#charlotte will climb walls

[theoptimisticdaydreamer]

#DearCharlotteLetSakuHaveTimeOff

[snakepixel]

Wait, have I never shared pictures of my cat here? WELL!

This is Lottie. This is her near constant state.

[lemongrad]

This has been revolving around in my brain for a few days after finishing Queen Charlotte, but like

The whole bit in the carriage on the way to England with her brother, where she goes on about her stays made of whale bones (not baleen, which is what whalebone is) and being stabbed and constricted, unable to move and at risk of death because of her garments, which was a bit eyeroll-y as someone who has made and worn a pair of stays before-

In retrospect I think it was less "omg evil scary corsets~!" and more "I will severely exaggerate my discomfort and straight up lie in order to freak out my brother because I am angry at the way he has planned my future for me"

[quietmonologues]

Do I need to watch Bridgerton in order to watch Queen Charlotte? On that same note, do I need to watch season 1 in order to watch season 2??

[dynamimight]

if i write something now it is going to be so bridgerton queen charlotte coded like literally a bridgerton episode

[dearabsolutelynoone]

I cried. I threw up. I shook. I climbed the walls. I cried some more. I tore my hair out. I saw the light. I was on the brink of death. And I cried even more. Charlotte and George were everything and then some. Like my brain chemistry has been permanently altered. I will never be the same. Every time I think about them I’m launched into a brand new mental breakdown. I don’t know how I will recover from this.

[brunchable]

Winter Prince, Part One: I Was Enchated To Meet You

Pairings: Prince, Soon to be King AU Bucky Barnes x Out of place, Princess Reader Words: 4.5K Themes: Regency Period AU, Instant attraction, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut. Summary: Trapped in the palace gardens, Y/N’s escape attempt is interrupted by a mysterious charming man who offers to help. Little does she know, the man she’s avoiding is the one lifting her over the wall. A/N: You're damn right I took inspiration to Queen Charlotte. Let's call this a "retelling" Bucky will still have his metal arm in this to keep it interesting.

The sound of hooves echoed in the distance, the rhythmic gallop of a horse cutting through the stillness of the early morning. You clutched your dress tighter around you, the fabric tangled in your fingers as you stood before the towering stone wall, your heart pounding. You were almost free—almost—but the moment stretched painfully, as if the world itself held its breath with you.

You glanced over your shoulder, the imposing silhouette of the palace barely visible through the mist. It loomed behind you, a symbol of everything you were bound to—everything you were trying to escape.

Your breath hitched as the soft thudding of hooves grew louder, and you turned back to the wall. Climbing it had seemed easy in the few moments of adrenaline-fueled desperation, but now, standing before it, you realized how futile it was. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t scale the stone, couldn’t flee the life that had been thrust upon you.

The horse slowed, and you heard someone dismount, the creak of leather and the solid thud of boots hitting the ground. Your fingers trembled as you placed them against the wall, ready to make one final, frantic attempt. But before you could take another step, his voice cut through the mist.

“Running away?”

You froze, heat rushing to your cheeks. His tone wasn’t harsh, nor was it amused—just… curious, and that only annoyed you more. 

Slowly, you turned toward the voice, expecting to see one of the palace guards ready to drag you back inside. Instead, a man stood before you, taller than you had imagined, with dark hair tousled by the wind, his sharp features softened by the morning light. He was dressed in simple riding attire, a cloak draped over his broad shoulders, but there was an elegance about him. Certainly not a guard, then?

“Are you going to stop me?” you asked, your voice breathless, daring as your fingers tightened against the stone. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

He chuckled softly, and the sound sent a strange warmth curling through you. “I don’t know,” he mused, a playful glint in his eyes as he stepped closer, “Should I? You seem to be doing a fine job of stopping yourself.”

Your mouth parted in disbelief, heat rising to your face again. “Excuse me?”

He nodded at the wall. “Well, you don’t exactly look like you’re about to make it over, do you?”

You scowled, crossing your arms over your chest. “I didn’t ask for your commentary.”

The man raised a brow, his lips twitching into a smile. “I’m just saying, climbing walls isn’t for everyone. Especially not someone in a gown.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed your approval to escape,” you shot back, glancing at the wall again and then back at him, frustration bubbling inside you. “Why don’t you just go about your business and let me fail in peace?”

His grin widened, and he crossed his arms, his posture too relaxed for someone who’d just found a would-be escapee. 

“I could help you.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the offer. “Help me?” you echoed, suspicion lacing your words. “Why would you help me?”

“Maybe I like seeing people succeed at impossible things,” he teased, the smirk never leaving his face. “Or maybe I’m just curious to see how far you’ll get.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms tighter. “I don’t trust you.”

“Smart,” he said with a laugh. “But if you want to get over that wall, you’re going to need more than distrust.”

You looked up at the towering stones again, dread gnawing at you. He was right, as irritating as that was. But still…

“And what do you get out of this, then?” you asked, glancing at him warily.

He leaned casually against the wall, watching you intently. “A conversation,” he said, his voice suddenly softer, less teasing. “Tell me why you’re running.”

You scowled at him, the heat rising in your cheeks again, and turned your gaze back to the wall. Frustration bubbled inside you, and you began pacing, sizing up the towering stones as if staring at them hard enough would magically make them easier to climb.

“I don’t need your help,” you muttered under your breath, though you weren’t sure if you were talking to him or the wall at this point. 

You glanced back up at the impossible height of the stone barrier, chewing on your lip as you tried to mentally map out some kind of strategy—any way to make it work. You huffed, planting your hands on your hips, and shifted from foot to foot, casting the man a glare every now and then. He just stood there, arms crossed, watching you with an amused expression, as if you were the most entertaining thing he’d seen in a long time.

After a few moments of pacing and staring—then pacing some more—you let out an exasperated sigh and kicked a small stone out of your path, turning back to face him, arms crossed.

“Well?” you asked, your voice a little more breathless than you’d have liked. “What’s so funny?”

He shook his head, but the grin he was trying to hide betrayed him. 

“Nothing,” he said, the words dripping with humor. “Just… you look like you’re trying to intimidate the wall into letting you pass.”

You glared at him, heat flooding your cheeks. “Maybe I am. Maybe it’ll work.”

His chuckle turned into full-blown laughter, and the sound of it—rich and genuine—sent a strange warmth curling through you, despite your annoyance. He had that kind of laugh that you hated admitting was contagious, and you found your lips twitching upward before you could stop yourself.

“I’m serious!” you huffed, though the playful tone was creeping into your own voice.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, still chuckling softly as he shook his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, a mix of frustration and embarrassment bubbling up inside you, but you couldn’t help the flutter in your chest at the way he looked at you.

“Are you just going to laugh at me the whole time, or are you actually going to help?”

He raised his hands in surrender, his grin still firmly in place. “Alright, alright. I’ll help.” 

He took a step closer, the playfulness still in his eyes as he lowered his voice, leaning just a fraction nearer. “But only because I want to see how this goes.”

“Fine,” you muttered, stepping back toward the wall. “Just… don’t get in the way.”

Behind you, you could hear him chuckling softly to himself again, and though it made your frustration bubble over, there was something undeniably magnetic about the way he seemed to find you so… endearing.

And as you started pacing again, casting glances at the wall, trying to figure out just how on earth you’d manage to get over it, you caught him out of the corner of your eye—his gaze still fixed on you, the smile never leaving his face.

You huffed to yourself, kicking at another stone. Of course, the man who found you trying to escape was now laughing at you, and somehow, it didn’t feel as awful as it should.

“How long will you keep pacing around like that?” 

“I’m not pacing,” you grumbled, though you absolutely were.

“Oh, you are,” he countered with a grin. “You’re doing laps. Like maybe if you circle it enough, the wall will shrink. Or get tired of you and let you through.”

Your jaw tightened as heat rose to your cheeks. “I’m sizing it up,” you snapped, planting your hands on your hips as you glanced back at the wall, your frustration bubbling over.

He wasn’t even trying to hide how much he was enjoying this, and it only made your chest tighten with frustration. Why did he have to look so effortlessly amused by your struggle?

“Well?” you demanded, trying to maintain some semblance of authority in the situation. “You know you’re actually not helping?”

“Forgive me, but watching you intimidate the wall might be the most entertaining thing I’ve seen all week.”

You let out an exasperated huff, resisting the urge to stomp your foot in frustration. “I wasn’t intimidating it, I was—”

He cut you off with a light chuckle, waving his hand dismissively. “Sizing it up. Right.”

You were too stunned to respond. The man was infuriating, no question about it, but the warmth in his voice, the look in his eyes—there was something about him that softened the edges of your frustration, made it feel less like a confrontation and more like… banter.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to focus. No, this was not the time to get distracted by some smug, arrogant man who was finding far too much joy in your struggle. You turned back to the wall, determination flaring inside you.

“If you’re going to help, do it already,” you muttered, planting your hands on your hips again.

“Let’s see how far you can get with a little help.” he said, his voice low and teasing.

He stopped in front of you, eyes gleaming with amusement as he glanced at the towering wall. “You ready?”

You crossed your arms, lifting an eyebrow at him. “Do I have a choice?”

He smirked, leaning down slightly. “Not if you want to get over that wall today.”

You eyed him warily, but there was something in his smile, something disarmingly warm beneath all that arrogance. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you sighed and placed your hand in his.

His grip was firm, strong, and you felt the warmth of his palm seep into your skin as he stepped even closer. The flutter in your chest deepened, but you swallowed it down, ignoring the strange thrill of having him so near.

“Alright,” he said, crouching slightly and motioning toward his shoulders, “Put your foot here, and I’ll lift you up.”

You blinked at him, a sudden rush of heat flooding your face. Wait, what?

“I’m going to boost you over,” he explained, clearly amused at your hesitation. “Unless you’d rather keep pacing around?”

You huffed, your cheeks burning. 

“Fine,” you muttered, carefully lifting your foot toward his shoulder. “But—” You paused, biting your lip as another wave of heat rushed through you. “Don’t look up.”

His grin widened, but he managed to keep his voice steady. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You gave him a skeptical look, your heart thudding loudly in your ears as you gingerly placed your foot on his shoulder. 

“Don’t look up,” you reminded him, your voice sharper, but the flush in your cheeks was impossible to ignore.

“I heard you the first time,” he chuckled softly, keeping his gaze firmly straight ahead.

He hoisted you up easily, his hands firm at your waist, but as soon as you tried to gain some leverage, the fabric of your gown bunched awkwardly around your legs, trapping you mid-air. Your heart pounded as you wobbled, your foot slipping slightly, and for a moment you flailed, trying to catch your balance. The wall still seemed impossibly high, and every move made your gown twist tighter around you, making it harder to gain any footing.

“Careful,” He grunted, steadying you with his grip. “Got it?”

You didn’t. Not at all.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice strained with effort as you tried to move again. The fabric pulled tighter around your legs, making it impossible to lift yourself further. “This dress—how do women escape anything in these things?”

He laughed, and you could feel the vibrations of it under your hands. 

“You’re doing great,” he teased, clearly biting back more laughter. “But if you keep kicking like that, I might not be able to hold you much longer.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, heat flooding your face. “This isn’t funny!”

“Oh, it’s very funny from down here,” he said, still chuckling, though his grip on your waist stayed steady.

Another attempt to maneuver only resulted in more tangled fabric. You groaned, realizing that this wasn’t going to work. No matter how hard you tried, the dress wouldn’t let you lift your legs high enough to get over the wall.

“Alright, alright,” you sighed, feeling thoroughly embarrassed as you gave up. “Put me down.”

“You sure? You were making great progress,” he teased, but his hands were already lowering you back down to the ground, the warmth of his touch lingering even as your feet found solid ground again.

As soon as you stood, you stepped back, brushing dirt from your gown and trying to ignore the way your heart still raced, both from the failed climb and from how close he had been.

“Well,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him, “that was a disaster.”

He leaned back on his heels, his grin wide and playful. “Not a total disaster. I got a front-row seat to the best entertainment in town.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him, though the blush creeping up your neck betrayed how flustered you were. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He chuckled again, crossing his arms to mirror you. “Can’t say it’s not entertaining.”

You sighed and looked around, now you owed him an explanation as to why you’re trying to run away.

“I don’t want to marry a stranger,” you whispered, surprising even yourself with the truth. “I don’t want to be locked away in that palace for the rest of my life, tied to someone I’ve never met.”

He didn’t speak for a second, his expression softening as he studied you. Then, in a gentle tone, he asked, “And who is this stranger you’re so desperate to avoid?”

You sighed, casting a quick glance around as if the mist might swallow you whole. 

“Prince James,” you admitted quietly, your words barely louder than the mist. “I’ve never seen him, never even heard his voice. I don’t know if he’s kind or cruel, if he’s young or old. For all I know, he could be—”

“Hideous?” the man supplied, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his eyes again.

You gave a small, reluctant smile despite yourself. “Or snotty. Cold. Aloof. Traits that I most certainly cannot stand nor find attractive.”

The man chuckled softly, shaking his head as he took a step closer. “Snotty, huh?”

“Well, royalty,” you said, with a little shrug. “They tend to be.”

He studied you again, something like amusement flickering across his face, but there was no mockery in it, just something warm and knowing. 

“You could say I’ve met him a time or two.”

Your brows furrowed at his familiarity with the prince. “Then what’s he like?” you asked, searching his expression for any hint of truth. “Is he… good?”

He seemed to consider your question, his gaze turning thoughtful as though weighing each word. “He’s... complicated,” he finally said, his voice softer, almost wistful. “Not the man people expect him to be.”

You frowned and sarcastically you said, “That’s really comforting.”

But before he could answer, a loud shout echoed from the palace grounds, and you both turned, startled. Your stomach lurched in panic.

“I need to go,” you whispered frantically, your pulse racing as you prepared to bolt.

His hand caught yours before you could move, the warmth of his skin against yours sending a jolt of something startling through you. You looked up at him, breathless.

“I could still help you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. His eyes held yours, deep and unreadable, as though he were making a decision only he could understand.

But there was something in his gaze now, something almost… regretful. 

“Speak what you need to say.” you whispered, the realization dawning on you in slow, staggering pieces.

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes searching yours like he could read the thoughts swirling in your head. He let out a soft sigh and tilted his head, a playful sparkle returning to his eyes.

“What if…” he began, his voice low, “what if the prince isn’t some distant, unfeeling man? What if he’s just a person who hates the cage he’s been placed in as much as you do?”

You blinked, confusion tightening your chest. “What are you talking about?”

He took a step closer, his thumb still grazing the back of your hand, sending that maddening warmth through you. “What if Prince James isn’t the man people whisper about? What if he’s spent his whole life wondering if anyone would see him instead of the title?”

Your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words settled like stones in your chest, and you stared at him, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “Why would he care? He’s a prince—soon to be King. He’s powerful, he has everything.”

He gave a small, almost sad smile. “What if the power isn’t worth much if it means living a life filled with expectations instead of choices?”

You frowned, shaking your head. “But he could change things if he wanted to.”

James—because you were sure of it now, he wasn’t just some rider—tilted his head, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “What if it’s not that simple? What if the weight of the crown is heavier than it looks?”

Your heart raced as the pieces slowly started to click together. He was still toying with you, but now there was a seriousness beneath it, something deeper. You could see the flicker of emotion behind his blue eyes, like he was daring you to understand.

“What if…” he continued, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper, “the prince is standing right in front of you, hoping you’ll see him?”

The world tilted beneath you. The way he spoke, the familiarity in his tone, the way he carried himself… it all made sense now. And suddenly, the puzzle that had been scattered before you came together in a startling rush of clarity.

“You’re—” The words stuck in your throat as your heart pounded harder, realization hitting you with full force. “You’re Prince James.”

He smiled, a mixture of apology and relief in his expression. “I suppose I am.”

Your mind reeled, his confession crashing over you cold bucket of water. Prince James. The man you had been speaking to, was the very one you were trying to escape. The very one you had feared. Your heart pounded, your pulse a frantic beat in your ears as you looked up at him—really looked at him—for the first time.

Prince James.

"Hello, Y/N." He smiled earnestly, taking your breath away.

You took a step back, your breath hitching in your throat as your gaze swept over him. The dark hair tousled by the morning breeze, the sharp features softened by the mist, the broad shoulders, the casual strength in the way he stood. How had you not realized before? How had you missed it?

Your mouth opened, but no words came. You were speechless. Absolutely, utterly speechless.

His lips twitched in that same infuriating, knowing half-smile, the one that had seemed so harmless before but now felt charged with meaning. 

“I suppose I’m not what you were expecting,” he murmured, his voice low, almost apologetic.

You shook your head, still trying to find your voice, but it was like the words had fled, leaving only the rush of your thoughts, jumbled wildly together. He’s the prince. The one you had dreaded. The one you had tried so hard to avoid.

But he wasn’t at all what you imagined. He wasn’t cold, or distant, or cruel. He was standing here, watching you, his expression open, almost vulnerable, as if he was waiting for your reaction, for you to decide what came next.

Your eyes darted over him again, taking in every detail as if seeing him for the first time—the way his cloak clung to his broad frame, the way his eyes, intense and unwavering, seemed to burn through every wall you'd built around yourself.

And then the shouts echoed again, louder this time, and your stomach clenched with a fresh wave of panic. The palace. The guards. They were looking for you.

His gaze flickered toward the sound, the slightest crease forming between his brows before his eyes were back on you, sharp and unrelenting.

“You need to go,” he said, voice low but urgent. Like the moment itself was slipping away.

“I—” You swallowed hard, your words tangled with the storm raging inside you. You—him—everything felt too much, too fast.

He stepped closer, his hand lifting as if to touch you—like he had to—like he needed to—but stopped just short, his fingers lingering in the air, his breath mingling with yours. 

“I felt the same,” he said, his words rushing out, fierce, quiet. “Curious about you. Wondering if you were like the rest of them, if you were cold, detached. Wondering if you were trapped like me.”

You blinked, caught off guard, your pulse roaring in your ears. What?

“I was afraid,” he continued, his eyes searing into yours. “Afraid you were someone I wouldn’t want to know. Someone I couldn’t stand to look at. I was afraid of you.”

His words hit you like a thunderclap, stealing your breath, your heart stumbling in your chest.

“But gods,” he breathed, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I was wrong.”

You stared at him, utterly speechless, the air thick between you. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

He took another step closer, his eyes wild, full of something unnameable. “You’re everything I didn’t dare to hope for. You’re bold, you’re brave, and you’re—” His voice broke off, and you watched as his gaze dropped to your lips, then snapped back to your eyes, something fierce and desperate flickering there.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. His words slammed into you, your mind reeling, your heart racing as his admission hung between you, fragile and powerful all at once.

The shouts echoed again, and your body jolted with the reminder of reality crashing back in.

“I need to go,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the world swirled around you.

But before you could move, his hand finally touched yours—fingers brushing against yours, sending a spark through your skin that made you freeze.

“I was wrong about you,” he murmured, his gaze locking with yours, eyes blazing with a heat that made you want to lean into him, to forget the world. “So wrong.”

You swallowed, every nerve in your body alive, humming. His hand slid up, cradling your wrist, his thumb brushing the delicate skin, like he couldn’t stop touching you. 

“Go,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “Go before I make you stay.”

Your feet refused to move, your heart slamming against your ribs. But you nodded, turning to slip back toward the palace, your body buzzing with his words, the intensity of his gaze.

But before you could disappear into the shadows, you heard him call out—his voice loud, clear, commanding.

You froze, crouching behind the tall hedge, heart hammering against your ribs as you peered through the mist. The guards had gathered around him now, their faces tense with focus as James, with that steady authority in his voice, pointed them in the wrong direction.

“She went the other way—toward the east gate!” His voice was sure, a lie delivered with the ease of someone accustomed to being obeyed. And just like that, the guards nodded, falling in line with his instructions as they turned, their heavy footsteps fading in the opposite direction.

Your pulse thrummed in your ears as you watched them leave, your body still coiled with tension, waiting for something to go wrong. But James remained still, standing tall as the mist curled around him, his face calm, unreadable. And when the last of the guards disappeared into the distance, he did something that made your breath catch.

He glanced back over his shoulder—directly at where you were hiding.

His gaze found yours through the thick hedges, that same intense, burning look he had given you earlier, and for a brief moment, the world stood still. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything, but his eyes held yours with a weight that made it hard to breathe, the unspoken connection between you hanging in the air.

Then, with a slow nod—so subtle you almost missed it—he turned, walking away, his figure swallowed by the swirling mist.

You exhaled, finally letting out the breath you’d been holding. Your entire body was trembling, your mind reeling from everything that had just happened. He had protected you.

Prince James, had lied for you, bought you time, and now the palace loomed ahead, quiet, waiting. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your gown as you stood up, pressing yourself against the stone wall, making your way back toward the safety of the palace.

You moved silently, your steps soft against the cobblestone as you slipped through the garden paths, every corner casting long shadows. You had to be careful. You couldn’t risk being caught now.

Reaching the palace doors, you hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward the mist-shrouded garden. James was gone now, but his presence lingered, the promise of his words still echoing in your mind.

With one last breath, you pulled open the door, slipping inside the familiar corridors of the palace, the warmth of its stone walls closing in around you. It was quiet here, the rest of the palace still asleep, unaware of the storm that had passed just outside its walls.

As you hurried back to your chambers, your heart finally began to slow, but your mind buzzed with everything that had just unfolded. James hadn’t just protected you; he had seen you—really seen you. And now, there was no denying it.

You weren’t running from him anymore.

You were walking straight back to him.

[icallhimjoey]

Not sure if you've done this but it fits the general mood of the fandom lately: I want grovel-y Joe. Knows he really fucked up but he's a guy so he doesn't know how to fix it so he just throws anything at the wall to see what sticks. And honestly we're not sure if we'll forgive him but we're definitely sticking around to see how far he's willing to go.

(yes I am in therapy 🤣)

okay im using this request to fix whatever that bullshit was that i wrote before this - hope you enjoy! Wordcount: 3.8K

---

I'll Let The Sun Decide

Joe realises it in the morning. Feels like the biggest fucking idiot in the world.

Correction: the biggest fucking idiot on the moon.

He watches you walk out of his bedroom after leaving a perfect cup of coffee, exactly how he likes it, on his bedside table and everything about that makes his heart ache.

After the way he behaved last night, he knows he doesn't deserve a sweet gesture from the girl who looks like she only managed to sleep for about two hours.

You look exhausted.

He only catches a glimpse of you, and a few seconds later he can hear the coffee machine go again. You're making a coffee for yourself after making him one, and Joe can't help but groan his face into his pillow.

Fuck.

He didn't reach out for you in the night.

Your one fucking rule.

He vaguely remembers going, "Hmm?" after he raised his head off his pillow in a jolt.

"Just me." You'd whispered, nothing malicious hidden in your voice, because it was after midnight and it wasn't the time to continue whatever you'd started earlier that evening.

He should've reached over then.

He hadn't. Not even a knee to your thigh, or a toe to your foot.

Nothing.

He should've been happy you'd come back to his flat instead of going to your own. You could've so easily decided to avoid him for a bit, but you didn't. You said you'd come back, and then you did, and, fuck.

He hadn't reached out.

He hadn't even read the texts you'd sent. Left you with a bunch of grey ticks.

Well.

He had read them, but only in the notification bar.

He'd seen the messages about you making it to the office safely. Of how Charlotte was there too - you'd do the work together and you'd be done much faster that way. A little later of how you'd just be another hour, and of how you'd let him know when you'd leave.

He wanted you to feel bad about choosing your work over him, so he withheld the coloured ticks and had felt real fucking smug over it. It was sickening how right he'd felt about his actions in the moment. Every petty little thing justified, just because you'd hurt his feelings.

You'd climbed into bed after he had already fallen asleep, and the feeling of movement next to him pulled him from his slumber. And then, instead of reaching over like he should have done, he had sighed all heavily, like he was really fucking annoyed that you'd woken him up as you got comfortable under his covers. He'd rolled over and ignored you. Turned his back and festered in his own anger like a moody teenager because he truly believed you deserved it.

What a fucking loser.

Didn't touch you all night.

The realisation slaps him in the face unexpectedly, and your early-morning kind gesture is what flips the entire script. What a fucking loser of a boyfriend.

You've made the deadline.

Joe sees it when he opens his messages after taking a perfect sip of hot coffee, and it's weird how he feels awful about himself and proud of you at the same time.

He didn't need to let the world burn over such a tiny inconvenience.

Joe hates the moon.

Longs for the sun.

The moon is cold and dark and he's all alone up there, only warmed by the light the sun will bring him.

The sun. Or, the messy-haired girl with tired eyes in soft clothes too big for her body who brought him a hot cup of coffee before she even made one for herself. Either or. Same thing.

Joe stares at your messages in silence, gives you the coloured ticks he should've given you last night, and feels heavy guilt find home in the pit of his stomach.

You finished all the work in time. Probably have done a real good job at it too. Did it at the office, away from Joe's bad temper, and managed to actually focus and forget about how he told you to fuck off when you were already on your way out anyway.

What a dick-move.

Fragile ego syndrome, you'd guessed then.

That dick-move is what had you second-guessing going back over to Joe's for a while. Maybe going back to your own flat was the smarter idea. Avoid the confrontation and just text him the next day, after he'd cooled off a bit.

Maybe he'd actually read those then.

Another dick-move.

Joe could be so annoying sometimes, but it was easy to read him and you knew that just a little consideration of your time would fix whatever this silly issue was. With that in mind, you'd made your way back over to his.

You knew his dick-moves only meant he was going to feel bad about himself come tomorrow morning.

And you were right.

Besides an annoyed sigh and a soft grumble, you didn't get much else from him when you got into bed.

That was fine.

Again, you didn't think it was the right time to continue a fight anyway.

But the morning brought something new.

You woke up before Joe did and it took a few seconds for you to remember. To realise your prediction was right. Joe hasn't reached out in the night. No silent I still love you touch under the covers for you.

And it stings.

Could make you cry if you thought about it long enough.

Joe's stayed on his side of the bed, facing away from you, and you tell yourself that at least you've come back to his flat like you said you would. You finished the work you had to finish, and did the right thing by returning.

But then, you concluded, you also haven't reached out to him at all, and immediately felt bad.

Joe can be so annoying sometimes, but you do still love him, and a warm palm to a shoulder blade could've at least let him know.

It would've made you the bigger person.

Which, you still were. You came back, didn't you? But Joe was being an absolute child and you didn't want to sink down to his level.

You should've reached over. Should've touched him. You have no good excuse for not following the one rule you came up with after your first real argument, and now you feel bad.

Shit.

The coffee is to make up for it. At least a little. To say, I'm sorry I didn't reach out, here's me doing that now.

"Morning," you whispered when you saw him stir and open a squinty, confused eye.

You didn't wait for a reply. Just left the coffee there and walked back to go and make yourself one too.

Joe watched you leave and the moon came crashing down.

He knows what the coffee means.

He's read your messages, can hear you make breakfast in his kitchen and decides he needs to reach out too. With his coffee in hand, he gets up and makes his way over to his living area where he finds you rubbing your fist into an eye through a yawn, with a carton of eggs in the other hand.

"Morning," he croaks, and sees how it's only just starting to get light outside, it's so early still.

It feels a little weird and embarrassing to speak to you right now. To remember how you'd been in this same room just a few hours ago, and he'd told you to fuck off.

Fuck off, he'd said. To his girlfriend. Had meant it with his whole chest too. What a fucking idiot.

You turn your head to give him a small smile that doesn't reach your eyes, and ask, "Do you want some eggs?"

The moon can die.

He doesn't want the moon.

The moon is too far from the sun. He wants you closer and happy and well-rested and for your smile to overtake your whole lovely beautiful face when you see him and he hasn't got the faintest clue where to even start to fix it.

He doesn't know how to turn all the feelings in his chest into words to convey how sorry he feels. Has no idea what to say. Has no idea how you'll react to a verbal apology either.

But you look so soft, shoulders slouched, the scrunched up bit of fabric that held your hair up and out of your face as you slept about to slip out. And, even though he can tell it's not a real smile, you're still giving him a kind face. You're being civil.

You've made him a coffee how he likes it and just offered to make him some eggs and, Jesus, he's just the most awful person ever, isn't he?

The overwhelming need to wrap himself around all of you takes over.

Joe leaves his coffee on the side and steps closer to attach himself to your back. You accept it, and he can feel how you let your head rest against the side of his as he hugs you, arms tight around your waist.

He's glad that you let him.

But he also feels the defeat there.

The, Joe what the fuck, that's waiting to slip out of your mouth. Maybe it's why you're keeping things surface level. No time or energy to get into an actual conversation right now. Just breakfast eggs and perfect coffee.

That's okay.

Joe doesn't know what to say anyway, and he'd love some eggs, actually.

"I'd love some, but," Joe kisses the side of your face, does it quick so he doesn't have to feel you pull away from it, and then gently moves you aside. "Let me."

A first attempt at fixing it.

Joe finishes breakfast whilst you go for the quickest shower of your life. When you turn the water off he asks what time you need to leave from the kitchen. His eyes find your coffee that's going cold, and he thinks it's so stupid that you have to be back at work so soon.

This time he doesn't feel sorry for himself, though. This time he feels sorry for you.

It's a big difference.

You've only just left the office, Joe thinks. And sure, sometimes he makes long hours and feels like he lives on set, but you're in an office.

He knows that's different.

Worse.

You've got to go and present all the things you've finished and he knows you like it just as much as he does. That being: not at all. There's no use in getting angry at you.

He sees that now.

You're just as much at fault for not being able to go out with him last night as he is. That being: not at all.

Joe watches you take a few hurried mouthfuls of egg on toast, and he wants to tell you sorry before you leave.

He doesn't.

Isn't sure how, and feels like a literal child because, Jesus Christ, they're just words.

But you smile at him, even though it's only small. And you let him kiss your cheek on your way out. And when you've left, it's not even eight o'clock, which is too fucking early, and he decides he needs to give you more quiet I love yous that he didn't give you under the covers in the night the way he should've done.

You get flowers delivered to the office that afternoon.

It's a large bunch, beautiful colours, and you can't lie; it absolutely makes you smile. You can tell it's expensive, and you know he's paid extra for the same day delivery, but... he didn't reach for you last night, and you didn't reach for him either, and whenever you think of Joe, that's all that comes to mind.

You'd seen him turn to stone.

So cold and careless.

Had seen in his face how he didn't give a single shit about how inconsiderate he was being.

A bunch of flowers isn't going to magically make that visual go away, but it's nice that he' tried's trying, and you try to hold onto that.

When you leave the office that day, you text Joe that you're headed to your own flat because there's food in your fridge that needs eating before it goes off, and your dishwasher is half filled with dirty dishes that have been in there for about a week already, so you kind of need to go turn it on, and there's probably also a load of laundry you could do, plus a quick pass of your floors with a vacuum, maybe.

Joe doesn't get to read it for a few hours. Busy day on set. When he eventually does, sort of annoyed that you had to wait for his coloured ticks again, he texts back, "Yours?"

And you text back so quickly, it makes his guilt grow.

"don't forget your key, im gonna lie down "

Perfect, Joe thinks. He'll sneak in and maybe get some of your shit sorted whilst you kip on your sofa.

But when he walks in, you're not on the sofa. You're already in bed, and that's sort of heartbreaking, because it's so early, and Joe finds the food that's about to go off uneaten in your fridge still. Finds the dishwasher still half filled, smelling rank, dirty dishes growing mould in there. He also sees the full hamper that needs sorting and washing, and, how had he even had the gall to assume that you could just make time for him at a moment's notice when you hadn't even been able to take care of any of this?

Joe starts the dishwasher.

Sorts your dirty laundry and starts a dark wash.

Cooks the food that's about to go off and places it in plastic tubs to have at another time.

Notices you've not taken the flowers that he had express delivered home and tries not let that affect him, but fails.

You're not sure what it is that wakes you. The beeping of the dishwasher, or the clanging of plates as Joe places the clean ones back into their cupboards. When Joe comes to find you, you're on your side, facing away from the door, but Joe can see you're awake by the light from your phone that silhouettes you.

"You're awake," Joe says, voice surprised, and it makes you turn to look over your shoulder.

"Hey," you say softly, and Joe's eyebrows knit together automatically at how sad you sound.

"Thanks for the flowers," you turn in bed to let Joe kiss you as he bends over to place a small one to your forehead. "They got delivered during my presentation."

"Was it embarrassing?" Joe asks, sitting down next to you, one arm either side of you as he leans over. Kisses you again, but on your mouth this time.

"Very. Vanessa just barged in with them."

"Did you like them?"

"Hmm," you nod and give a little smile. Joe's glad for it, but he feels there's a distance there still. You're keeping your hands to yourself, even though his bare arms are right there.

"I um," Joe starts, and wants to start listing all the things he's done. Wants to tell you how he's been sweet, and kind, like you were with him this morning, and he wants those things to be the silent I love yous he should've given you last night.

But then he changes his mind and says, "Did the, um... did the presentation go okay?"

You nod, because it did go really well, actually. Thank fuck. But Joe doesn't ask any more questions about it, and he seems to hesitate to even speak at all. Seems to want to say something that he's clearly not saying. Afraid to say the wrong thing, maybe. You wonder if there's a sincere I'm sorry hiding in there somewhere.

"You seem tired..." he skirts around the issue, and it's disappointing, but not surprising.

"I am tired."

Then Joe looks at the empty space in your bed for a moment and gets up. Starts undressing. Leaves his clothes in a neat pile on your dresser and goes to brush his teeth.

When Joe looks at himself in the mirror, he frowns.

Fucking idiot.

Look at that coward.

He rests both hands on the sink, hangs into his shoulders, breathes through flared nostrils, and feels like a failure. You must think he is one too.

He didn't reach over last night.

With his toothbrush still in his mouth, he steps back into your bedroom and inhales a deep breath through his nose before he mumbles a barely audible and a very foamy, "I shouldn't have..."

He hears himself, grumbles low in this throat and turns on his heel, spits the toothpaste out and comes back.

Starts again.

"I shouldn't have said those things. Last night. I was being a dick, I shouldn't have done– well, anything, really. I was being mean just to be mean, I'm–"

"Joe," you interrupt, your voice soft.

You didn't reach out either.

"No," Joe argues, moves to sit back down next to you, arms back either side of you, hands pressing into the mattress. "You have nothing to be sorry for, I just," Joe sighs. Frowns. Doesn't know what to say.

What can he say to make you run a hand up one of his forearms?

"I didn't..." he tries once more, but falters again. Drops his head and knows he can't cry because he is not the person he's hurt.

He didn't reach over last night.

"Hey. I didn't either."

You read between the lines, even though your vision goes blurry with tears. You can hear the words Joe isn't saying and can read the thoughts he's not communicating. Joe's face always tells you a million things. You wonder if he's aware how easy he is to read.

You also wonder if he's aware that it's not going to be enough.

Joe swipes a thumb across your temple, close to your eye, and catches a tear that was about to slide into your hair.

He swallows thickly. Tries to swallow down whatever's hurting his throat.

"I don't want to live on the moon..." he then mutters, regretting how he set the world on fire. He wants to live on planet earth, even though it's all grey and black ashes now. He'll plant flowers there. Will feed them water, and will politely ask the sun let them grow.

Will ask you.

You're the sun.

You get to decide.

You don't fully understand what Joe means, because it sounds ridiculous, actors and their theatrics, but you tell him you don't want to live on the moon either and he huffs a laugh at how absurd that sounds coming from your straight face that's pretending it's not actively crying.

You're the sun.

Of course you don't want to live on the moon, silly.

"Your priority–" you start, breath hitching, but Joe is quick to interrupt.

"You. You. Us. I'm... it's us. I promise, it's us..." Joe sighs again, seemingly upset at remembering his own behaviour.

"Saying that is easy, though," you start, finally letting your fingers slowly wrap around one of his arms.

A touch.

It's enough to make Joe's whole face crumble.

He ducks down. Lets his arms find your shoulders to pull you up a little so he can hug you properly, both arms wrapped tightly around your frame, his face hidden into your neck, and you know Joe's only crying because of your fingertips touching his wrist. The smallest things can get him sometimes – so dramatic.

But you continue, "I believe that you believe that your priority is us, but when you're stomping around your kitchen, blaming me for shit I have no controll over, telling me that it's my fault that I–"

"No," Joe mumbles into your skin, and pulls back just enough to press his forehead against yours. "No."

And you give his forehead a slight push with yours and you want to say, yes.

Yes that's what you were doing.

Yes that's what happened.

Yes you got caught up in all of your own feelings and forgot that I have a whole set of my own.

But then Joe whispers, "I'm sorry." and you can't help but go absolutely lax in his hold.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. I love you, I'm sorry." he whispers his apologies against your mouth through heavy breaths because he's doing his best to not cry, but he's failing, because then he feels you shake with a sob, and, fuck that, he'll banish himself to the moon, actually.

He'll live up there no matter how miserable it is, and he'll take whatever sunlight he can get, and he'll be thankful for the rays you'll allow to even reach him at all.

"You didn't t-touch–" you stutter, and immediately feel Joe squeeze you tighter.

"I'm sorry, I love you. I'm so sorry." Joe whispers right into your ear. Keeps repeating it, over and over and over.

Your one rule.

He should've never broken it.

It's good to hear the words, the I'm sorrys tumbling over his lips, and you'll accept them for now. But actions speak louder than words, and you know that there will probably be a time where the way the world treats Joe will make his head grow to twice its size again. He'll do and say similar shit. Won't want to meet you halfway, but will demand that you make the trek all the way over to him, won't care what the ground will look like, and won't care if you're wearing shoes for it or not.

Joe doesn't know it right now, but you can see into the future and know it will happen again.

And when it does, you'll grow a little colder.

Let some of your rays die out.

"Here. Lay back." Joe says after holding you for a while, and when your head finds your pillow again, Joe curls around and uses every body part of his to touch yours under the covers.

Every inch of skin touching yours is a big fat quiet I love you that he'll repeatedly tell you all night. He's not gonna let go.

He knows he's on the moon still. Up there, all alone. Cold. In the dark.

He said he's sorry, but knows it's not enough.

Wants off, but is smart enough to not set foot somewhere he's not allowed yet.

He has said that he's sorry, and now he needs to wait for the sun.

Wait for you.

And he'll touch you under the covers until you're ready.

Whispers the promises into your hair as you fall asleep.

You get to decide.

He'll let the sun decide.

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @demonsanddemogorgons

@djoseph-quinn, @dolcevitalifestyle, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer

@everythinghasafacee, @ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @gri959

@hanahkatexo, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven

@kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr

@munson-mjstan, @munsonssweets, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles, @notverywise

@pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid, @readergf, @royale1803

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@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @yunirgo

add yourself

[itsnevercasual]

Look Into His Angel Eyes

pairing: harry styles x zoologist!youtuber!reader

summary: harry takes his niece to the san diego zoo, and you just so happen to take care of the animal she’s obsessed with. koalas.

warnings: zero knowledge of zoology LMAO, not edited, a few curse words

—

harry had expected a lot more fuss when he went to a very famous, very popular zoo. he expected at least someone — one person! — to notice him or recognize him.

nobody had even given him a second glass.

those kids movies were right. change your har (put on a beanie) and wear sunglasses (because even if it was a little chilly, it was bright), and you were a whole different person!

well, until gemma’s little girl, rosie, who was usually a gem and the best kid ever, started crying. over what, you may ask?

she demanded they find the koalas.

granted, she was only five, but.. he was still worried people would see him and recognize him.

when he had graciously offered to drive rosie to san diego to go to the zoo because gemma simply didn’t have the time, he forgot it was a public, normal people zoo.

so, he asked someone where the koalas were (and then four more people after that on the way there, all of which informed him that he better hurry if he wanted to catch the koala talk, which was supposedly a big hit for some reason), and made his way to the other side of the zoo.

who the hell made this place so big?

—

you’d been living in san diego for five years, since you were eighteen. you’d been working with the koalas at the san diego zoo for that same amount of time.

18 and fresh out of high school, you moved far, far away from your horrible hometown and even more horrible people, and went to san diego to both go to college for zoology and work your dream job.

well, technically, it was an internship at first, but still!

like most little girls, you were obsessed with animals. however, instead of dogs or some other basic animal (though, koalas are still pretty basic, you suppose), you were obsessed with koalas. and then, it never went away.

your mother tried anything to talk you out of it, into a safer career path, she’d say. more secure.

well, fuck secure because you were about to go talk to little kids who were just like you when you were younger and feed a baby koala.

you had also started a successful side career as a youtuber. you made regular videos like vlogs and hauls and whatnot, and also educational videos about koalas. some of your vlogs were at work, such as today.

“so.. we have jess here to record as i do a koala talk. and.. it is officially 1:30, so let’s go!” you exclaim, handing your coworker, jess, the camera.

you pushed open the door (more like gate) and walked out. there was a fairly large crowd today, including the cutest little girl with a pink dress on right in the front row.

you set the crate (don’t yell, it’s a big crate. and it’s simply to take them from their exhibit to the talk area, which is a distance of maybe 50 feet) down on the wooden table.

the talk area was pretty much their enclosure, but instead of a glass wall, it was open and the kids could see better.

you opened the crate and slowly coaxed the bears out. you’d only brought two today. mila, and her baby charlotte (you always called her charlie, though).

once they were out and climbing on the branches, you turned to the crowd.

“hi, guys! my name is y/n, and i’m basically in charge of the koalas here! who here has been to one of my talks before?”

a few hands raise.

“good! well, today, we have a new guest… who remembers what was happening with mila last talk? was anyone there?”

one little boy raised his hand.

“yes, the.. little boy in a blue shirt?”

“jackson!” he told you.

“jackson, sorry. what was going on with mila? for everyone who doesn’t know, mila is that big one right there.”

“she was— she had a baby in her tummy.”

“she did!” you respond enthusiastically. “and a few months ago.. four months ago, actually, she had her baby! who wants to meet her?”

all the little kids screamed me! me! me!

you laughed, “alright, let me grab her.”

you walked over to mila, petting her head as you slowly took charlie away.

“hey, mila.. can i take her real quick?” you ask as if she can hear you, before speaking to the crowd. “mila and i have a special bond, if you ask me. she had her baby right around the time i had mine. so we are both new mothers,” you laugh. “but, anyway! i’ve been with mila since she got here, so she really trusts me. which is why i can easily just..”

you grabbed charlie off of mila, and put her on her shoulder like you did your baby.

“so, everyone, this is charlotte, but i call her charlie! now, i have a very special job for one of you.. but i need someone who will be very careful, because charlie is still a delicate baby.. can anyone hold her for me while i feed her?”

and finally, the adorable little girl interacted. she started jumping and raised her hand.

you walked over to the fence separating you from the crowd, crouching to be eye level with her. “and who might you be?”

“rosie!” she responded. and oh, she had a baby voice and she was british.

“rosie! well, do you think you can hold her for me?”

“yes! yes, please!”

“alright, we’ll get you and dad back here—“

“ehm.. uncle..” her uncle, not father, responded in a british accent.

“oh, sorry! you and your uncle back here. and what’s your name, rosie’s uncle?”

he hesitated, before— “harry.”

your brain slowly put two and two together as you glanced at his tattoos.

harry styles.

“oh, i see,” you respond, “well, let’s get you guys back here!”

you opened the gate they were thankfully standing right in front of, and they walked into the talking area before you shut the gate.

you led rosie to the center, crouching down to her again.

“alright, we’re gonna do this in a funny way. can you stick out your arm for me?”

she did.

“i’m gonna put charlie on your arm, alright? she’s gonna wrap herself around it, and her claws might scratch you, but it’s fine, yeah?”

“yes, ma’am!”

“aw, you’re so polite. alright.. charlie incoming!”

you slowly adjusted charlie to curl around rosie’s arm.

“it tickles!” she squeals with a laugh.

“yeah?” both you and harry — harry styles — respond at the same time.

“alright, i’m gonna grab her bottle! stay here!”

you ran over to grab it, and while you were shaking it so it was ready, you felt something wrap around your leg.

“hi, mila!” you exclaim to the koala wrapped around you.

you carefully walk back over.

“i’m gonna feed her for a minute, and then i’ll let you and your uncle try, yeah?”

“okay!”

you started feeding charlie as you spoke again.

“so, the reason we feed charlie instead of having her feed from her momma, who is clinging to my leg, is because charlie was born a little early and needs a little more nutrients!”

you talked a little more about koalas and their behavior before rosie wanted to feed her. and after a few minutes of that, you glanced to harry.

“you wanna give it a go?”

“sure, why not,” he shrugs.

“charlie seems pretty cozy.. so, i’ll give you mila. she’s a little heavy, though.”

you bent over and took mila off your leg, handing her over to harry.

“hold her like a baby on your hip.. it’s kinda like a.. odd hug! a koala hug, if you will. i’ll grab her bottle.”

you ran over, and when harry began feeding her after you returned, he asked a question.

“so.. why do y’feed mila? i know charlie’s a baby and all, but..”

“that’s a very good question! so, mila is getting a little old, and she was also brought to us injured. that, paired with giving birth four months ago, we just have to give her some more electrolytes… her bottle is actually just white gatorade. we tried green, but she hates it. she’s very picky.”

“well, that’s cause y’gave her green.”

“hey! who has the degree here? yeah, shush.”

“yes, ma’am,” he laughed.

—

once the talk was over, you told rosie and harry to stay back.

you let charlie and mila climb about the branches while you spoke to them.

“i just want to make sure you both are alright with being in a video.. also, you need to wash your hands.. jess should be back with the sanitizer soon.”

“can i ask what video?”

“oh! right, sorry. i’m a youtuber, and i sometimes film my talks to publish and whatnot. i’ll blur your faces, of course. i blur everyone in the crowd’s faces for privacy reasons, but i figured you’d be.. more.. concerned about that than most.”

“you know?”

“i mean.. voice is a giveaway.. i also follow gemma’s instagram, so i recognized rosie,” you shrug. “but anyways, you’re good with the video?”

“yeah, of course.”

you then turned to rosie to answer her bajillion questions about koalas until jess came back with the hand sanitizer.

“so, just use a lot of this, and you’ll be good,” you explain, putting a few pumps into each of their hands.

once they were all clean of koala germs, you told them they were free to go.

rosie ran forward, but harry lingered.

“thank you,”

“oh, yeah. of course. i figured you wouldn’t want koala germs—“

“no, i mean thanks for giving rosie that opportunity.”

“oh! of course. i love seeing little kids who love them as much as me.”

“she’s bloody obsessed with the things.”

“mm, yeah. they’re easy to love. word of advice, don’t shoot her love for them down. it doesn’t exactly work. i mean.. look at me,” you laugh.

“i will keep that in mind,” he smilez. “what was your name again?”

“y/n.. y/n l/n.”

—

a/n: enjoy

[crazyk-imagine]

Married Off to a Beast?! (Or Troll)

Pairing: King George x Fem!reader Characters: Charlotte, Fem!reader, King George, Adolphus (briefly mentioned) Warnings: A memoriable scene, fluff, Charlotte doesn’t approve of running away, George is a simp, Reader and George are enamored with each other, Charlotte is a hypocrite, George regrets nothing, reader knows she can’t resist him now, reader showing skin O:O Word Count: 1,356

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You walk back and forth in front of the wall. You take a deep breath and step closer. "Charlotte help me." 

"No," she shakes her head, wanting little to no part in your escape. 

You spin around to look at her, your body visible for anyone to see if they walk down this path to the garden. "Your brother married me off without my consent, you will help me." 

She huffs, scratching the side of her head. Out of the two of them (her and her brother), she's always had a harder time saying no to you. 

"Fine." 

George watches as you call for her assistance and decides to walk further down. Neither of noticed him, not until he cleared his throat. “Hello, My Lady.” 

You glance over your shoulder to find a charming man standing a few feet away. 

He turns to your cousin. “My Lady.” 

Her eye twitches, you know it did; you didn’t have to look at her to know. “Are you in need of assistance of some kind?” 

“Uh, I am quite fine, thank you.” You return to your mission. “You can go back inside and wait with all the other gawkers.” 

Charlotte whispers your name. She understands your feelings about the situation but there is a better way to address someone. 

"I… will. What are you doing?" 

You huff, “nothing.” 

“You’re doing something.” 

You internally groan, not wanting to berate some man for something he had no control over. “I am not.” 

“You are.” 

“I am not.” 

“You are.” 

“I am not.” 

“You are!” 

You jump down from your place and spin around to face him. "If you must know, I am being shipped off into a marriage I did not give my consent to and one I had no prior knowledge of, therefore I am leaving before it can happen." 

"Oh," his brows shot up in surprise. 

“Yes, so I am currently trying to find the best way to climb over this damned garden wall so that I may live my life the way I choose to.” 

He mutters a few things, trying to understand this new information he’s been given. “Whatever for?” 

"For the love of-" She mutters, hearing the wheels turning in your head. 

"I believe he may be a beast.” 

"He isn't," she assures you. 

"How do you know? I mean, do you know what he looks like?" 

She rolls her eyes, knowing you’ve been on edge since... well, since you were informed of your future role. 

“You think he is a beast?” 

“Or a troll.” 

“Uh, who are we discussing.” 

You furrow your brows, “no one who concerns you.” You study the wall, sighing to yourself. “The King. Only because no one will speak of him. No one. So, he can only be a beast or a troll if that’s the case.” 

“Understood.” 

Charlotte shakes her head, lowering it so George doesn’t see the disappointment on her face. 

“If I grab there,” you point to an ideal spot. “You can assist me by lifting me up.” 

“One question. You do not like beasts or trolls? What he looks like matters?” 

You shrug, “I do not care what he looks like. I care about my sanity… and the not knowing. That, that is what I do not like. I do not like the not knowing. Now come here and help me.” You gesture for him to come closer. “She will not help me. You grab here,” you hold your waist, “and lift me.” 

“You want me to lift you over the wall so you may escape?” 

“That is what I said, is it not.” 

You shake your head, mumbling to yourself, “it’s as if he isn’t listening.” 

“Won’t people notice you are missing?” 

“Her brother will make her take my place, I’m sure.” 

“What?” Charlotte nearly screeches. 

“I have little care to worry about that. Now, if you please. I just need a little assistance from a more cooperative audience. Make haste.” 

“I have absolutely no intention of helping you.” 

You’re baffled. You step off the wall and march towards him. “Do you not see I am a lady in distress. You refuse to help me? Again, a lady in distress.” 

“I refuse when that lady in distress is trying to go over a wall so that she does not have to marry someone I think you'll find rather appealing." 

You furrow your brows, "and why's that?" 

"Because I am... his majesty." 

You take a step back, realizing the many errors you’ve made leading up to now. 

“Hello,” he says your name. 

"Oh, no," your cousin mutters. She takes a step closer, pulling you towards her. "Be quiet and bow." 

You start to apologize. “I am deeply s…” 

And then your training (from when you were a young girl) kicks in and you bow, "My King." 

"No, no. Just George." 

"Your majesty." 

"Not your majesty, George." 

"Your-" 

Your cousin rolls her eyes and sneaks away (not wanting to listen to you two anymore). She’s off to find her brother. Not to mention the fact that she needs to hide from her betrothed as well… which explains why she willingly followed you.

"George." 

"You-" 

"George." 

"Y-" 

"George." 

"Your-" 

"I mean, yes your majesty to you, just George… For you, I will be your George, I like that," he smiles. 

“I- I need you to accept my apology. You see, if I had known-” 

“You would have what? Not told me you were trying to escape?” 

“Yes- wait no, I mean…” You huff, “I do apologize your majesty.” 

“George… Your George. The “King” situation towers over us and I was hoping as my wife, I could be just George to you. I mean, that was of course, before I found out that you do not want to be married to me.” 

You furrow your brows, “I did not say that.” 

“You did.” 

“No.” 

“Many times, in fact.” 

You purse your lips in anger, knowing he’s right. “I do not know you.” 

He raises his arms, “I do not know you either… other than finding out… how terrible you are at climbing a wall.” 

You scoff, “you try climbing in this,” you wave to your outfit and lift the skirts of your dress, showing him your ankles. “These garments and shoes. They’re terrible, but if I don’t want to hurt myself, I must.” 

His constant stare worries you. 

“What?” 

“I- No one told me you’d be this beautiful. Perhaps, you’re too beautiful to marry me. People will talk… given I’m a troll.” 

“I believe I said beast.” 

He chuckles. 

Your face twists as if you’re in pain but only thinking of your future marriage. “Your majesty.” 

“George.” 

“George. I- I still do not know you.” 

“What do you want to know?” 

“Everything.” 

“Ev- fine.” He gives you information to help ease you into knowing more about him and potentially help your future marriage. 

“It sounds like you’re bragging.” 

He chuckles, “another to know about me is that… I am- well, nervous about marrying a girl I’m only just meeting minutes before our wedding. Only, I cannot show it and climb over a wall because I am the king of Britian and Ireland and that would, cause a scandal. But I promise you, I am neither a troll, nor a beast. Just your George.” 

The corners of your lips twitch. 

Charlotte’s voice interrupts you two. “My brother is on his way, so we must leave now.” 

“I-” 

“I have one question.” 

“Yes?” 

“Have you decided whether you wish to marry me? Or would you prefer to go over the wall?” 

You gulp. 

“As much as I would love to hear your answer, I have to go because I believe there are some anxious guards who think I’ve been kidnapped.” He grabs your hand and whispers your name as he places a kiss upon it. “I hope to see you in there.” 

You watch as he walks away. “Have you decided? Because there will be a scandal one way or another.” 

“I-” you take a deep breath. “Come with me, you impatient brat.” 

“I am not a brat.” 

“You are.” 

“Am not.”

[alastor-x-reader-stories]

Safety n Shadows - Part 1 of ?

SUMMARY: Two creatures who shunned the light, sticking close to the shadows that were your Sanctuary. You were bound to meet eventually. A deal is struck, a bargain made, a pact formed. Whatever else will it turn into?

TAGS: Reader x Alastor, fluff, humor, eventual romance, Typical Alastor Behavior, some horror aspects.

For as long as you can remember, shadows were your sanctuary. Which wasn’t very long, you lost your memories when you fell but whatever.

You swam through them with ease and grace, as though this was your domain your entire existence. Which you doubted. But you guess you couldn’t assume.

Hell was observed from their safety, the mediocre the depraved… The soft and the dangerous. You’ve seen many things, you’ve heard many things, you’ve learned many things. The shadows of others were little pockets of their owners where you can climb inside and come along for the ride. Skimming closer to the boundary was where you could be seen- but not touched – and the deeper you went the less there was of you to be detected.

You’ve never gone to the bottom of the shadows. That was probably for the best. You have seen what shouldn’t be seen, waved at it, and went about your way. That which shouldn’t be seen didn’t seem to mind as long as you never wandered that deep again.

Some have seen you, some have heard you, but you were always Safe.

When skimming along, you heard a song. Curious, you surfaced enough so your ears can pass the Boundary, poking above the ground to hear more clearly. Slowly you peaked your eyes above as well. On the television display of a small store you watched as the princess of hell talked about her hotel. Or. Sung about it.

It was a good song, and not a bad idea. But how could you be redeemed for something you don’t even remember? You figured there was no point and submerged yourself in shadows once again.

Several months passed before you thought of it again. The early Extermination frightened you, seeing the exorcists arrive in flocks to destroy any sinner they came across. You had pressed deeper into the shadows, away from the sounds and the sights. But you saw something. Someone. In your domain.

And he Saw you.

Would he have reached out? Would he have said something? Would he have hurt you? You could tell he was injured, the shadows were stained red where he passed. He stayed near the Boundary and you wondered if that was by choice or simply because he was injured and couldn’t go further.

When you tried to approach, he bared bleeding fangs at you in a silent warning. Much like for That Which Should not Be Seen, you took the hint and moved away.

You’ve never seen anyone else in the Shadows. You wonder if he ever had.

~~~~~~~~~~(￣▽￣)~~~~~~~~~~~

He’s never seen anyone else in the Shadows. He wondered if you ever had.

It’s been a couple months since the last Extermination and the Hotel was wrapping up its last renovations. Alastor paced around his new room. The walls were a deeper red than the others in the Hotel, the fireplace more ornate and firewood nicely stacked on one side. There was a mounted gator skeleton on the wall, curled over to one side with its snout facing a small bayou. The bayou itself was separated from the main room with a wall that was more a window, and a door made of dark wood separated it from the rest of the place.

It was curated specifically for him, Charlie had told him. He’d be touched if he wasn’t so offended that they didn’t think he could do this himself. However, he had still thanked Charlotte and gave a half-hearted compliment to Vagatha for remembering the details she had.

Alastor’s room was placed down the hall from his new Radio Tower. The one that was built specifically by Charlie and Nifty. It was sleek and elegant and more securely fastened to the hotel than his last one had been. When he first heard of it he was prepared to walk in and find modern technology and blinking lights and smooth screens which he would have to destroy the moment he was alone. Instead, the inside was a near perfect replica of the tower he had lost.

That was thanks to Nifty, apparently. Silly girl had a good memory for that kind of thing.

That, he was able to be grateful for - almost sincerely.

 Time had marched on and memories of the Extermination blurred together. Of course he still remembered that fear - … rage, of being nearly sliced in half. The panic- …irritation, of realizing his microphone had been sliced in half. But what he was dwelling on now…

Was you.

What were you? Where were you? WHO were you?

It had been enough time to recover. So he had sent his shadow to find you, and was now waiting for its return.

Preferably, with you in tow.

[caesium-55]

Imagine Charles Leclerc who dated all your friends because he cannot have you.

It's not that you don't want him—God only knows how many times you wished to all the stars in the sky for you to have him—but it's because you were afraid. Of what? Of what would come if the relationship would not work.

"What if we'll work? What if we'll be happy?" he asked you that once, when you were both seventeen and he was steadily rising in his career as a racer. But you pride yourself to be an intelligent woman, always practical and never to be swayed by feelings. You would not sacrifice an almost two decade friendship over a what-if.

So while you pursue your career in architecture, he began dating your friends. It's petty. It's cruel. It's unfair. Not just to him or to you but the poor girls who thought he loved them when it was you he was imagining when he kissed them.

It hurt when it happened the first time. Then, you realized that you had to suck it up because this was the mountain you chose to climb. It was a good thing that you were always the best at keeping your emotions at bay.

On his first breakup with his first girlfriend, he was the one who told you first. He came by your house, the one next to his childhood home, and told you personally. You had shook your head at him, disappointed but not surprised.

"Who dumped who?"

"It was her."

"Good for her."

Then, he helped you cook dinner, you ate together and he left after. You spent the next morning comforting your friend, listening to her two-hours long rant patiently. Guilt crept up at the back of your skull because you were the one who introduced them both.

The next time you learned Charles was dating again, it was through Twitter. You shrugged it off at first, not interested at the news because the fans can be full of exaggeration sometimes. You trusted that Charles would personally tell you if he had found someone. Like he did before. Because Charles will never ever keep secrets from you.

Then, a week later, on the third Wednesday of the month where you, your brother, and your dearest Mama visit the Leclercs for the usual dinner get-together, and she brought her along.

"Charlotte?" you blinked in surprise when you saw her, pretty as always. "What are you—"

Then, Charles appeared right behind her and kissed her on the cheek.

"Oh."

Of fucking course, he chose Charlotte. Charlotte who also lived next door. Charlotte who had been your friend since highschool. Charlotte whom you shared similar interests in architecture and art. Charlotte who worked the same job as you. Charlotte who looked uncannily similar to you and you fucking know why Charles chose her. He had been searching for you in everything, in every person, and he seemed to have found familiarity in Charlotte's arms but it's not fair to her.

You resisted the urge to punch him the entire evening.

Dinner went great. Mrs. LeBlanc's cooking will always be one of the best things served on a dinner table but even if she cooked your favorite food, you barely had the strength to swallow it. The entire focus of the conversation was on Charlotte's and Charles' relationship and fuck, that made you feel like dying.

Is it jealousy? Is it guilt? You did not know. You wished it was the latter.

You confronted Charles later that evening, in the privacy of his childhood home. The familiar faces of his racing heroes are the audience of your entire debate.

"Stop this, Charles. Charlotte does not deserve this."

He is an asshole. Truly, an asshole. Unfortunately, you were the reason for him being like that.

"Why would I? I'm happy now."

"Are you truly? Do you like her?"

You saw his jaw tense, "I will learn."

"Stop searching for me in other people. That's not fair to them." You wanted to be the one who had the last say.

Then, they went steady for almost three years. And you thought perhaps Charles learned to love Charlotte as he said. You cried every time you thought about it. The four walls of your bedroom listened to you weep every fortnight when you felt extra lonely and your best friend was oceans away, chasing his dreams at high speed, and you imagined what it would be like to be in Charlotte's place.

In the morning, you became alright.

Another third Wednesday dinner and Charles brought Charlotte again, and this time, you wanted to be free from this. Charles was happy. Charlotte was happy. You can't be the only one unhappy. So you told him: "I'm happy for you. Thank you for loving Charlotte."

Then, he fucking broke up with her two days later.

He came by the apartment, told you the news before Charlotte even told you through text, and God, you felt like screaming at him then and there. Yet, you remained calm, staring at him blankly.

"Why?"

"She wasn't you."

"Fuck you, Charles."

From there, it became a full blown argument. Charles was emotional. You were too unemotional. A perfect balance.

"Why can't you just love me?" he asked, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Because!" you cut yourself off. You loved him. God, you loved him so, so much. But you will not tell him that. You cannot. So you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. As calmly as you can, you said, "Just stop, Charles."

He opened his mouth, probably to argue with you because he refuses to have you withdrawing from this argument. He let you run away a lot of times before. But not tonight.

"Please..."

And it was like a switch. Charles' fury dissipated at a single world that came from your mouth.

"Okay."

He turned around to leave and then opened the door but before he could fully exit, he asked, "Can I know at least? What is wrong with me that you won't even consider loving me?"

You let out a shaky breath.

"I don't know," you lied.

He nodded and left.

You knew he'll keep doing it. Dating girls who are either your friends or girls who look like you. Alexandra...Jenessa....Elodie. The last girl was Janine.

"I broke up with her."

You didn't even bother asking him why. Just handed him a chilled bottle of beer from the fridge.

"Because she wasn't you."

"I know," you said blankly. You're used to this. Used to the ache in your heart when he decides to date your friends or girls who look like you. Used to the anxiety that overcame you on the nights when you wonder if he finally stopped looking at his girlfriend while imagine you instead. Used to the guilty relief when he tells you they broke up.

It had been years. You're beginning to get tired. He should move on. You should move on. But whatever is holy enough residing in the skies above is just plain cruel.

"Why wouldn't you love me?"

"I do love you, Charles."

"As a friend."

More than that actually, you thought but never had the guts to say it out loud.

"You know I'm an awful human being, dating girls who resemble you because you won't like me back. It's the closest thing I could have of you."

"I know."

"You're also an awful human being, rejecting me and rejecting me and for what?"

"You're drunk."

"I know."

"That's my line."

He sighed.

"Is this because of what happened with Olivier?"

Olivier was another kid who lived in the same neighborhood. He used to be close friends with you and Charles. You started dating when you were both 15 but the relationship tragically ended when you were 16. The thing about Olivier is that he could not go back to just being friends with you and that devastated you because Olivier was such a good friend. You knew what it was like to lose Olivier—as a girlfriend and as a best friend.

God forbid you lose Charles, too.

You won't have anyone anymore.

When you hesitated, he knew he was right.

"Fuck it. Can't believe my happiness is stopped by a childish guy who cheated on you when we were teens."

"Charles."

"I won't cheat on you."

"That's not it, Charles."

"Then what is it?!" he was raising his voice again. "I have been stuck wondering what was wrong with me that you—you—"

He didn't even finish his sentence as he furiously wiped his tears.

"Just give me a chance, please."

Should you or should you not? It took years and six girlfriends. Should you free him from this torment and cage yourself with the fear of losing him every day?

[euphoniumpets]

Climbing over the wall | Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Summary: You haven't met your bethroted yet and from what you've been knowing by your overthinking, you didn't waste a second to come up with an escape plan that didn't go that well.

Requested? Yes by @lexilulove: Love your writing and excited requests are open!! I saw this on insta the other day and now I want nothing more than a Nikolai based around this idea. With Nikolai’s love interest constantly sneaking away during events and parties. Dealer’s choice if it’s an established relationship of it Nikolai charms the shy girl and the relationship grows.

A/N: ngl, took this inspiration from queen charlotte at the attempt of climbing the wall while george is behind her like ??? and that got me thinking about y/n and nik.

Warnings: painfully longing eyes behind Nik and the reader.

The king was late.

And you were growing nervous and thought of every possible way to escape the room.

You didn't enjoyed parties, in fact, you hated them. You didn't like to be the center of attention and it was even worse when you haven't met your bethroted yet.

You was a child from a duke and your father wanted you to marry since he worried of you that you would end up alone knowing that you were too shy to even make social intercation. You had been like that ever since you was a child and when your mother had passed away. Always so quiet and enjoyed your own company.

So, when the rumor had spoken that the king of Ravka was looking for a wife to marry, let alone to rule a whole country, your father had suggested you to him.

You had been hesitant but you wanted to please your father and said yes to the arranged marrige. You haven't met the king personally, but from what you've been told by the maidens and by Genya, Zoya, and Alina, that he's kind and handsome.

You've heard some stories and the rumors about the youngest prince that he was a bastard, but you didn't care that he was one. All you cared that if he was going to treat you right as a husband.

Genya and Zoya had invited everyone to the ball to celebrate your marriage and of course, Nikolai himself was late. Zoya had already gone off to scold Nikolai for being late while Genya was somewhere in the room with Alina, leaving you all alone full with nerves.

You scanned the room and saw an opportunity to escape the ball while nobody was noticing that you were gone. You placed your glass of champange down as everybody continued to chat with each other and the music played loud enough that nobody saw you slipping away.

You walked through the gardens but stopped when you saw a wall in front of you. You huffed with annoyance as you knew that you had to climb the wall over.

But you knew that it would be a struggle because of your dress that Zoya had picked for you and she would kill you for destroying the dress. ''Ah, what the hell,'' You muttered to yourself as you embraced that Zoya will kill you for ruining the dress.

You grabbed one of the branches from the tree on the wall and tried to climb up. Upon hearing, you heard footsteps from behind. ''Milady, do you need help of an assistance of some kind?'' You heard a male voice coming from behind you.

''I am, uh, quite fine, thank you,'' You spoke and didn't look behind and tried to figure out a way to climb up higher. ''You can go back inside and wait with all the other gwakes, '' You dismissed and didn't think much of it since you thought it was one of the maidens that had found you.

''I will, but first, I'm curious, what are you doing?''

''Nothing,'' You spoke and huffed.

''You're doing something,'' The man replied with a deadpanned look.

''I am not,'' You spoke. ''You are,''

''I am not,'' You argued and let out a sigh and looked at the tree in front of you. ''If you must know, I'm trying to ascertian the best way to climb over the garden wall,'' You responded and gestured toward the tree.

''Climb? Whatever for?''

''Because I think he may be a beast,'' You replied and placed your hands over your hips. ''A beast?''

''Or a troll,'' You responded. ''A troll?'' The man replied with an offended expression.

''Who are we discussing?'' The man asked. ''Oh, that is impertinent, none of your buisness,'' You replied and glanced back at him before looking around.

''The king,'' You answered after a short silence. ''From what I've heard: that he's handsome, kind, but some people won't even speak of him,'' You informed.

''And that makes you think that the king is a troll or a beast?'' The man asked. ''Well, I haven't seen him yet,'' You answered. ''And I'm overthinking things,'' You spoke.

''Ah, understood,'' He replied. ''You know, if I grab there,'' You said and pointed toward the garden wall. ''Perhaps you could assist me by lifting up,'' You told him and began to climb again.

''Uh, one question, you do not like beast or trolls? What he looks like matters?'' He asked you.

''I do not care what he looks like, what I do not like is not knowing, now, here, just take a hold here with a lift, I believe that I can make it over the garden wall,'' You said and went back to the garden wall and gestured him to help you.

''You want me to lift you over the wall so you may can escape?''

''That is what I said, yes,'' You replied and rolled your eyes. ''People will notice you are missing will they not?''

''Oh, please, they won't,'' You assured him and waved him off. ''Now, if you please, I just need a little help, come, make haste,''

''I have no absolutely no intention of helping you,'' He responded, making you pause before turning to him. ''I am in lady in distress, you refuse to help a lady in distress?'' You asked him with an offended expression.

''I refuse when that lady in distress is trying to go over the wall so that she does not want to marry me,'' He replied making you look at him with wide eyes and shock. Nikolai only found it amusing when he saw the reaction in your face.

''Hello, Y/n,'' He greeted you with a smile. ''I'm Nikolai,'' He introduced himself and you looked at him. ''Please accept my apology, if I had known that you were you...''

''You would have what?'' Nikolai interrupted you. ''Not told me that you were trying to escape?'' He asked with an amusing expression.

''Well, yes, I mean, I do apologize, moi tsar,'' You spoke quietly and looked down at the ground.

''Just call me Nik,'' Nikolai responded and looked at you with a kind smile. ''The king situation, it towers over us, accident of birth on my part, but I thought maybe perhaps, as my wife, you could ignore it, and I could be just Nik to you,'' He spoke.

''That was of course, before I found out that you do not want to be married to me,''

''I did not say that,'' You looked at him with an offended expression.

''Oh you did,'' He responded. ''I did not,'' You argued. ''You did!''

''It is not,'' You argued and paused. ''I do not know you,'' You replied and sighed. ''I do not know you either, except that you are terrible at climbing a wall,'' Nikolai teased and you saw the smile in the corner of his lips.

''You try climbing a wall in all of this,'' You gestured towards your dress that now was ruined for the ball and huffed at him.

''I was told that you were late,'' You replied and looked at him. ''Yes, my apologies for that, king duties you know,'' Nikolai informed and you nodded slightly.

''There you are!'' You heard Zoya's voice exclaim from behind as the two of you turned around. ''What have you done to your dress!'' You heard Zoya exclaim angirly. ''Zoya, calm down,'' You replied.

''She was trying to climb over the wall,'' Nikolai responded and you looked at him with a glare.

''Over the wall?'' Zoya questioned with a confused look. ''That's is not important, now we have to change you into a new dress,'' Zoya grunted with annoyance and dragged you from Nikolai.

''You will pay for this,'' You mouthed over to him as he looked back at you with a smile as Zoya dragged you away.

[colourstreakgryffin]

The Six Pillars; Masterlist #2~

Welcome to the second temple~! This is the era of my Hellaverse passion but really, all of this is my joy and pride! I hope everybody enjoys skimming through this disaster called my Blog!

💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

Pillar #1: Demon Slayer ~❤️

❤️ Akaza: Of Different Worlds

💜 Obanai Iguro: Back Off

🌈 Douma: Snuggly Orders

❤️ Muzan Kitsubuji: All Mine

🖤 Gyomei Himejima: Toasty Blood

💙 Giyuu Tomioka: Fuzzy Morals

💜 Obanai Iguro: Serpents and Arachnids

❤️💜🧡 Tanjiro, Obanai and Kyojuro: Ribboned-up

💛 Hotaru: Nothing or Everything

💙 Muichiro Tokito: Wire of Fate

💜 Nakime: Hot Red Strings

💙 Giyuu Tomioka: Sky-High Fortitude

💜 Obanai Iguro: Dragon Tamer

💙❤️💙 Muichiro, Tanjiro and Giyuu: Eating Drama

🖤 Gyomei Himejima: Typhoon Shelter

❤️ Tengen Uzui: The Best and the Worst

💜 Obanai Iguro: Sheathed Blade

💚❤️💙💛 Karaku, Sekido, Aizetsu and Urogi: Fishing for Prizes

🩷💜💚 Kanae, Shinobu and Kanao: Near-Death Experience

🩷🧡💜 Mitsuri, Kyojuro and Shinobu: Doll Mattress

💙 Aoi Kanzaki: Horseyback Rides

💜💜💚 Shinobu, Obanai and Sanemi: Victim Issues

💜 Genya Shinazugawa: Unlikely Partnership

💙🩷🖤 Giyuu, Mitsuri and Gyomei: Hook Hashira

💜 Shinobu Kocho: Eyes on the Walls

❤️ Tanjiro Kamado: Wait, Your Majesty

🌈 Douma: Sharing a Heart

💚 Kanao Tsuyuri: Feeling Flop

🧡💜💚 Kyojuro, Obanai and Sanemi: Past and Future

Pillar #2: Jujutsu Kaisen ~💜

🖤 Noritoshi Kamo: Numb Senses

❤️❤️ Choso and Ryomen Sukuna: Tiger Eye

❤️ Choso: One of the Same

❤️ Choso: Styling Perfection

💛 Kento Nanami: Eclipse Heart

❤️ Naoya Zenin: Toxic River

Pillar #3: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure~💚

💙💚💛 Jonathan, Erina and DIO: Clock Delay

Pillar #4: Death Note ~💙

—

Pillar #5: Haikyuu ~💛

Osamu and Atsumu Miya: Plus Three

❤️ Kenma Kozume: Level 0; Training

🧡 Shoyo Hinata: Impressing You

🧡💙💚 Atsumu, Osamu and Rintarõ: Clown of Mischief

Pillar #6: Record of Ragnarok ~🩷

💚💙 Adam and Eve: Broken Little Heart

💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

Pillar #7: Hellaverse ~🖤

💜 Loona: Fuzzy Kisses

💛🖤 Moxxie and Millie: Appling

❤️ Valentino: Silkworm Caterpillar

❤️ Blitzø: All the Same to Me

💙 Vox: Baby Laptop

🩷 Angel Dust: Made of Love

❤️💙 Alastor and Vox: Climbing the Ladder

🖤 Rosie: Fire Lily

🖤 Carmilla Carmine: Love at First Meeting

💙 Vaggie: Bolt Spear

💙 Vox: Cameras and TVs

🖤 Husker: Dolling Up

🖤 Husker: Glass Barfly

🖤 Husker: Daddy’s Little Girl

💛 Emily: Counting Sheep

❤️ Alastor: Three Glowing Candles

💚 Charlotte: Balloon Soul

🖤 Husker: Pootie-Kitty

🖤🩷 Husker and Angel Dust: Growing Up

❤️🩷💛 Alastor, Velvette and Emily: Mirage Mind

❤️ Alastor: Yin and Yang, Light and Dark

🖤❤️💙 Husker, Cherri and Vox: Pink Shoes

💛 Adam: Stem of the Apple

❤️🖤 Alastor and Rosie: Blood Spill

💚💙 Fizzarolli and Asmodeus: Ruby in the Rough

❤️ Alastor: Picking Favourites

❤️ Alastor: A Little Game

❤️ Blitzø: Guns & Volleyballs

🖤 Husker: Precious Kitten

❤️Alastor: Rose Drop

❤️ Alastor: Staying Here

❤️ Alastor: Fresh Meat

❤️ Alastor: Rainbow Irises

❤️ Alastor: Old Habits, Never Die

❤️ Alastor: Diamond Trio

💙 Vox: Vampire Canine

❤️ Alastor: Rabbitfoot

❤️ Alastor: Lies and Deception

❤️ Alastor: Little Mistake

❤️❤️🖤 Alastor, Lucifer and Husk: Wildcard

❤️ Alastor: Smile, My Dear

❤️💙🩷 Alastor, Vox and Velvette: Getting Over It

❤️ Alastor: Crystal Heart

❤️ Alastor: Beauty from Within

❤️ Alastor: Blood Draw

❤️ Alastor: Shopping Trip

❤️ Alastor: All the More Demons

❤️ Alastor: Follow Me

❤️ Alastor: Mischievous Rumours

❤️ Alastor: the Prey and the Predator

❤️ Alastor: Redemption Path

❤️ Alastor: Chaotic I.M.P

❤️ Alastor: Night & Day

❤️ Alastor: Reaching Out

❤️ Alastor: Hell’s Angel

❤️ Alastor: Hopping Little Heart

Here is the third temple of this blog’s lengthy Masterlist~ Masterlist #3

[queenaryastark]

Charlotte: *betrothed to marry the king of England*

Charlotte: Why meeeeeee! Whyyyyy!!!!! This is torture! I might as well kill myself with my corset!!!!

Charlotte: So how horrible is this guy? He's monstrous isn't he?! ISN'T HE!!!

Charlotte: *tries to climb a wall that will lead her into the unknown to escape this privilege... I mean marriage*

Charlotte: *sees George*

[dreamwritesimagines]

Garden of Secrets [23] - Peonies

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: Every marriage has its first argument.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex, slow burn.

Word Count: 3500

Series Masterlist

There had been multiple moments in your life where you actually saw red because of anger but this?

This was something else.

You more or less threw yourself out of the carriage the moment it came to a stop in front of the Bridgerton House, Lottie rushing after you as you started climbing the marble stairs.

“Y/N, this is exactly why I left because I was very angry as well,” she said in a haste, trying to keep up with your fast steps. “I think perhaps you should take a breath and calm down—”

“I don’t need to calm down,” you said through your teeth and she heaved a sigh.

“Judging by the look of your face I’d disagree.”

“What look is that?”

“Bloodshed?” Lottie said as you walked through the front door, then turned to her.

“Where is he?”

“Maybe you could—”

“Lottie,” you said. “Where is he?”

She licked her lips and took a look at the foyer you were standing in, then pointed at a closed door at the end of it.

“Tony’s study I think.”

“Wonderful,” you said as you made your way to the door, then slammed it open with such force that it hit the wall behind it, the chatter inside the room coming to a stop at once. Benedict was leaning against the desk but as soon as he saw you, a look of realization dawned on his face while Colin sat up straighter and Anthony stole a look at Benedict.

“Hello gentlemen,” you said, leaning sideways to the doorframe. “I’m not interrupting yet another life-and-death situation, am I?”

“…Uh oh,” Colin said, grinning slightly as he looked from you to Benedict. “You’re in more trouble now than a couple of hours ago Ben.”

“Leave the room,” you said and Colin downed his drink, then stood up, making Benedict frown.

“Colin!”

“I’m not putting witnessing manslaughter back in my plans today,” he called out as he walked past you and you snapped your fingers at Anthony.

“You too. Leave.”

“This is my study,” Anthony said, his voice full of disbelief and you opened your mouth to retort but before you could say anything, Lottie’s head popped around the doorframe.

“Tony?”

The look on Anthony’s face changed the moment he saw her. “Charlotte.”

“Could I have a moment with you?”

“No—”

“Yes,” Anthony cut Benedict off, making his eyes widen.

“Anthony, don’t you dare.”

“This is a marital dispute, I have no place here.”

“I risked my life for you earlier today, now is the perfect time to pay back that favor—”

“You’ll be fine,” Anthony said and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. You crossed your arms as you leaned back to the wall, your eyes narrowing into a death glare.

“Good morning Benedict.”

The eerie calmness of your voice seemed to make him shift his weight.

“Good morning,” he said. “How—how are you?”

You arched a brow, not even answering that.

“I almost forgot how murderous you can look when you want to—I was joking by the way,” he added, motioning at the door where Anthony had just left. “About risking my life earlier.”

“Oh,” you said, feigning cluelessness. “You weren’t at a duel then?”

“…I was.”

“So you were risking your life,” you pointed out and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“It actually depends on how you look at it—”

“I’m looking at it as your wife!” you snapped. “Have you gone insane? Is that it? Are you insane?”

“Anthony needed me.”

“Oh well,” you said, throwing up your hands. “Then that changes things.”

“Does it?”

“No!” you exclaimed. “What were you thinking?!”

“Well—”

“After I specifically asked you not to die? Hm?”

“In my defense—”

“You go off to a duel and not even bother to tell me about it?”

“Can I speak?”

“No!” you pointed at him. “No you cannot!”

He held up his hands, repressing a small smile.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll just stand here and wait for you to finish yelling at me then.”

“That’s the least you could do,” you shot back and he leaned back to the desk, crossing his arms. You shook your head, pacing in the room.

“I cannot believe you went off to a duel,” you said. “And kept it from me.”

“It wasn’t that dangerous.”

“If I’m not here tomorrow morning,” you mimicked his deep voice. “You knew exactly how dangerous it was.”

“Everyone is alright, me included.”

“For now,” you growled. “May I remind you that I have a knife that you gifted me? Has that escaped your notice while you were so ready to die in a duel?”

“Well it would kind of go against the idea if you threatened me with a knife because you are worried about my wellbeing.”

“I didn’t say I was worried about your wellbeing,” you defended yourself almost immediately and Benedict bit back a smile.

“No,” he said, trying to keep a straight face. “Obviously not. I don’t know what made me think that.”

“You should have told me,” you insisted and he heaved a sigh.

“You would have told me to stay.”

“Of course I would have!”

“That’s why I couldn’t tell you,” he said. “Y/N, if you told me to stay…”

A silence fell upon you, your heart skipping a beat at the implication but you tried to focus.

“I could’ve been your second.”

“Seconds don’t have seconds.”

“Well this time they’d have to make an exception because I don’t want to risk my life for goddamn Anthony of all people!”

“But you’d risk it for me?” he asked with a knowing smile and you pulled back slightly, then scoffed.

“I don’t have to answer any of your questions,” you said in a haste, shrugging your shoulders. “That, and—and I take my apology from earlier back.”

He blinked a couple of times. “Why?”

“I’m not going to waste my apologies if you’re going to end up dead in a ditch!” you snapped and motioned at him. “I’m going home, try not to die will you?”

“Y/N…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you said and pulled the door open, then turned to him when he took a step. “No. Don’t come after me.”

With that, you left the room and passed by the foyer, then walked out of the house to approach the carriage by the stone road.

“Where to ma’am?”

“Back home,” you said as you got in the carriage. “Thank you.”

                                                  *

You made yourself busy for the whole day until the evening, and apparently Benedict had decided to give you your space to at least calm down a little. You weren’t in the mood to have dinner, so you retrieved to your bedroom to lose yourself in a botany book and you managed to do so until a knock on the door made you lift your head from the book.

“Yes?”

The door opened and Benedict peeked his head in, making you narrow your eyes.

“May I come in?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “If you must.”

He stepped inside, the bouquet of tuberoses in his arms capturing your attention in a second but you managed to control your expression, raising your brows.

“For you,” he said, approaching the bed to give you the bouquet and you took it from him, reminding yourself that you were still angry at him.

“Thank you,” you said. “I can put them on your grave if you end up dead like you’re trying to.”

“…And I’m sorry?”

“Your apology is heard but not accepted,” you said, putting the bouquet in your lap, enjoying the lovely scent as you grabbed your book again and Benedict rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight.

“If it makes you feel any better I am already being punished by the universe.”

You lifted your eyes from the page again. “Hm?”

“You will not believe what happened,” Benedict said. “And it will come as a shock—”

“Even more of a shock than you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Let’s just take that off the table for a moment because trust me, you want to hear this,” Benedict said. “Anthony and Charlie—”

“Are in love.”

“Are in lo—wait what?” he asked, his jaw dropping as you turned the page absentmindedly. “Did you know?”

“Yes.”

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

“Could’ve been worse,” you said, fixing your gaze on the page. “I could have gone off to a duel and not tell you.”

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Are you going to live is the better question here.”

“Y/N.”

“Benedict,” you said with the same tone and he let out a breath.

“How long have you known?” he insisted. “Anthony says he’s been in love with her for years! And he didn’t tell me, and Charlie didn’t tell me and she tells me everything and now my wife—”

“Whom you almost left as a widow.”

“Has kept it from me?” he finished his question as if you hadn’t interrupted him while you hummed, still playing with the petals of the bouquet.

“I’m not to blame if you and all your family are blind,” you said. “It’s not like they were being subtle.”

“They were!” he said. “And—I don’t know how I feel about this. A bit betrayed to be honest.”

“Wonderful, we can form a club together,” you stated. “Like gardening. Only with more backstabbing, which you’re quite familiar with.”

“Anthony and Charlie though?” he asked, shaking his head as he started pacing in the room. “Why would they not tell me?”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to criticize people not sharing things with you.”

“One of them is my best friend, the other one is my brother,” he insisted, then made a face. “Oh God, it just feels wrong. She’s like a sister to me.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Not a sister to Anthony though.”

“Y/N!”

“Am I lying?” you asked and he ran a hand over his face.

“They wouldn’t get married, would they?”

“Of course not,” you deadpanned. “Because who would want to get married after loving someone for years and keeping it a secret, believing it’s impossible only to finally find out they return those feelings?”

“I think I need a moment,” he said as he sat down on the side of the bed while you raised your brows. “So all these years he has loved her but thought me and her would end up married?”

“Oh don’t worry,” you mused. “I have a feeling they’ll make up for the lost time once they—”

He recoiled, grimacing. “Please don’t finish that sentence.”

“I will finish whatever sentence I want because I’m angry at you,” you hissed through your teeth, leaning in to stress your words, “And you can sit there and think about how your brother and your best friend are going to get married and consummate soon enough, day and night!”

He let out a noise of disgust and you ignored him, returning back to your book, playing with the bouquet in your lap nonchalantly. He stole a look at you, and licked his lips.

“Y/N?”

You raised your glances to shoot him a glare and he took a deep breath.

“Do you want to go to a party tonight?”

“No.”

“We could go see that new garden tomorrow if you—”

“No.”

“Or maybe we could go to this knife shop—”

“No,” you said, looking up from the book again. “I don’t want it.”

His eyes searched yours. “I know you’re angry but I assure you, I wasn’t in that big of a danger.”

You scoffed a bitter laugh. “That would’ve been very convincing if someone from my family didn’t actually get killed in a duel years and years ago so whatever lie you’re selling, I’m not buying it.”

He pulled back slightly. “Who?”

“Does it matter?” you asked back and he swallowed thickly.

“I didn’t know.”

“No you didn’t,” you muttered, turning a page and Benedict ran a hand through his hair.

“Can we—”

“Thank you for the flowers Benedict,” you cut him off, that familiar burning behind your eyes coming back so you quickly blinked back the tears, keeping your gaze on the page. “But I think I’d like to be alone now.”

“…Of course,” he said after a beat and stood up to walk to the door connecting your room with his. “Goodnight.”

You didn’t reply, still looking at the page without even paying attention to the words printed on it, and Benedict left the room, closing the door behind him. You let out a breath, ignoring the way your eyes were still burning with tears and hugged the flower bouquet tighter to bury your face into it, inhaling the pleasant scent.

                                                      *

The next morning you decided to go outside, not only to meet Lottie but also to congratulate Daphne on her engagement. Josie had sent a reply to your letter, saying she and Bess and Andrew would join you in the park later on, and it gave you enough time to get the details from Daphne.

Although, something told you she was holding back a couple of details from you since Lottie was there.

“And mama is taking me to the modiste tomorrow—enough about me, I cannot believe you didn’t tell me that you had feelings for Anthony!” Daphne told Lottie and she gave her a shy smile.

“I honestly didn’t think Tony would ever return my feelings.”

“We’ve been blind all these years, thinking you would marry Benedict…” Daphne said and stole a look at you. “No offense, Y/N.”

“None taken,” you said. “Perhaps if Lottie married Benedict, he would have thought twice before going to a duel.”

“Oh don’t say that!” Daphne said and heaved a sigh. “I tried to stop them, I swear.”

“And you did,” Lottie said. “I don’t blame you at all Daph.”

“Mm hm, I’m blaming a specific someone who’s not you Daphne.”

“And I don’t know if I should say it but I’m kind of glad that duel almost happened,” Lottie said, making you and Daphne turn to shoot her a look of disbelief. “No I mean—obviously I’m still angry at Tony about it and I’m glad no one got hurt, but now albeit some complications along the way, Daphne is marrying the love of her life and I’m in a courtship with the love of my life which I thought was impossible! All’s well that ends well, as they say.”

“That’s one way to look at it I suppose,” you muttered and Daphne pressed her lips together.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Love is the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“Or the most annoying,” you pointed out, making Daphne pull her brows together. “Because one moment someone says he loves you and the next minute he rushes off to a duel, very eager to leave you a widow.”

Daphne and Lottie exchanged glances.

“Y/N, is everything alright between you and Benedict?”

“Sure,” you deadpanned. “What makes you think otherwise?”

“Um—”

“You know what?” you said. “I’m thirsty, I’ll just go and get a lemonade from the vendor. Do you two want anything?”

“No thank you.”

“No I’m fine,” they both said and you got up from where you were sitting under the tree, then made your way through the park to approach the vendor’s cart and got in the line. After only a couple of minutes, it was your turn and you ordered a bottle of lemonade, but before you could take out some coins out of your reticule, you heard a familiar voice beside you.

“Hello Y/N,” Anthony said as he handed the coins to the vendor, then took the bottle from him and held it out for you. “Lovely to see you here.”

You gritted your teeth and eyed the bottle in his hand. “I can’t say I share the sentiment.”

“A word?” he asked and you grumbled under your breath, then took the bottle from him and started walking beside him.

“Is Benedict around?”

“How should I know?” you asked back and he pulled his brows together.

“You two live in the same house.”

“It’s a big house,” you pointed out and he raised his brows, nodding his head.

“I take it things are still not completely alright between you two?”

“Anthony, you know I love nothing more than talk to you about my marriage,” you snarked. “That being said, let’s not this time hm?”

“Well, you did kick my door down the other day.”

“You almost got my husband killed,” you replied, looking down at the lemonade bottle before shrugging your shoulders. “Perhaps it’s not a good idea to point fingers here.”

“Simon is an honorable man and the duel was going to be just us, his second wouldn’t have fired a shot at—”

“You seem to confuse me with someone who wants explanations from you.”

He heaved a sigh. “Y/N.”

“What?”

“I wouldn’t put him in danger.”

“Clearly,” you said. “That’s why you made him your second at a duel. Only logical action to take when you want to keep somebody safe.”

“Are you able to hold an actual conversation without any sarcasm?”

“No,” you said with as much sarcasm as you could have in one word and he shot you a look.

“I wouldn’t have taken him there if I thought for one moment he’d be the one to get hurt instead of me.”

“Do you want me to tell you how a duel works, Anthony?” you growled at him. “Stray bullet, ambush, someone’s aiming being less than perfect…”

“And none of those happened.”

“Because Daphne stopped you,” you spat. “Not because of you or Simon thinking logically for a second. It’s thanks to Daphne.”

“I know that,” he said. “But Benedict is alright.”

“By luck,” you shot back and he took a deep breath.

“If you’re being like this because you worry about your situation in case of his death, he has you covered.”

Your head shot up, anger slowly spreading through your system as your jaw locked in its place.

“I beg your pardon?”

“He put it on your marriage settlement and his will before you two got married, you get everything in case of his death,” he said. “You’d be taken care of even if you became a widow, not to mention you have my family’s su—”

“You know,” you cut him off. “I leave every conversation with you completely convinced that I can’t like you any less, and every single time you somehow exceed my expectations.”

He shot you a look. “No one would blame you if it crossed your mind, Y/N.”

From a completely objective stance, he had a point there, what your financial situation along with your status would be if you were a widow was something you and every married woman in the ton were expected to worry about.

But somehow, you couldn’t even bring yourself to think about that, not when that scenario included Benedict’s death—

The pang in your chest was so sudden that it had you ball your hand into a fist, trying to focus on the reality.

“You think I care about money?” you asked him and he heaved a sigh.

“I think anyone in the ton would want to make sure they were safe,” he said. “It doesn’t make you a bad person if you are worried about that.”

A bitter laugh climbed up your throat and you shook your head slightly.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve looked into my family before Benedict and I got married,” you said. “So I shouldn’t have to tell you that the difference between everyone else in the ton and I is that I know how to survive without all this money and status and luxury just fine, I grew up without any of it.”

“That was before,” he pointed out and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Either way, that was never my priority no matter what you or anyone else thinks of me,” you pointed out. “Even before I got engaged, the only promise I was interested in when it came to marriage was that I would eventually be left alone.”

He tilted his head. “And yet, you are way too angry about this situation to enjoy the promise of being left alone.”

“Plans change.”

“I can see that,” he said and you swallowed thickly, biting at your tongue, trying to focus.

“You wanted to have a conversation without any sarcasm did you not?” you asked, locking eyes with him. “Here it is. The next time you put my family in danger, I will make sure you wish you died in that duel and even Lottie won’t be able to save you. Have I made myself clear?”

He looked almost impressed, a small, proud smile curling his lips before he bowed his head.

“Crystal.”

“Good,” you said and took a sip of your lemonade. “Well, I’d better go before the girls wonder where I am. Congratulations on your courtship by the way, don’t mess it up.”

With that you shot him a forced smile and whirled on your heels, then walked away from him, leaving him there quite dumbfounded.

Chapter 24