#on sunday it will be one week since i sat in that theatre and was transported

[ionlycareaboutyou]

just thought of asami jun as oscar françois de jarjayes and fell to my knees and started crying and crying and crying and

[holdmytesseract]

Yay open requests! :)

Hmmm, I want to see you write a one-shot where the Reader is a travelling actor who comes to Aldwinter to perform for the town with her troupe, and Will Ransom of course becomes romantically fascinated by the reader while she's there. That's all, I'll let you determine how far it goes between them. ^_^

And if I may be selfish, maybe make the Reader a larger-sized redhead (like me) haha

Attraction

Will Ransome x fem!Reader

Summary: When a travelling actor comes to Aldwinter, Will is completely swept off his feet; hit by the arrow of love.

Warnings: mutual pining (sort of)? fluff, lil' bit of suggestive smut - blink and you'll miss it, not exactly a happy end - but there's hope! tell me if I missed something!

Word Count: 2,4k

a/n: Sorry this took me so long, friend! 🥺 I really hope you like this! It's been a while since I lastly wrote for Will, but I tried my best. 🧡

Tags: @lady-rose-moon @muddyorbsblr @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @jennyggggrrr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @asgards-princess-of-mischief @vanilla-daydreaming @loz-3 @captain-camille @lovingchoices14 @lokidbadguy @icytrickster17 @lulubelle814 @mandywholock1980 @november-rayne @chantsdemarins @simping-for-marvel @lou12346789 @lokiforever @multifandom-worlds @hisredheadedgoddess28 @vbecker10 @jaidenhawke @km-ffluv @crimson25 @cakesandtom @buttercupcookies-blog @salvinaa @javagirl328 @dustychinchilla74 @coldnique @eleniblue @frzntrx @huntedmusicgardenn @mochie85

Masterlist

Will's eyes roamed the quite big crowd of people, as he stepped carefully down the few steps which led to the altar. On a Sunday mass like today, the little chapel Reverend Ransome called his own, was always bustling with people. Something which made the vicar very happy. He gave friendly, confident looks left and right, as he made his way down the aisle and stopped close to the door. It was a tradition for him to personally see off his churchgoer.

After all, they were his sheep - and he was the sheepherder.

Once almost everyone had bid their goodbyes and only a few people were left, Will suddenly recognised another familiar face within the small group of people... And he was the last one to stand up from the pew.

"Dear Sir Ambrose!" Reverend Ransome called out his old friend with a smile. "What takes you to Aldwinter on this rainy Sunday? I haven’t seen you around in months!" Charles laughed and grabbed the hand of his friend; shaking it thoroughly. "Well... I had to go to Essex anyway this weekend. Business trip," he said; winking. "Therefore, I decided to go to mass in Aldwinter and visit my friend!"

"Well, I am delighted to see you, Charles." "So am I."

The two men talked for a bit. About everything and anything, until... "Charles, I know you well... This business trip and the want to visit me can't be the only reason you're here..." Charles laughed up again; clapping his friend on the shoulder. "You indeed know me well, William. These are truly not the only reasons... Let us sit down."

Will let himself guide to a pew by Ambrose, before they sat down beside each other.

"I have something you might be interested in... It concerns the children in school, here in Aldwinter." Will nodded; pricking up his ears at the word 'children'. "I am all ears, Charles."

"Our children came home from school last week - entirely excited and happy, and when my dear wife asked what was going on, they told her about how they had been visited by a wonderful lady and her troupe. They said they told them stories - bible stories, but not only through words... They dressed up and did a play! Like in a theatre! Can you imagine, Will!"

The vicar's eyes went wide in fascination, wonder and excitement. "Charles, that... That is fascinating!" The man beside him nodded. "It truly is. I soke out the lady and her troupe, of course and she would be willing to make a stop in Aldwinter, too - next week! They're heading to Essex anyway. What do you say? I thought it would be great for the children here."

Will smiled and nodded. "Yes, please do so. That would be indeed wonderful." Charles smiled. "Great! I am going to contact the dear lady then and tell her to ask for revered Will Ransome when in Aldwinter.

Aldwinter was a sweet, cosy village. You had to admit that. Sure, it could be cold and rainy - like you heard, but summers here were wonderful.

The warm sun was shining on your face, as you walked together with your troupe towards the tavern Sir Ambrose told you to go and where you could stay during your time in Aldwinter. With curious eyes, you looked around. You had never been here before. You never were long at the same place, after all. As a travelling player, you were one day here and the next day miles away - but you wouldn't want it any other way. It was the life you chose and loved with all your heart.

After the kind woman described the way, you walked the short distance to the church; hoping that you took the right paths. You did. Seeing the elderly, but beautifully crafted building, you smiled and tuck a strand of loose red hair nervously out of your face and cautiously stepped through the wooden doors. There was no one to be seen.

Once you reached said tavern, you told your fellow companions to go and settle, while you would meet the contact person Ambrose arranged for you.

"Excuse me?" You approached the lady in a dress and apron, as she cleaned up some tables in said tavern. At your words, she looked up to face you. "Yes?" You gave her a gentle smile. "I'm looking for reverend Ransome... Do you know where I can find him?" "Sure, miss. You'll most likely find him in the church at this time of the day." "And how do I get to the church? Apologies, I've never been in Aldwinter before." "Oh that's not a problem, miss." The lady smiled and put her rag away; wiping her hands on her apron. "The church is not difficult to find..."

"Apologies, Miss. I was up the stairs; sorting some things. I didn't hear you right away."

"Hello?" You called out; walking down the aisle. "Mr. Ransome?"

Just when you were about to call out again, you heard some rustling coming from another room; probably the backroom and only mere seconds later there were steps. They grew louder and louder, until they revealed the man you had been searching for - or well, told to go to...

... and you had expected a lot, but certainly not that.

Reverend William Ransome sounded to you like you were going to be face to face with an elderly, friendly man with glasses; perhaps in his fifties. You were wrong... Oh so wrong...

You swallowed; were taken aback by the man's beauty. You had never seen a more stunning man than him - and you had seen a lot as an travelling actor...

In front of you stood a tall man in his late thirties, probably early forties. Longer, blonde-brown curls framed his face, which seemed to be carved out of marble. High cheekbones, a sharp jawline, stunning blue eyes and perfectly shaped lips and nose. The beard covering his cheeks, chin and upper lip suited him without a doubt.

Will wore brown cord trousers which were attached to brown braces. Underneath those, was a puffy white shirt covering his upper body - but not entirely. Two buttons were undone; displaying a little bit of his chest and the fine, dark hairs which grew there.

"You must be the famous Miss Y/L/N." Will smiled and stretched out his hand. "Will Ransome. I'm the vicar of this cosy, little town." Still a bit stunned you placed your hand in his. Will brought it up to his lips; bestowing a small kiss upon your knuckles. His lips were so soft and gentle, you almost melted on the spot. His beard tickled your skin; leaving a burning sensation behind - in the best way possible.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Reverend." You smiled; trying to not lose your composure. "I'm Y/N Y/L/N, indeed." The vicar smiled back at you; blue eyes sparkling. "The pleasure is mine."

Will offered you to sit inside his little office, so you could talk about the performance and when you and your fellow companions were ready to perform. You noticed that you got along very well with the man sitting opposite of you. Clearly, you were sharing a great chemistry. He was the sweetest, kindest and most polite man you ever met - and he seemed so enamoured with what you were doing for a living.

A date for the play was quickly settled... Tomorrow morning, as soon as the children finished school.

Will watched your every move; completely fascinated and enthralled. He hung on your every word.

Sure, he was watching all of the fantastic players; performing the story of Moses, but you... You were so special. Whenever you spoke, Will's eyes seemed to light up and he couldn't help the smile on his face.

The vicar didn't know what exactly it was that got him so hooked, but he couldn't deny it...

Was it your talent? Your passion? Your beautiful, kind and determined character? Was it your beauty itself? Perhaps all of it?

Will couldn't point it out.

"I-I wanted to-" Will had to clear his throat. "I wanted to ask, if you'd be interested in a little sightseeing tour through Aldwinter tomorrow?" He gave you a nervous smile. "That is very kind of you, Will, but... We actually don't stay longer than a few days at one place, so..." Will nodded. "I-I understand. But please... Just one more day. I'd like to give something in return for your wonderful work." You bit your lip; weighing your options, but then sighed.

After the show ended and all of the children had left with their parents and Will had bid them goodbye, he cautiously approached the woman he couldn't get off his mind again.

"Miss Y/N?"

His deep, yet smooth voice urged to your ears; causing you to smile as you packed your utensils together. "Yes, Mr. Ransome?" The vicar lifted a hand; "Please... Call me Will." smiling as well. "Will," you repeated - and caused Will's heart to speed up. Hearing you roll off his name from your tongue did something to the man of god.

"Alright. One more day."

The vicar smiled, "Thank you." and helped you to pack your troupes things together.

You watched him help Gabriel - one of your colleagues and couldn't help but smile. You've never met a kinder man in your life and you had to admit that you could not wait to spend the day with him tomorrow, but... Was it really a good idea?

While you spent the next day in Aldwinter, the others decided to go to Essex. Aldwinter was too boring for them - something you absolutely didn't agree with. Yes, the weather was moody and often not the best, but nevertheless was it a beautiful, cosy, little town. You liked it - and especially the vicar who lived there.

I could get used to this, you caught yourself thinking; immediately slapping yourself across the cheek - in your head.

You met Will rather late in the morning after breakfast. He had a few things to do - duties to follow as the people's reverend; therefore it was almost lunch time when he stood in front of your room at the tavern.

He showed you around - like promised. The beach. The sometimes quite scary and dangerous marshes. The beautiful forests and of course the town itself. Will introduced you to a few important people and in closing of the day, he invited you over to his little house for dinner.

You were completely amazed and excited about the fact that Will was an excellent cook. The Shepherd's Pie he cooked was delicious, and you dared to say like no other than you've eaten before.

His smile even widened.

Later that evening - it was already dark outside, you were seated beside him on his little sofa; a glass of wine in both his and your hands.

"Thank you for showing me your home, Will. Aldwinter is beautiful." You smiled and took a sip of your wine. The man reciprocated your smile; gave you a dazzling one of his own. "I'm delighted to hear that, Miss-" Y/N..." You interrupted him. "Call me Y/N."

"Y/N..." You nodded. "I really enjoyed it. The time we spent together." Perhaps was the alcohol you had consumed making you a little bold. "You are a very kind man, Will." He blushed, "Thank you, I... I am flattered." and inched closer to you. "And you are the most beautiful and talented woman I have ever met."

You blinked; were almost blushing, too. "Mr. Ransome are you... Are you trying to woo me?" A small, kind of nervous chuckle left the vicar's lips. "Perhaps."

You shook your head; drinking from the wine again. "But we hardly know each other..." "I-I know, but..." He swallowed. "You fascinate me, Y/N. You attracted my attention like no woman did before, I... I feel as if an invisible rope is pulling me to you. A higher power, which keeps on shoving me into your direction. I-I just... I can't help it. I feel myself utterly attracted to you."

Once again you started to shake your head, "Will... Stop it, please..." and sighed. "We can't give into this. I'm going to leave tomorrow and we'll probably never see each other again."

"Please..." The man beside you begged then; seeing how you struggled. Will wasn't a man who took advantage of this situation, but he felt how torn you were. How you actually wanted this and was just held back by the 'What if...'.

"We?" It was everything the vicar was focused on. "We can't give into this?"

You realised the mistake you made way too late.

"Does that mean you feel the same?" Will's heart sped up after those words left his lips. Words filled with hope.

"I-I-I..." You didn't know what to say. It was true, but you forbid your body to feel it; knowing exactly that it would only lead to pain.

He inched even closer, until your thigh almost touched his.

"Just one kiss..." The reverend whispered and before you could do or say something, your lips melted against his. Will sighed in the kiss; hands landing on your waist.

"Tell me to stop and I will." He said in a gentle voice, while he pulled you onto his lap.

You let it happen.

Just one kiss turned into two - and two turned into way much more, until-

Will closed his eyes for a moment. It wasn't a nightmare... Far from it...

Will ripped his eyes open, only to find himself breathing quick and heavy. Sweat pooled on his chest; coating the fine hairs growing there. His puffy night shirt was totally dishevelled - just like his hair.

The vicar sat up in bed. As he moved, he felt the tightness of his underwear and the straining arousal inside.

He had dreamed of her again. Y/N. The beautiful woman with flaming red hair and stunning Y/E/C. The woman who had fascinated him like no other, when she visited Aldwinter a few months back to perform a play with her troupe. The woman which whom he had spent a wonderful night with - and who had left him to live her dream and travel around the world as a player; leaving only a letter and her shawl behind.

Will smiled; remembering the words written on the piece of paper.

One day, l promise I'll come back to you - if you are willing to wait for me.

[holdmeclosertinytaron]

RHW: Chapter Eight

Story Page / Playlist / Wattpad / AO3

A/N: I can't believe that we're nearing the end of Liliana and Taron's story (for now), but I'm also so excited to share the last four chapters with you. @brayndilyn and I both love how this chapter turned out, and I hope you feel the same.

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of smut...

March 20th, 2022

Liliana woke up to the smell of toast wafting from the kitchen, and as she peeled her eyes open in the bright space of Taron’s bedroom, she could just about make out his figure stepping through the door, a tray balanced in his hands and a smile plastered on his face. 

It wasn’t the first time she had woken up in his bed, but each time he walked into the room and saw her wrapped up in his sheets, he could barely contain the excitement bubbling in his belly. He knew that under the covers, she was still naked from the night before when they had made love over and over, only falling asleep when dawn had started to break. 

He himself had only pulled his boxers over his legs so that he could go make breakfast without anybody in the flats across the street seeing his naked form. Lazy Sunday mornings in bed were quickly becoming a ritual that Liliana treasured. 

Liliana reciprocated his smile, and slowly sat herself up in bed. A yawn escaped her but she only let one eye fall closed again. She wanted to watch Taron as he made his way to the bed and expertly pulled the legs of the tray down so that he could set it on the bed in front of her. 

The tray was full. Taron had stacked six slices of toast on one plate for them to share. There were two mugs of tea filled to the brim, a smaller one for Taron and a larger one for Liliana. Her eyes widened in excitement at the sight. 

On the smaller plates he’d put on the tray too was a pile of packets of butter, jam, nutella, honey and marmalade that Taron had taken from the last hotel he’d stayed at. He always insisted that he could need one at any given time, and they were helpful to have in the campervan. 

‘Easier than taking big packs with me every time I want to go somewhere,’ he’d insisted whenever anybody asked him why he had so many. 

‘This is a new tray,’ Liliana said as she ran her finger over the light wood finish. The old one had polystyrene balls at the base and wobbled everytime they moved an inch. The new one sat more sturdy and she didn’t have to hold onto it whenever she needed to shift herself to get comfortable. 

Taron nodded as he climbed back into the bed beside her. ‘I bought a new one to make it easier for things like this. That other one was bothering me. I couldn’t so much as turn to kiss you without food going everywhere.’ 

‘You bought a new tray just so you could have breakfast in bed?’ Liliana asked as she reached forward for her mug of tea. Since she’d started to stay the night at Taron’s a couple of weeks before, she’d gravitated to one mug in the cupboard, and he’d quickly donned it hers. 

‘No, I bought a new tray so that I could make you breakfast in bed whenever you stay here overnight,’ he corrected her with a smile. 

Liliana shuffled over so that she could rest her head in the crook of his armpit, and Taron leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. They fell into a short silence as Taron shifted the tray so that he could let it go and it wouldn’t topple over while pulling the duvet over his legs, covering his bed and the toast he’d made with tea. 

‘It’s not much today,’ Taron said apologetically as he plated three slices of toast for Liliana, offering her the butter, ‘I need to go food shopping. I’ve barely got time with being at the theatre as much as I am. And when I’m not at the theatre, I’m with you.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ Liliana mumbled as she grabbed a couple of Nutella packets and the one random Biscoff packet he’d brought out. ‘I take up all of your free time.’ 

Taron dropped the slice of toast he was about to butter and twisted his body so he could cup Liliana’s cheeks in his hands. Her cheeks were warm against his hands, and her eyes fell closed for a millisecond. 

‘I want to spend every waking minute with you,’ he told her when her eyes fluttered open again. ‘I was in no way trying to insinuate that spending time with you means I don’t have time. That’s not at all what I meant. If I could be with you every hour of every day, both awake and asleep, I would. I hate that being at the theatre pulls me away from you.’ 

Liliana shook her head at him. ‘No, I’m so proud of you and everything that you’re putting into this show. How about this? You make me a list of things you need from the shop and I’ll get them when I’ve finished my work for today. I can drop them off, put them away and then head back to mine.’ 

‘You won’t be here tonight?’ Taron asked. His eyes dropped and his shoulder slumped, and Liliana used her thumb to unfurrow his brows. 

‘I didn’t want to assume that you wanted me here again.’ 

‘I always want you here.’ 

His voice was steady and Liliana knew that he was being sincere. She’d loved spending time in Taron’s flat and having more space to move around. Though she didn’t want to be a burden by overstaying her welcome. Not that Taron ever thought she was. He meant it when he told her that he wanted to spend every second with her. 

‘I also only have one pair of clean underwear left so I need to go back and get some washing done.’ 

‘You don’t need underwear when you’re with me,’ Taron teased, nuzzling his nose against Liliana’s. ‘Now I’ve seen you naked, I would much rather you be naked around me all the time. I’ll return the favour, obviously. Who needs clothes?’ 

A blush rose to Liliana’s cheeks. The night before, Taron had taken his time undressing her, and loved on every part of her body. He’d kissed from her lips all the way down to her legs where he situated himself between them and kissed her in the place she felt it the most. Liliana had come undone with her hands tangled in his hair and her legs tightening around his head. 

The thought alone was enough for her to shift to try and get some friction. Taron noticed and chuckled to himself, running his hand up her arm before going back to his toast. 

‘As much as you would love that, I’m sure everyone at work would prefer it if I didn’t turn up tomorrow in three day old sweats and a t-shirt that I spilled curry on the other day.’ 

‘Everyone at work loves you so much that they wouldn’t bat an eyelid. You’re their shiny new money maker.’ Liliana groaned with a chuckle. ‘But I get it. If you want to go back to yours tonight and get yourself together for work, that’s fine. I’m sure I can handle one night away from you.’ 

‘I can’t,’ Liliana laughed, kissing his lips softly at first until he parted them with his own. ‘I want to come back, I just need to go and do my washing and grab some fresh work attire.’ 

She kissed him again and Taron leaned her back slightly before he pulled away just as quickly, leaving Liliana with puckered lips and closed eyes. 

‘I do own a washing machine, you know? You are free to use it whenever you’d like. All it will cost you is-’ 

‘I swear if you say what I think you’re going to say,’ Liliana laughed, her finger in the air to stop whatever Taron was going to say. He laughed at her and wiggled his eyebrows playfully. ‘You are insatiable. 

‘Only for you, Lil.’ 

***

When the toast was gone and Taron had moved the tray to sit on the floor next to the bed, Liliana buried herself back in the covers, pulling them up to her neck and breathing in the smell of Taron. 

‘I don’t want to leave this bed,’ she moaned as she got herself comfortable again. ‘This moment is so perfect, I want to live in it forever.’ 

‘Then don’t. Come here, Love Bug.’ 

Taron’s new pet name made her insides turn to mush. She’d always loved to call Matilda Little Bug and Taron thought it would be fitting if Liliana became Love Bug. Liliana curled into his side happily, and started to stroke the hairs on his chest as he held her against him. 

Her lips found his neck and as she pressed a series of kisses to his warm skin, the growing stubble tickling her chin and her hands wandering further south until she could feel how hard Taron was for her.  Taron ran his hand down her back until he could grab her bum, pulling her in even closer and tangling their legs together. 

She laughed into him as her kisses became more needy and Taron rolled them over so that he hovered over her. It took no time for him to enter her, and they fell into a rhythm, perfectly in sync with one another, until their moans filled the room and sweat beaded on their skin. 

They came undone together and lay wrapped up in one another for a few moments in complete bliss, enamoured with one another and so content. Taron held Liliana against his body as they caught their breaths and he pressed delicate kisses to the top of her head while she lay curled up into him. 

‘I don’t have to be at the theatre until later this afternoon,’ Taron said softly as Liliana pulled the covers back over her body to shield herself from the cool air of the bedroom. 

“What did you have planned for the day, aside from that entirely unnecessary washing?”

“Nothing in particular, once I was done at my flat, I figured I could drop everything off here, and then I planned on getting coffee in Covent Garden or something and writing a bit because I want to get a head start on the second book before I come to see you tonight at the theatre. Why, what were you thinking?’  

‘I thought maybe we could go out for a few hours? Maybe we could get lunch somewhere nice before I go to the theatre.’ 

‘There’s a burger place I wouldn’t mind trying in Leicester Square if you’re up for it?’ Liliana asked excitedly. 

The thought of spending the rest of the morning and the first part of the afternoon with Taron was enough to make her want to jump out of bed and get ready. 

Since getting back from New York, Liliana and Taron had spent pretty much all of their free time together. If Liliana had early morning meetings, she would stay the night with Taron so she was already closer to Central London, allowing her a coveted lay in and cuddles before heading off to work. 

Taron had cleared out a drawer for her to store some spare clothes the first night she stayed over, and she’d done the same for him, deciding that she really didn’t need ten different workout sets when she barely worked out anymore. 

If Liliana texted Taron late at night and told him that she was struggling to sleep, he would pick her up and take her back to his place where he knew she’d sleep comfortably, or if he was too tired, he’d crash at her place with her. Either way, she slept better with him by her side. 

Taron always put one of his hoodies on in the morning if he knew that Liliana was going to be there, and sprayed his cologne on it before folding it neatly on the edge of the bed for when she got there. Without fail, Liliana would walk through the door, head to his bedroom for the hoodie and change into it before getting herself a cup of tea and curling up with a book until he got home. 

Whenever Taron was at the theatre on days where he had two shows, he would send Liliana funny selfies of him falling asleep in his dressing room on his break, or photos of him and Jonathan pranking everyone else there. 

If Liliana wasn’t in the office at any point, she would run to the theatre to take Taron a coffee and snacks, and to give him a quick kiss. On days where they were alone in the dressing room, and if Taron wasn’t too tired from rehearsing or performing, other shenanigans would occur. 

They had so quickly fallen into a routine. Everyday they allowed themselves to grow more in love than the last. They were constantly learning new things about each other, and doing everything they could to show one another just how happy they were that they were finally together. 

  ‘Burgers sound really good right now,’ Taron nodded happily, peeling the covers away from his body so that he could jump in the shower. ‘What’s it called?’ 

‘Honest Burger, I believe. It’s less than a two minute walk from the theatre, and there’s quite a few coffee shops nearby that I can go to and work before I get to the theatre.’ 

‘That sounds good.’ Taron leaned over the bed to kiss Liliana before he ran into the bathroom and turned the shower on. ‘Fancy saving water?’ 

***

‘Hey, Love Bug,’ Taron called sweetly as Liliana rounded the corner to the theatre. He waited at the stage door for her, and pulled her into a large hug when she got close enough. ‘Did you manage to get much work done?’ 

‘Enough,’ Liliana replied softly before she pressed her lips to Taron’s in a soft, chaste kiss. Despite feeling at first that it would be strange to kiss Taron whenever they saw one another, it felt natural to her. To them both. ‘I have what I think should be a pretty good plot down at least. I’ll see what Bea thinks tomorrow before I send it up to Martin.’ 

Taron nodded as he held the door open for Liliana to walk through. As she passed him, he tapped her bum and stifled a laugh when she guffawed at him. 

‘You-’ 

‘Come on,’ he laughed as the door banged closed behind them, ‘let’s get upstairs where it’s a bit warmer. I’m glad you managed to get some work done though. Are you staying for the show still or do you need to get off?’ 

‘I’m staying.’ 

Liliana turned to Taron, standing at eye level thanks to the step she’d climbed onto. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss. Taron wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close, parting her lips and tasting the coffee she’d had while working. 

‘You two need to get a room,’ a voice echoed down the stairs. Liliana pulled away quickly, already out of breath, and turned to the top of the stairs to see Jonathan Bailey fake gagging at them both. ‘Like seriously, can you keep your hands off each other for longer than two minutes at a time?’ 

‘You’re so funny,’ Taron deadpanned, resting his hand on the bottom of Liliana’s back so he could guide her up the stairs. ‘Come on, Lil, let’s go upstairs. We can chill in my dressing room for a bit before the show starts.’ 

‘Jonathan, do you want to join us? You can tell me all of those stories you said you had about Taron.’ 

Liliana stepped onto the landing and Jonathan immediately wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. 

‘I have new ones to tell you.’ The glint in Jonathan’s eye made Liliana beam and Taron stop in his tracks. 

‘I’m not sure how I feel about the two of you being in cahoots,’ Taron said softly before he walked to Liliana and kissed her cheek. ‘He’s going to steal you away from me.’ 

Jonathan chuckled and kissed Liliana’s other cheek. ‘Don’t listen to him, darling. He’s just jealous of our ever-lasting love.’ 

‘You two are as bad as one another,’ Liliana laughed. She walked into the dressing room and immediately flopped onto the sofa near the window. ‘Now, whoever gets here first gets my undying attention for the next hour.’ 

***

Liliana looked around her in awe. Every seat in the theatre had been filled with people who were going to see Taron perform. She could tell that some of them were fans of his because they got giddy when he walked on stage, and Liliana smiled to herself, flashes of that morning playing around her head. 

Unlike the first two times she’d gone to see the show, Liliana had booked her own ticket, and had chosen to sit in the very middle of the front row in the Circle. She wanted an unobstructed view for the first time she would be able to see the show from start to finish, and from where she was she could see Taron perfectly. 

Whenever Taron averted his eyes up to where Liliana sat, she would wink at him softly, aching to see the ever so tiny upturn of his lips when she did. To everyone in the room, who was laughing when something funny happened and gasping when the lights suddenly went out, it looked as though Taron was finding a spot in the room to keep his attention. 

Liliana watched the show and her heart ached. As she watched Taron and Jonathan fighting their emotions, and the struggle Jonathan’s character had over the desire to have children and start a family, Liliana felt the familiar pang of regret for not thinking about Matilda every waking hour. 

Life after Christmas had been amazing for Liliana, and she’d been distracted by Taron and their budding relationship more than she would have thought. It wasn’t that she didn’t think about Matilda. It was more that Matilda wasn’t her first and last thought every day like she was before. 

Liliana hadn’t seen Matilda since Boxing Day when she left Aberystwyth last, and as much as she really didn’t want to have to see her mum ever again, Liliana had to see Matilda. As the show came to an end and everybody stood up to give a standing ovation, which was entirely deserved, Liliana booked herself a train ticket home for two weeks later. 

She knew that Taron would understand her need to go to Wales. If anything, she could see him offering to take her back in the car so she didn’t have to get the train. 

But she needed to do it on her own. Matilda deserved to know why her big sister, who she loved more than anything else, wasn’t around much. Liliana wanted to explain everything to Matilda. Why she left Aberystwyth, why she left at Christmas, why she wrote the book. Matilda needed to know that it wasn’t her fault that Liliana didn’t go to Wales often. 

Liliana stayed in her seat until most of the theatre was empty before she made her way down the stairs and towards the stage. Taron opened the hidden doorway and ushered Liliana in quickly. 

She wrapped her arms around his body tightly the second she could and held him against her happily, breathing him in and kissing the spot of his neck she could reach without going onto her tiptoes. 

‘I’m so proud of you,’ she mumbled into his skin as he pushed the door closed again. ‘So incredibly proud.’ 

‘I did alright then? I was weirdly nervous with you being in the audience. I wanted to be perfect for you.’ 

Liliana pushed Taron away enough to look at him fully. ‘You did amazing, baby. So amazing. I find the fact that you got nervous very sweet though. I have a gift for you as a congratulations on a great show, but it’s at home…in your bed…naked.’ 

Taron’s eyes lit up as he leaned down to kiss Liliana, his hands finding purchase on her rear. ‘That sounds fun.’ 

‘I’m going to Aber in a couple of weeks,’ Liliana said quickly. ‘I need to go and see Matilda. I’m sorry it’s last minute, and I hope you hadn’t made any plans but I need to-’ 

‘Lil, it’s okay. Do you need me to drive you there? I’m more than happy to. I’ll even come with you in general so that you’re not on your own in the house with Eliza.’ 

Taron knew how hard it was for Liliana to go back to Aberystwyth in general, but he knew with the way she’d told him she needed to see Matilda, her eyes not quite as sparkly as they normally were when her sister was mentioned, that she was going to talk about important things with her, and he knew how difficult that conversation would be for Liliana. 

Liliana smiled at him softly and leaned herself against him, her hands gripping the hem of his t-shirt tightly. ‘I’ll be okay,’ she mumbled against him. ‘I need it to just be Matilda and I when I talk to her. And I need to go back and spend the time with Matilda without being distracted by you and your body, and your lips.’ 

Taron leaned down to kiss her softly before he nodded in understanding. 

‘I also couldn’t possibly pull you away from work. Not after I saw you perform tonight.’ 

It was then that Taron realised just how much Liliana would always put everybody else first, and he decided that he would always put her first. He wouldn’t allow her to become an afterthought any longer. She deserved to be put first and to be somebody’s priority, and Taron was going to make her his. 

‘You should have heard the group of girls in the row behind me. They kept giggling and ogling you the entire time. And when you looked at me, they thought you were looking at them and would fangirl so hard.’ 

‘I spent my entire performance ogling you, Love Bug. They weren’t even on my radar. But I’m glad they got a kick out of my love for you. If you don’t need me there with you, do you want me to drive you?’ 

Liliana shook her head. ‘I’ve booked a train. Thank you though. I leave on the 8th and come back on the 15th.’ 

‘You’re going for a week?’ Liliana nodded. ‘Are you sure that you’re going to be okay for that long on your own? I’m only asking because I don’t want you to have to go through what you went through at Christmas again.’ 

‘I need to go for the week. I have too much to talk to Matilda about, and I’ve not seen her since Christmas which was a shit show anyway so I need to make it up to her. Eliza is working while I’m there anyway so she’ll see it as free childcare for Matilda with it being the school holidays, and I can make it so I have to see her as little as possible.’ 

Taron looked at Liliana sadly, kissing the top of her head as he linked their fingers together to walk up to the dressing rooms where they could get ready to go back to his flat. To go home. 

‘I don’t like the sound of you being used as free childcare, Lil.’ 

‘That’s the thing,’ Liliana said with a soft smile, trying her best to show Taron that she was okay. ‘Eliza, which is now what I’m referring to her as, will see it that way. I see it as uninterrupted time with Matilda where I’m free to do whatever I want with her without having to ask permission. I’ve already got a list of things I want to do with her, including a girly shopping day and a cinema trip.

‘It’s going to be a week of Matilda being my only priority. I’ve emailed Martin and booked in a last minute week off work for ‘writing purposes’ so I have no work to do while I’m there. I will obviously call and text you all the time too but I want to spend as much time just Matilda and I as I can. It’s what she deserves.’ 

They rounded the corner into Taron’s dressing room and Liliana sat on the sofa near the window while Taron turned on the tiny shower in the corner of the room. 

Liliana’s head fell to her shoulder as she looked at Taron in awe. Her breath caught in her throat when he pulled his t-shirt away from his upper half and pushed his trousers down his legs. He turned to her and smirked when he saw her gawping at him. 

‘Like what you see?’ 

‘Yeah, I do,’ Liliana smiled happily.

Taron climbed into the shower after he’d taken his underwear off, but Liliana could still see him through the frosted glass door. She watched as he cleaned his body, her mind running to multiple different places, and her body aching to be closer to him. 

April 8th, 2022

Taron reached behind his head awkwardly to shut off the alarm he’d set the night before. He wanted to take Liliana to the train station seeing as though she wouldn’t let him drive her back to Aberystwyth. Liliana had insisted that he didn’t need to because it would mean he was going out of his way before work and she was a grown woman who could get to a train station on her own, but Taron insisted that he wanted to take her. 

In the end, he had persuaded her over to his side in a way that only he could, and she agreed to let him drive her to the station while she was putty in his hands. They hadn’t fallen asleep until it was past midnight, so Taron made sure to set an alarm himself so that they wouldn’t sleep in. 

He turned back around and snuggled into Liliana who was curled up in his arms. Smiling down at her, Taron tried to burn the moment to his memory. In the four weeks since they finally got together, there hadn’t been a single night where they hadn’t slept in the same bed. Going a week without feeling the warmth of Liliana pressed against him, of him pulling her closer to him when he woke up in the middle of the night, of waking up to her snuggled into him happily sleeping, was going to be hard for him. 

Not wanting to wake her up abruptly, Taron pressed his lips to Liliana’s to rouse her from her sleep. He continued to press kisses to her until he could feel her kiss him back, a soft moan of happiness vibrating through her, and even then he continued to kiss her until his second alarm went off five minutes after. 

‘Come on, Love Bug, I think we should get up now if you want to make your train.’ 

‘But your bed is comfortable, and you’re here. If it weren’t for Matilda I would not be going today,’ Liliana mumbled against Taron as she pushed herself against him more. His skin was warm against her front and she wanted to run her hands down his chest and continue with the previous night’s activities, but Taron pulled himself away before she could. ‘What are you doing?’ 

‘I love you, and as much as I would love to start something fun right now, you really do have to get up and get ready to leave. Do you want something to eat before you go? In fact, ignore that, I’m going to go and make you some breakfast and a cuppa tea. What do you fancy?’ 

Liliana was groggy as she slowly began to sit up in the bed, pulling the covers over her chest to stop from being exposed to the cool air of the room. ‘Hmm, can I just have toast and a banana please? Oh and a coffee. A big coffee. I didn’t sleep much last night.’ 

‘And whose fault is that?’ Taron asked teasingly. 

‘Oh absolutely yours.’ 

‘Whatever helps you sleep at night, Love Bug.’ Taron smiled as he leaned down to kiss her once more before he headed out to the kitchen to make breakfast. 

They had just over an hour before they had to leave and Liliana’s suitcase was packed near the front door already, so all she had to do was get ready and then put her toiletries in the suitcase before she left. 

She decided to take it steady getting ready so she grabbed one of Taron’s hoodies from his drawer and pulled it over her body, holding the sleeves like little paws in her hands. Walking into the kitchen, she smiled at Taron. 

He smiled back at her when he saw her walk through and he motioned for her to sit at one of the barstools at the kitchen island just as he finished her cup of coffee. 

Liliana took the mug from him when she had sat down and thanked him quietly before she took her first sip. Her eyes fell closed at the first drop of warmth hitting her tongue and she sighed in delight. 

‘How are you feeling about the trip?’ Taron asked when he’d finished buttering toast and joined her at the island. ‘Are you ready?’ 

‘I’m excited to see Matilda, obviously. I love spending time with her and getting to see her, but I’m also so nervous. I’ve hidden this part of me from Matilda for so long and I’m so scared that she’s going to see me differently once she knows the truth.’ 

‘Being nervous is normal,’ Taron assured her as he kissed the back of her hand delicately, ‘but I’m sure it’ll all be okay. She won’t see you as anything other than her big sister who she loves. I saw the way she looked at you at Christmas, Lil. The love and pride she has over you won’t disappear just because you share your truth with her. If anything, it’ll grow.’ 

Liliana smiled sadly. ‘I hope so. I’m also nervous about seeing mum again. I haven’t seen her since Christmas when…well, you know.’ 

Taron’s hand lifted to rub Liliana’s back as she took a bite of toast. He could feel her leg shaking underneath the table and he wanted to wrap her up in bubble wrap and protect her from ever feeling that way again. He had promised to protect her and he worried that he wouldn’t be able to protect her when he was in London and she was in Aberystwyth. 

‘I know, baby. I know. You know my mum’s door is always open. She’d be happy to see you while you’re there, if you have any free time. You could even take Matilda around and introduce her to the girls, I’m sure they’d get on like a house on fire.’ 

Liliana looked at Taron and gulped before she took a deep breath to try and calm herself. When she’d first woken up, all her nerves had been at the back of her mind, but the closer it got to leaving, the more her back heated up and her skin crawled with anxiety. 

‘That would be nice. I was hoping to maybe take an hour to see her. I meant it when I promised that I wouldn’t be a stranger anymore.’ 

‘How can you be a stranger when you’re sleeping with her son every night?’ Taron asked playfully, leaning forward to catch Liliana’s lips with his own. ‘She’ll love to see you.’ 

‘She’s going to know,’ Liliana said when she pulled away from Taron’s lips to eat more. ‘She’s going to take one look at me and know that we’re together. I don’t have a poker face when it comes to Tina. You know that. She took one look at me at Christmas and I broke. Oh god.’ 

‘Relax,’ Taron laughed. ‘Everything is going to be okay. What time do you get back next week?’ 

Liliana was thankful for the change of subject, and immediately grabbed her phone to check her train times to get home. 

‘My train gets into Euston at seven thirty. Am I coming back here or am I going back to mine?’ 

Taron swallowed his last piece of toast before replying. ‘I’ll pick you up and you can come back here. We’ll have a chilled night and you can tell me all about what you did with Matilda. How does that sound?’ 

‘It sounds as perfect as you.’ 

***

Liliana could see just how busy the train station was even from outside, and the nerves that Taron had worked so hard to ease for her came barreling to the surface again. Taron noticed immediately and unbuckled his seatbelt so he could lean over and pull her into his body. 

‘You can do this,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘You are stronger than you think. You show me a power that is strong enough to bring sun to the darkest days. I love you so much, Lil.’ 

‘I love you too, T. I’ll see you next week.’ 

Liliana kissed Taron three times on the lips before she opened her door and stepped out. Taron followed her and got her suitcase from the boot for her. He held her to him in a long hug before letting her go. 

‘You’ve got this. I’ll see you next week. If you need me, call me. I’ll be there faster than you can say my name. I don’t care if I’m in the middle of a performance. You are my priority.’ 

Liliana smiled at him as she pecked his cheek and stepped towards the station. When she got to the door she turned around and saw Taron standing by his car still, his hand in the air waving to her. She blew him a kiss before walking through the doors and into the station where she found her platform and put her earphones in. 

She spent the entire train ride listening to Harry Styles on repeat, thankful that his music helped subside the nerves, if only for a little while. When Sign of The Times came on, she smiled to herself as memories of her day in New York with Taron played on repeat in her mind. 

As her mind wandered back to the best parts of the day in New York, she couldn’t stop her mind from also wandering back to the awful part of that day. With her anxiety already through the roof because of going home and having to be around Eliza, it was all too easy for the intrusive thoughts to creep in about Taron as well. 

The past month with Taron had easily been the best of Liliana’s life. She had finally run into love rather than away from it, and Taron made her feel safer and more comfortable than anybody ever had before. But she was also acutely aware that the other shoe could still drop–and most probably would, given her track record–given the amount of baggage that she took into the relationship. 

Taron was comforting and understood her life and how hard she had it now, but how would that change in a year? Or in five years? Or if they ever got married and had children? How long could he continue to be there for her before he began to resent her and the emotional damage she carried with her everyday? 

Liliana was already so deeply and emotionally attached to Taron that she knew if, and when, he decided he’d had enough of her, that it would break her completely. That thought scared her more than anything else. She’d lost him before and it had broken her. To lose him again would shatter every piece of her. 

Tears threatened to spill over as she let the intrusive thoughts ruin her mood even more than it was already, and it was only when the train jolted roughly around a bend that she snapped out of it and wiped the tears away. Harry was still playing through her earphones and she had to pause the music to come around. 

She hadn’t realised that she had spent most of the train ride distracted by her thoughts, and that she was only thirty minutes away from Aberystwyth. She resolved herself to get her emotions under control so that she could be strong for Matilda, no matter the daggers that Eliza would throw her way throughout the week. 

When the nerves come back and music does nothing to help, she opens her messages with Taron and scrolls back to find all of the photos and videos that Taron had sent to her over the weeks since they’d been together, including one that he sent her of Jonathan running around the theatre demanding to be called Viscount.

Liliana recalled each adorable text and all of the selfies Taorn had sent soothed her mind and put a big smile on her face. They had such a way of reassuring her that Taron cared for her deeply. 

Wiping under her eyes, Liliana could only imagine how crazy she must have looked to everyone else on the train carriage with her, with her smudged mascara and smile. She chuckled to herself softly. 

Just as she went to watch another video, a text from Taron came through and her heart fluttered at his name. 

I love you. How are you feeling? Xx

Liliana took a deep breath before typing her reply to Taron, checking the carriage to make sure that the ticket conductor wasn’t on their way over. 

I love you too. I won’t lie, I am shitting myself. But I don’t think I’m telling her today which is helping. I don’t want to put a damper on the entire trip. Might leave it until the night before I come home. Is that a bad idea? Xx 

Liliana watched as the three dots appeared almost instantly underneath her message. 

If you feel like that is going to help then do that, Love Bug. If you do decide that you need me there just text me okay? I meant it when I said I’ll be there faster than you can say my name. I promise you. You don’t have to be on your own for this. Or ever xx

That’s one of many reasons why I love you. I promise I’ll let you know if I need you. I’m almost in Aber now so I’ll message you later when I’m settled xx

Don’t forget my mum’s door is always open if you need it xx

***

April 13th, 2022 

The first few days of Liliana’s trip back to Aberystwyth were filled with activities with Matilda, as she had promised herself to do. 

She had bought train tickets to Birmingham so that they could have a girly shopping day in all of the big stores they didn’t have in Aber, and Liliana introduced Matilda to frappuccinos from Starbucks. 

Taron sent Liliana money so that they could go for a meal while they were there, much to Liliana’s protests. They wound up eating in a fancy restaurant and Matilda couldn’t stop gushing about how much fun she was having, which Liliana was thankful for.

Liliana took Matilda to the cinema where they ate their weight in pick and mix, and drank more Tango Ice Blasts than they could count. On the way home they had to stop multiple times to use the toilet, and when they got back and had to eat the casserole that Eliza had made for them, they both looked at each other in regret before laughing and forcing the food down. 

Matilda had crawled into Liliana’s bed most nights and slept curled up beside her, which Liliana loved. She’d never gotten to have sleepovers with Matilda and she’d hated it. Each time she felt the bed dip, she would scoot over enough for Matilda to climb in before wrapping her in her arms and holding her tightly. 

They spent an unseasonably warm day at the beach where they built sandcastles and buried one another’s feet in the sand. They ate ice cream and fish and chips–which they had to shield from seagulls–and ran into the water and stayed until their feet went numb from the cold. 

Matilda told Liliana all about school and her best friends, and the one boy she thought was cute. Liliana told Matilda about her time in school, and how she and Taron used to go to Constitution Hill all of the time to sit and watch the sea and talk about things they’d kept secret. 

When Matilda asked Liliana if she could show her the hill, Liliana didn’t hesitate, though she did make sure that they went up in the funicular because she was too tired to walk all the way up. They sat in the same spot that Liliana and Taron used to sit in, and Liliana was tempted to tell Matilda about everything while they were there. 

The hill had always been the place where she could reveal her secrets without feeling like they would get anywhere else. Everything she said was washed away with the sea, floating away so that she felt light. But as she looked at Matilda, who looked at the sea with the same awe that Liliana did, she knew she couldn’t ruin the moment. 

On days where it was raining, they spent the day at home watching films and baking. One day they made pizzas for everyone and despite the tension between Liliana and Eliza, they all sat and ate together in the living room while watching The Princess Diaries, Matilda’s new favourite film.

Liliana had told herself to be strong for Matilda throughout the week and she had stayed true to her promise, even on the days when Eliza wasn’t working and would drop in her usual passive-aggressive comments at every opportunity. Liliana took each comment on the chin for Matilda’s sake, despite her instinct being to run out of the house and straight to Tina’s where she could wait for Taron to get to her and hold her close. 

Between shows in a two show day, Taron Facetimed Liliana so that he could catch up with her but also so that he could talk to Matilda. She was just as enamoured by him as she was at Christmas, and she talked his ear off about school and the things she had done with Liliana. 

The entire time, Taron listened intently and Liliana just watched the two from the side, smiling to herself. Matilda wouldn’t stop talking about Taron when they got off the phone, and had asked if they could talk to him again the next day. 

Liliana had explained that he was busy with work but that she would ask when he was free next so that they could chat to him again. 

Most nights before she fell asleep, and before Matilda joined her in her bedroom, Liliana would cry to Taron on the phone. She felt as though she had missed out on so much of Matilda’s life, and missed seeing her grow up from the tiny baby she first met to an almost teenager who had crushes. Taron could tell that Liliana struggled during their calls, and it broke his heart that he wasn’t there for her where he could hold her in his arms and soothe her. 

‘I couldn’t ever live near Eliza again, but I wish I lived closer to Matilda,’ she told Taron one evening when he called her. ‘Does that even make any sense?’ 

‘It does, Lil,’ Taron replied softly. He’d just climbed into bed after work and rolled over to face Liliana’s side. He missed her more than he thought he would. ‘Do you want to go to my mums? I can text her now and tell her that you’re staying. My bedroom is probably all set up.’ 

‘I’ll be okay. I’ve promised Matilda that we’ll go out for breakfast tomorrow and I still have to tell her everything. Thank you though, honey.’ 

Liliana could hear Taron’s smile through the phone. And she could feel his anxiety and worry for her too. 

‘You are an incredible big sister. You know that, right? The best big sister ever.’

‘You’re just saying that to make me feel better,’ Liliana pouted even though Taron wouldn’t be able to see. She’d hardly been there for Matilda and the guilt ate at her daily. 

‘No I’m not. I’m not just saying that. Look at everything you’d done with her these past few days. You’ve travelled to Birmingham, you’ve spent time at the beach and gone to the cinema. You took her up the hill and made forts and homemade pizzas. You’ve watched all of the films she’s wanted to see and you’ve made sure that she knows you’re there.

‘You’ve done more with Matilda in these past few days than I can guarantee anybody has done with her in a long while. And she’s going to remember this time for the rest of her life, I know it. You didn’t see the way she looked at you when we Facetimed. She looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars specifically for her.’ 

‘If I could have, I would.’ 

‘I know you would have. Which is why you’re the best big sister.’ 

‘She turns eleven this year and I bought her a build-a-bear in Birmingham. I recorded a voice message telling her how much I love her so that she can squeeze it and hear my voice whenever she wants to. How sad is that?’ Liliana let out a breathy laugh as she snuggled further into the covers. 

Time was ticking on and she knew that it wouldn’t be long before Matilda came crawling into bed with her. As much as she was excited to get back home and be with Taron, she would miss having her little sister go to her for comfort on a night. 

‘That’s not sad,’ Taron said sincerely, and Liliana could hear the crack in his voice. ‘That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. And I’m getting choked up thinking about it.’ 

‘Aw, T, you’re adorable. Like a little teddy bear. I am also so sorry that I’m burdening you with all of this. You’re probably exhausted from work and now you’re on the phone with me and I’m foisting all this on you. Get some sleep. I love you.’

Liliana choked back her own tears because she wanted to be able to compose herself before Matilda came into her room. 

‘You are never a burden, Liliana. Please don’t think that. And it isn’t a burden to share how you feel at all. You can always talk to me about anything. I’m always going to be in your corner, Lil. I hope you know that.’ Taron had hoped she could hear the sincerity in his voice. 

After they said their goodbyes and shared how much they loved one another again, Taron knew that he had to do something special for Liliana when she got back to London. He began thinking of a way to surprise her and let her know how special she was not only to him, but to everyone important in her life.

[grimaldiapologist]

Yikes so. COVID was fine. Triple-vaccinated, no big deal, just a sore throat and a 38c fever for three days, feeling ill for about five before starting to get better.

The second week though

holy shit the second week

So we're COVID negative. NOT feeling it. First it was the cough, which, whatever, it happens, we knew about that. Then the other night we woke up to our fingers being about three times the usual size, can't make a fist, hands and left foot absolutely covered in swollen, bright red rash. Called the urgent care evaluation about it, got told it's nbd, chill on it for the night, if it's still bad tomorrow call the local clinic and see if they want to see you for it.

Went back to bed because suddenly we have 0% battery in the body, woke up with our fingers now four times the usual size and h o l y s h i t the rash. Like holy shit every splotch we'd had of it had grown about triple the size and it itched in waves like mad. Also? Every time we'd turned from one side to another while sleeping, we'd vaguely wake up to our horizon spinning so fucking hard it made us queasy, but this isn't the first time for that so it was whatever. Vertigo is whatever. We've been bedridden with vertigo before for about two weeks and it is whatever.

Spent about 30 minutes sitting in a call queue to the clinic, nurse thought the situation was fine, put us on the call list for the doctor. In like, one and a half hours, the doc called us, listened to our symptoms, and told us to hike it 40 minutes by car (we don't own a car) to the nearest non-crowded urgent care to get it checked out.

Called a taxi (78 euros. :) Mum's money, we can't pay this shit) and rode to the urgent care, sat there for a while. Doc examined the rash and said it's allergic. The theme here is that every nurse thinks it's post-viral, and every doctor thinks it's allergic, consensus all around is that it's hives. Post-viral makes sense to us, allergic doesn't, but as a consequence of not having a real answer, we're now thoroughly terrified that anything we've been eating for weeks now (WE HAVE NOT EVEN LEFT THE HOUSE. THERE IS NOTHING NEW AROUND HERE) might trigger anaphylaxis, 99% likely for absolutely fucking nothing, because if this was food-related, it would have started within an hour of eating, not during a 10 hour sleep period. But whatever, we're now afraid of everything we put in our mouths.

Treatment plan: just survive it bro, keep popping antihistamines and dabbing on some hydrocortisone and it'll be fine in a few days and if it isn't, uh, have fun. (We had two antihistamines left and the pharmacy doesn't open on Sundays, but whatever. We've survived so far.)

So the rash started to ease up yesterday, but the vertigo got so bad we had to navigate to the bathroom by hanging onto the walls. Again, this is mostly irritating, doctor recommended Epley maneuvre so we've been doing that a few times since. It might be helping. I don't know. I'm sitting upright at the computer at the moment so there's that.

HOWEVER. I FEEL SO FUCKING DISGUSTING ALL OVER BETWEEN THE RASH ITCHING IN VARIOUS PLACES ON MY BODY AND THE FUCKING VERTIGO JUST LURKING. We went like 20 hours without eating anything other than a couple dry pastries leftover from yesterday because it's fucking impossible to eat anything when you feel this miserable, but feeling miserable doesn't stop you from starving.

Guys........................................ I know this might surprise some of you, but............................. COVID is shit. I'm never going out of my house again (period, but) without wrapping my face and hands in 70 layers of protective, sterilised anti-germ gear. Which is bullshit because I'm supposed to be packing myself in the fanciest and largest movie theatre in the country tomorrow to watch the Avatar sequel with my mum but like. At this point I need to check if I can get a refund for the tickets and go later because I neither want to go see anything in 3D nor do I want to be having visitors for the next however many days. I just want to be in bed and be miserable.

Also every nurse has told us not to worry about the fact that we stay up for about 3 hours per time and then fall asleep and there's nothing to be done about it, apparently this is just how your body is after a serious viral disease. However,

knowing that my mum will not stop nagging us to do something, to fix this, to clean that, nonstop for the next few days? I think I'm going to crawl out of my itchy fucking skin and drain myself down a sewer.

[silver-ink-iron-words]

oo can you continue your snippet “The Sunny Side” from april 21 if you have inspiration/motivation for it? Thanks a lot, it was a really fun read :D

Hi there! Thank you so much for the request! :)

Part 1

The Sunny Side, Part 2

The hero, a prisoner in their enemy’s home, was enjoying the best massage of their life.

Their first three escape attempts, since making their deal, were on Fridays. Which is why Attempt #4 would take place on a Wednesday. Until then, they had to bide their time.

In exchange for daily calls home and (mostly) free reign of the house, the hero could only attempt escape once a week. They had been practicing for this week’s plan, and it was their best shot at escape. So, understandably, the hero’s anxiety was through the roof. 

Thankfully, Ricardo’s hands on their back were a special kind of magic, working out knots they didn’t even know they had.

That was Sunday. On Monday, they had a movie marathon in the villain’s home theatre. The hero was allowed to choose half the films, and so they selected their favorite horror movies. During Ringu, they could feel the fear rolling off the villain like tidal waves.

Tuesday was chocolate and cheese tasting. They sat by the villain’s beautiful fireplace, sampling delicacies and pairing them with vintage wines. The hero hardly wanted to admit it, but they absolutely melted beneath the divine flavours. 

Then, on Wednesday, the villain nearly ruined everything.

“We’re going out,” they announced, standing in the doorway to the hero’s bedroom. They held two dry-cleaning bags containing formal attire.

For a single, petrifying moment, the hero was certain that the villain had figured them out. They paused their video game, trying their best to keep their hands steady. “Come again?”

“I’ve been invited to an after-party, and I need a plus one.” The villain tossed one of the bags to the hero. “Can you be ready in an hour?”

For the millionth time that month, the hero wondered if the villain had truly lost it. “You’re seriously going to bring your prisoner out into public? Where an entire party of people can see them?”

“Well, considering that the attendees will consist of the city’s most villainous elite, I think it will be fine.” The villain breezed off, seeming to not notice the hero go pale. “Make sure you brush your teeth before putting that on. It’s worth more than your apartment.”

--

At the party, the hero was every bit as terrified as they thought they would be.

For some reason, the villain kept introducing them by their hero name. They could feel the target on their back growing bigger and brighter with every interaction.

“S’wait, which one’s that?” one drunk attendee asked, once she heard the hero’s name. “Are you the one with superspeed?”

The hero wished. It would make escape so much easier. “No, that’s someone else. I just play a support role.”

“Whassat?”

“They can control feelings,” the villain said. Their arm was around the hero’s shoulder. “Isn’t that fascinating?”

“Like, happy ’n sad?”

The villain looked at the hero, eyes sparkling. “Why don’t you show her?”

The hero really, really didn’t want to. But the villain’s stare didn’t leave much room for negotiation. With a sigh, they looked deep into the attendee’s eyes – the window to her mind. They waved their hand, and the attendee became sober.

“Oh, wow,” she said, blinking in surprise. “That’s amazing. Now put me back.”

The hero released their hold. They were just about to move on when the attendee’s friend pushed forward. “Me next.”

When the hero used their power on him, the friend burst out laughing as though the hero had just told the funniest joke he’d ever heard.

Soon, a line had formed. The hero wasn’t eager to make enemies of any of these villains, so they showcased their power like a party trick. They made people feel joy. Confidence. Peace. One attendee asked to feel an orgasm. With a shrug, the hero obliged.

A host of faces surrounded them, colored by excitement and interest. The hero looked around for the villain, and caught them already beaming their way.

Despite themself, the hero smiled too.

--

“It’s still crazy to me that you would do all this just for some information,” the hero said, staring out the car window on the drive back.

“Hm?” The villain still seemed a little buzzed from the party.

“You know. The massages, the designer clothes, the gourmet food. It must be costing you thousands, at least.” The hero shook their head. “Just for some insider’s info on the Hero Association. I’ll never understand you rich people.”

“Oh,” the villain said, swaying ever so slightly. “Information, yes. I’d honestly forgotten about that.”

The hero laughed. The villain didn’t. 

“I’m sorry. What?”

The villain titled their head to the side. “Did you never wonder, [Hero], why I targeted you specifically? As opposed to any one of your teammates and colleagues?”

“I figured it was just my rotten luck.”

The villain had a small grin on their face. “You still don’t see it, do you?”

The hero stared in confusion. 

“Your power is incredible, [Hero]. You’re incredible. And yet, you limit yourself only to positive emotions. To playing therapist for other heroes, who get all the recognition in your place. But if you applied grief, terror, pain, in just the right ways, to just the right people . . . you could gain anything.” Their grin widened, and their eyes were hungry. “My darling captive, did you never realize how well-suited you are to villainy?”

The hero stilled.

And then, they put their escape plan into action.

Half deliberate, half instinctual, they lifted their hand. 

The villain’s eyes went wide, for a split-second, as they realized what was happening. And then, just like that, they were asleep.

The hero lowered their hand, letting out small, shaking giggles. They hadn’t been able to do that, before. Thank god it’d worked. For weeks, they’d spent night after night alone in their room, perfecting the move in front of a mirror. 

When the car reached a red light, the hero leaned over, opened the partition screen, and did the same to the driver.

They walked home that night. Despite the summer warmth, they shivered the entire way.

Part 3

[silverhallow]

I definitely think people would like to your ideas on Benophie's life after the AUs are done! So since you said to ask, I'm going to ask you what happened after From The Ashes, because they brought up starting a family and were just newly engaged 😊 I love that fic and that AUs Sophie deserves the world!

Sorry this took so long I had to have a think 😂 and a re-read!

Sooooo after From the Ashes…

After Sophie gained her qualifications she went to university and started to train as a pyscologist.

Sophie and Benedict married at My Cottage a year after they got engaged. It was a small affair with Kate serving as her maid of Honour. Posy walked Sophie down the aisle

Anthony was the best man. Henry officiated.

Anne Gibbons was invited as well.

Benedict cried… to no one’s shock.

Sophie gave a speech and there was not a dry eye in the place afterwards.

Sophie fell pregnant within 6 weeks of the wedding, the doctors kept a close eye on her throughout after her injuries but other than her morning sickness nearly wiping her out her pregnancy wasn’t too bad.

She did give Benedict a fright after she fainted at work. She had been walking to meet Benedict for lunch and walked past Henry’s office and as she raised an arm to wave, she went wobbly and fainted.

Thankfully Charles has been with Henry at the time and Sophie had been brought around just as Benedict came hauling ass into Henry’s office.

Benedict fainted when he saw his baby on the ultra scan.

Charles Anthony Bridgerton was born 3 weeks earlier than expected and was born with a shock of blonde hair, which within 3 weeks was dark.

Sophie fell pregnant with their second on a family holiday to Scotland for Charlie’s first birthday, as he had chicken pox at the time it had been delayed 3 weeks.

Sophie had thrown up in the middle of family Sunday dinner and Benedict, Kate and Violet knew instantly what was wrong.

Alexander Henry Bridgerton was born 4 days late, with reddish hair and green eyes. By the time he was one he had his fathers chestnut locks but his mothers curls.

Baby Number 3 came after a summer visit to Aubrey Hall with Kate and Anthony. Violet had her four grandsons for the evening and the two couples had gotten a bit drunk.

Benedict and Sophie broke Anthony's office desk having not made it to their room…

8 weeks later both Kate and Sophie realised they were both pregnant.

William Richard Bridgerton was born 2 hours after Charlotte Sophia Bridgerton, despite Sophie going into labour a full 5 hours before Kate.

Sophie’s fourth and final pregnancy was hell.

Sophie was sick constantly and it had caused her so many issues with her back. It didn’t help that little Charlie had a major allergic reaction when out and if it hadn’t been for the quick thinking of Phillip, Eloise’s boyfriend… he would have died and the stress of seeing her baby boy in intensive care nearly broke her.

Sophie went into labour 10 weeks early with their little baby girl who was breech and the umbilical cord ruptured and Sophie was rushed to theatre for a C-section.

Violet Katherine Bridgerton came into the world and Sophie had to have additional surgery, the rupture causing more damage that resulted in a Hysterectomy being required.

Benedict sat by his daughters incubator whilst he waited for news of his wife.

The moment he got the word she was going to be okay, little Violet Opened her eyes and stared at her father, and he broke down in tears.

The same eyes of his wife stared back at him.

Their family was finally complete.

[queenshelby]

The Nanny – Part Two

Featuring: Cillian Murphy x Virgin!Reader

Words: 5798

Warning: Smut, Age Gap

Tag List: 

@atomicsoulcollecto  @datewithgianni @mariapaiva13  @avonlady1985 @lauren-raines-x  @hanster1998  @elenavampire21  @nerdy4itall  @peakyboyslover  @atomicsoulcollecto  @lilymurphy03  @deefigs  @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse  @livinginfantaxy

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A Small Surprise

Another week had passed since your encounter with Cillian at the theatre and you missed interacting with him, especially now that you broke up with Darcy once again.

Once again, Darcy had become verbally abusive towards you and you were devastated and upset about his behaviour. You became to realise that, most probably, he won’t ever change. You often thought about Cillian’s words. You were too young to be wasting your time on someone like this.

But, despite your breakup, Darcy called you at least ten times a day, trying to apologise. You ignored his calls, but, unfortunately for you, you still had to interact with him at theatre practice and art school.

At least, Anita was there for you and tried her best to prevent you and Darcy from having arguments while dealing with each other in a professional capacity. But it wasn’t easy.

Since your latest and hopefully final break up, Anita had also tried to hook you up with her brother, but you really weren’t interested in dating anyone after what you have encountered with Darcy.

Despite your disinterest in dating, you struggled to get one man out of your head and this was Cillian.

Since you became to know what he was doing for a living, you could evermore so understand his reluctance to get involved with someone your age. It would almost be cliché for an actor to date someone half his age. The backlash would almost be ridiculous.

In the same vein, you were really not keen on dating an actor. The ridiculous filming schedules, the gossip and the fact that people would look at you differently would certainly upset you and make you uncomfortable.

Yet, you couldn’t forget about him and the kiss you shared. The kiss he initially returned and which felt so amazingly good.

There was something about him that you hadn’t found in any man before. It was almost like you had known him for years and yet, you barely knew him at all. You felt comfortable in his presence and it felt natural to be around him.

With these thoughts on your mind, it was easy for you to let go of Darcy this time around eve though you knew that you could never have Cillian. Or could you?

It was a Sunday afternoon that Craig came home after spending some time at the pub celebrating a friend’s birthday.

He looked somewhat tipsy when he walked inside and Ella became rather frustrated with him. It was almost too funny to watch.

You noticed him carrying a paper back.

‘Y/N, this is for you’ Craig said as he handed the bag to you.

‘Uhm, thank you’ you said, surprised by his gesture.

‘Oh, don’t thank me. Cillian asked me to give this to you so thank him’ Craig said, unsure about what was in the bag. He believed Cillian’s gesture to be odd but didn’t dare to question it.

You walked into your room, curious about what was in the bag.

Unsurprisingly, it was a book entitled ‘The History of Irish Theatre’.

You and Cillian had talked about this book following your little incident at his house.

He thought that it was very educational for anyone who is interested in Irish literature and play writes and he said that, when he goes back to his house, he would get it for you so that you could read it.

You opened the book, very keen to read it.

To your surprise, Cillian had left you a note inside which, amongst other things, contained his mobile phone number and an offer to help you with rehearsing the play if you needed it and wanted an outsider’s opinion.

He also was kind to tag the pages relevant to your play in the 350 page book.

You took out your phone and saved his number before texting him to say thank you.

He responded almost immediately. His response was short but that is what you would have expected from a man in his 40s.

About an hour later, you received another text message from him.

‘I have four tickets to a play at the Abbey which I think you might like. You could go with some friends from your theatre group and your boyfriend. Unfortunately, it’s for a Sunday night though’ he texted.

You responded by thanking Cillian for the offer and telling Cillian that you had broken up with Darcy before taking the courage to ask him whether he would be interested to come with you to see the play.

An hour after your text, you still hadn’t received a response and you regretted asking him. After what happened between you, you thought that you must have taken it too far.

Another twenty minutes later, as you were in the shower, the phone rang.

You quickly jumped out of the shower and answered your phone while the water was still running in the background.

‘Hi, Cillian’ you said shyly as you shivered, still being wet from the shower.

‘Am I calling you at a bad time?’ Cillian asked, observing the background noise through the phone.

‘No no, not at all’ you said.

‘What’s that noise?’ he asked.

‘Uhm, I was just having a shower’ you said and, just after you said this, you realised how inappropriate your comment was once again. There was an awkward silence on Cillian’s end following your comment.

‘Right’ he said before taking a pause.

‘About Sunday, I have seen the play already with some friends but I am happy to take you if you want’ he said before taking another pause. ‘As a friend that is’ he added, qualifying his offer.

‘Of course, yes’ you said shyly.

‘I think that, if we go together, I should probably invite Craig and Ella and suggest that you come with them’ Cillian suggested, being mindful that, otherwise, this might awkward.

‘Yes, sounds good’ you said.

‘Great, I will let you get back to your shower then’ Cillian said with a laugh.

‘Alright…and thanks’ you said.

‘You are welcome’ Cillian responded before hanging up.

To your surprise, a day later, Cillian told you that Craig and Ella weren’t interested in the play but had no problem with you going to see it with Cillian and some other friends.

You felt somewhat awkward about Craig and Ella knowing that you were going to see a play with their mutual friend. But Cillian assured you that they didn’t think anything of it. In Ireland, everyone was friendly and welcoming and interactions like this weren’t suspicious. In fact, Cillian had even told Craig that he had offered to help you with your theatre project and that he believed that the play you were going to see would really help you with your perspective on contemporary Irish theatre. With Cillian being double your age, Craig simply thought that it was a nice gesture and Craig also knew that Cillian could do with some friendly company after yet another fight with his fiancée.

Instead of Craig and Ella, Cillian ended up inviting his youngest sister Janet and her husband John. They both enjoyed theatre and had recently returned to live in Dublin after spending five years together in London.

You met Cillian and his sister and her husband at the theatre and they were very welcoming. You thought it was going to be strange, meeting Cillian’s family, but it wasn’t at all. His sister was in her late twenties and you could relate to her.

You talked about many things before the play started and she was surprised when she learned that you were only 20 years old. According to her, you appeared very mature for your age.

Change of Mind

‘You know she’s nice, smart and very pretty’ Janet said to Cillian about you after you excused yourself to go to the bathroom right before the play started.

‘And she is 20 years old and I am still in a relationship’ Cillian chuckled in response to her comment.

‘And here you are, choosing to attend this play with her instead of your fiancée’ Janet giggled.

‘Because my fiancée and I are taking a break and Y/N is just a friend’ Cillian chuckled.

‘I think you already made up your mind about your fiancée. I know you brother. I am not blind either. I can see the way you look at Y/N. You like her a lot’ Janet said.

‘Janet, she is 20. Now can we change the topic please’ Cillian said firmly.

‘So what if she is 20?...I like her. She seems nice’ Janet said before her husband John had to comment just like a man would.

‘Just count yourself lucky Cillian. Not every man your age has a shot with a young woman like her. Also, you wouldn’t be the first actor who goes there trust me’ John said, causing Cillian to chuckle.

‘Enough now, please’ Cillian said just as you returned from the bathroom.

When you returned to the table where Cillian, Janet and John were standing, you finally heard the theatre bell. Cillian seemed somewhat relieved that the play was about to start and you made your way inside, taking your seats.

Just as you sat down, you saw Darcy with his parents and brother. Your heart sunk and you hoped that he would not see you. But he did, almost immediately.

The situation had officially become awkward and, just as Darcy saw you, his father spotted you and Cillian as well.

He came over to greet you and Cillian which, instantly, raised a lot of questions.

Cillian explained to Darcy’s father that you were a friend and, just as he did, the bell rang again, telling everyone to take their seat.

This was lucky, preventing Darcy’s father from asking more questions.

Darcy’s father excused himself and, luckily for you, Darcy was at his best behaviour with his parents being around.

During the interval, Darcy greeted you politely and that was it. He didn’t acknowledge Cillian, Janet and John and there weren’t any further interactions from his side.

After the play had finished, Janet suggested that you all go to Cillian’s house for a drink and some pizza. After all, you hadn’t had dinner yet.

You agreed and picked up some Pizza and a couple of bottles of wine on the way.

To your surprise however, Janet excused herself pretty much straight after dinner and a glass of wine.

‘Well, John and I have to get up very early tomorrow’ Janet said.

‘We do?’ John asked.

‘Yes darling, don’t you remember the thing at your work?’ Janet asked, giving John a nudge.

‘The thing at my work?....Oh right, the thing at my work. I forgot’ John said.

‘Well, we will be going, but you two should really finish this bottle of wine’ Janet said and you observed her winking at Cillian.

Cillian sighed before giving his sister a kiss on the cheek and saying goodbye.

‘Uhm that was strange’ you giggled just as Janet and John left. ‘I just finish this and will call a taxi’ you said, pointing to your full glass of wine.

‘Yes, my sister is strange indeed’ Cillian chuckled, knowing exactly what his sister had in mind.

‘So how did you like the book?’ Cillian went on to ask to change the topic.

‘It’s fantastic. In particular the actor’s notes on the scenes. Although, there is one thing no one really talks about and I have been trying hard to find material on it’ you said.

‘And what is that?’ Cillian asked curiously.

‘How do you act a scene where you have to kiss someone. I mean, do you actually kiss them on stage? How about on screen? I mean, you would have the answer to this wouldn’t you?’ you said.

‘I do’ Cillian laughed.

‘Well then please enlighten me. I am curious’ you said.

‘On screen, depending on the angle of the camara, you most often don’t get around kissing. Your lips touch. It’s as simple as that’ Cillian said.

‘But is it different from a normal kiss?’ you asked.

‘Not really’ Cillian said. ‘But, in saying this, for theatre, no one from the audience will be close enough to see what you are doing so just give the guy a peck if you feel too uncomfortable to kiss him’ Cillian laughed, knowing that the play you were doing included a scene just like this.

‘I am glad you can laugh about it’ you said sheepishly.

‘Well, I know for a fact that you’ve kissed a man before so I think you will be fine. Just don’t think about it as a kiss. Think about it as an act. I guarantee you that, when you are in character with a complex script like yours, it will just come naturally’ Cillian said.

‘I suppose you are right. I mean, at least it’s not Darcy who I have to kiss on stage’ you laughed.

‘Well, there you go’ Cillian said just as an awkward silence erupted between you again.

‘Speaking of which, I have actually been thinking about our kiss more often than I should have’ you said shyly.

‘Y/N, we agreed that we would forget about what happened that morning’ Cillian said.

‘We did. But I can’t’ you said before taking a pause. ‘Can you?’ you asked.

‘I’ve been trying’ he chuckled, causing you to smile.

‘Perhaps you should stop trying and kiss me again. Just once more and I will never mention it again’ you said as you walked over towards him.

‘I am twice your age Y/N. You do realise that, right?’ Cillian said as you took his hands suggestively, indicating that you wanted him to stand up.

‘Yes, I do and I like it’ you giggled before biting your lip. Your comment made Cillian raise his eye brows and laugh.

‘You could be with someone your own age Y/N. I am sure you get plenty of offers. So why me?’ he asked as he stood up in front of you, running his hand over your cheek and moving part of your hair away from your face and behind your ear.

‘Because you are intelligent, kind and not afraid to be yourself. I like that. Despite, I also think that you are incredibly attractive’ you whispered shyly.

‘But, if you don’t like me then just tell me and I accept that’ you added after Cillian didn’t respond to your comment.

‘I like you alright. But I know that it would be a very bad idea if were to get involved with each other’ Cillian said quietly.

‘Maybe. Maybe not’ you said and, just like this, Cillian leaned forward and pressed his lips on to yours.

The kiss was gentle and Cillian caressed your face with his warm hands while his soft lips explored yours. Your lips moved in sync with his for a moment until he pulled away slightly.

‘We should not be doing this’ Cillian said and, just after he did, you decided that, this time, he wouldn’t get away that easily and you crashed your lips back onto his.

He accepted the kiss, giving into you for what felt like an eternity until he pulled away again.

‘Are you sure this is what you want? Because there will be implications if…’ he said and, before he could finish his sentence, you interrupted.

‘I know and I am prepared to deal with these implications as they arise’ you said before pressing your lips back onto his. You knew that, most likely, you would have to keep your interactions with Cillian a secret at least for a little while and you knew that, later down the track, this might cause issues with Craig and Ella.

Despite these intrusive thoughts, you managed to switch off and get lost in the moment and kiss between you soon became heated as Cillian gently slipped his tongue in between the opening of your lips.

You gave in and let his tongue dance with yours as if it was the most natural thing to do. He was such a good kisser. Gentle and passionate.

‘Now do you want me to stay for the night or call a taxi?’ you asked as, after at least ten minutes, your lips drifted apart.

‘If you were to stay, what would you be telling Craig and Ella?’ Cillian asked.

‘That I had some drinks after the theatre and ended up staying at a friend’s house’ you said, causing Cillian to laugh.

‘I guess you are staying then’ he said as he ran his hand over your cheek again before giving you another kiss.

‘Alright’ you said shyly. ‘I will go and have a shower then’ you said nervously.

It felt different this time around and you didn’t know how far he wanted to go. You had never had sex before and intimacy didn’t come naturally to you.

After you both had showers, separately, you met in bed just like the last time when you stayed at Cillian’s house.

Just this time, neither of you bothered getting dressed for the occasion.

Bed Time

Cillian was lying there, under the doona, wearing nothing but his black Calvin Klein briefs as you walked into the bedroom.

You, on the other hand, wore even less. A black thong. That was it and you could see the appreciation on Cillian’s face as you walked into the bedroom.

But, in addition to your naked body, your tattoos and piercings, he could also see the nervousness on your face as you climbed into bed next to him.

‘You are beautiful’ he said as you got under the doona.

‘If you say so’ you smiled shyly before giving him a kiss.

It wasn’t long until he gently pulled you closer towards him and began running his masculine hands over your body, including your breasts and all the way down to your naked ass.

His lips never left yours and you enjoyed the warmth of his body pressed against yours. The little amount of his chest hair brushed against your breasts and, as he held you close, you could feel his erection grow beneath his breaths.

You knew he wanted you, all of you and, whilst you wanted to be with him, you weren’t quite ready to take this step yet.

‘Cillian, I am…I never had…’ you said and, before you could finish your sentence Cillian withdraw his hand from you.

‘You are a virgin?’ he asked somewhat surprised, causing you to nod. Whilst you hinted on this previously when you talked with him about Darcy being pushy when it came to your relationship, you never actually told him that you never had sex. It all made more sense to him now and made him dislike how Darcy had treated you even more.

‘I am sorry. I didn’t realise’ Cillian said.

‘Are you disappointed?’ you asked, noticing Cillian’s reluctance to touch you again the same way he was before you told him.

‘Why would I be disappointed?’ he asked, running his hand over your cheek.

‘Not sure. Perhaps you expected something else tonight?’ you said shyly.

‘Well, the truth is that I didn’t expect anything tonight. Not kissing you, not lying next to you or getting to touch your beautiful body. So, I am getting way more than I had bargained for’ Cillian said.

‘You are so kind Cillian. What I meant was that, once you got a woman into bed, you probably didn’t expect this’ you said somewhat embarrassed.

‘At my age, probably not’ Cillian laughed. ‘But, I am not disappointed Y/N. We will just take things slow, move at your pace, alright? Despite, there are so many things other than sex in the conventional way that are enjoyable and I am just happy to lie here with you and kiss you all night’ Cillian said before pressing his lips back on to yours.

‘Things other than sex in the conventional way?’ you asked curiously after your lips drifted apart.

‘Yeah, you know, like other things’ Cillian chuckled. He clearly was out of your comfort zone having to give you a sex ed lesson.

‘Hmm, like what?’ you said cheekily. ‘Can you show me?’ you asked nervously. Whilst you weren’t quite ready to take things all the way, you felt an overwhelming desire for this man and you trusted him and you certainly wanted him to continue to touch you.

Cillian chuckled at your comment but reluctantly agreed. After all, he just promised you to take things slow and what he was about to do didn’t exactly fall into the category of taking things slow.

‘Alright, but you are in charge. Promise me that you will tell me if you want me to stop, ok?’ Cillian said reassuringly.

‘I promise’ you said before he leaned in and gave you another kiss before guiding your back down on to the mattress.

After you lied down comfortably, Cillian kissed you once again before his lips began trailing down your neck, kissing all over it, while his hands wandered over your naked breasts.

In this moment, you felt somewhat vulnerable. You weren’t exactly blessed with a large bust but Cillian seemed to like what he saw as he kissed down your beautiful body, his lips and tongue exploring and enjoying the sweetness of your flesh.

Eventually, his lips found their way to your perky breasts and lingered at a taut, pierced nipple, the tip of his tongue rolling around it, over the tiny bumps on your areola. He drew it into his mouth, eliciting a soft sigh from you as he sucked.

It felt amazing, much unlike what anyone else had ever done to you before and you could feel an unexpected tension build up in between your legs. The moisture within you was building and you trusted Cillian even once his lips began to trail further down your body.

His lips soon found the swell of your belly, and he showered it with soft kisses. His tongue played a moment in your pierced belly button before he continued his downward journey.

Then, suddenly, his lips touched the top of your lace panties causing you to let out a surprisingly loud moan.

No man had ever been this close to your mound before with anything else but their fingers.

With his fingers, he hooked into the ream of your lace panties before sliding them down all the way past your knees and then down over your feet before letting them drop over the bed.

There you were, completely naked, in front of the man you were so desperate for.

With his head moving back in between your legs, you felt vulnerable and excited at the same time.

The scent of your hot sex was now filling his nostrils, making him crave the taste of you.

His lips first touched the inside of your thighs, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. Again, you couldn’t help it but moan unexpectantly loud at the sensation.

Your reaction made Cillian smile against your thighs and he moved his head slightly inwards.

You could feel his warm breath on your vulva just before his lips touched your naked mound for the first time.

‘Oh god’ you inhaled sharply, making him smile again. He clearly was doing all the right things and took it slow, much slower than he would usually take it.

After kissing your most intimate body part a couple of time, he finally let his tongue lightly trace down the folds of your flesh.

It felt insane and you moaned loudly before you started to squirm when his tongue ran through your folds for the second time.

Cillian soon felt your fingertips caress his hair as he teased you.

He ran his tongue up and down those lips, enjoying the wetness between them.

‘Oh god Cillian’ you moaned just as you gripped his hair tighter as he pushed his tongue inward in between your lips, savouring the sweet taste of you.

By this point you were dripping wet as his tongue went as deep as it could, his face awash with your warm juices.

Then, Cillian pulled back slightly, moving his tongue up and down, side to side, not wanting to leave any part of your sex untouched.

At the top, he found that sensitive nub of flesh, now fully extended. As his tongue flicked against it, he felt you give a little shiver of pleasure. His tongue swirled around and around, and then his lips engulfed it, sucking it gently as you began to moan even louder.

‘Cillian, fuck’ you moaned as you let your body take in the fullest extend of this sensation and closed your eyes.

Just as you closed your eyes, you could feel one of Cillian’s fingers run over your wet slit while his tongue continued to swirl around your clit.

You took in a deep breath but tried to relax as much as possible, thinking about what he might be doing next.

And, just like this, he carefully slipped a finger into you, watching your cues closely for any pain.

‘Oh god, fuck’ you moaned again at the sensation. To your surprise, it felt nice, very nice.

After your body relaxed again Cillian began moving his finger in and out in a slow, steady rhythm as his tongue played a staccato on your pulsing clit.

He loved your taste, your scent, your sounds, he was in his happy place, and your pleasure was his goal.

He kept going, making love to you with his lips and tongue and fingers. Your sounds intensified in volume; the grip on his hair tightened; your hips rose as you squirmed beneath his ministrations.

After several minutes of pure extasy, Cillian carefully inserted a second finger while he gentle sucked on your clit.

You tensed up once again at the intrusion but, following some mild discomfort, were able to relax again. The slight amount of pain quickly turned into pleasure and your breathing was becoming heavier.

You felt full, just by his fingers and they moved in and out of you in the perfect rhythm.

With your moans becoming louder and louder and your walls becoming tighter around his fingers, he could tell that you were close. He pushed his fingers into you deeper, hooking them slightly upward and touching that other magical spot you never knew existed.

Your moans turned into screams of pleasure and your hips bucked as he pushed you over the edge.

Cillian lifted his eyes so he could look up at you and see your head thrown back, eyes closed, and mouth open with your moans and screams of pleasure filling the room.

You were totally lost in the ecstasy of the moment. His tongue was still dancing against your pulsing extended clit.

Your hips bucked one more time, and then you grasped his hair and pulled him away. It was too much, too intense.

He would have kept going for as long as you would let him, but your body had reached the point of pleasure saturation, and you needed to catch your breath.

While you were breathing heavily, coming down from your high slowly, Cillian kissed his way up your body until your lips met, and you shared one long deep kiss.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked as he could see small tears building up in your eyes. You looked completely exhausted and somewhat confused.

‘Yes, it’s just… I think I just had an orgasm’ you laughed.

‘Well, that was the idea’ Cillian chuckled. But you didn’t laugh at his joke. You were entirely overwhelmed.

‘Have you not had one before?’ Cillian asked somewhat surprised by your reaction.

‘What, an orgasm? No…But I read it’s normal for women not to have orgasms’ you said shyly.

‘If that was true then that would be pretty disappointing’ Cillian chuckled as he took you into his arms.

‘How about you get some rest alright?’ Cillian said with a smile as you seemed somewhat besides yourself which he thought was cute.

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep in his arms. You felt so safe and secure next to him.

But for Cillian, it took a little longer. Whilst he promised you to take it slow and was prepared to stick to his promises, deep down inside, he wanted you, all of you.

Good Morning Mr Murphy

The next morning, your alarm went off at 7am. You had to attend art school which was due to start at 9am.

You would have rather stayed in bed with Cillian, but this wasn’t an option.

When the sound of your alarm ripped you out of your dreams and your eyes shot open, you noticed that Cillian wasn’t lying next to you.

As you got up to look for him, you heard the shower running in the bathroom. He was up early and it surprised you.

‘Can I come in?’ you asked as you knocked on the bathroom door.

‘Uhm, yes sure’ Cillian yelled out. He clearly was still in the shower.

‘Good Morning’ you said as you walked inside, not being able to see Cillian through the steam covering the door of the shower.

‘Good Morning… I will be out in a minute’ Cillian said, his voice sounding somewhat hasty.

‘No need, I just come in’ you said.

Without asking permission, you opened the shower door and stepped inside.

Your lips instantly met Cillian’s lips as you stepped closer towards him. But he seemed somewhat uncomfortable with your quick approach.

As you went to press your body against his soapy chest, you could feel something in between you and, just as you did, you looked downwards.

This was the first time you saw Cillian’s most intimate part and it was quite a sight.

‘Sorry’ Cillian said with some embarrassment as his erection pressed against you. He had struggled with it on and off since the previous night.

‘Now I am no expert, but I think that your reaction down there tells me that you like me, a lot’ you giggled as your hand reached for his hard cock.

Cillian moaned at your touch and you slowly began stroking him.

‘Now, I have never done this before so just tell me if I do something wrong alright?’ you said as your hands moved to either side of his hips.

‘Done what?’ Cillian asked and, just as he did, you dropped down to your knees right there in front of him.

‘This’ you said as you took hold of his cock again and guided it towards your mouth.  

You could hear a soft moan come out of Cillian as your tongue touched his shaft for the first time.  

You first licked the side of his shaft tentatively. Your heart was pounding as you did and you continued licking the sides and worked your way to the top of his cock.

Swirling your tongue around the head of Cillian’s cock and then working your way back down the shaft, you felt like you found yourself in another world, one you had never been in before.

Cillian groaned again and you felt his hands on your head as you continued licking his cock and then finally taking him into your mouth as far as you could go.

You didn't have a clue what you were doing, never having done this before, but you started bobbing up and down his shaft.

As Cillian’s moans became louder and steadier, you started bobbing up and down his cock even faster. You could taste his per cum on your tongue and then felt his hands hold on to the hair on your head even tighter.

You were in control but it was almost like he needed to hold on to something, grab something with his hands.

‘Fuck Y/N’ he moaned and you could tell he was getting close.

Before he could say anything else, you looked up at him.

‘I want you to come in my mouth’ you said before taking him back inside your mouth.

He looked surprised but didn’t dare to argue and, after a few more head bobs, he let go.

You could feel his cock begin to throb in your mouth and, just as you did, his hot sweet cum began to flow steadily from his shaft into your mouth.

You stopped bobbing your head as he came down from his high and let go of his cock before looking up at him and opening your mouth.

He could see his cum in your mouth and the disbelieve on his face made you laugh for a second, causing you to spill some but swallowing the rest.

‘Are you sure you never done this before because I never had a woman do this last bit’ Cillian chuckled as he helped you up.

‘No…never’ you said. ‘But, I’ve watched porn before’ you laughed as you wiped your mouth before giving Cillian a kiss.

After your intimate encounter, you both cleaned yourself off and got dressed before Cillian gave you a lift to art school.

Unpleasant Surprise

Your day at art school was good but you couldn’t get Cillian out of your head that day.

You went as far as to cancel your date with Anita that same afternoon so that you could surprise Cillian at his house later.

It was probably for the better you thought as Anita had many questions for you that day after Darcy had told her that he saw you at the theatre with Cillian.

At 4.30pm, after picking up some food and clothes from at home, you made your way to Cillian’s place.

You knocked on the door and, eventually, Cillian opened.

‘What are you doing here Y/N?’ Cillian asked surprised. You came by unannounced and thought that, maybe, it wasn’t a good idea after all. Perhaps he didn’t like surprises.

‘I am sorry, I should have called. I just wanted to surprise you’ you said before asking Cillian whether you could come inside.

‘It’s not a good time Y/N’ Cillian said and, in this moment, you could hear a female voice from inside his apartment.

Through the crack of the door, you could see a blonde woman. She was pretty, probably in her late thirties, wearing a black dress and heels. It was obvious to you that Cillian and her were close.

‘Can I call you later?’ Cillian asked.

‘Right, sure’ you sighed as you handed him the bag with the food and walked off.

As you walked towards the elevator, tears were building up in your eyes and you felt overwhelmingly anxious and upset. Perhaps he wasn’t different than other actors and you were just another quick fling.

You didn’t pick up his calls that day. You’ve been hurt enough by men in the past.

[t-o-m-hollands]

Summary: It’s the late summer of 2004. You are set to travel across the country for university and your best friend Tom is staying behind. You spend your last night together before you leave. 

Themes: Friends to lovers, love confessions, first love. 

Warnings: Drinking beer. One mention of smoking weed. Mentions of parents fighting and also implied neglectful parents. Smut (+18), two spanks?? otherwise pretty tame.  

Word count: 3,4 k

Notes: I don’t know, this might be a bit different? Or it might just feel that way to me. It’s very reminiscent of teenage years and first love and nostalgia. Please let me know your thoughts, I’m genuinely not sure what to think about this one. 

Massive thank you to @augustholland​ who read through it and very kindly reassured me that it wasn’t bad 💖

Also, this fic was inspired by the Phoebe Bridgers song. I’ve never actually listened to it but it keeps showing up in my recommendation and i like the title of it so this is what i imagine that song is about. Mostly I listened to Harry Styles - Fine Line while writing this.

You finish up early that afternoon. Wayne, your old boss, tries not to cry as he hugs you goodbye. He tells you to take care in a gravelly voice close to breaking, as he avoids looking at you. It’s your last shift in the greasy bar, where for the last two years you’ve been selling cheap beer and watered down whiskey to weary old men and rowdy students who come in for a game of pool. It hasn’t paid much, just a few pounds an hour; just enough so that on each thursday you and Tom have enough money for movie tickets at the local cinema. It’s your tradition. Like a religious man goes to church each sunday; you spend your thursday nights with Tom’s arm slung around your shoulders, watching whatever new film they have on, sharing a bowl of popcorn between you. Afterwards you'll have burgers at the fast food joint across the street; talking about the movie long into the night, sharing a bag of fries. 

When you were younger and hadn’t been able to afford to pay Tom had sneaked you both into the cinema anyway.  Your hand in his, he had led the way into the movie theatre when no one was looking. Sitting in the back row he’d sneak you Fruit Polos to snack on, his arm slung around your shoulders, as you watched movies you were way too young for.

Last week was your final movie screening; some light-hearted American comedy, and the entire way through it you fought the lump in your throat, forcing yourself not to cry. Tom hadn’t laughed either; had just held you closer than usual. 

Tomorrow you are set to leave the small seaside town behind you, the place where you have spent most of your life, for a drive all across the country; to start university in a city you’ve only visited once before. You’re not sure when you’ll return.

Thus lately everything has been laced with goodbyes; childhood having reached its end.

Just two days ago there had been the last bonfire where you had watched the Holland boys fight each other while playing football as his parents looked on and laughed, grilling sausages over the open fire. 

It was on the same rocky beach where you have spent many summer days; grilling food on the open fire and throwing back cheap beer with your friends from school. You have scraped your knees on these rocks, burned your skin from both the bonfire and the sun there; have had your heart broken over and over and over again during your school years as you watched Tom kiss whatever girl he was dating at the time by the fire during summer night parties.

Maybe you had broken his heart a few times as well. 

As the afternoon light turns everything golden you drive through the main street in the small town where  everyone knows everybody, and has done for generations. You watch the people as you drive them by. You know everyone’s name, know each crack in the pavement; can find your way home in the dark. 

God knows how many shoes you’ve worn out over the years walking down these streets. 

The radio plays a blink-182 song you know by heart as you follow the road out of the city, through the woods and up to the coast. At the end of a muddy track, on the border to the forest, stands a shabby old caravan. It faces the beach and above the door christmas lights are lit up all year round. 

The Holland family legend says that Tom’s great uncle had won the small patch of land in a bet. Unable to build a large house he had bought a caravan and put it on the lot. The old man had lived in the Shed for the rest of his lifetime, before passing it on to Tom; the youngster of the family, his younger brothers having yet to be born. When he had turned seventeen he moved out of his parents larger, more comfortable house, and into the Shed. His mother had agreed on it on the condition he took on the apprenticeship to become a carpenter that he had been offered. 

You remember when he had told you of his decided future, one late evening as you sat on the driftwood by the beach, smoking weed and watching the sun set over the horizon. It had felt right somehow, you had been able to  imagine him working with his hands, skillfully forming and bending wood to his will; his long and slender fingers knowing just how to fix things. Tom has always been good at mending things. It had been three years now and he was a full time employee at the JBT Carpentry Services. He says it doesn’t pay much, but he’s happy; and that's all that matters.

As you park the car outside the Shed Tom comes out. Standing under the colorful christmas lights he grins widely as he sees you, his eyes crinkling at the sides. The most genuine smile you know. He’s tanned from a summer spent on the beach, his hair a wavy mess; as if he’d just woken up from sleep. It’s a warm august day and the world seems sunbleached somehow; but in the afternoon light Tom looks golden. 

You are painfully aware that it is the last time you’ll see him like this for many months to come.

Walking up to him and he gives you a bear-hug; his warm, hard body pressed against yours, holding onto you tightly. With your face in the crook of his neck you breathe him in and discover that a faint trace of bonfire smoke still lingers on his skin. It all feels achingly familiar and safe. So heartrendingly unlike the uncertain life at university that lies in front of you.

Tom is your safe place.

Your parents had always fought like cat and dog and sometimes when you were younger and  they’d argue you’d climb through your window and walk all the way over to the Holland household. You were always welcomed there and his parents didn’t ask any questions, no matter how late the hour; instead they fed you, treating you like a member of the family around the dining table with gentle teasing and reminders of homework that needed to be done, letting you sleep over when needed. No questions asked. 

With the years the fighting at home got worse. When Tom fixed himself a beat-up old Land Rover and moved out to the Shed you’d call him from the payphone down the road. He’d always answer, telling you to pack up; and that he was on his way. He’d pick you up by the end of the street, a duffle bag with schoolbooks and a change of clothes slung over your shoulder. He’d take you back to his place to sleep. His caravan only had one bed, so you used to curl up next to each other in bed. On the nights when you were crying he’d hold you, and in the morning he’d make you breakfast before you both went off to school. 

Your parents never noticed your temporary absence. 

Tom lets go of the hug, but with an arm around your waist he leads you into his home. There’s a lingering scent of fried food in the air and the boombox is playing the 3 Doors down CD he’s been obsessed with since you bought it for his birthday. You tread the cherry wood veneered flooring with your battered tennis shoes, feeling more at home here than anywhere else on earth.

 “Fancy a beer?” Tom asks, leading the way to the kitchen area. “Warn you though, it's warm. Just got back from the store so they haven’t had time to cool”.

Everything is warm today, and the caravan is no exception. The ancient AC had given in years ago and Tom could never afford having it fixed. You heave yourself up on the countertop, replying a simple “sure” to his question. 

He opens a Stella and hands it to you. He isn’t wrong, the beer is tepid. Yet you drown half the bottle in one big swig; happy just to have something to do with your hands when he’s standing so close to you. Gulping down on the liquid and you cannot help but notice Tom’s eyes on your throat as you swallow. He opens a bottle for himself and takes a swig. 

You smile at the ancient gray t-shirt he’s wearing. At one point there had been a band logo on it, but it has long since been washed out. He notices you smiling at him and as if it's infectious a smile broadens on his face as well. “What?” he asks, leaning against the small counter across from you.

“Nothing” you say, smiling wider. “Just wondered how many times I’ve seen you in that shirt. I mean, it has to be near a couple of thousand times by now”.

“You don't exactly love buying new clothes either” he says, a teasing smile playing at his lips as he looks at your washed out jeans shorts. “I know for a fact that those aren’t new, darling”. His eyes linger on your legs for a moment too long before he looks away, taking a swig from his beer. 

“So, when are you leaving?” He asks, and you can tell that he’s trying to sound relaxed, but leaned against the countertop, his arms crossed in front of him, head bowed; holding onto the bottle of Stella he’s nursing with a tight grip. He looks tense and on edge. 

“Tomorrow morning”

He takes a swig from his beer. There’s nothing more to say, not really. Everything that happens now is just aftermath; you might as well have already left. 

“I’m nervous” you admit, biting your lip, trying hard not to et out the tears you’ve been holding in for days now; embarrassed that your voice trembles on the last word. 

His head snaps up to look at you. Pushing off the counter he takes a step forward, placing himself in between your legs. 

“Hey” he says, with a voice a low and gentle as a whisper, his hand cupping your cheek. You look up at him; long dark eyelashes framing his beautiful brown eyes, his thin lips slightly parted and across his nose freckles are spread out, the result from a summer spent in the sun. His calloused hand strokes your cheek. “You’re going to take them by storm, Pebbles”.

You smile, despite your fluttering heart. He hasn’t called you Pebbles for a long time. It had been his nickname for you when you first became friends, the reason behind it long forgotten. He was the only one to ever call you it, and the name had lingered long into your late teenage years. 

“You took me by storm,” he admits. 

You blink up at him through wet eyelashes. Your family had moved to the town when you were ten years old. This was the kind of small town that strangers seldom came to and inhabitants rarely left; and so the new addition to the small local school had everyone talking. You had felt like an astronaut shuffled into space on your first day, trying to find gravity in the unfamiliar school corridors. You had felt the pull of gravity in form of the brown-eyed boy sitting next to you in english class. He had given you a warm smile as you sat down next to him. He had made you his friend, listened to you and confided in you; had made you laugh until your stomach ached. You found further gravity in his home; surrounded by his family and their endless squabbles and laughter, sitting next to Tom at the dinner table.

It hadn’t taken long before you and Tom were an inseparable item; your names always linked to one another in the mouths of others. 

“You’ve worked so hard for this scholarship” he says, and the corners of his mouth tugs up into a smile, “I mean, I’m pretty certain you’re the only reason I even finished school”.

You had helped him write most of his essays at school. He’d struggled with reading a lot and found the assigned novels difficult. There were evenings where you’d spend hours laying on the bed; twisting the phone cord between your fingers, as you read the books out loud for him. 

Sometimes, in order to be left alone from his parents and younger brothers, he’d walk down to the end of the street and to the payphone there, where he’d spend all his pennies listening to you reading. You had talked and talked until your voice got hoarse; until he ran out of pennies. Yet when he hung up you always felt a tug of longing in your chest, knowing you wouldn’t be able to see him until the next day in school. 

“Well,  I heard you’re doing pretty good as a carpenter” you say, smiling up at him. “I always knew you’d be good with your hands”. 

As soon as you’ve said it you can feel your face heat up. You had heard the rumours at school; Tom Holland is a stellar fuck. Once, while you were in the bathroom stall, you had heard a gang of girls discuss it as they reapplied their lipgloss in the mirror. One of them told the story of her one night stand with Tom, how he had made her come several times over with his hands and mouth; how he’d fucked her so long and so good. You had stood in the stall, your heart in your throat; feeling sick to your stomach, but unable to stop listening.

There were girls that reached out to you in school, knowing you were Tom’s closest friend, and asked you in hushed but awed voices if it was true. If he really that good in bed.

He looks you dead in the eye, an unusual seriousness to his warm eyes. He knows what you’re thinking, knows what thoughts have made your cheeks flush with colour. Letting go of your cheek he places his arms on either side of you on the counter; caging you in. 

“There’s never been anyone but you, Pebbles. Not really.” His tone is heavy with meaning and you feel light-headed; both oddly detached from your own body and painfully aware of the closeness of his. Your heart is beating hard in your chest. 

This is a line you’ve never crossed before. 

“I know I’m ruining everything by saying this, but you’re leaving tomorrow and I’ve been walking around with this secret lodged in my chest like a bullet since i was ten years old; I love you, Pebbles. I’ve always have”.

You should speak. You should tell him that you’ve known for a long time how he’s felt. That it’s been evident in the way his eyes keep lingering on your legs, in the way his arm usually finds its way to rest around your waist. In the way he’s always been there for you. You should tell him that you understand why he hasn’t been able to voice his feelings for you; because you haven’t done it either. Too scared of losing him. But your breath has caught in your throat and all you can focus on is those caramel eyes on you, and how hard your heart is beating in your chest.

“I love you too” you say, voice hardly louder than a whisper. You swear there was music coming from the boom box but all you can hear is the blood rushing through your body. 

He kisses you.

He takes your mouth slowly, kissing you thoroughly until you can’t think straight; can’t remember any other kiss than his. Then his lips move over yours with more fervour; more urgency, one hand around your throat and the other tangled in your hair. He kisses you until you're both moaning and gasping for more. 

This is it. You’ve crossed the invisible line between friends and lovers; and there is no return, no going back from here. When you leave tomorrow you will leave knowing what his mouth feels like pressed against your.

You dig your hands into his soft hair, runs them both up his chest, realising that this is what your hands were made for. He lifts you off the counter and you wrap your legs around his waist. He moves you both across the caravan and into the bedroom. It’s baking hot in there and you can already feel sweat forming at the low end of your back. The room, just big enough for a bed to fit, is lit up with sunlight. His bed is a mess of rumpled white sheets and the walls are the same cherry wood colour as the rest of the caravan. 

You kiss and lick his jaw, his neck, his throat; anywhere you can reach you stroke him. You tug at his hair, kiss his soft lips, and nib at his ear. It’s like the gates have been opened, because even though his arm has always been a comforting presence around your waist; and even though you’ve slept in the same bed more times than you can count, his body curled up next to yours, forming himself like a question mark around your body; he’s never been yours to touch before. Not like this.

His breathing is accelerated, his chest rising and falling in rapid speed, and so is yours. There’s a heat to his eyes that tells you he’s just as turned on as you are. You pull at his shirt before he’s even laid you down on the bed; impatiently craving all his warm, suntanned skin pressed against yours. It’s an almost feverish frenzy, and in the back of your mind you know that you should take this slow. You don’t want this to end too soon, because this might be all you get. But the sun hasn’t even set yet and through the old white-washed curtains you helped put up and light shines through, bathing you both sunshine. 

Outside the waves keep crashing against the shore and in the kitchen his boombox keeps playing songs you’ve heard a million times before. It is like it always has been at Tom’s, except that for laying on his sofa and talking he’s removing your clothes; kissing his way down your body. Wet, opened mouth kisses that leave a trail of heat in its wake that have you bucking your hips up for more. His hands are everywhere, exploring your legs. He’s looking at your skin with wide-eyes adoration. With his body in between your wide spread legs he kisses the soft inside of your thighs. 

“So soft” he groans against your skin, “and so sweet”.

You feel overheated and breathless; aching all over from wanting him. Perched up on your elbows you observe him; his dark hair brushing against the low of your stomach as he kisses the tender skin of your hip bone. He bares his teeth and bites the sensitive flesh. 

His hand cups your cunt. You’re wet and aching and as you presses his thumb to your clit, gently but steadily moving up and down, you feel like you’re going to combust. His strokes are soft at first, before speeding up, making you moan wantonly, spreading your legs wider for him.

“Glad you like that,” he says, a satisfied smile spreading on his face. “Do my fingers feel good on you, darling?”

All you can do is moan in response, arching and moving your hips up to meet his hand. His movements are fast and slippery and it doesn’t take long until your close, so close, so close; on the brink of tipping over and then - 

A sharp slap on your pussy, leaving a stinging bite, and it is like the world splits into two. 

“God” you moan, voice hoarse. You’re shuddering all over; moanes falling freely from your lips. 

He looks up at you from his position in between your legs, his dark eyes sparkling. He kisses the soft inside of your thighs again. “You have any idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you here?” he asks. “I bet you do, torturing me for fun in those short jeans shorts”. He spanks your pussy again and you couldn’t have stopped the moan falling from your lips even if you tried. “How long I’ve wanted to taste you here?”. And he places a hot kiss on your wet slit. You can feel his soft hair pressed against your thighs; his warm breath against your skin.

His lips part and he covers you with his mouth, his tongue moving over your opening; touching you, stroking you, tasting you. A guttural moan leaves him. He looks up at you through tassels of hair, caramel eyes glued to your face.

You fall back against the mattress, “more” you demand, in a voice that sounds a lot like begging. “Please, more”.

It is as if he’s been unleashed. You have never felt anything like it, but he laps you up, tastes you; his fingers moving inside you; pressing against the place that has you seeing stars. You can’t even look at him now, you’re eyes shut; too overwhelmed by the stimulation. Both aching for more but not sure if your body can handle that kind of pleasure. Your thighs are shaking, and something in your stomach grows tighter and tighter by each flick of his tongue against your clit.

“I’m coming” you cry out breathlessly “fuck I’m coming”

And you do. Hard. He keeps kissing and touching you through it; both grounding you and dragging out the intense sensation. 

His hands, now familiar with your thighs, make their way up to the soft swell of your breasts, as you struggle to regain your breath. He’s cupping them in his hands, pinching your nipples in between his fingers, kissing them with ferveor. Hungry hands move over your breasts, your stomach, your face; cupping it so that he can kiss you with the sort of yearning that comes from years of unanswered desire. 

Your hands move over his body as well, moving over his abdomen chest and arms, defined from long hours of hard work. You kiss his throat and collarbones, kissing at the skin; licking, sucking and biting until you hear guttural moans coming from his throat. His lips are slightly parted, and his glossy dark eyes are fixed on your face; his fingers loosely tangled in your hair. 

He presses you down onto the mattress again, until he’s face to face; his arms on each side of your face, holding himself over you.

“You sure?” he asks, voice hoarse, panting slightly. 

“I want this” you answer him, voice low but clear, “I really, really want this Tom”

He smiles, breathing out the breath he’d been holding and moves away from you, reaching for the side of his bed and to take out a condom from the drawer. 

He places a quick kiss to your lips, your cheek, your belly button, before he sits up. He removes his underwear and you can feel your face heat up again. Because this is Tom, your Tom, whom you’ve been in love with for half your life. But being with him, both naked as the day you were born, feels right. You know everything about this man, all his preferences and secrets; his favourite movie and how he likes his food and why he skipped class every day for a month in year nine. And he knows everything about you. It feels right that he should know this as well; know each curve of your body and the way you like to be kissed and what has you moaning and begging for more. 

He unwraps the foil package and puts the condom on with firm fingers. Leaning over you again he lines up against your opening. His eyes glossy with lust, damp hair falling over his face; his mouth swollen and wet from kissing you.

Then with a sharp thrust and a groan he’s inside you. 

All coherent thoughts go out the window as he starts moving in and out of you. The only thing that exists is his strong, sweaty body above you, moving in and out of you with slow, deep thrusts. He’s so hard where you are soft and you can’t stop touching him, dragging your fingers over his back, pulling at his hair, kissing his arms. It’s like the wires in your brain have crossed, sending out sparks of pure pleasure in your body. 

He hits a particularly tender spot inside you and the groan that leaves you is almost animalistic.

Tom nearly halters in his pace, before collecting himself again. “Fuck” he moans out, kissing your neck. His movements become more frenzied and you roll your hips under him, meeting his movements; trying to get him deeper inside you. 

He pushes himself up onto his hands, pulls back slightly; and pushes in. Starting to really fuck you. 

You can’t stop looking up at him; naked body damp with sweat, muscles moving as he works; arms flexed and cheeks flushed. His eyes are closed pleasure now. Your hands are on his hips helping him set the pace as he fucks into you with fast, hard thrusts. Without warning you clutch around him in pleasure and he groans loudly.

“How the fuck does your cunt feel better than it tastes?” he asks, panting for air. “

He presses a hand over your heart, letting it rest there. You wonder if he can feel it pounding for him. You feel like you’re dissolving into a thousand tiny pieces as you come around him with a choked scream. 

He’s so close and you can practically feel it; aching for him to have it. You want him to come; in you, on you, over you. 

And then he does, his brows furrows; like the pleasure is so intense it hurts him. The sounds he makes when he comes are guttural; almost whimpering. 

As he falls down on the bed beside you he pulls you close, has you pressed against his body, an arm firmly wrapped around you. The sun has set now, but the ocean waves still crash onto the shore, the sound of it the only thing to fill the silence part from your laboured breathing; the music having gone quiet in the other room. 

Neither one of you say anything. You knew the end to this when he kissed you. You’ve regretted nothing that has happened here, and you know that he doesn’t either; but tomorrow you are leaving to drive all the way across the country and he cannot follow. You don’t know what will happen now, and he doesn't have the answer to that either. And so you just let him hold you; wishing with all your might that you could stop the morning from coming.

***

Please let me know your thoughts, genuinely don’t know what to make of this one. 

[kuroopaisen]

imitheos. (oikawa tooru)

➵ oikawa barely recognises the god he used to be. 

wc: 3.8k

warnings: gn!reader, greek god au, melancholia? angst? is that something to warn people about?

a/n: so this got away from me, and ended up half a character study, but,,, @kacchand (sorry for tagging this one but i couldn’t tag @kacchand-archive aa) thank you so much for the warm, lovely things you’ve said to me ever since stumbling across my blog, and for complimenting my oikawa specifically. it’s those sorts of compliments that makes me feel all soft!

Oikawa Tooru. He’s still not sure of the name. He never chooses them himself; they come to him, quite naturally, each time he assumes a new form. Each time he knits himself a backstory, he wonders what this life will bring. If it will be better than the last.

He hasn’t always been Oikawa Tooru. He’s been many other forms littered throughout history, recycling the same ego. And before each of those, he was Apollo.  

Apollo had been a god amongst gods, deity of so much and so many. He could absolve men of guilt, gift mortals with the power of prophecy, balance their lives in his hands as he commanded the fate of their crops. Even the gods feared him, loved him, revered him.

But he is no longer Apollo. He is a whisper of him, a half-forgotten shadow.

His old name is everywhere. Rocket ships, theatres, philosophical concepts. He’s watched countless effigies to his old self shoot themselves into the sky, chasing a distance once thought unreachable. They always seem to take the light with them, blazing into the darkness.

But Apollo is just a name, now. Everything he used to symbolise seems to pass through him like white smoke.

It’s so hard to find the light in this endless winter.

Archery is just a niche hobby, now. Wars are won through other means.

Disease and the means to combat it are far past his sphere of influence now. Both continue to take on new and frightening forms that even he couldn’t conjure.

There is no space in this world for prophecy anymore. Such things are considered untruths, the trade of hackneyed swindlers masquerading as fortune tellers.

But poetry. Poetry refuses to die.

Sunday afternoon. The sky is already dark. Slam poetry night at a dingy little coffee shop. He’s sat in his usual spot, a dark corner that grants him a clear view of the makeshift stage at the back of the shop. It’s the best spot to melt away into, to become a true observer. 

He’s not sure why he’s come here. The coffee itself isn’t particularly good, nor is the atmosphere of the place much to his liking. It’s a little dingy, reliant on weak oil lamps for light. He knows that it’s supposed to give off a retro vibe, but he thinks it just makes it miserable. There’s the smell of musk too, permeated through both wood and cushion. 

 But something is drawing him to this place. Something, beating against the fabric of the universe, is telling him that this is where he’s supposed to be.

He still doesn’t know why.

You smile at him from across the room, giving him a small wave. You usually work Sunday afternoons, right until close. He isn’t sure of your name, and usually, he wouldn’t care.

But every Sunday, you seem to take it upon yourself to fulfil his orders. Once upon a time, he would’ve been sure that it was his charm that induced you to do so; mortals often found it hard to resist the gods, after all. But he’s not so sure he can still claim that allure.

“You’re becoming a bit of a regular,” you smile, setting his drink down in front of him. Something made with honey, but he’s not sure what. He never pays much attention when he orders.

Oikawa raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You’re always here on Sundays,” you nod, daring to meet his gaze. “But you’ve never performed yourself.”

Oikawa smiles. One person, at the very least, has noticed his existence. That’s as powerful as a prayer these days.

“I take it you’re a fan,” you remark, eyes scanning his face.

Oikawa nods. “You could say that.”

You smile. It’s small, and he wonders if it’s merely a nicety. “Of slam poetry in particular, or…”

Ah. Yes.

He wants to say it’s because he’s tired of typical poetry. Tired of all its embellishments and platitudes. Slam poetry is newer, younger, angrier. There’s a rawness to it, a rage that speaks to something more visceral in him. Pretty words are not enough anymore.

It’s an offering of something else, of a yearning he still struggles to place. It’s a call for something better, for change, for vindication.

But he won’t bore you with that. You’re just a waiter, making small talk to be polite.

“My preferences change often,” he shrugs.

He appraises you for a moment, clad in a button-up shirt and dress trousers, a charmingly small apron wrapped around your waist. He’s not paid you much mind before; maybe because he’s been looking too hard.

He once thought that this café was drawing him towards a modern muse, an echo of Melpomene. Or perhaps Erato? But it hadn’t been that at all. It had been a call to draw him to you.

For what, he can’t say. But this small moment, this little recognition in the back of a dingy coffee shop on a dour Sunday afternoon in the midst of winter, is the closest he’s felt to worship in aeons.  

He fears, for a moment, that you might be Daphne. Or maybe Marpessa. He’s already lost another Hyacinth; not to death, but to the rhythm of life. The pull of a world to which Oikawa couldn’t follow. How long had it been since Hajime left?

Oikawa can’t say.

But he’s been so lonely. So faded.

Whoever you are, whoever you were, does not matter.

What matters is that you’re the first person in a very long time who can see him.

☉ ☉ ☉

“Back again,” you smile. Another drink with honey is placed in front of him. It’s the only thing he’s been ordering for the past few weeks.

He nods, looking up at you with a smile. He knows it’s dead behind the eyes, but he’s trying. He hopes, quietly, that the darkness will mask it. 

“You must really enjoy the poetry,” you remark, looking over your shoulder.

One girl has just finished, face flushed with both nervousness and pride. She is young, perhaps barely seventeen, but with the fury of someone who knows too much about the horrors of the world. She’d done quite well by Oikawa’s account. He hadn’t derived much joy from it, but she certainly has potential.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, taking a sip of his drink.

“Do you prefer more…” You pause, brow furrowed as you search for the words. “Traditional poetry?”

Oikawa shakes his head.

Perhaps his tastes would err more to the modern, if he knew more about it. But the fact of the matter is that he simply doesn’t have a clue. Too much time spent with volleyball preoccupying most of his thoughts, and very little time keeping up with the artistic scene of the last decade and a half.

He can’t speak as an expert. But he can speak as the god who invented poetry, who gave mortals the means with which to express their magnitudes. A gift, he’d said. To turn the human experience into something beautiful. But was it for them, or for him?

“The anger is sincere,” he muses, “And they all seem to have poured their soul into their poems.”

You nod, smiling at him. “I wish I was that creative, at their age.”

He looks at you. You look about the same age he should be; twenty-something, maybe? Young, perhaps still in university.

You’ve been spending your breaks with him for a few weeks now.

He doesn’t mind; in fact, he enjoys the company. And, you seem to care about what he has to say, which certainly fluffs his ego.  

Why you would care so much about an odd, discreet man sitting in a dark corner of a coffee shop is beyond him.

But he wants to know why. Know more about you. What you love. What you desire.

“What do you want to do with your life?”

The question is sudden, perhaps a bit invasive. It flies from his lips before he has time to reassess it, to craft it into something a bit less intense. He fears, for a moment, that it might scare you – that it might be a bit too much.

But you laugh, tilting your head at him. “That’s a bit of a big question, don’t you think?”

He smiles. “You must have some idea.”

You sigh, shrugging. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I need to survive university before I can start worrying about that sort of stuff.”  

He hums.

“What about you?” You ask, polite smile gracing your lips.

He bites the inside of his cheek, his brows creasing. “Not sure.”

He might have dreamed of greatness a while ago. He would’ve chased volleyball, brilliant and vibrant as he was.

Who would have thought that Apollo would find his heart in something so coarse as sport? For a moment, however brief, he’d felt like he might be able to shrug off this immortal shackle. To exist for himself, and not as a mere echo reliant on mortal belief. To maybe, finally, have a chance to live as he wanted to, dictated by his own desires.  

That last spark of vibrant humanity had spluttered out the day they lost that one fateful match.

He had wanted to chase his own dreams, the tangible passions he’d discovered as a mortal. He hadn’t wanted to be this, a pathetic half-god that was fading into the grey. But that was the trappings of his dying godhood – a life half-lived, a dream unfulfilled. Where would he be, if he had been able to take on the world as Oikawa Tooru?

Happier, he supposes. Though, he can’t be sure. Because maybe this early evening, grey and cold and bitter, almost tastes like happiness. Almost. And he knows why.

☉ ☉ ☉

There’s a glow to him. He doesn’t notice it; he’s been brighter in the past, blindingly radiant. He was once considered the most beautiful of the gods for a reason.

But to you, this distant, peculiar man is beautiful. There’s something of a fallen giant to him; is he the sort of person whose glory days has long since passed? Had he been a high school hero maybe?

There’s something else to him, too. Something strange. Something esoteric.

You don’t quite know how to explain it.

It’s like he’s asking – no, begging someone to acknowledge him. To breathe new life into him.

And for all his strange, aggressive indifference, there’s a little flame in him. One that seems like it’s been burning for centuries, too stubborn to flicker out.

You haven’t missed how it’s getting brighter.

He only comes in on Sundays, staying from three until eight. If his prolonged presence bothers your co-workers, they don’t mention it.

Perhaps it’s silly to be so fascinated by a complete stranger, especially one that simply sits in a corner and watches. Perhaps it is even sillier to spend your breaks with him. But it’s as if you can’t help yourself; something pulls you towards him, even if you don’t understand it.

“What about the Greeks?” You ask one evening, sitting next to him in his booth.

His smile is bemused at best. “What about them?”

“Well… they’re classics,” you muse, “Are you a fan, or…?”

“Homer can suck my dick,” Oikawa grumbles. He never quite forgave that man for the unflattering portrait of his godliness.

You laugh. There’s an echo of a lyre in it. He wonders, for a moment, what you might look like with a laurel woven through your hair, smiling on a Pierian coast in the height of a blistering summer.

He doesn’t let his mind wander too far.

“I’m not really one for poetry,” you murmur, looking down at your hands.

“Is that so?” Oikawa smiles, taking a sip of his coffee. It’s lukewarm after sitting on the table for so long, but he doesn’t mind.

You shake your head. “I find it difficult to wrap my head around. It makes me feel kind of stupid.”

He nods. He used to understand poetry so well – in the darkest of nights, it was often the only thing he understood. It used to be laced with his very being, threaded through his body like veins. But now, it just fills him with bitterness.

“I like the classics, though,” you smile softly, playing with your fingers. “There’s something about the simplicity and straightforwardness of the language that appeal to me. And, I don’t know…” You bite your lip. “Some emotions seem to transcend time and culture. And some of the classics are so… raw. So… human.”

‘Human.’ He gazes at you, that word in particular playing over in his mind. There’s some truth in the classics, he supposes. Something in them that echoes across the centuries. But he’s been around far too long to care for patterns and parallels.

“Sorry,” you blush, smoothing your apron. “I must be boring you.”

“Not at all.” Oikawa shakes his head, leaning towards you. He takes another sip of his coffee. It’s cold now. “So, you’re a history buff, then?”

Maybe you are Clio, after all.

You shrug. “Only ancient history, really. But I haven’t read as much about it as I should’ve.”

“Are you a fan of the myths?” He asks, a playful lilt to his voice. He knows you won’t get the joke, but he doesn’t mind.

“Some,” you nod. “Why?”

“Know any about Apollo?”

“Apollo?” You smile. His old name sounds like a melody on your lips. “As in the god?”

“Sure.” Who else could he mean?

You pause for a moment, pressing your lips together. It’s a beautiful silence.

“Have you read Plato’s Symposium, by any chance?” You ask, gaze meeting his.

He nods. He doesn’t mind Plato; the man had been grateful for the gift of music, after all.

“There’s a story in it I really like,” you murmur, eyes turning towards the roof. “Well, it’s more of a myth, but… it’s the one about soulmates.”

“Oh?”

“Do you know it?”

“Vaguely.” Of course he knows it. He just wants to hear it retold in your voice.

“Well, alright,” you clear your throat, sitting up a little straighter. “There were three kinds of humans, descended from the sun, the earth and the moon. All had four arms and four legs, two faces, et cetera. But, the gods felt they were too unruly and powerful. By Zeus’ count, this was unacceptable, and he wanted to humble them.”

Oikawa hopes his expression is neutral enough. How is Zeus? Is he still around?

“Instead of simply destroying them, he split them in two,” you continue. “And that made us miserable.”

Your use of the word ‘us’ intrigues him, but he wants to save his questions for later.

“But, Apollo took pity on us,” you smile. “He decided to patch us up, and shape us into, well… the form we have today. The story goes that our navel is where he sewed our broken skin together. But he turned our heads around to what had once been our back, so we’d have to look at that mark as a reminder of our punishment and how incomplete we are.”

It does not matter to him if there is any truth in this story. Regardless, it certainly sounds like the folly of the gods.

“Once we were split, the two halves were flung to the far ends of the earth. From then on, each of us yearns with both body and soul to be reunited with our other half.” Your voice is so lyrical, so comforting. It is, perhaps, the closest thing to music he’s heard in a while. “Those of us who are lucky enough to find them supposedly know no greater joy. We’ll never feel so understood, so complete. Most of us though, will never know that joy.”

Perhaps the gods didn’t deserve the reverence they got. Perhaps they really had been tyrants, all along. But then again, there was little love between gods and mortals; if anything, worship was simply a reflection of the fears the divine inspired.  

A new question itches at the back of his mind.

“Do you believe in life after death?” He asks.

You blink at him, eyes wide and round. “Well, I… I don’t know, really.”

He knows it’s a heavy question. He knows that he didn’t prepare you for it, and that it’s only tenuously connected to the conversation at hand. But, he always found that people were at their most honest when they were caught off guard.

 “I don’t like thinking about it,” you admit, looking down at your hands. “It makes me all existential.”

Oikawa nods. Most humans react like this.

The relationship between mortals and death has always fascinated him. Fear, loathing, regret. It’s all bundled together. Sometimes, there is comfort. Sometimes, there is a sense of calm. But it is never easy to face the unknown, after such a brief stint of being alive.

It’s something he cannot understand in this existence of his that stretches itself thin across the millenniums.

What is death to a god? He imagines it must be something like relief.

☉ ☉ ☉

“Do you write yourself?” It’s a little question, one he knows was coming.

He doesn’t know how to answer.

You sit next to him in the lamplight, eyes sparkling as they always do. If he was more human, maybe he would compare them to the stars. Or perhaps the ocean after a storm. But he is not human, much less a poet.

How does he say that he’s never needed to? That his patronage, his presence alone was enough to inspire those classics you so dearly love? That he himself has never put lyrics to the human experience?

He has always been a god. There is no beauty to his experience; only in those small pockets of human intimacy he’s been granted across the centuries. There is no beauty to the life of a god – only fire, and fury, and hubris. Even his body is unlike yours; he has no heart, and he bleeds ichor.

“Not really,” he shrugs. It’s all he can say.

“‘Not really’ implies that you write at least a little,” you smile, leaning towards him.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t really have time to do something like that.” He pauses for a moment. Should he tell you? Should he reveal more of himself than is maybe wise? “I played volleyball in high school.”

“Oh, really?” You ask, tilting your head at him.

“I was good, too,” he sighs, brow furrowing. “But my team never made it to nationals.”

“Oh.” You look genuinely sad. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. There’s little else to do.

“I wanted to go further,” he admits. The lamplight casts a long shadow on his face, each feature soft and delicate as marble.

Each form, each reiteration, wants more.

So much of what he’s done this time doesn’t echo the traditional Apollonian figure. There is no art, this time. No song.

There was drama in sport, but it was different. It had filled him with a passion he’d never felt before, beating in his chest just like a heart would. It provided that rush of adrenaline, the brutal awareness of the importance of just one moment. Eternity stretches on forever for a god, but a game must end. Perhaps, in some way, death is very much the same. 

He wants that closure. That passion for the now. 

Now, more than ever before, he wants to be mortal. To lose himself in the storm that is being human – he wants it all. He wants to let go of the god he no longer is.

Where does Apollo end? Where does Oikawa Tooru begin?

☉ ☉ ☉

Time is passing again. Each day is over before it’s even begun, slipping through his fingers like a lucid dream. A heartbeat that isn’t his own thrums in his ears, quick and loud and frantic.

And yet, he finds himself outside the coffee shop, standing on the curb. You’re next to him, hands dug deep in your pockets. He’s arrived earlier than usual, catching you right at the beginning of your shift.

There’s something he wants – no, needs to say. Something that can’t wait.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, looking up at the sky. It’s pale, a shade found in-between blue and grey. A perfect winter sky, one you might find on a postcard trying to capture the beauty of the season.

Something is pressing on his chest, heavy and immovable. It feels like a goodbye.

“What for?” You laugh. It really is a delightful sound.

Where to begin? You couldn’t possibly comprehend it. Nor would you believe him. If he speaks too frankly, you may not remember him fondly.

“For the coffee,” he says.

There’s more he wants to say. Something about how, maybe, in another life, there could have been something more between the two of you. Something quite beautiful.

But he knows it’s wiser not to speak that into being. If you feel even a modicum of these emotions, then silence would be an act of kindness.

“Are you… going somewhere?” You ask, all signs of levity gone from your face. He regrets speaking at all now.

“Something like that,” he murmurs. It’s the closest he can get to the truth.

A long silence ensues. Oikawa doesn’t know if he should try to fill it; perhaps he should just let it sit for a while? To enjoy this little moment with you, standing with you in front of a dingy coffee shop on a dour Sunday night in the midst of winter.

Because this moment cannot last. Because nothing can.

“Well,” you clear your throat, eyes lingering on his face, as if you’re committing each detail to memory.

He smiles at you. He’s not aware of it, but it’s almost blinding. It brings a warmth to his face that you’ve never seen before, a warmth that makes him so striking, so beautiful, that you know you won’t be able to find the words to praise it.  

“I hope I’ll see you again,” you murmur. It’s the best you can manage, keeping your feelings in your heart as best you can.

“Me too.”

He means it.

It’s time to go. Where, he’s not sure. But, with all the courage he could muster, he turns his back to you, making his way down the street.

There’s a space in his heart for fear. But it’s empty. Whatever’s coming, whatever’s about to change – he’s ready for it.

He welcomes it.

☉ ☉ ☉

He opens his eyes. He’s tangled in blankets; his own, or someone else’s?

One thought.

My name is Oikawa Tooru.

In the haze of a Sunday morning, he knows nothing else. His eyes flick to the blinds as they flutter with the wind that whispers through his window.

The light floods in.

It’s finally spring. 

[notveryglittery]

birthday prince (1)

summary: roman gives the performance of his dreams and deceit loves him all the more. words: 1,330 / ship: roceit (roman/deceit)  author’s note: hello!! this is the first part of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! the ships are all written romantic but i’m not stopping you from seeing them however you want. peep the ao3 end notes for credits on these gift suggestions (bc i can’t decide where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety) part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts) read on ao3 

— — —

“Darling, may I please open my eyes now?”

“Trust me. We’re almost there.”

Deceit could try all he wanted to hide the excitement in his tone but Roman had no trouble picking up on it. There were hints of nervousness there, too, but Roman was sure that whatever his love had planned, he was going to enjoy it no matter what. Surely, it had something to do with his birthday, given that the week of it had just begun. Usually, Sundays were reserved for family time, but apparently Deceit had had this in the works for a while now, and if they all knew anything, it was to not throw a wrench into his schemes. The part Roman was having a hard time wrapping his head around was the fact that Deceit was giving him such an early birthday gift.

His hand was cool in Roman’s but it held on securely as they walked. They were dressed nicely, with matching accessories. The rings on Deceit’s fingers kept clinking against the ones that Roman wore and as silly as it was, he couldn’t stop smiling about it. During their stroll, the air had been warm and the floor mostly carpet beneath their feet; at the sound of doors opening, however, there was a brief crisp breeze and suddenly each step echoed around them. Roman would know this room no matter the circumstances. A giddy laugh bubbled up his throat.

“What’re we doing here, bee?”

“Why don’t you take a look for yourself?” Deceit suggested, pulling Roman’s hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

Roman opened his eyes. As he expected, Deceit had taken them to the Theatre. It had always been a pleasant and neutral space in Thomas’ mind. Whereas Roman kept control over the Fantasy Realm or Logan the Memory Archives, the Theatre was available for any of them to use as they needed. It was often transformed for Daydream Scenarios but Roman liked it best like this, in all its original glory.

“Shall we?” Deceit prompted, gesturing down the aisle and towards the front row seats.

Roman might not know what was in store but he had no intention of turning it down. He followed again, resisting the urge to mention Deceit having not actually answered his question. He knew he’d find out any moment now, anyway. They settled comfortably, Deceit not once letting go of Roman’s hand. It was only a few seconds later that the lights dimmed and everything shifted. No longer were they figments of the imagination, sat in a theatre that he had created. As far as Roman could tell (and feel), they were in New York City, at the Richard Rodgers Theatre. It was… it was absolutely magical.

And then the opening notes rang out and Roman’s breath rushed out of him.

”How does a bastard, orphan…”

“What… you—”

“Oh, don’t get all flustered now, dear,” Deceit interrupted, equal parts teasing and adoring. “You’ve got a role to play.”

The reds and golds of his suit were replaced in an instant and the 18th century garb he wore now matched that of the actors performing. His hands were shaking but he couldn’t tell if it was because he was terrified or excited. It was probably both.

“Shut up,” he squeaked.

“Happy birthday,” Deceit purred, entirely too self-satisfied.

”And the world’s gonna know your name…”

In a blink, Roman was center stage, in darkness. The show had been sold out, every seat filled. Most of the audience appeared faceless and unimportant to him but, barely, he could see Deceit still sat in the front row. The pride and awe shone blatantly on his face. Roman’s heart was racing. It was adrenaline and fear and joy and nerves and satisfaction. It was butterflies in his stomach and dreams coming true and the sensation of slipping into character and playing his part with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

”What’s your name, man?”

“Alexander Hamilton!” Roman sang as the spotlight beamed down on him.

— — —

Roman threw himself into Deceit’s arms as soon as he arrived backstage. He was out of breath and had been crying since the end of the curtain call but he was blissfully happy. Absolutely nothing could take him down.

“I love you,” he gasped, peppering Deceit’s face with kisses. “That was exhilarating! I just performed in Hamilton! Alongside the original cast! I played the lead role! Oh my god!”

“And you were brilliant,” Deceit said, leaning back just enough so that Roman could see his smile. There was a bouquet in his arms and the flowers were pushing against their chins; it tickled but it smelled sweet. “No offense to Lin-Manuel, but—”

“No!” Roman exclaimed, laughing through his tears. “Don’t you dare besmirch Mr. Miranda’s name!”

Deceit rolled his eyes but relented. He pulled away and offered his gift out to Roman. “I know, they aren’t nearly as handsome as you. However…”

There was more weight to the bundle of roses than Roman would have expected. Upon closer inspection, he found a carefully wrapped package tucked in the middle. He cradled the flowers in his elbow and took the parcel out with his free hand.

“This is for anytime you need reminding of how loved and cherished you are. If for some reason none of us are available to do so, that is.” Deceit was telling him but Roman was transfixed by the handheld mirror revealed as the cloth fabric fell away. It was shiny and gold, with rubies and citrine embedded in the handle.

“I don’t know how true any of it is but,” Deceit began and Roman could hear the telltale start of a nervous ramble. “Rubies are protective stones that bring happiness. Citrine encourages self-expression and creativity. They’re also…” He paused. Roman’s heart felt warm at Deceit’s growing blush. “You know… our colors.”

Before Roman could respond, the mirror flashed pale yellow. He winced and then nearly dropped it because it had started to speak.

“Oh, dearest Roman, it should be impossible for you to be any more attractive than you already are! Somehow, though, the expression you wear when gazing at your loved ones adds still so much to your infinite beauty!”

“Excuse me?!” He yelped, mouth falling open in surprise.

“Good timing,” Deceit said, having seemingly recovered. “And don’t think you can get away with needing it but feeling as if you don’t deserve it. It’ll compliment you whether you like it or not.”

Roman couldn’t even be upset at the blatant callout on his behavior when Deceit looked so pleased with himself. Creating something like this… he had to have taken into account the mirrors’ awareness of its surroundings, knowing when Roman would need it… This hadn’t been a trifling task. Roman thought he might burst with all of the feelings welling up inside of him.

“I love it,” he managed, voice wobbling as tears sprung fresh to his eyes. “I love you. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you—” The gratitude dissolved into happy crying, positively overwhelmed by it all.

“It’s the least I could do for you, my prince,” Deceit crooned, stepping closer and taking Roman gently in his arms. “The world would be yours, if I could give it. Until then, I’ll continue to do my utmost in providing you anything you could ever ask for.”

The Theatre melted away as Deceit carefully sunk them out. While Roman retrieved a box of tissues, Deceit took the flowers and mirror and set them safely aside. It took only a few minutes longer for them to be dressed comfortably and in Roman’s bed, wrapped snugly in blankets. He was crashing quickly, from the last of the adrenaline and the final wave of emotions. Everything was just the right amount of comfortable, Deceit’s cooler temperature keeping them from being too warm from Roman’s elevated body heat. He felt cocooned and safe in Deceit’s embrace and knew that there wasn’t anyone on the planet luckier than him.

[the-cheese-writes]

Now ~ Prinxiety

TW: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Angst, Crying

Word Count: 1138

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Hi! I see you've found my fanfic! This is my first SS fanfic and if I'm completely honest and I'm quite proud of it :3 This is set in a homophobic AU so expect angst, and..... yeah.

Hope you enjoy it!!

~ Bre

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

Virgil stood under the apple tree, behind the four walls of shrubs and bushes and waited for his prince. Usually around this late hour of midnight, he would be exhausted and tired but excitement and eagerness held his eyelids open since this was a rare occasion where he would be able to spend time with Roman.

They first met each other during Sunday Mass at their local church. He had unknowingly been catching Virgil's attention every week and Roman usually sat at the front whilst he sat from behind, making it easy for him to stare for the whole hour. Then, one fateful day, Roman turned around and their eyes locked; they became enamoured by each other and the world around them froze for a split-second to allow the two a moment of subtle ecstasy. After the mass, they exchanged numbers and their relationship only grew from there.

They had more in common than they knew and discovered that they even worked at the same theatre; Roman was an actor and Virgil worked backstage. They seized every opportunity they had to share stolen kisses behind closed doors and fallen curtains and boy, was it, in Roman's words "ridiculously romantic" whenever they did.

Now, tonight was a rare occasion for them as they managed to find free time in their busy schedules to sneak away from reality's watchful eye. Suddenly, Virgil heard rustling behind the bushes. He stood up, his heart speeding up faster by the second and suddenly halting as his gaze met that of his love's. The two men stood still as statues from shock and joy for a few seconds before lunging and embracing each other lovingly and tears spilled everywhere.

Not a second after they pulled away from the hug, Roman quickly leaned forward and kissed his boyfriend square on the lips. Virgil smiled into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Roman's neck as Roman ran his fingers through the emo's hair.

The kiss was passionate, stained with salty tears of joy and lasted for a few beautiful minutes. They eventually pulled away and grinned at each other and Roman let out a hearty laugh before they returned to the hug.

It had been far too long.

They moved over from underneath the apple tree to the grass and Roman sat on the ground beneath the stars whilst Virgil laid down and leaned his head on his lap. The two started their conversations, informing each other about their lives and slyly and frequently slipping in flirtatious banter in the conversations.

The silver jewels above danced for their small audience and Roman soon joined his beloved on the grass and stargazed with him. He intertwined his fingers with Virgil's causing him to shudder at the sudden contact. He had forgotten how soft Roman's skin was and how gentle and safe it felt to hold his hand.

"You what's know the most vivid memory I have of this place?" Roman's question snapped Virgil out of his reminiscent trance.

"What?"

He turned around to lay on his stomach, Virgil following his actions, and pointed to apple tree.

"Our first kiss there," he turned his head and as the blues met the browns, Roman offered a warm smile towards his love. Virgil returned it and placed a soft, sweet kiss to his boyfriend's tender lips.

But something wasn't right.

"Virgil, my love," Roman cupped his face and stared intently into the cinnamon brown marbles the world called eyes, "What's wrong? I could feel the sadness you masked with a kiss."

Virgil looked down then turned around back to facing the twinkling stars above, "I just... couldn't help but think of Patton and Logan."

Silence blanketed them both and Roman turned around to lie on his back again too. He searched for Virgil's hand and held it comfortingly.

"I just... why are they there? They're being punished for simply being who they are? It's bullshit. It's not right. I don't... I don't... I... I just miss them... so... much." Tears began welling up in Virgil's eyes and his voice started breaking, shattering Roman as he watched the scene before him unfold. He pulled Virgil to sit up and held him, trying to comfort him but soon he started crying too. In all honesty, he had no idea what to say since he'd be lying if he said that they were okay when there was a high possibility that they weren't, so he only held his fragile boyfriend who sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder.

They cried for a while at the thought of missing their closest friends and when things had slowly calmed down, Roman held Virgil's cheek. Both men's eyes were red from crying.

"I miss them too. So much. Just thinking of what they could be going through makes me sick. I don't understand how their parents could do that. But..... what can we do?"

They hung their heads in defeat and pressed their foreheads against each other.

Roman eventually looked up, lifted Virgil's chin and forced a smile.

"At least we have each other."

Virgil's eyes started to fill with even more tears and he lunged forward, embracing his boyfriend in a tight hug, desperately wishing to never be given a reason to let go.

The walls of bushes concealed them from the cruel world outside and allowed them to have these incredibly precious few robbed moments together. These inanimate groups of leaves seemed to be the only things in the world who spared sympathy for the boys. All Roman and Virgil wanted to do, was be with each other, all day, all night. To love each other without fear and be accepted for simply being themselves.

But they were two rainbows in a black and white world.

If they dared to be themselves, they would find themselves in the same situation as their best friends. So they would continue to live in fear and worry, but as long as they had each other... that was all that mattered.

The two slowly broke away from the hug and laid down in the luscious green grass, watching the show the stars hosted for exclusively just for them. Virgil rested on Roman's chest and their fingers were intertwined together once more. He released a contented sigh and absorbed the scenery. Yes, they would eventually have to return to their dreaded reality and yes, it may be months before they would be able to share a moment like this again, but at least they had now, and now was all that mattered.

"Virgil, promise me," Roman looked down to the only person who seemed to give a damn about him, "That whatever happens, whatever shit they throw at us, however big the rocks they will chuck at us, you will never give up fighting."

Virgil smiled reassuringly,

"I promise."

[millieg-03]

4.20am Sunday, 21/03/2021

I’m pretty restless tonight. The morphine helps me sleep a little, but my arm movement keeps blocking my cannula, resulting in the constant beep on the infusion pump.

My pain levels are tolerable. My tummy is pretty full though, and still no stoma output. I can feel the start of the cramps building up as the morphine is wearing off, but my dose is keeping me consistently comfortable.

Yesterday was a good day. I managed to ‘eat’ two serves of chicken broth, two instant coffees and two apple juices. There hasn’t been a lot of food this week. There has been a lot of craziness though!

My stomal therapy nurse (STN) visited my house on Monday afternoon to insert a catheter into the distal opening of my stoma. As I watched the colonoscopy prep be inserted via catheter into my system, I didn’t envy the missed opportunity to taste it. Gotta take the wins where they come!

7am Tuesday morning, my STN visited again for round two. Inquisitive me watched carefully throughout this process, and helped where I could - I found it quite fascinating.

Round three happened at 9.30am, then for the first time in 9 months I was able to sit on the toilet and ‘go’ like a normal person.

In the day surgery prep room my Dad fielded a message from my beautiful Peter - our home loan had been approved. WooHoo! So excited for our future! Dad stayed by me for a few hours while I waited for my turn in theatre. It’s a routine procedure, but there was this bogey hanging about that gave this unspoken feeling that things were more than just routine. The gravity of the situation was cemented when my surgeon visited me in recovery. He could see tumour recurrence through the scope. His tone gave insight that I will have a long road ahead. This news did not surprise nor shock me.

I grabbed my property bag, got changed & checked my voicemail “I have the paperwork in front of me, I just need to know what your start date will be. We can’t wait for you to join our team” - I tabled that one for the day, called my beautiful Peter & delivered the minimal information provided to me in recovery. Off we went home to grab the cake & present & headed out to dinner for my 5yr old nieces birthday. It was lovely being around family. The genuine joy as she opened her presents & squealed in excitement. All the little kids lining up for a piece of their Snow White birthday cake. And the food! I enjoyed garlic bread, chicken parmy & a piece of Peter’s delicious chocolate cake. Absolutely de-lish.

I was coaxed into slumber that night by sound of waves through my belly. There were wooshes & grumbles, and I soon found sleep.

I got up to empty half my stoma bag at 2am & sought some strong pain relief. The wooshes and grumbles were no longer playing nice. My bag wasn’t as full as normal. The pain relief kicked in, and I went back to sleep.

Peter dropped me at work that next morning. I was quite keen to be back. I enjoy what I do. I enjoy working hard. I enjoy problem solving, and challenging myself to get better outcomes. It was good to be back at work after a few days off. Team meeting went off without a hitch, but concentration became increasingly difficult thereafter. I took an early lunch just to lay down. Not long after returning to the desk I was unable to manage the pain enough to continue working. 12.44pm text to Peter “I think I might need to go to hospital. My stoma hasn’t worked since dinner, my abdo pain is bad & I just threw up”. I laid in the foetal position while my beautiful colleague sat and comforted me. 10 minutes later I was escorted to Peter’s car.

I’m definitely more rascal than refined elegance. I’ve had my fair share of nights out over the years where I’ve ended up a sickly mess. It’s almost a right of passage through your early twenties, right? Well I don’t think I have ever been this messy, and any fibres of decorum I held, I’m pretty sure I left them in the gutter outside the hospital emergency room. Peter dropped me at the door while he found a park. I didn’t make it to the door. The complete contents of my previous night’s dinner was exited into the gutter, and Peter found me in a ball on the ground rocking back & forward. I had a 10/10 pain, even with targin in my system (a slow-release opiate pain relief).

Here I sit, four days later (now 5.15am), still in hospital. I’m restless because I’m on patient transport today to go to Royal Prince Albert Hospital in Sydney. My Thursday MRI scan showed tumour recurrence & spread to surrounding organs. It’s in my ovaries, uterus and small bowel (hence bowel obstruction & excruciating pain). My current understanding is that a kick-arse surgical team from RPAH will remove anything containing tumours. They will take my uterus and ovaries out. They will take some of my small bowel out. My stoma (I’ve named her Betty) looks like becoming a permanent fixture. If there is any activity near my bladder, then some of that will be removed & probably result in a Urostomy (bladder stoma). Mum thinks I should call her Bertha if this does eventuate. I like that. Bertha and Betty.... there’s also one deposit just hanging about a bit higher. I was told it’s not near the lungs, but more sitting in some fatty tissue near my large bowel somewhere. The true extent of things won’t be known until they actually get in there and have a look!

In terms of looking toward our future, I withdrew from the new job. We are still selling our house, but will move in with Mum & Dad and rent our new one out until I’ve recovered enough to return to work.

Transport is tentatively booked for 9.50am, so I’ll get up & do some laps of the ward, then get myself ready for the trip.

(I did 2x 1km walks of the hallway yesterday!).

For now? Over and out - MandyG Xoxox

[poisonivy7]

Kyalin #1: Izumi’s Genius Plan

Here’s a prompt I got from @/anonymous: Izumi being frustrated with her besties not confessing their love with each other so she basically locks them up in a closet until they talk about their feelings.

I know it’s a bit long, but I really enjoyed writing it and I hope you guys like it! Feel free to comment some more kyalin fanfic prompts (or any other ships from my previous post).

----------

24-year-old Kya and 29-year-old Izumi were sitting by the pond, eating lunch together while watching the turtle ducks swim around. They met every Sunday to catch up — it was their tradition going three years strong. Lately, Izumi noticed that Kya would not shut up about her big fat crush on Lin. She was all Kya would talk about. 

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Izumi finally asked her best friend. 

“Are you crazy? Lin is dating my younger brother, and she is probably the straightest person I’ve ever met. And anyway, I don’t want to ruin our friendship just because I caught feelings,” Kya responded, chuckling. Just the thought of asking Lin Beifong out on a date was ridiculous. 

Izumi sighed disappointedly. Little did Kya know, Lin had confessed her feelings for the older water bender drunkenly a few days ago at the bar. It was the last place anyone would expect to find the Fire Nation princess, but it was Lin’s birthday, and having a break from the regular servants serving upper-class food in the palace was refreshing. 

Izumi could remember that night at the bar with Lin with relative ease (considering Izumi was a bit drunk herself):

“You know what it feels like to be in love with someone you’re not supposed to?…Hurts like a bitch.” Lin winced as she downed the rest of the whiskey in her glass. She motioned to the bartender to get her fifth refill of the night.

“I thought Tenzin’s parents and your mom approve of your guys’ relationship,” Izumi asked, confused.

Lin chuckled drunkenly. “I can’t believe I tried to convince myself that I loved Tenzin when his sister was there the whole time.” Izumi just got even more perplexed.

Seeing the look of confusion on her friend’s face, Lin clarified, “I have a little crush on Kya, but there’s no way she likes me back. I mean, yes, she’s gorgeous, and whenever she’s water bending or laughing or breathing, it’s the hottest thing ever. But she’s also totally out of my league, and she probably picks up so many girls everywhere she goes. Anyway, it’s nothing I can’t get over. So it’s not even a big deal, right?” she rambled as she drank her whiskey, pain searing down her throat. Lin was surprisingly transparent when she was drunk.

The idea of playing matchmaker to her two best friends was so exciting to Izumi. It was a nice break from her regular princess duties. So as she was walking through the halls of the palace for a late-night snack, she came up with the perfect idea. 

Izumi’s birthday party was a week later. She invited her childhood friends every year — Bumi, Kya, Tenzin, Lin, and Su. This year was no exception, even if she was turning the big 3-0. Izumi noticed how Lin would steal small looks at Kya when she wasn’t paying attention. Kya tried getting closer to Lin whenever she could, but it made the situation more awkward, especially because Tenzin was sitting next to Lin. Izumi just wanted to see her friends happy, and witnessing the interactions between them, or lack thereof, was just depressing.

After eating dinner, everyone made their way to the big theatre room to watch a movie. After Bumi and Tenzin managed to stop arguing over what movie they should watch, everyone settled down in the comfortable chairs as the film began playing. Izumi was sitting in between Lin and Kya, but Lin had left to use the bathroom. This was Izumi’s chance to get her best friends to finally confess their feelings for each other.

The Fire Nation princess turned to Kya. “Hey, can you go down to the basement with me to get some blankets? It’s a bit cold here.” 

Kya sighed. She never understood how people got cold so easily. “Yeah, sure thing,” she said.

Izumi led Kya out of the movie theatre room. Once they arrived at the basement door, Izumi noticed that Lin had just left the bathroom that was a few doors down. The timing could not have been any more perfect.

As Kya was going down the stairs, Izumi ran down the hall and found Lin making her way back to the movie theatre. “Hey, Lin! Can you help me get some blankets from the basement?” The metal bender nodded in response and followed Izumi. 

As soon as Lin went down the stairs and saw Kya, Izumi shut the door and locked it. Both Kya and Lin ran back up the stairs, frantically. “Izumi! I don’t know what prank you’re pulling, but this isn’t funny! Unlock the door now!” they demanded.

Izumi laughed. “Not until you guys figure things out!”

Lin tried metal bending the door to unlock it, but it failed since the doorknob was made of platinum. Kya tried freezing the doorknob off, but there was barely any water in the basement to use. “Spirits, I’m going to kill Izumi,” Lin groaned. The last thing she wanted to do was be stuck in a room with Kya. Lin had wondered how Izumi knew that she liked Kya, but she would not have been surprised if she let it slip drunkenly some night. This is why she preferred drinking alone.

They eventually gave up trying to open the door and sat across from each other on the carpeted floor. After a few awkward minutes of silence, Kya started, “So…How are you and Tenzin?”

“Fine,” Lin replied curtly. She hated this so much. She was dating Tenzin, and she did not need their relationship to get messed up just because of a little crush on her boyfriend’s sister.

“You know…if we’re going to have to be stuck in a room together until Izumi lets us out, we might as well make the best of it,” Kya said slyly, sliding herself closer to Lin. The metal bender was sitting rigidly and cross-legged, her arms folded tightly in front of her. She was determined not to give in to her no matter what.

But the moment Kya got close enough to Lin to touch her knee, she almost immediately loosened up, but she caught herself before she could show it. She remained stubbornly rigid sitting against the wall, but inside, all Lin wanted was to feel more of Kya’s touch.

“Is this okay?” Kya asked softly as her delicate hands stayed on the metal bender’s knee, rubbing the scar that had formed there. She looked at Lin innocently, waiting for a response. 

Lin didn’t say a word — she was conflicted. On one hand, she had been with Tenzin for years, and both his parents and her mom were all too happy that they had gotten together. And although her boyfriend was getting uncomfortably close to that air acolyte, Pema, Lin was not going to mess their relationship up.

But on the other hand, there was Kya. Though she hated to admit it, Lin liked everything about her childhood friend. She loved Kya’s goofy, bold personality and her laugh that could light up the whole room in an instant. She loved how soft and caring she was and how badass and powerful she was as a water bender. She loved her long brown hair and bright blue eyes. Spirits, Lin loved every little part of Kya.

So Lin remained seated, back against the wall, conflicted. Kya made her love living, even if it just meant being in the same room as her and sneaking looks every now and then. 

But her relationship with Tenzin was decades in the making, and their parents could not be any happier that they were together. Being with Kya was most definitely scandalous, and the press would eat them alive. Lin could already imagine it: “Lin Beifong, daughter of the Chief of Police, caught kissing Kya, daughter of the Avatar.” The last thing Lin wanted was to be on the front cover of the daily news and to drag Kya, her mom, and the Avatar into it.

Lin had been thinking so much that she barely noticed Kya had moved her hand up to Lin’s face and the scars on her cheek. The older water bender was being unusually bold tonight, but she had been crushing on Lin since they were teenagers, and she could not hold back at this point. 

Lin never let anyone touch her newly-acquired scars, but she felt safe with Kya, and she felt like she could finally let her guard down. Lin’s face was burning red under Kya’s soft touch, and the water bender smirked at how flustered the stubborn metal bender was getting.

“Hmm?” Kya asked softly, still waiting on Lin’s answer to her previous question. She continued gently rubbing Lin’s cheek and making circles with her thumb on Lin’s scars.

“I-“ Lin managed to say, her face getting increasingly warm. Kya smiled and slowly kissed Lin, who, surprisingly, did not immediately push back. 

As Kya was pulling back, Lin pulled Kya’s face closer with her calloused right hand and kissed the water bender again, this time deepening this kiss, smiling as Kya moaned softly. After kissing for a few minutes, Kya straddled around Lin’s legs, the two of them pulled back, breathless. “Damn Beifong, now I really understand why Tenzin likes you so much,” Kya said, smirking. Lin rolled her eyes in response. 

It was then that Lin realized that being with Kya was worth it. She was worth breaking up with Tenzin for and disappointing Lin’s mom and Kya’s parents. She was worth being deemed “deviant” and “scandalous” on the front cover of the daily news for. She was worth risking her position in the police academy for. Kya was worth all the pain and hurt in the world.

“So um…I kinda like you,” Kya said, blushing.

Lin chuckled. “Yeah, I could tell, you dork.” She smiled and added, “I kinda like you too.” She moved forward to kiss Kya again, her muscular arms wrapped around the water bender’s waist. Leave it to Izumi to play matchmaker and concoct such a genius plan.

[janeyseymour]

Made With Extra Love

Hello! A while ago, I made this silly headcanon, and this idea has been nagging at me for quite some time, so here we are! 

Can also be found here!

Since being reincarnated, the queens had fallen into many habits, some good, some not so good. Catherine of Aragon had made it a point to read the newspaper every morning. Anne Boleyn had discovered shoes with wheels connected to the bottom. She could be often found cleaning up a mess after she accidentally rolled into something- mostly Jane’s various flower vases scattered through the house. Jane Seymour had quite a knack for baking, always calling all the queens into the kitchen to try some of her newest desserts. Anna of Cleves went on shopping sprees quite frequently, sometimes dragging along Anne and Katherine. Katherine Howard tended to stick with Jane, always the first in line for a delicious new treat. If she wasn’t with the blonde, she was causing trouble with the second and fourth queen. Catherine Parr often stayed in to work on a new piece of writing, even when her writer’s block hit.

While the queens all developed habits of their own, that’s not to say they didn’t all spend time with each other. Catherine, Jane, and Cathy had all made a habit of going to church on Sunday mornings together. Anne and Kat had a knack for pranking the others, sometimes roping Anna into the chaos. The mothers of the group often stayed up at night to discuss their little ones.

When it came to being in the kitchen though, each queen had their own habits. Here’s how it goes:

Jane Seymour cooked practically gourmet meals from scratch every time she entered the rather large kitchen. The third queen, before becoming queen, had been taught how to be a doting wife. While the blonde wasn’t the sharpest when it came to scholarly subjects, she was certainly the best cook and baker of them all. She had figured out how to properly use all of the appliances in their kitchen rather quickly, and it wasn’t uncommon for any of the queens to walk into the house to an aroma that left their mouths watering and their stomachs growling.

“Janey, what are you making?” Anne wheeled into the kitchen.

“Out. You are not going to eat all of the food before it’s ready,” the blonde tutted.

Anne wheeled herself to just outside the kitchen archway before yelling, “I’m out! Now what are you making!”

“We’re having a casserole, and I’ve already made a pie for dessert.”

The third queen had set out dinner and called the others to take a seat. The five other queens bolted into their seats, quickly said grace, and dove into their meals. Various moans could be heard through the room.

“How do you do it?” Kat asked through a mouthful of food.

“No talking with your mouth full,” Catherine chided gently.

“It’s made with extra love,” the blonde replied casually.

“You should open your own restaurant Seymour,” Anna chimed in. “Lord knows I would be there every day.” Jane looked a bit shocked at such high praise. Her food surely wasn’t that good, was it?

“Well, right now we’ve kind of got our hands full with the show, but maybe someday.”

Ten years after their show had closed, Jane Seymour opened a quaint little diner a few blocks from where their theatre was. Her five queens were the first five in line at the opening. Catherine Parr, now a known columnist, wrote a five star review.

-

Catherine of Aragon could cook. She just wasn’t one to create her own recipes. Instead, she took others’ and added her own flair to them, oftentimes making foods just a tad too spicy for her fellow queens, aside from Anna who devoured every bite.

“Lina, you know I can teach you how to cook? There are only a few rules, and the rest comes from the heart,” Jane would say.

“I know you could Jane, but that’s kind of your thing. Besides, it’s fun to take your food and add some flair to it.”

“Is my cooking not good?”

Aragon flushed. “No no, that’s not what I mean love. It’s just that, I like to add a bit of heat to my food, and you aren’t much one for spice.”

“Oh! I’ll keep that in mind the next time I make something new.”

The next night, Jane was in the kitchen preparing a chicken for dinner when a stroke of genius came to her. She brought all of the spices she had collected in the time they had been back and set them on the counter.

“Lina? Could you come here for a second?” The first queen looked rather surprised when she saw all of the spices set out.

“What on Earth?”

“Well, I was going to make dinner by myself when I thought, why not have the next best cook help me out? Add some of your flair to it!” The blonde seemed excited, so the first queen set about adding different spices to the dish.

As the family sat down for dinner that night, Jane made sure to tell all of the queens that Catherine of Aragon had added her special Hispanic flair to the food. While the dish had a bit of a bite, it wasn’t anything the others couldn’t handle. And besides, Catherine added some extra spice to hers and Anna’s plates.

After that night, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to see the first and third queen collaborating on new dishes.

-

Katherine Howard was capable of cooking; she just never quite felt like it and often opted for boxed meals instead. The queens hardly ate out of boxes, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t stocked up.

On this particular night, Jane had been out of town for interviews about the show, and the rest of the queens had nominated Katherine to provide dinner. She had made several packages of ramen noodles and a box of macaroni and cheese. The pink haired queen was rather excited as she called down the others, feeling as though she had a purpose in the house.

“Tonight, we feast like queens!” She grinned, handing each of the four other queens a bowl of ramen and a bowl filled with orange mac n cheese.

“This looks wonderful love,” Catherine lied through her teeth. She didn’t exactly have a taste for the boxed meals Kat loved.

“Thank you!” Kat’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she took a bite of her noodles.

“Why don’t you ever cook anything?” Anna of Cleves asked through a mouthful of cheesy noodles.

“You’re one to talk,” Cathy remarked with a smirk.

“I do cook, just from a box! But if you insist on asking,” Kat sighed dramatically. “I’m preparing for college!”

“You’re planning on going to college?” Anne asked with wide eyes. “Does Jane know about this?”

“Yes she does, but that’s besides the point. When I walk by the university down the street, I see loads of kids eating this kind of food, so I’m preparing by learning how to make the foods I’m going to be eating when I’m there too!”

“You do know Jane isn’t going to let you go to college without popping in at least once a week with a home cooked meal, right?” Cathy had to point it out. There was no way Jane would let her adopted daughter survive off of crappy boxed meals when she could provide a home cooked meal “made with extra love”, as Jane so often liked to put it.

“Can't hurt to be prepared,” Kat shrugged and continued eating her noodles.

-

Catherine Parr was happy to eat whatever the other queens laid out in front of her, but she was just as happy to create meals herself.

“It’s going to spark my creativity Jane,” she would explain to the blonde. Oftentimes, it did spark a bit of creativity in the writer too.

“Cathy, would you mind preparing dinner tonight? Jane’s been exhausted lately, and I’d rather not wake her to make dinner,” Catherine whispered.

“Can’t you? I really have to finish this piece by Friday.” The gesture towards the sleeping queen that Aragon made was enough of an explanation.

“I guess,” she sighed. “Maybe it’ll help me come up with some more to write anyhow.”

“That’s the spirit.” Catherine watched her goddaughter make her way to the kitchen.

“Dinner’s ready!” The sixth queen called sometime later. The smell that wafted through the house was different, although not unwelcome.

Catherine woke a slumbering Jane who replied with, “Oh lord, are we in for some strange concoction tonight.” The others stifled laughter, Cathy feigning hurt.

“So tonight I made chicken and added some ranch seasoning with breading. Here’s to hoping you all don’t find it terrible.” The first five queens looked at the chicken rather scared. Was ranch seasoning meant to go on chicken? Only a bite would tell. Jane would be the first to adventure into the new food.

“This is,” she continued to chew her food. “different. A good different! Well done Cath.” The compliment from the head cook in the house allowed for the others to set their fears aside. This wasn’t going to be like the last time the writer had offered them pickles with peanut butter slathered on them. Surprise washed over their faces as they dined on this interesting food combination Catherine Parr had invented. It would certainly become a dish Cathy would use again in the future seeing as the others were able to stomach it. It was almost as if they enjoyed it.

That night, Cathy was able to finish her article.

“I told you cooking strange food combos cures writer’s block!” the writer would tell Jane in the morning.

-

Anne Boleyn wasn’t allowed in the kitchen after a certain mishap. The queens had been expected to go on a group outing together, but that was quickly dashed when Anne woke up that morning with a migraine.

“I’ll be fine,” she grumbled at the five concerned queens in her room, more than ready to stay by her side for the day. “Go have your fun.” The others hesitantly left the green room and made their way out of the house.

Some time had passed when Anne’s stomach began to rumble. Knowing she was far from the best cook in the house, she settled for some microwavable macaroni and cheese. Even I can’t mess this up, she thought to herself.

Oh how wrong she had been.

The second queen had forgotten to add water to the cup before shoving it into the microwave and turning the appliance on. The next thing she knew, the cup had caught on fire, and she was coughing at the absurd amount of smoke clouding the room. The cup on fire wasn’t going to put itself out anytime soon, and Anne couldn’t find the cursed fire extinguisher in her panicked state. She grabbed the phone and called the emergency line and Jane.

Within minutes, the police and fire department had come to save the woman in clear distress. Since the firemen had come, she had made her way outside and was now relaying what had happened to the men in blue. As the men were walking away from the scene and getting into their cars, the family car pulled up.

“Anne Boleyn! What the hell?” Jane got out of the car before Catherine could even throw the vehicle into park.

“I’m pretty sure the first question you should ask her is if she’s okay,” Cathy muttered from the backseat.

“I wasn’t trying to burn the house down! I was just trying to make macaroni!” The second queen was gesturing wildly at the now black container on their sidewalk.

“This is absurd! How could you mess that up?” The blonde was not thrilled, clearly.

“That’s what I thought!” Anne shouted back. “My dumb ass forgot to put water in the cup! I didn’t know it would catch on fire!”

Anne Boleyn wasn’t allowed in the kitchen anymore without supervision. Jane had made that quite clear.

-

Anna of Cleves could hardly be bothered with cooking her own food. In her past life, there was always someone to make her food, and in this life too, the other queens were more than happy to place food in front of the fourth queen.

Once, Jane had asked the red queen to provide dinner for the group that night with the explanation that she had to work on something for the show. Anna had agreed, and the silver queen seemed content. The fourth queen didn’t know that she was expected to cook.

“Dinner!” she called out.

“Pizza?” Jane was rather confused. She thought she had asked her successor to cook.

“Yeah? You asked me to get dinner.”

Another time years later, both the first and third queen had caught the flu. Katherine was away at college, so she wasn’t able to cook. Cathy was holed up in her room working on yet another article, and the fourth queen knew she wouldn't be able to convince her to cook. Anne still wasn’t allowed in the kitchen after all this time. It looked as though Anna would have to provide dinner again.

When she showed up with McDonald’s, only Anne would be excited.

Once, while Jane was cooking, Anna decided to keep the blonde company.

“Hey Anna?” Jane looked up from the pot that she was stirring.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you ever cook?” Anna shrugged at the question.

After supper that night,  “Why cook when you can pay others to do it for you?” Anna replied smugly, slipping Jane a crisp ten dollar bill for making dinner that night.

-

The queens certainly had quite a strange dynamic when it came to providing meals for themselves. Catalina was more than happy to assist in the kitchen. Kat was satisfied with “feasting” on various boxed meals. Cathy used the kitchen as a way to cure her writer’s block. Anne understood why she had been banned from the kitchen, happy to munch away on already made things. Anna of Cleves was more than happy to pay for the other queens to dine. Jane Seymour was more than happy to provide her family with home cooked meals, “made with extra love”. The money Anna threw her way, although completely unnecessary, was appreciated.

[queerchoicesblog]

La Vie Bohème

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing project continues after a break with a miniseries set back in the City of Lights - & Love - at the time of the Belle Epoque, at the turn of the century.

The story of Élodie and Léa continues: what’s next?

Next chapter out on Monday, I think!

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions to homophobia, reference to sexual activity (if you are a minor or it bothers you in any way, you have been warned)

Tagging: @scottishqueer​

Previous chapters: Paris, Paris ; One Night At The Moulin Rouge , The Handkerchief, The Cage of Fools

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

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The following day I wake up late, around lunchtime. My roommates are all out: Marie left me a note saying she's out for a walk with Alain. Poor Marie, what a concerned look she gave me last night when she saw me sneaking inside our room without my coat! I had to craft a wild story to justify my attire and being so late. I can only hope she believed me...at least, she didn't ask too many questions. I head to the kitchen and warm up the stew leftover my friend saved for me. The events of the night are blurred, they waltz together in a haze: the Moulin Rouge, the Cage of Fools and the jigs I danced with Élodie, her perfume, her laughter, the violet a gallant admirer sent me, then the gendarmes, the clash of their batons, our mad run. The sad look on Élodie's face, the little kiss she pressed on my knuckles parting.

I wash myself and head out for a walk too, wrapping myself in the only other coat I have, much lighter than the lost one. My neighbourhood is certainly not renewed for attractions but it's Sunday and everyone is out to enjoy their day off. Some kids almost collide with me while chasing each other while an old lady nearby invites every passerby to try her apple tart, cheap and decadent, she repeats. Last night was the wildest night I've ever had in my whole life. After the initial embarrassment, I felt incredidibly...happy. I felt like floating on air when Élodie spun me in her arms or when we had a toast at our new friendship. Why did it end so soon? Who called the gendarmes and why they wanted to arrest those people who were just having fun? I don't get it...people crossdress every day now on the stages of cabaret theatres and no one ever complains. Their acts receive thunderous applauses and some artists have adoring fans every night. Why is it so different to call for a mass arrest? The men and women at the Cage of Fools were just doing what popular crossdress artists do: singing, dancing, making sure everybody was merry and bright. Was it because of the two men kissing a few tables away from where we sat? Nobody cared there, I didn't care, honestly. But now that I think of it, that might be the cause. Crossdressing performers never kiss each other on stage. I walk up to a hill into a second hand marketplace, hoping to find a replacement for my old coat I can afford. Could it be that my friend Élodie is a...how do they call them? A sapphic? I heard the word for the first time when I worked as a maid at the uncle Yves' client house. Madame pronounced it with ill grace, speaking of one of their acquaintances while I served breakfast. When I went back to the kitchen, I asked the cook the meaning of the unknown word, that I assumed a fancy insult: my masters wanted to play the role of the rich and the rich don't share the same language with us commoners. They invent new words, more fitted to their uptown world, not tainted with the smell of the street. The lady got all red and threw me a cloth, scolding me for eavesdropping a conversation and warning me to mind my own business. Needless to say my curiosity ran wild and I finally got an answer a few days later when I asked to the maid of a visiting guest. Could it be? The following week is pretty eventful: an important commission and Marie receiving a letter from home, urging her to go back to Aergenteuil to help assisting a sick relative. They would have never asked, knowing all the trouble that would cause her, if they could have done otherwise, her parents wrote. Marie is very close to that aunt and she sobbed in my arms at the thought of losing her and the job all at once. It took time to me and our roommates to comfort her. I told her that she didn't have to worry about the job: we will talk to the girls tomorrow and we will cover for her during her absence. If most agree to help, it will only mean a few extra hours each. Luckily, Marie is well loved at work so things run relatively smoothly, despite the boss' evident contempt. She profuses in an endless series of thank you and praises when I walk her to the carriage station at dawn before heading straight to work. We hug and I give her a tiny slice of that cheap and decadent apple tart the old lady sells at the crossroad. A little treat for the journey home, the only one I can afford. "You're a true friend, Léa. I will never forget this" she says, eyes veiled with tears before taking her seat on board. As the carriage disappears from view, I realise it's the first time we are separated from each other since we first met. Predictably, I end up missing her: we've been around each other for so long that now not walking back home with her, working side by side and sharing lunch on the staircase makes me feel a bit empty, as if a part was missing. Marcel and Alain are busy with work too as festivities approach fast and I have my fair share of Marie's work to worry about. However, from time to time, when I'm not so tired I only want to touch the bed, I pay a visit to the Moulin Rouge. The first time Élodie spots me, she runs straight into my arms, hugging me tightly: she must have thought she would never see me again after our misadventure with the gendarmes. She lets me assist to the acts backstage and I get to befriend other dancers, now used to see me around. I even fix their costumes if they get damaged during the performance. I do it gladly, even if it adds up to my daily amount of work. I usually gets cheek kisses or champagne as payment but sometimes, despite my deflections, they drop some coins into my hand, arguing that the Moulin Rouge tailor is half as good as me. When it happens, instead of saving them, I go buy a dinner at a bistro nearby with Élodie. I'm always starving but she never makes jokes of me for that. I tell her about Marie and the extra hours and, in return, she pretends not to be so hungry and offers me her slices of bread or some mashed potatoes "she won't eat anyway". We talk for hours, until I can keep my eyelids open. We start seeing each other more often. I must admit it's relatively easier now that I don't have to worry about bothering Marie and my friends are busy. Only my roommates look at me differently: I'm positive they suspect I have a secret lover. Now my day off is split between a little work at home in the morning and Élodie. We stroll down the Tuileries Gardens, arm in arm to protect each other against the cold. Élodie loves this place: she doesn't care it's overly popular, to her it's a testament to the the beautiful things people can create, an urban Eden. Who am I to contradict her? The Palace in the distance, the trees, the quiet murmur of the Seine nearby...it's rather gorgeous. One day we bump into a couple of her friends of the Cage of Fools. I could barely recognise gracious Pierrette in her male clothes. She goes by Pierre during the day. "Amélie" the other woman says, offering a hand to shake and I recognise one of Élodie's friends who were playing cards. "We've already met but I don't think I properly introduced myself". I assure her that I remember her. Then, lowering my voice as if I don't know if I can speak freely about it, I ask them about the fate of the Cage. Pierre/Pierrette frowns, she's one of the owners and had a hard time being released by the gendarmes after the arrest. The bar and ballroom is still closed, the authorities denies a reopening. They're planning a night incursion to retrieve all the lost goods, if there's any left. But so far it's hard to tell what will be of the Cage. Then, noticing my sullen expression, she adds: "It will open up again, darling. It's Paris, Pigalle: places like this always rise from their own ashes. We just don't know when and how" We all share a weak smile. The silence is broken by Élodie. "I was thinking of throwing a little party at my place to cheer up the mood" "At your place? But how?" Amélie inquiries, skeptic but intrigued. "A roof party, so there will be space for anyone. We can lit some fires to keep warm. You're all invited and I will ask some girls at the Moulin. A little feast to forget about our sorrows" True to her word, the next week, when I receive a letter from Marie informing me of her upcoming return, she proudly announces me that the party is happening: it's on Saturday night after the act at the Moulin. "Will you be there?" she asks, taking my hand into hers. The sudden gesture draws a smile on my face. We now seat together in bars and bistros very different from the Cage of Fools and I've come to miss casual touches like this. We've been very careful since that raid, especially Élodie. "Of course, I will" I nod over a steamy bowl of soup. She claps her hands excitedly, flashing me a bright smile before scribbling down an address on a scrap of paper she retrieved God knows where. Then she hands it to me. "Don't be late, I'll be waiting for you" Her words colour my cheeks rosy, the warmth in her voice unmistakable. Unsurprisingly, she lives in Monmarte, the artist neighbourhood. I arrive early, afraid to be late. I ate my dinner with great haste once back from work and spent a whole hour getting ready, a detail that -I do not doubt it- cemented my roommates' theory of the secret affair. I washed myself, did my hair up just like Marie taught me, and put on my best dress, which is nothing fancy but I am quite fond of the colour and its lacy sleeves. Once I put kohl on my eyes and some rouge on my lips, I head off into the night. When I finally arrive, I spot some familiar faces in front of the building: Léa's friends. I wave at them and they greet me with affability as if we've known each other for a while. "Good evening, Léa. You're radiant tonight" Pierrette says, kissing both my cheeks. I'm glad to see her back in her female clothes, she even placed a flower in her hair for the occasion. "Élodie hasn't arrived yet, she and the girls must be on their way" Amélie informs me, rubbing her hands. I say that it's fine especially if you're in good company. We chat, hugging ourselves and I discover that they all works as secretaries, bar Pierrette who is "an unsuspecting accountant by day, the best bartender in town by night". Just then, a cheerful choir of voices resounds in the street, approaching. We turn and it's the dancers of the Moulin Rouge. They cheer and wave at us, swaying bottles of wine and champagne raided from the theatre. After a quick round of kisses and loud greetings, we all run up the stairs before catching a cold. Élodie's apartment is messy and rather small for the number of guests attending the party so we quickly take the stairs and head to the roof. The sight is gorgeous: as the others light a couple of fires and one of the dancers harmonises an accordion, I take a moment to admire it. From the top of the hill, Paris lays beneath us like an ocean of light and chimney smoke. An intoxicating combination of misery and beauty I have never seen before. Someone taps my shoulder and I turn to see Carmine, one of Élodie's colleagues, handing me a glass of wine. It's stronger than I expect but I keep sipping it as we chat, grateful to have something to kindle my bones in the cold. A lively tune starts playing and we all share a toast to our host, who performs an exaggerated reverie in full response. The atmosphere is bubbly: some dance, others chat and crack jokes with each other...everyone is in good spirits. I wonder if this is the life my new friend is used to, so careless and free. So different from the one I know. What does she see in me? My ordinary seamstress routine, my life....is a stale dry biscuit in comparison to what she does. I'm saved by the male dance, Laurent, who asks me to dance. I accept: after all, I am here to enjoy myself and he will lead, I only have to follow his moves. As we sway I catch Élodie looking in my direction while chatting with the girls and drinking wine. I have no recollection of how much time we spent there, I remember walking down the stairs arm in arm with Amélie. As some guests take their leave, we gather in the living room and the the tiny kitchen downstairs to keep warm. Laurent produces himself in an impression of Monsieur Ziegler that elicits a general round of laughters. Pierrette and one of the girls sing one last song, a popular duet for the "last ones standing" then say goodbye. When the last guest walks out of the door, Élodie turns towards me. "Stay and help me sinking that?" she asks, nodding at a half empty bottle of champagne. Before I can answer, she's already looking for two glasses. She returns with just one. "You have the glass, I take the bottle" she announces. I laugh at the tipsy note in her voice as she pours liquid ambrosia in my glass. "What?" she chuckles. "Just saying that maybe you should take a seat, mademoiselle" I tease her, guiding her to the sofa. She rolls her eyes and obliges...then at last minute, she pulls me down too. Some champagne sloshes over the rim of my glass but I find a seat beside her. We both giggle. "To the best party host in Paris" I raise my glass. She smiles and mirrors my gesture. "To the most gracious guest, the pearl of Roscoff" We cling our glasses and I blush a little, diverting my eyes. When I look back at here, her eyes rests dreamy on a painting laid nearby on the floor. One of her roommates is a painter, she explains absentmindedly, he finished it yesterday. I tell her she's a real bohemienne, living in the artist quarter with a painter.... "An actress and a music-hall trumpet player. And I'm a dancer myself!" she adds. Then she falls quiet. She smiles to herself, a rather melancholic smile, as if she's contemplating her whole life. "La vie bohème...that's the life I chose" she says after a while. "I've never thought I would achieve that though. I've never thought I would get this far" "How come?" I sit more comfortably and she takes a gulp of champagne before speaking again. She was born in Bordeaux, a place now filled with memories of a lonely grim childhood. Her mother was, is -since she's still alive as far as she knows- a prostitute, who spent more time walking the streets than cuddling her little girl. Sometimes she received clients at home and Élodie ran hiding in the filthy toilet in the garden until they were gone. She never knew who her father was but she likes to think it was a tormented poet or a travelling artist...more likely and ironically, he could have been a gendarme off duty or the spoilt heir of a local noble with a taste for the sordid cheap pleasures the streets of the suburbs offer after dark. Her mother wasn't kind to her -one day when she had a bit too much, she admitted she never wanted a child- but provided for her. She was the one teaching her the can-can. "Decades ago only prostitutes danced like this, now it's different...but I guess it's part of the profession lore, so to speak" she laughs sombrely. "I mean, some girls at the Moulin still do that, dancing and selling their graces to paying admirers. I suppose it's easy to cross the line if you always want more and more and adulation is a weird poison. I don't judge them, if no one is forcing them to do so, they can do what they want...." She turns towards me, placing her hand over mine. I give it a squeeze. "I don't do that, Léa. I don't do that...I saw what that life did to my mother, what it turned her into and when one morning I packed my things and left, I swore to myself to ever do that, even if money was running low, if I could avoid it. I was barely sixteen when I arrived here, alone, in Paris. I was lucky enough to find kind people who didn't take advantage of me...and I...and I started to dance. Dancing gave me freedom" I don't know what made her so suddenly nostalgic, maybe it's the alcohol we had tonight. But her story makes me appreciate her even more: the world has been unkind to her at first, filling her childhood with hardships, but she fought back. She danced away from her misery with ineffable grace and dignity like a brave butterfly. "And now look at you: you're Lila, star of la quadrille" I flash her a bright smile. "I'm proud of you" She laughs softly. "Are you?" "Yes, of course!" I sit a bit straighter, as if it could give my word more authority. "You've faced adversities and you went so far. Only the most talented dancers are allowed to perform in la quadrille!" "You read it somewhere?" "Everybody knows that!" I exclaim, amused and surprised by her skepticism. Then, to prove my point, I hand her my glass and stand. I find a spot clear enough and declare astonished: "Like, I could never dance like you do every night!" And I start mimic the can-can routine at my best, that I'm pretty sure turns out to be a grotesque parody of the real dance. I do it to amuse her and I smile when I finally hear her laughing. She places the bottle and the glass back on the floor and claps her hands, whistling like some spectators do at the Moulin. "What? No, don't clap, that was just silly!" I dismiss her, chuckling. "Well, whatever that was it was...something" she shrugs before bursting into another laughter, softer this time. "Whatever it was? Hear hear, a can-can dancer who doesn't even recognise it!" I make a scene to be offended and throw her a cushion from the nearest armchair. She ducks just in time to avoid it. We both giggle then she stroke her chin and regards me more carefully, pensive. "You have enthusiasm but you lack technique" "Told you I'm a bad dancer" I shrug. The memory of the two of us dancing at the Cage of Fools crosses my mind like a meteor and my heart starts racing again in my chest. "May I?" she says, standing. I nod even if I don't know what she means exactly. I get it when she saunters closer and positions herself behind me. When she gently places her hands on my hips, I inhale sharply. "First of all, you need to loosen up a bit. You're too wooden...sway your hips, like this" She hums the melody of Offenbach and guides my movements so that they match the rhythm. Again, it doesn't take long before I surrender and follow her lead. I don't know how long we sway like this, I must have closed my eyes. I only hear her voice behind me. "See, definite improvement! Now rise your skirt up a little" I freeze and turn towards her. My cheeks warm up and I try to blame the wine I had. "You don't want to trip over your skirt while dancing this, you can hurt yourself" she smiles encouragely. "That's why you do that then...I would have thought..." I shake my head but do as she says. I bend down and reach for the hem of my long skirt then I grab it as I saw the dancers do and lift it up till my the height of my knees. "Well, that's one reason" "I knew there were ulterior motives" I laugh. "The Moulin is not exactly a convent, right? You have to show your legs to the paying audience" she explains, mocking Monsieur Ziedler's voice. "They pay good money for them" "I see no paying audience though" I chuckle, turning my head slightly. "Because you have little imagination, mademoiselle Pearl" she whispers into my ear. Her breath hot on my skin sends a shiver down my spine and my heart pounding against my ribs. "Ready for the gallop? Three, two, one-" "Wait, wait-" Before I can process what's happening, under the lead of Élodie, we gallop from one side of the room to the other, moving laterally like crabs. I understand now: I saw this move over and over during the acts. Élodie gives directions and tells me to sway the skirt as we move. We soon end up laughing again when we almost trip over a tin box on the floor. When we stop, I feel dizzy and lean back against her for sustain. "Enough of that" she announces between laughters. "Now, knee up, girl!" I oblige and start jumping on my other feet. My balance becomes way more precarious. To think that dancers like Élodie make this look so easy...I let out a shriek as I fear of tripping. She encourages me to rise my knee even higher up to my chest. "But I will fall!" "I'll catch you" she reassures me, holding my hips a bit tighter. "C'mon, Léa, a bit higher...higher...yes, like this! You're a natural...and now kick!" I follow her instructions and my kick sends the books on top of a pile nearby flying across the room. It's a miracle they don't land over the painting. "Well, that's one hell of a kick, darling!" Élodie cheers as I lower my leg. Her laughter is contagious, I soon join and we don't stop until we're out of breath. Then I throw my head back and it finds her shoulder. We're still in the same position. I can feel her chest rising and falling against my back and her hands on me. I slowly turn my face towards her and find her looking back at me. We go quiet, trying to catch our breaths. Has she always been so beautiful? This whole time? I remember her cheerfulness, the way she let me spin into her arms and listened to me, resting her chin on her hand at the Cage. How she immediately grabbed my hand at first sign of danger, the tender light in her eyes when our faces were inches apart in that back alley. I decide to do what probably she failed to do that night: I follow my instinct, without thinking twice. I lean forward and brush my lips over hers. A tentative kiss, the lazy stroke of a shy lover. She mirrors my move and our hands move almost at unison: hers around my waist, resting on my stomach; mine over hers, stroking her wrists and intertwining our fingers. The kiss that follows makes me tingle in her arms as a fire erupts underneath my skin. She kisses me again on her own accord this time: it's surprisingly tender and it tastes of rouge, champagne and a refrained passion that finally finds its way. My knees go suddenly weak and I feel dizzy again, lost in our embrace, lost in her. She whispers my name like a prayer and I spin to wrap my arms around her neck and kiss her again. Her hands run up my back, holding me close as if I could run away any minute but there is nowhere else I would like to be now. I cannot refrain a moan when her lips find my jaw and brush over my neck: they burn on my skin and I wish she would never stop. Our kisses become more fervent and fierce as we backpedal down the corridor, bumping into the walls yet uncaring of anything else than the sudden fire consuming us. Élodie pulls me into what must be her room because she kicks the door shut and we soon tumble over a mattress. I fall on top of her, letting out a giggle. I go quiet when I meet her eyes. Illuminated only be the moon light she's the most enchanting vision I've ever seen. Her hair messy and sprawled beneath her, the ruby red of her lips so close I barely refrain myself from running a finger over them. She looks up at me, her eyes gleaming like stars. She reaches out and touches my cheek. She strokes it gently, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. She looks...in awe, vulnerable, adoring. For a moment I wonder if that's what lovers feel when they look at each other, when they lay in each other arms: a sweet ache of the heart, the purest amazement. "Kiss me again" I whisper, begging as a mendicant even if I don't need to. She finds my mouth again and again and runs her fingers through my hair. I place one hand on her chest and I feel her tremble imperceptibly at my touch. She suffocates a gasp against my lips while her heart hammers underneath my fingertips. I whisper her name this time and I kiss her jaw just like she did earlier, mirroring her moves. My hand runs down her side: I'm too lost in her to know what I'm doing. When I feel her knee beneath the fabric, I caress backwards up her tight, rising her skirt. That's when it happens. Élodie squirms and grabs my hand. She breaks the kiss and asks me to stop. Suddenly ashamed of my hunger, I retrieve my hand and prop myself up. My cheeks must turn crimson when I mutter my apologies. "I'm- I'm sorry, I thought you wanted it too" I let her space to move freely. Hiding her face from me, she sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, breathing hard. Then she stands. I sit and try to compose myself. "What I want....that's not the point" she sighs. "What do you mean?" I ask, confused. "Did I do something wrong?" She still gives me her shoulder. When she speaks again, she hangs her head, defeated. "This has nothing to do with you, Léa. God, no, if you only knew..." She sounds on the verge of tears but she must swallow them back because when she turns to face me her voice is less cracked even if she looks in pain. "Léa, I like you. Way more than I should and since the moment I bumped into you and you talked of fireworks. I gave you my handkerchief only as a mere expedient to see you again and you what you did? You turned it into a little work of art for me and you barely knew me back then. You have a kind word for everyone, you're helping your roommate in a moment of need without asking for anything in return. You're a good girl, one of the most honest girl I know and I..." She takes a deep breath before shaking her head forlornly. "You didn't even fully realise what happened at the Cage" I keep quiet for a moment then I speak, keeping my voice low and fiddling with the hem of a sleeve as a kid being scolded: "The gendarmes wanted to arrest everyone because there were...sapphics and men kissing other men. And people like Pierrette there" I say because I don't know if there are words for them that aren't insults. "...Yes" she confirms, meeting my gaze again. Seeing her now, one could doubt the very same girl was laughing and having a blast one hour ago or so. She looks so troubled, her eyes a mix of tenderness and sorrow. Guilt, maybe. "Léa, I...I would spend the night with you. You wouldn't even have to ask me. But-" she grimaces and my heart skips a beat, bracing for the worst. "What will happen when you hear that this is illegal, that people get sent to jail or the asylum -you remember? We joked about the asylum- for things like this? Because the authorities say it's like an...an illness, a taint-" "Why are you telling me all this?" I protest, standing too. "Because that's what happens out there! It took days to get Pierrette out of jail" she exclaims. "I should have never taken you there, I've been such a fool-" "You're a good girl too, Élodie" I interrupts her, reaching for her hand. "Don't tell me you doubt that" She looks down at our hands then meets my eyes, forlorn. "Am I though?" her sad smile pierces through my heart. "I almost got you arrested that night, little pearl. What would have your boss or your friends said if we hadn't been fast enough and those gendarmes had locked us in together with the others? You barely knew me back then, you would have hated me and I couldn't have blamed you" "But I don't hate you!" Now I am the one on the verge of crying. "We...we would have found a way out, I'm sure of that!" Élodie smiles at me, a weak pained smile. She retrieves her hand and caresses my cheek. "Maybe we would have, just like in one of those ballads chanteuses sing" she sighs. "But the truth is I care too much for you and so far I've only been a reckless fool, a selfish reckless fool. I could never forgive myself if you-" Words got stuck in her throat and she lowers her eyes for a moment. Then she presses a soft kiss on my forehead. "It's too late to walk the street alone at night. You can stay here tonight and...you can take the bed, I'll take the sofa" Having said that, she walks away. "Élodie, you don't have to...please, stay" I beg, hoping to stop her but when I turn she's already closing the door behind her. I consider the idea of running after her but I soon realise it would be absolutely pointless and I don’t want to make things worse. I stand for a moment, shaken. Then I lay down on the bed still warm of our embrace and look out into the night. The moon that made Élodie look even more beautiful and ethereal is still up there in the sky but now I'm alone. Silent tears rim my cheeks. I lay awake for hours, unable to sleep. For some reason I know that Élodie is doing the same.

[sugarcoated-eloquence]

Foreboding (Targets: Part 2)

A/N: Hello, hello! Welcome to the shitshow, aka my blog. This is part two of a potential 4/5 part series that I am co-writing with the lovely @sweetestrequiems. Click here for Part 1. Each chapter is focused on a different queen or issue related to the queens. This specific chapter is Catherine Parr centric, but the other queens are all very present. 

Please note the following ships are canon in this fic’s universe: Parrlyn, Aramour

{Trigger warnings: anxiety, mention of blood, slight violence}

I should also note some passages are written in German and Spanish and should be google searched to better comprehend the story. 

Taglist: @sweetestrequiems, @theatergirl06, @silverpetals97, @six-fragile-dreams, @patdfobmcr-yt, @frogs-in-clogs, @mindless-pidgeon

Other than that..... enjoy! Below the cut.

It would not stop.

The constant feeling like something would go wrong.

Katherine Howard could not tell if it was the anxiety, or if it was something else. She physically felt okay, and everything seemed fine, but for the life of her, the girl could not put her finger on that bad feeling. Being so lost in her thoughts, Howard was found, brows furrowed, staring down at her food, rather than eating it. Of course, this raised concerns with her cousin, Anne Boleyn, and Jane Seymour. Boleyn’s face began to reflect the concern when she raised an eyebrow. Seymour had more of a sad-looking face, but nonetheless, the worry was quite present.

“Katherine?”

“Hey, Kitty… you okay?”

The two voices snapped Howard out of her trance. She looked up, shaking her head seconds after her attention went to the two women. “Yeah, yeah! Just had something come across my mind is all. I’m fine, really. Guess I’m just getting the typical pre-show jitters everyone gets,” which wasn’t a lie, either. But, Katherine did feel a pang of guilt in having to be dishonest with Jane and Anne. Howard was one of the Queens who always got some pre-show anxiety, alongside Catherine of Aragon– (much to everyone’s surprise)– and Boleyn. It wasn’t a rare occasion, though, considering they had just about an hour before they had to head to the theatre. It wouldn’t seem like much now, but this feeling Katherine Howard was having was not a good one.

––––––––––

During the matinee, Katherine could not shake off that constant thought.

But she was not alone. The feeling had begun to haunt her cousin Anne.

Anne Boleyn’s eyes began to glance around the audience, knowing that Katherine was in the middle of delivering the roast of the century to Jane, Catherine Parr, and Anna of Cleves. A certain man had caught her eye up in the upper level; the second row in the left Circle Slip of the Arts Theatre, to be more precise. Something about that blond hair. And cold, blue eyes. Something about the way he was leaning on the railing while he sat began to bother Anne. Her attention snapped right back to the show when she heard Katherine say, “I can’t even begin to think of how I could compete with you all. Oh wait, like this!” to signal the start of All You Wanna Do. But even with her focus on the show, Boleyn’s glances kept going back up to that strange man.

“I think we can all agree I’m the ten amongst these threes!”

What about him bothered Anne Boleyn so much? She did not know. 

Was it his face? No, he seemed to be fairly attractive. Was it the way he stared at all of them? Possibly, since he seemed to be rather uncomfortable when Aragon brought up Leviticus and Mary in No Way. He also looked disgusted during Boleyn’s spotlight in Don’t Lose Ur Head. He looked very, very abhorred with Haus of Holbein and Anna of Cleves. But his eyes when Katherine Howard was singing screamed danger, and Anne could see it. Her frequent glancing that first day saw him tense up upon a few lines:

“Tall, large, Henry the Eighth. 

Supreme Head of the Church of England. 

Globally revered, although you wouldn’t know it from the look of that beard.”

And the end of All You Wanna Do, as far as Anne could tell from where she was on the stage, had him gripping the railing tightly. Was anger the reason he furrowed his eyebrows, or something else? The distance was not helping her much. Overall, she was picking up a few assumptions just from the one matinee show. This guy was either a historian that pretty much agreed with Henry VIII’s horrible decisions in life, or someone the Queens knew personally. What Anne decided to think though, was the former. Maybe this guy was just a historian and unimpressed with the show, right?

That first show could have not ended sooner. But as the lights on the stage went somewhat dim to allow the six ladies to exit, Anne Boleyn paused and allowed the others to go in front of her. She kept her gaze on that very man, and watched him stand up, turn around, and head on out of the seating area. The fact that she was the last one to leave concerned Cleves a bit. Right before she could even reach the dressing room, the queen in red put a hand on the green queen’s shoulder. “Moment mal, Anne. Was stört dich? Du hast anscheinend nicht dein gewohntes Lächeln am Ende der Show gehabt,” the German gently gave the shoulder a squeeze. Boleyn found herself sighing. “What’s going on? You normally smile and you were barely holding one up today by the end of the show,” Cleves made herself translate what she had previously said. 

“I don’t know, honestly. I guess I thought I saw someone that Maggie knew in the audience. It was weird. I’m normally not out of it either. Anyways, if Aragon took the couch, she’s going to regret it. It’s my nap time,” the cheeky grin came back to the ruby lips. A nod from Cleves, and the two were well on their way to the dressing room. Was Aragon on the couch? Absolutely. And Anne 100% kicked her off of it just so she could lay down and sleep after she changed back into her comfortable clothes. No space buns, no makeup– just a giant hoodie and some sweatpants. 

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The other dressing room was a little more lively for a good while.

Katherine Howard was up on her feet, bouncing around with energy. Catherine Parr had decided to join her this afternoon. What were the two doing while Jane Seymour took the time to answer some tweets and messages? Dancing. The two ladies were dancing, which was almost the catalyst for Jane setting her phone down and joining them. In fact, she just wanted in on the fun. The three danced around for maybe half an hour, before a yawning Katherine Howard took to the couch to take a nap herself. Parr and Seymour stayed awake, with Parr looking for her notebook and Seymour going back to the tweets and messages.

“Cathy, look at this,” tapping her counterpart on the shoulder, the blonde woman moved her phone to be between them both. “It’s us with our kids!” If there was one thing Jane Seymour loved about the fans they had, it was all of the fanart of them with their kids. A smile was brought to Catherine Parr’s face as she looked up to meet Jane’s eyes. “If there’s one thing I have always appreciated, it’s that they know we aren’t the only Tudors that kicked some serious ass.” The laugh both of them shared was quiet, as to not wake Katherine up from her post-show nap. 

The calligraphy pen twirled around Parr’s fingers for a solid minute or so before she finally began to write. Each queen had their thing to do post-matinee if it was a two-show day.

Catherine Parr wrote notes about her performances.

Jane Seymour responded to fans. And to as many of them as possible, too!

Both of the Beheaded Cousins slept their time away.

Anna of Cleves did various things, such as meditate and listen to music.

Catherine of Aragon normally left the dressing room to find a quiet spot in the theatre’s backstage to pray.

This normal routine was going to be shaken up a little too much. So much that Boleyn and Howard were too tense to take their usual between show naps.

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The same seat every damn time.

Who the hell was this guy?

And why was he now looking so bitter towards Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard?

Three weeks since the mystery man had first caught Boleyn’s eyes in the middle of a performance. But now it was a pattern. Two night shows and a matinee, and always on the exact same nights. Exact same seat, exact same everything. This was starting to piss Boleyn off, and scare Howard. He looked at them with more than just malicious intent in his eyes, to the point that Katherine sometimes blanked on her lines. It was to the point when Anne was singing, she’d put more emphasis on “Hold up, let me tell you how it went down.” just to spite him. This historian guy, or whoever he truly was, did not settle well with the cousins.

But on the night of a Sunday performance, the Queens all got a rude awakening they were not ready for. And the two to be given the first wave were none other than the Beheaded Cousins themselves:

Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard.

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This tension was so chilling that it even caused Anne to fumble a few of her lines. Even the infamous “Yeah, I read.” was not the usual confident, snarky remark it usually was. Having made eye contact with the mystery man while trying to deliver the line was definitely part of it, and for a moment there was a stiff awkwardness in the air. They’d recover quickly, of course, but the general consensus between the group was that something was wrong, and it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. 

The man quickly left, before the end of bows, and somehow located an usher and told him he was an old friend of the girls’. The girls weren’t too akin to refusing to meet people, so immediately after stagedooring and meeting fans, they all headed backstage to meet whoever had requested a personal meet and greet. Kit’s the first through the door and she stops dead in her tracks. Those eyes. They were the same bright blue eyes that she saw in her dreams at night, the same eyes she stared into right before… well… 

She swallows, backing up a little. Anne comes crashing through the door, chaos embodied, and happily dances around for a moment before noticing the anxiety seething from Howard’s small frame. “What’s wrong, love?” Kit simply points to the man, and Anne’s heart drops to her stomach as well. She too, can’t look away from those crystal eyes. The blond hair. The everything. 

Anne can barely talk above a whisper could even tell it was him would make the situation less real. Maybe it wasn’t, maybe he was just another person. One can hope, but no luck there, Anne. She can feel Kit shaking, and reaches to take her hand, letting out a shaky breath and considering shouting for Parr. 

The others trickle in quickly after, the ‘mystery man’ still just staring at the two cousins with ferocious intensity. The last to enter, though, is Jane Seymour. The metaphorical mother of the group, the caretaker, any other synonym you can think of. Jane is never one to cast judgement. She walks in, and despite the obvious tension, says a polite hello to the man. He simply nods in response. 

Parr joins Anne at the hip, whispering to her. “Is he what’s got you all rattled, love?” Anne lets out a small nod. “It’s him.” 

That statement reaches Jane’s ears and immediately her demeanor changes. She stands up a little straighter, setting her microphone down on the dressing room’s main table, and just looks at him. She moves a little closer, pushing the other girls behind her, and she can only say one thing. 

“...Henry?”

He steps forward, and while the other girls move back, Jane stays planted to her spot. He smiles, trying to turn on the charm, reaching for her hands. “The one I truly lov—” He’s cut off by a slap. Yes, Jane Seymour just slapped a man. He brings a hand up to his red cheek, eye showing that it indeed, hurt. Cleves stifles a laugh.

“Don’t ever associate that word with me. You don’t know what love is.” A few tears well up in the blonde’s eyes, but refuses to let them fall. Not for him. “Love isn’t keeping your wife from holding her newborn child!” Her voice breaks slightly, but she takes a deep breath, centering herself. 

“You all look so different.” The scruffy voice chimes, and immediately Kit visibly tenses up. She, unlike Jane, is unable to hold the tears in. Though they flow silently, they flow heavily. “There’s no need to cry, Katherine… or should I say ‘Kitty’, now?” 

“Don’t speak to her. You do not have permission to do that.” Jane moves to block his view, but he simply repositions himself. Anne elects to go in for a dig. The devilish smirk returns, though small, and she gives Kit’s hand a squeeze before moving a tiny step forward. 

“You know, mate, if you’re still having trouble… you know, with your little friend, we can get you a prescription for Viagra. Or Cialis, plenty of options.” She emphasizes ‘little’ by using her thumb and pointer finger to indicate his size. It makes Kit smile a little. The silence in the air was broken by a stifled laughter. That had to be the funniest thing Cleves ever heard Boleyn say outside of the wit written in the script. Aragon gave her a nudge, but even she agreed with the sentiment.

The blond man, finally revealed as the reincarnated Henry VIII, just narrowed his eyes. “How funny, laughter coming from someone who couldn’t perform.” Anne’s smirk went away, as she looked back towards Cleves with a hurt expression. Cleves’ grin was gone, with gritted teeth behind a closed mouth replacing it. Aragon let out a sigh. “That’s low for the man who so easily says he believes–”

“Catalina, don’t even get me started on you either.”

Not a single comment from Catherine Parr. She just stood there, feeling herself drift between a rational mind and pure impulse. Did this guy just come back to insult them, and get a second wind to take Katherine? Oh no, that was not happening. She saw it all, too. Jane’s reddening face from holding back the tears, Cleves’ rather tame anger, Aragon’s scowl… Kit’s pale face from the fear, and Anne being powerless. Jane Seymour honestly, had lost her mind way before Catherine Parr did in this scenario, but… there was always going to be a breaking point for the quiet one.

“So you and your whore cousin think you can just slander my name like that? I’d have you both back at the scaffold in front of the Tower if I had–”

“Scaffolds don’t exist anymore, you twat,” Boleyn hissed under her breath. 

“Enough, Henry.”

This was where Parr had enough. The other Queens gave a glance at their surviving counterpart, who wasn’t even looking up at him. She was staring at the floor, but for now. “Cathy, you should probably not… y’know, say anything,” Boleyn barely managed to get that sentence out, considering the crushing feeling she had inside of her chest. All that got as a response was a laugh.

“The survivor, Catherine Parr. Tell me then, my love, are you just as stubborn as you were back then?” He got every other one to crack, but little did he know that he would be the one about to shatter like glass. “Because you should’ve been the one to meet an untimely fate like your counterparts here. Of course, new body means a second chance at being able to–”

Henry stops when he sees Parr’s shoulders shake a little. She’s… laughing?

That’s why she was looking down. When she did look up, one saw her smile shining on like a light. Safe to say, Catherine Parr was about to tear someone apart. “You’ve still got quite a loud mouth for an old man. Tell me, did you ever finally learn to take care of yourself, you bobolyne? Thinking you have any right to talk to the mother of not only your damned son, but also the woman who was loyal to you for twenty four years?! And even better, the one you so graciously called your sister after your marriage? You’ve got to be kidding me right now.”

Jane felt a little insulted that she had to take a jab at Edward, but had the feeling it was necessary considering the situation. Hopefully Parr would apologize for it later on.

“Okay, okay… fair. Not bad, Parr. But why do those two get to wear shiny chokers while the rest of you have crowns? Does it further emphasize my point that Anne Boleyn’s just a hell of a tempting woman and that Katherine Howard–”

The smile from Parr’s face faded. The anger was present and everyone was mortified to see someone so quiet speaking up like she was. With vitriol in her voice, Catherine Parr officially lost her temper. 

“You KNOW exactly what the fuck happened, Henry.”

Aragon felt herself go to cover Katherine’s ears as her goddaughter began to lose her composure. “You KNOW why they have to wear those. You know damn well the crimes you fucking committed against them both, especially Katherine! She was a child, Henry! A fucking child who got manipulated and used! I want to hear nothing from your mouth, you snoutband! You have nothing to defend yourself with!”

Wiping a tear or two away, Jane Seymour began to lean into Anna of Cleves for some form of comfort. Even the German was surprised to be hearing the resentment coming out of such a powerful and rather cool-tempered woman. Just as Henry went to open his mouth, he stopped.

“Oh no, no sir! You have no right to talk here! Anne Boleyn lost her head over what, your delusions that she was out and about with men when you were just going around like you weren’t married? And because of that, she has to struggle to change her name? Are you actually insane or some shit?” The northern accent Parr had was thick. She was angry, and her voice said it for her if her facial expression did not. “Jane Seymour never got to hold Edward because you took him straight away for his christening. And she had to sit there, alone, in bed! Suffering through illness until she died without saying goodbye to her baby boy!”

Boleyn goes pale. Where did this anger even come from? She had no idea, but Parr was scaring her.

“My damn godmother was near a saint with all of the bullshit she had to put up with! Twenty four fucking years, and it wasn’t Anne who ruined the marriage. It was YOU. Aragon did some insanely remarkable things despite how you treated her! And Cleves! You just decide to take Cleves and humiliate her because she wasn’t beautiful enough for you? You’re an absolute wandought, Henry! You brought a Spanish lady and a German lady out of their comfort zones all because you didn’t know how to use your damn brain!”

At this point, Aragon had managed to sneak off into the dressing room, with Cleves now being the one to hold Howard. Boleyn was now hugging Seymour, actually terrified of not just Henry, but Parr.

Henry began to go pale. He was not going to recover from this.

“Who am I missing… let’s see, Katherine Howard? No, I got her. Anne Boleyn? Also got her. Jane Seymour? Check. Anna of Cleves? Check. Catherine of Aragon? Oh, yeah, her too. Would you look at that… I’m the only one left. Surprise surprise, the fucking survivor surviving again and this time, she gets to give it to you the exact way she wants to.”

“Cathy–”

“Shut up you lot. My turn to finally talk.”

A flinch from the group. Aragon had to take glances in and out of the dressing room.

“Oh wow, Catherine Parr. The survivor. The one who draws lines in arbitrary places, blah blah! She had two other husbands, what good could have she done being a Tudor queen? I DIDN’T TAKE ANY OF YOUR BULLSHIT IS WHAT I DID. Those books that everyone rumoured a woman was writing? Surprise, you tallowcatch! It was me! I’m the famed author of Tudor history. And I published under my own name once your pitiful body finally died. That can’t be that bad, Cathy. What a sad excuse for a sob story, right?”

Katherine Howard began to tremble more than she already was in Anna of Cleves’ arms. Catherine Parr made herself stand face to face with Henry.

“Ah, right, because she survived she deserves the backing vocals. WELL GUESS WHAT, HENRY? I’M HERE TO STAY. I HAD TO GIVE UP MY LIFE, MY LOVE, AND WHATEVER ELSE I WAS DOING TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR SORRY ASS. You might have forced these women into submission but no, I am not going to submit to some sad old man. You took away their rights, you took away their children… and poor Katherine…” A laugh. “You took poor Katherine’s childhood. You turned her into a disgraced whore. She is not and will never be one. She is a victim of your bullshit.”

“Catherine, my love–”

“No excuses now, Henry. I’m through. Your love ran cold years ago. And call me love one more damn time. See what happens.”

“My love–”

The weight of the sleeves helped Parr send her fist flying into his face. He stumbled back, feeling a warm sensation drip from his nose. Blood. He… was bleeding? “You actually got the nerve to punch an English King? You’re a mad woman, Parr. I’ll have you thrown on that scaffold just how–” A second punch, and this time, there was an audible crack of sorts.

“You wear a crown, but you’re no king. You’re a disgrace to human life, Henry. And this is for all of the women you hurt, manipulated, abused… and killed,” a lunge forward. The third strike was to his jaw, and the fourth was a solid kick to the chest with her heel being the first thing to make impact. Henry, having been taken by surprise from every hit, stumbled right back into a pair of men. Shaking her fist off, some of the blood ended up getting on the floor, and part of it remained on her hands. 

“I’ll be back, Catherine! Mark my damn words! Let go of me, you imbeciles!”

“Like hell you’ll be back!”

And just as she took a step forward, Aragon went to hold on to one of her arms. “Someone help me hold her back!” Aragon needed the help. Parr was under such a fit of rage she was dragging her godmother across the hallway. Seymour had to let go of Boleyn to try and hold on to Parr’s other arm. She slowed down, but still had enough adrenaline surging through her to keep going. Cleves just gave Howard a gentle kiss on the cheek before running over to help the other two ladies. No arms? No problem. She just held on to one of Parr’s legs.

Boleyn pulled her cousin into a tight hug, feeling a shaky exhale leave her body. “Kitty? Kitty, are you okay?” Just a nod. Howard was terrified to open her mouth after seeing the ungodly wrath unfold before her eyes. “I-Is… she mad at us, Annie?” Quiet and almost inaudible. The poor girl was terrified to even talk out of fear that Parr was not just angry at Henry, but at them too.

“Catherine Parr, what in God’s name has gotten into you?” Aragon furrows her eyebrows. “This is not you. What is going on? Talk to me, please.”

Anne reaches to take Kit’s hand. “She’s… upset. Not at us, I promise.” Anne had to admit, all of the ferocity coming from Parr scared her a little bit. The yelling reminded her a little of when Henry first stormed in and accused her. Of course, she would set it aside, but it was scary in the moment. She looks in Kit’s eyes, which are now full of tears, sighing and pulling her into another tight hug and rubbing her back. “It’s okay, babes… He’s gonna go away and we will be okay, I promise. The girls aren’t gonna let him get to us.” Kit just buries her face into Anne’s shoulder and lets out the remainder of what she wouldn’t let out in front of Henry. Thank goodness the men had taken him into another room until the police arrived. 

Anne pulls out of the hug for a moment and then walks Kit outside. “You look absolutely knackered, love… maybe we should head home as soon as all of this is over. Do you wanna change into something else? C’mon.” They both decide to change, but do so in the staff bathroom rather than in the dressing room. On the off chance Henry was able to see into the dressing room, they didn’t want him to see anything. Anne also thought a door with a lock was the safest. 

Once they finish hanging up their costumes, the two settle into the couch, and just hold each other. Anne hums a little of La Vie en Rose, and quickly, Kit falls asleep. Anne doesn’t mind. They were all done with the day, it had already put them through the ringer. 

There’s an apparent veil of exhaustion amongst all of the women, except Parr.

Sure, Henry had been apprehended at this point and he was stuck with his hands cuffed behind his back, but that didn’t stop him from being inches away from Parr’s face with a very devious smile. “I’ll be back, Catherine. And you six will have to deal with me all over again. Especially Kat–”

“Like hell you are!”

Catherine Parr broke her left arm free from Catherine of Aragon’s grip, and her right arm from Jane Seymour’s. The right hand took a vice-like grip on his shirt collar before her left fist came swinging at full power, and thensome since the weight of the costume added force. That impact had a very, very nasty sound to it. Even Cleves flinched at it, soon seeing the blond man fall straight to the floor with a bloody face. “Get anywhere near us and I will have you laying your head on a prison bench just how you made poor Katherine and Anne lay down as you murdered them!”

The officers picked up the unconscious Henry, and kindly thanked Jane, Anna, and Aragon for their cooperation. Parr however, got a warning, but that was about it.

Giving it a moment, knowing they would be out of earshot at this point, Parr releases a rather annoyed grumble. “He’ll fucking pay for his crimes against all of you. I swear on my life he will rot in a prison cell for what he did. If he thinks he can just show up out of nowhere and come back here to take us for fools, he’s wrong,” she almost hissed at the end. The thickness of her accent was making Aragon concerned, since to see someone as rational as her goddaughter be in such a state was a rare experience. Cleves and Seymour both looked up with mortified faces. Ever seen revenge personified as human? No? Now you have.

And her name was Catherine Parr.

“What in heaven was that?” Maggie asks, getting up and peeking out into the hallway. A small laugh. The thud was actually loud enough to wake the cousins, and they both get up, confused a little, and sleepily walk to join her at the door frame. Anne rubs her eyes and yawns, looking at Henry, now being pulled up by two police men. 

She glances to Parr, and then to Henry, and upon sight of Parr’s hands, she lets out a small, startled gasp. His blood was actually on her knuckles. Probably mixed with her own, if her knuckles had bust. Kit has a similar reaction, coupled with hiding behind Anne at the sight of the wicked man. “Cathy… let me help you get cleaned up. Mags, can you grab the first aid kit out of my backpack?” 

“Let’s just go home, first.” Parr says, a little cold, while watching an officer take Henry away. She wanted to watch up until he was inside of the car, so she could ensure he was going away for good. The other officer asks her a few questions about the situation, and she tells him everything that happened, down to the fact that they would be filing a restraining order, and that Henry was not allowed to see their show again. 

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The six women had gone home after waiting… maybe an extra ten minutes after Parr finished talking to the police officer. The car was dead silent on the ride back to the house, too.

“I’m actually mad about the fact that he’s actually attractive now,” Boleyn rolls her eyes as she walks in after Seymour. “I’m kidding, obvs. But how is he alive? We’ve been free for… who knows how long now and he comes back? What did he want, anyways?” Seymour turned to face Boleyn, giving the brunette a gentle pat on the head. “It sounded like revenge, but I think Cathy has the actual answer to that. We can talk to her when she’s a lot calmer, though… she’s very…”

“Upset, angry… name it, I am probably feeling it.”

“We all are, love…” Anne goes to her, gently taking her hands, looking at them carefully. One’s very busted up, and the blood has now dried and solidified. “Let me clean you up, c’mon.” She motions to the kitchen, and the two head in there, Parr sitting on the counter while Anne gets the first aid kit out. “I’m not ashamed of what I did today.” Parr stares at the floor, expecting some sort of lecture or argument to happen, but it doesn’t.

“You protected me. That’s all I could ever want.” Anne kisses her quickly on the cheek before pouring some hydrogen peroxide on a gauze cloth. Before she starts to press it to Cathy’s knuckles, she looks the girl straight in the eyes. “Don’t be mad for how much this is going to hurt, please.” 

While those two work on that, the other girls drop their bags next to the door and slump into the chairs around the kitchen table, an apparent awkwardness in the air. Jane is the first to speak, and it’s absolutely filled with regret and apology. “Ladies, I am so sorry I lost my cool today. I shouldn’t have gotten so ‘up in arms.’ He just… I never…” She’s tearing up a little, and Kit offers a hand for her to squeeze as she tries to work through her words. She takes a deep breath, brushing some of her blonde hair out of her face. 

“I never got to tell him all of that. All of the resentment.”

Cathy grumbles from the counter, agreeing with her statement. “He sure got a taste of all of my resentment.” Her cheeks were reddening, and Anne doesn’t know what else to do past wrapping the girl’s knuckles, so she lays a kiss on them, hoping that will calm her down. “Shhh… no need to get worked up over that toff, not again.” Her hand goes to hold Parr’s face. “Let’s be happy, okay?” 

“Jane, we all had every right to react the way we did. Even Cathy had a right to bash his ugly face in.” Kit nods reassuringly, and the other queens mumble words of agreement, Anne and Parr silently making their way over to the table. Something about Parr’s energy was off, but the queens wouldn’t question it for the time being. They were all rattled, it didn’t take much to see it. 

“I just feel that as the mother of the group, I reacted rather rashly. I think–” She has to hold back some tears. “I think I should’ve composed myself.” This ends with the ladies all essentially tackling Jane with a group hug, even Parr, though not really seeming to want to participate. It was getting late, anyways, and it was almost time for her to begin her nightly writing. It would help.  

Anne clears her throat. “I think you did perfectly, Jane. He’s an absolute tosser for thinking he could face all six of us at once.” Kit laughs in agreement, and the two head upstairs. Parr quickly dismisses herself, Aragon trailing quickly behind after giving Jane a tight hug. 

Cleves takes Jane’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Gute Nacht, Jane. Versuche nicht zu viel darüber nachzudenken.” Jane sighs. “Still don’t speak German, love.”

“Try not to think too much about it.”

“Catherine,” Aragon knocks on the open door, furrowing her eyebrows. “Mija, what got into you today? That isn’t you. Where… where did you even go?” A sharp look from the sixth wife to the first, before it softened up. It eventually became more of a look of shame as Parr’s eyes went to the bandaged hand. She really did do a number on herself, but that blond haired Tudor nightmare deserved it. She wasn’t wrong, was she? Or, had her morality become such an ambiguous grey area that maybe it was wrong for her to have sucker punched the man who beheaded Katherine Howard so unfairly.

The shameful eyes look up, seeing Aragon’s concern despite the slight scowl. “I’m sorry, Lina. I… no se. Yo lo vi y... Me congelé. Es como si todo el sentido racional dejara mi cuerpo y me quedara con impulso. Lo juro, no... siempre así. Tu lo sabes! Aunque asusté a todos, no?” The hurt in her voice was evident. Parr knew she became the morally ambiguous of the group, which was normally not the good thing. Aragon’s expression lightened up just a little as she approached her goddaughter, and pulled her into a side hug. “Sucede, amor. Pero no te enfades tanto con alguien tan horrible. Seguimos amándote, y siempre nos preocuparemos por ti. Ninguna de nosotras te tiene miedo, y eso te lo prometo.”

Those last words gave Catherine Parr just a little bit of hope. Catherine of Aragon gave one last hug to the woman before heading on out the door, but not without “Don’t stay up late.” being the last thing she said to the sixth wife. 

Kit and Anne stand in the hallway, chatting before going to their rooms, which were across from each other. “Lock your window, Annie, please.” It’s evident that Kit is still very worried about Henry figuring out where they live or figuring out how to get in. Anne nods, despite the fact that they lived on the second floor.. “Of course.” The girls hug and in a matter of seconds, they are both behind their respective closed doors. 

Kit leans against the door for a moment after closing it, but not locking it, and a few silent tears fall before she starts to change into her pajamas. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” She mumbles to herself, turning on her string lights and turning off the main light of the room. She debates what kind of music to listen to, mulling over it for a few minutes before turning on some classical. It was different, but it would work. 

Anne, on the other hand, immediately goes to lock her window and pull the shades closed, which was slightly saddening because she did enjoy looking at the night sky before she fell asleep. She sits on the edge of her bed for a moment, deep in thought about Cathy. She had to admit, the girl she saw today was one she had never seen before, and one she was pretty afraid of seeing again. That fire, while endearing… shook Anne a little. She has to force herself to shake off the thought that anger immediately translates to a person being anything remotely similar to Henry. 

“Right, then… bed it is.” Anne shuts off her lights and lays down, picturing that starry sky in her own mind. It would do. 

Jane settles in with the current book she was reading, a copy of Pride and Prejudice. A story of true love, one could say, and the text was actually helping to calm the blonde down about the events of the day. Aragon peeks in for a moment, and Jane gives her a soft smile, an unspoken agreement that they would be okay.

Though it seemed as if everyone was settling down, Catherine Parr had a storm bigger than a hurricane brewing inside. 

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Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Catherine Parr let that be the only sound to fill the silence. Normally, it would be music or something, but not tonight.

The calligraphy pen in her hands danced around her fingers, barely having touched the pages of the open notebook. Her vision was still blurred, much to her own surprise. Wrath was a powerful thing, and to have something take over the body for an amount of time would lead to consequences later in the night. In her case, it was a very horrid case of insomnia. While she dealt with insomnia most nights, she had the slightest feeling this was not the typical time to go to bed at 2 in the morning case. The pen began to slow down in her hand, and she held it still for the first time that whole night.

“It’s not the first time you write about how you feel, Cathy. It’s fine. It’s perfectly fine.”

It was not fine.

No matter how many times she told herself it would be fine, she could never believe it. Catherine Parr saw her hand shake, just the slightest, every time she wrote. Every memory from the last few hours was hazy, but simultaneously at the forefront of her mind. The usually clean lines of her penmanship were just the bit off from the feelings. Word after word, the anger began to flow onto the pages like water flowing down a river’s stream. So shaky, and so violent were the movements of Parr’s wrist. In comparison to the surprisingly smooth transition from thought to thought, her actions made her look a little crazed. One could even say she looked oddly desperate to finish writing.

Almost as if she was running out of time.

She was a writer in her past life. An author, really. The woman wrote books, psalms, meditations… name it, she probably has a manuscript of it somewhere. But this? This was not her. This frantic drive to write and write until the pages could take no more and the ink began to go through them was not Catherine Parr. In a way, it was almost symbolic. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

There it was again. The ticking of the clock.

Time was no longer a relevant thing for Parr. She just let the time go on.

Last she could remember, it was midnight. But nay, the clock spoke otherwise. A glance at it revealed it to be four in the morning. Her hand and wrist were cramped up, and the tears that she felt falling were drying on her face. The pages had become full of nonsensical phrases, mostly a result of the anger still in her system. But that anger began to fade from anger into a depression.

Why couldn’t she be stronger?

Why didn’t she do enough at the moment?

The pain finally struck her heart. Silence began to be her worst enemy, and something she thought she’d never do is what she did. Parr slams her hands on the desk, crying out, almost as if it were a scream or cry for help. The scream was enough to wake up Catherine of Aragon in an instant. A second and third one woke Jane Seymour and Anna of Cleves up. The fourth one got to Anne Boleyn. In a worried hurry, Aragon got out of bed and ran down the stairs to get to the door before almost ramming it down with her own body.

“Cathy? Mija, what’s the–… Cathy?”

What she saw was a torn woman in front of her. Her bandaged hand had a little blood seeping through the ends. Some of the curls were sticking to her face, and her eyes were all puffy and red. Aragon gently pulled Parr up and into a tight embrace. “Escúchame. Todo está bien, Cathy. Estamos en la casa.” Normally, Aragon had a commanding nature that gave off the feeling of someone being safeguarded behind a wall, but this was one of those moments she was willing to let her wall down. Parr’s grip tightened, with the tears coming back and rushing in like an ocean’s grey waves.

Catherine learned just a smidge of Spanish for her godmother. Enough to get by with a conversation or two, but she was not fluent in any way. “Duele, Lina,” a sniffle. “Todo esto duele y no hice lo suficiente para ayudar.” And there was something about her goddaughter using Spanish in such a defeated manner that made Aragon crack a little on the inside. Her own eyes were welling up with tears as she looked to the door.

Seymour, Cleves, and Boleyn.

All three of them with wide eyes and fairly concerned expressions. But it was Anne who saw the tears forming in Aragon’s eyes and threatening to spill. The two lock eyes and it takes everything in Anne to not crack too. She gives Aragon a look that says, ‘Let me try.’ Lina nods and gives Cathy’s hand a small squeeze, and Anne goes and kneels on the floor in front of her. 

The other three stand in the hallway, knowing it was probably best to give the two a moment. “Did that not wake Kitty?” Cleves pauses, and then points in the general direction of Howard’s room, loud classical music streaming through her closed door. 

Anne takes Parr’s hands. “Cathy, please talk to me… please, love.” It takes Parr a moment to look into Boleyn’s eyes, which are also filled with tears at this point. “It kills me to see you hurting.” A hand goes to wipe some tears from Parr’s cheeks. It lingers there, cupping her cheek, Anne’s thumb reflexively going back and forth to wipe more tears as they fall. 

“It kills me to see you hurting.” Her statement is coupled with a small voice crack, and not one that you would usually find endearing. This was out of pure sadness and anger. She sighs. “I should’ve done more.” She looks at the floor, past Boleyn, though her head is now resting on the girl’s hand. 

“He’s the one that deserves to be on a scaffold!” She starts to sob again, leaning forward, and Anne catches her, in a sense. Shaking with anger, she lets it out, nearly soaking Anne’s shirt in a matter of seconds. “He deserves to die! Why is he here?” Her breathing becomes slightly erratic, heaving breaths joining in with shallow sobs. 

The three in the hallway silently elect to let the two work through it. It really seemed as if Anne was the only one who was going to be able to get her to calm down, even if only a fraction. Aragon lingers for a moment, and then decides finally to go back to her room, leaving the door open in case anyone needed anything. Jane does the same, but reads for a few minutes before going back to sleep. 

Anne isn’t sure what to do, so she stands both of them up, having to support Parr a little, and just holds her, swaying back and forth slowly. “Shh… babe… he doesn’t deserve your tears…” Anne, you preach this, yet you’re a mess too. Albeit, a mess because Cathy is crying, but a mess nonetheless. “He… he’s getting his karma. He has to watch us thrive. And he can’t do a damned thing to us. We’re untouchable.” She was also telling herself this. 

Parr nods quietly, latching on to Anne even more, as if letting her go would mean she’d disappear into thin air. Though she hadn’t actually said it, she knew she loved Anne. More than anything, and if punching Henry in the face was what she had to do to protect her, she’d do it every day for the rest of her life. 

“Can I sleep in your room tonight?” She speaks softly, voice scratchy as a result of the outburst. It was nearing five o’clock at this point, but it didn’t matter. With no hesitation, Anne replies with a simple “Of course,”  pulling away slightly to look Parr in the eyes. Those tired, red eyes, still wet with tears formed over a man who didn’t matter one bit. Not in this moment, he didn’t. 

The two make their way to Boleyn’s room, a twin bed being the only place for them, but it would be plenty of space. Anne lays down first, patting the small space next to her for Parr to join. It’s almost as if they’re out as soon as they cover up. 

Kit sleeps through all of this. Perhaps it’s the music blaring from her speakers, or the exhaustion from the events of the day, but it’s the first night the girl doesn’t wake up screaming. The other queens are really surprised to see her downstairs in the morning, looking well rested and pouring herself a cup of tea, seemingly fine. “G’morning.” She yawns, and the others just kind of look at each other as if reality has shifted. “Where are Cathy and Annie?” 

“In bed, still.” 

“Ja.” 

“I should check on them.” Kit says, setting her tea down. Cleves joins her, cringing a little when Kit knocks awfully loudly on the door and pushes it open. “Halt die Klappe, Kit…” Kit turns and looks at her, a puzzled look on her face. Cleves rolls her eyes jokingly, and then whispers again. “You’re too loud.” 

The sight upon opening the door is a combination of comedic and sweet. Parr is absolutely sprawled out on top of Anne, snoring loudly and taking up most of the bed. One of her hands is on Anne’s cheek, as if she had fallen asleep holding the girl’s face. Anne is awake, quietly scrolling through TikTok with headphones in. She looks at the two in the doorframe and smiles, looking down at Parr. ‘We’re okay.’ She mouths, and Jane and Aragon peek in, a small laugh coming from the Spanish queen. It warmed her heart to see the two all bundled up and Parr seemingly at peace, even if only for a moment. 

Parr makes a small noise and shifts, essentially pulling Anne closer and wrapping a leg around her. The ladies all smile, electing to leave the two alone. It was evident that everything would be okay, at least for now. Anne kisses Cathy on the forehead, letting out a happy sigh. Parr subconsciously replies with a small snore, and the two stay there, safe in each other's arms, for most of the day. 

A couple hours seem to pass and it’s about… noon, when Parr starts stirring. Anne notices this, and begins to smile. At least she was waking up. However, things were not going to go to plan, because in comparison to Anne, Catherine was a whole lot taller, and took up just a bit more space. Thinking for a moment she was still in her room, Parr went to try and roll to the other side of the bed, but immediately woke up at not having anything underneath her. A loud enough thudding noise got everyone’s attention.

The other four queens almost immediately ran to the doorframe, and Anne was sitting up.

In typical Boleyn fashion, she was laughing.

Parr on the other hand, was not very happy. “Ow…” Looking up, she just sees the green queen essentially laying back down because of the laughter, and a glance to the doorway reveals four others holding back laughter. “Oh haha, funny that Cathy Parr fell off a bed now is it?”

Through the laughter, Boleyn responds.

“It’s marvelous, love!”