#he's got pretty blue eyes and fantastic cheekbones and an amazing smile and nice hair and aaaaaaaaaaaa-

[le-velo-pour-dru]

I would do just about anything for Dallon, I swear ☺️💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

[agoddamnsupernova]

Emily is delighted to see an envelope waiting for her on her pillow when she gets home and she briefly wonders if Chloe had brought it up or if it had been one of the other girls. She greets Bun with some ear scratches before she settles down on her bed.

“It’s been a few weeks but look, she wrote back,” Emily hums, leaning back against the wall as she opens the letter carefully.

Emily,

Sorry, it’s taken me a little longer to reply than I would have liked. Lincoln and I got a little banged up on our mission. I’m happy to say he’s perfectly fine, if not a little more protective of me right now. I’m a little worse for wear, but I promise I’m in one piece. I’ve even included pictures as proof.

I want to thank you profusely for the phone, I’ve been needing a replacement and you just have really good timing. Your taste in music is fantastic. It’s so rare to hear music here that isn’t classic rock or country (fuckin white men, I swear.) David Guetta kills me man, his stuff is so good! And you included a lot of mixes which just makes my heart sing since I used to play with mixing stuff all the time.

So, I am an awkward fucker, if you couldn’t tell already, but the idea of calling you out of the blue is terrifying as shit so I wrote my number on the back of one of my pictures. If you want to text or actually call, feel free. I’m in the hospital for a few more weeks while I do physical therapy and get cleared for field work again. Lincoln also has to do some therapy but it’s to try and help chill him out. I love him a lot but he needs to understand the difference between a hostile stranger and someone trying to help.

The Cheetos are fucking amazing, I had almost forgotten what they taste like. I had to stop myself from demolishing the entire bag the first night. Pretty sure they would have rotted my insides if I had. Everything else was so thoughtful and just so nice. How did you know strawberry was my favorite scent? I’m beginning to think you’re psychic, Miss. Junk. And I suppose since you did come through, I’m just going to have to come and see you to hold up my end of the bargain. I should get some knee pads, I can’t say I’m on my knees very often these days.

Lincoln loves the dog treats, they usually don’t get treats around here, we focus on positive verbal ‘rewards’ with the dogs, keeps them focused on the job and not just the treat they could get for doing it. But I won’t tell if you don’t. Beside’s he needs a little pampering after getting launched in the air, right?

And now that you’ve read that, you’ll want to know what happened and I can tell you that mistakes were made and an accident happened, but we’re safe. Don’t let my ugly ass in the photo’s worry you, I promise I’ve had worse.

We don’t have much here in the way of shops but I could get you an official army t-shirt if you wanted one, I just need your size. I think they’re good sleep shirts, super soft cotton. Aubrey says it’s against the rules to send actual army issue shirts, but I’ll just buy one, wear it a few times to throw her off and send it your way. (I hope you like the smell of strawberries too, cause the shirt will end up smelling like them)

Also, I just really want to thank you for how you wrote about what normal is to you. It really made me smile. My normal used to be something like that but some shit happened and now sand and bullets and a unit full of sarcastic assholes. Oh, and ya know, Lincoln’s furry ass in my face.

I’m being yelled at that I need to get to therapy, I hope you haven’t worried too much and I really do hope you call...or at least text. Uh, anyway, have a good day.

-Beca

Emily isn’t sure how to feel by the time she finishes reading the letter. Beca was hurt so badly she was in the hospital, but could it be so bad if she was making jokes about it? She shakes her head a bit, pulling the pictures out of the envelope.

The first one is of Lincoln curled up at the end of a hospital bed, his head resting on Beca’s feet. He seems peaceful, a tight (not so) little ball of fluff, content to be by his master’s side while she heals. She flips it over and finds there’s no number so she lays it down on her bedding.

The second one is clearing a picture taken by someone else and Emily briefly wonder’s if it had been this Aubrey girl Beca talks about before she’s focusing on Beca’s face. She’s frowning in it, her middle finger raised to the photographer. She’s got a black eye, the bruise blooming out around the edges and past the stitches that show clear as day against Beca’s fair skin.

“Ouch,” Emily whispers, brushing her fingers against the picture. The wound curves from Beca’s brow bone to her cheekbone. “That will leave an interesting scar.”

She seems rather in one piece in the photo, even though she’s banged up and bruised, she’s still beautiful and all Emily wants to do is talk to her. So, without looking at the other two photos, she just flips them all over until she’s reading off the number on the back of one.

After a moment’s hesitation, she types the number in and hits the video option, biting her lip as FaceTime’s familiar ring plays. She’s ready to hang up when Beca finally answers the phone, her face a little less bruised than in the photos. “Hi,” Emily says softly.

“Hey,” Beca breathes out, noticeably fidgeting in her bed. “I didn’t actually expect you to call. Not that I mind, I just always assume the worst, ya know?” The soldier says a little too fast and it makes Emily smile.

“I get it,” Emily hums, shaking her head a bit. “I just finished reading your letter and looking at your pictures and I just...I don’t know I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she shrugs, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“I’m fine, we’ve had worse,” Beca smiles, patting the bed next to her for a moment before Lincoln is shoving his face into frame. “Huh, buddy?”

Emily grins at them both, leaning back against her pillows. “Just because you’ve had worse doesn’t mean this is okay,” she says softly, scratching Bun’s ears while she speaks. “Hey, Lincoln, how’s my favorite pooch?”

Beca giggles softly and Emily thinks it’s the most beautiful sound in the world, next to Beca’s speaking voice of course. “He’s good, been harassing the nursing staff, but we’re working on it.”

“Aww, he’s just trying to keep you safe,” Emily teases, tucking her phone between her knees before hauling Bun into her lap. “Say hi, you fat thing.”

“I am not fat,” Beca whines, a smile on her face. “Hey Bunbun,” she coos, snorting when Lincoln snuggles closer. “He’s not even here to take attention away from you, stop it.”

It’s Emily’s turn to giggle now, grunting when Bun decides he’s had enough of being held. “Look, Lincoln, he’s gone.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Beca chuckles, shoving the dog’s muzzle away from her face. “I don’t want kisses right now, bud.”

“He’s just trying to make you feel better,” Emily says, running a hand through her hair. “Speaking of, how are you feeling, really?”

Beca shrugs her shoulder, wincing a bit when Lincoln moves off of her completely. “I’m sore, that’s for sure, but my MRI has come back clean so I don’t have any brain damage from the blast. I’m getting these stitches out tomorrow and my cracked ribs are just gonna have to hurt for a while.”

Emily frowns a bit, wishing she could take the other girl’s pain away. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Just keep being you,” Beca says softly, a slight smile on her lips.

“I think I can do that,” Em replies, trying to ignore the way her cheeks burn. “I have a random question.”

“I have a random answer,” Beca teases, leaning back against her pillows. Emily can tell it hurts but keeps the apology that’s on the tip of her tongue to herself.

“How old are you?” Emily asks, resting her head against the wall. “I’m going to be twenty-one in a few months.”

“Funny enough, I’m going to be twenty-two in a couple months,” Beca chuckles, brushing her fingers through her hair to tie it up in a loose ponytail. “When’s your birthday?”

“December eleventh,” Emily replies with a yawn, trying to resist the urge to pull her own hair back. She always thought she looked better with it down. “What about you?”

“Pft, that’s like half the year away,” Beca snorts, yawning herself. “Mine’s August ninth,” she says, eyes flickering away from the camera for a moment.

“I’ll have to get you some more Cheetos it seems,” Emily smirks, watching the way Beca’s cheeks go pink. “And maybe a set of knee pads.”

“God, you’re an ass,” Beca breathes out, shaking her head while she avoids looking at Emily. “I can’t believe I actually sent that to you. I should have just rewritten the whole thing.”

“Nah, I liked it,” Emily admits, biting her lip as Beca’s eyes snap back to her. They’re so blue, Emily feels like she’s drowning in them. “Gotta get you used to being on your knees somehow.”

Beca does a fairly good impression of a fish out of water, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she lets out a frustrated little sound. “You’re cockier than I thought you’d be.”

“I could make so many jokes right now...” Emily chuckles, brows raised at the blushing soldier.

“That’s gay, Em,” Beca snorts, trying to save face and it just makes Emily chuckle.

“Pretty sure that’s the point, Bec,” Emily replies, butterflies erupting in her chest when Beca uses her nickname. “It’d be pretty sad if we weren’t a little gay, huh?”

Beca does her fish impression again before she’s huffing softly, her lower lip poking out a little. “I mean...I guess!”

Emily laughs hard at her reaction, blushing when she snorts in the middle of it. Beca seems to find it amusing though, laughing right along with her. “Fuck.”

“You can say that again,” Beca wheezes, an arm around her middle. “I haven’t laughed in a long time and I’m not sure right now is the right time...but I liked it.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Emily says quickly, biting her lip as she watches Beca breathe deeply through her nose.

“Not your fault that I fucked up, Em,” Beca replies, thumping her head back against the mattress.

They’re quiet for a moment before there’s a soft bang in Beca’s room. “Hey, Bree,” Beca says, lifting a hand in a half-hearted wave.

“What are you doing in here?” Bree asks and Emily cocks her head to the side as a blonde woman comes into frame. “Oh, hi! You must be Emily.”

“Yeah,” Emily replies with a nervous chuckle. “And you’re Aubrey, right?”

“I am indeed,” She grins, her smile a little too big, a little too bright. “And I’m sorry to break up this chat, but it’s getting late and Beca has to be up early tomorrow.”

“Fuck’s sake, Bree, you’re not my mom,” Beca whines, flicking the other woman’s arm.

“I am not, but I am your commanding officer,” Aubrey says sternly and Emily smiles at the way Beca pouts.

“It’s okay, Beca, I have a shift to get ready for soon anyway, you should try and get some sleep,” Emily says softly, smiling when Beca caves.

“Fine, fine,” Beca huffs, throwing her hands up. “I’ll go to bed then.”

Emily chuckles softly, trying to hide the fact that she wishes their conversation had been a bit longer. “Goodnight guys.”

“Goodnight.”

Emily is a few hours into her shift when her phone buzzes, a text from Beca showing up on the screen. She glances around to make sure no one is paying attention before she unlocks the screen.

Since I couldn’t say it properly earlier (and I couldn’t text til Aubrey left my damn room) I wanted to actually say goodnight. And I also wanted to thank you for calling, it really made my day. It’s been a rough time and you made it a lot better.

Emily smiles softly, shaking her head a bit as she starts typing back. You don’t have to thank me, I’m glad I could help even a little bit. Call me when you can tomorrow, I have the day off. I hope you manage to get some decent sleep tonight.

She tucks her phone away to help out a customer, forcing her smile and polite tone. As soon as she’s free she checks her messages.

I’ll say thank you as much as I want. But in all seriousness, you’re one of a kind, Em. I hope you have a good shift, I’ll text you in the morning. Goodnight, beautiful.

Emily blushes slightly, biting her lip as she sends back a simple. Goodnight, Beca, sweet dreams.

The rest of her shift is spent thinking of her blue eyed soldier and what might await her the next time they spoke. Perhaps Stacie had been right that day she picked up that pamphlet.

[cecke8]

Dating Crime

Anon Request: Can you please do a imagine where jokers son takes the reader on a date, please?

I thought this would be an excellent story, and it certainly got my imagination going. I hope you all enjoy.  And Anon, I’m sincerely sorry it has taken me so long to write this, but it’s here.  I hope it’s up to your standards.  Thank you for the request xx.

He would arrive in the cafe and sit by a window seat every morning at 8:00am sharp after buying a Gotham Gazette newspaper. He would read it for ten minutes before ordering the French vanilla cappuccino with a double shot of vanilla and cinnamon on top. After another ten minute interval of reading, he would order one of his two preferred breakfasts: the Creme Brûlée French Toast or the French Breakfast Sandwich. One of your little past times was to guess which meal he would order each day. Yep, you had memorised his morning routines at the cafe down to a ‘t’.

It had started off just as quiet greetings and smiles. You later started using names, this was then when you began to really realise you had a significantly massive attraction towards him. He was gorgeous. Rich brown hair styled in a modern, slicked-back haircut. He had a defined jawline and high cheekbones, but his eyes, in your opinion, were the most interesting. One was startling green, the other a dark, rich brown. Usually, this would give anyone an unusual appearance, but it made him all the more enticing. He seemed to find you enticing too because you would catch him glancing at you from behind his newspaper, or over his mug. You would quickly look down, blushing profusely. You swear you’d see him chuckle then. This morning was no different.

He came in dressed in his expensive looking, perfectly fitted suit, parking his sleek black Jaguar XJ directly in front of the cafe. Lately, he would greet you as he entered.

“Good morning y/n. How are you?” He would ask sincerely, just like every weekday this past week.

“I’m good, thank you, can’t complain. And yourself Mr Kaltern?”

“Well I can’t complain either,” He would say amused, flashing a huge, white smile, and going to his morning breakfast routine.

You could never help but wonder what he did for a living, he couldn’t have been much older than yourself. Nineteen, possible twenty? Yourself, on the other hand, had turned eighteen three months ago and was staying home an extra year to save money for college, something he apparently did not need to do.

You started making his cappuccino, ensuring it was perfect and the pattern on top was flawless. It was. Before the waitress had even come back from his table with his order, you pushed it to the front of the bench.

“Jesus y/n. You need a hobby, knowing a strangers order is creepy.” Natalia, a friend of your since last year. A bit of a partier, long red hair and angular features. She loved poking fun at you, and you wouldn’t know what to do without her. She’d been there for you in some of your worst times.

“Shut up Nat. Just take it to him in a couple of minutes if you want to serve him a cold coffee.” You rolled your eyes as she huffed and walked off.

“Whatever stalker,” she sang.

At that, you glanced over at him and realised he was watching you.  Before you could look down embarrassed, he gestured towards the mug and motioned for you to come over. Sighing you walked over to his table, feeling Natalia’s eyes on your back. Hopefully, your aunt wouldn’t have a fit because you left the barista station. Once you were within hearing range of his table, you thought saying something might be the better move opposed to smiling and blushing awkwardly.

“Well, this is embarrassing.” You said sheepishly.

“Not at all, if anything I should be embarrassed. I do order the same things every day.” He gave you a crooked smile, his two, completely different eyes mirroring in sparkling amusement.

“Was there anything else Mr Kaltern?”

“Please y/n, call me Adrian. I think we’re past the formalities, don’t you?”

“Well guess so,” you looked at each other a little longer than necessary before you realised it could be awkward, “Oh, would you like me to take your order?”

“Yes, why not. French toast?”

“Of course.” You walked off to give the order to the kitchen, feeling far more elated then you had been a couple of minutes ago. 

After getting scolded by your uncle and an excited look from Natalia, it was back to work for you.

You were in the middle of cleaning the coffee machine before you realised someone was leaning on the bench. Looking up, expecting to see an inpatient customer, you started to see two different coloured eyes.

“Adrian! Were you served?”

“Yes,” he smiled, amused at your reaction. He suddenly became nervous, relaxed but certainly nervous. “Actually, I was wondering if you, uh. I know this is out of the blue, but I was wondering if you’d want to come out to dinner with me tonight?” He looked at you with uncertainty, obviously thinking you would laugh.

“I-I, yes. Okay. Sure. Yes.”

“Yes?” he seemed genuinely happy that you hadn’t laughed.

“Yes, it sounds great. Um, where would we be going? Do you want me to meet you somewhere?”

He chuckled, the first time you’d heard him laugh…why did it sound chillingly familiar? “We’re going somewhere nice.” You gulped, “Here, write your address, I’ll pick you up?”

He slid a napkin over. Grabbing a pen in your pocket, you hastily wrote your address on the paper.  Looking up and grinning. 

“What time?” You needed to know how much time there would be available to prepare and most likely freak-out.

“I’ll be out front at eight o’clock.” With that, he gave you a generous tip and walked out. His hands were in his pockets, but he was definitely looking triumphant.

******

It had taken you over an hour to prepare properly. You finally figured that you were suitable to go out with a guy you barely knew but was immensely attracted to. Thank God the feeling seemed mutual. With five minutes to spare, you checked over yourself in the mirror, feeling a sense of achievement. You looked pretty good, making sure you chose an outfit that would impress.  A dark, navy number that complemented your y/s/t features nicely.

There was a knock on the door. It was eight o’clock. Exactly eight o’clock. You went to the door and saw him standing there. Those eyes making you feel elevated once again.

“You look amazing.” He said, awe obvious in his tone.

“Thank you,” you looked down at your feet, blushing.

“Shall we.”

“Sure.”

As he began driving, you realised he seemed to be driving a little too fast. 30km/h too fast to be precise.

Grabbing on to the chair, you decided to speak up, “Hey listen, I know this is your car, but I would really prefer if you would slow down. Like, stay to the speed limit slow down.”

“Of course, sorry.” he smiled sheepishly.

“Do you usually drive like that?” Your heart was beating profusely, still catching your breath,

“More or less.”

You wondered what you were getting yourself into.

*****

It was a fantastic night. The both of you had fallen into conversation effortlessly. You were now parked outside your apartment. You finally worked up the courage to ask the questions you hadn’t wanted too in public.

“How old are you Adrian?” He seemed surprised at the question.

“Twenty one next month. Why’s that?”

“You just… you just seem very well off. What do you do for a living?”

“I uh. Um.” He breathed in deeply, exhaling through his nose and chuckled. “I don’t want to tell you something that will scare you.”

“Nothing could be scarier than your driving and having to eat in the middle of a restaurant where all those people have too much money for there own good.”

Adrian laughed loudly. It was definitely familiar, you just couldn’t pinpoint where you’d heard it before.

“Can I trust you?” He’s turned towards you, his rare eyes searching yours. Somehow, you felt he would be able to tell if he couldn’t or if you lied straight away.

“Yes.” You were slightly afraid, but it made you feel excited. Grown-up even.

“Okay,” his eyes made confirmation, “I work in my fathers business. He’s certainly not the cleanest businessman, but he’s a smart one.  He’s taught me everything I know.”

“A your father is?”

He sighed deeply, “The Joker.”

Then it hit you. His too familiar features, and his laugh. Although you’d never admit it, it could put chills down your spine.

“Oh” was all you said. 

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“That sounded childish,” you said with a sly grin,

“You may not believe me, but if you were to let it slip… things may not turn out so great for you.”

“Great as in?”

He made the slitting throat gesture. You felt weak in the stomach.

“I won’t tell.” 

“You’d better not... but I feel I can trust you. Something I got from my father apparently.”

With that, he gave you a kiss on the cheek and opened the car door for you.  You walked out and watched him drive away.

‘What have I gotten myself into.’

[crowley-fe11]

Lost RP? Mer!lock

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You both like Johnlock.

Stranger: [Mer!lock AU] Down in the water, Sherlock had nothing but time and freedom to do with what he wished. Perhaps this would have been considered enviable to some, and indeed many of his own kind seemed to do perfectly useful and productive things with this flexible schedule of theirs, but it didn't prevent it from being so overwhelmingly boring to him. He spent his days doing whatever it was he was told not to do until it came to this. Out in the distance, he could see a ship. He'd been told about them, read about them in whatever half destroyed books he could salvage from shipwrecks. They were horrible and dangerous and fascinated him greatly. It only took a minute to work up enough courage to move closer and investigate. Looking up, he could hear voices and saw brief flashes of figures walking around. Leaning against the railing, also, there was a man. Blond, handsome. In the stupid way only those who'd never really before met a human, he fell immediately in love, though he himself knew the concept itself was absolutely insane. But now that he had to talk to him, how on earth could he manage to catch the attention of this potentially horrible and dangerous man without also catching the attention from the other potentially horrible and dangerous men? He went with the obvious and stupid. "Hello." He trusted the water to hide his nature.

You: John nearly jumped out of his skin at the greeting before turning around and seeing a man in the water below, just treading water beside the ship. "Oh, hello there," he greeted with a small chuckle, taking in the other's gorgeous features, his dark, wet curls, his eyes, a stunning light blue, and cheekbones that could cut like a knife. John realised he was probably staring a moment too long before he smiled to himself. "Sorry, I just never thought I'd see anyone swimming this far out. What's your name?"

Stranger: The moment it was clear that his attempt at communication wasn't going to be met with some unnecessary violence, he grinned, mind running with the possibilities this conversation could lead to. There were certainly plenty of things to learn from humans. "Oh, I doubt you would either, but I'm a very good swimmer, you know. My name is Sherlock. And yours?"

You: "And you're very humble about it too," John teased playfully as he smiled down at the gorgeous man in the water. "I'm John. It's nice to meet you," he told the other warmly. Sherlock. What an interesting name. They were only just meeting, but it seemed to suit the other man perfectly. "I feel awful for you to be all the way down there. I can toss you a line for you to come up if you'd like?"

Stranger: Sherlock, as caught up as he was with the lovely smile on John's face, was quick to shake his head when he suggested tossing a line down. "No, no, it's alright. As much as interesting as it would be to see your ship, I can't stay very long." He mentally cursed himself for cutting his time short. But it was necessary, if he didn't want to be discovered.

You: "That's a shame, I was hoping I could get to know such a fantastic and gorgeous swimmer such as yourself," John told him with a charming smile. He really hoped he could get something from the other. It wasn't every day that someone so beautiful just /swam/ over to talk to him. "Is there any way I might be able to get in touch with you?"

Stranger: Sherlock was quickly back to smiling. He did rather enjoy a compliment, certainly when it came from somebody as interesting as a human, and as handsome as John was. "I'm afraid not. But who knows, maybe I'll see your ship again and swim by to say hi again."

You: "I'd really like that," John told him, probably grinning like an idiot. It seemed silly that he'd get a number from someone so clearly out of his league, though it didn't hurt to try. "Hopefully I'll see you around soon, Sherlock."

Stranger: "Yes, I'll surely see you around." Sherlock grinned right back at John, a curious lightness in his chest. This was an awful idea, absolutely terrible, but he didn't regret it in the least. He backed away a little. "Until then."

You: God, that /smile/... John was sure he was falling head over heels for someone he'd only just met, but he couldn't help it. "Of course. Just be safe out there. I'm sure you have plenty of experience, but it doesn't hurt to be careful."

Stranger: "I'll be careful." Sherlock promised, slipping under the water and swimming away, grinning the whole while. He forced himself to wait at least two days before going to find the ship again, hoping it would look like an accident, a coincidence, like he wasn't looking. He circled around the ship when he spotted it, looking for John.

You: During the next couple days, John went about his business, making sure his small sailboat stayed on course. It was far too likely that Sherlock was some figment of his imagination, and John sighed at the possibility. He did seem far too perfect... He leaned over the railing and looked out at the horizon, daydreaming about the gorgeous swimmer.

Stranger: When Sherlock spotted John, finally, he beamed, popping up and squeezing the water out of his hair before calling for John's attention. "Hello!"

You: The familiar voice brought a grin to John's face as he looked over to the source. "Hey, how've you been?" He asked, taking in the sight of the other.

Stranger: "Oh, I've been alright. A little bored, but I'm pleased to see you again. And how have you been?" Sherlock asked, swimming close to John's ship, watching the lovely man.

You: "I've been alright. Enjoying the ocean as always," John told him with a small chuckle. "Though I can understand the boredom too. It's certainly nice to have company."

Stranger: "Oh, the ocean. I'm quite tired of the ocean. Certainly, it's beautiful, but I know there's more." Sherlock scoffed.

You: "Most people say the same thing about land," John told him as he shook his head in amazement. "Especially when there's so much of the ocean that hasn't been explored..."

Stranger: "I feel I've explored enough. I've been surrounded by ocean my whole life." Sherlock sighed, glancing off at the horizon. "I'd love to see some proper cities. Countries. The whole world."

You: "Do you live on an island or something? Or do you live on shore?" John asked curiously. "I'm sure you've been living by the ocean for a while if you're this comfortable swimming it."

Stranger: "An island." Sherlock answered with a little wave of his hand. It was close enough go the truth. "It's empty and dull."

You: "I'm sure that's not entirely true, but I can see how you might get a bit stir crazy," John told him with a small smile. "Just a thought, I know we haven't known each other long, but I think I'd enjoy traveling with you."

Stranger: Sherlock was both delighted and upset to hear it. "I think I would too. But I can't."

You: John let out a small sigh. "I figured. But you seem like a wonderful person."

Stranger: "So do you. But I couldn't possibly leave my brother, and he's quite happy where he is." It was a poor excuse, but he hoped that John would take it. "Though I do appreciate the offer."

You: "Are you and your brother close then?" John asked curiously, happy to learn more about the other, even if he couldn't coax the other to tag along.

Stranger: Sherlock chuckled quietly. "Oh, no, not really. But it's only us living there. I can't leave him alone." He shrugged.

You: "I can understand that a bit," John told him. "I used to be like that with my sister, though we've drifted apart lately."

Stranger: "Oh, you have a sister? Tell me about her. And where are you from?" Sherlock asked, curious.

You: "Yeah, we're from London," John told him with a soft smile. "Well, she's a bit younger than me, sassy, good sense of humour. Though she's gotten into some bad habits more recently. What's your brother like?"

Stranger: "A pain." Sherlock answered easily. "Controlling, irritating, etcetera. What's London like? I'm pretty sure I've heard of it."

You: "You're pretty sure? I thought everyone knew about it," John chuckled as he sat down with his legs dangling over the edge of the boat. "And god, it's amazing. Huge, lots of history, and culture..."

Stranger: "Live on an island with my brother, remember?" Sherlock pointed out, watching John's legs, comparing them in his mind to the skeletons he'd seen in shipwrecks and trying to figure how they worked. "Where else have you been?"

You: "Well, I served in the army, and I was deployed to Afghanistan for a while, though I didn't complete my tour. I got shot instead," John told him. "Though I've also been to Paris for a weekend, which was lovely. Though those are the most impressive places I've been," John added with a small shrug.

Stranger: "Paris. Afghanistan. London. Oh, that sounds lovely. I do wish I could see them." Sherlock sighed. "I've seen sketches of places. The ones I can save, though most of it is too damaged to get any use out of."

You: John furrowed his brow at what Sherlock told him. "What do you mean exactly?" he asked softly. "I because I have some pictures if you'd like to see them."

Stranger: "What, really?" Sherlock asked, perking up. "I mean, sometimes I go down as far as I can, and I look through shipwrecks for as long as I can. Sometimes I find books, drawings, those sorts of things, but it's been in the water so long it's damaged."

You: "That's incredible. Most people need scuba gear to do that. But, you don't have like a computer or anything?" John asked, intrigued even more, though he wanted to show Sherlock the photos he had, and he started to get up to go below deck. "I'll be just a moment, I'm going to get a photo album I have."

Stranger: "What's a computer?" Sherlock asked, more to himself than John, and nodded when he backed away, glancing around as he waited for him to come back with his pictures.

You: John furrowed his brow even more when he heard Sherlock murmur under his breath, though he still went down, grabbed the photos he had of him and old friends, and some of him and his buddies from the army. He soon came back up, smiling at the other man. "You know, you can come up if you want to. I'm sure it'll be easier to look at them, and I promise I don't bite."

Stranger: Sherlock sighed. "John, I'd love to, really, I would. But I can't. It's complicated." He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he could go up there with John and take him up on his earlier offer.

You: "You know, it might make me sound more suspicious, but I really promise I'm not a murderer," John told him playfully. "But really, I'm not going to pressure you to, but if you ever wanted to come up, you can come and go as you please, I'm not going to stop you," he assured him as he sat back down and flipped open the album, holding it out to Sherlock. "So the first section is filled with my friends and I in London, if you wanted to flip through."

Stranger: Sherlock took the album carefully, glancing through and gaping at the pictures. "John, this is amazing!" He exclaimed. The city , from what he could see of it in the pictures, looked fantastic, full of things to discover. It was a shame he couldn't go.

You: John smiled as he watched Sherlock's face as he went through the photos, how he seemed to light up at seeing everything. "There should be a bit of Paris after that, and then there are a few photos of Afghanistan towards the end," he added, watching the other man pour over the images.

Stranger: It amazed Sherlock how different the three places were from each other, when it was surely all just land. And even then, how different they looked from the beaches and islands Sherlock was used to. "Oh, it's all gorgeous! I wish I could see for myself." He reluctantly handed the album back, he'd hate for it to get wet.

You: John couldn't help but notice when Sherlock stretched up to hand the album back, that there were traces of scales on his hips. God, this really was too good to be true. He'd really just dreamed up a merman to talk to. Well, at least he didn't feel so lonely. "I'd love to take you, but I know you have your reasons to stay."

Stranger: "I hate my reasons." Sherlock crossed his arms, looking back at John who had a curious expression. But he wasn't acting violent, so for the time being, it didn't matter.

You: "I'm happy to chat with you, especially if it gives you some time to escape for a while," John told him softly. He wasn't sure what would happen if he commented on his observation, though for now, he decided to keep it quiet.

Stranger: "I suppose chatting will just have to do." Sherlock sighed, a little saddened, but he'd survive. "You're on the water now. Where are you going?"

You: "Well, I'm actually just sailing for enjoyment's sake. My therapist suggested I do something that would relax me, and I used to do a bit of sailing when I was younger, so here I am," John told him. "What about you? You must swim a lot of distance."

Stranger: "My island's really not that far from here. And there isn't much else to do, so, swimming." Sherlock shrugged. "What's a therapist?"

You: "A therapist is a bit like a doctor, but instead of fixing your body when it gets hurt, they help you fix your mind," John explained. If Sherlock really was a merman, then it would explain why he wasn't so familiar with everything.

Stranger: "Oh, that is interesting. Does everybody have a therapist?" Sherlock asked. His species was more isolated, spread out. He rarely saw much of anybody, really. Nor did he really know what a doctor was, but he picked that up from context.

You: "Not everyone. People mostly get one when they realise they need that kind of help. Though most everyone has a doctor," John told him with a small smile. "In fact, I'm one."

Stranger: "Really?" Sherlock smiled. "You fix people's bodies when they get hurt? How do you do that?"

You: "Well, it's a rather simplified explanation, but if someone has a bad cut for example, I can give them stitches and bandages so they heal better. And if someone gets sick, I can prescribe medicine that will help them fight off whatever illness they have," John explained with a fond smile.

Stranger: "Medicine." Sherlock repeated, resting his elbows against the side of the ship. "Tell me about that. How does that work?"

You: "Well, different medicines do different things. Like there are some that will help your body fight viruses and bacteria that make you sick. Others might help relieve pain. A lot of times, it's finding substances that work with someone's body to help address the cause of whatever's ailing them," John told him, hoping that made sense.

Stranger: Sherlock nodded slowly. He would have liked to know how they did that, but the information he had would do. "That's amazing."

You: "Thanks," John told him with a small smile as he took in the sight of the other. "It's wonderful to have someone to talk to out here."

Stranger: "I think so, too. I think I got lucky, considering you could have been anybody when I said hello." Sherlock chuckled. John could have been violent, rude, mean. But, instead he was nice.

You: "I'm just amazed you came all the way out here. You also have a very curious mind, which I think is wonderful," John told him with a smile in admiration.

Stranger: "Land is a very curious subject. Especially when I have so small a patch of it." Sherlock pointed out with a grin in return.

You: John smiled at that, giving a small hum as he gazed at the merman. He wondered vaguely what it might be like to swim with him, though he didn't want to seem too intrusive.

Stranger: Sherlock cocked his head, smiling faintly still. "What're you thinking about now?"

You: "To be honest, what it must be like to swim with you," John answered honestly. "I'm not sure I'd ever be able to keep up."

Stranger: Sherlock laughed softly at that, shrugging. It was probably a dangerous idea, but he'd had plenty of them before and survived. "Well, there's only one way to find out, really."

Stranger has disconnected.

[readiceprincess]

Chapter Seven

“Well at least now that you're in Reeve's clothes you don't stick out like a sore thumb,” Sibyl said as she walked with Reeve and Westley into the mall. Except he did stick out because he had cheekbones sculpted by angels and gawked at everything.

It was a small mall that closed at six every day and had little to offer save a large book store at one end and Macey’s at the other. Walking in, they were greeted with stomping and loud instruments. Sibyl groaned. The pep rally started at the mall before the band led everyone to school. Of course. How could she forget?

She grabbed Westley's arm and dragged him to Macy's. He was warm under her hold but shuddered when she touched him. Looking back, Sibyl caught Reeve talking to Mary. Something he said made her laugh. With a roll of the eyes she dragged Westley to the Junior's department.

“I picture you as kind of preppy,” she mumbled as she studied him in Reeve's v-neck and tight pants. Westley was more toned than Reeve, filling his clothes well. Hot damn.

“You dress pretty colorful in Faerie,” Sibyl noted with a gulp as she went to the polos. “What kind of colors do you like?”

“I wear the colors of my clan,” Westley explained. He motioned to Reeve's clothes, an emerald v-neck with cobalt stripes. “Not these colors. Though I'm partial to blue.”

“What are the colors of your clan?”

“Blue, yellow, and white.”

Shame. He’d look amazing in red. “Well I think you'll look good in some polos. I'll find some colors you might like. But I think these styles are too young for you.” She lead him to the pants section, pulling out a size and checking it against him. He made a face, shifting his weight between his feet. “We need to get you some well fitted jeans – Keep in mind this is coming out of my wallet.”

“What about that?”

“Hmm?” Sibyl followed his gaze as he walked up to a mannequin in the mens' section. It was dressed in a suave suit with a bow tie. This prince wasn't so bad. Dapper even.

“I can't afford that,” she told him as she came to his side and touched his arm. Westley flinched. “Sorry. Come on. Let's try these on.” When he didn't follow Sibyl turned back to him.

“I like it,” he admitted in a small voice followed by a small chuckle. “It's strange here. Nothing like Faerie.”

“You'll get used to it. Come on. This place closes soon.”

They walked to the dressing room. From there she handed him the clothes and waited outside, tapping her foot. Her hands flexed at her side.

“Am I to dress in these clothes all the time?” Westley asked from inside.

“Yeah. Sorry if you hate them.”

“On the contrary, they're rather comfortable. Though I must say, the clothes women wear in this world are odd,” he commented. A small smile formed on her face as Sibyl tapped her cowboy boots and played with the hem of her yellow dress.

“I guess we show more than they do in your world, eh?”

“Indeed. Such clothing wouldn't be suitable in Faerie Court.”

Voices outside caught her attention. Sibyl tip toed to the exit.

“I can't explain what she did to me.”

Freddie.

He was coming to the dressing room. Sibyl cursed under her breath, running back in and knocking on Westley's door. “Let me in,” she whispered. “Westley open up.”

He gasped. “I'm changing!”

“I won't look just open up.” The door swung open and Sibyl slammed it shut, standing on the seat and crouching down. She put a finger to her lips but used her other hand to usher him to continue changing.

“I will not,” he whispered.

Freddie and his friends walked into the dressing room. She put her palms together.

“Just act normal. I won't look,” she mouthed, closing her eyes and covering them with her hands.

Westley sighed, pulling off the light blue polo. He hesitated, watching to be sure she didn't see him, then tried to manage his pants zipper.

“The next time I see her, I'll give her a piece of my mind.” Freddie said, a door opening.

“Man it was weird. You were out all day.” That was his friend Zach.

“Such a freakazoid.” That was Teresa. If she could curl her hands into fists she would. “It’s weird how much she’s changed. I mean she’s like a completely different person now.” Teresa popped her gum.

“But still hot,” Freddie countered.

“Hey you can tap that if you want. I wouldn't. You've heard the rumors,” Zach replied. “Dude can you hurry up?”

“Seriously Freddie who comes to an event without the school colors on?” Teresa added.

“Sorry not all of us are prepared as you. This good?” A door opened and he walked out. Teresa popped her gum again.

“Good enough. Come on freakazoids,” she insisted, marching out.

Freddie went back to change and followed Zach out soon after. Sibyl refused to move until she was certain they were gone. Then she stumbled to the floor, shaking.

“Are you okay Miss Sibyl?” Westley asked, reaching for her arm. His touch was warm, soothing.

“Hmm?”

He was unbuttoning his shirt, his collarbone visible. It didn’t take a vivid imagination to guess under the shirt was a toned a sculpted body. How this guy was real was beyond her. Gulping, she looked away, still shaking. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Were they talking about you?”

Leaning against the wall, she let out a deep breath. “Yes.”

Westley paused. “No wonder you want to avoid them. Their English is rather poor.” Which made her chortle. He reached for her but she recoiled. Clearing his throat, he stepped back. “My apologies. Perhaps you should leave my dressing room so I can finish.”

Stepping out, Sibyl stared at the closed door. It wasn't Westley who made her recoil, but she wasn't sure how to communicate that without having an uncomfortable conversation. Her fingers prickled.

They were silent. Westley came out in a deep maroon polo shirt and dark pants. Just as she suspected, red looked amazing on him. It made his golden brown eyes vibrant. She half expected him to have this exotic color, but this was even better. “I like this one best.”

Sibyl stammered, taking him in. Wowza. “Yeah it suits you. I think you'll need a haircut too.” She reached out to play with his hair. But it was one of his best features. It’d be a shame to modernize it. A small smile crossed his face. “You still have the Victorian hair and those crazy sideburns, but that can wait.” He stared at his feet then peeked at her. “Oh I almost forgot. You sound too formal. The accent sounds kind of English.” She paused. “How do you know English?”

“Pardon?”

“English. I'd think being from another world would mean you speak a different language.”

“We've spoken English since the Order began. We also speak French and some areas speak German. Some of us still speak Faerie. There are different languages for different regions. Like here, I suppose.”

She nodded, tapping her chin. “Okay. And I have one more question.”

“Yes?”

“How old are you?” Before he could protest she countered with, “I know it's rude to ask, Westley, but it's important I know.”

Westley opened his mouth to counter her, then clamped it shut, his shoulders falling. “Twenty-three years.”

Well that explained why he wasn’t burdened with teenage baby face syndrome. “Yeah now you're seventeen. Got it? And you're from England and you're part of a student exchange program. We're friends. Okay?” Sibyl reached past him and grabbed the clothes he tried on. “Tell me which you like best.” One by one she held them up and he wrinkled his nose or smiled in response.

Once done, Westley asked, “Am I to wear this the rest of the night?”

“Yes, but go back inside and change out of them. Wait for me and I'll pay.”

She stopped. He must have Victorian undergarments. He'd need boxers. Blushing, she shoved the thought aside. Reeve could help him get those. Westley held the clothes out for her and she grabbed them, her face burning. “I'll be back.”

Poking her head out, she scanned the area for Freddie. There was no sign of Reeve either. Jerk. Once she was certain it was empty she walked to the register and paid.

The band was gone and with no Reeve around she'd be stuck with Westley. Well he wasn't too bad. Not bad to look at, that's for sure. But where would they go? The Aislin's? Her place?

Sibyl froze with the clothes in hand. Rose. If she went to her house Rose would be there. And then what? Rose must have been from Faerie too, or knew something about it. Maybe that wasn’t a good idea.

When she returned the clothes to Westley and he was ready the stores were closing. Sibyl dragged him out since he kept wanting to try on suits. Outside the band echoed into the still night, like a far off possibility they couldn’t grasp. Westley turned to her with raised brows. “Where to Miss Sibyl?”

****

“Josephine? Luther?” Sibyl called as she opened the front door. They stepped in, scanning the area for any sign of the two. “Hello?”

Clang! Footsteps ran up the stairs, and the door on the side of the staircase opened, Josephine appearing. Her eyes widened when she saw Westley.

“Your highness! You look fantastic,” she complimented with a thumbs up. Then her smile faltered. “Where's Reeve?”

“He left with Mary to the pep rally. The little jerk left me to babysit,” Sibyl replied.

“I'm not a baby. I'm older than you,” Westley shot back.

Sibyl grabbed his cheek. He flinched and shot her a playful glare. “Aw poor baby. Does baby need a nap?”

Josephine looked between the two but sighed, flailing her arms at her side. “Sorry about Reeve,” she mumbled. “He’s a little too nice for his own good. Knowing him he probably didn’t have the heart to say no to Mary, too scared he’ll hurt her feelings.”

Sibyl stopped. “And here I thought he was just a flirt.”

“Reeve?” Josephine snorted, which seemed almost out of character of her. “No way. He just likes to make people happy.”

“The more you know. Anyway, where's Luther?”

“Oh he's downstairs trying to get everything ready for you to get tested tonight.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Tonight? Doesn't that seem a bit fast? I feel like I need more time to adjust and stuff.”

“I know but the sooner we get it done the better.”

With a sigh she leaned against Westley who had no idea what to do with himself. “How long will it take?”

“No more than an hour.”

“I guess if I must,” Sibyl replied, again wondering about Rose. Maybe Rose had the answers. It was worth trying, but not with the Aislins around. Actually, maybe it was best not to tell them about her in the first place. She walked into the living room, Westley following with a pained expression.

“Are all houses like this?”

“No. And now that you mention it this place needs some work. People will get suspicious if they realize you guys aren't trying to clean up,” Sibyl said, wiping some dust off a portrait on the wall. Westley sneezed.

Josephine's forehead wrinkled as her eyebrows turned upward. “You think so? But we can't afford to fix it.”

“Then I'll help out. I’m gonna ask for more hours anyway. They won’t let me in Honors Society with a suspension.” Which was going to be a thrill to explain to Celia when she came to. Her stomach rumbled and her gaze flickered to the kitchen. “What do you have to eat?”

“Uhh…”

“Just what I thought. Oh the travesty.” Sibyl dramatized, her hand on her forehead. “I guess we’ll have to try something else.”

Josephine sucked in her cheeks. “I don’t think we can go out.”

“The diner’s closed anyway,” Sibyl replied, dropping her hand and her act.  “Unless you want Subway, which is the only other place here. Oh and McDonald’s. But that’s okay we can work something out. Westley are you hungry?”

“I'm famished,” Westley added.

Josephine turned to him, biting her lip. “I'm not sure you'll like our food.”

He waved her off. “If there are Fae who can live amongst your kind and deal with your food then so can I. Come. I insist we get a meal. I'm sure Miss Sibyl has a nicer home and a good chef.” He stood, offering his arm to Josephine.

Well not a chef but a weird relative who never left her room. A relative who might be from Faerie. Sibyl turned to Westley. “I don’t think we should go to my house.”

“Why not?” Westley asked.

Because of Rose and her wrinkled nose. “I have a place we can go. I mean it’s a bit of a long shot. I just need to pick up things from my place and we can go,” she forced out, the gears in her head working. If they suspected she was hiding something then she’d have to think of a valid excuse. Something…

“Alright. Lead the way. Let me just tell Luther,” Josephine agreed. “Westley why don’t you go with Sibyl to pick up the stuff from her home.” For a second their eyes met and she thought Josephine was trying to tell her something, like she knew. Sibyl kept her expression blank, or as blank as she could remember was physically possible.

“We’ll come back from you,” she told Josephine before motioning for Westley to follow her out the door and to her truck. If he noticed how she gulped and her hands quivered he didn’t show it. Not that she had any real reason to be nervous. It wasn’t like there was any proof Rose was involved in this. If she was in the Order they had to know, but what if this was all a trick and Rose had the real answers? Maybe it was just best to keep them in the dark about her.

When she pulled into her home she peeked up at the windows. Sure enough, Rose’s light was on. Sibyl mouthed a curse and unbuckled. “One minute. You can just wait here,” she told him. Westley just nodded, staring at her house. It must have paled in comparison to his castle. Or castles.

Sibyl walked out of the car and to her door. When she opened the front door she paused at the doorway, stepping in to be sure Rose wasn’t downstairs. The house was empty, untouched. Letting out the breath she was holding, Sibyl walked to the kitchen and pulled out a basket from the closet. She put in pots, pans, knifes, aprons, and got a bag of whatever stuff she could find to make dinner. They had three potatoes, a little bit of rice, chicken, onions, and tomato sauce. Perfect.

First she carried out the basket, putting it in the tiny backseat. Westley watched with a quirked brow but she waved him off before he could offer his assistance. It was better this way. Then she ran back in to grab the food bag.

“Going somewhere?”

Sibyl jumped, dropping the bag and cringing at the sound of the sauce jar hitting the kitchen island. Then she sighed and put her palms on the counter. “Do you always sneak up like that?”

“Why are you being so sneaky with the food?” Rose questioned, leaning against the door frame leading to the back hallway. She wore a black silk robe with floral embroidery, her hair up in a teal retro turban as she wore big teardrop shaped earrings. Despite being so casual she was the poster child for class and still had perfect makeup.

“I’m just going out with some friends. We’re gonna have a potluck,” she fibbed, giving her a thin smile. “There’s plenty of food here for you.”

Before she could leave Rose swept in front of her, hands on her hips. “You’re coming home rather late from school. Where have you been all day?”

“Why so curious? I was out with friends, obviously.” And discovering magical worlds while also bringing a Faerie prince to earth.

Her eyes narrowed. “And here I thought you didn’t have any friends.” How would she know that? There was a pang in her heart.

“Well things change,” she replied, again with the thin smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me I need to go.”

Sibyl stepped around her to leave when Rose grabbed her arm and leaned into her ear. “I have eyes everywhere Sibyl. You can’t hide it forever.”

Maybe if she wasn’t kissed by ice she’d shiver at her breath or cringe at her frost tipped grip. Her fingers throbbed, and when she cast a glance back at Rose’s black eyes she knew this woman was one of them. But whether or not she trusted her was another question.

Rose let her go, raising her chin as if understanding something. She fought a smile and crossed her arms. “Have fun with your little friends. I’m going to bed. I don’t care for your mortal rules on time.” With one last smug glance Rose left the kitchen and went up the stairs. Sibyl watched, rubbing the spot where she gripped her.

She flicked off bits of frost from where Rose grabbed her.

****

Sibyl couldn’t get her mind off of Rose’s warning. Was she being literal or just trying to scare her? Westley fidgeted beside her as they waited for Josephine in the driveway. Reeve still hadn’t shown up, but based on the time he had another hour at the pep rally. Maybe more if he went to hang out with Mary and her friends.

“We’re are we going?” Westley asked, fidgeting and playing with the buckle.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, looking him up and down. His cheeks turned pink, and internally she screamed at how cute it was. So far there were two sides to Westley, too hot to be real and awkward dork.

“Your carriage is strange. We have horseless carriages too, but they don’t smell and aren’t like this,” he confessed in a small voice. Was he scared?

“Oh. Sorry if it bothers you. And sorry about the smell. That’s gasoline. It stinks, eh?”

Westley avoided eye contact. “Indeed it does. Let’s go for another mode of transportation.”

Sibyl’s brows furrowed. Was that an order? Then she snorted, catching his attention so his gold eyes were on her once more. “Uh no. We stick to my truck. Her name is Sylvia by the way. Be nice to Sylvia.”

“Miss Sibyl I must insist-”

“Hey guys,” Josephine greeted from Sibyl’s window. “Ready?”

“You betcha. Westley get in the middle so Josephine can sit next to you. Come on, it’ll be a bit tight.” Westley gawked at her so she gave him a sugar sweet smile.

“Miss Sibyl-”

Josephine came in and his warm arms brushed her skin, a shudder of warm sliding down her back. “You’re so warm. Thank goodness too. It was getting cold in here, don’t you think Josephine?”

The girl caught on, giving him a honeysuckle sweet smile. “And you do have beautiful eyes your highness.”

“Let’s not forget how strong you are,” Sibyl added, feeling his arms. Dang he had nice biceps. Westley blushed.

“Well now Miss Sibyl-”

“You can call us by our first names. No 'miss' necessary, sugar,” Josephine interrupted, flashing her best smile. Westley's neck turned red. Sibyl turned on the engine and pulled out of the driveway.

“If you insist-”

“Just so you guys know I brought the stuff to make dinner. And I got us three aprons. Don’t touch my batman apron and we’ll have fun tonight.”

“What? You expect me to cook?” Westley gasped.

“We’re all going to cook, your highness. Team effort here. We’re all equal in my house. Except we’re not going to my house. We’re going to my second home.” Josephine raised her eyebrows at this but Sibyl didn’t elaborate further, turning on the radio and her iPod. Westley didn’t make any more protestations as the music played, Meg & Dia serenading them on their drive.

When they pulled in Josephine cast her a confused glance, eyes demanding an explanation but Sibyl just turned off the car and sighed. “I told you my mom made costumes right?” Her eyes didn’t leave the building, which was empty, a sign advertising the upcoming spring musical dates.

“I thought it was for the historical society,” Josephine replied.

“It was. But most of the time it was for plays all over the state. Come on. I have the keys.” She unbuckled and got out of the car, grabbing the bag of food.  Josephine grabbed the basket and followed her as she made her way to the door. “They have music camp here in the summer so there are rooms to sleep and there’s a kitchen. Celia used to teach a dance and costuming class.”

When the door was unlocked she held it open for them and they followed, Westley eying it suspiciously. “You’re sure this is safe?”

“Just trust me,” she insisted, shoving him in and locking the door behind her.  Josephine turned on the lights, posters of past shows staring down at them. Sibyl lead the way down the hall past the theater, dressing rooms, concessions, and offices. She unlocked another door and brought them to the barracks. “This is where camp is. If you know drama kids you get why they lock these doors.”

“You helped your mom?” Josephine asked, turning on a hallway light and following her to a mess hall and kitchen.

“When she needed me. I can’t sew much like her but I can do little things. And I was in pit sometimes, or I helped with the dance classes. Just whatever,” Sibyl replied. “She was also in charge of cooking, and if you’ve had Celia’s food you’d understand why she needed help.”

“So you cook.”

“No Thomas does, my dad. Again, I just helped whenever. But I learned a few things here and there,” she explained, placing the back on the kitchen island. Sibyl grabbed her batman apron and tossed a floral one to Westley. Josephine grabbed a white one with ‘Kiss the Cook’ written across it.

Westley was silent, taking his time to put on the colorful apron. Back to his awkward side, he lingered by the doorway gawking at the place. It was like he was discovering a new world. A small smile curved the corner of his lips. Sibyl tied up her hair, watching as he warmed to his surroundings.

“You okay?” she asked.

He met her gaze, a wide smile crossing his face. “It's just... I'm being treated like a normal person. Not-”

“A prince?” Sibyl finished, taking the food out of the bag.

“Yes. It feels nice.” Westley said. “Thank you.”

Something about the way he looked at her made her catch her breath. There was a light in his eyes. “No problem.”

“I hope you two know how to cook. Or at least Josephine,” she told them as she grabbed the cutting board and washed her hands.

“Reeve's the cook in our family,” Josephine admitted. “But I can still do some stuff.”

“Alright then you peel the potatoes,” Sibyl instructed, grabbing a bowl and putting the potatoes in before grabbing the potato peeler. “Wash them then put them in the bowl and peel. Oh, let me get you a plate for the peelings.”

Once everything was set up for Josephine she placed onions on the cutting board and grabbed a knife.

“I can cut them,” Westley offered, coming next to her.

“Are you sure? I don't know if they have onions in Faerie but they make people cry. Think you can handle it?”

Westley grabbed the knife. “I'll survive.”

“Alright, I'll work on the rice and meat. Get cookin' people.”

To their surprised it turned out to be a fun evening. Westley panicked when he started crying as he cut the onions and the girls laughed. Josephine kept getting distracted and almost burned the food. Yet decadent scents and warm laughter filled the mess hall.

“We need this in Faerie,” Westley proclaimed as they ate. “This is delicious.”

“Teamwork!” Sibyl replied as she raised her glass. “Thanks for your help guys.”

“Thank you for letting me help,” Westley countered.

There was something about him. She couldn't put her finger on it, but being around him felt safe. Comfortable. Happy. They laughed and she met his gaze over the kitchen table. Her cheeks burned. What a pleasant surprise.

[justalittlebluetiefling]

Chapter 56: Sometimes I Can’t See Myself

Rating: T Fandom: The 100 Pairing: Bellamy x Clarke Chapter: 56/68 Word Count: 2688 Words

Chapter Summary: The one where Clarke decides to paint a friend.

Also on AO3;  Start from the beginning on AO3

As far as roommates went, Raven and Octavia were amazing, if a little absent. Clarke supposed she would have seemed absent as well if they were home much. She spent most of her free time in her studio, if she had any. Not only was she piled under mountains of med school applications, but there was another exhibition coming up for the art department and the owner of the art gallery she worked at two nights a week saw her sketchbook and offered to showcase a couple of her pieces. To top it off, she kind of missed her mom, but she was still so angry. Bellamy said it all showed in her work.

The desk in the corner of the room that had been meant for drawing was usually where Bellamy spent his time. Most of the time, he graded papers or went over notes from his classes. If he finished up, he’d steal one of her books to read. After a few weeks of his constant presence, she ordered an engraved nameplate for the desk. When he walked in the first day after it arrive, he grinned at her until she started to blush furiously. But, she liked his company and she wasn’t ashamed of that.

While she wasn’t ashamed of enjoying his company, she was constantly conflicted over all of these feelings she had whenever he looked at her or texted her or showed up unannounced with takeout and they would lose track of time sitting on the floor talking about nothing. It was more difficult all of the time to dismiss her feelings, but she kept pushing them down. Not only was he her best friend’s brother, but he was her best friend. He was her family. Whatever misguided notion her brain or heart was trying to trick her with wouldn’t work.

In spite of her internal conflict, he was a fantastic subject for her art. It was one of the reasons she had a candid shot from their beach trip taped on a stand next to her easel. Instead of using a brush, she had decided to dunk her hands into the bucket of paint and run them along the canvas. The first lines were messy and broken, but as she progressed, she could tell it was going to be one of her favorite pieces.

“Hey Princess. You’re home alone again?”

It shouldn’t have been a surprise when Bellamy poked his head in the room. Octavia was never home before nine, between the choreography for the senior recital and the dance team, and Raven’s not-so-new-anymore job had her working nights three times a week. It still felt like he caught her undressed. Thankfully, it wasn’t easy to interpret the content on the canvas yet, but it was easy to yank the picture down and shove it in her pocket. She only felt a brief moment of regret as she felt the paint on her hand smear across her back.

Clarke forced a grin onto her face. “Hey hey. You know me. Incredibly lazy and no life ambitions to keep me occupied.”

He chuckled under his breath and set his bag down next to the desk. “O said you guys have some leftover lasagna. You mind if I snag some?”

“Our food is your food.”

“You’re the best.” His shoulders slumped with relief. “I haven’t had anything since breakfast. Cafeteria food is the worst.”

When he slipped out through the door again, she dipped her finger back into the bucket to finish a line she had been working on before. It would be incredibly embarrassing if he figured out what she was painting, but she had been in a great flow before. She was still trying to decide what to do when he walked back in, plate piled almost unnecessarily high, already eating. Instead of sitting down, he moved behind her to see her work.

“What’s this one?”

Clarke felt her face start to heat up. “A profile shot of someone.”

“Sunset in the background?”

“Sunrise, I think. I had the colors, so it seemed right.”

He nudged her wrist with his elbow. “Do I need to buy you another set of brushes?”

She turned to face him, fighting the urge to put her hands on her hips. “I’m trying something new with the lines. I wanted it to be… chaotic and… unique.”

“It’s certainly unique.” He smiled at her before he took another bite of food.

“I left my art history book over there for you.” His eyes went wide and her heart did a little skip as he turned away. “Wait!” He turned back and tilted his head at her. Before she could stop herself, she reached out and poked him on the nose with her index finger.

“Did you just…. Did you just boop my nose? With paint on your hands?”

Clarke shrugged. “I’m in a booping mood?”

Bellamy narrowed his eyes at her. “If I wasn’t so hungry right now, you’d be so dead.”

“Plus, I’m working on a new painting and I’d kill you if you messed it up.”

He rolled his eyes and settled in at the desk. Once she realized he was completely engrossed with both the food and the book in his lap, she decided it was better to have him in the room as a model. Soon, she was equally engrossed in her own work.

In a weird way, it almost turned out to be easier to paint him with her hands than with a brush. It was easier to get his hair right. Her fingers were able to make a really nice dusting of freckles along his cheekbone. It gave her more control even while it felt risky. It was the right mood for the painting. The man sitting in front of her was the embodiment of risk. At least, she had felt that at one point. Even though he had calmed down over the past three years, every time she looked at him, she felt like she was jumping out of an airplane.

It was clearly Bellamy when she was finally finished. Or at least, Clarke thought it was obvious. Instead of the usual rush of relief she felt when she finished something, she felt a minor wave of panic. It eased a bit when she saw he was entrenched in grading some math tests. She wiped her hands on a towel as best as she could before pulling a few things out of the closet. When she had a clear space on the floor, she set up the table easel he had bought her for Christmas the year before and moved the painting from the room to the closet. That got his attention, but she waved him off and closed the door.

Bellamy chuckled. “I didn’t realize paintings went into the closet to dry.”

Clarke scoffed. When she turned around, he was packing papers back into his bag. “I don’t know if this one is finished yet.”

“So I can’t see what you’ve done so far?”

“Not yet.” She could feel her face heating up again. “I’ll show you when it’s done. I promise.” And she would. It was almost a promise to herself as much as a promise to him. At least the painting might start a conversation she didn’t know how to on her own.

Bellamy set his stuff to the side of the desk again before he met her at the easel. “Need any help cleaning up?”

She folded the easel and moved it back to the side of the room. “No, I’m good. I thought you’d have way more tests to grade than that.”

He didn’t respond at first. All she could hear were footsteps as she set the easel against the wall. “I’ll finish them later,” Bellamy said from right behind her.

Clarke jumped and spun around. He grinned and wiped his hand on her face, which caught her off guard again. It took her a moment to recover and realize that his hand was covered in orange paint. “Oh, Bellamy, you did not just—”

Her sentence was cut short when he brought up his other hand and wiped blue paint across the other side of her face. His eyes were practically dancing with amusement. “I did too just.”

She laughed and ran back toward the paint to dunk her hands again. Bellamy was close behind. He managed to grab her around the waist with his left arm while dunking his right hand in the bucket. She slipped out of his grip only to trip on his foot and grab onto his shoulders for support.

All amusement dropped from his features, replaced by concern. “You okay, Princess?”

“Oh, I’m just fine.” Clarke grinned, wiped her hand on his neck, and ran.

The room wasn’t large and they had to avoid the desk and his school stuff. There was nowhere to hide, so the fight didn’t last too long. By the time they managed to call an actual truce (because the first truce had been a huge lie), they were laying in the middle of the room side by side, breathless from laughter. It would have been hard to find an uncovered inch of their skin.

“I’ll buy you a new shirt,” Clarke said once she caught her breath. “Maybe some new jeans, too. Your clothes are basically ruined.”

“These clothes were on their way out anyway.” He nudged her with his knee. “And I started it,” he started to say, but then he laughed. “Wait a minute. I did not. You started it.”

“I know,” she said through renewed laughter. “That’s why I offered.”

“God, I needed this.”

Clarke let her head drop to look at him and her laughter stuck in her throat. His hand rested dangerously close to her hip and her heart was suddenly out of control in her chest. For no reason. “What did you need?”

“To unwind. Relax a little. Being stuck in middle school again is killing me.”

“Why? O said you always had a ton of friends in school.”

“In high school.” He turned his head to look at her and poked her on the nose. “If you tell anyone what I’m about to say, I will end you.”

Clarke crossed her heart solemnly. “Obviously.”

Bellamy snorted, but looked up at the ceiling again. “High school? It was easy. I made friends on the soccer team and I did pretty well in classes, so I got along with almost everyone. But middle school.” He shuddered. “Middle school. I was chubby and awkward and I didn’t know how to talk to anyone. I got into a lot of fights. I mean, normal, horrible middle school experience, but being back there is a form of torture. People who end up teaching middle school are either insane or insanely good people.”

“Oh, so obviously not you.”

He glared at her, but it was betrayed by a faint smile. “What about you?”

“Me?” Clarke sighed. “You already know my awkward school stories thanks to Wells.”

“Yeah, blah blah. You think you were awkward. You partied all the time, until….”He trailed off for a moment and frowned apologetically. “Anyway, everyone loved you. Don’t give me that look. I’ve heard the stories, remember? Besides, that’s not what I was asking about.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “You were really into that painting earlier. Is it stress or were you painting something naked?”

Clarke half laughed with panic. “I don’t paint naked…. I mean, I don’t paint naked people when it’s not for class. Besides, it’s way easier to draw naked people.”

Bellamy chuckled and elbowed her again. “What was all the hyper-focus for, then? You were a little more intense than usual.”

“You think I’m intense?!” She gasped with mock-affront and then sighed dramatically.

“You know you’re intense. Now tell me.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, but she did know she was intense. And he knew that things in her life were a little crazy. She rolled away from him onto her stomach in an attempt to let a little sanity rush through her brain, but he rolled onto his stomach too, closing the distance between them again.

“I can tell you want to talk about it.”

Clarke sighed and glared at him. “Being your friend is the worst.”

“I know.” He grinned. “Now tell me.”

“Fine.” She drummed her fingers on the floor and scrunched her nose up in spite of herself. “I’m almost done with my med school applications.”

“Already?!”

She bumped him with her shoulder. “Yeah, I only have a couple essays left.”

“Which will be awesome.”

“Yeah, duh.”

“That’s great, Clarke.”

“I guess. It’s…. I’m kind of freaking out. Turning them in makes it serious and what if I don’t really want to be a doctor?”

Bellamy frowned and moved to a seated position. “Do you want to be a doctor?”

“Well, yeah, but—” His hand settled on her shoulder and it shocked Clarke into silence.

“You’re never going to stop drawing. Or painting. Not even if you go to med school.”

“There’s no way you can know that I’ll still have time for it.”

“Come on, it’s a part of you. It’s in your blood.” He plucked her tank top strap. “And it’s drying all over your clothes.”

“Shut up.” Clarke blushed and pushed his hand away. “I’m going to change.”

She started to push herself up and he grabbed her arm to stop her. “No way. Not fair. You have clean clothes here.”

“I still have stuff that will fit you, you know.” Bellamy opened his mouth to be snarky, she could see it in his eyes, so she pushed him. “Don’t even start. You wouldn’t fit in Lexa’s old clothes.”

“I’d look good.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and tried to stand again, but he yanked on her hand to stop her from standing.

“Say I’d look good, Clarke.”

“You’d look good in anything.”

“Okay. Let’s go change.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Do we get to shower first? I won’t look, I promise.”

Clarke didn’t have time to respond. He jumped up and pulled her up with him, causing her to stumble into his chest. She pushed herself away quickly and pretended to fix her hair. “Don’t be an ass. You can use O’s bathroom if you want to shower.”

“I figured,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I just like seeing you blush.”

Clarke stared after him as he walked away, the air in front of her cool with his sudden absence. He paused at the door to look back.

“Come on. I need to get this stuff out of my hair and we need to bake some cookies so we can delve deeper into your fear of med school.”

The thought of cookies helped ground her a bit, but she would have to make him promise it would be a clean process. They couldn’t have a repeat of the paint incident in the kitchen. She didn’t want to have to take a second shower to wash cookie dough out of her hair.

As soon as Clarke closed the door to the studio behind her, the front door opened. Octavia and Lincoln stopped dead in the doorway. Lincoln was stuck in silence as he continued to take in their appearance and O burst into laughter.

“I’m going to use your shower, O.” Bellamy ignored them and ran up the stairs.

Octavia rolled her eyes and kicked off her shoes before heading into the kitchen, but Lincoln stayed. Clarke was a little uncomfortable with the way he looked at her and then chuckled when they heard the shower start upstairs.

Lincoln grinned at her. “Is there an art project I’m missing out on?”

“You know Bellamy,” Clarke said, aiming for casual. “He thinks it’s fun to fuck with my paint.”

“I’m sure that’s what he thinks is fun. I mean, that’s what the handprint on your hip tells me. That he thinks it’s fun.”

Clarke studied him for a moment, but he kept that stupid smile on his face. She scoffed before starting up the stairs. “Shut up, Lincoln.”

[tonks32]

Inktober #19 Training

Cassandra and Gideon Trevelyan

  Today was one of those days in Skyhold where it seemed like there was nothing wrong with the world. The air was warm, the breeze mild, and the sky crystal clear. Since the day was so nice, Cassandra exchanged her armor for a simple pair of riding breeches and a light tunic and even left the forge for a nice shady spot in the courtyard. Since her secret was out about the books she liked there was no need to high. She didn’t get very far when a small shadow fell over the pages. Curious, the Seeker looked up to see a girl no more than eight winters holding a small practice sword and looking down at her boots as if they were the most important thing in Thedas. “Hello.” Marking her spot, Cassandra closed the book with a gentle smile. “What’s your name?”

  The red head brushed the bangs from her eyes. “Elissa and your Lady Cass-n-dra.”

   “You can call me Cass,” The Seeker suggested hoping to ease the girl's trouble in saying her name.

  Elissa beamed. “You’re not training today?”

  “Is that why you’re here?”

  “Yes.” Elissa kicked the wood blade with the toe of her boot. “My stupid brothers say girls can’t fight. They told me only men fight. That’s not true, though, right? Because you fight and you’re pretty.”

  The compliment drew a surprised laugh from Cassandra. Setting the book aside, Cassandra stood and offered her hand. “So are you.”

  Elissa happily latched onto Cassandra’s hand. “Is it true you fought a horde of dragons?”

  Smiling, Casandra led the girl to the training area. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Is it true?” Elissa pressed on.

  “It wasn’t a horde,” Cassandra softly corrected. “Only two.”

  The girl’s blue eyes widened. “Do you think one day I can fight a dragon too?”

  “Maybe.” Cassandra picked up a practice sword from the rack. “But you’re going to have to work up to that. Why don’t we start by proving your brothers wrong, shall we?”

  “Are you really going to teach me, Lady Cass?”

  The joy on the little girl’s face made Cassandra’s heart swell. She couldn’t help but wonder if Elissa was used to being brushed aside. A feeling Cassandra herself was quite familiar with. “Of course. We can’t let your brothers have the upper hand, can we?”

  Elissa grinned.

  “First thing first. Show me how you grip your sword.”

  Elissa grasped the hilt of the wooden sword with both of her small hands, overlapping each other making her grip weak.

  Kneeling in the grass, Cassandra gently pried the girl’s hands off the hilt. “A strong and firm grip is what you want. Some swords are meant to be used with both hands, but they are slow, leaving you more open for attack.” She studied the Elissa for a moment. “You’re small and look like you’re quick on your feet.”

  Elissa tilted her head. “Is that a good thing?”

  “An excellent thing.” The Seeker assured before showing the correct way to grip the practice sword. “Now swing it. How did that feel?”

  “Good.”

  “Now the next thing we have to work on is your stance.”

  Ready to enjoy the nice spring day himself, Gideon jogged down the main stair with every intention of finding his Seeker. Hearing her deep belly laughter mixed with a child’s drew him to the small crowd gathered around the sparring ring. To his surprise, Casandra was standing back to back with a little girl with unruly curls the color of fire, both fighting off a trio of boys all wielding wooden practice swords. Cassandra was positively glowing with joy. It was nice to see her so carefree. Gideon couldn’t also ignore the obvious fact that the warrior looked utterly natural surrounded by children. What a fantastic mother she would make.

  Noticing him lingering, Cassandra tossed him a smile. “Inquisitor, you must help!” She blocked one of the boy’s blows who tried to take advantage of her moment of distraction. A good tactic, she’d have to give him that. “We’ve been overrun by bandits.”

  “No fear my lady!” Gideon scooped up a practice sword and pushed through the sea of children to get the battle. He started to hear whispers of awe that the Herald of Andraste himself was really joining in on the fun. “I will protect you.”

  “So, will I!” Elissa let out a battle cry that made Cassandra insanely proud.

  Gideon laughed and together they engaged the three boys in a fierce battle. There were cheers from the crowd, urging both sides on. Gideon was surprised at just how good Elissa’s footwork was as she parried then pivoted, sending her opponent sprawling face first in the dirt. The little girl reminded him so much of Cassandra.

  Gideon let one of the other boys knock the sword out of his hand. “Oh no!”

  “I got you!” Elissa slid across the dirt to protect the unarmed man.

  “We’ve been overrun, Inquisitor!” Cassandra feigned distress for the boy’s amusement. “we must fall back to higher ground.”

  Hooking an arm around her waist, Gideon hoisted Elissa up to give her a better advantage while the battle shifted as they retreated towards the stairs of the battlement. Laughing, Cassandra guided him by the shoulder up each step to make sure no one got hurt. The guards made sure to stay clear as the trio of boys charged after them.

  “Ah!” Gideon fell to a knee when one of the boy’s sword hit his thigh. “I’m injured!”

  Elissa wiggled free of Gideon’s grasp, taking out her older brother in the process. “I’ve got you covered.”

  A few more minutes of intense battling, the Seeker fell into the Inquisitor’s lap after being overrun by the small horde of children that decided to join in on the fun. It came to an end with a dog pile and Elissa coming out victorious with the top spot.

  Gideon held Cassandra around the waits to keep her in place. “The Inquisition wins once more! You have saved us, my lady.”

  “See!” Elissa glared down at the boys she was currently sitting on. “Girls can fight just as well as any boy. Right, Lady Cass?”

  “I think you’ve proven that, Lady Elissa.” Cassandra grinned. “Now let your brother and the others up.”

  Elissa huffed. “If I have too.”

  Once free the boys scrambled to their feet and took off in a mad dash down the stairs after thanking the adults.

  Elissa beamed. “Thank you.”

  Cassandra brushed a curl from the girl’s flustered face. “I want you to practice once a week. Whether I’m in Skyhold or not. But never forsake your studies. Deal?”

  “Deal.” Elissa sealed the promise with a hug. “Thank you again.”

  “Go on, now. I see your mother waiting for you.”

  “Bye!”

  Gideon tilted her head, a warm smile on her face watching as Cassandra bided farewell to the little girl. Something tugged inside him making him yearn to see Cassandra swollen with their child. Maker, he wanted that more than he wanted to breathe. He would want it to be a girl with his hair and Cassandra’s dark eyes and sharp cheekbones. She would be tough and take crap from no one, but there would be a softer side of her as well. Maybe have his sense of humor with a healthy mix of Cassandra’s sarcasm.

  “What are you smiling at?” Cassandra asked wondering what brought him such joy.

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “And how amazing you are.”

  Cassandra put away the practice swords. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

  “I got a bit stir crazy since someone decided to ditch me.” Gideon politely pointed out brushing grass off her shoulder. “You were great with her.”

  “She’s a good kid. How are you feeling?”

  Gideon drew her close so he could touch his lips to hers. “Much better now.”

  A blush dusted her cheeks. “People are staring.”

  “Let them.” He slid his fingers into the short strands of her hair. Now that his companions knew there was no need to hide from anyone else. In fact, he had a great need to stand atop the highest tower in Skyhold and shout to the heaves that he loved this woman. “No more sneaking in the Shadows. I love you and I don’t care who sees it.”

  Cassandra wrapped her arms around his neck. “There are going to be some that will frown being with me.”

  “All I care about is the fact that, by some miracle, you love me. And that I love you. Nothing beyond that matters.” He nuzzled her nose. “But I understand if you still want to try to keep this quiet.”

  “I just don’t want anyone to use your feelings for me to hurt you.”

  “Anyone tell you that you worry too much?”

  “Once or twice.”

  A droplet of water hit Gideon’s head. Curious, he looked up as the sky began to rain down on them. All around them, people out in the courtyard scrambled to find shelter. Gideon stopped Cassandra before she could follow suit. “A little rain won’t hurt you, my dear.”

  Hair drenched, she pushed it off her brow. “This is more than a little rain, Inquisitor.” At least the drops were warm. “Shouldn’t we go inside?”

  “No.” He dragged her away from the shield of the tree to the center of the courtyard. He surprised her by slipping an arm around her waist while he took her other hand in his. “I would enjoy nothing more than a dance in the rain with the loveliest girl in Thedas.”

  Laughing, Cassandra let him sweep her away. “I’m far from a girl, Gideon.” Never the less, she enjoyed the feel of his body against her as they swayed to the rhythm of the spring rain. It was nice not to have to keep their distance from one another. Skyhold was their safe haven, the one place they could be themselves without having to worry about if they were upsetting some noble. “You know I’ve always wanted to share a kiss in the rain.”

  “Far be it for me to deny the woman I love such an opportunity.” Lips curved, he pressed them against hers with a hunger to processes her in every way possible. The breathless mummer that escaped her only spurred him in. He wanted her in ways that he never would another woman. All he could do was think about her smile, her laughter, or how soft her skin was under his hands. When in the War Room, he found his thoughts on the Seeker and rarely on whatever the advisors spoke of. When he was sure that this heat, this hunger would dissipate it only flourished.

  “You two get a room!”

  Varric’s voice had Gideon pulling away on a laugh. “I think that’s a great idea.”

   Cassandra had no time to prepare herself and let out a squeal as the Inquisitor tossed her over his shoulder. “Gideon!” Giggling, she held on the best she could as he started jogging towards the main steps. “Put me down.”

  “No can do, my lady.” Gideon sent Varric a grin before disappearing inside. The sight of him carrying a giggling Seeker shocked most of the people into silence. He waved and casually chatted while passing by all the while ignoring Cassandra's demands to be put down.

  “Trevelyan, I’m going to kill you for this,” Cassandra hissed. Upstairs and his quarters, she squealed once again as her lover dumped her onto their bed.

[tupelohunharold-blog]

II. The Woman Series:

The Writer

My passion for books didn't help me to be a writer, not at all.

In fact my ability to form words couldn't be more horrible, even if I tried.

Stories couldn't be described properly and their lines have never really made sense.

Believe me, I tried. Really hard to be better and to be just good enough. But I'm not a good writer.

I'm no Stephen King or Oscar Wilde, or any other fantastic writer, and the "hobby-writer" title would be a bad description for me as well.

So one day I stopped. I gave up.

But one thing I really did the best.

I wrote songs. Anonymusly.

I couldn't consider myself a real writer, but someone who just let her hands and her fingertips be in a part of a great power that used her.

I didn't think I was great. Not at all.

Even though lots of musicians sang the songs I have written previously and sent them without any names underneath it.

I think myself as someone who found a passion which made the best satisfying feeling in my heart. This is why I considered myself the best: I didn't compare myself to anyone, but still. I just didn't want to tell the world or to singers and their teams who I am -- who that person is who gives them songs which lifts them to the first places in different and different music charts.

Regardless there was this specific person who bugged me all the time. Not literally or personally, but through his connections that help him to get himself closer to me.

I didn't understand why would Harry Styles want to get to know me.

There are really not anything interesting facts about me, I'm only a boring 18-year-old who finds joy in songwriting and binging on food while watching some good ass series on Netflix.

I just graduated, it was summer after that and I really didn't know if I was ready for university. I applied for a major which could possibly help me to continue writing -- only in an industry that's a bit far away from music. And that was journalism.

I was anxious, nervous, yet excited. I really couldn't wait to start my adult life, but there was a terrifying thought that just bugged me all the time as Harry as well.

What if I'm not good enough?

With the amount of money I received from the songs which was written by my hands was enough to move out from my parents' house.

So this is how I got to live this way: in a cosy and small house, far away from civilisation, near the nature.

Which, believe me, is nice. I guess. Pretty and everything. But in summer... is probably the biggest nightmare.

It's just hot and frustrating.

Makes me sweaty and smell horrible.

So when Harry Styles pops up on your frontdoor when you're in a condition like that, you kinda... have a little heart attack.

My hair was greasy, in a bun and I only wore a pink top with shorts that had The Powerpuff Girls on them.

My face felt nude in front of him, and despite lying under the sun for long, I suddenly became a vampire when the blood disappeared from my face and became a pale ghostfigure.

He was gorgeous, though.

Under the shining sunlight he actually looked like an angel from heaven. His face beamed with interest and something which I could only describe as pure fascination.

He truly looked like a little kid on a Christmas morning.

Waiting for his present which, in that situation, was actually me.

A pair of golden sunglasses pushed back his hazel-nut brown hair that included little curls on its ends. His mint green eyes shone above his sharp cheekbones and jawlines. He had a crooked smirk on his face, and the casual outfit, containing a simple white T-shirt, some blue jeans and black Vans tennis shoes, almost surprised me.

Almost.

Because I knew him -- from far away.

He was that kind of guy who had the world bowing in front him, but he prefered hugging them, instead of looking down on them.

He was a kind man. I knew that. Someone who had expensive Gucci suits which were designed for him, but he would rather pick something comfy clothes on regular days.

Maybe this is why he was so curious about me. Because I was just a normal girl, at the edge of being a woman.

In my small cottage house, near the nature where you could only see people about ten kilometers away from where I lived the life I always wanted to: not being bothered by others and having inspiring surroundings around me where the only sounds that could reach me were actually controlled by my hands and my moods.

I felt free.

Kinda alone sometimes.

So when he was standing there -- he just startled me. More than that.

But I wouldn't have minded his company. Not even in the first moment of our encounter.

"So you really are real," ironically he was the one who said this to me, his voice was filled with amazed feelings and I couldn't look away from his shining appearance.

"Apparently I am," my tone was far from attractive -- the opposite of his deep and confident tone.

My hands were shaking as well, and I became even more flushed.

My blush made him smile more, and now a huge grin chose him to appear even more pretty to me with two deep and sweet dimples in his cheeks.

He licked his pink lips, hummed a little with a small and understanding nod.

"I was searching for you for so long," he told me with a strange intensity in his eyes, looking from one of my eyes to the other, then he eyed me up and down, shyly hid his huge, "ring-filled" hands in his jeans' frontpockets. His shoulders became tense, and he looked down after biting down some unreleased words.

Then I became conscious again, from my trance of suprise and pure fangirling.

I let him in, and we both were a huge mess with flushed cheeks for hours, until the night came with its darkness.

Until music let us lose the anxiety of unnecessary bad thoughts and fears.

We let the music speak between us.

It felt like heaven.