map. The script said that Lightning actually takes out a map and shows exactly what he just said...Route 66 is genuinely proven-for-real back on the map.

But then the artists and writers asked themselves, okay, so how is he going to show a map? He’s a freaking car. Is he just gonna pull it out of his side door? No that’d be creepy, but how about this--

And they worked and they worked and they had crazy ideas...but at the end of it all, they were totally stuck. They were all sitting around, not having a clue of how Lightning is going to pull out a map. Until someone said, “Why does he need to take out a map anyway?”

The relief and the frustration! They had tunnel vision on an idea that just didn’t need to be there! And that’s what I mean by looking for a new angle or taking it apart altogether. Go like Joss Whedon and say, “If something isn’t working, if you have a story that you’ve built and it’s blocked and you can’t figure it out, take your favorite scene or your very best idea or set-piece and cut it. It’s brutal, but sometimes inevitable.” Tough love for sure, but this is the craft you do and it matters how you do it. Don’t be afraid to be ruthless and delete your “map” or a whole scene or a character. Get rid of the source of the problem and go from there.

And about taking a break.

Take a break even if it takes five years. My story is so much better because of it.

You’re not wasting your time if you pick up a new idea and give a shot. As long as you are still exercising those storytelling muscles, you are not wasting your time. Don’t beat yourself up for choosing to put down a story in favor of another one, or even putting down a story in order to study up on how to tell it.

“The artist who stops making art is committing emotional suicide. Get off the couch and start painting again.”

And you can take that quote and alter it to fit your own craft.

We are artists, writers, photographers, videographers. It’s not all we do or all we are, but let’s go ahead and face it: we do it. And we will do it. And we will keep on doing it. We’ve been given this gift and it’s our job to express truth, shape our culture and bring delight to our readers and viewers. In whatever form that takes, it’s also our job to take care of ourselves and be able to say “No, not right now.”

Or better yet, be able to say, “You, out.”

Say, “You, out,” to a scene or a character or an arc.

But remember to say, “You, out,” to guilt, fear, anxiety, self-doubt.

You’re not gonna get anywhere by letting poison run your soul. Because we need your soul, people need your voice.

I’m not going to let the plot snag take down Project Meior.

Like I say, it’s just way too big for that!

What are some struggles you are facing right now with your craft? Send me an ask or reply to this post! I’m really excited to be on here and talking about stories and art and lifestyle and I’d love to hear from you. Peace out. <3

[the-speaker-for-the-dead]

every. single. question.

lets get personal.1: IDKY, Good Grief, Glory, Ruby, Heavydirtysoul, FeelGoodInc2: You3: Abundance of Your house; and You give thanks and you give them to drink in the river of your delight.4: You5: lol6: With7: Spit bubbles8: Girls just wanna have fun. Boys are dumb9: Yes 10: No clue11: Corners12: Prolly a lego13: Christian14: Prolly on my phone15: Behind16: |-/17: I'm fine18 No19: Shadadedadum20: Doubt, Loyalty21: Ruby22: Yes23: Poetry24: Baseball cards, Star Wars minfigs.25: Video26: Sorta27: That alarm bell in You and Me. Your laugh28: Siobhan29: no, no30: the wall31: nothing32: Home33: East34: Ruby35: Love God, Love People36: What makes you satisfied37: Jedi don't believe in luck38: Hot39: 12:44 am40: Yes, No41: Desiring God42: No43: Bubbles, Senpai 44: Star Wars: Episode II45: Prolly a bike handle through my face46: prolly47: Yes48: Straight49: That I was gay XD50: Sometimes51: No52: Aquaman53: Save54: Food for my Lovely Date55: love56: Hell yeah57: 258: No59: Campomarino, Italy60: No61: No62: Unicorn63: My smile64: You65: Ruby, Sister, Brother66: Italian67: Talking to you68: I can't make that joke on here.69 Mmm70: Yes71: Save Doggo72: Yes, Live life, prolly73: Trust is love.74: Never Gonna Give You Up75: 482076: Trust77: Listen78: Yes79: You80: 1281: And the Moon82: Love83: You84: It's all good85: Demon Days, Gorillaz86: Orange87: Boba Fett88: Depends on my mood89: Is this black magic?90: Prolly get rich off mummies91: I die because I ate vegetables92: You93: I wouldn't94: Nope95: Home96: No97 Yes98: Yes99: Jesus loves you and he's Never Gonna Give You Up100 questions because I'm bored.1: Yes2: Kinda3: Kitteb4: You5: I was6: Love/Hate relationship7: No8: and the moon9: Wat10: No11: Nope12: Prolly a Unicorn13: No14: Emotional15: Art16: Si17: My whole life18: Yes19: Hell no20: Today21: Yes22: Yes23: One24: If you can't blow them away with your brilliance baffle them with your bullshit25: You26: Not yet27: Orange28: Too long29: Nobody30: No31: All the time32: Lots33: Maybe34: Yes35: Rip me36: Yes37 Yes38: Senpai40: Yep41: On my stomach thanks Anderson42: A raging 7th grade karate grill43: Now44: Mom45 Technically46: Yes47: No48: I will49: Yes50: Tumblr, Reddit, Twitch51: Yes52: lol53: depends lol54: Water55: amazing tbh56: Social media57: Yee58: Hell yes59: Green60: too long61: Yes62: Tomorrow63: Sleeping64: Sleeping65: I didnt66: You67: Yes68: I love you69: My over dramatic life70: 071: 1072: Default73: 1874: Mum75: Cause I got bitch slapped like a bitch by a....76: No77: not a lot78: Yeah79: Yes 80: not yet81: One82: Prolly83: hopefully84: No85: Yes86: Dab on the haters87: You actually88: Prolly89: You90: Many times91: No92: Yes93: Prolly not94: No95: nope96: no97: Yes98: Yes99: Maybe100: no clue100 this or that1. Coffee
2. Color
3. Painting
4. Dress
5. Movie
6. Coke
7. Italian
8. Owl
9. Vanilla
10. Intro
11. Kisses
12. Ew
13. Summer
14. Fall
15. Rural
16. Pc
17. Pale
18. Pie
19. Ice cream
20. Ketchup
21. Sweet pickles
22. Comedy
23. sandals
24. Silver
25. Rock
26. Singing
27. chess
28. video games
29. Wine
30. Freckles
31. Honey mustard
32. Body weight exercises
33. Baseball
34. Crossword puzzles
35. Facial hair
36. cubed ice
37. snowboarding
38. Smile
39. Bracelet
40. Fruit 
41. Sausage
42. Scrambled
43. Dark chocolate
44. Tattoos
45. Antique
46. Dress up
47. Aliens
48. dogs
49. Pancakes
50. Wat
51. Sci-Fi
52. Letters
53. Lord of the Rings
54. No idea
55. Money
56. doing laundry
57. Snakes
58. apple juice
59. Sunrise
60. Over-achiever
61. Pen
62. jelly
63. Grammys
64. Abstract
65. Multiple choice questions
66. Adventurous
67. Saver
68. Glasses
69. Desktop
70. Classic
71. Personal fitness trainer
72. Internet
73. Call
74. Curly hair
75. Shower in the morning 
76. Spicy
77. Marvel
78. Paying a mortgage
79. Sky dive
80. Oreos
81. Pudding
82. Truth
83. Roller coaster
84. Leather
85. Stripes
86. Bagels
87. White
88. Beads
89. Hardwood
90. Bright colors
91. Be older than you are
92. Raisins
93. Picnic
94. Black leather
95. Long hair
96. “Ready, aim, fire”
97. Fiction
98. Non-smoking
99. Think before you talk
100. Answering questionsGET IN MY BUSINESS PLEASE:ShadadedadumNone yetToday from tirednessNone|-/Selfishness, lack of compassion, double standards.Top 5 GF restaurants. You^5Shhhhhh secretsHonesty, compassion, loyalty18YouSupport my familyNoneTakenBaby DriverI'm an ex professional card playerCorners, violenceJames6'6Yes12StraightNoN/ASiobhanYouCotton Candy Pop RockMyselfI love you so muchNoYesNoYesYesYesYesNoProllyYesYesYesNoNoYesYesProllyYesNoNoYesProllyYesYesYesYesYesYesYesYesCLUB IS LITYesYesYesNoProllyYesYesNot that I know ofNoYesNoYesYesYesYesYesNoNoYesYesYesProllyNoYesNoYesYesYesYesYesKind of lolYesYesYesNoYesYesYesDon't think that's possible