#just realised the children surnames are never mentioned

[cypaira-the-skeleton]

Adapting To A New Life

⚠️ Mention of Verbal and Physical abuse, Name Calling, Profanities, PTSD. All of this is fictional so please do not take it too serious ⚠️

Not long ago, there was a little homeless girl that had nowhere and no one to be with; but thanks to a kind blind man named Roger, her life had completely changed.

Since her life had changed, that means that even her lifestyle did. One of the first examples is her Surname. Her full name used to be "Raven Williams", but after He adopted her she now took his surname and became "Raven Willington". She was pretty glad to drop her old surname. Another example, every night she finally had a room and a soft bed for her to sleep in, instead of a cold attic and an old mattress or a random cardboard in an alleyway, and instead of old hand me down clothes, she had brand new clothing and shoes. Before her new guardian could even take her with him for some shopping she was already greatful of everything. She was greatful for the clothes she was offered at first; finally getting rid of her old overalls and dirty shirt, she was grateful of being fed a proper meal; instead of having to dig through trash cans. She was greatful of practically everything she was offered.

The day Roger brought Raven to his house, he did everything he could to make her feel safe and at home. He might not have seen her reactions, but he could tell in her voice, and the way she was exploring around, that she was extremely happy, and that made him smile with happiness as well. He felt glad to know that she was very appreciative and thankful of everything he offered.

What he didn't expect in the first day, was to discover that she was a little bit mischievous as well. When he had taken his glasses off whilst preparing a bath for Raven, he realised they where gone after he attempted to retrieve them back. When changing into a new shirt, after Raven accidentally soaked him; which he didn't really mind, he heard her mentioning to herself that she was gonna take the advantage of keeping his coat a bit longer. What She didn't know is that he knew all along what was happening. He might be blind, but he's got quite the good hearing. He did tell her he was a bit upset that she didn't ask his permission first, but he also knew that she meant no harm or damage to his belongings. Her reaction to his claim really surprised him. She went on explaining her intentions and that she felt extremely sorry for making him upset. It was almost as if she was apologizing for being a kid. It pained him to hear her like that, but he appreciated her honesty at the same time, so no hard feelings where involved.

It was maybe four weeks after Roger had adopted Raven. From being alone, he had now adapted to having a child in his presence. He was never a father, but due to him having experience in looking after some of his friend's children, and possibly being in his nature, he knew how to behave like a responsible and caring parent. Although he doesn't mind being called by his name, he sometimes secretly wishes for the day that she would maybe start calling him "Dad". Of course, it's up to her to choose how she calls him. He has to admit that it might take months, if not a year, to finally be called like that. He has to keep reminding himself that this child has went through alot. She didn't trust him and she's still trying to be comfortable around him.

He had noticed how her behaviour sometimes changes when he's present. Whenever he's in a different part of the house he can hear her playing with a few toys he bought and handcrafted himself for her, or litteraly just start roleplaying scenarios; but as soon as he steps into the same room she's in, she suddenly goes quiet. Whenever she wishes to ask him something she always degrades herself for being curious and sometimes claim that "It may be a stupid question anyway". Just the other day he was busy with some house chores and didn't realize it was lunch time already. When he passed in the livingroom he could hear rustling coming from the kitchen. Assuming it was Raven he called her out and she got spooked in response. He asked her what she was doing ontop of the counter, since he stores snack in the upper cupboards, and she claimed that she was hungry. He then realized he had forgotten about the time and asked her why she didn't say anything, only for her to say that she didn't want to bother him.

He wishes to remind her that she's not with her old family anymore. He cares for her, and he wants her to be happy and safe. At the same time he doesn't want to invade her personal space too much and make her feel uncomfortable. He's giving her time to get-used-to at her own pace. Seeing the situation he got himself into, he had realised how hard it is to take care of a child that struggles to break out of her shell. That's why it's his duty to help her out, step by step. Luckily, there where times where she showed her trust towards him. When he's either ' watching ' tv, or reading a book, or relaxing in any way, she slowly and quietly creeps up to his side, and starts to snuggle, and would occasionally say that she's very glad he found her. He's definitely sure this will never get old to him, cause any time she did that he would feel his chest warm up with happiness . She's yet to know that he's a cuddle bug himself.

It is now past lunch time, Raven is in the living room, practicing Braille, and Roger had decided to bake an apple pie, just like his own Ma' used to. While gathering for ingredients he had noticed that he didn't have enough flower, and surely he didn't have any apples. That can only mean a quick trip to the Grocery store. While going out of the kitchen he warned, "Raven, I'm going for a quick errand. Will you please go change?" He asked as he made a Bee Line to his bedroom to change his own shirt. Anytime he needs to go out he always tells Raven to come along with him, and in return she sees it as an opportunity to spend time with him. It's not that he didn't trust her all alone, it's just that he didn't trust himself in doing so. She followed after him, stopping right in front of his bedroom door, "Hey..Roger? I wanna tell you something...", She said shyly. Which he responded "Do you think you can tell me after, dear?" But she insisted, "It's a bit important...". What could this 'important' issue be? He wonderd. After he changed and exited his room he went for the front door, directing his attention to her as she followed and he proceeded to take his coat and hat.

"What do you wish to tell me?" He asked. Raven aksed nervously , "I was wondering if I...um... could stay home this time?" After he wore his glasses and was about to take his cane he "looked" at her with surprise. He wasn't expecting her to ask for such a request so early. He went on one knee, and calmly repeated her question, to make sure he heard her right, "You wish to stay home?" She confirmed, "Yea! I wanna try stay home alone!" She went on explaining, "I mean, there will be a time where I have to stay by myself, and I can't always be by your side the whole time... right?" This felt so sudden to him. He understands she was all by herself before he even met her and pretty much independent, but for some reason this kind of stung. Obviously he was leaving her enough freedom to choose for herself. He thought well of what to say, and kindly responded "Well...to begin with, I really don't mind you tagging along! But...are you sure you're ready to stay here all by yourself?" She tought for a bit, but she seemed determined on her choice.

He felt glad to see her confidence spark up, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this felt too early for him. He thinks to himself that he can't let himself become overprotective and end up "suffocating" her. So with a reasuring smile he says, "Very well then! You may stay here. But before I go, there's a few rules you must know!" He says sternly, yet kindly, "First, do not respond at the door. If they claim they know me, ask them for a passcode, which will be...." She cuts him off, "Ocean eyes!". He guessed she was referring to the colour of his eyes, which was flattering, "Yea! "Ocean eyes". He continues, "second, If possible, don't answer the phone. If you do answer, tell them I'm busy and will call back. Never give them the number or claim that you're alone! And third, Never leave the house! Stay here and don't go anywhere. Did you understand?" She confirmes with a strong, "Yes sir!". He chuckles at her response as he ruffles her already messy hair, "Very good!" He stands back up and starts to search for his keys.. only to not find them.

He groans at his forgetful memory, wondering if he would forget his own head if it wasn't attached. Suddenly he hears the jingling of his keys, "Are you looking for these?" Raven asks. He apperently left them on the coffee table. He sighs reliefed "Oh! Thank you sweety! Can you please hand them over?" Instead, she plays around with the keys, "Hmmm...why don't you try and get them?~", she replies with a playful tone and a mischievous grin. He was confused at first, but quickly realized she was trying to engage him in her little game of "Catch me if you can". She's done it the first time when he was trying to get her to bed, and another time with his coat. He's still unsure if her goal is to attract his attention or she's too shy to ask him to play with her. Either way she seems to enjoy the thrill of it.

He patiently sighs, "So you wanna do this, huh? Alright..." He cracks the joints in his neck in preparation, "Come here!" He exlaims as he rushes to her direction. She quickly avoids him, giggling as she jingles his keys, "Too slow!" She taunts, and proceed to hide from him, going all quiet. The hunt was on, he had to know where she was. He crouches a bit as he slowly roams the living room, his breathing being controlled, his teeth slightly grinding as he tries to pick up any noises. He would occasionally pick up the sound of shuffling and slight jingling of the keys. They where coming from the sofa. He slowly approaches to the noise, his head turning to pick up more sounds. All of a sudden he can hear her little steps, and launches himself in attempt of catching her. He fails, but as soon as she ran past him he suddenly turned and wrapped his arm around her waist, exclaiming loudly "Gotcha!" Raven shrieked in surprise, then whined with disappointment, "Aaawwwww! You found me too quick!"

He proceeded to snatch his keys away from her while displaying a triumphant smile "Better luck next time!~". He let go of her as he went to the front door, twirling his keys around. Before leaving he reminded her of the rules, and after being sure, he left, locking the door behind. He ran his errands pretty quick, maybe took him ten minutes. He trusted Raven was doing fine, so he didn't need to worry. Upon arriving home, and opening the front door, he shouts out " I'm back!" Only for Raven to suddenly jump at him, causing him to stumble against the thankfully closed door as she latched her arms around his waist, "Woah! Hey, what's going on??". He could hear her muffled whimper against his coat until she tearfully blurted out "I was worried you weren't coming back!" Okay....new fear unlocked; Separation Anxiety. She must have overestimated herself and thought she was ready, but apperently that wasn't the case.

He wanted to just comfort her, tell her that he won't leave her alone again, but babying her won't help in her development. So he takes a different approach. He kneels down to her level after Prying her off of him, and tells her " It's okay... I'm here... I'm back, see?...You know, today I feel proud of you.." she sniffles as she asks, "Why?", He goes on, "Cause today ya decided to take initiative of deciding to stay home alone. It might not have worked out today, but once you're ready again, feel free to tell me". He decided to praise her for her choices. That seemed to have helped her out alot, as she seemed to be happy to hear him say that he's proud. That should keep her confidence boosted as well. "Now then!.." he exlaims, "Do you wish to help me bake something nice?" He asks as he's handling the bag of groceries. She excitedly accepts as he handled the bag for her to take into the kitchen.

The rest of the afternoon was spent baking a nice apple pie. This really felt like a "Father-Daughter bonding" moment for Roger. Once it was done, he proceeded to put the Pie inside the oven, and Raven offered to help clean up. He noticed his shirt got dirty, so he had to go change once more. Raven stayed in the kitchen cleaning the counter. After she was done she noticed the jar of sugar was still out. She wanted to put it back herself, but realized it belonged in one of the top cupboards. So she decided to climb up the counter, and searched for it's rightful spot. Suddenly, without any warning, Raven suddenly lost her footing. At that moment it was certian she was going to fall and get hurt, but with a quick reflex she found her balance once more, causing the jar of sugar to slip out of her hand with the initial flailing. It was at that point that time seemed to have slowed down for her, watching in horror as the jar was falling, and eventually, hitting the floor with a loud CRASH! Shards of glass and sugar got spread on the floor, and Raven froze in fear.

She couldn't believe it, she screwed up real bad. Her mind flooded with all sorts of thoughts, until she suddenly hears, "RAVEN!". Her heart stopped, he realized what happened...and she was in Deep trouble. All she could do was jump off the counter and quickly go hide under the dining table. She curled up her knees against her chest as she proceeded to cover her mouth to avoid making any noises. She was panicking. Her heart was racing, tears where flowing, her mind flooded in old memories. She could somehow hear the shouting and screaming of her parents, she could almost see their shadows roaming around her as they looked for her. She was shaking pretty bad as well. As if things weren't bad enough, she notices Roger making his way quickly inside the kitchen, shouting her name. He stepped onto the broken jar, slowly inspecting the situation. Once more, she hears him shout her name. He sounded mad... Or so she tought.

Once Roger heard something break he got worried. He quickly buttoned up his shirt as he hurried his way to the kitchen. He was indeed calling for her, but it was out of worry. He did notice the broken jar of sugar as soon as he stepped on it, but he was more concerned if his little girl was hurt. So he kept calling for her, hoping to hear an answer, "Raven!....Raven please answer me!.... This isn't time for games I have to know if you're okay!" But no answer was given. Now he was more concerned. Avoiding the shard of glass and grains of sugar, he felt around the floor, fearing to find her unconscious body. That's when he suddenly picked up a very soft muffled whimper to his left. He went still....and quiet. He strained his ears, hoping to hear something else. That's when he picked up an almost silent sob, his sight directed to the sound.

In Raven's perspective, her mind was droned with loud noises, every time she heard him talk he sounded distorted, making her believe he was mad. As soon as he "looked" to her direction, she was screaming internally as her blood ran cold. Trough her eyes she could see him with an angry expression, but in reality he was more concerned than mad. He slowly approached the table, "Raven? Are you here?". She didn't loose any time, she quickly bolted off and was making her way out the kitchen, "Hey Wait!" He shouted as he quickly got hold of her before she could make it out. Big Mistake. His goal was to calm her down, but that caused her to desperately try and wriggle her way out of his arms, "Raven calm down-!", Out of the blue he felt a sharp, clamping sting darting from his arm, "AGH!" He shouted in pain as he let go of her. He held onto his left wrist..and felt small deep marks forming a circle. That's when he realized, she bit him.

This really took him off guard. A moment later he heard the bathroom door slam, and a click followed right after. He hurriedly made his way out the kitchen, and attempted to open the door, but failed. She locked herself inside. Now it was his turn to panic. As he was about to bang onto the door, and beg her to come out, he heard her frantic breathing from the other side. It finally made sense. He was wondering if her past Trauma caused her to have a PTSD episode, thus making her believe she was in danger. He had to somehow help. He couldn't leave her locked in there, what if she passed out from her Hyperventilation? He wouldn't be able to break the door open or else it would hurt her in the process. That's when he realized his own irregular breathing.... and a plan came in mind. First things first, take a deep breath, and calm down. Panicking won't help either him nor her. Once he cleared his mind, he moved aside from the door, kneeled down, and very softly, knocked on the door. Thankfully for him, she didn't get startled, but he could sense her acknowledgement to the knock. With a soft and calm voice, he tried to ease her from her anxiety, "Hey there.... everything is okay....you don't have to be scared...." He could hear her breathing slow down a bit, but she seemed unsure "I-I....I Don't.....I don't wanna- " Her own breath hitched as she cut herself off. "It's okay... you're not in any sort of danger.... You're safe...I promise", he slowly reassured her.

She wanted to trust him, she really did! But part of her kept screaming to not approach him. She listened to his voice...it sounded....Soft. Calm. Gentle. It wasn't distorted anymore. He didn't sound mad at all. What if it was a trap? She suddenly tought. But she couldn't let her fears haunt her forever. She Needed to trust him. With a shaky hand, she slowly unlocked the door, and opend it barely enough for her to peek trough. Roger was reliefed to hear the door unlock, and proceeded to step back while remaining on her level, to give her space and avoid any intimidation. "You're....not mad..... right?", Her voice barely being heard. He smiled softly "You don't need to worry....I am not mad....Do you feel like coming out?" He tried asking her. She remained quiet, then responded, "Promise you won't hit me?" It hurt him to hear her ask for such a favour, but he kept his composure "I promise, I will Never raise a single finger on you, and I mean it"

Slowly but surely she creeped out of the bathroom and slowly approached Roger, still keeping a safe distance between the two of them. Once again, he was glad that she stepped out of the room, "Thank you for trusting me, sweety" he told her with a soft smile. Raven remaind quiet for a moment until she started to apologize, "I'm... very sorry about the mess I made. I swear I didn't mean it! It was a complete accident! I was just trying to help but I lost my balance it accidentally slipped out of my hand and than I was worried I was-!" Noticing she was getting worked up again he had to kindly cut her off to calm her down "Hey it's okay! It's something that can happen to anyone! You don't need to be afraid" It really sounded easier said than done, "But....I thought you where going to be very mad at me. Don't adults get mad and punish when kids break something?" She wondered.

"Obviously...", he thought. They made her believe that every single adult acts that way, and it's just so wrong! He even regrets to ask the next question "And...did your old- ." He almost said 'Asshole' outloud if he hadn't faked a cough to cover it up; he continued asking, "Parents...hit you whenever you accidentally broke or droped something?" Surprisingly, even after a short hesitation, she blaintly answered, "Most of the time they would shout at me. Call me Clumsy, Cluts, a Fucking Idiot, a Piece of Shit -or a Fucking Piece of Shit! Sometimes they would call me a Little Bitch....but if I screwed up really bad they would hit me. Mostly with their hands, or a shoe, sometimes a belt, rarely a broom stick. One time I was hit with a hot spatula. I used to have a burn mark on my arm but it eventually left. Except for my Papa', I thought all adults did something similar to disobedient children".

".....What...in the actual....Hell!?" He managed to think. The blind man was too stunned to speak. The amount of profanities that even came out of her mouth where shockingly baffling! And the way she was treated makes his stomach turn onto itself and his blood boil. He was just left "staring" at her. He couldn't believe that These People brought to this world an innocent child just so they could beat her and verbally abuse her! For crying out loud they even Chose to have another child and play 'Favourites'! If only he knew where they are right now he would gladly give them a piece of his mind! She then even added, "Sometimes they would get mad at me even when I wasn't doing any wrong. And I'm not sure why..." That would explain her sudden change of behaviour when he shows up.

It was all clear, she was the scape goat. The unwanted and unloved child. He feared to know what else they even did to her, "Raven...dear....may I please hug you?" That's all he managed to say. She was left confused, but she idly obliged and wraped her arms around his neck for a hug, and he proceeded to hug back even tighter. He couldn't think of anything else except comforting this poor child and sharing his fatherly love to her. It went on for a minute until Raven broke the silence, "So... about the jar..." That was enough to make him snap back to reality, and direct his attention to her, "Oh of course! The jar.... What we can do now, is clean it up. It was just an accident, there's no need for anything harsh, and it can serve as a lesson for the future. Simple, right?"

She felt surprised, but mostly reliefed, that he quickly forgave like that. Did that mean no more shouting? No more being physically punished? She was almost in disbelief, but she won't take advantage of it either. She knows the differences between accidents and being done on purpose, and surely she would do anything to avoid having to go through that experience again. Roger than stood up and gently guided her to the kitchen, "Now be careful where you step while I grab a brush and a dust pan", he then went to a lower cabinet and pulled out the items he mentioned. He then showed her how to properly clean up the mess, than handed her the brush while he held the dust pan for her to continue. Within a few moments she managed to pick up till the last grain and shard. He than handed her the dust pan and directed her to the trash bin, where she proceeded to dump everything in, "Great job! You did amazing, Sweety!" He praised her as he took the items away from her and stored them back in the cabinet, "whenever a casualty like this happens, always remember that you don't need to worry, and it can be easily handled with, atleast with my help as well" This was the first step of teaching her that accidents can happen to anyone, and it's okay to ask for help.

"So, while the pie is still baking, is there anything you wish we do in the meantime? Maybe play with your toys? Or draw something? Or maybe do you wish to play pretend? The choice is up to you" He asked her, wishing to engage in her quality time a bit more. She really thought about it, but she was too shy to say it, so she gently grabbed his left hand. She softly touched where her still faiding bite mark was, and gently snuggled her cheek against the back of his hand. Apart from slight confusion, he could feel she felt guilty about the bite. He couldn't blame her, she was scared, and that was her first instinct to avoid danger. He sensed that she was asking for some cuddles, so he happily accepts her offer as he gently picks her up in a 'bridal style', walks to the living room, and sit down on the couch as he proceeded to cuddle her close to his chest.

Raven almost wondered if he could read her mind, but she didn't care, she was happy he knew what she wanted. All the fear and panic has now faded away like water into the air. Once more she felt relaxed, safe...at home. It was a blissful moment for them both. Although she was happy about the cuddling, there was still something that was bothering her. It's been on her mind for a while now, and she's unsure if to tell him about it or not. She absent mindedly fiddled with one of the buttons on his shirt as she pondered wether she should just say it. He's an amazing adult, he treats her better, he knows how to comfor her, and after all he's the perfect father any kid would love to have! It was now or never; "Roger....?" He softly hummed as he turned his gaze at her, "Yes, Raven?" She suddenly felt nervous. Was it too early? Would he be uncomfortable? All sorts of toughts crossed her head, but she had to say it! "I....I wondered if I could...um..." She really hated getting stuck on her own words. Roger could tell she seemed nervous, so he kindly reminded her, "You can tell me, Sweety. Take your time, I will be listening". The way his blue eyes just 'looked at her' gave her all the confidence she needed, and finally asked "Can I call you ' Dad ' from now on?"

Did his ears deceive him? Did she just call him...Dad? He didn't even know how to describe the feeling. He felt as if his soul just ascended to heaven . He was still processing the moment when Raven suddenly asked him, "Why are you crying?". He felt so overwhelmed he didn't even notice the tears flowing from his eyes. He quickly tried drying them up, but it was pretty useless as more flowed through. Now she was worried; was it a bad moment? But he just wrapped his arms tightly around her small body as he sobbed with happiness, "Yes! Absolutely Yes!" He managed to choke trough. He was so happy. How long has he longed for those sweet words to be heard. He never tought that his wish would come true this quick. Raven on the other hand was practically smothered. She was surprised to see him react like that, and at the same time very happy....but she needed to make him ease up the hug a bit! As soon as she was about to attempt an escape he lifted her up enough to give her a series of kisses on her cheek, to then resume his bear hug as he cuddled her close.

She wanted to tell him anything so she wouldn't need to struggle in her breathing, but she didn't. He seemed too happy to ruin his moment like that, so she just went with it. Maybe just some moments later she heard the timer go off in the kitchen. Now she Had to tell him, "Uh...Dad?", He quickly replied "Yes dear?" She softly said, "The pie..." Noticing the sweet aroma coming from the kitchen he now realized he failed to hear the timer go off, "Oh right! We can't let it burn!" He quickly stood up as he gently placed Raven down and hurried his way to the kitchen. Grabbing some oven mits he opened the oven and carefully took out the pie as he placed it on the counter and closed the oven door. She looked at the pie with gleaming eyes, "It looks so good...and it smells so nice~". He agreed with her as he took the mits off his hands, "You're right, it really does. But it's still really hot, so we have to let it cool down first". She was really eager to taste it as she actually never had apple pie before. So she came up with an idea in the meantime, "Then since we have to wait....can we please continue cuddling a bit more?" He was in too much of a good mood to turn down her offer, "Of course we can". She happily took his hand as she lead him back to the living room and resumed snuggling back to him, "I love you, Dad" she claimed as she kissed his cheek, and he proudly replied " I love you to, my little Raven". You could say that the rest of the evening was as sweet as pie.

=================================

This was quite the roller coaster of toughts and emotions!

This time I might have went mostly trough with Roger's perspective as a new parent and the challenges he has to face.

Nonetheless, It was fun to write!

Roger Willington belongs to @horrorartist23

[theitalianerd]

Don’t You Wish You Were Here? - The House In The Cerulean Sea Playlist

1. All I Have To Do Is Dream - Everly Brother

2. Peggy Sue - Buddy Holly

3. I Want You To Be My Girl - Frankie Lymon & The Teenagers

4. Come on, Let's go! Ritchie Valens

5. Searchin - The Coasters

6. Long Tall Sally - Little Richard

7. Chantilly Lace - The Big Bopper

8. La Bamba - Ritchie Valens

9. Tutti Frutti - Little Richard

10. Why do fools fall in Love - Frankie Lymon & The Teenagers

11. Dream Lover - Bobby Darin

12. That'll be the day - Buddy Holly

13. Ten Commandments of Love - Moonglows

14. We Belong Together - Ritchie Valens

15. You send me - Sam Cooke

16. Earth Angel - The Penguins

17. True Love Ways - Buddy Holly

18. Smile - Nat King Cole

19. Donna - Ritchie Valens

20. Dream a Little Dream of Me - Doris Day

21. You Will Be My Music - Frank Sinatra

22. Beyond the Sea - Bobby Darin

Yes, I wrote down all the songs mentioned in the book because I have no self control and I needed to dive into the book’s vibes completely. Still do. And I have found I love 50’s music! It’s not just the mentioned ones actually, as some by Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and some others are only mentioned without their songs being played, still I added them because they’re Lucy’s favourites. Read the book again and play the songs when mentioned: it’s a totally different experience. Hope you enjoy! 🌊💙🎶

[ijustwant2write]

A Secret Romantic-Benedict Bridgerton x Reader x Eloise Bridgerton (Platonic)

(GIF credit to @aryaofoldstones​)

Requested by anonymous: ‘Hello! I saw your looking for Bridgerton requests, I would love some Benedict x Eloise sibling fluff! They have such a good dynamic in the show and I need more’

(I wouldn’t mind making another part of this if people want it tbh)

Characters: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader, Eloise Bridgerton x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

(Y/L/N)=Your last name

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, fluff

                                     *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Eloise’s gloved hands clung onto her book as she and her family arrived at yet another social event, a ball once again. Her mama had ensured she was dressed to catch the eyes of men, and Eloise knew that meant there would be no room for intelligent conversation. With Daphne now married to the Duke, Eloise had more pressure on her shoulders than she imagined, having to find a suitor of similar standards. However, it wasn’t just her on the market, her brothers were too, especially Benedict (Violet knew it would be extremely difficult to marry off Anthony first, opting for the second eldest son).

Eloise smiled whenever her mama looked her way, though it quickly disappeared once she turned around. Benedict had been instructed to escort her sister around the ball to help seek out suitors, the men knew each other or something about someone; he could help her meet the right one.

“I cannot believe I am here.” Eloise moaned as she looped her arm through her brothers.

“Believe me sister, I do not wish to be here either.”

“Why must you parade me around like a horse at a dressage in order to find a new owner?” Eloise kept catching the men’s gazes, turning up her nose in disgust.

“So dramatic.” he chuckled.

She scoffed.“Well, if you’re going to advise me on who I should be marrying, I shall do the same for you. Now let’s see...”

Eloise looked around the room at all the women, wondering who would be the best match for her brother. Most of these women had no personalities, relying on their outfits to express themselves. Eloise knew of some ladies that were nice, though had nothing in common with her brother.

Eloise shrugged, tugging on her brother’s arm towards the door.“Ah, there’s no one here for us. Let us make haste and leave-”

“Oh no you don’t,” Benedict pulled her back,“we have been strictly told to stay for the night, even if it is just to socialise and...get our names out there.”

Eloise groaned a little too loudly, Ben ducking his head in embarrassment.“How long do these balls go on for?”

“I have never stayed for the full duration.”

“That’s not the answer I want to hear.”

Benedict glanced down at her, somehow only just realising that Eloise had brought a book with her.“Is that book sewed to your hand sister?”

“I brought it just in case I became bored. Which I am already.”

“I shall go and grab us some refreshments. Might as well enjoy them whilst we’re here.”

Eloise let her brother slip away, quickly finding a hiding spot by leaning up against a wall, away from the hustle and bustle of the crowds. She opened her book, continuing where she left off, happy she brought a pencil to scribble down notes for later. The studying never stopped for Eloise. 

“Excuse me?” a woman’s voice interrupted her too soon.

Eloise tried her best to be polite, though her smile came off as sarcastic.“Yes?”

“Sorry,” the woman looked taken back,“I thought you were reading a book that I am reading at the moment, but I was wrong. I’ve disturbed you, I shall leave you alone-”

“Wait,” Eloise had now sparked an interest. No other lady had ever approached her like this,“I don’t mean to be rude. What book had you expected?”

“It’s oh so obvious, but I’ve been reading ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen. It’s the newest book out at the moment, and my mama lets me read it seeing as it involves a woman finding someone to marry. Although, it’s definitely about something deeper, that’s just what I told her.”

“I don’t indulge in romantic novels myself, but I am glad to hear of a female author selling her work.”

“It’s fantastic. And it’s nice to be able to read something without it being snatched out of my hands. Oh, where are my manners? I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Sorry, I’ve been dancing with men all night and none of the conversations have been as riveting as this so far.”

“Why am I not surprised?” they both laughed.“I’m Eloise Bridgerton.”

(Y/N) tried to not show her shock when she heard the surname. They were only the most talked about family, her mama had gone on and on about them, especially when Lady Whistledown mentioned them in her writings. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Might I ask what it is that you are reading?”

“It is to do with my studies. I truly hate these events, so I thought I would ensure my mind was being worked properly.” Eloise realised that could come off as rude, squeezing her eyes shut in embarrassment.“I did not mean to offend you by that.”

“It really isn’t any bother.” (Y/N) giggled.“I rather enjoy these just for the dancing and drinks, I find promenading to be more successful in finding a suitor. Though I would much rather sneak off and see if I can get a few more pages in of a book I shouldn’t be reading.”

“Eloise, why must you go wondering off like that...” Benedict’s words trailed off as he approached his sister, spotting a beautiful woman stood by her.

Eloise’s eyes flickered between the two, and she smiled when she saw the adoration in her brother’s eyes. Cheekily taking the two glasses from his hands, she passed one to (Y/N), who awkwardly took it. (Y/N) had gazed upon the Bridgerton men in passing, they were very nice to look at. Of course, she never divulged in any fantasies about them, that would be silly. But seeing one in front of her had taken her breath away.

“Thank you brother.” Eloise said, taking a sip.“This is Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N), a new friend of mine.”

He gently took her free hand in his, bending forwards slightly to kiss it. (Y/N) had this done to her many times, but this was different. Benedict made her feel butterflies in her stomach. Eloise could tell her mama was going to love this.

She cleared her throat.“We were just speaking of art, actually.”

(Y/N) furrowed her eyebrows.“We were talking about books.”

“I was about to move the topic along.”

“What kind of art would that be then?” Benedict asked, knowing what game his sister was playing. 

“The...drawing, kind.”

“Isn’t all art drawn?”

“No, it is also painted.”

“I think artists may sketch out a rough idea before painting.”

“Well you would know brother, seeing as you yourself are an artist.”

“I wouldn’t say that-”

“You paint, Lord Bridgerton?” (Y/N) asked.

“Ah, yes, and I sketch.” he hoped his cheeks weren’t turning red. 

“Anything in particular?”

“Mostly people.”

“Are you both attending the art exhibition my family are holding next week?”

“That’s your families’ exhibit?” Benedict became excited.

“Yes, my father collects a lot of art work. Then mother realised she could make a social event out of it, but at least everyone will be able to admire the work.”

“Would you believe it, we already have it noted down in our social calendar!” Eloise informed (Y/N). Benedict could sense her over-reacting, trying to keep a smile as (Y/N)’s face lit up in excitement. 

“Perfect!” (Y/N) looked back up at Ben, making him stand a little taller.“It will be nice to have someone there who knows about the artwork. It will make for an interesting conversation. Just don’t let my father lecture you, he will talk for far too long! And I know you will be too polite to try and get away.”

“My brother is very polite.” Eloise said.“In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t-”

“Excuse me for the intrusion,” a young man said from beside (Y/N),“but I was wondering if we could resume our dance lady (Y/N)?”

(Y/N) was smiling, but Eloise knew that look; it was the face women made when a man who made them uncomfortable approached, but they had to remain ladylike and polite.

“Actually my brother just asked her and she said yes. You two best make your way to the floor before the music starts again.” Eloise nudged her brother.

Benedict was confused at his sisters offer, until he locked eyes with (Y/N) again. They were pleading him to sweep her away, she was even leaning away from this man. He had been disrespectful in some way, and he wasn’t letting (Y/N) go through that again (despite only knowing the girl for a few minutes). He smugly smiled at the man, holding out his arm which (Y/N) took a little too quickly. Eloise was happy with herself as the pair walked off, sending the man a death glare when he asked her to dance instead. Once he left, her eyes went back to find her brother, who was already dancing with (Y/N), both smiling and laughing. Her mama was going to be ecstatic about this. 

                                       *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Eloise sat in the drawing room, obviously lounging with a book. Her younger siblings were being irritating as usual, running around her in circles. Before they arrived, she had peace. Eloise wanted a few moments alone, because she knew her mama would be bursting with questions about the night before.

“Ah, there you are.” Violet said as she walked in.

The book flopped into Eloise’s lap, a frown on her face. There goes her reading time.

“So, how was last night? Did you meet anyone?” her mama sat beside her.“You two, go play outside if you’re going to run around please.”

The children stopped as their mama spoke, sending each other devilish grins before they ran out of the room again, their giggling echoing down the halls. Violet went to shout after them, but decided to leave it be, there were more pressing matters.

“Well mama, do you see any suitors?” Eloise gestured around her.

Violet sighed.“Did you even try last night?”

“My life will not be reduced to a single night where I was forced to peacock around in order to please a man.”

“Oh, Eloise, must you make everything so dramatic?”

“Funny, Benedict said the same thing.”

“Actually, where is your brother? I have not seen him all morning.”

“He went out.” Eloise was relieved that the focus would now be off of her.“He’s calling upon a lady.”

Violet’s eyes widened.“What? When? Who?”

“Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/L/N)? They are quite reputable.”

Eloise rolled her eyes.“Mama, she is a lovely girl. I don’t think you should just judge her on what family she comes from.”

“Oh, so you approve of this girl?”

“I...I mean...Well, I only spoke with her for a mere few minutes.”

“But?”

Eloise let out a huff.“I enjoyed her company. I think Benedict likes her. I didn’t see him for the rest of the night until it was time to leave. He spent all his time with her.”

Violet became overjoyed.“Oh, what marvelous news! I wish he had told me. Do you know what he took to her? Flowers? Food?”

“I have no idea mama. Just wait for his return and he will tell you all the details. I am not a psychic.”

Violet was impatient as she awaited the return of her son. Poor Collin had also been questioned when he showed up in the drawing room, but he had overslept in bed, waking with a terrible headache. It seemed that it was about to come back to him when his mama bombarded him with questions as to why he hadn’t called upon anyone that morning. Eloise kept her giggles quiet, ducking behind her book when Collin sent her daggers.

Poor Benedict had no idea what was in store for him. His cheeks were aching from how much he was smiling. He wasn’t surprised when he arrived at the (Y/L/N)’s house and saw multiple callers for (Y/N). However, jealousy rose inside him when he thought about these men dancing with her, trying to convince her that they were the man to marry. He held a beautiful bouquet of flowers, remembering that (Y/N) had mentioned her favourite the night before. Looking around at any other flowers she received, he was glad to see no other gentleman had chose it. Surely that would show he was listening? He endured sonnets, stories, songs and boasting from the other men, trying not to show his dissatisfaction as each one stepped forward. There was pressure that her parents were there, especially when he realised he was the last gentleman, everyone else had left.

(Y/N) had been incredibly anxious when she saw Benedict that morning. He had been the only man she genuinely smiled at, hoping he came at his own will, not forced by his mama. The night before had been the best ball (Y/N) had ever been to. Benedict was sweet, charming, handsome and interesting. They were able to talk about anything and everything, no small talk involved like all the other men she danced with. He had swooned her, and here he was, calling upon her. 

Back at the Bridgerton house, Violet had not sat down since talking Collin’s ear off. Eloise was still in the drawing room with her, as were her two youngest siblings, munching on biscuits as they threw questions at their mama. She did not have all the answers, sometimes not even hearing them speak for she was too deep in her thoughts. At one point, she did sit, but beside the window, o the lookout for any signs of her son. When a carriage pulled up in front of the house, Violet leapt out of her seat, startling her children. She made a beeline to the door, standing there with her hands clasped together. When Benedict walked in, he too flinched, not expecting his mama to be there.

“Mama, how long have you been stood there?” Benedict asked as he walked past her, pinching a biscuit from his brother’s plate.

“She’s been waiting for you.” Eloise explained, also excited to hear about his calling.

“I hope you sat down at some point.” he joked, sitting beside Eloise and slouching.

Violet hurried to sit on the sofa across him.“You didn’t tell me you were calling on a lady this morning.”

“Well, we got back late from the ball yesterday evening, and I had to leave early to ensure I got there in good time. Though it seemed every other man thought that too.”

“There were many men there?” 

“Yes, quite a few.”

Eloise straightened up at her brother’s grumpy expression.“You really like her!”

“How wonderful!” Violet gushed. 

“Do not get ahead of yourselves.”

“But you do, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t have called on her.”

Ben was lost for words. He couldn’t argue with that, and he did like seeing his mama happy.“Yes, yes I do. And it would seem she reciprocates the feelings.”

“This is such good news! I must see what our social calendar looks like, we must ensure you two spend time together.”

“Actually mama-” Eloise went to tell her about the art exhibit until Ben interrupted.

“Good idea mama.” he nodded, smiling at her as she walked away, a spring in her step. Once she was gone, he let out a big breath.“I just needed a moment without questions from her.”

“Well, you’re going to have questions from me.” Eloise angled her body to face him, her elbow perched on the sofa with her face resting in her hand.“I didn’t think you were going to call upon her. Are my match making skills really that good?”

“I hate to admit it, but yes, you have done an excellent job.” Benedict felt relaxed thinking about (Y/N).

“So, what happened this morning?”

“I took her flowers, she told me her favourites last night, and then I had to sit there whilst her other gentleman callers desperately tried to impress her. It was agony! Finally I was able to have time with her, and it was just...I don’t know how to put it into words.”

“Did you bring her anything else?”

Benedict became bashful.“I brought her a sketchbook, like the one I have. She mentioned how she used to often sketch when she was younger. I thought it would be a unique gift.”

“Benedict, you truly are a romantic at heart.”

“For her I am, yes.”

Eloise smiled for her brother, until a smirk fell on his face.“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Aw, is someone also a secret romantic?”

“No!” Eloise protested, quickly grabbing her book again.“I am just happy you found someone.”

“And you helped, because you secretly want everyone to find someone.”

“No I don’t! You’re ruining this moment now Benedict.”

“Don’t worry Eloise, you’ll find someone.” Ben joked.

She groaned.“You are insufferable...but I still want to go to that art exhibit.”

“To see love bloom?”

“N-no, to see the art work.”

“Of course, of course. But, thank you Eloise.”

She tried not to smile, but couldn’t help it.“You’re welcome.”

[reallyhardy]

went through the goes-wrong-verse playbills/programmes - that is, ‘the play that goes wrong’ and ‘peter pan goes wrong’ (thank you @cornleypolytechnicgoeswrong​ !) trying to piece together each society member’s career within the society PLUS if possible whatever it was they were doing at the polytechnic (university) course-wise, along with whatever other character snippets they give. this is mostly to inform me when writing but i thought it’d be useful for other mischief/goes wrong fans!

chris bean:

as of TPTGW is the ‘newly elected’ head of the drama society, and is known at the university for his charitable & philanhropic work. he has six acting credits within the polytechnic to his name.

i was going to presume his choice of course at the uni was acting or directing, but his PPGW bio states that his ‘dacting’ (directing and acting) is all self-taught, so who knows. maybe he’s just in the society because of his aforementioned charitable work.

robert grove:

has starred in 40 productions with the society since 2002 (when he began work at cornley polytechnic as a caretaker - i’m taking this to mean he was never actually a student there.) anyway wow explains why they call him a “veteran actor” lol.

he offers acting lessons (reacting, gesturing, emotioning and acting) and can be contacted via twitter @robertgoodactor. i’ve looked this twitter account up and it does exist it’s just not been used since 2017 - that said there are some in-character photos of henry lewis as robert and nancy zamit as annie on there and plenty of tweets.

he runs an extremely dubiously safe cornley youth theatre program and can be contacted at his email robertgoodactor@hotmail.com (membership fees are non-refundable.)

trevor watson:

in TPTGW is arbitrarily from ‘the north east’ (rob falconer’s portrayal, whereas chris leask’s portrayal is firmly and specifically scouse.)

he has a twitter account (rob falconer’s portrayal) @trevtechie, with i think probably the most tweets of the cornley twitters. stopped being updated in 2017.

his participation in haversham was to complete an electronics module - as the light and sound technician i’d assume his course was in this kinda field.

he states that after haversham he wants to never work with the cornley drama society again, but as of PPGW he’s “following in his parents footsteps” and has pivoted to possibly actually studying stage management. (his PPGW bio states that he’s in his final year at the uni for the 3rd time running. so it could mean his staying on with cornley is like partially due to failing his course?)

dennis tyde:

in his TPTGW bio it states that he joined the drama society after failing to get in to any other societies.

he didn’t live on university campus and commuted in from his parents’ house. he mostly just wanted to make friends - he’s interested in snooker and wants to meet like-minded people.

in his PPGW bio he still wants to make friends and says you can reach him via twitter @dennistyde. i checked this account too and again it does exist but hasn’t been used since 2013, and there are only 3 tweets so its much more bare-bones than the others. i like his one tweet about drinking a mug of bovril to calm his nerves before a show.

as of 2021 in promotional vids we learn that dennis and robert now live together.

max bennett:

in TPTGW bio it says he was a first year studying human geography and crime which i was surprised about but sure okay. it also says here that he happily donated “a large portion of his recent inheritance” to the society to help fund it.

at the bottom of TPTGW’s cast page it states that the west end performance of the play is “made possible by a generous legacy from claude bennett” who’s presumably max’s grandfather? or just father? idk

his TPTGW bio also says his favourite movie is the legend of bagger vance which i’ve never seen but is apparently a will smith golf movie.

his hobbies as listed in his PPGW bio are chess, cooking & hanging out with friends and fam. he also dedicates his performance in PPGW to his grandma claire, which is sweet.

annie twilloil:

as of TPTGW she’s designed, built, painted, costumed & stage managed every cornley show for the past 3 years. in the PPGW bio, it states she’s studying cognitive behavioural therapy and pottery, and has taken up life drawing at the student’s union (as the model.)

after haversham, she apparently had an internship lined up at the bolton octagon.

she has WILD backstory in her PPGW bio that says she dedicated her performance to her estranged husband julian who she hoped was in the audiance and two children frangipani and ylang-ylang. not sure if the kids are with her or with the husband but either way, wild. nuts. pretty funny but also pretty tragic.

she’s also got an ad out looking for a new bloke (i suppose if her husband isn’t in the audience) apparently she’s been left by boyfriends previously for an air hostess, a stripper, and a coal miner.

she also enjoys knitting and playing the banjolin (an instrument she made herself.) her email address is greatfunmum@hotmail.com.

she has a twitter account that again hasnt been used since 2017 (@annietwiloil). a couple tweets chronicle dave hearn’s shoulder dislocation but as max so i guess its canon that max also dislocated his shoulder, but he did it while trying to open a twix? lmao

sandra wilkinson:

in her TPTGW bio it states that haversham manor is her 11th production with the company. idk how frequently they put on shows.

she won some kind of local kids beauty pageant in 1998 and did some modelling for a local restaurant (the sunam balti house, which apparently the cornley crew frequent? or have at least been to - seems they struggled with spicyness levels there, especially dennis.)

nothing on her course at the university, i might just take a stab and assume she was actually doing acting, since her bio is mostly about her being a performer.

she’s a big fan of jeremy irvine, they mention him in both of her bios.

jonathan harris:

is a total health & fitness guy. his course at the uni is in physical education and he’s also a model, though who’s to say what for. in PPGW this is expanded and he’s moved on to being a combo model/actor/photographer/lifecoach.

he loves his outdoor sports: mountain biking & kayaking are noted.

he had a bath salts advert out and he hoped it was gonna go national.

lucy grove:

her surname IS grove! i wasn’t sure, but that’s confirmed. not really much about her in there, because the bio is written by robert and he just used it to gas himelf up.

can’t tell if she’s a student at the university or just in the society through robert. genuinely there’s just not a lot to go on when it comes to lucy.

another note is that the murder at haversham manor and the version of peter pan that the cornley crew perform are both written by ‘susie h. k. brideswell’ who i guess either chris knows or chris is a big fan of?

other notes... they try so hard to make out like the characters aren't all the same age like implying that robert is genuinely older than most of them etc etc but ofc the cast featured in the TV broadcasts are all visibly the same age... ofc all this is just comedy innit so you can take it or leave it

also i realised that the american version of TPTGW calls it “the cornley university drama society” since i guess you guys dont have polytechnics over there. a polytechnic is like... a university that offers the arts (among the classics you know science law what have you) basically. by 2021 in promotional videos etc. shields in character as chris has dropped “polytechnic” altogether from the group’s name (but varies between calling it ‘the cornley drama society’ and ‘the cornley amateur dramatics society’) i assume to reflect how much time has passed since the group put on their first production under chris’ leadership - and that now they’re simply operating unattached to the university because they’ve become a real family. love love love, sillyness and love.

[tomtenadia]

Remember Us - part 1

Here I am with a new Rowaelin. This will be a much shorter than ALB both in chapter length and story length. The idea came to me while on the bus home after work. It’s angsty,

A special thank you to @whimsicallyreading for being my wonderful beta <3

------

Rowan is involved in a motorbike accident while on his way to work. A crash that will have some consequences on his marriage with Aelin when he realises that he has lost his memory. Day by day they will have to find their way back to each other and and survive the challenges that life throws at them. 

-----

When the silver haired man opened his eyes it took him a moment for his vision to focus and take in his surroundings. The walls around him were a pale beige colour and the smell of disinfectant was the first thing that hit his senses. In the background there was a steady beeping sound and when he moved his head towards it he saw a machine tracking his heart rate. Hospital. He was in a hospital. A couple of bags with liquids were hanging from hooks at his side and the long plastic tubes ran to his hand. Another gentle motion of his head and he saw his right arm in a splint and his right leg propped up and enveloped in a protective support.

The man pushed his head back in the pillow and groaned. He was in an hospital. And slowly he realised that’s all he knew. His mind felt empty as he tried to think about how he got there. But nothing. There was nothing. He closed his eyes and blackness hit him. He clearly broke his arm and his leg, but how it happened? He had no idea. Slowly he realised that all his memories had started from the instant he woke up. That was all he had and a wave of panic hit him.

In that instant a nurse walked into the room to check on him “Oh, Mr Whitethorn, you finally decided to join us. How do you feel?”

“Whitethorn?” His voice gruff.

“Yes, that’s your surname.”

The man looked at her with a confused stare.

“Do you know where you are? What day it is? Your name?”

The man shook his head “but from the fancy machines and your attire I guess I am in hospital.” He managed to utter, his throat feeling scratchy from disuse. How long had he been asleep?

“Let me go and call the doctor.” And she hurried out of the room.

Whitethorn, his surname was Whitethorn. That was a start.

A moment later a woman entered the room “good morning you. Glad that you could finally join us.” She smiled at him and checked a few things. The doctor flashed a penlight in his eyes then held a finger in front of him “follow this.” She moved the finger from left to right and back and he followed it with his eyes.

“So, the nurse said you don’t remember much.” She straightened her back and saw her write some notes on his chart. 

“I can’t…” he whispered “why am I in hospital?”

“Your name is Rowan Whitethorn. A month ago you had a motorbike accident on your way to work. You have been in a coma ever since. You had a helmet on but still sustained some serious head injuries and you are now experiencing amnesia. It will be temporary and the memories will eventually come back.”

Rowan closed his eyes, he had a name now, another small piece to add to the infinite puzzle in front of him.

“I will schedule another MRI to check your progress since surgery. Now rest, I will get in touch with your wife and let her know that you are awake.” And the doctor left.

Wife. He had a wife. He was married and his name was Rowan and he had an accident.

*

Aelin left the OR exhausted. The last surgery had lasted for hours but she had saved a kid’s life. She threw her OR scrubs in the trash and walked back to her office, looking forward to sit down on her chair for half an hour at least. Her back was killing her and she definitely dreamed about a back rub in that moment. But her plans were thwarted when she got a page from doctor Westfall. Rowan was awake. He was finally awake. She told the nurses she was going to the neurology ward and that she had her pager on if they needed her and she ran to the elevator.

Once on the correct floor, she stopped. She had been waiting for that moment for a whole month and now she was scared. She was a neurosurgeon as well and, although she was a paediatric one, she knew what his injuries might cause. She spotted Yrene in the corridor and ran to her in a frenzy “Yrene, I got your page.”

“He is awake,” said the brunette “his functions are okay but he is has amnesia. We talked about the possibility.” She explained and Aelin nodded “I have ordered another MRI and I will have a better idea after.”

“Can I go in?”

“Yes, but remember that he might not know who you are.” And she patted Aelin’s shoulder in support.

Aelin nodded and pushed back the tears that had been forming at the corner of her eyes.

Rowan was awake. She had awaited that news for the last month but the happiness in her soul was shackled by fear. Deep unyielding fear. She might have him back but at what price? She knew that the type of injuries he had suffered could affect the memory. As a doctor she was prepared to face it, but as his wife, she could feel her heart aching at the possibility of being a stranger to the man who held her heart. Of him not recognising their children. With a deep breath she steadied her nerves and eventually she opened the door to his room. She had been waiting for that moment for so long, for the day she would go inside and find him awake, his pine green eyes on her once again.

A step inside and her hand went instinctively on her belly over her scrubs where her bump had barely started to show.

“Rowan…”

*

“Rowan…”

A female voice distracted him from his thoughts. He turned his head and saw a woman with golden hair and the most amazing blue eyes with a ring just as golden as her hair. She wore scrubs, probably another doctor checking up on him. But the way she had said his name was different from how doctor Westfall had said it.

She was stunning. That much he could admit.

“Ro…” she said it with a soft tone and moved a step toward him and he had a feeling she was not just a regular doctor checking on him. Why was she crying? Then his eyes moved to her left hand on her stomach and spotted a ring. He looked at his left hand and saw a matching one on his fourth finger.

His breath hitched at the realisation. The doctor had mentioned a wife. Was it her? Panic rose in him. He was not ready.

“Who are you?”

“Aelin. My name is Aelin Whitethorn-Galathynius.”

Rowan froze. That was his surname and she had used it with what was possibly hers. The woman never moved from her spot. She just stood there staring at him, her blue eyes on him and he had no idea how to react. This woman was apparently his wife. What could he say to her?

“I am Rowan.” He said feeling stupid. She knew already but in that moment was all he could say.

“I know.” She whispered, finally moving a step in his direction “I have known your name for a very long time.”

“I don’t know you.” He admitted feeling his chest tighten.

“I know.” She sat on the chair beside his bed “I know. Amnesia will be temporary. It will slowly start to come back to you. You just need to be patient. Both of us.”

He looked at her and something tugged in him. It was as if although his mind could not recognise the woman in front of him, his body could. It was a strange sensation. The sense of familiarity. His guts were telling him to trust that woman.

“We’ll face it together. To whatever end.”

He had no idea what she was talking about but he wanted to believe her.

“Do you want me to tell you something about us?”

Rowan nodded, eager to piece together some pieces of the mystery his life had become. How had he ended up with her?

Aelin’s hand caressed her stomach.

“We met at University of Terrasen. You were studying law and I was in med school. We had friends in common and I met you at a party and  I thought you were the most obnoxious and annoying man alive.” He heard her chuckle “until a year later when you brought me coffee in the library while I was cramming hard during an exhausting exam session. Then you brought me cake and slowly I realised you were not that annoying.” She continued her tale while her hand gently brushed the tip of his fingers.

“You kept me company and studied with me while I was rambling on medical terms, procedures and other crazy stuff.” He heard her sob “and then we both realised our feeling had changed. We dated. A year later we moved in together. Once we graduated you proposed to me. We got married.” Aelin stood and paced and a ragged sigh left her mouth “after a lot of heartbreak and miscarriages we had our little boy Thomas. A year and a half later Freyja came along as well.” 

Rowan gasped. They had kids. He was married to this woman and they had a family and he could not remember any of that.

“Stop.” He said in a harsher tone than intended “This is too much.”

His wife sat back down and her puffy eyes broke his heart. How was it possible that he felt so heartbroken for a woman he had just met?

Except he didn’t. They had been together for a long time and that feeling of familiarity came back to hit him like a sledgehammer.

“I need to be alone.” He said, turning his head and heard her sob loudly and felt the urge to reach out to her. But he fought it.

He needed space.

“I have to go back anyway.” She stood and pressed a kiss on his head “I will see you later.” And left the room.

Rowan threw his head in the pillow and felt his eyes swell with tears. Why was he crying? Why sending that woman away hurt that much? No, not just that woman. His wife. He had a family, a wife and two kids and all of it felt overwhelming.

He wanted to know more, but at the same time he was scared. What if turned out he hated the life he had? Until his memories started to return he had to trust her. Believe that he had chosen that life.

He sighed and his thought kept going back to Aelin.

Eventually he fell asleep with the smell of lemon and verbena still tingling his nostrils.

Aelin quickly went back to her office, locked the door and collapsed on her chair. And cried. She knew it was a possibility. She had discussed it with Yrene after his surgery. She had been preparing herself for the last month but it turned out she had not been as ready as she made herself believe. In that room she had been a stranger to Rowan. Their kids were strangers to their father and she could not tell him again that another baby was on its way. It would have been too much. 

She cried, remembering how happy Rowan had been when, two months before, she told him she was pregnant again. 

They wanted a big family. They both had good jobs and could afford it. After years of loss they finally had their dream. And then that blasted accident happened. The car driver had hit Rowan and her life was suddenly plunged into hell.

A hell in which for a month she had to tell their kids why dad was not home yet. Console them when they could not play with their dad or have him read stories before bed. Her mum had been helping her looking after the kids while she was at work. But they missed their dad. Freyja especially who was his exact copy and not just physically.

Her sobs grew in intensity. 

She missed her husband too. Her heart ached for him. For the comfort she would find in his arms after a bad day at work. 

Her pager went off and Aelin quickly brushed her eyes and cleared away the tears and left her office in a rush.

She could hide her pain into work. Pretend, for a few hours, that she was not living in a nightmare. That her life with Rowan had not been put on hold. 

For a few hours, inside that OR she could just be Aelin.

[tenthgrove]

La Squadra 30s AU: Overview

(A/N: So I literally thought of this on a whim and decided to write it down. You're welcome to use this AU for your own stories since I probably won't, but please give credit where due.)

The year is 1934. In the throws of the Great Depression, poverty and crime continues to be rife across the urban east of America. But as many titans of the mafia world collapse with the end of prohibition, the growing syndicate known as Passione begins to swell in numbers and wealth like never before.

The recent immigrant, Risotto Nero (age: 28, real name: Rosario Nero) was picked up practically at the dock by Passione for his formidable appearance and fighting prowess, not to mention lack of other viable prospects in America. Indeed, his journey across the Atlantic was most certainly an act of desperation, but what he was running from, he won't say. Risotto guards the infamous Passione nightclub after which the syndicate gets its name. He also receives a number of orders to pursue the group's enemies in a more... direct manner of confrontation, and there are high hopes for his career as a Mafioso owing to his great sense of honour and budding reputation as unkillable. The greatest hindrance to this goal is at present, a simple matter of communication. He knows barely a word of English.

Hoping to remedy this issue is a Passione associate known to the group by the codename Prosciutto (age: 37, real name: Christopher Perkins), Professor of English Literature at a local university. Why this mild-mannered, rather stuffy young teacher is beholden to Passione is anyone's guess, though he staunchly rebukes any claims of Italian heritage. His impeccable skill at the language, however, speaks for itself. Christopher supports the syndicate financially through his great inherited wealth, as well as providing alibis for its members, many of whom are filed through the corrupt institute as 'students.' Prosciutto is one of the few Risotto would call a friend, and the two meet regularly for Risotto's english lessons. Unknown to anyone but the leaders of Passione, is the truth behind Professor Perkins' unfortunate predicament. In truth, Prosciutto is both a murderer and a patricide, his victim- his own father, the former Don of Passione. Back in 1920 when the Don was found dead in his apartments, it was dubbed the murder mystery of the decade. The case has since gone cold, however, all thanks to the new leadership of the syndicate.

Nowadays, Prosciutto finds solace in his students, of which he hopes the young post-boy he nicknames Pesci (age: 15, real name: Peppi Sciaccia) will soon be joining. Pesci is a poor but cheerful boy, raised by his ailing mother and doting grandparents. The identity of his father is subject to many jokes in the family, some even saying the man was a murdered mafia don whose illegitimate children were all whisked away to be raised in secret, but in truth, Pesci has no idea who he is. Anyway, he recently found work as a post-boy for the university campus, catching the eye of Professor Perkins for his polite and helpful attitude. The professor now tutors him regularly in the hope he might receive a scholarship once he reaches 18, and obtain a good career that would lift his family out of poverty. A pity that Passione, with it's secret ties to the institute, has its eye on the boy as well, and is using him to carry orders without his knowing.

Meanwhile in the Passione nightclub, one Illuso (age: 30, real name: Michelle Illuso), works his fraud. He is an attendant at the casino, though in truth he has full permission of the club's owners to scam and steal from his customers. His talents come from his side-hustle as a magician, tricks he frequently shows off to his victims as a diversionary tactic. His partner in crime is Formaggio (age: 26, real name: Danny Fabbri), a popular Jazz musician at the bar who frequently assists in the swindling. Formaggio, so nicknamed for his unbearably cheesy personality, was until recently impoverished, until coming across the abandoned loot of a bank heist totalling at $50,000. Passione would have killed him if they realised he had taken the whole lot, but instead they simply requisitioned his services at the nightclub. He continues to indulge his newfound wealth in secret. Illuso and Formaggio are friends by necessity to Risotto, who steps in to save their asses whenever a swindle goes wrong. They're trying to improve his social life by taking him out in his free time, but the friendship is a little stony due to the language barrier. Neither Illuso or Formaggio are entirely fluent in Italian, even less the thick Sicilian Risotto speaks.

A few streets away from the Passione Club lies a rather innocuous looking flower shop run by a pair of quote on quote "brothers in law" nicknamed Sorbet (age: 40, real name Nicolo Farina) and Gelato (age: 35, real name: Elia Farina - taken after an unofficial marriage to Sorbet). The pair are quite beloved in the neighbourhood, a kindly, approachable pair of businessmen who would happily offer their wares for free to those experiencing tragedy, but in truth the flower shop is a front for a life of criminality. The couple offer a variety of services to various local mafias, Passione included, and it is known in their past they were a ferocious pair of assassins. A murdered man's coffin is most often adorned with flowers sold from their shop, and quite frequently, his end was delivered by a hitman found through their network, purchased with a large commission, naturally. In terms of murder themselves, however, Sorbet and Gelato have long ago put down their guns, the reason quite domestic.

Sorbet and Gelato have one son, who they adoringly nickname Ghiaccio for his icy temperament (age: 18, real name: Arthur White). Ghiaccio was kicked out by his impoverished biological family at just age 8, after which he broke into the flower shop for shelter and was promptly taken in by the owners. The couple used their contacts to forge papers stating that Ghiaccio was the child of Sorbet and his late wife (who of course, never existed). Ghiaccio is incredibly zealous about keeping up this false story, to the point of putting on a fake Italian accent to visitors which is quite frankly, hilarious. Sorbet and Gelato are both very insistent that Ghiaccio stay out of mob life and as a result, sent him to university under the professorship of Christopher Perkins. They have no idea how much closer to the criminal underworld they've just pushed him. Ghiaccio's best friend is Pesci, who he beat up after Pesci accidentally drove his bike into him on campus. Sorbet and Gelato were incredibly angry with him for this and forced him to make amends, leading to the unlikely friendship. They take shifts at the flower shop together when Sorbet and Gelato are out on dates.

Finally, there is Melone, (age 25, real name Harry Nelson) who gets his nickname from his absolutely terrible handwriting when writing out his real surname. Melone is, quite frankly, a quack physician, operating illegally under a myriad of fake identities throughout the city. He made the mistake of swindling some senior Passione members and ended up being forced to run narcotics for them, a surprisingly easy task considering cocaine is still considered a perfectly good medicine at this point. He is a frequent at the Passione Bar through which he knows Formaggio and Illuso, as well as a student at the same university Prosciutto works at, which he is attending in an attempt to learn some actually viable medical knowledge. Against the odds he has managed to befriend the professor, with whom he discusses the many gruesome crimes the group perpetrates. There are rumours, it is said, that Passione wants to establish an assassination squad, and with many of the more obvious choices already known to the police, it is said some more unconventional individuals may be chosen for the role.

[shysneeze]

persuasion (part three)

George Weasley x  Malfoy!Reader

Description: a quidditch match at the burrow has the reader and george flung together again and more of the past creeping up 

Warnings: it’s 2 am, i’m not convinced ik what this is but i think it’s angsty again, i swear again most likely, lmk if i missed something pls 

authors note: I... don’t even know if this is coherent english 

tag list: @andineversawyoucoming @theweirdsideofstuff @the-grey-lady13 @peanutem @paigeyisme @wolfiepirate @sir-lili

(pls let me know if u don’t wanna be tagged anymore ik it’s awkward but id hate to think i was annoying you so i don’t mind :))

series masterlist

(Y/N) can hardly tell if she’s shaking from the cold or her nerves when she arrives in the grassy meadows of the infamous Burrow. Although the sun sits high in the cloudless March sky, the bitter chill of winter lingers and nips at her bare fingers and she grinds her teeth to stop them chittering, suddenly regretting her decision to leave her scarf at home, though glad for the flask of coffee in her tote bag.

The apparation point she’s arrived at is a bit of a distance from where Fleur explained the match is to take place, although from here, (Y/N) can see the lopsided silhouette of the childhood home George so perfectly describe to her during nights spent curled together in the astronomy tower. She can hear the faint rumble of laughter and chatter ahead and begins to worry she may be very late, picking up her pace as she trudges up the gravelly path.

It’s not until at the brow of a small hill, (Y/N) can make out what is to be the makeshift pitch for today’s match, a flat grassy field parked outside the topsy-turvy looking building she can recognise from just the stories. She remembers being guiltily envious of George’s family back then, the way he described it as loud, but cheerful, and basically everything the Manor was not.

(Y/N) is startled by how quickly that feeling has resituated itself in the pit of her stomach at the sight of the red-headed family and their friends on the field. She can no longer hide her nerves, an anxious feeling unfurling in her chest as she gets closer. She forces herself to keep on track, reminding herself that she’s here for Fleur, not to punish herself like her subconscious has suddenly decided.

“(Y/N)!”

Fleur’s voice carries from the end of the path to where (Y/N) has temporarily frozen to calm herself. Her friend’s excitement has a smile inching itself up (Y/N)’s cheeks and her feet moving again until Fleur is flinging her arms around her.

“You came!” She gushes.

“I RSVP’d.” (Y/N) reminds, smile wavering at her friend’s doubt in her. “So here I am.”

“Well it’s so good to see you.” Fleur grins. “I was just wondering when you’d arrive.”

“Am I late?” (Y/N) grimaces.

“No!” Fleur assures quickly. “No, we’re still setting up.”

“Oh.” She sighs in relief. “Can I help?”

Fleur lets out a light laugh as she loops an arm through (Y/N)’s and begins to walk them towards the others. (Y/N) can’t figure out what it is about her question that’s so funny until they’re stood behind a plump red-headed woman, hand on her hip as she gives out orders to her various children.

“You’re supposed to be getting rid of the last of the gnomes!” She chides. “Oh, Hermione dear, not you, it’s okay.”

“Not a chance Molly will let you help.” Fleur whispers, an amused edge to her voice. “Hermione’s not been a guest in years and she’s still exempt.”

“Ron, I told you to help your brother get the brooms- it’s like herding Nifflers with their eyes on someone else’s watch!”

Fleur chuckles softly at her mother-in-law before taking a step away from (Y/N)’s side and tapping the older woman’s shoulder gently as her friend’s eyes widen in panic, longing to reach out for Fleur and pull her back. She needs at least a five-minute inner pep-talk before she’ll be prepared to meet the Weasley’s mother.

It’s too late though, the lady of the house is already turning with a startled jump to face her daughter-in-law, questioning look in her eyes. Fleur nods toward (Y/N), who can only hope her face doesn’t display the sheer distraught she’s feeling inside.

“This is the friend I was telling you I was inviting.” Fleur informs. “(Y/N) Malfoy.”

(Y/N) does a bad job at hiding how she flinches at her own surname, a habit she’s had since she was old enough to realise how other people viewed her family. She gulps at the lingering confusion on Mrs Weasley’s face before the woman is plastering on a kind-hearted smile and stretching her hand out.

“Lovely to meet you, (Y/N).” She says. “Molly Weasley.”

(Y/N) scrambles to wipe the nervous perspiration from her palms embarrassingly before reaching out for the older woman’s hand and shaking it. A glint of amusement, one that mimics the twin’s in a way, flashes in the older woman’s eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs Weasley.” (Y/N) says. “Thank you for having me.”

“Of course.” Mrs Weasley waves her hand dismissively. “A friend of Fleurs- and Fred’s, is a friend of the family.”

“T-thank you.” (Y/N) stutters. “I didn’t know what sort of food to bring but uh, I brought coffee.”

Embarrassment finds (Y/N) quickly, flustered by this woman’s kindness, that seems to ignore all the horrible thing (Y/N)’s family did to hers. No one warned her growing up how much guilt her surname carried, especially when the rest of her family wore it like a badge of honour right until the war. It’s worse right now though, stood in front of George’s mother, feeling as though she’s lying by omission.

“You needn’t have brought a thing.” Mrs Weasley smile kindly. “But thank you nonetheless.”

“Can I help set up at all?” (Y/N) tries, making Fleur smirk.

“Goodness, no.” Mrs Weasley laughs. “You’re a guest. No, just you find yourself a seat, my dear.”

There is no time for protest on (Y/N)’s part as Mrs Weasley is already shouting at Fred and Ginny for bickering on the pitch, exclaiming ‘you’re not even in the air yet!’. Fleur gives (Y/N) a smug look before nodding the pair onwards.

After a moment, they begin to discuss the teams. (Y/N) can only agree that it all seems rather unfair, observing that half the Gryffindor team are here, a mixture of the Weasley’s and their friends, not to mention Ginny’s professional status.. They’re laughing together at this when (Y/N) collides with a red-headed man, drawing several expletives from his lips and then a hasty apology.

“Oh shit, sorry I didn’t see you…”

George trails off, eyes meeting his unfortunate victim’s as she rubs at the spot where the broom sticks he was carrying had smacked her on the head. She drops her eyes to the ground upon recognition of his identity and mutters out a quiet apology and assures him he’s fine. Her heart is racing, much like last time they’d met eyes at the Leaky. He frowns having not expected her at all today, taken off guard, again.

“I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I RSVP’d.” She repeats with a sigh. “Oh, you didn’t know that.”

“No.” He admits.

“I invited her.” Fleur assures. “I told Fred.”

“That explains it.” George sighs loudly. “Stupid git.”

“Well, we’re going to get seats.” Fleur announces. “Try not to knock her over on your way past.”

“I wasn’t paying attention.” (Y/N) mumbles. “My fault.”

She looks up shyly and meets his brown eyes again, gulping at the intensity of the look her gives her. She thinks for a moment he’s never going to look away when a voice from the pitch snaps his attention away and she feels like she’s free to breathe again.

“C’mon, George.” A woman she recognises as Angelina Johnson, calls. “We need those brooms to play!”

George gives both Fleur and (Y/N) a sort of apologetic look before shouldering the boom sticks again and jogging towards the pitch where the rest of the players wait impatiently for him. Fleur watches as (Y/N) stares wide eyed at the ground, trying to still her panicked heart. She gently touches her friend’s arm and tilts her head in concern.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” (Y/N) exhales. “Sorry, it won’t even bruise.”

Fleur purses her lips and holds back from explaining that’s not what she was asking about. (Y/N) gives her a clearly forced smile then begins to walk again.

When they finally take a seat on one of the many picnic blankets by the other spectators, (Y/N) pulls out her flask of coffee from her tote bag and hands Fleur a cup cheerfully, as if it’ll distract from the interaction she’s just witnessed. From  the pitch, Fred is waving at them, beaming happily.

“You came!” He hollers.

“I RSVP’d!” (Y/N) calls back, barely hiding her frustration.

He lets out a laugh at her reaction, his body shakes with it and his eyes crinkle like George’s do, head tilted backwards as he chuckles. It rids her of her upset at being doubted, bringing a smile to her lips. She can note now, no longer preoccupied by trying to fight off a mental breakdown in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron, that she likes seeing him healthy

She remembers when she found him during the battle, laying almost lifeless on the ground, she wasn’t sure he’d ever be healthy again, even after she’d used all the healing spells she could think of. Hearing he’d recovered after the war was one of the first time’s she’d felt anything other than numb since Harry’s victory.

“Where’s your kit?” He calls.

“I don’t play.” She returns defensively.

“What?” He asks. “Too scared we’ll beat you?”

“Sure.” 

“Aw c’mon.” He tries. “We’ve got a spare broom.”

“Leave it, Fred.” George says, eyes lifting to find (Y/N)’s before jumping away again. “She’s scared of heights.”

(Y/N) looks away with what she hopes comes across as embarrassment, although her mind is already whirring with the fact he remembers. She finds herself swiftly falling down what she knows will be a self-destructive path and wondering what of her other quirks and habits he remembers, if he remembers how she takes her tea, or if he thinks of her when her favourite song plays. It has her feeling terrible in thirty seconds, a split second of hope killed in an instant by her own guilt.

Fred gives her an apologetic look and she shakes her head in assurance that it’s okay. He turns back to the rest of his team and leaves only Fleur staring at (Y/N) with a curious frown. (Y/N) offers her a shrug and sheepish smile that her friend sees straight through.

“I didn’t know you were scared of heights.” She frowns.

“Oh, well it’s my secret silly fear.”

“Hmm.” Fleur hums.

Fleur opens her mouth as if looking for what to say next as (Y/N) sips at her coffee and avoids eye contact, as if that will in anyway make her friend less suspicious. Fleur seems to give in though, lips shutting in what looks like defeat. (Y/N) Is glad when people begin to mount their brooms, a welcome distraction for both the women.

It takes a bit for the game to get into full swing but when it does, (Y/N) finds herself transported back to Hogwarts, sat in the Slytherin stands pretending she cares what her house’s team does, spending the entire game watching George as he flies. She watches him now, still as impressed as she always was, yet still as anxious.

“You nearly fell sixty feet.” (Y/N) hissed, pacing the boys changing rooms long after everyone else was gone. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m fine.” He rolled his eyes.

“You could have died!”

“I didn’t though.” He grinned proudly. “Were you worried about me, Love?”

She fixed him a harsh glare at his teasing, but her face softened when he reached for her, fingers fumbling for her hand and pulling her in until she landed on his lap. He pushed some hair from her face and gave her a genuine smile.

“You’re very cute all worried like that.” He exhaled. “I might nearly die more often.”

“Don’t you dare.” She warned but cupped his cheeks in her hands. “Never again.”

She leaned in and kissed the forming bruise just above his left eyebrow, the cut on the bridge of his nose and then, just in case, the mark on his jaw that she couldn’t decipher as a bruise or just some dirt. He smiled lazily at her before tilting his head in order to connect their lips in a kiss.

“I’ll try not to worry you again.”

He had, she recalls, continued to worry her almost every match. However, now she feels like she doesn’t have the same right to be worried, yet she still finds herself clutching her cup tighter every time he does a flip or when he seems like he might miss the bludger. She finds herself letting out a breath of relief when the game is called a while later.

“That was a good game.” She speaks up.

“Even with the tie.” Fleur agrees.

“It was to be expected with such a high skill set on each team.” (Y/N) shrugs.

“I’m just glad Bill is finally on the ground again.” Fleur laughs softly. “It’s like I’m holding my breath the entire time- it’s silly.”

“No, it’s not.” (Y/N) assures kindly. “Quidditch is dangerous- probably more so with your siblings.”

Fleur gives her a grateful smile before turning back to the pitch, where Lee is being grilled for his referee skills, making (Y/N) chuckle to herself. Her eyes catch George, grinning with his family and friends. Fleur follows her gaze and nods.

“You see it too?”

“What?”

“Angelina and George.” Fleur explains. “We always thought Fred but recently…”

(Y/N) hadn’t noticed in fact, she was more entranced by his  lovable lopsided grin, but now her eyes find him again and she does see it. Initially she’s more perplexed by it than anything else because Fleur is right, it was always Fred. Now though, Angelina is leaning in to George, grinning up at him and laughing dramatically at his jokes and (Y/N) despises how it makes her feel, because she left him and he has the right to move on. However, her guts are churning with jealousy and she hates it.

“Yeah.” Fleur laughs at her expression. “Confusing, huh?”

“Hmm.” She nods.

“There are few bets on it.” Fleur informs. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“I won’t weigh in.” (Y/N) manages a chuckle. “Definitely not my place.”

It becomes quickly noticeable from that point onwards and (Y/N) almost wishes Fleur had never pointed it out. As the day moves on and they all sit haphazardly spread out across the various picnic blankets, (Y/N) does find it slightly easier to distract herself though, her eyes rarely making their usual trip to George a few feet in front of her, though every so often she can feel his eyes on her. However, she finds herself somewhat relaxed as she chats with Fred and Bill.

“I’m impressed you came after seeing this idiot drunk.” Bill jokes from Fleurs side. “It’s not pretty.”

“Ouch.” Fred gasps.

“I have a feeling the morning after was uglier.” (Y/N) smirks.

“You have no idea.” Fred agrees. “George was no help either- wouldn’t bloody shut up.”  

Fred’s eyes meet (Y/N) with this, a hint at what George wouldn’t shut up about perhaps, or even who. (Y/N)’s panicked is stilled when she realises his eyes don’t hold any malice or anger, though she’s not sure why not. It’s almost understanding, the look he gives her. Despite her resolve not to, she finds herself peering over at the boy in question.

She’s caught though, his eyes filtering away from his conversation to meet hers and she inhales sharply. Something in her reaction this time has him smirking, shaking his head as he turns back to the heated debate on the best type of broom with Angelina and Ginny. It’s mortifying to (Y/N), like he’s seen her panic and knows he’s done it, what’s worse is she knows she deserves it.

She misses the time that smirk would find her across the classroom, knowing and infuriating, and almost always the gateway to a quick snog in a hidden corridor, or at dinner, across the sea of other students and only for her, swiftly followed by a wink. She hates that that smirk suddenly has guilt swirling in her stomach instead of butterflies.

“Are you okay?” Fleur whispers.

“Yep.” She assures with a faked smile. “Great.”

…

It’s when her watch reads four o’clock that (Y/N) finds herself excusing herself and flung into a seemingly endless chain for farewells. She’s again amazed by how accepting everyone is of her presence, all calling for her to join them again soon. It’s after a hug and a muttered ‘thank you’ from Fleur that she stands to leave.

She’s jittery with a sort of pride as she leaves With a few hiccups, she’s still happy to have managed to hold conversations and to relax. She doesn’t feel so compelled to cry as she had at the Leaky certainly not until she gets home. Certainly not until George’s voice is suddenly halting her in her tracks.

“Malfoy.”

That about does it though, her surname said with that animosity. She doesn’t want to turn around from fear of her distraught showing on her face. She’s only a few meters from apparating, so close that a few steps would do it. However, slowly, she turns to face him.

“Am I supposed to just call you Weasley now?”

She winces the moment it leaves her lips and lets out a quick apology. She’s no idea where it came from. He has an eerily unreadable expression, instead just passing her the tote bag she apparently left behind. She takes it shyly, eyes casting down to her feet as she thanks him. He shrugs at her, already turning on his heels. She stands still for a moment then finds herself tempted again by a part of her she has no right to have.

“George?”

He stills but doesn’t turn around and she smiles at his stubbornness, so familiar to her.

“You described it all perfectly you know.” She explains, voice soft in the quiet of the meadows, the house, and the others far behind them. “Your house and your family… I know why you love them so much.”

She doesn’t give him time to answer, already taking those few steps and apparating with a crack before he can even turn around again. He breathes out a disbelieving chuckle and shakes his head as he retreats towards the house. 

She’s always saying things he doesn’t expect and impressing him, and she knows how to make it bloody difficult to hate her.

[misssophiachase]

prompt- AH Klaroline. we usually see klaus developing feelings for caroline while she's in a relationship with someone else. i would like to see something where klaus has been in an established relationship with another girl and caroline realizes that she's developed feelings for him. (if you don't have time to do this one, don't worry about it).

Thanks nonnie, I love it so much! Inspired really. Got a bit carried away too, see notes at the end.

Synopsis: One wedding and a completely confused best man and maid of honour.

“And all you never say is that you love me so.”

All You Never Say

Caroline Forbes, Maid of Honour, Invites you to celebrate:

The Bachelorette Party for

Katherine Pierce

On Saturday fifteenth of June, twenty-twenty one at Connaught Bar, Mayfair, London at 2000h

Dress: Party Attire

One week before the nuptials - Connaught Bar, London England, 10:21pm

“What happened to the Kitty Kat I knew who’d usually be dancing on the bar right now and showing the stripper just how it’s done?” 

Although her tone was light and teasing, Caroline was a little disappointed given this was her best friend’s bachelorette party and there wasn’t a tacky veil or penis straw in sight. 

Also, they’d been forced to hire out a venue to avoid unwanted media attention before the big day so the atmosphere wasn’t quite what she was expecting either. 

The word lacklustre seemed a good word to describe it all.  

Maid of Honour Caroline had been banned from most fun things when organising Kat’s last night of ‘freedom’. 

“She’s marrying one of the United Kingdom’s most eligible bachelors, not to mention the youngest Minister in the Government’s Cabinet. That doesn’t really go with the wholesome reputation she’s trying to portray, Care,” Bonnie offered, eating the olive from her martini. “Although, I think it’s a shame you can’t put those pole dancing moves we learned in Cabo to good use.”

“This is one pathetic stripper, just saying,” Rebekah offered, joining them at the bar and stealing Bonnie’s drink from her outstretched hands.

“I was on the other side of the world, I could only go by his rating on the internet,” Caroline argued. “Plus, I also had to find one who kept some clothes on and we all know what that means.”

“What’s underneath doesn’t match the whole package,” Bonnie finished. “We don’t need to tip him, do we?”

When Katherine called Caroline thirteen months earlier to say she was engaged to Elijah, Caroline couldn’t have been happier. They’d all met each other at private boarding school and had stayed in touch ever since and even though they seemed like opposites, Kat and Elijah complemented one another. 

Also, Katherine’s job as head neurosurgeon at one of London’s most prestigious private hospitals and her impressive family inheritance greatly helped matters when it came to swaying his parents on the engagement. 

The Mikaelsons. 

Mikael and Esther were extremely wealthy and well-connected in English society.  They came from family money and owned a large and impressive property portfolio spanning the entire globe and had sent their children to the best boarding school the US had to offer.  

Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire. 

Caroline wasn’t wealthy like the rest of her friends. She’d be lying if that fact didn’t make her feel somewhat inferior. Her father owned the local general store and, if it weren’t for her scholarship, Caroline would have ended up in public school. Not that she would have minded but her father insisted it was too good an opportunity to pass up. 

Attending the exclusive boarding school had been an adjustment to say the least and not just because of the ugly and uncomfortable uniforms they had to wear. Caroline was assigned to a room with three fellow students. 

Katherine Pierce, although the daughter of a talented cardiothoracic surgeon and a world class architect, was wild and impulsive and constantly in trouble with the dean for her indiscretions like sneaking out to meet boys and smoking on occasion. 

Bonnie Bennett was the gorgeous but serious high achiever whose parents owned one of the biggest publishing houses in the world. She was taught never to take anything for granted and work hard for what she wanted in life. 

Rebekah Mikaelson, while strong-willed and passionate, was the odd one out from the beginning. She made it her aim in life to drive the other girls crazy with her brittle personality and unwanted opinions. Although it took a while, and a few choice fights that needed to be broken up between her and Katherine, the girls became best friends. 

Rebekah’s brothers all attended the school at the same time but in different years with Elijah the eldest followed by Klaus then Kol and youngest sibling Rebekah.  

The Mikaelson boys and their best friend from home, Enzo St John, were definitely the most popular and sought after by the female student body. Caroline, not being one to conform, refused to play that game. She had no intention of stroking their egos any further, especially head womaniser Klaus. 

There was no doubting he was gorgeous, it ran in their family after all, but he knew it. 

Caroline found that she could have a fun time with Enzo, a deep and meaningful discussion with Elijah and a joke with Kol but when it came to Klaus all he did was tease her and rile her up. 

Of course she told herself it was because he was an immature idiot but wasn’t overly convinced it was the only reason given the looks she’d send his way when she knew no one was looking.  Caroline hoped whatever weird thing was happening would dissipate when they graduated. 

Kol and Bonnie had dated for a year at school, but apart from them they all stayed friends. So much so, that after they’d all graduated and gone their separate ways in life they still caught up for most significant occasions. 

This wedding being one of many. 

Katherine and Elijah had reconnected in Boston and, even though she always said he was too serious, they fell in love and were now on the verge of marriage. 

Caroline was so excited, if not about the bachelorette party. 

“Who are we kidding? I got the wild stuff out when you three were all too busy being good girls in boarding school,” she scoffed. Caroline wouldn’t admit it aloud but she had a point. “And there’s nothing stopping you three from getting up there with the stripper.” 

“Pass,” all three replied, looking up at him ominously. 

“How about we get out of here and see what the boys are up to?” Katherine suggested a twinkle in her brown eyes. 

“Because I think that defeats the purpose of a bachelorette party, Pierce,” Caroline drawled. “And this is Elijah, no offence but poker doesn’t sound all that exciting if you ask me.”

“Says the girl with the special poker skills,” Kat smiled deviously. “Klaus likes to think he’s the best player but we all know you could give him a run for his money. I’d say watching you fleece him is a fun way to spend an evening.”

Caroline had to admit angering the best man and her wedding partner certainly had its benefits. They’d seen each other in passing the previous day on arrival but otherwise hadn’t connected much recently because she was based on the West coast in Los Angeles and him on the East in New York City. 

He was the CEO of a prominent stockbroking firm and, by all reports, had been dating a Texan oil billionaire’s daughter and model, Hayley someone, for the past year.  

Okay, her surname was Marshall. 

She may have read a few editions of Page Six and seen them attending premieres and openings. She was sort of attractive.

Okay, she was gorgeous with big, brown doe eyes and a glossy chestnut mane and legs for days. 

Caroline told herself that she didn’t care more times than she could count but there was also something lingering beneath the surface with Klaus. She would have endeavoured to forget him after school had it not been for something that happened two years earlier and changed her opinion of him completely. 

Bastard.

And with that came the insecurity she hated. Even though she’d carved out a successful career as a human rights lawyer, she’d never fit into his life because she didn’t have a rich family or a huge inheritance like Hayley. Not that she cared but she knew his family did. 

She noticed her friends giving her weird looks, clearly she didn’t realise how much of a Klaus trance she’d descended into. 

“Sure. Why not?”

American Bar, Savoy Hotel, London 11:07pm 

“This is lame,” Kol scoffed, throwing his cards on the makeshift poker table. 

“He’s only saying that because he’s losing,” Enzo laughed, pulling the chips towards him greedily. 

“No, I’m saying that because this is no bachelor party,” he huffed, standing up and going to the bar to make himself another drink. “You couldn’t even organise one, measly stripper?”

As with the girls, the guys had hired out the venue for privacy reasons, not that they were actually doing anything untoward. 

Klaus had won the most money so far but he’d left the table to take a call from Hayley letting Enzo win a few rounds in his absence. She was arriving the next day for the wedding and was calling to check on the arrangements. 

Klaus was certain he’d told her multiple times but she was someone who liked things just right. But she also liked to call. 

A lot. 

At first he thought it was endearing but after a year he was starting to realise it was largely overkill. So too, her obsession with all things materialistic and celebrity and having to be at the opening of everything and anything. Klaus liked to keep more of a low profile if he could and that trait only reminded him of his parents and their chosen life together.

When he’d met her during a wild weekend in Miami, Klaus was immediately taken with her. He even thought it was love but decided that was just the tequila talking and it was most definitely lust. Klaus didn’t do relationships and he assumed she would be a momentary distraction until his parents had taken a strong liking to her.  Or more accurately to her wealth and family connections and future prospects for them. 

With Mikael and Esther it wasn’t much about love but what you did for a living and how much money your family had. Their marriage was case in point. 

Klaus wasn’t one to do what his parents told him but he’d long felt the black sheep given his secret paternity and decided it would be good to earn their favour for a change.  

There was also another reason to entertain the relationship, one that had made him realise that, no matter what, he was always going to have to settle for second best. 

“Are we interrupting anything?” Klaus looked up into the eyes of his future sister-in-law. He and Katherine had acted like siblings from the moment they met so to him her marriage to Elijah was inevitable.     

“Great!” Kol growled from his vantage point behind the bar. “Not only do I have to sit through this poor excuse for a party but now the girls have arrived.”

“Nice to see you too, Kol,” Bonnie said, raising her eyebrows. Although they’d dated over ten years ago everyone seemed to think something was still very much happening between them. 

“As much as I’m glad to see my beautiful fiance,” Elijah smiled, standing so he could pull her into his arms affectionately. “I’m not sure this is the done thing.”

“Oh, you mean like strippers, brother?” 

“You’re more than welcome to our stripper, Kol, we only left him in Mayfair about ten minutes ago so you might be able to catch him if you’re lucky,” Rebekah teased, swiping a few of Enzo’s prized chips from the table.

“Oi, woman!” He muttered, attempting to take it back while she squealed in response. 

Rebekah and Enzo had been play fighting since he was eleven and she was nine.  The rest of the group all knew it was unresolved tension that would finally sort itself out some day so were just waiting for it to click into place. 

“So, what you’re telling me is that the girls were allowed to have a stripper?” Clearly, Kol wasn’t letting this one go easily. 

“Oh would you please shut up, little brother, does it shock you that Elijah didn’t actually want one?” Klaus barked, his brother wearing on his last nerve. 

For the most part his gaze had been surreptitiously trained on the maid of honour.  Attired in a little, black dress that hugged her in all the right places it was incredibly distracting.  She was also wearing her hair just how he liked it, loose and a little wild. How many times had he imagined running his fingers through those waves? Too many to count.

Yes, Caroline Forbes was his dirty little secret. One that he had every intention of keeping because it would do him no good to reveal it. 

“I promise that when you get married I’ll book out an entire strip club,” Enzo offered, stealing the chip from Rebekah’s grasp while she wasn’t watching and sending her a triumphant smirk. “Happy?”

“Are we playing poker or what?” Caroline asked. This got his attention. Klaus looked over at her, his eyebrows cocked curiously. 

“You play poker, love?”

“I dabble,” she replied, taking a seat at the table. “I mean, I used to play with my grandpa when I was about ten. Pretty sure the rules haven’t changed much since then.” It would have been adorable if Klaus wasn’t so competitive by nature. 

“We are playing for real money here,” he warned, giving her one last chance to back out. “I mean I wouldn’t want to take advantage.” 

“I’m a big girl and can take care of myself,” she shot back. “So, just deal the cards, Mikaelson.” 

The others took their place and the game was restarted, even Kol seemed to have gotten out of his funk to play. The first hand went like this:

“All red,” Rebekah smiled triumphantly, laying her cards on the table. After betting her entire bank it was sufficed to say she was out from the get-go. 

“All red? Seriously, little sister? Can you please take her away Enzo and never let her play ever again,” Klaus muttered through gritted teeth. How were they even related?

Second hand ended in Katherine and Elijah being expelled for too much PDA at the poker table. Neither of the love birds minded a little time out in the corner. 

Third hand came down to a poor display of bluffing from Kol while Bonnie complained because all she wanted to do was play Go Fish because it was more entertaining.

Then there were two.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just give in, Forbes?” Klaus asked, leaning back lazily in his chair.  She was studying her cards carefully. Most hands she’d folded before betting anything and he was starting to realise she was too careful, much like the girl he knew in real life.   

“Give me a minute,” she hissed, fastening a loose wave behind her ear. Klaus could tell it was a sign of a bad hand but at the same time he wished he was the one to place it there. 

“Okay, I want three cards,” she asked, placing the discarded ones face down. 

“Maybe you should just fold, love?” He asked, partly because he was concerned but also because Klaus knew he was that accomplished. His straight flush was looking extremely good right now. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t tell me what to do, ass,” she offered, noting his shocked look in response. “I was just trying to counter your love with something equally fitting.”

“Fine,” he murmured trying to pretend not to feel dejected. “Three cards.”

She took them and again studied them closely. Meanwhile the rest of the group had gathered around, no doubt sensing this was their last hand and everyone could finally go home. 

“Okay, how about we stop beating around the bush and I just bet everything I have,” she said pushing it all into the middle. 

“You’re bluffing,” he blurted out, knowing it was impossible she had a hand to beat his flush. 

“I guess you’ll have to bet to find out,” she smiled. All he wanted to do was kiss it off her face and that was just for starters. He shook his head reminding himself that he needed to relax. 

“Call,” she said, her expression serious. They held each other’s gaze for a prolonged period, Klaus telling himself it was to try and read the poker signs but that wasn’t it at all. He suddenly realised that he could stare at her for hours and never tire. 

Not just hours, forever maybe.  

He cleared his throat knowing that everyone was now watching in anticipation. 

“Straight flush,” he grinned proudly, laying it out on the table. She gave it a brief look before placing hers next to his. 

“All red.” Given it was a ten, Jack, Queen, King and Ace of diamonds, also known as a royal flush, she was clearly being facetious. 

“You played me, Forbes.” He finally uttered amongst the cheers and Rebekah’s insistence that she must have had a winning hand all along. 

She pulled the chips towards her happily choosing not to respond immediately. His eyes were still trained on her though, desperate for some kind of response.

“And you underestimated me, Mikaelson,” she murmured. 

Yes. Maybe he had underestimated her and everything else.

TBC - Next part will be up tomorrow PM..there’s a chance encounter in the middle of the night, a rehearsal dinner and a slight wedding mishap before the big day. But let me know what you think so far : ) 

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[ofdragonsdeep]

26 (Star)

This was written as a fill for the quick-prompt for the week of 13th September on the Book Club discord, which I... cannot link because I am not an ~official author~ because I'm shy.

They are supposed to be 100 words or thereabouts. This... is not.

The eldest of the Durendaire children tires of misery.

(spoilers for early SB, Firmament quests, and minor AST nonsense)

The soft sound of the waves splashing against rock warred with the hustle and bustle of Limsa Lominsa for a place in the ears. Ar’telan, sat on one of the benches in the aetheryte plaza, watched the people come and go, locals and merchants and tourists thronging between docks and markets, watched over by stern yellowjackets keen to keep the peace. When he had first set foot in Limsa Lominsa, however many moons ago that had been, someone had told him that you could tell a native from an outsider by how much the salt spray settled into the crags in their face, consonants discarded from the speech like so much unnecessary ornamentation.

The Echo had taught him that people would hear what he wanted them to hear, when it wanted to work, but he had never been able to sound like a local. Even Reyner, the commander of the Yellowjackets and perpetual ‘proper’ speaker, still sounded more at ease in Limsa than Ar’telan did. Still, he was comforted by the familiar surroundings, sun reflected off white-bleached walls, the comforting thrum of life.

With a thunk of shoes on stone, Ar’telan hopped from the bench and began his walk around the city. He was here for no reason - not one that the fate of the world dictated, at any rate. It was nice, in the space between disasters, to find himself in familiar places without a pressing cause.

The walk took him to the upper decks, past the drunks and the hopeful street workers and the festive balloons in the Aftcastle. Melkoko waved to him from the door of the Missing Member, and he offered her a nod of greeting in return, not quite brave enough to actually go into the building and risk Rhoswen’s wrath for simply existing in a space adjacent to her. It was a little quieter in the Hyaline, the vendor at the counter ceasing her attempts to sell him ‘spice’ as soon as she recognised who he was.

“Fair weather, Warrior o’ Light! You got business with the Cap’n?” Heddyn asked, Ar’telan considering the stairs he guarded and the question he asked, weighing them in his mind.

“If he is free to speak, it would be nice,” he said, and Heddyn gave him a nod and a playful salute, vanishing up the stairs to check with his Captain.

A flurry of movement escorted Ar’telan up the stairs and into the back room of the Hyaline, an open deck which looked out over the flagship of the Kraken’s Arm and the many barges that surrounded it. Captain Carvallain had any number of ventures to his name these days, from exotic ‘spice’ (Ar’telan was still uncertain what, exactly, the word substituted for) to pleasure barges to trade in mundane goods from the far-flung port of Kugane. It was only the lucrative nature of that final venture that prevented him from attempting to skin Tataru alive whenever the Scions were mentioned in conversation, or so Ar’telan presumed.

“Ar’telan. Strange to see you here,” he greeted, a nod of his head the only acknowledgement of the miqo’te’s presence. “I do hope you have not brought any irksome companions with you this time.”

“Just me,” Ar’telan confirmed, noting the way that Carvallain relaxed, if only a little. Carvallain sounded like a Limsan local, even though he wasn’t, the Ishgardian lilt to his accent universally ignored by any who might think to note it. It had been many moons ago that Ar’telan had first taken notice - walking the snow-heavy road to Gorgagne Mills, the quiet farmstead bearing the same name that Carvallain had taken for a surname. He had dwelled upon it when he had spoken with Jannequinard, at the Athenaeum Astrologicum in Ishgard proper, and helped him and his Sharlayan friend with their struggles to see astromancy of the Sharlayan bent recognised within the city. It had come as no great surprise when Tataru and Alphinaud had used the ‘subtle’ arts of manipulation to use the entirely unconnected story of Count de Durendaire’s unfortunate eldest son, lost at sea, to convince Carvallain to ferry them to Kugane.

And now here they were.

“Good. The trade that your voyage to Kugane started has been good for our coffers, but I would rather that meddlesome little woman didn’t learn that I was grateful,” he said, examining his nails as he said it, as though it were nothing. “The rumour mill has told me some very interesting things about how you’ve been spending your time. Are many true?” Ar’telan grimaced.

“I’m not sure I could name half of them,” he replied. “I have mostly been in Ishgard, when not doing the tasks which make the news.” The cloud passed over Carvallain’s face for a moment, but it cleared before it could take a greater hold.

“Yes. One of the Houses is most fond of you, aren’t they?” he said, voice light. Ar’telan managed a nervous laugh.

“Something like that. But I know them all quite well, now,” he said, hopping up onto the wall and sitting on it, tail swishing in the breeze from the ocean at his back. “The old Count de Dzemael has been building structures for dravanians in the Churning Mists. I’ve been helping Francel with revitalising the Firmament. There was a call for aid from outside sources for that.” Carvallain nodded, his expression guarded now.

“We sold a few things to some interested parties, but that has been the extent of our involvement in the matter,” he replied. “I will confess, it is odd to hear Ishgard spoken of… positively. I cannot imagine the stubborn rocks in the nobility are overly fond of it.”

“Lord Speaker Aymeric has been doing good work,” Ar’telan said. “And you might be surprised. Count Charlemend has been working as a volunteer in a hospital for the poor.” Carvallain snorted at that, then paused, a frown on his face.

“...You are serious,” he realised. Ar’telan nodded, not elaborating for fear that he would be tarred with the same brush as Tataru, even though his motives were perhaps in the same venn diagram. “Unbelievable. The times are truly changing, I suppose.” He gave Ar’telan a searching look, his stance stiff and uncertain, an unusual look for the leader of pirates. “Bah, I tire of this pointless dance. Speak plain. Did you come here to bully me like your vicious little secretary?”

“Not intentionally,” Ar’telan replied, which was true, but not particularly endearing. “I just thought you might like to know. What you do with the knowledge is not my business.” Carvallain sighed.

“I suppose I am curious as to the lead-in,” he allowed. “Very well. Tell me what you know.”

---

It was not an easy conversation. For all that Ar’telan was aiding Charlemend in his sincere desire to leave the old ways of life, the pain that he had inflicted - on purpose or not - was clear to see. Carvallain’s brow still darkened at the sound of his name, and Ar’telan thought of Ronantain, desperate to mold himself into the image of the good noble that had been taught to him for all too long in his short life. He thought of Jannequinard, so brilliant and clever, throwing himself into anything he could enjoy that was just disrespectful enough to leave his betters despairing, but not enough to have him thrown from the parapets and disowned.

He thought of the knight, lost to grief after failing his charge, who had died in the mills that gave Carvallain his name.

But the conversation had left him with something most unexpected: an elegantly penned note, the calling card of the Kraken’s Arms, an offer in dispassionate ink on the back of it.

“You may read it, if you wish,” Carvallain had said. “I don’t imagine that much goes unseen by your eyes, these days.”

Ar’telan had put it in his pocket, and kept his gaze averted.

---

The cold air of Ishgard hit like a wall as Ar’telan teleported into Foundation, and he shook his head and shivered in its suddenness. He had long since lost his need for the warmth of his home in Meracydia, but La Noscea was far warmer than Ishgard, and it hit like a shock. He took his gloves from his pockets, pulled them on, and rubbed his hands together as he walked. The aetheryte shard network would have been faster, but for all its inhospitality, Ar’telan still longed to stretch the minutes he spent in Ishgard to bells.

The Athenaeum Astrologicum was busier now than it had been even at the height of the war, students of all stripes thronging in and around its walls. A few of them recognised him, for his work with the erstwhile management in the past, but without a globe at hand most of the students paid him little heed. Ar’telan found that suited him just fine.

Jannequinard was at the desk when he walked in, eyes buried in the pages of a book. He glanced up, looked back down when he noted that Ar’telan was not a nubile young woman ready to be talked into compromising positions by a dashing young fox of a nobleman, then looked back up again when who he actually was registered with his brain.

“This is a surprise,” he remarked, and Ar’telan grimaced.

“Anyone would think I never visited,” he said, and Jannequinard sighed. A card from the sleeve at his hip was wedged into his book, in a move that would have made Leveva bonk him over the head with the nearest sufficiently weighty implement, and he leaned forwards, head rested on his hands.

“You either have terrible news, or interesting news. If it is the former, I will have to ask that you leave. I have a date this evening.”

“You do?” Ar’telan asked, surprised, and Jannequinard sagged in defeat.

“Yes, yes, very funny. An actual date, with an actual, living woman, before you get as sarcastic as those two.” He shot a venomous look at the two astrologians who served as the Athenaeum’s formal welcoming committee, who did not even seem to notice it. Ar’telan assumed they got it a lot. “So nobody is dying? There has been no attack by mysterious assailants on important personages, abducted nobles, crying orphans, anything of the sort?”

“Not that I am aware of,” Ar’telan replied. “I could ask at Rolanberry Fields if you want a crying orphan, though.”

“The Fury blessed you with a streak of humour since we last spoke, I see,” Jannequinard said, arching a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Then why have you come?” Ar’telan paused, not having actually considered how best to approach the situation. Jannequinard did not appear to be a subtle man, but he could be, when the situation called for it. Or when he thought the situation called for it, at any rate.

“I have something for you,” Ar’telan said eventually, reaching into his pocket and taking out the missive, putting it down on the desk between them before continuing. “From one of the Captains in Limsa Lominsa. An offer of trade, I think.”

“You think?” Jannequinard repeated, the suspicion plain on his face. “I will assume that you have misread the name, since you speed through all other matters, but I am not above a little spying, so I shall take this regardless.” He picked it up, looked at the sigil on the front with a mixture of concern and disdain, and flipped it over. Muttered fragments of words gave Ar’telan the very short version of the offer Carvallain had made, but it was when Jannequinard made it to the signatory that he stopped.

“Who gave this to you?” he asked, his cordial tone dropping several notches. Ar’telan felt like he might shiver despite the warmth of the Athenaeum’s fires.

“Captain Carvallain of the Kraken’s Arms,” he replied. Jannequinard shot his gaze around the room in a panic, before remembering that it was impossible to overhear the words of someone who was not actually speaking them.

“...Come with me a moment, will you?” he asked, getting to his feet. That was enough to draw the concern of the other astrologians in the room, but he waved them off irritably and escorted Ar’telan into the back of the Athenaeum.

---

The private study rooms were conservatively furnished, a small number of wooden chairs and great tables capable of holding the full breadth of an unfurled star map, and very little else. Jannequinard closed the door on the one he had appropriated, then almost forcibly sat Ar’telan in the nearest chair, despite his half-formed noises of protest.

“I know that a lot of people in this city think you are a fool with more goodwill than sense, but contrary to popular opinion, I am not stupid. You are aware of what happened to my… my brother, yes?” Ar’telan noted the way his voice caught at the admittance. It was not sorrow - Jannequinard had likely been barely more than a boy when it happened, though Ar’telan was not entirely sure how old he or Carvallain were. He knew Jannequinard chafed at the prospect of inheritance, to the degree that he had been a ‘maybe’ in the aftermath. Knew that Charlemend would not have taken his eldest’s loss well. Knew that he was opening old wounds. Maybe that had been Carvallain’s aim, after all, and he just the errand boy for it. But he had said that it was Carvallain’s knowledge to do with as he wished, he supposed.

“Yes. He was lost at sea. Pirates, they thought,” he replied. “It is why you did not wish to follow Leveva and I to Limsa Lominsa, is it not?” Jannequinard wrinkled his nose, annoyed that Ar’telan was both bringing up his past failings, and also seeing through his ruse.

“Perhaps. That is neither here nor there,” he dismissed with a sharp wave of his hand. “What matters is that you have brought me a missive from pirates, signed in the name of my dead brother, and you expect me to believe this is an accident.”

“I never said it was an accident,” Ar’telan replied, which caught Jannequinard off-guard.

“No, I suppose you did not,” he allowed, then sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am going to have to cancel my date, aren’t I?”

“I do not think the Count will mind if you leave it til the morning. He is busy with his work, these days,” Ar’telan offered, attempting to soften the blow. Jannequinard looked back down at the note.

“Did he give this to you himself?” he asked. Ar’telan nodded his head. “Did he- is he- Is it really him?” he managed, voice quiet. Ar’telan nodded a second time. Jannequinard swallowed, looking down and up again, a look of the lost on his face. “How long have you known?”

“I have suspected since I first met you,” he replied. “I have known for certain since just before the War of Liberation in Ala Mhigo.” Jannequinard attempted to process this, and utterly failed to do so.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“Because it wasn’t my choice to make,” Ar’telan said. Jannequinard let out a long, defeated sigh.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose that makes sense,” he agreed. “If I had managed to escape our father I would not want some random adventurer dragging me back under his heel. Damn all of this.” He put the card into the space on his sleeve where the Bole-shaped bookmark had previously sat, scowling down at it as though it were razor-edged. “Very well. I shall inform the Count.”

“You don’t have to,” Ar’telan said, and Jannequinard stopped short, as though he had not even considered that option. Ar’telan didn’t imagine there was anything that Jannequinard did that did not find its way back to the Count, one way or another, but he had made a deliberate choice to give this letter to Jannequinard first.

“I… No, I shall tell him,” he decided eventually. “Carvallain de Durendaire died long ago, but by the Fury’s grace, if we can make peace with the Dravanians then perhaps what is left of my family can make peace with themselves.” He got to his feet, a scowl on his face. “I would have thought that something of this magnitude just might be predicted by astromancy, but alas.”

“Maybe it would have if you paid attention to Leveva’s lessons instead of the bosom of the nearest passing noblewoman,” Ar’telan offered, and Jannequinard showed his appreciation by accidentally stepping on his foot.

---

Jannequinard had insisted on Ar’telan accompanying him on his ‘dire quest’, a task to which the miqo’te had acquiesced without argument. Though Ar’telan was used to speaking with the Count in the Firmament, given the amount of time the both of them spent there, the evening meant that Jannequinard instead returned to the family manor with his sidekick in tow, a move which gathered quite a number of concerned looks from the manor’s guard. Ar’telan weighed the pros and cons of reassuring them that he was not Jannequinard’s unfortunate cancelled date, and decided against it.

Durendaire manor was a house of wealth, but it did not feel homely to Ar’telan the way that Fortemps manor did. Shields bearing the family crest adorned the walls, pictures of Counts past and their families between them. Fresh arrangements of flowers sat on marble pedestals, a luxurious red rug covering the polished blackstone floor, and the wallpaper looked to be made from astral silk or some other luxurious cloth. Ar’telan found it to be overwhelming.

A manservant knocked on the office door for them, and Charlemend looked between the two of them in concern that quickly changed to alarm as they entered.

“What has burned down?” he asked as the door closed, and Jannequinard made a frustrated noise.

“I can bring you good news,” he protested, gesturing to Ar’telan to take one of the chairs. With an apologetic look to the Count, Ar’telan shuffled into one, noting the tension between father and son with an increasing nervousness. “In fact, I am bringing good news. Ar’telan here has been kind enough to secure us a trade agreement with one of the prominent powers in Limsa Lominsa.” The distaste in his face was familiar to Ar’telan, from when they had been there on Ishgard’s behalf, with Francel in tow.

“We already have an agreement with those… with their prominent traders,” Charlemend said, the carefully-chosen words not masking his unhappiness. “Not that I expect you to know that, but it was Ar’telan who secured it.” Jannequinard looked over at Ar’telan, who offered an innocent shrug.

“There is more than one pirate in Limsa Lominsa,” he said. Charlemend made a distinctly unhappy noise.

“Yes, I am well aware. If it is worth disturbing me at this hour, and by the both of you, no less, I shall take a look at it,” he said. Jannequinard took the card from his sleeve, and passed it to his father.

“I would advise that you sit, father,” he said, stepping back as the Count took it. The suspicion was plain in Charlemend’s eyes, but he tempered it. Ar’telan was not sure if it was for his benefit, or Jannequinard’s.

“These are the same brigands we dealt with during Lord Francel’s attempts at trade outreach,” he murmured, seeing the sigil upon the front. “Their captain, ah- Gerald, was that his name? Was eventually willing to see reason.”

“Gerald is the First Mate,” Ar’telan said, glancing at Jannequinard as he said it. “But yes. I was surprised as well.” Charlemend offered a huff of annoyance, then turned over the card.

It was a harrowing transformation to witness. Irritance became disbelief, which became anger. He looked up at the two of them, Jannequinard with an uncharacteristically stony face and Ar’telan the picture of neutrality, and anger morphed to a deep and painful sadness without a single word. The card fell from his hands to hit the papers at his desk, his hands shaking.

“How long have you known?” he asked, his eyes on Ar’telan now.

“Longer than I have known you,” he replied. Charlemend’s hand curled into a fist, and he thumped the desk in despair. Jannequinard moved away from him at the sound of it - not in fear, but to head off the concerned manservant who threatened to manifest at the unorthodox summons.

“This is my fault,” Charlemend said, words uttered through gritted teeth to scattered papers rather than his visitors. “All my life I strived for the ideal that my father taught me. Accepted it - what else could I do? And in my sons, in my nephew, I passed down that same poison. Duty above all.”

“Father…” Jannequinard began, surprise clear on his features. It was not an unusual sight, not on Jannequinard, but the circumstance was strange.

“I was not ten yalms from him in Limsa Lominsa. They said he had listened in as we spoke,” Charlemend said, his voice barely a whisper. “Tell me - was it him? Was it Carvallain you spoke with?” Carefully, Ar’telan inclined his head.

“They could not believe it when he agreed to the contract,” he said. “But he had hope in Ishgard for change. In you. Enough to take a chance, but not enough to risk everything he had.” Charlemend ran his fingers across the card.

“What changed?” he asked.

“I told him of the Firmament,” Ar’telan replied. “Of your work at Saint Vandreau’s Grace.” He shook his head then, shuffling over to the side on instinct as Janneqinard returned to the second chair that sat opposite the desk. “Everything that happened with Maelie and Ronantain. If he had not heard you in Limsa the last time I do not think he would have believed me.” Charlemend put his head in his hands, and were it not for a stamina tempered by years as Count in the hostile environment of Ishgard, Ar’telan thought he might have cried.

“He will never come home, will he?” the Count said, his voice quiet and holding the weight of his years.

“No,” Ar’telan agreed. “Ishgard is not his home. It has not been for many years.” The Count let out a long breath, raising his head and running his hands down his face.

“Yes. You are right,” he said. “I will not - I cannot squander this opportunity. If he did not believe me capable of respecting his boundaries then he would never have sent this missive.” He nodded, apparently at peace with his decision. “Very well. The message speaks of a meeting, and though it does not specify a venue, I will not force him to even consider returning to Ishgard. Might I trouble you for an escort to La Noscea, Master Qin?” Ar’telan nodded, a smile on his face.

“Of course. Name the day.”

—

The sharp tang of salt in the airship’s propellors heralded their arrival to Limsa Lominsa proper. Ar’telan, possessed of far more of a head for heights than either of the Durendaires he accompanied, had watched the sea appear on the horizon over the side of the airship, Charlemend going more than a little green when he watched the miqo’te balance against the edge without so much as a rope around his waist. The Admiralty’s ships wound in and out of the harbour, the size of chocobo carts from their height, and in each separate berth sat the flagships of the three remaining bastions of pirate tradition, grand and imposing against the bleached white walls.

Both Charlemend and Jannequinard - the latter had not needed to come, but had insisted, a rare turn of events - seemed happy to get their feet upon solid ground again, even if Jannequinard eyed the creaking lift that took them down into the Drowning Wench with a dubious eye. More than a few of the Wench’s patrons eyed the Ishgardians as they passed, as even Charlemend’s attempts to be inconspicuous still screamed of his wealth, but after Baderon raised a hand and yelled a greeting to Ar’telan, they averted their gazes. Even V’kebbe, leaning against the wall and eating one of the Bismarck’s favourite sandwiches, only gave him a respectful nod of acknowledgement as they passed.

—

Every single member of the Kraken’s Arms in the Hyaline went tense as they entered. Ar’telan glanced back at the Durendaires, but even Jannequinard had picked up on the steely atmosphere enough to stop dead in his tracks.

“I see we’re popular here,” he remarked. Ar’telan sighed.

“I’ll talk to him. Wait here. Try not to get robbed,” he said. Charlemend looked offended, but Jannequinard only offered his empty pockets in demonstration of his intent.

There was a look of distaste on Carvallain’s face when Ar’telan crested the stairs, not dissimilar to the one that his father wore when discussing the topic of pirates. He, too, was as tense as his crew - not something that Ar’telan was used to seeing, not even when he had approached him to deal with the crew on Charlemend’s behalf before. His eyes, quick and clever, appraised Ar’telan as he approached, then went back to staring at elegantly manicured nails.

“The crew have told me. I suppose it is too late to change my mind,” he remarked. Ar’telan shook his head.

“He would leave if I asked,” he disagreed. Carvallain scoffed, but there was no force behind it.

“I suppose if I did not believe you I would not have extended the invitation to begin with,” he said. “Very well. Gerald, I believe the Misery could do with an inspection before we next depart.” Gerald offered a smart salute, understanding the assignment well enough to vanish down the stairs and pull the entire crew along in his undertow. “Fetch him. I will be expecting you to evict him if this turns sour, since this is your fault,” Carvallain said, his voice terse. Ar’telan did not begrudge him the order, in the circumstances.

“I will do my best,” he said, and went back down the stairs.

—

Charlemend and Jannequinard had made note of the piratical exodus, but neither had moved from where Ar’telan had left them - whether because they did not dare or out of respect, Ar’telan could not have rightly said. He could see the nervous vein ticking in Jannequinard’s neck, Charlemend’s uncomfortable posture, the way there was less distance between them than he had ever seen in Ishgard, and felt a little guilty.

“Follow me,” he said, and they both snapped to attention, Jannequinard taking a notable side step.

“I was concerned this had become a ruse to set pirates upon my person,” he said, but though Charlemend scowled at the idea, he remained unusually quiet.

—

The walk up the stairs felt like a funeral procession. Ar’telan tried not to think about how Charlemend had already buried his son, mourned his loss, and uprooted the corpse for this little dance. On the balcony, Carvallain stood with his arms folded, his trusty axe still notably at his back. At the top of the stairs, Charlemend stopped dead.

“...Carvallain,” he said, his voice quiet. There was no question in it, only the heavy weight of proof, the understanding of what it all meant - all the years, all the measures Carvallain had taken, all the times they had come so close and yet remained apart.

“If you wish for an embrace, you will not get one,” Carvallain said, but there was less of his authoritative bark than Ar’telan was used to hearing, less of his smooth command of the situation.

“Well, if I read the signs correctly, you offer them for a very reasonable price down in the docks,” Jannequinard said, and Carvallain laughed despite himself.

“I would charge a little more for one from me,” he replied. “...It has been a long time, father. Ar’telan here informs me that you heal the sick and bring orphans presents, and so forth. When precisely did the voidsent replace you?” Charlemend shook his head.

“I will not trade barbs with you, Carvallain,” he said, his once-proud posture sagging with the weight of years. “For so many years I hoped… After we buried your memory, I told myself it was cruelty to imagine. Yet here you are, a man grown and a leader both.” He did not attempt to cross the distance between them, but he did offer an inclination of his head. “You have flourished beyond any heights which Ishgard could have offered to you. I am proud of you.” Carvallain started at the words, a little of the stony facade dropping.

“I… I did not expect to hear as much from you,” he confessed. “In my earlier years, it brought me a kind of spiteful joy. Leader of a den of sin and iniquity.” He gave Jannequinard a searching look. “For all that some among our number might enjoy such things, that you can look upon all I have built and see it as the accomplishment that it is…” He sighed, shaking his head in despair at himself. “I do not regret my decision, though I did not precisely choose to be on a vessel abducted by pirates. But for the sorrow that I have caused you… I am sorry.” Charlemend took a steadying breath.

“It means the world to me that you trusted in me enough to reach out,” he said. “Thank you.” Ar’telan looked between the two of them, then to Jannequinard. The younger Durendaire still seemed ill-at-ease, but he gave Ar’telan a nod of acknowledgement, stepping to the side to let him retreat to the stairs.

From here, they could mend their own bridges.

[solohux]

Eeee prompts are open!!! Okay how about this - In the first order Omegas are looked down upon so when Brendol left Arkanis he took with him the Alpha child and left his omega brother, better a halfway decent Alpha in Armitage than some simpering glorified incubator that was Techie. Hux never forgave Brendol for abandoning Techie like that and has always searched for word of his little brother. Only to find him working for the resistance 😱... your turn, go wild. Love your work btw 🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤

The last thing that Hux remembers is staring down the barrel of Pryde’s loaded blaster.

Everything had been blinding after that; blinding white in his eyes that made him sightless and a blinding heat that consumed his entire body within moments, a pain so terrible that he thought he was dying.

When he sees his twin brother in front of him, Hux knows that he’s dead.

He’s spent years searching for Tiernan—little Techie. His younger twin, Hux still remembers the day that he was pulled from his brother’s arms and dragged away by his father, leaving the young omega to fend for himself on a war torn planet.

‘Stop your damned snivelling, Armitage,’ Brendol had said, shoving the boy down into his seat on board the shuttle. ‘You’re an alpha. You will be strong. I will not have you shedding tears for that omega whelp. From now on, you must consider yourself an only child. You have never had a brother. Understand?’

That was the last day that Armitage did shed tears for his lost brother and, instead, put his grief into becoming General and using First Order resources to search for Techie. It broke his heart to focus on omega harems and breeding camps to find him. At least he isn’t dead; Hux would have felt something if his omega twin had passed away.

But in the last 15 years, there’s been no sign and no word of his brother.

Now, Techie is an adult before his eyes, radiant and soft. His ginger hair has been left to grow to shoulder-length and hangs around his pale face as he stares down at his brother with deep, familiar blue eyes—as children, their eye colours would be the only way that people could tell them apart. His scent, too, makes Hux’s senses go into overdrive; he’d be able to smell his brother’s omegan scent anywhere.

“Try not to move, Armie,” Techie says, his hand on Hux’s shoulder. “You’re hurt.”

His voice sends shivers across Hux’s skin. He sounds angelic, like a dream. He must be dreaming. His brother can’t be here. The 15 year-long search can’t have ended with Techie finding Hux first.

The surroundings come to Hux slowly, as though Techie’s glow is radiating from him and giving light to the room that they’re in.

“T-Tiernan...?” It hurts to even speak. The blinding pain returns suddenly and spread through his chest until it makes him choke and cough. He sits up in the bed that he’s been placed in but goes dizzy.

“Armie! Easy!” Techie reaches for something and places it on Hux’s face—a breathing mask. After a few long and deep breaths, Hux’s coughing fit settles and everything becomes clear.

Techie is sat at his bedside, alive and happy.

“Techie,” Hux sighs, taking the mask away from his mouth and reaching for his brother’s hand. His instincts run wild, telling him to take his omega twin into his arms and never let him go again. If only every fibre of his body weren’t killing him. “Is-is it really you?”

Techie smiles. He lifts Hux’s hand to his lips and kisses his fingers gently, allowing his tears to fall gracefully down his cheeks.

“I’m here, Armitage,” Techie sniffles. “You’re safe.”

Two quick knocks ring out and the sound of a door opening takes Hux’s attention for a moment.

“Excuse me. Lieutenant Sunfell?”

Hux’s stomach twists uncomfortably at the mention of his mother’s surname. Another man—a beta—is standing at the door across the room.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Generals Dameron and Skywalker are requesting your presence at the hub,” the man says.

Dameron? Skywalker? Hux frowns. Suddenly, everything feels like a dream again.

“Poe and Finn will have to wait,” Techie says, his voice suddenly stronger and more commanding—much like his brother’s when he’s giving orders to a subordinate. “My brother needs me.”

“Yes, sir.”

The beta leaves quickly, closing the door with a polite amount of quietness and leaving the twins in silence.

“Don’t be mad, Armie,” Techie says softly, scooting closet to his injured brother.

Hux grits his teeth, “At what?”

“Me.” Techie’s voice falls quiet again, speaking like a shy omega typically would in the presence of a stronger alpha. “At using Mother’s name instead of Brendol’s. And I’m...I’m with the Resistance.”

A year ago, perhaps Hux would have broke down in fury at his brother’s ‘betrayal’ at siding with the rebellion but with his own traitorous actions at the front of his mind, Hux couldn’t care less about the insignia on his brother’s sleeve. He’s alive, Techie is alive, and they’re sat opposite each other in a safe environment; it’s definitely a win in Hux’s book.

“I was a spy,” Hux sighs. “Your spy.”

“I know,” Techie smiles, nodding. “Poe and Finn told me. You helped to save the galaxy from Palpatine.”

“Hmph. Hardly.”

“You did, Armie,” Techie insists. “Your spying set off a chain reaction that ended in Rey destroying Palpatine and bringing about the ending the Final Order. It began with you.”

Hux hadn’t realised just how much of an impact his betrayal of the First Order would have on the entire galaxy. In the end, the organisation that his father helped to create was brought down by his own son.

“You’re a hero, Armie,” Techie says. He’s crying again as he gingerly lies down beside his brother in the snug bed, nestling in beside him but mindful of his injured chest. “Just like I knew you would be. My big brother.”

As his omega twin tucks himself against his side, Hux feels everything else around him melt away. Hours ago, he felt as though he had nothing left. Now, as he basks in the warmth of Techie’s body next to his, Hux has everything to live for.

[mobscene-london]

BASIC INFORMATION:

NAME: Aria Rossi (née Mantovani) AGE: 34. PLACE OF BIRTH: Launceston, Massachusetts, United States. AFFILIATION: The Sovrani. OCCUPATION: General surgeon. FACE CLAIM: Blanca Suárez.  AVAILABILITY: OPEN.

BIOGRAPHY:

(Warning: Very briefly mentions depression/postpartum depression, the latter of which is a really big problem, by the way, so read up on it, learn the signs for others, and don’t be afraid to speak out if you ever feel like you need help. ♥)

“Look. If you ever want to be like dad, you have to do this."

As an impressionable thirteen-year-old, it was hard to say no to that.

Michael Mantovani had long been revered amongst his Sovrani brethren for being exactly the kind of force that made them so terrifying, but nobody idolised him quite the way his daughters did. Whilst the gang regarded him as an infinite well of aggression and lethality, when it came to his children, the capo didn’t even have it in him to raise his voice when they misbehaved. Michael might’ve been one of the most daunting figures to call Little Italy his home, but to them, he was nothing but a pillar of strength and protection.  

Maybe that was why she was always so scared of disappointing him.

Aria was the youngest of five children, and as the baby of the family, it was obvious to all that she had a special place in her father’s heart. Though his work frequently kept him from home—weekends away without calling, and business meetings so late he didn’t even get to say goodnight—they shared a relationship so strong you wouldn’t have guessed he was ever absent at all. Michael did his best to shield all of them from the brutal realities of the life he was a part of, but as her older sisters started to follow along a similar path, the pieces came together all on their own.

Their father had never once pressured them to pursue a place in the Sovrani, despite the fact it was often a family affair in which parents did precisely that. As an exception to the norm, the capo had always encouraged them to be their own people, and not what their neighbourhood expected of them. Regardless of his support, all four of the sisters who came before her had every intention of living up to their surname, and were intent on making themselves as useful to the organization as he had.  

They wanted to uphold his legacy. Make him proud.

In the beginning, Aria had thought she wanted that, too...

First involvement in gang affairs was almost always at a young age, so toeing the line of criminality when she was barely a teenager didn’t break any boundaries. It was a pretty routine shake-down run, or so her older sister had told her. The owner of their favourite bakery growing up—Aria could so clearly remember her Nonna taking her there to get the ingredients to make their Sunday sfogliatelle—was behind on his loan and could see no way out. As was the norm, the Italians who had taken the lease as payment, but had no desire to acquire another business, would burn the place down and claim on the insurance. Gianna, the eldest of the daughters, had done it a handful of times already.

All Aria had to do was strike the match.

It would impress her father, she was sure. And so, she did it.  

Truth be told, she hadn’t felt much guilt about the fire at the time. When she was awoken from her easy slumber the next morning by the shouting in her kitchen, however, an unsettled feeling finally took its place in her stomach. Something was wrong. As she quickly learned, the owner had been sleeping above the bakery that night. Striking that match hadn’t just damaged brick and mortar for a good pay-off. It’d taken a life.  

Aria had never signed up for that.

Even though she was only thirteen years old, the young girl was intelligent enough to realise the weight of her actions. She realised that she was not, and would never be, cut out for the kind of things her family did to make their way in the world. Whilst her father was quick to step in to make sure that nobody found out about his daughters’ connection to the murder, however, the crippling guilt hanging over her head was going to be a lifetime of punishment in itself. It haunted her then. It haunts her now.  

Gianna, though? Gianna was fine. And that was a hard realisation to stomach.

It was the last time she willingly touched anything to do with the Sovrani, though Aria would never have it in her to distance herself from her family or condemn their actions. True to his nature, her father supported her choice to pursue a life away from the mafia, and when she had decided she wanted to attend medical school (though deep down she knew no matter how many lives she saved, it would never bring back the one she took) he paid for her studies at Belmonte University in full.

For a while, she had considered applying for residency outside of the city. Maybe if she got a fresh start away from Launceston, she could start to piece together a new life that wasn’t marred by the mistakes she had made. Aria couldn’t bring herself to leave her family behind, though. It turned out to be a good thing when only a few months later, she met the man who would eventually become her husband.

Though she had promised herself she would always keep her distance from the Sovrani, by some ironic twist of fate, she ended up marrying a gangster of her own. Frankie was from a family just as pivotal to the success of the Italians as her own, and the support from both sides pushed them into a union at lightning speed. Aria has no regrets. Any time she thought about how hard it should’ve been to love somebody who lived the kind of life her husband did, she considered her mother; a woman who had stood loyally at her father’s side for the majority of her life. No, Frankie wasn't perfect, but he was perfect for her.  

Life moved forward uneventfully after that—or, at least, as uneventfully as it could do in Launceston.

Frankie understood the pain of her past—he was one of the very few she’d ever confided in about it—and did his best to keep his business out of their home. Many of the Sovrani wives turned a blind eye to what their husbands did, and for the sake of her sanity, even though she knew, they both acted as if she didn’t. Aria loved him for his understanding as much as she loved him for everything else. Their marriage wasn’t without bumps in the road, because none were, but anybody who saw them together knew they were perfect for each other.

Even though they had intended to wait a little longer, shortly after finishing her surgical residency, Aria fell pregnant with their son, Michael. The timing wasn’t ideal, but they were both so thrilled at the prospect of becoming parents that it didn’t seem to matter. It was hard to imagine how she’d gotten so lucky after the things she’d done, but she was going to grab on to any chance she got to be happy with both hands.

With the death of Alessia Auditore, however, the city they called home would soon seem intent on taking that away from them.  

An attack on Vespucci’s restaurant whilst she and her young son were eating there shook her to her core. No, she hadn’t been ignorant to mob violence before then, but the very nature of the assault had her spiralling. The Russians had found out several high-profile Sovrani members had gathered for a birthday party; her husband, sister and father included amongst the most desirable targets. They had locked them in and set the building alight in the hopes they would burn alive before they could escape. Luckily there were no deaths, but as the flames swept through the building and she feared for not only herself, but more importantly her child, she couldn’t help but think back to the bakery and wonder if that poor man had felt anything close to the same.

Aria had turned her back on the idea of leaving her family once before, but after what had happened and how shaken-up she was as a result, when Frankie suggested that the three of them head to London as a part of the Sovrani’s latest expansion, she began to seriously consider the idea. Neither assumed the new city would be completely safe for their son, but neither of them could imagine somewhere being much worse than Launceston, either. Aria’s depression—something that she had struggled through both in her teenage years as a result of the fire, and, more dangerously, postpartum—had her putting up less of a fight than she should of at the idea of temporarily abandoning her career. She needed a break. She needed to find the time to breathe. Working her way through it had never been easy, but now more than ever she had to try.

Knowing that at any moment, if anything got too bad in London, she could hop on a plane and head to the safety of Rome within the hour was the final comfort she needed to agree to the move.

Aria mightn’t be arriving in London in the best mental space, but she knows that it would’ve been a lot worse had she stayed behind and witnessed the horrors that would surely follow. All she can do now is try her best to protect her family as they embark on the newest twist in their journey. Pray for peace for everyone involved. Organised crime unknowingly took a huge chunk of her all those years ago. There's no way she could manage if it took anything else...

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Francesco Rossi (husband) FAMILY: Michael Rossi (son, unplayable), Giovanna Mantovani (mother, unplayable), Michael Mantovani (father, unplayable), Gianna Auditore (sister, unplayable), Christopher Auditore (brother-in-law, unplayable), Sienna Auditore (niece), Mia, Bianca, Carina Mantovani (sisters, unplayable) Giordana Rossi (sister-in-law) CONNECTIONS:

Adamo de Santis: Best friend. Though he very much started out as Frankie’s best friend, she soon adopted him as her own. The Sovrani is full of men that can only be described as monsters, but Adamo reminds her of her husband in the sense that in spite of their circumstances, deep down, they’re still both genuinely good men who would do anything for the people they care about. Aria is so grateful that he also made the trip to London. Without him, it wouldn’t be overstating to say she would’ve felt a lot more lonely.

Giordana Rossi: Sister-in-law. Not noticing the disdain in Giordi’s voice whenever they talk is almost impossible. Aria assumes her sister-in-law considers her weak, and perhaps she’s right, but she also isn’t the kind to fight against an opinion she knows she can never change. Aria keeps the peace for the sake of her brother; she knows how much Giordana means to him. To say that the attitude toward her isn’t disheartening and upsetting would be a lie, though.

Patrizia Pecatti: Good friend. Whilst she always tended to gravitate toward the Sovrani wives who weren’t privy (or chose to be wilfully ignorant) to their husband’s work, Patrizia quickly proved to be an exception. She and Giorgio didn’t arrive in Launceston until much later, but they hit it off immediately. Patrizia is smart, ambitious and shows strength that Aria could only aspire to. Even though she is an active member of the family herself, she has never once looked down on Aria for not following in the Mantovani footsteps, and as that guilt still lingers, Aria appreciates that more than she can express.

Sienna Auditore: Niece. It’s impossible not to see Gianna in the face of her daughter. Of course, Sienna is family, and Aria adores her with her entire heart, but as she blossoms into a young woman—and more terrifyingly, an active member of the Sovrani—Aria can’t help but worry about how easy it seems to come to her. Nothing she could ever do would be enough for her aunt to turn her back, but it still doesn’t sit well knowing that her entire family will never be haunted by the blood on their hands in the way she will until her dying breath. 

[stilwatered]

2, 7, 8, 9, 11, 20, 27, 28 ⚜ 👀

so manyyyyy thank youuuuuu 😭💜 and sorry i took this long to answer these!

question prompts for saints row boss ocs.

2. what's their full name?

It's Greta [Redacted].

You know how in Saints Row we don't actually know Boss's name? My Boss would rather have no one know her real name. Only a select few get to call her by her first name, and she doesn't even want to hear her family name mentioned.

I actually today realised this piece in K.Flay's song My name isn't Katherine fits Greta perfectly!

my name is obnoxious my name is preposterous my name is an albatross around my neck tightening up her grip and making me nauseous my name is a lineage, i am a guinea pig am i a genius? am i an idiot?

Honestly, I'm still trying to come up with a surname for her. I'll probably never find one that I like enough. For the longest time I called her Greta del Rey, after Corona del Rey in Stilwater. Del Rey wouldn't be her real family name, however. Also, it reminds me too much of La/na del Rey.

7. how is their relationship with their dad?

So, the reason she's discarded her own family name, is because she doesn't have anything to do with her parents, and mostly father. I'm still working on the details of her father, but the most important detail is that he was an abusive man whose death was, while ruled self-defense, caused by Greta.

8. how is their relationship with their mom?

Mostly neutral or dismissive, because the mother left the family while Greta was still a child. Greta has always thought of her mother to be a coward for leaving her children in the hands of an abusive father. But the older she gets the more she understands her mother's choices.

(I literally have no names for anyone....... I'm bad at names)

9. how is their relationship with their siblings?

Greta has a younger sister, called Grace! After their father's death, Grace was adopted to a new family. Whenever Greta needs it, and if she knows she can get away with it, she sometimes borrows Grace's new surname (which in my original plan was Del Rey, Grace's adoptive parents owned Corona del Rey. The plan is still somewhat the same, I just don't like the name. I don't think it makes any sense.)

Grace is Greta's soft spot. At a later date Grace represents normal life to Greta, and makes her realise how unnormal her own life is. She is extremely protective of her little sister, and for example works her ass off to pay for Grace's college when the adoptive family fails to provide (they're a good family though, just not the wealthiest). They're both ambitious and stubborn, but a little awkward socially.

For a while they live in the same world, because during SR1 Grace too is a part of the Saints (she works as an erotic dancer to further fund her studies). Greta disapproves of this, so their relationship isn't the best during this time, but even then the two find each other the only ones they can trust. Grace becomes pregnant during this time, and after she graduates SU she takes the first plane and leaves Stilwater with her girlfriend.

11. what languages do they speak?

English, and Spanish. My own Spanish skills are nonexistent but I'm (very) slowly learning 💪😔

Greta's mother has Colombian roots and she spoke Spanish as her first language, while their father's first (and only) language was English. So the kids are essentially bilingual, but once their mother leaves them, their father forbids the use of Spanish in their home. They do study it in school, however, and it keeps up their fluency in the language.

20. do they like nyteblayde?

Greta doesn't consume tv/movies that much, but when she does, her taste is simple. She prefers action and violence over drama, and more action and less talking is always better. So... While Nyteblayde does seem rather gory and action packed, it's also very dramatic. But I think she'd like it more than dislike it tbh.

27. average freckle bitch's order?

A fist with a big swallow (god that feels so wrong to write hjfdjsfjdkg). She steals her fries from someone else.

28. which homie would they call for first if they're in a pinch?

Every question about homies is going to be answered with Johnny, but uhhh. Because like. Who else you gonna call? If not Johnny then I'm going to say Kinzie! Although I really don't consider most of srtt and none of sriv canon for Greta, I still think Kinzie would be one of the most reliable homies to get in contact with if there's trouble.

+++

Ok I'm gonna stop ranting now, otherwise I'll never get this posted! ♥

[an-ambivalent]

Uchiha Therapist: Part I

Synopsis: Yandere! Madara x Reader x Yandere! Sasuke 

 [Name] is a struggling post graduate psychology student who has more on her plate than she can handle. Between her practicums to gain work experience and writing reports, to trying to maintain a decent lifestyle and look after her own mental health, there is little to no time left to work an actual paying job. Yet, money is essential for survival. So,  she does the next best thing that has been trending recently to assure a good paycheck; she becomes a sugar baby. The only thing is, [Name] is unaware that she’s become sugar baby of the Madara Uchiha, the notorious CEO of Uchiha Corporation. She is also unaware of the fact that she’s the therapist of his nephew Sasuke Uchiha, who has begun treading over the professional boundary of a patient, and has started developing an abnormal fixation for his therapist since she seems to be the only one who actually understands him.

Warning: Although this story will come to contain yandere themes that can be triggering or uncomfortable to read, there are no yandere themes present  in this chapter. It does have mentions of negative and tiring thoughts that may be triggering. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fictional and any yandere or other toxic behaviours that may be present in the future, know that I do not condone such behaviour. 

Word Count: 4K 

--

Story start; A day in the life of [Name] 

On the night that started it all, when [Name] was feeling particularly disheartened and dissatisfied with her life, she had vented her frustrations and sorrow to her good friend Ino Yamanaka. Although many things in her life were going right, and she was privileged enough to have the chance to pursue her wanted career, it came at a cost. Her entire life schedule was fixed around her post graduation studies, other little spared time was for cooking and doing chores, and the rest was for sleeping. [Name] lacked the time for earning money, and doing things that were higher on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs — dating to find someone to create a meaningful connection with, or working on her previous hobbies. 

The two friends had been consuming enough booze to be a little more than tipsy but not enough to be drunk. Some words were slurred, the fine motor control had decreased a bit, and with their faces slightly flushed, Ino was convinced that she had the best idea to [Name]’s problems. 

Giggling at her own idea, Ino had snatched [Name]’s laptop from in front of them, and tapped various keyboard keys for joogle to search up. Once she saw the results, she clicked on one of the many websites shown as a result, and after a few more minutes of more clicks and keyboard taps, she had turned the laptop towards [Name] to see, with a triumph grin on her face. 

“A sugar daddy,” Ino claimed proudly. 

[Name] raised an eyebrow. “What?” 

“A sugar daddy — it’s the perfect solution for your troubles. Not only will you get to earn more than enough, it covers the dating aspect too! Someone to spend your time with, to sleep over with — just without getting too attached. You’ll have a social life once again that doesn’t consist of you drinking booze with me or our other friends and you can finally afford to look decent again,” Ino explained straightforwardly. 

[Name]’s eye twitched. “What do you mean finally afford to look decent again?” she inquired in a low voice, and glared at Ino, who smiled sheepishly at her. 

“Well you’ve been a fashion disaster for sometime now—“

“Sorry I don’t have rich parents like the rest of you to buy me extravagant brands,” [Name] retorted, and a tick mark of anger bulged on Ino’s head. 

“Well Sakura is a commoner like you too and even when she was a starving student, she still had a fashion sense. You don’t need to buy something expensive like jucci to look decent!” Ino snapped, and [Name] scowled at her. 

“Whatever. This discussion is pointless anyway since I’m not going to become a sugar baby,” [Name] responded, and went to grab a bottle to consume more alcohol.  However, the uneasy and anxious expression that Ino wore made her halt amidst her movements. All of a sudden, a cold shiver ran down [Name]’s back, and she felt a sense of dread building up in her gut. 

“Please tell me you didn’t,” [Name] pleaded and Ino winced inwardly, before she turned the laptop around to show [Name]. 

“I did… I already signed you up. You have a date with him this Friday night.” 

“INO!” 

That was the gist of how [Name] had become entangled in her predicament with Madara Uchiha, and what was meant to be nights for [Name] giving her daddy some casual sugar, turned into an diabetic sugar addiction. 

It was baffling really, how as children, people can be better in following orders than they can be as adults. And for someone like [Name], who had been studying psychology for years now, and began to work with the theories, one would think that practicing what she preached would be easier; she was great at helping her clients, but not much at helping herself. 

“Make sure you don’t go with strangers” — a lesson that had been engraved in children at school and from their parents for their own safety. It was one of the most basic rules of common sense to evade danger; however, it was the rule [Name] failed to follow. Instead of not going through with her fixed date with a sugar daddy, who was a complete stranger and who knows pose what danger, she had gone through with it. And she had not even taken any caution to have their first meeting in a public place, no. She had gone to his home, which was the only place he accepted for their meeting, because she was too anxious to say no or not go through with it. 

She really wondered how she was able to help her clients so well when she could not even manage her own anxiety. 

So, now, here she sat. Since by Ino’s definition, [Name] was a walking fashion disaster, the blonde had refused to let her go without her help. Their tastes differed, but even [Name] had to admit that Ino had done an incredible job in helping her choose an outfit that was suited to her tastes. Granted, it was skimpier than what she usually wore and more figure defining, but it did make her look really nice. She did not look like a savage mess with evident dark eyebags who appeared to have just gotten out of bed and went to work straightaway like she did on a daily basis. But she felt exposed and uncomfortable in the setting she was not accustomed to.

The penthouse she had been invited to was extravagantly luxurious; the small dining for the two of them (her and soon to be her sugar daddy) was right next to the giant window in the living room that showed a beautiful night view of the Konoha city. Lighting in the room was ambient and romantic, and there was a small pizza, that looked ridiculously expensive for what it's worth, and red wine settled before her. While she did not want to indulge in such luxury, feeling on the edge of the seat because of how her sugar daddy to be was scrutinizing her with calculating onyx eyes, and never being the one to refuse free food, she mindlessly ate it, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“You know, usually you’re supposed to make conversation and sell yourself to try and convince me of why I should stick with you rather than someone else,” Madara spoke, and this was so abrupt and unanticipated on [Name]’s part that she froze half way through biting her food. Her cheeks felt hot in embarrassment, and she awkwardly coughed loudly before looking up at Madara. Although he found her antics to be somewhat adorable, he kept a straight face. After all, to gain the attention of a man of his status, there were many who did the strangest things to appease him. Madara was not a man to be tricked so foolishly. 

“Why should I sell myself when you haven’t convinced me to why I should be your….uh, sugar b-baby rather than s-someone else’s?” [Name] responded. She had started off strongly, but near the end when it came to referring to herself as a sugar baby and realisation of the situation sunk in, she felt herself become more flustered. 

Now, it was not odd for people to be intimidated by Madara. However, acting in confidence at the same time, and to question his authority, that was new. The corner of his lips twitched upwards in amusement. He leaned back in his chair and raised a fine black eyebrow at [Name]. 

“And why should I have to sell myself to you? I’m the one who, essentially, is paying for everything,” he challenged, and [Name] scoffed at him. 

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s really costing you,” she mumbled under her breath, before clearing her throat. “Someone else can pay me too.” 

“You had no reviews on your profile, you’re lucky that I even chose to click on it. Usually, it’s hard to get started since no one bothers with anyone with no reviews.” 

[Name] shrugged. “That was your own choice, don’t shift the situation onto me. And besides, how do you know it's only reviews that count online? I might know a lot of other sugar daddies I had in my past that desperately want me but it's lucky that I chose to give you, a stranger, the chance.” 

Madara was amused by the fact that [Name] had used his own logic against him, and could not help but smirk. Even though it was more than obvious through her behaviour that she was an absolute newbie to this, he decided to humour her. 

"Well, I am an Uchiha," Madara said simply, as if that sole reason explained everything. 

[Name] blinked in confusion. "Uhhh, okay…? Well, I'm [Surname]. That explains why you should choose me.” 

This time, her response really did leave Madara confused. His eyebrows were furrowed and there was clear confusion written on his face. 

“You don’t know the Uchiha?” he asked incredulously. The urge to sigh in an exaggerated manner and snap at him was strong, but [Name] decided against it. With the way he spoke in that condescending tone, and expected [Name] to treat him as if he was of utmost importance, made it more than obvious to her that he was used to being treated as the highest authority. Perhaps he was of importance and not watching herself around him could lead her into a huge mess. But [Name] did not particularly care about his status or whatever he had going on that made him expect her to seemingly kiss the floor he walked on. If she cared about authorities and sucking up to people, then she would not be training to be a therapist in the first place. There were going to be times when she would have to fight authorities and regulations with her sweat and blood for the sake of her clients. And really, if [Name] did care, she would not have been here in the first place -- having dinner with a complete stranger. 

“Uh I do?” she said, but it sounded more like a question. Madara opened his mouth to respond to her, but he shifted the focus of the conversation to another topic. He felt even more perplexed by [Name] now because how could she not know the Uchiha? 

“Nevermind, it’s not of importance. Tell me, why are you in this line of business? You don’t seem,” fit for it, he wanted to say, but chose his words carefully. “The type to want to do this.” 

In response, [Name] felt flustered. She wondered if it was really that obvious that she was not used to it and Madara was simply humouring her. She could very well tell him the truth that it was because Ino had tricked her into it. However, that would make her seem gullible. Now that she may be committing to this, she knew she needed to build a good reputation for herself. She decided to tell the half-truth. 

“I need the money,” she answered in a murmur, before she brought the glass of wine to her lips, and took a huge drink from it. 

Madara watched her with analytical eyes as she downed her alcohol, taking no moment to savour the taste. He had also noticed how she was on her third plate of their dinner and wondered if she had any decency and how she was capable of eating so much. 

“Your job doesn’t pay you enough?” he asked in a genuinely concerned tone, before he followed [Name]’s example and downed his remaining wine in one go too. He had never done that before, and after finishing it, he had to admit there was an odd sense of satisfaction of not savouring its every taste and drinking it all together at once. 

Madara was staring at her with anticipation and worry embedded deep in his ebony coloured irides. Frankly speaking, [Name] had not have someone look at her with such concern in a long time. Generally, on the rare occasions she did speak freely about her worries, whoever she shared her problems with would give her their own input rather than simply listening to her and asking her the right questions that would help her discuss or figure out her own problem. The sight of it made her heart beat faster, and she unknowingly found herself talking before she even what she was doing.

“It’s not that… Well, actually I don’t even work. I barely have time to breath, working is my last priority right now,” she murmured, nervously fiddling with her fingers, as she observed Madara from the corner of her eye.

“While I cannot relate to your financial struggles, I understand the situation you’re in. Becoming so busy because of a goal you once had, that you question whether it’s even worth pursuing it anymore. You lose sight of who used to be and the things that brought you pleasure. There’s always something to do that you can’t even remember the last time you truly felt alive,” Madara said thoughtfully, and his words caused [Name]’s eyes to widen. 

“And no matter how much you want to try and change things, it just feels like you’ve been stuck in the same cycle and it keeps repeating over and over and over again,” [Name] murmured, sighing dejectedly. “I really hate the world.” 

Madara chuckled at her declaration as he lifted another bottle of wine that was on their table. 

“Me too. Why don’t we discuss more things we hate about the world and learn about what we in common over more wine?” he suggested. The edge of suspicion and tenseness he held before was no longer present. Instead, he was now feeling much more relaxed than he had in awhile, and felt intrigued about [Name]. The twinkle in his eyes in hopes to talk to her more caused her lips to stretch into a cute flustered smile. 

“Sure.” 

____________________

It was the week which was like the last and there was no change but stress levels felt higher. Even after a decent ten hours sleep, [Name] felt exhaustion crawling like bugs underneath the epidermis layer of her skin. Dark bags were swelled prominently underneath her eyes. Her hair was tied carelessly in a messy bun that fell to one side; it wasn’t pretty like the one’s beauty gurus showed. It was loose but the knot was tight enough to make the weight of the hair feel too evident with each passing moment. Taking a quick sip from her steaming mocha, she greeted the administrators on the front desk that were the first point of contact between clients and the therapists who worked further back in the office. This office was where [Name] was presently working to gain practice experience in her second practicum. Generally, students in training were simply meant to observe and learn. If permission given by their supervisor, they could step in. But in [Name]’s case, for the sake of the story’s plot, the office she had chosen this time were understaffed. And since she already had finished one practicum and had quite a lot of other experiences from volunteering under her belt, she was trusted to work independently with whatever clients may be assigned to her. 

“Good morning Moegi and Konohamaru,” [Name] greeted, and the two looked up from their screens. When they noticed it was [Name], they beamed at her and returned her greeting in response. 

“How was your weekend [Name]?” Konohamaru asked, as he handed her the appointment schedule of everyone she would seeing today. 

[Name] was ready to give her autopilot response of it being "okay" and then quickly shooting a "how about you" like she usually did. However, before those words left her mouth she paused to ponder: truly, how had her weekend been? 

It was okay. Actually, it had been more than okay.

It had surprisingly been a lot of fun. When she had went through with her sugar daddy date, she had somewhat expected that she may end up having sex with a rich man she would not have been attracted to and receive compensation for sleeping with him. But that had not been the case. Madara was quite attractive, and although the dinner date had begun with a few subtle jeers thrown at each other, she had ended up having a good time with him. The fact that she felt safe enough to be vulnerable with him in the way she didn't even feel that level of comfort with her friends, and shared things she hadn't even known she was bottling up - - it was such a profound experience. To go from discussing their hatred for many things, to confessing secrets and feelings they weren't judged for, but rather, listened to, to getting so drunk that they sang cheesy songs and ended the date with their own unplanned karaoke night, it left an odd feeling of satisfaction and joy in [Name]'s chest that she had not felt in a while. The knowledge of knowing that she would be seeing Madara again soon left her feeling embarrassed. 

"It was," she began, and she covered her face with one hand to hide her embarrassment. "Really nice and fun. I had a good time," she murmured somewhat quietly. Then, right away, she scurried off towards her office before they could question her further or talk about their own weekends.

[Name] had left Moegi and Konohamaru surprised with her response, and the two turned to each other wondering if they had heard right. 

It was after lunch when [Name] was indulging in some [favourite fruit] iced tea, hoping some sugar would help her stay awake when she had an appointment with a client she would be seeing for the first time. She had settled her drink on the table beside her, walked through the hallway, and into the main office with reception and waiting area for clients. 

It was there she saw a young man not much older than herself. He had warm ivory skin and black hair bangs that framed his face. The back of his head looked like a duck’s butt. He must have heard her footsteps because before she even called out his name, he had looked up. When her eyes met his, she took a sharp intake of breath because he looked oddly similar to Madara. The way his obsidian eyes scrutinised her made her feel uneasy. Nonetheless, she gave him, what she hoped appeared to be a welcoming and reassuring smile. 

“You are Sasuke?” she assumed, and he stood up. 

“Hn,” Sasuke responded simply, and at the lack of any greeting or even a facial expression caused [Name] to sweatdrop. But nonetheless, she carried on like she did with all of her patients. 

“Before we start your session, did you want anything? A hot chocolate, coffee, water?” 

Sasuke raised an eyebrow at this before he replied nonchalantly. “A black coffee.” 

[Name] nodded and just before she could speak once more, a head of messy black curls invaded her vision and she was greeted with a smile that was almost too falsely cheerie for her taste. 

“Hello! I’m Shisui, Sasuke’s cousin. And stoic face over there is Itachi, Sasuke’s brother. You forgot about us Miss. Therapist,” Shisui greeted brightly. At his exuberant persona, Sasuke glared at him. The one who he had introduced as Itachi, sighed, and [Name] looked at them apologetically. 

“Oh sorry, I didn’t notice you. Can I get anything for you as well? If you’ve been with Sasuke until this point, I can assume you’ll be staying with him.” 

Itachi nodded and stepped up front and held out his hand for [Name] to shake, which she obliged to almost instantly. 

“Yes. We are here to oversee my little brother’s recovery at my Father’s orders and make sure there is progress,” he explained simply. His words were harsh. It was evident in the way Shisui had become tight lipped, and how Sasuke had now averted his glare onto Itachi. [Name]’s eyes shifted to observe their reaction and then returned to Itachi who was looking at her stoically. It wasn’t too obvious. However, she noticed with the way Itachi’s jaw was clenched more tightly than it had been before. This change in his body language clearly indicated that he had not wanted to say what he did and he did not want to be here. And from the intense glare Sasuke regarded him with, [Name] safely assumed that whatever was going on with Sasuke, Itachi seemed to be a part of it. Underneath Itachi’s pretty eyes, she noticed a sense of tiredness that was all — physical, mental, emotional and more. She saw that same sense of exhaustion on her own face each day. 

The session had not even started and this was already turning out to become so complicated. [Name] hoped she would still have her sanity by the time she graduated and came to do this full-time. There were some of her colleagues who never bothered with rules or following basic procedures to assure their clients comfort and wellbeing. Lucky for her clients, she did. And when she needed to, she would bend over backwards and willingly go beyond her capabilities for them. 

She knew from the way they all held themselves, and particularly with how Itachi had spoken that they were of important status. Their ‘father asked [them] to be here’ was a subtle way of implying that she could get in huge trouble if she did not comply with them. But [Name] just didn’t care. 

She turned to Sasuke with a stern look on her face and motioned towards Shisui and Itachi. 

“Do you want them there to support you or would you feel more comfortable with just you? Either way is fine. It’s your decision,” [Name] said smiling at him. 

The three raven-haired males that had been introducing themselves moments ago stilled and their eyes widened in shock. Shisui was the first one to snap out of it. 

“Uh, Miss. Therapist, I don’t think you know—“ 

“I know what I’m doing. Please refrain from implying such things and let my client decide for himself,” she retorted, narrowing her eyes. Shisui went to warn once more, but he was stopped by Itachi, who shook his head. 

Itachi’s gaze went to Sasuke, and then back to [Name] as he spoke. 

“I’m sure she knows what she is doing. We all wish for Sasuke’s wellbeing. We won’t intrude if he doesn’t want us to,” he proclaimed. That was his way of hinting for Shisui to drop the subject, and reassuring both Sasuke and [Name] that he was on their side, particularly with Sasuke, letting him know that he would not let their father find this out. 

“Aniki,” Sasuke murmured in disbelief, staring at his brother for a few moments. Then, he looked back at [Name] to see she was still giving him the same sweet and gentle smile she had greeted him with. 

Maybe, perhaps, this time, signing up for therapy would be worth it. Maybe he could allow himself to talk to her and not fear judgement and consequences like he had with his previous therapists. 

“I’d like it to be by myself,” he murmured, looking away from her with slight pink cheeks. As his eyes had drifted away from hers and met Shisui’s, who gave him a warning look, his shoulders tensed and his eyes snapped back to [Name] right away. “P-Please and t-thank you.” 

He did not need to glance at Shisui again to know the oldest male was now grinning at him. 

Seemingly, his politeness seemed to be unexpected and Sasuke wanted to scoff at how [Name]’s eyes had lit up in pride. It almost annoyed him because did they really think he was that dimwitted? 

“You’re welcome. Now, follow me please. Shisui and Itachi, our session will be around an hour so you can come to pick him up in that time,” [Name] said. The two of them nodded and waved the two goodbye as Sasuke followed after [Name] to her office. 

-------

A/N:  (tbh, uhhh, I plan for this to be a yandere story [whispers: eventually] but this chapter is fluffy. I honestly don’t know where I’m going with this or if I’ll add more Uchihas as love interests and turn into a reverse harem for [Name], I’m gonna make shit up as I go along and hope it turns into something decent lol gang gang. I just need to write a story I can write without worries and just enjoy the process of it rather than caring about where it leads. So yeet. I hope you join me on this journey <3)

[project-ohagi]

Dabi x Reader

Buy me a coffee!! <3

His fractured, starless life had one beacon of hope and solace - one thing that he longed to return to every night; one thing that fuelled the raging fire within him. You, a quirkless woman, gorgeous in appearance as well as soul, illuminated the labyrinthine void in which he had become lost. His dull world turned on its head. You loved him for all his little habits, all his sweet, genuine words, and all his imperfections. You had remained blissfully unaware of his chequered past, and although he wished to be more open with you, he refused to reveal who he really was. You didn't watch a lot of television, instead electing to read at every given opportunity. He memorised the titles of your favourite books, and the names of your favourite authors, so he knew exactly what to get for you come special occasions.

He knew which movies and fandoms fascinated you, and the names of all your co-workers (you know, just in case). Your perfect visage was scorched into his brain, embezzled with sparkles and flowery symbolism. If he ever cried, it was because of you, and just how emotional you were able to make him. Regret was swirling around his system, lurking in the darkest crevices imaginable. He wanted to remove himself from the veil he was tangled up in, but something compelled him to stay. The League of Villains had no knowledge of you, obviously, since Dabi didn't feel like being blackmailed, and he certainly didn't want you harmed because of a few stupid mistakes on his part.

What he didn't know, however, was that a small bundle of flesh and nerves was swimming in the confides of your womb. You were with child - his child - and absolutely elated. Your hairs stood on edge, while you paced around the compact apartment you shared with your long-time lover, Touya. Telling him would be no easy task - you revelled in apprehension. You weren't completely certain what your child's surname would be, considering Touya had never actually graced you with his. Regardless, you adored him, and doted on him whenever possible (you were exceptional at massages). Being without a superpower, yet more than content, you led quite a normal, average life. You attended university, pursuing a subject with which you were spellbound. Your life now was far better than that of your childhood, mostly because you now had Touya to love and comfort. There wasn't much room to dwell on the past, and you weren't particularly bothered about hounding your boyfriend for answers, and possibly pushing him away in the process.

He must have been a compulsive liar towards those whom he regarded as pawns or simply insignificant, but he never managed to fool you. This fact always made him smile; he was very proud of you. However, it was impossible to see through that which he hadn't even mentioned. His surname was a complete mystery to you, and he hadn't bothered to provide your intelligent head with a false one. Another piece of the shattered jigsaw was his background - you had never met his parents, and you were forever unaware of his siblings. He always seemed really touchy-feely about this topic. You also had no idea of his affiliation with the villains, despite his mugshot being plastered all over the news and billboards around town. Somehow, you bypassed every single one of the posters and brightly-coloured images on blinding, high-quality screens in shop windows. For this, he was extremely glad, and counted himself lucky.

If only the entire Earth was a figment of his twisted imagination, then perhaps Dabi could mould it into something new - a utopia in which the two of you were free to live and be happy, maybe even raise a few children. He wondered what it would be like to have mini pyromaniacs running around the place. Or arsonists. Whichever worked. In a heartbeat, though, he would revoke any association with the League, whisk you away and settle down with a cup of coffee. He would never permit you to comprehend his true nature, or all the unhelpful thought that wormed their way into his brain. He would keep you safe. His intentions were nothing but pure, but he was definitely willing to use the necessary force if you voiced the urge to abdicate the relationship.

You were a rare soul of amaranthine loveliness, blended with determination to excel and the perfect amount of maternal interest. It was as if he had struck the single, golden chord on a harp, and lured you out of hiding. You weren't exactly dependent on him, but you didn't deal well without him, either. The two of you would have been inseparable, if only you went out together in public. The villains never pressed for his biggest secret - the scars, and so they didn't realise that it was just a disguise. They were removable, and you had never seen him with them. He was a little embarrassed of them, in all honesty, and didn't wish for you to show disgust. They made him seem abused and broken. It was the optimal way to hide his true identity from his father, and therefore the general populace.

One day, however, everything changed for the worse.

Usually, Dabi was more cautious when returning home, so as not to put you in danger. This time, he was too excited, although that didn't show on his face. He could just feel that something good was about to happen. He didn't quite know what, but he felt that unfamiliar surge of excitement. This impeded his normal alertness, however. He failed to notice the heroes tailing him. He reached the apartment, walked up the stairs and into your awaiting arms. You almost cried with happiness. Finally, he was back, and you could tell him the wonderful news!

That was when the heroes chose to appear. Having utilised Edgeshot's quirk to evade the door, three of them soon stood in the hallway. Immediately, Dabi pushed you backwards, sensing that someone was about to use their ability. He was right. Your legs were shaking, and you wanted to fall to the ground, but you stayed strong. Your beautiful (e/c) eyes had widened, and you watched, transfixed, as your lover remained motionless. He met your eyes, and that was when you understood - he wouldn't use his quirk while you were in the vicinity. He refused, simply to keep you safe. You sobbed. What had he done to deserve such cruel treatment? All the man-handling seemed draconian and unnecessary. Suddenly, you felt a kick in your stomach. Whimpering, but trying not to further alarm your boyfriend, you covered your mouth with one hand.

The heroes apologised for the disturbance, and were about to leave, when you cried, "Wait! I need to tell him something! It's really important! I swear it won't take a second!"

Alas, they would not let you. Without a proper interrogation, they went off the assumption that the man you now knew as Dabi had drugged and kidnapped you for his own personal enjoyment, and you may have developed Stockholm Syndrome somewhere down the line. You tried as hard as possible to clear the air, but they weren't having any of it. They kept muttering things like "Poor thing" and "She must have had one hell of a time" behind your back. You cried and cried, for hours on end. You refused to eat or sleep. You wanted nothing more than to be back in your small apartment with your lover, Touya. The heroes had exposed you to the news reports on the villains, specifically the Vanguard Action Squad, of which Touya was the central focus. Through this, they hoped that your 'programming' would be reversed, but instead, you cried out for him every single day, pleading with police and heroes alike for his release.

When his unscarred visage was released into the calloused hands of the media, they instantly made the connection to the current number one hero, Enji Todoroki, and vehemently stated that Dabi must be his eldest son, Touya Todoroki. You supposed it made sense, but you honestly just wanted him back. You didn't care about his past, and you vowed not to question him. He could tell you in his own time, when he felt comfortable.

No more than a few months could have passed, but you were a dishevelled rag of hair and junk food. Wrappers and the like were scattered around your apartment, as you had taken to the complete opposite side of the spectrum - you had gone from eating nothing at all to eating anything and everything to fill the hole in your heart.

"Touya...Touya..." You bawled. "Just come back to me....p-please. You d-don't have to tell me anything...! I just want y-you back..."

You cuddled with his favourite pillow.

When you heard his voice, you thought you were hallucinating.

"Well, I'm back, and I'll tell you anything you want to know." The pleasant sound reverberated in your ears, causing you to look with a jolt.

Sure enough, he was home.

Touya Todoroki had returned to you, and this time, you would not let him leave again. Not when you were pregnant with his child.

[Word Count: 1536]

[shysneeze]

persuasion (part two)

George Weasley x Malfoy!Reader 

Description: on their weekly afternoon tea, a letter arrives that forces reader to reveal a recent event to her mother and further revisit the past. 

Warning: angst, the most angst i’ve ever written. mentions of alcohol. again, quite au in the sense the lucius is in jail 

author’s note : I don’t know how i feel about this, it feels confusing but i’m not sure how else to write it. Any feedback is still greatly appreciated. I was overwhelmed by the response for part one so I can only hope this part doesn’t dissappoint.

Tag List: @andineversawyoucoming @theweirdsideofstuff @the-grey-lady13 @peanutem @paigeyisme @wolfiepirate @sir-lili 

series masterlist

.~.~.

The manor’s empty halls and high ceilings make the small click from (Y/N)’s shoes echo loudly as she walks towards the parlour. The only other noise is sound of the curtains cracking like whips in the wind She shuts each wide-open window with a disapproving click of her tongue as she passes.

“It’s below freezing outside.” She sighs loudly. “Can I ask again why the windows must always be open?”  

Her question announces her arrival as she enters the parlour. From her spot on one of the sofa’s, (Y/N)’s mother is already rolling her eyes at her daughter and sipping at her tea, as if this is a usual occurrence, which of course, it is.

“Hello to you too, Dear.” Narcissa hums into her teacup. “And I want some fresh air is all.”

“Hello, Mother.” (Y/N) corrects herself, leaning down to kiss her mother’s cheeks and taking a seat across from her. “However, you do have a very large garden for fresh air.”

Narcissa Malfoy could easily challenge (Y/N)’s status as the Malfoy family recluse. Despite being released from house arrest almost a year ago, (Y/N) can count the amount of times her mother has left the dreary manor on one hand. 

“You said it yourself, Dear.” Narcissa reminds. “It’s below freezing outside.”

“I wish you’d get out of here more.” (Y/N) sighs. “I’d hate to be stuck in this house all the time.”

“I can take care of myself, (Y/N).” Narcissa states. “In fact, I recall several years where I took care of you and your brother too.”

(Y/N)’s mouth opens to tell her there is no need for the sass when the creak of the door announces the second arrival of the day. It’s no surprise to either of the woman to find it’s Draco stood in the doorway, the only missing member of this week’s Sunday afternoon tea.

“She’s not on about the windows already, is she?”

He smirks at her as he makes his way further into the room and (Y/N) can only roll her eyes and try to ignore the smug smile that climbs their mother’s cheeks at his question. He mimics her arrival in kissing their mother’s cheek then joins (Y/N), a smugness around him that has her wanting to dig her heel into his toes. He never ceases to bring out the immaturity in her.

“I give it ten minutes until you’re cold.” She mumbles childishly.

“I’ll still have lasted longer than you have without complaining.” He replies with another signature smirk.

“Every week…” Narcissa sighs. “You argue like children.”

“You wouldn’t know what to do with us if we started being nice to each other.”

Narcissa’s head tilts as she gives her daughter a pointed look, a warning glance, one perfected from years of family dinners where (Y/N) verged too close to crossing the line of suitable conversation to have around her father. (Y/N) bites her lip to hide her smirk at her mother’s expression and focusses herself on making her brother and herself a cup of tea while Narcissa quizzes Draco on his week.

“So how is the ministry?”

(Y/N) tunes out, she can’t imagine the ministry to have ever been particularly riveting and she knows that when it is her turn to summarise her week, Draco isn’t likely to be interested in her shop keeping tales. Instead, she stares down at her lap and twirls her fingers nervously while she considers the pros and cons of telling her mother about her night out with Fleur from two weeks pervious.

The pros are alluring in the sense that at least her mother will know all the background information she needs to understand how horrible it had been; however, the cons heavily outweigh that. The Weasley’s, or more particularly, George Weasley, has been a taboo subject under the roof of Malfoy Manor since the secret romance had been discovered all those years back.

Lucius Malfoy had caught his daughter sneaking out of Weasley Wizard Wheezes in the early hours of the morning in the same clothes she’d left the Manor in the night before. He put the pieces together quick enough.

“Where were you?” Lucius demanded when she returned.

“What do you mean?” (Y/N) shrugged. “I told you I was at a friend’s.”

“Who?”

“Alexandra’s.” She stated confidently under his scrutinizing eyes.

She jumped when his cane cracked against the floorboards though, and her father’s expression turned furious. She subconsciously backed against a wall as he moved closer, hooked end of his pompous looking cane rested intimidatingly against the wall right by her ear.

“Don’t lie to me.”

She can still remember the raspy edge to his voice that gave her chills. Full scale war had then promptly broken out after and it had seen the end of a relationship she’d been willing to run away from home for barely two hours before.

“What about you, (Y/N)?” Her mother asks suddenly, dragging her the scenes of her past. “How has your week been- and the week before since you cancelled on us last Sunday?”  

“Oh, it was okay.” She explains. “I’m sorry about last weekend, I think it was something I ate.”

“That’s code for hungover.” Draco coughs, causing (Y/N) to dig her elbow into his chest. “Ouch!”

“I wasn’t hungover!” She exclaims unconvincingly.

In a way, she’s glad Draco has made up this wonderful, embarrassing excuse that she won’t be asked any further questions on. It’s even better than her   ‘something-I-ate’ excuse and she only wishes it was her own idea. She’s much more willing to listen to a long-winded speech on drinking responsibly than whatever her Mother would come up with for meeting up with George Weasley again.

“You’re an adult, Dear.” Narcissa assures. “It’s you that has to deal with the consequences of drinking, not me.”

“Thanks.” She mumbles.

“Although I hope you aren’t just drinking alone in your apartment.” Her mother adds sadly, destroying (Y/N)’s hope of the subject being left unquestioned. “You’re worth more than that, Dear.”

“I wasn’t.” (Y/N) assures with a kind smile. “I promise.”

One of her mother’s carefully plucked brows twitches curiously but (Y/N) has already turned her attention back to sipping at her tea and avoiding eye contact. The older woman across from her lets out an almost inaudible, disappointed sigh that has a twang of guilt hurtling straight to (Y/N)’s chest. She almost opens her mouth to expand when she’s interrupted by a flapping sound from the window.

The beautiful brown owl glides into the parlour with an elegance that, even if (Y/N) didn’t already know it as Fleur’s, identifies it as her best friend’s. It lands gracefully on the edge of the coffee table and gently bows to drop the letter on  before her. (Y/N) begins to check her pockets for a treat for the dutiful bird.

The bird takes the treat gently and willingly accepts (Y/N)’s arm as a lift back towards the window to make its flight from the room easier. Once it’s flown away again, she turns back to face her family, both mother and brother perched on the edge of their seats to peer nosily at the letter.

“Subtle.” (Y/N) comments as she takes her seat again, snatching the letter up.

“I’m just curious as to who it’s from.” Narcissa assures. “It was a beautiful bird.”

“It’s Fleur’s.” She admits somewhat nervously.

It’s not that her family is unaware of her friendship with the French woman, but more so to do with who she’s married to. Her surname, although never mentioned aloud to her mother, always causes something between curiosity and concern to flash across the older woman’s face. This time, the look is fleeting and Narcissa tries to look uninterested, a ploy to make (Y/N) feel less uncomfortable opening it now, in her presence.

(Y/N) opens it with a sigh, already seeing through her mother’s act. She skims the contents quickly in a bid to hide them from her brother’s eyes from beside her. She can see him frowning out the corner of her eye though, already just as confused as she is.

“The Burrow?” He wonders aloud.

(Y/N) gulps avoiding her mother’s curious eyes. Less than two years ago, when (Y/N) first befriended Fleur, she’d assured her genuinely concerned mother that she wasn’t in touch with the Weasley’s again and that she wouldn’t get herself hurt. Following Draco’s revelation, their mother is exceedingly confused.

“Fleur has invited me to a family quidditch match.” (Y/N) explains quietly. “At the Burrow.”

“With the Weasley’s?” Draco asks in slight astonishment.

“It seems that way.” (Y/N) confirms. “The others- Harry and Hermione, are likely to be there too.”

“Are you going to go?” Draco asks, not attempting to hide his amazement. “You don’t play Quidditch.”

“I can probably just spectate.” She shrugs, sheepish under their gaze. “I should go.”

“I never realised you were speaking to the Weasley’s again.” Her mother admits, a strange calm to her voice.

“Again?” Draco frowns.

(Y/N) ignores him and tries to come up with a response to this question that will approach the subject delicately. She folds the parchment carefully and tucks it into her pocket with a hand that’s suddenly shaky.

“Fleur and I went to the Leaky last week and bumped into the twins.” She explains eventually, voice low and secretive in a way that confuses Draco even more. “There were no other seats.”

Narcissa takes a moment to take this in and process it, only managing to come up with an ‘oh’ in response. She feels like she’s been flung back in time, her heart acing again with concern for her daughter’s fragile heart. Two years isn’t long enough to get over that sort of heart ache.

“That must have been hard, Dear.”

(Y/N) flinches as the softness of her mother’s voice, the concern laced through every word. She’s not sure why she’s so surprised, her mother has always been the more lenient on the subject, even back when it first came to light. She was the eye of the storm in the manor that evening, a gentle middle ground in what is the worst fight (Y/N) and Lucius have ever had.

“You can’t leave, Dear.” Narcissa sighed from the doorway of her daughter’s room as she flung clothes into her trunk aggressively. “Not now.”

“Yes, I can.” (Y/N) grunted, although her arms shook as she shoved another jumper in her trunk. “He can’t tell me who I get to be in a relationship with.”

“(Y/N), we’re about to go to war.”

“I know that!” She snapped with a voice cracked with raw emotion. “I don’t want to be on this side!”

“I know…” Her mother sighed as she stepped into the room and took a seat on the bed.  “But If you care for him, you have to know that he’ll be safer without you by his side.”

(Y/N) stilled as she considered this, it sunk in slowly, then all to quickly. She dropped onto her mattress beside her mother and began to sob.  Narcissa’s heart broke as she pulled her daughter’s head onto her lap and stroked at her hair soothingly.

“You’re right.” She bubbled. “Why do you have to be right?”

“It was.” (Y/N) admits quietly in the present. “It was horrible.”

“Then why subject yourself to it any further?”

“Fleur is my best- my only friend and I can’t keep letting her down.” (Y/N) explains. “ She’s going to get annoyed at my excuses eventually and I can’t lose her as a friend, Mother.”

She’s already convinced herself. She promised Fleur she would try more and if quidditch at the Burrow is what that means, then (Y/N) is going to be there and she’s going to deal with the tension whether she likes it or not.

“(Y/N)- “

“I’m going.” (Y/N) states strongly, conversation over. “Anyway, Draco, how’s that cold?”

“Oh, I see.” Draco quips bitterly. “I’m allowed to be part of the conversation now that you want to change the subject.”

“Not if you’re going to be stubborn.” (Y/N) huffs. “Mother, how is your reading list coming along?”

Narcissa chooses to take the bait, anything to diffuse the tension that has settled, thick and suffocating. She gives her daughter a knowing look, one that makes (Y/N) squirm and avert her own eyes, then begins to summarise one of her recent reads. It takes a minute for the flow of conversation to return but eventually it does and (Y/N) can only hope the entire thing is forgotten about, no matter how delusional her optimism.

.~.~.

The sun is beginning to set when (Y/N) sets out on her way to leave. As has become their weekly tradition, the three of them stand on the doorstep of the manor and exchange last minute pleasantries. Draco is first to leave, his farewell curt and slightly sour from being denied the knowledge of his sister’s Weasley-related secret.

(Y/N), however, lingers a little longer on the doorstep as her mother gives her a long look that has (Y/N) sighing, shoulders slumping in surrender as she walks into her mother’s open arms. There is something tragically familiar to how she rubs (Y/N)’s back, a memory she’s tried to supress from that evening two years ago.

“Just be careful, Dear.” Narcissa says softly in her daughter’s ear. “I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

“I won’t.” She assures. “I’ve got thick skin.”

Pulling apart, Narcissa runs her hand lovingly down (Y/N)’s cheek and smiles with a small nod of agreement. She knows this, if their surname has done anything for her children, it is give them tough skin. Yet, her concern doesn’t ease just like that, a parent’s never would.

“I know, Dear.” She smiles.

“Can you try and get out more though? I worry about you alone in this house without… without Father.”

“You must really be worried to mention him.” Narcissa frowns, resting her hand soothingly on (Y/N)’s arm. 

 “I just reckon even his company would be better than none for you.”

She knows that as much as her father and her have their differences, the two years without him have been tough on her mother, that much is clear to (Y/N). She herself hasn’t spoken to Lucius Malfoy since the first Christmas he spent in prison. Visiting hour lasted ten minutes before they’d gotten into a screaming match and (Y/N) had left and vowed never to come back.

“You’re sweet to worry, but I’m okay, Dear.” Narcissa promises. “I get to see you ever weekend.”

“Well, you can visit me sometime.” (Y/N) decides. “Come see me at the shop.”

“That sounds like a plan, Dear.” Narcissa nods. “Now, off you go before you freeze out here.”

“See you next week.” (Y/N) grins. “I’ll try not to be ‘hungover’ next time.”

“I’d hope not!” Narcissa teases.

(Y/N) pulls her in for another hug, suddenly overwhelmed by a love for her mother, her unjudging and ever reassuring mother. She holds on for longer, unwilling to let go this week, unwilling to return to the reality of her life, of the rumours in bars and dirty looks from strangers. She wants to feel safe in her mother’s arms again for as long as she can.

“I love you.” She whispers.

“I love you too, Dear.”

(Y/N) finally gathers the strength to pull apart and make her way down the long path to the apparation point with a final wave to the woman on the doorstep. Once back in her apartment, the urge to cry finds her, helpless and vulnerable. Ever since the unexpected and uninvited reunion with George Weasley at the Leaky Cauldron, she’s beginning to feel like she’s living in the past, and it’s all-consumingly painful.

[scullysexual]

A Jewel Beneath The Moonlight [Reposted Anniversary]

You can read chapter’s One and Two here or alternatively you can read all three chapters on ao3.

@today-in-fic @mypanicface @improlificinsarcasm @enigmaticxbee Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in this!

- - - 

Chapter Three

She extends her hand instead and Mulder gawks at it before his own hand grips hers and they shake. An electric buzz goes through her- one she can’t say she’s ever felt before as she beholds the man in front of her.

She’d seen him before, earlier, near the gate, felt him staring at her and when he wasn’t looking, she’d stares back at him.

She didn’t believe in fate, it was just coincidence that they would meet again, after all they’re stuck on a ship- a big ship but a ship all the same, they’re paths were bound to cross again and probably again another time.

But that buzz. Dana couldn’t explain it, she didn’t think anyone could.

They break contact, arms falling back to their sides.

“Scully…” Mulder says, testing her name out on his tongue. It sounded weird to be called by her surname; she was Dana to her family, sometimes Dee to Charlie, and Girl for the family she’d worked for briefly in London, but never was she Scully.

She liked it. And she liked it coming from him.

“I saw you earlier,” she says. “Staring.”

He looks away, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Scully shrugs, smiling slightly. “It’s fine. You get used to it.”

Mulder looks at her shocked. “I wasn’t staring because you’re…you’re…” He struggles to find the words.

“Poor?” Scully offers, not feeling as offended as maybe she should be.

He shakes his head quickly. “No! Because you’re…”

“Fox!”

Scully turns to find an entourage of people walking towards them. An older Mulder leads the pack as the rest follow.

“I thought you’d gone back to your room?” the older man says.

“I went to get some air, see if that would help,” Mulder explains.

Scully watches the scene unfold in front of her, her eyes flicking back between Mulder and who she can only presume is his father.

“Well, we’re all heading back now, perhaps you would like to come with us?” It wasn’t a question.

Mulder nods and Scully doesn’t miss the way they outwardly ignore that she’s even there. She’s not naïve to what the upper class, English upper class especially, think of her, of her country and her ‘outlandish’ ways so she stands in silence, glad to be invisible for this moment.

“Let’s go then,” the father says, reaching for Mulder’s arm.

Scully doesn’t miss the way Mulder tenses for a second then relaxes. She wasn’t always the best at reading people but she can see here that there’s no real relationship, no love, and as she watches the two she realises she has no affiliation with this type of dynamic. She may not of always seen eye-to-eye with her parents, her own father especially the older she got, but there was love there, that was one thing she had a lot of.

She watches Mulder begin to walk off, feeling for him in that moment and maybe he’d felt that sympathy, turning back to look at her, a sad smile across his face.

The next day brings Charlie dragging her down the corridor. He’d made a few friends last night it seems and he seemed anxious for her to meet one of them.

“Charlie, where are we actually going?” she asks, slightly annoyed, she had better things than be dragged down a hallway by Charlie.

“Hugo,” Charlie says turning back to her. “He mentioned last night that his daughter had come down with something and he was worried.”

Scully sighs, rolling her eyes. “So you mentioned me?” she huffs.

Charlie shrugs, stopping as they reach Room 52. “I just said I had a sister who was good at medicine and she might be able to help.” He knocks on the door twice then begins to walk away, Scully notices, catching his arm and pulling him back before he could go any further.

“You’re not gonna stay with me?”

“You’ll be fine,” Charlie says, taking his arm from her grasp. “Just do what you do.” He walks off then leaving Scully alone in the long corridor.

The door opens and a large man stands in the doorway, towering over Scully.

“You are Charlie’s sister?” the man, who Scully assumes is the Hugo her brother mentioned, asks.

“Aye. Your daughter is sick?”

Hugo nods, stepping out of the way to allow Scully into the small space.

A girl no older than eight lies in a bed, from where she stands Scully can see the sweat dripping down her face, hear her ragged wee breaths. Dana steps into the room, donning the Doctor Scully persona she’s already made up and walks over to the bed.

She sits in the space near the edge. “Hello. I’m Dana, what’s your name?”

“Agnes,” the little lass splutters.

Scully smiles, “That’s a pretty name.” She touches Agnes’ forehead feeling the heat radiating off her. Turning to Hugo, she asks, “How long has she been like this?”

“Three days,” Hugo answers holding up three fingers to indicate. “They said they would not let us on ship but we begged and we told them Agnes would get better but she has not.”

Scully nods, looking back down at the girl.

“Do you know what is wrong with her, Doctor?”

A thrill ripples through Scully to hear be referred to as a doctor. She pushes that thrill aside, however, there’s time to bask in that later.

She moves from the bed to the wash basin in the corner. Grabbing a cloth nearby she runs it underneath the cold water before rinsing it and returning back to Agnes, placing the cloth against her forehead.

She thinks back to the journals, to her own gathered knowledge of caring for Charlie when he was sick.

“It’s just a fever,” Scully says. “It’ll break soon and I’m sure Agnes will be back to normal.”

Hugo looks as though he’s about to cry. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you, thank you.”

Scully smiles, warmth spreading through her. There’s a knock on the door then and Hugo’s sincere expression turns to one of confusion. He turns back to the door, opening it slowly.

On the other side stands Mulder ducking slightly in the short doorway and looking entirely lost.

Scully stands, dumbfounded at why he’s here.

“Mulder?” she asks.

“You know this man?” Hugo asks.

“He’s a friend,” Scully clarifies. “Take Agnes out to the docks as much as you can, the fresh air will do her some good.” Hugo nods as Scully leaves, her hand grasping Mulder’s as she pulls him away from the door.

“What are you doing down here?” she asks now that her attention isn’t divided.

“I was looking for you,” Mulder says. “Your brother said you were in Room 52 so…”

In his other hand, she notices he carries a black book. Still holding his hand she guides him along the corridor to the exit.

“Come on, you cannae be seen down here.”

They pass through the Galley on their way to the deck, many people gawking at Mulder and his fancy clothing on the way out. Scully tries to get him out of there as soon as possible but not missing Charlie’s frowning questioning look as she goes.

Once outside, she lets go of his hand.

“You’re a doctor?” Mulder asks, completely surprised.

Scully blushes, trying not to let it show. “Not really,” she admits. “Though I’m trying to be. It’s why we’re here, everywhere else said no so we thought maybe America would be better.”

It still pains her to remember the looks of disbelief she got when she went into the schools and hospitals asking for a place. Some had looked at her like she was seriously ill, others thought she was joking and some even laughed in her face. She was ready to give it all up, to sail back to Ireland and forget about it all, marry some farmer’s son and have some children, all until Charlie won the tickets.

“That’s amazing,” says Mulder. They begin they’re walk down the deck to the gate that separates third class from second.

Scully smiles, not quiet sure she’d heard the words right, and tucks a piece of her behind her ear.

“It’s worth trying, I suppose.” They pass through the gate, ignoring the incredulous looks the second class passengers give them as they witness the rules be broken so poignantly and a clearly first class passenger conversing with steerage.

“What’s this?” Wanting to steer the conversation away from her, Scully reaches for the black book in his hand. She gasps as her hand touches real leather, feels the material under her fingers tips.

“That’s not…”

She opens the first page and is completely taken away by the image that stares up at her.

A drawing of a girl between seven and nine stares back at her, her hair in pigtails and the biggest smile on her face as she jumps in the waves.

Scully stops frozen, staring at the drawing in complete amazement.

“Mulder…” she says, unbelieving what she sees before her. “Did you…did you draw this?” she asks.

Mulder nods. “I was eleven,” he says, redness forming on his cheeks. “It was the first one I drew.”

“There’s more?” Scully asks, wanting to see more of this beauty. She flips the page- an old man sitting on a bench in the park, flips another page- a girl playing with a skipping rope, a boy playing football. “Mulder, these are…” She flips more pages, finds more drawings, each one increasing in detail. “These are incredible.”

“Here,” he takes the book from her, sitting down on the bench and Scully follows. “Let me show you my favourite one.” He flips the pages further along, Scully catches glimpses of each piece of art, more and more impressed with his talent. He stops on a page that shows a woman sitting in a restaurant or diner. Mulder hands the book back to Scully and she takes it, staring at the drawing, all its intricacies.

“There was this restaurant in New York that we used to go to all the time and every time we would go there, that woman would always be there.” He points to the clothing. “See how her clothes are all moth eaten? I thought, maybe, something had happened to her husband and she went back to the first place they met, or the first place they had dinner together, and she was just waiting for him to come back. Waiting in that same spot, never moving, as the moths eat her clothes…”

Scully gazes at the drawing, lulled by Mulder’s voice and story, completely enraptured by all of it. See could see it. See the restaurant, see the woman as though she was real, see the story being true.

“That’s beautiful, Mulder,” she says, turning her head slightly to look at him, her heart filling up with something unexplainable for a stranger she had only met last night.

“Do you have anymore like that?” Before receiving an answer she flicks through more pages. She catches a glimpse of the next set of drawings, and a glimpse is all she needs before Mulder snatches the book away and Scully just Ohs.

“Sorry,” Mulder apologises, nervously. “You weren’t meant to see them. Nobody’s ever seen them.”

Scully doesn’t care though, she’s interested, having got a small peak at another part of Mulder’s mind, she wants to see it fully.

“Show me,” she says, daring him to.

“Are you sure?” she asks, the book clutched firmly between his fingers.

“I want to see them.”

Slowly he hands the book back to her. She reopens the page she was on and is met with a full-bodied drawing of a naked woman.

Scully isn’t jealous, she can’t be, Mulder is just a person she barely knows (but also knows everything about) and he’s entitled to his life, to draw who and what he wants, but while she looks at the drawing, Scully can’t help but wonder who this woman was to Mulder. Was she someone he once cared about? Or was she just something to draw? Scully glances to Mulder, hoping that empathy, that connection the two seem to have with each other, is strong enough to read minds, strong enough for him to answer her silent question.

It isn’t.

And it doesn’t.

Scully moves on, to the next page. This one a series of close-ups consisting of breasts and vaginas, but it’s the page next to it that Scully becomes interested in. A series of hands, some the same hand and others different, all from different angles.

“Why hands?” she asks.

“They tell who a person is,” Mulder says. “Like yours…” He takes her hand off the page, holding it close to his face. “I noticed they’re always clean.” He thumb runs along her fingers, gliding across her nails and sparks shoot through her, from fingers to toes. “And you cut your nails regularly. They’re soft, too.” He turns her hand over, palm now facing him as his thumb runs along there too. “Despite your poverty, you’ve never been forced to do hard labour.”

With his analysing done, Scully takes her hand back and looks at it.

“How wrong was I?” He asks, waiting for her to tell him he was very wrong.

Scully smiles, moved but slightly scared. “You’re not,” she whispers and a smile breaks across his face.

“You have a real skill, Mulder,” Scully says, she looks back down at the drawings. “You see people, for who they really are.”

“I try to.”

Scully stares at him, frustrated at how modest he is but also humbled by it. He honestly doesn’t see what a rare gift he has.

“What about you then?” he asks, taking the book back and closing it. “Aside from fixing people, what skills do you have?”

A mischievous smile appears across Scully’s face. Perhaps he’s expecting something along the same lines as his, but there is only one other skill Scully can think to show him.

She stands up. “Follow me and I’ll show you.”

Curiosity now replacing his modest expression, he follows Scully along the deck and through the final gate to first class, once again thrilled by breaking the rules but feeling completely free of the consequences. She finds the most secluded area and looks out towards the sea.

“Now,” she begins capturing Mulder’s full attention. “This is a skill that I’m very proud of.”

“Okay…”

She gives one last mischievous smile, fully planning on shocking Mulder, ready to gauge that reaction.

Just as she was taught, she gathers up as much spit as she can, puffs her lips out, pulls her head back and shoots forward over the railings as a ball of spit flies out into the ocean.

She looks to Mulder when she’s done, finds him completely awe struck.

“Miss Scully,” he admonishes with a smile and light of voice. “And I thought you were above your kind’s crude ways?”

Scully laughs, pleased with herself and pleased he isn’t offended by such a minuscule thing.

“There are some things I have in common with them. You try.”

He looks at her for help. “I don’t…?”

“It’s easy,” she says, shaking her head. She begins the process again. “Get as much spit as you can, gather it together, lips puffy, head back, swing forward and shoot.” Another ball of spit shoots into the air and falls into the ocean again.

Mulder tries, doing as she says, and his attempt is pitiful, most of it falling down his chin. Scully laughs.

“You can do better than that.”

She watches his second attempt, watches him try his hardest to get as far as her spit went.

Not quite there but better than the first time.

Lost in teaching him how to spit far, Scully doesn’t hear the group of people approaching, continues to gather spit, making less than appealing noises to do so, it’s only when she’s sees Mulder has gone rigid beside her that she stops and turns towards the four women who stand there.

“Fox?” The oldest woman says. “What are you doing?”

“I was just, um…”

The woman’s eyes fall to Scully, her gaze strong and unforgiving.

“Rules are set to keep order,” the woman begins to explain. Scully thinks she’s saying them to Mulder but her stare doesn’t weaver from Scully. “They keep things as they’re supposed to be, nothing out of place, nothing in the wrong place.” Her eyes move to Mulder. “You know that, Fox.”

Mulder nods. “I do, Mother. But I thought this could be an exception. See, I invited Miss Scully onto the deck.”

His mother’s lips pursue at the mention of Scully’s last name, a thin line forming.

“Scully.” The woman’s eyes fall back to Dana. “A very old Irish name, isn’t it?”

Scully shifts uncomfortably, wanting nothing more than any of the women to not acknowledge her presence, but she’s on their deck and that is a wish that is soon not to be granted.

“Aye, Ma’am,” says Scully.

“What does it mean?”

Dana thinks for a moment, her mind backtracking from it’s anglicised form to the Gaelic form and translated form.

“Student,” Scully answers, unsure of the relevance of this question.

The mother only huffs in reply.

“You know the rules, Fox.”

They make eye contact, her and Mulder, a promise that they’ll see each other again sometime.

“I need to get back to my brother anyway.”

As she goes to leave, she catches Mulder’s eyes once more. He glances down to his hand and her eyes follow. The book.

She leans closer into him, using her arm to conceal the book and takes it, quickly moving it in front of her.

“Miss Scully!” A younger, more clear-cut voice rings through the air and Scully turns, moving the book to behind her back.

“Yes?”

The youngest girl steps forward, standing next to Mulder’s mother.

“How would you like to join us for dinner tonight?”

“Phoebe…” Mulder whispers through gritted teeth, even Mrs Mulder turns to the girl in utter shock- the other two women stand watching.

Surprised too, Scully thinks for a second. “You want me to join you for dinner in first class?”

“Yes,” Phoebe says, a grin itching across her face. “My invitation since you seem to be a friend of Fox’s, I think it’s worth getting to know you.”

Scully knows how this works, knows she’s in a catch-22; she can’t deny this request but by agreeing she’s submitting herself to a night of humiliation and cattiness.

Scully supposes she’d just have to be catty back.

“Of course I will, Miss…?”

“Miss Green,” says Phoebe. “Soon to be Mrs Mulder.” Her left hand moves in front of her right, the gigantic engagement ring that could no doubt feed her and Charlie for years if they got their hands on it, shines on her ring finger.

Scully looks briefly to Mulder who, quiet accurately, looks away. The mention of a fiancé would have been grand, Mulder.

“Of course, Miss Green. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”