#good to see you still keep coming back to get removed you old legend

[beardedhandstoadshark]

Pots are finally real but the real question is - can you break them with swords?

[ashes0909]

for the trick or treat fics: treat for steve/tony? 👀 and happy halloween!!

A Little Hocus Pocus

Steve/Tony; Rated T

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“Legend says that on a full moon it will raise the spirits of the dead when lit by a virgin on Halloween night.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably on the sofa next to Tony. At their feet Clint sat on a pillow next to Natasha and Bruce, with a bucket of popcorn in his lap, shoving a fist of the salty snack into his mouth. Clint laughed at the movie. “Be hard to find one of those these days.”

“A black flame candle?” Tony asked

“No,” Clint said through his chewing. “A virgin.”

Steve knew there wasn’t a spotlight on him, but his face didn’t get the memo as it warmed with hidden embarrassment. When he proposed a Halloween movie night, he hadn’t expected this topic to be front and center. And with a children’s movie and everything!

He ran his hands on his pants, removing sweat that so unhelpfully decided to join in on Steve’s discomfort, as the conversation and the movie continued. 

After the third reference to virginity, Steve had enough. “I’m going to get some candy,” he said as a way of excuse, though most of the gang was focused on the movie. But of course he could feel Tony’s gaze on him. The one person he didn’t want to know his secret.

In the kitchen, he idly searched through the candy bowl, not really seeing much of anything other than an excuse to clear his head. 

A throat cleared from behind him, and he knew it was Tony, had heard his oh-so-familiar footsteps as he approached. Steve didn’t turn around.

“Trick or treat,” Tony whispered in a sing-songy tune. 

Steve sighed, staring at the candy. “Treat.”

Tony’s hand reached out, touching Steve’s shoulder and prompting him to turn around. Steve did, meeting Tony’s inquisitive gaze. “You’re blocking all the treats. Unless…” Tony’s hand roamed upward from his shoulder, to cup the back of his neck. “Tell me if I’m wrong, which would be a rarity, let’s face it. But. It happens. You’re on the lookout for someone to help you…no longer qualify for the Black Flame Candle?”

Steve froze under Tony’s touch and his breath caught at his words. Silence hung between them for a moment, it felt as if life itself shifted under their feet. “What if I am?” Steve asked, voice husky.

Tony smiled. “Trick or treat,” he whispered again, the same sing-songy tune.

Steve swallowed around his nerves. “Treat.”

Rocking up onto the tips of his toes, Tony closed the space between them with a kiss, brief and full of promise. He slid his hand not around the back of Steve’s neck into Steve’s palm, before stepping back and looking into Steve’s eyes. “Follow me for a wicked good time.”

Tony started walking out of the kitchen, leading Steve towards the elevator. Steve’s heart raced, excitement coursing through his veins. He’d wanted this, wanted this with Tony for longer than he could remember. A grin broke across Steve's face as the elevator doors slid open and they walked in side-by-side, hands still clasped.

“Something wicked this way comes,” Steve managed in a breathy tone. 

Tony squeezed his hand, the other pressing the button towards the penthouse. “Better make sure you have your broomstick ready.”

Steve groaned. “Oh boo, that was horrible.”

The elevator shot upward. Tony’s smile was infectious. “Keep calm and I’ll carry your wand."

“Please stop.”

"If the broom fits, I’ll ride it."

Steve tugged on Tony’s hand, pulling him close again. “You’re double, double toil and trouble. I guess I’ll have to shut your mouth the old fashion way.” 

“Happy Halloween,” Tony whispered against his lips as the elevator opened the doors to the penthouse floor.  

[hxhhasmysoul]

So do you think Sukuna doesn’t feel alone or do you think he just thinks no one will ever be able to fill that void? I kinda got mixed messages with his whole monologue. It seems he resents people who adore him yet he also says that he answers people’s live in battle. He says that if that’s not what love is then what else could it be? He then says love is trash/worthless. I kinda get the impression he doesn’t think he’s capable of having a connection with someone. What makes it weirder is before the Gojo fight, he remembers Yorozu’s words about teaching him about love. I also suspect this ties into his hatred for Yuji. Sorry for long ask lmao. I just find your perspective interesting.

My take on Sukuna has for a while been that he's full of shit. To some extent. And it's a little hard to have a proper take not knowing his back story. What Gege has given us so far isn't that much so everything I write below is like extremely speculative.

The unwanted child and twins theory

Sukuna was an unwanted child because of what he looked like at birth - the word 忌み子 implies that because it's an old word with these specific connotations. He is probably the conjoined twin which absorbed most of his sibling in the womb but was born with 4 eyes, 4 arms, an extra mouth and the strange bark like skin on his face. Japan has never been good on this kind of stuff. I'm not going to break out my uni books for this but something to check out is the concept of purity and how it influenced philosophy, religion and life in Japan. One of the simplest examples here is that the word kirei (きれい) that many people associate with the meaning "beautiful" has also the meaning "clean" and "pure". The thing that's pure is beautiful. And it does go the creepy way you think, beauty of the unblemished, of the "normal" too. And Sukuna's body would really not be in line with that concept.

Pair it up with the fact that in Japan twins were considered bad luck and he gets abandoned after birth. Not sure why not murdered, killing newborns was also a thing, the whole Jizo cult is related to that, though Jizo specifically, I think is more recent than Heian... don't take it for granted, as I said, I'm not rereading the uni texts.

Maybe his parents weren't able to kill him because of his cursed energy, maybe they were afraid he'd come back as a vengeful spirit.

But despite what a lot of the Gojou girlies scream on social media, Sukuna doesn't whine about it. The way he mentions it makes it seem he doesn't care about it at this point. (Whether he used to care, we don't know yet). And he uses it to dismiss the premise of Kashimo's question. The way I see it, Sukuna says it doesn't matter, he doesn't know his origins so he will never know the answer to this question. He still is the strongest.

He survived without the love of his parents at his weakest. That's probably why he resents the weak because like all dipshits who accomplish something, he thinks: if I could, what is your excuse?

Though we can't say with any certainty that he survived on his own. We don't know whether Kenjaku or Tengen, didn't collect him to experiment on him. We don't know when he met Uraume.

If the theory seeing Sukuna's origins in a the Ryoumen Sukuna urban legend is correct, then it's not unlikely Kenjaku found Sukuna and had fun with him. (Also please keep in mind that while this story is referred to as an urban legend and might be fully or partially made up, the level of violence against people with unusual bodies it includes is kinda on brand for the time period. So like read with that in mind.)

Also it might mean that Sukuna's twin wasn't completely dead yet, wasn't as fully absorbed as his current body would suggest. It's not impossible that Kenjaku removed some of the twin and helped Sukuna achieve a usable body, maybe told him to absorb the twin and their soul to become full, like in the case of Maki and Mai. But maybe Kenjaku still kept some of the twin's body and that soul. In this case Sukuna referring to Yuuji as being from back then could refer to that and feed into the Yuuji was created from Sukuna's twin. Existing partially as a cursed object, and having this strong connection to Sukuna could be what enhances Yuuji's soul powers. And also would make him uniquely predisposed to cage Sukuna.

This also would feed into the theories as to why Sukuna acts the way he does towards Kenjaku. Why he's kinda cold towards them but goes along with their plots. If Kenjaku was indeed the person to take him in when he couldn't really fend for himself, and helped make his body more usable, then there's a huge debt there. And the concept of debt is another huge cultural thing in Japan.

This would also explain why Sukuna is skeptical about love, because Kenajku's parenting is well Kenjaku's parenting. He could've been their prized experiment but so is Yuuji.

While I personally don't love the Yuuji is Sukuna's twin, I don't find it unfounded.

I'm not particularly excited for it coming true because I'd love for Yuuji to be a separate person from Sukuna. Someone who's weak and unrelated to him but who can still cage him.

But with what we know about Maki and Mai, and with the unwanted child thing, Yuuji could be his twin. It would explain why he had no cursed energy, because when Sukuna absorbed and killed him, he would've lost it. If Sukuna absorbed his twin after birth and not before, if they consciously lived together for a while that has implications too.

Full on speculation bordering on fanfiction ahead. It might be why Sukuna chastises Yuuji for wanting to live despite being weak, for clinging to life. If he absorbed his twin post birth, and if he did that consciously, his twin was his first kill. It might have not been easy, not pretty and he might have not done it as cold and detached as he wished to. Or as he now wishes he had been. If Yuuji is his twin there may have been a similar conflict between Sukuna and him, as existed between Mai and Maki. Yuuji being the one more content with their suffering and Sukuna rejecting it, but also Yuuji being his emotional support, the one holding all his misery.

Absorbing his twin would've also likely been his first act of cannibalism. It's honestly a little funny that we haven't seen Sukuna consume anyone so far. But Yuuji has been eating human remains left and right. He now seems to be eating his own skin. It has been speculated that absorbing cursed techniques through eating people is Sukuna's og cursed technique. But if the twins theory is true, it's not entirely impossible that absorbing techniques through cannibalism was his twin's ability.

Sukuna's fanclub

Whatever happened, Sukuna got no love as a kid. If he was Kenjaku's ward then he only got appreciation if he exceeded Kenjaku's expectations.

So either he got this strong because he was rejected and had to survive and had no one to socialise him. Or he was socialised by Kenjaku who always wanted more of him and who also has zero concern for others.

So for him to get appreciation later in life, once he gets power and influence and titles, it must feel hollow. It must feel fake and like trash. It feels like people wanting things from him and offering nothing in return. Because none of them, Yorozu, Gojou, Kashimo, offer him anything he wants. They want to teach him love selfishly, their love is there to fulfill their needs. What his needs may be? None of them care to ask.

If that's what people around him consider love then there's no appeal in it for him. At most they can provide him with some entertainment and Sukuna loves fighting.

He really seems to enjoy battles, he will tease and indulge his opponents as long as it entertains him. He also seems to love cursed energy and jujutsu and he's always analysing what's going on. Little creepy nerd. He also seems to enjoy mentoring but not so much giving therapy XD

Sukuna and Yuuji

Sukuna's issue with Yuuji is all the more interesting because in theory Yuuji should be interesting to him. Yuuji has skills and is an extremely fast learner. He develops much faster than Megumi and reaches surprising understanding of cursed energy and the soul in a very short time.

But Sukuna seems to be annoyed by Yuuji. He pettily bullies Yuuji, disrespects him. Never acknowledges Yuuji's progress. Yuuji's weakness irks him in a very special way. Probably because Yuuji has control over him. But also because he can't break Yuuji, can't get him to cower or adore him. Yuuji doesn't follow any pattern Sukuna expects.

Yuuji also doesn't have the aspirations to become the strongest. Just strong enough. And he wants his strength not as much for himself but for others. Which really separates him from Sukuna's fanclub and most other jujutsu sorcerers.

If the twins theory is true, being with Yuuji also brought Sukuna back. He might vaguely remember what it used to be like to share all his time with someone. Maybe with his twin it was the other way round. Sukuna was in control of the body and the twin mostly lived in the inner domain? Maybe something like this used to be Sukuna's biggest fear?

Also if they were twins, Yuuji caging Sukuna would really affect his sense of self. He had perfected his jujutsu, studied cursed energy and fighting. Only to be held back by the weaker twin he though he'd got rid of.

Of course all this hinges on how much he remembers and how well. Some of the resentment might've been subconscious, of course. He seem to understand who Yuuji is only after he leaves Yuuji's body. Maybe he needed that distance? Maybe he needed to see again where Yuuji ends and he begins to understand who they really are?

Sukuna and Uraume

Having said that, I think Sukuna is perfectly capable of forming relationships with others. He has one with Uraume. They vibe together really well. They are happy to be around one another. Uraume is his servant but Sukuna jokes around with them. He also shows them respect and consideration. It's obvious he knows enough about Uraume to know how they feel and he addresses those feelings directly with praise or reassurance.

Gege said in the fanbook that Sukuna doesn't mind Uraume and likes their cooking skills. Which is probably true and probably how it started. But by now there is some sort of close relationship between them. It may not be romantic or sexual, like Gege seems to believe (as fandom that decision is truly up to us), but there is some kind of love, maybe platonic love of friends.

Because the issue is also quite semantic in nature. What do you define as love. I personally am wary to call the selfish adoration Sukuna's fanclub had for him as love. For me personally love has to go both ways and have an element of mutual mindfulness, it cannot be declared by one side and somehow become binding for the other.

That's why I think Sukuna is kinda full of shit. He might not believe himself capable of forming relationships. Or he might deem that pointless. But he's actually capable of it and he seems to enjoy the one relationship he has. Maybe the key to that acceptance is him believeing that there's nothing more there than Uraume being his servant?

[kmomof4]

A Scoundrel... Or a Gentleman? Ch. 4

We are back with a new chapter, and this one's a bit of a doozy... but not anything I have to apologize for. I think y'all will like this one! Thank you so much for coming along on this journey with me! I really can't put into words what it means to me 🥹

Thank you again to @jrob64 @hollyethecurious and @winterbaby89 for their advice and being my sounding boards as I worked on this. And also to @snowbellewells and @motherkatereloyshipper for the artwork they did for the fic!!! I STILL can't get over either one!!! 😍

Ch. Summary: Ruth's birthday has arrived and Emma and Killian both come to some realizations.

Words: 8550 of approx 59,5k

Rating: M (smut in later chs)

Tags: Regency Romance, Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton's Story, Smut in Later Chapters.

On ao3 From Beginning / Current Chapter

On Tumblr Prologue Ch2 Ch3

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615 @donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings @booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @pirateprincessofpizza @djlbg @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie @soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite @jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779 @kymbersmith-90 @suwya

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

“Is he here?”

“He is not.”

“Are you quite sure?”

It was all Emma could do to keep from rolling her eyes in irritation. “He hadn’t yet left Kilmartin House when I did, and I haven’t seen him since, so yes. I’m as sure as I can be that he hasn’t arrived.”

“But he is coming?”

“Yes. He is coming.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Fisher was quiet for a moment, looking around the Nolan ballroom. “There’s Ariel. I must go see to her. Lovely to see you again, Emma.” With that, the woman - one of the most notorious gossips of the ton - left her alone to interrupt her daughter, who was speaking most animatedly with a handsome, but sadly, untitled gentleman on the other side of the room.

The conversation with the society matron would have been amusing if it hadn’t been the seventh, no, the eighth - one mustn’t forget the conversation with her own mother - she’d had to endure since she arrived. And since Ruth had announced that Killian would be in attendance at her birthday soiree, she didn’t think there was any possible way to avoid the interrogation of the unattached females, and their mamas, of the ton. All trying to find out tidbits about him that might smooth the way for them to charm the dashing earl, as he was now known.

“Lady Kilmartin!” She turned to see Lady Lucas making her way toward her. She was a stern older woman that many in the ton feared, but Emma rather liked her. Not afraid of anything or anyone, she wasn’t hesitant about making her thoughts and opinions known. She was a legend around town and Emma counted herself fortunate to be consistently in the countess’ good graces. The crowd between them parted like the Red Sea, the partygoers removing themselves from Lady Lucas’ line of sight.

“Lovely to see you, Lady Lucas,” Emma greeted the old woman, when she was finally close enough that Emma wouldn’t need to shout to be heard over the din of the party.

“Hmphh,” the old woman replied. “Don’t lie to me. We’re both well aware that no one thinks it’s lovely to see me coming.”

Emma couldn’t hold back a snort of amusement at her bluntness, even if she didn’t fully agree with her. “Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked instead.

“I’d enjoy myself better if someone would tell me how old your mother is.”

Emma gasped in shock. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“And why not?” Lady Lucas asked, indignant. “It’s not as if she’s as old as I am!”

Emma smiled slyly before speaking. “And just how old are you, Lady Lucas?”

The countess shot her an impressed look tinged with a knowing gleam in her eye. “Heh, heh, heh,” she chuckled. “You’re a clever one. But don’t think I’m going to fall for your tricks. You’ll never find out how old I am.”

“Then you must allow the same consideration for my mother.”

“Perhaps,” she conceded. “But what’s the point of a birthday party if we don’t know what we are celebrating?”

“The miracle of life and longevity?” Emma asked, pertly.

Lady Lucas snorted at that. “Where’s that new earl of yours?”

Emma tried not to choke on her drink. “He’s not mine,” she asserted.

Lady Lucas raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re still the countess, are you not?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied. Her heart thundered in her chest and she prayed the woman next to her was unaware of it.

“And he is the earl.” The eyebrow went even higher. “Is he not?”

“Yes, of course he is.”

“That makes him yours,” she insisted with a sharp nod. “And besides, I thought you were friends.”

“W-we are,” she stammered. That much was definitely true, but Emma couldn’t countenance the underlying message the countess seemed determined to get across. “He is my brother-in-law. That is all.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Lady Lucas looked around the crowded room before speaking again. “I do believe you deserve a reprieve. From me,” she continued, in case her meaning had not been abundantly clear. 

“You are my reprieve,” Emma mumbled under her breath. But Lady Lucas gave no indication that she’d heard her, no matter that her hearing was positively wolf-like, able to hone in on anything of interest within a fifteen foot radius.

“I believe I’ll go pester your brother. Isn’t he newly arrived from Cyprus?”

Emma spied August some twenty feet away on the other side of the ballroom, surrounded by his own group of admirers, no doubt hanging on every word of his adventures.

“Why, yes, he is,” Emma acknowledged, a sly grin on her face. August was terrified of Lady Lucas and Emma would rather enjoy watching him try to avoid the countess once she set her eyes on him.

“Mr. Nolan,” she barked. Emma giggled behind her hand to see the terror flash in her brother’s eyes while he tried to pretend he hadn’t heard her. As Lady Lucas moved toward her latest target, Emma realized that she had been a very effective deterrent to the many matrimonial minded mamas who saw her as their only link to Killian. Good heavens, three of them were already heading her way.

It was time to escape. Now. She turned on her heel and marched right over to where her sister Ruby stood conversing with their sister-in-law Mary Margaret, and their brother Will’s intended, Belle French. Ruby was easy to spot in the crush of partygoers, wearing a beautiful red gown. Emma would have rather left the party completely, but if she was serious about finding herself a husband this season, she was going to have to stay visible and let it be known. Not that anyone would take any notice until Killian arrived. She could announce that she planned to move to the dark continent of Africa and take up cannibalism and the only response she’d be likely to garner would be if the earl was going to accompany her.

“Good evening,” Emma said, joining the small group.

“Oh, hello, Emma,” Ruby greeted her. “Where’s…”

“Don’t you start,” Emma growled. “If one more person asks me where Killian is, my head will explode.”

“That would certainly change the tenor of the evening,” Mary Margaret remarked mildly, taking a sip of her lemonade.

“As well as the cleaning duties of the staff,” Belle added.

Emma rolled her eyes.

“Well? Where is he?” Ruby demanded.

Emma sighed. “I don’t know. He said he’d be here.”

“If he’s smart, he’s probably hiding in the hall,” Belle observed.

“Goodness gracious, you’re probably right.” Emma could just see him bypassing the ballroom completely to socialize in the smoking room. In other words, away from all the females. “I wish he would get here so people would stop asking me about him.”

Ruby laughed loudly. “Oh my poor delusional Emma,” she guffawed. “Once he arrives, the questions will double and simply change from where is he to tell us more.”

“I fear she is right,” Mary Margaret said, with Belle nodding in agreement.

“Oh, dear,” Emma breathed, realizing that was exactly what would happen.

“You’re wearing blue!” Mary Margaret exclaimed.

Emma looked down, almost surprised. She’d nearly forgotten. The shade was really quite lovely, a soft sky blue. The comparison to Killian’s eyes couldn’t possibly be avoided.

“Yes, yes I am,” Emma replied, raising her chin just a touch. 

“You’re out of mourning, then?” Belle asked gently.

Emma couldn’t meet her eyes and lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Well, I’ve been out of mourning for quite some time.”

“Does this mean you’re wanting to remarry?” Trust Ruby to get straight to the point.

“It has been four years after all,” Mary Margaret added.

Emma couldn’t hide her wince. But there was no use denying it.

“Yes.” 

For a moment, there was silence from the ladies. Then they all spoke at once offering their congratulations and bits of advice that she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to hear.

“We shall have to spread the news, of course,” Mary Margaret said, excitedly.

Emma gasped. “You can’t be serious!”

“Of course I am! The blue dress is an excellent signal of your intentions, but the only ones astute enough to notice are fellow females. The men of our acquaintance are simply too obtuse. Don’t worry,” she continued, laying her hand on Emma’s arm, who was feeling rather ill at the prospect. “We will be the very model of discretion and tact.”

“Trust us,” Ruby interjected, the smirk on her face inspiring the very opposite. “Oh, look. There’s Killian.”

And so he was. The ladies all looked toward the entrance to the ballroom to see Killian already surrounded by a gaggle of women. Not that Emma was surprised in the least.

“My goodness,” Mary Margaret breathed, “I forgot how handsome he is.” Emma’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“He’s very tanned,” Belle added.

“He was in India for four years. Of course he’s tanned,” Emma snapped.

Ruby’s head jerked toward her. “You’re of rather a short temper tonight, Emma,” she observed.

Emma tried to school her features into a more neutral mask. “I’m just weary of being asked about him all the time. There are so many other more interesting topics of conversation.”

“Did you two have a falling out or something?”

Emma’s breath caught as she realized she’d left the wrong impression. “No, of course not,” she assured her sister. “But he’s been literally the only thing I’ve talked about all evening. At this point, I’d be delighted to comment on the weather.”

“Hmmm.”

“Of course.”

“Yes.”

Emma had no idea who said what as they were all once again staring at Killian and his crowd of admirers - about half pursuing him for marriage, either for themselves or their daughters, while the other half were young and already married, obviously pursuing him for another reason entirely.

“He is very handsome,” Belle commented. “All that black hair.”

“Belle!” Emma exclaimed.

“What?” she replied. “It’s true!”

“You’re to be married!”

“Well, I’m not yet!” she exclaimed. “And even then, I’m not blind!”

“Does that mean that Emma and I are the only ones allowed to comment on how handsome he is? Spinster that I am and unattached as she is…” Ruby asked.

“Killian is the last man you’d want to marry, Ruby,” Emma said.

“And why is that?” she asked. The words had been out of Emma’s mouth before she’d even had a chance to think, and now all three of them had their full attention fixed on her, awaiting her answer.

“‘W- well,” she stammered, her eyes widening as she cast about for something to say. “He’s just a terrible rake, is all. And you know his reputation. He could never remain faithful to one woman.” As she watched him charm the masses, her heart squeezed at her flippant words. He may have been a rake and a scoundrel, with no real responsibility, but the way he’d dutifully stepped into the role of the earl since being restored to health had been unexpected to say the least. She had a feeling that the change she’d sensed in him since their reunion a month ago, may very well extend to matters of the heart, as well. Or, maybe not necessarily matters of the heart - it was still very difficult to imagine Killian falling in love - but matters of duty to crown and country. The duty to marry and produce an heir. And Killian’s heart of honor would likely not allow him to break his marriage vows.

“Rake or not,” Ruby mused. “He’s terribly handsome. No wonder he attracts so much attention.”

“He’s always attracted female attention, but not from the marriage minded,” Emma said. “The fact that he’s an earl is the only reason he’s the catch of the season.” 

“You should go greet him,” Mary Margaret said, nudging Emma with her elbow.

“Why on earth should I do that?”

“Because he’s here.”

Emma gestured around the room as she spoke. “So are a hundred other men,” she replied. “All of which I’d rather marry.”

Ruby turned her shrewd gaze on Emma for a moment, making her want to squirm. “Mmhmmm,” she hummed. “Don’t know why,” she continued, now rolling her eyes. “Killian is far more handsome than any of them.” Emma turned her head sharply at her sister. Of all the Nolan siblings, Emma and Ruby were the closest in age, exactly one year apart. And while, of course, she’d give her life for her sister, more often than not, she felt like strangling her. Like now. Especially right now. “There’s only three here that I’d even consider obeying. And I’m not even sure about them…”

“Be that as it may,” Emma replied, desperate to redirect Ruby’s thoughts, “spending time with Killian will not help my prospects in finding a husband.”

“And I thought we were here to celebrate Mother’s birthday,” her sister quipped with a smirk. Emma glared.

“But Mary Margaret is right,” Belle said. “You should go over and greet Killian. It’s only polite and will signal to the ton that you fully accept him as the earl and that there is no rift between you. Which everyone will think, if you don’t.”

Emma sighed. Belle was right. Killian deserved a proper and formal welcome to London society and if she didn’t do it, it would be gossip fodder for weeks. And that kind of speculation at the moment would not help her. Not when she was trying to find a husband.

She’d always found Killian’s reputation to be amusing. Probably because she was rather removed from it all. What did his reputation matter to her as a happily married woman? But she was no longer a married woman. She was in the market for a new husband and to see Killian flirt and charm so effortlessly irked her for some reason that she didn’t want to look at too closely.  

“I will go greet Killian,” she promised. “Just as soon as I see to myself.” If she was going to fight her way through all the ladies surrounding Killian, she’d rather do it without having to hop from foot to foot.   

As she passed Ruby, she could have sworn her sister whispered coward under her breath. Emma inhaled sharply and walked faster instead of turning and lobbing back a scathing retort. Because Ruby just might be right, and that was terrifying to consider.

~*~*~

He was aware of her from the moment he entered the room. Emma stood on the other side of the ballroom conversing with her sister and sisters-in-law; or nearly, in the case of Belle French, Will’s betrothed. He couldn’t hide the small smile that touched his lips when he saw what she wore. Light blue silk glowed under the light of all the candles, and while she was too far away for him to experience the full effect, he still had to catch his breath at the picture that formed in his mind's eye.

Even four years away from her hadn’t changed that one whit. And he didn’t suppose it ever would. At least in India, she wasn’t around for him to be aware of her. But now that he was back, it was as clear to him as it ever was. He’d never be free of her. And she’d never be his. His heart clenched at the thought.

Within seconds of entering the room, he was surrounded by no less than half a dozen debutantes, and their mamas as well. As he suffered through each introduction, and re-introduction of the ladies, he blessed his ability - gift, really - to charm and appear wholly focussed on those seeking his attention, even if that attention was truly elsewhere. Emma suddenly left her family and was making her way toward the side entrance, no doubt seeking the ladies retiring room. Once she was gone, he announced his intention to locate his hostess to offer his thanks and best wishes, and excused himself.

When Emma arrived back in the ballroom, he hadn’t yet spoken with his hostess, being waylaid by Lady Lucas and Emma’s family. Not that he minded the Nolan ladies, since Ruby was the only one among them unattached, and she was as much a sister to him as anything. Killian immediately changed direction and caught his breath yet again, as the full realization hit him of exactly what it meant for her to be dressed in blue at a social event, even if it was her mother’s birthday fête.

She was out of mourning. Officially. She would flirt. And dance. And laugh. And find herself a husband. And it would probably happen within the space of a month. Because once her intention became clear, she would be flooded with suitors. After all, who wouldn’t want to marry her? She was beautiful, vivacious, witty, and had an air of maturity the younger debutantes didn’t have. And as her highest ranking male relative, he’d have a front row seat.

A soft, knowing smirk adorned her face as she approached him. He responded in kind as he met her halfway.

“Lady Kilmartin,” he murmured with a bow, taking the hand she offered him and brushing his lips across the knuckles.

“Welcome back to London, my lord,” she replied, curtseying properly. The moment they were both upright again, giggles and a full bodied laugh burst from them. The utter ridiculousness of the formality of their greeting was not lost on either of them.

Killian held his arm out for her. “May I have this dance?” She took his arm, the knowing smirk back on her face as he led her to the dance floor. He took her in his arms, his necessary mask when in her presence firmly in place, and began to lead her in a waltz. “You look lovely this evening, Emma. The color looks splendid on you.” 

Her cheeks flushed prettily and she demurely looked down. “Thank you. I see you did make time to see the tailor. You look quite handsome as well.”

They continued the waltz for a few moments before he spoke again. “So, are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Ruby, Mary Margaret, and Belle all said I should greet you properly, since this is your formal entry to society. Can’t let the ton think there’s any issue between us.” Killian swallowed hard, as he spun her and then drew her close again. “No matter that we’ve been living in the same house for weeks.”

“What issue could they possibly think may be between us?” he asked, honestly puzzled.

“I haven’t a clue,” she replied, “but that’s never stopped them from wagging their collective tongues, speculating about a non-existent scandal.”

“This is true.” Even in the few minutes he’d been the center of attention, he could plainly see the essence of the ton was unchanged since he’d left four years ago. He wasn’t sure if it was amusing or hell. Amusing, at the moment, he decided. Next week, it’d likely be hell.

“And what about you? Are you enjoying yourself, Killian?”

“Of course.”

“Of course?” She raised her eyebrow as if she didn’t believe him. “Even dancing with me, instead of being surrounded by a whole host of giggling young ladies hanging on your every word?”

“Why, Emma,” he said, waggling his brows, “Is that a note of jealousy I hear in your voice?”

Emma blanched and her eyes widened. He’d only been teasing her, but her response, quite honestly, startled him.

“O-of course not!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flaming again. “Why would you think I was jealous? I’ve never been jealous of your admirers before. Why would you think I am now?”

“Calm down, Emma,” he cajoled. “I was only teasing. I know you’re not jealous.” Even if the most fervent desire of his heart was for her to love him as he loved her, he couldn’t wish the torment of jealousy upon her, not when he himself had lived with it day in and day out for so many years.

She was still flustered and wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Killian couldn’t help the way his heart leapt with hope. “You must be careful though. These ladies are not your usual ladies.”

Killian’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I wasn’t aware I had a usual.”

Emma finally looked at him, though the color was still high on her cheeks. “Oh, come now, Killian. You know what I’m talking about. Four years ago you had standards. You didn’t seduce anyone who’d be irreparably harmed by your actions.”

“And what makes you think I’m going to start now?” The hope that filled his heart moments ago, plummeted. He brought them to a halt in the middle of the dance floor and led her to the edge of the ballroom and out onto the blessedly deserted terrace. He knew exactly what she was saying and he really shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d been very conscious and purposeful to flirt and seduce where either Emma could see it or she’d hear about it later, all so she’d never know the truth that lay buried in his heart. And now his reputation as a rogue and scoundrel diminished him in her eyes. And that was the last thing he wanted. Bitterness and resentment rose up within him as he turned back to her, and he couldn’t keep their bite out of his words. “Tell me, Emma. Just who do you think I am? Do you really think me so dimwitted or careless that I might accidentally ruin some young lady?”

He didn’t think he’d ever seen her pale so quickly and he immediately regretted what he’d said. “O- of course not,” she stammered. “I’m just afraid…”

“Afraid of what?”

Her chin trembled slightly. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to count the number of hearts you’ll break this spring.”

His voice was quiet but hard. “And why are you so concerned about that? It’s not your job to count them.”

“I know.” Her voice was nearly a whisper and he had to strain to hear her. “But I won’t be able to help myself.”

He had nothing to say to her. Her words and posture had his mind spinning. Why would she concern herself with how many hearts he might break? He certainly didn’t set out to do so. But the fact that she expected it of him hurt. 

“You should dance,” she burst out.

“We just finished a dance,” he informed her, testily.

“I meant with someone eligi…” She cut herself off before finishing the word, and Killian couldn’t help but wonder why. There was no possible way she might have guessed that he’d consider her eligible. He’d kept his feelings too well hidden for that. “Someone you might marry.” 

Someone he might marry, he thought irritably. To her mind, anyone but her.

“As a signal to society that you are looking for a countess.” He made no comment, but he could feel the muscle in his jaw twitching in his agitation. “You are… looking for a countess… are you not?”

He shrugged, flippantly. “If you say so.” 

“Someone who won’t fall in love with you.”

He turned sharply toward her and raised an eyebrow sardonically. “Heaven forbid I fall in love.”

She turned her head more fully toward him, her mouth open in a soft O of surprise. “Is that what you want? To fall in love?” 

The joy and delight on her face was too much. Surely there was no more perfect irony in the universe. God must be sitting on His throne having a good laugh at how tied up in knots he was.

“Killian?” she asked when he didn’t answer right away.

She wanted him to find love. She wanted him to be happy. And all he wanted to do was scream.

“If you will excuse me,” he said, his voice cold and formal, “I must go find someone with whom to dance. Someone I might marry. But someone who will absolutely not fall in love with me.”

“Killian, please,” she said in a whisper. “Don’t be like this. I didn’t mean…”

“Oh, I understand exactly what you mean, Emma,” he stated. “We must preserve the delicate and pure hearts of the ladies of the ton, since my heart is far too black to be helped.” 

With those words, he turned back toward the ballroom and left the terrace.

~*~*~

The next morning, Emma felt perfectly wretched. She couldn’t shake the guilt that clung to her like a blanket, even though Killian was the one who was so cold and heartless the evening before. 

What had she done or said to provoke such an unkind response from him? He’d never been interested in love and marriage before, and while she knew he’d eventually fulfill his duty to marry and beget an heir, when he’d said what he did about falling in love, her heart had beat double time. She wanted that happiness for him, but his cold and callous words towards her, and then his actions the rest of the evening, showed her plainly that his words about love were just that. Words.

When she went back into the ballroom from the terrace, she’d been inundated with dance requests and spent the rest of the evening dancing with this gentleman, or that viscount, and even a marquess. But Killian still commanded her attention. And she was painfully aware of how he charmed every single female in attendance. It got to where she was quite disgusted with herself for not being able to put him out of her mind. 

Every once in a while, his eyes would meet hers and they would turn hard and cold, but with an edge of mocking as he moved on to the next conquest. It was obvious to her that he knew exactly what he was doing. After her whispered confession about counting his broken hearts, he rose to the challenge with alacrity. She still wasn’t sure why she’d said that. Or even what exactly she meant. The words were past her lips before she could really think about it.

But they were true nonetheless. She had counted. But why? What did it matter? She’d never cared before! And it was only going to get worse. The women of the ton were mad for Killian. If the rules of courtship were reversed, the drawing room of Kilmartin house would be overflowing with flowers of every description. All addressed to the Dashing Earl.

But it was still going to be dreadful. She expected numerous female callers today, all hoping that Killian would walk through the drawing room. But even if he didn’t, she’d still have to answer numerous questions about him…

“Good heavens!” she exclaimed, looking into the drawing room. “What’s this?” 

Flowers. Flowers everywhere. Flowers of every description on every available surface.

It was her nightmare come to life! Had someone changed the rules of society and failed to tell her?

Lilies, orchids, tulips, violets. Roses. Roses everywhere. In every color. The scent was overwhelming and nearly sent her running.

“Tom!” she called the butler. She heard a loud sneeze and then he appeared in the doorway of the room holding a vase of daisies, his nose red and eyes watering terribly.

“Oh, Tom! I’m so sorry! All these flowers must be terrible for your allergies! But where did they all come from?”

“They are…” sneeze “for you…” louder sneeze “milady.” three sneezes in remarkably quick succession.

Emma blinked.

“For me?” She couldn’t fathom it. She was a widow. Men didn’t send flowers to widows. Did they?

Tom sniffed loudly and blew his red nose on his ever-present handkerchief. “I left the cards…” sneeze “on each arrangement…” sniff “so you would be able to identify each sender.” More sneezing.

“Here,” she said apologetically, “let me take those and you go take care of yourself.”

He handed the vase over and hurried off, no doubt thankful to be away from all the flora in the room.

Emma walked slowly into the room, and set the vase of daisies down on the nearest empty surface, too overcome by the lavish display. She came to an arrangement of tulips in the brightest of colors. Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady the card read. It was signed Viscount Trevalstam. He’d lost his wife two years ago. Everyone knew he was looking for a new bride to give him an heir. 

A delicate purple orchid was the next vase she came to. From Baron Whale.

“Who could these be from?” she mused, approaching an arrangement of yellow roses. She couldn’t keep the giddiness inside of her hidden as a wide and delighted grin spread across her lips. A Shakespearian sonnet, if she wasn’t mistaken and signed by Earl Stone. They’d only been introduced the evening before and shared a single dance. He was quite handsome, but since she had a full dance card, she hadn’t had the opportunity to converse with him after their turn on the floor. 

“Good heavens!”

Emma turned to see Alice in the doorway. Her mouth hung open slightly, much as hers had been upon discovering the floral display. 

“What is all this?”

“I believe those were my exact words when I came in,” Emma laughed. Alice approached and Emma handed her the cards she’d already read. She watched her mother-in-law carefully. She’d lost her firstborn son when Liam died. How would she react to Emma being pursued by other men?

Alice’s eyes were soft as they rose to meet hers after reading the cards.

“Oh, my,” she breathed. “You seem to be the season’s Incomparable.”

Emma felt her cheeks heat. “Oh, don’t be silly,” she protested. “I’m far too old for that.”

“Apparently not,” Alice replied. “Have you looked at all of the cards?”

“Not yet,” Emma said. “But I imagine…”

“They’re more of the same?” 

Emma met Alice’s gaze and slowly nodded. “Does that bother you?”

Alice’s smile was sad, but her eyes were kind and wise. “Do I wish that you were still married to my son?” she asked. “Of course, I do.” She laid the cards down on the table and took Emma’s hands in her own. “Do I wish for you to remain married to his memory? Of course not. You are my daughter, Emma, and I want you to be happy.”

Emma’s eyes filled with tears. “I would like to have a child,” she said, feeling the need to explain to Alice that she wanted to be a mother, not necessarily a wife. 

Alice nodded and dabbed at her own eyes before turning toward another arrangement, a delicate and lovely arrangement of grape hyacinths and stephanotis. “We must read the rest of these cards. And then prepare ourselves for a flood of afternoon callers,” she said, her tone brisk, clearly communicating her wish to move on from the heavily charged moment.

“I rather think the callers will be women,” she murmured, “inquiring after Killian.”

“You may be right,” she agreed. She held up the card. “May I?”

Emma nodded and Alice opened the card. Her mouth dropped open slightly as she read the words.

“What is it?” Emma asked, almost dreading her response.

“Cheshire.”

Emma gasped. “As in the Duke of?”

“The very one.”

Emma raised a hand to her heart. “The Duke of Cheshire,” she breathed. “Oh, my…”

“Oh my, indeed,” Alice agreed. “You, my dear, are clearly the catch of the season.”

“But…”

“What the devil is all this?” Both ladies turned to see Killian standing in the doorway of the drawing room, looking exceedingly cross.

“Good morning, Killian,” Alice said cheerfully.

He nodded in response then looked at Emma. “You look like you’re about to faint,” he said, waving his hand around aimlessly. Emma dropped her hand back to her side, having forgotten completely she still held it over her heart. He came further into the room and raised his eyebrow. “Are we opening a flower shop, then?”

“We clearly could,” Alice answered him. “They’re for Emma.”

“Of course they’re for Emma,” he replied. “Who else would they be for? But good God, how many roses are there? And who would be idiot enough to send them?”

“I like roses,” Emma protested.

“Everyone sends roses,” Killian groused. “They’re trite and old and… who sent these?” he asked, motioning to a display of white roses she hadn’t yet read the card for.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t seen the card yet.”

He plucked the card from the arrangement and opened it. “Lord Gaston,” he read.

“You will under no circumstances marry him. He hasn’t two shillings to rub together.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open in shock. “And how do you know that?”

He fixed her with an unamused look. “I’ve been to my club.”

“That may be true, but it’s hardly his fault.” She may not have seriously considered marrying him, but she did feel compelled to defend him since everyone knew the young Lord had spent the last year trying to repair the damage his father had done to the family finances.

“You’re not marrying him, and that’s final,” Killian announced.

She should have been annoyed by his arrogance, but in truth, she was only amused.

“Very well,” she replied, a smirk on her lips. “I’ll choose someone else.”

“Good,” he grunted.

“She has many to choose from,” Alice supplied, helpfully.

“Indeed,” he said caustically.

“May I take these daisies to my room?” Alice asked suddenly. “They are my favorite flower.”

“Of course,” Emma agreed quickly. Alice picked up the arrangement and left them alone. It was only a moment later that Killian let out a violent sneeze. As soon as he recovered, he glared at the display of gladiolas next to him that prompted it.

“We shall have to open a window,” he groused.

“And freeze?” Emma asked.

“I’ll put on a coat,” he ground out.

“Are you jealous?” she asked coyly. He snapped his head toward her so fast, she quickly backtracked. “Not over me,” she clarified, mortified to feel her cheeks heat. “Heavens, no. Not that.”

“Over what then?” he asked, his voice quiet and clipped.

“Well… just…” she stammered, gesturing aimlessly toward the ostentatious display around them, “I mean, we’re both after the same goal this season, aren't we?” 

He stared at her blankly.

“Marriage?” Good heavens but he was obtuse this morning.

“What of it?”

She let out an impatient breath. “I don’t know if you’d thought of it or not, but I rather assumed you would be the one to be relentlessly pursued. Not me. I never dreamed that I would…”

“Emerge as a prize to be won?” He lifted his eyebrow at her knowingly.

“Well, yes… I guess.” It wasn’t the nicest way to put it, but she couldn’t argue the point.

For a moment, he was silent. His clear blue eyes never wavering from hers. “Any man who doesn’t want to marry you is a fool.”

Emma’s jaw dropped. “Oh… well…” She was quite at a loss for words. “I believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Emma,” he sighed. Emma couldn’t look away from him. He looked tired, and sad, and something else. Regretful, maybe? No, Killian didn’t regret anything.

“I would never begrudge you this, Emma. You…” he cleared his throat, “deserve to be happy.”

She had no idea how to reply. Especially after their words last night.

“We both deserve happiness, Killian. Your turn will come.”

He turned questioning eyes upon her.

“It already has really,” she continued. “Last night. I was besieged by far more of your admirers than my own.”

Killian smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He didn’t look angry, just… hollow, almost. And it struck her how odd an observation that was.

“Speaking of…” he began, reaching up and scratching behind his ear, “Last night. I must apologize for my behavior. I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

“Everything is fine,” she assured him.

“Nonetheless,” he said gruffly, “I’m sorry.”

She watched him intently. His face was so dear to her and she knew every last detail of it. But something was different about him now. And she wasn’t sure what. And she wasn’t sure how it’d come about. She was also quite sure there was more he wanted to tell her, but couldn’t find the words.

“Everything is fine, Killian,” she repeated. “We’re fine.”

He nodded sharply, turned on his heel, and left the room.

~*~*~

Later, Killian sat in his club, a tumbler of rum in his hand. He grit his teeth, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he reflected on Ruth’s birthday party. He didn’t enjoy acting like an ass, but he truly had, and the guilt ate at him. He couldn’t really blame Emma. She’d always wanted to see him happily married. As happy as she’d been with his brother. But when he’d uttered the L word the previous evening, the joy on her face at the prospect of him finding love was just too much and he’d snapped. At least he’d apologized, and she’d forgiven him, but the maelstrom of the feelings he held for his sister-in-law almost guaranteed that it would happen again.

Once she was married and out of the house, and he wasn’t sitting across from her for every meal, he’d be better. They’d remain friends, of course. Emma wouldn’t allow anything else, but her new husband would certainly not allow her to spend so much time in his presence, brother-in-law or no.

“Jones,” a voice called, before Killian heard a clearing of a throat. “Er, Kilmartin, rather. So sorry.”

Killian looked up to see Baron Victor Whale, an acquaintance from Cambridge. “Think nothing of it,” he said, motioning to the chair across from him.

“Splendid to see you back in London,” Victor said, taking his seat. “I trust your journey home was uneventful.”

“It was,” Killian replied. “Thank you.” 

They exchanged the most basic of pleasantries until Victor got to the point. “I understand Lady Kilmartin is in the market for a husband.”

It was a very good thing Killian was so well versed in keeping his true feelings hidden, because the baron’s words and the gleam in his eyes made the alcohol in his stomach sour, and he had to fight to keep his countenance even. No matter that he thought of little else in the last few days, hearing others speak of it was the very last thing he wanted to hear.

“Er, yes,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. “I believe she is.”

“Splendid.” The smile on Victor’s face grew and Killian steeled himself for his next words. “Will you dower her?”

Killian’s eyebrows jumped on his head in surprise. “What?” It hadn’t even occurred to him. Good God, he’d probably have to give her away at the wedding.

“Will you dower her?” he repeated.

“Of course,” he bit out, holding on to his temper by the most tenuous of threads.

“Her brother said the same.” Killian feared for his teeth if he ground them any harder. If Victor thought he had any chance of gaining Emma’s hand and her apparently double dowry, he had another thing coming. He’d been a frequent visitor to the track back in their university days, and he doubted that had changed appreciatively since then. He was very likely impoverished and looking for an heiress to save him from ruin.

“The Jones’ will care for her,” Killian replied through grit teeth.

Victor shrugged. “Apparently, the Nolan’s will as well. Well, good seeing you again, Kilmartin,” he said, standing. “I must be off to tell Cheshire the news. Not that I want the competition, but this won’t stay under wraps for long. Might as well be the one to start its spread.” He laughed and Killian glared as he walked away.

Killian looked down at the empty glass in his hand. Damn, he’d already drunk it all. He signaled for another and then heard his name again. He did his best to hide his irritation, but this time wasn’t entirely sure he succeeded.

“Good evening, Kilmartin.” The voice belonged to Earl Arthur Stone. The man was familiar to him, of course, enough that a friendly conversation in the club wouldn’t draw undue attention, but he often reminded Killian of a strutting peacock, and after his floral delivery this morning, there was little doubt why he was seeking Killian out this evening.

“Stone,” he greeted, motioning to the chair Whale had recently vacated. He was only a bit more circumspect than Whale had been, engaging him in pleasantries for a full five minutes before bringing up his true purpose.

“I called upon Lady Kilmartin this afternoon,” he informed Killian.

“Did you?” he replied, nonplussed. He may not have been in the house when Stone called, wanting to spare himself the parade of suitors that seemed inevitable after the floral display that morning, but he wasn’t a fool.

“She’s lovely,” Arthur continued, when it became clear Killian had nothing else to say in light of his revelation.

“She is indeed.” Killian swirled his fresh drink and brought it to his lips, his eyes never leaving the man across from him. 

Stone cleared his throat and spoke again. “I intend to court her, you know.”

Killian pierced him with a stare and was gratified to see just a slight bit of discomfort at his scrutiny. 

“Well, if I didn’t, I certainly do now.”

Stone pulled at his cravat. “I wasn’t sure whether to inform you or her brother.”

Killian had no doubt David Nolan, the viscount and Emma’s eldest brother, would have no trouble determining the worth of potential suitors. But as her higher ranking relative, it’d be customary for him to be informed first by those same suitors.

“I am sufficient.”

“Excellent.” He took a sip of his drink and cleared his throat, a bit nervously in Killian’s opinion.

“Stone!” a rather jovial voice called. “And Kilmartin, too! What a surprise to see you!” It was Lord Cassidy. And if he wasn’t drunk yet, he was close to it.

Killian refrained from rolling his eyes at the man’s statement, as he took a seat between himself and Arthur. 

“When did you get back to London?” Cassidy asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“I’ve been back about a month,” Killian replied. He realized his glass was empty again and signaled for another. He was going to need it.

Cassidy nodded several times in quick succession. “And Lady Kilmartin, as well, I see,” he continued. “Finally out of mourning, yes? She wore blue last night,” he said, answering his own question. 

“She looked quite lovely,” Stone added.

“Indeed, indeed,” Cassidy nodded again. “A fine woman. Why, I’d go after her myself if I wasn’t already shackled to Lady Cassidy.”

Small favors, Killian thought, barely able to keep himself from rolling his eyes in annoyance. He couldn’t imagine being faced with a potential suit from the buffoon in front of him.

“How long did she mourn the old earl?” he asked and Killian bristled.

“Four years,” he bit out. “My brother died four years ago.”

“Whatever,” Cassidy replied, blatantly ignoring Killian’s emphasis on his relationship to the old earl. “It was a bloody long time.” He shrugged. “All the same to us though. She wasn’t looking for a husband until now.”

“No,” Killian said. If only because Cassidy had actually stopped to take a breath.

“The men are going to be after her like bees to flowers.” He drew out the s so that it sounded like a long zzzzz. “Beezzzz to honey, I say. And there hasn’t been a hint of scandal about her in all that time.”

“Of course not!” Stone sounded shocked and Killian ground his teeth wondering where Cassidy was going with this.

“Not like some of the widows out and about, eh?” he continued, elbowing Killian and shooting him a significant look. “If you know what I mean.”

Killian looked him square in the face and speared him with a stare that would have sent his underlings back in India scurrying, but which he was afraid Lord Cassidy was a bit too obtuse, or a bit too drunk to notice.

“What, exactly, do you mean, Cassidy?” he asked, a hard edge to his voice.

“It’s like…” He leaned in conspiratorially and his grin turned salacious. “It’s like…”

“Oh, for God’s sake, man. Spit it out,” Killian growled.

“I’ll tell you what it’s like,” he repeated, his grin turning into a leer. “It’s like you’re getting a virgin who knows what to do.”

“What did you say?” Killian’s voice was deadly quiet.

“I said…”

“I would take care to not repeat what you just said, if I were you, Cassidy,” Stone tried to warn him.

“Eh? It’s no insult, I assure you,” Cassidy continued before finishing off his drink. “I mean, she’s been married, so you know she’s not untouched, but she hasn’t gone off and…”

“Stop now,” Killian ground out.

“What? Why? Everyone is saying it.” 

“Not to me, they’re not.” If Cassidy was too dense to take the warning, then Killian was just going to have to cut his tongue out of his head. Or strangle him. “Not if they value their head.”

“Well, it’s better than saying she ain’t like a virgin,” Cassidy chortled, “If you know what I mean.”

Killian lunged.

“Good God, man,” Cassidy choked out, his back on the floor. Killian didn’t know how his hands came to be around the bastard’s neck, but he found he rather liked the way they looked there. “What… the hell… is wrong with you?”

“You will never,” he hissed, his face inches from Cassidy’s, “speak her name again. Do you understand me?” Cassidy tried to nod, but it only cut off his air supply more.

Killian released him and stood, wiping his hands on his pant legs as if wiping away something foul. “I will not tolerate Lady Kilmartin being spoken of in such disrespectful terms. Is that clear?”

Cassidy nodded and so did several onlookers.

“Good.” Killian decided now was a good time to vacate the premises, and so strode out of the room. Once in the hallway, he heard his name yet again and wondered who’d be so idiotic as to approach him when he was this angry. Will Nolan. Emma’s older brother. Damn.

“Kilmartin,” Will said, his customary knowing smirk firmly planted on his face.

“Nolan,” Killian greeted.

“I was having a quiet drink when I heard the commotion,” he said, motioning to the room Killian had just left. “Come join me.”

Killian may have wanted nothing more than to leave, but Will was Emma’s brother, so they were relations of a sort and he couldn’t get away with snubbing his invitation. Will had always unnerved him. They shared the same sort of reputation, that of the devil-may-care-rogue, but where Will was always cooed over by the society mamas because of his charm and wit, Killian had always been treated much more suspect. At least until he came into the title.

But Killian knew the man was sharp as a whip, and he had long suspected there was quite a bit of substance underneath Will’s always jovial exterior. If there was anyone in Emma’s family who might accurately guess Killian’s true feelings for Emma, it was Will.

Killian intended to share one drink with the man and leave.

“Fine evening, don’t you think?” Will asked, motioning for their drinks once Killian was settled in his seat, pretending to be comfortable. “Aside from Cassidy, obviously. He’s nothing but an ass.”

Of course, Killian agreed with the sentiment, but with Will watching him so carefully - even under the guise of friendly conversation - he could manage no more than a terse nod. Will cocked his head to the side just a bit and narrowed his eyes slightly. Almost as if to get a deeper look into his soul. Killian fought the urge to squirm.

“Thank you for defending Emma’s honor,” Will said quietly.

Killian didn’t know what he expected Will to say to him, but it certainly wasn’t that. It was his place to defend her honor, just as it would have been if any of the Nolan brothers had heard Cassidy’s despicable words.

“Emma deserves respect,” Killian replied, equally as quietly as their drinks arrived. Killian gave a nod of appreciation and took a sip. “I will not countenance anything less. From anyone.”

There was silence for a moment between the two men as they sipped their drinks.

“You could marry her, you know,” Will said easily. Killian nearly choked.

“I beg your pardon?” Killian was sputtering. Killian never sputtered.

“Marry her,” he repeated, moving forward just a bit, his gaze intense. 

Killian realized it was too much to hope that Will was referring to anyone else except Emma, but he had to try.

“And who am I supposed to marry?”

The look on Will’s face was condescending in the extreme, mixed with a fair amount of pity as well. “Do we really need to play this game?”

“I can’t marry Emma!” he exclaimed.

“And why not?” He looked honestly puzzled and Killian felt his jaw opening and closing, not a word coming out of it. 

“Because…” he trailed away, completely at a loss. Because that one simple statement made Killian realize that he could marry Emma. There was nothing illegal about it. There was only his own damn conscience. The conscience that maintained there was everything immoral about it. 

She’d been married to his brother. The brother whose death gave him money, power, prestige, and a title. And if he compounded the utter betrayal of his brother - loving his wife - by then stealing her for his own, didn’t that mean he had somehow wished for Liam’s death? 

And how could he possibly live with himself then?

Will sat back in his chair, his dark eyes still on Killian, watching and cataloging every muscle twitch, every eye movement, every emotion Killian was too shocked to keep hidden that worked their way across his face.

Will waved his hand dismissively, but without looking away. “I can see it’s a moot point anyway.” 

That brought Killian’s swirling thoughts to an abrupt halt. There was something in the tone of his voice. Something biting and provoking. He met Will’s stare with his own, searching for clues as to the other man’s agenda. “And why is that?” he bit out.

Will took his time answering. He toyed with his glass, took a small sip, and continued to scrutinize Killian. 

“Why is it a moot point?” Will finally repeated, his eyebrow raising in intrigue, just like Emma’s sometimes did. “Because you’re so clearly not interested in marrying her.”

Killian’s mouth opened for a quick, biting retort, but he shut it just as quickly when he realized he’d been about to say, Of course, I am.

He’d very nearly confessed the deepest desire of his heart to the brother of his beloved. And as he searched Will’s face, he knew that the man had somehow seen into the depths of his heart and mind and knew precisely how Killian felt about his sister.

“I must be going,” Killian blurted out, finishing his drink and rising to his feet.

“Of course,” Will said, affably. As if their conversation had been about nothing more important than the weather. “Think about what I said,” he murmured, as Killian strode purposefully toward the door.

As if he’d be able to think about anything else. For the rest of his life.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! New ch will be up Wednesday!

[luimagines]

Armless hero imagine

The group ends up in Ethan's timeline, and Ethan takes the first watch of the night so the chain can have some sleep in. Ethan keeps watching and does patrol around to make sure no unwanted guests come, but the night is different. Ethan eyes widen when he sees a hooded man and immediately knows who he is, so he gets to guard. The book senses something wrong so he woken hyrule with it magic then tell hyrule to wake the others as the book fly quickly to were Ethan is as backup.

Hooded man: I see you're still alive, boy.

Book: your supposed to be dead!!

Hoodie man: well I see that you can't remove that nasty curse off yet oh dear brother.

Book: enough of your Blunders! Cecil.

Cecil lift his sleeves to cover his face to hide a wick grin and laugh but the two knows he's enjoying this just as the chain came to back the two up and arm with their Respected weapons.

Cecil: oh clam your pointless hyper, I'm only here to deliver a wonderful gift~

The time was going to ask about this gift, but the hooded man called Cecil wave his sleeves hand, and the group went to shield themselves from the man magic but suddenly Ethan on the ground and before anyone can react. Ethan let out a bloody pain scream shocking book,chain but Cecil laughs.

Cecil: enjoy your gift boy.

Wild aim his bow and arrow to shot the man but the man turn into a shadow and disappear into the ground as book quickly goes to Ethan curse Cecil for using forbidden magic and trying to help ethan as hyrule ran out to help and see Ethan's throat scar healing til it's gone as Ethan panting and scarf hands still rub or hold his throat in pain as the chain look to book for a possible answer.

Book: that is cecil....my twin brother.

Legend: will ethan?-

Book: he'll be fine...but...

Ethan: *pain stricken voice*.. it hurts..

Hyrule: let me heal-

Book: that won't work hyrule. Ethan..can you?-

Ethan felt weird to be able to talk again but will flinch to feel sharp pain and slowly sit up as the group crowd around.

Time: Cecil gifted Ethan's voice?

Book: to do that is through very old magic that's forbidden for a very good reason.

Time: that reason is book?

Book: that old magic belongs to only gods and goddesses bounded by rules over all lands and one hyila and demise been searching since the beginning.

The group is slient and this time sky speak.

Sky: so what does this gift have to do with Ethan?

Book: im...not sure at the moment but knowing my brother Cecil, he's likely making our lives difficult and toying us.

Ethan: you think..he's planing something?

Book: yes but don't talk Ethan, I need to check you for any effects.

Ethan nod and rub his throat to feel strange to hear his voice after lost his voice saving his hyrule while book use it magic on him as the chain can't sleep now.

ETHAN CAN TALK!??!?!

[ordonianhero]

For the 3 sentence challenge (if you're still doing third) : hug

It was hotter than Death mountain out as the peak of summer was hitting in whose ever Hyrule this was. Non of them could figure that out, cause the heat was dry and blistering. Some of the chain members chose to removes some layers as they continued through the mountain range. How was it that here as they walk where there could still be snow on the mountain it could be this Hot? Sweat dripping from their faces, parched mouths, and and the over welding urge to just collapse from the heat. “How hot do you think it must be?” Asked Hyrule. He was fanning himself. Wild who put on his vote outfit shrugs and says, “Beats me, but it sure reminding me of the Gerudo desert. Time being stoic and trying to keep moving forward, agreed. That or the Fire Temple. Then as they started heading down they spotted a stream. Which ment there was a lake near by. Continuing on. They made a turn and started heading up up up. Till they reached the clearest lake they had every seen, surrounded by wild flower, high mountains capped with snow run off. A fish leaped out of the water. Dragon flies were dancing. All of them happily rushed to get a closer look.

Before anyone could say anything Wind quickly removed his tunic top, his weapons and shoes. Running straight for the water. And squealing with delight. “Come on in. It’s nice!” He yelled. His voice echoing. “Well guess we’ll make camp here in the mean time. I dont think we will be tracking much father in this heat. So might as well.” Stated the elder hero. Which comically was followed by the others strolling out of their hot garments and plunging into the cool water. Twilight dunk his head under water, before popping back up and letting out a sigh of relief. Which then resulted in wind splashing him. Rancher turned his head and grabbed lake weed and flung it at the sailor who squeal. Hyrule wasn’t much of a swimmer so he stuck to where legend was. Wild wasn’t good at swimming either and stuck by them as well. Four being small had to stick the shallows, but was cool enough. Sky looked adorable as he just manage to float. Warriors, stood in the water, splashed his face, and that was about it. He could keep cool that way. Time hadn’t even come in the water yet. However, seeing his Brother no going all the way, his inner gremlin pinged.

“Not going all the way in?” TIme asked, innocently. “And what, swim in a fishes toilet water…yeah I shall pass getting anymore lake smelly.” He response, waving his hand off towards Time. Oh that would not do. The Old man just smirked. Walking over to Him. Enjoying how much cooler his feet felt. He waited, calculating the right moment to Grab the Captain in a hug and dunking them both in. Rancher spotted the gleam in the old man’s eye. He was was allowing Wild to pig back ride him as he got them both into deeper waters. “Lame” said the Vet, who was now sitting in the shallows with Hyrule and Four. “Yeah! LA-“ and before wind could finish that statement, They all heard The Captain Yelp as he was bear hugs and then pulled into the water by Time himself. He flailed and squawked as he attempted to get free the the Old man. “I swear on the sever sages I will…..I will tell on you to Malon for this.” “Oh she’d find it funny.” Warriors mange to get free and desperately, like a wet cat, swim back to shallower waters. But in all, he did feel refreshed, just now he smelt of lake water. He sighed. “You’re all children.”

[airi-of-hearts]

A spooky present for @andromedagarcia ...you know it ♥. I hope you like it.

The sound of the ocean was deafening, overwhelming, filled with a thousand voices. Wave after wave crashed against the steep cliff, sending a salty mist into the air and making white foam spray the tired traveler.

The traveler looked up, wiping water away from his face with the back of his hand. The sun was about to set. If he wanted to reach the inn at the top of the cliff he’d better hurry. He would have picked up his pace but, even though the rocky crag had crudely carved steps to facilitate the ascent, to anyone unfamiliar with the terrain as he was, any misstep would end up in a deathly plunge to the unforgiving water below.

The moon was showing her face just above the horizon when the traveler finally reached the inn. He thanked her for lighting his way and not letting him slip to a watery grave. The ocean wasn’t visible from where he was standing, but he could still hear it loud and clear, almost like a song, a calling. When he recovered from the climb, he proceeded to the inn.

The door to the tavern was slightly ajar so the traveler let himself in. Inside, there was a nice fire in the hearth. It made him shiver, he hadn’t realized how cold he was, but of course, his cloak was soaking wet. He seemed to hesitate as he lowered his hood and removed his cloak, not wishing to trail water all over the stone floor. He hung his cloak on a hook by the door and walked toward the bar. The woman behind it had her back to him, busy filling two flagons of beer.

‘Good evening,’ he greeted her with a soft voice, so as not to startle her.

‘Evening,’ she replied without turning around. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’

That was fine, he wasn’t in a hurry. He was still trying to catch his breath after the treacherous climb. He ran his fingers along the coarse wood of the bar, trying to read stories in the grooves. As far as he knew, the inn was a couple of centuries old. He couldn’t even grasp the sheer number of spilled drinks and bar fights, of stories told by the fire.

‘What can I get you?’ The young woman had returned.

‘Are you the innkeeper?’

‘Innkeeper, barmaid, waitress…’ she tapped her nails on the counter.

‘Beer, please.’

She filled a tankard and put it in front of him. Then she looked him up and down, somewhat disdainfully. ‘You must be here to see them.’

‘See who?’

‘Every full moon, foolish men like yourself come here to get a glimpse of them.’

The traveler shook his head. ‘I just came to see the inn, I’m writing a book. Mind you, I almost didn’t make it, the climb is tricky. I could have slipped and…’

‘The mermaids would have taken you.’

‘The…?’

The barmaid rolled her hazel eyes. She looked around. There were just a few more people having a drink, but since she’d just brought fresh mugs to everyone, they wouldn’t bother her. At least for a few minutes. She sighed resignedly and sat beside the traveler.

‘Did you see the painting hanging above the coat rack?’

He hadn’t been paying attention when he’d come in. He turned around in his seat to look. A beautiful woman with locks of raven-black hair, dressed in a lovely white dress, stared back at him. She was sitting on a rock by the ocean. Her expression was indescribable. He could sense a profound sadness, but her eyes also spoke of anger.

‘She’s…’

‘Very beautiful, yes, I know.’

‘Who is she?’

The barmaid bit the inside of her cheek, as if she were trying to gauge how much to tell him. 

‘She is. Was. My great-grandmother’s sister.’ She shrugged. ‘And if legends are to be believed...’

‘Legends?’ The traveler asked, urging her to keep talking.

‘Andrómeda.’ She pointed to the painting with her head. ‘Was a celebrated beauty. She had many suitors, as you can imagine. But her father gave her hand in marriage to an awful man. When she heard about this, she ran away with the man she loved. Andrómeda thought they would be happy together, that they’d find the way to make a living. But that dream was short-lived. Her beloved turned out to be a scumbag, the worst kind of man.’

The barmaid looked away, absentmindedly curling a strand of her reddish hair around her finger. She was quiet for a minute before continuing.

‘No sooner was she out of her parents’ place than he assaulted her. She fought back, of course. Alerting those inside the house. Her brother and sister, my great-grandmother, among them. But when they went out, all they saw was Andrómeda tangled up in a fight with this man. And then they both fell down the cliff.’

The traveler gasped audibly, his heart skipping a beat at the thought of that abyss.

‘There was a storm raging that night,’ the barmaid said. ‘The sea spirits were watching. The next day, they found the scumbag’s body on the rocky beach below, in oh so many pieces. But where was she?’ 

He shook his head, hoping she would say they’d found the dark-haired woman alive and well. No such luck.

‘The sea had taken her, they concluded.’ She sighed. ‘My great-grandmother mourned her sister for weeks. And then, during the next full moon, she was walking on the beach and she saw her. Her lost sister. Sitting on a rock, the one from the painting, watching the ocean wistfully. Not only that. My great-grandmother claimed Andrómeda had spoken to her. She wrote it all down in her diary. I memorized it.’

The barmaid took a deep breath and closed her eyes before reciting:

“Don’t weep for me, Cass. I am far from dead. That night, as I fell, I embraced my fate. But instead of the cold embrace of the ocean, She put her arms around me. The Sea Witch, with her enticing eyes and honey blonde hair. And she offered me my life, in a way no one else could possibly offer it. ‘Andrómeda,’ the Sea Witch said, in the sweetest voice you can imagine. ‘You have been mistreated in the world of men, disregarded, hurt. If you choose to surrender your life now, I promise you a calm passing to the Underworld. But if you choose to remain, I will make it so you appear even more beautiful to the eyes of men. Alluring, irresistible, and terrible like the ocean itself. So you can drag them to their doom. Drown them.’” It was then that I noticed Andro’s sharp teeth, her raven-black hair so long it reached way below her waist… where a fishtail with shimmery scales had replaced her legs…

‘The Sea Witch?’ the traveler interrupted the barmaid, his voice hoarse. He hadn’t realized his mouth had been hanging open since the barmaid had started telling him the story. He drank deeply from his tankard.

‘Airi, they call her around here. Another maid of the sea.’ 

‘Maid of…?’

‘That’s what locals call them. You would call them mermaids. Some say they’re the souls of young women who died at sea, some say they have no soul at all. Anyway, after Andrómeda talked to her sister, she jumped into the ocean and disappeared. A few months later, the rumors began. Young men drowning in shallow waters, boats left adrift because their sailors were suddenly possessed with the urge to jump into the water. And yet, more and more people who heard the rumor come every month. Most of them return these days. But some…’ she shrugged, letting her words hang between them. ‘They say my great-grandmother never stopped looking for her. She bought this place… and here we are.’

‘What do you believe?’ the traveler asked, truly intrigued.

‘Part of me believes Andrómeda drowned that fateful night. But I want to believe she found another life in the dark depths, and that she takes her revenge every month.’ 

The traveler felt a shiver running down his spine. Perhaps the Sea Witch and the Dark Mermaid were listening. He couldn’t know it, but he was lucky the barmaid had decided he was trustworthy. Otherwise, she would have offered to take him down to the beach to see the actual Mermaid Rock from her great-grandmother’s story. And then she would have offered him to the vengeful maids of the sea.

[iviarellereads]

Nona the Ninth, Chapter 24

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For detail on The Locked Tomb coverage and the index, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Gideon Nav icon) In which a considerable debate is begun in the fandom.

All the zombie solders crumple where they stood, leaving Nona buried under two. Everyone runs to Cam, who rises to her knees, holding Ianthe's rapier steady to avoid further damage. Crown begs Cam to stay with her, and Cam says she's not going anywhere.

“I’m holding you to that,” said the body of Ianthe Naberius.(1)

Pyrrha grabs the gun and rushes to point it at Ianthe Naberius's body… but lowers it and calls whoever's in there a "fucking legend". Cam tells Pyrrha to remove the rapier, since it missed the pelvis. Ianthe's body says she'll be out of commission with a gut wound like that, and Cam doesn't care, so Ianthe's body does it themself. Crown leaves to find bandages.

Cam asks for some space, as Pyrrha and Ianthe's body are still crowding her. Palamedes asks if she won't look at him, after carrying the remains of his body, his soul, his life. Cam looks him right in the eye and says she would always know him, calling him "Warden". Cam, Pal, and Pyrrha banter a bit, and Pal admits he's expending almost all he has to keep control of the body.

Pyrrha suggests he read it with his psychometry, since this body would have been the conduit for stashing the other corpse. He can't get fine details, but can tell Pyrrha vaguely where to look. Pyrrha says that's practically an intelligence briefing. Pal tells her to take Nona. Pyrrha objects, but he says there's no time, Ianthe is still trying to take control back. It felt to them like much longer than the four seconds it was to everyone else, and his respect for Ianthe has grown, but he'd be lucky to have an hour in control.

Crown has returned, so he tells her to get Judith, and meet them back here. Crown calls him a good man, for not hurting Ianthe. He says it was just safer to trap her than to let her escape back to her own body, it wasn't mercy. She thanks him anyway, and offers to help bandage Cam, but Pyrrha says the guards are knocked out or otherwise busy, there's a clear path to and from Judith.

Crown hesitates, and Nona compares her current state to Noodle, wanting to go out and run but also wanting to stay comfy where he is.(2) Shortly, Crown loses some internal battle, and flees.

Pyrrha rescues Nona from the corpse pile, and they leave as well. Pyrrha asks if Nona's alright, and Nona says she feels strange. Pyrrha offers to pinch her, which Nona bristles at but also breaks out of some of her strange feeling. Pyrrha offers her sleeve for Nona to clean the gunk and plastic bits out of her eyes, and they go on through the barracks to where Pal described.

Nona admits on the way that she's dying. Pyrrha suspected for a while: the soul longs for the body, and she'd know how much it takes to acclimate a soul to a body it wasn't born to.

“But you’re not sad,” said Nona. “Of course I’m not sad. You’re not dying on my watch. Kiddie, when you were yelling…” Nona was still a little embarrassed about that. “I took Cam a bit too literally.”(3) Pyrrha opened her mouth to say something, but then they rounded the second left and she shut her mouth.

There's an obvious ward on the corridor, and Pyrrha reads messages scrawled nearby, warnings that anyone who enters will disintegrate. Nona asks what the trap is, and Pyrrha throws a piece of pipe at the door, where it crumbles to dust that lands on the other side.

“It’s a shit version of Mercymorn’s old entropy trap,”(4) said Pyrrha. “Not half as good. Done entirely through wards—brilliant—but entirely reliant on wards—fucking ridiculous. Good at keeping people out though … and almost impossible for anyone but another Lyctor to break. See what it’s made out of? That’s blood. Blood wards age, and they burn out if you make them work too hard … And I’m sorry, No-No, but that’s where you come in.”

Pyrrha points out that Nona's regeneration is much stronger than even a normal Lyctor's. They couldn't recover from some of the things Nona can. And Pyrrha hates to ask Nona to hurt herself for this, but it's the most important thing in the whole world. Nona asks what's so special about the body they're after. Pyrrha says she's the key to a very important door, and the last thing Pyrrha has left of the woman she loved.(5) And, she might be Nona's body.

Nona found herself sighing again, like her body wanted to let out all its sound at once. One of her ears felt slightly blocked, and when she tilted her head and blew her nose and pulled at her earlobe a little trickle of water came out.(6) “What if I don’t like me?” she said. “Well, you’ll probably start visiting clubs and trying to hit on the dancers, and going from relationship to relationship not really being able to commit.”(7) Nona was severe. “You talk too much, Pyrrha.”

Nona decides to reach out a hand, but at the last moment, can't do it from her fear. Pyrrha grabs Nona by the elbow and pushes her hand forward into the ward. After several long, gory paragraphs of gore about how the ward affects Nona's hand, the ward breaks like a car backfiring. Nona cries into Pyrrha, and it takes a good half minute to get her to look at her hand, which is thankfully fine except for her nails being long and clawed. Pyrrha trims them for her, roughly, and tells her to start opening doors while Pyrrha cleans up the ward in case it's still partially intact and can reform.

Nona opens a door, but it only holds brooms. Next, there's a door with a key still in the lock outside, so she opens it to find the girl from her dream. She tiptoes in, and a couple of paragraphs are spent describing her in quite a bit of detail.

Nona touches the corpse's hand tentatively, expecting her to be revealed as an illusion or a soap bubble.

What happened made her think much better of the corpse. It opened its eyes—and its eyes were yellow, the gold of the old sky, like hers only much foggier.(8) Those were beautiful: Nona had always adored her eyes, and here they were again, on the corpse, only partially spoiled for being dead. They looked like treasure at night. The corpse looked at her in such mute, helpless appeal—spoke to her in her first language(9)—that Nona did not have to think about what she did next. She leant down and laid a kiss right on that cool, dead, crooked mouth. She kissed her just the once. The corpse’s mouth was soft and rough and cold, and did not respond to Nona’s mouth, but a tremble went through the upper body. Nona was surprised and relieved to find that the corpse girl tasted like toothpaste. At the tremble, Nona pulled back, self-conscious. The expression on the corpse’s face could not have been more rigid with shock and disbelief. She found herself saying, a little defensively— “You looked like you wanted to be kissed, that’s all.”

Pyrrha enters and Nona says she's sorry, but Pyrrha looks at Gideon like she's seeing at least one ghost. Nona turns back to Gideon and finds her eyes closed again, her body still. Pyrrha gathers herself and says she'd know Gideon Nav anywhere, she's the picture of her mother except for her eyes and brows. Nona observes that Gideon's mother was the woman who broke Pyrrha's heart, and Pyrrha says she was ready to commit except for the whole punching Wake out an airlock thing.

For some reason, Nona felt vaguely hurt and envious. She didn’t have a mother for Pyrrha to have punched out an airlock. Nor had Pyrrha ever looked at her the way she now looked at the dead corpse with red hair—a kind of soft, guarded want; a hunger—a living desire to take the corpse in her arms like Kevin’s wanting desire with his dolls. To own, to squeeze, to cosset and destroy.

Nona remembers and tells Pyrrha that she thinks Gideon's awake, and can hear them. Nona admits she kissed Gideon and woke her up. Pyrrha looks at Nona, sad and amused and more understanding than Nona wants. She asks Nona why, and Nona says, no reason. Pyrrha asks what it felt like, and Nona says that's private. Pyrrha observes that she's not a heap on the floor, so there wasn't a soul exchange.(10)

Nona says Gideon looked at her, and Pyrrha asks her eye colour. Gold, like Nona's, but cloudier. Pyrrha is relieved Ianthe didn't transfer into her, and remarks how it would've taken half the Lyctors of old to keep her in hand. Pyrrha wonders why John let her bring Gideon's corpse along, knowing the BOE would lose their minds when they saw her resemblance to Wake.

At any rate, time to get back to the gang, so Pyrrha heaves Gideon over her shoulder. Nona notices that Gideon is wearing a jewelled scabbard on her hip, and a sword hilt above it, all pearly white, and something attached to the other hip with "clear white blades and plate rivets."(11) Pyrrha tells Nona to eat the protein bar in Pyrrha's pocket on the way back up, and Nona grumbles, but she does feel weak.

When they return to the crew, Crown's hand reflexively touches her(12) sword as she declares it was Gideon after all. Pyrrha says it could be a doll copy, as she can't see why John would allow her corpse into the world, ever. Crown rushes to cradle Gideon's head in her hands, playing with the wreath.(13)

Pyrrha asks about the shuttle, and Crown says Pal's language got shockingly filthy when he looked at it. The fuel's warded against use. Cam suggested they secure the Sixth for now, and come back for the shuttle later. Judith's also in bad shape, her sedatives aren't working like they should.

Pyrrha asks Crown to help Nona, who worked too hard to get their prize. Crown offers Nona a piggyback ride, which Nona accepts eagerly.

Back in the main room, Cam is standing, though she looks grey beneath her olive skin. Pal and Cam both look at Pyrrha and Nona eagerly, but Pal's face creases as he realizes there wasn't a reaction. Pal wonders if that means it's a copy, and has Pyrrha put her down. Pyrrha does so, gently, and Nona thinks the corpse prince really does look dead, she's flopping very convincingly. Crown says Ianthe certainly acted as though the corpse was real. Pal kneels and gets to work.

He undid her scarf, and Nona looked away. Beneath the scarf a huge wound in the throat made the neck yawn wide open.(14) When she peeked back, wishing she had her braids to screen everything, she saw that Palamedes had unbuttoned the shirt partway and there was another big wound in the chest—a big purple bloodless puncture wound, with white teeth peeking out coyly from within.(15)

Pal says the damage is consistent with reported injuries, with a second wound lower down. Pyrrha says it would be an exact copy with John's work regardless. Pal says he has an advantage, in that he touched the original. Using his psychometry, he tries, but ends up sneezing and pulling his hand away.

Pyrrha says he just met God, and Pal says he doesn't like him. Pyrrha says God is preserving Gideon, if she's not his own creation, or both. Once he's had his hand on something, necromantically speaking, he obliterates anyone else's fingerprints with his power. Crown says Gideon's body didn't decompose, either, before she was lost.

Pal says that protection may be keeping Nona out, as well, if this is where she belongs.(16) Still, they'll have to operate as if she's really Gideon. He makes a ghost ward, so Ianthe can't come and take over her. As he's fanning it dry, Cam asks about the order of operations, and Pal says they'll secure the Sixth Oversight Body first, as Juno Zeta is good with wards, and might be able to break the ones on the shuttle's fuel. Then they return to the Sixth installation, and get all the necromancers out of Varun's influence. They fix Nona, stop the war, go to the Ninth, and "begin the real fight."(17)

Everyone looks at Nona, who doesn't know what the Ninth House is, but her teeth chatter as if to say something, which she has to clench to keep in.

The ward is dried, so Pal asks for the syringe. Pyrrha says she thought of that, but a blood sample might not be enough. With John's power, even Harrow couldn't have broken in unless the blood was fresh. Pal says Gideon's colour is good, no dehydration or gravity pooling fluids. If her blood survives outside her body, or not, it will all tell them something.

Camilla passed him a little pair of scissors, and he cut a short slit in the thigh of the corpse’s soft leather trousers. Then Palamedes prodded around with his fingers—he placed the needle to the dead skin—and the corpse’s hand shot out and ringed around his wrist before anyone could stop it.(18) Nona noticed that one of the corpse prince’s sleeves had worked up, and that on her wrist was a funny fat bracelet: a braided cord of many colours, none of which matched. “One, that’s not going to work. Two, I fucking hate needles,” said the corpse. “Three—Sex Pal, if that’s how you get a lady’s pants off, holy shit, no wonder I stole your girl.”(19) Palamedes rocked back on his heels. “Not my girl. Unlike some of us, I’ve never much seen the allure of an evil cougar,” he said crisply. “Good morning, Gideon.”

=====

(1) The cheering is surely audible! Unless you didn't realize immediately that this was a classic Pal line. (2) I think I understand Corona here. These are her friends, these are the people she's come to trust and love now that she's been given a chance at a life outside her sister's control. Recall Nona saying Crown wants Cam to love her the way Cam loves Nona. She wants Cam to be her sister, in a way, and not necessarily separate from the codependency her parents forced upon her and Ianthe. It's so sad and so sweet, I think. But, at the same time, Cam and Pal haven't had a chance to talk, face to face, alone, in over a year and a half. Give them a minute, Corona, for pity's sake. (3) It took me a good few rereads of this and surrounding lines to realize that it was Nona saying it. So, just in case the lack of identity marker confused anyone else, here you go. (4) The Eighth lab in Canaan House. The one that requires soul siphoning to survive. (5) Pyrrha's mom energy is just BURSTING AT THE SEAMS for Gideon, seriously. (6) The water again, in weird orifices. What was in that scream? (7) It's okay, Pyrrha, I thought your joke here was very funny if not in the best of timing or taste. ;) (8) Why might Gideon's eyes look diluted compared to Nona's? Well, the corpse thing is, I think, a red herring, because everyone else's eyes are exactly the same in death as in life in this setting. We know Wake doesn't have John's gold eyes, so the breeding out could affect them. If Nona were Gideon and Harrow's souls merged, then her eyes should be somewhere between Gideon's gold and Harrow's black, but not brighter gold. Who would have the brighter gold, comparison to whom made Mercy realize Gideon's true identity? Who would be able to take a Resurrection Beast's cry and give it at full power, enough to disable even held corpses who once had necromantic ability? Who is, as Varun put it, this green thing forced into a body too small, so small Nona thinks there's barely room for just her, let alone anyone else? (9) The language of the body, which Nona has demonstrated so casually throughout. This, more than anything, is why I know that no matter what the fandom debates, this is truly Gideon Nav. She would want nothing more, on seeing someone she thought was Harrowhark Nonagesimus, than to embrace her. Nona can tell, though she doesn't have the context to know that her kiss may have been misinterpreted and inappropriate.

(10) So, here's where my theory comes in as to what happened between the end of Harrow and the beginning of Nona. Gideon (in Harrow's body) guided Pyrrha through the River, somehow, back to her own body. There, something happened, I can't guess what exactly, but it transferred Gideon's soul back to her own body by the same gravity Pal thought would happen to Nona (see: chapter 20) and that Pyrrha makes reference to here. Then somehow Gideon's body slipped back into the River, maybe something instinctual with Harrow's abilities as a Lyctor, maybe something to do with her genetic heritage despite not being an adept. She was drawn back to her father, by his intention or otherwise, which is how she ended up back in House control. This left Harrow's body just up from the shore of the River, in BOE territory, with Pyrrha and Cam/Pal and crew. I wonder if Pal and/or Cam witnessed whatever happened at the "landing", if this informed Pal's guess that Gideon's body would cure Nona. I wonder how he feels when it doesn't work. The described crease in his face later this chapter tells me he hates being wrong but not much else. (11) First House accoutrements for her offhand knuckle knife. (12) Not her sword, exactly, if we recall. (13) Nona never elaborated on whether it was infant finger bones, like John's, or some other sort of bones in Gideon's laurel. (14) I don't recall Gideon taking a wound to the throat. Pal seems to indicate this was the original wound, though I'd have thought Gideon would aim for the heart with that fence post spear, to be absolutely sure. (15) I don't recall the fencepost wound being described as so large as this, though. Also, this is the massive fandom debate: are the teeth literal, like vagina dentata but on the chest, or are they metaphorical, signifying ribs? (16) So reluctant to admit he could be wrong about this one, our Pal scented an option that admittedly would seem to make sense… but nobody knew about Harrow's secret shame. (17) The battle against the God Emperor. (18) See, Nona wasn't imagining it or lying! (19) Two references, back to back, to book 1. That's gotta be our girl.

[imtherainbownow]

I cant Write Another Story i cant Write Another Story i cant-

—————

Holding the leash I Waved goodbye. The last drop off of the morning. Like Routine I take them into the back and remove the collar and leash when we enter their room, deactivating the disguise.

“Be good with the others now Fenrir. I’ve got to go do rounds but I’ll be back to check on you myths Alright? I know you can care for yourselves.”

While we did receive many ordinary dogs. Most of our regulars are less than ordinary. Fenrir was one of my personal favorites. Calmer, but not as tame. A challenge you could assume. Long after I started working here they arrived. I admit, I always had attracted things known to be mythological. I was a legend in my own right. But, I preferred to live domestically, be normal. Where I found true happiness.

I can never escape the status. But the customers agree I am among the best. I Walles through the halls of our Facility. The first owner was generous, and her Close friend funded everything here. She still Checks in And helps out, but she passed ownership to me as I was there more often. Today was one of those days.

I peeked into the Room for our small dogs. Sorted by height and weight. Three People to a Room, Four for the puppies, and then the Myths. That was my room, and mine alone. I’m the only one who can handle them properly it seemed. But, everything was running well there today. I had no need to be there until later.

They are well behaved, trained and obedient. I think It’s Just because the others are scared of them. The old owner and a few others are working with the ordinaries. I sigh, and turn my heel, Heading back to the myths room.

Don’t get me wrong. I love them, And My Job. But sometimes wished I could be more useful aside from talking with our Clients And tackling our More.. difficult Dogs.

The hours Ticked by slowly. I made sure to pet Cerberus’ heads every three hours like Hades, no, Lucian, requested. He was easy to figure out, but the hardest out of all of them. Playtime was probably the hardest part of managing Cerberus. I had to Order custom toys to fulfill requests properly. Their existence in the daycare is between me, the former owner, and her friend. Nobody Else knows. It’s for their safety. Us three are Legende in our own rights, and I’ve mentioned before.

Fenrir got his own room off to the side. We learned he liked to walk on his hind legs when at the daycare. So He got his own room for privacy. After all He is a mythical. It wasn’t surprising to see him standing over me on day three. I Check on him Next. Orion, or as I call him, Odysseus, brings him in. The two appear to be friends. He’s got no special requirements for Fenrir, but Fenrir does for himself. To be left alone most of the day until two hours before Retrieval, where he interacts with the other myths and plays games like the other dogs being one of many.

The Black Hound, I don’t know much about. Haven’t figured out who it’s handler is yet, or It’s actual name. With time I will. They are a newer regular. No special requests Just yet. They’ve been placed here under the old owner’s request.

She’s better at identifying the myths than me, whereas I’m good at identifying handlers. I’ve been considering rehiring her as my second hand, she’s good at her volunteering and handles the myths well. Would be nice to have some help.

The day is coming to a close. Fenrir comes pur of hiding, And is interacting normally. I brush out the knots in the Black Hound’s fur again. Cerberus gets a Bath.. or three. And we play a good game of fetch, keep away, and hide and seek.

By the time pickup rounds the corner the myths are all tired after a long day of excitement. I Gather the collars and leashes And put them back on each one, reactivating their disguises. One by one, they all leave. Until it’s just me and Fenrir. Last to arrive, Last to leave. We have a Good talk, I never put his collar And leash On until before he leaves, as per his request. Today’s was about the different trees on earth compared to where he’s from. Hopefully one day I get to visit.

I Hand him back off to Odysseus, waving goodbye yet again. I’ll see him tomorrow. I Lena back in my chair, exhausted after a long day. The old owner, who Ive started calling Lily, Walks in And Hands over a cup of tea.

“The others are handling the closing procedures. I Just wanted to swap Stories of How our days have gone, after all, you are the one who gets the most excitement.”

My cheeks Heat up a bit as I nod. I take a Slip of the tea and start telling her the details of my day. She tells me about hers as well. Some of the puppies have started teething, they’ll be moved to the older group soon, with chew Rings and bones to use instead of the others. It’s always an exciting moment. A couple of the dogs in the large room appear to be interested in each other. Lily’s informed their handlers already. She’s good at reading animals, Thats her thing.

“Your day was better than Mine. Cer- I mean Charlie kept getting dirty and I bathed her three times before she stopped rolling in the mud. I needed to brush out Blackie as well, their fur got all tangled after a tussle with one of the others in my group. All in a day’s work i suppose.”

Lily laughs. It’s contagious, And Sweet. Like honey. It makes me smile. Yes, I cant Wait to Work with her again. But as a friend and fellow, not below her, not above her. She’s already mentioned she would love to work here again. I’ll ask her later tonight. For now, it’s just us, sitting at the front desk, drinking tea, telling stories, and laughing.

I lobe My Job. This is one of many things I love about it. I wouldnt trade it away for anything. Not even to Save the World.

————

I should really Track How Many words These Are. Anyways here’s Another Short Story. I Hope yall like it. I Tried to hint a bit at romance at the end for practice at it. I need to get better at romance.

You run a dog daycare, and many of the dogs are…not ordinary. Cerberos with the three heads, Fenrir the massive wolf. the Black Hound… Their owners are equally bad at hiding their identities but it’s fine, since the doggies are all well behaved.

[petalsmooth]

Changelings are back in Trek!

I just wish Rene Auberjonois were still here so he could appear.

Not really concerned about Riker and Picard’s argument. Will be resolved, too close of friends who know each other too well though I suspect that line about playing it safe will play a larger role. The Riker I remember was defined by his willingness to not play it safe. It made him a legend. Linking this change to the death of his son is an interesting way to show how this person evolved.

The note from Picard during the argument with Beverly after she said their relationship had run it’s course (not convincing) and he added...for the fifth time...suggests may be a sixth time. TBH when the show was on I almost went back and forth on the idea of them together. There were time’s it felt it would be too awkward and I wasn’t sure I wanted a more intimate day to day soapy relationship on screen. Other time’s as when they were mind linked when you did. Now? I’m hoping end together primarily because I really don’t have an interest in seeing them paired with anyone else who does not have their year’s (30 plus) together. It just doesn’t hold up next to the chemistry between two actor’s who have spent a generation and half together. You just can’t manufacture that.

I adore Michael Dorn back onscreen. Pairing him with Raffi has redeemed her character. I really didn’t care about her before but he’s given her an anchor in the Trek universe now. I know they tried with Patrick Stewart and then with Jeri Ryan but it didn’t work. Patrick was trying to re-define his place in the Trek universe and Seven’s character was a victim of Voyager’s bad writing and was never fully realized. Putting Picard back with his old crew isn’t just nostalgic but it’s helping to settle his character in a way I think they tried and failed with newer cast. Raffi has really good chemistry with Worf (not talking about romantic) and Seven finally seems to be coming into her own by mingling a little with everyone rather than just one person. Although I’m kind of liking her scenes with Jack (again not talking romance). It’s just you have two characters here with legacies (hers with Voyager/Borg) coming into their own together...somewhat similiar personalities too. Feels appropriate.

For the record I don’t ship anybody in nuTrek except my established couples. I haven’t liked a lot of nuTrek storytelling to get invested in anyone let alone a relationship. I watch Star Trek for the tech, the adventure, the stories, the history and at times the hope/idealism (which nuTrek has lost sight of but hoping will see a bit of return by end of this saga). When the Next Generation started I never really even expected would get my couples. Star Trek famously removed Janice from the original show to keep Kirk single. So it’s never been about that for me even if eventually I got a few. I’m open to shipping new couples but not going to do that based on 3 episodes of an 8 episode season when these characters only NOW seem to be finding their footing. Seven joined Voyager in 1997 and it’s only the past few weeks I FINALLY feel like they have discovered her voice after all. Hard to ship characters when they don’t know who the characters actually are.

This is rambling but I don’t care. I am just happy to have 8 episodes I never thought I would have. I really don’t care about anything else right now. lol

[lyrabythelake]

Ghost Wind AU

part 1 || part 2

These heroes can be real idiots sometimes, Wind thinks dully as he watches yet another poorly concocted plan pan out exactly as terribly as he had foretold it would. This one even involves explosives for that added spice of death.

“For Hylia’s sake,” he says out loud as Sky throws his sailcloth over Hyrule’s hair which is literally on fire.

“Well done everyone,” Time praises once all flames are successfully smothered. They look a mess, the lot of them. Hyrule’s hair is missing chunks and still smoking a little bit, Wild is sporting both a wide grin and a broken arm and Legend is noticeably limping as he joins the rest of the group where they’re congregated.

“I would say that was a pretty successful ambush. We managed to take out all the enemies—”

“And half the mountain,” Wind adds.

“—we may have to work on bringing down casualties on our side, but that’s something we can talk about for next time. Right now, I say we take a well-earned rest. Sky, can you distribute potions to those who need them, please?”

“Pretty successful?” Wind screeches incredulously, following Time as he separates himself from the rest of them and sits down with his back leaning against a tree, lowering himself with a groan like the dramatic old man he pretends he isn’t.

“Pretty successful?!” That was a disaster! I’m better at planning attacks than all of you put together and I have the mind of a fourteen-year-old.”

Time takes off one of his boots with a relieved sigh, wrinkling his nose at the smell. Most of Wind’s senses are dulled these days, but he swears even he can smell the stench coming from those socks.

“You should have attacked from the side,” Wind tells him, settling next to him with his chin in his hand. Time starts to remove his weaponry from the belt around his torso. “I know coming from above seems like the obvious attack, but you could have been stealthier if you’d come from the left. You probably wouldn’t have any casualties and you wouldn’t have caused that landslide.”

Time brings up a finger to clean the wax out of one of his ears and then proceeds to take off his shoulder pads and chest plate.

“I mean, I know Warriors is your best tactician, but he can also be as much of a pyromaniac as Hyrule sometimes, so you’ve got to be the voice of reason.”

Time settles back into the tree trunk, watching the others distantly as they set up camp for the night. It’s a peaceful scene, one much needed after the chaos and volume of the battle.

“Yeah, it’s probably not all that fun being the leader, huh?” Wind nods in understanding. “You do a good job really; who knows where the others would be if they were left to their own devices.”

Time grunts as if to agree and then rummages in his bag for a few seconds before pulling out a large, red apple.

“Now that’s just rude,” Wind mutters as he takes a bite, “you know how long it’s been since I’ve been able to eat an apple? Two hundred years, that’s how long, and you decide to eat one right in front of me. I’d kill to be you right now.”

Wind folds his arms as he watches him with a wistful frown. Even the memory of what an apple tastes like faded for him long ago. Food is something he misses most about being alive.

“This is torture,” he murmurs after a while and he pries his eyes away from Time to look around at his surroundings. The sun is low on the horizon, the faintest blush of pink starting to creep into the clear blue sky and the other heroes, having finished setting up camp, are laughing and chatting amongst themselves by the fire. They’re just far enough away that he can’t hear exactly what they’re saying, but they sound happy.

He stares at them longingly for a while before he realises there’s one missing.

“Huh. Where’s our resident ranch hand?” he asks nobody. He scans the treeline, pausing when he notices a flash of movement heading into the woods a small distance away.

“Or should I say our resident wolf?”

He pushes himself off the ground and heads in the direction he’s certain the wolf went. It’s not long before he catches up to him (he’s able to forgo weaving through the trees in favour of phasing right through them), and once he’s in his sights it’s relatively easy to keep up.

He’s curious about where he might be going; it’s not often that Twilight transforms into the wolf unless absolutely necessary. He probably just wants some time to his self; he’s sure sharing space with seven other heroes is probably quite taxing, so he’s likely after some peace and quiet.

“I don’t blame you,” he says out loud, “those lot are exhausting.”

Wolfie suddenly stops and stands stock still, ears twitching.

“You hear something?” Wind asks inquisitively, coming to a halt just behind him. He hadn’t heard anything himself, but that means nothing considering the proficiency of Wolfie’s ears compared to his own.

Wolfie perks up once more and twists around so his head faces in Wind’s direction, and if Wind didn’t know better, he would have been certain his eyes were locked straight onto his.

“What do you see?” he asks, his curiosity mounting. Wolfie lets out a small whine which turns into a bark before tilting his head ever so slightly to the left. His eyes still seem to look right at him, as if… but no, that’s impossible.

It is impossible. Wind hasn’t managed to gain the attention of anyone since his death over two hundred years ago, he’s accepted that’s how things are supposed to be now.

But what if…

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters to himself before taking a deep breath. He might as well prove to himself that interaction with the living world is just as impossible now as it’s always been. “Okay. Wolfie, bark twice if you can hear me.”

Wolfie barks twice.

Wind’s eyes widen so far, his non-existent eyeballs are in danger of falling out of their sockets.

“Holy shit.”

If Wind had a working heart, he’s sure it would be thumping hard right now.

“Wait… how do I know that wasn’t a coincidence? Er… Wolfie, bark five times if you can see me.”

Wolfie doesn’t bark, but instead lets out a low growl and Wind’s heart sinks. It was stupid to get his hopes up, of course he can’t see him, that would make no sense at all.

The air fills with dark particles and all of a sudden, a man stands where the wolf once did.

“I know you’re there,” Twilight says, “I can’t see you now, but I can as the wolf.”

Well this… this certainly changes things.

[wolf-knights]

The day we met

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x south asian!single dad m!reader (afab)

A/N: before I start this just wanted to say not everything in this au is going to be on point with the south asian culture so this could be a disclaimer for it, also want to thank @candlelight-letters for helping with the angst in this part, they are a legend!

Mentions: strong language, talk about kids, pregnancy talk, angst, guns, magic, hydra, toxic ex. DO NOT READ IF UNCOMFORTABLE OR UNDER THE AGE OF 18. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DONT INTERACT. If theres any warning i left out please let me know.

->18+only, do not repost, copy or translate my works nor post them anywhere else. Minors and ageless blogs do not interact with my blog or my fics. Reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated.

Flashback

"Wh-why would you do that?" you whisper not knowing how to react, to say you were in a shock would be an understatement "I was bored, y/n, I wanted something different." Alex says as your eyes widen at that poor excuse of a man with an even poorer excuse. "that's not a reason to cheat on someone, I didn't need to find out about you cheating on me from ayesha!" you shouted which you knew wasn't good for your current situation but you were scared and angry "if I hadn't found out from her you would still be lying!" you yelled as anger roared through your mind, he slammed the glass on the dining table making you jolt. "I said I was bored of this life, I was bored of the same routine, of coming home to a good for nothing husband and I- I was bored of our life not being as extravagant as it used to be. Remember how we used be when we met? Or when we married? We used to go on trips, travel around we were spintaneous. I miss that. This...routine is fucking annoying, its boring" you clench your fists as trying not to throw something at his stupid head. You were shaking with the rage bubbling in you "Don't you think i miss it sometimes too? Sure I want to go on trips but we can't allow ourselves to do that every fucking day! We have a child and another on the way! I can't just leave my job to go to bahamas or brazil! Unlike you I work my ass off both in a career I love and this house. Because god forbid youre fucking useful for something, I have to clean up after your mess like you're a third child. We can take trips, we can do date nights but you wont even be in the same room as I am!" you were on the verge of losing your control, the frown getting more and more prominent on your face. Alex tries to get near you "no! don't I have told you about this alex, I have always been scared of this happening and you don't even think for a second about my feelings or your not even 2 year old daughter. For godsake we are married!" it's was increasingly getting more difficult to keep that rage inside especially with how he was acting. The only way out of this was to break it off because this had happened before, alex always used his charm in such situations but you always came back to him thinking he would change "I'm leaving, I-I can't do this anymore. The only thing I get from this relationship is stress and heart break." "you always do this y/n. You blame me for this! Everyday I wake up to hear you whining about things, every fight we have you blame it on me like you are a sweet fucking angel. What do you think people will say when the find out about your freakish powers." Alex says with a small frown "go ahead leave see if I gvie a flying fuck." he says and removes the wedding ring from his fingers and throwing it somewhere. You were fully shocked by how toxic he had been this whole time, you stay quiet and remove your own ring and place it on the coffee table, walking to your room to collect all your clothes and things and just walking out with your daughter in your arm.

Now

That was 4 years ago, you sure have moved away from where you used to live, gotten yourself a good paying job, giving your daughters the best of the best you could. You haven't been with someone since then cause you had lost all hope you once had for love. You only loved one person that being your daughters, Avery and Shae. Your siblings had helped you get back to your feet as they knew about the whole situation where as your parents had been angry at you for acting in such childish manner but you knew they would react this way with their beliefs.

Today you had a day off from working at the studio, so you decided to go pick up avery and Shae take them out somewhere. You grab your car keys after taking a shower as you previously were going through your closet and cleaning old things out. You arrive at the school in about 20 minutes, you walk in only to walk into someones chest, you should seriously be more careful while walking. As you look up to see a handsome brunette you haven't seen around here before, a moment later you realize that you are still standing quite close to him. You move back while apologizing "I'm so sorry, I should really see where I'm going." you say with a small nervous chuckle "it's okay I should be careful too but I apologize too." the brunette guy says "it's ok-" you were cut off by a small pair of hands hugging your legs, you look down to see your girls looking up at you with a toothy smiles (showing their missing teeth) "hello to you ma'ams." you say as you pick them up carefully as ayesha walks over "I see you have met Mr. James and you have met y/n" "I have but I didn't know the name. It's nice to meet you James." you say with a kind smile "um actually it's it's bucky but um it's nice to meet you too." he says with a nervous yet kind smile. Ayesha looks at both of you with a smile like she knows something but you let it go "I should be heading out I have to get back to the towander, have a mission to go to." bucky says with a smile "it was really nice meeting you Avery and Shae it was also nice meeting your dad. I hope I get to meet you again y/n" bucky says with a small smirk as he walks away "did he just flirt with you?" ayesha says with the biggest smile at which you roll your eyes "he didn't he was just being nice." you say as you take the girl's bags from ayesha and hug her walking back to your car.

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"I'm going out for a bit girls, your aunt sara is going to be here, I want you to behave for her okay." you say as you look at the girls as they eat dinner "okay papa." they say with a smile as you kiss their foreheads and wait for your sister to get here so she can look after the girls while you go on a small mission, your friend Sam had messaged you saying he needed some 'magic help' as he put it. So here you were in your superhero outfit. As your sister arrives you hug her and thank her for doing this for you.

"where are you y/n!?" Sam shouts over the phone "I'm almost there calm down." you say as you look at your surroundings before fully reaching for your power "where are you I can't see you?" Sam asks as he flies above you "look down dipshit." you wave your hand to make him see you "I see okay, cap and the angry bird are currently in the base making sure there are no hostages before we attack." sam lands beside you before a blast is set of by the base "oh shit." you whisper as you look at the scene infront of you, before you even realize hydra agents start to run out with their guns firing at you and sam. Sam flys up in the sky while you reach for your power absorbing the electric energy surrounding you, you use it against a couple of hydra agents, one of them gets to close to you without you taking a notice to it before the agent could harm you in any way a metal arm wraps around the agents neck before you here a cracking noise. Your attention is taken by someone in black armor and a metal arm "um t-thank you." you say before feeling someone behind you, not having enough time to connect with your power, you kick the guy in his chest throwing him back with the force of the kick then you look at the guy in the black armor taking his knife from his belt and throwing it at the agent, it hit him square in the chest. You use your powers to get the knife back to you and handing it to the guy in the black armor but he seemed like you knew him from somewhere "h-have I seen you somewhere?" you ask as you both walk back to Sam as he is standing with cap "um yeah I'm I'm bucky the guy that was at the school earlier today." he says with a small smile. "oh yeah right, I totally forgot I'm-I'm so sorry." you had an apologetic look on your face "hey it's okay I forgot thinks to at times." he replies as you both reach Sam and Cap.

"I really liked the way you fought there." Cap or Steve told you "oh well thank you, I'm kind of surprised as I had been out of practice for a while." you say and look at your watch "um it's getting late I should probably get back home." you look at Sam "cap here wanted to ask you something before you left tho y/n." Sam says as he stops you "uh yeah i wanted to offer you a spot on the team." Steve says and he could see you were about protest against the idea, he stops you "think about it talk to your kids and before you ask sam has told me about it, see how they feel about the news and if then the answer turns out to be a yes then you can move in whenever you want y/n."

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Thank you for reading this and I hope you enjoyed it. As always love you all and I hope you have a good day/night.

[the-character-lounge]

A Highland Proposal

Spinel started levitating clover leaves as he sipped the wine, spinning them around and looping them together in to a long string. He didn't turn it in to a crown or a necklace though, just popped one end in to his mouth and started nibbling between his sips. His eyes wandered and he paused, having to remove one clover from the bunch. "Hey. This one's weird." He showed it in front of Randy's face, it seemed to have five leaves.

Randy gawked for a minute, staying staring at the clover. Could it be? Naaah there was no way! But, there it was, in all its glory… Randy beamed brightly and gasped. “H- Hey! It’s just l- like the one I had when I w- was a kid!” He took if from Spinel excitedly and studied it. “W- Wow… I- I didn’t think I- I’d ever see one l- like this again!” He twirled it around, and he giggled softly. He almost looked younger the way he sat there, a spinning clover in his face. “.. R- Remember wh- when you asked me i- if I had a l- lucky charm? Th- This was i- it! I- I used to h- have an o- old, five leaf cl- clover!” He handed the clover back over to Spinel and beamed. “N- Now good f- fortune is on it’s w- way to you. A- At least, th- that’s what my Grandmother u- used to say anyways.”

He looked in wide-eyed awe and wonder. He wasn't familiar with the superstition, and was very open to considering this a magical charm or a rare enchanted object. "And did it work for you? Did you lose it?" He glanced around a moment, wondering if there was a safe place he could keep it. He paused, thinking over the flower in his mane and what he'd felt about Randy being different. He grinned, and tucked the clover in Randy's mane.

“Well um.. i- it kind of worked.. b-“ Before Randy could finish, he felt the clover go into his mane. He instantly started blushing, and he chuckled nervously. “O- Oh um.. sh- shouldn’t you k- keep it? I- It’ll d- do you more g- good! B- Besides, the f- finder of the clover h- has to keep it f- for the luck to work!” Randy was both flustered and honored that Spinel put the clover in his mane. He knew Spinel didn’t realize it, but in The Highlands, that was part of a courtship ritual. He felt himself flush to his ear tips, and he giggled, softly playing with his own ears by tugging on them softly “I- I don’t th- think you realize wh- what you’ve just done,” he said, giggling again and wanting to hide his face but unable.

"Oh, shit I didn't know it would make it not work." He shifted anxiously, "Okay so how about I keep it but we look for another one?" One thing could be said about his lack of a childhood. It left him very open to believing things most might laugh off as legends or stories. So right now, he wasn't just an amused adult looking nostolgically at childhood wonders, he was experiencing that wonder then and there. This clover was absolutely important and he found it, it was proof of how special he was.

Randy blushed and nodded, and he giggled again as they searched around. “M- Might be a g- good idea.. u- unless you want to g- get married,” he said, flushed to his ear tips and still giggling to himself as he looked through their little clover mound. Gosh he just.. couldn’t get over the fact that Spinel had unwittingly proposed. It made him grin a silly, smitten smile.

"Heh? Come again?" he blinked cluelessly at Randy, but went back to looking through the clovers while giving him the occasional glance. He had no idea where that came from. He snagged up a clover flower and sucked on it as he continued his search, wondering how rare of a find he had.

“W- Well um.. b- back home… wh- when a st- stallion o- or ram really liked a m- mare or sh- sheep.. th- they’d propose b- by placing a clover in their mane.” He giggled again and kept searching aimlessly, more occupied with the fact he had just been proposed too. “Y- You just.. k- kind of proposed to me.” He bit his bottom lip, trying not to giggle again. Oh this was so much fun, and this was just.. he hadn’t felt this wonderful in a very long time.

Spinel froze in place, the flower and his face matching in a nice shade of pink. "I w-w-w-wh--- is th---is that how it happens?!" his voice cracked in to a shrill pitch. He almost arched like a cat and started to scoot away nervously. Marriage?! Oh god if he knew anything about marriage it's that it was nothing but miserable bullshit, considering how many married mares and stallions used the Jewels' services. "F-fuck can I fix it--?" He really was such a child in these matters.

Randy chuckled and he sat back on his rump, pouting playfully. “Awwww, y- you don’t w- want to marry me?” He giggled and shook his head. “N- No no, it’s okay. I- I may have f- forgotten to mention a few things a- about the tradition.” He giggled and looked around where Spinel was looking. “Th- The clover h- has to be from th- the town you were b- born in. And th- the stallion has to r- recite a certain p- poem. A- And then, th- the p- pony in question r- recites a p- poem in response.” He softly pat Spinel on the shoulder. “D- Don’t worry, y- you and I aren’t g- getting married.” He kissed Spinel’s cheek, and continued searching around.

"That sounds complicated as fuck." He sighed with relief however, realizing he was technically forever safe from this marriage proposal since he didn't know where he was born. But even though that made him feel relieved, it also let a little anger creep in, because if he had wanted it then he wouldn't have had a choice. And that was bullshit. He snorted through his nostrils to himself and rummaged around more. He was getting frustrated about not finding another, but at the same time it meant the one he found was extra special. He paused, plucking a clover and holding it up. "Well, this one has four..."

Randy smiled, and softly held out his hooves. “Th- That’s just as good,” he said, and chuckled as he accepted the clover. “Y- You must think th- the way my h- home town does things is s- silly don’t you?” He placed the clover in his own mane and scooted over and leaned on Spinel. “I- Instead of that.. Applewood way of proposing, wh- where a stallion kneels and hoofs over a ring.” He sighed and softly nuzzled Spinel’s shoulder.

"Silly?" He shook his head and frowned with a huff, making his way back to the picnic and pulling Randy with him. "No, I just think it has too many needless rules. I mean, it looks easy to screw up." he shrugged. Not that he was interested in proposals in the first place, but still it was the principle of if he could.

Randy chuckled and shook his head, looking up at Spinel. “I- It’s really not that h- hard. A- And it’s a really b- beautiful way t- to propose in m- my opinion. A stallion o- only says three stanzas, and th- then his lover r- replies.” He sat up and he cleared his throat.

“Come live with me and be my Love,   And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dale and field,   And all the craggy mountains yield. There will I make thee beds of roses   And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May-morning:   If these delights thy mind may move,   Then live with me and be my Love…” Randy sighed, and looked over at Spinel, a kind of warm but melancholy look in his eyes. “E- Every stallion in the v- village learns this p- poem, e- even before they learn t- to read. It’s almost c- considered a r- rite of passage t- to stallionhood or ramhood.” He chuckled, and rubbed the back of his head.

 Spinel's ear flicked at the word 'beautiful'. He listened attentively, biting his lip on occasion on words he didn't understand. Which was a lot of them. Craggy? That sounded fucking gross. And there was no way the word 'myrtle' existed, that was totally made up for the song.  Also he realized that Randy wasn't stuttering when he was singing. What the fuck? Did he do that before? He leaned away a little in mild disturbance. But he slowly leaned back in place when Randy was speaking again. In fact, he moved closer, a little longingly, and a little jealously.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XVII

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), trauma, some elements untagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: The reader and Zemo try to figure out what’s next.

Note: Hey, I banged this out quicker than expected. This part went longer than I expected to not as much happened as I thought hahaha. But here we go, again.(I will try to update the masterlist asap)

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

Two Summers Later

The sun raised beads of sweat across your brow, even in the shadow of the tree. A gentle breeze rolled over the grass now and again, a soft sort of heat. You laid across the blanket in your thin dress, a subtle movement beside you, low babbling and grasping fingers. You breathed in the scent of pollen and watched the lush leaves sway above.

The footsteps were light but he was careful not to frighten you. The baby girl murmured, over a year old now. She stood, unsteadily, and he caught her before she stumbled too far. His shadow loomed above you as he lifted Elina and smiled at her round cheeks.

“How is my little baroness?” he cooed as he bounced her and her gibberish grew louder as she grabbed at his pale tunic, “my lady?” he peered down at you, “you look… serene.”

“She likes to watch the cloud but it’s much too bright today,” you sat up and grabbed your cane from against the trunk. Lord Zemo offered his hand and helped you to your feet, “so we have watched the bloom instead.”

“She is getting big. More agile,” he commented as she tugged at his beard. He’d grown it over the winter but hadn’t cut it even in the heat. She liked to pet it and you suspected that was the reason for his obstinacy, “how will you keep up with her?”

“I have learned,” you poked him with the tip of your cane, “still learning.”

“Very quickly,” he praised, “the accent is better,” he pinched two fingers together, “I almost believe you a woman of this land.”

“Sometimes I believe it myself,” you went to the bench and sat heavily. Your hip never healed quite as it had been before so you limped with the carved wood capped with silver and made the best of it, “bring her here,” you set the can aside and pulled the thin scarf over your shoulders, “she should eat.”

“I told you, a wet nurse would do her better,” he neared and handed her over after a final peck on her cheek, “and she is getting older. She eats at the table now.”

“She will have some proper food when we get in,” you covered her against your chest and unlaced the front of your gown, “I like having her close.”

He nodded and paced through the grass. He removed his silk cap and ran his fingers through his dark hair. He was anxious as of late, you noticed only because it was an unusual trait for him. He sighed as he tucked his hat into his belt.

“Would you tell me?” you asked sharply as Elina latched.

“Tell you what?” he tilted his head coyly.

“What makes you uneasy?” you urged.

The tugging in your chest calmed you as you cradled your daughter close. When she was born, that had been difficult. She reminded you of her father then but now she was yours. She was the only gift he’d ever given you.

“It is… complicated,” he said with a frown, “I think it best we put the child down before we talk on it.”

“If you wish,” you relented, “Werner says she is doing well. I went to him this morning.”

“And you?” Zemo crossed his arms, “does he say you are doing well?”

You kept one arm around Elina and unthinkingly brushed the scar that stretched from your hairline to your chin, a rippled line along your cheek, one of a dozen markers of that fateful day. You still dreamed of it but they weren’t so much nightmares as vague memories.

“I will need the cane so long as I live,” you said and dropped your arm back under the scarf, “the scars will fade but not entirely. I suppose none of that matters.”

He nodded and rubbed his chin as he began to pace again, “back from the dead,” he mused, “we have a legend here, about a woman, a queen…” he went on, “she married a king who did not love her nor she him. He wanted another and he was… quite intent on it. So he accused her of adultery and witchery and passed on her the harshest sentence; she was drawn and quartered, pulled apart by horses.

“We have since done away with such punishments, too savage, but the legend goes that they buried the parts of her and the king married his lover on her grave. The gods saw it as an affront, the lies, the trial held in their names, the death imparted in the same vein, and then a mocking marriage on the site of their sins…

“In her casket, her body reformed though she still showed the signs of her fate. She climbed out of her resting place and visited her king in the night. She’d never done that before you see because he had no love for her, he never even tried, and she tore him piece by piece, worse even then the horses. Fingers, toes, tongue… balls, every bit of him plucked little by little until he was nothing.

“The legend never did say where she went after that, her grave was found disturbed and her body gone. Those women who suffer with violent or cruel men, they pray to her, they burn candles for her, and even, they kill their men for her.”

“Why are you saying all this?” you interrupted as you wiped up your chest and clumsily tied up the laces of your dress as Elina slobbered down it.

“Because I see you are reformed like the queen but I wonder, where is your sense of vengeance?”

You were quiet as you fixed your dress and lifted Elina above the scarf to pat her back. Soon she would no longer take the nipple and you were stubborn to keep it up for so long but the time passed and the thought of separation frightened you. Soon she would be old enough to realise how odd everything was and she would ask questions. You weren’t sure if you could ever answer them.

“Take her please,” you held her out and he came to lift her. He set her down on her feet instead and held her hand as she took some steps. She grew more bold by the minute. He bent as he ushered her around. You planted your cane in the ground and stood, “vengeance,” you said carefully, “I remember you warned me not to trust you, is that why? Are you ready to use me against him?”

“I always knew you were clever,” he smiled as Elina bent her legs and bounced in place. He chuckled at her and suddenly scooped her up. He tossed her and caught her as she trilled in excitement, “the time comes closer but the path is not clearer.”

You watched him as he stilled your daughter and balanced her against his side, “I don’t know if I can ever face him again,” you confessed.

“That is not what I ask,” he said, “it is not what I intend but...the winds begin to blow and I must let them carry me.”

You followed him as he set off towards the castle, The Tower Zemo, a bastion of brick among the grasslands. It was so tall one could see for miles in any direction and it could be seen in turn from just as far. He was patient as your cane plunked down after each step and he made silly faces at Elina.

“You have bided me longer than I expected. And her,” you said as you approached the open doors of the castle. The stairs were another task but you’d learned to take them with your hip.

“Her? You think I forsake her her father? She is nothing like him,” he replied as he waited at the tip of the steps, “and she is all the good parts of you. All that he didn’t take.”

“I am indebted to you, I am aware of that, but you do not attempt to collect your dues,” you challenged as you came level to him, “it makes me wary.”

“Would it be too… ridiculous to say that she is payment enough,” he smiled at your daughter, “she has brightened many of my days here.”

“It is because I know how things are. How it works among you noblemen,” you countered, “there is something more you want.”

“Tess,” he called and the pudgy maid appeared, “she is hungry, see that she is fed before she is laid down.”

“My lord,” Tess took the child eagerly and poked her nose playfully, “come here, little poppy.”

You watched her go as she began to sing to Elina. Her voice carried through the corridors as her wide hips swayed and her white hair wisped from under her cap. The old woman had seen your daughter into the world and since helped keep her there.

“So what is it you haven’t told me?” you turned on Zemo.

“Wouldn’t you like to sit?” he asked slyly.

“You are welcome to recline, sir, but I would hear you now. I’ve waited long enough,” you insisted.

“Well…” he took a deep breath and walked ahead of you. He turned back and clapped his hand together as the summer flowed in through the open doors, “I must send you away.”

“Send me away?” you gulped and looked to the door which Tess had just taken your daughter through.

“You will have Elina, I am not heartless,” he said, “though I will miss the little baroness.”

“Where are we going?” you quivered in relief.

“I have a castle on the lake, Heinrich’s Creek,” he explained, “it is a lovely little place. My mother’s favourite of my family’s holds. It is far away from court, further than this, and safe. Only my blood knows where it lies and… so only me and those who I would have escort you.”

“And why? Why do we have to go? Why now?” you prodded.

“I have received a letter from your King Samuel, co-signed by my own king. A party is on the road already and I have been once more tasked with hosting the negotiations. Your people are persistent. They will come here and I will represent the kingdom in these meetings and hopefully I can appease them quick enough that I needn’t worry about them sniffing around,” Zemo bristled, “I have not been allowed the privilege to know of who I host but any in the capital for the tournament, they would know the woman who gave them such a violent finale.”

“And after?”

“We will see how it unfolds first. It will be a chance to gain a measure of the climate. I might even hear after your former keeper, then I will decide what needs be done,” his dark eyes narrowed as mischief ticked in his cheek.

“Why?” you asked, “why cling to it?”

“I am as stubborn as he,” he said carefully, “I was willing to set it aside but he could not. And, my lady, if you haven’t the fire left for your vengeance then I can simply take it upon my own wrath. 

“Perhaps it is low of me but how he treated me, how he chased me out even if it did prove convenient to my deceit, it cannot be forgotten. And your people, the war I fought against them, they come to us for help and yet they still boast of their victory. I was there, no one won those battles.”

“So it is all a game of war?”

“Oh, no, I do not long for another war but… retribution leaves few options for the wronged,” he said.

You lowered your chin and moved around him. You sat on the stool by the wall and leaned back against the stone. “And if it put Elina in danger?”

“That is the last thing I want to do. That is why I would send you away.”

“But you said it yourself, you will have need for me… what then?”

He sniffed and his sole scuffed on the floor, “I promised you Elina’s safety, her life. You knew yours wasn’t part of the bargain.”

“I know but… if you--”

“I have friends who can see to the girl. I have made arrangements for the little baroness.”

“But--”

“It was never a title I gave her lightly,” he intoned, “she has noble blood and I have no heir. She will grow, she will live, she will flourish.”

You gripped your cane tightly and ran your nails along your skirt, “when do we leave?”

“Within the month. The party will not be here so soon, their progress will be hampered by the heat. There are droughts in the west.”

“And we will be safe at the Creek?”

“Impenetrable,” he assured, “enjoy your time there with your daughter.”

“While it lasts, right?” you uttered.

He looked away grimly and brushed his knuckles against this beard, “we both knew this wouldn’t go on forever.”

“Yes, we knew,” you stood and held your hip, “but you can’t blame me for hoping it would.”

[forthegothicheroine]

The King in Yellow, 1949

Much of this story is true.  Warnings in the tags.

When I had pneumonia in my early teens, my mother brought home an armful of VHS tapes from the library to alleviate my misery.  Knowing my snobbish preferences, she had grabbed copies of whatever she found in black and white.  I remember something musical that I suspect was Busby Berkeley, I remember Mildred Pierce (a bad choice, as it turned out- the plot includes a young girl dying of pneumonia), and I remember a period piece called The King.  I faded in and out of consciousness while I watched it, but it soothed me while I was awake and filled my fever dreams with sparkling images.  I could never find it at the library again, nor at Hollywood Video or even early Netflix (once my father got the subscription service where you could order practically every DVD.)  It was a bit odd that it seemed to be so obscure, given that it starred old Hollywood legend Ingrid Bergman (and, although I initially forgot it, Marlene Dietrich.)  But even big stars make films that fall by the wayside in public memory, and it seemed that this was one of them.  Google was no help, and at the time that was that.

I didn’t see the film again until I was watching Turner Classic Movies at my grandparents’ house.  I loved watching that channel with them while filling out the crossword puzzle that came in their little TCM catalogue (all of it based on movie trivia, the only kind of crossword puzzle I’ve ever been any good at.)  I recognized a certain scene where Bergman stood on a balcony, looking sadly at the moon.  Her face had an expression of unutterable melancholy, and the crescent moon reflected in each of her eyes, giving the impression of two moons in one sky.  I had very little time to catch up on what I’d missed before we had to go meet my cousins at the local Italian restaurant.  I knew logically that the movie would be long over by the time we returned, but I turned on the channel anyway.  Of course it had moved on to the lesser known Alfred Hitchcock film Stage Fright, but then I heard Marlene Dietrich sing before I could reach the remote to turn the tv off in disappointment.  I knew that I had heard her sing before, and I knew it had been in The King.

Dietrich’s singing often comes across as somewhat campy today, with its Rs pronounced as Ws and it’s up-and-down tone.  Madeline Kahn parodied it brilliantly in Blazing Saddles, such that it was a bit of a disappointment when I finally saw Dietrich’s western Destry Rides Again and found it to be lifeless and inconsistent next to the parody.  Still, we remember her voice for a reason, and when I remembered it that night, I knew that its sardonic loneliness had rung through The King and made me shiver in my dreams.

The TCM schedule didn’t list The King in its time slot, but something else.  If I had taken down the name, maybe it would have helped me find it.  Sometimes the same movie runs under multiple names.

I didn’t see the film all the way through for many years, after I graduated college.  I had found a web page that listed public domain film noir, including one called The Masked Guest.  The website described it as a costume noir, and I curiously clicked on the link.  Once I took in the credits running on the youtube window, my eyes grew wide and I did not move from my place on the bed until the movie had run its course.

The credits did indeed list it as The Masked Guest, but I recognized the strange repeating design on the title cards.  They told me that in addition to starring Dietrich and Bergman, it was directed by Fritz Lang, and a character called The King was credited to “???”  (I hadn’t seen that kind of credit since the first Karloff Frankenstein.)  When the King finally appears on screen, though, it is unmistakably Orson Welles’s voice that booms out from behind his elaborate costume.

Here are the things I understand about The King, or The Masked Guest, or The Man in Yellow, or any other title I’ve found for it on public domain archive searches.  Dietrich and Bergman play princesses named Cassilda and Camilla, respectively.  Though Dietrich’s accent is German and Bergman’s is Swedish, they blend together to give the film the impression of being set somewhere on the map that I can’t quite find.  The scenery and camera angles are very Freudian, with a great deal of archways and pillars.

The first act of The King involves frankly dull romantic plotlines, and the only thing that really saved it was the feeling that the suitors were supposed to be insipid, a suspicion lended credence by the fact that the love interests were listed so low on the credits.  Dietrich is the scandalous sister and Bergman is the responsible one, though each takes on aspects of the other as the film goes on.  Dietrich sings her song at a party, dressed in a fake 17th century gown and leaning against a piano.  Although just a moment ago she had been laughing and joking with her gentleman friends, her song takes an abruptly serious tone (not seductive, not sentimental) as she tells the story of a city lost to time and memory.  Bergman slips away from the party and onto the balcony, where we see that wonderful shot of the moon in her eyes.  Is she mourning?  Is she longing?

Dietrich cuts off the song by abruptly screaming “Not on us, King!  Not on us!”  She flees the party weeping and shaking, and from there on the film goes mad.

Though uncommon, it is not unknown for movies to switch between black and white and color, done most famously in The Wizard of Oz.  The film The King recalls here is the silent Phantom of the Opera, which had a masqued ball scene tinted in shades of red and green that tried to provide a whole spectrum of color.  The effect is even odder in the masqued ball scene in The King- the only color that appears is yellow, highlighting things like candlelight, Dietrich’s hair, a passing gown, a vase of tulips.  It also highlights one particular masked figure, whose expressionless mask was decorated with a black pattern against a sickening yellow canvas- the same pattern I had seen in the opening credits.  The color of his costume causes him to stand out from the crown even when he is far off in the background, just one head among many others.  It must have taken long and painstaking hours of work to color in every frame.

Dietrich still seems broken up days after her song, though Bergman tries to coax her into joining the dance.  Finally, at midnight, Dietrich goes out to face the party, but only to demand that every guest remove their mask.  The yellow man with a voice that once warned America about a Martian invasion tells her that he wears no mask.  Bergman reacts with disbelief, but Dietrich starts laughing like a woman unhinged.  As she laughs, the yellow hue seeps out of the King’s clothing and face- if that really is his face- and begins to color the entire ballroom crowd.  I think that what follows is bloodshed, but if there is any carnage (doubtful under the Production Code censorship), the blood must be tainted yellow and splashed across the camera like daubs of paint.  Dietrich’s laughing face is doubled and tripled on screen until it dissipates, but even when it has faded offscreen, it feels as if her ghost continues to watch the proceedings.  

By the end of the scene (filled with German Expressionist camera angles and mad violin screeching), only Bergman remains alive, cowering behind a grandfather clock.  It does not hide her for long.  The King steps towards her and extends his hand.  Reluctantly, but with a fatalistic expression, Bergman takes his hand.  They walk away together hand in hand.  The screen shifts back into black and white, and then the credits roll before we can get a good look at all the bodies in the scene.  The credits say it was based on a play called The King in Yellow, although Raymond Chandler of all people apparently had a hand in the screenplay.

As I said, that’s what I think I understand.  It’s an oddly experimental art film for the era, and it may be awaiting rediscovery by the film festival crowd.  I feel as if I alone know about it, though that obviously isn’t true.  It is my little secret; I tell myself that my husband doesn’t need me to show it to him, it would be too odd for his taste.  I’ve rewatched it many times, even if it seems like each time I search for it I have to find a different video platform or torrent.  Naturally, no subscription site has it available.  Maybe I am the last person who will ever watch it.  Maybe no one will ever think to look for it again after me, and it will be completely forgotten.

When I was hospitalized, they let me use my laptop at night before I went to sleep (no power cord, though, in case I tried to hang myself.)  I found a youtube link for The Man in Yellow, and I watched it every night.  It wasn’t a soothing sort of movie, but having it in my mind all day and then watching it in the evening allowed me to think as opposed to crying endlessly while the other patients shot me awkward looks.  I clutched the childhood stuffed animals my mother brought me when she visited, and I always held them extra tight when the masquerade scene started.

I watched the movie when I had to move away from my beloved San Francisco.  I watched the movie when I lost the last of my grandparents.  I watched the movie when a doctor unwisely took me off my medication and I couldn’t manage to eat for a month.  I watched the movie when the whole world got sick and we all locked ourselves away from each other.  I don’t mind that I don’t entirely know what it means.  I don’t mind the nightmares.  In the hospital they kept telling us about mindfulness exercises, and maybe the fact that I can focus on every aspect of the film so closely that all else falls away is the reason I keep coming back to it.  I’m being mindful.  I’m not letting any stray thoughts invade my head.  I’m just watching and waiting for the next beat of every scene, leading inexorably to that yellow-stained bloodbath.

Streaming media doesn’t last forever, and each time I find The King, I worry that it will be the last time I ever can find it.  My efforts to download it have so far been unsuccessful, odd considering that it is in the public domain.

When I watch The King, I am once again a child in my bedroom being cared for in the throes of agonizing sickness.  I am once again sitting on the couch with my grandparents in front of the tv, both of them alive and lucid again.  I am once again in the hospital, all alone except for my stuffed animals and the staff trying to keep me alive.  The film reflects in my eyes like the crescent moon in Ingrid Bergman’s gaze.  It sings to me.

I am determined to find a way to obtain The King under any name so that I never have to worry about losing it.  During some of the worst times in my life, it is the only thing that has kept me sane.

[tpwkay]

Medicine (h.s.)

You’re finally given permission to cover the song you’ve wanted to perform for years and a special surprise during your performance sweeps you off of your feet.

Word count: 11.5k

Rating/warnings: NSFW - A lot of this is plot but there is smut as well. Contains explicit language and consensual sex acts between a man and woman. This is a story written in the 2nd person (“self insert"). This isn’t written to be exclusionary, it’s just my preferred style! Author’s note can be found at the end!

"Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot thank you enough for coming out tonight to listen to me and the band. We've got a couple more songs coming up for you but I just wanted to take a minute to tell y'all how much we appreciate you." You gesture to yourself and the band behind you as the lights on stage come up a bit. "We wouldn't be where we are without your support. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you!"

The crowd cheers and you can't help but experience an insurmountable feeling of joy. It never gets old. You'd been in the spotlight for a few years now, already at the end of touring your second album, though the size and scope of venues this time around was much, much larger. There was nothing that compared to being able to sing your own songs and have a crowd of thousands scream them right back at you.

Being an up-and-coming singer and songwriter in the genre of country music hadn't been easy. Girls your type had been a dime a dozen, hoards of Taylor Swift-wannabes covering "Teardrops on My Guitar" during open mic night. You held nothing against them; there was a path to success for everyone, but yours had been, well, different. 

It was a karaoke cover of Brooks & Dunn's "Boot Scootin' Boogie", a song that you'd been singing since you were a toddler, that had gotten you noticed by a recording artist one night while out with your girlfriends, which led you to where you stand now, performing in front of thousands. You were liked for the range of your voice, with it's easy easy transitions from the sounds of pop to country and rock, in addition to the way you performed, and your take-no-shit attitude towards the entirety of the industry. People liked that you were forward and left nothing on the table, though you had to admit that it was mostly an act, a means of coping with the pressure of working your way to the top.

///

"It's refreshing!" Jax, your manager, had shouted one day, arms flailing as you had argued that maybe your attitude was going to get you into trouble one of these days.

"Aren't you, as, you know, my manager, supposed to be the one keeps me in line?"

"You aren't out doing coke, killing anyone, public indecency and all that," he had shrugged. "Far as I'm concerned, you are in line. People talk about you because of your attitude. They like it! They like you. Why is that so hard for you to accept sometimes?"

"Maybe I just haven't been caught doing those things," you grinned, effectively dodging his question. Fame hadn't helped break down the walls that you'd long ago built around yourself. If anything, you had done some reinforcing, built a moat even, in an effort to ensure that you protected yourself from getting too close to anyone that would only end up using you in the end. You had seen the way people in life had been used, and what it ultimately led them to, and you had promised yourself long ago that even if it meant being known as the Boot Scootin' Bitch, you would protect yourself and your heart at all costs. 

"Your momma would tan your hide for much less than any of those, you know. Hell, you should be more afraid of her than you are of me or anyone else… 'cept maybe God."

///

You shake your head, working the memories free from your mind as you grab a bottle of water from the platform on which the drum set rests.

There's one more song of yours to sing before you performed a new cover, the one you had been looking forward to for months. Although you'd gotten permission to perform it not long into the start of your tour, the set list had been rehearsed already and every other detail ironed out around it. You'd convinced Jax and the crew to let you slot it into the last concert of the tour, Austin, Texas. These folks knew their music and for some reason, they liked you so you were thrilled to be able to share something new with the crowd that had welcomed you to their city with open arms. 

You grab your guitar off its stand and slide the strap over your shoulders, adjusting it as you step forwards to the mic stand. A shimmering blue shirt catches your eye in the crowd and you do a double take because surely it can't be Harry because he's—

And it's not him, of course, though the fashion of the gentleman in the pit area would surely catch his eye as well as it's right up his alley. It's not him - it can't be him - because you know exactly where he is right now and it's not in the pit of your Austin performance. 

A grin stretches over your face as you think of him. You strum the first chord of the first song you'd ever written about him, although there had been many more since. He probably knew this one was about him, having come just after your first meeting. 

/// 

A friend of yours was good friends with Kacey, who had been the guest artist that night. Her name had been added to the VIP list and in the summer of 2018, just as you were hitting your own stride in your career, you tagged along with her to Harry Styles' live tour performance in your hometown of Nashville. 

If you were being honest, prior to his concert, you hadn't heard much of his solo work, apart from the various huge hits like his Kiwi or Watermelon Sugar and a few other ballads. You liked his sound, seemingly influenced heavily by rock stars of days past, but you'd had other influences to worry about in your own side of the industry. 

Sure, he had country music connections through the likes of Kacey Musgraves and Cam, and legends like Stevie Nicks, but his pop and soft rock style was pretty far removed from most country playlists that you yourself had graced. Your genres just didn't cross paths and the two of you seemingly operated in different realms of the music industry, topping your own charts and breaking your own peer's records. 

Of course, you hadn't been completely oblivious to The Harry Styles. One Direction had been too big of a deal to ignore and you'd often found yourself bopping along to their old hits, singing along as they played amongst the other nostalgic pop hits to which you listened. 

The concert had been in June, a hot sunny day followed by a perfect breezy evening. Downtown Nashville was always busy, but that night the city seemed to buzz, bright with music and life. After meeting for drinks at Acme on the River, you allowed yourself to luxuriate in getting lost in the crowd that milled about on Broadway. It was a surprising thing to not be recognized in your hometown, but you weren't one to complain about it. It was one reason that you value your time in Nashville over other music-centric cities like Los Angeles - it seemed that people here respected the private lives of musicians. There was an odd fan here and there, but you'd lived a majority of your "famous" life in Nashville in relative peace. 

You were early to the venue, your friend having wanted to have a chance to see Kacey backstage. You were excited to finally meet the star - though you'd been around the block of fame a bit already, there would always be people that you never had an opportunity to meet in passing. You had been greeted at will call and had been led backstage.

The arena was alive with excitement. At that point, you yourself had never toured a venue that large, so the experience of being backstage and seeing the operations first hand were thrilling and a bit overwhelming. In her dressing room, Kacey pulled you straight into a hug, gushing about how excited she was to watch your career take off. She insisted on sharing her personal cell phone number with you, urging you to call her to get together on a collaboration. You were in shock leaving her room, blown away by her kindness and the way the music industry worked in the most bizarre of ways, when you turned a corner and ran smack into a tall, solid, smiling Harry Styles. His arms had come out quickly to steady you on your heels boots. 

"Fuck," you swore, shaking your head at your clumsiness. "I am so sorry. What a great way to introduce myself."

He laughed and the sound flowed through you, warm and sweet like a cup of tea with honey. "Y'alright?" His eyes looked you over, and you couldn't help but notice the way they lingered. 

Your cheeks blushed and a wave of embarrassment washed over you. "I'm the one that should be asking you that. I don't think your adoring fans would be very happy if I took you out with a textbook tackle right before you're due to go on stage." You took a moment to give him the same appreciative glance he had already given you, admiring the way his deep blue custom-beaded suit jacket fell open to reveal a black dress shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest. 

"Ah, 'm fine. Lil' thing like you couldn't do too much damage to me, even in those heels. Don't think they'd be very happy though," he said, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the already-rowdy crowd while offering his hand. "I'm Harry."

You laughed as you introduced yourself, shaking his hand. 

"I've heard that name before, but I'm sorry to say that I don't recognize you. You don't seem like one that's easy to forget."

"I sing, write music," you shrugged, not sure how to explain to a superstar that you were on the way up, yet still somewhere much farther down the fame totem pole than him. "Country, mostly. Not sure if that's on your radar."

"The new stuff's not, but I may have to change that." He was tapped by one of the event producers, needed for another pre-show procedure. "Where will you be tonight?" 

"To your right, in the pit."

He smiled and you had almost immediately fallen in love with the crinkles that appeared under the corners of his eyes. "I'll look out for you. It was wonderful meeting you. Oh, shit, wait, just remembered— may I?" he gestured for the phone that was in your hand and you unlocked it before passing it to him. 

You watched as he dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. He paused for a moment before he grinned. "Hi Harry, it's you from before the show. This is a message to remind you to text this number and ask the owner of it out on a date. She's the one with the beautiful smile and great tackling skills. You won"t have forgotten her. 'Kay, bye!"

You laughed at an almost embarrassing volume, blown away by his cheek. 

"Why not ask 'her' out now?" you pondered to him as he handed the phone back.

"What, and risk getting shot down? Wouldn't want to be sad and disappointed through my whole show, now would I?"

"It would make the ballads a bit more emotional," you had reasoned with a grin.

"Ouch! They're already filled with emotion, love. You'll see, I'll sing 'em right to you if I have to. Gotta run, thank you for letting me use your phone, that was a very important message!"

You laughed again as he took off. "Harry!" you had shouted to get his attention in the busy hall. He turned quickly, a small smile on his face. "She definitely won't say no, but you can wait until later to ask if you want to."

His grin stretched wider and he'd pumped a fist in the air before turning and jogging down the hallway. 

You liked to joke with anyone who knew the story that your life had changed that day all because you met Kacey. Which wasn't a complete lie - it had been her dressing room you'd come out of before slamming into Harry in the hallway. 

///

Singing the last lines of one of your songs, your stomach began to flutter in a bit of nervousness and a lot of excitement. Performing the next cover was something you had been looking forward to for months, and the moment that you got to share it with your fans was finally here. 

You retreat from the mic stand to pass your guitar off to a stagehand, taking another sip of water to settle yourself. 

"Doing alright?" Wyatt, your drummer, shouts over the pounding bass drum and you give him a thumbs up before turning back to face the crowd. 

"I've got one more cover to play for y'all tonight," you say, grasping the mic stand to keep your hands from shaking. "I've been working on getting permission to play this one for quite awhile now. I fell in love with it the first time I heard it played and now here I am, performing it for you all. It's an unreleased piece by a very, very good friend of mine, but his performances of it are all over the internet so some of you may know the words. This song is called Medicine."

The song starts out with a steady bass line and the rhythm centers you a bit, steadying any nerves that still linger. The intro gives you a minute to shake out your shoulders and get comfortable at the mic stand once more like Harry does at each performance. You catch yourself having fun mimicking him and feel thankful that you're able to perform one of your favorite songs of his. When the bass drops in pitch and the electric guitar riffs, you slide in close to the mic stand.

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine," you sang the opening lines, already settling into the sexy rock sound of the song you and the band had rehearsed relentlessly over the last few weeks. No, the genre wasn't one you normally dabbled in, but part of the fun of performing was taking chances, risks. You had to admit, you liked the sound a lot. It tempted you to branch out a bit more on your upcoming album. 

The opening lines of the first verse throw you back into thoughts of meeting Harry that first night. You hadn't imagined what would follow the concert, let alone have the foresight to see it bringing you to this very moment in time. 

///

You had been standing outside the arena after the concert, ears buzzing and heart thumping still from the incredible show Harry had put on. As soon as he disappeared from the backstage hall earlier, you had immediately saved his number to your phone, still in disbelief over the night's events. 

Your heart had soared when your phone began to vibrate, not in a text message but in a voice call. Harry's name appeared on the screen and your friend had nudged you, clearly approving of the night's turn of events. 

"Harry," you answered, ready to praise him halfway to Sunday on his performance. 

"Let me take you out," he interrupted you. "Right now. Please? Anywhere you want to go." 

You laughed and paused. "Yeah, okay. I might know of a place."

There was a lot of shuffling on his end before his voice came back on the line. "Might've had to do another fist pump."

"Told you she wouldn't say no."

"Where are you?" You heard the smile in his voice, already familiar with it. 

"Demonbreun and John Lewis, headed towards the park."

"Give me 10, I'll pick you up." He paused. "Be careful, okay?"

"I'll stick with the hoards of your fans milling about, maybe ask some of them for the hot gossip on you while I wait."

"Don't believe anything they say," he said, and you could tell he was still smiling as he hung up. 

He and his driver arrived shortly after, Harry's hair damp and covered with a baseball cap, dressed down in black pants and a simple loose white shirt, tattoos peeking out everywhere you looked. He exited the car and opened the back door for you, helping you balance as you stepped up into the large Suburban. 

"We'll go to Pecker's," you said to his driver, laughing as Harry snorted next to you. "Shut up, it's just a bar. Take a right up here onto 24 and it'll take us all the way to Fairfield. It'll be on the right."

He looked at you and smiled before reaching out to hold your hand in the middle seat between you. 

Taking Harry to Pecker's had just felt right. It was where you'd been discovered, where all of your adventures had started, and you weren't sure why but you wanted to share that small part of you with him after watching him up on stage that night. 

"Won't people recognize you? I looked you up before the show, you're apparently a pretty big deal around here." He had asked, smirking, sipping on the locally-brewed beer that Clint, the regular bartender, was serving that night. 

"Locals are pretty good about not interrupting our normal lives. Pecker's isn't as well known to tourists either, so it's a good hideout. This is where a lot of producers, executives and all the other professionals come to unwind." You ignored his comment on your fame and had taken a sip of your margarita instead. "Unless, of course, there's a drag show scheduled, then it's a bit of a madhouse."

Harry laughs into his drink and you grin. "So," he started after a pause, twiddling with the rings on his right hand. "What'd you think?"

"It was incredible," you said without hesitation. "Truly one of the best live shows I've seen in a long time, country acts included. You've got such a magnetism about you that people can't help but want to watch." You blushed a bit, alcohol and the quick comfort of him loosening your lips. "The whole water spraying trick was hot," you admit, making him blush. "And don't tell Stevie, but I think I might prefer your version of The Chain."

"Sacrilege! That's some incredibly high praise," he said, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. 

"Earned and deserved," you said, tilting your glass to his. "Honestly, Harry, you're an incredible musician. There aren't many out there that have the whole package like that."

"What about you? You seem like the whole package."

"I don't know if I'd say that. If you looked me up, you've likely seen what they say about me. 'My attitude won't get me far' and all. But I don't think it's my attitude, so much as it is my willingness to take the risks that others won't. I'm not out here to make music that's just there to be sold. Hell, I couldn't care less about the money. All I want is to create music that makes me feel fulfilled, and I think that honesty scares them." You twirled your finger in the condensation of the glass in front of you. You glanced up to his face finding his eyes already on yours, holding your gaze steadily. "It doesn't scare you, does it?"

"It's the most refreshing thing I've heard in a while. Not many people in the industry are fearless in the face of failure like that."

"I'm definitely not fearless; I just refuse to change who I am to make a buck."

"Who are you then?" Harry had asked, and telling him your story was easy. You couldn't understand how it was so natural, opening up to a stranger, but as the conversation wore on, you realized how similar you and Harry were in terms of the way you conducted your professional lives and that was without apology. 

And you also realized, as the evening continued and you and Harry crept your bar stools closer and closer to one another, feet and knees bumping, his fingers tracing the ridges of your knuckles as you shared life stories like long lost friends, that you didn't want it to end. 

///

"He's acting like a gentleman," you continue, changing up the lyrics slightly as you finish the first verse. The line always made you smile and you let yourself briefly flash back into your reminiscing about the night you'd met Harry, and how, even though he had acted gentlemanly upon dropping you off for the evening, you wanted to be anything but a gentlewoman. 

///

After enjoying drinks late into the evening at Pecker's, Harry had insisted on having his driver take you home rather than allowing you to call an Uber. 

"Such a gentleman," you commented as he opened the car door for you once again. 

"Maybe my gentlemanly actions have motives," he said, sliding his hand along your lower back as you step past him and into the car. Your grin matched his smirk as he shut the door and you decided that he'd been right - not calling an Uber was the right thing to do.

The car ride back to your apartment building was too quick and before you knew it, he was at your door again, offering a hand for you to hold for balance as you exited the car. Neither of you let go as you walked through the lobby towards the elevators. 

"You're uh— You're welcome to come up, if you'd like," you said, suddenly shy but not wanting to chicken out on asking for what you wanted, asking for some continuation of this sweet but likely brief meeting between you two. "For a drink, I mean, or to keep chatting, you know."

Harry smiled and glanced around the empty lobby. His hand in yours smoothed up the length of your arm, over your shoulder, and came to rest at your jaw. "I'd love to, believe me. You have no idea how much I want to." He leaned towards you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead and your skin burned at the contact of his lips. "But I want to do this the right way. Don't want you to get the wrong idea of me."

"What if I want the wrong idea of you?"

He laughed, the sound open and honest and it had given you hope. "You called me a gentleman earlier and I have to admit that I liked it, coming from you. Would like to keep up the facade that I am, even if it's just for a bit." His face searched yours, each of you trying to read the thoughts that were flying through one another's minds. "You have beautiful lips," he whispered suddenly, his accent thicker than it had been all night. 

Your mouth quirked into a smile, unable to do anything but preen at his compliment. "You do too," you replied, just as softly. 

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please, yes." Before the words had settled he was kissing you, slowly and with too much care, like you would break if he wasn't gentle enough. It was over much too quick but you knew you would remember every moment of it for the rest of your life. 

"Christ, I'd wanted to do that all night." His thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, smiling when you leaned into the touch. He glanced up as the elevator doors swung open and gently nudged you towards them. "Thank you, truly, for a wonderful evening. I promise to give you a call soon."

"I'll send Kacey after you if you don't!" you laughed, stepping into the lift.

"Good night darling." He winked and the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the delicious ghost of his lips on yours. 

///

"Give me that adrenaline, that adrenaline, think I'm gonna stick with you," you finish the first verse as Ryann rips through the chords on her guitar. You loved that the song built slowly, and even though that meant a quieter beginning, it promised an explosive end. 

Though the crowd had been hesitant at first, you can see that the first few rows of them are nodding along, countless phones out recording the performance. You know that somewhere out there at your request is a member of your press team, professionally filming the cover. You may only be doing it once, but you were determined to make sure you would never forget it.

///

You had enough time at home to check some of your social media accounts, shower and get comfortable in bed before your phone rang again. For the second time that day, your heart soared seeing Harry's name light up your screen.

"If you're going to say that you're downstairs because you've reconsidered my offer for that nightcap, I'll need a few moments to prepare as I'm currently in my pajamas," you said as a greeting and you were met with his warm laughter once again.

"No, no, I had to go back to the arena for a bit anyways, pack up and all of that," he said, still chuckling. "I just— I wanted to make sure you weren't offended by me declining your offer. Because I wanted to— I didn't want the night to end there. There's something about you that's… Transfixing. And I don't want to ruin that and make you think you're just a fling."

"That's quite a compliment," you said, a bit awed by his words.

"What was it you said earlier, "earned and deserved", yeah?" He said, quoting your toast to him at the bar, making you grin. "I want you to be more than that. I'd like to get to know you, the gentlemanly way."

"Okay. Will we have a chaperone at our next date then?" He laughed but didn't correct your referral to that evening as a date. You had snuggled a bit deeper into the sheets, still disbelieving that all of this had been the result of being dragged along to a concert. 

"No chaperones," he chuckled, "but yes, I do want to take you out again, if you'd let me."

"Hmm," you jokingly pondered aloud, as if answering with anything other than a resounding "yes" was on your mind. "I suppose I could fit something into my schedule."

"I hope that's a yes."

"Of course it's a yes! I didn't want the night to end either. And don't you dare say that you just did another fist pump," you had laughed, hearing the familiar shuffling of the phone on his end of the line.

"Me? Never!"

"You're adorable," you had said, a smile stuck on your face.

"And you're beautiful. Two can play this game."

There had been a comforting silence between you for a moment before you had spoken up again. "Harry?"

"Yeah, love?"

You had blushed at the pet name but loved the way it sounded being directed your way. "Thank you," you had whispered. 

"Should be me thanking you. Sleep well sweetheart." You'd fallen asleep with your phone in hand, hopeful that you wouldn't wake up the next morning to realize it had all been a dream.

/// 

It hadn't been a dream, and here you were, nearly two years later, performing one of the songs that Harry himself had sung the night that you'd begun falling for him.

The second verse continued quickly and you let the lyrics wash over you as you sang, loving the way the rock energy of the song sounded with a bit of your band's country influence. 

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine, rest it on your fingertips," you sang, holding your pointer finger in the air much like Harry did every time he performed the song before bringing it to your lips as you sang the next line. "Up to your mouth, feeling it out, feeling it out."

/// 

Beginning to date Harry - properly date him too, not just make FaceTime calls to one another from across the world and sending texts back and forth until the wee hours of the morning thanks to the differences in time zones, sharing everything and more with one another as best you could digitally - had been the most exhilarating experience of your life, and you had performed in front of sold out crowds and accepted awards on live television. His tour was due to stretch on for almost another month throughout North America and the next time you saw him was when you'd been invited as Harry's guest to his show in Chicago just a few weeks after you'd met. 

While he had put on an incredible show for the United Center, there had been moments that felt like he was performing just for you, glancing over to where you stood in the Friends and Family area, meeting your eyes and grinning. By that point, you could sing along to every song of his and you knew he loved it, loved watching you dance along to the music that he had created and was performing. 

In a moment where you were thankful for the differences between the genres in which you two performed, you hadn't been recognized at all by his fans. You'd both talked about wanting to keep things quiet as you got to know one another, and you hadn't wanted a relationship with him, an already incredibly famous artist, to somehow influence the trajectory of yours. While it had been easy when you were apart, being together without seemingly being together was difficult. Especially in that moment, when all you wanted to do was curl up into him and soak in the post-show bliss with him. Instead, you sat on the couch with him, a cushion apart from one another, holding his hand tightly while you chatted about the concert. 

"Someone is gonna notice that you looked to my side of the pit constantly all night," you said and he grinned guiltily. 

"I like knowing you're in the crowd," he shrugged. "Besides," he scooted closer and threw his arm around you before dragging you in close, "you look incredible, how could I not want to stare at you all night?"

"Anyone could walk in," you pointed out, watching as his eyes followed your lips. 

"Just want a little taste," he said, moving in closer, "Haven't I earned a kiss from my girlfriend after all of that work up on stage?"

Your eyebrows raised in surprise as you looked at him and he seemingly realized his slip-up. 

"I mean— What I meant was— Shit," he scrubbed a hand over his face but you could tell he was hiding a grin. "Wasn't exactly how I wanted to ask you, but… Will you officially be my girlfriend?"

"Yes, H. I'm all yours."

"Love it when you call me H." He pulled you in for a kiss that you both lost yourselves in, finally able to experience the feeling of one another after being denied it for so long. When a knock at the dressing room door came, Harry had to all but drag himself away from you, hair disheveled and lips swollen, scowling at the door. 

You threw your head back and laughed as he stalked over and pulled it open with a flourish. 

"What?"

"The hell's your issue?" you heard Mitch ask before Harry widened the door so he could see you laughing on the couch. You raised a hand in greeting and Harry's scowl deepened as Mitch chuckled, taking in both of your disheveled appearances. "Oh, shit, hey, sorry. Uh, car's ready when you are. See you tomorrow bud." 

"Harry!" you chided once he'd closed the door in Mitch's face, giggles still bubbling out of your mouth. "He was just being polite."

"Interrupting arse is what he is," Harry said, sitting down and pulling you into his lap. "Where were we?"

You threw your arms around his neck and pressed your body as close to his as possible, hoping that he'd thought to lock the door before returning to your embrace. "Right about here, I think." With a hand on your hip, sliding under your shirt to reach warm skin and one at the back of your neck, Harry kissed you until you were breathless and not only wanting more but very seriously needing it. 

"Come back to the hotel with me," he murmured against your lips as you ground your body down on him, reveling in the way the action made him throw his head against the back of the couch and exhale sharply. 

"You sure?" Your hands smoothed over the chest of his skin, tracing the dark swallows with your fingertips as you rolled your hips. 

He shuddered at the light touch and gripped your hips tightly, pressing his up as you pressed yours down and the action made you sigh, the pressure a delicious tease of what was hopefully to come. "Absolutely," he said, his grin telling you he was pleased with the noises he was causing you to make. "Want you so bad, like I won't be able to breathe right until I properly have you."

You leaned in to kiss at his neck, his shower-damp curls tickling your cheek. "The feeling is mutual. Adored watching you up on stage tonight. Have I told you yet how much I love seeing you perform?" You nuzzle at his neck, urging him to tilt his head back farther, exposing more of his skin to you. 

"Yeah, you have, but tell me again," he sighed, his hands running up and down your back. 

"It's like when you get on stage no one else before or after you matters," you said honestly, letting your lips against his skin hide how truthful you were really being, spilling all of your thoughts about seeing Harry up on stage. It was scary, feeling so deeply for him already. But you wanted him to know, at least in part, what it meant to be able to watch him perform. "Something about your live voice just makes my breath catch in my throat, I can't get enough of it."

Harry breathed deeply for a moment, working to center himself while you nosed at the curls around his ear and heaped praise upon him. 

"It's like you connect with every person out in the crowd, like you're singing just for them. You can tell that you're having fun and people want to join you in that. They know you love the attention," you whispered and he hummed in appreciation (or agreement), the sound low in his throat. "They'd stay out there all night for if they could, screaming about how much they love you."

"And you feed into it, playing it up for them. You know exactly what you're doing when you get to act a little bit naughty up there, driving them all mad," you said with a smile. 

He chuckled and you could hear and feel the sound rumble through him. "Played it up for you tonight. Did it work?" 

"You mean did it make me want to jump your bones the second you came off stage? Yeah, it worked."

"Fucking hell," he said, holding you close with his hands on your butt as he stood up. "Our first time is not going to be in a dressing room so we need to go now."

He let you slide down his body and held you steady as you balanced on your legs. "Would be pretty fitting though, don't you think, given how we met and what we do?"

"Yeah, but then I'd think about it every time I was in one. You wanna torture me relentlessly?" He pulled you tight against him, kissing you once more before separating to grab his bags. 

"Yeah, relentless torture sounds like something I might be into." 

He glanced up at your words, eyes dark and hungry, a smirk on his lips. "Careful what you wish for, love." 

///

The bass line increased behind the riff of Ryann's guitar and you leaned into the mic stand, eyes closing as you continued singing the first bridge. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm wasted, and when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

There were a few fans of yours and Harry's who apparently knew the words as they helped you out, screaming the unwritten word that finished the sentence: "tasted."

///

Harry was quick to say goodbye to everyone on the team before pulling you quickly through back hallways and down quiet staircases, sneaking quick kisses when he was sure there was no one around. You were both out of breath when you finally climbed into the car, grinning like kids getting away with sneaking around. 

The hotel ride was quick, mercifully, but Harry had been anything but patient, his hand at your knee creeping up slowly, closer and closer to the hem of your dress, toying with the hem while he chatted with the driver. 

"I'm gonna head in first with Martin and Eric will loop around and drop you off at the side entrance. I would wait in the lobby for you but this hotel hasn't been the best in the past with uh— containing sensitive information, we'll say, so Martin will meet you on your floor to get your stuff, then bring you up. Is that okay?"

"You sound like you've done this before, Styles," you said with a wink, using humor to cover the nerves that had settled in the pit of your stomach. 

He blushed and you loved knowing you got under his skin so easily. "The band used to stay here when we toured… and I was young and dumb once, yes."

"Just giving you a hard time, H."

His grin stretched as he leaned over to peck your lips once more. "See you in a minute, love."

Harry climbed out and the driver took off once again, slowly circling the block. "He's quite taken with you, you know," he said, glancing up in the rear view mirror as he parked the car at the curb. He got out and opened the door for you in the empty street then used his keycard to unlock the heavy side door of the hotel.

"Thank you," you said, both for his actions and his omission about Harry. Sure, you had talked to him as often as possible over the last weeks and had yourself been on the receiving end of his attention, but it felt validating to hear that Harry's feelings for you may have gone a bit farther than just a small crush if people around him had also noticed his behavior. 

Harry's bodyguard was waiting by the elevators and escorted you to your room to gather your luggage, then led you to Harry's door.

"Car'll be around about 9 tomorrow morning, H. Flight's at 10:30." He turned to you. "I understand you have business to continue here in Chicago?"

"Yes, meetings tomorrow and then I fly back to Nashville in the evening."

"There'll be a driver ready for you tomorrow as well. He's been instructed to take you wherever you need to go and he'll stay until you depart. Have a nice evening," he nodded at Harry, who was smiling in the doorway, before departing.

"You didn't have to do that for me, I could've managed by getting an Uber," you said, stepping into the room past Harry to set your bags down and kick your shoes off. 

"I didn't, was Martin's idea; says he doesn't want anything to happen to the one thing that's made me so happy these last few weeks."

"Oh yeah? I'm the one thing, huh?"

"You're everything, honestly," he replied a bit sheepishly, taking your hands in his. "Think I might like you a bit more than I already should. Lettin' my heart get a bit ahead of my head, I suppose."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," you said softly and he beamed. 

He moved his hands up to cup your face, pulling you close for a sweet kiss that quickly turned insistent, heat rising between the two of you. Harry slid his hands under the hem of your shirt to rest where your spin ended and yours wrapped around his neck, dragging him down to you as you stepped behind you towards the bed. His long legs tangled with yours and you tumbled backwards, laughing as you hit the plush bed and Harry collapsed on top of you.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at you with a smile, pushing the hair that had fallen into your face aside. "Hi baby," he said softly.

"Hi."

"Missed you," he said, leaning down for another sweet kiss. 

"We were apart for like, eight minutes," you giggled between his kisses, your laughter giving way to a sigh as he moved to press a kiss to your nose, your cheek, your chin.

"Doesn't matter," he breathed into the crook of your neck, pressing small open mouth kisses to the soft skin there, "Any time apart is too long."

"The two weeks left of the tour will fly by. You should enjoy them while you can."  

"Wish you could come with me, love performing for you." He kissed his way across the base of your neck, collarbone to collarbone as his fingers trailed to the small straps on your shoulders. "Would you like to take this off?"

"Please," you sighed, desperate and aching for the feeling of his skin against yours. 

Your first time sleeping with Harry had been exactly what you'd wanted and expected - hot and fast, admittedly over a bit more quickly than either of you had wanted, but worth the weeks of wait. 

Harry's skill set hadn't ended at singing and playing instruments. If anything, his vast experience using his hands and mouth only helped him excel in other pastimes that also utilized those parts of his body. To both of your delights, he had proven his adeptness in all areas multiple times that night, and once again in the morning before he had to rush into the shower, dragging you along with him simply to get more time together before you were forced apart once again. 

/// 

You had spent the next two months away from one another, Harry having wrapped his tour and immediately beginning work on his next album. You'd spent your own time mixed between writing and recording an upcoming single. You had already written a handful of songs that were inspired by him and you'd wondered, albeit a bit nervously, if the sentiment was shared. When he stopped in Nashville on a long layover, pushing his flight back even longer to stay with you for another night, you'd tried to pry the information out of him. Unfortunately, no amount of sexual teasing or denial had convinced him — he, however, had you singing like a canary almost immediately, teasing you in the best way about how easily you opened up for him, telling him all about the music that he had already inspired.

You had been FaceTiming him late one night weeks later, both tired from long days spent in the studio. He had suddenly gotten shy, biting at the skin around his fingernails. 

"Hey, stop that. What's the matter H?"

"Wanna ask you something," he mumbled, but a smile was peeking through where his fingers were still at his lips. "Jus' don't know how to."

"Baby," you sighed, "you can ask me anything. Y'know that." 

"I know, I know." He paused and took a deep breath before a wide smile stretched across his face. "Would you maybe want to come home with me this Christmas? To London? Wouldn't be for long, maybe just a couple nights, I just wanna introduce you to my mum already, she's been pestering me nonstop lately 'bout meetin' you and Gem's joined in on it now too, so it's two against one when they call and I've told them that—"

"Harry," you said chucking, trying to interrupt his nervous rambling.

"—and she actually called me Harold last time she told me to bring you 'round and that got me a bit worried so I—"

"Harry! Of course I'll come with you. I'd absolutely love to."

You met him at the airport weeks later, desperate to pull him close and kiss him silly in the confines of his darkly tinted car, but you refrained, knowing how seriously Harry took the protection of your relationship from the press. You may not have been able to see anyone straining to capture pictures of you two, but you knew there was always the chance. 

It was an entirely different story, however, when he'd finally pulled the car past the mechanical gate and into his private drive. You both reached for each other immediately, arms tangled and shifter knob pressed uncomfortably against your side, but perfectly content so long as his lips were against yours. 

"Fuck— I missed you— so much," he muttered between kisses. He pulled away, forehead resting against yours, sly smirk pulling at his lips. "Mum won't expect us for a few hours at least."

"What is it that you're insinuating, Mr. Styles?"

"That there's plenty of time to give you a tour around the house, that's all," he said innocently. He gave you a sweet smile before hopping out of the car and coming to the passenger side where he helped you out and picked up your bags.

You were eager to be given a house tour, more than keen to learn all of the things you could about his London life. The house was decorated in a way that made you smile - eclectic but with a definitive air of cohesive taste. It suited Harry to an absolute tee. From the artwork that decorated the walls to the mismatched but homey furniture, you could tell immediately that this was Harry's sanctuary - every inch of the home screamed his name. 

"It's incredible," you said as he led you into the largest room, the master. He walked over to the dresser that sat under the window and pulled open the top two drawers. 

"I know we won't be here long, this time around, but I cleaned out a few drawers for you here, if you want to unpack some things. And there's space in the closet for you too," he nodded towards the door on the other side of the room, dragging a hand through his hair as he talked, "I had too much in there anyways and some of it needed to go and I wanted you to be able to leave some things, if you felt comfortable, of if Mum drags us out shopping and you don't want to take it all home now you can leave it here and-"

"You- you cleared out a drawer for me?"

"Well, yeah," he said, resting his hand on the back of his neck. "Made some space for you in the bathroom too, though I doubt it'll be enough, with all that you bring along to fix yourself up." He paused and thought for a moment. "I know how our lives are. I just wanted you to have some of your own space here; want you to feel as comfortable in my home as I do. Is that too much?" 

"H," you said with a sigh, your lips curling into a smile, "it's perfect, and so thoughtful. I'm sorry I haven't done the same for you in Nashville yet."

"'s alright, love. I've already got a toothbrush there at least. I can take some time when we fly back to come and help if you'd like me to. As long as you don't end up wearing all the clothes that I leave there," he chuckled.

"You know me too well," you said, reaching for his hand. He lifted your entwined fingers to his lips to brush a kiss over your knuckles.

"You do look good in my clothes," he confessed, pulling you close to face him. "Look good in my house. But you always look good anyways."

"Said the pot to the kettle," you said with a smile. "I like being here already," you shrug, hands resting on his shoulders. "It feels like you, like home. Thank you for inviting me," you add, as though the measly voicing of your appreciation is enough to convey what you truly feel. 

"You're welcome anytime, if I'm here or not."

"You trust me that much?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll get you a key and everything." He leaned down to kiss you slowly, relearning the map of your lips and mouth, before pulling away. He laughed when you made a noise of protest.

"The bathroom's over here if you'd like to freshen up." He had pulled at your hand, stepping towards the other open door in the room. "Figured a shower might sound nice after a long day in an airplane. Besides, I've gotta clean up before we go to Mum's anyways."

"Gonna join me?" 

"Yeah, thought I might, if that's okay." His smirk had been wicked as he pushed you the rest of the way into the bathroom. He dropped your hand to reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head quickly. As he reached for the buckle of his pants, he had met your staring eyes. "See something you like, love?"

You definitely had, though you didn't think your attraction — physically or emotionally — for Harry had stopped at something that was as weak as "like." Getting to know him over the last six months had made you worry that there wasn't ever going to be anyone else like him, anyone that made you feel like he did. You had fallen for him, desperately hard, and the realization of it as you stood in front of his half-naked self almost embarrassed you. 

"Babe? You alright?" he asked as he stripped down to his boxers. 

"Yeah, you just got me all distracted," you had grinned, pulling your sweatshirt and remaining clothes off quickly before joining Harry under the warm spray of the water.

Meeting Harry's mom that evening went better than you could've ever dreamt it would. The two of you got on like old friends, and Harry had stared, almost in wonder, at how easily you seemed to bond with her. And then he had stared in horror as Anne offered to pull out the photo albums filled with pictures from Harry's childhood, particularly when Anne offered up the album filled with photos from Harry's and Gemma's emo phases. 

As the evening wore on, you caught Harry on more than one occasion glancing your way, cheeks bright from the red wine he was sipping on and eyes warmly reflecting the bright Christmas lights. He always looked like he was a split second away from saying something, only to shake his head and look away with a small smile. 

Later, in bed, Harry pulled you close to him. He was laying on his back, you on your side, and you threw a leg over his waist, soaking in all of the cuddles you could get on this short trip together. The room was only illuminated by the ambient light coming in through the blinds. 

"Mum liked you a lot," he murmured, gently stroking the skin at the base of your spine, "said I should hang onto you". 

You returned the gesture, running your fingertips along the lines of ink that make up his many tattoos. "I liked her too. She's wonderful, I see where you get it from now."

"Hey now, 'm wonderful all on my own!" He tickled your side and you couldn"t help but arch towards him, shrieking and laughing at the touch. 

"Stop that! You are an absolute pest, you know that?" you said, grinning up at him.

"Ah, you love me," he whispered, and his joking tone made you smile but the way he pulled you tighter as he said it made you brave. 

You let the weight what you were about to say wash over you, aware that things were going to change forever with just a few words. "I do love you, Harry," you whispered, moving up his body to press a kiss to his lips.

"Thank God," he had said, wrapping his arms back around you and pulling you on top of him. "Cause I love you too."

Leaving Harry after that had been even more difficult. All you wanted to do was be with him, but you had too much coming up with the future release of your album and Harry was still in the midst of doing his own writing and recording. 

It was your professions, along with the desire to keep your relationship private, that kept you apart. You weren't sure how you did it, but your relationship had withstood the distance and odd-hours. The only step now would be deciding if, when, and how to confirm the suspicions to tabloids and fans alike that you were an item.

The wait was killing you. All you wanted was to show off to the world that Harry was yours.

///

The bridge of the song was followed quickly by the chorus and the heavy guitar and pounding drums had you rocking on your feet, body swaying into the mic stand as you let yourself get lost in the lyrics. "If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive."

The crowd was even more into the song now, many picking up on the words quickly and screaming them along with your singing. The rock and roll vibe of the song was coursing through you and the crowd, the arena electric with energy already. 

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it."

You remove the mic from the stand and dance towards one end of the stage, singing as you move to the beat. "We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

///

You had been on the phone with Harry one day in July, nearly five months after the release of your album, having him help you decide what the setlist of your tour would be when it began in November. 

"I wish I could cover one of your songs."

He had laughed and slurped his tea, the sounds comforting to you, even over the phone. "That'd be a bit obvious, wouldn't it love?"

"I don't mean cover Golden or Kiwi," you said, tapping your pen against the pad of paper in front of you. "What about one you wrote for 1D? What about Perfect? Or Stockholm Syndrome! That was always one of my favorites."

"Getting permission on those might be a bit more difficult, s'not just me that's gotta sign off on it. Besides, do you really wanna be the artist that covers a One Direction song on her own headlining tour?"

"Guess I'll stick with singing along to them in the shower then."

You were both quiet for a moment, lost in your own thoughts. 

"What if I covered Medicine?" you asked suddenly, realizing it was the perfect compromise, not to mention your favorite song that Harry himself performed oh his own tour. The rock sound wasn't a far cry from the roots that country music had and you knew it would sound great. "Even if it was just for one stop!"

"Hmm," Harry mused. "It would sound great with the band, I'll give you that. But videos will go around, people will know it's my song you're singing and they'll connect the dots about us."

"H, I'm ready for that if you are. I love you, and I'm ready to be able to share that love that I have for you with the world. Sneaking around has been fun but I want people to know how proud of you I am and how much you're loved and appreciated. Half of our fans know already, it's just a matter of us confirming it. I think that we could really-"

Harry was laughing at your rambling on the other end of the line. "Alright, alright, you drive a hard bargain, love. I think you're right, maybe it is time we stopped sneaking around. I'll try, but Jax and everyone else still have to agree to it too. It might be easier to convince everyone if it's just a one time thing. Pick another cover, something you'd normally do, in case it takes some time to work things out."

"I'll ask him right now! Thank you Harry!"

"I just have one condition," he said, and you could hear the grin that was surely pulling at the corners of his lips. 

"What's that?"

"I get to perform it with you," he had said, and the smile already on your face widened exponentially. "If we're finally gonna make "us" public, may as well do it with a bang."

///

In the moment after the chorus, an 8 count beat is carried by the drummer and guitarist. For this performance, and the only performance you'd put on of this song, you had rehearsed the 8 count repeating once between the chorus and the next verse, as you needed a bit of extra time to announce your guest performer. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," you shout into the mic, grin wide and face beaming already at what was about to take place. "To help me finish this performance, please help me welcome my very good friend, Harry Styles!"

Harry emerges from behind the stage holding his own wireless mic as much of the crowd screams - he may not be a country artist, but he was absolutely known worldwide. You step back with a wave of your arm, smiling as he begins the next chorus. His performance is for the crowd but he's singing the words directly to you. 

"Tingle running through my bones, fingers to my toes, tingle running through my bones," he sings, voice smooth like whiskey, and the crowd adores him, eating out of the palm of his hand. "The boys and the girls are in, I mess around with them, and I'm OK with it." 

You can't help but dance as he sings, his voice and the energy of the crowd propelling you to move. He watches you, eyes no longer on the crowd, as he sings the next lines. Immediately, heat pools low in your belly at his glance and the words. 

"I'm coming down, I figured out I kinda like it. And when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

You gyrate your hips at the unsung line of "ride it", listening with a sly grin as some in the crowd scream the two words that go unsung. 

///

After giving him a key, Harry had moved some of his clothes to your apartment in Nashville some time while you were away on the first leg of your tour. He had found the city to be incredibly welcoming and inspirational for his upcoming album and had decided to stay there for a spell while you continued to tour around the country. 

You had scheduled a short break between your concerts over New Years, wanting to be able to grab at least one or two nights at home with him to celebrate the holiday before you were back on the road again. 

"So fucking glad you're home," Harry panted, pulling your shirt over your head before attaching his lips to yours once again. "Missed you like crazy."

"Missed you too," you moaned as his lips moved downwards, across your neck and over your collarbones, down the valley between your breasts. Before he could reach around to unhook your bra, you reached for his shirt, as desperate as he was to see and touch what you'd been missing. 

As he pulled the half-unbuttoned blouse over his head, you pulled your leggings off and reached for him, pushing him back onto the bed behind him. He unbuttoned his pants as he scooted up towards the middle of the bed, shoving them and his boxers off in one swoop. 

You climbed on top of him, hurriedly reaching to kiss him as you rubbed your clothed center along the length of his hard cock. 

"Fuck," he hissed, throwing his head back to allow you room to kiss his neck. "Desperate aren't you, darling?"

"Want you so bad it hurts," you whispered, sucking a bright hickey right where it would absolutely be seen by anyone.

You moved to continue kissing down his chest but he stopped you with a hand under your arm. "Not gonna last long, love. Wanna be inside you."

His cheeks and chest were flushed bright red, lips puffy and pupils blown wide. This was when you loved him most, being able to have him like no one else did. The same feeling always hit you at certain moments, particularly ones of domesticity, like when you watched him back the car out of the driveway or when he stood in the kitchen in the morning in nothing but socks, boxers, and his ratty old robe, singing along to old big band jazz as he waited for the coffee to brew. There was Harry Styles the musician, Harry Styles the actor, and Harry Styles the performer, but then there was your Harry. 

"Yeah, okay," you sighed, moving off of him quickly to remove your bra and panties. You climbed back onto the bed and threw your leg over his hips, straddling him. He immediately reached for you and pulled you flush against his chest, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss. 

You rocked your hips against him as he held you, your slick arousal gliding along his length, drawing a moan from both of you. 

"Baby, please," he panted, and you could only mod in agreement, lost already to the sweeping feeling of your close release. 

His hands rested on your hips as you positioned him at the entrance between your legs. You groaned in harmony as you worked down him slowly, the only sound in the room was your shared heavy breathing and gasps. 

"Fuck me," he sighed as you set a slow pace, rocking on top of him to reach each spot that you know will get you there. 

"Workin' on it," you grin. A quick swivel of your hips hit at just the right angle and you tossed your head back, repeating the movement over and over again until you shuddered with a final snap of tension, your orgasm rolling over you as Harry helped you move, hands tight on your hips, to wring all you could from the release. 

"You look so beautiful right now, like a fuckin' angel," Harry said, voice low and gravely, accent thick with need. 

"How's that line go?" you said as you slowed down, smirking when a harsh rock of your hips caused Harry to moan. "'Turns out she's a devil in between the sheets'?"

"Fuck," he groaned again, eyes closed tightly. "Can't just go reciting my own lyrics to me while I"m buried in ya like this, love."

"And there's nothing you can do about it," you continued, singing the line of his song this time, and his hips buck up into yours harshly.

"You're gonna pay for that," he had said, quoting another of his songs, before he had flipped you over onto your back and set his own brutal pace.

///

Like he can read your thoughts, Harry beams and wags a finger in your direction and the crowd screams at your chemistry together. You grab your mic from its stand and take a step towards Harry to sing the chorus together.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive." Harry dances off to the side of the stage, performing once again for the crowd. 

You dance at center stage with your wireless mic, too excited about performing with Harry that you can't stand in one spot. The music and Harry's energy make you want to move. "You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it." 

"We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da!" Harry throws his head back, singing along in his own world and you can't look away from him. He really was a rockstar and getting to share the stage with him like this was an experience you'd never forget. 

"You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

There's a great pause in the lyrics where the guitar, keyboard, and drums play together, increasing the tension of the song. You and Harry take off towards opposite ends of the stage, both reveling in the performance for the crowd as you dance and stomp to the beat. Eventually, with a slide down the keys of the keyboard, the instrumental quiets into just the steady beat of the bass line joined by the hi-hats. 

You and Harry urge the crowd to clap along as you both return to the middle of the stage to sing together once again. He always said that this portion of the song was one of his favorites to perform, the repeated line from the bridge ending abruptly with the lights going out before flashing back on, the added theatrics of the performance elevating the climax of the song completely. Having rehearsed that Harry would sing the following chorus alone, you let yourself get lost in his gaze as it settles on you.

You stand facing one another behind the mic stand, once again singing more to one another rather than to the crowd. You step closer towards him as the lyrics progress, nearly chest to chest now with your voices sharing one another's mics. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm—"

Before you can sing the last word of the line and the lights can blink out as rehearsed, Harry leans forwards and captures your mouth in a hungry kiss. The crowd erupts with screams as the lights above the stage go dark.

You can feel rather than hear him say the words "I love you" against your lips and you have just enough time to repeat them back to him before the drums and guitar pick the beat up once again, the lights flashing back on brightly. He moves away and continues to sing the chorus that follows as if nothing had happened. You're a bit stunned, not having prepared for his relationship-revealing public display of affection to happen during your performance of his song but it was perfect and he knows it. Your smile is wide and you can't help but stand rooted where you are and laugh at what has just finally happened.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive," he sings, smirking at you while you blush across from him. 

You join him in singing the last lines, your right hand joining his left hand where everyone can see your fingers entwine. 

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it. We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh!"

You urge the crowd with a waving hand to join in and they do, singing along with you and Harry. "La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

The drums and guitar end the song on five quick beats and the crowd erupts once again in screams. You immediately jump towards Harry, throwing your arms around his neck in a close embrace. His hands wrap around your waist to hold you close, and you can feel him smile where his face is pressed close to your jaw.

"How was that?" he asks, chuckling against you.

"It was perfect, you're perfect. Thank you, H. For everything."

"Can take you on a proper date now, yeah? Wanna show my girl off to the world."

"Yes, please!" You can't wipe the smile from your face as he sets you down and Harry continues to beam at you as the crowd continues screaming, reeling from your shared performance. 

Harry nudges you gently before turning back to them, lifting his and your arms high in the air and leading you in bending for a bow. He steps away from you and turns, opening his arms wide to you for the crowd to praise and you laugh, tearing up at his gesture and the overwhelming emotions of the performance while you take another bow just for yourself. 

He pulls you into another hug and you can't help but angle your face up towards him, wordlessly asking for another very quick, very public kiss.

He glances down at you, smiling. "You're gonna love this now, aren't you?"

"Course I am. love showing them you're mine."

He leans down to peck your forehead, your nose, and finally, your lips, as the crowd goes wild. "Love showing them you're mine. You've got a show to finish, love. Go kill it."

///

Ahh! So much fun! This has been such a joy to write and I appreciate you taking the time to give it a chance! It’s my first (of hopefully many) Harry fics - reading all of the stories here has been immensely inspiring, and I’m so looking forward to writing more!

Tagging my love @morganlatte​ who is a wonderful hype woman and beta reader. Thanks buddy!

Anyways! Thank you for reading! My love language is words of affirmation (aka I have a praise kink) so leave me a comment here if you feel so inclined!