#i was around the corner in the kitchen furiously whisper mouthing at my mum that i absolutely Cannot help her this next week bc i have my

[latinokaeya-moving]

seriously what the fuck is my dads problem with my mums job it’s like everyday she’ll just be talking casually abt the large amount of leftover packages she still has to deliver bc of the past holiday season and he gets all huffy and overly upset that it’s “too much” for her and it seriously feels like he just wants her to quit this job but like for fucking what!! to go back to cleaning??? the even more labour intensive job???? she’s said multiple times she likes delivering packages bc she can do everything at her own pace in her own car without anyone micromanaging her so like??? get over yourself dude

[chudleycanonficfest]

Day 28, Post #1 by @floreatcastellumposts

Title: The Argument Author/Artist: FloreatCastellum Pairing: Gen Prompt: “Siblings: The only enemy you can’t live without” -Anonymous Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Mild language

When he was a child, Ron had sometimes sat secretly on the stairs, feet in slippers too big for him, teddy tucked under his arm, listening to the goings on in the kitchen. Often his sister or a brother or two would be with him. This was especially the case when there was an argument, because they were a nosy bunch of kids, and they would grin gleefully at one another as they heard their mother roar over some issue, like when Bill came home with his first tattoo, or Charlie had done something dangerous like climb on the roof, or the many, many, many things that Fred and George had done. They would gather on the stairs and snigger and delight in their siblings being in trouble - that it wasn't them, and usually it was over something hilarious too. 

Today was quite different. The stairs were narrow, so Ginny was pressed right up against him, but she was gripping hold of his arm too. Behind them, Fred and George sat in grim, stony silence, their knees occasionally knocking the back of Ron's head, but, remarkably, none of them were squabbling.

'Is it so hard to just be happy for me?' Percy was bellowing, and that in itself was unusual, because it was never Percy in trouble. 

'It's not about that,' Dad was bellowing back, 'are you so naive? Are you really so foolish-?' This was unusual too, because it wasn't usually Dad bellowing. 

'Percy... Percy, we're just worried, we're just concerned...' Mum was sobbing. This was unusual, because she usually had a bit more fight in her, not this desperate pleading. 

'You're so cynical, the pair of you-'

'We're realistic! You've been promoted well above your grade before the dust has settled on the inquiry-'

'STOP BRINGING UP THE INQUIRY!' Percy sounded quite deranged; the ferocity of his voice made Ginny jump slightly, and grip Ron's arm harder. 'That - wasn't - my - fault! That was the point of it! That PROVED I wasn't to blame, I was acquitted-'

'Yes, and we were delighted,' said Dad, and to Ron's astonishment, his words sounded bitingly sarcastic, 'but even so, you have to see that mass scandal is not usually a precursor to promotion!'

'He SAW something in me!' 

'Yes, he did! He saw a potential spy! On our family - on Dumbledore-'

Percy let out a maniacal laugh, forced and sneering and sanctimonious, it made Ron wince as he heard it. 'And you say I'm arrogant?' 

'We've never said you were arrogant-' Mum tried to chip in desperately, but Percy continued talking over her. 

'You think you're important enough to warrant the Minister for Magic spying on you? You think he considers you in the same circle as Dumbledore? More to the point, you think Dumbledore truly respects the likes of you?'  

'Fudge has been going round making it more than clear that anyone who supports Dumbledore can clear out their desks-'

'Utter rot-'

'-He knows I'm friendly with him, he knows I have advised the school on muggleborn inte-'

'No one cares!' Percy screamed. 'No one cares about that stuff! You're ludicrous!'

'Ludicrous?' Dad echoed, with an uncharacteristic scoff to his voice. 

'Ludicrous! Not everything is a conspiracy, not everything has an anti-muggle agenda - I know what this is really about, you're embarrassed that your own son is rising above you, is succeeding where you haven't-'

'Percy!' Mum's gasp was so clear that Ron could easily imagine her hand leaping to her chest. 

'I've had to struggle against your lousy reputation ever since I started! Do you know how embarrassing it is? Do you know what it's like having people ask if I'm related to the muggle-mad Weasley on Level Two-' 

'That's enough,' said Dad coldly. 

'I lie to them, d'you know that? I tell them we're only distantly related.' 

'What the fuck?' Ron heard one of the twins whisper behind them. 'Is he serious?' 

'I never imagined I had raised you to be so small-minded-' Dad was spitting back.

'It's baffling that you raised me at all! You, who has no ambition, no sense, no idea of how ridiculous you come across with your obsession with muggles - is it any wonder you've always been passed over for promotion-'

'-Because of bigotry!'

'-Any wonder you've left your children to grow up in poverty? To be humiliated by the failures of their father?' 

'Stop it! Percy, stop it!' Mum was wailing, and whether it was Fred or George directly behind him Ron didn't know, but their knee was trembling against the back of his head. 

'It's not failure, it's a matter of principle and integrity!' Dad roared back. 'There are more important things than gold, that's what we've always-'

'You are deluded! You are so blinded by your persecution complex, by your victimhood, that you cannot be happy for your son!' Percy’s voice was hoarse and raw, whether from tears or overexertion, Ron wasn’t sure. 'You can't bear to see him succeed where you failed! To see him make something of himself!'

'Why would I be happy watching my son be manipulated and used? Make no mistake, Percy - this is no achievement, this is Fudge playing you as a puppet - if you're ashamed of your background, that's your prerogative, but there's no denying this family is known to be close to Dumbledore and Harry, and Fudge is waging a vendetta against-'

‘You’re an idiot to run around with Dumbledore!’ snapped Percy. ‘He’s heading for trouble - gone completely power mad the last few years - you know full well his glory days are over. You’ll end up going down with him-’

‘Fudge is fighting a campaign against Dumbledore when he should be-’

‘I know where my loyalties lie, and it is not with my old teacher! It is with my employer, the leader of my government, with people who look at the facts!’

‘The facts are that Harry-’

'Yes - Harry - here we go,' snapped Percy. 'You rank the word of a child above the expert testimonies and mountains of evidence brought up by the inquiry, above your own boss - no wonder he thinks you're cracked. You’re determined to see conspiracy everywhere-’ 

��How can you say that? You saw the aftermath of what happened, you saw him-’

‘I saw the actual dead boy, I saw Diggory!’ snapped Percy. ‘Think what his family is going through, their child’s death being used as a political quaffle-’

‘That is Fudge’s doing! That is his choice! He has chosen to make a mockery of Diggory, to disregard Harry-'

‘To question the story of a teenager,’ corrected Percy. His tone was cold and quiet, the kind of sanctimonious "I'm being the grown up here, actually" patience that Ron found unbearably aggravating. ‘The only evidence is his word, it’s not unreasonable to question a witness. In fact, it’s a perfectly standard part of due process.’

Ron’s growing anger was now twisted with a kind of lurching dread. The snide little comments in the Daily Prophet, which they had all blustered and raged and gasped in revolted disdain at over breakfasts for the past week, suddenly felt sinister. As he thought about it, Percy had never joined in… had always been silent… 

‘Percy…’ said Mum, so faintly that, as one, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George all leaned forward to listen. ‘Percy, surely you… surely you believe him? Surely you can’t believe he deserves what they’re saying about him? He’s just a child - it’s like the whole world’s forgotten that he’s just a child.’ 

'Yes, he's just a child - so why should he be the centre of everything?' Percy demanded. 'Why should he shape our family? Impact our careers?' 

'Percy… if you had seen him in the hospital wing, if you had looked into his eyes…' 

'Mr Fudge was not convinced,' said Percy, as though that settled the matter.

‘Has he asked you about Harry?’ Dad asked abruptly. Beside Ron, Ginny was shaking. ‘Casually?’ 

‘I - no more than is to be expected when you have someone famous living under your roof-’

‘What did he ask? What did you say?’ 

They heard a brief, thick silence, and a sharp exhale of air. ‘He… he’s not relevant to this discussion. This is beyond - this isn’t the issue - the only evidence is his word, as I said-’ 

‘You don’t believe him.’ Dad’s voice was blank, stunned, quiet. ‘You… you know that boy, Percy.’  

‘You don’t believe in me,’ said Percy, and Ron could hear his tears now, the slight thickness to his voice, the sniffs between words. ‘You’d rather believe in some ludicrous conspiracy theory from a teenager who thinks he sees You-Know-Who around every corner than believe that your own son might have worked hard, might be talented, might deserve his career. You’d really think so little of me.’ 

‘That’s not it. That’s not it at all,’ Dad said quietly, and Mum was crying loudly. ‘We just-’

‘I don’t care!’ said Percy harshly. ‘I don’t care what you think! Not any more! Years I’ve put up with it, years! I’m going - I’m gone - I don’t want to see either of you again - you’ve made it clear that you don’t have my interests at heart, this was your choice-’

‘What do you mean?’ Mum shrieked, and they could hear the scraping of chairs being moved aside, thundering footsteps, Mum begging-

The door was thrust open, and Percy stood for a moment in the hallway, looking up at the four of them sitting on the stairs. His expression was unreadable. Tear tracks shone from beneath his horn-rimmed glasses, and his mouth was a thin, grim line. 

‘Move,’ he told them. 

‘You’re being a right bellend,’ said Fred at once. 

‘MOVE!’ 

They did not, and Mum had come running after Percy, hanging desperately onto his arm though he tried to shake her off. ‘Come on, Perce,’ she pleaded. ‘Come and sit down, let’s all cool off and talk about this-’

‘Get out of my way,’ Percy told his siblings once more, and now Ron stood. 

‘Harry’s part of our family,’ he blurted out furiously. 

 ‘He’s not, Ron,’ Percy growled. ‘He’s your friend, that doesn’t mean everything he says is right - move out my way.’ 

‘How can you say that!’ Ginny demanded. ‘What’s wrong with you? How can you say all these horrible things?’ 

Percy started climbing the stairs, pushing Ron aside and stepping over Ginny, furiously struggling past Fred and George who immediately made their bodies as big and awkward and gangling as they could imagine, shouting colourful insults at him as he pushed past and thundered up to his room. 

‘He just needs to calm down,’ Mum was squeaking. ‘Go - go to your rooms, let me and Dad talk to him-’ 

‘No chance!’ 

‘I haven’t said my piece yet!’ 

He returned just a few moments later, carrying a bulging bag with a jumper sleeve trailing out, a little line of abandoned socks and a pair of underwear left on the stairs. ‘I’m going to stay with friends,’ he said. 

‘You haven't got any,’ goaded George. 

‘Be quiet, George!’ Mum wailed. ‘Percy-’

‘Then I’m getting my own place, I’m not staying here anymore - I’m not letting you all drag me down with you. If you’re all going to be traitors to the Ministry I’m going to make sure everyone’s well aware that I don’t belong to this family any more-’

‘You do, Percy, you do - you’ll always be my son-’ Mum’s words were barely audible beneath her crying. Percy pushed past her, and stormed towards the door. 

‘Percy!’ Ron shouted, and to his surprise, Percy turned and looked at him. 

Ron could not find the words for his contempt, could not find an insult strong enough, could not decide what to do with the rage that was coursing through him. All he could hope was that Percy could feel it in his cold, hard stare. ‘How could you?’ 

Percy said nothing, simply looked back for a moment, and then turned his back and strode swiftly to the door. Mum was running after him, and though they heard the ear-splitting crack of disapparation, she stood in the doorway shouting his name. 

Dad had not followed, and with a creak, Ginny rose beside Ron and descended the last few stairs. She peered through the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Dad?’ 

Ron heard a splutter, and then dry, heaving sobs. Ginny vanished into the kitchen. Behind him, Fred and George were muttering mutinously, swearing and cursing. 

‘What’s he playing at?’ 

‘He’s an idiot. A big-headed, pompous, ridiculous idiot, we’ve always said it, we were right.’ 

‘Who does he think he is? Does he really think that promotion is normal? Does he honestly think he’s that extraordinary?’  

‘Moron…’ 

Ron’s jaw was aching from gritting his teeth so hard, his heart was trying to break through his ribcage and go after Percy to beat him. 

‘Do you really think he meant that stuff he said to Dad?’ George said. ‘It’s just…’  

‘I bet he does, the git,’ said Fred. ‘I bet he really does pretend he’s not part of the family. He’s ashamed of us. Slimy, brown-nosing prick…’ 

‘All that stuff about poverty? So uncalled for.’

‘That’s it, really, isn’t it? He’s a greedy arsehole.’ 

‘Well, he’s certainly written himself out of the will now, hasn’t he?’ 

‘He won’t care, nothing for him to inherit anyway, apparently.’ 

That prickling, heated anger was back - his very ears were hot with it, he wouldn’t be surprised if steam had been bursting out of them. The memory of Harry, pale and shaken in the hospital wing, his hands gripping Mum’s robes as she hugged him, was lingering in his mind. ‘Did you hear all that crap about Harry? Did you hear what he was saying about him? Harry!’

‘Yeah,’ muttered George. ‘Pillock.’ 

‘Why would he say that? What the bloody hell is going on with him? He’s gone bonkers. When did he turn into such a - a -’ He still could not quite find a word strong enough.  

‘Berk?’ suggested George. 

‘Something along those lines…’  

‘Easier than admitting he’s horrible, selfish, idiot snob, I suppose,’ said Fred. 

‘Money’s always been an issue, but blaming Dad like that is just…’ 

‘Nasty,’ said Ron, simply. 

‘You can make money without completely selling out and betraying your family,’ said Fred seriously. ‘You can do it and keep your integrity.’ 

‘He’s acting like we weren’t fed enough,’ said George spitefully. ‘Percy didn’t even get that many hand-me-downs, really - Mum and Dad were doing all right before they were hit with twins, and we all know Ginny was probably unexpected.’ 

‘Was she?’ said Ron distractedly.

‘Are you joking, you were only about eight months old, who picks then to decide to have another baby?’  

‘Mum.’ 

‘Fair.’ 

‘Anyway,’ said Fred, ‘Percy’s not exactly been hard done by, not really. He’s just always been ashamed we’re not as well-heeled as his smarmy new colleagues at the Ministry.’ 

‘It’s childish,’ said Ron, who was feeling another lurch of guilt as he thought back on the previous year. ‘It’s really petty…’ 

‘We’ve all wished the family was better off now and then,’ said George fairly. ‘Who wouldn’t? But that was a seriously low blow. God, poor Dad,' he added, his voice lowering further. 'I'm glad Ginny's gone in to comfort him, I don't even know where to begin.'

‘Do you think he’s really gone for good?’ asked Ron.

‘Hope so,’ said Fred viciously. ‘Hey - one less mouth to feed now, maybe the family’ll be better off.’ 

'You know what else,' Ron said sharply, his brain whirring, 'did you hear him dodging Dad's question about what he's said about Harry? Good thing he's buggered off before we go to the Order Headquarters, isn't it? Who knows what he would have blabbered about?' 

Fred was looking at him as though in a new light. 'You know what, Ronniekins, that is a really excellent and disturbing point. You're a bit of a bright spark at times, aren't you?' 

'Brighter than Percy,' Ron muttered.

[peanut-in-the-goal]

I love him

Remember this post? yea okay im sorry here

“Meda! Meda!” Sirius calls. Running across King’s Cross to his favorite cousin. His left hand holding onto Remus’ as he practically dragged him across the station.

Andromeda turns from her husband to her rambunctious younger cousin. He looks happier than the last time she saw him, she notices. She looks up at the poor boy he has a grip on, smiling. 

The boy is smiling, running with Sirius trying not to trip over his own feet. Sirius flings himself at his older cousin, hugging her.

“I missed you Meda,” he says, pulling himself back and grabbing back onto the boy’s hand. “I want you to meet someone! This is Moony!” He laughs. He pushes Remus forward, who’s blushing furiously. He lets out a nervous laugh, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Hi, I’m Remus.” He says, smiling just a little.

“He’s my boyfriend!” Sirius practically shouts, gaining the attention of some of the parents on the platform still. “I love him. I want to marry him one day.” He says softer this time, looking back at Remus.

Andromeda gives a soft smile, Ted does too. 

“That’s good,” she whispers. She then turns to Remus, “Take good care of him alright? I don’t want to see him getting his heartbroken.” Remus nods.

“Of course.” He says. His smile grows fond as he looks at Sirius. Sirius’ cheeks are tinted pink.

“Meda,” Sirius whined. 

~~~

“Mum! I’m home!” Nymphadora yells as she walks into her parent’s house. Hand in hand with her fiance. 

“In the kitchen!” Andromeda calls. Nymphadora takes Remus’ coat, hanging it on the rack, before hanging her own as well.

“Come on,” she says kindly, “I want you to meet my mum.” She picks up his hand again, pulling him down the unfamiliar hallways.

Rounding the corner, his mouth goes dry, seeing the woman standing behind the counter. 

“Mum,” she says, bounding over to her mother, leaving Remus staring at her.

Andromeda looks up, recognizing the 40 something-year-old man standing in front of her immediately. Her eyes go wide, seeing the teenager Sirius introduced her to all those years ago.

Oh no, she thinks. Poor Sirius. Her face falls. Thoughts being replaced of what Sirius was probably feeling. Remembering that he had to see Remus and her daughter every so often during order meetings. She swallows around a lump forming in her throat.

She knows Remus recognizes her, but he doesn’t do anything to acknowledge it. Carefully she smiles, looking at her daughter.

“Who’s this Dora?”

“This is Remus!” She says excitedly, reminding her of the ways Sirius said it. “I love him,” Dora whispers. “I’m going to marry him.”

[groovybaybee]

Greener - IV

I, II, III

(4k)

cw: mentions of abuse (nothing too intense but better safe than sorry), alcohol consumption

I am in the ocean. The water is warm and comforting as it hugs up against me with each gentle wave. It is calm and peaceful and in turn I am calm. I am in the ocean and I am calm.

 You’re in your kitchen.

“Fuck off,” I whisper, eyes squeezed tightly shut as if they could shield me from the reality of the voice in my head.

 I am in the ocean.

 BUZZ

 I ignore it.

 I am in—

 BUZZ

 BUZZ

 With a deep exhale, I open my eyes and face the brutal reality that the unkind voice lingering in my brain had been right. I am in my kitchen. The bright smiling faces tacked to the walls seem to mock me as I desperately try to regulate the rise and fall of my chest. My lungs unaware that I am not in the middle of a hundred-metre sprint and can probably relax a little.

 Against my better judgment, I pick up the phone that had caused me to spiral in the first place. Quickly, I close Twitter, wishing I had never let myself fall down the thread of comments. I had known it would only cause me to panic but, almost masochistically, I did it anyway.

 Thought I was supposed to be the one organising collaborations with big artists?? Nice work kiddo. Response to the video is pretty good so I can look into booking some studio sessions…

 My focus falls away from my manager’s message. Of course, he saw this as a positive thing. It is a positive thing, really. Only a crazy person would find discomfort in their dream career being boosted along. This is the kind of thing I have always wanted. I want to make music. I want to have people see me and connect with me. But now that the opportunity is there all that I feel is fear.

 You always were ungrateful.

 For once, I do not try to argue with the bad part of my brain. I am ungrateful. How could someone get what they want and find reasons to still be the victim? I do not deserve any of this. How could I, in the sea of so many, be lucky enough to find traction in this industry? Yet all I want to do is run.

 It is not even as though all of the new feedback is negative. To a degree, it would be understandable to want to run away were that the case. No, people were actually incredibly supportive of Harry and I’s impromptu duet. Complimentary even. I should be jumping for joy, but instead I find myself clutching for the countertop beneath me to tether me to the Earth.

 Instinctively, I reach for my phone again, quickly dialling the first number I can think to.

 “Hello lovely lady,” Lucy answers brightly.

 “Luce,” I gasp, mouth remaining open but unable to find the words as my throat seems to tighten up.

 “What’s wrong?” she asks, suddenly serious and I can picture her sat bolt upright. When I can’t formulate a reply, she speaks for me, “Are you at home? I’ll come over.”

 “Yeah.” I manage to breathe out.

 Time seems to warp as I listen to the background noise of Lucy buckling herself into her car and taking the short trip to my house. Only when I hear her set of keys in the lock do I hang up the call, something about her presence comforting me even through the phone.

 “Let’s sit down, yeah?” Lucy says when she sees my face, undoubtedly wide-eyed as gravely breathes pass quickly between my lips.

 She places a hand on my back and eases me away from the counter until my body meets the soft embrace of the sofa.

 “Count to ten with me?”

 Her voice is gentle and reassuring as she watches me, no doubt assessing how severe my state is and which battleplan she needs to access in order to help me calm down.

 When I nod, she waits for me to utter a shaky and broken, “One,” before repeating it and moving from the sofa.

 “Two,” she encourages.

 She opens a window and moves back to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water as I reach “Four.”

 We count together until we reach ten. Not unlike the other times we have done this, she waits for a moment as she observes if I need to start again, or if I am suitably calm enough for her to move on to the next step in her care plan. Deciding on the latter, she passes me the glass of water.

 Gratefully, I take a slow sip.

 “Want to talk or want distracting?”

 “I feel…” I start quietly, uncertain as a sigh passes my lips, “I feel ungrateful and a bit overwhelmed.”

 Lucy just nods. No judgment in her gaze as she digests my words. They dissipate into the air of the living room, sinking into the furniture and slipping under the tape of the unopened moving box in the corner.

 “Is this about the video? Because if it is I’m so sorry for posting it, I just thought you two sounded so good and fit so great together and maybe you’d get a bit more recognition which you deserve completely and—”

 “Lu,” I sigh with a small smile as she rambles apologetically. I pull her into a hug which neither of us expect. “I love you so much. You always know what’s right and you go out and do it. I’m just a bit batshit at the minute and can’t accept the good in things.”

 “I love you.” Lucy mutters into my hair.

 We sit for a while, arms wrapped tightly around one another, swaying slightly. Neither of us want to be the first to move, simultaneously needing to provide comfort and bathe in it. A smile fixes itself on my lips, one Lucy has always been capable of coaxing from me, even during my worst nights. But that is exactly the reason the smile carves its way on to my cheeks; it’s us. It has always been Lucy and me and it will be Lucy and me until our arms can’t hug and our lungs can’t laugh.

 “I think,” I say softly, resentfully pulling away from our embrace, “it’s time to go through his stuff.”

 Lucy nods, eyes a little watery. She sniffles once and that is enough to settle her.

 “Shall I get wine?”

 I cannot help the small bubble of laughter that bursts between my lips, but I nod, nonetheless. We move to set about our own tasks; Lucy gets a bottle of Shiraz and pours two glasses as I pull the, ever so slightly dusty, cardboard box into the centre of the room and peel away the tape sealing it.

 I wait for her to return before opening the flaps, needing her next to me more than I could ever admit. Not that I would have to. She gives me a reassuring squeeze on the arm when she notices my sharp intake of air.

 No going back. I force myself to believe that and open the box.

 Peering into the box, it is less full than I remember, and that in itself pushes me along. On the top, lay a few t-shirts he did not come to collect. I place them in a pile on the living room floor, mentally noting it as one to donate. Beneath the shirts are a collection of photographs, some loose and some framed. Lucy stills beside me, nervously awaiting my tears. They would not come just yet. I remember placing the most upsetting things at the bottom. My heart clenches at the thought of seeing them again, but I push ahead.

 I flick through the photographs, placing the newly empty frames to the other side of the box. It is not nearly as saddening as I had expected. Being able to pass over a timeline of our relationship is almost cathartic, knowing that I do not have to wait weeks and months between these happy memories captured in film.

 “I loved that jacket.” Lucy says softly as we peer at a picture of my ex-boyfriend and I at the beach one night.

 “So did I,” I smile, fingers running lightly over the glossy image, a bright red faux leather jacket which matched my painted smile. “Will didn’t.”

 Lucy’s body slumps beside me and I feel the angry starting to stir inside of her. I put the stack of photos on the floor, deciding not to keep any, and peak back into the box. I can hardly help the laugh that rises from my chest when I see the next item. Not from joy, but from its sheer ridiculousness. My hands reach into the cardboard and pull from it a bathroom scale.

 “You know,” I start, sadness and amusement mingling in my chest, “he fixed these, so I was always ten pounds heavier.”

 Unable to see the dark humour that I do, Lucy’s eyebrows knit together furiously, teeth biting hard on the inside of her cheek to keep her from screaming obscenities.

 I place the scale down on the ground before reaching in to retrieve the last item in the box. The second my fingertips touch the tape, the smile erases from my face.

 Deep breath in.

 Lifting the final photograph from the box, my heart breaks yet again. The memories from that night flush my mind, my whole body quickly covering in goosebumps in an attempt at defence.

 Lucy is silent next to me, waiting for me to say something or react at all. I bring the image closer, throat drying a little more with each inch it nears. I gulp harshly, desperate for some of the moisture collecting at my eyes to travel to my mouth.

 I stare down at the picture of myself in my parents’ garden, mum and dad on either side of me, the three of us beaming uncontrollably. We were happy and excited, I was moving to Los Angeles in a few weeks, completely uncertain if I would be able to make my dream into my career.

 Turning the photograph over is what send tears falling.

 Our sweet Violet,

Words cannot describe how proud we are of you. You are so brave it makes us question if you were adopted without us knowing. You have always been your own person and that is what makes you so very special. It is also the reason that we know you will succeed no matter what you do. You are a wonder. Go forward and show the world.

So much love,

Your biggest fans xx

 The words are beautiful, so sweet and encouraging that reading them now makes me feel a fraud. Tracing my thumb over the lines of tape holding the fragments of the photo together, a gentle sob erupts from inside me. The torn object makes my heart ache enough to think it were trying to mirror it.

 “This was the day I left him,” I manage to force out between sniffs and sobs. “When he ripped this… I couldn’t do it anymore.”

 Reliving my breaking point is something I often find myself doing, experiencing the extreme high of my first ever headlining show, and subsequent extreme low when Will pointed out how unflattering the stage lights were. He took that night from me, stole its joy and tried to grind me back down to a level beneath him.

 I cry hard into Lucy’s shoulder, not caring right now that I was ruining her t-shirt. She does not seem to care either, instead just rubbing my back soothingly and letting me get out the emotions I have kept locked away for so long.

 It is only when I feel Lucy’s body shaking against mine that I pull myself away. My tears stop the second I see hers falling.

 “I’m so sorry.” She gets out, eyes bloodshot as deep but silent sobs wrack her body.

 “It’s okay.” I coo, hating seeing my best friend cry more than any object in that box.

 “It’s not. I’m supposed to protect you and I didn’t see what he was doing to you.” She is starting to hyperventilate as the tears fall faster and heavier now.

 “Hey,” I whisper, placing a hand either side of her head to get her to focus on me and really listen, “No one did, not even me.” My voice cracks slightly at the admission, but it is what we both need to hear in order to forgive ourselves even the smallest amount.

 Our breathing regulates, the tears start to dry, and I look back to the image with a fond memory.

 “Do you remember the day we left?”

 Lucy gives me a breathy and snotty but genuine laugh. “Yeah. Mum packed me about five boxes of chocolate fingers.”

 “And they wouldn’t let us go through security with them so we had to stand and eat as many as we could.”

 We share a laugh at the fond memory, glad to remember ourselves so sweet and naïve.

 I pick up an empty frame from the floor, slipping the taped-up photograph inside and set it on the coffee table.

 “I’m not letting him have any more of me.”

 She nods and we sit for a moment.

 “Thank you for always being next to me.” I say, a lump forming in my throat yet again, however this time, my heart swells instead of breaking.

 “You and me.” She says with a soft, slightly teary smile as she extends a pinky finger for me to connect with. Of course, I do.

 * * *

“He said he wants to talk when he’s back from New York.” Lucy tells me nervously as she stares down at her phone.

 “Could be a good thing.” I argue, reaching out my hand to lift my nearly empty wine glass from the coffee table. I bring it to my lips carefully, my laying position on the sofa not aiding my slightly messy actions.

 “I don’t know, he got funny the other day when I left his place.” Lucy mutters, gulping at her newly replenished glass.

 “Luce, I’m going to be completely honest with you.” I say, sitting upright and trying to avoid the urge to hiccup as I move. “I think he likes you, and I think you like him too… and I think that scares you a bit.”

 Lucy pauses, chewing on my words before responding with a sigh, “I think you’re right.”

 “When aren’t I?” I tease, earning an eye roll, “Seriously though, Joseph is great, and he would take care of you.”

 “That’s scary.” Lucy whispers to herself more than me, “What do I do if I’m not the one looking after people?”

 “You’ll always have to look after me.” I joke, squeezing her knee lightly.

 “That’s what I got Harry for.” She teases, unknowingly making my stomach squeeze just at the mention of him. “What?” she laughs, noticing my sudden silence.

 I tell her everything. Running her through every moment with Harry, from our first date excitement, to accidentally on purpose friend-zoning him, to breaking the surface on my past relationship. As I describe each of our encounters, I recognise the lightness in my chest when I speak his name. Each small interaction I recall seems to stoke the embers in my chest, burning hot and steadily as I catch her up.

 “I think you like him but you’re afraid.” Lucy repeats my own advice back to me with a smug smirk.

 “Wouldn’t you be?” I defend.

 “Oh definitely, but if you like him why are you waiting around. Be brave.” Her voice is so calm and matter of fact that her words seem nothing but logical, all my excuses flying out the window as I let her advice sink in.

 Except for one.

 “I don’t think he likes me like that, maybe he did at the start… but not anymore.”

 “You can’t know that unless you ask him.” She replies, again as if it’s the most blatant thing in the world. Which I suppose it is.

 Maybe I should be brave. I look to the newly framed photograph and find my answer. Maybe I will be.

 * * *

 Lucy made me text Harry that night before she left. He replied before I had finished locking the front door.

 Yesss are you free Friday? I potentially have an idea – Harry

 Before I know it, I find myself in the car park of The Forum in Inglewood, Harry’s hand slipped effortlessly into mine as he guides us through backdoor after backdoor.

 Adrenaline courses through me as we wind through corridors, hearing the support act through the overhead speakers. We had already missed part of the show and were desperately trying to make up for the time lost sat in traffic.

 Harry takes care of everything, shaking hands with everyone we interact with and thanking them graciously when they help us locate our seats. I watch him, slightly awe-struck, as we make our way to our little section by the balcony. The space is more private than general seating and I wonder what strings Harry had to pull to get such incredible last-minute tickets.

 “Comfortable?” Harry asks as we get settled.

 I nod, afraid that if my mouth were to open, I would let everything slip. Who could blame me though? The kindness and sincerity behind his eyes are enough to make anyone swoon.

 No time to dwell on the way his eyes glide across my face, the crowd roars, almost making me jump as they drag me from my daydream.

 Up on stage, Fleetwood Mac take their positions. A kick drum meets with the first few notes of The Chain, sending thousands of screaming fans into overdrive, ecstatic to see their idols in the flesh. Harry and I easily fall into that category, excitedly squeezing the other’s hand as the song builds.

 “Oh my God!” I scream, head thrown back momentarily, unable to contain my wonderment at whatever cosmic coincidence allowed this to by my life.

 It is loud. I feel the drums rattle in my chest, bass swirling in the pit in my stomach. My free hand grips the bar of the balcony, desperately trying to tether me to reality before I float away into whatever heavenly dream I have fallen into.

 The show goes on, each passing song appearing to be a fan favourite as the crowd only grows wilder and more liberated. I watch with glee as each and every person moves freely, dancing and singing excitedly as Second Hand News transitions into Say You Love Me.

 My gaze flits back to Harry for the hundredth time since the show began, admiring the joy radiating from him. It is infectious and feeds me until my rays begin to pour out of me as well.

 Harry is goodness. Any other day, I would have used this as a reason to drive a wedge between us. He brought happiness while I worried that I drained it from the world.

 But here, with him, I know the truth. I feel the good and the beauty in the world, and I know that I am a part of that. I do not drain him, we fill each other up.

 “Harry,” I desperately call over the music.

 Instantly, his eyes are on me, smile still present but quickly glancing over me to ensure my wellbeing.

 “I’m sorry I friend-zoned you!” is all I can think to say. Somehow, it seems to be enough. Harry lets out a beautifully easy laugh, dimples deep-set in his cheeks as he lets go of my hand in order to wrap both arms around me.

 “It’s okay.” He chuckles, quickly letting go of me and turning me towards the stage so as not to miss anything. His arms linger around me, hugging me slightly from behind, swaying us almost anxiously.

 “We don’t normally do requests, but this will have to be an exception.” Stevie says, her voice light as a playful smile finds its way on to her face. “This is Skies the Limit.”

 “I was going to choose Storms but didn’t want to see you sad.” Harry utters in my ear, confirming every complimentary thought I have of him.

 My jaw struggles to stay closed as I watch the band play my song. Harry did this for me. My favourite, non-depressive, song is playing in front of all of these people. For me. Because of him.

 His name tumbles from my lips, breathless and unbelieving that I am not existing in some kind of simulation.

 I turn to look at him, gobsmacked, when I find his tentative gaze. Never have I seen him so timid, as though I might think this gesture too much. I mean, it is. There is no way on Earth someone could deserve to feel so cherished. No one could possible earn this heart-swelling sensation. No one is worthy of this level of care. But here I am. I get to be with him and being with Harry is like every birthday rolled into one. He drives me wild and keeps me calm, often managing to do both simultaneously.

 For once, I do not care what anyone else thinks. All that matters is the man standing in front of me and the decision I need to make. Am I going to let this pass me by and shy away from potential happiness yet again? Or will I be brave and take a chance?

 Harry watches me cautiously as my brain tries to spiral and twist itself into knots of self-doubt. But every wonderful decision I have every made required an element of risk. What would my younger self think if she saw me fumble this chance? She was always so fearless, why can’t I be?

 “Remember at Lucy’s? You asked what I’d do if I wasn’t scared.” I say, palms starting to sweat as I feel the edge of the cliff approaching fast.

 Harry nods.

 “I didn’t tell you that if I weren’t so scared, I would let myself fall for you...”

 Our eyes search the other’s face; mine desperate for any sort of reaction, his cautiously awaiting a hint of insincerity.

 “Funny thing is I don’t think it will stop me.”

 And like that, the cliff is far behind me and I wait in limbo for any response.

 My heart wishes for Harry to scoop me up in his arms, bend me low and kiss me like a solider coming home from war. My mind worries that he will throw up over the side of the balcony from sheer disgust at the very notion. However, Harry provides neither anticipated response. Instead, a stifled smile spreads across his face.

 “I know,” he grins, “Lucy told me.”

 “For fuck’s sake!” I laugh incredulously, my head thrown back in despair and amusement. I should have guessed she would continue meddling. “I’m going to kill her.”

 “Do you think you could wait a while to do that?” Harry asks when I finally meet his eyes again, his hands slipping up my back, pulling our bodies ever so slightly closer together.

 “Why?” I sigh, half-joking.

 “So I can do this.”

 Each of Harry’s hands settle on either side of my head, a thumb instinctively grazing across the soft skin of my cheek. I have just enough time to register his touch before his lips come down to meet mine.

Our first kiss is fuelled with longing and ignited with hope. A new type of excitement spreads through my chest as his lips melt with mine, soft and sweet, as all fears and doubts seem to drown out with the roar of the arena. Some other time I will tell Harry about Will and how he affected me, and things will be okay, because with Harry things are okay. He makes them okay. And with heaving chests and his forehead pressed against mine, for the first time in a long time, I feel the potential for a free kind of love.

masterlist

[hms-chill]

Mother’s Day

Summary: Six snapshots of three Mother's days across the years.

2005, Edinburgh, Scotland Henry's got his mum's hand in one of his and a massive picnic basket he'd insisted he could carry in the other. Bea and Philip have run ahead, and Henry's starting to envy their freedom, but he refuses to make their mum carry a picnic basket on a day that's supposed to be all about looking after her. But then he feels a hand in his hair, and another taking the basket for him, and he turns to see his dad, an easy grin on his face and his guitar slung over his back. "Look at you, all grown up and helping your mum. Were you good for her today?" Henry beams. Arthur's been out on a set for hours; he's still got bits of makeup on his face and some product in his hair. Henry thinks it makes him look like a superhero. "I was really, really good!" "Is that right? Cat, was Henry really, really good today?"

"He was," Catherine says, grinning. "All three of them have been wonderful. They were all big helps getting things ready for our picnic."

Henry grins, and newly freed of the weight of the picnic basket, he runs up to join Philip and Bea while his parents share a kiss above his head. Catherine calls to them to stay within eyesight as the family make their way out of Holyrood and up toward Arthur's Seat. The kids fall back a bit as it gets steeper and they get tired, but they make it to the top of the Salisbury Crags and Arthur lays out their picnic while the kids pick flowers, Bea and Philip handing their considerably larger boquetes to Henry so that he can be the one to present them to their mum. After dinner, Arthur gets out his guitar and plays, cycling through some of Catherine's favorites and teaching the kids "Loch Lomond" so they'll be ready when they visit the loch tomorrow. As it starts to get darker, they pack up and finish the climb to the top of Arthur's Seat, and Bea takes pictures of their parents, then a PPO takes pictures of their family as the sun sets behind them, and Henry is so happy he can hardly believe it. 2005, Washington, DC Alex is awake first, and for a second, he's not sure where he is. It's brighter than his bedroom, with whiter walls and a window without any real curtains yet. But then he rolls over, and June is still asleep in a twin bed across the room, and the cars outside are too loud, and it all comes back. They're in Washington, DC. They're visiting their parents for Mother's Day, and they're going to see all the places they work, but first, he and June have something planned. He hops out of his bed and into hers, shaking her awake despite her grumbles. "June! June, June, June. Get up, get up, get up. We have to make breakfast!" Their dad has promised to help them if they need it, but Alex and June decided last night that, at eight and eleven, they're grown up enough to do it themselves. Alex has been helping his dad pour and flip pancakes since he could reach the griddle, and June's been sitting on the counter pushing oranges into a juicer for as long as he can remember. Between the two of them, surely they can put something together. When Oscar comes in, he finds the kids in the middle of a whispered, but very heated, discussion about what exactly the instructions on the side of the box mean. They're both furiously mixing their own pancake batter in different bowls. June's looks better, but Alex refuses to give up. Oscar just laughs, and he helps fix Alex's so that it looks right, and then Alex shapes and flips pancakes while June makes orange juice and Oscar makes bacon and coffee. June finds a tray and she puts a yellow rose on one corner to make it look pretty. Once everything is assembled, Oscar disappears upstairs to make sure Ellen is actually in bed when the kids come to "wake her up" with breakfast in bed. She's been awake for a few hours at least, answering emails and drafting meeting agendas, but she can climb back into bed and let the kids think they've surprised her. Oscar snaps a picture of the three of them, Ellen grinning with a kid under each arm and the breakfast laid out in front of her, and it all feels perfect. 2020, London, England

Mother's Day is rainy, but that feels right. Henry writes a card for his mum, and they all have lunch together, but it's not right. Mother's Day used to be a day Arthur would always make sure he wasn't working, and he'd plan them something fun and exciting to do. But now, Catherine doesn't want to visit the London Eye or go to Holyrood or even take them to the V&A. She just wants to have a nice family lunch, so they have one, and Henry takes the barbs from Philip and his gran so that he doesn't ruin things for his mum. She wants them to get along for the day, so he doesn't fight back. He sits, and he's civil when Philip suggests casually that the public might be excited about a new royal suitor, and how great it would be for their public image if either Henry or Bea started dating. Henry sits quietly while his gran hints that he's been taking a bit too long to decide what to do with himself, and Philip all but outright says that he should be enlisting soon. He sits, and he eats his food, and he resists every urge to fight back or argue.

But after lunch, when their mum's back in her room and Philip is headed back to Anmer, Henry and Bea find their way to the music room. Bea gets her guitar, plucking out a few chords of "Loch Lomond" as Henry settles on the other end of the sofa with his phone. She hums what should be the lyrics "I'll be in Scotland afore you/ but me and my true love will never meet again", and Henry pretends he doesn't know the words. A few minutes of quiet chords later, he looks up from his phone to say, "hey, Bea? Happy Mother's Day. I... I know you didn't really ask for any of this, but I'm... you've been sort of a mum for me for the past few years, and I... I really appreciate it. I love you."

She puts down the guitar to hug him, and he asks, "do you think Mum will get better?"

"I'm... I'm not sure. I hope so. But we've got each other, alright? Whatever happens."

He nods, and that night, they sneak out together to eat Jaffa cakes and Cornettos in a courtyard outside the V&A. Bea brings her guitar, and she plays their parents' favorites, and Henry hopes that wherever their dad is, he's doing something special to help their mom feel loved.

2020, Washington, DC

Alex and June are planning on a traditional Mother's Day, one where they make their mom breakfast and she pretends to be surprised. But Alex is mid-pancake when Ellen appears in the kitchen to grab a muffin and tell them both she loves them and she's sorry, but something's come up and she's got to take a video call. She'll be ready for breakfast as soon as she can be, and she'll meet them when she can.

After an hour, Alex and June eat cold pancakes with warm orange juice alone. June's trying to be happy, but her mouth is doing that thing it does when she's disappointed, but not surprised. Alex is used to that look being directed at him after ignored texts and too-late nights. But it's Mother's Day, and they should be happy, even if their mom is busy. So he picks off the thorns and tucks the yellow rose behind her ear, then he steals her coffee and pancakes to put them on the tray and carry everything out to the Truman Balcony, June following him with half-hearted complaints. When their mom and Leo join them half an hour later, they've saved some pancakes and juice, and Ellen gets to spend at least half an hour as a mom before she's called back to the presidency, Leo promising her a nice dinner if she can find time in her schedule.

At least it's better than last year. Last year, Ellen had been pulled away from breakfast the moment she'd sat down and had been busy for the rest of the day. June had been upset for the rest of the day, and Alex had had to try and keep her company, at least, and the whole day had been hard. Mother's Day has been hard for the past few years, more about finding a semblance of family time than about actually celebrating their mom. But they've found some time today, and June's still smiling, and Leo looks proud and their mom doesn't seem to stressed. So, all in all, it could be worse.

2025, London, England

Tradition demands that they invite Mary to their Mother's Day brunch, so she is invited. She comes, and Alex thinks it might just be to spite them. But after the brunch, she's complaining about her joints. She goes back to Buckingham, and the Fox-Mountchirsten-Windsor children are urging them all into a van, sharing conspiratorial glances and grins as Philip talks to a driver and Bea pulls out a blindfold.

"Mum, we've got a surprise, so we're going to blindfold you after a bit, alright?" Catherine laughs and agrees, and Alex looks at Martha, who looks just as surprised as he is. Philip reveals a blindfold for her, too, arguing that since she's pregnant, she's technically a mother and deserves to be celebrated as one. Catherine agrees immediately, grinning at Martha. So, an hour and a half later, the moms are being blindfolded, but Alex is free to look out the window as the ban pulls into a small seaside town. They drive through it, stopping to park near a beach. Henry takes his mom's hands and Philip takes Martha's as Bea hands Alex a picnic basket, and they make their way to a picnic table on the beach before the blindfolds are removed. Catherine sees the picnic basket, and she grins.

"We... We thought maybe we could go for a hike, since that's what we always did growing up," Henry says.

“It’s not a long one, but Mazzy, if you’re not feeling up for it we’ll stay in town and enjoy the beach, or we can only go part way,” Philip says.

“Happy mother’s day, Mum. It… it’s good to have you back, and we love you,” Bea tells her.

"And you too, Martha. You're the best decision Philip ever made," Henry says, and Philip nods, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek, then the baby bump just starting to make an appearance against her shirt. They have a happy lunch, one where they're not all being careful to do things just right or keep an uptight grandmother happy. Then, Martha feels alright to hike, so she and Philip join them. They take things slowly, resting at a halfway point for Bea to play guitar and the six of them to take a break, Philip making sure Martha's doing alright and Henry passing out some of the treats Alex's family sent with him. And it's good. It's really, really good.

2025, Austin, Texas

Alex wakes up early on Mother's Day in his childhood home, wrapped around Henry in a bed that's probably too small for the two of them to share. He can hear June's alarm from across the hall, and he knows it's time. He presses a kiss to Henry's forehead, then gets up and meets June in the hall, both grinning. This is the first Mother’s Day where they get Regular Mom instead of President Mom, and they’re going to make it the best Mother’s Day yet.

Breakfast is routine by now; Alex starts pancake batter while June squeezes orange juice, then moves on to cooking eggs and bacon as Alex flips pancakes on the griddle. Henry wanders into the kitchen, talking on the phone as he wraps his arms around Alex. The coffee's ready, and there are three stacks of pancakes: blueberry, chocolate chip, and plain. Their mom will take one of each, and Leo will refuse anything but plain while Alex takes chocolate and June does blueberry. Alex wonders which one Henry will pick, thrilled that his boyfriend gets to join them. He's not sure who decided that England and the US should have different Mother's Days, but he's glad.

"Good morning," Henry says, hanging up and pressing a kiss to Alex's forehead.

"Morning. Things going alright at the shelter?" Henry's arranged to have moms who can't be with their kids visit the youth shelter today, to love the kids a little extra and get loved themselves. He’s left Pez in charge of it, and apparently, it’s all off to a good start.

When breakfast is ready, June brings over the tray with servings of eggs, bacon, juice, and coffee, complete with the yellow rose. Alex adds a plate of their mom's favorite pancakes, then he and Henry grab the rest of the food and bring it to their mom's room, where it's been Leo's job to make sure she actually relaxes this morning. She'd jumped into charity work the minute she left office, and they've all agreed she deserves to take a break for once. She doesn't know it, but she and Leo are going on vacation tomorrow, and he and the kids are refusing to let her bring any work with her. She’s been working for eight years straight; she deserves to relax for a bit.

She pretends to be surprised about the breakfast as the kids find spots around the room to settle down so they can eat together. Ellen's relaxed for the first Mother's Day in eight years, and she's going to spend the whole day with them for the first time in ages, if ever. They're planning on a day in, full of card and board games. Alex is going to help her grill for dinner, and they've all made a pact not to wear anything but pajamas all day. And, for the first time since she was president, Alex is convinced it's going to be a good Mother's Day.

On AO3

Notes:

Earlier today, I was like "yeah I kinda want to write a parent fic but I don't know", and then the discord chat (especially Gina over at @saltfics) was like "DO IT" and so I ignored my final essay and did this instead. -

Want to support the Hannah Makes Art fund? You can tip me a ko-fi here!

[brianandthemays]

Paper Rings: Complications, Too Part 2

A/N My birthday is in 2 hours!!

Also beta read by the wonderful @queen-irl-af​

Paper Rings Complications Too, Pt 1

Warnings: SMUT (18+ ONLY PLS), fluff, cuteness

Word Count: 3k

______________________________________________

It was a while before you heard from him. He texted you when he left the hospital, told you he was looking forward to seeing you again but that was it. You were growing antsy. Did he know what he said? Would his mom tell him? You’d never gone this long without talking to him or seeing him and, though it was cheesy, you missed him so much. It felt like a piece of you was missing.

You were cooking in the kitchen. Cheryl had gone home for the weekend, leaving you alone in the apartment. Usually, you would call Ben and the two of you would spend the whole weekend together, but now, you didn’t know where you stood.

Well, that changed when there was a knock at your door. You turned off the stove and wiped off your hands before walking to your door. As always, you looked through the peephole. You had to stop your self from yelling out and you unlocked and threw the door open.

        “BEN!” you cried. “What are you doing here?”

        “I’m coming to see you,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing.

You looked down, seeing him leaning on his crutches, a cast surrounding his leg almost us to his mid-thigh. You shook your head and opened the door.

        “Come in, sit down,” you insisted.

        “Hey!” he called out. You turned back to look at him as he hopped inside. “Can I get a kiss?”

You smiled before walking back towards him. He grinned at you.

        “Maybe you can,” you giggled, moving your hands to cup his face. He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. It was a short sweet but as you pulled away you found that pit in your stomach that you felt at the hospital. “I think we need to talk”

Ben nodded, his facing flushing red. “Yeah… uh… let’s sit down.”

He crutched over to the couch as you walked into the kitchen. When you returned you had a sharpie in your hand.

        “Can I sign your cast,” you asked, siting next to him.

        “Please! I was waiting for you to ask,” he returned, moving his leg up onto the couch.

You began signing you name, making a little drawing next to your name.

        “How have you been?” you asked, coloring in your drawing.

        “Okay… ya know, Stephen came and brought my schoolwork,” he told you. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”

You look up at him before leaning back. He reached over and took your hand. He held it in his own, studying it carefully, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles.

        “My mum… she, uh, told me what I said,” he murmured, not looking up from your hand.

You placed your other hand on his chin, moving his face to look at you. “Ben, honey.”

        “I just wanted to say that… I didn’t really mean it,” he started, continuing to look anywhere but you.

        “Ben—”

        “I mean, I did mean it I just—”

        “Ben—”

        “I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything—”

        “Ben!”

He looked up at you, his big green eyes laced with fear and vulnerability. He pulled one of his lips into his teeth, chewing anxiously.

        “Ben,” you repeated, moving your thumb to pull down on his lip, pulling it from his mouth, rubbing your thumb over it. “I love you.”

His eyes lit up and his hand tightened on your hand. Then he reached up with both hands, cupping your face and pressing his lips against yours. This kiss was so different from the others. So full of love and passion and it made you whimper. You moved your arms to wrap around his neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. He reached down to clutch your thigh helping you to swing your leg over his waist to straddle him.

        “Watch your leg,” you murmured, giggling. He chuckled, looking down for a moment to help you settle against his thighs. The two of you stared at each other, taking in each other’s presences as Ben wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you firm against him.

He pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and you reciprocated.

        “You’re all mine,” he mumbled, holding you as close as he could.

        “And you’re mine,” you whispered back.

He smiled. “Always, baby girl, always.”

And he kissed you again. And again, and again and again. It was like you were lost in him. His arms holding you so tight and your arms keeping you flush against him. His hands drifted down, brushing over the skin showing at your midriff. You moaned, reaching down to encourage him.    “Let’s get this off, yeah?” he said quietly, pulling your shirt off. Once your shirt was off he paused, his hands moving to rest on your waist. “God, you’re so beautiful.” He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. “And I can’t believe you’re all mine.” He kissed your cheek. A kiss to your neck. A kiss to your collar. “I love you.”

Your body was warm with adoration. Every kiss sending a shock of warmth through your body. He loved you. He really did. Who would’ve thought that the dude on the back porch of Roger’s house would end up being the love of your life? He continued to kiss down your body as you curled in around him. He stopped at your stomach, peppering your skin with kisses.

        “Ben, I need you,” you whined.

He chuckled pulling back. “Well, that might be a little difficult.” He tapped his cast.

You frowned, looking at the cast, your mind racing with how you could get to him even closer.

        “I could ride you,” you concluded.

Ben’s eyes darkened and became hooded. “God, I love you.”

He buried his head in your neck and you laughed, holding onto him. He sucked a mark into your neck before pulling back, pausing for just a moment to admire you before capturing your lips in another kiss.

        “I really do love you,” he murmured, placing another kiss on the corner of your mouth.

        “I love you, too,” you replied, softly.

It wasn’t long before you had moved to your bed, finding it easier to movie around there. You had lost your bra and your pants leaving you in just your panties and Ben in just his pants. You were in your bed, you straddling his waist bent over attached at the lips. His hands were anything but stagnant, roaming over your body as if he needed to touch all of it at once. You started kissing down this body, moving down his chest until you reached shorts pants. You hooked your fingers into them, pulling them down his legs. You wanted to take them off. But his stupid cast got in the way.

        “Ben,” you whined. He sat up and started helping you around his cast, and eventually he got his pants around his cast, his boxer’s follow soon after. You shook your head, a smile coming onto your face as you turned back to him. “For the record, this cast is so not sexy.”

        “Oh really.” He raised his eyebrows. “You still seem pretty eager.”

        “Maybe that’s because your dick is pressed against my stomach,” you quipped, reaching down to wrap your hand around his cock, beginning to stroke up and down. That made him stutter, he loud out a broken moan and his hand shot down to stop yours.

        “Woah, stop, stop,” he panted, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t want to fuck you.” You frowned, moving back so you can look at him better. He let out a short laugh, kissing you again. “I want to make love to you.” You shuddered, brushing your nose against his. He smiled. “Can I do that, love?”

You nodded; your eyes glued to his. He kissed you again. But this was a slow kiss, showing you how this night was going to go. He laid back, pulling you down with him. One of his hands moved down your back before moving to rub the skin on your stomach. His fingers ghosted down to your covered core. He began to rub his fingers against your pussy; a slow delicate movement that cause your breath to hitch. You disconnected your lips, trying desperately to regain your breath as he continued to rub you in just the right way.

Sex was not something strange to the two of you. You knew every nook and cranny of Ben’s body and he knew yours and right now, he was using that to his advantage. Just as you were settling into the current feelings running through your body, his fingers slipped underneath your panties to come in direct contact with your core. You gasped as he began to collect your wetness on his fingers before beginning to circle your entrance. Then he pressed inside, and you pressed your forehead against his shoulder, unable to control the noises that were leaving your mouth. He pressed in and out pushing into the knuckle, so deep inside you, then pulling out before you could get comfortable. You whimpered into his chest and he shushed you calmly, pressing a kiss to your head.

        “I’ve got you, baby,” he cooed. He added his thumb, pressing onto your clit in firm, tight circles. You moaned, your breath picking up. “Let’s see here.” His fingers began searching inside you and then he found it. That perfect spot in your body that sent a rush of pleasure through you and you felt that tightening feeling in your stomach about to snap. “Let go, honey.” He pressed down on your clit and your g-stop at the same time and it snapped. You let out a breathy moan and arched into him. “There, you go. That’s it.”

You regained your breath after a minute, pressing a kiss against his shoulder before sitting up. You reached down between your bodies and grabbed onto his cock. You stroked it up and down as you reached into your bedside drawer to grab a condom. His cock was so hard, the tip was leaking pre-cum furiously and the tip red and swollen. You smiled at him before leaning down to place a kiss to the tip of his cock, gaining a groan from Ben as he look ed down at you. You giggled before sitting up and sliding the condom onto his dick. Then you lifted yourself so you just above him. You looked Ben in the eyes and reached forward to grab his hands.

        “I love you,” you murmured.

        “I love you, too,” he grumbled, hands tightening in yours.

Then you lowered yourself onto him, letting out a shaky breath. You whimpered trying to adjust to his size, lowering yourself so you were flush with his chest. He kissed your forehead and whispered sweet comments in your ear. Telling you how much he loved you and how amazing you were doing. Once you felt comfortable, you began to move. Grinding and lifting you started a steady rhythm, panting and moaning with each thrust. You moved up and down, eyes fluttering shut as you desperately raised to find your high.

You unhooked your hands from each other, moving them to drag down his chest, creating small red marks in his skin. You pressed kisses to his chest and neck, leaving marks all over his body.

        “Damn, baby, you’re really going to town, huh?” Ben chuckled.

You didn’t answer but sucked on a particularly sensitive part of his neck cause him to thrust his hips upward and moan. You smirked and pulled back raising your eyebrows. He just huffed and grabbed onto your hips, helping you move up and down on him.

        “God, baby,” Ben moaned. “You feel so fucking good. You were fucking made for me.”

He reached his hand down and began to thumb your clit, sending another wave of pleasure through you. It was such an intense feeling, mixed with your passion and love for each other, it felt ethereal.

        “I can feel you squeezing me,” he choked out. You slowed down, grinding your hips against his, moving slowly and squeezing against him. “Jesus, darling.”

        “How’s that, baby” you cooed, reaching out to grab his free hand. “Please tell me you’re getting close.”

“You can come, baby girl, I’m right there with you,” he answered, his thumb on your clit speeding up.

You clenched your eyes, squeezing your hand in Ben’s your other hand propped up next to his head, giving you better leverage. Your breath was coming out in short, hot, bursts of air as you picked up your pace, bouncing on his lap.

        “Ben,” you breathed out. You opened your eyes to look down at him and that was it. The intensity and love in his eyes reflecting the emotion in yours sent you over. You cried out his name, hips stuttering as you came hard. Ben grunted your name and followed you right after, but it felt like you were underwater. Your ears were ringing as you collapsed onto his chest, catching your breath. He pressed kisses to your forehead, brushing your hair from in front of your face.

        “That was so good,” he chuckled. “Damn that was good.”

You hit his chest, laughing as well. “You always ruin the moment, you dork.” You lifted yourself up off of him, the both of you letting out a whine. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips before hovering right over him. “Now I’m going to pee.”

        “Well, if I ruin the moment you are the most unromantic person alive,” he countered, sitting up on his elbows.

        “Unromantic?” you called from the toilet. “I just had sex with you over your cast because I love you. I’d say that’s pretty romantic.”

You washed your hands with warm water for 20 seconds before leaning against the doorframe to look at him.

        “Say at again,” he mused, nodding at you.

        “What?’

        “You know what.”

You smiled, starting to walk towards him again. “I love you.”

You crawled back into bed, moving on top of him, his hands coming to wrap around your waist as you laid on top of him.

        “I love you,” you repeated.

        “I love you,” he answered, pulling you down to kiss him.

You giggled, reaching a hand up to play with his hair. “I still cannot believe you crutched yourself all the way up here. How did you even get here?”

        “My mum dropped me off,” he admitted. A smile came over your mouth. “I know, kinda embarrassing that my mum dropped me off to shag my girlfriend.” You laughed again, leaning down to rest your head on his chest. He reached and began brushing his fingers through your hair. With his other hand, he reached down to intertwine your fingers.

This was it. This was how you wanted to be forever. In his arms, happy and smiling. He did that to you. And whatever complications or fights or whatever you went through, you wanted to work through it to be with him forever.

_______________________________________________

Please reblog, comment, or send an ask and let me know what you think!

[dnp-and-blankets]

It Could Have Been Perfect

            Chapter One

            Patrick read through the lyrics for possibly the 100th time, and continued to sob. "Pete what is this?" he choked out, grabbing his boyfriend by the wrist as he walked passed the sofa Patrick was sat on. Pete scanned the piece of paper Patrick was holding and flashed an awkward smile. "I wrote it" "I got that much!" "I wrote it for you" "You wrote it for-" "It's a promise. The entire album is" He said sheepishly, turning on his heel and disapearing into his room for a couple seconds before returning with a notepad. "The one you've just read is only part of the promise. I wanted it to be a surprise, when I finished the album, but you might as well read through the rest of the songs, and we can bring it to practice tomorrow?" The elder explained. Patrick only wiped his eyes and nodded. I've got troubled thoughts and a self esteem to match. What kind of promise is that? Although the explanation didn't fully settle Patrick's worries, he stopped crying, and stood up, walking to the kitchen. Maybe some of the British tea his mum had bought him will help him chill out               He filled the kettle. You'll never catch us. He grabbed the box of tea bags from the cupboard and put one in a mug. So just let me be. He put two teaspoons of sugar in his mug and got the milk carton out of the fridge. I'm the one who charmed the one. He picked up the now boiled kettle and poured it in his mug. Who gave up on you. He let it brew for a minute or two before removing the tea bag and mixing in a bit of milk. I will never end up like him. He didn't wait for it to cool down. He picked the hot mug up and sipped it, allowing it to scald his lips and tongue. Behind my back I already am. He dropped the mug and it smashed, spilling the tea all over the floor. What a catch. He slid down the counter and hugged his knees to his chest, not caring that he was now sitting in hot tea. What a catch. He cried so hard no sound came out. He didn't hear the front door open. What a catch. He let out a strained sob. He didn't hear the gasp. What a catch. He coughed and spluttered, and shook with each breathe he took. He didn't hear the brunette shout his name. What a catch.             Patrick continued crying even as he felt himself being lifted off the ground. He didn't open his eyes. He didn't question who was touching him. He didn't return the embrace. He continued to sob as Pete held him close. After almost half an hour of crying whilst sat in Pete's lap as he was practically rocked like a baby, his sobs finally slowed, and he cracked his eyes open, sniffling. "Don't try again please Pete" He begged, his voice scratchy and strained from the crying. "Don't try what again?" His boyfriend questioned with a puzzled expression. "I know a suicide note when I read one!" Patrick yelled, practically jumping from Pete's lap. "It's not even been that long since I broke your gosh darn door down to stop you from killing yourself, don't you dare try it again" His breathing still hadn't calmed down from the crying fit he was still recovering from, and he felt tears threatening to spill over again, "I don't care if it's in song form, I know a suicide note when I read one," He repeated. His voice faltered at the end of his sentence, so his plea was barely a whisper.             Pete stood up and wrapped his arms around Patrick in a bear hug. "Baby, baby, baby," he cooed, "it's not a suicide note, it's a promise that I'm not going to attempt it again." He rubbed soothing circles on Patrick's back until his breathing calmed down. Patrick looked at his boyfriend's hot whiskey eyes, and smiled a pitiful smile, with eyes swollen from the crying, his cheeks flushed and damp, and his bottom lip still quivering, but at least it was a smile. "Do you pinky promise?" He said quietly, averting his gaze. Pete only kissed him softly, and during the kiss, Patrick felt his boyfriend grab his hand and entwine their pinky fingers. He smiled into the kiss.              Patrick went to sleep very early that night, the mental breakdown wiped him completely out. The second his head hit his pillow, he was out. It was good that he slept so early, because they were up at 8am, showering and rushing breakfast to try and make it to band practice in time. Patrick was quite happy and still very nervous over how famous they were getting. Happy because he was getting payed for hanging out with his best friends and doing what he loved pretty much every day. Nervous because it was getting increasingly difficult to hide his and Pete's relationship. The rush of singing love songs about yourself, when you're the only one who knows they're about you, Patrick loves it. But pictures of him being hugged by Pete during concerts were getting around online. People were beginning to question why certain lines fit Patrick and Pete so well. "Peterick" was beginning to trend on Tumblr. And Patrick was beginning to worry. Pete kissed him on the cheek and grabbed his hand and led him out of the house, tearing him from his worried thoughts.              Andy and Joe were already there when they arrived at the run down building they were using for practice. They were just wrapping up the Infinity on High tour (trade baby blues for wide eyed browns was still circling the internet, tagged with peterickisreal) and so Andy was very shocked when Pete threw an album's worth of lyrics on the small desk in the corner of their practice room. It was cluttered with paperwork from tours and merch and other band related things. The room itself wasn't too impressive, but it definitely wasn't shabby. It was big enough for all of their instruments to fit with enough room for Pete to run around and do his thing- whatever that was- and there was also a sofa, a minifridge, and a TV, for when they wanted to take breaks. The walls were a pale brown, and the floors were polished wooden panels.            Patrick read through the lyrics on the drive up to the building, smiling at all the lovely lyrics that were about him. No one could even begin to understand how much he loved Pete. Since the band had first formed he had loved him. And it was times like these, reading through a notebook full of lyrics that were about him, that made him believe that Pete loved him just as much. He suppressed a smile by biting his lip as he watched Andy and Joe read through the notebook. "Christ, Wentz are you ever gonna ask the girl out?" Andy asked with his eyebrows raised. Patrick tried not to look hurt. Pete questioned Andy with a quizzical look, prompting him to explain, "Well the descriptions in your love songs don't really vary much, I figured they were your way of working through your angst of loving some chick, so why not just ask her out?" Pete snorted. Attractive. Patrick restrained from rolling his eyes. "They're not about some chick" He laughed, although Patrick didn't miss the way Pete's eyes didn't crease like they usually do when he laughs, and he definitely didn't miss the way Pete tried to hide the venom in his voice. He smiled. This wasn't just upsetting Patrick.          Andy shoved Pete playfully and winked at Joe, "I call bull," he chuckled. They all grabbed their instruments and began playing around with chords to try and bring Pete's lyrics to life. "Who's Mr Benzedrine?" Joe suddenly questioned, after Patrick had sang the lyrics to the song Pete called 20 Dollar Nose Bleed. "Patrick." Pete replied nonchalantly, not even looking up from fiddling with his bass. "What about Mr Sandman?" Andy chimed in. "Me." He said, finally lifting his eyes from his bass, to meet the questioning gaze of his friends. "There something you not telling us, Pete?" Andy questioned, taking a step towards him and motioning between Pete and Patrick. "I don't know what you're asking" Pete spat. Patrick failed to not look hurt this time. "There!" Joe yelled, pointing at Patrick's solemn face. Pete looked at him and his eyes suddenly filled with worry. Patrick must have looked heartbroken. "Patrick rarely looks that sad, so it can't just be a coincidence that after Pete denies having a thing with him, that he looks devastated." Andy and Joe began taking steps towards the two boys, but Pete stood his ground, shaking the worry out of his expression.          "Then that's 'Trick's fault isn't it? I'm not gay, especially not for him" He said. The words rolled off his tongue so effortlessly, Patrick had to try his best not to run out of the room. "Are you sure? Cause it's not just us that's been noticing things. The fans have too" "For the last time, you jerks, I'm not dating Patrick, and I wouldn't even in my nightmares!" He yelled. Everyone in the room snapped their heads towards Patrick as he let out a sob. Pete tried to mouth "I love you" to calm him down, but Patrick shook his head and began furiously wiping at his eyes, desperately trying not to let the tears spill. Pete looked between his suspicious friends and his heartbroken boyfriend, and cracked. He ran towards Patrick and wrapped him in a hug that was awfully similar to the one he used the night before. Patrick felt Pete lips on his hair, then on his forehead, then on his cheeks, and then finally on his lips. He kissed Pete back, and felt the tears disappear. Andy was the first to speak. "You should have just been honest with us guys. It's not healthy to not tell anyone." He said, his voice laced with concern. Joe nodded, and apologised to the two of them for pushing them. Patrick was beaming. He could hold hands with his boyfriend during practice now. He could finally show him off, albeit only to two people, but that was good enough.  They wrapped up practice a few hours later, and Patrick's smile hadn't faltered once. The entire ride home he was staring at Pete lovingly, and whenever they were at traffic lights, Pete would return the gaze. "I love you" "I love you too"

         Patrick slammed his Macbook Air with such force, he almost worried it was broken. Almost. He flew his bedroom door open with the same fury. They were still touring Folie a Deux, but it was not going well. He stormed into the tiny kitchen their tour bus had. He glared at Pete from who was sat at the table. Andy came over and placed a hand on Patrick's shoulder, "What's up man-" "Don't touch me" Patrick growled, shrugging the hand off him, and maintaining his death stare at his boyfriend. "Babe?" Pete quizzed. "Don't babe me, you, you," Patrick stuttered trying to think of an insult that would have an effect without having to swear- he never did like profanity, even in states like this, "You dry wet wipe!" He yelled. Joe snorted. "Did you just call me useless?" Pete demanded, an irritated look spreading across his face. "Yes. I did. Go check the internet, genius, every single person is questioning us. Madness of two? When we made it clear who Mr Benzedrine and Mr Sandman are? Some of the lyrics?" Everyone in the room was shocked at how livid Patrick was. This was very rare. "People are questioning! Slam your head in a door Pete, you're an idiot!" Patrick screamed the words, then turned on his heel and locked himself in their tiny bathroom.            He didn't speak to anyone in the band for the rest of the tour. He sang the songs, he signed things, he acted happy on stage, but he didn't speak to the band. He was barely even awake at this point. He was on autopilot. Wake up, skip breakfast, sing, meet fans, lunch, sing, meet fans, skip dinner, shower, sleep. He avoided most meals because he didn't even want to look at Pete. He was ashamed for yelling at him, but whenever he went on Tumblr, he was livid again. Pete was getting careless, and he shouldn't be. There was a knock on his door. "Get lost" He growled. They entered anyways. "Babe, you can't keep doing this," Pete said gently, sitting down at the foot of Patrick's weight. Patrick chose to ignore him. "Babe," he tried again, "Babe," he said with more intensity this time, "Babe!" Patrick shot up. "Shut up! I'm not your babe anymore," He spat. The words even hurt him, but it didn't make them any less true to him. He meant it. "What do you want?" "I want to try and save us," Pete said desperately. "There is no us." "I meant-" "There's no band either." An awkward silence followed after Patrick declared the breakups. "Why?" Pete spat. Patrick could tell he was heartbroken, because unlike Patrick, he didn't cry, he got angry. "Why are you suddenly calling this off? We've been dating since 2002, and the band has been since 2001, and you're suddenly not feeling up for it?"           "Because you let your emotions get in the way, Pete!" Patrick was now standing menacingly close to Pete, so he could see how much the words were hitting home. He felt strangely relieved. "Because you had to get so carried away with your own selfish thoughts, that you put the entire band at risk, just to write me a stupid petty promise? You can shove the entire album up your-" Patrick was interrupted by the door opening and Andy entering along with Joe. "What the hell is going on?" They both demanded. "We're breaking up" Pete spat, "and not just me and Patrick. The band." "Yes now can you all leave?" Patrick sighed. Andy left. Joe followed. Pete stayed. "Patrick we were so perfect-" "No, Pete, it could have been perfect. But you got selfish." Patrick's voice was thick, because he was trying not to cry. He lay down back in his bed and covered his face with his duvet. "It could have been perfect," He repeated. Pete left a few seconds later. Everyone on the tour bus heard Patrick crying. Everyone on the tour bus felt Pete punch the walls of his bedroom. No one on the tour bus spoke to each other after that. They were over. Finished. And Patrick was devastated. If only Pete hadn't told the fans that he wrote Folie a Deux for Patrick. Chapter Two

[l-ivingforstyles]

Painful love -Kaitlyn Fleming

Painful love prt1

Standing in the middle of their kitchen his arms are holding her in a tight grasp suffocating her much as her thoughts do. Sounds of his crying almost drowned out the echoes of hurtful words and screaming matches, which plays a constant re-run in her mind. Her eyes empty of love, happiness, hope reflects an image of who she once was before her heart was filled with lies and empty promises, before it shattered much like the broken glass laying not even a feet away from her. He loves me, he loves me, he loves me repeating this phrase over and over until she believes it. Because he does truly love her, why else would he continuously hurt her? The crying, screaming, the pain all of it was because he loved her.

Untwining his arms from around her his poisonous lips hungrily attack hers. She could taste the poison from his lips, warning her desperately screaming at her let him go, leave, let him go. However, why would she do that? He loves her. He breaks the kiss gasping for air, “ I love you “ the phrase feeling like bullets being shot over and over through her aching chest.

The feeling of something wet cascading down her cheek leaving a salty taste on her lips takes her out of her misery. Just in time to see the front door slam shut. Slowly falling to the floor she picks up the shattered pieces of her heart, knowing glue won’t be able to fix it this time.  

“I love you”

The first time he said it was 6 months into their relationship, they were sitting on her couch eating Chinese. She looked effortlessly beautiful to him, her hair in the messiest bun he’d ever seen, wearing her Tweety bird matching pajama set while she stuffed her mouth with greasy food. However, she looked the prettiest to him right at that moment. As he watched her mouth move while she ranted about this girl at her work, yet he couldn’t process the words she was saying as all he felt was his love for her radiating off of him.

“ I love you”

Her ranting came to a halt as her attention was once again fully on him. Mouth agape and eyes wide she swore she heard wrong. However as he repeated it again and again, confessing his feelings to the shocked girl, she knew she heard correct. Her smile so wide that Cheshire cat had no mercy on her. With as much love for him as he has for her, she repeated those 3 words she heard seconds ago, only this time directed to him. That night was filled with sweet nothings, happiness, and love.

Putting the broken shards in the bin, grudgingly turning on her heal she makes her way towards their shared room. Bed unmade and messy resembling her life at the moment, she silently chuckles to herself thinking about the comparison. Cautiously she sits on the edge of the bed, knuckles turning white as she grips the bed sheets harshly. A picture frame caught her attention as she turns to look at it. It was a photo of them.

She was smiling looking at the camera as her arms wrapped around his shoulders. He held her bridal style in his arms, his eyes never leaving her face as he looked at her as if she placed the stars in the sky. Wearily she picks up the frame, teardrops fall on the glass once again taking her out of her thoughts. Oh how badly she wishes she could go back to that day, back when she- they were happy.

However, why was she crying and pitying herself? He loves her, he loves her so much that her happiness isn’t a priority anymore, he loves her so much that smiling felt so wrong and foreign. He loves her, so why is she so unhappy?

The room was eerily quiet, rain hitting gently against the glass and their heavy breathing was the only sounds heard. Tension surrounds the room like its second nature, so heavy and thick you could cut it with a knife.

“Why can’t you just believe me?” She tiredly asks. They’ve been fighting all afternoon ever since they returned home from grocery shopping.

“I do believe you!” he screams back, he is tired and angry. All he wants to do is go to bed and cuddle with his girlfriend. However he is stubborn much like she is, so he’s most definitely not going to admit he’s being completely irrational.

“Then why won’t you believe me when I say nothing happened between Jay and me?” she was more frustrated than mad, this was their first fight and to say it was taking a toll on her would be an understatement. She didn’t even care enough to fight anymore but it didn’t seem that way for her boyfriend.

“So you want me to believe that I walk away for a second just to come back to find you laughing with your ex is nothing?” He believed his girlfriend 100% but with little pride left, he couldn’t suck up his idiotic behavior and admit he’s jealous.

“I want you to believe that yes, I was talking to my ex but I was thinking about you the whole time” she quietly lets out, “I want you to believe that seeing him doesn’t mean anything to me, because I don’t love him anymore. I love you” she whispers out the rest so quietly she barely hears herself. Biting her lip, she looks down to stop the tears threatening to fall down her face. She loves him. God, she loves him. However, right at this moment, her bits of patience is running thin and all she wants to do is sleep.

The tension stands still and only now do they realize the rain has stopped.

“God, I’m such an idiot.” Walking up to her he tightly grasps her into a hug, “I’m so sorry baby, I wasn’t thinking and I love you so much that I was scared that you were going to leave me for him. I’m so so sorry I love you” his lips placing butterfly kisses lovingly all over her face, hoping that it expresses how sorry he is.

“I’m sorry too I should have seen it from your perspective too instead of assuming you just wanted to start a fight” looking up she could see the love and admiration in his eyes hints of guilt around the surface. Leaning forward they share a kiss filled with so many emotions

The room felt light again, no tension lurking around the corner, only forgiveness, and love.

Her chin trembles furiously while she drowns in her own tears. Swiftly standing up she throws the frame at the wall. She lets out a frustrated cry filled with pain and agony, silently begging for everything to stop. Shards of glass are scattered all over the floor, cutting her feet as she walks through them falling to her knees. Angry sobs wracked her body, her shaking hands claw at her throat craving for the feeling of air to soothe her crying lungs and to finally let her breathe.

Her quivering body came to a halt when she heard the sound of a phone going off. Slowly retreating back to her feet the feeling of glass continuing to cut her feet didn’t phase her, as the sound of continuous ringing had her undivided attention. Cautiously trudging down the stairs she follows the ringing until it leads to his phone laying abandoned on the kitchen island. She hastily picks up the phone wanting the obnoxious ringing to come to a halt. However, as she looks at the caller I.D the ringing is drowned out, heartache washes over her like a tsunami. Audrey in big black bold letters is flashing on the screen taunting her.

The room was pitched black as she wakes from her slumber. A sudden wave of coldness washes over her, the 3 blankets currently wrapped around her doing nothing to stop the winter air creeping in. Reaching over craving his warmth, she finds his side cold and untouched. A flashing red light could be seen in the corner of her eye, looking over her clock flashes the time 1:34 am. This was the third time this week that she woke up without him beside her in the early hours of the morning.

Swinging her legs over the bed, she wraps the blankets tightly around her, making her way downstairs. Her feet direct her to the kitchen as she boils the kettle. She was worried beyond belief, questions fill her mind clashing with each other causing a headache to appear. Is he okay? What was he doing? Where is he? The kettle dings letting her know it’s done. She makes herself some coffee, sleep has cleared her mind as stress and worries take over. Sitting on the couch she thinks if he told her something that could explain his absence or where he could be or what he is doing. However, her mind was blank.

The clock above the tv lets her know it’s 3:04 am when she hears the sounds of his keys entering the lock at the front door. She faces towards the tv face void of emotion, eyes showing the result of her lack of sleep as she sits and waits. The door soon opens and the sound of his boots announced his arrival. His feet warn her that he is nearing her and in her few seconds left she asks herself, what do I do? Should I approach him? Should I forget about it?

“Babe?”

She feels her heart stop and body tense up, he found her.

“What are you still doing up?” he looks at her quizzingly, “it’s 3 in the morning” he is confused as to why she's still up, she isn’t a night owl 10 pm being even too late for her.

“Where were you?” throwing caution to the wind her mouth makes up her mind for her, “you’ve been gone the past three nights only coming home until the early hours of the morning. I know you don’t think I notice or know, but I do” she looks up at him anger bubbling in her veins as she sees him. He looks at her as though this conversation was already boring him, that he had better places to be more important conversations to have.

“It’s none of your business quite frankly, you’re my girlfriend not my mum I can go anywhere I please. So don’t sit there looking and sounding mad as though I have to tell you every single place I go if I wanted to be put on a curfew I would have stayed with my mum” he knew he wasn’t helping himself, she was just worried. What type of girlfriend would she be if she didn’t have a concern about her boyfriend's whereabouts in the early hours of the morning?

She was shocked, she asked a valid question yet that cause such an outburst from him. The anger that was once bubbling in her veins bottled over leaving her livid.

“What the fuck was that?” she yells, “I asked you “where were you” a simple question. I asked cause I care, cause I worry, cause I love you. I’m sorry I feel and do all those things if this is the thanks I get I should just stop while I’m ahead” she doesn’t understand what is happening, all she knows is she's angry and letting words fall from her mouth. She doesn’t want to stop caring, worrying or loving him, honestly, she probably will never stop doing any of those things.

[bluesfortheredj]

The Coffee Shop Part 5

Your skin prickles as Taron gets closer to you, even though you’re not facing him, you can feel the heat from his body radiating on to yours as he moves to within inches of your back. You go to pick your t-shirt up from the chair in his room, but you’re stopped when he places his hand on yours gently, then you feel his other hand brush your hair away from the back of your neck.

“How many others do you have?” he whispers. You turn around to the face him, your torsos now touching, then you notice his eyes flick down to the ink on your breast, part of it hidden by your bra.

“You’ll have to find them all yourself,” you reply, the hint of a smile crossing your lips. There was no way Taron was going to pass up this opportunity, and his eyes lit up with excitement at your proposition.

“What do I get if I find them all?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” you tease. His hands make their way up to your bra straps, carefully sliding them down over your shoulders, then he wraps his arms around you to unclasp it at the back, letting it fall to the carpet. He lifts his fingers to trace the outline, and when you look down to see what he’s doing, you notice them shaking a little. You look back up to his face, his eyes fixed on your chest as his fingers move forward until they touch it, moving lightly around the edge of the design. When he’s done, he leans back, then holds out both your arms to the sides, noting the patterns on your inner arms and one wrist. He spins you around to see the ones on your back, again bringing his hands up hesitantly to feel them as if they were paintings hanging up in a museum and he wasn’t allowed to touch them. Next he unzips your skirt, tugging it lightly, then helping you step out of it, and drops to his knees to examine the rest of your body. He smiles, then gets up and finally has an answer.

“Eight,” he smirks.

“Final answer?”

“Final answer,” he nods.

“Congratulations! You win-” you’re cut off by the doorbell ringing, and you look at Taron in a panic.

“Don’t worry,” he smiles, “stay here, I’ll see who it is.” He walks out of the room, then pops his head back in again soon after. “But don’t get dressed,” he says, then disappears again, leaving you grinning from ear to ear. You sit on his bed, hearing muffled voices outside, then your mind wanders back to the coffee shop and the series of events that have unfolded in the last few hours. Just as you start to panic about how quickly everything seems to be happening, the female voice gets louder, coming down the hallway, and you instinctively duck down at the side of the bed.

“Mum!” Taron shouts, panicked, “where are you going?”

“The bathroom,” she laughs, “where did you think I was going?”

“Nowhere,” he laughs nervously. The footsteps go past the door, then Taron rushes in once the bathroom door locks.

“(Y/N)?” he whispers, not seeing you until at first.

“Over here!” you whisper back, waving from the side of the bed. Taron laughs loudly, then clamps his hand over his mouth.

“Shit, sorry. Good hiding place though. Erm, so, just a little… Situation… My mum’s here. I’m so sorry, I completely forgot she was coming over and I was totally caught up in all this… and you,” he says, sitting on the floor next to you.

“Don’t worry,” you chuckle, “I’ll sneak out.”

“No, stay, please. I’ll take her out for a bit, but I’d really love it if you were still here when we get back.”

“You’re letting a stranger stay in your flat unsupervised?”

“I don’t think you’re that much of a stranger,” he winks, looking down at your almost naked body, “anyway, you can get on with whatever was so important on that laptop of yours, and there’s plenty to eat in the fridge, take whatever you want. Just please stay?” You open your mouth to reply, but you’re at a loss for words. Yeah, of course, you could just sit at Taron’s kitchen table writing fanfiction about him, continue on that smut scene you’d started in the coffee shop. Totally normal, right?

“Sure,” you smile, unable to say anything else.

“Yes!” he beams. He pulls you in to his side then kisses your hair, lingering a few seconds longer than normal, then you both hear the bathroom door unlock and he gets up to leave.

“Text me if you need anything, yeah? Or if you want to share what you’re doing...” he smirks, biting his lip playfully.

“Go!” you laugh, then he shuts the door quickly, just as his mum comes out of the bathroom.

“Who were you talking to?” she asks.

“Huh? No one,” he smiles, back against the bedroom door. His mum raises an eyebrow at him, not quite believing what he says, then walks away, not wanting to push it. When you hear the front door shut behind them, you get dressed and make your way out to the open plan kitchen and living room. You get your bag from the corner and pull your laptop out, placing it on the kitchen table to open it up and pick up where you left off from your most recent story. As you read the last few words you wrote, your fingers hover over the keys, ready to carry on, but you find yourself completely incapable of continuing what you were typing. You sit back in the chair, taking in everything around you, and just can’t bring yourself to write about him any more. It seemed too invasive, now that you were here in his home, going to write about him, even if it was all completely made up you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“Shit,” you sigh, closing your laptop down and slipping it back in your bag. You walk over to the window that the sun was shining through and look out on to the street below you, watching people walk by. You perch yourself on the window sill, turning your body towards the outside and smile as you look at the bright blue sky. Something out of the corner of your eye catches your attention, and you notice someone standing below the window, their phone held up in front of their face, pointed right at you. You furrow your brow in confusion as they continue to hold the phone up, then they bring it down and start furiously typing on the screen. Thinking nothing of it, you hop down and decide to make something to eat, but stop in your tracks when your phone starts buzzing with a text message, then another one, and another.

@ericaprice2008 @brianagunter @reedusteinrambles @bohemianrhapsody86 @lizziespidiepridie @thestrawberryblondehobbitbatch @marvelmakeuplover @fluffyeggsy @thesandbeneathmytoes @castellandiangelo

[forficdrafts]

Theresa walked quickly down the stairs and around the corner, following Philip’s path through the crowds of people. She carefully stepped over the small gap and onto the train as the voice on the intercom let them know they would depart soon. She tucked herself into a corner near Philip as more people continued to fill the small space. She looked up at him.

He was surveying the crowd of people around them, his cheeks and ears slightly pink from the cool air they’d been walking through. As it turned out, it wasn’t the best moment for her to be caught up in staring at him. She felt the train jerk below her feet, and she totally lost her balance, falling forward into him. His arms immediately went around her in an attempt to steady her, but she ended up pushing him backwards into the wall.

“Gosh. Sorry,” she said with a chuckle.

“No need to apologize, love,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her and smiling.  He kissed her forehead and helped her to stand up straight. “I guess you could say you’ve… fallen for me?” he said, with an exaggerated wink.

“Philip…honestly,” she said, rolling her eyes and smiling.

“Not my best, huh?”

“No, but I’ll allow it because you look very handsome right now,” she said, reaching up to tuck a bit of his scarf back into his jacket. His cheeks turned a darker shade of pink, but this time not because of the cold.

They got to their stop and walked back out into the cold night air. Theresa smiled at the sight of the festive Christmas market with tiny stalls and lights overhead. There was a group of children singing Christmas carols and people making their way through the crowded streets. It was a perfect night, only made more perfect by the fact that Philip was there with her.  

“I think I could use something warm to drink,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. She took the opportunity to tuck her hand into the bend in his elbow and tuck into his side.

“There should be something around here. Hot chocolate? Tea? Mulled wine?” His eyes lit up at her last suggestion.

“Let’s have some wine! I haven’t had any yet, and I really love it.”  

“That sounds perfect.”

They secured their warm drinks and sipped at them as they walked from stall to stall in the market. Philip stayed close, occasionally placing a hand on her lower back or leaning in to kiss her temple. He’d been even more affectionate than usual since her surgery and since they now spent so much time apart. She’d always been opposed to public affection, but she found that it didn’t bother her quite so much with him.

“The tree is up there,” she said excitedly, pointing out its location. “We should go see it.”

There were more carolers singing near the tree, and people were gathered, some singing along. Philip pulled her into his side, and she melted into him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest as he hummed along softly. She sighed and closed her eyes, perfectly content to stand in his arms under the lights and listen to Christmas carols forever.

“It looks like something’s going on over there,” he said, snapping her out of her haze.

“Hmm,” she said, reluctantly prying herself from his warmth.

She looked up to see a large group of people standing in a circle around… something? She couldn’t see.

“Let’s go see,” he said, tugging at her hand. As they got closer she could hear the crowd murmuring. “I think someone is proposing,” he said, standing on his tip toes to see. She got closer and craned her neck to see a young man down on his knee, ring box in hand.

“You’re right. Oh that makes me nervous,” she said with a grimace.

“Why?” he asked with a laugh.

“What if she wants to say no and all these people are around?”

“There’s always a risk of that, I suppose,” he said, chuckling softly. “Hopefully he fares better than that.”

They looked on. waiting nervously for a response, when a round of applause broke out in the crowd.

“Phew. She said yes,” he said, pretending to wipe sweat from his brow.

“This is a really romantic spot, except for the hordes of people looking on,” she whispered to him.

“So I guess it’s safe to assume you aren’t a fan of public proposals?”

“Well everyone’s different. She probably loved it, but I would want it to be more private.”

“Interesting… I’ll make note of that,” he said casually. She felt her chest tighten at the comment even though he seemed totally unphased. Had he been thinking about proposing?

She’d always fancied herself above all of the fantasizing about someone proposing to her, but ever since their first date, Theresa had periodically caught herself thinking about what it might looks like if Philip asked her to be his wife. She felt ridiculous, but she couldn’t really help it. She’d already made a tentative schedule in her mind for them, and could already picture what their wedding day might look like. She felt her cheeks flush, and she scolded herself internally for being silly… but the image of him down on one knee with a ring box in hand forced its way into her mind.

“What do you think about heading back to your flat? It’s getting colder, and I wouldn’t mind cuddling up on the couch before it’s time for bed,” he said with a big grin.

“Sounds good,” she said, still slightly caught up in her own thoughts.

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

“Do you want tea or hot chocolate?” she asked, peeking her head around the wall in the kitchen.

“Hot chocolate if it’s not too much trouble. Yours is the best,” he said, sounding adorably child-like. “Don’t tell Mum I said that.”

“I’m flattered, and that can be our little secret,” she said with a wink. She turned on the stove and gathered all the ingredients she needed, but the topic of proposals was still lingering in her mind. What did he mean when he said he’d make note? Was he already planning something?

“This looks great,” he said, placing his hands on her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

“We’ll have had so much sugar by the end of tonight. Neither of us will be able to sleep,” she said, leaning back into him.

“You say that now, but you’ll probably be snoring on my chest before you know it.”

“I do not snore!” she exclaimed, turning to give him a stern look.

“Oh… right. You do not ever snore. My ears were mistaken,” he said with an innocent look, leaning down to kiss her shoulder. “And you definitely never drool a little bit. No sir.”  

“I’m seconds away from withholding my hot chocolate,” she said with the most threatening tone she could muster.

“What I meant to say is that you’re so beautiful when you sleep. Like an angel from above.”

“That’s more like it,” she said, turning so she could kiss him. “I think this is ready.”

She poured some hot chocolate for each of them, and they cuddled up under a blanket on the couch. The only light in the room was from the small Christmas tree she’d put up in her apartment, and she let out a contented sigh at the perfection of the evening.

“This is so good,” he said between big gulps of the warm drink.

“You’re going to get a stomach ache,” she said, patting his stomach.

“It’ll be worth it.”

As they sat silently, enjoying each other’s company, the thought of him proposing wriggled its way back into her brain. Would it be so bad to ask? He’d brought it up casually, so maybe it wouldn’t be uncomfortable if she did? She braced herself.

“Philip, I was thinking about earlier,” she said, placing her hot chocolate down and sitting up so she could look at him… and see the hot chocolate mustache he now had. “You have… there’s… chocolate on your lip,” she said, trying to stifle a laugh and hide her frustration with the distraction from the conversation she’d just worked up the courage to have.

“Oh. Sorry,” he said, furiously wiping at his mouth. “I guess I was a little too excited about the hot chocolate.”

“Perhaps I should give the two of you some time alone?” she said, gesturing at his mug.

“Perhaps later.” He raised his eyebrows at her suggestively. “Now what were you thinking about?” he asked, turning to face her and gently brushing her hair behind her ear.  Nerves washed over her under his gaze.

“I was thinking about earlier… when you said you’d… make note of me not wanting a public proposal.”

He nodded but said nothing, and she felt her cheeks getting warm.

“I was just thinking, well… wondering, actually, if you’d thought about…”

“Proposing?” he said, sounding a bit nervous.

“Not right away or anything, but I just wondered if you’d… thought about it?” Her heart was racing. She didn’t want him to feel put on the spot, but the look on his face told her he did.

“Well… I haven’t thought about it in detail. I want to marry you, but I need to finish school and get a job and a flat first.”

“Of course. You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked,” she said, wishing she could take her question back.

“No, sweetheart, that’s all right. I’ve definitely thought about marrying you, but it might be a little early to have everything figured out?”

Thought about marrying her? She thought back to the last time they’d talked about marriage, before her surgery, and he’d sounded much more certain then. Had something changed? “You’re right,” she said, forcing a smile even though she didn’t feel much like smiling.

“And when it is the right time, I will make sure it’s just the two of us,” he said, leaning down to rest his forehead on hers. “And maybe some of the hot chocolate?” Both of them laughed softly, and she craned her neck slightly to kiss him.

“I have to admit, I’m getting a bit jealous of the hot chocolate.”

“Trust me. You have nothing to worry about,” he said leaning down to kiss her more deeply this time.

They cuddled back up and she rested her head on his chest, but she felt decidedly less relaxed this time with a nagging feeling that something was off between them.

[valeriethenightowl]

Anorak’s Library (Part 1)

<b>Hey guys! I spent all week working on the first part of my short story, Anorak's Library. (The title won't make sense in this part, but it will in the later parts of the story). Anyways, if you see any areas for improvement (which you probably will) then please remember to leave some feedback for me! For the most part, I hope that you enjoy part one of Anorak's Library!</b>

 The moment she heard the door squeak open, she dashed across the room. He barely had time to set down his bag before she ran into his arms.

 "Daddy!"

 "Hello, sunshine", he replied cheerfully.

 He embraced his daughter, giving her a firm, yet gentle hug. Her mother emerged from the kitchen, gazing sternly at the child. "Heloise Hayle, how many times must I say, no running in the house?" But her gaze soon relaxed, giving way to a warm smile. "Welcome home, Arthur."

 The young man grinned. "Hello love."

 They shared a short peck, and the little girl's face twisted in childish disgust. Her father chuckled as he bent down, reaching for the worn-down bag he left by the door. She soon forgot about her disgust as her eyes widened with excitement. "Did you bring me anything?"

 "Of course, sunshine."

 The little girl settled herself upon his knee as he dug through the bag, searching for a particular item he'd chosen for his daughter.

 "Hey, Daddy?"

 "Yes, Heloise?"

 "When can I travel with you?"

 Her father laughed heartily. "I already told you sweetheart. Your mother and I agreed that, after you turn ten, you can start traveling with me."

 "Ugh, but that's still one more year away", she groaned.

 "I know, sunshine."

 Finally, he found the item he'd been searching for, and held it out to the girl. She eagerly peeled away the tissue paper, revealing a red, leather-bound book. The book was only half as thick as her tiny pinky, but she was already in love with its shiny red cover and the silver text printed on the front. <u>Romeo and Juliet</u>.

 "A book", she whispered, completely awestruck. Besides standard school books, such items were rare to the poor residents of The Glen. And even then, only <u>boys</u> usually received books. Her little fingers flipped through its delicate pages, stopping so she could stare at long words she didn't recognize.

 "Dis... dis-co"

 "Discourses", her father explained.

 "Daddy, will you teach me how to read this?"

 "Of course, sunshine."

 She flipped to the next page with a small frown. "But Daddy, there are so many big words! It will take me forever to figure out how to read this."

 He smiled warmly at his daughter. "We have all the time in the world, sunshine."

                           *************

 Heloise Hayle sat cross-legged on the dusty ground, the stones of the well pressing into her back. The day was almost over, yet she could still feel the stares of the townspeople pressing down on her. <i>A girl! Reading a book!</i> They scoffed and snickered, but most of the time, her mind was a thousand miles away, trapped between words and pages.

 When their boisterous laughing began to annoy her, Heloise would just squint down at the book, focusing harder and harder on the story, until she was no longer on the dull paths of The Glen: but on the lively streets of Verona, Italy. Glen peasants became wealthy Verona citizens. The Prince's castle stood strong and powerful on the hill.

 "Oi, dirtface!"

 Heloise didn't have to look up to know who it was. Sylvia Snyde and her cronies, Ella, Beatrice, and another girl that Heloise could never remember the name of, nor did she care enough to remember.

 Again with <u>Romeo and Juliet</u> I see? Don't get your hopes up Heloise. That plague-carrying book is the closest thing you'll ever have to romance!"

 Sylvia's remark was followed by a series of high pitched cackles that made her eardrums sting. Still, she managed the politest, most casual smile her face would allow. "First of all Sylvia, only humans can get the plague, not books. Second, there is no romance in this book. Romeo and Juliet have barely known each other for three days. That's not enough time to fall in love with someone! I just read it because I find Shakespeare's words fascinating. Too bad you're not smart enough to read them with me."

 Sylvia scowled. "I'm smart at what ladies are supposed to be smart at. Burying my nose in a book is not one of them."

 Sylvia lifted her chin, waiting for a reaction, but Heloise had already focused back on her book. She smirked, turning her back as if she was about to walk away. "At least my father wasn't stupid enough to run off and get sick."

 Blood rushed to Heloise's face as she leapt up on her feet. "My father wasn't stupid! He didn't ask to get sick!"

 Sylvia stepped closer. "He risked the lives of everyone here so that he could go on his silly little trips with the shopkeepers. Don't you get it? That's the point of limiting travel in and out of The Glen! We're lucky it didn't spread, especially since you refused to burn everything..." Her eyes traveled down to Heloise's book, meeting it with a dirty look.

 Heloise pulled the book in tighter against her chest. Memories of red and raging heat flooded her mind. She could see all of her father's possessions scorched and shriveled out in the field. Heavy clouds of smoke rose from the flames, as if it was another simple kindling fire. As if her father's memories weren't disintegrating before her eyes.

 She blinked, keeping the water behind her eyes at bay as she glanced down at his last remaining possession. <u>Romeo and Juliet</u>. The last gift he'd given her before she watched him being carried away to the sick house.  In a blur, she saw a hand reach out and snatch the book from her grasp. Heloise snapped her head back up to see Sylvia, who was tauntingly waving the book in front of her nose. As she stretched her hand out for it, Sylvia pulled it away, a devious smile growing on her face. Heloise looked her dead in the eyes with a cold stare. "Give it back."

 "I don't think so. I think I'll put this in its rightful place." She paused. "Into the fireplace, where it should've gone four years ago."

 "Sylvia..."

 "Fine, I'll give it back. As soon as you admit that your father was stupid for traveling out of The Glen so often."

 Sylvia didn't have any time to react as Heloise's hand flew up, smacking her on the left side of her face. Heloise ripped the book from her hands, her palm bright-pink from impact. Sylvia snarled. "Why you little-"

 "Heloise!"

 The woman's frantic call rang out from across the square. Heloise's body went cold as she watched her mother march over to them. She looked furiously at Heloise. "We're going home. Now." Her long fingers yanked Heloise by the arm as they began their trek back to their house. Heloise looked back at Sylvia, who was tenderly rubbing her cheek. Inside her head, she smiled, but didn't dare carry out the expression in front of her mother, who remained silent until they reached their little house at the end of the path.

 Heloise's mother shoved her through the door, letting it slam shut behind them. "What in God's name do you think you're doing?"

 "But Mum, you should've heard the things she said about Daddy. She said-"

 "I don't care what she said, Heloise! Madame Snyde ordered me to leave the house and deal with your silly, childish brawl! Everyone in the square could hear you girls yelling at each other! And the Lord only knows what she'll do once she finds out that you hit her daughter! I've already lost a whole day's pay- I have to keep this job, Heloise!"

 Heloise bit her lip. After her father had died, Heloise and her mother were forced to become maids in the Snyde household. Heloise lasted barely three weeks before she was fired for talking back to Sylvia. "But Mum, can't we just move? Daddy always went on and on about how lovely London was. And it's just a few miles outside of-"

 "For the last time Heloise, we are not moving!" She signed, bringing her fingers up to her temple. "I can't take the chance that I might not find a steady job out there, let alone having to make that dreadful journey through the woods. We'd be eaten by the wolves! And there's also-"

 "The plague! Yes, yes, I know. That's all anyone ever talks about here. <i> The plague this! The plague that! We're safe from the plague because we've excluded ourselves from society in this tiny valley!</i>

 "Watch your tongue, young lady", her mother warned. "This <i>tiny valley</i> has kept all of us safe for years."

 Heloise looked at the ground. "It didn't protect Daddy, now did it?"

 Her mother's lips pursed. "That's because he chose to put himself at risk by taking those yearly trips with the shopkeepers."

 Daggers shot from Heloise's eyes. "He made those trips to bring back things for <i>us</i>. To tell <i>us</i> about the world that we're missing out on."

 Her mother glared back. "He made those trips for himself. So that he could have... fun." Her face wrinkled at the last word.

 "And who could blame him", Heloise edged on. "There obviously isn't any <i>fun</i> around here."

 "Heloise, silence your ungrateful mouth! I've kept you here to keep you safe. I don't remember what your father told you, but the world is a cold, sick place!"

 "Liar!"

 "Your father was a liar! Now it's time for you to grow up, and get your face out of that stupid book!"

 For the second time that day, <u>Romeo and Juliet</u> was snatched from Heloise's hands. Except this time, Heloise's mother turned towards the fireplace at the end of the room.

 "No!"

 Heloise made a desperate grab for the book, but her mother quickly tossed it into the small bed of ash and flames. Heloise dove for the fireplace, swiftly grabbing the edge of the book. Thankfully, it hadn't fallen in very far. However, it was far enough to where the top left corner of the book was burnt black, slightly curled by the heat. Her mother stepped towards her. "Heloise..."

 But she didn't hear the rest. Grasping the book tightly, she sprang to her feet and ran for the door. "Heloise!" She threw the door open and began running, running for the edge of town.

                              *************

 Heloise dashed through the dark square, her eyes on the trees in the distance. The forest. The one thing seperating her and The Glen from London; and she would get through it if it killed her.

 "Hey!"

 She spun towards the voice, expecting to see her mother, but was surprised to see Sylvia Snyde, who was standing idly on the steps outside of her house. "Where do you think you're going?"

 She hesitated. "Why do you care?"

 "Well, let's see. I haven't gotten the chance to repay you for that gracious mark you gave me." She pointed to the red area on her cheek. "And as much as I hate your guts, I don't want to have to be the person to tell everyone that you got eaten by the wolves."

 "I'm not going to be eaten by the wolves. I'm going to London, where I won't have to listen to everyone yap on about the plague." Heloise glanced over her shoulder. Her mother would be catching up with her any minute now, and she didn't have time to stand out here and talk all night- let alone talk to Sylvia Snyde. She turned back around and began running again.

 "Hey, wait! I'm serious! Come back!"

 Heloise looked back at Sylvia, alarmed to see that she was now following her. She pushed her legs harder, imagining that she was a bird soaring in flight- but these thoughts did little to improve her speed. She ran and ran, her body begging for air, but she didn't stop. Sylvia continued to trail behind her, calling her name, until she too was gasping for air. But neither of them stopped, even after they'd passed through the treeline, signaling that they had just entered the unforgiving woods.

<b>Thanks for reading!</b>