#james nicholls x reader

[lulubelle814]

In Every Life

Summary: Two souls destined for each other, but life has other plans. Will they find each other and have their happy ending?

Part 1 - Thomas Sharpe x Josephine Morrow

Part 2 - Capt James Nicholls x Grace Narracott

Part 3 - Robert Laing x Valerie Hutton

Part 4 - Professor Tom Hiddleston x Olivia Lambert

Masterlist

[smolvenger]

What everyone in War Horse is trying to ride:

vrs what I’m trying to ride:

[saintsir4n]

TWO MORE CHAPTERS UPLOADED TO MY WP ACCOUT

[liyawritesss]

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇ, ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴇᴇᴢᴇ

Characters: MCU!Shuri Udaku x!Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Fic

Word Count: 11.8k

Synopsis: It’s your sister’s 25th birthday, and she invited you over for the extravagant birthday bash. However, there’s only one problem. Shuri has never met your family. She also isn’t aware of their past mistreatment of you. So when your parents begin to make jabs at you on what is supposed to be a joyous event, Shuri might have to apologize to your sister for what is to come next.

Warnings: cursing, mentions of verbal + physical abuse, mentions of severe anxiety, a very angry Shuri shuts shit down, shitty parents, dysfunctional family dynamics

A/N: So....this came about after watching a clip of Love & Hip Hop ATL, where in the clip one of the guys on the show was confronting his mother about the mistreatment and neglect he got as a kid and how his mother took all her frustrations out on him when he had nothing to do with what she was going through. That video touched exceptionally close to home so I wanted to writing for such an event but with Shuri, as I think for someone who is quite family oriented (or who appears to be), she would definitely have a few choice words to say to parents like that. Plus, I wanted to provide comfort to those going through similar situations as teenagers and young adults with their own parents. So I hope that this brings comfort to some of you, as it has done to me when writing it.

Song Suggestions: "Naked" & "Everything" by Ella Mai, "Let Me Down Slowly" by Alec Benjamin ft. Alessia Cara, "Let It Go" by James Bay, "Losin' Control" by Russ, "Control" by Zoe Wees, "You're Not Here" by Cynthia Erivo, "You Let Me Down" by Alessia Cara

Tags: @6-noir @playhousedistee @shuririsdefenseattorney @shuriszn @venusdraco @wrendermedone @writingintheshadowsforever @mbakuetshurisprincess @verachii @slytherin-34 @the_lesbian-fangirl @h34rtsformilli @strangefishflapturtle @cuddl3s4shur1 @shuriislut @dejaonline @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @inmyheadimobsessed @aaliyg @cafehyunji @chunkybabygorl @rosielovesfamily @lulu-network @nichole-224 @niyahwrites @lppriceisright @blacksapphhicmaddonna @pantherheart @marsfunzon22

Note: there are some of you that for some reason tumblr won't let me tag, so I apologize in advance.

Sign Up For My Taglist Here!

The closer you were to pulling up to your sister’s home, the harder it was becoming for you to breathe.

It wasn’t like you were ignorant enough to believe you could escape this.  You’d always known, deep down inside, that one day, you’d have to face them again. Yet, here you were, tucked into the smooth tan leather of Shuri’s car, hiding the fact that you were on the verge of an anxiety attack, and your girlfriend to the left of you filled with positive anticipation to meet your family.

Your sister, Alex, was turning twenty-five today. It is a big celebration for your bloodline, and though much of the original purpose of the celebration had been lost due to oral passing, the general belief was that the lucky lady who’d survive to her twenty-fifth birthday was to be guaranteed a long, fulfilling life.

Of course your sister would have a long, fulfilling life. Alex was a woman of greatness. She’d worked hard in school, got into an amazing college, met a handsome guy who she’d married as soon as she landed her first official big-girl job at some law firm in your home city. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Alex was guaranteed for greatness.

Alex was…perfect.

You didn’t want to go. As much as you knew it would have hurt her to not have her sister at her side for her big day, Alex would’ve understood. You never liked the elaborate, extravagant lifestyle. You were a simple girl with simple pleasures, who led a simple life and wanted nothing more than to live simply.

Though, that seems contradictory, since about a year ago, you found yourself gaining the attention and affections of the very Queen of Wakanda. How you managed that feat, you would never know.

It was Shuri who had found the invitation. She was visiting you during an monthly check up at one of the outreach facilities posted in your town, when she had inevitably seen the pretty invitation sitting on your kitchen island. It was all written in cursive, no doubt the product of your sister’s perfect penmanship, and most of all, it was addressed to you and Shuri.

You’d only told Alex of your relationship after the six month mark. You wanted to be certain that such a relationship would last; though, now that you thought back on it, what good would it have done Shuri to play you? Her intentions and integrity were clear the first day she had introduced herself to you. She’d never given you any reason to not trust her, and yet, you had still doubted her. It was a period of time you regretted most, and yet, Shuri still loved you. And in realizing that she would continue to do so, even after seeing the ugly parts of you, you allowed yourself to truly love her back.

Shuri was ecstatic to go. She wanted to meet your sister in person, having only ever seen each other through video calls and communicated through text. And with Shuri’s pretty brown doe-eyes that had always been a weakness to you, you couldn’t say no.

And now, here you were, gripping the door handle tightly as you released tight breathes, wondering if it would have been beneficial to sit Shuri down and tell her the reason why your eyes showed a glimpse of dread when she’d picked up that invitation.

“Darling?” The Queen’s voice cuts through the cloudiness that fogs your brain, grounding you in a way only her honey-laced voice could do. “Are you alright?”

No, you want to say, turn the car around, take me home. I don’t want to go there-

“Yeah, just a bit tired.”

Shuri looks at you quizzingly. You have not been acting as yourself since the day she’d stopped by your apartment. Since, she’d been trying to pinpoint the cause, but to no avail. Even after a year together, she still found you hard to read sometimes. It was endearing to her, a challenge she greatly accepted as part of the packaged deal that came with your relationship. 

However, she couldn’t deny that this time, things felt…different.

There’s a melodic beeping that comes from the vehicle, and the red flashing on the dash panel alerts Shuri that the car is running out of gas. And not a second later, a familiar voice speaks from the surround-sound speakers:

Panther, the vehicle is reaching low fuel. It would be wise to refuel soon. There is a petrol station approximately ten miles ahead. Fuel here is priced at four ninety-seven per gallon.

“Thank you, Griot,” Shuri hums, turning to you, “we shall stop there. Fill up on gas and get some snacks. You haven’t eaten much today, my love.”

Though you fix your lips to protest Shuri’s ever so keen observation, the way her hand slips over your thigh, her open palm meeting your skin through the large hole in your ripped jeans, it’s almost enough to have you relent. “I did eat; at breakfast.”

“Which was eight hours ago,” Shuri reminds you, “almost nine, once we arrive at your sisters. I’m sure there will still be room for the food if you just have one bag of chips to hold you over.”

You hate how well Shuri knows you. It makes it hard to hide things with her keen perception and observation skills. Though, you suppose those traits all come with the territory of being The Black Panther.

A sigh escapes your lips, and the lack of a reply worries Shuri. Yet, she does not push. Instead, her thumb continues to swipe in soothing strokes along the smooth skin of your thigh as she continues to drive to the designated gas station.

All of five minutes pass until it comes into view. When Shuri parks at one of the gas lanes, she fishes into her pocket for her wallet. From it she produces a black card, and hands it to you. “Fifty should bring it back up,” the Queen says, “and a bag of chips for you should do the same.”

“Shuri, I said I’m fine-”

“Darling.” Shuri’s tone is firm, yet gentle, and leaves no room for argument. So all you can do is press a kiss to her cheek - a practice routine of mundane intimacy that brings you both pleasure - before exiting the car and walking towards the entrance of the gas station.

Shuri sits back in her seat, a sigh pushing past her lips. She’s not quite sure what to make of your behavior.

In the year that the two of you have been dating, never once did you bring up the topic of your family. Shuri didn’t even know you had a sister until six months ago. Alex reminded her much of Nakia in some sense - powerful and self made, and in that regard, she was glad that you had some semblance of family you could reach out to.

Your parents, however, were another story. A story you had well avoided, and as of recently as a few months ago, downright refused to talk about. It became quite clear that it was a touchy subject for you, so Shuri didn’t pry. However, she could not deny that part of her grew…heated, at the unpleasant thoughts that plagued her mind when it came to the reason for the non-existent relationship between you and them.

“Griot.”

“Yes, Panther?”

“What were my beloved’s vitals during the ride?”

A beat passes, as Griot computes.

“(Y/N)’s heart rate had been jumping from one hundred forty-five to one hundred seventy beats per minute. Her grip on the door was strong enough to break a thin glass cup. It appears (Y/N) was on the verge of an anxiety attack, but had been fighting it off for the duration of your journey.”

Shuri curses under her breath, more or less to herself at the information that had been relayed to her. 

“She has been on edge all morning,” Shuri says aloud, “I did not ask, for fear of triggering her, but I cannot allow her to feel threatened.”

Shuri knows your triggers like the back of her hand. She’s learned to speak in a level tone to avoid startlement; she’s learned to make her presence known when entering your space; and most importantly, she reassures you, letting you know each and every day how much she loves you, how much she treasure your existence in her life, and how she vows to hold your heart with the utmost care in the world.

Shuri is the smartest person in the world, and yet, she cannot decipher the reason behind her lover’s heightened emotions. If it weren’t for the fact that she was focused on figuring out why you were like this, and how to calm you down, she’d surely find the thought embarrassing.

“Might I speak freely, Panther?”

A hum rumbles from Shuri’s throat as a sign for the artificial intelligence to continue.

“(Y/N)’s vitals have been heighted since one week ago,” Griot points out, “around the same time she had received the invitation to her sister’s birthday party. It would be safe to assume that these two instances have a correlation with one another.”

  “You are insinuating that Alex’s birthday party is somehow the cause of my love’s anxiety spiking?”

“Perhaps not the party, but rather, who will be there, Panther.”

Silence fills the car as Shuri takes in the information given to her. Though, she doesn’t have much to think on it, as she spots your figure exiting the sticker-covered glass door of the gas station, a black plastic bag in hand, of which she hopes holds the snacks she had requested of you to get for yourself. She exits the car and takes hold of the gas nozzle, opening up the tiny door and unscrewing the protection cap, and slots the nozzle into the car to fill with fuel.

A few moments pass before Shuri returns to the car, having placed the nozzle back in it’s place and secured the gas compartment. Her black card rests on the arm rest, which she slips back into her wallet as the corner of her eyes catches you with something in your hand - something that’s not a bag of chips.

“I thought I told you chips, darling?” Shuri asks as she starts up the car again.

“I got chips!” You respond. “I wanted a Twix, too.”

Your free hand fishes into the black plastic back to produce a bottle of water for Shuri, slotting it into the cup holder.

“What is this?” Shuri asks, gesturing to the water bottle.

“You were thirsty,” You point out.

Shuri indeed was thirsty. She can’t help the smile that paints her lips soon after, taking the water bottle into her hand, unscrewing the cap, and taking a swig of the water.

“Are you sure you’re alright, my love?” Shuri asks once more after setting the water back down, preparing to put the car into motion.

To busy chewing on the cookie-chocolate-caramel treat, you opt for nodding your head, a short ‘mhm’ to accompany it.

As much as Shuri wanted to question further, she knew nothing would come of it. So she slips her hand back onto your thigh, presses down on the gas, and rolls out of the gas station, the conversation with Griot filing back into her mind as she drives down the long strip of highway.

“My parents are gonna come.”

You’d said it the second Shuri had parked into the driveway of your sister’s home. With each second that passed on the way there, your chest kept growing tighter and tighter. You thought that maybe if you focused on Shuri’s touch on you, or her low singing voice when Tems starts to flood the car with her hypnotic, warm and swelling voice, that maybe you would be able to calm down and not worry her. It usually worked, but perhaps because this instance was due to the fact that you would be seeing your parents for the first time in years, what was usually the cure for your attacks did very little to help.

Shuri pauses as the words leave your lips, and for a moment, it looks as if she is cross. And while she has every right to be, you hope that it isn’t at you.

You should have told her before the two of you left, as you thought to do. It plagued your mind when you were in the shower, when you were fixing your hair, when you were choosing your outfit. And Shuri had been in the same apartment with you the entire time. You had ample enough time to tell her and yet…you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You know Shuri. She would try to remain calm and collected for you, to not show her anger, because of course she would be angry either way. The car ride would have been in silence, the air thickening with each mile crossed from one city to the other. But you would know that she was upset. She should be upset now because you just dropped this bomb on her and-

“Beloved,” the Queen mutters to you, bringing you from your thoughts once more, “look at me.”

Your head turns to face Shuri. She’s put the car into park, one arm leaning on the arm rest, the other reaching over to soothe your nerves by caressing your outer thigh. She looks at you with a softness that relieves some of the pressure on your chest stunting your breathing. Her gaze tells you that she is not cross with you.

“Hey,” she says, “I am not upset with you.” And the reassurance helps you unclench the fists your hands have balled into.

She doesn’t speak again until she’s certain that your breathing has evened out, as opposed to the harsh and forced inhale-exhale pattern from before. “Is there…anything I should know?”

You tear your eyes away, but Shuri’s gaze remains firm. Consistency is key, she’s learned, when it comes to you confiding in her. Her eyes are your safe space, you will return to them. And you do, after a short moment, trying to gather your mind together.

“They’re not nice people,” you confess, eyes hesitantly returning to hers, “they’ll try and woo you and shit, but don’t fall for it. They ain’t shit.”

“Okay,” Shuri hums, “and…is there anything I can do? For you?”

“Um,” a shaky breath racks through your throat, as you speak, “they’re not here now. Alex texted me that, so I should be fine, but when they get here…j-just, don’t leave me alone.”

“I will not leave you alone.” Shuri assures. Her hand gathers yours into hers, your palms rendered chilly from cold sweat. “I promise.”

Gathering your hands into hers, Shuri brings them to her lips and presses a kiss to them. She then reaches over to press a kiss to your lips, of which you reciprocate gladly.

“Thank you for talking to me about this,” the Queen commends, “and telling me how to best take care of you. I know it is not easy-”

“I hate it-” you correct, which brings a grin to Shuri’s lips and a chuckle from her throat, because yes, she knows you hate it.

“-but you are doing it, and I am very proud of you for it.”

It’s sincere, Shuri’s praise. It’s still not easy for you to digest it, but you know her love is not transactional, conditional. She means what she says, and you know her love for you is unconditional and unyielding. 

She loves you. 

She is proud of you.

The pressure on your chest becomes lighter.

Upon exiting the car, you’re approached by your sister, Alex, who had seen the two of you pull into the driveway and wanted to be the first person you’d engage with. You’re not shocked when you see her eyes glassy looking - it’s been years since you two last saw each other face to face.

Alex is hesitant when approaching you - she wants to envelop you in the most bone-crushing hug she can muster, because she misses you and it has been so long since she’d held her baby sister. Though all it takes is for you to outstretch your arms to her, and Alex embraces you in the way she had been dreaming of.

“Oh, mama,” Alex breathes as she pulls away to get a better look at you. You notice the youthfulness in her face and the life in her eyes. She looks happy, “look at you. All grown up. My baby sissy is all grown ‘nd shit.”

It’s heartfelt, her words, and they make you smile. Alex turns to look at Shuri, who’s chosen to stand to the side to witness the sisterly reunion without interrupting. “And you have a girlfriend? You have to tell me how this happened.”

“By complete accident,” you say, as Shuri steps up. Her hand presses into the small of your back, encouraging you while she holds the other out to greet Alex officially, “but I guess anything can happen when you spill coffee on someone in the middle of a morning rush.”

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Alex.” Shuri says.

Alex shakes Shuri’s hand, and the Queen notes the hesitance in the older sister's movements. “Well, it’s not every day you meet the queen of a country. Much less, a queen of a country that’s also my sister’s girlfriend.”

“Well, I hope not to bring too much excitement with my titles,” says Shuri, “I am more than alright with being just Shuri.”

She sincerely hoped that she could just remain Shuri. For if a situation arises that she would have to act in the manner of either of her titles - Queen or Black Panther - she could not promise that the birthday celebration would remain a splendor.

An hour passes before either of you know it. You’ve found entertainment amongst the younger cousins who all gawk at your girlfriend, who sits not too far away. Shuri has a cup of punch in hand as she watches you chase the children around the yard, a small smile on her lips. It’s as if you are reliving a part of your childhood you’ve missed, the way you seem so content with the children. It all but warms her heart.

“So,” Alex’s voice interrupts Shuri’s not so discreet admiration of her girlfriend, nearly making the Queen jump, “you and my sister?”

“Ah,” Shuri breathes, looking down into her cup as a rush of heat travels up her dark skin, “me and your sister.”

“I’m not gonna go into the whole interrogation thing, grilling you on if you’re treating her right,” Alex says, “I see how you look at her. If that ain’t the look of someone in love, then I’on know what is.”

Shuri chuckles at that, because she knows that Alex’s observations are true. In fact she has no idea just how correct her observation is.

Shuri leans forward in her seat, elbows propped up on her knees as she finds your figure amidst the mess of kids once again. Her necklace dangles from her neck, the gold contrasting against her black tee that nearly meets the fabric of her ripped blue jeans with her hunched over position.

“(Y/N) is…the ray of sunlight one sees after a long, dark night,” the Queen hums fondly, “and had I known my gods would send me such a woman, I would have prepared myself better.”

Alex smiles warmly. She can tell the strong connection between you and Shuri is pure and unadulterated. It warms her heart beyond comparison.

“Thank you for coming, truly,” Alex says, “I was almost worried she wouldn’t, since our parents would be here and everything.”

And at the mention of them, Shuri finds her jaw tightening just the slightest.

“Your parents?” Shuri is beginning to put two and two together, and she doesn’t like the outcome that is unfolding from her assumptions, however careful they are.

“I…assume she’s told you about them?” Alex implies.

Shuri shakes her head lightly, taking a sip of her semi-forgotten punch. “I find myself piecing the picture together on my own…She does not talk about them.”

“That isn’t a surprise,” Alex says, “given…well, everything.”

Shuri turns her head to look at Alex. Her eyes are firm, inquisitive; Alex’s words have sparked an interest in Shuri.

”She says they aren’t good people. Is that true?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Alex replies, “to the community, their saints. To us they’re just….people.”

Shuri notes the hint of solemness that laces Alex’s voice as she speaks. “They weren’t good to either of us…but they were especially bad to (Y/N).” Alex clarifies. “You know what they say; hurt people, hurt people.”

Not when the person is your child, Shuri thinks, but keeps to herself, taking another sip of her punch. Things are starting to make sense now, and Shuri finds that perhaps she will also have to have you at her side to ground her whenever your parents decide to show up.

“So you mean to tell me you got yourself stuck in a tree, and then got angry because she tried to help you get down?”

“I was not stuck! I was admiring the view.”

“Sure you were…with tears coming down your face.”

“I think this classifies as bullying-”

Shuri had grown quite comfortable as the next hour passed. More of your family had begun to show up, a number of aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews, and cousins wishing Alex a happy birthday as they passed through the foyer of her house and into the backyard. Shuri couldn’t count the amount of gasps she’d heard when their eyes fell upon her, sat comfortably in the outdoor gazebo, her presence obviously a surprise to the many relatives who had come to celebrate the special birthday girl. Much more, the fact that she had you close to her side as she greeted them.

The behavior of your family members irked her. Shuri suspected that Alex had talked to each of the adults to assure that they’d be on their best behavior for the occasion, given the tight smiles and curt greetings between each of them and you. Or perhaps it was because of her own intimidating presence next to you, and the fact that she wasn’t even trying to hide the look in her eyes as she analyzed each adult that seemed to pass through.

“Babe,” you cleared your throat, “stop looking like that, you’re scaring them.”

“Looking like what?”

“Like you’re contemplating murder.”

Would it have been so bad if she was, though?

Shuri sighs as she places the red solo cup she had been nursing for a while onto the table. “Just behave, for Alex-”

“I am behaving for you,” the queen clarifies, “and your sister would say the same.”

Unable to comment any further, you released an exhale through the nose, sinking back into Shuri’s side.

“It’s guilt, y’know.” You try to reason, but Shuri had already considered that route. Perhaps there were a few who did have a guilty conscience. Shuri didn’t find herself caring if that was true or not. “They’re not bad.”

“Beloved-”

“Shuri.”

“-I am merely observing,” she says, “I promise.”

Of course Shuri was only observing. Observing the behavior of each adult family member. How they acted towards you. How very little regard was given to you. How, with the amount of bodies that have accumulated in the backyard, the gazebo area remained relatively desolate, beside the two of you, Alex, and Alex’s black and white spotted cat, who had made a home on the red painted banister.

Sure. Shuri was just observing. Definitely not questioning anything at all. Definitely not formulating words she would say to your parents if they decided to make themselves an issue.

“I’m gonna go get a shot,” you say, before propping yourself up with your hands and lifting from the cushion of the outdoor couch, “you want a refill?”

You take Shuri’s cup before she officially gives you a response. You needed a way out, to move around so that the beating in your chest could quell.

Inside there isn’t much of a party scene - it's practically empty besides a teenage family member fighting their sleep on the couch while watching an infant in the living room. The music from outside is muffled when you enter the house, and you take the time to admire the mahogany walls and deep maroon floors of the home. You could compare it to the childhood home you’ve grown up in, and you think that perhaps this was Alex’s way of healing. Recreating your shared childhood environment in a more peaceful manner.

You find the kitchen quite easily, rounding the kitchen island in pursuit of the adult punch purposefully left inside so that the underaged family members wouldn’t get it confused with the family friendly punch that rested in a big glass bowl on the party table outside. On the counter is an array of liquor choices, from fruit flavored tequila to everyone's favorite, Hennessy. You weren’t a drinker, but this far into the party, you needed some sort of incentive to get you to relax a little bit.

Once you’ve chosen your choice of liquor, you take a red solo cup, pour what you deemed to be a shot's worth, and downed it in one gulp. The burn in your throat definitely woke your senses, of which you were grateful for.

On your way towards the kitchen doorway, Shuri’s refilled solo cup in hand, the sound of familiar voices drifted to your ears from the foyer, and it made you stop dead in your tracks. 

“Happy birthday baby!”

“Happy birthday, babygirl.”

“Oh, look at you, all grown up-”

It took everything in you to not drop the cup in your hand at the sound of your parents making their presence known. You backed into the kitchen again, your back finding a nearby wall to ground yourself with. Your chest began to tighten, a tight lump forming in your throat, and in that moment, your hand fished for your phone in your back pocket to text Shuri.

Kitchen. Now.

There was a light shake in your hands. You hated how just the mere sound of their voices sent you into a spiral; how much of an influence they still had on you after trying so hard to separate yourself from them. Then they had the nerve  to act pleasant.

There was a growing ringing in your ears, accompanied with the muffling of surrounding noise that made you breathe harder as you tried to stabilize yourself from the very apparent anxiety attack that was waiting to crash into you. You couldn’t decipher if it was the same one from before that you had fended off by sheer will, or if this was a new, more powerful one. However, when the smell of patchouli made its way to your nose, the thought of it became seconded.

“Hey,” Shuri whispered, one hand running the length of your arm, the other taking the cup from your hand that was seconds away from meeting the floor, and settling it onto the kitchen island, “hey, I am right here.”

“They’re out there, Shuri.” You breathe out.

Something shifts in Shuri’s eyes, and you can’t quite tell what it was, but the way her grip on you tightens in the ever so slightest way lets you know she’s thinking something.

“We can leave, beloved,” Shuri begins, but you’re quick to cut her off with a shake of your head.

“No,” you say, swallowing thickly, “I can’t leave, it’s Alex’s birthday-”

“Alex will understand, love; would she really want you to risk your own self for her?”

I’ve done it for years, the little girl in you voices tiredly, what’s another evening of it?

Shuri never wants to be forceful with you. She knows you’re your own woman and can make your own decisions, even if they go against her better judgment, even if they hurt you. Which is why, against every logical bone in her body, she proposes a compromise.

“Three chances,” Shuri says, “three chances is all they have. Then we will leave. How does that sound?”

Knowing Shuri, she’ll want to throw hands at the first encounter. It was endearing, really, how hard she went for you. The extent of such craze was never explored, simply because she was always calm, cool and collected. There was a part of you that always wondered  the extent of it as well.

And, in hindsight, you weren’t wrong about her.

Shuri peaks from the kitchen doorway and into the foyer, seeing Alex still entertaining the two adults, their backs turned towards the Queen, which gave her the incentive to leave while the trio were occupied.

She mutters a quick ‘let’s go’ with a gentle smile, and after a few seconds, you nod. Your hand finds her, tightly interlocking your fingers as Shuri pulls you back to the backyard gazebo. Shuri had no idea the depths she was about to breach in the layers of your estranged family, but whatever the case may be, she will not let you face it alone.

It was almost the perfect getaway, too, but apparently Shuri wasn’t fast enough in getting you out of the house. She heard the matured voice of your mother call out to you, asking if it was her other daughter, and Shuri supposed that it wasn’t meant to be taken in a demeaning way, but the queen certainly did. Perhaps it was predisposed biases, perhaps it was intentional. Either way, Shuri would make sure to take as much of the burden off you as she could.

“Mom,” you say, jaws tight, but Shuri stands close behind you, a hand on your waist, and it stabilizes you, “good to see you.”

The older woman, short in stature, with wide hips and thick arms, saw Shuri standing behind you, but whether or not she didn’t address her because she didn’t recognize the queen or because she simply didn’t care couldn’t be deciphered. “Come give me a hug-!”

“I’m good,” you hurriedly said, “just- uh, not feeling well.”

“Don’t be like that,” the deep, bolstering voice of your father chimed in; a large man with an intimidating physique. Shuri was not phased, her arm only snaked it’s way around your waist, “give your mama a hug, lil’ girl-”

“I said I’m good.” You reiterate more firmly, though there was an added incentive to clear your throat shortly afterwards to make your fib more believable. “Really; I know how easy it is for y’all to get sick.”

There was a moment of pause - and exchange of glances and a shift in energy before a light ‘humph’ came from your mother’s throat. “Well, I suppose that makes sense,” she snooted, “and I suppose that’s why your friend there is the exception-?”

“Girlfriend, actually,” Shuri interrupts, though it wasn’t planned, and surely wasn’t expected, “it is one of many perks of being the Black Panther. I do not succumb to normal colds and illnesses as easily.”

The pads of Shuri’s fingers press into your side as she steps beside you; she’s now side to side with you, face your parents with a high chin and a look you were sure she’d only pulled out when in front of important people - or people who she suspected would try to intimidate her, yet she’d still have to play nice for publicity purposes.

“Allow me to introduce myself formally,” Shuri said, holding out her hand for your mother to take; the shorter woman did just so as Shuri spoke again, “I am Queen Shuri to my people, but for tonight's festivities, I would like to remain just Shuri.”

“A queen?” Your mother breathes out in an amused chuckle, though you couldn’t tell if it was in actual amusement or in disbelief. “Well, perhaps we did do something right with her, hm, honey?”

Strike one.

Shuri’s hand then reaches out to your father, who stares at the long, brown arm outstretched before him for a moment, before taking one of his thick, meaty hands, and shaking Shuri’s tinier one. Though, the look on his face when the queen’s grip strengthened around his hand was enough to tell you his surprise and lack of proper judgment on the brown-skinned woman.

“Got a…firm grip for a lil’ lady.” He says.

“Well,” Shuri begins as she slips her hand from your fathers, “my baba and big brother always said a firm hand makes a firm leader.”

“Well, wise men they were.”

There was much to observe in the few words shared between Shuri and your parents. Your father hid very well behind the facade of a pleasant man of few words. Perhaps he was sculpted that way, by your mother or by his own parents; either one didn’t matter, only that the end result was a man with a weaker grip than the elders she held council with, and they were pushing their latter years of nineties and hundreds. Your parents looked to be in their mid-forties.

Your mother…Shuri admits that she wished her own were still alive, for the words she knew Ramonda would have for this short-stack of a woman would be more lethal than any weapon produced by her own hands. Condescension laced in her voice with a familiar tone of jealousy that she’d heard and witnessed many black mothers having towards their own daughters. It wasn’t hard to tell, Shuri thought, but perhaps when enough people ignore such a dangerous thing, the ugly nature becomes a tolerable norm.

“Well, if you will excuse us,” says the queen, “I’m going to take my beloved to sit down. She is in much need of rest.”

Shuri did not give your parents time to react, nor to object to the sudden ending to the conversation. She’d quickly pivoted your body around and walked back outside to the gazebo, a firm hand on your back and a ticking clock in her head for when the next strike would come.

Sure enough, Shuri did not have to wait long for that second strike. 

After getting you back to the gazebo to take a seat, on the verge of hyperventilating from the amount of anxiety the back and forth gave you, despite the fact that you weren’t even the one talking, Alex had come with a look of disdain. Your parents were in tow, as they claimed to want to ‘have a sit down and reconnect’. Of course, Shuri didn’t buy into that bullshit. Neither did Alex. And surely, neither did you.

And yet, neither you nor Alex yet had the courage to send them off, and Shuri, keeping herself in check, had no other choice but to allow them to sit with the three of you. So now you were tucked into Shuri’s side, phone in hand as a distraction, while Alex sat on a beige-cushioned chair to your left, and your parents in a similar-fashioned loveseat to the queen’s right.

Alex was kind enough to hide her discomfort in nervous laughs and meek agreements as your mother and father raved on about your childhoods. Specifically, the accomplishments of Alex, which would have been understandable as it was her birthday, if it didn’t have to include the ‘disappointments’ of yours they had to bring into the light.

“Remember the speech competition your grammar school had, Lexi-Pooh,” your mother chimed, using the youthful nickname Alex very physically cringed over, “you won your first ever trophy then at eight years old! Oh, we were so proud of you-”

“Mom, everyone got a trophy,” Alex reminded, putting emphasis on the word ‘everyone’ as she spared a glance your way, “we were babies, and it was a participation trophy. They just didn’t want us to be left out.”

“Well, still, my baby had the best poem on that stage!”

“Mom, I literally stole that poem off the internet.” Alex reasons.

“Yeah, off DeviantArt no less,” you speak with a chuckle, remembering the nights your sister scoured the internet for a poem to read because she, for the life of her, couldn’t write her own. Which she couldn’t be faulted for, she was in third grade after all.

Alex shares a small laugh as well. “If anyone should have won that competition, it should’ve been (Y/N),” She says. “All the teachers swore up and down she was gonna be the next Lorraine Hansberry or Audre Lorde. I bet you she got some bars hidden somewhere.”

Your mother could only hum in response; “Well, we can’t all be winners, I guess.”

There was a familiar sting that ached your heart. Despite how used you were to such rhetoric coming from your mother, it didn’t make the twang in your heart any less hurtful.

“You never liked that kinda stuff anyway, (Y/N),” your mother says, “so why did you join it-”

“I do like writing,” you say sharply, “and I wanted to be like my sister. Who doesn’t wanna be like their older sister at seven years old?”

You glanced up from your phone to look between the three people sitting before you. Alex shifts in her seat, uncomfortably, slightly shaking her head as she knows what is to come.

“Or were you just so busy with your perfect princess that you ain’t have time to learn me?”

“(Y/N)!” Your mother scolds, and you feel the protective arm of Shuri’s curl around you in defense. “Hush your mouth with them lies, girl!”

Your father remains silent, as he’s always done when your mother gets this way, and Shuri sees this, and takes note of it.

“I swear, I don’t know where we went wrong with you,” your mother huffs, “lost yo’ damn manners and mind talkin’ like that.”

Your mother then turns to Shuri, sporting an apologetic look, though it is not sincere, and merely a coverup for her own outburst. “Now I know your mother taught you well and good, Shuri, about how to talk to people and behave-”

“My mother is dead.” 

There is an inevitable shift in the conversation now, one that brings the eyes to Shuri as a deafening silence befalls the gazebo. Even you rise from your curled position into Shuri’s side to eye her demeanor, checking over her form to note any changes that came with the sudden mention of her mother. Yet, she is calm and collected, her eyes showing no shifts and her demeanor intact. All seemed well…on the surface, at least.

“My mother is dead, may she be at peace with the ancestors,” Shuri says, “and she is incomparable. I do not wish to speak further of her.”

A beat passes. Your hand travels to Shuri’s leg, providing a comforting touch to the woman beside you. You weren’t ignorant to the news of her family’s passing - since her father’s death, you’d had a semblance of understanding the inner turmoil she had endured. With her brother and mother gone, she was virtually alone - save for a sister-like figure and a nephew she’d only told you a little bit about in the past few months or so.

You wanted to say something, but your mother beat you to it - this time, she actually sounded somewhat apologetic for her ignorance.

“My condolences,” the woman mutters softly, clearing her throat, “I only meant that she must have had it easy raising you. You’re so well put together and polite, if only some of that would rub off on (Y/N)!”

Strike two.

“Mom, stop it,” Alex interrupts, voice firm with a scowl on her face, “you doin’ a lil’ too much now.” 

“Now, your mama ain’t said nun’ wrong,” your father suddenly speaks, who had been quite the entire conversation, but suddenly decided to stick up for his woman who was clearly in the wrong, “it’s just ladies spat, y’all know how y’all do.”

“And like I said before y’all got here, I don’t want it in my house.” Alex emphasizes. “If that’s the type of time y’all on, the door is very clearly marked with an obnoxiously pink birthday banner. Period.”

There was a small swell of pride in your chest for Alex as she set her foot down to your parents. She was determined to have them behave; she wanted a classy, friendly party for her birthday celebration. Though, she would know just as well as you that even when being put in place, the audacity of your parent’s always found itself back into trouble.

Your mother mumbled out an apology, along with something along the lines of ‘got me apologizing to my child’ under her breath as well, before you cleared your throat in an attempt to cut through the tension.

“Shuri, baby,” you hummed, “don’t we have something for Alex? In the car?”

Shuri turned to look at you, eyebrows slightly furrowed, before she officially caught on to what you were insinuating.

“Yes,” the queen breathes out with a small smile, “we do have something in the car. For the birthday girl.”

Alex, too, shares the same look Shuri previously sported, with furrowed eyebrows and confusion written on her face. “M-Me? Something for me?”

“Of course!” Shuri answers. “Surely you did not think we would show up empty handed?”

Shuri’s hand rests on your leg, both as a reminder of her very physical presence as a grounding for herself, “How foolish of me to forget. I do not know what I would do without you, my darling.”

Shuri stands, offering her hand to you as well, adding on how she will need your help to retrieve it, before escorting you from the gazebo. While on your way to exit the yard, Shuri can hear Alex giving your parents a further scolding, which makes the queen smile mischievously.

It wasn’t a complete lie for escape, however. Shuri was nice enough to buy a gift for your sister for her birthday, though it wasn’t anything massive, and despite your constant jokes of it, wasn’t a pair of kimoyo earrings (though, from Alex’s birthday outfit, she could tell that she was a jewelry girl, and a pair of earrings probably would have sufficed better).

“I’m starting to understand why you never told me about your parents,” Shuri says in a breathless scoff, pressing a button on her beads to pop open the trunk of her car, “infuriating doesn’t even begin to describe them.”

“Are you okay?” You ask in all seriousness. “The..comment about your mom, I mean.”

How could you be worried of her feelings when she’d just had to watch your mother berate you in front of her? Shuri wonders this as she turns from the open trunk of the car to face you again. Though, she supposes that from that interaction, you were more used to centering others and their emotions than yourself. Although it caused an ache in her heart, the revelation made sense of previous actions between the two of you.

“What I said was true,” the queen replies, “though I admit, perhaps there was a bite in my tongue.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t curse her out.”

“Well…I do have a promise to keep to Alex.” Shuri says in a soft laugh. “I do not want to be the cause of her birthday being ruined. Your parents are making it fairly hard to do that, however.”

Shuri closes the trunk of the car, the tiny bag holding Alex’s gift inside being set on top of it as the queen leans against the sleek black vehicle. She invites you into her embrace, pulling you between her legs and resting her hands on your hips; yours make their way onto her shoulders, a weak smile on your face.

“That’s two strikes by my count.”

“I know.”

“We have yet to even make it to dinner.”

“I know.”

“What do you want to do, beloved?”

I don’t know anymore, you think, this is all just too much.

“Let’s…stay.”

Part of you was reluctant to leave due to wanting to experience your sister’s birthday with her. You’d all but promised that you’d come to enjoy yourself with Shuri, even if your parents made that hard. But there was also an inkling of pettiness inside of you that wanted to show the assholes your parents were to the rest of your family members (who, while had suspicions of their weird behaviors and holier-than-thou rhetoric, would rather not engage in family drama to keep peace amongst the ranks). 

“I’m not letting them get the better of me,” you add on, “today is for Alex. And if they wanna make it a problem, it can be a problem.”

The look on Shuri’s face was a mix of shock and pride; she hadn’t expected you to say that, and if she were being honest with herself, she was secretly anticipating such a moment to occur. Perhaps because it would give her a chance to release the pent up frustrations that had collected within her due to your parents actions; perhaps it was because seeing you stand your ground had always been an attractive sight to her. Regardless, the small smile that spread across her face was a reflection of her hopefulness.

“One more chance, then?”

“Hopefully they make it count.”

Shuri remembers how she used to dislike family dinners.

The prospect of eating with her family irked her at a young age. Though she loved her parents and her brother dearly, her teenage self was far too absorbed in her technological advances to actively partake in the family tradition. She’d taken such a routine for granted, and now, the dinner table in the large palace she called home was barren. She barely ate there anymore, consumed by the regret of not making such precious moments a priority in her youth.

As she sits next to you at the elongated party table with the rest of your family members, she notes the same air of barrenness, but not of presence of people. It is a barrenness of love.

The behavior of certain family members began to change as the night progressed. Despite the lingering glares of your family members, many aunts and uncles approached you again, expressing their joy in seeing your presence. Perhaps it was truly the guilt that you mentioned earlier, how these extended family members were subject to the bystander syndrome, and hadn’t known how to deal with their guilty consciences for whatever reason. Perhaps these people did genuinely want to reconnect with their long lost niece, cousin, auntie. Shuri would never admit it aloud to anyone, but seeing the look of distaste upon your parents face was entertaining to say the least.

“So do you drive a space ship everywhere you go?” One of your many nephews asked the queen out of curiosity, big brown eyes and white bucked-teeth shining with glee, as he’d never seen anyone of her status before.

“Not everywhere,” Shuri answers, “only the far away places.”

“Do you go to other planets? Like Mars? Or Pluto?”

“Hmm,” the queen thinks, “I don’t think I have. I shall put that on my books and tell you about it upon my return. How does that sound, little one?”

“Awesome!”

Seeing Shuri interact with the younger children eased your tense body and racing mind. She was almost a natural with them, it seemed. You leaned into her side, your cheek squishing against her shoulder with a playful huff. “Can I have my girlfriend back, please? You’ve been askin’ her questions since we got to the table.”

“Nu-uh!” Objects the little boy. “Have not!”

“Have too, lil’ boy,” you reject, “now gon’ eat so your mama don’t yell at you.”

“Can we talk about spaceships after dinner then, Auntie Shuri?”

Shuri wasn’t sure if she should adhere to the new term, having only known the child for an hour or so, but to entertain him, she allowed it. “Sure. We can talk about spaceships after dinner.”

Thankfully, the young boy seemed to be satisfied with the compromise, and began to eat his plate of food. Shuri turns to you with an amused grin, eyebrows raised as she asks “Were you jealous of your own nephew?”

“I can be jealous if I want to,” you pout, bottom lip tucked out in protest, “lil’ shit was taking you away from me.”

Shuri laughs at your banter, both glad that you’ve somewhat relaxed, and that the evening seemed to be going well. She hoped that it would stay like this.

The clinking of metal to glass caught her attention, as well as the other partygoers. Looking towards the head of the table, Alex is standing, grasping the attention of everyone in order to speak.

“Now, we all know the reason today is such an important day, aside from the fact that it’s my birthday,” Alex begins, glancing around the table, making eye contact with each individual, “though some of the kids might not know. And since we have a newcomer with us,” she says, gesturing to Shuri, who returns a nod of acknowledgement as she speaks, “I figured now is as good of a time to talk about why we celebrate the twenty-fifth birthday of the girls in our family.”

Alex sets the glass down, clears her throat, and speaks again. “Now the story has never been written down, but anyone who has sat between Nana and Great Nana’s legs to get their hair done will know the story by heart. A generation or so before them, our family had a ‘curse’ on us girls. One of our enslaved ancestors was forced to ‘engage’ with their owner who desired a mixed child. That ancestor cursed our bloodline so that no girls would survive, and slowly our numbers began to dwindle.”

You always loved to hear this story. You were never sure why, but it had always been more than hair braiding entertainment to keep a child's attention. The raw history that your grandmother and great-grandmother passed down your line of lineage always held a special place in your heart.

“Then one thing lead to another, a generation passes, and a girl is born…and she lives old enough to run away with another slave guy she fell in love with. And that ancestor had Great Nana, who had Nana, who had mom and the aunties…who had us.”

You’d been sitting to Alex’s right when she extended her hand to you to hold. You accepted it with a warm smile. She’d done the same to your mother as well.

“Reaching twenty-five is like a right of passage. Guarantees to a long, fulfilling life. And that is what we celebrate tonight.”

There were a series of claps, cheers, whoops and hollers that erupted from the table, coming from the queen herself as well. It was indeed a remarkable retelling, she thought, and she even noticed the way that Alex posed herself as a bridge between you and your mother. She applauded the woman for still trying to reconcile, but knew that there was no hope for such a feat.

As soon as Alex sat down, your mother took a stand. “I’d like to make a toast as well.”

Shuri felt you lean just a little bit closer to her. 

“My baby, oh, what can I even say?” Your mother begins, striking up a face of pride. “You were perfect since the day I first laid eyes on you. I knew you’d be destined for greatness, and I can’t be any more proud of you than I am now. My baby girl is all grown up, and I can’t wait to see more of the outstanding woman you’ve become…”

Another round of applause echoes throughout the backyard, and Shuri breathes. Though she doesn’t trust your mother one bit, the words that came from her mouth seemed very genuine-

“...and you are more than fit to carry on this tradition. My only daughter that can.”

-nevermind.

The distant crickets could be heard as your mother took her seat again, seemingly proud of her little stunt. Perhaps she thought it was something good to say, but neither you, Alex, or Shuri saw the need for the ending.

“That ending wasn’t needed, but thank you.” Alex says through gritted teeth, a sigh leaving her lips. It was much like the older woman to need the last word, and although Alex truly hoped she would behave, her own patience was waning thin with the woman and her antics.

“We have a toast as well!”

Shuri whips her head to you, brows furrowed in confusion as she whispers, “We do?”

The words leave your lips before you can actually think about what you’re about to do. Upstaging your mother had never been something you’d acted upon, although you’d fantasized about shutting her up numerous times with your own words; the courage was just never there. Perhaps it was because now you were older, or perhaps it was because you now knew that Alex was on your side, or perhaps it was because you had Shuri next to you to back you up. Whatever it was, it began surging through your veins that once were riddled and crippled with anxiety.

Nonetheless, you’re standing up, and so is Shuri, so there isn’t any backing down now. All eyes were on you.

“Sister,” you begin, reaching your hand out Alex who stands up again to be eye level with you, “I will make this quick, ‘cuz you know I hate sappy shit.”

Alex laughs a little. Her grip on your hands is comforting, and the way she looks at you is almost in a coaching matter. She hadn’t expected such a burst of confidence either, but wasn’t about to let you face it alone.

“We’ve had our…ups and down,” you say, “and there were ‘things’ happening that I blamed you for, that I pushed you away for. But you’ve always been there. You were..the only person there.”

You feel Shuri’s hand caress the small of your back for support. You feel like crying, and you're not sure the reason for it, but you push it down and continue.

“I am grateful for you, and I’m glad I came to celebrate with you…and I love you.”

The air that was once thick when you started to speak seemed to ease when you said those last three words. And again, claps and praises flew out into the air at the confession. Alex, the much more sappier of one of the two of you, tried to keep her eyes from swelling with tears, but of course it was harder for her to do so.

“Don’t you start crying,” you say playfully through the loudness of the table, “‘cus you know if you do, then I’ma start crying, and we just gon’ be two snotty nosed bitches-”

Yet you didn’t get the chance to finish, because Alex then pulls you into her embrace. It’s tight and full of love, and she gives you no choice but to sink into it. For a second, it seems like the noise drowns out as you bask in the love from your sister, and you hear a faint ‘thank you’ being whispered into your ear right as she pulls away.

“I suppose this means it is my turn,” Shuri says sheepishly, once the embrace has finished and you’ve returned right at her side. She’d been thinking of what to day this entire time, though each scenario that she had run through her head didn’t seem worthy of a quality toast to a quality woman, “I shall try to make this toast worthy of your time, Miss Birthday Girl.”

“Sitting at this table, surrounded by all of you; it reminds me of a similar family routine that I took for granted in my youth.” Shuri’s eyes gaze from person to person as she speaks. “You see, I was too absorbed in my technological advances to truly appreciate the aspects of family dinners. The mundaneness of sitting with one another and being present. I used to want to give anything to be left to my own devices. And now, I sit at the head of the same table, with no one. I am Queen of the most powerful nation in the world, and my entire family is gone.”

Another silence fills the table as everyone looks onto Shuri; her head is held high as she speaks, though, voice unwavering. She breathes when she feels your hand slip into hers.

“Alex, you are a very blessed woman to have your family here with you to celebrate a generational obstacle overcome,” the queen bids, “and for that, I propose a toast to you, and a saying from my people to yours.”

The queen picks up her red cup, and watches as each individual picks up their own, before speaking again. “To Alex, a woman of virtue and genuity. ‘Akukho mntu ngaphandle kwesidenge ophika usapho lwakhe’.”

A round of cheers sounds before everyone downs a gulp of their chosen drinks in unison, applauding Shuri for her heartfelt toast and gratitude. As the both of you sit, and light chatter begins to cover the table, your mother calls out to Shuri with a look of curiosity.

“Such a lovely quote, Shuri,” your mother says, “what does it mean?”

“Oh, the proverb,” Shuri says, “it is one my baba used to say.”

“Did he now?”

“It means ‘No one but a fool denies their family’.”

Hearing this, your gaze shifts from the food in front of you to Shuri, who sports a proud smirk as she watches your mother grow uncomfortable in her seat from the queen’s words. As if she were putting the dots together in her own head.

With Dinner done, your nephew was all too quick to pull the queen aside to continue their conversation about her fancy spaceships. While his eagerness was endearing, Shuri had to put the conversation on hold because of an important phone call that came through. You assumed that it was Ayo, a name you had heard in fleeting conversations, but knew it to be a person of importance to Shuri. A captain of her Queen’s Guard, which Shuri had respectfully asked to fall back on attending the outing with the both of you, since it was a family thing, and Shuri didn’t want Alex’s neighbors questioning why so many bald-headed women were lingering around her house.

She said she would make the call quick, five minutes at most, before stepping into the house for quiet and privacy. The loss of her presence made you slightly anxious, but you maintained your spot in the gazebo, and Alex popped in here and there. She was the host, so she had to engage with the rest of her partygoers, but you were more than grateful that she took the time out to still check in on you, despite it being her day.

You took a sip of your drink - the adult punch that had been put in the kitchen so kids couldn’t get to it - and watched the party goers enjoy themselves from the comfort of your seat. Children running around, chasing each other with sparklers; aunties and uncles dancing to the old school remix; teens making TikTok videos with dances and skits. For a moment, things were content, and everyone was happy. Normal.

For a moment, for the first time in a long time, you felt happy with your family. 

“You’ve found this corner real comfortable, I see.”

The voice of your mother slips through he peaceful silence that previously covered the gazebo, and although you don’t feel it at first, your body begins to tense. She herself sports a red solo cup, though you can’t tell what’s inside of it. 

She doesn’t ask to join you - just takes up a single seat across from you - and even if she were to ask, you aren’t sure if you could even mutter an answer.

“It’s been so long since you’ve left,” your mother says, “since you decided you were grown enough and left your family behind. How has life been for you?”

“Good.” You reply, short and curt, taking a sip from your drink.

“You seem more than good,” she continues, “I assume living with a queen gives you a lot of financial relief-”

“If you came over here to start shit, please don’t.” You quickly cut off. “One; my relationship is of no concern to you, but Shuri doesn’t pay for shit of mine that I have. I was good before I met her, and I’m still going good on my own.”

You weren’t sure where the sudden crossness came from, but you definitely knew it had something to do with your mother’s constant mention of Shuri, as if she held prominent importance tonight and not the other child she’d birthed. “And it’s Alex’s birthday. I’m here for her.”

Your mother scoffs at your words, “-and there you go, twistin’ my words around and making me seem like the enemy. I’m just trying to talk to you!”

“Bullshit,” you spit, rising from your seat in a quick bid to find a quick exit into an area more populated, and more importantly, away from her, “I’m not doing this with you.”

You turn to try and leave, but your mother continues to speak behind you, pushing you further, “you’re so ungrateful; after everything we’ve done for you, you can’t even show an ounce of respect to your own mother.”

In that moment your body froze on the steps of the gazebo. A dull chill awakens within you, spreading through your limbs, your skin nearly rising into goosebumps, before a wave of anger crashes in.

“Fine,” you mutter, “you wanna ‘talk’?”

You turn to face your mother once again, eyes burning holes into her face, which has the audacity to hold a look of shock. “Let’s fucking talk.”

“Oh, but where to begin?” You scoff. “Maybe lets talk about how you can’t seem to ever say one good thing about me. It’s always some backhanded comment that you can’t help to point out how amazing Alex was and how shitty I was in comparison-”

“-that is not true,” your mother tries to interject, “but you were - and still are - a difficult child-”

“-I wasn’t fucking difficult!” You shout, drawing a few pairs of eyes to you and your mother. “I wanted fucking attention that you weren’t giving me! And you thought beating me was the best way to get me to ‘stop acting out’?”

“It was discipline!”

“Oh, but Alex never needed it though, right?” You question. “Alex was just so perfect to yall. She got the best of everything while your little mistake became the punching bag you took your frustrations out on!”

The increasing shouting started to draw attention from the other partygoers, who muttered among themselves, wondering the reason for the altercation, questioning if they should intervene. And it only got worse when the sound of skin slapping skin echoed throughout the backyard, making the music that played from outdoor speakers seem quiet.

Your mother, the pious, religious, righteous woman she claimed to be, just slapped you in front of the rest of your family.

“What’s going on over here?” The voice of your father bellows as he approaches the gazebo, having only made his presence known after a few gasps from seeing your mother hit you.

“I will not be disrespected by you, you ungrateful wench,” your mother seethes, “I was a damn good mother to you, even when we fell on hard times. I raised you!”

“I was a fucking kid!” You yell back. “How does a fucking adult take their anger out on their own kid!?”

“And you,” comes your voice through gritted teeth upon seeing your father coming to console your mother, which seemed to anger you even more, “dear old dad, who never ‘picked a side’. You sat there and watched as she fucked up her own kid.”

Your voice comes out more strained, wavering at the sight of your father. The man you saw treat Alex like a literal princess while you could only ever dream of being treated as such. You knew the next words you’d say were going to push his buttons - perhaps part of you wanted a reaction from him that could show that maybe, somewhere inside of him, he cared when your mother didn’t.

“If anything you’re more of a bitch than her!”

You weren’t sure what scared you more in that moment; the loud grunt and your fathers arms menacingly reaching out towards you, or the flash of black that shot across your vision right before you closed your eyes shut, anticipating something to happen.

The silence was deafening as you felt your legs stumble back into something warm but you were too scared to open your eyes yet. Of all your senses that had been stricken with tension, the first to register with reality once again was your hearing.

“I want you to think carefully about your next actions,” the queen’s voice comes out hardened and unyielding, “because I can assure you, I will not have to think about mine.”

That flash of black that had crossed your vision earlier had been Shuri. And if your eyes had been open, you yourself would have shuddered at the pure rage that was present on her face.

Shuri’s hand, albeit tiny and delicate in most cases, held your father’s wrist in a right grasp, and despite the broader man's struggles to pull free, it was futile. She was not letting him go, and neither was the intensity of her stare that held your mother’s gaze. 

“If you don’t let my husband go-”

“Shut. Up.” And her words were absolute, leaving no room for question. Perhaps it was part of the authoritarian aura that she’d gained from taking on her queenship that shut your mother up, but whatever the case may have been, Shuri admits that she certainly enjoyed the look of surprise on your mother’s face.

“Alex,” Shuri says, and it now becomes clear to you that the thing you had back into was your very sister. It also became clear how tight her grip on you was, as if she were scared to let you go, “take my beloved back to my car. We will be leaving shortly.”

There’s a gentle nudge and a hushed ‘c’mon’ before you feel yourself being moved sideways, then forward, Alex doing as Shuri says and relocating you to the front of her home to get you into a safer, calmer place.

It isn’t until Shuri sees your figure disappear behind the wooden fence that she releases your father’s wrist. The man winces as he regains control of his limb, his wife bringing her hands to soothe the skin where it was beginning to turn purple from just how tight her grasp was.

Shuri turns in a slow circle, eyes scanning each and every one of the individuals who’d stood by and undoubtedly watched the scene unfold, offering no sign of intervention. “This is what your family is?” She calls out. “It is sickening.”

The guilt shines in their eyes but Shuri has none of it. To her, they are all just as guilty as your parents, for they've watched the same scene unfold many times before, and just the same, no one stood up.

The queen turns back to your parents, as she bites the inside of her cheek to control her composure. “I do not know your story,” she says, “nor do I wish to, and now, nor do I care. I only leave you with this as I leave.”

Shuri takes a step forward to your parents, jaw clenched tight and piercing eyes meeting theirs once again. “My (Y/N) will be loved…as it is clearly something neither of you could bestow upon her.”

And in the same flash of black she leaves the party, that had long gone silent, and biting her tongue so hard she thought she’d draw blood.

Exitting the back yard, Shuri comes around the front to see you and Alex sitting on the porch steps. She holds a towel to your cheek, whispering to you with care about holding the cold, wet cloth gently on your cheek to battle the inflammation. It was the first and only thing she could grab without immediately leaving your side, the green garden hose still running into the grass proof of it.

It takes everything in Shuri not to run to you, to pull you into her arms and cradle you into her embrace, to shield you from the cruelness that has surely been brought back to the forefront of your mind. There’s a pit in her stomach that churns with the pain of unease, and it eats at her as she thinks; if she had just been swifter with that call with Ayo, or better yet, not even answered at all, then you wouldn’t have been left alone, and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

Shuri grows closer and realizes that the both of you are crying, and her heart tightens in her chest. She bends down to meet you on eye level, resting a soothing hand on your leg. Alex holds her head in one hand, her other still grasped tightly onto your side, holding you close to her. Shuri finally understands what Alex meant when she talked about the varying levels of harm done to the sisters in their youth. You took the physical and verbal brunt, while Alex took the emotional.

“This was not suppose to happen.” Shuri hears Alex mutter, and the queen quickly cuts in before Alex has a chance to even say as such.

“It is not your fault, Alex,” the queen asserts, “you cannot be responsible for the actions of your parents.”

Alex looks up to Shuri, sniffling as their eyes connect. A beat passes before the older sister nods, though her jaw is still tight with tension. There’s a shift in Alex’s eyes, from sadness and regret, to a hardened security.

“I need to get my house in order,” she says, glancing to her side, and reluctantly peeling her arm from around your waist, “party’s officially over.”

Alex stands to do just as she intends, and as she leaves, Shuri grows closer to you. One hand rubs circles into your knee, the other one gently lifts your face up to meet hers. Your eyes are tired, likely due to adrenaline fatigue, but your body still shakes with a light tremble.

“I am taking you home.” She says, leaving no room for argument; even though, in your current state, you couldn’t refuse her if you wanted to. So when Shuri wraps her arms around you and lifts you to your feet, you all but lean into her warmth. 

And the kiss she presses into the crown of your head provides reassurance that even after the events that have unfolded, with Shuri, you will be okay.

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

[ereardon]

Bob Floyd masterlist

*All of my fics are 18+. Please do not repost my work without consent or steal my work. Reblogs and comments give me life so please do interact if you'd like!

✤: Fluff

❂: Angst

❀: Smut

Series

❀❂✤ Friends Don't — Bob x OC [Reid Coleman] – Complete

Bob has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly volunteered to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late?

❀❂✤ Golden Hour — Bob x Bradley x OC [Dr. Olive James]

Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

❀❂✤ The Back Seater and the Baker — Bob x OC [Haley Nichols]

Bob hasn't seen Haley Nichols since he was fifteen. But when Haley shows up out of the blue with one sentence that throws Bob for a loop – "I'm turning thirty in two weeks, are we still on?" – all of the feelings from their childhood return. Bob never thought that Haley would remember the marriage pact the two made when they were just kids, even if he never forgot. So what happens when Bob falls all over again for his childhood crush? And what will Bob do when he discovers the real reason she came back to capitalize on the pact is to secure her inheritance and save her bakery from bankruptcy? Will he believe Haley when she confesses that she loves him, too?

❀❂✤ At Sea — Bob x Reader

I’ll be home in five weeks. That’s what naval aviator Y/N told her fiance before leaving for deployment in the Atlantic. But time ceased to stop when she met Bob Floyd, the ship surgeon. Shy and honest, Bob quietly slipped into Y/N’s life, creating a complicated dynamic on an already intense mission. Falling for Bob was not in Y/N’s plan, and as she continues to weave a web of lies, she must make a choice: return to the life she left on land, or forge ahead into the unknown with Bob. But before Y/N can decide, disaster strikes, leaving Bob to make the decision that will alter their lives forever. 

One shots

✤ One Night — Bob x Reader – Complete

You have your eyes on Bob at the Hard Deck, but have to shoot down Jake Seresin first.

✤ Gas Station Tears — Bob x Reader – Complete

After your boyfriend dumps you, your car stalls out in a gas station parking lot. Luckily, Bob Floyd happens to be there to fix your car. Can he fix your heart, too?

❂✤ It Was Never Him — Bob x Reader – Complete

You catch your boyfriend Rooster making out with a girl at the Hard Deck and only one person can comfort you in the aftermath: Bob Floyd. 

❂ What Are You Thinking? — Bob x Reader – Complete

Bob Floyd is a quiet man. Sometimes you have to ask him what he’s thinking just to know what wheels are turning inside of his head. He always gives you a response, until one day, years into your marriage, he turns the question on you. 

❀ When I'm Done With You — Bob x Reader – Complete

At a fraternity mixer, you lose your (admittedly shitty) boyfriend in the crowd. That’s when Bob Floyd, president of Alpha Tau and your boyfriend’s personal nemesis, finds you and decides to make you his. 

❀ She Calls Him Daddy – Bob x Reader – Complete

Coming home from college for winter break, the last thing you expected was to run into your best friend’s father while out shopping for new lingerie to surprise your fuck buddy with. You had always tried to hide your attraction for Mr. Floyd because he was Anna’s father. But all rules are thrown out when Bob invites you over on Christmas Eve while Anna is at her mother’s house. You’ll never be able to look at your friend’s dad the same way ever again.

✤ More Than Enough — Bob x Reader – Complete

The first two times Bob Floyd ends up in your emergency room he’s a mess. You never expected him to return a third time. But when he does, it changes everything.

[satelitis]

˗ˏˋ 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍’𝐒 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐘 ´ˎ˗

୭- 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐑𝐘 : standard tumblr games (cym, whos most likely, kmk etc,etc.)

🕸- 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓 : send me a trope and a character and i will make headcanons about it. (drummer!butch jojo, baker!peter parker)

⋆-𝐋𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐘 : matchups!! send me a short desc. of yourself and i will match you up with someone (please include fandom and gender preference)

୭- 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 : moots only!!! i will associate you with a song, artist, color, book, movie and character!

🕸- 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐌 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 : give me a specific mood/ vibe/pastime and i will give you a movie, song and book rec!

⋆- 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 : your turn!! tell me who you ship me with!! you can write little headcanons or thoughts <33 (please do this one if you do ilysm!!)

DISCLAIMER!! : please only stick to one request per ask! and only the fandoms i write for!! keep the reqs sfw!! I AM A MINOR!!! also if a character is canonically lesbian or gay then only req for that gender specific reader please (no robin buckley x male reader)!!! this event is running from 1/07-1/31 !! have fun loves!!

TAGGING MOOTIES!! : @mictodii @spaceagebachelormann @dizzyntrr @juneberrie @solutopia @spiderst4rgirl @spiderfunkz @stvrlighttgabss @isitoversnowtvs @jaidens @dljcem @doyouknowwhoyouare13

CHARACTERS I'M WRITING FOR : tasm! peter parker , miguel diaz, johnny lawrence, daniel larusso, anthony larusso, hawk mozkowitz, robby keene, tori nichols, dallas winston, ponyboy curtis, steve randal, two-bit matthews, darry curtis, johnny cade, sodapop curtis, butch jojo, brick jojo, boomer jojo, sirius black, regulus black, james potter, remus lupin, marlene mckinnon, ron weasley, fred weasley, george weasley, cedric diggory, harry potter, hermione granger, luna lovegood, ginny weasley, lee jordan, bradley bradshaw, nick bradshaw, pete mitchell, tom kazenzky, anakin skywalker, luke skywalker, leia skywalker, han solo, richie tozier, stanley uris, eddie kaspberak, beverly marsh, ben hascom, mike hanlon, bill denbrough, mike wheeler, eddie munson, robin buckley, steve harrington, max mayfield, lucas sinclair, richie white, john b routledge, jj maybank, sarah cameron, kiera carerra, pope hayward. ask if a character you would like isn't on this list!!

[septimaseverinaficrec]

Info & Quick Access

This blog is my fan fiction rec blog. None of these stories are mine. I DO NOT OWN AND WRITE ANY. Canon Male Characters x F!Readers and some GN!Readers. Because I want to escape from real, mad and chaotic world for a while with my blorbo.

All of them are rated G -> E (Mixed). Please consume with responsiblity.

Below 17 DNI please.

Blorbo

Game of Thrones | House of the Dragon

Oberyn Martell

Daemon Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen

Star Wars

Cassian Andor

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Din Djarin

Tolkien Elves

Mirkwood Elves

Legolas | Thranduil

House of Feänor

Feänor | Maedhros | Maglor

Others

Finrod | Glorfindel | Ecthelion | TROP!Elrond

Assassin's Creed

Altaïr Ibn-La'ahad

Ezio Auditore

Arno Dorian

Jacob Frye

Dilfs

Emperor Cleon (Apple TV Foundation)

Thomas Shelby

Luca Changretta

David Tennant's Characters

10th Doctor | 14th Doctor

Crowley

Alec Hardy

Tom Sturridge's Charaters

Dream of the Endless

Jake (Bittersweet)

Nicholas Hoult's Characters

Robert Montague Renfield

Tom Hiddleston's Characters

Loki Laufeyson

Prince Hal/Henry V

Thomas Sharpe

James Nicholls

Robert Laing

Jonathan Pine

Will Ransome

James Conrad

Orlando Bloom's Characters

Paris of Troy

Timothee Chalamet's Characters

Willy Wonka

Prince Hal/Henry V

Pedro Pascal Characters

Javi Gutierrez

Dieter Bravo

Javier Peña

Joel Miller

Bridgerton

Anthony Bridgerton

Benedict Bridgerton

???

Sherlock Holmes (BC)

[vivvvy]

hello hello! my name is vi! before i get started with actually writing, i would like to be clear about stuff i will be writing about.

-Wednesday

Ajax Petropolis

Rowan Laslow

(not sure about this one yet) Bianca Barclay

-The Amazing Spiderman

Spiderman/Peter Parker

Gwen Stacy

-The Umbrella Academy

Diego Hargreeves

Five Hargreeves

Lila Pitts

Viktor Hargreeves

Ben Hargreeves

-Harry Potter

Harry Potter

Hermione Granger

Ron Weasley

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

-Cobra Kai

Robby Keene

Tori Nichols

Miguel Diaz

Sam LaRusso

Eli Moskowitz

Kenny (fluff or angst only)

-10 Things I Hate About You

Cameron James

Kat Stratford

Patrick Verona

Bianca Stratford

-Scream

Randy Meeks

Stu Macher

Billy Loomis

Sidney Prescott

Dewey Riley

Tatum Riley

-The Fear Street Franchise

Deena Johnson

Samantha Fraser

Kate Schmidt

Simin Kalivoda

Cindy Berman

Tommy Slater

Alice

Young Ziggy Berman

Young Nick Goode

that’s all for now! also, i will only write fluff or smut. it all really depends on the request, but i can also write imagines or scenarios. (x readers of course) no dark stuff, but just nice little things. (you’ll see!) anyways, that’s all for now. bye!

[thenoticeblog]

Willow: House of Griots | Pilot Script Table Reading

We’re back at it again with the Principal Cast of “Willow: House of Griots,” working through a table reading for the Pilot Episode. We discussed upcoming events, reviewed production scheduling and details, watched our short film “Willow: State of Emergency,” and sunk our teeth into this special 90-minute pilot episode of “House of Griots.” Much love to Elliot Guilbe for the Photography, Glenn Quentin for the Production Support, and Sultan Ali for the Marketing Support.

Principal Cast Ashley Noel Jones as Willow Kerubo Brown Suzanne Darrell as Iyoba the Foundress Cameisha Cotton as Diane X Kirrin Tubo as Taina Lilian Oben as Vanessa Charles Masiko Ensemble Reader Tommy Coleman Stage Directions Reader Heru Khuti

Showrunner & Writer Paul A. Notice II

Heads Up: Our Short Film “Willow: House of Griots” will be available on Amazon Prime later this year. Keep an eye out for our announcement. In the meantime, save the date for our upcoming Short Film Screening at Weeksville Heritage Center coming OCTOBER, 21st, 2023! Details coming soon!

You can Support “Willow: House of Griots” here.

Special Thanks to all of our supporters: Josmar Trujillo Nana Dakin Will Duggan James Reilly Kirrin Tubo Paul Notice Sr. Marco Rodriguez Nyle Emerson Doreen Notice Jade Notice Nichole Villafane Sita Sarkar Justin Prince Kiera Williams Paul VanDeCarr Jeannette Colyvas Daniel Notice Laura Edmondson Tommy Schaperkotter Glinetta Collins Larry Powell Erica Saucedo Megan & Liv Jeannette Colyvas Ian Harkins Jim Costanzo Melissa Noelle The Ellen & Andrew G. Celli Foundation, Inc. Holly Heckart Sarah Fleming Edward Rice Ataefiok Etukeren Joann Selvidge James Gantt Jade Notice Marie Casimir Rama Orleans-Lindsay Shiloh Hodges Benedict Nguyen Lizette Vernon Lily Bo-Shapiro Saleem Kashif Kendra Foster Anika Chowdhury Lia Bonfilio Katrina Reid Zell Davis Robin Holmes Gabby Sherba

[smolvenger]

Awwww, thanks so much Bestie!!!

My favorite pieces are..:

1. The Twelve Days (Henry V x fem! Reader arranged marriage series. With fluff, smut, and only a wee bit of angst as two blorbos forced to marry each other start to fall for the other)

2. A Court of Mischeif and Purpose (Loki x fem! Reader crossover series. A court of thorns and roses inspired fic with the Tom Hiddles characters as the ACOTAR characters. YN makes a deal with Loki to save herself and goes on a magical adventure with danger and eventual romance. Angst, fluff, and eventually smut…eventually)

3. Stella of Essex, or The Vicar’s Wife Betrayed (fix it fic of The Essex Serpent but from Stella’s POV where canon doesn’t matter and I give her a happy ending and revenge for getting cheated on, because I support women’s wrongs. Lots of angst and eventual fluff)

4. The Battle of Agincourt (Henry V x fem! Reader are a married couple and she follows him to France. Fluff and angst and lots of smut- not one but two scene!)

5. Miss Narracott and the Captain (slow burn ish romance with YN and Captain James Nicholls of War Horse with a period drama miniseries feel)

Tagging anyone who wants to before my next flight takes off!

Writer Self-Rec Fics Ask Game

Rules: writers list your top 5 favorite fics of yours and then send this to 5 writers! :)

@divine-knight-hand thank you for this lovely ask!!! I'm sorry I forgot about it for so long - I think I was a bit embarrassed to answer, since I have such a pathetically short fic list, but I will list the five that I HAVE written in order of my favourites.

1. Devoted (sub!Loki/domme!Reader, established D/s relationship)

This is easily my personal favourite, even though it's much less popular than some of my others. It's rather fluffy (for a highly smutty story!), and I really like the way it came together (no pun intended).

2. Missed connection part 3 (Tom Hiddleston/Reader. Smutty/angsty fic with a hint of fluff and a bit of a sad ending. Total self indulgent nonsense.)

I don't know if it's fair to call these three separate stories, but this part is my favourite. It's long-ish but it was the most fun to write. It's also a bit more recent and tbh my writing is just better than in some of the earlier stuff.

3. Vulnerable (sub!Loki/domme!Reader)

I guess this is kind of my sub!Loki origin story. It was my first ever fanfic and... it shows? When I read it back now I cringe at it pretty horribly. But it's somehow by far my most popular story.

4. & 5. Missed connection parts 1 & 2 (Tom Hiddleston/Reader)

The opening scenes for Missed Connection 3, these are my least favourites. Not because I don't love and appreciate them - I really do - but again, I read back over them now and think how much better I could have written them. Part 1 is a bit thirsty/angsty but smut-free.

Tagging some authors - I would love to know your favourites! What are your self recs??

@acidcasualties @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr @lokischambermaid

[lulubelle814]

In Every Life - Part 1

Summary: Two souls destined for each other, but life has other plans. Will they find each other and have their happy ending?

In Every Life

Masterlist

It was late September of 1883 when they met.  Some would call it kismet.  Others destiny.  The miserable ones would call it coincidence. He needed to go into London for a few weeks to work on some business prospects and handle some estate matters with his lawyer.  Lucille stayed back as she did not care to leave home but was not happy to be without her brother for so long. 

Josephine and her mother were on their way to the hospital when she had a sudden dizzy spell, causing her to fall to the street but found herself saved by a beautiful stranger, rescuing her from being hit by a carriage riding too close to the sidewalk.

"Are you alright?" her mother inquired.

"I'm alright mother, thanks to this kind gentleman." She was shy and blushing, unbelieving that she made a fool of herself in front of this handsome man. 

Her mother looked at him, thanking him profusely. "You may have saved her life, mister…."

"Sharpe, Thomas Sharpe, baronet, madame."

"Thank you so very much, Lord Sharpe. I am Victoria Morrow, and this is my daughter, Josephine. How can I ever repay you?"

His words failed him as he locked eyes with Josephine. In that moment, he felt as if there was something linking his heart to hers.  His heart, nay his soul, screamed to not let this beguiling creature to depart from him.  

Unbeknownst to him, Josephine was similarly affected. 

He responded to her mother without looking away from Josephine.  "There is no need, madame. I am more than happy to assist."  Josephine smiled at him causing his heart to skip with joy.  "If it is not too forward, might you be available for dinner this evening Ms. Josephine?" He held his breath, praying she would accept his offer. 

The way her name rolled off his tongue could soothe an angry lion, and she would do anything to hear him say it again.  Looking at her mother for approval before answering, she said, "I would love that." They let him know where they were staying, advising he would pick her up at 7 pm.

That evening, he arrived promptly on time, having arranged a carriage to drive them to a nice restaurant he knew nearby. His breath escaped him as she descended the stairs, thinking her to be an angel descended from the heavens in a beautiful dark blue dress.  “You look breathtaking.”

Josephine found her heart beating so loud thinking he must be able to hear it.  Blushing, she reminded herself to breathe before taking his arm.  “Thank you Lord Sharpe.”

“Thomas, please.”  He wanted nothing more than to run away with her to some far off place or at least back to his home.  

She nodded.  “Thomas.  You look very dapper yourself.”

She scolded herself.  ‘Dapper?  That’s the best you can come up with?’

“Shall we?”  He held out his arm which she took.  He aimed towards the door, and she followed him, a willing captive.  When entering the carriage, it took all his strength to tell the driver to take them to the restaurant rather than what his head and heart were telling him.

At dinner, they exchanged stories. He told her the joke about why his estate is called Crimson Peak.

"That sounds extraordinary."

"It is fascinating but sometimes also a bit macabre when someone walks around and leaves what looks like bloody footprints."

"That must be a sight to behold. Oh how I wish I could see that." She froze. She had not meant to be so bold and admit that last part, but he simply smiled and said, "I would love for you to see it. You are most welcome to come observe the sight any time you wish."

She felt a bit relieved. They continued to talk and walked leisurely back to her hotel as they did not want the night to end. 

"I would very much like to see you again tomorrow, if that is alright?"  He didn't want to let her go, yearning to whisk her back to Allerdale as his. 

"I would like that as well. My mother and I have an appointment, but we should be back by 1."

"1 o'clock it is. I look forward to it." He smiled, taking her hand in his and placed a kiss across her knuckles before departing. 

Arriving at her room, she found her mother was pulling out the metallic syringe and an opaque bottle of liquid. "Did you have fun?"

She smiled and nodded. "He's wonderful and incredibly kind. He has asked to see me again tomorrow when we get back.”

"I see no problem with that at all, my dearest daughter, but it’s time for your medicine."

Josephine was not a fan of needles, but her mother insisted it would help with her deteriorating health.

When she awoke the next day, the front desk brought flowers that had been delivered early that morning. 

My Dearest Josephine,

These flowers pale in comparison to your beauty. I very much look forward to seeing you again today. 

Sir Thomas Sharpe

She placed them by her bedside, smiling like a loon. Her left hand began to shake and held it with her right to help control the tremors.

The visit at the hospital took longer than anticipated as they wanted to run a few tests to get a diagnosis as they felt they were close. By the time they arrived back at their hotel, it was half past 1.

Thomas waited patiently in the lobby. He had not been to the hospital much but knew appointments of any nature could run longer than expected.  When she arrived flustered, he tried to give an air of calm and understanding. 

"I'm so sorry."

"It's quite alright. No need to explain. If you need to take a moment to freshen up, I am happy to wait."

Josephine appreciated his offer and went up to her room to fix herself quickly and was back down ten minutes later. She was sure to wear a dress with a larger skirt to help hide the tremors in her legs that were becoming more frequent.

He took her to a shop that prepared a picnic basket for them which they took to a nearby park. He laid everything out on the blanket, and they spent the afternoon enjoying each other's company, talking about various things such as nature, science, hopes, dreams.  Before they knew it, evening fell upon them, the picnic food gone hours before. 

"Would you like me to escort you back to your hotel?"

She felt a pang of disappointment, not wanting to leave just yet. As if he could read her mind, "or, perhaps, we could get some dinner?"

Thomas wasn't ready to take her back but feared she might be tired of him. He hoped she might accept his second offer, his heart almost refusing to beat.

"Dinner sounds delightful."

Internally, he breathed a sigh of relief, his heart relieved.  As she went to stand up, the tremors began again, causing her to lose her footing; however, Thomas caught her before she fell to the ground.  She tried to brush it off.  “I’m so sorry.  My legs must have fallen asleep.”  She smiled.  “Not to worry.  I’ll help you to the restaurant.  It’s nearby.”  She took his arm, using it to steady herself, trying her best to ignore the looming headache.

They continued to enjoy one another's company through dinner and dessert, not realizing the late hour while looking at the stars in the park until they arrived back at her hotel to her frantic mother who calmed the moment she saw her daughter was with Sir Thomas. 

"Thank you so much for escorting my daughter. It appears she had a lovely time." This caused Josephine to blush profusely. 

"My apologies for keeping her so late. I do so much enjoy spending time with her."  He couldn't help but shyly smile as he spoke.   “If your mother permits, I would love to see you again.”

“That would be lovely,” she said, trying to hide the pain from her headache that seemed to only be getting worse.

“Would tomorrow be too soon?”  He was hopeful she’d agree.  It was too soon, but if he could, he would see her every day; however, he did not want to scare her, unsure if she felt the same.  Little did he know, she did.  As much as she loved her mother, she wanted adventures with him.  She’d run off with him at that very moment if she weren’t worried about leaving her mother alone.  Maybe he’d allow her to come with them?  Or would he disappear when learning of her declining health? ‘No, Josephine.  You mustn’t let your heart get ahead of your mind.  Perhaps he merely wants company while he is in town.’

Taking her hand, he turned it, kissing her palm and felt her hand shaking a bit but brushed it off, believing she was likely as nervous as he.  

Arriving back to her room, her mother was ready to give the next dose of medicine.  “Do we have to, mother?  How many more of these treatments must I endure?”

Her mother approached with caution.  “It is only for your benefit.  Do you not wish to be well?”

She sighed in defeat.  “Yes, mother.  It’s just that the treatments have become more difficult to handle.  I just want to be well and hope the doctors here can find a solution.”

“I am sure they will, but in the meantime, you need to continue this course of treatment.  The doctors have not been opposed to it, and I feel it has slowed down at the least.  I am truly sorry for how difficult this has been for you, but it’s not any easier watching you be forced to endure.  You are a strong, capable woman.  As your mother, I only want to see you succeed.”

Josephine relented and allowed her mother to administer the needle treatment.

“I must also say this.  Sir Thomas seems like a capable young man, but I am not sure he is right for you.  I fear he may take advantage of you due to your health.  I do not believe I can abide his visits much longer.  I want to see you happy, but I also want you to be safe.”  She put the needle away with the future treatments, placing them in the drawer of her nightstand.

She rubbed her arm at the injection site, momentarily forgetting her headache.  “I know, mother, but there is just something about him that I cannot explain.  I feel connected to him on a spiritual level, and if he were to propose tomorrow, I would say yes, but….”

Sitting on her bed, her mother looked nervous.  “But what, Josephine?”

“But I fear leaving you alone.  Father passed so long ago, and I do not want you to feel as if I am attempting to abandon you, but I feel I must follow my heart.  I am hoping, perhaps, that if he does propose, that you may come to live with us.  I know.  I’m getting ahead of myself.  Just wishful thinking.”

Her mother moved over next to her, holding her from the side.  “Darling daughter.  I am in awe of your desire to see me happy, and I feel the same for you.  I just………..want you to be safe.  The thought of you running off with that man scares me.  There is just something about his countenance I cannot trust.  I mean, what do we really know about him?”

She knew her mother was right.  She was always right, but something in the back of her mind said her mother was wrong about this.

As he walked back to his hotel, he could not stop thinking about the feel of her hand, the honeysuckle smell drifting off her hair.  He knew what needed to be done.  Once back in his room, he pulled out a pen and parchment.

My Dearest Sister,

Please forgive my neglect of you. I have been so thoroughly occupied of late, and have so very much to tell you. Foremost, that I send you my love and sincerest well wishes for you in my absence.  All is well here, I have been meeting with Mr. Westridge regarding the estate. He has been kind enough to assist in clarifying the terms of the paperwork so we have nearly concluded our business; however, I must confess that, while I do miss you, I am not eager to return home just yet.

I have had the absolute pleasure of meeting a most outstanding lady.  Her name is Josephine.  She is here in town with her mother.  With her mother’s permission, I escorted her to dinner.  She is such a remarkable woman.  She gazes fondly at the stars as if they were her dearest friends.   I showed her the constellations of Perseus and Andromeda, telling her their tale.  Dear sister, I would slay every beast in the world just to stand in her presence.

She adores reading the poets and makes spirited defenses and criticisms of every page she consumes.  She listens tirelessly to my myriad mechanical ramblings and discusses my ideas with a curious and open mind. Never has a woman taken such an intellectual interest in my work. I must admit that while her face caught my attention, it was her mind that has kept my interest.  

Oh, how I wish you were here to help guide me through this.  The very sight of her makes my heart flutter.   This strange feeling is beyond my comprehension, yet I do not wish for it to dissipate.  What must I do, dear sister?  Please, I beg for your guidance in this matter.

Your loving brother,

Thomas

Sealing the letter, he called upon the front desk to have the letter delivered to his sister, eager for a response as he was eager for his sister’s council.  They ensured him that short of unexpected, disastrous weather, they would have the letter delivered post haste.

While a cold cloth to her forehead helped alleviate her headache, Josephine suffered another night of unrest.  Rather than toss and turn, she quietly took out her diary to write, always addressing her entries to her father as it helped her feel close to him even though she never had the opportunity to meet him as he passed shortly after she was born.

Dear Father,

I must tell you of the noble gentleman who came to my rescue yesterday.  His name is Sir Thomas Sharpe.  I felt faint and began to stumble, but he saved me before I could be injured.  Dearest father, he is an angel, both in action and countenance.  When our eyes met, I knew in that instant he was my soulmate.

I know you never truly believed in soulmates and love at first sight, but I felt whole for the first time in my life.  I thought for so long that the missing piece of my soul occurred when you passed.  I realize now that the missing piece was him.  The cracks running deep to my core now feel as if they are mending each time we meet.

Father, I know you would approve of him.  We share similar interests.  He loves to read, star gaze, dance, and invent.  Yes!  He’s an inventor!  His mind creates these extraordinary ideas for machines.  His latest idea is for one that would make the harvesting of clay easier and more efficient with less likelihood for injury to the workers.  I find myself completely fascinated when he spoke of it

My first hesitation is mother.  I do not wish for her to feel abandoned.  She seemed amenable to come with me to Thomas’ estate, should he propose.  I have only known him for two days, but I would marry him at this very moment should he ask.  I do not care if he has money or not.  If he does not have an estate then the ground where we lay would become our home and the stars our blanket.

My second hesitation is my health.  I have not yet told him of my ailments and am afraid to do so.  My fears tell me he will reject me, not wanting an ill spouse, but my soul tells me he will not care.

I know not else how to describe this feeling, but I cannot deny it.  Mother reminds me that a lady does not openly express her feelings to a gentleman.  I wish you could meet him, see him as I do, but I know you watch over me.  

I also fear that I have created this imaginary scene in my mind, that my heart has overruled my mind to the point where I live in fantasy.

I beg of you for your help, courage, and wisdom to know what to do.  I miss you so much.

Your loving daughter,

Josephine

Putting her journal away, she climbed back into bed.  It was another hour before she was finally able to sleep.  

The following morning, Thomas readied himself, going by the florist first.  Looking for the perfect flowers, he looked for ones that might be worthy of her presence.  Once he found them, he paid the proprietor and left swiftly to her hotel and waited for her patiently in the lobby.

Josephine was lost in a fitful slumber, but her mother was awake and ready, knowing Sir Thomas would be arriving shortly.  Descending the stairs, she saw him holding the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen.

“Good morning Ms. Morrow!  How are you this fine morning?”  The joy in his face was evident to any who saw him.

“Good morning, Lord Sharpe!  I am well, but I’m afraid Josephine is still resting.  Her rest was very troubling last night, which is to be expected.”  

“I am so sorry to hear that, but I do hope she is well.  Do you know when she might awaken?”  He was very eager to see her.

“I could not say, but I do not wish to disturb her as her health has been poor, especially as of late.  I will ensure she receives these.”  

When she put her hands forward, he hesitated.  “I would be happy to wait until she is awake as I would live to give these to her myself.  I must confess.  I am eager to see her again.”  He wanted to see her so much, even if for a moment.  

“I cannot say when she may awaken and feel well enough for a visitor, but I assure you I will take these directly upstairs.”  Reluctantly, he handed her the bouquet.  

“I thank you for doing so.  If there is anything I might do to aid in her recovery, please do let me know.  I am very……..fond of her.”  He could not help but blush.

“You are too kind, Lord Sharpe.  We are fond of you as well.”  He smiled at her response.  

“Please do not hesitate to call upon me should there be anything I can do to assist in her recovery.”

He waited until Ms. Morrow disappeared up the stairs and out of view before taking his leave.

As her mother returned, she found her daughter to be awake and brushing her hair.  Turning at the sound of the door, she saw the flowers her mother held.  “Those are the loveliest flowers I have ever seen!  Where did you find them?”

Her mother walked over to the vase in their room, discarding the old flowers and placing the new ones in there with some water.  “A handsome gentleman gave them to me.  They are pleasing, are they not?”

“They truly are, and you deserve them.  You have been so kind and helpful with my health.  It’s the least you deserve.  I do hope he calls upon you again.”  Josephine turned around and continued to brush her hair.  She was feeling exceptionally unwell this morning but did not want to alarm her mother, keeping her thoughts to herself.  

As her mother went to place the flowers in a vase with some water, she removed the ribbon from the stems, placing it aside as a keepsake.  “I communicated your increasingly poor health to the hospital.  They recommended bed rest and valerian tea until your next appointment in 3 days.”

Disappointed, she returned to her bed, already plotting her escape.  She could not stand to be cooped up, preferring the fresh air and sunshine, or the stars at night.  In the meantime, she placed her head on the pillow, knowing she could use some more rest.

That was two days ago.  Thomas paced back and forth around his rooms wondering what to do, how he could capture even a glimpse of her.  Perhaps he could return back to her hotel in the evening with more flowers?  Or would more flowers be too much?  Maybe a new pair of gloves?

Then it occurred to him.  He knew exactly what she would like, departing for the desired object he had seen just the other day.  When he exited his hotel, he looked around to realize it was later than he thought, not having realized he had been pacing around his room for hours.

Holding himself back from running, he reminded himself of social protocol, trying to keep an acceptable pace as there was no emergency.  Upon arriving at his desired location, he spoke with the shopkeeper, describing the item he was looking for.  The shopkeeper knew exactly what he was describing.  “Would you like me to wrap it for you sir?”

Thomas smiled.  “I would be most grateful.  I am very grateful for your help.”  Pausing for a moment, he had another idea.  “Might you have a piece of parchment and ink I might use?”  

The shopkeeper smiled and retrieved the requested items.  “This must be for someone very special.”  Thomas smiled back at him.  “Yes, for someone very dear and precious.”  It took him a few moments, but the words finally came to him.

My Dearest Josephine,

Words fail me to accurately portray the bewildering spell you have cast upon me with your beauty and intellect.  I hope this may help convey what I am unable to express.  For I am unable to retain a singular thought when simply near you.  I yearn to see you.  To simply breathe the same air as you is a privilege that not even God himself is worthy.

I pray you can accept this humble token from an unworthy man such as myself.

Yours Always,

Thomas

Gently folding the note, he placed it inside before the shopkeeper who then safely wrapped the item, securing it with twine.  Holding it carefully, he departed.  

As he neared her hotel, he noticed a woman become unsteady, falling to the ground and hurriedly made his way to assist her.  

“Madam, are you alrigh………Josephine?”  Her face was contorted in pain.  “What is wrong?  What can I do?”  She could hear his voice off in the distance; however, she was more focused on her prevailing issue as her extremities continued to tremble. Lifting her bridal style, he started towards the hospital.  

She turned to look at him.  “Thomas?”  She sounded weak.  “Dear Josephine!  Do not worry.  I will get you to the hospital posthaste.”

She placed a hand on one of his lapels.  “Please no, not the hospital.”

“But you are unwell.  You must see a doctor!  If nothing else, I should take you back to your hotel to rest.  You cannot be out here in your state.”

“I beg you. Please do not take me back, at least not yet.  Can we delay a little?  Perhaps sit on a bench at the park?  I yearn for fresh air and sunshine.”

He could not deny her request, heading for the park nearby as she leaned her head on his shoulder.  Gently placing her on the bench, he sat next to her.  She held onto his arm.  To provide her better support, he wrapped an arm around her, finding her leaning into him.  They stayed like that for sometime, receiving odd looks from passersby.  Finally, Thomas broke their peaceful quiet.

“Darling Josephine.  If I might implore, what is ailing you?”

This was it.  She was about to be confronted with her fear of his rejection of her due to her health.  “I’m afraid, Thomas.” she turned her face up to look at him.

“What are you afraid of, my dear?”

there was nothing she could do to hide or deny it any longer.  “I have been unwell for sometime.  Mother thought it best to come to London to see if the doctors might know what is affecting my health.  No one has been able to uncover the cause.  They’re only able to treat the symptoms.”

Thomas listened attentively as she looked away and continued.

“The doctors here have hope for a diagnosis and solution.  In the meantime, mother has been administering medicine to help me, but I fear it might not be working well enough.”  

“Why have you not told me of this before?”  His worry increased, not wanting her to suffer.

“I’m afraid you might not want to see me anymore.  No one wants to be saddled with an ill person.”

Placing his finger under her chin, he guided her face back towards his.  “My dearest darling Josephine.  Nothing could change how I feel about you.”

She blushed and attempted to bury her face in his chest, but he would not allow her to do so.  “If God himself told me I had to choose between you and the heavens, I would dwell happy as a dead man in hellfire for having known you.”

She could not help a tear or two from falling.  “Please, Thomas, do not take pity on me.  I could not bear it.”

Using the back of his finger, he wiped them away.  “Please do not cry.  I am not worthy of your tears.”

He brushed some falling hair out of her face, and she leaned her face into his palm as he did so, yearning to stay close to him.  A gust of cold wind fell upon them, and she began to shiver.  Against society propriety, he removed his coat and placed it around her to help keep her warm.  She confided in him her desire to be a dancer.  “I’ve always wanted to dance, but my health never allowed it.”

“One day, you will dance.  We will dance, even if I have to sweep you off your feet and hold you while I carry you around the dance floor.  Come, love.  We must get you back to your hotel for some rest.”  She agreed but found she was still unable to walk.  The tremors were affecting her more and more as time moved on.  Seeing her distress, he picked her up bridal style once again and moved towards her hotel.  As he carried her, she found herself warming between his coat and their close proximity, allowing his calming scent to envelop her.

They arrived at her hotel moments later, finding her mother running frantically down the stairs.  “Where have you been?  Are you alright?”

Josephine nodded, looking up at Thomas.  “I needed some air and fell, but Thomas rescued me.”

“We need to get you back to bed.”  Thomas began towards the stairs but was stopped by her mother.  “It is not appropriate for you to be in her room.  I can help her back to our rooms.”

He looked back at Josephine, not wanting to leave her in such a state, but Josephine knew once again that her mother was right.  He placed her down gently, her mother moving to help support her.

“Thank you again for rescuing me, Thomas.”  She gave him a weak smile, her energy still draining and began to remove and return his coat, but he stopped her. 

“No, my dear Josephine.  Please use it to keep yourself warm.  I can come back and retrieve it tomorrow or the day after when you are feeling better.”

He leaned forward to wrap his coat back around her, using the moment to whisper so that only she could hear.  “There is something in the pocket for you.”

She looked at him and smiled once more.  “Thank you again, Sir Thomas.  You have been most kind.”

He stayed and observed to help ensure her and her mother had no problems ascending the stairs, not leaving until well after they were out of sight.

Arriving back at his hotel, he found there was a letter and small package awaiting him.  Seeing his sister’s hand writing, he swiftly took the items to his room, eager to read her response.

Darling Brother,

I am beyond delighted to receive your letter.  What you describe in your letter is nothing short of love.  I have been worried for so long to find someone worthy of your time and attention, to be a partner, a friend, and a confidante.

She sounds to be the most exquisite creature.  It warms my heart with how you talk of her.  I have never heard you speak of anyone in such a manner, not even your childhood love, Angelica.  

From what you’ve told me of her, it appears she feels the same as you.  The only guidance I can give you is this.  Your heart already knows what to do and will not lead you astray.  All you need now is to listen to it.

I have enclosed mother’s ring.  While it is ghastly, use it to purchase a ring for my future sister.  Go, dear brother, and ask her to be your Andromeda.

Your loving sister,

Lucille

He knew she was right, always providing the truest insight and finest guidance.  In all the times he thought he was falling in love, none compared to his affection for Josephine.

Opening the small package, he found their mother’s ring encased in an intricately carved jewelry box.  While the box was beautiful, he agreed with his sister that the ring was frightful.  Gazing at the ring, he pondered where to go.  Placing the ring on the desk, he decided to begin his search for the perfect ring the next day.  All night, his mind stirred with ideas of how to ask his dear Josephine to be his Andromeda once a worthy ring was found..

Back at her hotel, Josephine placed Thomas’ coat over the back of her chair and bided her time to check the inner pocket until her mother had fallen asleep.  As she climbed into bed, her mother brought her nightly remedy.  Not wanting to anger her mother, she gripped the bedsheet tightly as the needle was administered in her other arm.  

As the needle and bottle were put away, Josephine noticed the flowers again by her mother’s bedside.  Whomever sent those must truly be enamored, and it delighted her heart, giving her hope that her mother would finally find someone.

She gently turned over to see her mother gazing at the flowers once more.  “Mother?  I am so sorry to have worried you like that.  It was not my intention to cause any harm.”

Looking back to her daughter, the smile on her face dropped as she prepared the valerian tea.  “You know, daughter.  I only wish the best for you.  The instructions from the doctors are only for your betterment.”

Although crestfallen, she knew her mother was right, as always.  “I’m just so tired of doctors and hospitals.”

“I know you are, my daughter.  I wish I could make it all go away, but they are necessary.  The physicians here seem to have better ideas on how to help you, and we must let them do it.”

She knew there was nothing else to say.  Taking the tea from her mother, she drank it without complaint, falling asleep soon after.

Waking up to the sound of song birds, Thomas yearned to see his beloved.  Taking the time to bathe and dress, he decided to surprise her at her hotel and take her to breakfast. Taking the ring, he placed it in his breast pocket.  

Swiftly arriving at her hotel, he inquired with the desk clerk if she was awake.  Having one of the staff check, it was only moments before Ms. Morrow arrived downstairs.

“Sir Thomas!  How delightful to see you this morning.”  

“Ms. Morrow, it is a pleasure to see you.  I was hoping to take your daughter to breakfast?  If it’s already with you, that is.”

“I’m so sorry, Sir Thomas.  She is still slumbering and will not be awake for a while, but I would be delighted to join you.  This would be an opportune time to get to know one another.  I feel that we may be spending more time together in the near future.”

He smiled, trying to hide his disappointment in not seeing his darling.  “That would be most wonderful, Ms. Morrow, and a most excellent idea.”

Taking his arm, she led him out of the hotel.  “Please, call me Victoria.  I insist.”  They arrived at a restaurant just minutes later, being seated without hesitation.  They discussed hobbies and interests.  He asked questions about Josephine’s upbringing, wanting to know her better.

“To be honest, she was never a well child.  Her father passed when she was an infant, and I took the burden of being mother, father, and nursemaid.”  She proceeded to tell him how her daughter’s health has been poor since she was little and has steadily declined over the years.  “I’ve had to play nursemaid by myself.”

They chatted away a while longer before Thomas escorted her back to her hotel, taking his leave in search of a prize.

Going from store to store, he felt more and more despondent.  The staff at each store tried to be helpful, but nothing was good enough for his dear Josephine.  Before returning to his rooms for the evening, he tried one last store: Hatton Garden.  The gentleman behind the counter introduced himself as Harold.  Harold was not much to look at, a short balding man in his fifties, but he had an immense talent for helping people find the perfect piece.  He showed him his mother’s ring, hoping he could sell it to purchase a ring fit for a goddess.

“Tell me about your fair lady.”  This was his trick, to use how the person felt about their beloved and match it to a ring.

“She is the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld.  Her eyes are blue like the ocean and sparkle like the finest stars in the sky.  She loves poetry and astronomy.  She is like no other I have ever met before.  I want to find something unique and individual that will compliment her beauty and show that she is nothing short of a queen among peasants.”

Harold smiled.  Never before had he heard such an elegant description of a fine young lady, and he knew exactly the ring for her.  Retrieving it, he placed it delicately on the counter.

This was the ring.  THE ring he had been searching for.  The smile on his face told Harold he had chosen wisely.

“May I see the one you brought in?”  Thomas placed his mother’s old ring on the counter.  “Unfortunately this is all I have, but I cannot give her a ring that does not befit her beauty.”  Harold picked it up to inspect it.  Taking out his jeweler eyepiece, he looked closely at the stone and inspected the silver holding the gem.

“I hope you do not find me impertinent, but this setting does not do justice for such a fine ruby stone.”  He looked at it further before placing it back on the counter. 

“Not at all.  To be honest, I find the ring itself ghastly, but I know it must be worth something.”

While the setting itself was considered junk these days (it was made mostly of cheap aluminum), the stone was worth something; however, the value fell short on the cost of Thomas’ chosen ring.  There was something about him he only rarely saw in others who came to him for help and came to a decision.  This young lady described sounded not only enchanting but also one of the only women worthy of a ring like this.  While the gentleman in front of him would not be able to pay the actual cost of the ring, he wanted to help him.

 “I do believe we can come to an agreeable arrangement.”  Harold described the value of the stone in the ring brought to him.  While he could not use the current setting, he could have a new setting created that would be more appealing and appropriate for the stone.  “You came on a most auspicious day, my boy.  For today is the only day this particular ring is on a special sale.”  He told Thomas that with the sale price of the ring, it would match the amount he would pay for the ring Thomas brought in.  “In fact, I would be most glad to exchange the ring you brought to me for this one.  It is most fortunate you arrived this evening.”

Thomas was elated, finally having found the perfect ring for his (hopefully) future wife.  Harold included a ring box befitting such a ring.  To avoid theft, he placed the ring box in his breast pocket where the previous one resided.

“I cannot thank you enough, sir.  You have been a tremendous help!”  Harold gave him well wishes as he departed.

It was late in the day, perhaps too late to call upon his dear Josephine.  Regardless, he walked to her hotel, stopping in front and peering up to what he believed to be her window.  He had to stop himself from running inside, up the stairs, and to her room.  He didn’t care that her health was poor and would take any time God would grant him, be it years, months, days, or even minutes and would love and take care of her.  

Before the constable could be called, Thomas went back to his own hotel and spent hours working on his proposal.

The following morning, he was ready.  Placing the ring box in his jacket pocket, Tom went to the florist first.  He wanted to have the perfect flowers to give her as he proposed.  The florist was kind and helped pick the right flowers that would show love and affection and created a one of a kind bouquet of peonies and roses.

“Any girl who would turn you down after giving these flowers is not a girl worth having,” the florist told him.

“She’s worth much, much more than these, but I think she’ll find them adequate.”  His smile was big and bright, lighting up the shop.  It wasn’t hard to see how hard he had fallen for Josephine.  Anyone who looked at him knew he was a man in love.

Now armed with the beautiful bouquet, he made his way to her hotel.

Once arrived, he asked for her at the front desk.  “Might Miss Josephine Morrow be available?  I do not wish to disturb…….”

He stopped mid-sentence when he saw the grim look on the concierge’s face.  “Normally, I would not share such private information, but I have seen you and her together.  She’d want you to know.”

The smile on his face dropped, his heart racing with fear, the flowers dropping to the floor.  “Know what?”

The concierge took a moment to compose himself.  “It was very late last night, her mother came running, asking for help to get her daughter to the hospital.  I was able to find someone to take her to hospital, but when I saw her?  To say she looked poorly would not do it justice.”

Before the gentleman could finish, Thomas was out the door and running to the hospital.  He had to see her for himself.  If she was that ill, he wanted nothing more than to be by her side.  He’d never run so fast before, but it also seemed to take forever to get there.  The nurse at the desk confirmed she was there and took him to her room.  When he entered, she looked deathly pale.  Tremors were happening at random intervals, and it was obvious she was having breathing issues.

“Her mother stepped out a few minutes ago.  We urged her to get some rest.  You must have just missed her.”

“What is wrong with her?  Will she be alright?”  She had to be alright.  He refused any other outcome.  

“Honestly, we don’t know.  We cannot figure out the source of her ailment.  If we had some idea, we might be able to do something, but I fear it may be too late.”

He was now sitting at her bedside, holding her hand.  “She told me her mother had been administering medicine.  Has that not helped?”

The nurse looked puzzled.  “What medicine?  The doctor has been very hesitant to prescribe her anything except to help her rest.  If we knew what she was being given…..”

He was out the door before she could finish, knowing he needed to find the medicine her mother was administering.  Why had her mother not told them?  Would it not benefit to give the doctors all of the information in order to help her daughter?

Arriving back at the hotel, he told the concierge to call the police as he ran up the stairs to her rooms.  Rather than knocking, he barged right in.  The room was unoccupied.  There were no thoughts as to where her mother might be, but he began searching every bag he could find.  As he neared the desk Josephine regularly used, her mother entered the room.  “I beg your pardon.  What do you think you’re doing here?  Why are you going through our personal things?”

“Where is it?” he demanded.

“Where is what?” She retorted.

“The medicine you’ve been administering to her?  ”  He continued to shuffle through papers.

“I have no idea what you are referring to, sir.  I demand you leave at once!”

He turned to look at her, fury evident in his eyes.  “Your daughter told me you’d been administering medication.  The hospital has no record of it.  Where is it?  What have you been giving her?” 

Ms. Morrow was frozen in place, speechless.  Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the flowers he’d given Ms. Morrow to give her daughter on his behalf.  They were not on Josephine’s bedside table.  Rather, they were by Ms. Morrow’s.  Why were they there?  

He moved swiftly to the flowers.  “Why are these here?  They were for Josephine!”  He started searching through the drawer of the nightstand, finding the items he was looking for.  He pulled out the needle and a bottle of silver liquid.  “What is this?  What in heaven’s name have you been giving her?”

“I’m her mother!  I take care of her.  You have no right to question me.  I demand you leave at once!”  They were both flustered.  Thomas examined the bottle of silver liquid, looking for any sign of a label.  It wasn’t until he turned it upside down that he found a partial label that said “....cury”.

“You’ve been injecting her with mercury?  Why would you do such a thing?”  Ms. Morrow launched herself at him, trying to get the bottle back.  He held it above her head to which she responded by slapping him several times.  Before she could get in the next blow, police blew in through the door.

He directed the police to arrest her.  “She’s been poisoning her daughter.  I must get this vial and the needles to the hospital before it’s too late.”  While two officers arrested Ms. Morrow, another officer gave him a ride to the hospital.  Thomas hoped it wasn’t too late.  He couldn’t bear to live without her.

Rushing to her room, he found the doctor there examining his Josephine.  “This is what her mother has been administering.”  He handed the bottle over to the doctor who examined it, and then sat by Josephine, holding her hand and kissed the back of it.

The doctor turned to his patient.  “Is this true, Ms. Josephine?”  She let out a breathy ‘yes’, unable to speak much more than that.  Even in the short time he’d been at her hotel, she continued to deteriorate.

It didn’t take the doctor more than a moment to recognize the contents: mercury.  Now having the missing piece of the puzzle, the doctor turned them.  “This explains your symptoms, but I’m afraid they’ve progressed too far.”

“What do you mean, too far?”  Thomas was angry.

“If we had known much sooner, the effects could be reversed, but at this point, there’s nothing we can do.  She’s not much longer for this world, I’m afraid.”

The tears poured out of him.  He gazed into his darling’s eyes.  “I’m so sorry, my love.  I’m so, so sorry.”

She gathered what strength she had left, placing her palm on his face.  “It is alright, darling.”

“How is it alright?”

“You’ve given me the greatest gift I’ve ever wanted.  You showed me what it is to love and be loved.”

He held her other hand with both of his, tears continuing to fall.  “We haven’t had enough time.  We need more time!”

“Do not worry, darling.  I will always be with you.”

At that moment, he remembered his original intention that morning, and pulled a small box out of his jacket pocket. She may not be long for this world, but he wanted every moment he could get.

“Dearest Josephine, I love you more than life itself.  I do not care if it is only for a few minutes or a few days.  Would you please do me the honor of being my wife?”  He opened the box to show her the ring.

She smiled and nodded.  “Yes,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could gather.  He removed the ring from the box and placed it on her finger.  What he had not noticed when he purchased the ring was that the jeweler had placed a matching silver ring under the cushion, a ring for him; however, it fell out of the box, creating a clunking sound as it hit the floor.  He picked it up before turning to the doctor.  “Is there a parson here?  I wish to marry my fiance as swiftly as possible.”

The doctor sent the nurse to find the vicar who had been visiting other patients and brought him to Josephine’s bedside.  Thomas expressed his wishes, and Josephine confirmed.  Both her engagement ring and the groom’s ring were placed on the open bible held by the vicar.

While they did not have a license, the vicar did not care.  He quickly understood the situation and gave them a brief ceremony, marrying them in the eyes of God.  At this point, no one in the room cared about the legalities.  Within moments, they were married, the rings placed on their respective fingers.  

From that moment on, they were not parted.  He refused to leave her side for anything, standing vigil day and night, wanting to spend every possible moment with her that she had left.  The only thing she asked of him was to hold her.  He and the nurse moved her carefully so that he could join her in bed.  Giving her a sweet kiss, he held her for the next few hours as she continued to deteriorate.

The doctor came to check on her that night.  When he came back the next morning, he let Thomas know that she did not have much longer.  He continued to hold her, forgetting all else.  In her last moments, she looked at him.  “Thomas….”

“Yes, my love?”

“I…..”  She had to regain her breath for a moment.  He waited patiently for her to continue.  “I will always love you.”

He dared to hold her closer.  “And I will always love you, in this life and the next.”

“And the next,” she repeated.  “I love you.”  And with those three words, she took her last breath.

The funeral was small but nice.  His sister did not have enough time to be there for her brother at the funeral, but she arrived that night in order to help him pack.  At his request, the concierge and staff helped to pack up her belongings so that Thomas may bring them back to Allerdale Hall.  While he could no longer bring his wife, he could have some part of her there with him.

As it got deep into winter, Lucille found him up in his attic more and more to the point where he refused to leave.  He had his favorite gown of Josephine’s on a mannequin in his workshop so she could watch him work.  He’d explain to the mannequin what he was doing and how he was doing it, as if she were truly there with him.  The most he would allow from Lucille was a blanket for warmth and the occasional tea.  

He’d not been home for a month when he caught a cold.  Lucille tried to urge him to take the medicinal tea and treatments to help him recover, but he had lost his will to do anything.  Melancholia and grief had such a tight hold on him that he could think of nothing else but his wife and his desire to be with her again.

Lucille returned about 20 minutes later with the medicinal tea and the determination to force her brother to take it and get better.  Arriving in the attic, she found he had passed, holding on to Josephine’s dress.

Knowing what he would want, she had his body brought to London and had him buried next to his wife.  As there was no proper headstone for Josephine, Lucille had a double headstone fashioned for her brother and his wife, finding it the very least she could do for her dearest brother.

Taglist: @vbecker10

Dividers created by the amazing @jiyascepter

[smolvenger]

Miss Narracott and The Captain, Chapter One

Fandom: War Horse

Pairing: Captain James Nicholls x fem! Reader

Summary: It is 1912. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Chapter Word Count: 4K

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise

Warnings: A horse ALMOST gets shot but lives. Landlords being landlords. Period Typical Attitudes. But very fluffy with cottagecore vibes and a meet-cute with the captain.

A/N: You can decide if you want to be a member of the family by birth or adoption. I try to make Reader fics as neutral in appearance as I humanly can. I hope you like this! It won't get too super sad or angsty and will have a very happy ending- so enjoy! Comments, asks, reblogs, and messages about my works are always appreciated!

“If the rent’s not paid by October, the farm is foreclosed. And I take the horse, too!” the Landlord had threatened in your kitchen, finishing his tea.

Gritting your teeth, you let your arms fall to the sides. Your mum cleared his cup and saucer. Then she met you where you stood, a frown on her face. You tried to slip your hand in hers. Your younger brother, Albert, was slowly heaving beneath his flannel shirt and overalls.  And your dad only sat at the table, his fingers twitching to get the flask you knew was in his pocket. But even his white whiskers couldn’t hide his own frown.

Those words made stiff and haunted you- all of you.  Just as the Bible verses in embroidery decorated about the house, those words were about you. Staring at you.

Foreclosed. Foreclosed. Foreclosed.

You decided to get a job as a shop girl in the town nearby. Dad and Albert had to work the fields constantly. Too much to mend and do for any other occupation. Mum ran the house with an iron fist. She’d say she’d have to stay at home. She’d say the place needed at least one woman. Not two, you noted-one. You were available. You could do it.

The day you announced you got the job, and that the paychecks would help go to rent, your mum wiped happy tears.  She kissed you.

“All of it’s going to the rent,” you promised her.

“No-keep a little!” she shook her dark head. Strands kept falling form her bun- she was an active woman, always thinking, always working. Even her own hair would not stay still.

“No- all! We all need it!” you refused.

It would be a sacrifice. But a sacrifice that would keep a roof over your heads. Hopefully.

“Whatever you pick- it’s your choice. I’m proud of you, my girl. All of us are…” she said before sweeping you into a hug.

After all, It was what you could do to bring money in. To keep that word from ringing in your head.

Foreclosed. Foreclosed. Foreclosed.

That was the word that motivated you to get up from bed in the morning. You shivered from the chill in your little room. Not that you were unused to getting up early. You lived with your family on a farm after all.

Besides, you loved the farm you lived on. It was a beautiful place. You and your family stayed in a stone house, two stories, thatched with a roof. The rolling green and brown hills could be seen from your bedroom window. You loved watching the sun rise and shine past your lacy white curtains. Stone gates trailed all over the place separating the gardens, shed, laundry area, crop fields, chicken coop, and backyard.

And there was no shame in being farmers, as dad would say. Farmers kept the country going and would for all eternity.

 As you looked up, the morning was shining pink. Peeking down, you could see Dad and Albert, going about distributing hay and making sure the animals were fed. Dad had some hay while Albert was filling his bucket with oats.

After washing yourself with a cloth and hot water, you dressed into socks, corset, shoes, petticoats, skirt, and blouse. You double checked to make sure there were no mud stains on your checked, white and blue blouse and blue skirt. You had to look presentable.

That morning, you sat at the table. Mum ate fast and ran off to begin a mountain of laundry. You were eating breakfast and drinking coffee from a beautiful porcelain cup with a painted flower on it.  Enjoying a moment of peace before your shift began.  There was the sonatas of birds and the rooster outside of a country morning. Accompanied by the clucking of chickens that wandered about the stone pathways on the grass. Albert walked in from outside, wiping off his hands on his pants.

“Y/N! Morning” he cheered. Already his cheeks were ruddy from the exercise and air.

“Albie! Good morning! How’s all the creatures?” you asked.

“All well-all well. Wish us luck- gonna start training Joey today! Gonna put the plow on him. If anyone can, it’s me!” he announced.

He sat down, slabbed a slice of bread with butter, and stuffed it in his face.

It was always dark inside the house. The stone blocked the sunlight except for the windows. Pots were on the ceiling over your head. Your embroidery was decorated over the walls. Over the crackling fireplace was a bookshelf with a book and a tiny clock. You kept peeking at it to make sure you weren’t going to be late for the nine am shift. fireplace. Little potted plants and flowers sat everywhere- inside the house on tables and counters and outside on windowsills. You and mum did you best to make sure the place was cozy. Pretty even. She taught you how to garden and put flowers into little clay pots. You both spent that early spring down on your skirts. Patting the dark dirt over the seeds and watering them.

Albert went to the corner of the kitchen section of the room. On the counter, right before the window overlooking the garden, was a bowl of fresh fruit. He grabbed an apple, shined it on his vest, and bit into it. Then he peeked outside and gasped.

“Y/N-come! Look at the garden! Your flowers!” he cried.

It was a lovely spring day. Looking about, you were glad to see the crocuses you had planted were in bloom. So much beauty even amidst the great stress. You kept only ten percent of the wages and decided to use it on crocus seeds to put in the flower section of the garden. Now it was speckled with the pretty flowers across the grass, nearby the carrots and tomatoes.  

Albert pointed to the window. You got up and your eyes followed his finger.

A little brown rabbit was in the flower garden. It went to one blossom and was chewing away.

“Hmm, should we stop him?” you teased.

Albert shook his brown head. Part of you predicted he would answer this- bless Albert! His soft heart for animals was his best quality!

“No! Don’t!” he cried.

“Well good thing I agree! He looks quite content- cute little fellow!” you commented.

Looking more carefully, it was quite small. Perhaps still a baby. Both you and Albert paused to admire the adorable intruder.

“What should we name should we give him?” you asked.

The rabbit finished the bloom of one crocus. It then hopped forward and began chewing on another. His miniscule mouth nibbling on the leaf of the stem.

“His name should be Peter- just like the old stories!” Albert decided.

“That’s a wonderful name! You always have the best names for the animals, Albie! But… if it’s a girl?” you pointed out.

“Then let’s call her after one of the sisters- let’s call her Mopsy!” Albert said.

“Good idea! That fits the theme!” you laughed in agreement.

Besides,  you were glad the rabbit ate the flowers. Glad it wasn’t one of the crops that would serve as both income and supper. Mum would have had a fit. Dad might have shot it for lunch.

But both of you smiled as you watched the creature breakfast along with the two of you. The little bunny finished his stolen meal and hopped off. It easily squeezed through the wooden gate and escaped.

“I should plant more- give it a whole salad bowl!” you suggested.

“I wouldn’t complain if you did- invite all the rabbit sisters and the mum too!” Albert added on.

It was a lovely day. The air was cool, the sun was out, the sky was blue, and the field was green. All this beauty even amidst such fear. Such stress. Some even whispered of a war. Didn’t the landlord say something about a war? No, that was too much. That must have been your imagination.

“Don’t be late- Y/N! Good luck! Maybe this might be the day you meet a handsome stranger at work!” Albert teased, he wiggled his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, the only strangers I meet nowadays are customers! And the men aren’t handsome-I’ll tell you that! And Albie-does he like carrots?”

He nodded, handing you a leftover carrot.

“One tip- offer it to him by turning backwards!” he added.

“Put it in my basket-I’ll see you later,” you said.  

After putting a carrot into your lunch basket, Albert returned to the table. He scooped up more of breakfast and ate a second helping. As you walked out to the stone pathway through the ground, there was a sudden honk from below.

The proud goose, more intent on making mischief than productivity, strutted your way. He blocked your path. He raised his head and flapped your wings as if he was the king of England. He ran- flipper before your feet.

“Oh, please! Let me through! Shoo!” you scolded.

He had to chase anyone and everyone on the farm. And that didn’t stop at the residents. Last week, he charged the landlord and his posse as they left. They fled to their motorcar like he was a giant bull and not a little goose. Both you and Albert tightened your lips at the sight and then laughed about it later.

You, however, were used to Goose’s antics. No other name fit him, according to Albert. He was what he was-Goose. You let him take his beak to nip a bit of your skirt and shake it with his flexible, goosey neck. Then you gave a light tug, and he relented and released. He then flapped his wings again around you. He began honking out again as if urging you to work.

“I have five minutes before I need to get walking! But I’m going to say goodbye to Joey first!” you replied to the gander.

As you made your path to the backyard you heard him honk behind you. Intent on nipping more of your petticoats per his own Goose ritual. But as you got closer, there was the sound of a whinny and the clutter of hooves in the back yard.  The goose gave a goodbye honk in surprise and eyeing the much bigger creature in the backyard, fled.

It was the newest addition. Joey. A beautiful young colt. On his way to growing into a magnificent stallion.  Joey was brown as a rich tree trunk with the white diamond on his snout. Every time you went out to see the young horse, he would neigh loudly and break into a run. It made you back off every time, your hands up as if to calm him. Throughout the day, you and your parents often had to jump back to avoid getting run over as Joey dashed through the yard. Albert insisted he was spirited, but good.

Joey was an Irish Hunter- not the usual breed for farms. Your dad noticed his strength and energy at an auction and bought it, claiming he would become a  plow horse. And how did he buy it? With Rent money. And Joey by now had become the apple of Albert’s eye. The house was at stake based on if Joey could be trained to plow. That is if your own shopgirl wages could not save the farm from foreclosure.

  Dad tried to put a plough over Joey and the horse bucked away. You cried when Dad got his gun to kill the beautiful animal. You, Mum, and Albert all yelled at him to keep him from shooting it that day. You tried to physically hold him back by hugging him, tugging the trigger out of target. Mum let out a scream when Albert got between. Thankfully, he gave in when Albert announced he would train the horse. He was the one Joey would listen to the most.

It cheered you to see Joey alive this morning. Galloping about freely. You knew how happy he made Albert. You wondered if such a wild, free creature would even shine to you. From your basket, you got out the carrot. You leaned your arm over the gate and clicked your tongue to get his attention.

“Here, Joey…how about a treat?” you offered.

Joey clopped forward.

“Here, Joey, come on! Come on, love!” you urged.

He went, but then backed off, shaking his head and long, black mane with a brush of his lips. You let out a sigh. Then you turned around, leaning your hand backward.

“Come on, Joey- you’re going to learn to plow today. You’ll need a little extra strength! I’m not dad-I’m your friend!” you urged.

If you made no sudden movements, it wouldn’t scare him to raise his front hooves and kick your head You heard his feet trotting close to you. Then you felt his wet mouth open and accept the carrot. As you turned around to see him eat it, you smiled.

“Oh-you took it for once!  Good boy! Good boy! And keep being a good boy today- I got to work today… and so do you. But between us, we can help keep the farm afloat- can we?” you wondered out loud.

The horse blinked in response. To think there was something in common you shared with the colt. You gently reached out a hand, and he let you pet his nuzzle.

“See-even letting me pet you for once! Every day you’re improving! You better do what Albert says-I’ll see you later, goodbye Joey!” you wished.

As you walked up the tiny slope to leave, you picked up your petticoat and tiptoed around the mud. You had to look as presentable as you could for a farm girl. Opening the wooden gate, you made your way to town.

You walked down into town, keeping to the sidewalks away from the motorcars. People busied about you, ready to begin their own jobs. You walked right to the shop. Even before opening there were already customers waiting to buy things just outside. Their noses touched the front windows. You went inside to the counter, tied an apron around your skirt, and switched the sign on the window to “OPEN.”

So began another day. Today, you made sure there were catalogues displaying a new selection of dresses for women. It was hard not to drool over them from the corner of your eye. Not to envy the daughters of lords of the land who had the surplus allowances to order them here. You sometimes saw them enter the shop with their maids by their sides.

How you wished you could be a lady! They couldn’t come from a farming family. And even more importantly, they didn’t work. You heard all about them. How you daydreamed about it night and day.

You could live in a giant manor house. You’d have a maid to do your hair and drape you in dresses and pretty jewels. So would mum! And how handsome both dad and Albert would look in tuxedoes at dinner! Mum would have to present you at court. You would come out and get to briefly meet the king and queen themselves! Then you’d go to fancy balls. There would be handsome suitors who would wait in lines outside your door to kiss your gloved hand with their unworthy lips. You would have no concerns except for which pair of gloves to wear. And which eligible bachelor to marry. Then he’d ask for your hand and there would be a giant wedding full of pomp and splendor. Then you’d move into another manor and eat breakfast in bed every day! You would relax and not have to do a minute of work!

Perhaps…you would meet someone if you moved out…or if by a miracle, you got a scholarship to a university or lived in another town, far from Devon…

You knew you did not have enough to move out on your own. Besides, even if you did- how could you? How could you abandon your family when they needed you? When they needed help? Especially since dad had a weakness for wasting money on booze until he drunkenly stumbled to bed in the wee morning hours. The landlord would sigh and remind all of you he ran a business, not a charity. Every time.

But sadly, you had to go back to reality.  You could only fantasize in catalogues and magazines showing off the latest overpriced fashions from London. You did grab an issue to look at during your minutes off. You went down for the post-lunch break. You began to sip on tea, look at the catalogue, and rest your weary feet from hours of standing.

But after you returned the shopkeeper, Mrs. Snow, went up to you in a hurry. And the shop was filled with eager people eyeing all the half-off sales.

“Oh, Miss Narracott! Look what I found!” she cried.

She brought forth a little black book.

“A gentleman was just here-I saw him with it! He placed it down on the table and left without it! He should be right outside- And it’s so busy now- could you please run off and get it to him?” she instructed.

“How will I know it’s him?” you asked.

“You’ll see him in a uniform- like a sore thumb! Please return it to him!” she pleaded.

“What kind of uniform?” you asked.

Immediately, a lady was at the counter with five spools of ribbons. She was frowning and tapping her gloved hand on the wooden surface.

“Just go! Go, girl!” Mrs. Snow urged. She pushed the book into your hands.

You nodded and hurried outside. But you looked around and noticed the people outside. Bowler hats and blouses blended in around you. None of the men seemed concerned about anything. They only got out the pocket watches from their waistcoats to check the time.  

What uniform- a university uniform? A police officer uniform? A chef’s uniform, even? You saw none of those as you looked about.

Curiosity hit you- what was in this book? Maybe he would return. And you could steal a little bit of time to rest your mind from work again.

The book was thin, so it couldn’t be a novel. Perhaps it was a short story? A photo album?

You opened it and saw a pencil drawing of a woman at a piano-it was a sketchbook. But her hair, her dress, and the doily over the instrument was perfection in its attention to detail.

They were some of the most realistic drawings you had ever seen. You flipped past one to find another more beautiful than the last. You saw one of a willow tree- it was as if the tree the were drawn merely shrunk in size. When you saw an old man’s face, each wrinkled line was as if he jumped into the drawing or was in frtont of you. They were nearly perfect. Why weren’t these already in a museum?  You flipped another page-the most impressive of all. It was the drawing of a large stallion,  colored to be a rich black. He was on his back hooves, raising his might front legs into the air.  He was like a mythological beast rather than some common horse. And at the bottom, was some writing.

“TOPTHORN- CPN J. N.”

You were so invested in admiring it, a baritone voice had to break you out.

“Excuse me miss-“

Jumping at the sound, your head went up.

You saw a gentleman. A tall gentleman. And yes- an astonishingly handsome gentleman. He took off his hat, perhaps to show respect in the presence of a lady. His eyes were absolutely piercing in their blueness, as if he could see right through you to your guts. But they were soft, like two sapphires on his lovely ivory face. He had a uniform on- a soldier’s uniform.

“Miss…what is your name?” he asked.

“Y/N Naracott. And you are?” you replied.

“Nicholls. Captain James Nicholls.” He answered.

“Is the sketchbook yours? Left in that shop?” you asked, holding up the book.

“Yes, it is,” he answered.

“I’m so sorry- I work for the shop and was intent on returning it. But I got curious and peeked inside,” you blurted.

With his gaze on you, you felt warm. Suddenly aware of every bit of your appearance and movements. It was everything in your to not go into a giddy panic and flee from bashfulness. You forced your feet still.

“Don’t be, you did nothing wrong…” he said.

Turning to the page with the black horse, you lightly traced it’s outline.

 “The drawings they’re…they’re beautiful! Was it a gift?” you questioned.

“It’s mine. My drawings…” he explained.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I should have guessed!” you babbled out.

“No, don’t be at all!” he replied. He grinned at you.

Smoothing your skirt, tucking in the blouse, you felt the wind knock out of you at his smile.

“I just thought they were…they were beautiful! My favorite’s the horse here! Horses are so hard to draw- but the way you got his shape, his legs, his body-he’s so lifelike! I thought a real artist must have them- not a soldier!” you added on.

“That’s Topthorn. He’s my Major’s horse. An impressive beast- I had to capture him,” he explained.

He took a step closer. Goodness, the uniform really did make him even more attractive! It made you dizzy. Your mouth moved faster than your brain.

“You should meet my brother. He’d love the horse drawing. We have a new horse and he’s obsessed with-“

 The same lady walked out with a bag of her purchased ribbons from the corner of your eye. It shut you up. Captain Nicholl’s turned to glance at her, and then back at you.

“I don’t wish to keep you from working, Miss Narracott, here- I’ll walk you back,” he offered.

It was not a very long distance at all. But you were grateful. There were worse things than being accompanied by a pleasant, gallant, handsome young captain.

“Are you new in town?” you asked him at the door.

“Just stationed. Staying here for the moment.” he explained.

“Then, welcome to Devon! I hope you like it,’ you greeted.

He nodded his head. He opened the door for you to walk inside.

“I already do,” he replied.

There was a whistle. Captain Nicholls turned his head to the outside. There was another group of men in army uniform nearby. One tall gentleman with a mustache called out.

“Hey! Jim! Stop flirting with the girl and get back!”

You flinched and saw his cheeks turn a little pink. You dipped your head down. Would that phrase cause a scandal- even a small one? On one hand, flirting was completely discouraged between men and women. There was no flirting until you were engaged. Then one could be absolutely sure a gentleman had pure intentions. You could be sure a gentleman wasn’t a skirt chaser and seducer.

But on the other hand- you both weren’t a duke and debutante at a ball. Just two village people having a chat. And flirting…maybe…maybe he did already…notice you…liked you…

“Well, I’ll see you around, Captain,” you said.

“And I you, Miss Narracott. Thank you again for returning the book,” he replied.

He dipped his head, put his hat back on, and left.

“Bless you, girl! Took you ages to find him! But you did! Now- it’s time to get back!” Mrs. Snow urged from the shop counter.

The busy crowd kept you on your feet, but you felt ready. The hours flew until closing. You could deal with even the most demanding customers with a smile on your face. As you flipped the sign to close and returned home, you found yourself looking forward to tomorrow.  Besides, maybe the new captain might return for a visit.  

[what-a-flammable-heart]

I’LL LOVE YOU IN EVERY LIFE WE LIVE—CHAPTER I

Chapter I: Creation Myth

(CAIUS MARTIUS CORIOLANUS, ADAM, PRINCE HAL/KING HENRY V, WILLIAM BUXTON, JAMES NICHOLLS, JAMES CONRAD, JONATHAN PINE & LOKI X READER)

Soulmates who meet in every life they live, they know without really knowing, that they belong together. Whether in the heat of battle or kneeling before the king; separated by time and death and other people, they always find one another. Love is the one thing they know for certain, even if they cannot be together, even if they are only together for the briefest moment. There will always be another life in which they will meet.

This Chapter: Religious context and background.

18+ READERS ONLY

WARNINGS: angst, smut (vaginal sex, fingering, oral—male & female receiving), character death (implied & described), violence, language

Playlist

In the Christian religion, it is said that God created Adam from the clay of the Earth, so that man would always have a connection to it. He took a rib from Adam’s own chest to create Eve—the love of his life. They lived in peace together, until the fall of man. They remained together for the rest of their hundred year lives, bearing children that would populate a desolate planet. According to the Bible, Adam and Eve made this place our home.

In our religion, Adam and Eve were created similarly from the dust of the Earth and Adam’s own breastbone, but instead of residing together in Eden, our god put the lovers on opposite ends of the Earth, so that they might find one another, and grow in that journey. While we have a deep connection to the Earth that we were formed from, our souls return to a place of pure light, to rejoin our soulmate before we are born again. Over the millenia, a couple may be reborn hundreds of times, connecting in life for many years or a brief moment. We may take more from the journey itself than our relationship with that person, but we are sure to meet them at least once—to touch hands and know, if only for a moment, that soulmates exist.

Read more…

[kneamet]

James Nicholls gives reader (James locked her in the room) a Christmas present with a cute smile. She doesn't want his gift. James is hurt and tells her that she will be trapped in this room until she is thankful for his present.

Trigger Warning: obsession, yandere, forced.

Word Count: 2098

Character: James Nicholls/reader

Summary: James just wanted to give you a Christmas present, not expecting you to dislike it at all.

POV James

"This is going to be a great night," James thought. He was smiling. Today is definitely going to be a great day. A day that will have to do without any problems and quarrels.

Nicholls, being a rather emotional person, always succumbed to any quarrels. But to the extent of his character, he could also be in the first moments a person who would respond to any tense situation with a cold eye.

He always kept his worldview to himself. In a war in which he killed and the horrors of which he could not forget for many months, no one was interested in the opinion of the people. They said to do, so do it. You're a soldier. Follow the order.

In the regiment, he was not allowed to reveal himself as a person. No one but Major Stewart, his friend, who was practically everything to him, knew of his hobbies. That his talent and desires were directed not to war, but to art.

He was always very pleased and flattered by the paintings that great artists created. Their styles, unusual techniques.

However, James was always interested in one question: where do people involved in great art find the personal muses that inspire them? He always wanted to find the person who would inspire him and whom he might even love and cherish.

But the memories of the war all dampened his mood. They were like something that was unlikely to ever be forgotten or should be forgotten.

James closed his eyes. Fragments of memories flew before my eyes. Mud. Wounds. People. Death.

That wasn't what he wanted. That's not why he went to school and got the necessary knowledge. Not to die so easily. Yes, he could have shed blood for his country, but he didn't want to.

He thought this was the end. I thought about it until I saw a nice girl. You. You were so beautiful in his mind. He could do anything for you. You were his main manipulator, his life. He would cherish you for the rest of your life if you would only listen to him and agree to marry him.

But you were too innocent. Your fighting spirit and your moral values that all people are equal have always interested him. This is extremely interesting.

James greatly admired your clear, virginal mind, your kind and pure heart. He liked to compare you to literary heroines. He loved to read and his favorite character was Anna Karenina from the Russian novel by Leo Tolstoy. He often said that their characters were eerily similar.

The ex-soldier never thought about the fact that he wanted to become someone exalted or famous. His spirit was subject to the spirit of calm and evenly defined actions. Maybe after the war, he could work as an artist and sell paintings, or maybe work part-time at a police station. He would have a happy wife and some cute kids who would cheer him back from work.

Oh, he wanted that wish to come true. After the war, he really had a good job, but a wife... Well, as he understood it, she had no particular prospects of becoming his lover.

And that disappointed him. That girl, you, that he's in love with, doesn't love him? But why? You've spent so much time together. Or so it seemed to James. He didn't want to admit that you and he only saw each other twice.

He sighed and turned his gaze to the brown door he had been hovering in front of for some time. James has prepared a great gift for his beloved. She would have to like him.

Nicholls believed that most women were addicted to gifts. And this is quite natural. And before this gift, it is unlikely that anyone can resist.

He pressed the round handle and opened the door with a slight tremor in his legs. This day should be perfect. He smiled at the thought of how happy you'd be with your new Christmas present. A new book of Shakespeare's plays, along with a small pendant that had his picture and yours on it.

He looked around the room. She was just beautiful. This was exactly what he had imagined the room in which he would sleep with his beloved wife.

The walls were sky blue with small patterns. They went well with the gilded furniture he had purchased not so long ago on a former soldier's salary. The room was decorated in pastel colors. The main decoration of the walls were small, almost imperceptible paintings. They weren't distracted. On the white ceiling hung a small lamp that fit into the interior.

Next to the wall opposite James's standing, there was a bookcase filled with a huge number of books, both English classicism and Russian. You could even find American literature on the shelves.

Right in front of the door was the double bed on which his wife was so beautifully arranged.

He sighed slightly, trying not to draw your attention too much and giving you time to finish reading the page. You were so beautiful in that position. And this outfit! He was so pleasing to the soldier's keen eye. Your dress was simply impossibly simple, but no less beautiful. It was summer. The blue fabric that hugged your waist matched nicely with the lacy white sleeves that reached to your elbow.

He bit his lip, trying to stifle the groan he was trying to get out. You gave him an orgasm just by being there.

James was still a virgin. He promised that he would keep it and lose it only with his legal wife, who according to his criteria should also be clean. He didn't really like the fact that the boys from the academy and even Stuart were teasing him about it, but he understood that he didn't need to be provoked and just follow his principles.

He wanted so much to come up to you and interrupt you, to tell you that he was the only one you could pay attention to, but he knew that would be disrespectful to you. He wanted so much to fix that hair that was so carefully climbing on a clean forehead, or to kiss those lovely lips that you were so diligently licking.

***

He thought he had lost all hope. That he was the only survivor of his own regiment and Stewart's. Wounded, in ragged clothes, covered in blood, he walked, trying to reach some settlement.

He crawled, one less injured hand clinging to the muddy and wet grass. His entire uniform was covered in the mud and blood of his countrymen who had fought so desperately for their homeland and for its victory.

The man knew that his strength was running out. He had been crawling like this for a kilometer. His breathing was getting worse. My arm and legs were beginning to prick painfully. The right hand was in need of urgent assistance. He needed to get to the nearest house.

His only thought now was to take a single sip of water. My throat was uncomfortably sore. He hadn't eaten or drunk in about a day since they'd started attacking the Germans.

When he reached the nearest big oak, he leaned against it and put his aching hand on his legs, leaning his head back against the tree, which hurt his head unpleasantly.

He didn't remember how he'd blacked out or what. His forces simply surrendered the position. It was at that moment that he realized that it was not so terrible to die. It's just close your eyes and that's it. He would see his soldiers soon.

But still, he regretted that he could not realize his dream and become a famous artist, find a family by marrying the woman he loved, raise children and die happy in a house full of grandchildren.

War is a tough thing. Sometimes he didn't understand why his homeland had to fight the Germans. Why him? But they were not particularly opposed to the fact that the boy from whom he bought a horse, entered the ranks of the soldiers.

"Mister, wake up. Please, mister, don't die," came a soft and soft voice, with a rough edge to it. The man slightly, through force, opened one eye and looked at the girl sitting in front of him. At you.

Standing before him was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life. A girl who looked like an angel. You were incredible. His artist's eye certainly wanted to express you on paper. Your expressively large eyes looked at him with universal tenderness. Your lips were slightly parted and your brows were furrowed.

He felt an extraordinary reaction. The fear, the exultation, the need and admiration? He found you extraordinarily beautiful.

Suddenly, an insignificant thought occurred to his bright head. He felt, heard, felt pain. Is he alive? Or is it just paradise? Paradise with its sweet angel.

The man's thin, pink-pale lips parted slightly and he tried to squeeze out something, but only a soft sigh came out.

He saw his angel flutter. As he opened his eyes. He saw you get up and start looking for something. He owl tried to speak, but could only utter a groan.

"Drink some water, sir," he parted his angel's lips and allowed her to pour him clear and silver water. "Are you feeling better?" he tried to nod. His angel, his savior, smiled at him and he whispered:

"I'm James, my angel."

***

POV You

You saw the way he looked at you. So gentle, so obsessive, so needy. His blue eyes looked at you as if they were seeing you for the first and last time. They studied you.

You shifted involuntarily on the fur-warm bed. Not that you liked the interior of the house, or rather you found it terrible. The walls were blue, battered, and obviously old. But at least the books made you happy. They were really wonderful. But the interior was the last thing that bothered you.

Most of all, it was hard for you to think that this innocent, beautiful man with such charming eyes had become obsessed with you. He believed that you were in love with him, that you were happy to be his wife.

But apparently James didn't understand your rejection. In your opinion, he didn't accept rejection at all, but he followed orders, so he could easily be manipulated. Especially now. But your desire to be free and live with the person you love was simply impossible. He responded to such statements and requests of yours with a strict no, from which your body shivered.

You didn't know how to justify his need for you. Perhaps because you were his hope, the only person who saved him from torment and impending death. But that's all the excuses you've found.

You knew he was waiting for the moment to give you a Christmas present. You saw that distant look he gave you when he remembered something. Most likely, their first meeting.

You coughed, trying to get his attention. He flinched and looked up from the polished floor to look at you. You swallowed and put away the book you'd been reading.

Nicholls moved closer to the bed you were sitting on. You saw his shifty eyes and his bitten lip.

"My angel," he walked closer and sat on the edge of the made-up bed, taking your right hand in his. He ran his thumb over it and squeezed it lightly, looking up. "Merry Christmas," he held up his left hand and you saw a small box. He pursed his lips and handed it to you. You saw him smile. Maybe he thought you were happy with his gift, but you didn't really want to accept it, knowing how it could turn out.

You shook your head a little doubtfully, lowering your chin slightly. You didn't want to upset him, but you knew you couldn't accept a gift from a kidnapper.

Suddenly, the man's back straightened. The gentle gaze turned frowning. The hand clutched the unfortunate Christmas present. His knuckles were white, and the veins in his neck throbbed.

"I don't need your gift, James," her gaze became more intense. He stood up and straightened his shirt, placing a small box on the bedside table.

Taking a deep breath, he turned and headed for the exit. You raised your head, sending a puzzled look at his back. He turned to face you, holding the door open and leaning against the door frame.

"My angel, why are you looking at me like that? You just have to understand that you will stay in our room until you thank me with sincere gratitude for your gift, " he sent you a smile and closed the door. You've heard the deadbolt locked with a key. "I hope you've prepared a gift for me."

[screw-real-life-i-pick-fandoms]

So, I just found a song called Travelin’ Solider by The Dixie Chicks and all I could think of was making a James Nicholls fic! Like for real, it is absolutely perfect for him! I think that will be a fic soon.

[amara-scott]

WAR HORSE

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Captain James Nicholls x Reader

Come back to me. summary: Saying goodbye to your love so they can leave for war is hard but having to say goodbye twice is unbearable. Your kids grow up wondering why he isn’t there, making it harder to move on and keep living.