#anyway the city of london is clearly visible from here

[ruumiinlaulaja]

Good morning and holy shit. I just realized my accommodation has a sky terrace. A free view of London right on the roof of my accommodation. Brilliant. (I have never stayed in a place like this in London before; all my accommodations have been small before this.)

I guess I should have my morning coffees here from now on lol.

[princeresnikov]

a creature that will do what i say (or love me back) {The Son}

{ its in my nature masterlist }

Summary: Flashback to 2011, and the first year of Clementine working as The Son's live-in bodyguard. It's simply a nice moment on a snowy, Winter evening where Clementine's cooking them both dinner, and he decides, for once, that he'd prefer to stay in for the night.

Or; The Son loves Clementine through Rose Coloured Glasses.

A/N: 2559 words. Clementine's nickname for The Son at the end of the fic is a reference to my headcanon that The Son's first name is Anatoly, which means sunrise, anyways,,,, this evidentially got out of hand, definitely didn't realise it would end up this long. but anyways, this is all from The Son's POV so (and this will be reiterated in the warning) the story appears to romanticise his relationship with her despite how it's clearly unhealthy. i wanna go on record since i don't think it's ever made 100% clear either here or in the main fic, but The Son never really loved Clementine as a person, and if there was any part of her he was 'in love with' it was simply the idea of who he wanted her to be that he'd created in his mind. also remember how i once said there was a bit of freudian fuckery with his early attraction to clementine because how he associates her with his dad. yeah there's hints of that. :l fuck that dude. i can't stop thinking about him. Tagging the taglist because it is part of canon. I'd love to hear any thoughts you guys have on this!! long note whoops.

Warnings: romanticisation of unhealthy relationship dynamics, clear power imbalance, dehumanisation and objectification of Clementine, The Son clearly has a saviour complex regarding Clementine, mentions/implications of murder & violence.

Taglist: @venusthepirate @malar-region @tangerinesgf @esmaada @sarcastic-sourwolf @djjskfkskjf @justshutupmars @somikesoc @chachadelight @andydre4m @evangelineflowers @darkchai @basementsoup @bellatrix124 @kunikidaswhore @thewinterschildren178 @felhomaly @perksofbeingamultifandomm @aniglio18 @geeiz @mimidior @justicex101 @ltlthetrifecta @salsasadd @gregorybrldgerton @xkawax @hellsgatelove22 @brownficgirl @tangerineswife @cigarettesandfigureskates @ceciliahargrove @welcometothescreaming20s @moonlight-matcha @lovv24 @nohemi2500 @tangerinefics @charlemagnethesecond @little-miss-bi @megplant

His Clementine is different in Winter, The Son realises. Or maybe it's the snow. She doesn't say she doesn't like the snow, but she makes a point of trying to only go out during the day if she has any say in it, and outright refuses to catch any kind of night train when it's snowing, even if it's the subway and the snow isn't even visible. Not that they catch the subway a lot, or the tube since they're currently in the London penthouse he chose to practically hibernate in this year.

Tonight weather prevents them from a picturesque sunset, and it's a Friday night, he should, by all accounts, be half a bottle into something expensive that he knows he doesn't really appreciate like he should, contemplating if he can be bothered looking for his own eyeliner or simply borrowing Clementine's, and messaging back the host of fairweather clubbing friends he has in this city. Clementine had even asked him if they were going out that night, and usually he would have said yes without hesitation, but he hadn't expected to see her like this and his brain short-circuits for a moment.

It's such a small moment, such a silly thing to be caught up with, but she's wearing one of his shirts, big even on him and falling off her shoulder here, crouching down to light the stovetop element beneath a large, metal pot. Her hair falls over her shoulder as she squints at the flame, adjusting it.

He wants to remember how this moment makes him feel, for the rest of his life.

"I got this terrible craving for this soup from home," she tells him distractedly, heading to the kettle by the sink, "it shouldn't take too long, once everything's in I can start getting ready; we can eat and go."

When they're alone, she speaks to him only in Russian. It hadn't always been like this, she hadn't always been like this; she'd been an alien when they'd met, all of his friends too caught up by how pretty she was to notice how quiet and strange she could be. Thankfully she'd listened to him, had learned from him, had relaxed enough to be enjoyable company.

Somewhere along the way, or perhaps it was simply a side effect of their constant proximity, he'd decided it was well within his rights to test his luck, and she had kissed him back. They grew fond of each other, and that fondness led to him continuing to push his luck, knowing she was still too professional by half to initiate anything, but glad he did when he sees her coy smile, hears her say that she'll do anything to make him happy. So if he were to think about it, that's when she began switching to Russian when they were alone, far gentler, far sweeter, than she ever was in English.

English is a business language, was all she'd really said on the matter.

"Don't rush, my Clementine" he tells her fondly, and Clementine pauses, looks to him as the kettle boils, confused. He smiles warmly at her, "it's meant to snow," he nods to the window. Clementine gives a wry smile, looking back to the kettle.

"As if that's ever stopped you before."

"If I want to go out and we get all caught up in it, you'll never let me hear the end of it," he sits at the kitchen island, elbows on the marble counter top and chin in his hands, grin stretching wide and teasing as Clementine laughs.

"As if that's ever stopped you before," she points out again, laughing through her words this time. She takes the kettle, now whistling, from it's little dock, carrying it over to the pot and pouring in the water.

"Aren't you happy I'm listening to you? Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," he warned, albeit teasingly, but Clementine, after putting the empty kettle back, grows visibly confused.

"Horse?" The moment she stops at the island across from him she pulled his shirt back up her shoulder. His eyes follow the movement, lingering for just a second before he meets her gaze again.

"Its a saying," is all he can offer. Clementine doesn't draw attention to it, but as she voices that she's still confused, she shifts her shoulders and allows the shirt to fall down once more. After a moment, his gaze follows the curve of her bare shoulder to her collar, and he finds himself smiling faintly, reminded of how well she knows him, how she knows even the little things that will make him just a little happier, "it means 'don't be ungrateful'."

"What is a 'gift horse'?" She asks, stepping away and opening the refrigerator, pulling out a package wrapped in paper, from the butcher.

"I don't know," he admits, sitting back on his stool, "it's just a saying."

Silence spills from one moment to the next as Clementine carefully opens the parcel and adds some kind of diced meat into the pot, and The Son finds his attention drifting from her, to the window behind her, the snow just beginning to fall.

"You'd look beautiful in the snow," he finds himself saying, almost idly. Clementine makes a distracted noise in the back of her throat that prompts him to elaborate as he gives the pot a stir, "you look beautiful in the snow, it's a shame you don't like it."

For a moment, Clementine glances at him, wearing an amused little smile.

"I look beautiful anywhere," she says bluntly, picking up the salt shaker and pouring a small heap into her hand, "that's why you take me everywhere," it's more of the truth than he'd like to agree to, seeing as she knows he believes 'bodyguard' is a vanity title. Still, he can't fault her for that.

"But not the snow," he prompts. After adding salt, Clementine grabs the pepper, and starts hunting through the cabinet above the stove for further spices as she deliberates. When it becomes clear that she's not going to answer him, he asks why.

"I don't mind the snow."

"During the day," he corrects pointedly.

"Have I ever complained about cold nights?" She asked, but even then, spices added, turning back to him with her hip cocked against the counter, her expression gives her away.

"Your face betrays you," he tells her gently, albeit with an exasperated kind of amusement; how could the usually so hyper aware Clementine not already know this? Tellingly, in that moment, her expression, or lack-thereof, doesn't shift.

"I..." she starts to move again, checking drawers and the sink, looking for something that she can't seem to find, "I'll tell it to stop that. I don't mean to seem unhappy with where we go."

"It's not unhappy," he sighs, stretching out his arms across the counter like a cat, chin resting on the marble counter, watching her through his lashes, "it's not anything. Like that time I stepped out of our train to Moscow that arrived late, and you hadn't done that security check you do when we get off trains; you had this look on your face but then it wasn't anything," he began to fidget with his fingers. "like every time we go somewhere and it gets dark, and whether or not it was snowing before, if its dark and it's snowing you just get all nothing and look at me for directions. I don't care, I just thought you'd be less of an alien by now."

Clementine makes a distracted, almost dissatisfied hum at his words, and her hands begin to move, miming as she keeps searching, as if the gesture will help manifest the object in question.

Except he can't exactly figure out what she's looking for judging by the gesture, as he's pretty sure that's not the type of movement one uses with a kitchen implement. One might even consider it lewd, the way her fingers were curled up, almost in a fist but not quite, as if she were holding something, thrusting it back and forth in a short, repetitive motion.

"My Clementine, what are you looking for?"

"One of the good cutting knives," she muses, gaze searching the kitchen- it's a stabbing motion, oh god, definitely not a jerking off motion, occurs to him all at once, and Clementine must catch on to his unexpected horror because she asks him what's wrong. He shakes his head, as if trying to shake the thoughts out, tells her it's nothing, but continues to remind her of the knife block by the microwave.

Violent instincts despite gentle intent; he frowns as she starts chopping vegetables on the cutting board further down the counter.

Even now 'bodyguard' felt more like a vanity title for her. Since he'd been old enough to travel abroad by himself, Clementine had been with him, and it's not as if there appeared to be anyone who gave enough of a shit about him as The White Death's son to try anything outside of Japan. When he'd told her as much, Clementine gave him an odd look, and told him he should pay better attention. Then again, she's always taken things far too seriously; it's probably why his father thought so highly of her. Despite her obligations to his son, The White Death would still send her contracts for whatever locale they happened to be in.

He'd asked his father if this was necessary, he'd even asked Clementine, but both had seen fit to remind him that despite how she may act, how she looks at him, she was not his by technicality. He's never liked that, but he knows better than to draw his father's ire; the man had never been above confiscating his toys when he was younger if he didn't play with them right, didn't treat them with respect.

Clementine had never divulged details of the contracts, and initially he'd thought it was because she was ashamed, that she'd been asked to do lowly busy work his father was simply too lazy to complete. Until she'd come back early from a job, not realising she'd woken him up as she'd let herself into their hotel room at four in the morning. While she'd closed the bathroom door she hadn't bothered to lock it, and when The Son goes to see what was wrong, he sees the scratches up and along her forearms, and how she had shed her large coat and pretty, little cocktail dress to pick glass out of the wounds near her sternum.

The minute she had locked eyes with him she seemed startled, and practically sprang to her feet from where she'd been sitting on the edge of the bathtub, asking if he was okay. He wants to ask why somebody would do this to her, but realises he really doesn't want to know the answer. So he nods jerkily and closes the door as he leaves her be.

In two days, while they're having breakfast, he'll watch her take a photo of a little article near the back of one of the daily papers, and send it to someone. When he glances at it out of curiosity a little later, he sees a short article about some high profile criminal prosecutor being found dead in his office the day prior from autoerotic asphyxiation. The scratches on Clementine's arms are still visible, still healing.

Nothing else about her had changed, she even spent the better part of that night helping him talk the prettiest girl at the club into coming back to the hotel with him.

And the scratches will fade, and he'll pretend like what he saw that night was a dream, and he won't have to accept Clementine's capacity for violence. Because, not that he'd ever admit it out loud, it was less upsetting, less emasculating, than the alternative.

Maybe that's why he likes moments like these, moments ripped from some domestic fantasy he never knew he had. Clementine looking soft and warm in his clothes while she cooks something that smells like home. Which it does.

He can count on one hand the amount of times his father had taken the time to cook for him and his sister. His Aunt had come to live with them after Prince was born, but before that his mother had been doing most of the cooking. His dad had been too paranoid to even consider a nanny, but his mother never seemed to mind. She was a talented cook, something he'd taken for granted in his youth, but had come to appreciate; she used to tell him stories about how she travelled when she was young, how she fell in love with all these different dishes around the world and had learned to cook them through trial and error. His father, on the other hand, knew only a few dishes, ones from his childhood, that were hearty and rich and would 'help him grow into a strong young man'.

And the few times his Clementine had cooked for him, like now, they've always made these moments smell like home. Are these the moments in which his parents fell in love? His mother seeing a gentle kind of love and familiarity in his father's cooking despite the man's capacity for violence? Was it one of the only ways he knew how to show his love at first? Is Clementine like that too?

He wants a million moments like this, a million moments where she's by his side across the world, where she lights up when she sees him, where she'd follow him to the ends of the Earth. However many moments it would take to make her violent instincts nothing more than a bad dream, and a million more, all of them echoing that first time they were together and her 'I'll do anything to make you happy'.

"Are you alright, Sunshine?" Clementine says softly, bringing him out of his thoughts. She only ever calls him Sunshine in moments like this, a play on his name's meaning in lovingly familiar Russian, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world.

"Come here, my Clementine," he tells her, and Clementine obligingly sets down the spoon she was stirring the stew with, rounding the counter to join him.

They fit together, they always find a way to, now with her standing between his legs, her arms around his neck as his hands rest on her hips. The scars she bares, all the more on display for the oversized shirt draped off one shoulder even now, make his gut ache; once reminders of her violent past, he tells himself he could keep her from further harm if she stayed with him. Violence neither received or inflicted, safe in his arms.

"You are beautiful everywhere," he agrees with her earlier statement, smiling softly, "but most beautiful here."

"Exactly here?" Clementine teases softly, leaning in to rest her forehead against his.

"Exactly here," he breathes, "cold night but warm apartment, my apartment, my clothes, my Clementine," he tells her, "like it was made for you."

His Clementine kisses him.

But all he wonders is what else he has to say or do, what moments he has to luck into like this one, when would he finally hear her admit that she loves him? Hasn't he been good to her? Hasn't he been gentle and kind? Hasn't he earned her love, her loyalty by now? Doesn't he deserve to at least hear that?

Doesn't she want to make him happy?

[anntoldst0ries]

shinrin-yoku (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: ~1.7k, PG Summary: When life's difficulties hit, Noelle navigates her way through them by turning to the nature. Category: Hurt & Comfort Warnings: mentions of trauma

A/N: May is a Mental Health Awareness month and here in the UK the theme is nature. My MC, just like me, runs to the woods when things get tough. It helps her clear her head and reconnect with inner strength.

I struggle with mental health myself and it’s important for me to speak up and address the subject. There is nothing worse than shaming or discrediting someone’s difficult feelings. It’s fine not to be fine.

If you struggle alone, please don’t. My inbox will welcome you with open arms. Two heads are better than one, even if we just complain, at least we can complain together 💜

For @choicesmaychallenge2021 Day 13 - Mental Health

SHINRIN-YOKU - A Japanese term for ‘forest bathing’ or the sense of well-being you experience while in nature.

~~

It all starts with a seed. This tiny element which, without aid, is sentenced to certain death. But give it the right soil. Give it water, sun. And it can grow. Into something big. Powerful. Scary.

~~

She is five years old.

They live in a townhouse, a classy Victorian era building. Undistinguished, one of many merging into the background of a typical London street. The colors are also very standard,  dirty white married to ivory beige, bar for the deep green door - their rebel child.

For the random passerby, it’s nothing special. But for her, the walls of a storey house encapsulate the whole world.

The garden behind the house is neat and clean, visibly well taken care of. She doesn’t remember exact details anymore, but she remembers begging her parents to go camping in the garden with her brother. The ticklish feeling of long and slim blades of grass on her tiny feet. Looking at the stars with pure awe and delight, that only the unspoiled mind of a child is capable of.

The plot of land that the house has been built on borders a beautiful forest. A wooden fence separates the two.

To her, it’s a passage to a magical world.

A world without any particular order, living its own life, unconstricted by rules. Not in the slightest does it resemble the garden on her side of the fence, where things grow according to the rules laid out by the adults.

There is a feeling inside her that she’s too young to name, to throw it in lingual context. It’s not until years later that she realized what it had been. Freedom. To grow however you please. To be what you want to be.

Robust, effuse trees tower over her, making her feel so small. As if she hasn’t already been feeling small enough, living in a world full of giants.

But they mean something else too. They bring a secret and a promise. Promise of a bigger world out there, far from the confines of the place she calls home.

The forest draws her, singing a melody that only her heart can understand. One day, she will be a part of it.

~~

She lives the teenage dream life.

That’s what everyone says.

She doesn’t have any real problems. She’s lucky not having to worry about money. She’s got friends. Her family is great. She just needs to stop whining. Her life is perfect.

Their words, not hers.

None of them know what happens behind closed doors.

The childhood forest is a cloudy memory. Her home is now thousands of miles away, in a city with a giant red bridge, which for some bizarre reason has ‘golden’ in its name.

But the call from nature doesn’t care about distance. It can find you about anywhere. It’s different and yet the same.

Because nature beats in one rhythm and speaks in the same language, everywhere.

The morning is chilly and humid. She’s wearing a wooly coat, carelessly threw on a pair of PJs hiding underneath.

Her steps are brisk, breathing short and heartbeat elevated. Something’s bothering her blanched face.

The voice, again.

When it first appeared, she thought it had her best interest at heart. Used to give her advice and like a good friend, ream her out when she did something bad.

Over time, things took a turn for the worse.

Snarky comments. Casually mentioned wrongdoings. Feedback on what she could have done better, differently.

Noelle hoped the voice would go away on its own.

It hasn’t.

Not only did the voice not go away, but it was actually growing stronger with each passing day. Became more vocal. Judgmental. Openly hostile.

It fed on her fears.

It’s your fault - it told her - that your parents are getting divorced.

You are not good enough.

Even a lie, repeated enough times, will finally become the truth. And so it did for her, to the point where she couldn’t distinguish her own voice from the voice of the tormentor. Sounds faded into one.

Whoever said words can cut like a knife was right. But those who knew thoughts could leave scars that are much deeper, were truly wise.

The young, beautiful girl who never hurt a soul, became a hostage. A prisoner locked in the jail of her own head.

A giant tear rolled down her face. Made of all the words her heart couldn’t say.

She hugged the tree tightly and inhaled the woodsy aroma, the scent filling her lungs fully.

It’s sensuous.

Just like that, she is small again.

~

She’s got all that she ever wanted.

Degree from one of the best medical schools. Graduating with honors and glowing recommendations from even the strictest professors, who kept assuring her that her future in medicine is so bright it’s actually blinding. Then, a dreamy residency in one of the most prestigious hospitals in the country.

Pretty impressive, right? Even a fool could see that. But the only fool whose opinion she cared about, couldn’t. All these things were clearly not good enough for Ethan Ramsey to stay.

She wasn’t good enough for him to stay.

Not longer than a year ago he was just a concept, an ideal without a face, body and voice. To her, he was a celebrity, a hero, someone whom mortals don’t have access to.

It was preposterous to consider for even a second Dr Ramsey could actually see something in an intern.

Standing among the moss-covered trees, every fiber of her being was filled with the thought of him.

Did the Amazonian forest remind him of her, just like every forest around reminded her of him?

Just when she won the battle for her career, she lost another. Because life had to be a zero-sum game.

As painful as that would have been, she wished she had something to hold onto. A scene she could replay in her mind. An image of him walking away. Or saying goodbye.

But he left without a word.

That was the pattern. That was history repeating itself.

She took her shoes off and stepped on the soil frosted with morning dew. It’s cold and wet. It’s refreshing. She is grounding. Reconnecting with Earth.

Tunes in with the rivers of grass, towers of trees, fences of bushes.

If the trees could speak, they’d tell stories not many people would believe in.

Tales of heartbreaks. Parables of spirits.

They are all nature’s poems.

Hauntingly beautiful. Riveting. Written without a single word.

Because nature speaks its very own language that only the soul, not the mind, can understand.

Pain is ripping her apart. But it reminds her that she’s alive. And this, in itself, is a miracle.

~~

She doesn’t know who she is anymore.

Some people call her a survivor. But it doesn’t feel like the right word. So many things in her died. So much was lost.

The attack took a lot from her. Danny. Bobby. Sense of security. Identity. Direction.

Right and wrong, good and bad, righteous and vicious. These are all just words. Someone needs to come and teach her the meaning of them anew. Draw lines, mark out frontiers. Save her from herself.

The ground is soaked. Torrential rain turned the soil into soft mud, warm and easily slipping through her fingers. She falls on her knees, praying for the ground to consume her.

Fill every part of her. Silence the internal cacophony. To sink into oblivion.

Not many people knew about the panic attacks and recurring nightmares. They’re always the same.

She’s standing in the middle of a swamp. Danny and Bobby are drowning, their arms reaching out for her. She knows she can only save one of them. She runs out of time trying to figure out how to save both. As a result, they both die. Time stands still and yet everything is spinning, moving, racing. The reality is a riot of overbright colours.

Suddenly, a ring breaks the silence. A polyphonic intruder. She looks at the screen through hooded eyes and notices the caller’s name. It’s him. He’s petrified. Worried to death. Asks her to stay where she is.

Some time later, maybe 10 minutes, maybe an hour - who knows? - he emerges from the gathering of stocky oaks.

The moment he catches the sight of her, he starts running. She notices a lab coat underneath the jacket. He’s soaking wet.

Even though he is so close, he doesn’t slow down. Crashing into her, he scoops her in his arms. Catches her in the tightest of embraces.

Asks her if she’s fine. No. Not that question again. She’s tired of people fussing over her and gets angry.

Had it not been for the attack, would he even be here? The voice asks mockingly. It doesn’t matter to her. He’s there now.

Deep baritone is gentle and full of concern. It’s not like that. It’s not his intention to fuss. He’s simply worried. Because she is the most important thing to him in the whole world. Yes, he wasted so much time. That’s why he refuses to lose even one more second.

A dam breaks within her. Eliciting a quiet sob. She clutches his shirt, holds onto him for dear life. Moments later, she’s screaming at the top of her lungs. Singing her poignant birdsong.

How is she supposed to cope? Will things ever go back to normal? What is normal anyway?

In the confines of the infamous patient room she never felt more scared in her life. But here, out in the open, she feels so safe. As if she’s had a silent agreement with nature, which vouched to protect her at all costs.

And this time, nature had an ally. Because Ethan will protect her, even if it’s the last thing he does. Holding onto each other, they stand in the nothingness.

It keeps them grounded. Connected to their roots. Turning over new leaves. Bending before they break. Growing.

They get lost. Mother Nature has a reward for those who do. They have a chance to find themselves. Over and over again.

~~~

If you made it this far - thank you & you're awesome 🥰

Tag list: @genevievemd @gryffindordaughterofathena @terrm9@starrystarrytrouble @the-pale-goddess @jamespotterthefirst @lisha1valecha @writer-ish @maurine07 @drakewalkerfantasy@iemcpbchoices @liaromancewriter @lem-20 @lucy-268 @oldminniemcg @queencarb @qrkowna @mercury84choices @lsvdw-blog @utterlyinevitable @stygianflood @udishaman @romewritingshop @romereadingshop @alina-yol-ramsey @stateofgracious @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @binny1985 @tsrookie @fayeswiftie @archxxronrookie @tinkertailorsoldierspy @schnitzelbutterfingers @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @theinvisibledreamergirl @custaroonie @irisofpurple @chasingrobbie @ethandaddyramseyx @quixoticdreamer16 @coffeeheartaddict @takemyopenheart @aworldoffandoms @potionsprefect @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[freddie-weaselbee]

E3: The One with the Wedding//F.W.

Series Summary: FRIENDS but with Harry Potter characters after Hogwarts graduation, trying to figure out their lives and relationships. Non Voldy AU. 

Pairing(s): Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader, Ron x Lavender, Romione

Warnings: Language, mentions of food, drinking (legal), mentions of sex, nudity

Summary: As Hermione hustles to interrupt Ron and Lavender’s wedding in New York City, Fred and Y/N have a heart to heart which quickly turns into something much more. 

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: This may or may not be 9 days late (my b) but it’s the 5th and final fic in Abby’s Week of Weasley !! The FRIENDS series will continue!

Message me to join the FRIENDS taglist or my general taglist

-Episode 1-  -Episode 2-

~Abby’s Week of Weasley Masterlist~  ~Masterlist~

May 2004

Previously on FRIENDS

“Hey Luna?” Hermione called from her bedroom. She and her friend had spent the day discussing her feelings for Ron and trying their best to help her get over him. Apparently recounting the horrors of their relationship was not helping in the slightest. 

“Yeah,” Luna called back from the kitchen. 

“Do you remember where the pygmy puff food is?” Her muffled voice sounded rushed and anxious, even more so than Hermione usually was. 

“Yeah, it’s under the front counter of Fred and George’s shop. Why?”

Luna turned her head to see Hermione come flying into the room dragging a packed suitcase behind her. “Because I’m going to New York.”

The pregnant girl nearly had a heart attack at Hermione’s declaration. “What? What do you mean you’re going to New York?”

Hermione grabbed a few more essentials from around the apartment, rushing in order to catch the next flight. “Yeah, I have to tell Ronald that I love him. Now Luna, you take care, you don’t have those babies until I get back.”

“I--but what about all of the finding his flaws and burning his picture rituals we’ve been doing?” Luna asked, straining to stand up and chase after her friend. 

Hermione easily moved past the slow-moving girl, zipping up her bag and heading to the door. “Yeah, that didn’t work. I know he loves Lavender but I have to tell him how I feel! He deserves to have all of the information and then he can make an informed decision.”

Phoebe shook her head and continued to hobble around the room. “No, Hermione, it’s too late, you missed your chance! I’m sorry, I know this must be really hard, it’s over.”

The other girl paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “Y’know what? No. It’s not over until someone says ‘I do.’” And with that she took off out of the apartment and to the streets of Diagon Alley, on her way to another country to declare her love for Ron Weasley. 

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

“Would you look at this place,” George sighed in awe, staring around at the beautifully decorated dinner hall. There were chandeliers hanging everywhere and everyone was dressed in clothes that looked like they cost more than everything the Weasleys owned combined. Fred and George twisted uncomfortably in their mediocre suits. Sure, they were successful businessmen with some money to spare, but they could never compete with this. 

“Holy shit,” you said, coming up behind the twins. They turned around, startled to see you suddenly appear. Fred took a second to look you up and down, mouth hanging slightly open in surprise. 

“Holy shit is right, Y/N,” he said. “You look bloody amazing!” You glanced down at your outfit, a slim fitting long dress that hugged your form perfectly. You smiled and did a little twirl for the boys who whooped and whistled at you. 

“While I appreciate the compliment,” you said, “I was talking about the hall. How rich is Lavender’s family anyway?”

Fred shrugged. “Apparently loaded. I mean, it’s not like our family could ever compete with this. How Ron was able to pull someone this high up is a mystery to me.”

He and George picked at their clothes self consciously, trying to straighten their ties and smooth out their suits. 

“Oh come now,” you said, “you two are perfectly successful. Who cares if the Browns could afford to buy all of London if they wanted to? Let’s just enjoy the night and eat all of the expensive food they bought!”

“Y/N, you’re my dream girl,” Fred said, putting his arm around your waist. “If you ever want to marry a Weasley, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“I appreciate the offer, Weasley, but I do think George and I would be a couple to be reckoned with.”

“Ha! Suck it Fred, I get Y/N and you’re stuck alone,” George said, kissing your cheek and stealing you away from his brother. 

Fred was about to reply when a loud voice echoed through the room and everyone turned to see a short red haired woman come hurtling through the door. 

“Mum!” cried Ron from across the room. He grabbed Lavender’s hand and they made their way over where you and the twins were standing, now accompanied by the latest arrivals, Molly and Arthur Weasley. 

“Sweetheart!” Molly squealed, pulling him into a tight hug. “Oh sorry we’re late, Muggle transportation is such a hassle, especially in this country. Your father spent 20 minutes trying to figure out how to call a taxi and he wouldn’t stop asking the driver everything you could ask!”

“I still never got an answer to my rubber duck question,” Arthur grumbled before a warm smile appeared on his face. “Hello, Lavender, it’s lovely to see you again.”

“You as well!” she said before hugging Arthur and then Molly. “Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, here come my parents.”

Sure enough, two very wealthy looking people were walking over to join their daughter and future son in law. 

“Hello, hello,” said Lavender’s father, shaking the hands of the Weasleys. “How do you do? Very nice to meet all of you.” He glanced over at his wife. “Darling, it’s the Weasleys.”

“Sorry, what?,” she said, finally looking up at the family, a hint of distaste in her gaze. “Oh, lovely to meet you.” Her snobby look never faltered, making the rest of the Weasley clan even more uncomfortable. 

Arthur cleared his throat. “It’s great to meet you both. I’m sorry we couldn’t help pay for much of the wedding, but we hope that we can at least cover the cost of dinner tonight.”

“Yes of course,” said Molly. “We know how expensive weddings can be, besides this may be the last time I watch one of my sons get married.�� 

Fred and George rolled their eyes at their mother, who wouldn’t stop pestering them to settle down since Bill, Percy, and now Ron were all either married or close to it. 

“We’ve heard the complaints, mum,” said Fred. 

“But hey, at least we’re saving you money!” George said. 

“And not giving me grandchildren,” she mumbled, but loud enough for everyone to hear. 

You decided to jump in and defend your friends. “At least you’ve still got other kids who are starting their own families, Molly. And besides, do you really want to have these two bring little Fred’s and George’s into the world?”

Molly smiled and put her hand on your shoulder. “I suppose you’re right dear. They were, and still are, quite a handful.”

“Hey!” they both shouted, clearly offended.

You giggled and wandered off with Molly, telling her the latest stories of the many troubles the twins had gotten into. 

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

Hermione, never one for athletics, was suddenly an Olympic sprinter, flying down the halls of the London airport. She reached the ticket counter, cutting off some very angry travelers, and threw her bags onto the scale. 

After a few long seconds of leaning over and catching her breath, she finally muttered a “hi” to the ticket agent. 

“Hello,” she replied cheerfully. 

“Oh, umm, hello!” Hermione replied, mirroring the chipperness of the agent. “When is your next flight to New York City?”

“There’s one leaving in 30 minutes,” she replied. 

“Oh, thank Godric,” she muttered, earning herself a few odd looks from passersby at her unique choice of language. 

The woman behind the counter typed a few things into her computer. “The last minute fare on this ticket is twenty seven hundred dollars.”

Hermione reached around in her purse, fumbling with gold and silver coins. “How about galleons?” she asked. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Nevermind,” Hermione sighed, sprinting off again to apparate to Diagon Alley and exchange her galleons for Muggle money. There was no way she was going to miss this flight. 

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

“I’d like to make a toast!” Fred announced, standing up from his table with a wine glass in hand. “Ron and Lavender. Of course, my big toast will be tomorrow at the wedding, so this is kind of my little toast or Melba toast, if you will.”

He was only met with silence and you and George very visibly facepalmed. 

“Okay…” he continued hesitantly. “I’ve known Ron for a long time. His whole life, actually. See I got the first two years of my life without my baby brother, but nope he’s always had me, and I know he’s so incredibly grateful for that.”

When once again there was no reaction, Fred decided it was time to up the performance. 

“I remember when Ron was going out with his first girlfriend. And I thought things were going to work out for him. Until the day he over inflated her!” Fred winked at his little brother, whose face was redder than his hair. For the third time in the last minute Fred did not get anywhere close to the reaction he had expected. “Oh dear Godric…”

“How about I take over for you, Freddie.” George said, taking the microphone from his slightly older brother. “Everyone knows I am the more charming twin, isn’t that right?” He was met with some soft giggles and a whoop from one of the bridesmaids sitting a few tables away. Fred begrudgingly plopped down into his seat, leaning his head on your shoulder as he pouted for the rest of the dinner. 

As everyone finished their speeches, you giving one about your friendship with Ron that even brought Molly to tears, you found yourself sprawled out on a fancy couch still consoling Fred. 

“I was laughing,” you said while patting him on the knee. 

“Out loud?” he asked, crossing his arms and shoving your hand away. 

You looked down at your wine glass guiltily. “Well I didn’t want everyone to think I was stupid.” Fred groaned and buried his face in his hands, ruffling his hair in frustration that you knew went deeper than a few poor jokes. “Hey, how are you doing?”

He looked up at you questioningly, cocking his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t try to hide it from me, Freddie, I can tell when something’s bothering you, and I know it’s not just that your jokes sucked arse.”

“No, the audience sucked arse, I’m fucking hilarious.” You kicked him lightly, urging him to tell you. With a long sigh Fred sat up and turned to face you, his big brown eyes void of their usual cheerful gleam. “Mum’s driving me crazy! I mean, I get it, she wants me to get married and settle down and have kids, but she has 6 other children, two of them with kids of their own already! I don’t know, this whole wedding thing has just put a lot more pressure on me, that’s all.”

You tenderly rubbed his shoulder, feeling him relax slightly at your touch. “Don’t listen to her, ok? Marriage isn’t for everyone. Same with kids. You’re independent and carefree, and you shouldn’t feel like you have to settle down if you don’t want to.”

He mumbled something under his breath, too quiet for you to hear. “What?” 

“I said…” he began slowly, “I said that it’s not that. It’s the complete opposite actually.”

Fred glanced across the room at his youngest brother holding hands with his fiancée and whispering something into her ear. “It’s just...he’s my younger brother. He’s Ron, for Merlin’s sake! How did Ron get a girl before me?”

“Aww, is Freddie jealous of his little brother?” you teased, knocking your shoulder into his. When he didn’t answer you tried to sober up, not used to seeing this side of Fred. 

“I’m 26, Y/N,” he cried out. “And I know that’s not old or anything, but I just figured I’d have my life together by now. Maybe a long term girlfriend, or even--” he paused for a moment, continuing to watch Ron and Lavender. “--or maybe it would’ve been me walking down the aisle with someone I love.”

“Come here, love,” you cooed as you pulled Fred into your chest. “You know there’s no rush. Sure Ron’s getting married, but I think he found himself the only person in the world who’d ever date him and he had to tie her down quick.”

Fred shuddered into your chest with a small laugh, bringing his hands up to aimlessly play with your hair. “Yeah,” he said, “and we all know that the girls are lined up just waiting for me. I guess I’ve got time.”

“Exactly. And plenty of it.” Fred continued to play with your hair as you did the same with his, occasionally scratching at his scalp and listening to the quiet whimpers he would let out. 

He shifted so he was looking up at you, mere inches away from your face. “Y’know, you’ve been acting strange lately too. What’s bugging you?”

“It’s nothing Freddie, I--”

“Uh uh.” He shook his head. “I poured my heart and soul out to you, the least you could do is do the same to me.”

Sighing, you checked around you to make sure no one would be able to overhear. “Promise you won’t tell Ron? I don’t want it to make anything weird in our relationship.”

Fred snapped his head between you and his younger brother, eyes growing wide as he jumped to the nearest possible answer. “You’re bloody in love with him, aren’t you?!”

“What?” you asked, laughing at the ridiculous accusation. “No! Oh, no no no, not at all! I’ve known him since we were 11, and trust me, watching young Ronnie throw up slugs will turn anyone off of him.”

Fred smiled down at you and breathed a sigh of relief, glad that you weren’t getting your heart broken by being at the wedding. “So what is it then? Promise I won’t tell, swear on George’s life.”

You rolled your eyes but snuggled up next to him, feeling much more comfortable with your best friend as close as possible. “Fine. You’re not the only one having to deal with parent problems. Like I said I’ve been friends with Ron since my family first found out I was a witch. My parents, being Muggles, immediately fell in love with your family, and Ron as well whenever he would come to visit over the summer. My mum has this whacked out idea that it should be me that’s marrying him tonight. She’s so disappointed, told me I’m passing up the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But he’s just Ron! I could never see him like that. He’s like a brother to me.”

Fred sat silently throughout your whole rant, rubbing small circles over your knuckles with his thumb. When it seemed you had finally finished, Fred had no idea what to say. He had never been the comforting sort and had always managed to make it worse. As he did this time as well. 

“Do you see me like that too?”

You looked at him with scrunched eyebrows, trying to understand how he decided on that as a response. 

“As a brother, I mean.” He stuttered through his words. “Am I just another brother to you?”

“‘Course you are, Freddie. I love you like family.” He gazed at you lovingly, wondering what he had done to have a friend like you in his life. 

“How about this then?” he asked. “How about, since your mom wants you to marry a Weasley, if by the time we’re both 40 and still single, why don’t we marry each other?”

He looked so sweet offering this to you, so kind and thoughtful. You knew that the deal would benefit him as well, but to you it felt like he was doing this only for you. And you knew he would do anything for you. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I actually only promised George the same thing,” you said, making Fred’s jaw drop and a scowl appear on his face. 

“George! My own bloody twin? How could you, Y/N? I revoke my proposal.”

“I’m practically in tears,” you said stoically. Deciding it was time to go out and mingle instead of throwing yourselves a pity party, you grabbed Fred’s hand and made your way over to find George, only to be stopped by a very obviously drunk man. 

He put a hand on your shoulder which made both you and Fred tense up. “I just want to say,” he said through slurred speech, “that Ron is a wonderful young man.”

Fred eased his grip on your hand a little bit, sensing that this man wasn’t going to do anything to you. You gave him a thankful look before turning your attention back to the hammered American. “Well thanks, we like him.”

The man stepped closer to examine your face, his booze breath going straight up your nose. It took all you had not to throw up because of it. 

“My God!” he exclaimed, “you two must’ve been teenagers when you had him!” 

You and Fred both stared straight ahead, insecurities and doubts increasing tenfold at the misunderstanding. You gritted your teeth and held back from slapping the man, who luckily made his way to another table to insult someone else. 

Fred turned you to face him and gripped your shoulders tight, leaning down so he was eye to eye with you. “The guy was hammered, okay? There’s no way that you look like Ron’s mum. Nor I his dad for that matter!”

“Then why would he say it?” you grumbled, pushing Fred away from you and going to get rid of your sadness by gorging on some food. 

“Because he’s crazy!”

“Oh, my mother’s right. I’m never going to get married.”

“Ahh, you know what?” Fred touched the small of your back softly, turning you around to face him, his breath growing heavy in exasperation. “This is...who wouldn’t want you?”

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

The next morning, the biggest day of Ron’s life, he was racing down the hallways practically bouncing off the walls. He was getting married. After a failed relationship with Padma years before, Ron had finally been able to heal and pour his love onto someone else. Lavender Brown. 

Sure, the relationship had moved fast. Really fast, actually. They had only been together for a few months before Ron popped the question, to which a very ecstatic Lavender happily agreed. He knew it was unorthodox. He knew it was impulsive. But he didn’t care. Because someone loved him. 

He shot through the door of Fred and George’s hotel room, making Fred jolt awake with a start. 

“I’m getting married today!” he screamed. “Whoo-hoo!” 

Fred scrambled around in the bed sheets for a few seconds before scowling at his brother. “Morning, Ron.”

“I’m getting married. To-day!” he said, ignoring the annoyed looks Fred was shooting him. 

Relaxing a little Fred smiled. “Yeah you are!”

Ron jumped around and sprinted out of the room, screaming as he ran down the hall to announce his feelings to all of the other hotel guests. 

The bed in which Fred was sleeping shifted once again, but it wasn’t Fred’s doing. You shot up from under his covers, holding the blankets to cover your naked chest and panting heavily in worry. “Do you think he knew I was here?”

Fred slowly shook his head, refusing to make eye contact with you. He shifted in the bed, his leg accidentally brushing yours. You yelped and he quickly moved away, apologizing profusely. 

After a long awkward silence, Fred finally spoke. “Well, I’ve--I’ve never done that with you before.”

“Nope,” you replied, popping the ‘p’ and sinking down further into the bed, trying to disappear. 

“So, ahh, how are you?” he said slowly. “You okay?”

You nodded, clutching the sheets so hard that your knuckles were turning white. “Yep, yep. You?”

“Yes, yes, uh huh. You?” The two of you finally made eye contact, faces equal shades of vermillion. “We did you. I did you. I--umm, sorry not the time.”

It got quiet once again. You let out a long breath, wondering how you were supposed to move on from sleeping with your best friend. You wanted to blame the alcohol from last night, but neither of you were drunk. You’d only had one glass of wine, just enough to make you a little more confident than normal. Apparently that was enough to do the trick. 

“Well… I’d better get going,” you told him, starting to sit up before remembering you and Fred were both naked under the sheets. 

“Oh, yea yea, absolutely,” he stammered, gesturing for you to leave. 

“Could you not look, please?”

“I don’t want to look.” Fred covered his eyes, not even pretending to peak through them. It was uncomfortable enough as it is, he really didn’t want to be joking around at the moment. 

You slowly slid off the bed, taking a moment to let what had happened last night fully sink in. Had you ruined your friendship with Fred? Was it going to be this weird from now on? You hustled to grab your clothes from yesterday, ready to complete the infamous walk of shame. Thankfully, your room was just down the hall so any chances of you being caught were slim. All you had to do was put on a happy face for the wedding, pretend to enjoy yourself, and forget any of this ever happened. Yeah, that would work. Right?

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

Lavender’s eyes went wide as she took in the scene around her. The wedding hall was absolutely gorgeous, decorated in elegant fairy lights and flowers hanging from baskets on the ceiling. It was like she was a princess in her own personal fairy tale. 

She spun around in her wedding dress, not even caring about the weird looks some of her parents’ friends were giving her. She never cared for them, or the family status, anyway. She just wanted to live her life as her own person, taking each step with someone she loved holding her hand. 

“Hey.” Lavender was interrupted by the voice of her lover, standing bashfully a few feet away with his hands in his pockets. 

“Ron!” she chastised playfully. “You’re not supposed to see me in my wedding dress, it’s bad luck!”

“I think we’ve had all the bad luck we’re going to have.” Lavender grinned and jumped into Ron’s arms, giggling as he swung her around. He finally put her down kissing the top of her head as he did so.  “I’ll see you in a few hours, when you’re finally mine forever.”

“It can’t come soon enough.” The brunette was then distracted by Parvati calling her name, so she bid Ron goodbye and skipped over to her maid of honor. 

She didn’t notice the unexpected guest standing at the end of the aisle, listening to their entire conversation. Or maybe if she did, she chose to ignore it. After all, her and Ron’s bad luck was over. She was finally getting the one thing she wanted most in life. To be loved. 

Ron stared longingly at the girl he loved so deeply talk to her best friend, before the same unexpected guest that Lavender hadn’t noticed caught his eye. “Oh Merlin, Hermione!”

He ran up to her and kissed her on the cheek, ecstatic that his friend had decided to come to New York for his wedding. “You’re here. I can’t believe it! What happened? Why are you here?”

Hermione took a quick glance over at where Lavender was standing. She had seen everything. Heard it all. She knew how much they both cared for each other, and who was she to stand in the way of their love? She had missed her chance with Ron, but Lavender hadn’t. 

“Well I just came…” She touched his chest right near his heart, tears threatening to spill. “I just needed to tell you…” 

She couldn’t do it. It wasn’t fair to either of them. Hermione took a deep breath and put on a fake smile. “Congratulations.”

Ron grabbed her tightly and hugged her with all of his strength, tears of joy pooling in his eyes. Tears continued to grow in Hermione's, but for completely different reasons. Today was the day everything changed. Today her chance was gone. Forever. 

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

If the chapel was beautiful before, it was even more extravagant with all of the lights lit up and the band playing soft, romantic music. Any normal day you would’ve enjoyed the site, wishing that someday you could have a wedding just like this. But unfortunately the only thing on your mind was the events of the previous night. 

“Ready?” George whispered to you, getting ready to walk one of the other bridesmaids down the aisle. He could tell something was wrong, but he didn’t want to push you. You nodded your head, sending your friend a thumbs up before it was his turn to make his walk. 

“Ready?” asked a nearly identical voice to the one before. Fred stood behind you, his hair styled for once and his clothes neatly pressed and cleaned. He did clean up well, you had to admit. But, not that you would ever say this to anyone, you quite liked it better when he wasn’t wearing anything at all. 

“I’m ready.” He linked his arm in yours, guiding you slowly down the dimly lit aisle. 

Fred couldn’t help but steal a few glances at you. Your eyes were focused straight ahead, refusing to look at anything except the alter at the end of the walk. If you just made it to the end of the walk, everything would be ok. Everything would be over. But maybe Fred didn’t want everything to be over, just not yet. He sucked in a breath and decided to take a chance. 

“What he did last night,” he whispered, slowing down as to elongate the conversation as much as possible. 

“Stupid,” you muttered. 

“Totally crazy stupid!” Fred got a few rude glances at his loud volume, so he checked himself before continuing. “I...I’m coming over tonight though, right?”

Your breath hitched in your chest. You were so close to the end of the aisle. You could ignore him and ignore whatever was going on between the two of you. It could all go back to normal, just a few more steps. 

But your heart took over, and you said something that you knew future you might regret, but you didn’t care. It was worth the risk. 

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

Fred squeezed your arm as you made your last steps to the front of the chapel, separating and taking your places in the rows of wedding participants. 

You scanned the crowd, seeing Hermione fidgeting nervously in her seat. You felt awful for what she must be going through, but proud that she decided to accept it. Hermione was tough, that was for sure. She could handle anything. 

“Friends. Family. We are gathered to celebrate here today the joyous union of Ron and Lavender. May the happiness we share with them today be with them always. Now Lavender, repeat after me. I, Lavender.”

“I, Lavender,” she said with a grin so big it looked like it would jump right off her face. 

“Take thee Ron,” the minister continued. 

“Take thee Ron.”

“As my lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, till death parts us.”

“As my lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, till death parts us.”

She giggled and squeezed Ron’s hands tighter, mere seconds away from being united with the one she loved oh so much. 

“Now Ron,” said the minister, turning to the groom. “Repeat after me. I Ron…”

George winked at him and Fred gestured for him to speak. No matter how much they teased their little brother, they were so proud of him for finding someone to spend the rest of his life with. “I Ron…”

“Take thee, Lavender…”

“Take thee, Hermione…”

Gasps filled the room. You covered your mouth and looked out to the crowd at Hermione, who looked as if she had seen a ghost. Fred and George started whispering frantically to each other and Molly seemed as if she was about to either faint or slap Ron into another country. 

But nothing compared to Lavender’s reaction. She stood there, frozen, hands going numb in the grip of the person she thought loved her. The one who only thought of her. The one who chose her. 

“Lavender!” Ron corrected, nervously chuckling in order to hide the growing humiliation. “Lavender.”

The minister looked between the bride and groom, having no idea where to go from there. “Uhh...shall I go on?”

Hermione couldn’t take her eyes off of Ron. He had just said her name. Her name. Not Lavender’s. Hers. 

What was supposed to happen next?

Tag List: @fandomhideout @amourtentiaa

[hs-devote]

 4. M A R C E L

Moodboard // Content // Masterlist

Disclaimer:

All characters and situation in this story are fictitious. Resemblance to any person living or dead is only God knows.

Previous chapter :

Harry's finger still wandering around her face, thumbs caressing her lips slowly. The air started to feel getting more intense, while Y/N began to be allured by Harry's soft touch. He slowly leaned in, pulling her chin until his lips touch hers. Y/N froze, eyes blinking. His hand cupped her jaw while the other still on her chin. She slowly closed her eyes, kissing him back, trusting him. It was getting way too intense while her arms grabbed his neck, deepening the kiss.

Harry bit her lips with hand rubbing her exposed thigh wildly. Y/N let out a soft moan when Harry was stroking her inner thigh, another hand caressing her bare back.

4. MARCEL

“You scared her, Marcel.”

“Did I ?”

Harry sat on the edge of his bed, hands locked to each other. It was 1 o'clock in the middle of the night, yet he did not feel sleepy at all. His bedroom was pitch dark, the only light was from floor lamps and reflections from building lights from outside. The curtains were wide open. He didn't like the darkness.

Harry's eyes staring deep at the person in front of him. He's too tired to argue with him. Harry never knew why he loved to meet him in the dark night. Always. Only one time he met him when the sky was bright. Blinding lights was not the thing he likes, he didn't like the crowd too much either.

“It's almost two weeks. Every time I talk to her, she always has that look in her eyes.”

“Well, it's your fault then.”

“How come it was my fault? How can it be my fault if you were the one who did it?”

“Harry..” He chuckled mockingly, “You meet her every day, do you? Just use your charm and she will be fine. If your smart enough, you can take advantage of her. How long have you been since got laid?”

“I don't like you talking like that to her. She's my employee, Marcel.”

“But you like her, do you? You have to thank me, Harry. You will never know if I didn't start it. Sadly, you messed it up.” He smirked, “I had almost forgotten what it felt like to taste a woman.”

“Fucking hell, Marcel!” Harry growled, “I am grateful I was able to arrive at the right time. God knows what you would do that night.”

Marcel was laughing, a laugh that Harry hate. A sinister laugh. “Don't bring God in this situation, Harry. He won't listen to you.” He stood up, with a look of pity, smiling devilishly. “Did you know, she saw you killed that person?”

“You were the one who strangled him, Marcel. Not me. What even were you doing there? Don't you know that's her apartment complex?” Harry asked lowly, still glaring at him.

“But, what she knows.. it was you.” He grinned, “I was curious about her. When she was walking out of the building, that son of a bitch was following her. He knew I was behind him, and he didn't like that so... he thought he could rob me but the poor man didn't know what was coming to him.”

“And you killed him, Marcel. I can't believe you.”

“He already saw my face, I couldn't let a single witness roaming around with free, could I? I don't want you to go to prison, Harry.”

Harry could feel the burden on his shoulders, he was tired of this problem. A trivial matter for Marcel, but not for him. “Where did you throw the body?” He sighed, rubbing his face.

“Don't worry too much. Just calm down. No one will find it. Trust me.”

“Trust you?!” Harry screamed, “How could I trust you if every time you do something, I always take care of that? Just stop it, Marcel. You always did that but never think of the consequences!”

“Don't be loud, your housemaids is sleeping. Well, I don't know why you let Suzanne stay the night.” He snickered, “That's why I have you, Harry. Use your connection, Harry. Use your brain, your power.”

Right now, Harry really wanted to throw things but he couldn’t do that. Poor Suzanne was exhausted and Harry had let her stay overnight. After all, she would be home alone because her son didn't come home tonight.

“One question.” His eyes sharp, looking at Marcel's dark one. For a moment, he could see the reflection of his face. “If I didn't lose the count, you came a lot lately. 4 of them when I was with Y/N. Why?”

“We both know what triggered you, Harry. Sometimes I think, why you can be a weak person? You're weak, Harry. Not like me. Yes, you are powerful, rich, handsome. But I am too. What if, I'm there? You can rest, until whenever you want.” He laughed, not caring the look of Harry's disgust, “I swear to God, Marcel..”

But Marcel keep laughing like he just had been told the funniest joke in the world. Harry couldn't contain it anymore, he grabbed the floor lamp and throwing it to the full-length mirror. Shattered glass falling to pieces on the floor along with a loud bang. He couldn’t see Marcel any more, yet his sinister laugh still haunted him.

Every time Harry tried to get rid of Marcel, he couldn't. Every time he saw his reflection in the mirror, he saw those eyes, eyes that resemblance him, but darker then ever, that was when Marcel came suddenly with the same figure as him. He was aware, Marcel was living with him, and he couldn't just get rid of Marcel.

. . . .

“Mr. Styles?” Y/N ask slowly when she pushed his door open. Her hands gripping some bundles tightly. Her feet step inside very carefully, like afraid of something.

That night moment in the car, made her couldn't sleep all night. Her feelings were crumbling. On the one hand, she couldn't lie with her feelings. She had crush on Harry, from the first day she laid her eyes on him. On the other hand, she felt unprofessional. Yes, she knew they did that outside work area, Harry's still her boss.

“Yes, can I help you with something?” Harry asked, watching her pulling a chair in front of him. A couple of weeks working in here, Harry saw significant progress in the way she handles her tasks. To be honest, she was the assistant he liked the most from the people before. Not only because of work, but she also had nice character, and extraordinarily smart for women her age.

“Err, I have bad news. Polygram calling off the contract unilaterally and withdraw all funds from Erskine.”

Harry couldn't digest every word that came out of her mouth, like her voice slowly fade away. He just stared at her dumbfounded. Y/N not sure either if Harry really listening to her. “Legal counsel is on discussing right as we talk now, looking for cause if Erskine can sue them.”

“Harry?” Y/N called him when Harry didn't budge. Slowly, she waved her hand in front of his face. He jumped instantly, “Yeah, yeah? I'm sorry.”

“Did you hear me, sir? You were spacing out.”

“How much funds did Polygram provide during the contract?”

“$900,000 equivalent £730,000. They withdrew almost full funds even though the contract had been running for six months out of the year.”

“Not too much, but still.. it’s breach of contract.”

“But, from the news I heard, their affiliated company will most likely do the same with thing to Erskine. A total of four companies are under Polygram, with worth $3,000,000”

Harry felt like something was suffocating him. One of their biggest clients walking away from his company. He didn’t understand what happened. Everything was all right before.

“Do you know what is the reason? Maybe we can persuade them? I don't want to lose a client. I don't want to let go of them with prejudice, if something isn't right, we can talk about it.”

���I will arrange the meeting immediately, sir.” Y/N nodded. She felt sorry for Harry now, he looked stressed, clearly visible from the look of his face. “Do you need anything, sir?”

In fact, Y/N was waiting for Harry to talk about what happened that night. After they kissed, Harry never brought it up.

To this day.

Y/N didn't know what Harry was thinking at the time, and right now. Whether he did it because he just wanted to kiss her, or because of his emotion, or because he indeed like her.

“No, thank you Y/N.” Harry forced a smile. Y/N could only sigh softly with disappointment. If she could be honest, she had a lot of hope of him. She just didn’t want to be disappointed before it's too late. She excused herself, going back to her office.

Plopping herself into her chair, Y/N opened her email. Quickly typing away a meeting invitation to Polygram, hope they would cancel their intentions. She knew how mad Harry would be if that really happens.

Her phone ringing loudly, making her slightly jump in her seat. Sliding the screen up, she brought her cellphone to her ear, “Hello?”

“Don't sound too happy, what's wrong Y/N?”

“Hi to you too,  Abbie.” She shrieked, “I'm sorry, I just.. well kinda busy at the moment. How are you?”

“Oh, do I bother you? I can hang up and call you in another hour maybe?”

“Nah, I'm fine.” Her other hand lifted from the keyboard, “Now, I'm free for the next ten minutes, I guess.”

“Well, I just wanna check up my best friend. How's Erskine, anyway? Everything good?”

“Worth the benefits, obviously. I'm sorry we rarely hang out together even on weekends. It's been a long time since I've seen you. For God's sake, we are in the same city!”

“Don't worry about that. I could just pay a visit, you know?”

Abbie or Abigail, was a friend from high school. When they were in college, they went to London together but with different universities. She settled in London after that, while Y/N coming back to her home town.

“Any romance involved in the office?”

Y/N giggled, not really know what to answer. “No.. not really. Not yet.”

“Whoa, so.. there's someone? Who's that?!”

“Abbie, please.” She sighed, “I don't know really, it's difficult with.. the situation.” Y/N muttered, toying her pen. “I don't know if he likes me.”

“Okay then if you don't wanna talk about it. I will ask for the progress  next week.” She laughed, “Can we talk about your hot as fuck boss? How's him in the office?”

Y/N shifted awkwardly in her seat, her mind went to their kisses memory. “Oh, Harry? He's nice. Very nice person. Unlike most bosses –stern, creepy. Not at all.”

“Does he have a girlfriend? What is his girlfriend like?”

“No, he's very very single. A fit bachelor. Why?”

“I just curious. I mean.. he's a fucking CEO at THAT age. Fucking handsome like a Greek god. Tell me I'm freak but I love to search him on Google. Did you know that Erskine is one of the top companies with the biggest revenue? Who doesn't want him? He could easily spoil her girlfriend with buckets of diamonds. There's nothing he can do.”

“All I know is Harry works his ass off every day.”

“Hold on.. Did I just hear you call him Harry? So, we are in the first name basis, huh?

“Shut up.” Y/N chuckled, her eyes raking her email.

Polygram agreed to a meeting, but today.

“Can I call you back later? I have a meeting to do.”

“Right then, talk later!”

After she hung up the call, Y/N read the Polygram email carefully. They would love to hold a meeting this afternoon. She dialled Harry's extension right away, he picked up on the second ring.

“Mr. Styles? Polygram agree to a meeting, today at 2.00pm in Erskine. Do you have time? I already check on your schedule , you have no meetings today.”

“It's fine. Please take care of it.”

“Will do.”

Polygram team arrive exactly at 2 o'clock, while Y/N have waited ten minutes ago. She immediately called Harry while the participants were enjoying some snacks offered. Harry's arrival was greeted with handshakes and short small talks.

“I'm aware of this purpose meeting, Mr. Styles. We apologise for contract withdrawal but that was all orders from the council.”

“What is the reason if I may ask, Mr. Roberts? We have never committed violations, haven't we?”

“Yes yes, we are very aware, Mr. Styles. The reason is...” Mr. Roberts glanced at his colleagues, like he was hesitant to say it. “The council doesn't want to work with companies led by.. arrogant young people, they said.”

“Pardon?” Both Y/N and Harry stared at them dumbfounded. Really didn’t get what he meant.

“Our council got the news that you attacked one of our loyal colleagues at an event, and they are not pleased with it.”

Harry? Attacking someone?

Y/N rolled her memories to a few days back, remember that it was true that Harry attacked someone that night. But he was the one who started it, not Harry. It was Dale.

Dale...

Loyal colleagues...

Of course, Machtig.

“Where did they get it from? There's no news about it.” Y/N asked slowly.

“We don't know exactly, we just know that one of the councils' members really close with Machtig.”

“They don't know what really happened.” Harry muttered

“But the news about you, Mr. Styles, punching a man in public areas spread very fast.” This time, a lady with her black short hair opened her mouth after a long time silence. “They only question your performance if you like beating people up. Sure the council wants to keep their image.”

“Do you guys know you're breaking the law? We could sue Polygram but certainly, we don't want to if you cancel the withdrawal.” Y/N exclaimed, trying to speak for Harry. Because from the corner of her eyes, Harry began to look pissed. Everyone sunk into silence, as if just understood the consequences. Y/N was even more infuriated when no one spoke. “Isn't it unprofessional to bring together between work and personal matters? If Mr. Styles here wants to do something outside his office, it becomes his privacy. I mean, he didn't commit a crime.”

“The council also wondering why the police had not been involved in the incident.”

“Denise..” Mr. Roberts hissed at his co-worker, ask her to stop it immediately. Y/N wondered why this woman named Denise really coming at Harry.

Police...

Then Y/N realised, when Harry threw his fist to the robber, they had approached by the police. But after that, they were never been called. Did the police really forget them? Her or Harry could have been designated as witnesses if they wanted to proceed to court. There's no way the police just let him go.

“I understand your worries, Mr. Styles, Ms. Y/L/N. We'll try to talk to the council, especially with the charges if we break the contract.” Mr. Robert spoke, while collecting up his stuff.

“We're waiting for the good news in a week, tops.” Y/N stressed her words, waiting for a definite answer. Harry – who was sitting next to her, was completely indifferent. His chest rose up and down, ready to explode soon.

“I'll try my best.”

“Thank you, Mr. Roberts.”

After bidding them goodbye, Y/N was going to go back to her office when Harry's hand gripped her wrist. She let him speak first, didn’t know what he wanted to talk about, but she hoped Harry could control his anger right now.

“Thank you for that.” He said lowly, hand still gripping her wrist. She just smiled while her other hand rubbing his knuckles, “For what?”

“You speak more than me, thank you for defending me. I appreciate that, really.”

“I think it's an employee's obligation to defend their company. Plus their boss is being cornered like that.” She shrugged, “I don't like that Denise lady, but I appreciate Mr. Roberts.”

“Fun fact, Denise used to work here. I fired her because she was caught having sex with one of the employees in the office bathroom.”

Harry was laughing when he found Y/N scrunched her face, “That's.. disgusting.”

“Mhm, no wonder she was bitter towards me.”

“Mr. Styles?”

“It's Harry.”

Y/N bit her lips, well that's new. They still in the office but Harry let her call him his first name. Then she looked down her hand, swinging them back and forth with Harry's, like kids holding hands.

“Come get something cold and sweet. This time is on me. Where do you want to eat ice cream?”

“Ice cream, really?” Harry chuckled, hand still swinging with hers. “Pretty sure your head now is about to explode, ice cream will cold it down, definitely.”

“All right,” Harry stood up, gathering his laptop. “Pack your bag, we'll go to Soho.”

. . . .

“Hi, can I get Tiramisu Sundae and..” Y/N looked at Harry, who still looking at the menu. “Harry?”

“Oh, I will go with... Sticky Toffee? Thank you.” Harry smiled.

Y/N swore that the cashier lady was swooning over him, she bit her lip when punching the cash register.

“That would be £15.” Y/N handed her cash, after saying thanks, her and Harry step aside while waiting for their order. Less than five minutes, they walk to a vacant booth with ice creams in their hands.

“This is delicious.” Y/N moan softly, licking her spoon. Harry quietly watched Y/N enjoying her dessert, her face looked adorable while concentrating on her ice cream. He let five minutes pass without conversation. He just wanted to enjoy a moment of time, being someone who's carefree for a second.

“I want to apologies.”

His words made Y/N lift her head, wrinkles visible on her forehead. “For what?”

“The moment in the car a few nights before. I’m sorry if I was freaking you out.”

“Oh.” Well, she never thought Harry would apologise. Did he feel any guilt? For kissing her?

“Erm, I.. I think it's... it's okay, Harry.” She mumbled, looking down her cup which now looked more interesting. No. She just feels intimidated by Harry. She didn’t know why.

“No, it's not okay Y/N. It's not... it's not like I feel guilty. It's just that I feel like using you in that situation.” Harry fumbled his finger, panic began to fill his body.

“Did you enjoy it?” Y/N averted her gaze to Harry, she could see Harry's nervous too. “Because I did, Harry.”

“Glad to know that.” He smiled softly, “At least I'm not the only one felt it.”

“Let's just say this is a date. I'll take you on another date.”

“A date?” Now, Y/N could feel her heart rumbling. This wasn’t something she expected. Her mixed feelings made her dizzy. A date? Harry was asking her out, again? She didn't listen to it in the wrong way, did she?

“I really... really like you, Y/N. And I'll look forward to getting to know you better than ever.” His blinding smile made her knees weak, her bones turn into jelly. Harry Styles asked her for another date? Her inner goddess slacking her jaw.

“I'll wait then.” She returned his smiled, feeling shy because Harry kept smiling at her with his prominent dimples.

Soho that night was the same as usual nights. When Londoners prefer to spend time in club or bars, the tourists with their cameras engrossed in capturing every corner of the area – to share with their loved ones. Or maybe just shop for souvenirs to take home. Or couples who wants to watch a show at the local Soho theatre.

Walking down the street, Y/N really enjoyed London – again. Since she moved from Swansea, she had never been back to Soho. Soho and its atmosphere, not much had changed. She chuckled when passed a gay couple who had just exited from one of the bars, stumbling in drunk while pointing their sex toys to one another.

Spending the afternoon on feet in Soho, Harry drove Y/N home when his watch showed 10.00 pm. He felt more human and normal when he could spend his little time outside without having worries over work. Harry totally turned off his cellphone, didn't want to be disturbed for a moment –didn’t care if an urgent call comes in. What he cared about was how he could have quality time with Y/N.

Harry didn't realise that Y/N had fallen asleep during the trip back home, it seemed like the music from a radio he played made her sleepy. He was silent for ten minutes after arriving in her building, couldn't bear to wake Y/N up –she looked tired. He just stared at her, doing nothing.

Her closed eyelids to mouth slightly open. The small things like that made him smile . She stirred slightly in her sleep, before her eyes flutter open. The first thing she saw was his eyes, not the desk clock that usually woke her up every morning.

“Hi.” She murmured softly, hesitate to move from her comfy position.

“You were asleep.” Harry whispered with his fingers straighten her hair.

“Looks like. ” she yawned, “'m sorry.”

“Don't be. It's okay.”

Y/N straightened her upper body, fist rubbing her eyes. “I have to go inside, it's already late. Have to work tomorrow.”

“Mhm.”

“Thank you for today, Harry. I really really enjoyed it.” She said before opening the car door, her sleepy eyes made Harry shake his head. She looked adorable. “I should be the one thanking you for the ice cream treat.”

“It's nothing, really.” Y/N smiled, leaning in and give his cheek a small peck. “Drive safe, Harry. Good night.”

“Have a good rest, love.”

Harry was smiling like idiots when his door slam shut softly, leaving him alone. He sighed, It's been a long time since he felt like this.

. . . .

Full name: Styles, Harry Edward Mr Age: 25 Date of birth: Sparkhill – Birmingham, February 1st 1994 Occupation: Confidential Address: Chelsea Waterfront, Waterfront Dr, Fulham, London SW10 0QD, United Kingdom Diagnosis: Confidential Medical complaints: Excessive anger, Loss of self-control

Health professional: Horan, Niall Mr Specialities: General Psychiatry Treatment action: TBA.

“What's wrong now, Harry?” Niall put his glasses down the table. Hands locked, while staring at his friend. His index fingers tapping at Harry's portfolio.

“I attacked people.. a few.”

“And?” Niall raised an eyebrow, waiting for Harry to finish what he said.

“In public..”

“Something must be triggering you.”

Harry paused, choosing the right words before leaving his mouth, “One of them killed.”

“Jesus Christ, Harry..” Niall looks at his friend in disbelief, hand massaging his forehead. “I understand you attacked someone, but.. killed them?”

“I just found out days after that, the body was drowned in Gallion Reach. I don't know how but the body hasn't been found around there yet.”

Niall let out big exhale, “Fucking mental.” His hands taking notes and pen from his desk, “How often have you attack people in the past couple weeks?”

“Five times.”

“It doesn't all end with a loss of life, right?”

Harry shook his head, feel ashamed of his behaviour. But at least he could calm down because the doctor was his own best friend. Niall wouldn't judge him carelessly.

“Now, tell me. I'm all ears.”

“Well, he appears more often. I don't know why. I still take medicines, sometimes forgotten because I'm busy with my work. But before that.. it was no problem. He has become more aggressive since I'm being close to Y/N. He even appeared when Y/N's first day of work with me, without doing anything. Only creeping at her within a few centimetres.”

“Did.. he do something brutal to her?”

“Just.. snapping at her while she trying to help with my wounds.” Of course Harry didn't want to tell him about he kissed her that night after he punched Dale.

“I read the news about you assaulted a robber in Canada Square, and.. rumours about you broke someone's nose from Machtig at that gala night, is it true?”

Harry just nodded, looking at Niall who was writing something in his notes. “You fixed it, right?”

“I think Mario is tired of helping me. He always said.. this is the last time, Harry. But every time I come to ask for help, he also said  if you weren't my friend and battling with yourself Harry, I wouldn't want to help you.”

“Good things that he's a member of NCA's council. At least your name will be safe from the records.”

“Are you trying to insult me, Niall?”

Niall fell silent, seemed he pressed the wrong button. Harry's facial expression become hard. But, he was indeed serious. “Am I talking to Marcel now? Or Harry?”

“No, but I can feel he's watching you right now.”

He gave Harry a small smile, folding his arms together while looking at his friend carefully. Right now, the man sitting in front of him, something was different on him, Niall felt that. Bright green eyes, soft yet firm expression.. well, this was Harry. Marcel had darker eyes, he had something strange with him.  If Marcel was in front of him right now, he wouldn't be able to speak so quietly and slowly.

“When you said Marcel was more aggressive when you were with Y/N, I wondered if he had.. a certain motive?”

“He had never hurt her.”

“The keyword: had never. If that happens, what would you do? I guess you haven't told her, have you?” Niall asked curiously with teasing smile.

“If I do, she will definitely decline the date. One day I'll be honest with her. I can't lie for too long.”

“So, is there the date you didn't tell me huh?” He wiggled his eyebrow, making Harry laugh. One that Harry liked when he came to visit Niall, he would never treat him like a regular patient. They would talk like usual friends who were chatting in the pub. Niall would always spend more time on him.

“Well, you know how the cure works, Harry. I can only give you a prescription to help you reduce your stress level and blood pressure. If you think Marcel is ready to take over, try to think something makes you happy.”

. . . .

Going home to an empty house was not a pleasant thing for Harry, even though he had lived alone for a few years. When he was still living in Manchester with his family, whenever he opened the front door, his mother's voice would the first thing he heard.

His mum, Anne, would like to keep her eyes open and make sure her son arrived home okay, rather than going to bed and finding him not in good condition in the morning. Young Harry was the same as other teenagers, he could be stubborn whenever he wants or being spoiled whenever he has the chances.

Sometimes he thought, his penthouse way bigger than he needs. He lived alone, his home would be empty when he was working even though his million pounds home would be occupied for a short time when Suzanne did her work. He wouldn't risk his safety and privacy if he moved to another place.

As usual, Harry unlocked his door. If normally the hall was pitch dark, not this time. A few lights were turned on, created a dim atmosphere. It was strange. Did Suzanne forget to switch the lamps off?

“Why the confused face, Harry? Never see the lights on?”

. .

[sam-writesstuff]

Merman (Crowley x Reader)

Summary: As you grow up, a man with Ariel’s hair keeps saving you. 

Warnings: Slight child abuse, Ignorant parents. 

Words: 3095

A/N: I did not think that this would turn out to be THIS long.. I really like the idea of Crowley liking children, and the thought lead me here. It also shows my love for mermaids ;) But because the reader is a child, there is no romance involved. It’s my first story ever and ohhh god I am so nervous. Please let me know if you’d like a continual story because it was originally planned to be longer😂

---  

The first time you meet him, you are seven. You just moved to London, and you are exploring the streets with curious eyes. Your old home was a city too, but this is a bigger city. Much, much bigger city. Your parents were unpacking, and while they were they somehow started fighting. Distracted them enough to not notice you sneaking out to explore your new home. As much as nervous you were, this was also very exciting. A new adventure. There were a lot of people and a lot of noise. You have never seen a street so busy. A man pushes you as he walks by and you nearly fall. You struggle to keep your balance, then you see it. A bookshop. It looks old, probably for adults, but it has pretty aura coming out. It's tempting you to go inside. You decide to go explore to do what feels right in your heart. You are a child. The choices you make are simple. You cross the street, at least, you tried to. A hand appears and grabs your collar from the back, dragging you back onto the street. Just then, a car passes right in front of you, fast. Shocked, you turned to see who it is that saved you. It is a man. A very, very tall man. 

"That car almost hit you," the man says. You don't say anything back. You stay silent for a moment, too distracted by his bright red hair. The only person whom you knew with the kind of red hair was Ariel, the mermaid. You wonder if he too is a merman. 

"You want to cross the street?" The red-haired man asks you, letting go of his grip. You nod slowly. He looks slightly annoyed but reaches out his hand. "All right, kid. We'll cross it together." You look at his hand hesitantly whether to take it or not. He is a stranger you don't know, but he is offering help. Plus, he might be a merman. Merpeople can't harm, right? So you take the man's hand. 

Cars stop as you and he cross the street. Horns blew, but the men didn't stop. It gave you a rather strange feeling. However, he did mean no harm. When you two reached the other side, he lets go of your hand. 

"Careful, kid," then he adds, "Wha- What is it that they teach you at school? Oh yeah, look to your right and your left then raise your hand before you cross the street," the man rambles on before you can say you are not in school yet. They did teach you that in kindergarten, though. When he is finished, he looks at you. You realize he is expecting an answer. Your pose straightens up, nodding quickly. He gives you a satisfied look before turning around waving good-bye, entering the bookshop that stood in front of you which for some reason you did not want to go anymore. Instead, the curiosity that filled the exploration of the bookshop were all shifted towards the red-haired man. Or a merman. You think to yourself as you kept walking through the other side of the street. Suddenly, you remember that you didn't thank him for his aid. 

When you get back home, dinner is waiting for you. Surprisingly, your parents are not mad. You tell them what you have explored about the city earlier today. They mumble an 'Mm-hm' occasionally. You decide not to tell them about the merman. You promise to yourself, when you see him again, you'll thank him.

--- 

Months after you start school, you do see him again. You are a now proud first grader. It is a Sunday, you and your parents decide to take a stroll to the park. You are excited, maybe a little too much. No blame is made though, it has been a few months since the last time your family went out together. Only a moment your parents let your hands go, and you are already running around scaring away the pigeons. Your parents sigh as they go off to find somewhere to sit. You'll find them when you get tired of mocking the birds. But then you remember the pond. You jolted upwards and darting off to the pond. 

Your smile grows wider as you spot ducks on the water. "Quack-quack," you mumble to yourself. Wanting to see the ducks, you make your way over to the fence. You stand on your tiptoes, the sight of the happy duck family make you happy too. You tilt your head in various ways wanting to see the baby duck, still, you could only see its tail. You pull yourself up, your upper body leaning onto the fence to keep yourself from falling. There, now you could see the baby duck quite clearly. You begin to point at each one, not realizing how your body is leaning over the fence more and more in your effort to get your finger as close to the duck possible. "Mommy duck, Daddy duck, and Baby du-," You yelp as your body fell over the fence, or so you think. Your eyes shut tight, expecting a splash of water. Instead, your body lifts upwards by a force under your armpits. Someone is lifting you. 

"There, can you see the ducks better now?" 

The voice of the person sounds familiar to you. You instantly turn around, it is whom you expect. The merman. Then you spot something. A little snake. You notice that there is a drawing of a little snake drawn under the merman's ear. How weird. "My arms are getting tired, hurry up kid." The merman hurries you, bringing you back from your thoughts about the snake. He almost sounds annoyed, or is he? It is impossible to read him because of the sunglasses. Don't matter, you did want to see the ducks. You turn yourself back again, facing the water. The baby duck is very clearly visible now. 

"Mommy duck, Daddy duck, and Baby duck," your feet feel the ground again with the end of your sentence. Looking up at the merman, you open your mouth to speak to him but the merman speaks before you. 

"All right. Don't lean onto the fence too much, kid. It won't stop you when you fall," the merman states simply. He doesn't seem to remember you. For some reason, that disappoints you. It has been a couple of months since he saw you but your childish mind is disappointed anyways. You pout, and the merman looks down at you with his eyebrows cocked. "I'm just telling you to be careful. Go find your parents, now." With that, he turns his heels slowly walking away from you. "Angel! C'mon, let's go," he yells at another man who stood far back near the bench. The man is wearing a funny coat and has beautiful blonde hair, but that does not catch your attention. The merman's friend waves at you, but you don't wave back. You are too upset. You only realize that forgot to thank the merman again later when you went back to your parents. 

A couple of months has passed, but you don't see him. You made a little key chain for him at school when you went on a field trip. You planned to give it to him as a thank you present when you see him again. 

---

Two years have passed, and you are now ten. You now carried the key chain everywhere you go, in hopes of meeting the merman again. Two years wasn’t enough waiting for you to give up. Some said that you are now a girl too old to believe in Merpeople or miracles of such, but you still truly believed in them.

You rushed to outside, crying. It is raining, and you don't have an umbrella. Still, you don't want to go back home to get one. Your parents have fought again. Your mother has rushed out, and your father has just opened another can of beer. You followed your mother out, but you lost her already. She has disappeared into crowds of people. God, you hated London. Miracles don't exist. If it did, it wouldn't leave your family in this state. You stood in the rain, wondering what to do, where to go. Water is dripping onto your face, and your vision is blurry because of it, but you don't bother to wipe it. You shiver in cold, desperately wanting to go back in time, 2 hours ago, when you and your family were eating dinner peacefully. 

"What are you doing out in the rain?" 

You don't feel the cold water on you anymore. You look up to see the owner of the voice, and you can't help but be shocked. Your vision is blurry as it's covered with water, but you are sure that it is the merman who stands in front of you. A thousand years and still it would be impossible to not recognize that red hair. 

Despite how delightful you are to see him again, you can't bring yourself to say anything. First, your throat felt too sore. Second, you were hiccupping. Both are results from the crying. Not to mention it has been two years since you last saw him, and you were eight back then. You are older now, old enough to know how politeness is an important key when talking to adults. Also, you worry if your conditions seem as worse as it is. To be honest, it is quite detectable that you were crying. 

The merman grumbles before opening his mouth to question you, "Do you have an umbrella?" 

You nod sideways in answer. 

"Do you have somewhere to go?" 

"No," It is not a lie. You do not want to go back home. 

"Why are you out alone in the rain?"

"I..," You try to speak calmly, but you are on the barge of tears again. Really, why were you out in the rain? Stupid, you think to yourself. For you are only ten, it is the best harsh word you can come up to say it to yourself.

The merman seems taken aback by your tears. He tries to calm you down, but it merely does anything. You are too sad. Too angry. Too angry with your mother and father. Too angry with yourself for being so stupid. The merman murmurs something under his breath, with his hands on his hips andㅡwait, his hands were on his hips. He is carrying no umbrella. Nevertheless, there was no more rain dripping on you. You are about to say something when you are lifted from the ground. Your eyes widen in his sudden action. 

"All right, I'll get you dried. Then we'll find your parents, then you go home." the merman said, adjusting the way he held you. He thinks you have lost your parents. You know you should tell him that is not the case, but you don't. You let him carry you. For now, you want to go as far as possible from this place. You know you shouldn't follow a stranger, but he wasn't a stranger. He has saved you twice, and he is a merman. 

Although, the merman does not walk for long. He stops in front of the bookshop, which is just a few streets away from your home. To your confusion, the shop is closed, and you are pretty sure it is locked too, but the doors swung open with a snap from the merman. The door closes again when he walks right in. 

"Angel!" he yells, and the same man you saw two years ago walks out behind the curtains. 

"Crowley- Oh, dear. What did you do?" Crowley. That must be the merman's name. It is the first time you hear his name, and despite the situation, you can't help but smile at the silly name. All Merpeople had unusual names. Triton, Ariel, and Crowley. 

"Me? I didn't do anything. This kid was on the street crying!" 

"Oh. Well, you can lie her down here."

But before Crowley move, you pull yourself out of his embrace and hop onto the floor. You feel calmer now, and your childlike curiosity and wonder have come back to your entrance into the book shop. You didn't know Merpeople can do magic, but you do now. You look up to the blonde man. No, 'blonde' is not enough word to describe his hair. He has golden hair, almost white. Maybe he is also a merman. Then, a loud noise comes out from your neck and echoes through the room. It’s a hiccup. Your stomach rumbles along with the hiccup. Now that you were in a quiet, warm place, you hunger have come back. Dinner was unfinished due to your parents fighting. You are starving. Your cheeks blush a bright rose. Crowley doesn't seem to be amused, but the golden-haired man chuckles. 

"Come, you can sit here, my dear. I'll get you a towel and something to eat," he guides you to a chair, and you nod. You look around. It is the bookshop you longed to come. Most of the times, it was closed, unable to be visited. The inside is as fascinating as you thought it would've been. So much to explore. It is not like the library in your school. Not at all. The bookshop is messier. Books and papers are lying all around, and you like it that way. Your mother never lets you keep your room the state you want in. Your father will never let you in his room. You have been inside before secretly, disobeying your father, but you were too scared to touch anything. You do as your told by the golden-haired merman. He walks over to someplace where you cannot see from where you are sitting, but Crowley stands in front of you. He goes through his hair once, letting out a sigh. He then bends his knee, landing both of his hands on each of his knees, meeting your eyes. 

"Where was the last time you've seen your parents?"

"My mother is gone, I don't know where. My father is probably at home," You don't know what to say, so you tell the truth. Crowley looks confused. 

"Is your home far away from here?" You shake your head. You do not want to give the location of your home to him. Not for safety issues, but you simply did not want to go back. Surely, he was going to take you back if he knew. All adults are too busy for a child. 

"Where is it?" You don't answer. You look down, unsure of what to do. You do need to go back at some point. 

"There, there. We can discuss this after a warm cup of tea," the Golden-haired man appears again with a cup of tea and biscuits. He also hands you a towel to dry yourself. You carefully do so, not wanting to get anything wetter than it already is. There is a pond of water under where you stand. When you are done, you reach your arm out the grab a biscuit, but Crowley stops you, looking at you with his eyebrows raised. 

"What do you have to do before you eat?"

"I need to wash my hands," you let out a little gasp before answering.

"Good. Off you go," satisfactory looks spread over his face. 

You eat in silence. The two mermen do not seem to be bothered by it. They are discussing something on their own as well. When the last sip of the tea drunk, you decide to finally ask the question you waited so long to ask.

"Are you mermen?" The mermen are plural, but your question is more dedicated towards Crowley. They turn to look at you with confused looks. 

"I'm sorry?" The Golden-haired man does not know how to respond to the question. It gives a positive weight to your theory. If he is not a merman, what is the reason to be surprised by your question?  

"She thinks we are mermaids, angel," Unlike the other merman, Crowley does not seem to be surprised at all. He laughs. 

"Mermen," you correct him. "Are you a merman?" 

"What makes you say that, my dear?" 

"He has red hair. Like Ariel," you point to Crowley.

"Red hair? Is that all you need to call a person mermaid?" Crowley scoffs, for some reason, he finds the situation amusing. 

"Merman," you correct him again. "You are a merman." 

"Yeah, doesn't matter. I'm not a merman," he says. 

Disbelief look spread on your face. You are disappointed. For so long you've believed that the man was a merman, for so long he was a merman to you, you feel like you learned something you shouldn't have. 

"But we are not humans either," he adds quickly, noticing how upset you seem. This catches your interest again, immediately. "We are... Supernatural entities." 

You are not sure what that is. Even so, your eyes are already shining bright again, "And?"

 "And you can't tell this to anyone." His eyes lock in with yours, and although you can't see his eyes due to his sunglasses, you still feel greatly pressured. A good kind. You feel important. You feel trusted. 

With that, all your sadness goes away. Your body feels lighter, and you are ready to go home again. You stand up, folding your three fingers, only letting your pinky and thumb stand. "I pinky promise." Crowley smiles, and his pinky intertwines with yours, and thumbs meet as an approval to your promise. 

"Can I come back again?" You ask carefully to the Golden-haired men. He seemed to be the owner of the bookshop. 

"Certainly, dear. Come as often you like," he shows you a warm smile. The kind of smile you haven't seen a while. "And please, call me Aziraphale." 

"Bye-bye, Azirapelle!" You wave your hands at him, you are still a soul to young to properly pronounce an angel’s name who lived on this planet for 6000 years.  

When you walk out, the sky is clear. It is no longer raining. You wonder if the two men have performed magic again. You feel flowers bloom every step you take. Upon your arrival, your mother is back home too. You parents offer you ice cream, they must’ve felt guilty for what they’ve done. Only then you realize once again, that Crowley had saved you and that you forgot to thank him. But that’s okay, because you know you will see him again.

[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 13/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774  

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

“If you’re going to follow us on tour I’m going to have to introduce you to the others,” Ben told her.  

Rey chewed on her lip nervously and he practically read her mind.  

“Don’t worry about Syed. She can be a jerk sometimes but she’ll come around. She won’t cause you any trouble.”

He was heading to the door when her hand on his forearm stopped him in his tracks. Her palm burned on contact.  

He turned around, feigning disinterest. But he had lost the ability to speak for a second. What was he, fifteen again?

Rey’s hazel eyes locked with his own. She had freckles on her cheeks and nose and she looked unwittingly adorable, even in shock.

“Ben, is this Syed girl actually your girlfriend?” Her eyes widened, ”She always keeps track of who you take out or share your room keys with, doesn’t she?”

Ben turned to her, towering over her with his massive frame. One of his arms rested casually on the wall behind her. Rey didn’t move. She could feel his breath, his sharp cologne, and she could see the outline of his muscles through his t-shirt. She blushed visibly, looking down.  

Ben didn’t miss her reaction. “What? You’re jealous too?” He smirked.  

He was expecting it. Rey blinked. She inhaled him, and for a fleeting moment a memory replayed itself, surging back from the depths of her subconscious. She suddenly remembered the feeling of kissing him—prying his lips open and seeking out his tongue as she breathed against his mouth.  

But she didn’t remember how it had happened. Had it been in a dream? Was Ben worming his way into her erotic fantasies?

Ben was well aware that she was eyeing his lips, though she probably didn’t realize it herself. His heart beat faster and he swore that his pants felt tighter. He concentrated on making the tension in his gut disappear.  

“Don’t you worry, we’re not together. But let’s just say we have history,” he replied.  

It was a euphemism at best, but Rey didn’t want to find out. She nodded. “I...I should start the dryer,” she said lamely.  

The moment had clearly passed. Ben chewed half-heartedly on his lower lip. He’d wavered. He should have kissed her. He needed the taste of her lips the way a parched man needed an oasis. Had he missed the perfect occasion?  

Rey ducked out of the corner she had backed into, bending over in front of the washing machine in order to transfer her clothes to the dryer. Her phone bulged awkwardly  out of her front pocket, so she paced it on the machine next to her for the time being.  

He responded in kind by letting his arm drop in a futile gesture. “Okay. If you still want to shower, I think there are stalls by the pool. I can give you access. Looks like you have a good forty five minutes courtesy of the dryer.”

She avoided his eyes but managed to nod. “Yeah, sounds good, let’s go,” she murmured as she got up.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ben observed that she had left her phone behind on one of the washers. Taking special care not to touch the screen with his fingers, he slipped it into his pocket as Rey exited the room. Now he would know if she was truly an Earth Soldiers operative.  

He guided her to the pool area which he unlocked with his room keycard. It was an indoor heated pool, and she would find showers in the locker room. He turned to leave.  

“I’ll be in the lobby,” he clarified, “Rendezvous downstairs?”  

Rey thanked him and beelined to the changing rooms. He made sure to distance himself before taking a sharp left into a corridor. It was there that he pulled out his spoils from the laundry room.

It was some kind of Android.

He could just barely make out her fingerprints on the illuminated lock screen. But would he get the password pattern right without activating the autolock? He examined the traces carefully. It looked like an “E” on first sight.  

Failed attempt.  

Then he tried an “F”, an “F” for Finn.  

Bingo

He cracked a disbelieving smile as the lock screen dissipated.  

But he didn’t have much time. What should he look up first? He badly wanted to go through her Facebook, her social network, or her emails maybe...he could find her photos with Finn. What did he look like? He wanted to look upon the face of the man who was inconsiderate enough—or insane enough—to snub a woman who had no equal.

Concentrate Kylo, what are the vitals?  

Call history.

He scrolled through her recent calls and took screenshots on his own phone. Her voicemail was empty.  

Emails: Jessika, Poe, and what appeared to be work memos from her job...in England.  

Then, he opened her photo album. Wyoming landscapes, two selfies—with Phasma in the background —the sheer level of amateur fuckup  there was absolutely incredible at this point. He scrolled a little lower...

Ben chewed on his lip for the hundredth time that day.

A series of selfies of her and a young black man with a charming smile. He looked sweet and loving, if one were to believe exhibits A through Z of the evidence footage.  

Ben’s mouth suddenly went dry as he scrolled through the pictures of her trying on a wedding dress. A delicate, lacy A-line  gown with a corseted bodice and a short train. Her beauty was breathtaking.  

What struck him most was how happy she was, Ben had never seen her smile like that, with such effortless sincerity. He had finally gotten to know her well enough, after a string of haphazard encounters over the past three days, and now he felt a sudden pang of aching sadness.  

He took some more screenshots with his own device and noted the emails and addresses of Rey’s friends: Jessika Pava, Finn Storm, and Poe Dameron. He also recorded the name and address of her workplace, and listed all of her British connections (most of whom were employed in London). What the hell was she doing Earth Soldiers, then? None of it made sense.  

Either she really had no connection or she was communicating with the activists using another phone. The second option was by far more probable, seeing as she had access to both the Millenium Falcon and BB8.  

In any case, he had to give her phone back. He would rather not risk putting it in the laundry room for fear of having it truly stolen. He walked up to a room service attendant who was making the rounds with a cart. A fifty dollar bill ensured that she would take the phone to the reception desk and claim that she had found it on a dryer in the laundry room.

Then he headed to the lobby where Syed informed him that Shakti and Skylar were taking a tour of the city while the rest of the band were in their respective rooms.

So much for introductions.

While waiting for Rey to reappear, he sent a summary of his findings as well as some coordinates to Snoke, who would no doubt find suitable people to investigate each and every element he brought up. If they found a link had been established between her and Earth Soldiers, or the Skywalker clan in particular, he would be the first to know.

Rey emerged from the corridor leading to the lobby in a frenzy. She was wearing clean clothes but her bag was stuffed to the brim with the rest of her unfolded laundry. Ben and Syed rose to their feet simultaneously.  

“I’ve lost my phone!” she exclaimed anxiously, “It’s an absolute catastrophe, I won’t be able to travel alone without a phone—what if I drop dead in the middle of the desert?!”  

“Are you sure you checked everywhere?” Ben asked, “what if it’s at the bottom of your bag?” he hoped he sounded convincingly worried about the situation.

“No, I...I emptied all of the contents. And my pockets too. I’m retracing my steps...I went back to the laundry room but it wasn’t there I—“

“Try asking the front desk,” Syed suggested, “Someone may have seen it and turned it in.”

Ben raised an eyebrow, taken aback by this unexpected show of benevolence on Syed’s part. Rey’s face lit up.

“I didn’t even consider that! Thanks!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw Rey run up to the receptionist and exchange a few words before the woman presented her with a phone. She buried her face in her hands, her body visibly sagging with relief against the counter.  

Then he turned to Syed, cocking his head to one side. “What was that? Are you playing good cop now?”

She gave him a dirty look. “I’m a professional. I know my job, and I deliver. Did you have doubts?”

“Not for a second,” he responded. He then turned his attention to Rey, who was approaching them triumphantly, smartphone in hand. She gave Syed a brilliant smile.  

“Thank you so much, I was on the verge of a breakdown. And...sorry for the whole coffee thing earlier,” she said, extending a hand towards the other woman.

“Syed,” she said as she shook it, “No worries. Kylo tells me you’ll be following us on tour?”  

Rey glanced over to Ben, seeking his approval, but his face was impassive.  

“Oh, no, I mean, not the whole tour. Just some dates. To uh, have a few road stops here and there cause the drive is long,” she was babbling at this point, “It’s just that I’m traveling alone and it would be good to have people to meet up with if I’m having an off day—“ Rey paused, clamping her mouth shut before she could add or if some random blonde woman decides to follow me and steal my car. “—Anyway, I don’t want to spend too much time here in Jackson Hole, but I think I’ve decided to attend your concert tomorrow, if you don’t mind?”  

“Not at all, you’re welcome to,” Ben replied, “I can even give you backstage access, but we won’t have too much time to hang out because we need to set things up for the next show.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Rey smiled, “I’ll take the time to look around a little. Since I landed in Denver I was so busy I never had the chance to really see any of the place. Do you know what I could do around here for fun?”

Syed was going to throw up. It was hard enough to play nice for long without having to play tour guide too. Fortunately—or unfortunately—Rey only seemed to have eyes for Kylo. Alas, it seemed like Kylo was no better in that regard. If anything, he was worse. It took a painful amount of effort on her part in order to stop the bloody Brit from running for the hills. But she managed to keep her voice somewhat natural: “Well it is a winter sports lodge, you could always take the chairlift up the mountain and come back down on foot. Or go on a boat ride down Snake River a few miles north of here.”  

“Ah, a hike would be a great idea, but I’m not sure if dogs are allowed on the ch—oh shit, BB8!” She had completely forgotten that BB was still in the parked car, for over an hour now. She shouldered her knapsack, still half-open and overflowing with laundry, and ran towards the exit.  

Syed and Ben remained standing in the lobby, watching her run like the wind. As the automatic doors screeched to a close,  a feeling crept over them, like calm and devastation at once. Like going back home to examine the damage a tornado had done to your home. Everything was suddenly dead silent. Ben felt empty inside again, and he took a deep breath. As though he had stopped breathing in her presence.  

Syed sighed audibly in exasperation, “Okay, spill it. What the hell’s your problem?” She spat venomously.

“It’s her.” He responded, his mind a million miles away.  

“Trust me, I got that part.” She rolled her eyes, “Where did she come from? Why is Snoke interested in her?”

Ben turned to face her in a slow and deliberate movement. “I’ll explain, but not here. Right now your job is to monitor her every move. The good news is that the dog doesn’t recognize you. Unlike me, who it tried to take a bite out of, stupid mutt.”  

Syed’s eyes widened in amazement. “Her dog really tried to bite you? Are you kidding me?”

“It belonged to my uncle, Luke Skywalker. But it doesn’t add up: why is some English tourist touring the U.S. in Han Solo’s car, accompanied by Luke’s pet? There are too many coincidences here, I have to figure out her relationship with them.”

“So you can do what? Punish her with the intensity of your longing looks?”  

Ben blanched. The fact the Rey threw him off his game was one thing, the fact that Syed was picking up on that and threatening to use it against him...that, he would never tolerate.  

“We’ll see about that.” He said through gritted teeth. “Someone has to get her to talk. If I can get her to admit what my mother has been plotting against FORCE, I’ll sound the alarm.”

“And you think it’ll be some pillow talk confessional? Is that your plan?”

Syed maintained her sangfroid for the most part, but her voice shook with a certain anger that didn’t escape Ben’s notice...but he certainly approved of the idea of a pillow talk confessional. A flame licked down his spine, obliterating all his worldly pain for a moment. He managed to smile, looking for Rey’s telltale silhouette as he scanned the hotel lobby with his eyes.  

“And why not? The ends justify the means after all...and you’re going to help me.” He slid a hand into his pocket, revealing a packet of cigarettes. “I’m going to take a smoke break. Fetch the others, I’ll take care of Rey for now. We’ll meet up at the Gun Barrel Bar in an hour. I advise you to take this seriously because Snoke certainly is.” He turned to leave.  

Instead of leaving herself, Syed blocked him, placing a hand over the fly of his trousers. He was trying to hide the fact that he was still recovering from the idea of bedding Rey. She gave him a stroke from base to tip, smooth and fatal. Her other hand latched on to his torso, and she brought herself up on her tiptoes to graze her lips against his mouth. “Don’t try to hide the effect she has on you, Kylo” she whispered in his ear, “I know you by heart. Don’t try to tell me that this pillow talk scheme is all in the name of Snoke. You’re thinking with your dick here. Don’t screw over the mission you were assigned.  Be careful Kylo—you’re at risk of disobeying the boss man yourself. I hope that fucking her will be worth the pain, because you’re going to lose the mission, and your job.”

“Fuck you,” Ben hissed, and Syed let him go.  

“Whenever you want, wherever you want, baby. And I’ll be quick about it too.”  

She held up her middle finger as she sauntered in the direction of her room, ostensibly making sure that her point got across.

[pattispunk]

All Alone-ly

Summary: Reader is part of the legends crew. She is from one of the other Earth’s, Earth-5. It’s a post-apocalyptic Earth. Her family is dead, fallen victim to what they called The Culling. A supernatural occurrence that wiped out most of her people – it also happened on her birthday. The Culling devastated the planet, leaving the reader alone and lost with no purpose. This tragedy left the Reader with strange abilities and desire to leave, to get away. It wasn’t until the Legends showed up two years after The Culling happened, that she finally got her chance to do so. With nothing to her name, she joined the Legends crew; helping others avoid having go through the same pain that she goes through daily. She has finally found a purpose, a drive; but no matter how much time passes she still remembers the Day of The Culling. Every year it is burned in her memory, scarred on her body – the Legends never realized that she was absent for one day of the year. Not until three years after they picked her up, five years after it happened. 

Author’s Note: Hey guys, it’s been a while since I wrote anything really including my poetry (which you can find under - wickety-wack-its-jack-Kerouac). Anyways, I’ve had part of this one saved for a while and I needed an outlet so I finished writing it. It was supposed to end up being a mick rory x reader type fic, but this ending just suited it better. Hope you like it! There is one sentence that if you have an active imagination then yeah its hella gruesome. But the rest of the story is good! hopefully…. 

 ______________________________________________________________

You wake up in a cold sweat. Like clockwork every year, your body says no, not today. You toss in your bed, to see the clock read 2:00am in green neon numbers.

Your heard fills with dread. Everyday you walk out the door and put your past exactly where it belongs. You leave it at the door. Someone takes a look your way and no one could tell that you’ve been through heartbreak, through tragedy. You pride yourself in your ability to continue on even though your heart aches with every step you take. But today, today you allow yourself to feel.

You open your door and step out. Silence hangs in the air, a heavy weight crushing your chest as you struggle to breathe. All you’re thinking is I have to get there. I have to go. Right foot. Left foot. Gideon knows the drill, she has been the underlying salvation you’ve needed to get through this day every year. She whispers, (Y/N) you are almost there keep going.

A few more left turns, and all that is left is a door. When you got here, the first anniversary, you had a panic attack as soon as the clock struck two. Gideon directed you to a small room far from curious eyes. The first time you had seen the room, it was simple, the size of a college dorm room here in Earth-1, all gray with soundproof walls and no cameras. Since then, Gideon transformed it. Rather than being a simple panic room, she changed it to a fabricator. With the help of your memories, every year, you can go back. See your home, your family. Happy before The Culling ever happened.

You stare straight at the door, as if looking right through it as Gideon quickly opened it. You take two steps and when the you heard the mechanical lock of the door, you let out a guttural scream. Tears streaming down your face, your scars that run down from your arms to your legs burn with grief, and memories that have been repressed for the year come flooding to your mind. You snap your eyes shut, your voice raw as you drop to your knees. Despair filling your body as you let go any ounce of control you had.

When you finally crack your eyes, you knew Gideon had come through. Your knees sank less than a quarter of an inch. Your palms flat on the sand that blanketed your hometown. You look up and see a little girl with a huge smile, as big and bright as the sun in the sky, running towards you.

You whisper with a smile ruefully tugging at the corners of your lips – “Evine”

 Back on the rest of the ship, hours have past. Everything and everyone have woken up, the team milling about as they do on lazy days. However, today the whole team have decided they need a well-deserved break and have all gathered in the control room trying to figure out where they should go.

Ray and Nate are arguing with Amaya and Zari over which time period they should go to. Jax and the Professor are of course arguing what type of vacation should glean the most rest and relaxation from the entirety of the team.

“We should obviously go to the past, come on a chance to dress up, go to parties, drink some ale!” Sarah shakes her head, Mick’s eyebrow cocked in approval with Nate’s suggestion, but was quickly distracted by the lack of your opinion butting in.

“I’m with Nate” Of course Haircut agrees with Pretty. “How fun would that be! We could go to the old American West, an oldie but a goodie. We can go to old Victorian, London and… OH MY WORD NO WE NEED TO GO MEET ROBIN HOOD!”

“Men in tights… not my thing.” Mick grumbles still sweeping his eyes across the room looking for you in case you were hiding. “Hey….”

Mick is interrupted by Zari – “And give ourselves the opportunity to mess up the timeline? I say we go into the near future and enjoy ourselves on a nice bea…”

“HEY” Startled eyes from each member of the team immediately turn to the seemingly angry pyromaniac. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

That statement won confused looks from every individual, as they turn there heads only now missing your snarky comments and sassy remarks throughout the entirety of the conversation.

 ______________________________________________________________

­­­­­

The sand was warm against my back as you lay there, tears sun-dried. Evine and you were staring at our red sun, heads touching. You shuddered as your sister laughed, a sound you missed so dearly only brought back bitter memories. You sat up, and staring off into the distance, you saw your small little village. A desert village with stone buildings, very few green sceneries but it was quaint. As quaint as it could be for being the remnants of somebody else’s mistakes. It was war that ravaged Earth-5. Greedy men who thought of no one except themselves. Cities were torn down, peoples starved, civilization fell. Many survived, most did not. You were the sole survivor of your family. Fresh tears trail down, turning your head, you see Evine glowing. Happy. Radiant. No longer in pain. You closed your eyes and you could feel the atmosphere shift. She was gone, home was gone. Reality came knocking.

Your eyes open, and all you see is the empty room. Arms shaking and knees weak, you hear Gideon faintly in the background.

‘Miss (Y/N), the corridor is clear to your quarters. You should go now.’

You didn’t wait a second more, and stumbled, using the wall as your support, all the way back to your room. 

_______________________________________________________________

The team swiveled their heads to no avail, you were nowhere to be seen. Before Sarah could even open her mouth, Gideon interrupted.

‘Miss (Y/N) should not be bothered today. She is in her quarters and unless you want me to lock down this ship, you will not even go anywhere near her room.’

Everyone had a look of concern and confusion. Mick’s ears turning red, he kept any and all emotions off of his face. He was angry, why couldn’t he see you. Sure, he doesn’t display a whole lot of emotions but he… he… realization dawned on him. He liked (y/n).

‘Why not.’ Mick grunted, more of a demand than a question, but one that needed an answer, nonetheless.

Gideon sighed and displayed Awn Verna in ruins – (y/n)’s village in ruins. Dead bodies lying everywhere, out windows and in the streets. There was one image so gruesome, everyone especially Mick HAD to look away. In the commons of the city, there was a pile four feet high of carcasses and at the top - a girl, younger than a teenager, speared. Clothes tattered and covered in blood. Ray threw up in his mouth, Sarah had tears in her eyes.

‘The girl’s name is Evine. She was (y/n)’s sister. This was her home before she joined the legends. Today is the five-year anniversary of the attack of Awn Verna, today is (y/n)’s birthday.’ A few gasps but a collective silence was the predominant reaction. ‘Every year, I have helped (y/n) spend the day in solitude and watched her spend the day in pain. So, no. You will not go to her, what she needs is this one day. One day to remember her sister without any interruptions.’

 The control room was… silent. No one spoke, no one wanted too. Sniffles could be heard; eyes were red, and hearts were broken.

“No.” Mick whispered – breaking up the monotonous silence. The Flame who never showed any emotion, but anger and contempt was crying. He got up and left the room, quickly making way towards your quarters. 

_______________________________________________________________

You stood in the center of your room, slowly and barely swaying and eyes closed. You were never religious, wasn’t raised it and sure as hell didn’t become it once I left home. But this… honoring your family, honoring Evine… it felt right. You wore a light, white linen wrap draped over your body, barefoot and hair down. Your scars from The Culling on your arms and back were clearly visible. A small amount of smoke filled your room as you stood in silence, breathing in slowly and remembering your loved ones.

You suddenly hear heavy footsteps coming down the hall and then they suddenly stopped as if they were forced to. You hear Gideon trying to muffle a voice, but you could pick that voice out from a mile away.

‘Mick?’ You open your door and step out into the hallway, forgetting how exposed you were. You saw Mick being held back by Nate and Ray, but everything stood still as they saw you.

                                                            …

Mick stopped struggling as his eyes met yours. What he saw in front of him, was something he had never seen before. He saw pain and heartache wrapped in a warmth that defied hate and anger. He stood up, shrugging off his teammates and walk towards you. And suddenly no one was there, it was just you and Mick, the only two people who mattered.

He stopped and traced his rough, gloved fingers along the scars that snaked up your arm. You turned your head to the side, not ashamed but resigned to the fate that these scars reminded you of daily. He circled behind you, his hand following the scars across your back. All the while not a word leaving his mouth, not even his signature solitary grunt.

You don’t know why you don’t stop him. Yes, you and Mick had gotten close this past few months since Leonard died and while your feelings for him had grown, you never thought it would ever get to the point of what it was. Of what was happening.

Mick circled to the front and looked at your face. But it felt more than that, there was no need for words. There was something there that replaced verbal affirmations and encouragements. He looked into your eyes and he saw you.

Beautiful. He thought, he didn’t need to know the specifics of what had happened. He didn’t need for you to explain, he just saw you. With more than just his eyes.

Mick maintained eye contact and motioned for you to take off his jacket. Slight movements revealed Micks arms and hands, nothing left your mouth as you traced your fingers along the scars that covered every inch. You looked up at him and you saw Mick. And you just knew that everything was going to be alright.

You retracted your hand, moving your arms in a motion to hug yourself as if to close yourself off to anyone and everyone when Mick stopped you. He dropped his jacket and grabbed your arms. And instead of letting you wrap them around yourself, he guided your arms around his waist and you held each other, knowing that everything was going to be alright.  

[abundanceofsoph]

SkyFire 1: Chapter 15

Rori in Manchester: May 2014 

Word count: 2.3k

SkyFire 1 MASTERLIST

>Instagram posts 

◊Harry: good luck with your final exam this afternoon. I know you’re gonna crush it, love. H

Aurora smirked at her phone as she read Harry’s text. She had actually finished her exams two days ago but had told Harry that she had one more today which is why she couldn’t make it back to the UK in time for the bands Manchester shows. He’d floated the idea months earlier, wanting her to meet his mum, stepfather and his sister. When she’d told him that her exams didn’t finish in time for her to make it to the show, they had made a new plan for his family to travel down to London for the shows the following week and Aurora would fly in to meet them before joining the band on the European leg of the tour. Unbeknown to Harry, Aurora was currently at the airport, waiting for the StarkJet to depart for Manchester airport. She would arrive on the day of the first of two shows in Harry’s home city and she was excited to surprise her boyfriend and finally meet his family.

Once the jet finally touched down at the airport, Aurora took a cab to the stadium. Before she climbed out of the cab, she quickly pulled her long dark hair back in 2 braids, covering her eyes with a large pair of sunglasses and tugging a baseball cap down low over her brow. She joined the queue forming outside the venue, chatting with some of the fans already in line, smirking when none of them realised who she was at first.

Eventually a few of those standing closest to her in the line recognised her but she shushed them and swore them to secrecy. “I just want to experience the show like any other fan,” she told them. “If you want, we can take some selfies together, but could you wait until tomorrow to post them?” They’d agreed and she had enjoyed spending the majority of the day chatting away with them while they waited. When the doors finally opened, Aurora ran with her new friends into the venue, staking out their position against the barricade next to the catwalk section of the stage about halfway along. Once the lights dimmed for the start of the show, Rori finally took off her baseball cap and pulled her hair out of the braids, combing her fingers through them and tossing her hair back over her shoulders.

Aurora was euphoric as she felt the energy of the crowd surrounding her and the music blasting from the speakers. The entire stadium felt electrified and she felt a grin splitting her face apart as she screamed along to the song. In that moment she felt as if she had been transported back in time, she was suddenly the 15 year old standing in the crowd of the X Factor live tour with her best friend and their mums, screaming along to the same 5 boys, only now she was 19 and it was no longer Liam that held her attention. She hadn’t been able to look away from Harry since the moment he’d stepped out on stage and her heart soared to see the pure joy on his face as he danced across the stage with his 4 best friends, his brothers, singing his heart out to the sold out Manchester crowd.

As the final notes of Rock Me played out she took a deep breath, running her fingers through her hair to push it back out of her face as sweat beaded across her body from the dancing and the swelling crowd surrounding her. She was leaning against the barrier and looked up with a goofy grin, watching Harry and the other boys walking back towards where she was standing as Niall spoke to the screaming girls about the upcoming song. By some stroke of luck, as Harry took a seat on the central apparatus built into the stage he looked out over the crowd and spotted her standing only a few metres in front of him, freezing in place in shock as their eyes locked. The girls around her started screaming hysterically in response to his stare and she shot him a cheeky grin and a little wave that caused a huge grin to break out across his face, exposing his dimples. ‘What are you doing here?’ he mouthed, to which she replied by shouting back a joyful, “Surprise!”

He shook his head in bafflement, blowing her a kiss as the music began to swell and Liam sang the first lines of Don’t Forget Where You Belong. His eyes kept returning to hers as the song continued and every time he saw her singing back at him, his smile grew impossibly bigger. At the end of the song they once again locked eyes and he mouthed the words ‘I love you’.

The concert continued on with Rori having an incredible time, letting herself pretend she was just another fan in the crowd, screaming along to her favourite songs, but every so often when he passed by her section of the crowd, Harry’s smile would grow and he would throw a wink or blow a kiss in her direction, causing those around her to meltdown and swoon at their idol. Half a dozen songs after he first spotted her, all 5 boys returned to the raised section of staging and Harry sat himself down directly in front of her, with Niall sitting to his left with his guitar. The young couple locked eyes as Zayn sang the opening lines of Little Things. Aurora’s eyes grew damp with unshed tears while Harry sang out, “You’re perfect to me,” as he stared into her eyes and the tears spilled down her cheeks as she sang back along with him, “I’m in love with you and all these little things.”

It was much later in the concert, towards the end, when things changed. The smiles, winks and kisses that Harry had been directing towards his girlfriend all night had the fans surrounding her riled up into such a frenzy that during Story of My Life they all began to push forwards towards the stage, causing those against the barriers to become crushed against the metal. Louis noticed the problem moments before the nearest security guard, immediately signalling to the band to cut the music and drawing the security teams’ attention. “Is everyone alright down there?” he asked, his accent thickening with his concern for the fans. The other boys turned towards Louis trying to catch up to what was happening, and the moment Harry noticed that Louis was standing in front of Aurora’s section of the crowd he sprinted across the stage towards her, panic clear on his face. By the time he reached Louis’ side, the security guards had already managed to pull several of the girls over the barriers and Louis was instructing the fans behind to calm down and stop pressing forward. Rori quickly joined the few fans standing between the barriers and the stage and as soon as she was out of the crush she looked up to find Harry crouching down on the side of the stage in an attempt to get closer to her without leaving the stage and causing a bigger crush from the crowd. “Are you alright?” he yelled in concern, visibly relaxing when she nodded and smiled reassuringly back. He stayed kneeling at the edge of the stage until the situation had been sorted and just before Rori was ushered away to a different part of the crowd, Harry signalled to the guard by her side to wait. By the time he jumped down from the stage, a camera had already been tracking the situation and a large percentage of the crowd was already aware that the girl with the black hair was in fact Aurora Stark, so when Harry swept her into his arms the crowd around them erupted into screams with the confirmation of the rumours that the two were dating. He turned to the waiting guard as they pulled apart, insisting that he make sure she was taken backstage to watch the remainder of the show in safety before he quickly climbed back on to the stage.

After the show, Harry rushed to his girlfriend's side, pulling Aurora into a hug and spinning her around as soon as he reached her. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he yelled excitedly. “I thought I wasn’t going to see you for another week.”

“Surprise,” she giggled, gripping his face in her hands and kissing him deeply. “I missed you.”

“God, I missed you,” Harry sighed. “OMG are you ok?” he gasped suddenly remembering the crush in the crowd.

“I’m fine,” Rori assured him. “Although I feel bad about the rest of the fans that caught up in it all though. It was kind of stupid, now that I think about it.”

“But very romantic,” Harry said. “Everyone’s allowed to make mistakes. I’ll check with security in a minute and make sure everyone’s ok.”

“The secrets out about us now I guess,” she murmured. “Sorry.”

“Never apologize,” Harry replied. “This was a wonderful surprise and we were going to announce it next week anyway so who cares. I’m just glad you’re here.”

xXx

Aurora’s knee bounced nervously as the van pulled up out the front of Harry’s family home. He reached across to place a comforting hand on her thigh, stilling the anxious movement. “Just be yourself,” he whispered in her ear as the other boys climbed out of the van. “They’ll love you; I promise.”

The couple climbed out of the car, joining the other 4 boys as they walked towards the front door of the house. Harry squeezed his girlfriends’ hand in his while Liam knocked on the door. Anne threw open the door with a wide smile, welcoming the boys into her home. Harry bounded forward, sweeping his mother into a bruising hug. “So good to have you home, love,” she murmured into her sons’ curls.

“Brought someone to meet you,” he said, pulling back from the hug and Anne’s eyes widen as he reached back, taking Aurora’s hand and pulling her to his side.

“Aurora. I thought we wouldn’t be seeing you until next week in London,” Anne said in surprise before hugging the young woman warmly. “It’s so lovely to have you here. Come on in.”

Harry threw a smirk towards his girlfriend, his expression clearly saying, ‘I told you so’. She rolled her eyes in response, following Anne into the front sitting room where the rest of the band was already crowded onto the sofas with Gemma and Robin joining them.

“How about I chuck the kettle on?” Anne asked the room. “Who wants a cuppa?”

“I’ll come give you a hand,” Rori offered, earning her a smile from Harry. He kissed her cheek before heading over to hug his stepfather and then throwing himself onto the sofa beside his sister. Rori followed Anne into the kitchen and watched as the older woman filled the kettle under the tap and then put in on to boil. 

“I take it you surprised Harry by flying in a week early?” Anne asked once she turned away from her task. “I’m sure he was thrilled.”

“He was,” Rori said with a smile. “I couldn’t wait to get here.”

“I’m glad you are. He’s told me a lot about you. Hasn’t shut up about you really.”

Rori’s eyes widened and Anne chuckled. “I’m sure you already know this but he’s quite fond of you, love. You’ve made quite the impression.”

“I’m pretty fond of him too,” Rori admitted. “You raised an incredible man.” 

“Thank you but trust me, he made it easy for me.”

“I was nervous to meet you,” Aurora admitted with a small chuckle. “I should have known you’d be so welcoming.”

“From everything Harry’s told us, I knew that you’d be a wonderful woman,” Anne said. “We’re excited to have you join the family.”

“Thought I’d come make sure everyone was playing nicely together,” Harry interrupted with a cheeky grin. He crossed the kitchen quickly, stopping behind Aurora and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. 

“I was just about to tell Aurora here all of your most embarrassing childhood moments,” Anne told her son, laughing loudly when he replied with a groan and hid his face in Aurora’s shoulder.

“Not to mention all the baby photos I need to see,” Rori joked, grinning widely at Anne as Harry complained about bullying.

They stayed at the Twist house for the rest of the afternoon before the boys headed back to the city for soundcheck and preshow preparations. Aurora stayed behind after Anne and Robin offered to give her lift when they headed in for the show later in the day. Despite only having spent a few hours with Anne, Robin and Gemma, Aurora found herself fitting into the family dynamic easily. She hadn’t realised how starved she had been for a maternal figure in her life until Anne had welcomed her with open arms. Her own mother had only been gone for 3 and a half years, and while no one would ever replace Louise, Aurora found herself comforted by Anne’s presence.

When they arrived at the arena that evening, they were escorted backstage and found the boys in the green room. Harry was quickly at her side as soon as they entered, his dimples flashing. “How was the rest of your afternoon, love?” he murmured in her ear, wrapping his arms tightly around her torso.

“It was great,” she said. “I love your family.”

“Knew you would,” he replied.

Unlike the previous night’s show, Aurora watched the second show from the side of stage with the rest of Harry’s family, dancing with Gemma to their favourite tracks. Following the show, Harry and Aurora headed back to the hotel with the rest of the boys and in the morning Rori joined the band as they travelled north for a midweek show in Edinburgh before heading to London for 3 shows at Wembley.

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

[ciarawritesmarvel]

wanderlust [2] - steve rogers

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 4.5k bish

Warnings: There is so much mutual pining in this that it actually annoyed me so do with that what you will. Not much language and an elderly woman who has a rather dirty mind

A/N: This took a while and I’m super sorry! Lack of inspo and time and all that jazz. Here is our first destination on the world trip, Gibraltar! I visited Gibraltar on a cruise nearly two years ago and it was gorgeous, one of my favourite places I've been to actually and so I included a couple things from my experience. I super duper hope you enjoy this and please do let me know what you think! <3

Summary: Your best friend and colleague Steve Rogers only really wants to make you happy, even if that means taking you around the world to do so. Will you satisfy your wanderlust or somehow wander into love?

Prompt: I love you. And I’m sorry if that scares you but it won’t change. I love you. I have for a while now. [written for Attie’s 4K Challenge Challenge! @barnesrogersvstheworld]

I’m going to start tagging in reblogs and my masterlist is in my bio if you want to find it! Enjoy! 

previous chapter

---

The window seat was comfy as you stared out into the expanse of blue and white, sky and cloud. There was nothing else as far as the eye could see and you felt worlds away from your usual life.

It was bliss.

JFK airport hadn’t been too stressful. Being there as a passenger turned out to be pretty great, especially when all your friends were the ones helping you through check in and security and at the boarding gate. You’d gotten fast passes here and there and everywhere and lots of well wishes for your travels.

There was a huge group hug with you and the night check in team and a round of individual hugs for good measure. It was as if you were leaving for months. Still, it was nice to see that you’d be just a little missed. Nat whispered something in your ear about birth control when you were hugging that made you pull away and fix her a warning glare. Steve had just shoved Bucky away from him when he’d made the same joke.

All the while, you and Steve had been grinning at each other whenever you got the chance. You’d been doing so ever since you sat down in Tony’s living room and he’d booked everything for you, after he’d been tackled in the biggest bear hug you’d ever given anyone and thanked a million times over. Pepper made you both promise to come over as soon as you were back to tell them everything and you realised that Steve had some great friends. Ones you’d love to call your own, and from now on, probably would.

The plane ride was about 11 hours with a singular stop in Gatwick Airport in London. There wasn’t time to explore London, unfortunately, but you did get a chance to peer out of a few windows and get a look at the extraordinarily different view to the New York City skyline. You even managed to convince Steve to take a few photos of you in front of some of the full size windows that stretched floor to ceiling and when an elderly lady offered to take picture of you two lovebirds, though the embarrassment was clear on your face, you hadn’t the heart to say no. It was a memory all the same.

Now, you were just a few minutes from touchdown in Gibraltar, a tiny province currently a UK territory and a place that Tony had decided would be a perfect start to your world journey. Full of tiny winding streets, little shops and cobbled paths. An easy way in to travel. You’d readily agreed of course, since you wouldn’t know where to start with the world anyway and some guidance was more than appreciated.

Steve had been asleep practically since you took off in London and you had made sure he was comfy by tucking a blanket you had brought specially around his form and easing a pillow under his head just as he was dropping off. You’d taken to leaning your forehead on the tiny window and watching the clouds drift by, only looking away every few minutes to check on Steve’s sleeping form with a small smile.

Now, with not long until landing, you felt the need to wake Steve up, even though you really didn’t want to. This was mainly because he looked so incredibly peaceful when he slept, worlds away from Stressed Work Steve, but also partly because you were sure you’d have a dent on your head from leaning against the window for so long and you just knew he’d laugh at you.

You tugged at him arm gently, at first, and then realised you’d have to be a little firmer, shaking him with a little more force. His eyelids began to flutter and you laid the hand that had been shaking him awake on his arm, a comforting weight as he woke up to unfamiliar surroundings: you knew Steve well enough to know that he could panic if he wasn’t reassured pretty quickly.

“Wakey wakey sleepyhead, we’re nearly in Gibraltar,” you whispered to him and he groaned, one hand coming up to rub his eyes as he squinted against the light of the plane cabin.

“Have I been ‘sleep all this time? Shoulda woken me up,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep and a couple notes lower than usual.

“You needed the rest and I was happy cloud watching, don’t worry.”

He was stretching out his limbs as best he could in the cramped space and you felt for him, such a tiny seat could not have been too comfortable. But he had been sleeping for two and a half hours without so much as a peep, so your worry dissipated real fast. He finally looked vaguely awake and he turned to you in his seat.

“Are you excited?”

“Is that even a question? I’m ecstatic, Steve!” you exclaimed, grinning with utter joy painted on your features, a grin that Steve couldn’t help but return even if he wanted to.

“Same here. I can’t believe we’re in Europe, right here, right now.”

“Oh my god, I hadn’t even thought of that! We’re in a completely different continent. That’s crazy.”

“It is,” Steve agreed, looking past you out of the window and suddenly tapping you and pointing outside.

You turned to look out of the window and nearly gasped aloud. You were in your descent and had come through a layer of cloud, clearly, because you could see the outline of land below you, just being able to pick out a coastline and Gibraltar rock. Continuing to stare and feeling Steve’s face close beside yours as he stared too, things became more visible, such as the clusters of buildings and ships on the shoreline. The entirety of the tiny territory of Gibraltar was completely laid out in front of your eyes.

Breathtaking.

It was the first word that came to mind. You turned to look at Steve, to check he was just as in awe as you were, but you hadn’t quite realised just how close you were. As you turned, your nose bumped his and you reeled back quickly, feeling your heart rate spike in warning. Too close.

Steve’s breath hitched but then came out as a heavy exhale through his nose when you shot backwards and away from him. He felt almost guilty for being so close, but he genuinely hadn’t noticed, his attention absolutely and utterly captured by the landscape spread out below. He fought to keep himself from blushing.

“It’s incredible right?” you managed to get out, praising yourself for the fact that your voice was only slightly croaky.

“Right,” he said, staring once again at the land laid out before you.

You squeezed his arm and grinned at him, the familiar excitement back as if the previous moment had never happened.

“I’m so glad you’re here with me Steve!”

He put his arm around your shoulders as you looked out at Gibraltar and the beauty and your words somehow made him forget about the moment too. Just being here with you was more than enough to warm his heart.

---

Steve had, due to his very nature, wound up helping the shuttle driver haul everyone’s bags into the side compartment of his shuttle. You waited for a minute or two outside but the heat was sweltering so you called to Steve that you were going to get you both seats on the shuttle. He nodded, but didn’t look up, exchanging some sort of joke with the driver as he picked up another bag.

Inside the shuttle, you made your way through the middle aisle and found a double seat near the back of the bus, quickly sitting in the seat nearest the aisle and placing your handbag on the window seat. Pushing your sunglasses up on top of your head, you wiped the sweat from your forehead, eyes wandering to Steve’s form outside. You sighed. Loudly.

He was still loading the shuttle and you couldn’t help but stare at his biceps as they curled with each lift and relaxed as he placed each bag down carefully. When you wiped sweat from your forehead, you felt sticky and overall pretty gross but when he wiped sweat from his brow, you were enraptured. He was glistening. When his top rode up as he grabbed a suitcase from the top of the luggage cart and you caught a glimpse of his abs, you blinked and looked away quickly, tugging your sunglasses back over your eyes and hoping they’d hide what was sure to be a lust driven expression.

“He’s a good looking lad, love,” a voice came from beside you and you turned to see an older lady smiling at you knowingly, “This your honeymoon?”

You laughed, albeit slightly shaky and confused.

“No, we’re just friends, seeing the world together!” you insisted with a kind smile but the woman snorted.

“If you’re just friends, I’ll divorce my wife here,” she looked at you with such a serious expression that you floundered for something to say but just as you did, the woman’s wife turned from the window and scowled at the lady who’d been talking to you.

“Would you stop using that as your ultimatum, Muriel?” she sighed, like she’d heard this all before and you couldn’t stop the smile at your lips at the glint in both women’s eyes. Muriel, as you now knew her, waved her wife away.

“It’s a figure of speech,” she insisted, “And they’re clearly not just friends, so I’m safe in saying it anyway.”

By this point you were flustered beyond belief and, as if the universe wanted to make it worse on purpose, it was at this moment that Steve entered the shuttle, caught your eye with a grin and made his way to you.

“There were a few more bags than I was expecting,” he chuckled breathlessly, shuffling past you and plopping down in the window seat after he’d moved your handbag. You stared at him slightly dumbfoundedly, having to look at the ceiling of the shuttle to avoid the urge to stare at his ass as he shuffled past you into his seat.

“Oh, never mind dear,” you heard Muriel’s wife whisper from across the way and you whipped your head towards them, finding both of them with silly fond smiles on their faces that made you shrink back into your seat, “You were so right!”

Steve noticed you looking over at the women and their funny looks towards the two of you. He smiled politely.

“Hi, I’m Steve!” he introduced himself brightly and with an enthusiasm that had the women looking at each and then you with a wry smile. You let out a puff of air through pursed lips and reached up to turn on your aircon. It was going to be a long half an hour.

---

As you stepped out of the shuttle and into The Square, Steve was helping the older women out, of course, so you took in the view. It was jarring to see a Costa in the corner, although you knew this wasn’t a completely different planet, it still felt wrong for such a modernity to adorn such beautiful cobbled streets. The shops were all crammed into the space as if they couldn’t quite fit but had been made to. There were arches that created an overhead bit of shade just outside one line of shops, the ground below was uneven, there were tourists taking pictures and locals selling wares. It was all rather European and all rather spectacular.

Grand Casemates Square, as a quick google told you it was actually called, was the perfect first destination. Stark had outdone himself.

“It was lovely to meet you, dears,” Hattie, Muriel’s wife, said from behind you and you turned back to her with a warm, genuine smile on your face, not being able to resist but pull her in for a quick hug, then turning to Muriel to do the same.

“You too! Have a wonderful honeymoon, ladies,” you said, still hugging Muriel.

“If you don’t at least shag him, you’re doing the world a disservice,” Muriel whispered in your ear and her british accent coupled with the shock of her words had you dissolving into laughter, pulling away from her and shaking your head as you continued laughing, ignoring Steve’s confusion as best you could.

The two women walked off together, arm in arm, towards the nearest chemist since Hattie wanted blister plasters and you and Steve watched them go, stood side by side. Steve nudged you with his shoulder.

“Not so young love, eh?” he mused wistfully, “What did she say to you anyway?”

You stared after them and felt the feelings for Steve that you’d been suppressing creep just one step closer to the forefront of your mind and out of the shadows of your unconscious. You pressed your lips together.

“Nothing,” you smiled at him, deciding to think about all of this a lot, lot later on, “Have you looked around yet?”

“It’s incredible. The arches are just...and the little shops...it’s just the whole atmosphere!”

“I know,” you breathed, looking around. Suddenly, you spotted a man, no, a statue of a man blowing glass outside a shop front with a sign:

Glass Blowing Exhibition

You pointed at it and Steve followed your gaze before chuckling and falling into step beside you as you walked over to it. As you stepped inside, you found a little room with what appeared to be wax figures in various steps of the glass blowing process. There were signs on the wall with explanations as to how the process worked and at the end of the room, an actual person working on some sort of incredible creation.

You read every sign and spent time looking at the figures and their work, finding the entire place fascinating. Every so often, either you or Steve glanced at the other and found them completely engrossed in what was happening around them, making both of you feel yet more contented. Your gazes never seemed to match up though.

Eventually, you came to the end of the room and watched the man doing the glass blowing, or rather, at this particular moment, glass shaping. He had a rod with glass on the end, in the shape of a bulb, and he was rolling the rod back and forth, back and forth, shaping the glass at the end. Then, after about thirty seconds, he would place the rod back into the fire, which you could feel the heat of from where you were, and the process would repeat itself.

Steve joined you after a while, shoulders bumping together as you both watched the man, seemingly in a trance as your eyes flitted back and forth with the glass.

“It’s a vase!” you exclaimed quietly and Steve looked at you quizzically.

“What? No it isn’t.”

“Yes it is!”

“It’s clearly a bowl.”

“A bowl? What the hell is wrong with you Steve, it is not a bowl.”

He didn’t answer, just gestured towards the glass, as if looking at it proved his point. It most certainly did not. You glared at him.

“Excuse me, sir?” he asked and your eyes widened, hitting him on the arm in an attempt to stop him from disturbing the man just for a silly quarrel. But the man had already looked up, “Can I ask what you’re making?”

“A wine glass,” the man answered with a kind smile before turning back to his work before you could get in another word.

“Doesn’t look like a wine glass,” Steve muttered to you and you shook your head in agreement, shrugging as if the man was crazy. Of course, he wasn’t, but it was fun to pretend you two were the ones in the know here.

You signalled for Steve to follow you in the adjacent room, the shop, in which a variety of blown glass pieces including, surprise surprise, wine glasses, were stocked for people to buy. They were gorgeous. Varying colours and styles, dinky little animals and massive garden ornaments. You looked around, reaching out to touch a cat but retracting your hand in fear of breaking anything.

“These are incredible Steve. How do you make things like this out of glass?”

“Years of practice, I would guess,” he answered, marvelling just the same as you were at all the wares, “But they’re also incredibly expensive.”

He held up a label to you and you gawped. That was a lot of money, you could tell that despite the currency difference.

“Ready to go?” you asked and Steve looked up at you then looked away again, back at the items in the shop.

“Give me a minute or two, you go on into the square and get some pictures.”

You nodded, touching his arm as you wandered past him and back out of the shop. You pulled your camera out of your bag and snapped a few pictures of the square, including one of a particularly skilled street performer who appeared to be horizontal above a motorcycle. Though you knew he was resting on a steel beam under his leg, the appearance was still impressive.

By the time Steve joined you outside, you were flicking through the pictures on your camera, smiling at some of your favourites. You saw him out of the corner of you eye and waved him over excitedly.

“Say cheese!” you exclaimed excitedly, throwing your arm around his shoulder and tugging him down to your height, holding you camera out in front of the two of you to take a selfie. You’d picked the exact position so that the arches were in the background and the light was framing you just so. Steve chuckled at your excitement and your nose wrinkled in happiness so you snapped the photo right at that moment.

Looking at it, you’d picked the right moment. You both looked so naturally carefree. Steve looked handsome as anything. Perfect.

It was only when you lowered the camera and stuffed it back into your bag that you saw Steve holding a small plastic bag. Your eyebrows raised.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s for you,” he said, slightly sheepishly, and he was either warm or embarrassed if the colour of his cheeks were anything to go by. He held the bag out to you and you took it hesitantly. Opening it up, you found a wad of tissue paper which you pulled away to reveal a tiny pair of glass elephants, sky blue, their trunks entwined together. It was gorgeous. You looked up at Steve, whose gaze was trained on a specific cobblestone.

“Steve! You shouldn’t have, they were all so expensive!”

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to leave without some sort of souvenir.”

You wrapped the elephants back in their tissue paper with careful, steady hands then placed the bag itself in your handbag, surrounding it with soft items to keep it safe. Then, you threw yourself at Steve, quite literally, in a bear hug, arms wrapping around his neck. His own wound around your waist as you pulled him as close as possible in a tight squeeze. He could feel your grin in the curve of his neck and had to suppress a shiver, even though it was warm in Gibraltar.

“You’re the best person-” you began softly, stopping when you realised you couldn’t quite say the rest without possibly crying, or getting sad, or at least releasing a few more of those feelings you’d locked away. You tried a different approach, “You’re just the best.”

“I try, sweetheart,” he said with a confidence you didn’t often hear and it made both of you giggle, him still trying to keep himself steady in your arms. It was difficult not to crumble within them, let his knees buckle at the weight behind your words. So difficult, in fact, that he pulled away far sooner than he wanted to and held out his arm for you to hook your own through it, “Shall we take a wander, Lady Y/N?”

You snorted.

“Don’t do your Odinson impression, Steve, I swear those brothers are from a different planet,” you laughed, the brothers in question being two colleagues who worked the day shift. Thor had kissed your hand when he first met you and Steve had almost broken his hand when he shook it.

Nevertheless, you linked arms with him and gestured for him to lead the way, laughing again when he began skipping wildly in the direction of a small side street, with a few tiny boutiques on it. You skipped with him, not worried about what you might look like as you might usually be, cackling as Steve stumbled on a loose stone and you had to hold him up.

This was already the best day of your life.

---

As the evening glow descended on the streets around you, turning every surface into a mixture of bright oranges and soft pinks, you and Steve walked on aching feet towards the place you were staying. You’d asked Tony to make sure he wasn’t putting you up in 5 star hotels, since it was hardly a realistic tourist experience and, though confused, he obliged.

Your hotel therefore, was hardly a hotel at all. It was a small B&B place above a cafe, requiring you to trudge through the cafe and up a steep flight of stairs to reach your room. It was all blue, walls, floor and beds, with limited storage space and the tiniest bathroom you’d ever seen. It was perfect.

“I’ll hop in the shower, if that’s okay?” you asked Steve as he stuffed your suitcases under the bed. You’d paid the shuttle service an extra fifty for them to deliver your bags to your B&B so that you didn’t have to carry them around all day but you still decided not to unpack, it would take up time you didn’t have.

“Of course, no problem.”

You went into the bathroom and locked the door. Steve plopped himself down onto the bed, lying down and placing his hands behind his head. He sighed contently. He heard the water turn on in the other room and almost the second it did he heard a distinct humming coming from the bathroom. He grinned.

He listened intently for the tune, squinting as he tried to make it out, despite the fact that he was listening and not looking. After about a minute, his face lit up.

“That’s a RuPaul song!” he called out to you in triumph and he heard your laugh as clear as anything.

“You shouldn’t know that, Steve.”

“You’re the one who made me watch the damn show!” he called before adding in a mutter, “-and the artistry is just amazing…”

You were still laughing and he was chuckling to himself as he lay there staring at the ceiling. But then, completely unwanted, his mind wandered to the fact that you were currently in the shower and suddenly he wasn’t laughing anymore.

You came out of the bathroom wrapped in just a towel and he thought he was going to have to run out of the room. He kept his eyes trained on the ceiling.

“Shower’s still warm if you want it,” you offered and he was just about to decline when he looked at you again and decided a shower might not be a bad idea if you were going to get dressed while he was in there. He scurried in with a quick thank you.

You hurried about the room, getting dressed, wanting to be completely ready by the time Steve emerged again. Being in a towel in front of him had you all sorts of self conscious and you wanted to be dressed as soon as possible. You choose a blue off the shoulder jumpsuit for the evening, white embroidery on the bodice and can’t help but compare the blue to that of Steve’s eyes, even though the thought makes you want to slap yourself around the face.

Once ready, you sit in the chair next to the big window, legs pulled up to your chest and flick through your phone, finding the Gibraltar section of Tony’s email. There was a restaurant he was desperate for you to try so you put the details into maps and were delighted to find it only a five minute walk away. It was really beginning to get dark.

Steve came out with a just a towel wrapped around his waist. Oh Christ.

Your eyes were flicking around everywhere. Window. Chest. Chair. Lap. Chest. Bed. Wall. Chest.

Apparently they were gravitating towards Steve’s chest. Which was surprising. Not.

He shrugged on a white shirt and began buttoning it and you were finally free of the spell, coughing slightly as you returned your attention to you phone and breathed somewhat steadily to calm your heart rate once more.

You stayed looking down and saw Steve enter the bathroom again with a pair of shorts, presumably to change without an audience. You scolded yourself. It was unfair of you to look at him as you did, unfair to objectify him in such a way.

It was wrong.

Steve, meanwhile, was dressed, shorts on and taking just another second before coming back into the bedroom. You looked great in blue. Always did.

“Ready for dinner?” he asked you as he re-entered the bedroom and you jumped up from your chair, far too quickly, nodding your head eagerly.

“Ready!” your voice was higher than usual and had he even a semblance of self-confidence he would’ve worked it out then. Almost anyone else would have.

He’d talked himself out of having a chance with you. He’d talked himself into thinking you would never see him as he did you, that you could never. It was his own fault entirely.

As it was, he didn’t notice anything wrong with your voice and simply handed you your white heels from beside the door, helping with the strap on the left one when you couldn’t quite manage it. 

“You look-” he paused and looked over you once more, just to make sure you knew he meant it. Your whole body was on fire, “-beautiful. Really.”

“And I’m liking your James Bond on a family vacation look too, Steven,” you teased, taking in his white shirt, green shorts and the sunglasses hung in the middle of his shirt. He smiled.

Your hand was in his as he helped you down the stairs and made a joke about your heels that had you throwing your head back with raucous laughter. The owner of the B&B gave you such an incredulous look that you both hurried out of the cafe before she kicked you out.

Steve ended up giving you a piggyback all the way to the restaurant. You both fell over, but that didn’t seem to matter. As you lay at the side of the street, with a spanish man stood above you offering to help as you cried with laughter, you looked over at Steve’s teary face and decided something. Something you’d be denying for far, far too long.

You were definitely in love with your best friend. Unfortunately.

next chapter

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18937894

New fic i wrote today inspired by this art post by the incredibly talented @dancingwdinosaurs thank you for the lovely art you create, my dear!!

https://www.instagram.com/p/Bxz7d5RIRkp/?igshid=1sh26la68ckcz

I Couldn’t Love You More

Baz

Even after all these years Simon still hangs back, hovering around the edges at events like this. He knows all the guests by now, each and every one by name, knows the Old Families hold no malice towards him.

Not anymore.

Not since he saved the World of Mages.

But he still finds it difficult to mingle, preferring to keep near the tables laden with food.

Of course. Food will always be a comfort to Simon.

I extricate myself from my somewhat tedious conversation with Miranda, one of my father’s distant Grimm cousins, and make my way toward Simon.

“You’ve hardly left the hors d’oeuvres table. One would think you only showed up for the food.”

“I do only come for the food. Your family knows how to put on a good spread.” Simon grins as he plucks another shrimp from the tray next to him.

I bump his shoulder. I can feel the heat of him, even through the layers of our suits. He still runs as hot as he ever did.

“You can take your suit coat off, if you like. It’s warm tonight.”

Simon instantly shrugs out of it, the relief visible on his face. “You and your posh family gatherings.” He casts about for a place to put it but then shrugs and drapes it over his arm.

He’s as gorgeous in just the waistcoat. I don’t think Simon realizes how magnificent he looks in a suit and what the sight of him in one does to me, even now, years after I first saw him in one. One of mine to be exact. A shade of grey not too far off from this one.

The suits he wears now are tailored to him. Every stitch created for Simon, bespoke ensembles that hug his thighs and showcase his broad shoulders. He’s delectable in a ratty t-shirt and trackies—in a suit he’s simply breathtaking.

I shake my head and turn to scan the crowd again. I can’t think clearly when he looks like this.

Dev’s parents are celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. They’ve rented out The Sky Bar for the night; invited not only the entire extended family and the members of the Coven, but likely all the magical families in the greater London area. The place is swarming with people.

It’s a lovely night for it though, warm but not humid, the light summer breeze ruffling Simon’s curls, the late afternoon sun burnishing them to a golden bronze.

He’s beautiful, my Simon is.

He is my Simon, for now and forever. My thumb brushes over my ring, spinning it lightly. It’s become a habit already in the short weeks since Simon placed it on my finger.

That’s the main reason everyone is bound and determined to chat me up tonight. We’ve just returned from our wedding trip to Egypt, Greece, and Italy. Three weeks traveling the Mediterranean.

It’s given Simon an even deeper tawny glow, made more freckles appear on the bridge of his nose and all across his back. New constellations for me to familiarize myself with on his skin.

The sun even managed to brighten me up a bit. I’m not quite as pasty white as when we left. Not ruddy or golden like Simon, mind you, but more color than I’ve had in years. The photographs we took make me look almost human.

He’s fidgeting now, shifting his suit coat from arm to arm. I take it from him with a sigh. “You are a nightmare. Come along. I’ll drop this at the coat check. Don’t let me forget it when we leave.”

Simon follows me into the cool darkness of the bar, fingers sliding to intertwine with mine.

Simon

It’s not so bad tonight. I still get edgy, at big gatherings like this. I’m not sure what to say or quite how to be with these people, even now.

I don’t mind the Grimms. I’m used to them. And not just Baz’s immediate family, but his cousins and aunts and such. Dev’s around all the time now that he’s moved back to London, so we see him and his family quite frequently.

Baz and I end up attending a fair amount of family events. Birthdays, wedding, anniversaries—it’s a huge family so it always seems like someone is celebrating something.

I wish Fiona were here tonight. She’s back in Prague this summer.

She’d be by my side right now, whispering all sorts of outrageous details about those in attendance, poking fun at outfits and hairstyles, downing drinks, and blowing her cigarette smoke into the face of whoever was boring her at that particular moment.

Not that Baz isn’t good company. He’s the best. He’s as adept at the hilarious murmured commentary, maybe better. I can’t keep a straight face half the time, with what all he’s whispering to me.

He doesn’t expect me to mingle or make small talk. Baz lets me slip away when it all gets to be too much. But he’s far more poised and proper than Fiona, knows he needs to make the rounds, shake hands, engage in the mindless small talk that’s expected of him as the heir to the House of Pitch.

That’s when I usually slip away. To the food table, more often than not, unless Niall’s in attendance and then we usually end up at the bar.

Niall’s in attendance tonight, but he’s sticking close to Dev. That’s alright. Makes sense, it does. It’s Dev who did all the planning for this.

It’s better without my suit coat. I feel freer, less encumbered this way. I’m still warm, but the sun’s lower now and the breeze has picked up a bit. I make my way to the railing at the edge of the rooftop bar. It’s cooler here.

Baz’s father dragged him off to meet some new business colleague a few moments ago. Baz reads me so well—I begged off with just a look. It’s left me free to wander about on my own again, which is how I prefer it anyway.

There’s an unexpectedly empty bench, covered with plush white cushions, at the far end of the bar. I can see the city spread out around me. I stand next to it, arms on the railing, taking in the glorious sight of the London skyline.

Not as dramatic as Athens. Or the view of the Pyramids at sunrise. But it’s familiar, which makes it far dearer to me.

It’s not long before arms slide around my waist and Baz rests his chin on my shoulder. “Alright, love?”

I tilt my head back and inhale the scent of him.

He pulls me down onto the bench, one arm slung over my shoulder. I lean into him, resting my elbow on his knee. We fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

This. This is home. This is where I belong.

In Baz’s arms.

[thebrownblog]

Different Seasons: Two Years in Quebec

Well, once again it’s been a while (I won’t even pretend at the end of this entry that the next one will be soon, it’ll be some time in 2021 if I follow the average posting frequency). What’s up folks? What could I possibly be here to talk about today? Probably the one thing that distuingishes and defines my life, the fact I moved thousands of miles from home to a place that seems to be frozen half the year, and doesn’t have English as a first language…and then decided not to move on again, stubbornly at times.

Before starting this, I just read back through my previous post from October 2017. “A hundred thousand changes, everything’s the same” sums it up nicely. It was clearly written by a younger, more enthusiastic version of myself who was still on a high from just arriving, and hadn’t yet experienced 2 brutal winters. I’d say I’ve probably matured and grown more in 2 years here than in the previous 5, however difficult Paris was. The foundations were laid by the Parisian struggle, but it’s definitely Quebec that’s put a few hairs on my chest. 

This is a very seasonal existence, and there’s no way around it. The euphoric highs of summer and the beauty of autumn juxtaposed with the looooong slog that is winter. The euphoria of being out on the road all the time seeing beautiful place after beautiful place vs being stuck at home because of the gloomy and sometimes dangerous conditions (I will NEVER forget for as long as I live, how close I came to death in a sudden snowstorm in Maine last October, when visibility suddenly dropped to about 20cm in front of the car on a winding mountain road with moose out and about at night). I’d go so far as to actually call it a bi-polar existence over the course of a year, a life of extremes for sure. Am I capable of growing old in conditions like these? Probably not, but I’m not ready to give it up yet, and if I ever do I’m not sure it would be to go back to England anyway. Who knows?

However, I loved it here at the beginning, and I still do today. Why? Same reasons, by and large. Open space, open road (weather permitting). My own slightly bizarre version of the American Dream probably (Well, it IS just 25 minutes away). Ever since I was a kid, I was going to end up on this continent somehow. I always wanted to go to the USA. Why? Most likely being a big reader and film fan. Everything I loved reading and watching was always set in America. America to me was not and still is not defined by who is president at the time, and what crazy sh*t is happening politically. It’s more of a concept. To me it represents vast open space where you can go anywhere, and become anything you want as long as you have the will and the fortitude to make it happen (if the American Dream is dead I certainly never got the memo, and don’t really want want to either). In the end I ended up close enough, AND with a humane healthcare system.

What else do I love about here? The fact I feel like I actually have a chance in life. You can still work hard here in a ‘regular’ job here for a few years, save up and buy a house. This is completely dead where I come from, the idea of home ownership for me one day in London is a sick joke, and Paris was no better. I recently just moved into my own place for the first time, and actually have a spare bedroom…and it all costs less than a box room with barely enough space to swing a cat in in London. These things would have mattered less to me at 21, but now rapidly approaching 30 (yikes!) they matter more and more. Quality of life now matters a lot more to me than a place being hip and vibrant, and I have it much better here.

Some people understand completely, and others think I’m crazy, but that’s okay, crazy’s always worked for me.

I think to really understand me on this, you have to understand that I’m not attached to where I come from whatsoever. I miss my family a lot, and it’s painful at times, especially knowing my little sisters are growing up seeing me twice a year, but the place itself I could happily never see again. When you understand this, you can better comprehend how I’ve lasted this long already without the end being in sight yet.

Another big question is how someone from London feels more at home out in the sticks, and I think there’s two valid answers to this question. One is that I was completely and utterly burnt out with big city life after my negative experiences in my last years in London, and then the backbreaking experience in Paris in which I couldn’t even see just how miserable I’d become until I left. I clearly just wanted peace, affordability, a slower pace of life, and no more f*cking public transport!

The second is connected to childhood and Sweden. I grew up in London but I would always go to visit my grandparents a few times a year in Sweden, where they lived in the countryside. It was always a magical place for me, and everything that’s come out of me here (love of peace and quiet, nature, and nature photography etc) all actually started over there when I was much younger, but came out with a vengeance in Quebec. Funny how nearly everything about us all is programmed by our childhoods one way or another, whether we see it or not. 

It is also my theory that people always crave the opposite of what they grow up with: those that grow up in the country want the bright lights of a big city, and those that grow up in cities often want a slower pace after a while.

Ironically, my life has also been busier living in a small place than it ever had been before. I came to learn quickly that doing nothing in these weather conditions is not an option unless you want to find yourself fat and depressed in a hurry. There ARE things to do here, you just have to find them yourself, the internet isn’t going to tell you much. Aside from private tutoring, I’ve kept busy in a wide range of eccentric ways. I’ve joined a rugby team, a football (’soccer’ to all you North American lunatics) team, played a lot of badminton, and got myself more seriously involved in photography. You’ll notice a lack of winter sports, which is a shame I know, but sadly I know myself and know I was born with two left feet. I don’t want to risk injuring myself in a way that would keep me from driving for any period of time as I’d lose all of my income. You drive or you die out here. A train?? What the hell is that???

So, what’s really changed for me since the post I made near the beginning of the experience? The biggest thing is probably integrating. I couldn’t understand a word anyone said to me here for the first 2 months. I spoke French well enough already after a year in France, but the dialect and accent here is so different it was often basically worthless. Nowadays I communicate just fine, and have integrated into the community. It’s been a new social experience for me being known pretty much everywhere I go. That’s what happens when you work at schools in a small place and you have something about you that is unique (a Brit who actually speaks the language and lives here…yeah, there aren’t many….). 

It’s very different from the anonymity of a big city, and like all things has its pros and cons (sometimes you just want to go into a shop and buy something without being recognised by a current or former student), but mainly pro. Community spirit is a good thing that’s been pretty much lost in larger places. There’s definitely a kindness and willingness to help here that is more prevalent than anywhere else I’ve lived previously. Some of the families I private tutor for seem to have adopted me as one of their own!

Another big change was getting a new 2-year VISA in April which allows me to have any job, my first one was very restrictive, and made it tough to earn decent money at times. After getting it, I finished the year by supply teaching for a few months which was great experience, and certainly an adventure in itself as I ended up subbing for just about every subject on the curriculum. Obviously with the exception of English classes, this meant I had to do it in French all the time. If subbing for Maths, Science, and French isn’t a testament to how far I’ve come with the language from not being able to understand anything at all during the first two months here, I don’t know what is! However I drew the line at doing dictation in French one time, and put Netflix on instead, there are limits!

VISAs, VISAs, VISAs….well I’ve got myself started now. There’s been a constant stress from the moment I decided to stay on in October 2017. With the VISA I currently have, and the year I’m entitled to with my Swedish passport, I could fairly easily stay here until April 2022. However, I’m really tired of temporary solutions, and all the admin and costs that go into obtaining each one. I want to become a permanent resident, which is a more daunting and complex beast. When I come back from my trip home in early September all my energy will be put into finding a full-time job. You can’t get permanent residency without one. Whatever subbing and tutoring pay me is irrelevant because neither count as full-time, and I can’t go and study anything without swapping my working VISA for a restrictive study one (the headache never ends you see).

In many ways this next phase of the journey is going to be the acid test in terms of where I will end up. I will walk away from the teaching world temporarily or permanently if I need to, in order to find a full-time gig and get my residency. However, the job will have to involve my being an anglophone who speaks French to a high level. This is my advantage in this town, and the card I will always look to play in the employment game. If it can’t help me here like I’ve always thought it could, I would have to look elsewhere in the province eventually, and if there was still nothing cooking, I would have to ask myself the question for the first time about whether I would prefer to live amongst other anglophones in Canada, all opportunities being equal. 

These are all ultimately questions for another day though. What’s certain is I have a good chunk of time left, and in that time I will continue to travel around Canada and the USA as much as I can within my means. I often feel like a born nomad, and I love nothing better than hitting the road and seeing new places. That’s my pleasure in life, and long may it continue. Everything else will work out how it’s supposed to, it always does.

Tomorrow’s flight back to England finally signals the end of the beginning in this long, meandering, and very seasonal story.

TL;DR:

Winter is too long and I need a full-time job to become a permanent resident, but I still like it here, and people are nice.

[remedialpotions]

You Can Breathe Now

Read on FFN or AO3

A/N: In honor of the 20th (!) anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, have this fic about my two favorite fictional idiots. Loosely inspired by a conversation about the liberties that the filmmakers took with the layout of the Burrow (hi guys!). I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: The night of May 2nd, 1998.

Word Count: 3,791

Rating: K+ 

Hermione couldn’t sleep.

She could lie on a camp bed, and she could listen to Ginny’s deep, even breathing, and the creaks and groans of a house held together by magic. And she could worry herself sick over the Weasleys, and Harry, and her parents in Australia, worry until a knot tightened in her stomach and hot beads of sweat popped up along her skin. She could close her eyes and let myriad images swim together in her brain: Fiendfyre, explosions, a beheaded snake. But she couldn’t sleep.

She had slept a little that afternoon, back at Hogwarts. After a shower, and a sandwich - Harry’s first order of business, after visiting Dumbledore’s tomb, had been to politely ask Kreacher to fix them all some food - she had found herself climbing the stairs to the boys’ dormitory in Gryffindor tower, wearing a faded pair of cotton shorts from the depths of her beaded bag and an old t-shirt because it was all that was clean She had merely been going there to check on them, or so she told herself. They were her best friends, and they had all been to hell and back - and anyway, she used to go up there all the time for far more trivial reasons. She really hadn’t needed excuses any longer.

But when she had set foot in the seventh years’ room - all achingly familiar, even Seamus’ Kenmare Kestrels poster - she saw only Ron. His hair had still been damp, his skin pink, practically rubbed raw from what had clearly been a scalding hot shower. Their eyes had locked, and like a magnet she had been drawn toward him. Wordlessly, they had settled onto his old single bed, atop the scarlet duvet, her heart thudding erratically as his arm looped over her waist and pulled her back against his chest. Even as sleep had tugged enticingly on her consciousness, she had felt his nose come to rest in her hair and his knees nestle behind hers. Her ears had still been ringing, and her limbs ached down to the bone, but as she had drifted off, she had felt more at peace than she had in years.

And then they had all gone back to the Burrow. All evening, she had watched him play chess against himself in the sitting room, watched as he made a sort of brown sludge out of the beef stew his mum had cooked entirely by hand, watched as he carried a bowl up to George, who remained shut in his old bedroom. Watched, with a sinking stomach, as he kept his eyes cast to the floor and spoke hardly a word to anyone, least of all her. In the space of a few hours, he had gone from closer than she’d ever dreamed to further away than she ever imagined.

So she couldn’t sleep. She had tried to let herself off the hook - to think that if she just laid in silence with her eyes closed, that was good enough - but her eyes kept popping open as though searching for something. And as Ginny let out a garbled snore and turned under the bedclothes, Hermione knew, as if she’d always known, that the thing she was searching for was Ron.

Which decided it, really. She slid soundlessly out of the camp bed, and after fetching her wand from the floor, she crept out of the room and up the ramshackle staircase. When she reached the topmost bedroom (the label reading Ronald’s Room was still affixed to the door, which sent a pang of nostalgia into her stomach), she turned the knob and entered before she could think herself out of it.

It had been nine months since she had set foot in Ron’s room, and she drank in the cozy, familiar surroundings, illuminated by the silvery moonlight slanting in through the window. Harry slumbered peacefully on a camp bed against one wall, his glasses on the floor next to him. In one corner sat several tidy stacks of comic books, and beside them, the old frog tank (the water inside of which had almost entirely evaporated) and Ron’s Hogwarts trunk.

His bed, however, was empty. It didn’t even look slept in. Hermione’s stomach plummeted and her heart leapt into her throat, but as she drew her wand, a light, cool breeze swept over her bare calves. Which, in all the summer evenings Hermione had spent in this very room, had never once happened before.

She was extraordinarily sleep-deprived. And emotionally drained in a way she’d never been. And yet, she couldn’t possibly be imagining it, the gap running floor to ceiling in the wall. As Hermione stepped closer - her curiosity would be the death of her one day, she was sure - she saw that part of the wall had slid open, and beyond the worn-out orange carpet was a small wooden balcony, complete with an uneven railing.

Hermione was nothing if not observant, so she had always known there existed a little balcony attached to Ron’s room, but as there had been no visible door, she had chalked it up to the eccentricities of the house itself. It was just like the Burrow to have a balcony one could only access via broom, but this... this was something else entirely.

Something creaked, just then, and Hermione caught a glimpse of a moving shadow outside, and before she could help it, she approached the little doorway and peered outside.

“Ron?”

He was there, of course, clad in denims and a maroon jumper, his bare feet dangling over the edge of the wooden platform. He turned to face her, and for a moment, she could swear she saw a smile flash over his entire face.

“Hey.” His voice was soft, quieter than she had ever heard it.

“Erm-“ Hermione swallowed; why was her voice suddenly failing to cooperate? He had been her best friend for nearly seven years, and he had held her while she cried and bandaged her injuries after she had been tortured, and they had kissed, for heaven’s sake - surely she could speak to him.

“Come sit,” he said, patting the space next to him, so she ducked through the opening and joined him, leaning back against the wall.

She wasn’t sure how close she should get, really. She wanted to sit right up against him, to feel the warmth of his skin pressing into hers. She wanted that closeness from Gryffindor tower again. It had been the easiest thing in the world, to let herself sink into him like she had that afternoon, and it would be the most natural thing now to loop her arm through his, allow his hands to envelop hers. But she sensed, somehow, that she should hold back.

Ron shifted a bit, pulling his feet up to rest them flat against the floor, his forearms atop his knees, his jumper sliding up to reveal his wrists. He wasn’t looking at her, and he wasn’t speaking; his gaze had shifted up, to the glowing half-moon in the sky and the mess of constellations surrounding it.

And she wished he would say something. Anything. What she wouldn’t give to hear him prattle on about the Chudley Cannons, how he was sure this year would be their year for the championship, or how obnoxious the ghoul in the attic could be, or the time when they all went played Quidditch in the orchard and Harry had nearly crashed into a tree. Anything but the quiet.

“There’s a lot of stars out tonight,” Hermione said when she finally couldn’t take it anymore.

“Yeah.”

“You’re probably used to it,” she continued on, words bubbling up faster than she could stop them, “you’ve lived here all your life. But when I first started at Hogwarts, I couldn’t believe it. I used to just stare at the ceiling in the Great Hall and I couldn’t believe how many stars I could see - well, growing up in London, with all the light pollution-“

“Light pollution?”

“Yes, well, London’s such a big city, all of the skyscrapers and street lights brighten up the sky to the point where you really can’t see any stars. But here it’s so different.” He had turned his head to face her now. “Here, you can see everything.”

Slowly, he nodded. “Yeah,” he said again. “You can.”

And then more silence, the awful, billowing kind, the sort where every second that ticked by felt like several lifetimes. Ron leaned his head back against the wall and swallowed, his tongue wetting his lips.

Why was she so bad at this? She never knew what to say in the face of grief, never knew how to handle it. She had never been a patient person, and never the one people sought out for emotional support. That person was Ron, and now, in his time of need, she had no idea what to do.

He stole a glance at his watch and then let out a long breath through barely-parted lips.

“I can go,” Hermione offered. “If you want - space - or something-“

“No,” he said at once. “No, I don’t want space. Not from you.”

“Because I would understand-“

“No,” he repeated. “Stay. I want you to stay.”

As the seconds rolled by, punctuated by the rustling of leaves in the garden, Ron looked again at his watch. Every time he did, Hermione noticed, he was increasingly annoyed by it.

“So.” Part of her felt like she had to keep talking. Maybe he needed her to fill the silence. “Have you always had a secret door in your wall?”

At this, he actually smiled. “I mean - yeah. I have. Dad charmed it so it wouldn’t open until I was seventeen - prolly for the best, knowing me - but then by the time I’d turned seventeen, I sorta had bigger things to worry about.” Idly he raked his fingers through his hair, which was still long and unkempt after months in hiding; Hermione wished he would stop being so carelessly appealing. “So I thought I’d try it out tonight.”

“It’s nice out here,” she said even as an inadvertent shudder swept over her.

“Oh - you’re cold-“ He sat up straight and made to worm out of his jumper.

“You don’t have to-“

“No, seriously-“ Into Hermione’s lap fell a pile of maroon wool, leaving Ron now in a dark blue t-shirt. “You can keep it,” he added as she pulled it over her head. “It’s my one from fifth year, it doesn’t even really fit - and I like it better on you anyway-“ He stopped himself, biting into his lower lip.

“Thanks,” said Hermione, pulling the sleeves down to cover her hands and savouring the warmth seeping into her skin.

The jumper smelled like his soap, and she curled her fingers into her fists so as to keep her hands to herself. She wanted to run her hands down his arms, over the brain scars branded into his skin and the burn marks on his hands from the cursed gold at Gringotts, to see if he still radiated warmth from the inside out.

Next to her, he stifled a yawn and then tipped his gaze back up to the glittering sky. In the moonglow, his features had become so fragile, from the patches of freckles on his cheeks that Hermione had long committed to memory and the thick, dark circles around his eyes.

“Why are you still out here?” she asked, trying to keep her voice tender. “You must be exhausted.”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Yes, but I asked you first.”

He peeked at his watch again and stifled a growl of frustration.

“I’m waiting for midnight.”

There was a desperation on the edge of his voice as he spoke, an impatience. A longing, almost, like this was the thing he wanted most in the world and he couldn’t exhale until he had it. And Hermione wanted to see this day end just as much as anyone else, but Ron… Ron needed it to end.

“Why, exactly?”

“Because.”

“Ron.” Even in her annoyance, Hermione couldn’t keep the affection out of her tone, and he turned his head to face her. “We’ve known each other how long? And you think I’m just going to let you leave it like that?”

There it was again, that ghost of a smile on his face, even as his teeth caught his bottom lip.

“It’s just… there’s a lot I want to tell you. A lot, but… but I can’t do it today.” He nodded as though reassuring himself. “It can't be today.”

Adrenaline was not an unfamiliar sensation for Hermione, especially not after the past forty-eight hours, but it usually struck right in the midst of the thing. This feeling now, of being on the cusp of something, of just needing a nudge to go over the edge and never look back, was brand new. Every single one of her nerves had awoken at his words, ready for whatever came next.

“I’m really not sure if matters-“

“But it does!” he insisted, so sharply that Hermione was momentarily stunned into silence. “And it’s in-“ He looked at his watch again- “Twenty-seven minutes and forty-one seconds, so just let me wait this out.”

Hermione pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her wool-covered arms around her bare legs. Her mind was darting from thought to thought without bothering to complete any of them. How could he possibly tell her he wanted to talk to her, but then not actually follow through? Didn’t he know how that would drive her batty? Didn’t he know how much she hated the not knowing? Twenty-seven minutes might as well have been twenty-seven days for how slowly the seconds were slogging by.

Even as she tried to keep her eyes on the sky, busying herself by picking out constellations, her gaze inevitably slid back over to him. His fingers were fidgeting with a loose thread in the seam of his trousers, and every few seconds he looked at his watch, only to disappoint himself.

One of these days, she was going to have to stop staring at him.

“Ron?” she attempted. “What was going to happen at midnight? I mean - what were you planning, before I came up here?”

“Oh. Yeah, you have sort of thrown off my plans a bit,” he said, bumping his shoulder lightly into hers. It was such a small action, but it was so playful, so sweet, so inherently Ron, that she nearly leaned in to kiss him. As though she’d kissed him a thousand times before (as opposed to once, in front of Harry), as though it were the most normal, expected thing in the world for her to kiss him just because he was being charming.

But he seemed pretty adamant about the next twenty-seven minutes, so she simply hugged her knees a little tighter.

“So what was it going to be?”

“Right - well - I was going to go get you from Ginny’s room-“

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. She sleeps like a log, she’d never notice. Erm, and then I was going to see if you’d go on a walk with me.” Suddenly he cringed. “Is that stupid?”

“No, not at all,” said Hermione, vehement; she could think of little better than a midnight outing with Ron. “Though we might need shoes-“

“Nah,” he brushed her off. “Walking in the grass is so much better when you’re barefoot, anyway.”

“What about when I step on a thistle?”

“That’s what magic’s for,” he replied airily, inciting a little chuckle from Hermione. “Anyway, I thought we’d go on a walk, and I could tell you all the things that I’m waiting-“ Another check of his watch- “twenty-four minutes to tell you.”

“Which are?”

“Twenty-four minutes,” he repeated.

“Why’s it so important to you? To wait until midnight?”

“Because...” His eyes had gone simultaneously dark and bright. “Because I think I know where we’re headed - at least, I really hope that I know. And I just don’t want that to be on the same day as - as everything else that happened today. I want it to have its own day.” He squeezed his eyes shut as though clearing them. “Maybe that’s barking - probably is, since we’ve already - but I just want it to be a new day.”

They were always so bad at timing, they could never get it right. They had never been ready for each other at the same time, and then when they finally were, the world had had other plans, but now they were here. They were sitting on the secret balcony of a magically-constructed house, where below them gnomes slumbered in a garden and brooms waited in a shed to be flown. And if they could just wait a few more minutes, they could have what they wanted.

Maybe Hermione could be patient for once.

“Can I wait with you?”

“Yeah,” he breathed in relief. “Yeah, of course - unless you want to go back to Ginny’s room, and I can do the walk thing like I planned-“

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “No, I like it here.”

Ron’s arm snaked around her shoulder, pulling her into his side. “Me too.”

When Hermione dragged her heavy eyelids open, the moon had shifted positions in the sky. Beside her, Ron was breathing slowly, deeply, and she reluctantly picked her head up from his shoulder to ease the kink in her neck. She couldn’t remember drifting off; the last thing she remembered was leaning against him, letting the scent of his hair drift into her nose, and she supposed that her fatigue would have to override her anxiety at a point.

She sat up a bit straighter, trying not to jostle his arm, and reached across his body for his left wrist. Despite the spring breeze, his skin under hers had remained warm, and since he seemed pretty well asleep, she allowed herself the privilege of touching her fingertips to the many scars decorating his arms. Those from the brain had faded in time to a dull ivory, slicing relentlessly through the endless freckles, but the burn marks were new, red, angry. They still smoldered at the surface, and somehow she knew that it didn’t matter how much dittany she applied, or how much burn-soothing potion: healing would just take time.

Time. Eagerly she turned the face of Ron’s watch so she could read it, and even through the sleep-induced fog in her brain, she quickly deciphered the stars and planets spinning before her.

“Ron.” She slid her hand down over his and squeezed. “Ron, wake up.”

At the sound of her voice, he stirred, rolling his neck to stretch it.

“What time is it?” he asked at once, stretching his legs out and bending one knee so he could angle toward her.

“Just gone three.”

“In the morning?!”

“Yes,” Hermione laughed as she watched excitement flood his features. “It’s May third.”

Her stomach fluttered madly as his arm moved up her back so that his fingers sank into her hair, just behind the shell of her ear.

This was it. This was the very moment that she had anticipated for nearly seven years. He was going to tell her how he truly felt, in no uncertain terms. It was finally upon her now, and looking at him, truly looking at the boy she had grown up with - now undeniably a man - and the way he was looking back at her now, like she was the thing he treasured most in the world… suddenly, she found she didn’t need to hear it.

He had shown her, time and time again, and it hadn’t just been in the big, dramatic gestures. He had offered up his life for her, yes, but the way he loved her - and she knew, now, that he loved her - had always been in the little things. He used to be the one reminding her to eat during exam time at Hogwarts, and he would fix her tea at night back at Shell Cottage, and save her the lemon-flavored Bertie Bott’s because he knew they were her favorite. She did still want his words, but she wanted his actions more.

“Hermione,” he said quietly, his voice cradling every syllable as though they were precious. “I need you to know-“

“I already do.”

“But I’ve never told you-“

“You don’t have to.”

“And what if I want to?”

His face had drawn a shade closer to hers now, and she found her attention locked onto his lips. She could hardly remember what they felt like, so frantic their first kiss had been, and all she wanted was to taste them again.

“Then you can,” she said, oddly breathless, “but later.”

There was a soft pressure on the nape of her neck as he pulled her in to close to gap between them, and a light puff of his breath on her lips, and then they were kissing, and kissing, and kissing, and his hand was in her hair and her heart was in her throat and she had all but stopped breathing, only needing him, his lips, the taste of his tongue as it slid against hers-

With a smack that seemed to echo across the countryside, their lips parted.

“Damn,” he sighed, resting his forehead on hers. “I could’ve kissed you hours ago.”

“You could’ve kissed me years ago.”

His face flushed at that. “Shhh,” he teased, bringing his other hand up to cup her cheek. “Let’s not think about that now.”

Hermione let her weight tip toward him and kissed him once more, internally combusting with every moment of his lips over hers, the warmth of him emanating out of every single pore.

”Doesn’t matter anyway,” he muttered against her mouth. “Knew you’d be worth it.”

[kiruuuuu]

No worries, anon from a previous post! I got you ♥♥ (Rating T, fluff, ~1.5k words)

.

Thermite is kissing Castle. And panicking.

It’s a little like tripping and falling, one moment he’s walking normally without paying any attention to doing so, his subconscious, his muscle memory more than up to the task of carrying him safely where he wants to go yet the next, he stumbles over something and now he’s on the ground and confused as to how he got there. Only in this case, he wasn’t walking but rather basking in Castle’s presence after they spent the day carrying moving boxes. Thermite’s last flat wouldn’t have allowed pets and since he’s planning to adopt a dog soon, he was forced to move – he normally hates doing it, gets exhausted even thinking about all the effort involved and doesn’t trust himself not to cut corners and end up with twenty unmarked boxes which either rot away in a corner while he proceeds to buy everything that’s buried somewhere again because he can’t be bothered to look for it or he just dumps all their contents into a drawer and forgets about it all till he has to move again.

This time, Castle helped him with organising all his belongings, made sure to pack the breakables in a way that they’re not going to live up to their name, labelled each box clearly, ensured none of them ended up too heavy and even assisted in taking Thermite’s furniture apart for transport. He’s been there throughout the entire journey, advised Thermite in choosing a new bed frame, asked around until they could be sure enough people would be around that day to help carry and transport everything, and stayed long after everyone has left just so Thermite can comfortably live in his new apartment for a few days while unpacking.

So they’ve been doing that, just walking around in the large flat which is much bigger than Thermite is used to but since it’s on the outskirts of the city, it’s even cheaper than the one he was in previously, talking and joking, Castle making a few last, highly appreciated suggestions on where to put what and then Thermite stumbled over something and now he’s kissing Castle and confused as to how he got there.

A thumb is brushing over his ear, warm fingers are in the nape of his neck, soft lips slide over his and it’d be lovely if Thermite’s brain wasn’t going fuck fuck fuck non-stop. They’re in the middle of his corridor, somehow got stuck on each other, the rooms around them silent, and Castle’s tongue licks over his lower lip, asks for entry which Thermite grants and touches his with an almost electric feeling, charging Thermite. The litany inside his head upgrades to FUCK FUCK FUCK and when an arm snakes around his waist to pull him a little closer, he panics.

.

“I kissed Miles yesterday evening”, Thermite says.

“Honestly, just shove them somewhere onto the shelf, Jordan doesn’t care if they’re sorted by author”, Ash directs Pulse around the room and earns a pained expression – the idea of not sorting books by anything makes Pulse visibly uncomfortable.

“Where is Miles, anyway? Shouldn’t he be here by now?” He reluctantly sets a second book down on the wooden surface and uncertainly looks back at Ash to see whether it gets her approval.

Thermite is getting irritated. This is a big deal and both of them are just ignoring him. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yeah. What do you mean, kissed, is that some sort of euphemism? Oh my God Jack, if it kills you to not put them in order, just sort them. Make a spreadsheet for them too, if you like.”

“What? A euphemism? No, I literally kissed – are you even listening?”

His annoyance must be audible because Ash pauses, stops rummaging around in a half-empty box and turns to him. “I’m sorry. It sounds important, so go on. I’m listening.”

Thermite blinks. “That’s it. I kissed him. I don’t know what to do now.”

She cocks her head inquisitively. “I’m not sure I follow. Did anything else happen?”

“Anything else? Fuck’s sake, Liza! I frenched Miles completely out of the blue, isn’t that enough? What more do you want?”

Both his friends are quiet now, halting their movements and looking at him strangely. “What’s that supposed to mean?”, Pulse wants to know. “Do you normally not kiss? Does either of you not like it?”

Thermite is starting to feel like he’s in the twilight zone. “No, we normally don’t kiss, we’ve never kissed, we’re just friends. Am I supposed to tongue wrestle with all my friends?”

“Oh”, says Ash and something is odd about her tone of voice. “You’re not -” She breaks off and only continues once Thermite’s eyebrows lift. “You’re not dating?”

What. “Why would you think -”

“You regularly sleep over at each other’s place”, Pulse points out matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, he has a PS4 and I have an Xbone, it’s just easier that way, we can stay up later and play more.”

“You also spend almost every waking minute together.”

“Yeah. Like I said: I have an Xbone, he has a PS4. What else would we do?”

“You danced together on Blitz’ birthday.”

“We were both drunk.”

“When Miles was injured, you refused to leave his side and even hid under his bed.”

“No one deserves to be alone in a hospital.”

“You touch each other all the time. He adjusts your clothing, you steal his sunglasses, he makes that rasping noise with his gloves and your beard that you love so much, you sleep on his shoulder whenever you can.”

“Look, we’re just really good friends, alright?”

Ash fixes him with a scrutinising stare. “Except for the fact that you apparently frenched him.”

Thermite is starting to get a headache. “Did everyone think we were dating? Does he think we’re dating?”

“I’d say that depends on how the story ends. What happened after you kissed him?”

“I threw him out.” Pulse snorts while Ash pinches the bridge of her nose. Apparently that wasn’t the correct answer. “Look, I was in a panic, I didn’t know what was happening, so I told him I didn’t need his help today after all and good night and thank you.”

“Why did you even kiss him in the first place?”

“He smelled nice.” Now Pulse is openly laughing whereas Ash regards him with exasperation. “Look. He’s handsome and smelled nice and I haven’t kissed anyone in quite a while and he was there.”

“You’re a fucking idiot”, the redhead tells him while rolling her eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re being almost painfully obtuse.”

“Oh, are you insinuating what I think you’re insinuating? Because you’re wrong.”

“Whatever you say, Jordan, I’ll just continue unpacking your stuff. Hey look, it’s the pictures you took with Miles when you went on that weekend trip to London. I didn’t know you had them framed.”

“I like this book series”, Pulse adds and points to a trilogy which has quite obviously been extensively read. “Miles does, too, he’s the one who recommended it to me.”

“Wasn’t it Miles who got you these Superhero themed shot glasses?”, Ash asks sweetly. “They’re your favourite, aren’t they?”

Thermite’s headache is getting worse. Clearly, inviting them over was a mistake. “You know what, if you’re gonna be like this, I’ll just do my own thing. Somewhere else.” He drags one of the boxes to the other end of the expansive living room while shooting his friends a dirty look which is met with amused grins. This is not something he wants to figure out right now, he’s had a stressful few days and still so much to do. He’ll think about it once all of it is over. When he has the time. He opens the box and is greeted by his Xbox, sitting innocently next to a row of games that he’s almost never played alone.

Wordlessly, he gets up and walks towards the door and when Ash asks him where he’s going, he doesn’t answer.

.

Thermite is kissing Castle. And smiling.

It’s a little like tripping, falling and being caught by someone, one moment he’s walking normally and the next he’s stumbling all over himself, his feet having forgotten how this ‘walking’ thing is supposed to work, he’s frantic and flailing, looking for support and now he’s in someone’s arms and deeply grateful for it. Only in this case, he wasn’t walking but rather saying things that should’ve been said much earlier, unsure as to how to put them, frantic and flailing and now they’re kissing for the second time and he’s basking in Castle’s presence.

This time, he doesn’t panic when he’s pulled closer. This time, he reciprocates and his tongue asks for entry and Castle is also smiling now.

[humanoid-whowouldveknown]

The Tales of Old Vilnius

Ašmenos gatvė

- ...and also acrylics in those large jars, - says insatiable Tony, - yeah, all the colors, except maroon. And brushes. No, not these, the ones in the corner. One, two, three, and zero. And maybe... yeah, this palette knife. And that one, too. Wait, what's on that shelf?...

While we are packing everything into our backpacks, a tiny, gray-haired saleslady restlessly rummages the cashbox, like a bird in a feeder, searching for the change from Tony's 200-litai bill.

- I have no change at all, - finally, she sighs. - Maybe you can take this?

She puts a box of colorful chalks on the counter. Not pastel, not even oil crayons, just simple chalk, like the ones we used to write on a blackboard with. And, of course, on asphalt.

Chalks don't interest me, I'm trying to zip the bag, and Tony automatically puts the box in his pocket. The saleslady, assured that the problem is fixed, smiles freely.

- Good, good, - she says as we walk away, - Present it to your kids, they should be happy.

Neither Tony nor I have any children. But we leave this knowledge to ourselves, not to disappoint the tiny gray bird.

Outside the doors, two suns are shining - the sky one, and its reflection in a silver puddle that fills the entire roadside. And wind is blowing, spring-warm and so strong that we promptly give up our right to choose the path and turn, so it hits our backs.

- Sunny wind, - says Tony, and squints, like a pleased cat.

We turn around the corner, to Ašmenos gatvė, and there - who would've known?! - Wind stops. And we instantly remember that we wanted to stop for smoking a long time ago. Even before we stopped by the shop. And now we want it so much, no words could describe the feeling.

While Tony is busy with the cigarette rolling machine and empty tubes, I loiter around, pretending to be in any way helpful. And, naturally, rubberneck at the surroundings, automatically framing all I see - click, click, click.

- Look, - I say, taking a cigarette from Tony, - someone couldn't finish a hopscotch game.

- Not even the game - they couldn't finish the drawing, - he nods in agreement.

The sidewalk is, indeed, divided into squares, but the artist never got a chance to write the numbers. Maybe they were called for lunch, or just got clipped by the ears for damaging public asphalt.

On the other hand, we, two overgrown fools, don't care about the rules. No one will call us for lunch. And it's pretty hard to smack our ears.

Drunk with a sudden (like thirty years ago) and still captivating permissiveness, sunny wind, tobacco smoke and the weight of paints in our bags, I pull the box of chalks from Tony's pocket and squat next to the first square, confident in my intention to write a tremendous number 1. Bright-blue, like the sky in the puddles under our feet, or yellow, like the joyful spring sun, or green, like the future, not yet visible, foliage, or red, like Tony's old coat. However, as I pick up the chalk, all ideas disappear, and, for an unknown reason, I cover the entire square in blue. Not satisfied with the result, I shake out the leftover chalks and begin drawing fishes. Because the blue square is quite indeed the sea. Based on the bright colors of my fishes - the Red Sea. Exampli gratia. Though, in a matter of minutes, the fishes take such weird forms that the sea is clearly gifted to aliens. Let them communicate with these fishes themselves, cause human race, presented by me, gives up.

- Wow! - says Tony.

He already finished his cigarette, and now wants to enter the fight.

The second square Tony confidently shades with green and blue, and I already know that it will be Venice, the one he is so crazy about. Quickly, the colorful houses rise from the water; however, instead of gondolas and motor boats, the landscape suddenly fills with winged creatures, looking both like humans and foxes.

- Mother of God, who are they? - I ask dazedly.

Tony laughs:

- No idea. They came here themselves and decided to be. It's not my place to judge.  

- Well, then let my fishes live in their waters, - I say, - They perfectly match to your foxes, I think.

- True, - agrees with me Tony, moving the box so I could also take chalks.

The third and fourth square we paint simultaneously, almost racing. Tony, of course, is the champion on this competition - he is a professional. He gets up, stretches, and observes the results with pleasure.

- Oh wow! What is it? - he asks me.

- A city map, I guess, - I reply uncertainly, setting aside purple chalk, - Right, the map. You know, the one with tour paths for tourists. Every day it is drawn on the city wall. And at night, the rain washes the picture away. Which is why in the morning comes a duty artist and paints a new one. He, of course, doesn't really remember what was on the wall yesterday. To tell you the truth, he doesn't even try to remember, drawing whatever streets he wants. But tourists can still use this map: while the artist draws his lines, the city changes to match them.

- Well, then there should be two artists, - Tony says, - Firstly, the man can't work every day. Secondly, then there is even more changes and chaos. And everyone is happy.

His drawing in the fourth square perfectly matches this statement. On the surface two very pleased winged fox-humans, a bit - as much as it's possible with their fox faces - similar to us, levitate over the city-lake, with large red mugs in their hands.

- They are drinking coffee, no doubt, - I say.

- Naturally. Whatever you look and wherever you live, it can't happen without coffee.

We might as well just go for coffee now - we wanted to, anyway, - but instead Tony begins to roll another cigarette, and I paint the fifth square. Its impossible to stop.

- What is it? - asks Tony, - It's beautiful, but I understand nothing.

- Probably, it's a book. Or rather their version of books. When you continuously fly above water, it's great to have some fun things reflect in it. For example, books with illustrations. It's also better to prepare the texts on the clouds, in the mirrored way, so that they reflect as needed.

- Alright, - Tony nods. He gives me a cigarette, grabs the chalks, and, while I relax, quickly draws flying writers in the sixth square. They carefully cover the clouds in reflected letters.

- Yep, that's exactly how they work, - I nod and begin the seventh square. Toni takes the eighth.

I draw streams of colorful wind above a rich blackness of coastal fruit gardens, and Tony works on the main square of the city, where underwater trees grow - so tall that tired creatures can relax on their branches, expanding high above the waters.

In the ninth square, I draw a bridge, but not between two riversides - between the earth and the sky. Precisely like the Old London Bridge, it is covered in buildings, at least on the visible part. What happens above the clouds? I don't know. It's not my business.

Tony is still drawing, so I roll the cigarettes. After finishing the last, tenth square, he takes the rolling machine and, stunned, freezes looking at the skies. I observe his picture, and, finally, ask:

- So... what is it?

- A map, probably, - Tony smiles, - But not the city map like yours, but how to get there. From here, I mean. In case of an emergency.

- Wow, - I say, peering at the drawing, - wow.

What else can you say?

We sit on the edge of the road and smoke. Honestly, it is a bit cold outside, since our friend wind has returned. While we were drawing, he relaxed, and now he is entirely ready to blow again.

Honestly, we should get our butts off the edge of the cold road and go to the coffeehouse or home. But we are so tired that for now, we can only smoke in the icy sunny wind and blissfully smile, looking at our work.

A girl, about ten years of age, exits the apartment house. A ginger girl in an old red coat, chubby enough to earn a nickname "bomb" or something like that. She has a waist-long ginger braid, round green eyes, straight forehead and such a forceful chin that no one would've wanted to be her hypothetic enemy. In the left hand, she holds a gray knitted hat; she probably took it off just a minute ago. In the right hand, she holds a flat round box, that one could surely use like a bat. Her face almost screams her uncompromising intention to play hopscotch in the squares she, herself, diligently drew before lunch; so they belong to her only; so no one disturbs jumping or laughs at the mistakes.

When she sees my and Tony's pictures, the girl freezes in amazement. For like five seconds, not more. Then she lands her bat on the first square, straight on the head of one of my fishes. And begins to jump.

The girl jumps very delicately. Stands for a long time in each square, preparing and calculating the next move. She tries hard - maybe to save the pictures, or to get perfectly precise movements. She seems to succeed at both.

Reaching the ninth square, the girl freezes and observes the tenth. Finally, instead of jumping, she carefully pushes the bat with her colorful boot towards the edge between the squares.

There, the bat slowly crawls on the edge, and slowly moves farther. There... hell, where is it?

The curvy girl in a red coat stands in the ninth square, on my bridge between the earth and the sky. She confusedly examines the tenth, on which nothing lies, except for Tony's picture. A flat white box couldn't possibly mix with the image. And yet, it's not there.

The girl drops her gray hat on the ground. Automatically puts the end of the braid in her mouth. Thinks. Squats down and observes the picture. Carefully, touches it with her hand. Finally, she stands up and makes a step.

We look at her as if we were enchanted.

[japanesepenguin]

Day 76 in Japan (Hiking 中山道, Part 1)

+ So I begin at Nihonbashi, a short subway ride from our apartment; the current bridge was built in 1911 but the previous wooden bridge was built in 1603, the date Tokugawa moved to Edo/Tokyo and the Edo Period began; this bridge is the starting/ending point of the 中山道 but is also the "zero mile" mark for distances measured in Japan (similar to Charing Cross in London)---highway signs that give distances to Tokyo are actually citing distances to Nihonbashi; the mile marker was originally in the center of the bridge, but was moved off to a side for its protection:

+ Nihonbashi (日本橋) literally means "Japan Bridge" and is an important national landmark; the original looked something like this:

and a replica can be found in the Edo Museum (a very cool museum that I will drag Akina to and then post about)

+ The bridge was obscured by the modern highway built over it in the run up to the 1964 Olympics; recently, citizens have successfully petitioned the government to move the highway underground and restore the sky above the bridge (to be completed in 2040, stay tuned):

+ I'm going on about this bridge because it's an important cultural icon; the district around the bridge takes its name from this landmark and, pre-WWII, was a major downtown area of the city; the firebombing of Tokyo in March 1945 (the largest air raid in history) completely destroyed the buildings (and lives) of this area and the bridge still bares the fire scars from that event

+ The detailed metal work of the bridge is worth seeing as well:

+ They really did just build a highway straight atop the thing:

+ Anyways, y'all are here to read about the 中山道, so let's get hiking; crossing the bridge, we arrive in the Nihonbashi district proper and we're clearly still in a downtown area of Tokyo:

+ I actually liked this area; it has some clear history, visibly clean and trendy, and somewhere I had never been to before; after just a couple hundred meters, we come to the first marker on my map, Fukutoku Shrine (福徳神社):

+ This shrine was founded as early as 859 (the year), but obviously the modern building is much newer than that; Tokugawa himself visited this shrine and it even houses some relics from that era (for example, the scroll given to Tokugawa informing him that the concluding battle of the war, the Battle of Sekigahara, had been won in his favor); this is what the older shrine looked like before the renovation:

+ I only get 10 pictures per post, so I'll end with the street map, which doesn't yet label the route as 中山道:

+ It does however indicate something called the "Toothpick Museum" (uh oh, Akina)