#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.

[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

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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.”

[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.

[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

[theitgirlnetwork]

Better

Ch. 13: I've Got It

Note:....Been a while. I know boooo, it was very shitty of me, and I'll spare you the sob story but I'm back. Thank you all for the continued support, I am extremely grateful to everyone who gave and continues to give this story a chance. I am ready to get back to work. This chapter is a long one as the beginning of my apology. As always, feel free to reach out to me with any questions or just to chat, but all in all, it feels good to be back. Happy Valentines Day, babies <3

Warning: Toxic Family Dynamics, anxiety, angst and strong language.

“Now we wait.” 

Lip rolls his eyes as he sits on the bed in his and Charlotte’s room at Kev and V’s house, crossing his arms. “This is fucking stupid.”

V’s sharp elbow goes into his side as Kev shushes him, facing the opposite direction. 

The three of them are sitting and waiting outside of the bathroom door, straightening as Carol emerges from the room, blue and white stick in her hands and Charlotte in tow. “Auntie Carol, I told you I’m not pregnant-” 

“Hush, little girl, stop whining.”

“But Mama,” V tries, rubbing her head tiredly. “She just had her period.”

“You shut up, Veronica, you were supposed to be watching her, not letting her shack up while you did, lord knows everything but take care of your cousin. Now I’m gonna hear shit from her father and his wife the whole time they’re here.” The older woman huffs, squinting at the test, snapping her fingers and pointing to the bed, gesturing for Charlotte to sit. “The least we can do is make sure she’s not pregnant when they get here.”

Lip rests his hand on Charlotte’s thigh as he tries to hide his annoyance with the whole situation. The call with Charlotte’s dad had been disastrous, as he suspected it would be. The older man had cursed him to high heaven before demanding Charlotte be on the next flight home. When Lip heard that he’d panicked, snatching the phone back from his wife and hanging up. All they’d received since then was an eerie message that they were on their way. Because he’s him and he has literally no control over his own brain, he had no choice but to question why she hadn’t told her parents about them, about him. It seemed like her dad hadn’t even expected to hear from a boyfriend let alone a husband. They’d at least been together long enough that her parents should know he exists.

In fact that’s all he can think about, aside from the fact that he may have lost his job. And how the two may be related. 

“Fuck!” Lip growls as he punches the wall in the hallway. He’s unconcerned with what Fiona will say about it. He’ll just blame it on Frank. 

Charlotte’s head pops out of the bathroom with a freshly bathed Liam on her hip, both looking as innocently confused as ever. Liam claps his hand, squealing, mumbling out an excited ‘fuck!’ as he meets his brother’s eyes. “No, Liam, that's a bad word. Phillip didn’t mean to say that. He meant to say darn, right Phillip?”

The blond is in too foul a mood to concede for cuteness sake and instead squeezes the boy’s cheek and gives his wife an appreciative pat on the ass before scooting past. “Nah, I meant fuck.” 

Charlotte pouts as she bounces the child on her hip a little before taking him to sit with one his other siblings as she goes to figure out what’s wrong with her spouse. She’s noticed that Phillip has been on edge since her parents’ message, but she was beginning to think that wasn’t all that was bothering him. 

She finds him spread out on the couch, staring up at the ceiling with a scowl on his face. Her pout deepens as she climbs over the side of the couch, laying her body over his, pressing her chest to his and offering him a bright smile. “Talk to me, bubba.” 

“I’ve just got shit to figure out I guess, I gotta handle it or we’re fucked.” he huffs, rolling his big blue eyes, as she smooths the lines between his brows with her soft fingers. 

“Shit like what?” Charlotte asks, tilting her head lightly. 

“Watch your mouth.” He murmurs, softly, dragging his thumb over her bottom lip before pushing it into her mouth, humming with quiet satisfaction as she simply closes her mouth around it, brown eyes staring up at him intently. “That shit at the party, lost my cool, cause that fucker is trying to fuck you-” 

“Don’t want him.” she says around his finger.

“I lost my cool and sorta might’ve cost us a good thing.” Lip sighs, smoothing his other hand over her hair. “Daddy wants to talk to me in his office later this week. Fucked it up, sorry baby.” 

It almost feels worse. How quickly she shrugs off his failures. She doesn’t tell him he fucking sucks, or that he ruins everything. She doesn’t huff and push off of him. She offers him a soft smile, kisses him deeply, and tells him ‘they’ll figure it out’. They’ll do it. Another thing he just can’t do for her. He feels helpless. He loves her, and this job was the biggest step he’s made in showing her that. He might beg. He might literally have to set his pride aside and beg. 

That was part one in the hardest lesson life has taught him. Phillip Gallagher is not good enough for Charlotte Gal…Fisher.

“Yay, Debbie!” Charlotte screams , clapping along as Ian whistles. The family was gathering for Debbie’s first soccer game of the season and it was…not going well. Turns out Debbie’s team sucks and she doesn’t respond very well to the rules and restrictions of soccer. She was currently focusing more on digging her heel of her cleats into the shin of a kid who’d accidentally kicked her hand while the ball rolled past her. 

“Fuckin’ kill ‘em, Debs.” Mickey calls, lighting his cigarette. His brows furrow at the looks the parents around him send him. “I fuckin’ meant, metaphorically.”

“Figuratively.” Lip corrects, smacking away the middle finger that gets waived in his face. He sighs as Charlotte knocks his own cigarette out of his hand before he can light it, slapping her thigh, pulling her leg over his as she giggles in his ear. Lip relishes in the closeness and warmth he gets from this moment. His wife leaning into him, absently toying with his fingers as she cheers for his little sister. 

It makes him think. He thinks about the future. Doing this with his kids. Their kids. Kids he didn’t even think he wanted. Not until her. Just the idea of her opens a world of possibilities he hadn’t even factored in. It feels good. It would feel great, if some fucking idiot wasn’t staring at her like a piece of fuckin’ meat-

“Can I fucking help you, fuck face, or do you wanna keep starin’ at my wife?” He demands, standing immediately. Ian and Mickey are following suit soon enough, the latter, lifting Charlotte and placing her on the opposite side of all of them. 

“Woah,” the guy lifts his hands in surrender, eyes darting between the men nervously. “I just was trying to figure out where I know her from, I don’t want any issues.”

“Let’s just say you don’t know her from anywhere and you get to keep your teeth, alright?” Mickey growls. 

The three men settle back into their seats and return to the game. Charlotte waves off Debbie’s confused look that she sends to the stands. She whispers into Lip’s ear that everything is fine. That the guy probably frequents the bar she works at. But from the way she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, zipping her jacket up to her neck and crossing her arms over her chest, hoping he wouldn’t notice…Lip fucking hates himself. He really does. He hates the guys at the club that pay to see the love of his life essentially naked. He hates that they go around thinking about her after they leave the fuckin’ seedy ass building. He hates that she works there, because despite the fact that her body is beautiful and he’s glad she’s comfortable in it, his insecurity is making her insecure and now they can’t be at his sister’s soccer game, or the grocery store, or the park or the club without someone fucking eye-fucking his wife, pissing him off and making her uncomfortable in her own damn clothes. 

But mostly, mostly he hates himself for not being able to make her like the women sitting on the opposite side for the other team. The soccer moms who have husbands that take care of fuckin’ everything they need and have shit to spare to give them what they want. He hates that she’s not sitting here with one of those fancy, stupid ass purses that they all seem to fuckin’ have. He hates that while they got to drop their kids off at a nice ass school after they kissed their husbands goodbye and then went shopping or drinking or whatever upper middle housewives do with their days Charlotte was helping clean his shithole house. He hates that after the game he’s gonna drop her off to the club where she’ll meet more creeps who get off thinking about her and eye-fuck her in his face. He hates that he’s too pussy to go into the club because then he’s worried he’ll steal one of Mickey’s guns and air the bitch out and Charlotte’ll be forced to visit him in jail for the rest of her life. 

So Lip grinds his teeth and finishes watching the game. Leg jumping as he tries to soothe his temper. That’s part two.

Charlotte’s parents arriving is the nail in the marital coffin for Lip. They go pick them up from the airport in the attempt to make a good impression. The couple borrows Kev’s car and the whole ride their Charlotte tries to keep him in a good mood. He knew he must be walking into the lion’s den from how she’d been acting. They’d had sex twice that morning, and before he could start to offer to make her breakfast for her…efforts, she was pulling out the ingredients to make him pancakes. In the car, she didn’t whine about his music, just humming softly as it played, rubbing his arm as his hand rested on her thigh. He wants to be able to leave it at this. He doesn’t want to interrupt the great morning by asking the dreaded question, but he’s him and he can’t let it go.

“So, we haven’t really gotten to talk about it, but I need to ask…why didn’t you tell your parents about me?”

Charlotte takes a deep breath, staring straight out the window as they pull into a pickup spot. “They’re parents…you know, they didn’t exactly send me here to get married in three months.”

“They won’t approve. Fuck.” he nods.

“Bubba, it doesn’t matter.” Charlotte turns to face Lip, pulling her knee into the seat beneath her. “It doesn’t matter, I approve. I’m more worried about what you’ll think of me. My parents aren’t the nicest people, and…I’m not good with navigating them.”

“Charlotte, there’s literally nothing short of murder you could do that would make me change my mind, you’re not the one we need to worry about.” Lip pushes his tongue into his cheek absently, nervously drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, the reflection of the simple ring shining on his hand. 

“This is temporary, right?” Charlotte murmurs, leaning over the console and placing her hands over Lip’s. “They’ll come, and see how good you take care of me and they’ll go home. ‘Kay?”

The blond man just nods quietly, pulling her hand to his lips and kissing it, savoring their bubble one last time before they get out of the car.

“I hate the airport, it's dirty and busy all of the time.” 

Lip rolls his lips together as he drags his in-laws bags over to the car, listening quietly with Charlotte as her mother and father talk about how miserable their flight has been. Her dad, Victor, had given him a curt nod in introduction and held his arm out for Charlotte to obediently place herself into a hug that Lip could tell she didn’t want. Her mother Cynthia had kissed her cheeks in a European way to where they never actually touch. Both people looked polished, and barely tried to hide their wince when Charlotte said, “This is my husband, Phillip.”

Lip’s wife’s pretty brown eyes haven’t lifted from ground level since they met her parents at the terminal, an absent look on her face as her parents drone on and on with pleasantries.

“...and, honey, don’t you think it’s a little too cold for that outfit?” her mom finishes, as the three of them stand back and watch Lip load the car.

“‘M warm.”

“I am warm.” Her mother corrects.

“I am warm.”

“I don’t know how you could be, with this frigid Chicago air. Hopefully you’re not getting sick. Phillip, you always have to watch her, she never wants to wear a coat, always trying to walk around half naked and expect not to get sick-”

“We’d better hope she’s not having hot flashes.” 

“Victor!”

And that too. The snide remarks. Glances down at Charlotte’s stomach, and positioning himself between her and Lip as they walk back to the car. The muscle in Lip’s jaw jumps in irritation as her father continues to insinuate that the only reason he’s here is because he’s some white trash deadbeat that knocked his daughter up. 

“I’m not pregnant, Daddy.”

“As you’ve told me.” The older man grunts, sliding between his daughter and the car, climbing into the front passenger seat the second the lock clicks open, not even sparing her a glance. 

“Are you guys, uh, hungry? We could stop and get something to eat.” Lip sniffs, glancing up into the rearview mirror to get a look at Charlotte. She’s in the back, toying with her fingers as she stares out of the window. That is until her mom swats at her hand to get her to stop, and she takes to biting her lip instead.

“No thank you, young man, the hotel should be fine.” Victor huffs again, for the fiftieth fucking time since he’s been in the car. “Charlotte, I made you a doctor’s appointment for tomorrow, since you never took the time to find a physician yourself. Your mother will take you after we have breakfast. I assume you’ll be joining us, Phillip.”

Charlotte manages to look up at that, her voice resigned as she addresses her father. “Of course he will, Daddy, we’ll be with you bright early.”

The car goes silent for a moment before Victor mumbles under his breath, ‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’

“Daddy?”

“I’m sorry, are we supposed to pretend that this is okay? Cynthia, I tried, but this is fucking ridiculous!”

“Victor! Please.”

“Okay.” Lip grunts, pulling the car into one of the hotel parking spots in the far corner of the lot. 

“No, Charlotte Andrea Fisher, you are 19 years old. You are away from home for the first time, against my better judgment. You have been away for only 3 months. You are naive, and impulsive, and for some reason want to be like your cousin Veronica so damn bad. You are going to take your ass upstairs to the hotel room your mother and I got you and you are not shacking up with this boy-”

“He’s not a boy, he’s my husband, Dad.” Charlotte whimpers from the backseat. Lip grinds his teeth and unbuckles his seatbelt, catching her mother roll her eyes and rub her forehead as he climbs out of the car.

“Oh, god, the waterworks-”

“You are a little girl, and that is a boy. You’re talking about marriage, that sham is getting annulled, if it was even legal-” Victor follows suit, climbing out of the car and slamming the door, opening his wife’s before walking, meeting Lip at Charlotte’s door. The older man goes to tug it open, only to be stopped by Lip’s hand. “Move.”

“No. My wife is coming home with me.” he says calmly.

“Your wife? Your wife, she’s my daughter, and she’s coming with me and her mother-”

“Her mother and I.” Lip says smugly.

“Oh.” Victor cocks his head, taking a step closer to an unflinching Lip. “You think you're tough, boy?”

“You tell me, we’re from the same place.”

The older man glares past him to the car window again. Shifting his attention to Charlotte. “Charlotte Andrea Fisher-”

“Gallagher.” Her muffled voice calls from behind the cheap glass. “My last name is Gallagher now, Dad.”

It’s quiet. Soft. Her voice waivers. But still. She said it. And still, it fills Lip up with pride as he leans against the car door, using its keys to click it closed as he watches her mother drag her husband away. Forcing him to the hotel.

After he watches the fancy, sliding double doors close behind them and the yelling becomes a little more faint, Lip unlocks the car. The way she falls into his arms crushes him. The tears, the shaking, the sobs of ‘I thought they’d give us a chance’ that part hurt. 

Lip Gallagher has watched his parents abandon his siblings. Hit them. Steal from them. Lie. Everything in the book of bad parents. He’s been watching it his whole life. He’s numb to it. It’s life, he tells them. Doesn’t matter, they don’t matter. Frank and Monica. They’ve never been anything to them, and never would be.

But watching this. Watching Charlotte lose her parents in front of him, because of him, he’s never seen anything like it. He’s sad for her. He watched them rip her to shreds with words and disapproving looks. They came here and broke the love of his life within an hour and a half.

This wasn’t the final straw.

No, because Lip’s girl is sweet. This is something he’s always known, and in anyone else he’d call it a flaw. She’s like Debbie, but less vengeful. She forgives. Gives second…third…fourth chances. Hell, its the only fuckin’ way he’s been able to keep her, and normally, he’d thank whatever shitty higher power that’s up there that dropped this woman in his lap for him to hoard to himself but not today.

“She says she wants to say sorry for him. I’m not gonna talk to him, just her. She promised.”

“Bunny, I’m not gonna tell you don’t see your mom-”

“Good!” Charlotte chirps as Lip watches her tug on some notably baggy jeans over her shapely legs, and pull an oversized sweater over her head.

“‘M gonna tell you it’d be pretty fuckin’ stupid though.” he finishes, grabbing the edge of her sweater and pulling her into his lap as he sits on the bed. 

Charlotte smoothes her fingers over his cheek before leaning her forehead against his. “Hm, like threatening your boss's son?”

“Fuckin’ defendin’ your honor.” he grunts, tilting her toward him and patting her ass.

“My hero.”

“Exactly, and now I’m the fuckin’ dragon, lockin’ you up in the tower so the evil people who made the princess cry yesterday don’t get to do it again.”

“That’s really not how fairytales work. And dragons can’t lock doors.”

“Fuckin’ smartass.” Lip breathes, connecting his lips to hers, kissing her deeply. He squeezes her tightly, trying to wring every negative thought out of her head. “They hurt you.” he whispers against her lips.

“They’re my parents. They think they’re doing what’s best for me. They’re not. But that’s what they think.” she whispers back, pressing one more kiss to his lips before pulling away. “So, I’m gonna go to this doctor’s appointment. Do another pregnancy test. Show them we’re married because you loveee me. And then, I’m gonna tell my mom our love story, leaving out some key details. And I’m gonna make her love you like I do, Bubba.”

Lip sits back and takes in her words. Because maybe that is what she’ll do. Maybe Cynthia will reconsider and maybe that will make things better. Maybe they’ll understand their situation and that they love each other and he’s pretty sure they won’t fuckin’ love him but maybe they’ll understand that he fuckin’ loves her. “Hopefully not like you love me. You’d have some competition.” she gasps at that, smacking his arm. “What? You look alike!”

The plan was clear. Charlotte was supposed to go and charm the pants off her mom on Lip’s behalf, he was supposed to be at home, hold down the fort, and figure out what the hell he was going to say to his boss, to get his job back. 

Lip had set up shop. He’d plopped back on the run down couch in his house, and pulled one of his little siblings toys from underneath his ass and started rolling a joint on the table. It was time for him to play his part. Think. For him, and for his family. 

But then there was the knock. And then it turned into knocking. It was incessant.

“Fuck! Hold on. ‘M fuckin’ coming!” He calls, tripping over the plastic bat on the floor when he makes his way over to the door. “What-”

“Phillip.”

“I…what the fuck are you doin’ here? Come to yell at me s’more?” 

Victor Fisher stands with his arms crossed. Polished with a neat sweater and ironed pants, looking wildly uncomfortable and out of place in his own old neighborhood. “No, I…think I did enough of that yesterday. At least that’s what Cynthia tells me.”

“Okay,” Lip shrugs, leaning in the frame and catching Victor’s glance at the chipped paint. “Well, she tell you that she and Charlotte are going to the doctor?”

“Yes. It was my own idea to come down here and ask you to come get something to eat with me while we wait.”

The blond’s eyes narrow as he laughs incredulously. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” 

“Not at all.” Victor sighs, crossing his arms. “I am extending an olive branch. For Charlotte’s sake. Grab the other end.”

For Charlotte’s sake.

“So tech. Good business.” 

“Technology and science are languages that I’ve always been able to speak. It pays too.” Lip shrugs, pushing a forkful of eggs into his mouth. 

“Well?” Victor asks without looking up. This has been their breakfast so far. Short, stilted conversation. Lip answering the questions Victor fires at him. Trying to gauge his reactions to everything he says. Pretending he wasn’t starting to hate this man.

“Gettin’ there.” 

“How many siblings do you have, Phillip?”

“Uh, five.” 

“Smart like you?” he asks, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“They’re smart.”

“But not like you.”

“Uh, no. Not like me.” Lip shifts in his seat, suddenly unable to follow the conversation.

“Hm.” Victor reaches to the side of the table, pouring more coffee into his cup and then into Lip’s. “Charlotte is an only child, you know that?”

“I know everything about Charlotte.”

“So, you know why we want her to go to the doctor so badly?” 

“Fuckin’- yes!” 

“You know she’s got chronic pain? That she suffers from sickle cell? She told you that?”

What?

Lip tries to keep a poker face as all of the wind is knocked out of his body. A thousand questions are swirling around in his head. His chest hurts. He didn’t know, why didn’t he know? He should have known-

“Do you know what happens when people who suffer from sickle cell go into crisis? What a flare up of chronic pain looks like for her?” Victor sighs, fully removing his glasses this time. “Probably not, you’ve known her for three months. But it happens, and it's bad. She…she can’t move. Barely eats, loses weight rapidly. The pains. The shakes. The crying. Are you prepared for that?”

“Yea-yes-”

“I’m sure you could. You’re a man. I understand that. You grew up here. You’ve had to be a man long before you were supposed to and that is unfair and I’m sorry that happened to you but the reality is, Charlotte is a girl. You two are a year apart, but you’re a man and she’s a girl. She grew up in a nice house, with me and her mother. She went to nice schools. We knew she was pretty, too pretty for her own good, so we protected her from the boys not worth keeping around-”

“Fuck you.” Lip scoffs.

“No, I’m not implying you’re not worth anything, Phillip. Boys like you from this area are diamonds in the rough. Just like me. I was just like you. And I got the girl. You have Charlotte, I had Cynthia. I know how it feels to hit the lottery.” Victor pauses to take a drink of his coffee, gesturing to the waitress for the check. “But Phillip, I don’t speak to my siblings. My parents. They were deadbeats. My siblings stayed here. I left them behind. They hate me. All of them. And over time, I’ve learned that I don’t care. I chose Cynthia. I chose me. They were holding me back. I let them go. Because you’ll learn, Phillip, that getting there only gets there, when you can focus. You can’t keep two families afloat.” 

Lip works his jaw irritably, feeling his skin heat with irritation as he weighs what his father and law says. “What are you trying to say? I should abandon my family?” 

“No. I’m saying it's not too late to choose them and annul your marriage. We both know you can’t take care of Charlotte. Not the way she should be. Not for a long, long time. So give her back to people who can. People who can make it worth you and your family’s while.”

“I…” Lip grits his teeth at the sound of his voice cracking. “I love her. I take care of her.” “She’s been living here, working as a stripper under your care. Want better for her, Phillip.” Victor says, snapping his checkbook closed as he slides the piece of paper across the table. The waitress comes over with the bill, dropping it between the two men and Lip absentmindedly reaches into his pocket to find some money, pausing when the older man holds his hand up to halt him. “Don’t worry, son. I’ve got it.”

Sending the message was hard, but it was the only way Lip knew how. 

He knew he couldn’t look Charlotte in the face yet. No. He needed more time. Time to think. Time to decide he was doing the right thing. Time to finish talking himself into this. 

Victor told him what he needed to do. Bend her heart, not break it. Neither of them wanted to see her broken. Just hurt her enough that she’s prepared to go home. Charlotte’s stubborn, so she won’t just give up. She won’t run to her parents so easily. So Lip would need to be able to hold out long enough that she would give up. Get tired. Realize it was over and go home. 

And Lip would be able to pay the bills in the house, for the next three months. One month for each one he and Charlotte had together. He would be able to get his family a car. He would have something to drive back and forth to work in. A real car. Not a run down busted up car barely off the junk lot. A real car. One that he could keep for years.

So, he came home. Her mom kept her out a long enough time, clearly in on this plan to write him out of Charlotte’s fuckin’ life. He went to his house. He looked his siblings in the face and told them that he was ending things with Charlotte. And they were fuckin’ pissed. The kids weren’t talking to him. Debbie said she hated him. But she’d get over it. That’s what Victor had said when he’d told him how they loved Charlotte. 

Carl mumbled something about a ‘waste’ and shoved past him. Liam doesn’t understand. And Lip knows that he’ll feel horrible when his baby brother wakes up tomorrow asking for her.

Ian and Fiona were the worst. Ian started rattling insults immediately. Telling him what a piece of shit he was. He knows. Telling him this is the only chance at something good, at love he’ll actually get. He fuckin’ knows.

Fiona just asked so many questions. Why? What happened? Are you sure? 

That all stopped when Lip shrugged, schooling an emotionless expression onto his face, dropping the check onto the kitchen table and snapping his phone closed as he finished his message. “It’s done.” 

All of that hurt. It fucking sucked and he felt like blowing his brains out when the flood of text messages started rolling in. But nothing could beat the crying. The begging. 

“Bubba, please.” Her voice is small on the opposite side of the door, the whining lilt to it has his entire body tense as he leans against the wood, staring at the wall over Ian’s shoulder, refusing to make eye contact with any of his siblings. “I love you. Why are you doing this?”

“Lip-” Fiona starts, cutting herself off when her little brother looks up at her, wide blue eyes watery with tears, an exhausted look on his face, jaw clenched so hard she worried his teeth would crack. She thinks this is a mistake. She loves Charlotte, and even more, Lip loves Charlotte more than anything, but this was his decision, and he was her brother. 

“I love you, what did I do? M’sorry.” she whimpers, soft thump letting the three siblings know she’d slid down the door. “Please, I love you. Please…st-stop.” 

The three eldest Gallaghers stand there in a stalemate. Ian shifts on his feet, quietly shaking his head as he looks away. Fiona watches her brother struggle somberly, wondering if she could have done anything that would have avoided this. 

And Lip, silent, straight faced, completely devoid of emotion as he rests his head against the door, staring forward. The only indication that he feels anything at all is the few tears that managed to escape down his face. 

It goes on like this for an hour and a half. At 40 minutes, Ian scoffs, mumbling under his breath as he storms his way up the stairs, slamming his room door closed, causing his sister to flinch. Once the standoff reaches 1 hour and 15 minutes, Fiona sighs, scrubbing a tired hand down her face before patting an unmoving Lip’s shoulder, retiring to bed herself.

The sobbing and constant knocking at the door had slowed to quiet pleas, still making Lip’s chest hurt just as bad. He’s doing what’s best for her. He knows that. It hurts now, but she’ll recover from this. She’ll be better, she’ll have a chance to do better than him. 

Lip will never recover. He knows that too. He knows that this is his better. His best. Being with Charlotte is everything. That’s why he doesn’t deserve it. He should’ve never tried to drag her down with him. He can’t give her the life she deserves, or the things she should have access to. He could only offer her hard work, and being bound to mental illness and alcoholism. Trapping her with a baby, forcing her to live in the fucking slums and dance for a couple of bucks from creepy frat boy fucks and drunk limp dick losers like his father. 

Soon he can hear footsteps approaching the doorway, Charlotte is immediately riled up by the presence of whoever it is. “No, no, no, he needs to talk to me. Something is wrong, I don’t know what I did- Phillip, please.” 

“C’mon Lottie, let’s go home.” Lip recognizes Kev’s muffled voice from the opposite side of the door. After some quiet arguing, he finally releases a breath when he hears the wood creak under the weight of them walking away. 

The man ignores the crushing feeling in his chest, the gut wrenching pain that comes with the realization of what he’d just done. A numbness spreads over his limbs as he hazily makes his way over to and up the stairs, breathing shakily. He reaches the doorway of his dark room and stops there. He wants his bed. He wants to climb under the covers and pretend he didn’t just blow up his fuckin’ life. But he can’t make it over the threshold. 

This is her room too. He didn’t think this through. She’s touched everything. How was he supposed to lay in the bed that they laid in together? Her clothes are still in the drawers. Pictures still taped to the mirror and walls. Fuck. 

It’s humiliating, the way he breaks down. Strong shoulders shaking with stronger sobs. Body curling over until his knees simply give out, he sits on the floor next to the crack in the wall where Carl had drilled a hole to hide drugs for Frank. The sound of miscellaneous toys left out squeaking under him. Lip pulls his legs to his chest and cries, because it’s all he can do. Despite every ounce of his being telling him, ‘stop being a bitch,’ ‘the fuck are you cryin’ about, pussy?’ he can’t help it. And he doesn’t stop. Not when his throat started getting sore, or his back started to hurt. Not when the sun starts to peak in through the half broken window in the hallway. Not when he feels his little sister lay a blanket over him before sitting beside him, quietly resting her head on his shoulder.

Charlotte doesn’t fare much better. She finally fell asleep with V rubbing her back, sleeping in her cousin’s bed while Kev slept downstairs. When she wakes she has a pounding headache, her eyes are puffy and burn. She wraps one of the blankets around herself before dragging to the bathroom, brushing her teeth and splashing water on her face. 

She’s hurt. Heartbroken and confused. She knows why he’s doing this. Her parents said something. Did something. Something that made him decide she isn’t worth the trouble. 

But she wasn’t going to give up without a fight. She loves Phillip. She loves her husband, and she didn’t take their time together lightly. She pulls on one of Phillip’s sweatshirts and jumps her way into a pair of jeans before looking at herself in the mirror. 

“Hey, honey,” V’s soft voice comes from behind her, Charlotte’s cousin appears over her shoulder, wrapping her arms around the younger woman. “I didn’t think you’d be up.”

“I’ve gotta,” she sniffs, combing her fingers through her hair. “I’ve gotta take Liam to daycare. And um, make sure Carl remembers his science project. See if Phillip wants me to have lunch with him at work today, I could…I could make him something-”

“Lottie.” V interrupts, “Didn’t Lip-”

“He’s confused.” Charlotte says sharply, swinging her purse over her shoulder, holding her hand out to her cousin expectantly. “My key to their house is in our room. I…don’t normally need it.” 

“Charlotte, listen. I’m not saying this to hurt you, but that boy left you crying on the porch in the cold, that sends a message. Don’t you think you two need space?”

The younger woman shakes her head stubbornly, looking forward to the door, refusing to look at V. “No. Space will let him spiral. My parents made him doubt me, I’m gonna show him that they don’t know what they’re talking about, that I’m what he wants and needs, no matter what they say.”

Determined, Charlotte makes her way next door, unlocking the door with V’s keys and gets to work immediately. Frank is passed out on the couch, so she nudges him awake with a beer at the ready, guiding the drunken man out of the door so he won’t be there when everyone wakes up. Next she starts on the bacon and eggs, brewing a cup of coffee before climbing the stairs to grab Liam, changing and dressing him. “G’morning Liam, did you sleep well?” she coos, pressing kisses to his cheeks as she makes her way back down the stairs. 

When she gets down there, Fiona is sitting at the table, eyes going wide as she sees her sister-in-law. “Lottie? I…when did-”

“Early this morning. I know yesterday was really weird, and I’m sorry you guys had to see that-”

“Hey,” Fiona smiles, taking Liam from Charlotte’s arms. “There’s no embarrassment with family. Gallaghers know no shame, girl, and you’re one of us.” 

And she means it. Fiona watches as a wave of relief washes over the girl bustling around her kitchen, dumping fresh bacon onto a plate. “Thanks Fi.” Charlotte tucks some hair behind her ear, sliding a bowl of cheerios in front of the toddler. “I’m sorry to even ask you this, but did he talk to you about anything? Like something they said or s-something I did-”

“Mornin.” 

The deep voice makes Charlotte’s heart drop to her stomach. She turns slowly, as if she’s approaching an animal that’s likely to scare. And there he is. Standing there in his pajamas, hair mussed, bags under his eyes. But still handsome as ever to Charlotte. “Phillip.”

The blond pauses for a beat. His blue eyes are cloudy for a moment as he takes in the girl before he slips past her, ignoring her extended hand, offering a mug of coffee, opting to open the fridge and grab the orange juice instead. “Hey, you come here to pick up your stuff?”

“My…my stuff? Phillip-”

“I uh, gotta get to work.” he sniffs, grabbing his bag from it’s place on the kitchen floor, slinging it over his shoulder with his jacket in his hand.

“But-” Charlotte flinches as the door slams shut, shoulders tense as she stares after her husband. Fiona quietly slips behind the girl, resting her hand on her shoulder, apologetic for her brother’s behavior, but unable to do anything about it. “He means it.”

Charlotte had whispered so quietly that her sister-in-law didn’t catch it, leaning in for clarity. “What?” 

“Phillip, he’s leaving me, and he means it.” It was like a rock landed in her stomach, both painful and grounding, Charlotte steels herself. “Fine.” she huffs, grabbing her own bag and storming out of the house, slamming the door shut behind her.

Phillip’s day had been absolute shit so far. He woke up to his boss’s daddy’s assistant calling him in for a meeting. No doubt calling him in to fucking fire him for beating the living shit out of his pussy ass son. Lip doesn’t regret it. Not really. But he regrets losing his fucking job. 

On top of that, he came downstairs to see the one person he couldn’t handle seeing. She looked so damn pretty, mixing up in his kitchen, bein’ with his family and shit. The hopeful look in her eye as she saw him enter the room. He didn’t deserve for her to fuckin’ look at him like that. He wanted to kick his own ass for how broken her pretty little face looked when he dismissed her. He loves her. That’s why he’s doing this. Her eyes were pink and puffy. She’d been crying for him. The fact that he was fighting with himself not to like that…he’s a sick fuck. Like he’s said, he doesn’t deserve her. 

Lip doesn’t even bother asking Kev to use his car to get to work, opting to take a walk to the train station to clear his head. He was in no real rush to be fired. As he blows into his hands to warm them, he lets his mind wander to the last place it needs to, but the only place it seems to want to go. 

“So, what the fuck are they mad at her for? They don’t wanna do the band shit anymore?”

Charlotte giggles, running her fingers through his curls as he lays his head on her lap, scowling at the television. She was educating him on Disney movies; it seemed that in the process of raising his siblings along with his sister, he’d never gotten the chance to experience sitcoms and original movies that were formative for her childhood. He’d said, ‘I’m not watchin’, put your shit on and I’ll take a nap’ but here he was, watching intently with a wonder that made her heart ache. “Guess they don’t have your work ethic, bubba.”

Lip hums contentedly, bringing her free hand to his lips, absently pressing kisses to her palm as he continues watching the movie. “Yeah, I know you liked her little rapping white boyfriend.”

“Um, excuse me? Even though he’s cute-”

“Knew it.”

“And you happen to also be a white, blonde with blue hair, most of my exes haven’t been white, I’ll have you know.”

He tried to swallow down the comment, really. But he fuckin’ couldn’t hold himself back, sue him. “Yeah, how many exes are we talkin’ about?”

He expects for her to get offended, or be evasive. Tell him to fuck off. That’s what any of his sorta exes would’ve done. Hell, that’s what he would’ve done. With anyone but her. He’ll tell her whatever she needs to know. But Charlotte has soft edges. Even when he’s being a dick, she has softness for him he’d never experienced before. 

“Not many, baby, just like, five.” She smiles gently, smoothing her hand over his hair again. “You’re the only one who matters now, Phillip.” she takes a deep breath, leaning down to press her forehead against his, and Lip can’t help but lean up to meet her, eyes trained on her face as hers slip closed. “Love you.” she mumbles.

She’s everything. “I love you, Bunny.”

With that, her brown eyes open, staring down at him with joy, she wrinkles her nose. “Ew, you like me?” she teases, squealing in his ear as he pushes himself up, grabbing her thigh and tugging her down on the couch.

“Fuckin’ brat.” he chuckles breathily against her lips, slapping her thigh lightly as he descends on her, her giggles ringing out into the air.

“Fuck.” the blond huffs out, roughly wiping at a stray tear before storming up to an abandoned car, left on the frozen grass and kicking at one of the doors, denting it slightly. He breathes heavily, shaking his head and turning to go back to his path to the train. Her laughter. That fuckin’ pretty ass laugh that she’s gonna end up giving to someone else makes him feel like he could vomit. He could hear it. In his head. It used to be nice. Now it feels like his heart is being wrenched from his fuckin’ chest. Damnit! 

Lip drops his bag onto the ground, lifting his leg and kicking the car again. And again. And again. Until he stops. Then, he starts punching the windows, his knuckles start getting bloody as the glass shatters and breaks under his efforts. But he keeps going. He just keeps punching, and kicking, and screaming…? When did he start doing that? 

He was so focused on what he was doing that he didn’t even notice someone approaching him.

“Lip…?” A familiar voice calls out. Familiar, but not the one haunting him now. “Well, it’s been a while, I can guess how you’ve been.”

He stops, turning to look at the person intruding on his break down, brows furrowed. The blond reaches in his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, raising it to pluck one into his mouth before offering it to them. “The fuck are you doin’ here?”

“Needed a nice bed, and food. Came to check on my mom. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I’ve been doin’?” 

To say Charlotte was pissed off was an understatement. Hot, angry tears stream down her face as she swings open the door to V and Kev’s house, throwing her purse on the floor. She tries to level out her breath as she pushes into the bathroom. Charlotte rests her hands on the sink as she watches herself cry in the mirror. Sobs racking her body she doubles over with the force of her crying. She was glad no one was home to see her like this.

She doesn’t even know what she’s doing when she climbs into the tub, bringing her knees to her chest. She raises her left hand to look at the small ring on her finger. It’s not what she used to picture. When she was younger, she would envision her life. She would dream about what her ring would look like. What her husband would be like. 

It was always a ring like her mother’s, a large house like she grew up in and the some faceless prince who spun her in circles but surprisingly never spoke. 

This life she was building with Phillip was nothing like that. They live in a small house with his siblings, he’d shared a room until he was 18 and got her ring from his drunken father. It was small, and wouldn’t pass as a kids toy where she came from. Phillip was quiet compared to his siblings, but generally loud, crass, and aggressive. With everyone except her at least. He was a prince. He does spin her around, and hug her, and kiss her and look at her like she’s everything. The life he gave her was better than she’d imagined. 

But he’s ready to throw it away. And it hurts. Charlotte is tired of being the one being hurt. 

She sits in silence for a few moments, staring at the tiles on the wall before she can distantly hear her phone chiming in her purse outside the bathroom door. She tries to ignore the clench in her chest, the little glimmer of hope that it’s Phillip, calling to say sorry, that he’d changed his mind and he was coming over so they could make up. Charlotte pushes out of the tub at the third chime, walking on unsteady legs over to the bag, sniffling and tucking hair behind her ear as she squints to read the messages.

It’s her manager from the club, asking if anyone was interested in working the day party for today because the promoter’s entertainment fell through. Normally, she’d turn this down. She knows how Lip feels about her new job, and for her it was only a means to an end. They were discussing alternatives until this shit started. But maybe working a party would be a good way for her to get her mind off of things, and make some extra cash. Especially since it seems she’ll be doing things by herself for now on. 

“So you got married? That wasn’t a joke?”

“Uh, nope, real shit.” Lip takes a final swig of his beer before sailing it into the street, smiling softly at the glass shattering before opening another. 

“Hm, never thought you were the marrying type.” 

“M’not.” 

Karen shrugs, sipping her own beer and looking up at him. “Must’ve been pretty though, to get you down the aisle. Or pregnant. Both?”

“Not pregnant.” He says, opening his phone and showing her a picture of Charlotte. He supposes he’s gonna have to stop having those at the ready, if he’s gonna move on. As if he could. 

“Damn, she’s sexy.” Karen’s eyes widen as she grabs the phone. She remembers the current situation and bites her lip. “Sorry.”

“S’fine. She is. Fuckin’ beautiful.” 

Karen looks out into the road again, hesitating for a moment before nudging Lip’s shoulder. “Want me to take your mind off of it? It’s been a while.” 

Before Lip had even met Charlotte he had told himself he’d never fuck Karen again. She’s better now, sure, but she also almost fucking ruined his life multiple times. Once he had met Charlotte, he hadn’t even thought of it. He really didn’t consider that he’d ever fuck someone else again. A realization that surprised himself more than anyone, considering he’d never been the monogamous type. 

But now he’s in pain. And he doesn’t think he’ll ever be with Charlotte again. That makes him feel cold in a way that he’s never felt before. Lip, desperate for any kind of break he can get from what he’s feeling, rolls his eyes to the sky. “Yeah, fuck it, why not.”

“Gee, you used to be a lot more excited for me to get you off.” she mumbles against his cheek before leaning in to kiss his lips.

Lip turns his head away, pulling his mouth from her reach, “Don’t um, kiss me.”

Karen looks at him for a moment before laughing. “Okay, kissing used to be your thing, not mine.” As she kneels in front of him, Lip finds himself squirming uncomfortably, looking everywhere but down when he feels her unzipping his pants. “Um…are you…is it like, too cold?”

“Uh, no, I’m…gimme a second.” He feels like he can’t breath, the ring on his finger feels like it’s literally fucking scalding his skin. 

“Oh-kay.” 

A few more moments pass and Karen speaks again. “Do you want me to help you? Is there anything I can do?”

“Nope, no, not at all. Just, shut up for one second, please.” He brings his hands together, tugging the ring off and putting it in his pocket and prays.

“You can think of her if you need to. I don’t mind.” she tries again. 

“Um, yeah, maybe.” He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and lets the images of Charlotte that he’s racked up over time run across his brain. It feels good to think of her. To sift through the memories of her smiling up at him, holding him close, crying out his name. But he couldn’t trick his mind or body. He’s in love. Still. And she’s not the girl on her knees in front of him. “No, no.”

“No?”

“Yeah, sorry, I can’t I’m…I don’t think I can fuck someone who’s not my wife. At least right now.” Or ever. Shit. I’m never gonna get my dick wet again.

“Jeez, that’s serious.” Karen says. She hops up, tucking her hands in her pockets. “What is she? A contortionist?” Lip just looks at her and she sobers, her smile dropping. “Sorry. I’m serious. I’m talking to you as a friend, talk to me. Your wife is hot, and nice, and clearly has a hold over your dick, so what’s the problem, why’d you leave her?”

“She’s perfect.” Lip sighs, lighting another cigarette, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he works back the lump in his throat. He’ll be damned if he cries about this in front of Karen.

“Okay so-”

“She’s perfect. She’s everything, she deserves everything and I am stuck here. I live here. I was born here, I’m gonna live and die here and I don’t want her here to do it with me. So I can’t have her, that’s fine I’m teaching myself that it's fine but it fuckin’ sucks! It fuckin’ sucks Karen, and it’s fuckin’ worse because she’s willing to stay. I hate her for not making this easy!” He roughly throws the bottle into the street, barely missing a parked car.

“Oof. Okay. Clearly, you need to get your mind off of things.” She says, scooting the remainder of the six pack the pair of them bought from the liquor store across the street away from him. “C’mon, let’s get you a real drink and some recreational drugs.”

“You’re making some good tips out there girl, they’re loving you at this party.” 

Charlotte smiles briefly before leaning over the vanity, reapplying her lip gloss in the mirror. 

“Of course they are, they’re actually seeing her. Normally, guests only get a glimpse of the back of her head, before she runs into the back again to check in with her man.” 

“Well, he won’t be checking in today, so-”

“What?”

Trish leans back in her own seat to look at her friend. “Did something happen with you and Lip?”

Charlotte tries to ignore the quiver in her lip and stare forward into the mirror, focusing on the pink she’s applying on her lips. “I dunno, he’s doing his own thing, I’m doing mine, I guess.” 

“Well, that seems-”

“Girl, about time!” Kelsey, one of the girls Charlotte met through the club, claps, pushing her way into Charlotte’s seat. “All you talk about is that man and his gaggle of kids. Now, we can invite you to do fun stuff. We can go out!”

“They’re his siblings, first of all and they’re good kids.” Charlotte sighs, smoothing her hands over her hair.

“Gallagher kids? Okay.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrow, her mouth opening for her to ask her co-worker what the fuck she meant by that, something she would’ve never done a couple of months ago. But Trish beats her to it, patting her arm and shaking her head. Instead of telling her other coworkers about herself, Charlotte settles for rolling her eyes and mumbling, “We could’ve always gone out.”

“Please, the way you used to all but trip over yourself running out the door to climb back on Lip’s dick? When would we have the time to ask?” 

“There’s nothing wrong with the girl loving her man, Renee.” Trish intervenes, leaving her arm tossed around Charlotte’s shoulders. Was she really that pathetic? Did she really spend all her time running behind Phillip? She supposes that she never took the time to think about it while it was happening, but is this what everyone thinks? “Just because you don’t have one.”

“Well,” Kelsey shrugs, rubbing more glitter lotion onto her chest and meeting Charlotte’s eyes in the mirror. “Doesn’t seem like Lottie does either anymore. So, Lottie, have you dislodged yourself from Gallagher’s side or not? Are we going out”

Charlotte fully plans to say yes. For the first time since she’d met her husband, she thought that maybe this is what she should have been doing. She’s only ever had two identities in her life. Mr. and Mrs. Fisher’s daughter, and Phillip Gallagher’s wife. She’s never been Charlotte. Not when she left home, not when she got her first job, she just went from being one person’s possession to another. Maybe this is all a sign that she should focus on being alone. However miserable that sounds. That’s why, whether you believe her or not, she was going to say yes. 

Until her phone rings.

“What’d you even give him anyway?”

“Don’t fucking make it sound like that, it was just some weed and booze!” 

“Fuckin’ weed and booze, he’s on his fuckin’ ass Karen! Fuckin’ idiot!”

“Fuck you! How was I supposed to know he drinks and smokes like a little bitch now?” the blonde girl huffs loudly as she turns back to the drunk man in front of them, barely intelligible as he slams his hands down on the bar again, demanding to be served another drink. “Lip, seriously, we need to fuckin’ go-”

“Get the fuck off me, I’m married.” 

The bar owner emerges from the back again, his cellphone in hand, a scowl on his face. “Aye, Gallagher, she’s takin’ too long, he’s scaring the real customers, get him outta here before I gotta call the cops.”

Ian groans, running his hand down his face, “Yeah, good luck cleanin’ up all the coke you’ve got on these tables before they get here. Fuck off, your place is a dive, Billy.” Turning back to his brother, the redhead, tugs his arm, making the shorter brother stumble but ultimately not moving him at all. “Lip, come the fuck on man.”

“Just fuckin’ leave me alone. Not listenin’ fuckin’ idiot-” he slurs, shoving Ian a little before grabbing a half drunk beer from the bar and downing it. 

“God-fuckin’-damnit-” Ian growls snatching the already empty bottles. His brown eyes catch on something over at the door and his tense stance settles. “Thank god.” he mumbles under his breath.

Karen’s eyes follow his over to a woman who looks just like the one Lip had shown her earlier, a tense, concerned look on her pretty face. Her cheeks dimple as her lips turn down into a frown upon spotting the spectacle in front of her. Her hair is tied up into a clean bun, her body covered with a matching sweat suit. Her eyes look exhausted. So that’s the wife?

“Phillip-”

“Bunny, you’re here, come drink with me, baby.” The blond offers her a crooked, drunk smile that has the same knee weakening effect on both women. His muscled arm shoots out, wrapping around the girl’s waist and tugging her to him, all but dragging her into his lap. 

“No, Phillip, it’s time to go home. Let’s get you up.”

Big blue eyes roll closed, his forehead falling forward, uncoordinatedly thunking against the woman’s forehead. She doesn’t flinch, just keeping her tired, sad eyes on him as he inhales deeply, breathing her in. “We gonna go home together?”

It’s the softest voice Karen has ever heard the eldest Gallagher son use. He’d spoken to her softly before. They’d been best friends, lovers. He was always scared of her leaving…rightfully so. But this, it was like he was scared that she was going to break if he rose his voice too much. It was like he was whispering a secret that’s just for them and everyone else in the room is intruding. Karen hadn’t ever seen anything like it. She likes this for him.

The girl was ordering water, grabbing a straw from over the bar and guiding it to Lip’s mouth as he stayed close, rubbing his hands along her hips and mumbling about missing her between gulps. She hadn’t even looked at Karen, her eyes had locked on Lip since arriving. “Um, I’m Karen by the way.”

Big brown eyes finally take her in. There’s no disdain behind them. No hate. She doesn’t look at her like every other girl who’s ever loved Lip has looked at Karen. She just offers a tired look. Glossed lips parting briefly, snapping shut again when she feels the Lip’s head droop forward onto her shoulder, quick hands shooting up to cup the back of his curls. “I’m Charlotte. I’ve got to get him home, are you okay?”

“I’m..I’m sorry?”

Charlotte bites her lower lip in determination as she pats his cheek, getting him to stir awake again. Her eyes never return to acknowledge Karen. “Up, Bubba, up. Are you okay to get home? I…need to take him home, are you okay?” 

Oh. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay, Ian, can you please help him, help him stand?” Karen watches as this woman, Charlotte helps hoist Lip’s weight onto Ian, the redhead slinging his brother’s arm over his shoulder, nodding at Karen as they make their way out of the bar with her…ex? Best friend?

She can’t help but compare herself to the girl. She knew that they were both pretty, generally attractive in different ways. Both short. Big eyes. Round faces. Their difference physically was glaringly obvious, but that wasn’t what mattered. It was in the eyes. Everything is in the eyes. Not the color, but the looks.

When the evening started to turn sour, Karen had been fucking annoyed. She hates babysitting. Hates having to take care of people. That’s why she’s always loved being around Lip in one way or another. That’s why they’d been such good friends. He was the caretaker. He takes care of people. His family, neighborhood kids, her. He doesn’t ask for anything for himself aside from the occasional blowie, and it was mostly a joke. 

Until he asked for more. Until he asked for love, attention and care and a partner. Things that Karen had no interest in. Things that crazy bitch Mandy wasn’t able to give him. He needed too much. He went from something easy to do, someone easy to be around to being this person who needs things. 

It was hard, too hard. Being with Lip is exactly the daunting task people think it would be. But Charlotte, his wife, she’s doing it. She looks exhausted, pissed off, and just caught her husband hanging out with his ex. But she came. She managed to unclench her jaw and offer him a soft look and kind voice. 

Karen had been poison to him. She knows that. She was bad for him, and to be honest, she’d thought that even with the time had passed he wouldn’t have been strong enough to get her out of his system. But, she should have known better than to underestimate Lip Gallagher. He found something good. Someone for him. 

Good for him.

“I know you’re mad at’me.”

“Shut up, man, you’re just gonna make stuff worse.”

“M’talkin to my wife, motherfucker, you shut up.” Lip slurs as Ian all but drags him down the street. “Sweetheart-”

“Phillip, please.” Charlotte begs, voice cracking as she refuses to turn around and face him. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her own form, walking several paces ahead of the Gallagher brothers up the dark road. “Please.” 

It had been going on since they started walking. He keeps trying to talk to her. He keeps calling her all of these sweet names and they fucking hurt. They hurt like him telling her that they could get their marriage annulled. They hurt like him telling her to go with her parents. They fucking hurt like him let her sit on his front porch crying and begging just to see him as he sat on the other side of the door. And now, she understands that he’s drunk or high or whatever, but she needs him to stop talking. 

Her plea is answered with the silence she asked for. Shocked that he actually went silent, Charlotte whips around to see if he’d fallen asleep, but is met with big blue eyes with dilated pupils, brows softened as he meets her shaky gaze. 

The woman turns around so he can’t see her chin tremble as she leads the group onto the streets. Another voice breaks the silence, over the sound of three sets of footsteps, only one set steady, the other two, sloppy and wavering. “Lottie, what do you wanna do?”

She knows what he’s asking. They’re rounding their homes. Where should he put him? Is she going to stay with him? And she immediately feels shame wash over herself. She knows the answers to all of those questions. She should be embarrassed. This man has treated her like shit over the last 24 hours. She hates how he made her feel about herself. She didn’t understand how he could be both the man who strolled past her as if he didn’t know her this morning and the one who was just looking at her the way he did. 

But she’s weak, and he’s everything. 

And she’s already shifting his weight from his brother's arms into hers, stumbling a little under it as she guides him toward her cousin’s house.

“Charlotte.”

“It’s okay.” she breathes. “I’ve got him.”

And she struggles getting him to the door. He tries to help, she can tell. But he’s too fucked up, his motor skills are lacking and only set back any progress she makes. She grips the railing with her spare hand as she helps him up the last step. She tells him to watch his step as she leads him through the doorway, eyes locking V’s as the wooden floors creak under his steps. She ignores the disappointed look on her cousin’s face as she guides her husband to her room. Their room. 

But as she pulls the shoes from his feet and helps him into bed, she’s confident in one thing. Charlotte knows she loves this man. It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks the breaking point should be, or who they envision her with. She wants him. And she was going to keep acting like it.

Charlotte feels a tightness around her waist as she wakes up in the chair she’d dragged into the bedroom once she’d gotten Phillip settled. Her eyes are already watering as they peel open, burning from tears and exhaustion. 

“I fucked up, Bunny.”

“Yeah,” Charlotte sighs, sniffling a little and letting her head drop back against the wall. “How bad?”

“I fuckin’ hurt you-” his voice is muffled against her stomach, his arms tightening around her, fingers squeeing and releasing the fabric of her shirt. 

“Yes.”

“I hate that. M’just fucked up, y’know? But m’sorry, baby, m’sorry.”

Charlotte is annoyed by the sob that leaves her body involuntarily, causing him to pull her even closer to him, her butt almost hanging off of the chair. She’s even more annoyed that she’s wondering if his knees hurt from kneeling on the floor in front of her. She shouldn’t care. “You left me outs-side alone.”

“I know, baby, I know.” she feels a wet spot forming on her shirt and tries to stop her lower lip from shaking. “Fuckin’ supposed to be taking care of you. I’m a shitty husband, you deserve better. And I’m trying to be that, I swear, Charlotte I fuckin’ swear. I…I’m gettin’ to keep my job, and m’gonna save more, gonna get us some more money, just gimme a little more time, sweetheart. I know this fuckin’ sucks, but I’m gonna do better-”

“You’re hurting me.” Charlotte mumbles, staring up at the ceiling, letting the tears freely fall down her cheeks. 

Suddenly his arms are gone from her waist and he’s staring up at her, frantically running his hands through his curls. “M’sorry, I was holding you too tight-”

“Have I done anything to make you believe I won’t wait? Have I cheated on you? Made you feel bad about not having a house for us? Buying a car right now? Anything? What did I do to deserve you telling me you didn’t want to be with me anymore? Stop hurting me!” She finishes with a stomp, feeling childish. Lip is quiet as he listens to her, his hand running along her thigh in soothing strokes.

“You’re perfect. You didn’t do anything, Charlotte. That’s why I was fuckin’ tryin’ to do the right thing.” Lip huffs, clenching his jaw anxiously. “I was tryin’ to give you up. Because there’s somethin’ wrong with me Charlotte. I can’t get out of my head. Everyday I wake up and hear how too fuckin’ good for me on loop in my head, and then people remind me, and I can say fuck ‘em, they’re not you, I don’t care what they think, but then your parents came-”

“Fuck them too.”

“No,” Lip pushes up off the floor and paces in the room. “Not fuck them, because yes, they’re fuckin’ assholes, but they made you, and you’re fuckin’ everything, so they are pretty much the authority on what’s good shit and what isn’t. I don’t deserve you, they know it, I know it, for some fuckin’ reason, you don’t know it, so let me make this clear for you, Bunny. This shit shouldn’t be so hard. I’m hurting you. That’s not what being in love with you feels like for me. My love for you isn’t good enough, because it’s making you suffer. Being in love with you gives me a fuckin’ reason to breathe. So I was trying to be fuckin’ good. And let you go.”

Charlotte watches as he finishes, standing in front of her. Blue eyes bloodshot. The veins in his neck popping out, his chest rising and falling with effort. He looks so serious. And all she can do is laugh. Literally, put her head in her hands and laugh. 

“Um…what the fuck?” he asks incredulously, watching her shoulders shake with her laughter. 

“You’re such an asshole, Phillip.” she giggles, wiping her wet cheeks, gasping in an attempt to stop her own laughter. 

“I’m really not fuckin’ gettin’ the joke here.”

Charlotte shakes her head, crossing her legs as she sits up fully in the chair, trying not to break at the confusion on his face. “Don’t you think it’s a little too late for you to decide that you want to save me the trouble of being in love with you? You pursued me, you asked me to marry you, you made me love you and it's too late. I’m stuck. You leave, I’m still hurt. You stay, you can choose to man up, make good on your promises, stop feeling sorry for yourself and be a good husband. You want to stop hurting me, then stop hurting me. Stop talking about me deserving better and be better.”

The couple stares at each other from across the room, nothing but white noise from the house fills the air as Charlotte’s challenge hangs between them. A few beats pass before Lip begins slightly nodding his head, the same focused face he keeps when he’s working on a project from work, or doing people’s taxes for extra money. Lip smooths his hand over his jaw, clearing his throat. “Okay. I’ll be better.” 

“Okay.” 

“Can I…uh, hold on a second.” The blond murmurs, crossing the floor and places his hand on her jaw, dragging her up into a deep kiss, absolutely breathing her in as he nearly pushes her chair back with the force he pushes against her. He breaks away only lightly, his lips against hers, as he speaks. “I love you. I’ll be better.”

“I love you too.” she smiles. “And I know.” 

This is good…this is better. I’ll deal with the rest later.

[shrubdaddy]

elucidative | l.greenleaf

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: elucidative |. /ih-loo-si-deyt/ | verb | to make lucid especially by explanation or analysis | y/n is only a little dumb

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: legolas x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k

a/n: Hiii - Sorry I've been MIA - work has been a bit more hectic and I've been having a hard time finding time to write! I could not stop thinking about the Bridgerton scene with Charlotte and George. Lightly inspired by @reality-warp 'Rávamë’s Bane Trilogy', quite literally one of my all-time fave fics and authors in this fandom and is a literal queen in world and character building so check out her fics if you haven't already!

copyright © | please do not repost my work.

“Manwë’s breath, how much higher can this wall get?”

Reaching for yet another tendril of the vines climbing up the wall, you attempt to climb higher up the stone wall.

It was a precarious situation — one in which you did not expect to be but were not entirely surprised to find yourself in.

You scaled the stone walls attempting to reach the top of the wall to escape yet another suitor. With flowing sleeves laced with snagged threads and leaves woven into your hair, you don’t quite know how long you’ve been attempting your half-scattered escape plan. At this moment, all you knew was that you’d been in this dreaded courtyard for over an hour and you would not be waiting another minute to be trapped and shackled for the next “prince” to come around.

As a ward of Lord Glorfindel, you were of course expected to adhere to the life of a lady in every way possible. You’ve studied every subject, attended every lesson from etiquette and mannerisms to reading and writing in Khuzdul, and attended each and every dreadful social event your father has encouraged.

Feeling your grip falter yet again, you stumble backward and glare at the very metaphoric yet also a very real wall in front of you.

You have always strived to be the perfect daughter in every way possible. However, in regard to love and courtship, you refuse to follow the ancient, decrepit tradition. Between the many years of dodging conversations and offers of marriage, you’ve reached way past the age of courtship, spending many years avoiding each and every suitor thrown your way.

Rather than bubbling with excitement, you felt the fear of the unknown settle in. Having so much to live for and not enough time to experience, you think of your time spent with the twins and the Rangers of the North — time spent traveling, exploring, and living.

You remember joining the twins and meeting Aragorn… meeting Legolas. He was an elven ranger you befriended through Aragorn. He was strong and sturdy, and for a moment you thought you were in love. The camp up North was a place where not many talked of their past but where they all focused on the present. It was a simple life but it was the life you were able to create for yourself.

Lost in the thoughts of the slow spiral of your sanity, you didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind you as you reached yet again for the closest, protruding stone on the wall —

“What in the world are you doing?”

Without turning to even see who it is, you let go of one hand waving your intruding guest away.

“Please mind your own business, sir. You can escort yourself out — possibly, somewhere that is anywhere but here.”

You continue your ascent without a second thought but slipped down the wall as stone slowly tore up your hands. Stepping back, you place your hands on your hips and take a look at the growing annoyance in front of you. This stupid wall.

You hear an exasperated sigh behind you and felt someone lightly, grab your shoulder, pulling you from behind.

“Excuse me, sir. But you will unhand or you risk losing your… Legolas?”

Turning around, you were shocked by the familiar face of someone you were completely and utterly infatuated with over the past couple of years. Paralyzed and flustered, you couldn’t help but notice how clean and ethereal — you have never seen him this clean before; his muddied boots were somehow clean and the ragged pants you were so used to was exchanged for a less holey look. Somehow these fit even better. You feel your eyes gaze up but froze — you were staring too long.

“Lose my what?” he asked with a little smug grin.

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing. On the contrary, you can keep everything… It was nothing…” you rambled as you quickly turned around.

You hear him step a bit closer, coming behind you on your side to examine the wall you were so desperately climbing less than a second ago.

“What in Arda are you doing here, Y/n?” he said with his curious, blue eyes. Though a few feet away, just his presence causes your mind to go in a scramble.

“Me? What are you doing here?” you exasperated. Fiddling with your hands, you begin pacing back and forth, pretending to examine every bit of the wall, looking anywhere but him.

Look anywhere but his eyes, Y/n. That is how we’ll survive his cursed beauty.

“You are climbing a wall. If anyone should be questioned, it is you,” he bit back.

You quickly move your shoulder to release his grip and turn around.

“First of all, I live here. Second of all, please do mind your business, Legolas. I am quite a bit … oof … I’m quite a bit busy here. and I’m running out of time.”

Stepping towards the wall, you begin to attempt to climb yet again. If anything, it was to break free from his distracting grip on your body. Ignoring the growing warmth on your cheeks, you couldn’t help but notice how large and warm his hand was and how one touch made you feel like hot honey dripping down your body.

Shaking off the startling moment, you were determined to leave. And even he could not stop you.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing something.”

“I am not”

“Yes… you quite obviously are are.”

“I am n o t.”

“Yes… you are,” he said firmly.

Relenting — you turn back around to face him. Beautiful face and all. You notice how his head is turned slightly down, his eyebrows furrowing just the slightest beginnings of a small smirk staring down at you.

“Fine,” you relented. “If you must know, I am trying to figure out the best way to climb over this disgustingly high wall and escape this dreaded meeting with this so-called ‘prince.’”

“You’re trying to what? With who? Whatever for?”

“Well, the first thing — hmph …” you grunt as you turn back around to attempt to climb for the fifth time in a row. “The first thing is that my dearest father has been parading me around to different suitors, a Lord here, a Duke there — and now, um, it’s apparently another ‘prince’.”

You take a step back because rather than focusing on climbing, you feel a sense of frustration overcome you. The situation of late has finally dug its claws into you... feeling a greater weight on your shoulder than you have originally led yourself to believe. You feel him standing behind you — the burning intensity of his stare on your back.

“No one has spoken of him… no one has spoken of this so-called Prince of Mirkwood?” You continued, “What if he has the personality of a gremlin and the looks of a troll? The Valar knows the little patience I have for men.”

“Gremlins and trolls aside — does what he looks he really matters to you? ” he asked.

“No… Of course not. It’s the not knowing and the fact that I do not know him or his heart that I do not like.

You take a step back to take a look once more at the wall in front of you. Glaring with all of your might, in hopes that your internal rage can burst a whole through these dreaded walls.

“Y/n —you must know... “ Legolas began.

Your eyes run through all the nooks and cranny’s vine-covered stone beast, ignoring Legolas’s words for only a second. There it is. A protruding stone just two feet away from the top. You found one last way you have yet to try.

“Thank the Valar! I think I found a way.”

You walk towards the wall once again, mapping out the new path of vines and protruding stones.

“I think if I can just reach this stone I can lift myself up! If you lift me just a little, I believe I can reach that vine and use these stones to climb up,” you said excitedly.”

“You want me to lift you up… so that you may… escape?”

“Yes, obviously. Did you not hear of threatening the gremlin-troll prince? Please, Legolas.”

“Your father will know that you are missing? The twins have just arrived as well?”

“Those are tomorrow’s problems, Legolas. The prince will be coming today,” you whined.

As you begin your ascent, you feel your foot slipping from the stone. Despite this, you stretched your hand above your head to grab the vine. As you reached, you feel the stone beneath your foot crumble and in a matter of seconds you find yourself falling.

“Lego—”

“Y/n,” he cuts you off. “I have no intention of helping you escape.”

Standing a little too close, you can feel the warmth emanating from his body. As you gaze up to his face, you see he’s wearing an emerald green tunic, soft and silky — something far nicer than the typical garb you always see him in.

“And why not? There is little time to —.”

Your finally glance up to look him in the eyes and —

“You’re wearing a crown,” you blankly stated.

Confused, you oh-so-slowly begin to piece the puzzle together.

“Yes, I am wearing crown,” a small grin appearing on his smugged face.

“Where in the world did you get a crown?”

“It was given to me,” he said as he looked around feigning boredom.

“By who?!” you retort.

“My father.”

“Your father? What does— is he like a king?”

“He is a king,” he said frankly.

“Which makes you a — “ you slowly piece the information together.

“A prince? Yes, a gremlin-troll prince to be exact,” he retorts with now a full grin and staring down at you.

“And you said nothing?” You frantically exclaimed.

“I figured you’d realize at some point,” he chuckled.

You stood there reflecting on all your life decisions at once. Every conversation, every hidden glance. He was a prince.

“I thought it was common knowledge and that you knew of my title,” he said quietly. “I apologize for not disclaiming it sooner.”

“So if what you’re saying is true…” you teased. “You just assume everyone thinks of you as royalty? That’s quite the assumption”

“Y/n, you know I did not mean it like that,” he groaned.

With a little giggle, you stepped away from him and asked “Should I call you, sir?”

“…Y/n, what?”

“Oh my, I’ve never bowed.” Your voice shifts into worry, “Is this grounds for beheading?”

“Y/n, no.”

“I should bow.”

“No— you should not.”

“I’ll bow.”

“Y/n — stop.”

“Please sir, I am merely a lowly peasant. Have mercy, your highness,” you exclaimed as you lower your head and drop into the deepest curtsy.

As he attempts to stop you, he reaches for your arm hoping to put an end to your jester.

As you back away and dodge, you look at him, batting your eyelashes, and cry “My liege, spare me from this punishment I only wish to live.”

Ears turning red with a desperate voice, he begs “Y/n, please.”

As you step back once more, he’s quicker this time and grabs your arm, pulling you close. your chest crushed against his, he drops one of his hands to your waist and the other to your back. You were so close you felt his breath caress your face. As you look up, you find him staring intently at you.

As you stare at each other, you couldn’t help but break into giggles over the preposterous situation. As you begin to giggle, he looks away trying to hold in his laughter, only to also laugh at the situation.

It felt nice — to feel free and silly, if only for a moment.

As both your laughter calms down, he looks back down at you asked, ”So what do you think of the gremlin-troll prince?”

“Nothing too horrid, he’s actually quite dashing,” you teased.

“Dashing, hmm?” he chuckled.

Unaware of everything around you, you were both startled to hear the courtyard doors open with footsteps following. Jumping from each other's arms, you separated a good distance away only for you to see your father and Elrond turn into the corner section you were standing in.

“Oh, good. You’ve met!”

[thevagabondexpress]

two short thoughts on women's fashion in historical tsc:

i suspect women's clothes in the historical tsc era and the tlh era especially would be designed to be more maneuverable than mundane women's clothes were.

the skirts would have to be shorter, touching the tops of the shoes rather than covering them, to prevent tripping. they would likely have a lot of fabric in them and be cut looser than mundane skirts would be in some eras, narrow silhouettes and trains would be out because certain kinds of running and kicking would be impossible. that skirts would be cut for practicality like this is evidenced by the fact that lucie, cordelia, ari, and a number of other shadowhunter women (even charlotte during the tid era i believe) fight in dresses, and also that jill bearup video about fighting in corsets. there's quite the possibility that some may even wear very loose, easily disguised split skirts (lucie climbing chiswick house's walls, i'm looking at you).

speaking of corsets, i know from personal experience as well as much historical research that they would actually offer advantages over not-corsets to the female warrior, so long as they're not the impractical tightly-laced wasp-waisted types. i suspect the usual wear for shadowhunter women would be a sturdier, less-restrictive corset of the type worn by women in hard domestic service: designed to keep warm and support, rather than shape. it's very possible that they would be armored, made with panels of leather or possibly even linothorax (an ancient armor made from hardened linen) over the spine, heart, and other vital organs.

flat-soled shoes would, of course, be a necessity.