#does it make you mad you’ll never be as whimsical as me??

[d3m0n1c-cl0wn3ry]

i humger

[iridiss]

Aaron’s such an underrated character on Aphblr tbh. He’s become one of my favorite characters in the cast as I rewatch more and more of Mystreet. Aaron will tease you, but he’s also one of the best characters in the cast to go to for emotional support. He’ll tell you as it is, smack you upside the head when you’re being crazy and shake you back to rational normalcy, but then he’ll sigh and tell you you’re gonna be just fine and everything’s gonna be okay. He is the number one (and on occasion only) holder of brain cells in the whole neighborhood. He’s the most sensible, and often the word of wisdom/rationale, much more so than Katelyn or Lucinda or Zane or Laurance are. This can often make him come off as a serious character, but he’s still down to clown! He just does it in a different way!

He’s supposed to contrast Aphmau’s louder, more extroverted, playful, ditzy, eccentric personality, by being quieter, more rational, more responsible, more cautious and careful, more reserved, a word of wisdom to contrast her crazier, chaotic energy and pranking and punning and ponies and general whimsical tomfoolery. But that does not, by any means, mean that he is not participating in the antics. Just because he’s the only one who thought to bring a first aid kit and a safety harness doesn’t mean he’s not jumping off that cliff with everyone else in this crazy cast. You tell him to dig, he’ll bring shovels. He may sigh or say “oh god not again” when shit goes awry or the gang decides they are Dead Set on doing something insane for the 10,000th time, but by god he will commit. Aphmau kidnaps a baby and goes on a mad chase for a comedic bit, and he never complains about how “stupid” and “reckless” and “obnoxious” his girlfriend is, he just says in a completely calm tone, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go save my girlfriend.” And he chases after her immediately lmao.

Aaron enables the antics and participates in them, and if you rile him up or challenge him damn well enough, he will throw himself into the group antics with an unbeatable, fiery fervor. If the boys decide they’re all gonna pretend to be Santa and his elves in order to cause prankster-variety chaos one day, Aaron would join in and go right alongside them. He’s here to make sure it all goes to plan. He’s here to make sure you don’t break any bones when you jump off that roof like a madman. He’s here to help you run away from the cops, help you break into the building. He may chide you for doing it in the first place (“do you even know what you’re doing?!”), and if needed he may drag you back home if you’re barking up the wrong tree and it’s nothing but detrimental to you, but if it’s viable for the bit, he absolutely will show you how to break a window correctly.

And he can be a little shit if he wants to, too!! He can snicker at you and tease you and make quips, and I bet if Aaron himself dedicated his energy to it, he would make the best of pranks. He’s not an asshole that’s full of himself and too serious and stoic and cool for being silly, he’s not a whiny bitch, he’s actually very incredibly supportive. At times, much more so than Garroth, Laurance, Zane, Katelyn, etc. He’s reliable, he trusts Aphmau a lot, he knows how shittily Aphmau cooks and still does his damndest to support her, and he will force himself to eat her biohazardous cooking just to make her happy. He is the chef of the household. He’s good with animals, animals love him. He’s a kind guy!!! He’s just got his own unique energy and vibe to him, that no one else in the cast really has, and I really appreciate that core trait of him. He’s a grounding character. He’s probably got his own ways that he’s weird and eccentric that are a lot more hidden than Aphmau’s. If we didn’t have Aaron, the entire neighborhood would have burned down ages ago, ten times over.

I genuinely do believe he’d make a fantastic dad, being a combination of a soft and gentle and tenderly loving man, and responsible enough to always bring safety helmets and bandaids and snacks, very supportive of his kids development, emotionally available as a great source of genuine advice and wisdom while still getting plenty of encouragement. He would probably want to make an effort to be a very different parent than his father was, and since he was emotionally neglected as a child, he would refuse to do anything similar to his own kids. He’d be a good influence (and Aphmau would be the bad influence LOL)

He’s kind of a teddy bear of a man <3 If he weren’t so heavily wolf-themed, I’d say a bear would be the best animal that’d fit his personality and energy. He’d protect you like a bear, he can be really fucking terrifying if he wants to, but he’d only use that power to make sure Aphmau gets what she wants and needs to make her happy. He’d never use that terrifying intimidation factor of his on his friends and loved ones, never as anything more than a single look that has a derailing Garroth/Laurance/Travis/Dante/Gene/etc. get right the fuck back on track and start backpedaling, like if they started saying or doing something careless or stupid that made Aphmau feel worse. He’s quiet and reserved with that tired, grounded, solid energy of a bear. He’s a big guy. But he can also be really soft and supportive and sweet. He takes more time to come out of his shell and let down his walls, but when he does, he really dedicates his life to the few people he manages to trust. And it’s that thick outer shell that makes Aphmau a good match for him, because she’s kinda the only character in the cast who’s able to bring him out of his shell so easily.

She’s kind and extremely friendly, unstoppably and unendingly so. She’s sweet and naive and selfless in the way that proves to Aaron that she’s not trying to get anything out of him, she’s not lying to him, and she would never neglect him or just…abandon him like a discarded toy once she’s through with him. She’s not scared of him. She sees the best in everybody, and sees that there’s something more underneath that scary, prickly outer shell of defenses that’s managed to push everyone else away and keep the likes of Laurance and Garroth and Katelyn on their toes. She sees what no one else does, she sees the true beauty and the kind heart he has underneath. Even in MCD, when he’s literally held a sword to her throat and threatened her life multiple times, she can still sense that he’s full of shit and there’s a kind heart underneath, and if she does a little cultivating, extends a hand of gentle kindness and genuine affection, a kind of love and affection he’s never really seen before and been starved of all his life… it works wonders, and he steps out to meet her. He changes, drastically, because she sees the best in him, and that makes him want to become the best version of himself that he can be, for her. Where he might hate himself and grapple with feeling unloveable, Aphmau is there to remind him none of its true. And so he tries to keep her nightmares away in return, sticking by her side, taking care of her, cooking for her, encouraging her to keep doing everything she does best, defends her against the bullies that make her feel like she’s not good enough, and takes her by the shoulders to remind her that she is good enough, and all the voices out there and in her head that tell her she’s not are full of shit. Because he knows first-hand, better than most, the good things she brings to those around her and the wonderful presence she is in others lives, and how wonderful she is as a person. He trusts her. He’s here to guide her along in her path to becoming her fullest self, to give her that last big nudge to boost her along the way. Likely on a cosmic level, mainly, with her becoming Irene.

He’s very sweet, he’s sweet to Aphmau, Aphmau’s even sweeter to him, and genuinely I’ve learned to love the big, fluffy guy and I really appreciate him and his impact on the other characters the more and more I see of him. I don’t really know how I would enjoy Mystreet or MCD or the Aphverse without him. If he were real, I would love to give him one big hug, I bet his hugs would be amazing (topped only by Garroth’s rib-crushing bear hugs)

[thedorkyidiot]

I 100%-ed Banjo-Kazooie, again. This took me 6 hours and 40 minutes

Thoughts on each world under the cut because why not!

Spiral Mountain has peak music and it’s a great tutorial level.

Gruntilda’s Lair is amazing with how whimsical it is, Grunty having her face plastered in almost every room, each world’s entrance looking like it’s from an indoor play place, the music! It’s great!

Mumbo’s Mountain is definitely a first world, nothing too crazy going on but nothing is truly bad about, comparing it to first world of Tooie tho there’s far less stuff to do, I mean Tooie does start you with all the moves from the previous game so makes sense. A pretty decent first world.

I died multiple times in Treasure Trove Cove for some reason, but it’s a pretty good world as well! I have no strong opinions on it like Mumbo’s Mountain but it’s definitely a step up compared to it.

Clanker’s Cavern is a good water level idc what anyone says, you hardly spend that much time actually under water, even when you are the longest you’ll be in it is when you’re releasing Clanker of his chains. You spend most of it on, in, or around Clanker, ITS A GOOD WATER LEVEL AND A GOOD WORLD!

Bubble Gloop Swamp is definitely another world lmao, nothing bad about it again I just have no strong opinions on it, it definitely exist, I will give it props to having some memorable set pieces like the giant gator head and the huge turtle.

Freezeezy Peak is one of the best snow worlds, one reason is that ice physics don’t suck mainly due to Kazooie, and also CHRISTMAS ITS ALL CHRISTMAS THEMED, gets you into the festive vibe just by listening to the music and looking at all the set pieces! I did lose to Boggy twice someone, my hatred for Boggy has now been established. It’s also the only time you absolutely need to backtrack and I think it’s fine in this game.

Golbi’s Valley sucks mainly because I usually remember what jiggies are where with the set pieces around them, EVERYTHING IS SAND AND PYRAMIDS HERE IT SUCKS! My personal worst world in Banjo-Kazooie but not because it’s actually bad but because of the fact I can’t remember where anything is.

I can’t remember a single thing I did in Mad Monster Mansion, which is weird because I like it but I guess there aren’t any like really memorable set pieces bedsides the main mansion in the center of the level and the maze I guess. It’s still really good and gives off the Halloween vibe!

I actually don’t dislike Rusty Bucket Bay as much as I would’ve thought, especially compared to a certain other world. You only need 3 things in the oily water and it’s not that hard to not fall off into the water so it’s not really an issue, and the Xbox version fixes the music notes issue so the engine room is fine, I mean I never usually die in there anyways but ya know lmao. Only gripe I have with it is there’s no set pieces other than the Boat itself, and I did have to look up where the last empty honey comb was (didn’t have to look up anything else in any other world) but ya know pretty decent world!

Idk if it was because I was really tired and it was late but Click Clock Wood has gone to one of my favorite worlds to one of my least favorites, it’s mainly due to the fact I kept falling down the damn tree and the fucking birds have horrible hit boxes and would knock me down the tree whenever I would try to kill them. Other than those two things the concept of going to through the same level multiple times but the seasons change showing the passage of time really cool! The winter section is probably my favorite but that’s probably because there’s no birds and hardly any enemies. I did have to look up where the last jiggy was for this world, I forgot that there was one in spring all the way at the top you need to get with the bee lmao. Pretty good stage I just hate the birds.

That has been my Ted talk and you’ve been watching a fish, smoking a cigarette (I’m gonna hate Banjo-Tooie)

[monkeydlesbian]

this is so random but,,, babysitting fukunaga’s little sister and he just looks at the two of u with the biggest heart eyes,,,that’s all i want tbh

babysitting

fukunaga shouhei x fem!reader

wc: ROUGHLY 1.6k ???

a/n: BRAINROT!!!!! this is literal brainrot i’m in so much pain i don’t know whether to bite u (affectionately) or kiss u for this. all payne no liam. also i didn’t mean for this to turn into a whole ass fic?? holy fuck i whipped this up in one night LMAO fukunaga brain just took over

warnings: maybe two (2) swear words, the beheading of dolls (just read. it will make sense), reader and fukunaga makeout, NOT PROOFREAD

You’re not exactly sure what you thought you were getting into when you had agreed to babysit Fukunaga’s little sister with him.

Sure, children are a little fucked up. But that’s why they’re so entertaining, right?

Fukunaga’s little sister is about five years old, and the embodiment of the “weird little girl” stereotype, you’ve come to find out. One minute she’s coloring (inside of the lines; really weird) in her jungle themed coloring book, and then the next she’s asking you if you’d like to watch her take the heads off of her dollies.

At first, you chuckled nervously at her and scratched the back of your neck, spitting out a meek: Yeah... haha... sure...

But then the smile she gives you is bright and toothy (or lack thereof; she had lost one of her front ones last week), grabbing your hand and dragging you towards her room. Your previous apprehension leaves you the moment you remember that you were just like her when you were younger.

No pink and sparkly nail polish, no princess playhouse, just you and the dead mouse you found outside that you had brought into the house. You remember your parents not letting you go outside for a week after that.

“Look, they come off so easy!” She squeals, excited, as she turns to you with the body of a doll in one hand and the head of it in the other. You stare at her for a couple seconds before you’re laughing, loud and genuine with your shoulders shaking and head thrown back.

You’re still laughing when you scoot closer to her on the floor, “Can I try?”

She looks at you with wide eyes and an excited smile, “You wanna rip their heads off with me?”

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind,” you say politely, a little whimsical and formal, a tone that makes her giggle.

You can almost see her vibrating from where she’s sat on the floor before she jumps up, head and arms buried in the bin with all of her toys before she comes back up, another doll in her hand with an almost manic smile on her face.

She stumbles over to you and sets the doll in your hands. It’s a pretty one, with long brown hair and bright blue eyes. Too bad they won’t be attached to its body anymore.

She squeals and giggles again as you yank it’s head off, a loud popping sound following.

“Wasn’t that fun?!” She asks you, sitting down beside you and leaning her head on your arm.

“Oh yeah!” You confirm, reaching your hand around to pat her hair, giving her a playful scratch on the scalp. “Can the heads go back on, though?”

At that, she sighs, a pitiful sound that makes your heart clench. “No... but Mommy always buys me more! She does get mad at Shouhei when he rips them off with me, though.”

You laugh at the mention of her older brother, your classmate, your friend, the guy you really really like.

“That Shouhei would help you with something like that, wouldn’t he?” You ask, not really searching for an answer. It’s not really a question, honestly. More like a musing, a dreamy sigh that escapes your lips.

“Are you Shouhei’s girlfriend?” She asks suddenly, curious, turning to face you as she places her head in your lap.

You gasp at the question before your cheeks and neck start to heat up, like you stuck your upper body in a furnace.

“N-No!” You say, stuttering at the bluntness of her question.

“Oh,” She says; Disappointment laces her tone. “Well, you should be! He really likes you.”

“H- He what?”

“Yep!” She says, her response really not making any sense, but it makes sense to her. She’s smiling like she knows a secret, one that you happen to not know about.

“I— Well— Okay...” You trail off as you think about the boy in question, probably on the couch reading a book or flipping through the channels of the television to pass the time.

Next thing you know, Fukunaga’s mother is home from work to pick up her daughter and take her to her Jujutsu lessons.

She walks into the foyer and takes her heels off, putting on her slippers, and then she’s smiling. Smiling at the sight of Fukunaga’s very pretty friend fixing the belt of her daughters traditional Gi in the living room. Fukunaga sits on the couch, watching them with a little grin. His mother remembers how fond he is of you.

“Hey, bug! You ready to go?” She asks, her smile growing wider at the sunshiny smile her daughter sends her when you finish with her belt.

“Yep!” She beams, before grunting and planting her feet in a fighting stance in front of you, never faltering as you do the same.

“That was amazing!” She exclaims as she relaxes her body, throwing her arms up in the air as she grins at you.

“Why, thank you! I had a wonderful teacher,” You compliment her, grinning as color starts to bloom on her cheeks. Your grin turns into a watery smile the moment she attaches herself to your side, slinging her arms around your waist and burying her head into your hip.

“‘M g’nna miss you, Miss Y/N,” She mumbles against the fabric of your sweatshirt, squeezing you tight in her little arms.

Fukunaga and his mother nearly melt at the sight in front of them. Fukunaga wears a fond smile, one that makes it look like he’s almost daydreaming.

Except he’s not. It’s real this time.

You chuckle at her before you’re squatting down at her level, her arms dropping to her sides as you hold her face in your hands.

“You’ll see me again, silly,” You tease her, grinning as she scrunches her nose up at you. “I’m gonna be annoying your big brother for the rest of my life, so I’ll be here for a while.”

She giggles at that, “Good! He deserves it. He’s a boy, and boys are smelly.”

“That they are,” You and Fukunaga’s mother say simultaneously. Your eyes grow wide once you meet her own, then laughter rings inside of the living room from the two of you.

You stand up now and accept the hug she gives you when she walks across the room.

“Thanks for helping Shouhei today,” She says with a sigh as you pull away, smiling at the sheepish smile of your own.

“It was my pleasure,” You say as you watch Fukunaga’s sister walk over to her mom and cling to her leg. “We had so much fun!”

“I wouldn’t consider ripping the heads off of dolls to be fun, but I’m sure she really appreciates it. I do too.”

Your cheeks heat up at the praise from your crush’s mother as you fiddle with your fingers nervously. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Fukunaga suddenly standing up from his place on the couch and walking over to stand beside you, placing his elbow on your shoulder to lean his weight onto you.

The little girl at her moms side seems to get a little anxious standing there, if the tugging of her blazer was anything to go by.

You say your goodbyes to Fukunaga’s sister and his mom, the two of you waving as they walk out the door together.

The door closes shut and now it’s just you and Fukunaga in the house. Silence fills the living room.

Suddenly, he’s grabbing your hand, leading you towards the couch.

Your eyes grow wide when he sits down and next thing you know, you’re being yanked to sit on his lap.

“F-Fukunaga!” You yelp, heat filling your cheeks at the intimate position he put the two of you in.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” He says, joking and innocent-sounding like he didn’t just place his large hands on your hips, rubbing his thumbs above the soft fabric of your sweatshirt.

“You— I— Wha—?” You seem to short circuit at the way he’s looking up at you, smile fond and eyes soft, like you’ve hung the goddamn moon.

“You’re good with her,” He muses, his hands shifting from your hips and over your skirt to rest on the bit of your thighs that’s exposed. “Not many people are.”

“Well— She’s uh— She was like me as a kid,” You nearly choke on your own words when you feel Fukunaga’s hand squeeze the curve of your knee, hooking his hand under it.

“You ripped the heads off of your dolls too?” He asks, an amused smirk gracing his lips.

You laugh, “No, but I did bring a dead mouse into the house one time. I wasn’t allowed outside for a week.”

This time it’s Fukunaga who laughs, eyes scrunched shut and head thrown back against the couch as his shoulders shake under your hands. You would’ve melted at the sight had you not been laughing too.

“Why haven’t I kissed you yet?” Fukunaga asks suddenly as your laughter dies down. He asks it like the question is dumb, like the answer is stupid.

“Why’re you asking me?” You shoot back with another question, trying your best to keep your composure at the feeling of his hands sliding up and down your thighs, barely slipping underneath your skirt for one quick moment.

He doesn’t respond.

Well, technically he does, if you could classify your eyes fluttering closed, his lips on yours, and a hand cradling the back of your head as a response.

His lips move languidly with yours. He’s warm, and you find yourself sliding further into his lap to push yourself closer to him.

A warm, large hand squeezes one of your thighs from under your skirt and you squeak, jumping in his hold. You feel his lips form a smile against yours and you fight the urge to pull away and smack him.

It’s actually Fukunaga who pulls away, but he doesn’t stay away for long, instead dipping his head down to leave kisses across your neck. They’re as light as a feather, barely there but you let out a soft moan nonetheless.

“Want you around here more,” He whispers against your skin. “She likes you, Mom likes you, I like you...”

“And your dad? The fish?” You joke, squeezing his shoulders when you feel his teeth nip at your neck.

“Why’re you asking how my dad and fish feel about you while I kiss you?” He laughs against your neck, his voice louder this time.

“‘Dunno,” You shrug with a sigh. Another moan leaves your lips when he sucks harshly at the column of your throat. “‘S important for me to know.”

He laughs again, “You’re so— Wow.”

“You think?” You giggle, a teasing lilt to your tone. You yelp when you feel a pinch on your inner thigh, pushing his hand out from under your skirt in retaliation.

“Shut up,” He says, no venom to his words. There never will be.

His lips move back up to your own, instantly slipping his tongue into your mouth.

“I’m supposed to be the funny one here,” He sighs these words against your lips, instantly attaching himself back to you once he’s finished.

“Didn’t say that had to change.”

“Shhh,” He shushes you, his tongue dancing with your own once again. “Just let me kiss you.”

[mammss]

date night with lucifer!

a/n: i’m very pleased you guys love my headcannons so much i can’t believe it!!! i wanted to make my first ever series so “date night with the brothers”has commenced my luvs! (GN MC btw)

i’ll try to post the others at a reasonable date so you guys don’t have to wait but i’m a student and i have tons of homework i have to do that i’ve been struggling with so please don’t be mad at me

and without further ado this ones for my lucifer simps out there

♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥ ♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

we all know lucifer is a busy busy man so he can’t just agree to a date night any time or day of the week it has to be planned all the way to the tiny small stuff

which you don’t really mind because if it means that you get to sit on lucifers lap while he gives you his full undivided attention and that lovingly gaze he only does when it’s just you around then who are you to say no?!

when it’s date night except him to suggest a fancy dinner date. basic only because this is lucifer we’re talking about but the idea never gets boring if you drown out the outside noise and the tasty expensive food what you really get is a normal conversation that you both never really get to have

and trust me you two have LOTS to say to each other so the dinner date never goes south

if only lucifer had rented out the place then he’d get to enjoy you, the food, the music he 100% requested before you guys got there and,his pesky brothers no where to be seen

like i said before having a dinner date is basically just having a normal conversation between the both of you and it makes lucifers heart swell with happiness being able to talk to you about normal stuff instead of RAD or diaovlo or his brothers or the never ending paper work that he has, he really enjoys these one hour just my guess dinner dates he wishes never has to end

but when it inevitably ends you two walk around the cold streets of the devildom still continuing your conversation. if you ask him he can and will show you all the pretty stores and all the memories he’s experienced in them and he’ll show you all the beautiful spots around the devildom where if you stand still and look you’ll see colorful bright lights that look like stars and faint noises that somehow piece together to create a whimsical sound you’ve never heard before but have heard before

in those moments it’s just you and lucifer. both of you would trade everything to live like this, in pure silence and warmth. in these moments lucifer will stare at you lovingly thanking his father only this once for creating someone so gentle, compassionate, proud, outspoken and, gorgeous to enter his life and make him week

lucifer would never tell you something like this but he wonders to himself how could you possibly love him? i mean after the many threats and glares he gave you during your time here how could you or how would you want to still be in his life? he knows his life is no cake walk so why hug him like you do every morning and cuddle him like you do every night, why do you stand right by him, a smile always on your face whenever he turns to see you?

you know the more you keep this up the more he’s gonna think of putting a ring on your finger. MC you’re tempting him...

when the night ends you’re both sad to go home having to deal with your normal activities the next day and the days after. but lucifer on the other hand has different plans...

he swoops you up in his arms his demon form now present and flys you around the devildom getting to now experience a birds eye view of the place. he then comes close to your ear and whispers sweet nothings and praises making you curl a smile and your face heat up just a tad bit

you both end up back to the house and travel to lucifers room you can imagine what happens next but i’ll give you my version he gently places you down and plays a record he got for the occasion. he reaches out a hand which you grab without hesitation and the two of you dance around his room until morning crashes the party.

ahhhhh! i hope you enjoyed this and i can’t wait to do the others!!! also happy late birthday asmo<3

have a wonderful day my luvs... MWAH

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 XIV

Warnings: dubcon/noncon/rape

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You try to adjust to life back at the palace.

Note: Let me say this is torture to write sitting with my bf because I wanna jump his bones but whatever. Anyways, this chapter is kinda just porn but you know we have some plot coming so enjoy while you can hahah.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Loki was reluctant to leave you and when he did, he left Hal in his stead. It wasn’t subtle. The boy watched you with his bright eyes and every time you stood and paced the room, he asked if you were well. It was rather irritating even if the boy meant well.

You sighed and dropped onto the chaise. You looked around the chambers and hunched forward as you held your face in your hands. Finally settled, as much as you could be, you were restless and you dared to admit it, bored. Hal sat in the armchair and held the same book he’d had in the carriage. You tilted your head as you admired the worn spine.

“Is there nothing I am allowed to keep me from going mad from this tedium?” You asked.

Hal looked up and blinked. He closed his book and rested it on his leg. “Can I ask you a question?” He wondered. You squinted but nodded. “You, by your own words, are a peasant. How come you speak so well?”

You shifted. You hadn’t expected that. You were unused to talking about yourself or thinking about your former life. It was so distant it felt as if it had never been yours.

“My uncle,” you said softly. “I worked in his pottery shop. We never made anything fancy, nothing for any noble patron, but when he was an apprentice, he was employed by a jeweler. Peasants don’t buy jewels. My uncle always said that a merchant should speak all languages, high and low, if he is to be successful, so he always reminded me to enunciate and use big words.” You scoffed and almost laughed at the thought, “Seems ridiculous now. He never made a pot for anything more than a modest holy man, and you know it is unseemly to accept coin from one anointed by the gods.”

“You made pots?”

“And chests, and plates, bowls, cups. We used clay, wood, we even worked some glass.” You explained. “My uncle’s wife died before he could have a child and my mother left me with him before she ran out.”

“And your father?” Hal leaned forward and winced at his own words. “My apologies, I shouldn’t--”

“My mother never married him proper.” You shrugged. “So I suppose, I’m a bastard too.” You touched your stomach. “Only entirely common.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” You let yourself smile, “You’re the first in this godforsaken place who’s even asked about me. No one else cares what I’ve done, only what I can do for them.”

There was a pause as Hal flipped the cover of the book open and closed. His cheeks coloured, as they often did when he was thinking. “If you are bored, you might read?”

“Read?” You laughed, this time aloud. “Peasants don’t read. We can keep a ledger of debts but letters, those are beyond us.”

He was embarrassed. His whole face turned red and his blue eyes rounded. “Well, I… I don’t-- I didn’t--” He cleared his throat, “I could… teach you?”

You almost laughed again. You were kept from it as a knot formed in your chest. It was a kindness you hadn’t known in your time at the palace. Sure, the king had brought you charcoal and paper, but he didn’t care that you couldn’t draw. Aside from that, he expected you to wait around until he required your service.

You were suddenly overcome. You felt as if you would weep and quickly blotted your eyes with your sleeves. You sniffed back the threatening deluge and sat up. “You would teach me?”

“If I can,” he said meekly, “I’ve never taught anyone but I could try.” He stood and set aside the book. “Would you want to?”

“I think… but what is there to read?” You asked. “I always just thought books looked so...complicated.”

“Oh, there are wonderful stories,” he chimed, “Of princesses and knights and kings and queens.” He went to the writing desk in the corner and shuffled through the loose leafs, “Even stories of commoners; of the poor out in the cold and the lowly soldier marching with his liege.”

He turned with a handful of untouched parchment and an inkwell in hand. He set it on the table and retrieved two pens from the desk drawer. He pulled a chair away from the table and looked to you.

“My lady,” he said.

“I told you, that is not my title.” You rose slowly and groaned as your hips ached.

“May I call you it anyway?” He asked. “I think it fits you.”

You chuckled at him and patted his shoulder as you sat in the stiff-backed seat. “If you must.”

“Well,” he sat and placed a pen in front of you, “I think it is best to start by writing out the letters. That is how I began.”

“Alright,” you took the pen and rolled it between your fingers. He slid a sheet before you.

“Just repeat as I do and we will go over the sounds of each letter.” He explained, “Don’t forget the ink.” He uncapped the well and shook his head at himself. “Better I am not a tutor. I think the sword might be better held in my hand.”

“Oh, but Hal,” you said, “A knight should have patience and I expect, you’ll need much with me.”

🐍

Your lesson was long and frustrating. Hal seemed much wiser than you as he assured you that you must be twice his age and so it might take longer for you to catch on. It did not help as you only felt even duller. The boy was patient, to a fault, even, as finally you drew out your entire alphabet and named all the letters by heart. He advised that you looked them over often and repeat them when you could until the next lesson.

He shuffled up the parchment and cleaned the pens. He tucked it all away in the broad drawer as you moved to the chaise and reclined as your lower back rang with pain. He snapped it shut and resumed the armchair.

“The king writes in his solar often,” Hal said, “So you might assume that desk in his absence.”

“Is that what he does when he is away?” You rubbed your stomach pensively.

“He reads, he writes, he meets his council and gives his decrees,” Hal said, “He is a king who keeps himself busy.”

“You would think he’d long for solace when he is not at his duty,” you sighed.

“I think a king is often lonely in his own way. His nobles only expect favours of him and he cannot meet any on even ground.” Hal mulled. “Perhaps, he might feel as you do; that they do not ask after him, only what he can give them.”

“Hmm,” you hummed. How much did Loki give to any? It seemed as if he only took. “Perhaps from his eye.” You tapped your fingers on a wrinkle in your gown. “How long have you served the king?”

“Since I was only eight years.” Hal said. “My father is an earl and Odin saw fit that I take service in the palace for my education. His own son needed an attendant. The king, a prince at the time, did think me too young.” He chuckled to himself, “He said I was as sweet as a maid and I would make a poor lord.”

“That isn’t very kind,” you huffed.

“Ah, but the king is only one who needs proof of one’s worth. He did see my loyalty and my diligence. He has kept me on and has made me squire. I cannot be more grateful.” Hal expounded, “When my training begins, I will no longer be expected to feed or dress him.”

“Oh,” you said glumly, “And when does he intend on that?”

“In the spring, when he is wed,” he answered, “When the snow has melted and the yards are not so treacherous.”

You were quiet. You sat up and turned your legs over the edge of the chaise. You leaned on the low arm and kept a pillow under your elbow.

“You will see me still, my lady,” he said, “I promise that.”

“No, I don’t think I will. I will be round and ready to burst by then and you will have a new duty.” You picked at the edge of the cushion, “And the king will have his wife. I think I mightn’t be here then.”

“Where would you be?” He asked.

“I don’t know. Hidden away so that the king’s shame cannot be known,” you shrugged, “What should a wife, a princess, think if her husband does keep another in his bed?”

Hal reddened and you almost giggled at his embarrassment, not thinking before you spoke. 

“I’m sorry,” you looked down.

“No, it is only… I am almost a man, I know of these things,” he insisted, “It is only, well, I cannot think of how he should have both.” He twiddled his fingers. “It makes me sad to think he might have to be rid of you. To think that things can change so quickly.”

“So is life,” you threw your hand up, “Nothing ever stays as it was.”

“I suppose,” Hal swallowed and opened his book, “But I would not dwell on it.” He flipped through the pages, “I’d rather enjoy things as they are now.”

You peeked over at the boy. As you watched him put his eyes to the page, you felt a bittersweet churning inside. He was so young, you recalled yourself at his age. You’d never been one for dreams or whimsical aspiration. Your uncle called you his little miser as you always saw the worst in the best. Life had yet to dispel your pessimism.

As he turned the page, another peculiar pang settled in you. You thought of your child and who they should be. You hoped they did not inherit your acrid gloom or their father’s malice. You hoped they were like the boy before you. You hoped you could give them dreams you never had. You hoped, you hoped, you hoped…

The door kept you from drifting further into your fears. You looked up as Loki entered and dusted the last of the melting snow from his shoulder. Hal was on his feet in a second and helped the king out of his damp cloak. You rose in turn, anxious as you bounced on the balls of your feet.

Loki’s pale skin was pinkened with the bite of the cold. He sniffed and bid Hal to fetch him tea. The boy flitted out obediently and left you to greet the king.

Loki rubbed his hands together as he went to the fire and warmed them over the flame. He didn’t look at you as he stared into the flames. “You may sit.” He said, “You should not tax yourself thus.”

You lowered yourself as he leaned on the mantle and brushed his fingers through his dark hair. He was still at his work in his head. You wondered why he’d returned so early as you expected he had much to do.

“I took my lords to arrange Tyr’s Hall for my brother’s arrival,” Loki said, “The snow has brought a tree down and damaged the roof.” He spun and his hands went to his hips. “We will have to relocate to the theatre. It is the only building spacious enough for the council and the jury and judges.” He paced and shook his head, “My father renewed that damned theatre over the courthouse. He always did like his shows. And now I must put my brother on trial as if it is some comedy!”

You watched him. He never spoke so much of his courtly troubles. You weren’t sure what you could offer. You knew little of what he did or could do.

“Ugh,” he stilled himself and held his hands out, “But I did come to clear my mind of these things.” He lowered his head and exhaled. He strode over to you and sat on the chaise next to you. “For all the nonsense, I could but worry for… the child.”

You nodded. “And me? You leave me with the boy so he can keep me from trouble?”

“I leave him as company. You needn’t be alone so much.” He leaned back on his hands and pushed his legs apart. “You don’t like him?”

“No, he is a sweet boy,” you assured him, “But I don’t think it fair to keep him locked up with me.”

“He does as I will,” Loki rolled his eyes, “As you do.”

You clamped your mouth shut. His usual mood had returned. You only suspected it to worsen as his brother’s presence loomed and the trial edged closer. 

“Your baker’s daughter did relent, at least,” he sneered, “Another witness for our cause though the word of a common whore will do little against a prince.”

You frowned. You didn’t want to think of Gilla or your visit to the dungeons. It made you shiver and you hugged yourself. He waved his hand in the air and chewed his cheek.

“There I go again,” He turned his head to you, “I did retire for the day and yet I cannot think clearly.”

You hummed. He sat up and rested his hand on his thigh, a tight fist as he shook his head at himself. He stretched out his fingers slowly and reached over to touch your stomach. It seemed to calm him so you let him.

“Your majesty,” you said softly. He looked at you again and drew his other hand from his chin.

“Mouse?” He gave a small nod.

“The child will need something to wear with the boots.” You touched your hips as they reverberated with a sudden pain. You held in a hiss and went on, “I can sew. Perhaps you might allow me a needle and some material to work with.”

“I would have my tailors take care of all that,” he drew a circle with his fingertips before he pulled away from your stomach. “I’ve staff to worry for the details.”

“But… but you leave me here without task. Without anything but a boy and the walls.” You leaned forward to take the weight off your hips. “If I had some work to do, the time might pass easier.”

His brows lowered and he pursed his lips. “I suppose you are right.” He looked up as a knock sounded and he called for Hal to enter. “Thank you, boy.” He pointed to the table and the cup was set down. “You may go and return for our supper.”

“Your majesty,” Hal retreated and the door closed firmly.

“I will have some fabric sent to you on the morrow,” Loki allowed and you squirmed as the settee made your bottom sore. “Would you sit still?”

“Thank you, your majesty,” you hissed and stood as you rubbed your hips, “It is the child. It makes me ache.”

He watched you grip your hips and the tension left his face. His eyes roved up and down your body and he rose. How quickly his mind flew away.

“I might help with that,” he purred.

“I’m not sure that is a solution,” you grumbled.

“Do not presume to know my thoughts,” he warned and grabbed your wrist. “Come. Lay down and I will ease your pain.”

You blinked at him and your doubt drew your lips taught. He snickered and tugged you towards the bedchamber.

“Time does you well.” He said as he drew you through the door behind him, “Your old habits do return to you.”

He was irritating you. The slither in his tone, the knowing, the taunting. He was, as he said of you, as he was before.

“And you haven’t changed at all,” you huffed as he sat you down.

“Did I ever claim it?” He winked and cracked his knuckles, “On your side, mouse.”

“I think I only need to recline for a time,” you argued, “Without bother.”

“Oh, a bother am I?” He arched a brow. He bent and came close enough that his nose tickled yours. “There are ways for me to hurt you without affecting the child. So, let us not tread backward, mouse.”

You couldn’t help how your anger spiked. Your emotions grew more and more erratic. You merely gritted your teeth and lowered yourself down across the bed. He spun his finger to have you turn your back to him and you obeyed if only to hide your spite. The morning felt as if it was long ago.

“Just… relax,” his fingers went to your hip and he kneaded the flesh, “Birger says a woman with child is usually uncomfortable, so let me help and you might not be so fickle.”

“Fickle?” You snipped.

“I could think of another word but let us not venture so far,” he teased.

You moaned in surprise as his touch eased your muscles. You heard his low chuckle in response and you went rigid again. He continued to massage your hip, then your back, and your shoulders. He was quiet and you were uncertain as your body eased and your mind raced.

“Turn over,” he bid and you did without resistance.

His hand was on your other hip as your arm fell back and you closed your eyes. If he was the reason for your tension, he was as good at soothing it. You felt sleepy as he carried on and his fingers danced up your side. He touched your stomach again and crawled upward until he was cupping your breast.

You opened your eyes and he was grinning at the sigh of his hand on your chest. You grabbed his wrist and he shook you off.

“Well, mouse, you’ve got me all stiff now,” he looked to his lap and you sighed. “I say, these are bigger with each day.”

“Ah,” you squeaked as he pinched your nipple through the dress, “And tender!”

“All the better,” he groped you again. “You needn’t do anything but lay there, mouse.”

He nudged you onto your back and you resisted until he pinched you again. He caught your hand before you could strike him and shoved it down beside your head.

“Think of the child,” he cooed as he stood and pushed his knee between your legs. “I thought we had an understanding, mouse.” He brought his other knee down and forced your legs apart. “Birger did say that these activities were beneficial to your condition.”

“Oh, he did?” You wriggled your hand as he pinned your other down and stared down at you.

“And it is not so beneficial for you to work yourself up,” he warned, “So you might calm yourself before you suffer for it.”

“You mean let you have your pleasure.”

“If it entails my pleasure, then I cannot complain,” he released your hands and grabbed your tits again. “Fuck, look at you.”

You squeezed your legs around him but made no move to resist. He’d worked himself into a lust and to resist him might undo all his kindness. As it were, his persistence was not so cruel as before. You could bear it if only for the hope of rest in the end. You could bear it for the life inside you.

“I do not know if I can restrain myself as I did last eve,” he grasped the top of your gown and with effort, tore it open, “But I will try.”

You grunted as he jolted your body as he bared your swollen breast. He bent and took a nipple in his mouth and suckled. It sent a tingle deep into your chest and through your core. You gasped and your hand went to the back of his head. He swirled his tongue around your hardened bud as his fingers played with the other.

He moved to your other breast, a trail of spit between them as he relished the way you squirmed. You couldn’t help it as the pain was laced with a sensation more intense than any you’d felt before. He grabbed the top of the tear already rent in your gown and ripped it further. He dragged his lips down your stomach and growled.

You cursed under your breath. You hated that you felt this way. He pushed your legs up as he nestled between your legs and his warmth spread over your pelvis. He dipped his head down and you flinched as he delved into your folds. You dropped your hand from his hair and he pulled it back impatiently as he buried himself deeper in your cunt.

You bit down as your legs curled over his shoulders, his fingers traced your entrance as his mouth teased your clit. He poked inside and you moaned. He added another finger and worked them in tandem with his tongue. You tangled your fingers in his locks and panted as you covered your face with your other hand.

He kept on until you were writhing and whining. You rocked against his face hungrily and the release swept over you violently. You cried out and locked him between your legs as you rode out your climax. 

He slowly withdrew and sat up as he kept your legs against him, resting your feet against his shoulders. He reached to the top of his breeches, hastily snapping the laces and parting the top. He freed his member and angled himself against your cunt.

He prodded you with his tip and slickened his cock with your arousal. Your hand fell to the pillow and you looked up at his dilated eyes. 

He entered you in a single thrust. You exclaimed and he wiggled his hips as he tested your limits. He gripped your thighs as he began to move against you with long, even strokes. You quivered as your walls clenched around him. You felt your arousal spreading across his breeches with each thrust.

He sped up, his nails sinking into your thighs as he groaned in delight. He threw his head back as his breath hitched. The noise of his fucking filled the chamber and bounced off the corners in a lurid echo. Your frantic pants added to the carnal symphony and fed your hunger.

You reached down to grip the loose fabric of his trousers as he rutted into you. His fingers fluttered down to your cunt and he played with your bud as he fucked you. Your feet arched and you felt another orgasm brewing inside of you.

“Please,” you gasped, “Fuck, fuck!” You were dazed from the sheer pleasure flowing through, “Gods, I fucking hate--” 

You came and your voice fizzled to a series of pathetic whimpers. He only thrust harder and faster. He pushed your legs down around him and planted his hands on either side of you as he groaned and grunted. He was close, you felt it in the way he quaked.

He pulled out of you suddenly and grabbed your hand. He wrapped it around his cock beneath his own and made you stroke him until he finished. His seed spilled out over your stomach, a few strings glossed over your tits, and he slowed your hand as he shuddered and stilled against you. He dropped your hand, his cum wet across your palm and rolled his shoulders.

His green irises focused at last and he sat back as he let out a long breath. He dragged a finger along your stomach, stirring his seed as he admired the small curve of your middle. He turned his hand and pressed two fingers against your cunt until you writhed.

“Thank you, mouse,” he rasped. “For a moment, I did forget my troubles.”

[soliloquiums]

You find him under a bench in Berlin, more skeleton than man. It is 1955. It is winter. It is the post war era. Behind every dingy, squalid corridor you're bound to find a hundred of them, the left over almost-corpses that god just wasn't kind enough to kill. Haunted by a memory of a Germany that just doesn't exist anymore with charcoal padded under their eyes, limbs trebling from one two many needles. You're sure that if you pulled that ratty, dark blue coat sleeve you'd find his similarly pockmarked with cowardice. Still, something draws you in closer, a shiver, something about him seems heavier, denser, like his very body extends with gravity. A planetary mass. His neck snaps up in a lightening motion and he smiles, his mouth a crooked line that resembled a mountain you swear you've seen in the horizon, somewhere in the east. Beggars aren't allowed to be this beautiful. You shudder. And you take him home.

To your surprise, his skin is deceptively smooth. Like untouched snow after a blizzard- and you search him thoroughly, almost desperately, during your intimate moments, for some sort of mark, some sort of human imperfection. He allows you, absently, as if he’s been through this before, and strokes your hair as his mind wanders into places you know you will never reach. But that comes after, first, you seat him on the rim of your bathtub. He is listless, almost bored, as you wipe the river of blood off his shoulder. There’s no entrance wound, exit wound, no highway crossing where it could come from and after 20 minutes of frantic scrubbing, his hand grips yours. “It’s not mine,” he tells you gently, with that same crocked smile, eyes a circle of glowing blue like the hottest kind of fire, and you pretend not to notice as a very, very fresh red droplet runs down your porcelain bathtub and streaks red onto the tile. There’s not enough of him and there’s too much. After a week, his presence on the couch, skeleton hands gripping a book or remote seems commonplace. His place at your dinner table, the second pair of shoes thrown carelessly next to your orderly ones. The permanent, watery brown stain on your granite countertop where he'd spilled tea and that neither of you bothered to clean up. He is an indelible and yet insignificant mark. Most days, it's nice, quaint, the gentle buzz from the television every time you come back home, his coarse laugh punctuating a mediocre sitcom joke, the way he threatens bodily violence on inanimate objects for refusing to bend to his will. Other times, he is something just north of uncanny valley. He is wearing human skin. Sometimes, at night, he doesn't seem to be breathing and every few weeks, for a second at a time, you'd swear his eyes flashed a macabre red. Two months in and he still doesn’t have his own clothes. Doesn’t have his own closet. You offer to take him shopping, to empty out another shelf but he only shakes his head gently, pityingly, “I don’t own things.” You’re not sure if he’s crazy or if he’s one of those communist philosophy types. You’re not sure if you’d care if he was. You press your lips together. Don’t say anything about how his old clothes seemed to have vanished from the laundry altogether. Three months in and you don’t know his last name. You ask once, casually, assuming that a man abandoned to the snow wouldn’t care much for family anyways. (You can relate, your strict, catholic mother and even stricter pastor father are tucked far away somewhere in a mountain village in Saarland. Out of sight and out of mind.) But he says nothing, or smiles in that whimsically gentle way of his, or stares blankly as if he isn’t sure what a last name is. Sometimes he carefully grasps your hands and kisses you as a distraction and in those moments you’re sure you could live without knowing. Sometimes, you see his gaze catch on the window and you know he is somewhere else. Doesn’t feel like he was ever here in the first place, a ghost boy that floats around your apartment and gives you frigid smiles in place of actual conversation. Once, he lays awake in bed with you and asks if you will remember him on your deathbed with an earnest that makes you want to climb out of bed and vomit. His eyes flash blood and pin you to the bed. Yes, you say, without really understanding why, yes even when you are gone I will remember you always even in the smallest things even when there is nothing more to remember. His eyes go back to blue and you drift off into dreams about an achingly vast field with no horizon and crooked mountains shaped like a smile All at once you are disastrously, cripplingly in love. Falling from a cliff. You try every method in the book to ground him. You bring him flowers in the middle of winter, you buy him books, watches, a cell phone, wine, chocolates, a car. You clean up your act, work out, pen him love letters in the candle light when you think he’s sleeping, insist on cooking the food you think he likes. You drive her to parks. A cottage by the sea, take him to every pretty place in Germany that might even slightly interest him. Cologne, Dresden, Munich, Heidelberg, Watzmann, Brocken. You He dismissed every material gift with an apologetic shake of the head, almost disappointed you don’t understand. His fingers wrap around your wrist and you can feel the cold from his skin drip into yours as he pulls you close, whispering gently, a reminder, “I do not own things.” And I cannot be owned, without saying. The places, however, slaps him out of despondency. He puts a hand to an oak tree in a park in Heidelberg and tells you, absently, his voice drenched in memories, “Someone I loved is buried here.” He sees things you do not. He stares at abandoned buildings with a remorse and vindication you do not understand. There is a tragedy under the bridges, in every lake, that he seems intimate with. In cologne, he strikes a match and lights up a car at 9:43 pm. The pretentious, red thing goes up in smoke a carcass of metal and charred leather seats. He is seething with rage and you don’t touch him because you know he’d burn you if you did but you watch. In rapture and fear. He seems to consider doing the same to the house, but doesn’t. It feels empty, the motion, like the brace before firing a gun. Except there’s no bullets. You watch as the dancing flames reflect on his face, still perfect as soot begins to gather like dark butterflies. “Why?” You ask, sacrilegiously. Breaking the silence of that distinctly consecrated night. Even the stars seem to be holding their breath. “Personal despair could never be desperate enough," he tells you, watching as the smoke gathered and swirled off into the open night sky. A translation of pain, “When tragedy happens, it needs to pass down the line, like a disease. There is an innate sin in the blood of some people.” Like most things, this escapes your comprehension entirely, and all you can focus on, even when the police sirens start blaring, is how beautifully the red reflects off his irises. He gives you a wayward grin. Like he’s done this before- and he has, you know he had- as he grasps your hand with a grip that for once feels real and solid as he darts the other way, dragging you along behind him in this mad dash. He laughs, the sound beautiful and loud and perfect, like church bells or sermon. Something holy, pure. You’re just sane enough to stop your ethereal, cackling lover from veering into oncoming traffic. He looks at you were a eerie intensity that makes you stammer an apology, an apology that he quickly cuts off as he pushes you against exposed brick and crushes his lips to yours. Your tongue flooding with the taste of him, a musky wilderness. There’s a sigh, somewhere, and even though you’ve had sex this feels like the most heart trending thing you’ve ever done in your life. You tremble. Your arms slip around his waist, pulling him closer, as if forevermore. As if drinking god. It’s enough to make you forget that it’s the 50s and that you’re both boys and that if any police officer caught the way his fingers were tenderly, tenderly brushing against your cheek, both of you would be carted off to jail for a decade but you don't care, really you don't, for the first time you feel as if you know him. Gilbert. Your Gilbert. - When the story ends, you're on the floor and the coolness of his skin seems to finally have crawled inside you, making a home amongst your other fragile, human organs. He stands above you with his red eyes, disappointed but not surprised. He mumbled something about this before, in the beginning, about what it would be like once you knew, what the pain would feel like. A sigh from him and you know without looking that all the stars outside the glass have blinked out, that every single other person in the apartment besides you and Him have gone still, paused or maybe dead. Maybe it was the whole street, the country, a few million bodies and still, how can it said to have mattered? "Ignorance isn't safety," He quietly tells your quaking form, in some something that could've been kindness, "Tell me, how many poor weeds have you stepped on, unthinkingly, in your lifetime?" The clock doesn't tick but you can feel the universe moving, entropy. You can feel the vastness of it, remember those dreams with out any horizons in sight and the knowledge weighs down on you like a million bowling balls. "You promised to remember me," He reminds you, his voice still quiet but brimming with an emotion that hasn't quiet come to a boil, "We had more than this." All of Germany shifts slightly, as if moving in its sleep, and the stars blink back, your breath releases. "If I've hurt you," he begins, but shakes his head, stumbling over words that he knows you won't ever really understand, won't forgive him if he lets you know. Resignation, tinged: resentment, "You'll go on living just fine." You look up at him once, I love you, your look says, but he does not look back. The door closes. There are no footsteps down the hall.

[7-wonders]

I Can Love You Like That

Summary: How do you tell someone you love them without looking like you’re a traumatized victim of a kidnapping (even if you are exactly that)?

Word Count: 3255

A/N: After the slowest of slow burns...well, I’ll just let you guys read and enjoy (or maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll hate it. Either way, you’ll have read it, so ha!).

But for real, let me know what you think? I put a lot of work into this chapter and I would hate for y’all to be unsatisfied or displeased.

(Adding in the list of previous Mad Love chapters bc I’m stupid and forgot to)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

The first thing that you do when you finally make it home is surprising to Michael. He had expected you to fall into your bed and nap, or seek out your cat, or even go into the kitchen and start baking to distract yourself from the trauma you’ve endured. What he didn’t expect you to do was to lay on the grass outside and stare up at the clouds. 

“Uh, (Y/N)? Are you okay?”

You nod, refusing to look away from the beautiful, endless sky. “Just...enjoying the sky.”

“Do you need anything?”

This time, you shake your head. Michael shifts back and forth awkwardly, unsure of what he should do. It’s not like you’re willing to tell him why you’ve decided to lay on the grass. He’d look at you with more pity than he already shows when he hears that you’re enjoying the feeling of the sun on your skin again after two weeks of thinking that you would never experience this again. 

“Okay,” he says cautiously. “I’m going to go inside and make a couple of calls I’ve been ignoring, then.”

You wave a hand nonchalantly in his direction. “Go call off Seal Team 6, Langdon. I’ll still be here when you’re done.” The door closes behind him after a moment of silence, and you let out a content sigh at the warmth your body is soaking up as you spread your arms to your sides.

As promised, you’re still in the same position that Michael left you in when he comes outside after a half an hour. He resumes his nervous shifting, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his hesitance. While you can understand why he would be treating you with such fragility, it’s still annoying to be on the receiving end of this.

“You can lay down with me instead of standing up, if you want.”

Michael doesn’t say anything, but you smirk triumphantly when you glance him laying down out of your peripheral vision. You can tell he’s never done anything so whimsical and carefree as laying down on the grass and finding shapes in the clouds, the stiffness of his limbs enough of a giveaway. Cautiously, Michael lays his hand palm-up on the ground as an open invitation to you. Stubbornness and knowledge wage a battle within your mind; although you would like to refuse his hand, you and he both know that your relationship has forever changed. Interlocking your fingers with his, he squeezes your hand as if to reassure himself that you’re actually here.

“I don’t have to have magic powers to know that you have a lot of questions.”

Michael laughs softly beside you. “You would be correct. I just...don’t know what’s okay to ask, or what I want to say.”

“Ask, I guess. If I want to answer it, I will. If it’s something I’m uncomfortable with, I’ll let you know.”

“I’m so sorry. For everything.” You look over at Michael to find that he’s already staring back at you. “Going to my father and complaining to him about your free will, which I love about you. Keeping things from you after the first time that he tried to poison you. That stupid fight we had. Getting you caught up in this in the first place.”

“Me being involved with you was not your fault, okay? I know that, and I need to make sure that you do too. You did not handpick me, or something like that. Your stupid dad told you what was going to happen, and you followed him because that’s what you’ve done your entire life.” You squeeze his hand to get him to look at you, shame averting his eyes up. “Okay?”

He nods. “Okay.”

A smile plays on your lips as you stifle a laugh. “God, I wish you knew pop culture, this could have been a perfect moment.”

“Why?”

“Nothing in particular.” It would take too long to explain to him.

“Was Madison the only one that physically harmed you?”

“Yeah. You know, for this tiny little actress who constantly wears designer clothes, she can throw a mean punch.” Michael doesn’t appreciate your joke, which is understandable.

“You won’t be pleased, but her death was extra painful.”

“I don’t want to say she deserved it, but…” But what? Are you really now condoning the deaths who have wronged you simply because your Antichrist husband has the ability to kill them? Said Antichrist husband can tell that you’re having a minor internal crisis about your forgotten sentence, and clears his throat to bring your attention back to the present.

“It’s okay to be conflicted about your feelings. She did terrible things to you, they all did. You don’t have to be happy about her being dead, but you certainly have no reason to mourn.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the one reassuring you.”

“I’m not the one who was kidnapped and beaten for two weeks,” he retorts. His eyes widen when he realizes what he’s said, but instead of getting angry, you giggle in amusement.

“Well alright then, is there anything else you want to ask me?”

“You’ve been through enough lately, you don’t need me pestering you with endless questions right now.”

If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re more than a little relieved. Fatigue has started to settle in your bones, and the thought of a hot shower to wash off all of the grime that a daily five minute shower under ice cold water can’t remove is extremely tempting. Whether you’re just that transparent or Michael’s tapping into his supernatural abilities, it’s obvious to him that you’ve just about reached your limit in this Q&A session.

“If you want, I can see if the kitchen staff will make your favorite food?” Michael asks helpfully. 

“Honestly, I just kinda wanna go to bed early. I’ll eat something more substantial tomorrow, but I can survive on snacks tonight.”

“Whatever you want, (Y/N). You’ve been through enough lately, nobody’s going to force you to do something if you don’t want to do so.” Michael stands up, gently pulling you up with him.

“Thank you, Michael. For...being so kind and coming to rescue me when I was a damsel in distress.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “While I would do it a million times over, let’s hope that I don’t have to do that again.”

Once outside of your bedroom, Michael pauses before hugging you. “For somebody who never experienced hugs before meeting me, you’ve become very good at them.”

“Just...wanted to remind you that I love you.”

You want to say it back, but your throat tightens at the reminder of Madison’s words. “I know. Trust me, I do.”

With one last smile directed towards you, Michael lets go of your hand and watches you walk into your bedroom. Even after you’ve closed the door, he remains outside in the hall, waiting until the water starts running to reassure himself that you’re safe.

You’ve never experienced a more heavenly shower in your life. While you could have stayed under the warm flow of water for hours, the idea of coming out looking like a raisin is enough to convince you that 45 minutes is enough. As you lotion your skin and comb your hair, you take great care to study and feel each action. If there’s one good thing to come out of this experience, it’s that you’ll never take a convenience like brushing your teeth for granted ever again. Falling back onto your mattress, you revel in just how soft a bed can be. Before you can even think of getting something to eat, your eyes slip shut almost against your will. 

It’s been maybe an hour since you’ve fallen asleep when you suddenly wake, hands clutching at your chest as your heart feels like it’s going to burst. While you had assured Michael numerous times that you were feeling fine about everything that had happened to you in the past two weeks, it seems as though you were attempting to convince yourself more than him. The nightmare that woke you, of Cordelia plunging a knife into Michael’s chest while the witches made you watch before turning on you, is burned into your eyes like you were looking straight at a projector. The more that you try to calm yourself down, the more that you get worked up. Gathering your blanket around your shoulders and picking the cat up from her position at the end of your bed, you shuffle out of your room and down the hall.

You hesitate outside of Michael’s door, not sure if you’re making the right decision. Regardless of your self-doubt, the sliver of light peeking from under the door is beckoning you in from a dark hallway where your nightmares lurk in just the other room. Quickly knocking on the door, you let yourself in when Michael says your name.

He looks utterly domestic, propped up in bed with his long hair spilling carelessly over his shoulders. Ignoring the fact that he’s shirtless (why does he have to show off his flawless physique while he’s sleeping?), you smile at the book in his hands.

“You’re finishing the Harry Potter series?”

Michael glances at the cover, as if unaware of what he was reading until just now. “I couldn’t just finish the sixth book and not finish the series. I’m far too invested for that.”

“You’ll have to let me know your thoughts once you finish.” 

“I wasn’t aware that a book could surprise me, but Snape killing Dumbledore was something I had not anticipated.”

You laugh lightly in acknowledgement, but remain silent otherwise. Even though you’re Michael’s wife, you’re not sure of your place in his bedroom, which leaves you snuggling the cat as you wait for Michael to make the next move.

“Is there something wrong? I went to say goodnight to you about half an hour ago, but you were asleep.”

“I--do you think I could sleep in here tonight?” Michael does a terrible job at hiding his surprise, so you elaborate. “I had a nightmare, and I’d prefer to not be alone.”

“You know you don’t have to ask.”

Setting the book aside, Michael pulls back the covers and moves over to allow you an ample amount of space. The cat jumps out of your arms and settles at the end of the bed, happy to be with her favorite person...and you. Sliding in next to Michael, he allows you to determine just how close you want to be. You choose to lay right next to him, curling up with your head on his chest. Slowly, he wraps an arm around you, stroking his fingers through your hair when you don’t flinch away. While this is new territory for both of you, it’s comfortable.

“Do you want to talk about your nightmare?” 

You shake your head. “It was nothing. Just…”

“Ah,” Michael says in understanding. “If it’s any consolation to your subconscious, I want you to know that I never stopped searching for you. It may have felt as though I had abandoned you, but I would never just leave you there.”

“I was worried,” you admit. “Especially after the way that our last conversation ended. There was so much left unsaid, and I thought I would never get to say anything to you again.”

“I worried too. I never got to tell you how sorry I was for my part in my father’s plan.”

“You already apologized this afternoon.”

“And I’ll continue to apologize for as long as I live.”

“I get it. I don’t want to say that you’re forgiven, because that was a really shitty thing to do.”

“Believe me, I know,” Michael laughs.

“But I understand just how powerful his influence is. Back when he pulled my subconscious into Hell, or the In-Between, or whatever you want to call it, I saw how persuasive he could be.” Michael knows that something more happened during that experience, something that you’re not telling him, but he lets it go for now.

“You don’t know how much this means to me, (Y/N).” He glances down at you, hesitant. “What...what did they do to you? During your captivity, I mean.”

“Besides Madison Montgomery using me as her personal punching bag? Not much in the way of torture. They made me brutally aware of the fact that I was bait so they could kill you and stop the world from ending. Kept me locked up in a windowless room for two weeks, forced me to listen to Myrtle droning on and on for hours on end.” Michael laughs at that, and you smile at the fact that your dumb joke is something that was able to take away from the sting of hearing you talk about your experience being kidnapped.

“I’m sorry about threatening Mallory.”

“She kind of deserved it.”

“Do you think you’ll ever talk to her again?”

“Wow, we’re really just knocking out all the tough questions tonight,” you sigh. “It’s only been a day since this happened, but I’ve thought about that numerous times. I used to think that, once someone betrayed your trust, they never got it back. However, in the course of our marriage, I’ve learned that there’s so many different factors that lead someone to make that decision, especially when it comes to the supernatural. If you would have asked me last year what I would do in this situation, I already know that I would have never talked to her again. I also would have thought I would never talk to you again, but I made up my mind as I was driving away that I was going to come back the next day.”

“While I’m not pleased that I messed up enough to be one of your examples, I am happy to know that you didn’t plan on leaving me for good.”

“I could never,” you say, “who else would I have to tease?”

Michael smirks. “You would have found somebody.”

“Nobody like you, though.” The way that your heart involuntarily flutters when Michael smiles at you, no matter how you try to convince yourself that you’ve developed a heart murmur, makes you think of your conversation with Madison. “You know, when Madison wasn’t physically assaulting me, we actually had a very interesting conversation.”

“You did?”

“She basically said that I’m stupid and naive, but she also had some very interesting points.”

“What were those?”

Your hands grow clammy at the thought of being mere seconds away from Michael knowing what had been said, anxiety trying to convince you that this is a conversation best saved for another time. “You know, I’m actually pretty tired. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

Rolling onto your side and pulling the blankets up to your chin, you try to sell the act that you really are tired. Unfortunately, Michael isn’t buying. “(Y/N),” he says patiently, placing a hand on your shoulder and moving you to face him. “What did Madison say to you?”

“You’re gonna think I’m stupid and suffering from Stockholm Syndrome or something like that.”

“I would never think that you’re stupid!” Michael strokes your cheek, making you look up at him. “Please tell me. I can tell that this is weighing heavily on you, when that’s the last thing you need.”

“She…” you sigh in frustration and rub your hands over your face. “Basically, she told me that I’m in love with you but I’m too stupid to see it.”

“And?”

“And I think she might have been right,” you blurt out in a rush, averting your eyes to the ceiling so you don’t have to look at him. 

Michael’s silent for a moment. “You...think she might have been right?”

You nod.

“Right in the fact that you’re in love with me but too stupid to see it?”

“I really hope you’re just quoting her words and not calling me stupid, but yes.”

“Oh.”

You sigh. “Yeah, that was about my reaction, too.”

“I still don’t think you’re stupid, but I do think you’re suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.”

“If I was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, don’t you think I would have fallen in love with you a long time ago?” Michael nods in contemplation, acknowledging your point. “I’m tired, Michael.”

“Okay, we can talk about this in the morning.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Rubbing at your face, you look up at him. “I’m tired of playing this game, and being stubborn just for the sake of keeping up appearances. I feel like I’m keeping up this facade simply as a ‘fuck you’ to your dad. It was originally for you as well, but now...”

“Are you saying that you actually do love me?”

“I first realized that I might love you after Dinah Stevens reversed what Satan had done to me. You were just...so sweet and caring. You didn’t leave my side once during that time.”

“How do you know that? You were unconscious.”

“I could feel your hand holding mine the whole time. Your remorse towards what Satan had done to me and your determination to nurse me back to health...nobody else would have done that for me. Not only did you push aside your own feelings, which I’m sure were extremely conflicted, but you dropped everything for me. I’ve never had another person forgo all their other duties just so they could take care of me.”

“You love me,” Michael whispers in reverence, eyes shining in the dim light. 

Madison Montgomery had told you that there wouldn’t be some “aha” moment when it came to knowing whether or not you were in love with a person. Laying in Michael’s arms, in the peacefulness of a shared bed, you realize that this is your “aha” moment. At least, it’s one of a few that you’ve had. Nevertheless, you know that this is a position you would happily stay in for the rest of your life. You’ve never felt this with a person before, and you doubt you’ll ever feel it with someone else again. In your heart, you know that Michael is it for you.

“Yeah, I love you,” you say just as quietly. “You’re the Augustus Waters to my Hazel Grace, only with no cancer.”

Michael laughs. “What does that even mean?”

“It relates back to the pop culture conversation we had earlier today, don’t worry about it.”

He shakes his head at your quirkiness, but grins at you anyways. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you,” you repeat. It’s a new phrase, at least in the way that you’re saying it to Michael. Although new, it feels natural and good.

“So what now? We’re already married.”

“I guess we’re just working backwards. Marriage, declarations of love, followed by dating? I would like to be courted by you.” You wink at Michael, a soft blush dusting his cheekbones.

“I suppose I could do that.”

“For now, though, I would be content with just falling asleep here, with you.”

He kisses the top of your head, making you smile. “I can do that, as well.”

Michael strokes your hair and cheeks, laying featherlight kisses on your skin until you fall asleep. And when you do finally sleep, there are no more nightmares. Your world, which has been shattered and hastily taped back together numerous times in the span of a few months, finally feels right once more.

//

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[soulmate-game]

Awesome, cool (on RE: Marivel). Caaaan we get... uh, Soulmate Game version of marvel/ml crossover? Marinette x Peter? Or just Marinette meeting Peter via Dr. Strange in your Lady Strange AU (post-endgame maybe??). Take your pick (or do both?) and thank you if you do write them!!

MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Yes.

This is a crossover between my Lady Strange AU and my Soulmate-Game AU, but since this is a different pairing it receives a different bond. I hope you like it!

—*—*—*—*—*

“I think somebody drew on me in my sleep,” was the first thing he told his Aunt and Uncle, who just blinked at him for a long moment with their toothbrushes half in their mouths. Peter was supposed to be getting ready for school in his own room, but instead, well.

His guardians’ eyes landed on the two childish, but extremely clean doodles on the top of Peter’s shoulders. They were ladybugs, one in red ink and the other blue. Only the outline was colored at all.

The little boy was tearing up.

“I don’t know how they e-ended up here. Why would s-somebody draw on me? It’s mean. Is this the boogeyman? Does…”

He was interrupted by May and Ben’s laughter, shrinking into himself as the adults tried to get ahold of themselves. Ben was the first to sober up, sinking to his knees and carefully laying a gentle hand on Peter’s naked arm, making sure not to come close to the new mark on his shoulder. The poor boy had stopped putting on a shirt altogether in favor of worrying over the doodles.

“No, no,” Ben soothed, running his other hand through Peter’s cinnamon hair. “No boogeyman. This is a good thing, Petey.”

He sniffled, looking up at his father figure warily, a hopeful spark in his eye. “It is?”

“Yeah. Do you remember what we told you about soul marks?” He asked his nephew, who was starting to calm down. The boy nodded, pushing his thick glasses back up his nose from where they had started to slip.

“Almost everyone has one,” he started to recite, furrowing his brows to try and remember what he had been told.

“And they can come in hundreds of different ways,” May filled in, kneeling beside her husband. “Some people have a picture or a name on them to represent their Destined. Some people are colorblind, or missing just one color until they meet their other half.”

“Some people can switch bodies or hear a song in their head that tells them how their soulmate is feeling,” Ben agreed. “There are tons of Bonds. Not everyone has a physical mark. But you,” he nodded to the ladybugs on his nephew’s shoulders. “You do.”

Peter started panicking again. “Oh no, I have two soulmates? What am I gonna do? What if they don’t like me, how can I love two people, I—“

“Relax, honey,” May rustled Peter’s hair with a soft smile. “I don’t think you have two, I think your mark is more complicated than that. Look, the ladybugs are exactly the same except for the color. The mark will probably do something exciting later, when you meet them.”

“Something exciting?” Peter parroted, making Ben chuckle.

“Yeah, but for now they are just cute pictures. Pictures which better be covered up by a shirt soon, or you’ll be late to school bud.”

“Ack!” He had forgotten he was still shirtless. “Sorry Uncle Ben!” Peter Benjamin Parker dashed back to his room as fast as his seven-year-old legs would carry him.

—*—*—*—*—*

Seven years later.

Marinette hummed, analyzing her reflection. Her halter top looked nice, a new design of hers. Tikki hovered near her, similarly happy with the clothing. And then the Kwami squeaked in dismay when her holder reached for foundation.

“Woah woah woah, what are you doing Marinette?!” The little god asked, tempted to take the makeup away. “The shirt makes your soul marks stand out so beautifully! I’m not a huge fan of spiders, but yours are so cute!”

The pigtailed girl blushed bright red, looking into the mirror to see both of the little doodles on her shoulders at the same time. They really were adorable, one cartoony spider on the top of each shoulder, one red and one blue. She didn’t wear the crop top to show them off though. She wore it because she needed to feel confident, and her usual blouses weren’t cutting it. She wanted to feel powerful, free, anything to escape the feeling of water droplets on her skin and the sight of people pinned by buildings, drowning. Blue skin, glassy eyes—

Marinette’s shook her head, taking a deep breath. The halter top she was wearing was a carefully, artistically dyed swirl of baby blue and baby pink. Strategic gathers in the cloth swirled the two colors around one another, bringing them to a small pinpoint of pale purple at the very point where the cloth had first been pinched and curled.

It was whimsical, it was childish and mature all at once. It was what Hope felt like to Marinette. The very thing she needed to try and heal from the whole Syren disaster a few weeks earlier.

“I like them too,” Marinette finally responded to her Kwami, running her fingers over the blue spider, the one on her right shoulder. It had completely vanished when she got home after the Syren attack, proving her father right from when he had told her all those years ago that her Bond was likely more than just a few doodles. “But only my parents know about them. I know the Miraculous suits are pretty much indestructible, but I don’t want to take any chances with this crazy world. If my shoulders ever get exposed while I’m Ladybug, I don’t want anyone to be able to connect that to Marinette,” she explained, slowly and regretfully spreading foundation over both marks and spritzing setting spray over it so that the makeup wouldn’t move anytime soon.

She knew why her blue spider had temporarily vanished. She had thought maybe she had just been imagining it before, when she would occasionally be in the middle of an anxiety attack and think that her blue spider was a little paler than usual. Or on the few occasions when she was going days without sleep, or overextending herself for her friends and her red spider would look a little dull.

She wondered what that meant for the person on the other end of their connection.

—*—*—*—*—*

And then she found out. She was fifteen, and it was about five in the morning. Marinette jolted out of bed, feeling a searing heat on her right shoulder. Throwing her shirt off, she saw it— her red spider was glowing. She felt herself trembling, but she didn’t know why. Tears were raining down her face, but she wasn’t sad. Her hands felt oddly wet and sticky, but they were completely clean.

The teenager shared a long, bewildered look with Tikki before carefully letting her fingers brush over the red spider. And she understood.

Anger. Guilt. He’s blaming himself. He’s dead. My fault. My fault. Blood. Is she feeling this? I’m making her feel this. Stupid. Worthless. Mistake. Mistake.

Marinette pried her hand away from the mark, gasping from the influx of emotions. She didn’t know details, probably to protect the identity of the person on the other end of the Bond, but she got the gist of it. The longer she had stayed on the connection, the more lucid thoughts she got straight from the boy himself. None of it had been promising.

She was able to surmise this; someone close to him died, or was dying. Her hands probably felt sticky because of the literal blood on his. Oh Kwami, he probably saw them die right in front of him. Probably held them.

And there was no Cure to reverse it for him.

But the most important part was that he was blaming himself for it, and Marinette couldn’t stand it. She ground her teeth, and touched the mark again with full intention of making sure he knew it wasn’t his fault. That he wasn’t worthless, and that she wasn’t mad at him for this.

But nothing happened. She tried touching the blue spider, but nothing happened. She tried meditating, hoping they had a mental connection—nothing. Absolutely. Nothing.

The heat was gone from her shoulder, the connection over.

Marinette raged at her inability to help a boy she never met.

—*—*—*—*—*

Four months later, she knew the situation was about to be reversed. She stared down at the old man in front of her, frail and weak but forcing himself to stand and hold the heavy box in the air in front of him. The weight made his twig-thin arms shake, and the pigtailed girl quickly snatched the item before it or the man holding it dropped.

“Master,” she whispered, her eyes frantically searching his. “Don’t. The magic, Tikki’s magic, can help. I’ve been practicing. Don’t—“

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, daughter of Sabine Cheng and biological daughter of Steven Strange,” the old man started, making Marinette snap her mouth shut with the force of his words. She didn’t know how he found out about her biological father, but didn’t bother asking. It wasn’t important, and he had too many possible ways of finding out through magic. No, his words right now were the only things she found worth focusing on in that moment. “I, Wang Fu, find myself too old to carry on my duties as Grand Guardian. But you are the best student I could have ever asked for. A True Ladybug with a soul of creation, a disciplined mind, and an open heart. I name you as my heir, and as the new Grand Guardian. Do you accept the transference of my title?”

Marinette didn’t want to. The wise eyes boring back into hers said that he knew, that he would understand if she refused. But Marinette also knew that refusing would not grant her the happy ending she wanted from this situation, only regret. His eyes said that he knew that, too.

“I accept,” she didn’t know how she was able to croak that out, but she managed somehow. “Wang Fu, I will gladly take on the title of Lady Strange, the new Grand Guardian. I vow to protect as you have protected, to guard the innocent and punish those who try to upset balance with the Miraculous. To keep the Universe as peaceful as possible with my power.”

“Then let my wisdom become yours,” Fu finished the sacred speech, closing his eyes as a bright green mist was born from his feet. It grew, sliding up his body until it exited his head in a giant luminous cloud like a swarm of fireflies on a misty night. Marinette refused to close her eyes, stubbornly keeping her gaze on Master Fu as the magical green fog covered her own body and sank into her skin. The knowledge of the Guardian’s language and traditions appeared in her mind, along with the rest of Fu’s wisdom and experience with the Miraculous.

“Young lady? Are you alright, you’re crying.”

Marinette took a deep breath, her eyes still locked onto the brown orbs that no longer recognized her. Slowly, she put the miracle box down on his bedside table.

“Yes, I’m fine. How do you feel?”

The old man wobbled, and the young girl had to catch him before he fell. “Let’s get you into bed,” she decided for him, getting a nod and a grateful smile in return. It was after he was in his bed and his eyes were starting to droop that he spoke again, this time in Mandarin.

Which Marinette now spoke, like a final gift from him to her.

“Are you my granddaughter?”

Marinette bit her lip, placing a gentle hand on Fu’s shoulder before responding in the same language;

“That’s right.”

She didn’t need a heart monitor to know when his pulse stopped. She could feel the magic of life drain from him, the Creation that made him who he was disappearing from his form. She dropped, her legs no longer able to support her weight, and sobbed into his comforter.

It happened then, she could feel a phantom hand on her right shoulder. Trying to provide comfort but not able to speak.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I want you here. But thank you. For everything. Thank you.

She didn’t know if she was trying to send those thoughts to Fu or to the boy trying to help her despite never having met her.

—*—*—*—*—*

This is part 1, because Tumblr doesn’t allow me to post the whole thing. Stupid word limits >:[ part 2 right here 

[dottie-wan-kenobi]

wishing and hoping

Remus/Sirius + “Will you marry me?”

---

They’re fourteen, and it’s summer, the end of the semester hanging as thick in the air as the humidity. Late afternoon has found Remus hiding in the shade under a tree, his back against the cushion-spelled bark, his legs splayed out in front of him. He feels dreadfully overheated (even with his sleeves and trousers rolled up some, his socks and shoes kicked off beside him) and sick to his stomach in a grieving sort of way, and he can’t stop looking at Sirius. He’s laying next to Remus, similarly barefooted, his cuffs rolled up as far as they’ll go, the top buttons of his shirt loose. His hair isn’t long enough to be put up, yet, but it lays about his head in perfect waves. Arms tucked behind his head, he stretches like a cat and makes a sound like he’s never been so content.

Remus looks away, his cheeks surely red, but there’s nothing nearly as interesting to turn his attention to—James and Peter and some others playing Exploding Snap, Marlene skipping stones as she chats up a girl, Lily and Mary talking to younger Gryffindor girls—so he turns back to Sirius.

Their eyes meet. Sirius has that air about him, like he’s got his mind set on something and won’t let go of it for anything. It makes Remus nervous—the last time he’d seen that look, Sirius had found out that Remus thinks he might be bent. Just a little. And Sirius had said, eyes bright and searching, “I think I might be too. Just a little.”

They’d agreed not to tell anyone else yet, struck by the opportunity to have a companion, someone to keep a secret with, and by the fear that their friends won’t understand. But they haven’t spoken about it together yet, either, and part of that is Remus’ fault. Sirius has tried, when lights went out at night and it was only the two of them awake in their room and Remus pretended to sleep. 

He knows they need to talk about it before they have to leave for the summer. It won’t do to go all that time, questions building up and no answers or any way to get them. But thinking about it this way leaves a lump in his throat, his fingers pulling at the strings of his shirts. While he’s never quite minded getting to go home before, he does this time, and he isn’t sure why. Or, well, he has some idea but he doesn’t want to think about the possible reasons for it.

Sirius breathes out, looking up at the clouds, releasing Remus from his clutches. He asks, “Do you ever think about the future?”

“You know I do.”

“Well, humor me, would you?”

Remus shrugs, even though Sirius isn’t looking at him, and picks at his fingers. He has a hangnail, and he stares at it as he says, “I’ll have to get registered once I get out of here. Probably work in the Muggle world, since no one will want to hire a…well, me. They won’t want to hire me.” He can already imagine the kinds of jobs that’ll be available to him—important work, he knows that, but not what he wants. “What about you?”

“I’ll go where James goes, I suppose.”

“What about work?”

“What about it?”

“What do you think you’ll do?”

Sirius pulls an arm out from under his head just to wave his hand in the air dismissively. “Haven’t a clue. Probably nothing. I don’t want to work, anyway. Do you think I could pull off being a house-husband?”

Remus sighs, gazing up through the branches of the tree.

For a few moments, they’re silent, and it’s comfortable even if he’s wishing for patience. But then Sirius breaks it, because he hates silence and never lets it last as long as Remus would like him to. “If you could have any job in the whole world, what would you be?”

“I can’t—”

“Guaranteed you’d get it,” Sirius adds, turning to peek at him. 

Remus gives in, knowing it’ll be easier to just go along with wherever Sirius is trying to take him. “A teacher, I suppose.”

“Here at Hogwarts? Or in the Muggle world?”

“Well, I don’t exactly know what Muggles study, now do I?”

“So here, then.” Fluidly, Sirius sits up and turns to face him, his legs crossed. “Would you want to live in Hogsmeade, or somewhere else?”

He shrugs again. “I don’t know, wherever they’d take me would be enough.” 

“But if you were allowed anywhere,” he stresses.

He knows Sirius isn’t trying to be mean, but he can’t help his sharp tone when he replies, “If was allowed anywhere?”

Sirius’ eyes widen as he realizes what he said, his mouth turning down apologetically. “I meant—I just mean, imagine you could go anywhere in the whole world! Price doesn’t matter, and neither does the fact that you’re a—you. Where?”

“Why are you being so pushy?” Remus demands, feeling like the butt of some joke he doesn’t understand at all. “Why do you care where I’d want to live?” 

He scowls now, crossing his arms. “I’m just curious! Why won’t you tell me?”

“I don’t see why you should care if you’re just going to go and live with James anyway.”

“Well maybe I’ll go live with you! And I want to know where we might hypothetically live, is that so wrong? Just tell me!”

Remus throws a hand over his eyes, trying to calm down—the dark, conveniently free of Sirius, helps somewhat. Without pulling it away, he answers, “I don’t know, okay! I’ll be lucky if I don’t end up homeless or in with the—the you-know-whats. I’ve never thought about it before.”

Well, he has. But it hurts enough to get his own hopes up, nevermind sharing such private thoughts with Sirius. Maybe if they were hidden in one of their beds, a silencing charm up, lumos lighting them up enough to see, enough for Sirius to pretend Remus didn’t have tears in his eyes. But no—they’re sitting on the lawn under a tree, and their friends are all around. This privacy they have is fragile, and will be easily broken whenever James decides he’s bored and wants Sirius’ attention. He can’t admit to what he wants for himself here, or that he’s actually thought quite extensively about his future—a teaching job at Hogwarts, where his class will be fun and whimsical while still educational; a cozy house with a room for the moons that he’ll try to occupy on other days, a big bed to snuggle down into, someone by his side. He really is only a little bent—he wouldn’t mind a wife, he thinks, remembering flashes of imagined curves, a closet with his things on one side and beautiful dresses on the other. But usually when he imagines this home, he thinks of Sirius beside him. In bed, and in the kitchen, or taking a bath while Remus brushes his teeth.

He can’t possibly tell him any of this. He’s humiliated enough.

Sirius reaches out to rest a hand on his knee, breaking into his thoughts. When he speaks, his voice isn’t gentle like James’ would be or afraid of saying the wrong thing like Peter’s would. There’s a kind of unshakable confidence that only he has when he says, “That will never happen. I mean it, Remus. You’ll always have a place with me.”

“I—I—” He doesn’t know how to say thank you, or I won’t be your charity case, or anything at all.

“It’s not charity,” Sirius says, rolling his eyes. “I know that’s what you’re thinking but it’s not! You’re one of my best friends, and I’ve heard what the you-know-whats are like, and I know you wouldn’t be happy there. And I want you to be happy. So does Hogsmeade sound okay or would you prefer somewhere else? Ottery St Catchpole? Godric’s Hollow? I suppose we could live in one of the Muggle cities….”

“Those sound alright.” He shifts uncomfortably, and though it wasn’t his intention, Sirius takes his hand away.

He starts to muse aloud about the advantages and downfalls of the various towns, occasionally glancing at Remus like he expects him to be taking notes or something. A few minutes, he trails off, contemplative. “If you don’t like those options—”

“No, no, I do, they’re fine—”

“—we could always live in Paris, you know. Or Rome. Or we could go back to Wales?” He offers. “If you want.”

“What about what you want?” As soon as he says it, he regrets it—this whole conversation has left him wrong-footed and he’d meant to ask why on earth Sirius is acting so weird, not bring attention to the fact that this is all very one-sided. “No, wait, I meant—why are you—what are you—I don’t understand what’s going on right now,” he finally settles on. “You’re going to live with James, and the only way you and I will ever be together—live together, I mean—is if things get so bad for me I have no other choice. So—so why are you—”

“You know,” Sirius interrupts, a casual air about him that Remus knows is an act. He looks at Remus head-on, but he’s nervous—it’s obvious by how he’s ripping blades of grass out of the ground, one by one, twirling them around his fingers as he pulls. “We could just skip that step all together. Just follow James wherever he goes, be his next door neighbors. Peter can be on the other side.”

“Sirius, that’s—” ridiculous, he’s going to say, utterly bonkers, but Sirius talks over him.

“As long as we’re together, I don’t care where we live really. Just not London. That’s the last place I want to go.” He looks away then, to the grass. “Remus, I know this will sound mad, but…. Will you marry me?”

“We’re fourteen,” Remus says without thinking. Then—”What?”

“Will you marry me?” Sirius repeats, peeking over through his fringe.

“Are you—Sirius, don’t joke.” He can feel his whole face warming at the thought, though with humiliation or anger, he doesn’t know. He’d thought this would be something Sirius could be, well, serious about, that he’d understand. Remus can take all kinds of ribbing and hazing, but he cannot take this.

“I’m not joking!” Sirius is much too loud, his eyes widening again. “Remus, what we talked about—I thought—I mean, we get along and if we’re both you-know, then why not—”

“We’re fourteen,” Remus repeats. His heart is pounding at top speeds, and he feels like he’s just run a marathon, his whole body tight with shock and all kinds of other emotions he doesn’t want to think about. “And there are others like us out there, you know, and maybe you’ll find one who you could actually love if you just take the time to find them—”

Sirius makes a strangled noise. “I could, I absolutely could love y—”

Remus waves his hand agitatedly. “It doesn’t matter! You’re nutters.”

“So you don’t want to marry me?” It’s a demand, his eyes hard and piercing. But Remus can tell he’s hurt—his hands are in fists now, trembling against the ground.

“I—” He thinks about those fantasies. Thinks about Sirius with a ring, or sitting at a table with his bedhead and a copy of the Daily Prophet while Remus makes them tea. Not having to sneak into Remus’ bed because it’s his bed too. Mornings after full moons, Sirius hovering over him and trying to distract him from the pain. Kissing and holding each other the way Remus has seen two aunts do. Meekly, he answers, “I didn’t say that.”

“Then—”

“Oi!” James calls, bounding over with Peter a few steps behind. “What are you two bickering about now?”

“Nothing,” Sirius says at the same time Remus says, “It doesn’t matter.”

James and Peter pretend to back off, their hands up, vowing they won’t ask again. It makes Sirius smile, but Remus scowls, not ready to be eased into calming down. James nudges him with his foot, and Remus makes a grab for his ankle, trying and failing to trip him.

Laughing, he bounces away, and Peter shuffles closer to Sirius, obviously not wanting to face his wrath either.

“Come on,” James says, pulling Sirius to his feet but speaking to them both. “We need two more for a match of football.”

“Ask Marlene,” Remus snaps, sinking back into the tree. If any of them try to drag him along, he has no compunctions about fighting, none at all.

“What’s going on with you?” Peter demands after a few moments of quiet. 

“Just leave him alone,” Sirius replies, grabbing his shoes. “Remus, watch my stuff, will you?”

He grumbles an affirmative, and they leave. Their voices carry long enough for him to hear the other two questioning Sirius, and it does nothing but make his temper raise even higher.

Furious tears well in his eyes, and he slams them shut. He doesn’t know if Sirius was mocking him or not, if he honestly thinks that just because they’re both a little queer, that means they should get together. He doesn’t know which one is worse. It doesn’t help that Sirius seems to have all these plans for them, an expensive and lavish life that Remus will never be able to afford, even if they split the costs. 

It takes until the game is over for him to feel like he might be able to look at Sirius without his head exploding in anger and embarrassment. When the others come back, Sirius slips his bag over his shoulder without looking at him. “Thanks,” he says, and is off before Remus can decide what to say back.

“You know,” James sings, “He told us all about it. So if you wanna talk about what happened, we’re here for you, okay?”

Peter nods along, and it would be convincing if Remus weren’t absolutely sure that Sirius would never out them both this way.

“Piss off,” Remus says, and asks about the match before either can try and keep the subject going.

They don’t mention it again the whole rest of the semester, and Remus spends the summer fretting terribly about it, waking from dreams that leave him reaching out across his mattress for someone who isn’t there. And when they come back in the fall, Sirius manic with his returned freedom, they don’t mention it then either. But there are nights when Sirius slips into his bed and they talk about how they’re both just a little bent, feeling less alone with each conversation, and slowly the tension eases from Remus’ shoulders.

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

They’re twenty-seven, and it’s winter, apprehension hovering around Remus as much as their breaths do outside. Early morning has found them laying in their bed, tucked under the light covers and sharing body heat as the weak sunlight filters in. He feels warm (a good, comfortable kind that goes deeper than the skin) and nervous though he thinks he probably shouldn’t, and he can’t stop looking at Sirius. He’s laying next to Remus, dozing off with one hand resting under his head, the other holding the small of Remus’ back. Strands of his hair have come out of the bun he put it in before bed last night. As Remus watches, he stretches out his legs, cold air seeping in from where the blankets get displaced by the movement.

He doesn’t think he ever wants to look away.

Looping his arm around Sirius, he shifts them so he’s on his back, Sirius laying on his chest. It’s enough for him to open his eyes, soft but probing too.

“C’mon, wake up,” Remus says, quiet, not wanting to breach the atmosphere.

Sirius groans and ducks his head, forehead pressing to Remus’ collarbone. “Too early,” he complains.

He can’t help but smile, amused. They woke up for the first time an hour before, and it certainly wasn’t because Remus wanted to. He’d gotten with the program eventually, of course, but at first? All Sirius. “There’s something I want to talk about.”

“Something bad?” Sirius checks, peeking up.

“Well, I don’t think it is.”

“Will I?”

Damn, he hopes not. But he plays along, making a contemplative face. “Depends. Are we gonna talk about it, or are you gonna sleep again?”

“Maybe I will,” Sirius grumbles, not really all that upset. He sits up a little, and Remus’ hands find his hips without thinking, stroking his thumb up and down Sirius’ bare skin. “What is it, then?”

“Do you ever think about the future?”

Sirius stares down at him, some realization sparking in his eyes. “If you’re asking about my inheritance—”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Remus says, petting Sirius’ flanks like he does Padfoot’s, hoping to calm him down some. It won’t do to have him all ready to argue if Remus is going to take them where he’s trying to go. “I meant, do you ever think about what we’re doing here?”

“We live here,” Sirius says blandly.

“Well, yes—”

“And this is our bed, so clearly we’re laying in it. When we get up, we’ll visit the loo and then go have a late breakfast and maybe I’ll take another stab at getting the telly and the magic to work. We’ll have lunch and I’ll pester you about getting a dog again and you’ll say, ‘No, Sirius, we already have one and that’s you’. Then maybe I’ll take you in the den, and we can lay on the floor for a while complaining about the cold. Supper will be something delicious, no doubt because I’ll make it, and then when we’re done eating, we can take a bath together.”

“I meant more generally,” Remus cuts in. “Though that all sounds lovely.”

Sirius smirks, but it’s fleeting. “Generally? I think we’re making a life together, Moony. Why, what do you think we’re doing here?”

“The same thing as you,” he reassures, and means it with everything in him. Life with Sirius is amazing, and it has been since they got together five years before, and he hopes—embarrassingly and achingly hopes—that he’ll get to have it for the rest of his days. “But maybe it’s time for a change?”

They’re quiet for a long moment, their eyes locked. Remus can practically hear Sirius’ mind whirring, something in his gaze flickering. He can probably the see right through Remus, can see where this is going, is trying to figure out how to say that he likes them the way they are and doesn’t want any more, doesn’t want a more formal attachment than their names together on a lease.

Finally, Sirius sits up fully, pushing the flyaways out of his face. When he speaks, his voice is tight, straight-forward. “Are you trying to break up with me?”

It takes a moment for his words to get through to Remus, the very idea feeling foreign and wrong, and then he splutters, “What?”

“Are you trying to break up with me,” Sirius repeats. “Because if you are I’m going to be really, really upset. I’m not letting you go without a fight, okay, I thought we agreed that if we were having issues we’d fucking talk about them instead of just—”

“Sirius,” Remus calls, feeling frantic.

“—just letting it all build up and explode in our faces so it’s too late to save anything,” he blazes on. “You said that yourself, and now you’re not even going to—? What was it? What did I do? We’re gonna talk about it, we’re gonna sit down and go over everything, we’ll—I’ll compromise if I have to, and if you still feel like it’s—this is—we’re—if we can’t overcome it, then—then fine, I’ll—”

“Sirius!”

“—I’ll go, okay, you can have the cottage, I would never kick you out, I hope you know that—”

For a second, he’s thrown back to the first time they talked about this, and all the other times Sirius was weirdly adamant about Remus having some place to live. It makes him feel weirdly light-headed—that he would worry so much about it in the first place, that even now as he thinks he’s being broken up with, he’s still looking out for Remus. They’ve been together for years, friends for almost two decades, and it’s far from the first time Sirius has been considerate of him. But it feels so big this time, and he isn’t sure why.

“Sirius, for Godric’s sake, will you listen to me?”

Finally, finally he stops, but he pulls away, too, lifting himself off Remus’ lap and landing beside his legs. There’s a distance there, and by the way Sirius is scrutinizing him, he can easily see tears in his eyes, and it makes Remus feel like his insides have been scooped out. 

This isn’t what he wanted, not what he expected to happen at all. For years, ever since they were fourteen, he’s been dreaming of this moment, all the different ways he could ask or be asked. He knows Sirius occasionally has a hard time taking the lead in their relationship, and from what James had said, this is one of those areas, so Remus had decided he’d do it. A comfortable place, like their bed, alone so there’s no pressure, broaching it the same way Sirius had thirteen years before because it had seemed like a good way to remind him they’ve been here before.

Clearly he’s screwed up somewhere, though, and has to backtrack quickly before things really go to shit.

“Padfoot,” he says as calmly as he can, speaking around his heart in his throat. “I’m not trying to break up with you. You didn’t do anything wrong, there’s nothing—that’s not—I mean, we’re okay. Fully, totally okay, alright? If I did have an issue, I would bring it to you like we agreed.”

“Then I don’t understand,” Sirius says, his words glancing past in the face of Sirius’ hurt and confusion. “Why do you want things to change? If we’re so okay, then we don’t need it.”

“We are okay,” Remus says, more of a snap than he wants it to be. It’s not Sirius’ fault he’s misunderstanding what’s going on here. Apologetically, he reaches out for Sirius’ hand, and he lets him take it, pressing his thumb to Remus’ wrist. “I’m—I’ve right mucked this up.”

Sirius makes a noise, not quite a scoff or an agreement. Just an acknowledgment.

“What I meant by all this was, do you ever think about our future? And would you ever want to…”

“Want to what?” Sirius coaxes when Remus has taken too long. He still sounds upset, but he’s listening, and that’s enough for now.

Remus meets his eyes, and a bolt of fear overwhelms him for a second. He and Sirius haven’t talked about taking this next step, not really. For all that they’ve joked about certain things—being Harry’s gay uncles, getting a dog to raise as their own baby, being old men still bickering about the laundry—they’ve never quite sat down and just said it, that they want to marry each other. Remus hasn’t admitted it to Sirius since he was fourteen. It’s been too long—and now he’s thinking he really should’ve brought it up before now, to gauge where Sirius is at with this. Too late now, he supposes.

“Want to marry me,” he says, then clears his throat, and asks, louder, trying to sound confident, “Will you marry me, Sirius?” 

Sirius blinks, some of the hurt falling away to make room for surprise. “What?”

“Will you marry me?”

“Don’t joke, Moony,” he says, a waver to his voice. He pulls his hand away, his mouth turning down. “If you’re joking right now….”

“I’m not, I’m not joking. Let’s get married.”

“We’ve never—we can’t—Remus.”

He reaches out and cups Sirius’ shoulders, and Sirius leans in, nearly collapsing into his lap. It was a mistake, he realizes, to go about it this way. “Look, if you don’t want to, you can say no. I know…I know I didn’t really go about this the right way, I should’ve asked you about it before I just sprung it on you. So if you want to say no, I won’t mind.”

“You won’t mind?” Sirius chokes. “Are you—did you just ask me to marry you and now you’re saying you don’t want to?”

He groans, thoroughly irritated with himself for having so much trouble communicating this. “No! I want to get married to you, I’ve wanted to since—well, for a very long time, okay, all I’m saying is that if you want to wait or don’t want to at all, that’s fine. We can keep doing what we’ve been doing, I won’t be upset. I’ll be a little upset,” he corrects, already planning ahead for a miserable night of mourning the chance to call Sirius his husband. “But I’ll get over it.”

Sirius breathes in deeply, and out just as loudly. “Give me a second,” he says, and doesn’t wait for a response before he shuts his eyes and lays his head in the crook of Remus’ neck. Immediately, prickling anxiety fills him, but he figures letting Sirius gather his thoughts is the least he can do, and opts for rubbing long circles on his back.

They’ve found themselves in this position many times before, sometimes like this and sometimes flipped. He’s come to the sound conclusion that there’s no better place to be than in Sirius’ arms, or holding him, nowhere safer or more comforting. Even now, as emotions pile up—fear and guilt and embarrassment and so, so much love—he feels…okay. It’s easy to reassure himself, because he knows even if Sirius says no, they’ll talk about it and they’ll be fine.

“I’m ready to talk,” Sirius says, putting on airs again, but doesn’t pull away. His arms loop around Remus’ waist, one hand holding the other wrist against the small of his back.

Remus presses his cheek to his head, breathing in his shampoo and sweat and the slight dog smell he can never get rid of. He whispers, “Okay.”

“I—you’ve gotta know, Moony. I’ve wanted to be your husband for…ever. Since I found out it could maybe come true some day. Me not wanting to marry you isn’t the issue here.”

“But there is an issue.”

“Well, yeah. I don’t know about you, but I don’t know anyone who would officiate, and even if we did find someone, it wouldn’t be legal, would it?”

“They’re trying to get it legalized with the Ministry,” he reminds, though a stab of something—guilt and false hope and a familiar, numb anger—hits him as he says it. The chances of it actually happening… Lily didn’t seem optimistic, the last time they talked.

Sirius scoffs. “You know how that’s going to go.”

There’s no use denying it. Still… “Yeah, but there’s always a chance. Lily’s on the committee. That’s at least one person on our side.”

“That’s true…”

A few moments of quiet pass them by. They both seem to realize how cold it is in the room at the same time, so Remus grabs a throw blanket from the end of the bed to tuck around their shoulders. Sirius hums contentedly, and the sound of it shoots right through Remus. He can’t help but break the silence. “Pads.”

“Yeah?”

“If we could find someone to do a ceremony, would you want to do that? Whether it’s legal or not.”

“Of course I would. Finally get to see you in a proper suit, mmm.”

Remus grins, poking at him and getting his hands playfully slapped away for the trouble. “Who said I’d wear a suit?”

The look he gets is a wonderfully amusing mix of horror and disappointment, and if Sirius says anything, he doesn’t hear it over his laughter. By the time he’s calmed down, Sirius has them laying back down, curled up together like when they woke up. He wants to ask more questions—what kind of venue, what season, if he’s as committed to Harry being the ring bearer as Remus is—but they can wait. He ducks his head down, breathing in Sirius and their bed and the cold air, and lets himself bask in the realization that, sooner or later, they’ll be husbands.

(reblogs greatly appreciated! 🥺❤️)

[tragicallywicked]

JALICE SECRET SANTA 2020 ↳ the holiday, a jess & alice christmas story part (1/2) gift to @goldeneyedgirl | @lexiewrites

Almost everything ever written about love is true. Shakespeare said, “Journeys end when lovers meet.” What an extraordinary thought. It was Shakespeare who also said, “Love is blind”. For some, quite inexplicably… love fades. For others, love is simply lost. But then, of course, love can also be found even if just for the night—or a lifetime. @jalicenetwork Be careful clicking read more this is 18k long and NSFW.

READ IT ON AO3

Merry Christmas, Lexie! I hope you enjoy this long ass fic which I spent the whole month teasing you about it without saying it was for you just to check if I would not make a whole MESS of your gift! I hope you enjoy this little Jess/Alice holiday love and that you're having a wonderful holiday season yourself! Happy Holidays! ♡

THE HOLIDAY

——

Almost everything ever written about love is true. Shakespeare said, “Journeys end when lovers meet.” What an extraordinary thought. It was Shakespeare who also said, “Love is blind”. For some, quite inexplicably… love fades. For others, love is simply lost. But then, of course, love can also be found even if just for the night.

——

“Will you tell me the truth?” When Alice asked, there was no flicker of emotion in her voice. Her eyes darted to the man with dark blond hair beside her as he stared out into traffic, avoiding her gaze. “James,” she tried again, “I want the truth.”

Practicality had always been a key asset to Alice Cullen’s life. At work, it aided her to always be on time and deliver what was required of her. In her personal life, it meant that she didn’t sugarcoat anything. Some called her harsh, or cold-hearted, but it was simply who she was—or had learned to be.

Her fiancé James was a stunning looking man. Tall, blond, slender. Truly attractive to the eye. And Alice had once been madly in love with him, as he had been for her. But that love wasn’t there anymore. The spark, their attraction, it was all gone. Alice had been so driven by him the first time around, so blinded to his flaws—that were now what surfaced to tear them apart.

James had been having an affair. He never really confessed to it but Alice had been picking up on the signs for a while now. The red blur she found on his collar once, the late work hours, the grins and giggles when he was texting someone, their distance in bed both physically and emotionally… They never had sex anymore, not like before. When it happened it was mechanical, more as a necessity to get off—which Alice never really did—than anything else. 

If she was to be honest with herself, Alice never looked at James and said to herself that he was the man of her life. She always found such notions to be childish, whimsical. He would be a nice man to settle with, to share a comfortable life—after all they also worked in the same area. But he was not a charming prince coming to her rescue and she was no damsel in distress. Alice was a practical woman. And right now, as she tried to make him confess, that showed through.

What unfolded the misery of their night had been a phone call. They were all to have dinner in Downtown Los Angeles when James stepped out to the bathroom and left his phone behind. The name Victoria read on the screen along with the picture of his red-wild-haired secretary. Alice knew Victoria, they had met plenty of times, so what harm could it have been to pick up the call and let her know that James had just stepped out?

“Are you coming to see me later? I miss you, James,” it was the first words she said, even before Alice could say hello. She stood there, struck by the realization that her fears were, in fact, concrete. She couldn’t move, or cry—Alice never really cried—, she just stood there in silence.

They had dinner as if nothing had happened. To James, in fact, it hadn’t. Alice had hung up the call and pretended she hadn’t heard a thing. His chatting over the three course meal was like a background noise. All she could really think about was just how stupid she had been about this whole relationship. How many times she had turned the eye on the evidence right in her face.

Alice couldn’t go any longer that way, but she still waited for them to get in the car.

“Victoria called,” she told him. “She asked if you’ll be seeing her later. She also said that she misses you.” The diminishing tone in her voice took James by surprise but he was really taken aback by her coldness. Alice had never denied she was a distant woman, not true to her emotions for the most part, and although James knew that it still shocked him that she wasn’t crying or screaming. She was barely moving, even.

“I—” he tried to say, but no words really formed. Instead he stared ahead for a long time.

Alice couldn’t tell if he was avoiding the whole thing or if she had simply gone mad. She decided it was the first option so her words demanded the truth.

Nothing came. Just more silence.

It was painful to realize what silence meant, but she still didn’t cry. She was relieved even. Alice worried that if James had tried to lie, or even just apologize, she would have caved. Because Alice knew she would. Not because she loved James, but for her own fear of being alone.

“Did you sleep with her?” Alice tried one more time.

“She wasn’t important.”

So he had.

“Was she better than me?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Answer it, James,” she complained.

“She’s different,” he confessed.

Alice let that sink into her stomach as it twisted inside her. She mouthed something but no words came out and James stared at her for a moment.

“I don’t understand you,” he grunted under his breath. That made her eye him, vile.

“You don’t understand me?” Alice groaned angrily, looking ahead as they moved in traffic.

“I really don’t,” he rampaged on all that had been stuck inside then, unable to hold back, “you have no emotions, like ever. You’re here finding out that I cheated on you and you won’t scream or cry.”

“Oh, so you want me to be suffering for your mistakes now?” Alice mocked, rolling her eyes angrily.

“That’s not what I’m saying, but you could shed a tear or two. You know what it’s like to sleep next to you? Or worse, to sleep with you?” His words were piercing to the point Alice herself questioned how she was not more upset with him.

“Do enlighten me, James.”

“It’s like sleeping with a corpse.” He spit the words out and they actually made Alice gasp.

“Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop the fucking car, James.”

“We’re in the middle of the freeway.” He looked back at her and the road, confused.

“Get off on the next exit. Now.”

As angry as she had become with that last drop, Alice couldn’t cry. She didn’t feel hurt, she felt breathless—but that wasn’t really an emotion. She wanted to scream but that wouldn’t be her wise and controlled self either. James had single handedly humiliated her and shred her to pieces, but Alice felt somehow she had been expecting exactly that from him.

When he took the exit and parked the car on the first possible street, Alice hopped off the car with her purse.

“Where are you going? Alice, be reasonable—”

“I’ll send your things through Emmett.” She slammed the door and marched to a nearby bar, not waiting to watch as he took off.

Alice didn’t stick around in the bar, instead she called an Uber and headed home. Even though they had separate places—something she was always particular about—she could bet that James had gone to Victoria’s house so there was no fear of running into him there.

She was—like Alice had been so used to—all alone.

The next morning the lingering tightness in her chest was still there when her assistant, Bella Swan, woke her up. Alice liked to be on time for things, her schedule was quite busy as a fashion editor, and she was on the verge of finishing up a project. The piece had been handed in and approved, she just needed to do the final tweaks on the design before she embarked onto the next project.

Alice had been awarded for her work, she was a name to be known in Los Angeles, and she knew this much had always intimidated men. In her relationship—or previous one—it was a toxic emotion that tore them apart from the inside out. James not only didn’t appreciate it, but he also never encouraged and went as far as telling Alice he didn’t see the appeal in what she had done.

It was one of the few fights they had, but it had been significant enough for Alice to consider that they wouldn’t work together. If last night was any proof that she had been right all along, Alice’s only regret was not trusting her gut before.

“Heard about you and James.” Bella handed her the coffee with a concerned look. Most of the time she was professional and kept those thoughts to herself, but she still cared about Alice, and she made a point to show it when necessary.

“He’s blabbling about it already?” Alice rolled her eyes, sipping on the mug as she sat by her table.

“He asked Emmett to get his things, Edythe and I were there,” Bella clarified. “We weren’t gossiping or anything.” Alice gave her a nod before putting the mug down, eyeing the computer screen for the designs.

“It’s fine really. He slept with Victoria,” Alice stressed the name because she remembered how Bella didn’t get along with the redhead, and she watched the brunette before her twitch.

“That bitch,” Bella grunted softly. “You know I never had anything against James, it’s Edythe that never liked him. But I could never stand Victoria.”

“Yeah well, turns out you were both right.” Alice sighed, distraught. She should have listened to both her sister and Bella.

Edythe Cullen was Alice’s older sister. They had the closest friendship growing up and often shared things in adult life, but Alice drew the line when it came to her relationships. Alice liked to keep things separate, she already thought it was complicated that her sister’s girlfriend was her employee. But Bella really made her life easier and neater, and didn’t go gossiping to Edythe when things happened, so Alice had nothing to complain about.

It was Emmett McCarty, their cousin, that had introduced Alice to James. The two were friends from college and he had thought they’d make a good match, given how practical and straightforward the used-to-be-couple was. He was wrong, but Alice gave him some credit for trying.

Before she went to bed she had called Emmett as well, she imagined after James already had. She understood now why he had sounded so sympathetic and not nearly as surprised as Alice had expected. She adored Emmett, growing up the giant boy was always the funniest to play with. Edythe was Emmett’s age but she was too closed up in her own little world while Emmett and Alice had been the playful ones. While Edythe had her head stuck inside a book, Alice and Emmett would be pranking people during Thanksgiving dinners.

She felt better after speaking to Emmett and he had actually got something stuck in her mind.

“You need a vacation, you know,” Emmett had told her over the phone. “When was the last time you had one?”

She couldn’t really remember it. “I don’t know, I don’t have time for that.”

“Well, make some, Al. You need a break… Time to heal you know?” His voice was always kind, caring.

“I wouldn’t even know where to go all alone.” But the idea had definitely stuck with her when she went to the empty bed. As alone as she was, it was a more pleasant feeling than the last months she forced herself to lay besides James. There was calm, and relief.

Bella brought over a bagel sandwich that was Alice’s favorite—everything bagel, cream cheese, Canadian bacon, avocado and tomatoes—and she only indulged on that calorie bomb when extremely needed. Alice was grateful that Bella had judged that as being a good time for such. A breakup was surely an excuse for someone to get some comfort food in.

“Thanks,” Alice muttered. Bella gave her a quick sympathetic nod and took a seat across from her on the table.

“When you finish I wanna go over next week’s schedule. There’s some meetings that I need to confirm,” she told Alice, adjusting the reading glasses on her face.

“Actually—” Alice paused, considering again the possibility Emmett had suggested the night before. “I want you to clear my schedule until New Years.”

“Oh.” Bella looked extremely surprised, not even making an effort to hide the jaw dropped gaze. “You never break for the holidays.”

“I know, but now I will.”

“All right.” Bella nodded quickly, making notes. “Should I set up anything with your family?”

Alice chuckled at that because her family also included Edythe and Bella’s in-laws, so she could imagine that there were plans on the making already. But she shook her head.

“I do want you to send them gift-cards, please. I’ll call mom later and let her know. But I’m going to travel,” Alice said, leaving Bella even more confused.

“W—Where?”

“I don’t know yet. I want to go somewhere new—and far.” Alice turned to her screen, opening a map of the globe on Google, and said, “Got any suggestions?”

“Maybe Europe? They have really nice hotels.”

“I don’t know if I want to go to one,” Alice twisted her face.

“I have these friends that did this house exchange thing,” Bella told her, making Alice frown. “It’s very safe, all go through the site. It’s like Airbnb, except you go to their house and they come to yours.”

“That’s brand new to me.” Alice frowned as she typed it in on the search bar, finding it surprisingly fast.

Bella knew her queue when Alice’s eyes were focused on the screen and she responded to her question with a simple nod, so she excused herself to go cancel the calendar for the next few weeks—two to be precise—as it would be a whole lot of work for her, too.

Alice browsed the pages until she landed on a small town, not too far from London, called Guildford. She had picked England for the language—she knew French and Italian as well, but heading to France by herself seemed too depressing, and stopping by Italy and not visiting her father’s Italian cousins would be considered extremely rude by them. She wasn’t even spending the holidays with her own family, she didn’t want to be dragged into the weird cousin’s lair.

Guildford seemed quiet and cozy enough and the cottage picture looked like the most welcoming place she had ever seen. It was not nearly as close to the mansion she lived in, but the white snow covering the garden and the rustic looks might be just the change Alice needed in her life.

The listing read beautifully too, like it had been written by an artist:

Christmas in the countryside. A fairy tale English cottage set in tranquil country garden. Snuggle up by the old brick fireplace and enjoy a glowing fire and a cup of cocoa. An enchanting oasis in a quiet English town forty minutes from exciting London.

Alice immediately clicked to chat with the owner. She had never done this, not even rented an Airbnb, let alone exchange houses with a stranger, so she wasn’t sure how to begin with it.

But Alice was practical so she imagined it had to come handy as she typed.

Alice: I’m interested in renting your house. Is it still available?

Alice: I’m wondering if your house is available this Christmas, because if it is, you could be a real lifesaver. I know it’s ridiculously late to be asking, but if you’re interested please contact me.

After a quick check on the time differences in both countries, she imagined the owner might be asleep, but to her surprise a message popped up.

Rosalie: I’m very interested, but the cottage is really only available for home exchange.

Rosalie: Where are you?

She quickly typed back.

Alice: Los Angeles.

Rosalie: I’ve never been, but always wanted to go. I’m Rose, by the way. I’m very laid back. Very neat, healthy,  a journalist, single.

Alice: I’m Alice. I work in fashion, very organized too. Pretty much a loner, loser and complicated wreck.

Rosalie: Hi.

Alice: Hey.

There was an endearing smile that settled across Alice’s lips. She didn’t know the stranger, but she felt comfortable talking to her. The feeling that maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all lingered, it felt promising and Alice could work with that.

They chatted about the space and the towns briefly, Rosalie asking her own questions about Alice’s place but surprisingly never asking to see it. Alice liked that, and gave her a feeling that Rosalie was this fierce and spirited woman, with a will for new adventures. She needed that sort of encouragement, to get her out of her comfort zone.

But one thing still lingered. Alice didn’t want to just go to another town to find herself involved with a foreigner just to forget her ex and make her life all the more complicated. So she questioned Rose if her town had any men. Surely there must be some, but Alice figured Rosalie would understand that, if she was asking, she was trying to mention the single and eligible men. If Rosalie told her there were plenty, Alice would have to dismiss the beautiful cottage and go venture new places—which would be a shame since she was truly liking the place and Rosalie.

The response made her beam.

Rosalie: Honestly? Zero.

Alice: When can I come?

The next day Alice was boarding first class to London. Bella had arranged her schedule, sent her family gift-cards in her name, as well as bought Alice some books to read on the flight—that she ditched for yet another fashion magazine. She had complained to Bella that she never read books anymore and it was kind of her assistant, and friend, to select three different titles for her to try—she was also thankful that none of them had been romances. The murder mystery title by some writer she hadn’t heard about sounded interesting, set near the nineteen-twenties—which Alice greatly liked the sense of fashion—and with some hints of supernatural in it. Alice didn’t get it right away, but she told herself to read that one first, when she made it to the cottage.

She wasn’t planning to hang out at bars or any of the sort, she wanted to give herself time to be on her own. To read a good book by the fireplace, to soak up on a bath, and to take a stroll with the dog Rosalie had mentioned that she had—even though she said Alice didn’t have to worry about the pup because her sister could swing by to take the pet off her hands, she had told Rosalie it would be no trouble to look after it pup, if anything it made for good distraction.

It wasn’t a big and elaborate vacation plan, but it was a plan and she wanted to roll with that. Alice was dying to just relax for a while. She figured if she isolated herself enough to deal with her own internal issues, that lump in her throat and the tightness on her chest that had been driving her nuts would fade, that the claustrophobic loneliness would go away.

——

London was glacial for someone like Alice, who had just flown from the so warm Southern California weather. She definitely hadn’t packed for that—Alice didn’t even think she had clothes at home for that kind of weather. She didn’t travel much outside the States, if she was being honest. Alice had been to the Caribbean a few times but never to Europe, let alone Europe during the winter. But upon her arrival, when she texted Rosalie about a good place to find stores in London, Rosalie had so kindly said Alice could borrow her coats if she needed to.

The two women had been exchanging messages all along and Alice was confident this vacation was something she would like to repeat eventually—perhaps not during the winter. But Rosalie had proven to be the nicest host and they even chit-chatted about cool things Alice could do around London.

She was exhausted and jet-lagged when she arrived though, so Alice took up Rosalie's offer to borrow the coats and headed straight to the cozy cottage awaiting for her.

The place was lovely really and Rose had left a welcome basket for Alice on the dinner table—which made her feel bad for not having left one for her new penpal. It wasn’t too big, the fireplace right next to two comfortable couches and the kitchen right across from the living area. Between the two, a small flight of stairs led to the top floor where a bedroom and an office shared space, two doors led to a small closet and a bathroom. It was like a tiny dollhouse, that Alice seemed to fit right in with her short stature and delicate features.

It was a habit that she had to unpack and organize everything and once that was done, she crashed on the bed, unable to hold back until later in the night. She could catch up with the timezone another time, she figured, since she was on vacation anyway.

At nine o’clock at night she was up and on full alert so she drove to the nearest shop, got herself some groceries, liquor and anything she could snack on during the night; she knew it would be a sleepless one.

She took a bath, drank wine, and even cooked—something she hadn’t done for herself in ages—at the end of the night. It was around one in the morning when she cozied up again on the bed, bored to death. It was like the book was flashing her a sign and Alice hopped to grab the murder mystery on her purse, settling back to read it. Alice couldn’t remember the last time she laid down before bedtime and just read a book, snuggled under the covers, with a cup of tea on the nightstand. For a brief moment, all felt heavenly.

Alice didn’t really recall exactly when she managed to fall asleep, especially how interesting the book was getting around the end of chapter two, but she had at last managed to shut her eyes and actually rest—the book and tea having done a miracle to the woman, she was really beginning to understand the appeal that the British had over tea, it could really relax somebody. The cover set Rosalie had put out for her was also very good, it was like lying down on a cloud. Nothing could disturb her. That was until she heard the loud banging on the door.

Startled, Alice jumped out of bed, the dog running downstairs immediately too, barking at the noise. She quickly grabbed her robe and wrapped it around herself, nearly flying over the stairs when she missed one step.

“Rose! Open up! I need to use the loo,” the female voice called from outside, making Alice turn on the lights to the living room.

She stood by the stairs though, shouting, “Who is this?”

“Bloody hell, I’m freezing out here, Rosalie Hale. Open the door before I pee myself and freeze to death,” the woman shouted back with nervousness in her tone. “I’m going to tell ‘ma about this, Rose!”

Alice realized then, with those words, that the woman could only be Rosalie’s sister, so she rushed to the door and unlocked it. She was met by a towering blonde with a puzzled gaze.

“You’re not Rose,” she told Alice, in sheer confusion.

“No, I’m a friend of hers. We’re doing this house exchange thing. Did she not tell you?” If they were sisters, wouldn’t that be something one would tell their sibling? “Who are you?”

“Oh, bullocks! That must have been what she was calling me about yesterday,” the blond lamented and then her face twisted. “Listen, I know it is very strange, but could I use the loo?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Alice nodded quickly, opening up the door and getting out of the blond’s way. She rushed inside straight to the bathroom and Alice closed the door still in complete confusion.

She went on to sit on the couch and was joined by the pup that hopped on her lap. Alice petted him gently, waiting for the sister to return. She had suspected that the woman was drunk, given the hour and the bathroom urgency, but the last thing Alice had in mind was to take care of someone’s intoxicated sister on her getaway holiday.

When the blond stumbled back into the room, Alice chuckled though, watching as her suspicions confirmed themselves. She cursed under her breath, looking back at the floor as if it had any fault on the fact that she was under the influence of alcohol and tripping on herself.

“Listen, I’m so sorry, I had no idea Rose wouldn’t be here,” she told her, coming to throw herself comfortably on the other couch. Alice sat up straight, stiff on her seat, she didn’t want the woman to get comfortable there. “I’m Jessamine, Rose’s sister. We’re twins.” She chuckled, sighing a little. “Not identical, though.”

Alice hadn’t actually seen Rosalie’s face, as they hadn’t crossed paths on the exchange, so she wouldn’t be able to tell. Instead, she just nodded.

“So, house exchange you said?” Jessamine wondered and Alice just agreed quietly again. “Where is she, anyways?”

“You should really pick up your sister’s calls,” Alice pointed out and the blond chuckled in agreement. “But she’s in my house in Los Angeles.”

“How long is she going to be there?” Jessamine seemed genuinely surprised now.

“Two weeks.”

“And you here?”

Alice nodded again.

“That’s wild!”

Even with the jet lag and the time it was likely too early in Los Angeles, Alice was feeling the wine she had before—along with the sleeping pill—began to sink in more. She was also exhausted with the flight so the last thing she wanted was to be chit-chatting with the stranger.

“Jessamine you said, right?”

“Yeah, but call me Jess, please,” she smiled sideways and for a brief second Alice was slightly taken—she had a very remarkable smile, quite charming.

“Jess,” she gave the blond a smile back, emphasizing the nickname kindly. “I actually just flew in today and I’m very tired.”

Realizing her words, Jessamine was quick to get on her feet.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m here talking my heart out, I didn’t mean to bug you. It must have been a very long flight, indeed.” She was quick and apologetical, looking around for her coat that she had discarded along the way in, as she had headed to the bathroom before.

Alice almost felt bad, hearing her tone and how lost she felt. She certainly looked very tipsy.

“You are not driving, are you?”

“No, no,” Jess said quickly, cheering when she found her jacket. “Normally I crash at Rose’s on days like this so I don’t actually have my car. But I’ll just get an Uber!”

“Oh, nonsense.” Alice shook her head. “You can crash on the couch!”

“I do not want to bother you—Oh, how rude of me, I didn’t even ask your name.” Jessamine finally stopped the excited rampage she had been on since barging in and smiled with defeat.

“Alice. I’m Alice Cullen,” she chuckled—in fact very amused with the energy of the blond—and extended her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Alice,” Jess took her hand, and Alice was surprised by the electricity of the touch. “Jessamine Hale. Just Jess will be fine though.”

“Yeah, you said it,” Alice said with amusement, grinning because Jess was clearly drunk. Was this what, the third introduction?

For what seemed like a long moment, their hands lingered there, connected in the air. Alice only noticed just how much taller Jess was—not that it was too difficult considering just how short Alice was. She hadn’t met such a striking woman before. Her eyes were deep green and her cheek had a slight dimple that seemed to go along so well with her squared jaw and thin lips.The blond messy curls falling to her shoulders making her look like a lioness.

Alice was the first to pull back her hand, feeling her cheeks burn when she realized that she had been staring at the other woman for far too long—longer than what was socially acceptable, or comfortable. Jessamine didn’t seem to mind though, as the smile continued settled across her lips.

“Are you sure I won’t bother you?” she asked Alice then, who shook her head vehemently.

“Just point me to the directions of the extra bedding,” Alice assured her.

“Oh, don’t worry, I can get around with that. Rose normally just lets me in and hops back in bed.” she laughed, walking past Alice to a wardrobe by the staircase, grabbing a set of sheets, blanket and pillow that was perfectly tucked away for her. “I promise I’ll be out before you even notice.”

Alice doubted it, she would rather wake sooner than later.

“You don’t have to rush out, really. Don’t worry,” Alice assured her, making her way to the stairs.

“He really likes you, huh,” Jess pointed out when she saw Rose’s dog following after Alice.

“Normally that’s not the case?”

“Definitely not, this little feral beast is quite difficult. I had had a hard time with him when Rosalie first rescued the pet a few years ago.”

“I guess I’m lucky then!” Alice grinned, heading back to the bedroom.

“Thank you, Alice,” Jess said and saw the brunette stop on her path to look back and nod.

For a short second they exchanged a gaze and both shared a smile.

“Night, Jess.”

“Goodnight, Alice,” Jess said watching as Alice turned off the lights and disappeared to the second floor.

Alice accommodated back on the bed, bringing the pup up there with her, and stared at the ceiling for what felt like the longest time. Alice figured that her sleep might be gone, but there was no strength in her to actually get herself up to read or do something, she felt exhausted.

When she closed her eyes, trying to force herself to sleep, the blond’s smile uninvitedly invaded her mind.

——

It was way past ten in the morning when Alice finally woke up, surprising even herself with the hour. Normally, she’d be up and ready to work out at about eight thirty in the morning, with a coffee mug in hand and ready to work. Alice loved to work. Fashion had been a strong part of her life thanks to her mother, Esme.

While Edythe had her own classic style, that didn’t diverge much from monochromatic sets of jeans and tees, Alice always went all out with her wardrobe. It had changed along the years, progressing from princess dresses when she was a kid to a bit of grunge when she was a teenager until she settled into a minimalist boho with a lot of impact—which meant she dressed some pretty expensive brands, although not specifically designer, with simple pieces and bold accessories.

Building a statement more than a style itself was what fashion was really about and Alice had made that name for herself for those assertive choices she made when she dressed. It was the kind of attention that she liked to draw. Studying trends was the reason she was so excited to ser foot in Europe for the first time.

Even though her father had family in Italy and she was deeply engaged in an international industry, Alice always stayed around New York and Miami fashion week—aside from Los Angeles, of course. A small city near London may not seem like the perfect source of inspiration to all people, but Alice thought it might just be the change she needed in her life to make something brand new and different.

Of course, there was a part of Alice that kept reminding her that she was there to relax and not work—and that part had Bella’s voice, since her assistant had repeatedly reminded Alice about actually taking a vacation and relaxing on the ride to the airport.

Climbing down to the bottom floor, still in her pajamas, Alice was surprised to find the sheets and blankets all neatly folded on top of the couch and Jess by the stove pouring herself a cup of tea. She stepped into the kitchen to join the other woman.

“Hi,” Alice announced her presence, a shy smile set across her lips.

Jessamine turned on her heels, a slight surprise in her eyes.

“Good morning,” she said as she sipped on her tea. “I didn’t expect you to be up so early.”

“I could say the same,” Alice commented with a grin, as she got past the blonde to try and work the coffee machine on the counter.

“About that, I must apologize! I was not my best self last night. Completely uncalled for to barge into here like this,” Jess told Alice with the most apologetic smile. When she gazed over to her, Alice noticed how much more sober she seemed now. There was a contained aura in her that she hadn’t noticed the night before with all the tripping and smirking.

“Ah, that’s all right. You didn’t know Rose wouldn’t be here.” Alice seemed to be having a hard time figuring out the coffee maker, pushing buttons that wouldn’t work. Maybe it didn’t, she thought to herself, maybe all the British did was drink tea and the coffee makers were just for looks.

She didn’t notice when Jessamine stepped closer, silently, hovering over Alice to reach out for something. She was at a loss for words when she turned to gaze at the blonde that was right there, in front of  her.

Jess was much taller than her, Alice had noticed that the night before, but now, with her standing so close, it felt impressively more. Her eyes darted up to find Jessamine’s green orbs smirking down at her, as if they were reading something in Alice’s soul that she did not know.

When Jess simply connected the plug to the wall, Alice felt awfully foolish and flustered. Both for thinking Jessamine was stripping the depths of her soul, for some reason, and because she hadn’t thought to plug in the device.

“Normally they require power to work.” Jess teased, walking away to resume drinking her tea.

Alice let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, nodding quickly as an attempt to make the blush go away. She looked around for mugs, opening and closing cabinets, and again Jess surprised her by emerging close to her with a cup in hand.

She moved so damn quietly, like a lioness—with the mass of beautiful, curly, blonde hair. Alice had no clue what had gotten into her, but something about the other woman’s energy made her jumpy, bringing a torturous turning to her stomach.

“Thanks,” Alice managed to murmur, letting out another captive breath.

“Mhmhm,” Jess nodded, at last sitting at the dinner table.

It was better that way, knowing where the blonde was standing so she wouldn’t go on surprising Alice with her presence, and lack of respect for others’s personal spaces. With all the cliches about British people, she had guessed they would be all distant and cold, without the fervor one would find in Southern California or other warm central-American countries. But Jess was surprisingly different.

Not only the way she had managed to barge into Alice’s bubble, but how her gaze was so deep—even the night before when she had been drunk.

“So how long are you staying, Alice?” She broke the silence, making Alice gaze her over the shoulder. She knew Jess had been watching her, even with her back turned Alice had felt the eyes observing her movements so closely.

“Two weeks,” Alice told her, even after being under the impression they had gone over that the night before.

“Right! You mentioned she’s spending Christmas there.” Jessamine looked distant for a second, as if her mind had wandered into something important, and Alice was able to catch it when she turned around at last with a coffee in her hands.

“Does she often travel during the Holidays?”

Jess shook her head and Alice wondered if what she saw was worry in her eyes.

“I should probably give her a call later,” Jess concluded quietly.

“You said you two are twins?”

Jess nodded and the frown was replaced by a smile.

“She’s the pretty one,” Jess chuckled. It made Alice wonder what Rosalie looked like because Jessamine was a breathtaking woman already—such a different beauty but all the more striking.

“What does that make you then?” Alice wondered with amusement.

“The brains of the family. Truly, I am the smartest one.” They both laughed at that.

A buzzing on the counter interrupted the moment and Alice was quick to pick up look at the screen where the name Charlotte was written. She realized then how that was not her phone because she didn’t know any Charlotte.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to look.” Alice handed her the phone as quickly as she had taken it.

Jessamine eyed the phone and smiled awkwardly, which immediately made Alice all the more worried how she had invaded the other woman’s privacy like that.

“It’s all right,” Jess nodded. “I’m going to take this one outside.” Clearing her throat, the blonde didn’t wait for a response or avail, going out to pick up the call.

Alice shook off the strange feeling she got, that tightness back on her chest. For a moment she just observed Jessamine from the window, giggling at something over the phone. It was like yet another whole different woman. The night before she had been tipsy and chatty, now she was this contained tall beauty and, outside on the phone, with whoever that was, Jessamine looked her most beautiful—smiling in such clear and sheer happiness.

Forcing herself to look away from the private moment, Alice heated up some toast and buttered it to go along with the simple breakfast. She was never a breakfast kind of person simply because she had no will to cook—and no time for it. Sure, now on a vacation Alice supposed she could do so, but her culinary skills were very limited. She was relying heavily on the nearby places to eat for the next few days.

Jessamine returned tapping her foot on the welcome mat, removing the excess of snow on her boots.

“Listen, I must head out, duty calls.” She made a pause on collecting her jacket to look up at Alice. “But thank you so much for last night. I bloody need to get my act straight and pick up Rose’s calls.”

“You do.” Alice could laugh at that, eyeing over the coffee mug she was sipping on. “And it was no problem really. I wouldn’t have let you drive, you seemed pretty tipsy.”

“Again, I am truly sorry you had to see that.” Her grin was genuine, even when contained. “It was nice meeting you Alice.”

There was a little shiver that ran down Alice’s spine when she heard her name said so politely, Jessamine’s voice had this deep and melodic tune that she hadn’t really noticed the night before, likely for how sleepy she was.

“Nice meeting you too, Jess,” Alice nodded and leaned against the kitchen counter. She watched as Jess reached for the door knob and then hesitated.

“I’m going to be down the street at the pub tonight, with some friends, you should come by if you’re not too busy.”

During the time they exchanged a gaze, right after the invitation, Alice surprised and Jessamine simply smiling enchantedly, something seemed to have struck the brunette. She remembered a few years ago when Edythe had invited her then college friend Bella Swan out on a date. Alice had known her entire life her sister’s preferences, even before it was revealed and welcomed by their family, but she had never seen her in action until then, pursuing someone.

There had been a spark in Edythe’s gaze that Alice hadn’t seen before. She knew for a fact that her sister had been interested in Bella, but that moment was just different than the flirting she did before. And maybe this was a mistaken sensation, she could be wildly wrong, but Alice saw that same drive in Jessamine.

Her words just sounded so charming somehow, more alluring.

But perhaps she was overthinking it. She hadn’t the faintest clue if Jessamine was, in fact, into women, and she wasn’t about to make an embarrassment of herself and ask that.

Instead, Alice nodded. “I’d love to.”

She could have said, sure or of course, but she chose to unintentionally lead her on by saying she would love to. Was she flirting with this woman now? What had come over her?

When Edythe officially came out to their family, their parents had accepted it fully, as if it was always something they knew. They weren’t just supportive, they truly embraced the cause. One too many times Alice had laughed at an embarrassed Edythe over their parent’s joining in on Pride parades—not because she didn’t want them too, Edythe always did smile endearingly at that, it was simply because she always felt more embarrassed by the fervor that Esme and Carlisle adored their family.

They had asked Alice, a while after Edythe came out, if she felt the same way as her older sister did. Alice wasn’t much younger, but she was still in her pre-teens and when she remembered the occasion quite clearly. “I don’t know,” Alice had told them back then. It was something she never gave too much thought. She dated a boy during high school and a couple guys in college, and then James for the past three years.

She never really thought of dating a woman because the opportunity never presented itself. It wasn’t like there was a line of them flirting with her—like they did to Edythe—so Alice just didn’t even consider it a possibility for herself.

Sure, she would look at a woman sometimes and find her stunning—like she had thought of Jessamine—but everyone did, at least everyone she knew had no problem acknowledging others were attractive.

“Wonderful!” Jessamine’s delightful cheer broke Alice’s internal thought and the brunette nodded, as if she had been asked something. “I’ll see you later, Alice.”

“See you, Jess.”

Left alone in the cottage, Alice told herself she was simply overthinking this. She had no idea if Jess was hiting on her and it was ludicrous to even consider that when the two had spoken so briefly in such odd moments. Alice preferred to admit to herself a more plausible idea that Jess actually felt bad for her being alone there and she wanted to be welcoming.

During the rest of the day Alice tried to push the thoughts out of her mind, busying with being a typical tourist instead. She drove to London, visited the Big Ben along with a few sightseeing locations. London was huge and there was much to see still, but she managed to spend a nice afternoon that ended with shopping.

Alice was fascinated with the stores and the different fashion trends all other the big city, so different from the little she had glimpsed from Guildford where she had been staying. At some point between hopping between thrift stores and designer ones, Alice bought an outfit to wear that night.

It was just a bar and she figured there was nothing to it, but Alice didn’t want to just stroll there in jeans, old long sleeves she had brought, winter boots and Rosalie’s jackets—as much as she had appreciated them before, they simply didn’t fit Alice’s style and she also didn’t want to abuse her host’s hospitality. Instead she bought stockings, with the thickest and coziest fabric she’d even seen stockings be made, a dark wine dress, the trendiest trench coat she could find and heeled ankle boots—which she wasn’t sure was the best idea considering how wet the city seemed to be. The forecast was also predicting snow for that night, so Alice hoped she could manage the heels.

Normally wouldn’t be a problem, she was always in heels; being a 4’10 woman didn’t strike such an imposing look. But the snow did complicate things. Jessamine was also one of the tallest people Alice had ever met, Alice was guessing somewhere around 6 feet, so she didn’t want to just be walking next to the giant beauty looking like the shortest person in the room.

When she did walk into the pub later that evening, Alice felt confident and recharged by the big city atmosphere. Jessamine was nowhere to be found, Alice would have spotted the mass of hair from a mile away, so she took a seat at a high table. Ordering a wine and sitting back on the high stool, Alice’s eyes darted anxiously around the room, hoping that she would have missed the blonde. But she really wasn’t there.

They hadn’t exchanged numbers so Alice considered Jess might have changed plans, perhaps gotten better ones. It would be strange being stood up by a stranger on a non-date. But she wasn’t.

Jessamine walked into the pub by herself, removing her jacket to reveal a very simple combination—that made Alice immediately feel overdressed—of jeans, a [British band] tee and scarf. Alice immediately wondered how it was possible for a person to wear a t-shirt in that type of weather. She, personally, had been slightly shivery with the long sleeved dress and wool tights combo. Sure, Jess had a heavy coat over the tee, but it was still not that many layers—she imagined one would get used to living in such harsh weather.

As simple as she was, Jess still looked absolutely breathtaking. It was like there was this quality to her presence and her looks that made her a walking magnet for Alice’s attention.

When Jess finally spotted her and their gazes crossed, Alice shyly waved with a fluttering heart at the blonde’s smile and approach. She walked straight up to Alice, not thinking twice when she leaned over and pressed cheek against Alice’s in a social but very personal manner. It took the brunette by complete surprise, again with the invasion of privacy. What was with this woman and getting so close to Alice?

She couldn’t really say that she disliked it, as a matter of fact it made her pulse rush straight to her cheeks—especially the one she had so casually pressed her chilly skin again. Jessamine’s touch might have been absurdly cold, but it lit a fire in Alice—one she wasn’t quite sure how to deal with yet.

“You came.” Jess broke the silence in a cheery tone, taking the stool next to Alice and waving at the waitress.

“Were you expecting me not to?” Alice rose a brow at Jessamine, quizzically.

“I was hoping you would come, actually.” Her voice came out far too casual and confident at the same time, and Alice was reminded of her earlier gut feeling about the woman. “But I wasn’t quite sure you would.”

“Well, it would be rude not to after I said I would.” Alice shrugged and then, in a quick pause, she realized it might have come out rude by itself. “Not that I didn’t want to—I wanted to come!”

Jessamine laughed gently, nodding at Alice.

“I’m glad. That’s why you’re traveling, right? See new places, meet new people, forget someone.”

That last part got Alice quickly alert. “Did Rose say something?”

Again, Jessamine’s delightful grin caught her off guard. “No, not really. But now I’m guessing I got it right.”

“Well, not to forget anyone, he wasn’t really that important,” Alice explained, feeling a little awkward to be talking about her ex with someone she did not know. “I just wanted some change, I guess.”

“Change is good.” Jess smiled, eyeing what Alice was drinking. “And we should begin with what you’re drinking.”

“What’s wrong with wine?” Alice wondered puzzled.

“For one, it’s white.” Jess gave a look around for the waiter that hadn’t stopped by to get her order. “Secondly, this is a pub. Do you prefer a mixed drink or beer?”

“Which one is the best, in your opinion?”

“Beer, for sure.” Jess chuckled. Alice was even more sure now that Jessamine might be a lesbian. She was definitely fitting the stereotype. But the thought of it made Alice curse herself for immediately jumping to conclusions. It was especially inconsiderate of her considering her own sister did not really fit any of the stereotypes—except the Tumblr lesbian, perhaps, engaged in aesthetics, books and introspective posting.

“I’ll have what you’re having, then.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” Jess told her, reaching out to touch Alice’s arm.

It was such a simple gesture, but it electrified Alice. She had no idea what had gotten over her around Jess. It was as if she was a whole new person, lost inside those deep green eyes.

She tried to shake those thoughts away, quickly checking her phone. It was bursting with notifications from people wondering just where Alice had gone. Aside from her family and Bella, she hadn’t told another soul about the trip. But like everything in Los Angeles, word got around quickly. 

Alice ignored all the demanding messages to open a chat with her sister.

Alice: How do you know a woman is gay?

It didn’t take the other too long to respond, which Alice was grateful for.

Edythe: It’s usually pretty obvious to me

Edythe: … Why? Who is?

Alice: This girl I met here in England. I’m not sure she’s being friendly or hitting on me?

Edythe: I heard the British are not friendly.

Alice had to laugh, knowing it was such an American conception. She shook her head and typed back.

Alice: I guess I’ll find out.

Edythe: Lemme know when you do.

She had no time to respond as Jessamine returned to the table carrying two large beers and Alice pushed the phone into her purse, smiling at the blonde.

“The house brew,” Jess announced, handing her one of the glasses. “My friends are not here yet but we can get started. Cheers!”

Alice laughed, clicking their glasses together. “Cheers!”

Jess took a long gulp and Alice watched, trying to follow her rhythm by doing the same. Alice was lightweight, and short, so she realized quickly that even if she tried, she would not be able to keep with Jess.

“Whoa, how many ounces in this? It’s like, huge.”

Jess laughed. “Blimey, you Americans with your measurements. I have no clue in ounces, but it has a liter.”

“That’s a lot of beer, Jess.” Alice gasped but with amusement.

“Ah, that’s nothing. I drink at least two,” she told her casually, followed by a soft shrug. “It’s very chilly tonight, you’ll burn it real fast.”

“It is very cold! And you’re in a tee.” Alice pointed out, at last finding the gap to comment on the blonde’s choice in clothing.

“And you’re in a dress.” Jess accused playfully, sipping some more of the glass. “Very gorgeous, in fact.” Alice flustered, realizing how Jessamine had, in fact, noticed. “But us Brits, we’re just used to the weather. Not like you yankees.”

Alice laughed soundly and the bickering. She never had anything against the British—Alice actually found their accent extremely charming—but it was shockingly impressive how they liked to pick at the Americans.

“I’ll have you know we have pretty heavy weathers all over the country!” Alice had no idea why she was defending her country to the woman, but centuries of patriotism spoke louder for her.

“In Southern California? That’s not what I learned in geography.” Jess taunted.

“Well, not in SoCal—unless you drive up to the mountains, but even then is not guaranteed,” Alice explained, sipping on the beer.

“Have you ever seen snow before?”

“Actually, not really.” Alice bit her lip, watching the shock in Jessamine’s face.

“Bloody hell, that’s wild,” Jess chuckled, taking another gulp on the beer. “If we’re lucky, you may catch it tonight! And not just the half-ass melted puddles. There’s going to be a real fall tonight.”

Alice nodded, “Yeah, I read about it. I’m actually hoping to see it.”

“It’s not that fun living with snow up to your knees, but for a vacation I guess it should be a fun experience.” Jessamine smiled and went on, “I personally don’t know what’s like to not have a white Christmas.”

“California gets to sixty-five at this time of the year, tops.”

“There you go again with yankee measurements,” Jess teased, both of them laughing. “What’s that in Celsius?”

“Oh, I have no idea.” Alice chuckled.

Jessamine was already halfway through her beer when her phone buzzed. She read over a text as Alice’s eyes finally had a chance to look at the woman without being noticed. The light wasn’t any better than the night before with just a few bulbs lit up, but the advantage was way better than this morning where Jess was either too far or with her eyes on Alice. No, she decided this was a perfect setting to look at her.

Her leonine hair cascaded over her shoulders, beautiful golden curls molding her squared jaw and dimpled cheeks. Her nose was long and sharp, the lips thin lines constantly tilting up more to one side than the other in a very attractive side smirk dancing on her mouth. The eyes were the deepest green Alice had ever seen. And then there was her body. Jessamine was so ridiculously tall—or perhaps it was just Alice that was short—and not just any kind of tall. Her legs long, her figure slender. She didn’t have that many curves aside from a very pompous chest.

Alice couldn’t deny how extremely attractive she was, but there was also this energy coming from her. She guessed it had to be the niceness, the way her eyes smiled at her—a wild idea, but one that Alice definitely felt drawn to—it made her feel lost and confused.

It wasn’t a feeling that she was used to, being so unsure of her emotions. Alice had a grip of her own life, she could track down everything that happened with her, decipher and understand it. But with Jessamine she felt utterly out of control. It was frustrating. Was she only being friendly or is she actually flirting? Was Jessamine even into girls, or was Alice simply finding herself attracted to women? Or was she simply attracted to this woman?

Her heart nearly dropped when Jessamine suddenly gazed her with a smile like she knew what Alice was feeling. She couldn’t explain it, obviously it was impossible that Jess could know. Alice hadn’t voiced anything out loud, but something in the blonde’s grin made the brunette question whether or not she had said something without noticing. She hadn’t and yet Jess knew.

“Sorry about that,” Jessamine interrupted the turmoil inside Alice, putting her phone away. “Turns out my friends can’t make it.”

“Oh?” Alice felt the blush return to her cheeks with the realization that it would be just the two of them.

Jessamine seemed to notice that too, because she laughed with amusement. “Is that a problem, Alice?”

“No, not at all.” Alice shook her head so promptly, eyes wide with worry that she had offended Jessamine somehow. “I just—I’m worried I’ll bore you to death!”

The sound of her laugh, Alice decided perhaps way too fast, it was one of the most captivating sounds she had ever heard.

“I find that quite impossible.”

Alice hadn’t noticed when Jess’s glass was so close to end, but, as she watched her chug down the last sip, she as if she was falling behind and reached for her own glass to take a long swing of it.

“You don’t have to keep up, Alice, don’t worry,” Jess mused and Alice felt a challenge in her tone. “You seem quite the light weight.”

“I can handle my booze,” Alice retorted amusedly. Jessamine hadn’t really verbally challenged her, but the competitive spirit inside her told Alice to go for it, so she took a final gulp on the beer.

“I guess I’ll get us another then,” Jess said as she picked the beer mugs. “I must say, you are really surprising, Alice.”

She didn’t leave her any room to respond, walking away to the bar to refill them, those last words leaving a fuzzy feeling on the pitch of her stomach. Or was it just the beer? No, Alice decided it was definitely butterflies. She liked that Jessamine found her surprising. She wanted to be that—surprising, different, new. Alice was bored of her dull old self, her unhappy and pathetic self.

——

The snow began falling heavy sometime around one in the morning. By then Jessamine and Alice had had one too many drinks at the pub, but Jess had managed to get them out of there before it was complete chaos. They were walking back to the cottage where Alice had invited Jessamine to stay, on the couch—although she had not said to Jessamine that was where she would be staying, Alice was assuming the blonde knew. They had been chatty and at times even slightly flirty throughout the night, but she had chosen to read it as mere drunk banter.

Alice still had no clue of Jessamine’s preferences and she wasn’t about to bluntly ask it—or worse, make a move on her. There hadn’t been a moment Alice felt there was an opening for such talk. They had talked about life and work, but not romantic involvements. She actually had appreciated the light talk as it served to get her mind off all those wild thoughts roaming her mind.

She had found out that Jessamine worked as a book editor so most of her work was done from home. Alice had loved to picture Jess in a house with tall bookshelves, filled with titles, sitting by a couch while she read some new author’s manuscript. Alice adored that Jessamine was into books—even though Alice hadn’t been reading many in the past years—because she thought it fit her personality so well.

They chatted about the genres that were her favorites and Alice mentioned the murder mystery she had begun reading the night before, and that she would show it to her once they were back in the cottage.

At some point in the night Jess had managed to turn the conversation around and Alice told her about being a fashion designer in Los Angeles, and how her dream was to launch a collection of her own instead of just working for other people. Alice realized then how she had never shared that with anyone and Jess’s reception to it made her heart skip for a moment. It was silly, but Alice felt happy that the woman enjoyed the idea—and that she had complimented her style after that.

It was a night for many discoveries, as Alice couldn’t really recall the last night she had such a great talk with someone—even with James when they started dating, it was never like this—and to feel so connected about the little things.

When, halfway to the cottage, the snowflakes began falling over them, the night seemed like it couldn’t get any better.

“It’s snowing!” Alice beamed like a happy child, looking up to the night sky.

“Your first snow.” Jess grinned, her eyes falling on Alice instead, who was in sheer joy.

“It feels so soft,” she giggled. She was feeling more than tipsy but not drunk enough to feel sick, so it was a sublime bliss when the chilly drops fell over her cheeks. “Don’t you just love it?”

Alice’s eyes fell back on Jessamine and Jess was definitely staring at her, shamelessly now, her gaze so admiring and so soft at Alice. She was taken by the intensity that her look struck on her, it was amused but somehow serious, decisive. When Jess took a few steps forward, her hands reaching for Alice’s cheek, she felt her heart about to burst against her chest.

“You’ve got some on your lashes,” Jess whispered, her cold fingers brushing against Alice’s temple. Her touch was so soft that she almost closed her eyes to the sensation, but they were too alert on the blonde, gazing at her green orbs.

Jessamine didn’t flinch, her smile so large as Alice turned completely red, and she just brushed her fingertips over her cheeks. Such a small gesture and so potent, lighting up a fire inside Alice. She felt like she could remove her coat and it would still be too warm inside her, even after Jess broke away.

“C’mon, Alice, I’m freezing my arse off. Cottage is just up there,” Jess said playfully, looking utterly satisfied with Alice’s reaction.

She led the way, looking briefly over her shoulders to see if Alice would follow, which she did with some delay, skipping to keep up with the long legged beauty.

Back in the house, Jess went immediately to light up the fireplace while Alice seemed to be burning up inside. She stripped her coat and the high heel ankle boots, tossing both inside the closet by the entrance. Tiptoeing to the living room—grateful for the wool stockings to be warm against the cold floor—she found a spot on the largest couch to sink into. Jess turned around and they both smiled—the blonde at the sight and the brunette at her.

“Do you want tea?” Jess asked and Alice shook her head. She couldn’t voice what she really wanted, not when her coherent thoughts were blurred by alcohol. It would not be reasonable to say she had this unfounded want to kiss her, not when they had just met. But at least she was sober just enough to think that saying that would be a bad idea.

“If you want—”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Jess was quick to say and suddenly Alice spotted some nervousness. Maybe Jess wanted to sleep and Alice was taking up the couch.

“Do you want to sleep?” She got up too quickly and felt alcohol sinking in her system, her brain protesting the sudden movement.

“Alice, I’m all right.” Jess held her waist when Alice looked like she was about to fall, but it was the closeness that took her breath away.

Now without her heels, Alice was again way shorter than Jess and she had to look up to meet her gaze—not the best for either of their necks.

“Let’s sit,” Jess suggested and guided Alice back. She searched around for a blanket and when she joined Alice on the couch it was to cover them both. “How’s that?”

“Perfect,” Alice brought her legs up, cozying up under the covers. It wasn’t until Jessamine’s knee pressed against hers that she realized how close they sat. Her heart was racing again and she was beginning to feel like a silly teenager, tiptoeing around feelings.

“Tonight was fun,” Jess told her, bringing Alice back to now.

“It really was. I hadn’t laughed this much in forever.”

“That’s a shame.” Jess did the bold thing and reached to hold Alice’s hand. “You have a great laugh, you should always be laughing.”

It was the way she said it that made Alice realize how she really was attracted to this woman. And she suspected now, with them cuddled under the covers and holding hands, that the sentiment was mutual.

“So is yours, you know,” Alice told her quietly.

Silence settled in, their gaze focused on each other. Alice bit on her lower lip as she watched when the switch turned between them, Jessamine’s eyes falling on Alice’s lips before her gaze met hers again. They were sitting so close that it didn’t take much, all she had to do was bend over slightly and their lips met.

The small sigh escaping Alice’s lips was of sheer content, a sentiment of belonging she hadn’t felt before. Jessamine cradled her head dragging her in and Alice allowed it, willingly, as her tongue slid in to meet hers. It wasn’t hurried—but it was sure deep—Jess was tasting her like a sweet cherry, delighting in every inch of Alice’s mouth. She tasted delicious, so soft and sweet, Alice decided mentally. Jess was different from everything she had experienced, not because she was a woman but because of her giving and loving way. How she cared, it was obvious. Jess fingers gentle against her scalp, the knee that softly rubbed against Alice’s.

All made her feel bold, a hand sprawling against Jessamine’s thigh, feeling the cold jeans and the frustration that took over because she wanted skin instead. Alice had never been too touchy, or eager for contact, but the way Jessamine’s lips pressed down her jaw and her neck made her feel anxious with anticipation. They were gentle lips, brushing against her skin, but the teeth that nibbled her jugular were rougher, they lit up fires Alice didn’t know she had inside her.

Her hands perched inside Jess’s blonde curls, not tugging at them just yet, but dragging her back to her lips. This time it wasn’t soft or gentle, the intensity of it made Jess hover over Alice who laid back on the couch taking Jess on top of her, their fingertips creeping everywhere they could reach. Alice let her fingers under Jessamine’s shirt, feeling her sides, touching up her stomach.

Alice had never touched a woman that way, so lewd, and the welcoming silky skin pressed against her own was chilly. She had no time to doubt or question herself as Jessamine hooked her knee to raise one of her legs and hook it around her frame. Jess’s body pressing down against Alice, pushing her to the couch, granted her a sigh. It wasn’t so much that she enjoyed the pressure only, but the way that Jess’s hand dotted on her legs with caresses and grips.

Jessamine ran her hand further, under her dress, looking for the ends of the pantyhose so she could pull the wool out of their way. Alice wasn’t like Jess who had legs for days, so it wasn’t a hard array to get rid of them. She wasn’t prepared for the slow kisses the blonde traced up her leg, taking longer to press her lips on Alice’s thighs and take her breath away. They were hurried and anxious for more skin, more touch, but they were still taking their time to explore each other.

Lifting her dress, Jesse traced the kisses up her stomach only to realize the dress would present more complicated.

“Where’s the uh—?” She looked up and Alice nearly lost it, drawn by the lust in her gaze like it was a rope of emotion tying around her. Alice wanted to pull her up and devour her lips, but she half sat up instead, pulling the zipper down.

Jess assisted her, discarding the dress over her shoulders. Alice wasn’t wearing a bra—the velvety fabric too tight against her skin to have allowed her such—and Jess traced from her belly button to her breasts. They were nothing particular, not large and not too flat, but Jess’s attention and devotion were all toward them with gentle palms and bold thumbs brushing her nipples.

Alice sighed. She couldn’t remember the last time she had gotten such attention. Sex didn’t normally involve foreplay—it was one and done—and she enjoyed how Jess was worshiping  her body, replacing her fingers with her lips at some point. It made her lose her senses, her head tilting back as the groan got stuck in her throat—which Jess noticed, but didn’t comment. Instead she seemed more willing to help Alice just let go and give into pleasure, her teeth lightly nibbling her nipple.s 

Alice’s fingers tangled again on blonde locks, tugging them this time. Alice was briefly aware how Jess was still fully dressed. She wanted to feel her too, press their bodies close together. She dragged her lips back to hers, kissing her so deep and hard Jess gasped in surprise.

She drove her fingers anxiously to her tee, pulling it, and Jess got the message, removing the fabric. Alice had never removed another woman’s bra, but she had enough practice throughout her lifetime to just easily unhook Jess’s, tossing it to the side—where a noise of something cracking followed. Jess grinned against Alice’s lips as she pulled her small figure on her lap.

Alice straddled her, arching her body against Jess, the friction of their skins making her sigh. Women were so soft, so deliciously alluring, she had never considered it before and she had no clue as to why. Jess’s hands running up her spine, her breasts pressed against hers, it was heavenly.

Jessamine moved them again, setting Alice back against the couch while her body hovered hers, a hand trailing down her body. Alice couldn’t hold in the moan when Jess touched her, over the fabric of the panties, feeling the warmth she emanated for her.

“When was the last time you were touched?” Jessamine wondered out loud, her voice hoarse and eyes dark, watching Alice’s every reaction to every small circling her fingers did over her center.

Her squirming under Jess answered the question—too long.

Jessamine decided to move down then, dragging Alice’s panties down until she was lying there, sprawled and naked in front of her. Alice met her gaze, watching Jess’s delay to contemplate the sight that was the brunette, hot and surrounded.

Spreading her knees, Jess high dived between her legs, kissing and biting her thighs before her tongue met her center and Alice at last let out the moan that had been trapped in her throat.

She was an eager lover, delving into her center, tongue spreading her further open with absurd need and desire. Jess liked to give, almost as if making Alice scream was her own personal undoing. And Alice gave it to her, hands gripping her locks and the couch pillows, hips thrusting back against Jessamine’s mouth. Every lapping of her center, every suck on her clit, all making Alice louder each time.

When Jess pushed her long fingers inside her, Alice was nearly undone, and then Jess curled her fingers just the right way that sent Alice off a high cliff—Jess’s name on her lips as she lost all coherent thought.

Jess was still kissing her thighs and planting kisses on her mound when Alice came back to her senses, breathless. She couldn’t remember the last time she had an orgasm, let alone such a good one. Her eyes darted down to meet Jess’s and Alice just giggled—she never did such a thing.

“Wow,” Alice managed out, biting her lip.

Jessamine didn’t say anything, she simply chuckled, moving on top of Alice again. The kiss was tender this time, still filled with the laziness of Alice’s climax. Alice could taste herself on Jess’s lip and she could feel the lewd desire still pouring from the blonde. Alice’s fingers traced her stomach and stopped at her jeans.

“Take them off,” Alice’s tone was bossy and Jess obliged, stripping off the remaining pieces of clothes.

She was still on top of her when Alice reached to touch her this time, massaging her center. She may have never had sex with a woman, but Alice was not naive and she knew how she liked to be touched. Following her gut, she massaged Jess’s clit and the approval came as a little sigh.

When their lips met again it was like fervor took over them, an uncontrollable passion that Alice had been locking away without knowing. She massaged and pinched her until Jess wasn’t able to hold her weight on top of Alice anymore. Then she slipped her fingers in and thrust, strong small curls of her delicate fingers.

Alice broke from the kiss to look at Jess when the blonde crashed, eyes shut tight and body shuddering on top of her. What a sight she was, Alice gasped in awe of her undoing. She waited until Jess was watching her, and maybe the alcohol still in her system or the cloud of lust surrounding them, but Alice waited before she brought her fingers to her lips to lick them—to taste Jess.

“Fuck,” Jess groaned low as she watched Alice. “That’s hot.” Their grins filled up the room. Jess was shaky as their mouths met again, exploring Alice’s mouth slowly, like she had on that first kiss.

They seemed to have moved so fast, but when Alice gazed over Jess’s shoulder to the clock, it was way past three. The lethargic bliss of sex, the alcohol beginning to wear off and the lateness made her yawn, and Jess followed.

“Wanna go to bed with me, or is that not—?” Alice couldn’t finish, as Jess was already standing and pulling her up. What she wasn’t expecting was to be swung into Jess’s arms when the blonde lifted both her thighs.

Alice grinned, holding onto her like dear life, her legs wrapped tight around her waist as she leaned to peck her lips.

They rolled onto the mattress, under the thick duvet,  and Alice sighed in sheer content when Jess held an arm around her waist, cuddling her from behind, her long body so tightly pressed against hers the perfect shelter. Alice was drifting quickly and she couldn’t stop to panic over the fact they were cuddling—and how she never really cuddled her partners. Instead, she let herself fall asleep in her arms like the world was free of any worries. It was just them on a snowy night, utterly hammered and blinded by delicious sex.

——

Alice was alone when she woke up, the warm sheets covering her unable to mask the coldness of the empty spot beside her. Jess had left. She shouldn’t be so surprised, or disappointed. They’d had drinks, they’d had sex, she had left. It was no different from some previous encounters Alice had—except she could now add “women also leaving in the morning” to the list. The regret and defeat made her not want to leave the bed, she wanted to sink into the duvet and never leave again. But she forced herself out.

Stepping on the chilly floor, Alice tiptoed naked to the bathroom to run the tub. She smelled of Jessamine everywhere on her skin and as much as she wanted the scent and her touch to linger, the day was dreadfully cold and she wanted to sink in her problems—since it was far too early to do so with a glass of wine.

She searched the cabinets for some oils or scents to pour in the water, anything that would aid picking up her broken ego, but all there was were Rose’s liquid soaps and skincare products. It would have to be just warm water and the faint memory of the night before.

“I hope the bath is for the both of us.”

When Alice turned around Jess was leaning against the doorframe, watching her with a foolish grin. Alice jumped, startled, which made Jessamine chuckle.

“Oh, God, you scared me,” Alice gasped, bringing her hand to her chest hoping it would slow down her heart. But looking up to the sight of Jess wearing nothing but her robe only made Alice’s heart beat faster.

“Were you expecting someone else?” Jess mused, that enchanting smile crossing her lips.

“No, I just thought you had left—” Alice cut herself off, feeling silly for having thought that, especially with the sight of Jess wearing her robe. It made her quickly realize how she was bare to the bone, which perhaps explained Jessamine’s grin. There was really no point in covering herself now, but Alice still flustered.

“Did you want me to? I can go…” Jess gestured with her thumb that she could simply leave and Alice quickly shook her head, she surely wanted Jess to stay.

“No, no—stay,” Alice said quietly, biting her lower lip.

Jess smiled what Alice thought could be the most stunning smile she had ever seen her entire life. It took all the courage in her to walk up to her and undo the ties of the robe and pull the fabric down.

“The bath was just for me, but I would love it if you joined,” she whispered, eyes gazing up at Jess’s wry smile.

Alice watched her smile grow as she tried to stand on her tiptoes to meet Jess’s lips. She obliged, meeting Alice halfway, bending down to greet the kiss with eagerness. No heels, no questioning their emotions, completely naked in each other’s arms. They looked like an erotic renaissance painting. The tall and the short one, blonde and brunette, two women diving into passion and lust.

The bathroom was a mess when they finished, water having overflowed with their eagerness to give each other some more of that sublime pleasure. They were no longer drunk, except for the inebriation that came with being one another. But they had not yet talked about the night before—or that morning, their sex drive being stronger than any words. As they slipped downstairs to eat something, Jessamine in a bathrobe and Alice with a towel around her slim figure, they were bound to talk.

“Breakfast is cold,” Jessamine said as she turned the stove to reheat the toast. Alice sat at the table, watching her decide whether or not the ham needed the same treatment. “Do you eat meat?”

“Yeah, meat’s all right,” Alice wondered with a frown, what was it that Jess was cooking up.

“How about eggs, how do you like them?”

“Just sunny side up,” she shrugged. “What is that you’re making?”

“English breakfast. Well, not a full one since you didn’t have tomatoes or beans and some other things, in the fridge.” Jessamine flipped the toasts and looked over her shoulder with a smile. “Essentially just toast, egg and ham then.”

Alice could settle for that. She normally had a smoothie or something lighter, but Jess was cooking and she was enjoying that sight. James had never cooked for her. She didn’t want to be comparing the two, as they were utterly different people, but it was a thought she couldn’t shake off. Jessamine barely knew her that well and there she was, making her come first thing in the morning and cooking her food.

It wasn’t a usual feeling for her, Alice had grown used to not being fully liked. Her relationships had either been casual or never lasted. It was a nice change how Jess dotted on her with very small things—like grabbing her beer, or sneaking kisses to her neck and cooking.

She never thought the cooking would be this remarkably important, but it turned out Alice enjoyed it a lot.

“Sounds delicious,” she told Jess, smiling largely. “Can I help?”

“Ah, well, it’s pretty much done. I was going to bring it upstairs when I heard the tub running and you know what happened after.” Jess shot her a smirk that made Alice glad to be seated. That explained though why she hadn’t found Jess in the morning. Alice felt even sillier for being so distressed before when she hadn’t even bothered to look before jumping to conclusions.  “If you can boil us the water for tea, that would be lovely. Unless you want coffee.”

Normally Alice would always go for coffee, but she was in a mood for trying new things.

“I can go for tea.”

“Wonderful.” Jess pointed at the kettle and Alice prompted herself up.

They moved in a little dance in the small kitchen, Jess reaching over Alice for plates, while she snuck under Jess’s arm to fill up the water. At some given point, both done with their tasks, Alice found herself trapped between Jessamine and the counter—a position she found she quite enjoyed. She smirked down at the brunette before lifting her up to the counter, their heights at a much bigger advantage now.

Jess kissed her slow, the taste of her a delicious drug Alice was growing slowly addicted to. She spread her hands on Alice’s thighs to tug her closer and deepen the kiss. Short legs hooking tight on the tall woman, fingers tugging at blonde locks, Alice was quickly feeling heated up again.

When they stopped for air, neither of them pulled back, Alice’s forehead resting against Jess’s.

“Breakfast is going to get cold again,” Alice whispered before she initiated another kiss and ignited another heated fire between them.

It would have gone cold again, as Jessamine’s hand was already slipping between Alice’s legs even with the kettle screaming by them, but the buzzing of the phone interrupted them, both groaning in discontent.

“I think it’s mine,” Jess whispered against Alice’s lips.

“Let it ring…”

“It could be important, actually,” she pulled back but not without reluctance. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right,” Alice nodded trying to catch her breath.

When Jess pulled back, Alice hopped off the counter and took the water off the stove, serving them two cups. She took them to the table, sitting by her plate, but her ears got quickly alert to the conversation. She had called someone darling and the realization that this someone could be a woman Jessamine saw, like she had seen Alice the night before, suddenly sunk in. People did that all the time, had a one night stand—especially if they knew that there was no commitment involved because the person lived across the globe.

Alice tried to not think too much of it, maybe it was nothing, she could simply be overthinking it. She had no right or reason to be upset, they fucked and that was it.

“Don’t worry, Leah, I’ll be home soon,” Jess said on the phone before she hung up.

Her expression was clearly changed when she came back to the table and Alice felt her heart sink even further.

“Alice, I’m so sorry, I actually have to run,” Jessamine sounded apologetically and Alice just nodded.

“I get it,” she sighed, her disappointment quite clear.

Jess opened her mouth to say something but nothing really came out. Instead she walked up to Alice and leaned over to kiss her.

“I—I hope you enjoy the breakfast.” Jess smiled when she pulled back, watching Alice nod again. Alice’s smile was clearly fake, but it seemed Jessamine was in too much of a hurry to notice.

She only slowed down by the door, looking back at Alice before she went out.

“I loved meeting you, Alice.” Her whisper was almost inaudible, but Alice heard her from across the room and the  parting smile they exchanged was sad.

After Jessamine was gone, Alice cleaned up the kitchen, saving to eat Jess’s plate later or the next day. After breakfast she cleaned the living room. Over the center table with a broken vase was Jessamine’s bra that Alice had so eagerly tossed aside the night before. Alice folded the piece and set it neatly on the table, removing the broken vase pieces.

The thought that crossed her mind made Alice curse under her breath. Jessamine had sneaked away and she could just simply leave it there—it was her sister’s house after all—instead of trying to return it.

Still, she called up Rosalie.

“Hi, Rose,” she said cheerily on the phone.

“Alice, so good to hear from you! How’s England treating you? I hope you’re enjoying everything there,” Rose said, excitedly as well.

“Oh, everything is great! The cottage is so nice, and I visited the city the other day.”

“I hope it isn’t too lonesome? Listen, if you want I can call up my sister and she can show you around,” she suggested, making Alice clear her throat.

“She actually stopped by, yeah.”

“That’s wonderful you made acquaintances already.” Rose sounded relieved and Alice grinned nervously.

“She actually forgot something of hers here and I don’t really have her number—”

“I’ll text you! If you would rather, actually, I can send the address as well. She’s right in London, not  far from there.”

“Oh, sure, thank you!” Alice wasn’t sure she could just show up there, if it would be barging into the other woman’s space, but perhaps she could text and mention the bra. “How are you liking Los Angeles?”

“I’m loving it here! I met your cousin.” There was a long pause and it seemed both were waiting for the other to continue.

“Emmett?”

“Yeah! He came to pick your ex’s things…”

“Thank God,” Alice laughed, at least she could be relieved James’s things wouldn’t be there when she returned. ���He’s really amazing, Emmett.”

“He really is. He was showing me around,” Rose cleared her throat and for some reason Alice felt that it meant the same thing as when she did it about Jess.

“I’m happy you two are having fun!” Alice grinned. “I don’t want to keep you from it!”

“Nonsense, I’m loving chatting with you,” Rose laughed lightly and Alice nodded at it—even though Rosalie couldn’t really see it.

“Me too, Rose!”

They chatted for over half an hour until Rose had to go meet Emmett, like they had arranged to do. Alice was faced with her own turmoil after the call was over. Should she text or call Jessamine? Should she show up at her door? She felt the second might be crossing a boundary too strongly. She didn’t want to be that kind of woman, so she went with the first option.

Alice: Hi, it’s Alice. Rose gave me your number.

Alice: I hope I’m not intruding or anything, it’s just that you forgot your bra here. Should I leave it somewhere? I don’t know if you would want your sister to find it here. Then again you do crash here a lot, so that might have been a silly thought.

She felt stupid, like she couldn’t properly text anymore. Alice had always been so sure of things, so certain and direct. And with Jessamine she didn’t know hot to act, kept circling around like a foolish teen. The messages were sent though, trying to further explain herself would only make it worse.

Jess: Hey!

Jess: Well, I’m not going to be in the area until next week, I think. But maybe if you’re in London we can meet up.

Alice was surprised with the quick response, but she couldn’t read if there was enthusiasm or not and cursed herself for not having called instead—she hated text messages.

Alice: I’m actually planning to go sightseeing tomorrow, I could drop it off with you.

Jess: Yeah, just text me when you’re in the area!

Alice: Will do.

It felt better in the end, being brief and short, distant.

When she curled in bed later that night, with her copy of Blood In The Shoe—the murder mystery she had been reading—, Alice had Jessamine’s scent surrounding her, the smell of her stuck in the sheets and the duvet and it seemed to involve Alice like a string of calmness as she read. The characters were so particularly peculiar on the tale—the girl so direct and so bold felt like her own self, she liked that feisty suspect of the murder—even if she questioned whether or not the woman was in fact a murderer.

Those types of stories could really capture Alice, she had a thing for mystery and the thought of it made her close the book at the end of chapter three. As eager as she was for finding out the end, Alice’s mind kept drifting off to the tall blonde that had driven her wild the night before—and funnily enough the detective in the story was also a tall blond. Maybe that was what made her think of Jessamine.

Alice avoided getting involved at all costs, it was simply something she didn’t allow herself to do. When she was a teenager she had and it only resulted in tears and heartbreak. She had dated this boy who had replaced her for someone else, and not just anybody, her best friend at the time. Alice had never cried so much. Now when she looked back at it, it had been such a silly array. But Alice promised she would never cry because of love ever again, or for anyone.

It became well known that she was an ice queen in relationships, never giving herself in, always a step back in emotional involvement, all for her own good. And she was happy that way, at least it was easier. Not getting attached and always being ready for it to end meant she didn’t get to feel like crap again. It should be easier, but it wasn’t. She might not cry, but Alice could still feel things, after all she was only human. Avoiding and locking it away just meant she didn’t have to deal with it.

Somehow, it felt different when it came to Jessamine.

——

The next day Alice visited some spots she had wanted to see in London, but Buckingham  Palace still remained. It was about to get dark and she still hadn’t heard back from Jessamine to do the drop off. Alice had texted her earlier in the day to let her know she was around, but there was no answer. She had the address but she didn’t want to simply show up there, Alice just felt it would be all too strange. But she hated driving on the wrong side of the road, and doing so at night would be scary and dreadful.

Alice told herself she would leave it at the door and simply write a note explaining why she left there and how she had the address. Something simple like: Rose gave me the address, had to run. Maybe add how nice it was that they had met—no, that would be too foolish. The simple note would do. Except she didn’t have a paper, or a pen. She would have to explain it to Jess herself.

Braving through the open gate and charming front yard, Alice rang the bell and regretted it the following second.

Placing the bag on the ground, she turned to simply leave before Jess could see her. She would leave a text explaining after and hoped that would be better. But before she could give more than three steps, the door cracked open.

“Alice?”

She stopped on her track, cursing under her breath before she turned around with a smile.

“Hi—”

“Hey… What are—”

Before Jess could even ask, Alice cut her off to begin explaining.

“I’m so sorry, I really don’t mean to barge in. I hate the freaking wrong sided road and I had to head home before it got too dark. Rose gave me your address and I was just going to drop with a note, but I had no pen or paper so I figured I would give it to you. But then it sunk on me how absurd and ridiculous would be when you opened the door to see me and thought would be better to just leave there and text you later and now—Oh well, now this is much worse than I had foreseen it,” she rambled and Jessamine could only give her a wry smile—that didn’t help Alice’s trail of thought at all—looking down at the bag on the floor.

She picked it up, seeing the bra inside it made Jess smile. Alice hoped foolishly that it was because of the memory of their night, even though she felt it might be for how ridiculous she had just sounded.

“Thank you for bringing it. I’m sorry I didn’t return your text, it was really a god awful day,” Jess apologized. Before she could go on though, a head popped at the door. A child.

Alice was immediately shocked and then a second little girl, even younger than the other, appeared.

“Mommy, who’s that?”

It all happened too fast in Alice’s mind, as she pictured Jessamine with a husband and a family, a true housewife, having escapades with women she found at bars—or at her twin’s house. Alice felt her stomach turn, thinking she was someone’s affair. How stupid she had been!

“That’s a friend of mine, Leah,” Jess told the youngest one and Alice immediately recalled the phone call she had in the morning that made her rush out.

Alice was still staring at the children in awe when the oldest poked Jess’s leg.

“Alice, this is Charlotte and Leah, my daughters. Girls, this is mommy’s friend Alice.” Jessamine looked at Alice, apologetically.

“Nice meeting you Alice, would you like to come in?” Charlotte, the oldest, said so kindly and smiled.

“Oh—I—” This was totally outside Alice’s realm so she looked up to Jessamine for approval. She nodded promptly. “Sure, thank you, Charlotte.”

The three made way and Alice stepped into something that looked right out of a wild dream. Jess helped Alice with her coat as the girls ran into the living room. When they were briefly left alone, Alice eyed Jessamine with shocked inquisition, eyes quickly darting around looking for a husband.

“W-i-d-o-w,” Jessamine spelled so that it wouldn’t be easily caught by the distracted girls. Alice stopped on her track and looked at Jess like she had been punched on the stomach—it was worse. Not for the little affair they had, of course, but the fact Jessamine had lost someone she loved enough to build a family, it just made her feel so bad for her.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Jess,” Alice mumbled as Jessamine trailed off.

“It’s quite all right now. Maria passed five years ago,” Jess said, seeing how Alice looked like she was slapped on the face again. “I’m a lesbian, you know that right?” She was amusedly chuckling.

“Yeah, I figured as much, I just—” Alice looked over her shoulder to where the girls were playing.

Before Jessamine could explain it though, they came running to meet the two adults.

“Mommy, she’s so pretty,” Leah said, looking at Alice in awe.

“Oh, thank you.”

“I quite agree,” Jess said and the little comment made Alice blush.

“You look like my doll,” Charlotte added with a giggle, taking Alice’s hand and dragging her along. “Let me show her to you.”

“All right.” Alice looked at Jess briefly, chuckling as she followed the girls.

Alice sat with them for the longest time, being shown every single toy and even helping them pick outfits for the barbies. The girls were absolutely astonished by Alice’s ease to play with them, and they adored her sense of style for the dolls—so different their mother normally had.

It was after dinner—which Alice had watched from a far as Jessamine cooked for them—a delicious pasta that made a mess out of Jess trying to help Leah eat, the girls invited Alice to see the tent they had in their room. It was Alice’s turn to be in awe of the beauty of it, as the four of them laid inside it—Jess and Alice in the middle, the girls on the sides.

“It’s so beautiful,” Alice told the girls.

Paper cup stars, fairy lights, and pictures hung from the sheer fabrics that covered the ceiling, forming a made-up gigantic tent, filled with pillows, blankets and stuffed animals.

“Mommy made it with us,” Charlotte told her.

“I love it. Your mommy is very talented.”

“Us too!” Leah squealed, making all of them laugh.

“You too, yes.” Alice nodded.

They were still grinning when Jess reached for Alice’s hadn’t between them, and their gaze met.

“Alice?”

“Mhm?” She looked over at Charlotte.

“If you want to sleep over I can let you borrow my pillow,” the oldest girl told her, making her smile largely.

“Thank you, Charlotte, that’s very sweet.” Alice smiled at her, nodding. “Maybe another time.”

Later, when the girls were asleep and Alice and Jess could finally talk, they took the conversation to Jessamine’s study. It was quiet for a while and Alice looked at the endless titles on the bookshelf for what seemed like minutes. Jess waited until they felt ready to ask the right answers.

“You were married then.” Alice started, leaning against the bookshelf and watching Jess, who sat across the room.

“Yes, for four years.” Jess didn’t seem filled with sadness and sorrow and Alice imagined it might be because the passing wasn’t recent. “Maria died when Leah was still a baby, since then it’s just been the three of us.”

“I’m so sorry, Jess,” she said sincerely.

“I don’t normally tell people this on first dates. It’s difficult being a single mom, let alone a lesbian single mom of two. So I tend to separate things,” Jess explained and Alice nodded quickly.

“I completely get it. I didn’t want to barge in,” Alice sounded apologetically and her eyes were sincere.

“You didn’t… You were a hit.” Jess laughed. “That’s just my way of protecting them, I don’t really date. On weekends, when they go to my in-laws, I get to be just Jess and not the mom of two who has to work and balance bake offs and recitals and work.”

“You’re a rockstar for doing all this, honestly.” Alice couldn’t picture herself doing half of what she imagined Jess had to do. “It must be difficult.”

“Sometimes it is, but I wouldn’t change a thing.” Jess stood from her seat and went to the bar she kept hidden in one to the cabinets, getting each of them a dose of bourbon.

Alice took the cup willingly, it had been a lot of information in one night. Jess was standing closer now and her scent was intoxicating, more than the strong alcohol. She sipped the liquor, but her eyes were on the blonde—and hers had never left Alice’s.

“I shouldn’t probably drink much, I still have a long drive,” Alice remembered, but it was more an excuse. She didn’t trust herself drunk next to Jessamine. And that entire array was just too complicated, and Alice wasn’t sure she was ready for complicated, they barely knew each other after all.

“I’m not letting you drive home, Alice.” Jessamine seemed serious and Alice chuckled.

“We both know I was merely panicking earlier, I can definitely drive this late, I just have to be more careful,” she rambled on while Jess put her cup down.

She missed the gaze Jess was giving her because of her rant, but it was impossible for her not to stop when she stood right in front of her, trapping Alice against the shelf. Jess’s hand snaked up her neck to sprawl on Alice’s scalp, planting one of her legs between Alice’s when she took a step closer to her, this time literally pressing her against the furniture.

“That’s not the reason you’re staying tonight.” Jess’s voice was hoarse, her hot breath against Alice’s lips when she leaned over. Alice basked on it, like her air was what she needed to survive. And then their mouths crashed and she realized she didn’t need to breathe, all she needed was to kiss Jess.

Alice felt sore the next morning when she woke up on Jessamine’s bed, her limbs worn out from what they had done all night long—as if it was the last one. Jess was nowhere to be found under the comfortable duvet, but Alice decided to wait this time. And her award came bringing them a tray with deliciously smelling food.

“Morning.” Alice stretched, smiling and yawning still in sheer bliss.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Jess said cheekily, kicking the door shut for lack of free hands. Alice realized it might be late, and was alarmed to look at the clock. It was noon.

“Oh, fuck—Rose’s dog, and God, what will your daughter’s think?”

“Don’t worry, the girls are at school already, the bus took them earlier. And I called up Rose’s neighbor to walk up the pup,” Jess explained, setting down the tray. “Figured you needed sleep.”

“Wow. You also cooked breakfast, again.” Alice pointed out, looking at the food on the tray. 

“American breakfast this time.” Jessamine motioned the pancakes with a chuckle as Alice beamed.

“The other was amazing too.”

“I get it, this is a taste from home.”

Alice nodded, even though she didn’t really miss home, this was nice, she enjoyed it. She took a bite of the pancakes and a sip of the juice, sighing in content.

“This is delicious, Jess! Thanks,” she said with a mouthful, too excited and hungry to mind, but giving her an apologetically smile for it. Jessamine just shook her head with amusement, leaning to peck her lips.

“I was thinking maybe we could see the city? As much as I’d like to keep you in bed as long as I can, I figured you might want to go sightseeing?”

Alice blushed heavily with the little comment, but gave Jess a nod.

“I’ve seen some things, but I still have a few spots to cover.”

“We’ll go there. Where to first?”

“Buckingham Palace!” Alice’s eyes lit up immediately, making Jessamine laugh.

“Such a yankee.” Jess rolled her eyes dramatically.

“God Save the Queen.” Alice teased just to make Jess squirm.

“Jesus Christ, don’t make me regret this, Alice.” she laughed though, leaning over to kiss her. Alice returned it eagerly, realizing they hadn’t kissed yet—and it had been something was secretly anxious for.

“Well, if you keep kissing me like this you may just change my mind.”

“Good to know,” Jess whispered and because of that, she kissed Alice again, only deeper this time.

They did leave the room to explore the city, but not before Jessamine put the tray aside so she could roll on top of Alice to make her scream like they hadn’t been able to the night before.

——

  “So I was your first?” Jessamine blinked in sheer surprise then, but the smile creeping on her lips was enchanting. “I mean, you didn’t strike me as a lesbian, but sometimes women have adventures.”

“Nope, no adventures. I am pretty boring.” Alice grinned, leaning back against Jessamine.

“You’re anything but boring,” Jess said quietly, making Alice look up to her.

It was Christmas Eve and Jessamine had invited Alice to spend it with them—which was great because spending it alone was something Alice had been dreading. It had been the most lovely night, too. Jessamine had cooked, Alice had brought dessert, and the girls had arranged a stocking to hang up for Alice.

The two women had spent most of the time in a friendly manner, with the exception of some longer looks here and there. But now that Charlotte and Leah were tucked in, Alice didn’t hesitate on leaning in to kiss Jess.

It had been two weeks that they had been like this. Kisses, dates, sleepless nights in each other’s arms. All the problems she had had back home seemed to have vanished. But now that she was leaving the next day, she didn’t know how to deal with the fact Jess would be across the globe and that they would likely be moving on from their winter adventure.

They hadn’t talked about the departure, at all, but Jessamine knew she was leaving soon.

“Well, maybe not in London.” Alice chuckled, a sigh escaping her lips when she sheltered against the blonde again.

“I have a wild thought.”

“Hm?”

Jess waited a few moments until Alice had to pull back and look at her.

“Why don’t you stay for New Years? I mean, what’s another week…” Jessamine was always confident and sure of things, but Alice noticed how hurried and nervous she sounded when the words were said out loud.

“Oh—”

As much as Alice would love to stay, she had her work and her life back in Los Angeles. Aside from the fact that Rosalie would be returning to England soon and she would have nowhere to stay any longer—not that she couldn’t arrange that though, Alice surely had the means for that.

“I understand if you can’t,” Jess trailed off. “I thought it was worth the shot.”

“I’d love to stay, Jess. I don’t think I can, though.” Alice’s heart broke seeing the expression in her face, but Jess still nodded.

“I get it, I really do.” The way Jess pulled back to stand up from the couch was what broke Alice even more. All of the sudden it was like the lump of her throat that Alice had when she flew to Europe was back again, that tightness in her gut.

She watched Jess busy with collecting the appetizers and some cuts, heading to the kitchen in silence. There was no doubt she was upset and Alice felt helpless. She had no clue what to do, but she didn’t want to see Jess that way.

Alice met a teary Jessamine in the kitchen.

“Jess—”

“I’m sorry, I’m always like this.” She wiped her cheeks, sniffling. “I cry over everything. Good book, good movie, goodbyes…”

Her eyes were big and green because of the tears and when Alice met her gaze, it was like her heart skipped a beat. She came closer to Jess, cupping her cheeks and pulling her down to kiss her. There was no hurry and no lust, but it was pouring with the most sublime sentiment. Slow and calm, like a farewell.

Jess gripped onto Alice tighter, pulling her closer, almost possessively. When they parted for air, her fist was clinging onto the fabric of Alice’s dress and she didn’t want to let her go.

“Will you come say goodbye to me tomorrow?”

She could see it broke Jess a little more to nod, and Alice felt like a monster for hurting her that way.

“Thank you,” Alice whispered and tiptoed to kiss her again.

——

“I never cry.” Alice sobbed, buried into Jessamine’s embrace, tugging the blonde tightly against to her. “Oh, I’m so stupid.”

“Shh, it’s all right, Alice,” Jess said soothingly, her hand running up and down her spine. “It’s completely fine to cry.”

“You don’t get it.” She pulled back to look up at Jess. Alice was a mess, swollen eyes, red nose, cheeks completely wet. “I never cry, Jess, over anything. Books, movies, goodbyes…” She copied the words from the night before, making Jess chuckle.

“Should I be worried?” Jess taunted, brushing a thumb over her cheek.

“Possibly.” Alice gasped, an amused grin over the tears. “I’m crying now. Because I don’t want to go, I want to stay… With you.”

Jessamine was surprised, but she was smiling, so Alice took it as a good sign to continue talking.

“I never get involved, I don’t let myself because I don’t want to get hurt. And I let my guard down with you because… I don’t even know why! It’s completely wild to me, but here I am, crying like an idiot because I want to spend New Year’s with you.”

“Then stay, Alice,” Jess said simply and Alice wished it was indeed that easy.

“Rose is arriving tomorrow, I would have to get a hotel.”

“Or you could just stay with me. I have a spare room if you’re worried about your privacy.” Again, Jess said it as if it was no big of a deal. Alice doubted if she stayed that she would be using the guest room that much.

“I have work in Los Angeles.”

“It’s the week between Christmas and New Year, your employees will be glad you’re taking one more week off.” Jess chuckled, cupping both her cheeks this time and tilting Alice’s head up to her. “Go on, ask the final question so I can convince you to stay.”

Alice wasn’t sure her final question was the same as Jessamine’s, but the look in the blonde’s eyes told her that maybe they were thinking the exact same thing. Alice still hesitated, inspecting her green eyes.

“What about after, Jess?”

“Well, I’m falling deeply in love with you, Alice. So we’ll definitely have to figure that out.”

If her heart could stop, Alice imagined that it would have, right then and there. But, for once in her life, she felt sincerely the same way.

“You are?” She asked, blinking tears again.

“Yes.” Jess sounded so truthful, her thumbs caressing Alice’s jaw.

“And do you think we can figure this out?”

“It depends…”

“On what?” Alice wondered, frowning slightly.”

“Whether you feel the same way or not?” Jess wondered and this time Alice smiled.

She didn’t answer at start, pulling Jessamine to a kiss instead. Her mouth so anxiously devouring her tall blonde, tugging her coat to drag her down more into the dance.

“I’m falling in love with you too, Jess.”

“Then we can definitely figure that out.”

And they would, in a week or so, once the year had ended and their hearts had been forever laced together.

——

“So that’s how you and grammy met, grandma?” The teenager boy sitting beside Alice looked up to her, a smile on his dimpled cheeks. She nodded at him.

Her short black hair was beginning to fade to a lighter color, the roots and some locks turning to white. Her face carried the wrinkles time brought, but she was still a breathtaking beauty Jess had met all those years ago.

Across the room, Jess walked in with a girl the same age as the boy—a precise female copy of him—carrying plates of food. A couple other family members following behind them—their mom Charlotte and their father Peter, aunt Leah, Rose and Emmett, Edythe and Bella, all bringing something.

“Food is ready,” Jess said, her wry smile meeting her wife’s across the room.

“Are you ready?” Alice asked the boy, who nodded.

Alice went to join Jessamine’s side, who leaned to kiss her cheek.

“Merry Christmas, love,” Jess whispered in her ear. Alice turned so their lips met briefly.

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

They both looked at their family, so big and happy.

“Thank you for a wonderful life, Jess.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

Want to also personally thank @irrelevanttous and @beautlilies for all the hard work on correcting, giving me tips and helping me review this long ass work. Pardon if some things might have missed my eye, but they deserve ALL THE PRAISE for putting up with my bad grammar and inventing words that do not exist. Thank you, ladies! ♡

[bluebrine]

it’s still... odd to me that other people had such different experiences growing up with this series than i did. i had such a personal relationship with it... seeing others talk about the sequels, what they liked and disliked for the series- and it’s like, really? we had very different childhoods (...story of my life, ha).

in my elementary school, our library only had one of the books- Dealing With Dragons (the one with this delightfully cheesy cover by Tim Hildebrandt lol).

(also, please note, there is no indication here that this is the first book of a series. just..... keep that in mind.)

haha, what if 🤭 ..... i was beautiful princess, and you were a dangerously charming dragon 😜 ..... and we were both girls? 😳💦 

good god, little me LIVED for this book. i checked it out & reread it over and over again- the librarian must have got sick of me at some point but i didn’t care lol. i stayed up too late reading it with a flashlight under the covers, i read it during class beneath the desk (i was not... particularly stealthy. they kinda just let me think i was getting away with it lmao).

i know every young kid likes books with fantasy and magic to make their boring lives less lame, but the way i buried myself in this one was... 100% pure escapism. (pour one out for all the weird kids who had no friends outside of books, am i right ladies?) 

the story has a theme of just..... running away from it all, cause everyone else apparently knows so much more about what’s Right for you- what interests are Right for you, what clothes are Right for you, what boys are Right for you, everything! everything was chosen for you, no dystopian YA lit required! 

(CAN YOU POSSIBLY GUESS WHERE THIS IS GOING?)

i didn’t know what the concept of a lesbian was or why no one else thought it was weird that you couldn’t have interests that were Not Like Other People (the Right People), but that’s what this book meant to me. the entire core of the story was showing kids that you could pick your own hobbies, your own home, your own family & friends and it wasn’t up to the Right People to decide that for you.

fuck ‘em!!! run off to the mountains! live in exciting domestic bliss with a giant, well-read, protective dragon lady who can breathe fire and loves to eat your cherries jubilee every night (ABSOLUTELY NO METAPHORS HERE NO SIR)! back home your family is freaking out (but kinda relieved)- cause this is crazy, dragons are dangerous and ruin the women they steal away (where have i heard this before?), but also your family doesn’t... really miss you. they don’t actually want you back- as you were, anyway. once the prince sweeps you off your feet and away from the dragon’s evil clutches and properly marries you, oh sure, then you’re welcome back with open arms! (but that will never happen.)

fuck ‘em!!!!! make cool friends with other misfits and live a life full of adventure with the family you found along the way! there’s witches who live in eccentric homes with 50 cats, there’s neighborly old dragon grandpas who love chocolate pudding, there’s other girls who don’t think you’re weird and like to hang out and read magic books in the library too! you can make friends and be happy! it IS possible!

and that meant so much to me as a kid. i never fit in (i wonder why), i never seemed to like the Right stuff (I WONDER WHY), and for the things i did care about, i went about it wrong- according to the Right People, who didn’t much care about what i thought at all.

...anyway Dealing With Dragons is an allegory about the power of lesbian escapism & independence and i love it very much. i still love it, over a decade later. it’s a fun, captivating, whimsical little tale that means more than childhood nostalgia to me. i spent hours daydreaming about the story in elementary school, content with the characters and setting in a way that just... settled something in me. 

but then i read the other books.

because there were... OTHER BOOKS!? WHAT??? (again, i never knew it wasn’t a stand-alone story lol).

when i got to middle school and had a whole new library to consume, i naturally looked for my fav type of books- those with cool fantasy ladies with swords and dragons on the front (that’s a genre, right?). and, lo and behold, there were more parts to my favorite story!!! lads, i lost my goddamn mind. there were THREE MORE? WHAT??? utter batshittery. how had they kept this from me? i had to read them immediately. 

what would the stories be about? i saw Cimorene on the covers, sword-wielding and pants-wearing (’fuck yes’, said little me). what adventures would she get up to with Kazul, now that she was king of dragons? what would life in their new home be like? the new libraries and treasuries and kitchens would be massive- what secrets would they discover? what was living in dragon society like, now that they sat at the top together? what new recipes would Cimorene cook with her friend??? (that one was very important to me lol).

i checked out all of ‘em at once, and channeled deep into the obsessive focus that only a truly lonely middle school girl can attain. I was SO EXCITED for this. 

-- and got my heart ground to dust under Patricia C. Wrede’s heel.

...because, see, i hadn’t known there was an Enchanted Forest Chronicles. i hadn’t thought about what that actually meant. it, as inevitably as the tides, meant the incoming of the one thing that made me truly hate reading sometimes- romance. cause these books weren’t about Cimorene and her friends or Kazul at all. they were about a sudden love interest and the child Cimorene had with him cause of course that’s what fucking happened. what else was i expecting? what else could stories possibly be about? i read through all of the books, feeling a little more like somebody shot my dog with each chapter, and could only feel sick when she got married & pregnant at the end. i was 11 years old and i knew something was wrong but not why.

(aaand looking back now, was that baby’s first taste of queerbaiting? does it count if you do it to yourself?? ah, youth. i don’t let myself get my hopes up anymore.)

for a very long time, i hated the idea of love (...quite the oxymoron, that one). cause it always, always meant that the people i cared about changed in ways that i didn’t understand at all. what, some boy you’ve never met before shows up, and suddenly your important quest and friends and family are... an after thought? why? don’t you care about them? don’t you love them too? why does this always happen? why is there always a boy and love and babies and nothing else? (why, why, why indeed? and yes, i was one of those kids who got fucking mean when their friends started only looking at boys, how’d you know?)

anyways. i hated it. i couldn’t possibly have articulated why back then, but it always made me so mad, despite the fact that the words on the page were telling me that this was the best thing that could ever happen in life. that just made it worse, cause why am i getting so upset over this? it’s a good thing, objectively- they’re in love. they’re happy. why is it making me feel so fucking angry instead?

this series doesn’t really... deserve any of the repressed vitriol it made me feel, though. Cimorene’s love interest that appeared in book two, Mendanbar, is actually a pretty cool guy! he has an innate, natural connection to his magic forest kingdom. he’s sick of fairy-tale tropes, he has a sweet anti-wizard sword, he’s very kind and brave- and i fucking hated his guts (...lmao, sorry dude).

there’s nothing actually wrong with this series’s romances. the couples care about each other and support each other well. i’m glad for all the kids who got to see some happy romances, i truly am. but god, that wasn’t for me, and it probably wasn’t for the other lonely kids who picked up a book about running away from what the Right People wanted for them either. 

for a series about rejecting what society tells you is the Right thing to want, the characters just... end up wanting that exact same thing anyway. oh, the thought of marrying a man and spending your life with him, baring him heirs until you die, sounds unappealing? so distressing, in fact, you’d literally rather get eaten by dragons? WELL DON’T WORRY, this one particular guy is actually good! of course you’ll fall in love with him! you’ll want to be pregnant forever with his horrible frogspawn! you’ll be happy! 

...what do you mean this is what you were running away from?

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

i spent... an inordinate amount of time as a child reading Dealing With Dragons. while i cannot possibly blame the author for my individual experience with their work, which WAS written as a series (the finale was written first, actually! way back in 1985), the fact remains that my interactions with them were... soured. 

in a way that was out of the author’s hands, really, but i just don’t know how to think about this series without that bittersweet hurt in my chest. i cried like, twice, writing this stupid, rambling essay thing, and i don’t actually know how to look past that. i suppose the tried-and-true method of just... rereading the first book and pretending everything’s fine always works lol.

i own a few different versions of these books. there’s a full set i was gifted later in middle school -the nice glossy ones, with Peter De Seve’s lovely cover art! -which i have never once reread. they’re in immaculate shape, really.

i also own an absolutely, completely beat-to-shit paperback copy of the same version i must have read a hundred times as a kid. its cover is creased and peeling, there’s a bunch of weird stains and rips and dogears, and i adore it. i picked it up this year at a used book place, and every time i look at it i can see some small, desperate kid who doesn’t even know they’re lonely but still curls up around that book again and again. 

[the-melting-world]

Between the Pages

This fic came about when @arcanecadenza and I realized that her oc Dante and my apprentice Kipling were both very turned on by libraries and research. So naturally, we had to see what would happen if the conditions were just right. 😏

***

In which a humble gardener meets a shy alchemist...

~ 2k words

Warnings: mild spice

{Part I}

It wasn’t too often that Kipling Bronne could take the afternoon off. So she wanted to spend it at one of her favorite places – the library. Kip wished she had the luxury to go more often, but she didn’t want to think about that now. She was here and that was all that mattered.

This particular location was one of her favorite libraries in all of Vesuvia. And one of the only ones where she didn’t have a record of overdue books. Walking halfway across the city to get to it had been absolutely worth the inconvenience. With its high ceilings, cavernous lighting, and cozy furniture, Kipling could get lost in here for hours. 

And she certainly intended to do so. The problem was deciding where to direct her time. The literary section was calling her name, begging her to go hunting for the elusive spider-themed fables from her childhood. But she didn’t have time for silly rhymes. She was a business woman who needed to invest in her craft! And that meant looking up books on landscaping. In this she had no formal training and would never be able to save up enough money to support herself while she interned with a professional. So it all came down to teaching herself.

Kipling promised herself that next time she would browse the ancients and spend time with the nostalgic stories of her youth. But when Kipling entered the cool, dark building, she could already feel her resolve start to slip. After asking for directions to the nonfiction section, she didn’t so much as let her eyes wander in the direction of the popular literature.

By the time Kip reached the section with the books on floriculture and design, her shoulders were practically sagging. That’s when she ungracefully crashed into another patron. Of course it had to be a handsome one. 

Kipling quickly assessed his long, dark hair drawn back at the nape of his neck, his ocular frames, and the smell of parchment and chalk clinging to his garments. As if he were born right here between the shelves. Meanwhile Kip probably smelled of soil and terracotta clay. She hadn’t even had time to go home and change out of her apron and toolbelt. So she carried her entire office and all of its supplies on her hips. Not ideal for sliding in between these narrow bookshelves.

Still, Kipling over-apologized. “Gods, I wasn’t watching where I was going!” She bent down to pick up the patron’s frames, which had spilled onto the dusty floor in their collision. She did her best to clean them off on the sleeve of her blouse before hastily returning them to the owner’s face. This probably wasn’t the best course of action because they landed rather crookedly.

Kipling didn’t want to laugh, but the patron hadn’t moved or barely made a sound beyond grunting when they bumped into one another. Mostly he stared sort of slack-jawed, bringing Kip’s attention to what could have been a dark mote of dust or just a natural skin marking on the center of his lower lip. The longer she looked, the more she wanted to find out.

Reaching up to adjust the frames, Kipling tried to stifle a chuckle. “I probably shouldn’t cause any further damage, but –” her hands were able to smoothly rectify the problem without – bless the gods – poking him in the eye. 

It seemed that whatever spell the patron had fallen under had worn off because he was grinning subtly as she cleared away the finer wisps of hair determined to sweep the freckles off his face. 

“Thank you,” he said, not seeming to mind Kipling’s fussing. In fact, Kip realized as she reigned her arms back, the tilt of a thick eyebrow suggested that he didn’t seem to mind at all.

Jamming her thumbs behind the leather of her toolbelt, Kip struggled to find something else to say. This handsome individual was obviously familiar with this part of the library, and she didn’t want to say anything that might betray her ignorance in any of her weaker subject areas.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to because he was already rambling off questions. He spoke so fast and so eagerly that she could only parse out one. 

“Oh, I’m just looking for...” Kipling hesitated to say the Basics of Landscaping, so she said, “I’m here for work.” Noticing that he wasn’t carrying any texts or scrolls, she asked, “Are you looking for something in particular, uh… I don’t think I caught your name?”

“Dante,” he blurted. Then he cleared his throat. 

Kipling’s hand shot out faster than she intended. “Dante,” she repeated, appreciating its literary implications. “I’m Kipling. Or Kip, if you like.”

As they shook hands, his awkwardness dissolved under a more confident expression. 

“Kip. That I do like.” He made a thoughtful sound and added, “I’m here for work too.”

They were both slow to disengage from the handshake. Excited at the prospect of talking about a profession other than her own, Kipling asked, “Oh? What is it that you do, Dante?”

The confidence flickered, as if the patron wasn’t prepared to answer such a question. His eyes flitted about the dark space as he faltered, “I am... a...”

Kipling tried not to smile too eagerly as she waited for him to collect his thoughts. Finally, his dark eyes settled on a spot seemingly on the far side of the library before reconnecting with Kip’s.

“I’m a poet,” he said rather deliberately.

Kipling set her jaw and reconsidered her options for that afternoon. Browse through these very informative, but drab textbooks on topics devoid of narrative or verse? Or go hunting for her whimsical poems with a local expert?

She didn’t need long to think it over. Taking Dante’s hand again and tugging him away from these cramped shelves, she said, “Oh! Do you think you can help me with something? There’s a collection of children’s rhymes I’ve been trying to locate ever since –”

Kipling carried on as she tugged Dante in the direction of the cozier, warmer aisles where she knew her beloved poems were bound to be.

***

{Part II}

To Kipling’s surprise, Dante, although claiming to be a poet by occupation, did not know anything about the ancient bard scholar Ananzi or any of his prolific works within or outside of the realm of children’s fables. 

Either way, she was happy to have him by her side as they sat cross-legged at the base of one of the many shelves of poetry, leafing through anthology after anthology. Every time Kip paused in her treasure hunt to check on Dante’s progress, she found him staring at her or, dare she even say, pretending to read. One thing that she had noticed him making progress on was the state of his hair and attire – both of which were on a steady descent toward disheveled hell.

When Kipling could no longer ignore it, she quietly laughed. “You’ll never find anything with all that hair in your face.”

Dante looked about himself as if he just now realized what he had done. “Hm. I’ll admit that my priorities have shifted a bit.” He shot her a disarming smile.

Kipling, knowing full and well that she couldn’t focus on nostalgic pursuits when the present opportunities were so tempting, closed the book and said, “Dante, are you trying to distract me?”

“Yes.” The so-called poet looked rather pleased with himself. “Is it working?”

Kipling set the book to the side. “It is.” She turned to face him a little better. Looking pointedly at his hair, which was now undone and cascading about his shoulders, she asked, “May I?”

His eyes went a little wide, but he granted her permission. While Kipling took her time threading her fingers through his gently textured waves, Dante asked, “Do you know any of your ancient’s poems by heart?” Then clearing his throat, he added, “because it might help jog my memory. Certainly I know of whom you speak. It’s just buried under all the other, uh... ancients that I know of.”

Off to side, Kip rolled her eyes, but decided to humor him. “I know how the beginning of one goes.” Then as she began to recite the verses, her voice took on a different quality. It dipped low and broke up the common tongue in ways that only those from the islands could. 

Her poem told of a spider assassin who fell in love with a god king that she was assigned to kill. Dante’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned against her hands, which had gone from gentle touches to deeper massages along the nape of his neck.

When she ran out of verses to remember, Dante asked, “How does the poem end?”

Kipling withdrew her hand and gave a sad smile. “The spider drives herself mad because she can’t choose between carrying out her assignment or sparing the king’s life.”

Dante opened his eyes and chewed on his inner lip. “And this tale was meant for children?”

Kipling chuckled. “Oh, that one? No. Sorry, I should have specified.”

Dante smiled back. “It was very beautiful. Mostly due to the way you told it.”

Kip couldn’t stop her hand from wandering up to the ghost lock by her temple and winding it around her index finger.

Dante followed the gesture with his eyes. “Why did you... why did you stop?” Without waiting for an answer, he gently took hold of her free hand and fed it back into his hair.

Kipling’s laugh came out a little louder than she intended. “Gods, you’re worse than my familiar. I’ll admit, I’ve been distracted by the mark on your lip.”

Dante’s grin grew more confident. “Oh? Would you like a closer look?”

Knowing exactly where this was going, Kipling let her voice slip into the huskier accent from before.

“Only if you want me to.”

She was pleased to see that even in the amber shadows of the library, she could detect the band of blush forming across his freckled face. 

“I would.”

Kipling reached for and removed his frames. She folded them carefully before setting them off to the side on top of a book. She found that with or without glasses, Dante was very easy on the eyes. But she could tell that as soon as the frames came off, his confidence slipped. 

Luckily for him, Kip wasn’t in the mood to tease. She moved with purpose, guiding a wavy lock behind his ear and leaning in to coast her lips along the underside of his jaw. Dante made a shy sound that betrayed a more bashful nature under all that swagger from earlier. As Kipling walked her lips up his face, she felt him relax more and more. 

“You can touch me, Dante,” she whispered against the corner of his mouth. She demonstrated her meaning by slipping one hand along the base of his neck where she gathered a handful of his roots. She tucked her other index and middle finger into his unbuttoned collar. Her hands became opposing forces – one tugged down while the other slipped higher. 

“Oh. Mmm.”

Dante fumbled with his own hands, but Kipling didn’t wait for him to figure out a plan before she finally found his lips. And found them again. And again. 

Dante’s hands rested on a spot high on Kipling’s waist, just shy of her breasts. Occasionally, his knuckles would catch the soft underside, which only made Kip slow down the kiss and unburden more of the buttons on his shirt.

Drawing back some, she whispered, “You’re not a poet, are you, Dante?”

His slightly disoriented expression sobered a bit. “No.” He had the courtesy to meet her gaze when he came clean. “Is that... going to be a deal breaker?”

Kipling didn’t know where she found the discipline to hold back from surrendering to that downright irresistible mouth of his. Tapping the dark bead on his lower lip and schooling her features into something more contemplative, she said, “Only if you lie to me again.” 

“It won’t,” he whispered hastily, “happen again.”

Dante’s sober expression edged towards something more defenseless and hungry as Kip let her finger linger on the mark.

“Good. Because I want to get to know you, Dante. The real you.”

[razieltwelve]

Royalty and the Avatar (AtLA x LoK)

Korra gasped and strained against her bonds as the fingers inside her curled just so. The blindfold made it impossible to focus on anything but the sensations, and she could only arch her back and ride the waves of sensation that followed until she slumped back onto the bed, limp and exquisitely exhausted.

"Hmmm… I certainly can't fault your enthusiasm, but we do have to work on your endurance."

Azula tugged the blindfold off, and Korra stared as the other woman looked her straight in the eyes and licked her fingers clean. Spirits, that was hot.

"Are you really criticising me at a time like this?" Korra asked. She would have sat up, but she was currently tied quite securely to the head of the bed.

The princess's golden eyes gleamed in the twilight of the cabin, and Azula reached down to trail one finger along Korra's belly. Heat flickered to life, just shy of painful. "Self improvement is important, Korra. Isn't that what your instructors taught you?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm pretty sure they were referring to bending and not sex."

Azula's lips curled, and she leaned forward. It provided Korra with a wonderful view. "You know, when I first started chasing after you, I used to wonder what I'd do with you once I'd caught you." She smirked. "It's a good thing I never caught you back then. Killing you would have been such a waste." The words were accompanied by another heated look at Korra's bare body.

"Yeah, I'm glad to not be dead too." Korra grinned. "But do you think you could go back to describing your megalomaniacal plan? You were in the middle of covering that before you decided to tie me up and have your wicked way with me."

"Ah, yes, my megalomaniacal plan." Azula sat up, and a single candle flared to life. The azure light cast shadows across her face and body, and she looked equal parts alluring and imposing. Korra rolled her eyes. Azula was nothing if not theatrical at times. "Would you prefer it if I monologued, perhaps threw in a cackle or two, or would you prefer the simple version."

"I think the simple version would be best." Korra tested her bonds and sighed. Trust Azula to be ridiculously thorough even in a situation like this. "You can go into detail later."

"Very well." Azula sat down next to Korra and let her fingers trace whimsical paths across her body. "First and foremost, I want to assure you that I have no intention of trying to conquer the world."

"Right…"

"I mean it," Azula said. "I do think I would make an excellent ruler of the world, but conquering the entire world is simply impractical. The Fire Nation has neither the manpower nor the resources to conquer the world, never mind actually keep it under control."

"So, hypothetically, you would conquer the world if you thought you could?"

"You're better off not knowing the answer to that." Azula patted Korra's head fondly. "You'll sleep better at night. But, to return to matter at hand, it's really a simple matter of wanting what's best for the Fire Nation. Above all things, I am a patriot. I love the Fire Nation, and I want nothing but the best for it. This… war has dragged on for a century, and what do we have to show for it?"

"About a century of suffering and woe."

"Exactly." Azula held up one hand. Flame kindled around her fist, first orange, and then blue, and then blinding white. Korra shivered. Azula was the single most powerful fire bender she'd ever met, and it was a miracle she'd survived those early years when Azula had genuinely been trying to either kill her or capture her. "A foolish person might say that the Fire Nation has never been stronger, that we now control the North and South Poles and that we have subjugated most of the Earth Kingdom."

"And what would a smart person, presumably you, say?" Korra asked. Azula had many good qualities. Modesty was not one of them. Then again, was it really arrogance given what she'd accomplished so far?

"We hold the North and South Poles by the skin of our teeth. Oh, we've managed to grab hold of the major settlements, but it's getting harder and harder to fight off the resistance groups when they can melt back into the wilderness." Azula scowled. "Trying to fight off water benders in a land made almost completely of ice is the very definition of a bad idea. Oh, I've no doubt we could crush the Southern or Northern Water Tribes in a conventional battle, but they're not stupid. They're never going to give us a conventional battle."

"Yeah, that probably wasn't the greatest idea the Fire Nation has ever had." Korra snickered.

"Oh, be quiet," Azula grumbled. "And it's not like your ancestors have too much to be proud of. They somehow managed to lose despite the initial battles being conducted either at sea or on ice." The princess sighed. "The point of conquest, Korra, is that the conquerors should get something out of it. What does the Fire Nation get out of conquering the North or South Pole? We get constant trouble, land that none of our people want to live in, and vast sheets of ice and snow that serve no real purpose."

"Hey, there are resources in the North and South Pole," Korra countered. "How do you think my people have lived there for so long?"

"Well, of course, there are resources," Azula replied. "But they're the kind the Fire Nation could get far more easily through trade. Conquering the North and South Poles served no real purpose other vanity and bragging rights. Meanwhile, we're forced to waste almost a third of our entire military trying to keep them under control."

"Yeah," Korra said. "My people are pretty awesome."

"And then there's the Earth Kingdom." Azula covered her face with one hand. "By all the spirits, what were my ancestors thinking? The Earth Kingdom is absolutely massive and has multiple times the Fire Nation's population. How exactly were we ever going to maintain control over it?"

"Genocide?" Korra made a face. "I'm pretty sure at least one of your ancestors advocated that."

"Yes," Azula ground out. "My grandfather, an otherwise reasonable man, did propose wiping out the Earth Kingdom's inhabitants and replacing them with Fire Nation citizens." She snarled. "Lunacy! Madness! We are warriors not butchers, and I would have the Fire Nation stand ascendant over a prosperous world, not a world of ash and bones."

"Well, I'm glad you can agree that genocide is evil."

"Defeating the Earth Kingdom in battle was a foregone conclusion," Azula continued. "Their lack of tactical acumen is matched only by their lack of technological progress. However, the sheer size and population of the Earth Kingdom means that occupying it long term is an exercise in futility. The Fire Nation simply lacks the manpower and resources to accomplish that." Azula shivered. "And the less I say about our attempts to attack the Air Nomads, the better. Oh, we had some success initially when we caught them off guard, but since then…"

"So… you want to stop the fighting?" Korra asked. "You? The youngest, most successful general in Fire Nation history?"

"If this war continues," Azula replied. "The Fire Nation will eventually lose. It will take years, and we will inflict terrible wounds on our enemies, but we will lose, and do you think they will be in a merciful mood when we do?" Azula shook her head. "No. They will rip us limb from limb. It is far better to seek an end to hostilities now while we are in a position of strength."

"But you can't end the war," Korra pointed out. "You're not Fire Lord."

"No, I am not." Azula's eyes shimmered, and the blue candle flame roared. "But I could be."

"Ah." Korra nodded slowly. "I see."

"My father truly believes that we can conquer the world and keep it. With Sozin's Comet arriving in a matter of months, he's even come up with a plan. He wants to burn the whole Earth Kingdom and the North and South Poles."

"…" Korra gaped. "That… that might just be the most scarily idiotic thing I've ever heard."

"Yes. Even with the power boost the comet would give us, there simply aren't enough fire benders to burn more than a fraction of the world. That, more than anything, convinced me that I could no longer stand aside while my father leads the Fire Nation to ruin."

"So you want to overthrow him?"

"Korra," Azula said as she shifted to straddle the Avatar's waist. "I have been planning this for years. I have at least half of the Fire Nation's nobility on my side already, and I believe the other half would join me if the Avatar pledged to support my cause."

"I see." Korra's eyes narrowed. "So in exchange for supporting you against your father, you would end the war?"

"Indeed. I would, of course, have to keep some of the gains we've made - nothing too large, I assure you - but the war would end. I would become Fire Lord, and you would become the Avatar who ended the Hundred Year War."

"And you think your father will give you the throne when he realises the nobles support you over him?"

"Oh, no," Azula said dryly. "I'll have to challenge him to Agni Kai and kill him, but that will be the easy part. My dear father hasn't fought on the front lines in more than a decade, and I am the greatest fire bender and warrior my nation has ever produced."

"Not the least bit arrogant, are you?"

"It is not arrogance if it is true," Azula shot back. "The question, Korra, is whether or not you will help me. I will take the throne. Without your help, it may well involve a mountain of corpses. With your help, it will only take one."

"You know, even two years ago, if someone had asked me if I would ever help you, I'd have called them insane."

"And if someone had told me two years ago that I would seriously be contemplating making the Avatar my royal consort once I took the throne, I'd have said the same."

"…" Korra jerked up, tearing her bonds with a subtle application of air bending. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly serious." Azula smirked. "You look wonderful in blue, Korra, but I think you'd look just as good in red." Her smirk widened. "And I'd be yours as much as you'd be mine." Azula leaned forward until their lips were almost touching. "Tell me I wouldn't look amazing in Water Tribe blue."

Korra gulped. The thought of Azula in Water Tribe blue was… intoxicating. "Yeah." She shook herself. She could think about that later. "So you're really going to do this?"

"Why do you think I'm sailing back to the Fire Nation with you in secret?" Azula bared her teeth. "This war has gone on long enough. I will defeat my father and become Fire Lord. I will put an end to the war, but I'll need your help for what comes after."

"Ah." Korra grimaced. "That will be tricky. Even if you do end the war, the Earth Kingdom and the Water Tribes are still going to be pissed."

"Indeed, which is where you come in. Use some of that charm of yours to help bring about a peaceful solution."

"You think I'm charming?"

"To an extent," Azula countered. "But more than anything you keep your word. You don't make a lot of promises, but you always keep the ones you do make. More importantly, you have won the respect of people throughout the Earth Kingdom and the Water Tribes. Negotiating a lasting peace will be difficult with your help. Without your help, it will be impossible."

"You do realise that they'll accuse you of seducing me to win my favour."

"Maybe. I'd argue they'd be right." Azula smiled thinly. "But perhaps you could try to make it seem as though the opposite occurred." She swooned melodramatically. "Imagine it: the aloof and cruel Fire Nation princess, defeated and then seduced by the Avatar. Driven by her newfound love for the Avatar, the princess overthrows her father and promises to end the war and bring peace to the world."

"…" Korra shook her head. "I don't think there is a single person in the world who would believe that."

Azula straightened. "Of course not. But that's not the point. What we need to impress upon them is that regardless of the… intricacies of our relationship, peace is the best way forward."

"Well, you're not wrong." Korra sighed. "But you really couldn't have explained this to me before we started sailing toward the Fire Nation?"

"And spoil the surprise?" Azula laughed. "Korra, you know me better than that."

X     X     X

Author's Notes

This is obviously a massive AU. I'll get into the specifics in later snippets, but the gist of it is that Aang never ran away, the Air Nomads managed to survive after initially sustaining heavy losses, and the Hundred Year War has been extremely bloody.

By the time Azula shows up, Korra is the Avatar. They're similar in age, and Azula does spend some of her early years trying to capture/kill Korra. However, due to certain events, things change, and Azula develops a better understanding of the conflict and its likely ending.

Let me know what you think.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

You can find my original fiction on Amazon here. In fact, I’ve just released a new story, Attempted Adventuring. If you like humour, action, and adventure, be sure to check it out.

[amatchforyourmadness]

retourne-toi

Chapter: 1/10

Words: 2210

Summary:

“Arthur." Merlin's voice calls, through the haze of cold and the devastation of death. He lays his forehead against Arthur's back, in-between his shoulder blades when he refuses to turn, blinking the tears from his gaze and holding his head high. “Arthur.” Merlin pleads, forehead still against his back, long fingers holding tightly onto the king's arms, before he rises his face to press a kiss to the back of Arthur's neck and noses along his hair. “Turn around.”

(in which Arthur goes back in time, to find Merlin right after having lost him).

[AO3 link]

“You're not walking out of this cave with me, are you?”

It's a slow realization, and a heavy one. It’s always that way with Merlin though, and he struggles with the matter of breathing faced by the revelations of the weights the brunette behind him carry on his shoulders with a smile, all hard decisions in his name for years on end without his knowledge.

He thinks of what it took of him, to realize Arthur wouldn't make it, to turn from his course to Avalon and towards the crystal cave, using of his blood and Arthur's to reach back into time and into a second chance.

“Alll magic has a price, Arthur.” He sounds so serene, almost whimsical, and Arthur feels like a girl for thinking those things, but maybe it's just the fact that he is about to lose him. “I can't bend all laws of balance to my favour.”

“You did not tell me of this price. You did not say, it would be you.”

“It was me or you, sire.” He says, and it takes all of him to not smack him across the face when he listens to the smile in his voice, sucking a breath sharply as his Merlin’s finger reach to brush over the side of his chainmail where Mordred had ran him through, now only tender flesh and mended skin. “It's not hard to guess what my choice would be.”

He wants to cry, because it was true. He often forgot that Merlin drank poison for him two weeks into knowing him, because the list of almost deaths was so extensive it was hard to keep track now that he knew it all, the softly whispered confession of Merlin's voice had been his one distraction in the arduous way through the cave. He struck a bargain for Arthur's life with his, he fought and killed Nimueh, he fought Morgana countless times, he was captured by a troll in the dungeons, Alator, there had been the Lamia, the fomorroh, the dorocha, and so much more.

The walk through the cave was long and arduous, and after they — well, Merlin — had opened the portal through the core crystal, it has been dark and cold. Merlin had warned him he could not turn back, because if he looked behind him, to the future they were abandoning, they'd be back into the cave, he would bleed to death in Merlin's arms, and everything would have been in vain.

Still, time was a funny thing in the cave. Merlin said there had been barely hours between the moment they had walked in and now, but it felt like months. Had he been alone, Arthur would surely go mad, but he wasn't. He demanded his truth, and Merlin told him, easily and freely — too easily, too freely — and he should have known.

Merlin was born with magic, he was the warlock of a prophecy regarding Arthur, he was the most powerful warlock to ever live, he was meant to protect Arthur. His father had been Balinor, he had loved a girl once, the girl had died. Will hadn't been the sorcerer, he had. Lancelot knew, because he has enchanted his spear. Back then, he had planned to be the sacrifice, but Lancelot had gone ahead and spared him.

Arthur couldn't be more thankful, and even though he couldn't look back, he reached for Merlin's hands, and he interwined his pale fingers with Arthur's. His hand was colder than usual, but warmer than the cave. Merlin had whispered his biggest confession so softly Arthur has barely heard it over the heavy thumping of his heart. How a small, magical nobody of Ealdor had loved the Prince of Camelot for as long as he could remember. He had had to stop, to kneel in the damp ground and let the stupid man hug him from behind, holding onto his hands and arms as tightly as he could, sobbing on heartbreak and joy as he told him about a King who had once been a Prince and who realised he loved a stupid, brave and selfless boy in the moment he had seen him on a bed, dying from a poison he drank for him.

‘All this time and you never told me?’ Merlin has whispered, chuckling softly though his voice too had been heavy with tears. ‘Who are you to say anything?', he had retorted with a snort, ‘You've magic and you've been in love with me too, you're the bigger fool.’

Merlin's lips had brushed his shoulder as he pressed the words, warm and meaningful against his chainmail.

'The best kept secrets of Camelot.’

Time was a funny thing in the cave. They had confessed their love merely moments ago, he knew. It has been sweet and warm and glorious, and Arthur had never been as happy, not even when he married Gwen, not even when he saw Merlin defy death to return to him time after time.

Now he felt like he had never been as unhappy. The tears that spring to his eyes once more were not of joy. He felt like he might die at any moment.

But he wouldn't die, because who would die would be—

“I should have made you swear.” He whispers, voice and breath shaky at his innocence, his stupidity, his naivety in believing Merlin’s words. “I should have made you swear you wouldn’t put my life above yours, I should have made you swear you would be safe.”

“Old habits die heart, my King. Don’t hold what I chose to do against you.”

“I’m holding this against the both of us.”

The mouth of the cave was just ahead, and it was light and bright and wonderful, glowing with promises. And he didn't care for a single one of those, because Merlin wouldn't be with him. He lets his head hang forwards, limp and defeated and strangling all his words inside.

“Arthur." Merlin's voice calls, through the haze of cold and the devastation of death. He lays his forehead against Arthur's back, in-between his shoulder blades when he refuses to turn, blinking the tears from his gaze and holding his head high. “Arthur.” Merlin pleads, forehead still against his back, long fingers holding tightly onto the king's arms, before he rises his face to press a kiss to the back of Arthur's neck and noses along his hair. “Turn around.”

His breath gets stuck in the back of his throat for a moment before a mournful sound rips itself out of his lungs. He knows what he's asking, he knows what this means, he knows what will happen and he won't do that because if he does that—

“You will leave me.” He moaned, shaking his head and trying to pull from his grasp, to guide them into the light, to keep Merlin. Gods, he just wanted to keep Merlin. “If I look at you now, I'll walk out of this alone. You'll leave me.”

“Arthur..."

“Merlin, I cannot do this alone!”

“You won't be alone. I'll be with you, I've always been with you.”

“But he is not you.” He screams and his voice echoes, loudly  “I mean, he is you, but not this you. He does not know what happened, he won't know.” A shaky hand hovers above his and he squeezes tightly, hoping that if he holds him tightly enough he will understand. “He won't be you.”

He just wants to keep Merlin.

Can't he be allowed that?

“No, he will be better.” No one could be better, he doesn't want he to be better, why can't he see that? Why can't he see that? “When you tell him, he'll be frightened for a moment, but he won't be scared.” And be can hear in-between his words, ‘he won't be scared as I was’. “He won't grow skeptical and cynical, and he will know you care for him. And above all else, you will be you.” Merlin's spalms over his chest, right above his heart, a heart that should not be beating, and that will keep it's pulse if he looks back at the expense of his.  “You're all I ever needed to be great and brave, Arthur.”

“I don't want you to be great or brave. Lord knows you already are too much of both to your own good.” He murmurs, holding his hand tighter, still refusing to look back at Merlin. “I don't want you to change, I just want this.” 

He feel the ghost of Merlin's smile against the side of his neck.

“You're all I ever needed to love you too. It's true now, and it was true back then.” Arthur closed his eyes and waits for the other shoe to drop. Merlin can't just be sweet, he has to be an ass about it, call him a prat or something. “Hell, I know that I'll be happy to not have to wait as long to kiss you.”

The grin is involuntary, it's just his natural response to his cheekiness.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“Not a chance, sire."

Time was a funny thing in the cave. They could have lived a lifetime here, he thinks. He feels stronger by the second, so he can hold tighter on Merlin's hand when the others' grisp falters. It's hard not to wonder what a lifetime shared with Merlin would be like, even in here, even if he could crown him, even if he couldn't see him.

His voice would be enough, his presence would be enough, the knowledge that no harm could reach him, even if the safe nest he had found is a long black corridor of stones and magic that he could barely see a palm ahead of him for the longest time.

And there, in the cold, hopeless dark there is just the same old temptation, whispered in a beloved voice, soft with defeat and heavy with premeditated loss.

“Turn around, Arthur.”

He's just too close to breaking, and if anyone in the world knows how to tempt a Prince of Camelot, it's Merlin. So he shuts his eyes and makes sure he can't see a thing as he turns to him, hands travelling up to his face before his lips steal any other traitorous words he might say from him, take his breath and give him his, and until it's just that perfect bubble where all that exist is them.

Time was a funny thing in the cave. He could have kissed Merlin for a millennia, and still it wouldn't feel enough. The kiss stretches into an eternity that sets fire to his chest, warms his heart and burns his lungs, and he needs air, but he also needs Merlin, so he pushes a little more. The fool tastes of blueberries, and he can only picture how many he stole from his plate when delivering him meals. His hands holds onto Merlin's hair and he can't say which of them let out that needy noise, but the need is mutual.

Still he needs air. Cursed air. He breaks the kiss, forcing himself to keep his eyes closed and leans his forehead against Merlin's, noses his cheek and along his jawline and down his neck. The cave echoes with their heavy breathing.

“Please, don't leave me.” He pleads again, and he hopes, he prays that this time he will listen.

Instead, Merlin presses his face against Arthur's, and breathes like he needs to strengthen himself for the moment they are to face.

“Find me, and I'll never leave you again.”

It's a promise, he knows, but it's not the one be wanted to hear. Still, Merlin hugs him, pulls him tightly against his body, and, finally, he gets his wish, because as Arthur hugs him back, this side of desperate, his hand finds a warm moistness that is too familiar. Arthur opens his eyes I horror, scarlet stained hands moving to hold onto Merlin's arms, to put some distance so he can try and make sense of what's happened.

“Oh my God.” He lets out, breathless and gutted.

He is smiling — heaven knows how this man can still smiles, despite everything — and the smile seems to show how hollow his cheeks have grown, skin sinking in the places flesh is lacking. He's thinner, so much thinner, and cold as death. And on his side, directly opposite to the one Arthur walked into the cave, clutching so his insides didn't fall out, Merlin bleeds his life away as if that didn't hurt at all.

That's when Arthur realizes: the magical explanation was bullshit, Merlin just couldn't let him turn and see the sacrifice he was committing even as they walked. He had traded his life for this spell, and he had traded his health for his and he could not bend the laws of magic to not demand their price.

Blue eyes start to glow golden, and he sinks his fingernails in the too-fragile shoulders.

“Merlin—"

“Rhethoen toa.”

He tries to scream, but it's like he's being blown away, torn from Merlin and into the blinding light

When his eyes open again, he's laid on his bed, years in the past, and a younger Merlin is opening the curtains with a bright smile.

“Rise and shine!”

[ddearddigitalddiary]

folklore: Stoned Favorites

It’s been just about 48 hours since Queen Taylor surprised us with TS8 entitled folklore. This album was born out of quarantine and is becoming her highest critically acclaimed album yet. She’s fucking amazing, magical, powerful, etc. I’ve had a few listen throughs to digest it, but I’m still processing all of its beauty. It has quickly become a favorite. Taylor somehow has this power where she drops an album that is lined up perfectly to the events I’m going through in my personal life. Maybe I’m just finding how it relates to me and seeing myself in the album, but that’s the beauty of it anyways. Going through a tough breakup, living through a global pandemic, society is literally never going back to something we knew... It’s all a bit much. And Ms. Swizzle has put words to my deepest feelings, and as always helped me feel and heal. 

Here are my favorite parts of the beautiful, whimsical, mystical album that is folklore:

the 1: (this one hurts a little much for me right now...) we never painted by the numbers baby, but we were making it count, you know the greatest loves of all time are over now / in my defense i have none for never leaving well enough alone, but it would’ve been fun if you would’ve been the one

cardigan: (first of the love triangle, Taylor freaking Swift. this entire song is so beautiful. one of my faves and i cried the first time i heard it) i knew you stepping on the last train, marked me like a bloodstain I,  I knew you tried to change the ending, Peter losing Wendy I, I knew you leaving like a father, running like water I, and when you are young they assume you know nothing, but I’d knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss, I knew you’d haunt all of my what if’s, the smell of smoke would hang around this long, cause I knew everything when I was young

the last great american dynasty: (a sweet little bop. i love this one. Taylor’s voice is so pretty. this guitar is *chefs kiss*) she had a marvelous time ruining everything / [the entire bridge!!!!] there goes the loudest woman this town has ever seen, i had a marvelous time ruining everything

exile: (again, this one hurts right now. a bit relevant.) you’re not my homeland anymore, so what am i defending now? / (pretty much Taylor’s whole verse because freaking ouch - it’s describing my heart space right now) i think i’ve seen this film before, so I’m leaving out the side door / cause you never gave a warning sign - i gave sooo many signs

my tears ricochet: (hearing this song with the framing of it being about B*g M*****e is so sad, heartbreaking, powerful) cause i loved you, i swear i loved you, til my dying day, i didn’t have it in myself to go with grace (and then really the whole entire rest of the song.) /  WHEN I’M SCREAMING AT THE SKYYY... YOU HEAR MY STOLEN LULLABIIIIES

mirrorball: (this one feels like 80′s prom or something, i’m in love) *hushh*  when no one is around my dear, you’ll find me on my tallest tip toes, spinning in my highest heels love, shining just for youuu

seven: (this one makes me feel like i’m in a grassy meadow, while of course swinging on a tree, with a light summer breeze) sweet tea in the summer, cross your heart won’t tell no other / love you to the moon and to saturn / (STRINGS) 

august: (another love triangle song, and it’s my favorite of the moment i think... i think. it also hurts a little bit because of my love life heart space ): ) i remember thinking i had you, but i can see us lost in the memory, august slipped away into a moment in time, cause he was never mine, and i can see us twisted in bed sheets, august sipped away like a bottle of wine, cause you were never mine / (and the fact that there’s beautiful flutes noticeable to me and beautiful saxophone is just super convenient for my feelings as well. also, beautiful fade out, *chefs kiss*)

this is me trying: (this beat going into the song goes hard. guess what - song again hits me like a truck. it’s like what i would want him to say to me. i picture it’s fairly similar to what he’s going through. who knows.) so i got wasted like all my potential, and my words shoot to kill when i’m mad, i have a lot of regrets about that 

illicit affairs: (these guitars are like hugging my ears) take the words for what they are, a dwindling mercurial high, a drug that only worked the first few hundred times (that line in particular hits) / don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby, look at this idiotic fool that you made me, you taught me a secret language i can’t speak with anyone else, and you know damn well for you i would ruin myself a million little times

invisible string: (again, guitars hugging the ears :). and of course, this song gives me hope for whatever, whoever could be out there for me. her runs are angelic) bad was the blood of the song in the cab on your first trip to la / time, mystical time, cutting me open then healing me fine~ / one single thread of gold tied me to you / hell was the journey but it brought me heaven / give me the blues and the purple pink skies, baby it’s cooool with meeeee! (so many Lover references in these lines! I’m in love!)

mad woman: (i’m in love with this song as well. like another version of the Man, aka don’t fuck with me. i’m in love with the entire chorus and her voice and the piano) what do you sing on your drive home, do you see my face in the neighbor’s lawn, does she smile or does she mouth fuck you forever / no one likes a mad woman, you made her like that... / women like hunting witches too, doing your dirtiest work for you

epiphany: (the production of this song is so angelic and peaceful yet the lyrics are haunting and i get sad every time i listen to it. the parallel between the war and the pandemic is rough and sad. this song is a different kind of hurt) hold your hand through plastic now, doc i think she’s crashing out, and some things you can’t speak about *and then the moment of silence with horns*...

betty: (the last of the triangle. this is the one that is so beautiful and heartbreaking and hopeful? maybe not hopeful it’s more the nostalgia factor of it all for me that just because of the breakup stage i’m in right now is what makes it heartbreaking... one day it will be more beautiful and i can smile to it with a longing and gratuitous embrace... also a bop, ALSO reminds me of country Taylor and it’s so *hugs my heart and teen me*) but if i just showed up at your party, would you have me would you want me? would you tell me to go fuck myself or lead me to the garden / i don’t know anything but i know i miss you / the only thing i wanna do is make it up to you / (KEY CHANGE !!!) / kissing in my car again, stopped at a streetlight you know i miss you

peace: (another favorite!!!! and apparently the first take she did of this song IS THE ONE THAT’S ON THE ALBUM. artist.) the devils in the details, but you got a friend in me, would it be enough if i could never give you peace, your integrity makes me seem small, you paint dreamscapes on the wall, i talk shit with my friends, it’s like i’m wasting your honor *piannooooo* / and you know that i’d swing with you for the fences, sit with you in the trenches, give you my wild, give you a child... 

hoax: (a hauntingly beautiful one, a favorite, love that it’s the closer. it HURTS me right now but i’ll take it. it’s a beautiful song and it’s helping the heal. can’t wait to hear the lakes on the deluxe! - also i just so happen to be re-reading the twilight series right now and it’s the exact vibes i get from this song - the level of love, the cliff sides, the sleepless nights, the piano, eclipsed sun) stood on the cliff side screaming give me a reason, your faithless love’s the only hoax i believe in.... don’t want no other shade of blue but you, no other sadness in the world would do. 

Taylor announced it and I woke up to the news. I spent the whole day obsessed with the thought of the album and the fact that she literally surprise dropped and shook the whole swiftie kingdom as well as it’s surrounding communities. I had no idea what to expect with it but I said it would be my new favorite Taylor album, i just had a feeling. And I think that this album proved that statement was true. This side of Taylor is the storytelling side I absolutely fell in love with. Her power and creativity and pen are just top tier and she’s the freaking artist of my lifetime. This album will be helping me heal, just as rep did, just as 1989 did, just as Speak Now, Fearless did. I love you Taylor. Thank you for the beauty that is folklore.