#on the other hand i regretted that purchase financially as soon as i made it and i will be v glad to get the money back

[pinktinselmonstrosity]

GOOD NEWS the expensive pair of jeans i impulse-bought last week (bc my current jeans make me actually angry to wear) don't fit me, so i can return them and get a refund 😊

[luminari-mc]

(Mammon x MC/Reader)

Prompt: "She doesn't compare to you. No one does.”

Genre: Angst, hurt(emotional)/comfort.

Pairing: GN!MC/Reader x Mammon

Summary: You and Mammon finally get to enjoy a well-deserving shopping trip just between the two of you. Just as you are about to hit the next shop, your attention is caught by an image advertised in the street.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: I wanted to try my hands at a prompt that is tagged as "fluff", but of course I ended up turning it into something angsty instead. But I like sad stuff, so that still works for me.

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It wasn't often that you got to spend time with Mammon without having any of his brothers around to bother you. But you had made it very clear to them that these few hours after school would be spent with Mammon, and only him. And for today's trip, you two had decided to go shopping in one of the busiest streets in the Devildom.

Clothes and jewelry stores, malls- you had done them all. When most of this time had been spent doing window shopping, Mammon had still insisted on getting at least a few bags of purchased goods for each of you by the end of the day. After all, what was the point of going on a shopping trip, if you didn't end up emptying your bank account only to regret it later?

And so, thanks to the demon's wonderful influence, your arms had now several bags hanging off of them. There was a certain guilt still looming over your head as you realized way overboard you might have gotten with your purchases, but Mammon promised he would take care of any financial problems you could encounter in the near future because of that. You still wondered how he was going to manage it, him being Mammon and all...

"Damn, now THAT'S what I call a good haul! Look at ya!" The white-haired demon grinned as he watch you hop out of the store, the glass doors opening automatically at your presence to let you out. He placed his wrists on his hips as his own bags dangled in his hands. "What'cha got for yourself this time?"

"They actually had that jacket I saw in a magazine the other day!" The doors closed behind you as you showed the white bag which contained the jacket. "You were right, that store was amazing. I can't believe you never showed it to me before."

"Ha! Told ya the Great Mammon knew where the best treasures were! Consider it an exclusive info, because I ain't gonna share more if any of my brothers are around next time." Mammon turned around before flipping a few of his bags over his shoulder, as you instantly began to trot to get to his level.

"What? So all this time you knew about it and you didn't tell me? Just because Asmo comes with us sometimes?" You expressed shock, right before your eyebrows joined together. "Really, as if you couldn't have told me over text or something."

"And have you go without me?! Nah, ain't gonna happen- you'd just get lost and end up in the worst store possible." Mammon glanced your way, and you could only smirk at his poor excuse.

"Sure, you're right. I forgot that humans don't have the same flawless sense of orientation as demons do." Despite your obviously sarcastic tone, Mammon didn't seem to register it as he nodded at your words.

"Exactly! Even if I gave you the full address, who knows where you'd end up? I don't want ya to come and complain to me afterwards, so it's gotta be with me or nothin'."

Even as you rolled your eyes, you noticed Mammon's face slightly turning away from yours, probably to hide the extra shade of color that had appeared on his cheeks ever so discreetly. Even when he was in his usual tsundere mood, it was endearing to see how concerned he was for your safety. And just how badly he wanted to be alone with you.

"So, where to next?" You asked without really thinking, surprising yourself that even after your extensive purchasing, you still wanted to do more. Or maybe it was that you didn't want this date to end right away. The past few weeks had been nothing but the brothers interrupting each other when any of them found themselves alone with you, so getting to spend some alone time with one of them, especially with Mammon, deserved to be extended a bit more.

"Glad ya asked!" As if a battery had been plugged into him, the demon brandished his arm into the air, the bags swinging by his face and missing him by a few inches. "I got this whole place where they're sellin' tons of stuff for pretty cheap, but it's actually authentic branded things. See, they're actually sold to that one guy who then has to sell them to another guy, and..."

As you listened to Mammon explain how he was able to find "authentic stuff" (probably not that authentic, you were pretty sure about that) for less than a quarter of its original price, your eyes found themselves drifting to an impressive ad plastered on a building the two of you were walking by. Recognizing the habit of Majolish to put their models on display for everyone to see was pretty easy, but that wasn't what caught your eye in the moment.

What tuned Mammon down completely in your ears, were the models themselves. The second born, sitting on a stool with a ripped shirt and pants, a few accessories hanging off his neck and barely covering anything of his exposed chest. He looked serious, staring straight at the objective- and at you, while the light shined on him to completely capture his frame for the picture.

And sitting down in the middle of the shot, between his legs, was a female demon wearing a red leather dress, her head resting on top of Mammon's leg. The clawed hand dangling off his knee- covered in golden rings, seemed to taunt you, as well as the piercing yellow eyes she had. Saying she wasn't beautiful would be lying. In fact, she was absolutely stunning. A perfect model for a perfect shot. Just looking at her made you feel small, like a prey that was about to be devoured by a hungry beast, the longer you were looking at her.

But that's what demons were supposed to make you feel like, right?

"Hey!" Mammon called out from the distance he had put between the two of you since you had stopped walking beside him. "Yo, MC!"

Watching as you kept staring into nothing, Mammon rolled his shoulders with a furrowed brow before walking back toward you, his head tilting to the side as he noticed your dead expression.

"Huuh hello, Devildom to MC? In which realm did ya get lost this time?"

"They replaced it." The words that left your mouth were weak, almost too silent for him to hear. It's as if all of the energy you had had evaporated from your body in an instant.

"Huh?" Mammon grew a bit concerned at this sudden change. His eyes perked up at the ad you were looking at, as you continued.

"The shoot we did together." Finally, you spared yourself from the sight, your gaze dropping to the ground. "They already replaced it with another one."

As soon as Mammon understood why *this* ad in particular seemed to be upsetting you so much, his jaw was already clenching. He remembered the stars he had seen in your eyes the previous week when you saw yourself on the Majolish ad, posing beside him- a shoot opportunity you had gotten while accompanying him after RAD a few days prior. In the middle of his shoot, he practically didn't leave any choice to his agent and had insisted that you be included in the shots to promote one of the new pieces of jewelry the brand was planning to release in the upcoming months. Asmo, who was there to witness your reaction on that day the three of you went out, had even taken a hundred pictures or so of you posing in front of the ad.

Except that, the jewelry you had posed with, was now present on the new model posing alongside Mammon.

He had made sure to engrave that smile of yours in his head at the time, even going so far as to snap a picture of your face while you were too focused on Asmo to notice him. But now, there was absolutely no trace of that same happiness anymore.

"The fuck?" The snarl that left him shook the walls of his throat. "That wasn't supposed to be advertised before another month! Why'd they have to take ours so soon?!"

"It's okay, Mammon." The demon stopped growling as his eyes lowered on the hand that was clutching his arm. "I mean... I'm not a model. Figures they wouldn't put it up for long... I-I mean, look at me. Seriously, who would want to see my face being exposed for longer than they can bare? It's hard to imagine. I wouldn't probably have sold their product anyway, so... it's okay."

The look on your face was devastating. Despite trying your best to smile, the tears pricking in your eyes were threatening to roll down your cheeks at any second. Mammon felt his heart being stabbed with a thousand invisible daggers, he couldn't bear to watch you feeling insulted in such a way.

His bags were immediately dropped onto the floor, the demon no longer caring for any of the fragile items he may have bought. His hands swung forward to cup your cheeks, forcing your face up to look at him straight in the eyes.

"Hey hey, MC. C'mon, look at me."

You did your best not to let your vision turn blurry because of the upcoming tears, and stared back at Mammon, your bottom lip trembling weakly.

"I don't care what anyone, model agents or not, can say- you'd sell a thousand more times than any fuckin' models out there, okay? In fact, you're worth even more than their stupid jewelry!"

His thumb quickly brushed away a tear from the corner of your eye as his other hand came to rest on your temple.

"They just put that one up there because that model is famous. They don't care about what's really beautiful, they just want to boast their popularity to the rest of the world." The blue of his eyes seemed to radiate the closer he moved towards you. "But I know what's beautiful. And her? She doesn't compare to you. No one does."

You could only look down in shame as his hands never left you, closing your eyes shut to let a couple tears out before Mammon grabbed a tissue from his pocket to dry your face. He patiently waited a few seconds for you to calm down, soothing you with slow caresses of your hair until your shoulders stopped shaking.

"I'm sorry..." you muttered, sniffling as you passed a wrist over your eyes. "I don't know why that upset me so much..."

"Ya got nothing to be sorry about." Mammon retrieved his hands from your head, only to grab the bags that were hanging off of your arms. He somehow manages to hold them alongside his own behind him, before wrapping the other arm around your shoulder.

"Hey, I'd call this a day. How about I prepare ya a bath when we're home? Courtesy of the Great Mammon."

You nodded, your lips arching into a smile as you grabbed the hand hanging off your shoulder. The day was cut too short for your liking, but you didn't feel up for any additional purchases, or to properly enjoy your outing anymore.

"Will you wash my hair?" You entertwined your fingers with his as he gave them a gentle squeeze.

"Pah, of course! Who else but me could do that?" He huffed through his nose, shaking his head at such an obvious question. Your laugh ringing in his ears gave him a brief moment of respite.

But the demon furrowed his brows as he lead you into your walk back home, keeping you snuggled at his side. Holding the bags in his left hand, his white nails sharply digged into his palm the more steps he took alongside you.

Making them cry? Such a big, big mistake. One thing was sure, Mammon wasn't about to let that one pass.

"But before that..." The hiss that escaped his throat went unnoticed by the two of you as your head rested against his shoulder.

"I'll have a few calls to make."

[highdramas]

cherry - part three 🍒

a javier peña / little women au

summary: it’s been three years since that night in the pool with javi, but fate is not finished with you two yet. warnings: age gap ( reader is ten years younger than javier ), language word count: 2602

three years later…

your arms are locked with teddy’s as you stumble down the paris street, laughter dripping off your lips. she’s rattling on about some guy she met at the last club but you couldn’t care less-- your mind is in a certain euphoria. god, parisians really do know how to party, you think to yourself.

it’s been one year since you’ve moved to paris but you’ve never once regretted the decision. when things fell through with pauline after your grandmother died your senior year of college, there hadn’t really been much calling you back to the states. you still loved new york, and you liked to visit, but your hometown wasn’t at the top of your destination list. you still kept in touch with your parents, but you can tell that it’s not the same. margot has come and visited, and you went out to oregon to stay with nora and finn.

but pauline had told you to never talk to her again.

you can’t blame her for the resentment she holds against you. when your grandmother left everything in your name…

you try not to think about it all too much. you’ve kept the money in the bank and you have the key to her estate on your keyring, but it doesn’t truly belong to you, and you know that it never will. pauline had loved that house.

again, you try not to think about it all that much.

you’re older and you’re more mature now, and you don’t even think about javier anymore. most of the time.

there are late nights where he creeps into your thoughts, his lips on yours, wet and clinging to one another and sometimes you’re still not quite sure if you made it all up in your head or not. after that night, you two had never discussed the kiss. sometimes you wish you had slipped into his room the next morning, hushed whispers as sunlight broke in through the window. but you hadn’t. in the months after your kiss, javier’s feelings for pauline didn’t falter. it took only six months for him to confess his attraction to her plainly, fully, and for pauline to reject him. in the moment, you had wanted to fight her for it. you nearly had. she had javier wrapped around her finger, and she simply didn't want him? you had watched as javier drifted away from pauline, the gravity of the situation between them tearing them apart. it had been sad to watch javier drift from your family the way that he did-- he had been a member of the family. now, an awkward sort of tension holds the room when his name is brought up at dinner.

not that you’re invited to any of the family dinners.

when you got your first boyfriend in new york the following school year after the summer at javier’s, you found yourself incessantly comparing him to javi. how when he kissed you, it didn’t give you the butterflies that javier’s kiss had. the love affair had been so brief, not even a full night, yet it had left such a lasting impression on you-- you wish you could formulate why.

but, most of the time, you don’t think about javier and his soft hair and his tanned skin and the way that the sweat had stuck to it all summer. you focus on your art and on your very charming new french boyfriend. you focus on your friendships-- living with teddy in paris was a dream, and you still saw sam and esther often. you start grad school soon and you miss your grandmother every day. the one person who seemed to truly see you.

things aren’t perfect. not even close. but they’re good, and that’s enough.

“and god-- i just know that his dick is big. i know it’s big. you know?” teddy’s rattling off and you don’t know how long she’s been talking, but regardless, you’re comforted by the sound. you and teddy had been good friends in college, but moving to a foreign country together amplified that. she’s loud and she’s daring and she’s intelligent and she’s the kind of person who just got you. that was what you really craved for, at the end of the day. to be understood. years of pauline’s judgement and you finally felt free from that.

teddy’s words bring you to laughter and you both duck into an alley for a cigarette, the filter stained with a red ring on lipstick. you lean against the brick and it’s nice and cold, a contrast from the heat of the club you’d just escaped. your boyfriend, robin, was away from the city for the holidays. it’s the weekend before christmas and nora has extended numerous offers for you to stay with them over the holiday, but you hadn’t taken the bait. you were happy staying in france. sure, you were a bit sad robin hadn’t invited you home-- you can’t be too sad, it’s barely been two months since you two had started seeing each other, but a piece of you had hoped. you nearly invited yourself in the days leading up to his departure, but you’d stopped yourself.

so instead, you stay. you stay and you drink with teddy, who doesn’t get along with her own family, either. she has a cousin on gap year and the three of you have smashing plans to drink several bottles of wine in your flat and watch bridget jones’s diary. and it’s what you want.

you take another long drag off the cigarette and blow the smoke away from teddy, turning your head back towards the street. there’s a noise that fills paris that you’ve found as a comfort. the sound of laughter, conversations that you could hardly understand. the sound of kisses between lovers on the street. so many strangers that you would never know a thing about. you squint for a moment at the dark figure walking on the other side of the street, cars few and far between. he’s got a casual walk, his hands stuffed into pockets of nice dress pants, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. your eyes widen. so many strangers, but he’s not one of them.

“javier!” it comes out as a screech, stopping teddy’s speech instantly. you drop your cigarette and are bounding across the road, nearly getting hit in the process. you lay your hand onto the hood of the vehicle for a moment and wave to them, as if to say, thanks for not hitting my drunk ass, before you continue on your mission.

there he is before you. a bit more weathered than when you last saw him. his brows are furrowed but there’s a softness to his face that you’ve always loved. but finally, when he gets a good look at you and realizes exactly who he’s looking at, his whole face lights up.

he’s reaching out for you and your arms are around him and you’re sure that his friend is wondering who the fuck you are, but it doesn’t matter. you absolutely melt against him and a hold has never felt so right before. you pull away enough to see his face, holding it in your hand, squishing his cheeks together. “oh, fuck, look at you!” you’re slowly starting to regret that last vodka soda you had and you’re hoping that he can’t tell that you’re this drunk-- but do you care either way?

“i can’t believe you’re here,” he breathes and there’s laughter following it and god if you can’t bottle that sound and drink it. he pushes a piece of your hair back and all of those sentiments about not thinking about javier pena are as far away from your brain as they can be.

teddy grounds you. she approaches behind you and waves to javier’s friend and slowly, reluctantly, you remove your body from his.

javier shakes teddy’s hand and you shake his friends, steve’s, smiling at him. but your entire focus is on javier-- sparkly eyed and trying to wrap your head around the fact that he’s here. “what the fuck are you doing here, cherry?” he finally asks, that same delightful smile on his face. the summer house feels so far away but so close all at the same time.

you explain that you’ve been living in paris for a year. you don’t need to mention your grandmother-- he knows, you’re sure of it. he may not talk to pauline anymore, but that doesn’t mean family gossip doesn’t get back to him still. “well, i’m happy to have a familiar face in town,” he says with a grin, hands on his hips in that way that he always did. “let me take you out for a drink tomorrow night. we can catch up.”

“that’d be great.” you wish you could wipe the grin off of your face. you exchange whatsapp and embrace once more before you and teddy are hand in hand, walking in the opposite direction of javier and steve. you look back over your shoulder to sneak one last look at him.

you’re greeted with javier doing the same. and he grins, and it makes your stomach turn.

teddy teases you the whole walk home, but your ears are ringing and you feel like you’re floating. the whole interaction has simultaneously sobered you and made you feel utterly love drunk, leaning on teddy in the elevator, wiping your makeup off in your tiny bathroom, before you’re laying on your back on your bed on the expensive silk sheets you had no business purchasing.

you stare up at the ceiling for a moment. and as you do, your phone buzzes.

i can’t wait to see you again, cherry.

--

you’d texted javier on and off throughout the day. you’d discovered that he was in paris on business, though business was still a loose term for it. he’s advanced in his father’s financial advisory company even since you’d last spoken, working on his own entrepreneurial investing endeavors on the side. he’s meeting with a french client and decided why not stay and play awhile-- in true javier fashion, you note. you want to knock him for his playboy lifestyle, but how can you, when it’s brought him back to you in this way?

you were the one who suggested your favorite trendy bar in le marais. in the depths of an ancient historical building resided a small speakeasy in the basement. ambient lighting and hushed talking mingled with the sounds of easy live jazz. it was one of the first spots that your first local boyfriend had taken you to when you moved.

boyfriend. your thoughts trail to robin and his christmas getaway that you were not invited to. where there should be a pang of guilt for going and seeing javi, there is none. only pauline’s voice in your head. selfish little cherry, always getting what she wants, and not caring who is caught in the crossfire of her silly desires.

maybe she was right.

maybe she was so right, that even that thought wasn’t enough to get you to not see javi.

you stand outside your apartment building and hit your juul, the vapor being exaggerated by the blistering cold that brushes against your flushed cheeks, painting your nose a light shade of red. javier had let you know he would come to you before you set out on your trek. and so, you wait. it’s growing closer to eight o’clock and suddenly, a storm of anxious butterflies begin to flutter in the pit of your stomach. this was javi you were talking about-- javi, who despite all of his best parts, had his flaws. he was forgetful, he was flighty, he was the first one to run when the going got tough. he had proved that to you in the pool.

but five minutes to the hour, you begin to see his silhouette. he’s got his hands stuffed into his pockets, an easy grin on his face grows more and more visible as he comes closer to you. a smile spreads on your face and you brush your hair back from your face, just as he’s mere steps away from you. “hi.” the word is short, but there’s something else lingering in it.

“hi.” you jut your chin up and look past his shoulder, if only to give yourself a fighting chance in not melting right into his open palms. but, your eyes flick back to him to find that his have not left you. “i got worried you were gonna forget about me.”

a scoff rings in your ears, and he gives you a sidelong glance. you can see what lingers behind his eyes. an invisible voice tucked in brown eyes says, that’s ridiculous. for a moment, you simply stand there. there’s some sort of tether between you two that you can feel; it’s knowing. it’s understanding. you’d cultivated a life for yourself here, and now, the past runs to catch up with you. “so, this bar?” he says, and it sets the two of you off.

you walk in step with javier, quick dialogue popping between you two. there’s laughter and there’s light teasing, there is knowing looks and there is friendship there. there is--

“i spoke with pauline before i came to paris.”

it takes everything within you not to stop in your tracks. of course, is what begs to fall off of your lips. of course he had. “oh?” she raises a brow at him. “that makes one of us.” you play it off well, you think, an easy breezy smile on your lips.

but from the look he sends you, you can tell that he sees through your feigned attempt at humor. “she told me you still aren’t talking.”

“it’s funny, she always called me the family gossip. she must be projecting.” quick deflections are still no match for javier pena. he raises a brow in your direction, and you feel the air leave your lungs. “no. no, we aren’t.”

“why?”

“because she hates me? because i have everything she wants? because she’s jealous?” she pauses and stops, looking at him. “and because she hurt you. what she did, what she was doing--”

javier shakes his head. “no, no, no. this isn’t about me.” he looks nearly stern. “that’s your sister. that’s more important than whatever feelings i had for her.”

had, had, had. feelings had are not feelings current. your head tilts to the side. “and what feelings do you have now?”

there’s annoyance and it’s found in his brow, the furrow, the way he rubs his mustache before he begins to walk again. “you’re so nosey.”

“i think you like that about me,” you smile. “and i’m curious. we all saw it, you know.”

your mother was certain that javier and pauline would wed one day. they had been so intrinsically in sync with one another, it was hard to imagine they wouldn’t. for them, at least. you thought the contrary. biased reasoning or no.

the only sound around you two is parisian street noise and the clattering of your boots on pavement. “i don’t feel the way i did,” he says, finally. he looks over at you. “i think she was right. we were never going to work the way that i thought.”

it is not often that you are rendered speechless, but this is one of those moments. your eyes slide up to him, and you lean against him slightly, elbows brushing. “i don’t know about you, but i need a drink.”

🍒🍒🍒

xoxo, dee

[city-writes]

Race Against the Clock (Chapter One)

At Mirio and Tamaki's wedding, Midoriya and Kirishima come to the same conclusion: They're gonna propose to their partners. The issue?

They both realize that the other also plans to propose. They both know that Bakugo and Midoriya's rivalry, while healthier than ever, extends beyond just their competition in beating the other out for the spot of #1 Hero. They both know that if 'stupid Deku' got engaged before Bakugo himself did? Kirishima would never hear the end of it.

And so the race to be the first to propose starts.

_____

(Technically a prequel(? side fic?) to the fic "He Knows no Repose", but you don't need to have read that fic to get this one)

Warnings: Aged-Up Characters; Pro-Hero Characters; No Manga Spoilers; Multi-Chapter fic Pairings: Eijirou Kirishima/Katsuki Bakugo (KiriBaku); Izuku Midoriya/Ochako Uraraka (IzuOcha); Mirio Togata/Tamaki Amajiki (MiriTama)

Read it here on AO3! Commission Info! (please consider me for a commission, i have lost my main source of income)

______________________

Getting Bakugo to come with him to Tamaki and Mirio's wedding had been a challenge, to say the least, but Eijirou Kirishima was so damn glad he did.

Kirishima had always known Bakugo was the one for him, even in the early stages of their relationship. He couldn't imagine a future without the tenacious eruption of a man that was Katsuki Bakugo by his side. He'd known he was going to marry this man one day.

But in this moment, as Kirishima looked to Bakugo, all sound was deafening in the redhead's ears, his eyes widening in realization upon feeling the blond subtly hook their pinkies together as Mirio and Tamaki exchanged their vows. He took in the sight of Bakugo's soft resting scowl, the faint flushed color that dusted his pale cheeks, their pinkies hooked to one another in a sign of unity while another couple was forming their own union several feet in front of them. In this moment, Kirishima knew:

I want to propose to him soon.

The thought popped into his head, and began repeating itself constantly, with the tempo of a flashing neon sign, and just as prominent as one burning brightly throughout a dark street. Kirishima's breath caught in his throat, and he pulled his gaze away from Bakugo, falling back upon Mirio and Tamaki instead as they continued speaking to one another.

The subject of marriage wasn't something that had gone unmentioned in his and Bakugo's shared apartment. Kirishima didn't remember how they initially came to discussing the topic, but the two of them had come to an agreement; No major purchases of any sort - engagement rings included - from either of them until they'd saved up enough to fund their own Hero Agency, one they would run together. (Bakugo had drawn up a saving plan for them before graduating from U.A., and they'd stuck to it very faithfully for the past two years.) As financial standings for them currently were, they would probably be able to afford their future agency in a little less than two years. They'd be around 22 then, which was alot better than the majority of Pros their age, though the two of them had the added benefit of sharing everything 50/50, whereas most Pros who planned for a future agency tackled the task solo.

If he was really going to propose though, he wanted to get the blond a good engagement ring, one that he felt fit him best, one that would make even the great Katsuki Bakugo freeze in shock and awe. A smile curled up on Kirishima's lips at the thought, and he curled his pinky just the slightest bit tighter around Bakugo's.

He closed his eyes for just a brief moment, a soothing warmth rushing through his body as he felt Bakugo curl his pinky a little tighter as well in response. Kirishima slowly exhaled, his eyes getting just the slightest bit misty as Mirio and Tamaki kissed one another, cheers erupting from the wedding attendees.

God, he couldn't wait to marry this man.

______________________________

The wedding reception, while vibrant and lively, wasn't nearly as populated as the ceremony was.

Wanting to keep some semblance of privacy to their lives, the newlyweds had only allowed family and close friends into the reception, having left the ceremony open to a more general stroke of people in their lives and select individuals from Hero related news outlets, if only to keep the media appeased and not doing whatever they could to sneak into or crash their wedding ceremony for the sake of a picture. After all, with Lemillion being the #3 Hero, and Suneater being the #5, there hadn't been any doubt that someone would try something less than savory if they'd attempted to keep everything private.

The reception, however, was a different story. Mirio and Tamaki's families were there, as well as the close friends they'd made throughout their lives. Kirishima was grateful to be considered one of them.

"Congrats, dude!" He said as Tamaki came over to the table he and Uraraka were sitting at, standing up to give the older male a hearty pat on his upper arm, before pulling him into a hug. "I'm super happy for you both!"

Tamaki gave a small chuckle at Kirishima's actions, before gently returning the hug. "Thanks, Kirishima. It all feels... really surreal."

Kirishima could feel Tamaki trembling against him, and pat his back in an attempt to comfort him. "You good, man?" Red eyes scanned the room for Mirio, hoping that if anything was wrong, he'd at least be able to calm Tamaki down. But when he felt Tamaki nod against his shoulder, Kirishima relaxed somewhat, the two Pros pulling away from each other.

"I'm... I'm better than good." Tamaki admitted, his eyes closing as he exhaled and a shaky, but wide smile pulled at his lips. "I was convinced I wouldn't be able to finish the ceremony with everyone's eyes on me, but..." He opened his eyes then, his gaze fond as he met Kirishima's own. "But it was like... the world just melted away. Like there was no one else but Mirio and I. I don't think I'll ever forget that feeling."

Kirishima broke out into a wide, toothy grin, his heart full for his friend and fellow hero. God, would he feel like that himself when he and Bakugo were getting married? He really wanted to know. But for now, he placed a hand on Tamaki's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "That's great, Tamaki. I glad you have someone like Mirio to make you feel like that." He could still feel Tamaki's trembling under his hand, but he knew it was because the other male was overwhelmed in the best way, out of happiness and not anxiety. "Where is Mirio, anyway?" He asked, pulling his hand away.

"Mirio's gone to check on Eri." Tamaki replied, looking over to a nearby door. "She wanted to change out of her flower girl dress and into one she said was more comfortable to dance in."

Kirishima laughed then at the mental image of overly doting father Mirio, though before he could comment further, he heard the sound of a close-by chair being pulled out of its spot from behind him. Both he and Tamaki looked to see Bakugo sit in the seat next to where Kirishima had been, sporting two glasses of champagne. Bakugo's gaze met Kirishima's then, and the blond scoffed, placing one glass down in front of the redhead's seat.

"Here." Bakugo's voice was soft, gently gruff. "Figured I'd also get you one while I was up."

Kirishima flashed his boyfriend a smile, shooting him a thumbs up, "Thanks!"

Giving a grunt of acknowledgement as his only response, Bakugo took a sip of his champagne, placing an elbow on the table and holding his head in one hand as he looked off to the side, looking positively unamused. Kirishima did, however, notice Uraraka's cheekily amused gaze staring down his boyfriend.

Tamaki chuckled awkwardly at the sight, before looking back to Kirishima. "I'll leave you two alone. Thanks for coming, though. I really appreciate it."

"Are you kidding?!" Kirishima replied with a gentle smile, "I wouldn't have missed this for the world, dude!" With that, Kirishima gave Tamaki a hearty pat on his back before the two moved away from each other, Tamaki slinking towards a nearby door -presumably to find Mirio and Eri, Kirishima thought- and Kirishima to sit at the table with Bakugo and Uraraka.

"Wait, where's Midoriya?" Kirishima asked, before taking a swig of his champagne and turning his head to look at Bakugo. "Didn't you guys go to get drinks together?"

Bakugo scoffed, nodding his heads towards the are where he'd come back from, near a table with some set, pre-filled champagne glasses. "He started talkin' with some blue girl and some bug fucker." Uraraka and Kirishima both looked over there themselves, and were met with the sight of the green-haired male talking near there with two individuals that Kirishima faintly recognized. Before the artificial redhead could get a word in, however, Uraraka spoke.

"Oh! That's Centipeder and Bubble Girl!" She chirped, smiling gently. A look of recognition overcame Kirishima then, memories of seeing the two Night Eye agency Heroes during the days leading up to the Shie Hassaikai raid coming back to him. "I figured Mirio would invite them to the reception!" Uraraka continued, watching Midoriya as he spoke with the other two people before he took a sip of his champagne. "I don't recall seeing them at the ceremony though? Then again, there were alot of people there, I could have just missed them."

"Too many people, if you ask me." Bakugo huffed, before turning his head back towards the table, looking pointedly at Uraraka. "That's his second glass of champagne, by the way."

"Already?" Uraraka sighed, looking more amused than exasperated. Kirishima stifled a chuckle at that, knowing from a couple of past experiences that Midoriya wasn't the best when it came to alcohol tolerance. "Well, I guess I should go stop him before he does something he regrets."

A snort left Bakugo at that, the ash blond shaking his head. "Nah, let him suffer."

"Katsuki." Kirishima chided, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"What?" Bakugo's red eyes locked onto Kirishima's, his lip curling slightly in biteless annoyance. "It's not my fault the damn nerd's a lightweight."

Uraraka's lips tugged upwards in playful deviance. "I don't think you have any room to talk, Bakugo." She held back a snicker as his gaze locked onto her, sneering. She didn't seem fazed by this, however, and honestly hadn't been fazed by similar looks for a few years now. "You have one more glass of champagne on him, at most. And that's me being generous."

"Listen here, Round Face--"

"What? What do you gotta say, Lord Explosion Murder?"

"That's it--!"

Kirishima was quick to place a hand on Bakugo's shoulder, the blond having started to move like he was going to lunge across the table for the brunette. This, however, only caused Uraraka to laugh, despite the eyes of a few reception-goers looking their way due to the ruckus. "Maybe we should take away your glass, Bakugo. You haven't even finished the one and you're already riled up."

Bakugo opened his mouth to retort, but the sound of Midoriya's voice interrupted them, the green haired male having walked back to the table. "I could hear you guys all the way over there." Taking in the sight before him, Midoriya sighed, shaking his head. "Please play nice, both of you? Let's not ruin Mirio and Tamaki's day."

The three sitting at the table were quick to notice the faint flush of color that had found home on Midoriya's cheeks, which they all knew wasn't due to the embarrassment of people staring their way from Uraraka and Bakugo's playful taunts. They also all noticed a half empty champagne glass in Midoriya's right hand, and a full one in his left.

"How about I take that glass for you, Izuku?" Uraraka asked with a light laugh, reaching for the full glass.

Midoriya looked at her confusedly for a moment, before blinking and nodding. "Yeah, I brought it for you." He replied, moving to sit by Uraraka, handing the glass to her easily.

Thankfully, both Mirio and Tamaki re-emerged into the venue with Eri in tow before anyone else could get more riled up, the two newlyweds giving a small, joint welcome speech to thank their guests, before they took their seats and dinner was served. The evening continued without a hitch, and it wasn't long before guests were either gathering on the dance floor, making their way to the dessert table, or mingling with the newlyweds at their table. Unlike Kirishima, Midoriya, and Uraraka, who were familiar with at least a handful of the people that were here, Bakugo simply stayed at their small, five person table, content on simply watching what were basically strangers to him.

(Though even Bakugo couldn't ignore Eri when she stopped by their table at one point to talk to them all.)

Currently, Midoriya was nursing his third glass of champagne, Bakugo his second, while Uraraka and Kirishima had both shifted to water after one glass. While the introduction of food into his system had seemed to temporarily erase the initial slight flush of intoxication in Midoriya, finishing that second glass from earlier and moving on to this third glass had brought it right back, and Uraraka was in the beginning stages of convincing him not to go for a fourth when he was done, much to Bakugo's (and to some extent, Kirishima's) amusement.

Bakugo was about to goad Deku into going to preemptively procure that fourth glass when a woman in a sparkly blue dress, with equally blue eyes and periwinkle hair approached their table, smiling brightly.

"There you are, Ochako!" She said with an energy far too vibrant for Bakugo's liking. It took him a second to recognize her (purely because she wasn't in her hero attire, he told himself, not because of the alcohol), but he relaxed slightly nonetheless. He watched as Nejire gently tugged at Uraraka's arm, smiling as she attempted to pull her fellow Pro Hero away. "I tried finding you before they brought the food out but then I got caught up talking with Mirio and Tamaki and Eri-- Did you know she's decided to go to U.A. for General Studies? I'm so excited for her-- Hey, is Midoriya drunk?"

Uraraka chuckled awkwardly as Bakugo snorted and Midoriya let out a huff. "I am not drunk, Hado."

"Ooh! How much can you drink before it starts to affect how well you're able to control your quirk? You don't wanna start breaking bones again like at U.A., right?" Nejire giggled, but before she could give Midoriya a chance to answer, her eyes trained on Kirishima and Bakugo, and she let go of Uraraka's arm, trailing around the table to stand by them. "Hey, Kirishima! If you and Bakugo were sparring at 100%, what would give out first: your Unbreakable form, or Bakugo's arms?"

Kirishima gave a sheepish laugh, a hand going to rub at the back of his head, as Bakugo's nose scrunched, and he began speaking, "Are you serio--"

"Speaking of your Unbreakable form," Nejire continued, her gaze flickering from Kirishima, to Uraraka, then back to Kirishima again (as well as paying no mind to Bakugo yelling, "Don't cut me off!") before asking, "Would you be able to maintain it if Ochako used her quirk on you? Is Unbreakable just like, an 'intense-focus-on-your-muscles' thing, or do you need to maintain an internal center of gravity, like a reinforced inner core type of thing? That wouldn't be too dangerous to find out though, huh? It'd at least be safer to pull off than checking how drunk Midoriya can be without hurting himself, or seeing what prevails - Dynamight, the unstoppable object or Red Riot, the immoveable force."

"Isn't it 'Immoveable Object' and 'Unstoppable Force'?" Uraraka asked, pulling Midoriya back into his seat by the back of his midnight blue tux jacket when he attempted to use the hurricane of questions that was Nejire Hado as a distraction to get more champagne unnoticed.

Nejire blinked, before laughing gently. "You're right! Maybe I've had a drink too many, myself. Anyway, have you been to the dessert table yet? I wanna go check out the chocolate fountain!"

"Not yet," Uraraka admitted, huffing with a small smile before notioning to Midoriya next to her, "I have to babysit this guy to make sure he doesn't overdo it on the champagne."

The resulting pout from Midoriya drew hushed snickering from both Bakugo and Kirishima. "But... C'mon, 'Chako..."

"Yeah, c'mon Ochako!" Nejire giggled, pointing off to the dessert table with a thumb, blue eyes not leaving Uraraka's brown. "They brought out some daifuku mochi."

Everyone at the table could practically see the mental deliberation that was going on in Uraraka's head, the brunette's eyes darting from the dessert table, to her boyfriend, then back to the dessert table, gently biting at her lower lip as she did so. "I..."

"Aww, go on, Uraraka!" Kirishima spoke up, shooing her away with a hand. "Katsuki and I will keep an eye on Midoriya!"

Uraraka blinked, frowning slightly. "You sure?"

"Absolutely!"

"Absolutely not!" Bakugo snipped, glaring at Kirishima in betrayal. "I'm not Deku's fucking keeper!"

Any hesitancy Uraraka had seemed to melt away at Bakugo's annoyance, smirking cheekily as she jumped up from her seat. "Nope! It's too late! Your literal sweetheart of a boyfriend has offered you up as tribute!" Uraraka then hooked her arm in Nejire's, the older woman laughing as Uraraka began practically dragging her to the dessert table. "Have fun, Lord Explosion Murder!"

"Get back here, you motherf--"

"Katsuki!" Kirishima yelped, quickly slapping a hand over his boyfriend's mouth. "This is a wedding reception, you can't just yell that across the room!"

Bakugo's fiery gaze shifted from Uraraka's distant figure to Kirishima instead, vibrant red eyes glaring into Kirishima's own. He then licked a fat stripe up Kirishima's hand with the flat of his tongue, causing the redhead's eyes to go wide, and his face to redden, immediately withdrawing his hand from Bakugo's face.

"Dude!" Kirishima muttered as he wiped his hand off on his pants.

"'S your own damn fault." Bakugo huffed as he shifted to rest his head in one of his hands, his elbow on the table. "I hate you, Eijirou."

The still-slightly-tipsy Midoriya gasped lightly, looking hurt on Kirishima's behalf. "Kacchan... that's not nice."

"Shut up, Deku."

Kirishima laughed as Midoriya pouted further, then turned to Bakugo, personally unfazed by his boyfriend's words. He knew they held absolutely no weight. "I love you too, Katsuki." He murmured as he leaned in to give the blond a kiss on his temple, an arm wrapping around him to pull him close.

Bakugo gave a 'hmph!' and closed his eyes, but shifted and folded his arms, visibly leaning into Kirishima's hold. "Yeah, yeah."

He didn't fight it as Kirishima pressed a follow-up kiss to his cheek, then to the corner of his mouth, though before Bakugo could get a proper kiss on the lips, Midoriya hummed happily, a pleased chuckle bubbling up from the green-haired male's chest. "Aww..." Midoriya cooed sweetly, his fingers pressing against his cheeks as he watched the two of them. "That's better."

"Jesus fucking Christ." Bakugo muttered, pulling away from Kirishima as the redhead's chest heaved with laughter, and quickly got up from his seat. "I'm gonna find a fucking bathroom."

Kirishima's laughter was slow to die down as Bakugo sauntered away, the sturdy hero then looking back to Midoriya, who was suppressing his own giggles. "Alright, real talk," Kirishima murmured, leaning towards Midoriya somewhat, a mischievious smirk on his face, "Exactly how far gone are you?"

Midoriya leaned back in his chair then, folding his arms as his gaze met Kirishima's. "Listen, I'll admit, I am a li'l tipsy, but nothing too bad." He did reach to take another sip of his champagne glass before he spoke again. "Doesn't mean I can't have a little fun with it at Kacchan's expense, though."

"Don't push your luck," Kirishima warned with a small, amused smile. "Knowing him, Katsuki will probably come back with another glass of champagne, both to spite Uraraka and to see if he can get you drunk."

"I don't doubt it." Midoriya amusedly murmured, placing his glass back on the table, looking over to where Uraraka and Nejire were chattering amongst themselves. "You know, rumor has it that next time the Hero rankings update, Ochako's going to surpass Hado."

Kirishima blinked at that, a brow arching in curiosity. "Really?"

Midoriya nodded with a dopey grin. "Yeah." He raised a finger to his lips then, his gaze flickering over to Kirishima. "You didn't hear it from me, though." Kirishima just nodded and smiled, and Midoriya lowered his finger. "Hado's been the #6 Hero for a couple years now," he continued, "and Ochako's been right behind her at #7. As much as she cares about Hado, though, Ochako would love to climb the Hero rankings just another rung higher. Honestly, she has her eyes on top 5."

"I just hope I can still keep in the top 10." Kirishima admitted, taking a sip of his water. He himself was currently #9, with Tokoyami ahead of him at #8, and Iida behind him at #10. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for where I am now, and honestly when I was a kid I never thought I'd even get this far," A sad smile tugged at Kirishima's lips then, and he placed his water glass on the table, looking down into it as he continued to speak. "But I don't want people to think less of Katsuki if his boyfriend falls lower in the Hero rankings. You know how the tabloids and the more gossip-y media outlets get." His voice dropped a little then. "I don't wanna disappoint him either."

"But you're not just Kacchan's boyfriend." Midoriya huffed, jutting his lower lip out at Kirishima's words. "You're Red Riot! You're an amazing hero no matter what, it doesn't matter what the rankings or the tabloids say! Besides, Kacchan loves you for you, not because of your ranking!"

Kirishima gave Midoriya a hum of acknowledgement, before looking up and nodding his thanks.

The pleased squeal of a young child cut through the air then, and both young men looked over to the sound's point of origin: the dessert table. The child was in floating midair in between Uraraka and Nejire, holding out a skewered marshmellow to hold under the top level of the chocolate fountain, a height far too out of reach for the little one if Uraraka hadn't used her quirk on them. They watched as Nejire kept a gentle hand on the child's back, both guiding them towards the chocolate fountain and preventing them from floating away, as Uraraka stood on standby, her hands poised to deactivate her quirk once the child had reached their objective and was safely guided back down on the ground.

"...God, I love her." Midoriya swooned, his gaze unwavering from Uraraka's place over by the dessert table.

Kirishima smiled at his friend, looking from Midoriya over to Uraraka as well, watching as she laughed at something Nejire said, before placing her own skewered marshmellow under the chocolate fountain now that the child from before had run off with theirs. The redhead was half debating on what all he'd get from the dessert table, when he heard Midoriya speak again.

"I've been thinking about proposing to her for a little while now."

Kirishima's eyes widened then, and he turned his head to look at Midoriya, a wide grin beginning to pull at his lips. 'That's awesome, dude!' was on the tip of his tongue, when something within him struck a chord.

...Midoriya had been considering proposing.

Midoriya had been considering proposing.

It was like a klaxon alarm had gone off blaring in his head, red lights flashing as his mental self immediately panicking. Had this been any one of his other friends, Kirishima would have been absolutely ecstatic for them, not that Midoriya was any exception to that excitement, but the fact that it was specifically Midoriya telling him this, so soon after Kirishima himself had his own revelation about proposing to Katsuki? Not good, not good, not good.

Midoriya and Bakugo's friendship had come so far since their junior high and early U.A. days, their healthy rivalry growing into something so much more than just their shared desire to be the #1 hero. (Currently the spot was held by Midoriya, but it seemed to flip-flop between the two of them every time the rankings updated.) They were comfortable enough to compete even in things as little as video games or self-imposed eating competitions now, without any true vitriol or negativity.

And for whatever reason, that healthy, playful competitiveness had managed to seep into their separate romantic lives as well. When Midoriya and Uraraka had started dating at the beginning of their second year at U.A., Bakugo had scoffed, saying that 'the only reason Deku finally grew a pair and asked her out' was that the green-haired male was trying to one-up him in both their shared goal in being the #1 hero and now apparently who'd be a better boyfriend, as Bakugo himself and Kirishima had started dating at the end of their first year. While Bakugo had only been talking to the self proclaimed 'Bakusquad' at the time (a name Bakugo absolutely loathed but stopped trying to fight against out of irritation), Midoriya had apparently overheard him, and cheekily commented: "At least I took the plunge and actually asked Uraraka out, Kacchan. Remind me, when it came to you and Kirishima, who asked who out again?"

Kirishima's eyes had gone wide at Midoriya's audacity, the redhead having to bite down hard on his lower lip to hide his amused shock as best he could. He watched as Bakugo's jaw dropped for the briefest of moments, before anger was quick to replace the blond's own shock. "What the fuck did you say to me?!"

Sero was doing his best to stifle his laughter behind one of his hands, while Mina and Kaminari were absolutely losing their shit on the common room's couches. Midoriya, who had been coming out of the kitchen with two bowls of popcorn at the time, it having been his turn to get the salty snacks for his, Uraraka's, Iida's, Todoroki's, Asui's, and Aoyama's movie night, spoke again. "What's got you so worked up?" He'd asked, feigning innocence as he began strolling towards the elevators. "I just asked a simple question."

"Like hell you did!" Bakugo had nearly launched himself over a couch, intent on getting his hands on Midoriya, before Kirishima hooked his arms up and under Bakugo's, the blond wriggling against him, letting off controlled explosions in his hands. Kirishima could somehow hear Midoriya's laughter over Mina and Kaminari's, though their conjoined laughter was like a whisper compared to Bakugo's yelling. "Get back here, shitty Deku! I'll show you who the best damn boyfriend is!"

From then on, the two would goad each other on about their respective relationships, from Bakugo bragging that he'd managed to score a pair of limited tickets to a special, one day only Crimson Riot exhibit in a city two hours away as a surprise for Kirishima's birthday, to Midoriya boasting about how much Uraraka's parents had taken to him after he'd been introduced as 'my boyfriend, Izuku' as opposed to 'my friend, Midoriya'. (After the latter occured, the next time Bakugo had visited Kirishima's mothers with him, the blond had brought them a carefully wrapped box containing homemade chocolates, paranoid that he might not have made as good an impression on them as Deku had on Uraraka's parents. Both women had been absolutely flattered and thankful, and reassured the blond that not only had he made a good impression on them, but that they were happy that he made their son happy.)

So for Midoriya to blurt out that he'd been planning on proposing to Uraraka for a little while now, regardless of if the admission was intentional or a result of the alcohol in his system, Kirishima knew he'd definitely have to get a move on if he planned on proposing to Katsuki soon.

Because if Midoriya was both engaged, and subsequently married before Bakugo? Midoriya would hold it over the blond's head, and Kirishima would never hear the end of it.

The only issue was that damn 'no major purchases' agreement that Bakugo had him agree to so that they could save up for their conjoined Hero Agency. If Kirishima couldn't find someway to get around that, then Midoriya was guaranteed to get engaged to Uraraka before him and Katsuki could get engaged to each other.

"Oh, really?" Kirishima did his best to sound delightfully surprised, to not give Midoriya any inkling that he'd been planning on proposing too. He knew that if Midoriya smelled the proverbial blood in the water, that he'd absolutely take the opportunity to strike.

Maybe Midoriya's version of 'a while now' meant like, two weeks. Maybe he hadn't put alot of thought into it, hadn't been looking at rings or anything yet, hadn't been planning the when and the how. Maybe, if he was going to propose, it wouldn't be for like, another 2 years. That was reasonable, right?

But as Midoriya's gaze flickered over to Kirishima, the green haired male seemed to pause for a moment as he took in the other's expression, before green eyes widened, a knowing smile on Midoriya's face. Kirishima's breath hitched.

Oh god, no.

"Wait... Are..." Midoriya leaned towards the redhead then, eyes wide with an expression the sturdy hero couldn't quite name, "Kirishima, were you also--"

"What the hell is your drunk ass doin', Deku?" Kirishima tensed at the sound of Bakugo's voice, taking a few short and quick breaths to try and calm himself down from the mental turmoil his brain had been going through. "Get the hell out of Eijirou's goddamn space." Kirishima couldn't bring himself to look at Bakugo yet as he heard the explosive hero pull his chair out and sit in it; the redhead knew he had to train his expression down into looking like nothing was wrong, or else the blond would know something was up. Bakugo's hand slid into his field of vision, pushing a filled champagne glass towards Midoriya. "Leave my idiot boyfriend alone and keep downing your damn booze."

Midoriya leaned back in his chair then, he gaze going from Kirishima, to the champagne glass, then to Bakugo. "Thanks, Kacchan, but... I think I'm good."

"Hah?"

Green eyes flickered from Bakugo over to Kirishima, who was doing his best to school his features still. "I think I'm gonna switch to water." He clarified, looking back at Bakugo. "Don't wanna embarrass myself or Ochako by having one too many drinks, ya know?"

No, please. Keep drinking. Kirishima thought, his gaze focusing on Midoriya, as though by sheer will alone his thoughts would will the green haired male into doing his bidding. Drink, and get drunk, and forget about me wanting to propose to Katsuki, god please.

"Just take the damn drink, Deku."

Midoriya then looked pointedly at Kirishima then, and grinned cheekily. "Maybe Kirishima should take it instead."

Kirishima's expression faltered then, his eyes narrowing slightly at Midoriya's words. Though as he felt Bakugo's gaze on him, Kirishima exhaled, turning his head to look at his boyfriend. He was quick to plaster a wide grin on his face, a hand going to rub at the back of his own head. "Took ya a little while to get back, huh?" He asked, desperate to rid the air of any tension. God, please don't question anything. "You get lost trying to find the bathroom or somethin'?"

Bakugo frowned then, the blond's red eyes looking into Kirishima's own, before glancing over over at a slightly smug looking Midoriya, then returning to Kirishima. "...What were you and Deku talking about before I got back?" Spoken more like a statement than a question, Kirishima laughed awkwardly, his mind racing to try and save himself from saying something seriously stupid or incredibly incriminating.

"Just stuff." Midoriya chirped, pushing his chair back so that he could get up from the table. "Kacchan, go with me to the dessert table."

The mental klaxon alarms came back at full force; Midoriya could not be alone with Katsuki right now, not while he was tipsy and armed with the knowledge that Kirishima wanted to propose!

Bakugo scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You and I both know I don't have that big a sweet tooth. Why the fuck would I go with you to the dessert table?"

"Well, one," Midoriya began, making his way to stand behind Kirishima's and Bakugo's chairs (albeit doing so a little wobbily), one hand resting on the back of Bakugo's chair, the other on Kirishima's shoulder. "Kirishima said he'd wanted to get some chocolate covered strawberries at the chocolate fountain when you came back, but you took so long finding the bathroom that I think the least you could do is get them for him."

"Deku..." Bakugo growled warningly.

"Two, Mirio told me beforehand that there'd be some spicy desserts. Tamaki apparently asked for some 'Black Pearl' cupcakes, which are apparently made with wasabi, ginger, and dark chocolate." Midoriya couldn't suppress the chuckle that left him upon seeing Bakugo's gaze flicker over to the dessert table for the briefest moment at the mention of those. "And three, Ochako would kick your ass if you let me walk to the dessert table alone right now."

Clicking his tongue, Bakugo rolled his eyes and folded his arms, before giving a huff and standing up. "Please, Round Face wishes she could kick my ass." Regardless, Bakugo pushed his chair in, glancing at Kirishima over his shoulder. "I'll go get you your damn strawberries." His gaze then looked to Midoriya, nodding his head towards the dessert table before beginning to walk. "C'mon, Deku."

Before Midoriya began walking, however, he gave Kirishima a pointed look with a soft smirk, one that the redhead could easily decipher as 'I won't say anything.'

Kirishima's relief was shortlived though, because Midoriya's expression became cheeky, playful even. The green haired male gave a small chuckle, before patting Kirishima's shoulder, then giving it a gentle squeeze. The redhead's heart dropped at the competitive glint in Midoriya's eyes then, a look that he'd usually spared for Bakugo when the two were going head to head in something.

Kirishima knew what that look meant. Kirishima knew that there was now an invisible timer counting down, that Midoriya planned on proposing to Uraraka before Kirishima himself could propose to Katsuki. Midoriya's previous, reassuring expression might have said 'I won't say anything', but that wasn't the end of his silent message. This competitive look finished that sentence with a curt finality. 'I won't say anything...

...but now, it's Game On.'

[prettywordsyouleft]

Yellow Bells

Pairing: Kim Yugyeom x reader

Genre: florist au / fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: this is for the lovely @mrkimyugyeom​ for her birthday today. Thanks to the anon the other day who mentioned the florist! concept, I realised it fits this present for my dear friend perfectly. Thank you for everything you have done for me over the last year, Nora! I’m so grateful for our friendship Xxx

Word count: 2136

“Are you sure you can manage on your own, Yugyeom?”

He nodded, ushering his parents eagerly to the exit of the store. “Mum, I’ve grown up in this shop. I’m pretty sure I know every type of flower in here from your little songs you sing as you care for them. Go, I can handle it for a week.”

“He’s right, darling. The florist will be here when we return from our vacation,” Yugyeom’s father assured, tugging his wife outside. She turned to look forlornly at Yugyeom.

Or, probably the row of baby azaleas behind him.

“Make sure you water-”

“I will and I’ll feed those in the tropical part and check the temperature for the lilies and honestly Mum, I can handle this.”

She reluctantly nodded, stretching to place a kiss on his cheek as she hugged him. He waved his parents off as they drove away for their first vacation alone since he was born over twenty years ago. And as soon as they were out of sight, he stepped back into the house of flora and slumped visibly.

Sure, he wanted his parents to have a good time. And he wasn’t exactly lying; he had spent more time within this florist growing up than in the apartment above it.

But Yugyeom wasn’t born possessing a green thumb like his parents. He was even somewhat affected by pollen and since his mother was deeply attached to her flower children, he had only minded the store a handful of times.

“I can do this,” he reaffirmed, nodding his head and slipping his hands deep within his pockets, eying the succulents’ table carefully. “We’ll do this together, right guys?”

He then grimaced, wondering how his mother could speak so fondly to everything in here without any problem. So, maybe he wouldn’t be singing the bushes down the back to sleep as he locked up later on.

But he’d at least be able to keep the store running for the next five days.

Hopefully.

The first day started well. Yugyeom followed the pages of instructions his mother left behind for him to follow, the step by step guide foolproof. He managed to serve a couple of customers and take an order for next week for an event when his mother would be back to make new intricate arrangements.

But that was where he was failing the most. Staring down at the stack of cut-offs lying on the decorative paper he had chosen, Yugyeom groaned out loud. There was no charm to the arrangement he had made. They all clashed and he knew even he wouldn’t buy this to give to anyone.

“You need a different colour palette to balance out all this pink,” you called and he glanced up, his breath getting caught in his throat.

You smiled politely and pointed to the flowers. “You have pink roses, pink tulips and pink carnations. Monochrome is nice but I think if you changed the carnations for a white, it would make the arrangement more interesting.”

“I can do white,” he slowly replied, soon grinning at you. “Thanks!”

“Anytime. I have an order to pick up under the name Y/N,” you stated and Yugyeom nodded, turning to the computer to look up the details, keeping you in his peripheral as he did so.

You glanced around mindlessly. “Mrs Kim isn’t around?”

“Nope, she’s on vacation this week.”

“Oh so you’re Yugyeom then,” you commented and he stopped looking up your order details, blinking rapidly at the fact that you knew his name. You chuckled. “Your Mum talks about you a lot.”

“Really? Are you sure you didn’t hear her say Yellow bells instead?”

You grinned. “I sense some jealousy here. The plants will be offended.”

“You really do know my mother,” he retorted with a breathy chuckle, hiking his thumb in the direction of the storeroom. “I’ll just get your order.”

He returned with a bag of fertiliser and some seeds, sliding them up onto the top of the free counter space. After ringing up your order and accepting your card, Yugyeom then held onto it a little longer than he should. You eyed his lack of action curiously.

“So white?”

You nodded. “White. Don’t stress too much, someone will buy them.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one jealous of flowers,” he teased when he handed back your card.

“Who knows, if it’s still here tomorrow, I might buy it.”

“You’ll be back tomorrow?”

Shrugging, you reached for your purchases. “Perhaps.”

Yugyeom waited for your return the following day. He had managed to empty out the clearance table to a kind elderly couple, stacked the new batch of supplies that arrived just before lunch and even got a start on another mediocre bouquet of flowers when the jingle of the bell over the door made him look up and find you walking inside. He dropped the roll of ribbon he had been fumbling with and then yelped when it landed on his foot.

You laughed. “And a hello to you as well, Yellow bells.”

“I’m going to regret saying that to you yesterday, aren’t I?” he grumbled, bending down to retrieve the ribbon. When he stood back up, you were holding his first arrangement. Yugyeom sighed. “You don’t have to.”

“Why not? I want to be the first person to have one of Yellow-”

“I swear, Y/N if you keep it up!” he cut in with a hearty laugh, your own soon joining his. When the moment was over, Yugyeom then waved you off. “You can have it.”

“Well, I plan on that.”

“No, I mean, for free.”

You grew curious. “Don’t businesses require financial backing?”

“They also require creativity and some sense of pride in their work. That sad bunch has neither. I can’t expect you to buy it.”

“I will. And I will continue to keep buying them until you have just that!”

“What did you say?”

“Ring it up for me, Yellow bells.”

By the fourth day of your regular appearances to the florist, Yugyeom was certain of two things. One, he really liked you. There was just something about you that captivated him and he wanted to talk to you endlessly. Even if it was all about the species of one plant family, he was certain he would listen to every word you said.

Secondly, he knew his mother was behind all this.

“She told you to come and check on her babies, didn’t she?” he asked pointedly when you appeared, looking rather inconspicuously at the indoor houseplants section.

“Who?”

“My mother,” he said and you smiled. “I knew she didn’t trust me!”

“She does actually, like I said, all she talks about is you, Yellow bells.”

He clamped his eyes closed momentarily to clear out the nickname that he was growing rather attached to and then rounded the counter, coming over to your side. “Then why are you turning up every day?”

“Have you made another arrangement yet?” you wondered and Yugyeom rubbed the back of his neck, nodding shyly. “Where is it?”

“It uh, it sold.”

You almost looked upset. “You’re kidding me! Then you’ve done it!”

“I think the old lady felt sorry for me. Something about going home to pretty it up in one of her fine vases.”

“Well, your colour choices are improving so you never know.”

“What’s the deal about you anyway? You always talk about colour.”

You grinned. “I study colour theory at the local university.”

“Huh.” Yugyeom moved over to look at a baby fern, inspecting its leaves. “You’re majoring in art?”

“Business management. I just take it as an extra paper.”

“What’s the end goal for you then?”

“Really?” you asked, biting at your bottom lip as you grinned. “Is Yellow bells interested in where I end up?”

“I’d laugh if it was a florist.” Your eyes sparkled as your lips twitched and Yugyeom gaped at you. “A florist?!”

“I’ve been helping your mother make changes to the business marketing part of the shop for three months now. So it would be this florist.”

“I’ve never seen you before.”

“You moved out, remember.”

“You know too much,” he breathed and you nudged him.

“Not everything.”

“Enough,” he lamented and moved back to the counter in a slump. “You’ll come and work for the family and then you’ll not see me for anything more than Yellow bells then.”

“Were you hoping I’d see you for more than that?” you questioned, unable to hide your intrigue.

“I’m glad the old lady bought the bouquet now.”

“You’ll just have to make me another one,” you concluded, heading towards the door. You stepped out, only to stick your head back around the corner. “Make sure it doesn’t sell before I get here again tomorrow.”

Yugyeom was discouraged. With the knowledge that you were being primed to join the family business, he couldn’t see how this would separate him enough from the son of your future employer. He barely said a word to any of the plants as he locked up that night and grunted in greeting the following morning. He only had to get through today. Tomorrow, his parents would be back and he would be able to return to his apartment downtown and forget all about the way you smiled whenever you called him your preferred nickname.

The day felt like it was dragging. He completed all the morning chores, ensuring the plants that needed watering or fed an enrichment mixture had been checked off his list before he approached the arrangement station. Yugyeom had gathered an assorted bunch of flowers earlier in the morning. There was nothing special to them, just cut-offs that didn’t seem to fit in with others. Together, however, they seemed aesthetically pleasing. Choosing to wrap them in simple brown paper to enhance their beauty, he placed the bouquet into the front stand, going back to working on some multi-coloured roses.

The doorbell jingled and he didn’t even look up. He knew it was you.

“Afternoon flower babies,” you called out, sounding just like his mother. He huffed petulantly, trimming off the excess stem of the rose he was readying for the arrangement. You were soon in front of him. But instead of greeting him with his nickname, you didn’t say anything.

Yugyeom looked up to see what was wrong, his eyes narrowing when he found you staring at something in awe. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You made this?”

“Oh them? Yeah, I felt sorry for them since they didn’t match with their other batches so I put them all together. It’s a bit wild, huh?”

“I love it,” you confessed shakily, blinking a few times. You then glanced up at him and he could see how moved you were. “It’s beautiful, Yugyeom.”

He was overwhelmed. He hadn’t expected this reaction to the bouquet, or within himself. Your words bounced around his insides, shooting off spikes of warmth. He was certain he was madly blushing and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Oh uh, well.”

“I can’t buy this,” you murmured, still clutching the bouquet despite your statement. Your eyes searched his and Yugyeom eventually grinned bashfully.

“Good, I can finally gift you some flowers, Y/N.”

“One of many bunches, I hope.”

“You forget, today’s my last day here.”

You faltered. “You don’t plan to visit?”

“Well, yeah I come and see my parents most weekends.”

“Then you can make me some flowers then.”

“You won’t be here every day, will you?” he wondered, trying not to stare at you too much. He felt there was more to what you were expressing and his palms started to sweat as he thought over what next to say. “You… you wouldn’t come here looking for me, would you?”

“I have every day this week, haven’t I?”

Yugyeom frowned. “That’s because of my mother’s-”

“Actually, she just asked me to come in on Wednesday. I was curious and couldn’t wait until then.”

“Curious about what?”

“You,” you confessed, burying your face into the flowers you held to hide your expression. You then gazed up at him once more at ease. “You’re kind of handsome, Yellow bells.”

He sighed heavily. “It was going so well.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t like it,” you mused and Yugyeom laughed.

“I’ll need to come up with a nickname for you then too,” he announced and you tilted your head to the side.

“You seemed so sure we wouldn’t be crossing paths after today.”

He grinned. “Didn’t you say I needed to make more flower arrangements?”

“I did.”

“Well, I’ve got some new ideas. I need to try them out when I come by. Since you’ll be here, after all.”

You seemed to bloom then, brightening up entirely. “Well Yellow bells, I can’t wait to see what you come up with next.”

_________________

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[argylemnwrites]

Fight or Flight - Chapter 8: Regret

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~3500

Rating: R (language only)

Summary: Thirty one hours since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note: Shall we even pretend there is a posting schedule at this point? Oh well, another chapter has arrived. This series follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist. (link can be found via my bio - sorry, Tumblr is once again not putting my posts with links in tag searches)

Drake popped his headphones in, trying not to wake up Bridget as he pulled open a video on his new phone. He was also supposed to be sleeping, at least theoretically. It’s why Riley had gone into the bathroom a couple of hours ago - so that he could turn off the lights and it would be relatively quiet. If he slept now, after all, he would be able to drive through the night. But he’d been wide awake for the past three hours, and at this point, he wasn’t even sure if attempting to sleep was worth it. So he just laid in the dark, his daughter sleeping peacefully next to him. Thank god she wasn’t doing that whole sleep reversal thing she’d been doing last month, where she’d been waking up maybe a dozen times over night. Her being a good sleeper was maybe the one saving grace here.

Today had just been stomach churning since he’d left to go track down a car and supplies. He hadn’t known whether to be grateful or freaked out when he’d returned to the hotel this afternoon, and Riley had a list of things they needed to do typed up on her phone. While he was glad she no longer seemed like she was about to sink into a pit of panic, seeing her planning with this much intensity was just… strange. He couldn’t think of a time she had ever made such a detailed list. She always just adapted to the situation at hand. She never tried to shape the situation herself.

But between what she’d found in her “fugitive research,” and what Hana had told them when she called after the hearing, they were starting to come up with a plan. Hana had told them that Rashad was going to be sworn in as regent tomorrow and that Olivia was technically “investigating” their location at the moment. That as soon as Rashad took on the powers of king-regent, Olivia was going to disclose that Bertrand and Maxwell hadn’t “found” them at Lythikos, so she’d sent Hana to “check” that they hadn’t returned to Valtoria, but that she hadn’t found them there either. They were all repeatedly calling their old phone numbers as well, hoping to make the story believable when Rashad undoubtedly opened an investigation into their disappearance with Bridget.

But all this meant that arrest warrants could be issued as soon as tomorrow morning. The hearing wouldn’t take long, and no one was sure if Rashad would see things as a sign of an attack on all three of them, or if he would correctly deduce that they had made a run for it and willingly left the country with Bridget. Either way, their financial and phone records were likely to be subject to review. And that meant they needed to not be anywhere near Ioannina by the time of the hearing.

The issue was, they wanted to withdraw more cash before the investigation froze their accounts. This meant using the same ATM they’d been using one more time, at 12:01 am when it was a new day and they could withdraw their daily max again without giving anyone a new location to investigate. Then, it would be time to get in the newly-purchased hatchback and drive on to Xanthi, the city they’d chosen as their next stop. Small enough that no one would predict it as their destination, big enough that Riley, a woman of East Asian heritage who only spoke English with a still-persistent New York accent wouldn’t be immediately noticeable. Drake liked that it was past Thessaloniki as well. No one would guess they drove hours further into Greece than a city with an American consulate.

So, in preparation for that drive, Drake needed to be sleeping. Even after several years out of Manhattan, Riley still hated driving, and in all honesty, the thought of her behind the wheel in a country where she couldn’t read the road signs was not reassuring to Drake in the slightest. He wanted to be the one solely responsible for the driving. But that meant he should be napping now. But how was he supposed to sleep at a time like this?

In the past day or so, he’d gone from a very stable existence to literally plotting how to hide out from law enforcement. He’d embezzled money and bribed a used car salesman to look the other way and not require him to register the car for official Greek or Cordonian papers. He’d left the only home he’d ever known, not knowing if he’d ever get to go back. How could anyone sleep after a day like that?

So instead of sleeping, he was watching news coverage of Liam’s speech that he’d given only a few hours earlier. Speculation was rampant as to both why the vote of no confidence was called and as to who the acting regent would be. Who his daughter’s regent would be. Because for the past few hours, the 10 month old sleeping on the mattress next to him had technically been the Queen-Regent of Cordonia.

It was a strange feeling, knowing that going forward, Bridget would be listed as Queen-Regent Bridget in history books, her rule starting today. Liam’s request had kind of always seemed like simple bookkeeping before. Although Liam told the press that Bridget would remain next in line for the throne even if he had children of his own, Drake had always kind of assumed they would readdress the whole situation when Liam actually got married. It had seemed highly likely to him that Bridget would end up just being a temporary placeholder, someone needed to convey stability of the Crown until Liam had a kid or two of his own. And even if she had remained next in line for the throne, Drake never really thought he’d see her take on the title. She was only supposed to rise to that position after Liam’s death.

It was probably something he should have put more thought into, to be honest. But he hadn’t, at least not anywhere near enough. And now there was no great way to undo it. She was the queen-regent now. Abdication for her, as a minor with the title, would be a nightmare at this point. Even if her title was just through the Conclave, the steps that they would have to take to change things now, the support they would need from the assholes who just voted against them and Liam, well… Drake wasn’t counting on that happening any time soon.

He opened up the CBC app to watch another site’s coverage of Liam’s speech, but his phone started buzzing in his hand. The number flashing across the screen had a Cordonian country code, but it wasn’t Olivia or Hana’s burner numbers, which they’d already added to their contact list. This had to be either Liam or Maxwell on a new number. Taking a deep breath, he popped out the headphones and swiped to accept the call.

“Hello?”

There was a brief pause before Liam’s voice came through the speaker. “Hello, Drake.”

Drake didn’t know what to say. It was his turn to speak, but what do you say to someone you’ve known almost your entire life when they lost everything? When you’d let them down? After too many seconds, he finally managed, “So, you… uh, got our new numbers?”

“Yes. Hana and Olivia provided me with them.”

“Right. Well… good. You, uh… you should have our numbers.” Drake ran his hand over his face. He couldn’t be more awkward about this if he tried.

“Indeed,” said Liam, after a beat, “So, how are you all doing?”

“We’re okay, I guess. How are you?”

The pause was longer this time. “It’s been a long couple of days, Drake.”

The weight of that sentence settled over Drake, the guilt he already carried multiplying in that moment. “I’m so sorry, Liam.”

All Liam gave in response was a little hum of acknowledgement, so Drake kept speaking, trying to find some words that would make this better, that would make Liam see how sorry he was.

“We just couldn’t wait around, you know? We didn’t know how things were going to go down, and when Barthelemy started talking about taking Bridget, we couldn’t just risk that, and so we had to do something, right? And I know this leaves you in a tricky spot, but you’ve gotta know, I wish… I don’t know, that we weren’t doing this to you, I guess? But… it’s just fucked up all around, isn’t it?” Drake knew he was rambling, that he'd basically spewed out a whole bunch of garbage, but he just didn’t know what else to do.

“What do you want me to say, Drake? You’re right; the decisions you and Riley made have made things much more complicated for me. Are you looking for me to say that I don’t blame you? That I support this course of action?”

“What else were we supposed to do?” Drake asked. He could hear his voice raising slightly, and he glanced down, checking that he hadn’t woken Bridget, but she was still passed out.

“I told you back when you were trying to have a child that if it ever became too much, to inform me, and we would reserve the proclamation.”

“Are you really trying to tell me that in the middle of everything that was happening yesterday, it would have been a good time to pull you aside and ask to undo all that shit?”

Liam let out a sigh before he answered, “It seems like that would have been preferable to you deciding to commit treason.”

Drake slammed his eyes shut, trying to keep his temper in check. Liam was already dealing with a lot, and he didn’t want to make things worse, but his words were so frustrating right now. “We didn’t even know if you would have the power to undo any of it after that vote.”

“You could have at least waited until we knew the results of that initial hearing. At that point-”

“What if the justice had decided you had no power last night instead of today?” Drake interrupted. He saw Riley coming out of the bathroom and back into their room. She obviously must have heard him on the phone. He just shook his head, trying to reassure her as he kept talking to Liam. “That’s a big fucking gamble to ask of us, Liam.”

“Fine, then some middle-ground or compromise still would have probably been better. You have to know how ill-conceived this scheme you’ve agreed to is, Drake.”

“What would you suggest, then? Sitting around, just waiting to see if we got to keep our kid?”

“Of course not. But if you get arrested and extradited back here, you will absolutely lose custody of your daughter. I would urge you to consider that fact. Additionally, Rashad is not going to be interested in becoming some sort of surrogate parent to Bridget over the next few months.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? That the man you have lined up as my kid’s regent has no interest in caring for her?” Riley mouthed “What?” at him from across the room, but Drake just waved his hand and shook his head again. He’d have to fill her in later.

“My point, Drake, is that Rashad would likely be very amenable to you and Riley staying with Bridget in the role as her caretakers and-”

“Stop. I’m not going to listen to that shit, okay? You know that’s not the same. You fucking know it, Liam.”

There was a rough sigh before Liam spoke again. “Fair enough. But you have to understand that you have put me in an awful position. And I’m just trying to find a way to minimize the damage caused by your selfishness here.”

“How is looking out for my wife and kid selfish?” Bridget squirmed slightly next to him as his voice climbed louder yet again. Riley must have noticed, because she scurried over and tucked her against her chest, muttering soothing words against the top of her head, trying to keep her from waking up.

“Did you think about how fleeing the country would impact anyone? Your citizens in Valtoria who no longer have a regional leader? The people of Cordonia who no longer have an heir to the throne? Your friends who have advocated for you and your family time and time again? No. You just left. You only thought of yourselves. That is the dictionary definition of selfish, Drake.”

“I’m sorry, but my family comes first. This isn’t fucking up for debate.”

“Well, some of us don’t have that luxury.”

Both Drake and Liam were silent for several seconds. Drake took a shaky breath, trying to get his emotions back under control. “Liam. I’m sorry. I really am. I never wanted to do this to you, and I know you are left cleaning up the pieces here, but I am not going to come back just for Bridget to get trapped inside the country and possibly taken from us.”

“Drake, don’t be so-”

“She’s queen-regent now, so no way we don’t get stopped at the border if we came back and tried to leave again, right? In fact, I bet we wouldn’t be allowed outside the palace with her, and that’s if we’re allowed to be alone with her at all-”

“Now you’re just being dramatic-”

“Am I? Because to me, it feels like you want me to come back and hang my hat on the hopes that Rashad needs a couple of nannies. I get the risks we are taking here. But at least we have a shot of staying together as a family this way.”

“Look, I understand that this is upsetting and frustrating. I’m upset and frustrated, too. All I want is to try and create a united front here. If we are fractured and divided, it is worse for everyone in the long run. We all want what’s best for Bridget.”

“You aren’t part of any ‘we’ here. She’s not your kid. You don’t get a say.”

The silence on the other end of the line was awful. Riley climbed onto the bed and leaned up against the headboard. One arm still held Bridget tight to her chest, but her free hand snaked behind him and rubbed soothing circles between his shoulder blades. It just did little to calm him. He didn’t know if more of his anger was directed at Liam, for presuming he had any say here, or at himself, for getting defensive when he was the one who had hurt Liam and put him in this position.

“I have never interfered in any parenting decisions you or Riley have made with regards to Bridget. In fact, I have given you both an unprecedented amount of freedom and control, knowing that it was an unusual situation. But it seems to me like we have nothing further to say to each other at the moment. You are unwilling to discuss the bigger picture here.”

“Liam, don’t-” Drake started, but Liam just kept talking.

“I understand why you’ve taken this course of action. But it is apparent that your priorities are only your daughter, whereas I need to focus on Cordonia as a whole. So, I think at this point we both need to just devote ourselves to those tasks and not worry about each other.”

It was a dismissal. A line in the sand. Whatever inner circle Liam had, Drake was no longer a part of it. He let out a sigh and swallowed roughly. “I am sorry, Liam. I just don’t know what you expect me to do here.”

“I don’t expect anything of you, Drake. You should just do what you feel is best for your family, and I will do what’s needed for our country.”

“Come on, it doesn’t have to be this way. I still want to help-”

“No offense, but a couple of fugitives are not likely to be a great resource to me at this point. This isn’t a punishment, Drake; it’s just the reality. We’ve both made the choices we needed to make, and now we both need to deal with the consequences. I need to remain focused on campaigning to regain my title, and I’m not going to have the time or energy to devote to aiding your run.”

“I’m not asking for your help, dammit. I just want-”

“What do you want, Drake? You don’t get to have this both ways.”

“I want… I want us still to be friends.”

He heard a heavy sigh before Liam spoke again. “Of course we are still friends, Drake. We just are headed in separate directions at this time, it would seem. You now have this number, though. You can reach me if you need to, and I will do the same.”

“Liam, I-”

“I wish you and your family the best; I really do. And if you change your mind, you can come find us in Lythikos.”

Drake closed his eyes. There was no salvaging this. Liam was boxing him out and closing the door. He was pretty sure having Liam screaming at him would have stung less. “Alright, I get it. Good luck with everything, okay?”

“Same to you. I really hope you don’t regret your decisions here and that you all can remain safe.” And with that, Liam ended the call.

Drake placed his phone on the bed and leaned forward, dropping his head into both of his hands. He swallowed several times, trying to break up the lump in his throat. He was very aware that although Riley seemed to be in a better spot than she was the day before, watching him cry over Liam was not going to instill much confidence. No need to make things more unsettled.

After a few moments, he took a deep breath and sat back up. Riley was staring at him, head cocked and eyes full of worry. He just shrugged and shook his head. There wasn’t much to say, really.

“Here,” Riley said, shifting forward and passing Bridget to him.

“I don’t want to wake her,” he muttered, but Riley continued, sliding Bridget into his arms before leaning against his shoulder, her hand slipping along his neck and her fingers threading through his hair.

“She’ll fall asleep in the car,” she said. Drake watched as his daughter blinked up at him, her face scrunched up like she was going to start screaming, but she relaxed and started to drift back to sleep when he pulled her against his chest and tucked his head on top of hers.

He just held her for maybe a minute, not saying anything. Riley was quiet as well, her fingers continuing to trace little patterns across the base of his scalp. Eventually, she tilted her head against his shoulder and whispered, “Do you want to talk about it or not?”

“No,” he breathed out, “not… not now.”

He felt her nodding, and her other hand settled on his knee. “Okay. Thank you, by the way.”

“Walker, it’s-”

“You don’t need to say it’s nothing. And I know you don’t want to talk about it now. So just… thank you.”

Neither of them said anything for a long while. They just sat there, trying to brace themselves for the reality of the next 24 hours. They would officially be under investigation and likely be charged with kidnapping of the queen-regent. This was the point of no return, far more than any decisions they’d made up until this point.

Oddly enough, Drake felt more confident in their plan than he had even before. As upsetting as his talk with Liam was, it had somehow helped him see why Riley was so reluctant to rely on anyone outside their family. Something about hearing Liam discuss the risks they would be facing in Cordonia as if they were nothing. As if living under the same roof as Bridget should be enough. As if they had time to wait for things to unfold. Well, it made it very clear that they saw what could be compromised and what couldn’t very differently.  

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but eventually Riley sat up next to him. “Did you get any sleep at all?” she asked as he turned his head to look at her.

“No, not really.”

“Well, we better get going then so we can get some coffee before we hit the road.” And with that she slid off the bed and started gathering their few bags of belongings.

She was right. It was time to move on. So he gently clicked Bridget into her new car seat and did one last scan of the room, making sure they weren’t leaving anything they needed behind.

“You ready?” Riley asked.

“Yeah, Riley. Let’s go.”

Permatag:  @walkerswhiskeygirl   @riley--walker  @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5  @mfackenthal  @thequeenofcronuts  

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @ao719 @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC: @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria  @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs  @drakesensworld @drake-colt-lover-99

Fight or Flight: @masterofbluff @burnsoslow @bobasheebaby @shz256 @iaminlovewithtrr​

[jade4813]

Like Moths to a Flame, Chapter 6

Fandom: North and South

Title: Like Moths to a Flame

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: John/Margaret

Synopsis: “I hope you realize that any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over.“ Margaret decides to confront John about his unjust judgment of her character, but the two have always been drawn to each other, and things quickly get out of hand. In the aftermath, she agrees to marry him to satisfy propriety, but she cannot forget how ready he was to believe the worst of her. Can love survive without trust, or will the two find a way to work through the misunderstandings that have plagued their relationship from the start?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The air was cold, a slight spattering of snow drifting from the dreary gray sky, but John hardly noticed as he escorted Margaret across the yard in companionable silence. He strove to find a topic of conversation she might find sufficiently diverting, but his concerns about the state of Marlborough Mills plucked at his consciousness and gave him no measure of peace. She seemed to be content to leave him to his ruminations, and he appreciated her disinclination to rush into mindless prattle just to fill the silence.

As it happened, there was one topic that had lately begun preying upon his mind, and so he decided to address it in his usual forthright manner. “I’ve met with your friend, Mr Higgins,” he remarked, offering her his arm. He was gratified when she accepted it, and though he doubted she took particular note of it, his attention was diverted by the soft pressure of her hand. Would she always have such an effect upon him, to cast his orderly thoughts into disarray by a simple touch?

As he had hoped, her joyful expectation at this revelation was reflected in her eyes, which were brightened by the smile she turned his way. It made him almost regret the churlishness with which he had initially greeted her friend, embittered by the role the millworker had played in instigating the strike that had exacerbated Marlborough Mills’ precarious financial state.

His temper had gotten the better of him during their first interview, but he had subsequently calmed and asked after the man’s story, discovering that he had spoken the truth when he confessed he had taken in a dead man’s six children. Impressed by his reputation for honesty and hard work (and, if he was being honest, moved by his story), John had reconsidered his position and offered Higgins a position. Had he known that the other man had come to him on the advice of Miss Hale, he might have conquered his foul temper sooner – and he’d been left to wonder if such a circumstance had presented as a possibility in her own mind.

Attempting to keep his tone light and unaccusatory, he asked, “Did you encourage him to meet with me because you thought I would be swayed by your friendship?”

She looked surprised and replied in an arch tone, “Of course not. I would never presume to imagine that you cared so much for my opinion.”

“On the contrary. Your opinion matters to me a great deal.” Little did she know that her opinion was dearer to her than any other. How could she not know the effect she had on him? “But I do not have the luxury of considering sentiment in matters of business.”

A line of irritation marred her brow. “So you turned him away, then?”

“I did at first, but I checked after him and was assured he’s a hard worker, so I gave him a position. And he’ll keep it, so long as he keeps to his time and doesn’t let that brain of his get him into trouble.” She ducked her head, hiding her face beneath the brim of her hat as he continued, “I wanted you to understand that I have him a position based on his merit, not as a favor to you or as a consequence of our engagement.”

The hand on his arm stiffened, but she didn’t draw away. Her anger was evident in her voice, however, as she asked, “Were you afraid I would misunderstand and lord it over you, if I thought you had sought my favor?”

“No.” Drawing to a halt, he turned to look at her, waiting until her face was no longer obscured or turned away to continue. “I was afraid you would misunderstand and think you owed me your gratitude. I’m not looking for your thanks, Miss Hale. Nor do I want you to fear that any future disagreement between us will result in a retraction of my offer.”

To his relief, her pique faded as quickly as it had arisen, as she laughed lightly. “You’re confident we’ll have cause to disagree over the course of our marriage?” she asked teasingly.

Her smile begged an answering one from him in return as he replied, “I’m not often a betting man, but I’d be willing to bet on that.” She laughed again, the sound warming his heart in defiance of the winter weather.

The mood between them grew companionable once more as they continued on their way. They’d had no set purpose when they set off from his house, traveling generally in the direction of the shops. Although he was loathe to shatter this renewed sense of peace, he had still not broached the subject that had plagued his thoughts from the moment Higgins had confessed to the true architect of their interview. Taking the chance he would once again incur her wrath, he remarked mildly, “However, I was surprised that you encouraged him to meet with me. I know you think me too hard on my workers, determined to drive them into the ground.”

She shot him a look out of the corner of her eye but refused to rise to his provocation. “It is astonishing to me that we will be married soon and you still have so little understanding of my mind.”

John took a moment to carefully guide Margaret around a throng of people exiting a shop before he murmured, “I’d like to know your mind, if you’d let me. And your heart.”

“I keep neither hidden from you, though I suspect I think better of you than you think of me at present,” she acknowledged, lingering by a shop window to gaze inside at its wares. After a moment, she turned to him. “Tell me, Mr Thornton. I know I’m still unfamiliar to the ways of the North, but is it customary for grooms of Milton to present their brides with a gift?”

“I – yes,” he agreed, surprised by the abrupt change of subject. He had already begun to think on the matter of her wedding present, in fact, but he had not yet come to a decision on the matter.

“Then if you will indulge me, I have a request for my gift.” Undeterred by his slight frown, she continued, “We have both misunderstood and have thought the worst of each other. I ask that we put our misconceptions in the past and move forward together. You once had faith in me, in my character, I think. I wish you’d do so again.”

If only what she asked were so easy to give as a length of ribbon purchased in a shop, John would do so gladly. Glancing around to ensure they weren’t observed, he lowered his voice to prevent being overheard. “You want me to pretend I don’t know you love another? ‘Very much,’ I believe you said.” He had not intended to eavesdrop on her conversation with his mother earlier, but he had heard her admission as he’d entered the house, nevertheless.

She winced, and a shadow flickered across her face. “I do love him,” she admitted in a voice as soft as his own, “but I’m asking you to trust me when I say it’s not in the way you think.”

“Mar—Mis Hale, I’m a reasonable man. If you would explain the situation to me, I would—”

“If I explained the situation to you, there would be no need for faith.” Sliding her hand down his arm, she let her fingers linger of his – a gentle, pleading caress – before dropping her hand to her side. “If you have no faith in me, how could you ever trust me? Whatever disagreements we’ve had in the past, whatever circumstances have brought us to this moment, I do hope we can find contentment in our marriage. But I don’t think that will ever be possible, if you don’t trust me. If we don’t trust each other.” Dropping her voice to a whisper, she added, “Please, John.”

He didn’t know how to reply. How could trust be recovered, once it had been lost? But he could deny her nothing – certainly not when she looked at him as she was now – and so he gave her a short nod. “If it’s in my power to give you, it’s yours,” he agreed, the two turning their attention to more cheerful topics as they continued on their way.

Margaret was surprised to discover how much she genuinely enjoyed Mr Thornton’s company throughout the remainder of the afternoon. Over the course of their acquaintance, their relationship had been marked by the tumult of many conflicting emotions. It was almost strange to find now that his company brought her such measure of peace. Perhaps the shift in her attitude warranted further self-reflection, but she was wary of upsetting the temporary truce into which they had tacitly entered.

At the conclusion of their afternoon together, he offered to escort her home, but she asked him to return her to the mill, instead. She had realized her rudeness only belatedly and wished to make amends to Mrs Thornton, who was only acting in what she perceived to be the best interests of a child she adored. Margaret might be able to fault her for her assumptions and her opinions, but she could not fault the older woman for her devotion, or for being so protective of her only son.

Back in the mill yard, however, she found herself reluctant to return to the task of wedding her wedding, and so she lingered by his side, accompanying him back to his office. Though he could have sent her away, he did not, seemingly longing for her company as much as she desired his.

Once the door was closed behind her, however, she found herself at loose ends, uncertain how to behave in his company. It was not lost upon her that she had behaved most improperly on her last visit to his office.

To her relief, he was not similarly overwhelmed by recollections of the past, although his expression appeared distracted as he stepped behind his desk. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he began, choosing his words carefully. Even so, he was momentarily stymied in his attempts to continue. “Ah…how have you found your time in Milton so far?”

“My time in Milton?” she repeated, at a loss as to his meaning. If he could provide her any insight into his thoughts, it wasn’t forthcoming, so she ventured, “It has been difficult, at times, but I think I’m learning Milton’s ways. I believe – or, rather, I hope – I give less offense than I once did.”

“But what about the place?” he pressed. “Is there nowhere in Milton that you look upon in fondness? Nowhere that brings you joy?”

The more he spoke, the less she was able to comprehend his purpose. “I suppose…I enjoy my daily walks, though they’re only through the graveyard on the hill. I miss the beauty of the landscape in Helstone.”

By the twisting of his mouth, she suspected he was dissatisfied by her answer. “No, there is not much beauty to be found here,” he agreed in an abstracted tone.

“Perhaps if I understood why you’re asking, I could think of a more appropriate answer,” she suggested.

Rather than respond to her request, he pressed, “I wonder if there is anything – or, rather, any place – that has become dear to you in Milton? Is there nothing you would miss if you were to leave?”

You. The thought came so suddenly to mind that it left her confused and off-balance, and she turned away from him so he wouldn’t see her conflicted feelings. Was that really true? Since arriving in Milton, she had held fast to the conviction that there was little to tie her to this town. If she was forced to leave its gray, smoky landscape behind as abruptly as she’d arrived, she believed that there was little she’d need to excise from her heart. She would mourn the absence of her friends Nicholas and Mary, as she still mourned the loss of their beloved Bessie. She would miss them, she would write to them, but they alone did not have sufficient hold on her heart to either convince her to stay or to draw her back to this wretched place.

Surely John could hold no greater sway over her heart than her dearest friends could lay claim to. Closing her eyes, she attempted to gather her thoughts into some form of order. No, it wasn’t that Mr Thornton had such a great claim on her affections, although he certainly had lay claim to her hand. It was simply that Mr Thornton and Milton were so inextricably tied together in her mind that it was impossible to think of one without the other. Everything that could be said about this town – good and bad – was personified in him. Its coarse and terrible harshness. Its strength and awful beauty. Pride and ambition, warring with vulnerability and compassion.

Mr Thornton was Milton to her, for good or for ill. It wasn’t just her life that had undergone a dramatic change since her relocation to this Northern industrial town, it was her person, and he could claim as much credit for that alteration as the poverty and want she witnessed every day.

Margaret raised a trembling hand to brush a lock of hair off her face, more to have a momentary distraction from her thoughts than from a need to put any unkemptness to rights. “I suppose,” she ventured in an uneven tone, once again looking upon the mill yard with sightless eyes, “it would be here.” She could hardly confess to the direction in which her thoughts had turned, and claiming the mill seemed as good a deflection as any.

In fact, there was perhaps some underlying truth to her words. Though the memory of the riot was hardly a peaceful or welcome one, she believed her words had helped calm the situation, if only briefly. She had momentarily soothe the rioters’ tempers and, in doing so, had helped ensure the safety of the Irish workers locked in the mill. Since first arriving in Milton, she had tried to find ways to make herself useful, but that had been the first day that she’d truly felt of use.

“The mill?” he asked, astonishment evident in his voice. She turned to face him once more and felt her heart begin to pound at the warmth of his gaze. “Do you mean it?”

“Well, so much has happened here,” she conceded. “Both bad and – and good.” This is where the two of them had met, after all, albeit in less than auspicious circumstances.  Where she had first argued with him. It had been here at the mill that she had first seen Bessie, and their friendship was one she would treasure all her life. It was in his dealings with his workers that she had first begun to see Mr Thornton’s integrity. His honesty. His honor. And then, after a time, even his compassion for those under his care.

The mill had also been where she and John had shared their first, impetuous kiss, but if she dwelled too long on that memory, she thought she might die of mortification. Or, more perilously, of desire.

She had said enough. She should hold her tongue, lest her somehow discern the direction of her thoughts and ask questions of her that she was incapable of answering. He was still gazing at her with an enigmatic expression, and she found herself adding lamely before her voice trailed off into embarrassed silence, “It’s where I first met Bessie. I miss her.”

In response to her words, his eyes grew cold, his expression aloof once more, chilling her more completely than the merciless winter wind when it blew in from the North. “I see,” he replied in clipped tones, stepping away. As though they were tied by an invisible thread, she followed after him.

“Wait!” she blurted, staying his retreat. In her attempts to hide her thoughts from his view, she had caused offense and, she feared, had hurt him. “Please, do not misunderstand. Your friendship is very important to me.”

“My friendship.” He spoke the words more to himself than to her, as though mulling them over. As she watched, the storm that had overcome him seemed to fade away, although his emotions were obscured as he said, “Friends. Is that what we’ve been to each other?”

“I’d like to think so,” she agreed, though her mouth grew suddenly dry as he drew near. Reaching for her, he cupped the nape of her neck in his palm, his fingers tickling the bare, soft skin he found there as he drew her in for a kiss. It was the first embrace they had shared since her humiliating display of impropriety in her father’s sitting room.

Margaret had intentionally avoided any situation where the two might spend time alone in private, in order to resist temptation. Now that it had presented itself, however, she found herself its willing accomplice, gripping the front of his coat as she leaned in to his embrace.

Breaking off the kiss, John’s face remained inches from hers as he whispered, “My sweet Margaret, it seems we’re always talking at cross-purposes.”

She indulged in a cheeky grin in defiance of the serious subject as she replied, “It is worrisome that the only time we don’t seem to argue is when our mouths are otherwise occupied.”

His eyes widened at her unexpected boldness, but her efforts were rewarded when she heard his soft chuckle. “I suppose it’s one way to win an argument.”

“You’ll have to bear it in mind. It might be the only way you ever have an advantage over me,” she teased him, eliciting a laugh. It hadn’t taken her long in Milton to realize that laughter from the Master of Marlborough Mills was a rare sound, indeed. She treasured each occasion on which she’d managed to provoke him to such lightness of spirit.

His good humor remained as he pressed one more kiss against her lips. “Will we never come to understand each other?”

Margaret sighed in contentment, her head falling against this shoulder as she mused, “I suppose we have our entire lives together in which to try.”

She felt his breath against her cheek as he murmured, “I was asking because there’s something I’ve been meaning to give you. I hoped to find a more romantic spot for it than this, but—” His voice trailed off as she drew back and gasped when she saw him pull a ring out of his pocket. As unconventional as their engagement had been, she had never thought to expect a ring to mark the occasion.

Like the man who offered it, the ring was simple but beautiful. A table cut sapphire flanked by small pearls had been set into a delicate gold band. “I don’t have any family heirlooms to pass on, I’m afraid,” he admitted. “Those were…lost, long ago.” She understood immediately. Undoubtedly, he had been forced to sell them to pay for his family’s care and the debts his father had left behind following his suicide. “If the ring isn’t to your liking, I could have it reset into something more—”

“No,” she reassured him, extending her hand in silent invitation so that he could slide it on her finger. Its weight was unfamiliar, but the presence of it was a reminder of the way her life would soon change. The way it had already changed. It gave a strange sense of permanence to their engagement which was both daunting and oddly reassuring.

It would have perhaps been a logical moment for the two to exchange another kiss, but Margaret stayed where she was, and Mr Thornton made no move to bridge the gap between them. They had already shared one illicit embrace that day, and experience (in this very room, no less) indicated just how dangerous giving into temptation too many times could be.

Lost in her thoughts, she remarked, “It’s perfect. It reminds me of you. Of the day we met.” At his puzzled expression, she explained, “The sapphire matches your eyes, and the pearls remind me of the cotton in the air the first time I saw you. It was beautiful. Like snow.”

“I wouldn’t have thought the cotton would have been what drew your attention,” he admitted in a wry tone. But, of course, he undoubtedly believed their angry encounter was the first time she’d seen him. He didn’t yet know the truth.

“It wasn’t, during the, ah, incident. But first saw you a little before then, when you were looking over the workroom. I thought you looked very—” Handsome. She had thought him the most handsome man she had ever seen. “—forbidding.”

“An opinion that could hardly have been contradicted by our initial meeting,” he acknowledged. “There have been times I’ve wished I could go back to that day. Things might have been easier for us if I’d made a better first impression.”

She’d wondered something similar before, just as she’d wished she could go back in time and prevent their ill-fated meeting at the railroad station. But there was no benefit to brooding upon things that neither of them could change. “There’s no point in dwelling upon the past. We must look to the future.”

The ring on her finger glinted in the sunlight, an omnipresent reminder that the future they were destined to share together, lest she ever be tempted to forget.

Following that pleasant afternoon spent in Mr Thornton’s company, Margaret did not see him again for several days. She continued to work with his mother to finalize wedding plans, neither woman broaching the subject of their former disagreement. Then one evening, with the wedding less than a fortnight away, Margaret received confirmation she had awaited with equal measures of anticipation and dread.

She was not with child.

How would Mr Thornton respond to this revelation? She could not in good conscience keep it from him, not when his proposal had stemmed from a sense of honor that, it turned out, was misplaced. Uncertain how her news would be received, she put off telling him for as long as she could, but finally, she came to terms with the knowledge that she had no other choice.

It was with a heavy heart that she prepared to step out into the cold winter weather, to make the long walk to the mill to see him. Strictly speaking, meeting with him in private was still not entirely proper, although they were engaged. However, society was often willing to extend a measure of grace to couples who had already entered into a formal agreement, in a way they would never do for the unattached.

Her imagination played havoc with her nerves for the entire walk to his office, the Mr Thornton that existed in her own mind embracing every reaction from elation to scorn. It was unlikely that the Mr Thornton that existed in flesh and blood would indulge in either such extreme, but her mind insisted upon pondering each scenario in turn, nonetheless.

When she let herself into his office, however, she did not find him hard at work, as she’d anticipated. Instead, his head lay upon his desk, his hands stretched out on either side. Her discarded scarf was trapped under one hand, one end trailing over the edge of the desk to fall upon the floor. His coat had been discarded, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. He had fallen asleep in his chair, exhausted by the relentless work that occupied both his days and – more and more frequently, of late – his nights.

Something in the general region of her heart twisted as she gazed upon his features, peaceful and soft in repose. She was accustomed to seeing his expression in studious contemplation, in the throws of anger, set in determination, when overwhelmed by desire. This was the first time she had seen him look so at peace.

She was tempted to leave him be, to back out of the room in silence to allow him a few more moments of rest. However, she also longed to touch him, this man who would soon be hers. Reason warred with desire, and desire won. Compelled to reach for him, she extended one hand to brush the hair off his forehead with a tenderness she didn’t dare show him in his waking hours.

His eyes fluttered open at her touch, his gaze hazy and unfocused and a smile softening the edges of his face as he sat up. “Margaret. Is this a dream?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she replied softly, her hand cupping his cheek.

He sighed, leaning into her embrace, the harsh scrape of his stubble scraping gently against her palm. She watched as he slowly came to awareness, shedding the last vestiges of sleep, as his expression grew more guarded and withdrawn.

Finally, he pulled away and stood. “Miss Hale, I apologize. I was indisposed when you came in.”

Embarrassed that he had caught her in a tender moment, she muttered a soft reassurance, stepping around the desk to give him more space as he pulled himself together. “I didn’t mean to come by unannounced. There’s something I – I need to tell you.” Sucking in as deep a breath as she could manage around her corset, she linked her fingers so that they might not forget their place again so soon and confessed, “I’m not with child.”

At her words, he grew so still, she might have thought he was a statue, except she could see that his mind was working furiously in the tumult of emotions behind his eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

An awful silence full of unspoken things fell between them once again. Mr Thornton busied himself by continuing to set himself to rights. As he shrugged into his coat, he asked, “Will you cry off the engagement, then?”

In her previous flight of fancy, she had imagined several possible responses to her confession. That he might ask this single, simple question with an attitude of such quiet calm had not entered into her musings. “Do you want me to cry off?” she asked, astonished by the turn of their conversation.

He wouldn’t look at her, busying himself with straightening the cravat he’d hastily tied a few moments earlier. “I don’t want to force you into marriage against your will. I know crying off might damage your reputation, however, so I have no objection to letting it be known that you were the one to put an end to our agreement.”

It hadn’t gone unnoticed that he’d avoided her question, and she was unwilling to let him off the hook so easily. Crossing her arms over her chest, she demanded, “But is that what you want, John?”

At the sound of his given name, his eyes darted to her face, and she was strangely relieved to see that his outward calm was not reflected in their blue depths. “My desires are unchanged,” he admitted in a hoarse voice. “But I’ll not blame you for crying off. You might be wise to do so. The truth is, the financial situation at the Mills is…precarious. We have enough to cover payroll. For now. I had hoped to keep our circumstances secret a while longer, in the hopes that I might find a solution that resolves our problems without anyone else ever discovering how bad things have gotten. However, if you wish to cry off, I’ll not contest that you have cause.”

Although her father had intimated his suspicions that the strike had put strain on the mills, Margaret was surprised to learn of the extent of the damage. “Are things really so bad?”

Mr Thornton sighed. “Although I wish I could promise you a secure future, I cannot. I can only swear that, if you still wish to be my wife, I will care for you to the best of my ability.”

Knowing what she did of his past, she didn’t doubt that capacity was great indeed. Still, she was not unconscious of the depths of his sacrifice in extending her such an offer. Mr Thornton was a private man, particularly in matters concerning his business. It would be a blow to his pride for his financial straits to be made public, for him to be viewed as incapable of caring for a wife to the extent that the shame of a broken engagement was her only reasonable recourse. But for her, he would do it. Without question.

“That won’t be necessary,” she reassured him, her voice thick with emotion but surprisingly firm, resting her hand over his so the gold of his engagement band glinted in the candlelight. “I have made you a promise. The circumstances that prompted our engagement might have changed, but my resolve hasn’t. I will marry you, gladly—” Gladly? Where had that come from? Willingly, she would have understood, but gladly? “If you’ll still have me.”

She saw the muscles in his jaw flex as he swallowed heavily, reaching up to capture her hand in his own. He appeared to struggle to find the words, finally managing to say, “It would be my honor.”

Their emotional intimacy was more than Margaret had expected, and it was certainly more than she was prepared to deal with at present. She was finding it increasingly difficult to comprehend their situation. Although they hadn’t spoken of Frederick since their stolen afternoon together, she held no illusions that he had yet found it in his heart to forgive her, let alone to trust her. His lack of faith in her character was one reason she was firm in her conviction that his proposal had not stemmed from an excess of sentiment.

And yet…he treated her with uncommon tenderness, which often seemed so at odds with her brusque persona. That he desired her, there could be no question. However, his attitude toward her seemed to extend beyond physical longing – or even honorable obligation. Without his trust, she couldn’t possibly have his love, could she? Did she even want it? Her own feelings for him were still too conflicted for her to be certain, one way or another.

Pulling her hand from his, she stepped back, increasing the distance between them until she was nearly to the door. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t afford to allow herself to believe in the fiction that their present engagement was anything more than an act of honor, even if the fear that had prompted it had proved to be fruitless. “I should go. It isn’t proper for me to be alone with you like this,” she told him, although they had skirted the bounds of propriety before.

He didn’t protest. However, he drew her attention one more time, before she could escape. “Miss Hale.” When she turned to look at him over her shoulder, he said simply, “Thank you.”

Margaret frowned at him. “I don’t seek your gratitude any more than you wish for mine.”

He was unmoved by her argument. “Nevertheless, you have it.”

Her hand resting on the door, she regarded him in silence for a moment before saying, “We are in this together, Mr Thornton. For better or for worse. If we cannot depend upon each other for kindness and understanding, then who may we rely upon?”

Concerned that her tongue would further betray her innermost feelings if she remained, she slipped out the door and rushed out of the mill, eager to return to the safety of her father’s house. Knowing it wouldn’t be her home for much longer.

If her feelings for her fiancé were this complicated now, how much more of a mess would they be in once he became her husband?

[borkthemork]

So to anyone who wants to know, I am still productive when it comes to writing, it’s just that each chapter for “Get a Hobby, Asshole” will take a while. To compensate for that I’ll post a preview of chapter two (which will probably change as it goes to the finalized version, so keep that in mind when the final product is published!).

[Note: If you hadn’t seen the first chapter, I’d recommend reading to get some context on this chapter. Other than that, the main thing I would like to detail is that Scar is going by a new name, hence the titling of Mus’ab in this preview.]

Time hadn’t been on Roy Mustang’s side. With prior experience, he expected the project to be concise, quick to finish in an estimated three months. But that was a theoretical; the reality had been quick to correct him, and place him in a moment of clarity that told him of one thing: 

Food was a hard proposal to bargain for, and creating the foundation would take more than just a few signatures and a handshake with a begrudging treasurer.

It wasn’t bad at first. Deep within the Gunja projects, somewhere not too far away from the main roads, Roy and Mus’ab located their base of operations. It had a courtyard, dining halls, pantries, rooms for kitchens. If they wanted to install electricity they could, and the building was close enough to the main roads for them to exit and enter without a problem.

All they needed were the materials, and the current artisans to agree with the change of plans.

That was where the worries came in. Financial flow, after all, was the venom and lifeblood of these intiatives — one couldn’t live without the other. And what Roy needed was the go-to, the signal to continue.

It happened on a sweltering morning, a day after his initial proposal. The Gunja outpost had cleaned itself up for the treasurer’s upcoming visit, and Roy knew to grow cordial when the treasurer’s jeep eventually made its way up the sands. 

The door popped open to reveal a slick-haired man and his two advisors. Escorted out by a band of workers, Roy kept himself close to them — spinning out flattery, like he usually did when it came to the higher-ups — as they made their way toward the sun-stained tent.

Mus’ab stood at the front as planned, eyes attentive when he opened the flap, revealing to them the sleek discussion table at the very center. There were a few fans in the corners, a worker to serve up drinks and food, but overall, this was a bargain that Roy had experienced many times before. Where each player went to their assigned seats, steadied their gazes, and readied their papers under their palms.

For this was where the hard part usually begun.

Roy was an expert at conversation. In fact, he could recall numerous times where he'd gotten what he wanted. But the situation he had before him was different.

He could recall what tools they needed, who should be paid, what ingredients were to be gathered, but Roy preferred to keep his points short. He spoke of the basics, of the general accommodations, because Mus’ab was the one who did most of the heavy lifting.

The Ishvalan discussed the ovens, the tandoors, the available choice cuts, and the menagerie of spices that were supposedly vital to the Ishvalan way of cooking. He spoke of these subjects with control, ease. And thank God he led the way, because to Roy Mustang, this entire idea seemed more and more difficult as the details settled down.

Mus’ab knew what cooking entailed. He probably knew how to harvest plants, to shuck corn, and to handle lambs. What the meeting itself said to Roy was that the plan needed people who knew their way around the kitchen, and ultimately, that didn’t fit Roy's description at all.

Roy didn’t know how to cook. He knew how to boil water, to cut fruits and vegetables with steady hands, but anything else was like flipping a coin to decide your own fate. He preferred to buy noodles, takeout, and, if it was possible, invite Hawkeye over for dinner to save money for the both of them.

Because his hands weren't meant for careful work — they were destined to see action one way or another.

So Roy listened. He listened to these men while the corner radio buzzed Amestrian cabaret, as the workers plopped food and drinks onto the table to endure the remainder of the negotiations. Roy always did prefer the spectacle of good company, of comfort instead of excruciating heat.

It also allowed for him to see what the government workers were like under specific circumstances; when they felt entitled, angered, uncomfortable.

Mister Bombarda — with his grease-slick mustache and buzzcut hair — had shown these reactions the moment he came to the table. He had leaned back into his seat when the first entrée arrived, the chair protesting underneath the strain as words and questions flew out his lips. His actions were enough to tell Roy what this man was like: domineering, speculative, happy to combat and ask inquiries like a man in an interview. The traits of a tired government worker, who’d been digging into Roy’s side for months on end. 

His advisors occupied the seats next to him. Both were grim-faced and sweaty with the minutes that past by — the kind who honed at specific key terms, at the way Roy laughed jovially when he got declined a suggestion, but Bombarda didn’t seem to worry. In fact, he had requested a worker another drink amid Mus’ab’s discussion. And that was dangerous.

Roy knew from the beginning that they had to be careful. Even with his position as Brigadier General, the politics of the post-Promised Day government weren't enough to keep him legitimate. People were testing the waters, observing how mixed the morale had become throughout every aspect of the population, and Roy didn’t want to go through another lecture from Grumman anytime soon about putting too much stress on a leadership that was beginning to stand up from what he described was a “pretty awful epileptic fit”. 

If Roy pushed too hard, agencies had the right to decline. If they relented too much, then government workers could treat him and his workers like rag dolls. Any misuse of money could tarnish future political endeavors down the line. And Roy preferred to keep his cards open, sabotage even more so.

So at the sight of Bombarda’s lean, Roy knew that something was amiss.

“This is rather detailed, General.” The man placed his clipboard down. Roy noted the tiny handwriting, at the amount of purchases that listed upward, abruptly ending where the man’s pen laid. “And surprisingly expensive. I thought the food was the only thing you need.”

Roy put on a smile. Mus’ab, however, just continued to look on, seemingly unamused with the current situation. And to be fair, Roy understood the feeling perfectly. “Well, it’s certainly a surprise, isn’t it?”

A grin grew on the treasurer’s face, wiping a speck of sweat from his nose. “Definitely. Of course, financials are always a pain. Sometimes you just want to stick a fifty grand and get it over with. Hell, funding a city like Daliha is enough to make me want to retire.”

Knowing how they talked about this for over three hours — in the heat no less — the sentiment was mutual. Roy still had to be careful, however. Mus’ab hadn’t said a hostile word yet, and whether he himself had the patience to be here was up in the air. But so far, Mus’ab continued to stare at the three men. In thinly-veiled disdain. Not enough to cause a murder.

“But,” the treasurer continued, “I do agree that the potential for autonomy is there. Food always did bring people to tourist areas. Sometimes they were the main factor for a village’s sheer existence on the map.” Bombarda frowned. “And we all know the Ishvalans need that pick-me-up.”

Roy nodded. He was grateful to see that the Ishvalan next to him had eased his expression, although the sight itself didn’t reassure him. Roy pressed a finger to the table. “So are we in agreement?”

The man nodded. “Only eight months to recreate all four-hundred-thirty-six recipes.” 

Roy didn’t flinch, but the man beside him did — now at full height.

“We cannot recreate these recipes within eight months.” Mus’ab put his hands onto the table, pressing them into the wood as he stared at the treasurer, who looked amused in spite of his advisors’ taut faces and protests. “Cooking is Ishvala’s blessing, one of the many ways the community shows its gratitude toward living. You can’t hurry it lest you want to ruin and mock the recipes themselves.”

“I’m sorry, Grand Cleric Mus’ab.” The apology didn’t reach Bombarda’s eyes, and Roy steeled himself for the oncoming lecture. Not only for the inevitable argument afterward, but to stop himself from doing something he would regret. “But we are focusing on different projects all at once. Agencies are trying to rebuild miles of lost housing, replicating duel-cropping and seasonal schedules. We have agencies trying to connect electricity to the streets, civil workers attempting to bring back families into ready accommodations, and who knows what else. The only reason we're considering this is because of the benefits toward the Ishvalan community and economy. The more stable things are, the quicker we’re allowed to let you all go home.”

Roy was careful to grab the man’s arm, but Mus’ab remained rooted, watching the others. The lines in his nose deepened even more. “And food is important to who we are as a people. It’s what makes the Holy Land our home.”

Before Bombarda could respond, Roy intervened: “Economy is imperative, treasurer. If you hasten the progress on the recipes, it wouldn’t be good for business now, would it?” 

His addition was enough. Not too quick and not too slow, but enough to get the point across. The words had to be perfect, of course. Mister Bombarda liked business. So Roy shall give him business. “Low-quality foods would mean weakening a part of the economy’s stable foundation. No stable foundation, then the entire set-up falls.” His gaze hardened, watching Bombarda’s frown twitch under scrutiny. “We all concur that rebuilding Ishval again would be a waste of money.”

Bombarda stared at him, unblinking. His advisors were whispering into his ears, lips fast and hushed. What they were talking about, Roy could only theorize was a second chance — for Bombarda’s frown grew deeper into his features.

After a nerve-wracking moment, he sighed. “Fine. If you can finish half of the assigned recipes by the end of the deadline, we’ll consider an extension.”

Both continued to stare at one another, unyielding.

“Is that good, Grand Cleric?” Bombarda asked finally.

To Roy’s surprise, Mus’ab sat down. 

His hands folded neatly on the table out of kindness, but the shifting glances and fidgeting hands were enough to make Bombarda laugh anxiously when his requested drink finally lowered down onto the table with a dull tink. “Well then, was a good chat. I just need the room’s signatures and we’ll be on our way.”

The sun receded into the mountains when all of them disembarked from the tent. Roy was at least glad to be able to walk, but his chest still bore heaviness, worry; he spotted the Grand Cleric a few minutes afterward. He was exiting the station — fists clenched, shoulders stiff as a board.

The Ishvalan had a right to be angry, but it was inevitable that they had to work with what they were given. That didn't mean the situation was impossible. They were just going to have to work harder, especially with the limit given.

Roy sighed and made his way to the nearby outpost, spotting Hawkeye, stationed with the nearby jeep. 

He rested his head on the vehicle cushion when they drove out of the outpost. His eyes lulled at the horizon, where the bright light ebbed and seeped behind the dunes, the sky a dimming blue.

When the sun rises, Operation Loghmeh will have begun.

[wistfulcynic]

Honeysuckle

Summary: Emma finds herself in a precarious position while trying to return some library books and shy librarian Killian comes to her rescue. He’s sweet and kind and Henry’s bookworm hero but there’s also something about him that she doesn’t know. 

(Something good)

a/n: All the thanks to @shireness-says for letting me borrow the adorable cinnamon roll that is Librarian!Killian, and also for inspiring this fic with her actual life. Librarian!Killian is a bit Deckhand Hook, a bit Lt Jones, which is a version of Killian I’ve never written before. It’s been fun, and not coincidentally this is the only thing I’ve ever written with a G rating. 

(Thanks also to @katie-dub whose beautiful fic Her Happy Beginning inspired me to try a new style of narration.)

@whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainsjedi @kmomof4 @thejollyroger-writer @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @ultraluckycatnd @hollyethecurious @teamhook

Rated: G

On AO3

Honeysuckle: 

Life, as some wise person once said, is just one damned thing after another. It’s full of frustration and elation and misery and comedy and so, so much embarrassment. And sometimes, on those most rare and exquisite of occasions, all of these factors coalesce into one grand, transcendent experience that makes the person living it wish simultaneously to die of humiliation and live in that moment forever. 

Dear Reader, such was the experience of one Emma Swan, medical assistant and single mother, on the third day of the sixth month of the twenty-eighth year of her life. 

The day began as an unremarkable one. Emma dragged herself from bed at the unholy hour of six-thirty am, banged on her son’s bedroom door on her way to the kitchen, and spent the next ten minutes mainlining coffee and forcing herself into full consciousness. When Henry appeared she poured him a bowl of cereal, kissed his forehead, and headed for the shower. So far so ordinary. 

Things didn’t start to go wrong until Emma, showered and dressed and with her still-damp hair pulled into a practical ponytail, took the opportunity of Henry’s regular morning dawdling session to reread the latest letter from her secret pen pal. 

(Secret only because Emma was perhaps overly conscious that having a ‘pen pal’ in this day and at her age might be seen by some as rather ridiculous. Not even Henry knew, although she’d had the pen pal far longer than she’d had the son. Since she was ten years old, in fact, and her fourth grade teacher had arranged a writing exchange with a class in England. For reasons Emma could never fully articulate she had bonded instantly and strongly to the boy across the sea known to her only as ‘K’ —again for ‘reasons’, these best known to themselves, they addressed each other by their initials only— and throughout her life of foster families and failed relationships he remained the only person who had never left her. Virtually anonymous though it may be, it was by far the longest and most stable relationship of Emma’s life and nothing but Henry had ever been more precious to her. But she kept it secret because it was ridiculous. Yep. That’s what she told herself.)   

But back to the letter. 

On my way to work yesterday I came across what I think must be some of the first lilacs of the season and I thought of you, it read. I always think of you when I see flowers and I can never decide which one suits you best, which probably makes sense since I have never seen your face. Are you sweet and springlike as lilacs are, or are you more of a full summer flower like a rose? Maybe you are a slim and elegant calla lily, or perhaps a tall and slightly terrifying sunflower? (Don’t laugh, E, sunflowers are scary! Have you ever seen one? They remind me of Triffids (that’s a book reference, love, and before you ask yes there’s a movie as well. Read the book first) and the way they move to follow the sun is creepy.)

(I know you’re laughing at me. Stop it.)  

It is true I regret to say that Emma had laughed the first time she read the letter, also the second time and possibly the third. But this being the sixth or seventh (tenth) reading the words elicited a smile that came less from mirth and more from a sort of sighing wistfulness as she imagined her never-seen dearest friend sniffing lilacs and thinking of her. 

She wished she knew what he looked like. 

She had tried many times to paint his face in her mind, one that fit the beauty of his words, but found she very literally could not imagine it. Emma’s experience with men was one that is sadly not uncommon among beautiful women whose positions in society are tenuous. As a single mother with only a high school diploma Emma had encountered more than her share of creeps and assholes, men who mistook her vulnerability for weakness and attempted to take advantage of her.

It was a mistake they did not make twice, but the sad result was that Emma had soured on men and relationships and all but given up hope that she would ever find someone who loved her. And as for a man so sweet and kind that he stopped to admire lilacs and wondered what kind of flower she might be, well, he was an impossibility in her experience, simply too good to be true.

She knew of course that K was real. Someone had been writing to her for nearly twenty years. She had no desire to meet him, though (she did) for fear of the crushing disappointment if he didn’t live up to the image she had of him in her mind. No, he was much better left to her imagination and the pages of his beautifully written letters. She couldn’t bear to lose those letters.  

She was just indulging in speculation over what sort of flower he might be when Henry’s voice and the thud of the books he dropped on the table in front of her brought her back to reality. 

“Mom, these books are due back today,” he said. 

“What? Why didn’t you take them back yesterday?”

“I forgot them at home. I didn’t even remember they were due until Killian reminded me. But we can return them now, can’t we?”

Emma tried to remember that he wasn’t trying to exasperate her, he was just absent-minded. “Henry, we are already late. Can’t you take them after school today?”

“No, I have D&D after school.” 

“I’m sure you can miss it one time—” 

“No, Mom, we’re in the middle of a campaign and I have to be there.” 

Emma threw up her hands. “Okay, fine, but you’ll have to take the bus to school.” 

“Mo-om!” 

“No, I do not have time to take you to school, then go to the library, then work. I’ll drive you to the bus stop then swing by the library and put your books in the drop. Hurry up now, are you ready?”

“Yeah, just let me grab my backpack.” 

He ran to get it and Emma absently slipped the letter into its envelope and the envelope into one of Henry’s library books before gathering the books in her arms and slinging her tote bag over her shoulder and herding her son out the door and into her car. 

(I wonder if you can spot where this is going yet?)

Ten minutes later Emma pulled into the library parking lot with as close to a squeal of tires as her creaky Bug could manage and grabbed Henry’s books from her passenger seat. Hurrying to the book drop she tipped them in…

And remembered. Far too late. 

“My letter!” she cried, and without thinking of anything beyond recovering the treasured words, Emma dove headfirst into the book drop, trying to catch the book that held her letter before it fell. She was a slender woman and the book drop more sizeable than most, but it was decidedly not designed to accommodate the ingress of any size of human, and so all she accomplished was to wedge her shoulders tightly into the narrow space with one arm stretched out in front of her inside the chute and the other sticking out of the drop’s opening at an odd angle. With the toe of one foot she could just touch the ground while the other one dangled helplessly in the air. She kicked with her leg to try to yank herself free but succeeded only in sending her practical flat shoe flying off her foot and landing with a splash in what she felt certain was a mud puddle, just as the sound of Henry’s books landing in the bin at the bottom of the chute reached her ears. 

Perfect, she thought. Just perfect.  

This, as I’m sure you have deduced my lovely Reader, has been the embarrassment and yes also the comedy portion of our tale. The former feeds the latter until it is fat as we all know from our own lives, and in the years to come Emma would learn to laugh when telling and retelling the story of her predicament. Though it must be said that, as is often the case with embarrassing things, she saw absolutely no humour in it at the time.

The frustration came into play moments later as Emma made further attempts to extricate herself from the drop, only to find that the position of her shoulders and her hands and her legs left her entirely unable to get enough purchase on any solid surface to provide sufficient counterbalancing force to un-wedge her. She was well and truly stuck, profoundly uncomfortable, and by that time almost certainly late for work. 

It was then that the misery kicked in. 

“Fuck,” she shouted, and the word reverberated down the metal chute, echoing back to her in a way she considered almost insultingly on the nose. She closed her eyes and let her head fall against the side of the chute and wondered just what the hell she was going to do now. 

(It will not, I feel certain, have escaped your notice that we have not yet had elation. Fear not, gentle Reader, for it is to come, and far sooner than Emma expects.) 

Fortunately both for Emma and our story a rescuer soon arrived, not on a white charger as in a fairy tale but aboard a practical secondhand Volvo in a rather nice shade of blue. 

Now Killian Jones may well have wished, deep in his heart, in that remote corner where he kept his love of adventure stories and even fancied himself a bit of a rogue, for something sportier, something a touch more dashing. But Killian Jones was a librarian, and the financial realities of our world dictate that librarians do not drive sports cars. So Killian had sighed for what was never to be and bought the Volvo —and adamantly rejected the silver one, he was not a vampire, sparkly or otherwise— and it had to be said that he’d never regretted it. 

All he regretted that morning was the broken shoelace that had made him too late to walk to work and smell the lilacs. 

As he pulled into the parking lot he was surprised to see a yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked haphazardly in the closest spot to the door that wasn’t reserved for the differently abled. It looked very much like the car that he’d frequently seen young Henry running to, the one that would naturally be driven by his mother…

Impulsively Killian pulled into the space next to the yellow car instead of continuing to the employee lot. His heart had begun to pound and his mouth was dry. 

It’s probably not her, he told himself firmly. There have to be other yellow Bugs in the neighbourhood. 

(There definitely weren’t.)

But if it was her he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to stutter a few incoherent words before excusing himself awkwardly and fleeing to a private corner where he might catch his breath, which was what happened every time he tried to talk to Henry’s mother.

Now Killian Jones, as, dearest Reader, you well know, was a handsome man, and one not so caught up in books and fantasy that he was unaware of this fact or of the effect it had on women. He could be smooth enough with the female species when he put his mind to it but something about Henry’s mother —he didn’t even know her name— tied his tongue and stopped his throat and robbed him of every shred of eloquence he may otherwise possess. 

This didn’t stop him from trying, though. The humiliation was worth it to see her smile. 

He got out of the car as quickly as possible, cursing as he caught the strap of his satchel in the door, then hurried to the library’s main entrance, looking around in a way that he hoped didn’t make it too obvious that he was looking around. Where would she be? he wondered. If she was here that is, if it was her. Come to think of it, why would she be here? Why would anyone? Who went to the library an hour before it opened to, what, stand around in front of the door and wait? 

His attention was finally drawn, after a moment or two, to the after-hours book drop when the person stuck inside it began banging and shouting loudly enough for even the most distracted bookworm to notice. 

Wait… the person stuck inside the book drop?

Killian turned to look, mouth gaping open in astonishment, too taken aback to even feel ashamed that he very definitely recognised that arse. 

So that’s where she was. This simultaneously answered several questions and posed a good few more. 

He hurried over, knowing that he ought to do something, but very uncertain as to what that something ought to be. 

“Um, hello?” he ventured. “Excuse me?”

Her voice was muffled but the annoyance came through loud and clear. “Oh thank fuck, I thought you’d gone,” she said.  

“Um. What?”

“I heard your car door slam so I started banging to get your attention, but then no one came and I thought you’d left, or gone in another direction or something.” 

“Ah. Er, no. I’m, uh, I’m here. What, um, what can I do for you?” He winced even as he spoke the words.

(She robbed him of all eloquence, you recall, even when all he could see was her backside. Perhaps especially then.)

She paused just long enough to make her opinion of his question clear. “Get me out of here!” she shouted.

“Aye, of course, lass, but, er, um—” Killian assessed the situation from three different angles just to be sure that there was no other option, that it wasn’t simply his physical attraction to her getting the better of him “—I’ll have to, uh, there’s no other way except to, er, touch you—”

“Yes, yes, I know that’s fine, just get me out!” 

“Aye, all right, um, can you push on the inside of the chute at all?”

“Yes, but I can’t get enough purchase on the ground to counterbalance, so I can’t force my shoulders out.” 

“Ah, yes, I see. All right, well you push and I’ll just, um—” Cautiously he wrapped his arm around her waist and braced his hand against the wall of the library. “I’ll brace you. Are you ready?”

“So ready.” 

“Okay, on three. One… two… three!” 

Killian planted his feet firmly on the ground and he could feel her muscles tense and flex as she pushed on the wall of the chute, and with her body braced against his she was able to un-wedge her shoulders from the narrow space and then with a final heave she freed herself from the drop, the force of it sending her stumbling backwards against Killian, whose other arm automatically wrapped itself around her and held on tight. 

She smelled like honeysuckle, was all he could think.

Too soon she was straightening up and he forced his arms to let her go, and she turned around with a smile that nearly ended him. 

“Thanks,” she said. “I thought I’d be in there at least until the library opened.” 

Emma was trying to be cool but the truth was that even from inside the chute she’d recognised the voice and accent of Henry’s favourite librarian, his hero really, the man who had recommended all his favourite books and who always had time to discuss them with him. Henry talked about him almost nonstop. 

“Ah, it’s Killian, isn’t it?” she said. “We’ve talked a few times before, I’m Henry’s mother.”

Killian swallowed hard and forced himself not to panic. “Aye, I remember. Er— sorry, I don’t know your name.” 

He’s so cute, thought Emma. She’d always thought so, if she was honest, not just his face but the adorable way he couldn’t quite manage to talk to her. It was sweet, and frankly a blessed change from the way men usually acted around her.

“It’s Emma Swan,” she said, and held out her hand. Killian took it gingerly, like he was afraid it might bite him. 

The jolt of sensation that went through both of them at the contact seemed to confirm his fears.  

They both pulled their hands away, laughing nervously, and thorough the haze of his confusion something prickled in Killian’s mind. E. Swan, he thought, just like…

“You must be wondering how I managed to get stuck like that,” said Emma, interrupting his thoughts, attempting to brazen through her own jumpy nerves by talking.

“Well, yes, I confess it did cross my mind.” A complete sentence in her presence, that was a first, he thought. 

“Yeah, it must be a pretty weird thing to encounter first thing in the morning.”

“I assure you, lass, we’ve seen weirder in this library.” Two complete sentences, what had come over him? 

“That’s nice of you to say. Okay, here’s the thing. I kinda… left something really important in one of the books I returned, and… look I’m so grateful to you for rescuing me but would you mind maybe going to see if you could find it?” She kept her face calm but he could sense her anxiety in the way she twisted her hands together. “It’s, well, it’s personal and I don’t want to lose it, or you know have strangers reading it—”

He waved his hand to cut her off. “Say no more, it would be my pleasure to retrieve it for you. Um, what is it?”

Her smile shone relieved and brilliant, and Killian’s powers of speech abandoned him yet again. 

“It’s a letter. In an envelope. I mean, just like a normal envelope. But… open.” 

He nodded, groping desperately for his words. “Letter. Envelope. Got it. I’ll, um, go now. Uh, stay here.” 

“Where else would I go?” she asked his retreating back. 

Killian hurriedly unlocked the main doors and raced down the stairs to the bin at the bottom of the book drop’s chute. He realised he’d forgotten to ask Emma —he felt a small thrill using her name— which book she’d left her letter in, but fortunately he remembered which books Henry had checked out during his last visit. They’d had a long conversation about each, after all. He ruffled through the first one but no letter fell out, the same result for the second. The third, however, produced its treasure, an ordinary, unremarkable white letter envelope. 

One that looked strikingly familiar. 

Killian stared at the letter in his hand, addressed to one E. Swan, in a firm, flowing, elegant script.

A script he recognised. 

Because it was his own. 

Bloody hell. 

(Be honest, now, kind Reader, you aren’t going to tell me you didn’t see this coming?) 

Killian wanted to hyperventilate. (Is it possible to want to hyperventilate?) His favourite patron’s mother, the woman he’d admired (and yes, done a bit of pining for) from afar was also, somehow, the pen pal he’d had since he was ten years old. His dearest friend. 

It was too ridiculous. It was impossible. 

(It was actually just a very strange coincidence, and who among us hasn’t experienced one of those? But Killian was feeling rather dramatic in that moment, so we’ll give him a pass.)

 (Now Reader, you are likely wondering how it is possible that two people who communicate via letter, a medium of communication that requires the knowledge of one’s recipient’s address as a matter of course, could possibly be unaware that they lived in the same neighbourhood of the same small town, mere blocks from one another as it turns out? The simple explanation is this: Both some years ago had arranged P.O. Boxes for their letters to each other, finding it easier (and if we are honest, more securely anonymous) to simply ask the post office to forward their letters as they moved around rather than keep updating each other directly. Killian’s P.O. Box was in Syracuse, NY, where he had gone to library school and his first port of call in the USA while Emma’s was in Tallahassee, FL, where she had stayed for two years after Henry was born.

Could they have saved themselves a fair bit of time and no small amount of loneliness had they just used their real addresses? Or, you know, their actual names? 

Yes. Yes they could. But then we wouldn’t have a story.) 

As Killian reeled from his astounding discovery, Emma was sitting on the hood of her Bug, wincing as her shift supervisor (and friend) laughed, so long and so hard Emma feared she’d give herself an aneurysm. 

After a while she began to hope for an aneurysm. 

“Oh my God,” Ruby gasped, once she was finally able to speak through her mirth. “That is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time. Years, probably.”

“Not helpful, Rubes. I only called to tell you that I’ll be in as soon as possible, I can probably get going in about five, ten minutes or so. I’m really sorry.” 

Ruby’s appreciation for a good joke did not affect her empathy for a friend in need. “Look, Ems, we’re not busy today, three patients have already cancelled their appointments. I can cover what’s left. Let’s just call this a sick day for you and if you want you can make up the shift this weekend. Go home and rest. You’ve had a narrow escape after all.” 

Emma groaned. “I hate you.” 

“You love me, and don’t forget I’m covering your shift today so you really shouldn’t be stuck up.”

“I mean, that’s just terrible.” 

 Ruby laughed. “Call me later. I’ll be waiting so don’t think you can wriggle out of it.” 

“You are the worst and I’m hanging up now. Goodbye. And thanks.” 

“Any time, doll.” 

Emma hung up the phone just as Killian came through the doors holding, she was relived to see, her letter. 

And with a very peculiar expression on his face. 

She felt her heart flutter. He looked… intense. It was a good look on him. 

She remembered how his arms had felt around her and the flutter became a gallop. 

He handed her the letter. 

“You’re honeysuckle,” he blurted. 

“I— what?” Emma blinked in surprise. 

“Honeysuckle. Not lilacs or roses, or sunflowers, thank goodness.” 

How could he… no! she thought wildly. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t have. He seemed so nice. 

“Did you read my letter?” she cried, somehow feeling more betrayed than angry.

“No! That is, I sort of did, but—” He ran a hand through his hair, looking distressed. “Oh, I’m doing this all wrong.”

“Just what exactly are you doing?” she snapped. 

He took a deep breath, and looked her in the eye. “Let me introduce myself,” he said. “We really haven’t been properly introduced. My name is Killian Jones. Killian with a K.” 

Emma gasped as the import of his name plus the fact that he knew what was in her letter hit home. K. Jones. 

“You— you’re K?”

“Aye. I mean yes, I am. And you’re E. Who smells of honeysuckle. I’ve always wondered.”

“You wondered what I smelled like?”

“I’ve wondered a lot of things about you, love.” He smiled, not the awkward, shy smile he normally gave her, but a bright and brilliant one full of joy and just a hint of mischief. It made her feel feather-light and ridiculously happy. This man she could definitely picture sniffing lilacs and thinking of her. He was real, and right in front of her, and her imagination had utterly failed to do him justice. 

“Listen,” he said, more confident than she’d ever seen him but with nervousness just creeping in at the edges, rubbing at a spot behind his ear and looking just over her left shoulder, “Would you, um, like to have a drink with me? You probably have to get to work now, but maybe later—” 

“I have the day off.” The words were out before she could stop them. 

Hope lit in his eyes. “You do?”

“As of five minutes ago,” she confirmed. “My boss said I’d clearly been through enough already today and told me to take a sick day. But, I mean, don’t you have to work—”

“I’ll take a sick day too,” he said hurriedly, pulling out his phone. “Just give me a minute.” 

The phone rang only twice before Belle picked up. She was nothing if not efficient. 

“Hi, Belle, it’s, er, Killian.” Of course she knows that you numpty she saw your name come up on the screen, he thought. 

(Killian is a terrible, terrible liar.)

He cleared his throat and continued. “I’m, um, so sorry but I’m not well today.” 

“Not well,” repeated Belle.  

“Er, no, I think I’ll have to stay home.” 

“You sound fine, Killian.” She sounded strict, when she was usually so kind. He forced himself not to panic, and attempted a little cough. “No, I assure you,” he said, “I’m very ill.” 

“Very ill, you say.” 

“Er, aye.” Why is she repeating everything?

“Too ill to come to work.” 

“Um, yes.” 

“Too ill to come to work and not in fact currently standing in the patrons’ car park with Henry’s mother?” 

He gaped. “How do you—”

She laughed, a familiar, warm sound, and Killian felt the knot of tension in his chest begin to melt. “I heard you come in through the main door and I came to see what was going on,” she said. 

Killian felt a stab of guilt. “Belle, I can explain—” 

“You don’t have to. At least, not yet. I’ll be demanding a full explanation tomorrow, when I feel certain you’ll be well enough to come to work.” 

“Of course. Thank you, Belle, you’re a treasure.” 

“Just be sure you actually talk to her this time.” 

“Aye, I think I can manage that.” It was easier now that he knew he’d actually been talking to her for the best part of twenty years. 

He ended the call and turned to smile at Emma who smiled back at him, and now, my darling Reader, we come at long last to the elation. The sheer, shining joy of experiencing something you’ve wondered about for years and finding it surpasses even your most elevated expectations. 

They went for coffee. They walked to the coffee shop, past the lilacs which were just beginning to fade, and they sniffed them together. 

Their conversation flowed with surprising ease, or perhaps not so surprising. In a way of course they had only just met but in another way they had known each other for years, and they were pleased to discover that there was no awkwardness between them other than that which results naturally between two people who are wildly attracted to each other and only just beginning to explore it. 

They explored it eventually. And thoroughly. 

And when the following year they stood in a country garden with Belle and Ruby and a Henry who was almost dancing with excitement and exchanged rings and promises of love and fidelity, the trellis above their heads was heavy and fragrant with honeysuckle in full bloom. And not a sunflower in sight. 

(Ah, I love a happy ending, I hear you sighing, beloved Reader. I do as well but I fear this is not one. It is of course a happy beginning.)

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #215

i’m not dead yet, just not into surveys very much lately.

What is your favorite dinosaur? Spinosaurus. <3 Would you rather live with wolves or tigers? Hypothetically, if I wouldn't be harmed, wolves. I love social species. Have you ever forgotten what a certain kind of pain felt like? Getting my nose re-pierced like fuck man. What do you remember the most about your childhood? I think the strongest memory is my parents not getting along. Or the stories I made playing with my favorite toys. Would you rather have a pet dinosaur or have mythical creatures be real? Have mythical creatures exist. I want a tame, little dragon. Do you have a favorite toy from childhood still? Astonishingly, no. I was incredibly surprised to find out I got rid of them at some point when I wanted to add the crocodile to my room as a cute decoration and memory. What are your thoughts on the end of the world? *shrug* Not like we can do anything about it, unless you count our own carelessness as a selfish species, but that won't actually end the "world," just mankind. Which sports do you enjoy watching? Dance. Would you ever have a breed of dog that is considered aggressive? I don't want another dog, but hypothetically, yes, because no species is inherently mean. It all depends on how the owner raises it. Have you ever made bread? No. Would your childhood self be disappointed? FUCK YES SHE WOULD BE. God, the thought is depressing. Has anything ever fallen asleep on you? Animals and my niece. Would you like to live in a realm where the zombie apocalypse is possible? Is it too far into imagination to say it's possible in the one we're already in? You have zombie viruses in things like bugs, so in time, something developing that can affect humans isn't out of the question. But anyway, anyone who answers "yes" to this, as in they'd like it, are full of shit. Most of us would die in a heartbeat. You'd witness others that you love die. Every day you question if you'll see the next. The zombie apocalypse has been so romanticized in many forms of media, but please, tell me you'll still be having fun when you watch your mother be eaten or some shit. Have you ever gotten into an accident with you parents’ car? No. What’s the wallpaper on your computer? A meerkat pup looking close up to the camera. What was the most difficult decision you’ve ever had to make? Deciding Jason couldn't be my entire world anymore and I had to let go. Name a band/artist you like that isn’t that popular. There's a YouTube artist named Jonathan Young that I MARVEL over the fact he's not signed with someone. My mom didn't even believe he wasn't professional the first time I played some songs in the car. Can you lift your significant other (your best friend if you’re single)? I'm certain I could. What is the first vehicle you recall your parents/guardians owning? A greenish-blue van. What was the most rebellious thing you’ve ever done? I don't know. I'm not really that rebellious. Pick one: Laundry, Dishes, or Vacuuming? I actually don't mind vacuuming. Have you ever moved and had to change schools growing up? No. Name the most meaningful thing a non-relative has done for you. When my former best friend let me live with her while we were homeless. Memories like that sometimes make me question my decision to cut her off permanently... though I remind myself the bad outweighed the good and our relationship was just never going to be stable. The highway and back roads take you to the same place; Choose your route. Depends on what's quicker to save gas. Are you more likely to give up or persist when you’re having trouble? It depends on the situation. Tbh I think I give up more often. Do you resemble one parent more than the other? I don't think so. Your best friend needs a kidney to survive; Do you give them one of yours? That's my girlfriend. So duh. Name a big life event that has taken place for you within the last 2 years. I physically met Sara. Do you end up regretting things you say often? I don't know about often. Name one thing you look forward to as you get older. Hopefully being financially stable. Do you use your hands when you talk to emphasize what you are saying? Yeah. You own a huge business; what is it? I can't even imagine myself owning a "huge" business. Are you afraid to ask for help when you know that you need it? Sometimes. Depends on who I'm asking. Name somebody you think died before their time. A LOT OF PEOPLE. I think above all of my options, Steve Irwin. Fucking saint, teacher, and pilot of conservation and loving our fellow animals. Name the possession you’ve had the longest. I have a lot of infancy stuffed animals up in the attic. You’re writing a novel; Is it horror, mystery, romance, etc.? Fantasy. Would you consider yourself an interesting person in general? I guess. I know I'm at least different. Have you ever gotten in trouble for running up your phone bill? No. When is the next time you’ll change your hairstyle? Will you color it? I don't plan on changing the style any time soon. Hopefully at some point soon I can get to the damn hair salon and get it dyed lilac, though. But it'll be expensive for a pro to do it (I'm very much so done with anyone less trying to do so, as it always fails), so that's something I don't think will come soon. It's not high on my priorities. Who was the last person to see you cry? Is this person special? I'm sure it was my mom. Probably. Of course she is. What season would you like the world to experience year-round? Autumn. When was the last time you took a picture of something? Was it yourself? Lmao it was of something funny on Facebook that I texted to Sara a few days ago. Are you currently drifting away from anyone? Who is it? No. Would you say you are really close to the members of your family? Most, no. I barely see anyone outside my immediate fam. Is there anyone who lives in the same house as you, that you can’t stand? The stupid dog. Do you remember the first conversation you had with the person you have feelings for? No, but it was likely RP-related. Think of the last person you kissed, when was the first time you talked to them on the phone? She knows I hate talking over the phone, so we use Skype to talk. I think the first time I called her via phone though was when I was having an emotional breakdown. What does your phone do when you get a new message? It makes the sound from Spyro when you pick up gems if it's not on vibrate, and when the screen goes black, a green light blinks. Do you automatically check your phone when you wake up? Yes, for the time. Who was the last person you were in a car with? Mom. Do you party too much? I never did. Who were you last on the phone with? I answered a number I didn't recognize, and it wound up being some bullshit about my car warranty or something when I don't even have a car. I just hung up the moment I knew what it was. Last movie you watched? The Lion King live action remake. Incredible. If you had to get a piercing (not ears), what would you get? Fuck, I want collarbone dermals so badly. Do you like holding hands? With Sara. Have you ever seen the last person you texted naked? Yes. What are you listening to? "Third Day of a Seven Day Binge" by Manson is on rn. Do your parents allow you to date? I'm 23. They never really restricted me from it. Then again, I started dating in the 7th grade, so I was older than most first couples. Have you ever had a serious conversation with your dad? Yes. Would you rather have long or short hair? I could not be happier than I have short hair now. It's so much easier to manage, and it really did me well chopping it all off considering my bad self-care episodes. I recommend it soooo much to anyone struggling with that. Do you want to have children? Big No. Do you think you’ll have the same boyfriend/girlfriend a year from now? Realistically, yes. How old were you when you stopped sleeping with a nightlight? I don't know. What topic did you write your last essay about? This awful book "Masters of Doom" or whatever I had to read in game design in college, I think. Whose car did you ride in last other than yours? Dad's. What was the last clothing article you purchased? Some pants. Who was the last person that made you cry [accidentally or on purpose]? Probably myself. Is there construction going on in/near your neighborhood? No. Who did you go/plan on going with to prom? I went to Jason's senior prom and he came to mine. What language[s] did you study in school? Latin for one awful semester, then German for four. I miss German, honestly. Have you ever been to a debate and speech tournament? Hell no, that sounds so boring. Choose two dead celebs who could be your biological parents - explain why? Steve Irwin for my incredible love of animals and uh... I'm not sure about a mom? I thought about this for like two minutes and really don't know lmao. If you were living in the past, which job that doesn’t exist anymore would you like to have? No idea. Which animal are you afraid of? Most afraid of, probably some spiders, like huntsmen spiders. I'm afraid of most spiders in general (if they're near me or in my house, anyway), I cannot stand maggots and larvae of that sort, and whale sharks freak me out. AND WASPS. FUCK WASPS. How would your wedding bouquet look like? *shrugs* It would probably depend on the wedding theme. What kind of game would you like to play that doesn’t exist yet? I can't even swallow how unbelievable Shadow of the Colossus would be in VR. What is one thing you would never ever eat? Escargot. Is there a music video that you would like to see turned into a movie or a TV show? Which one? *shrugs* Which character in your favorite movie do you hate the most? It's impossible to hate any from TLK. How do you think the world will end? A meteor striking, or a deadly volcano going boom. Either way, it's gonna be smoke shrouding the sun. Do you own anything clown related? No. If you were a celebrity - which celebs you would befriend? Y'all done know one, but I think the celeb I would connect to most and most easily befriend would be Shane Dawson. He is such a goddamn sweetheart, chill as fuck, and #relatable. There's really a lot... All YT-related lmao. Except Bindi Irwin. Damn, would I love to meet her. If you were going to make a horror movie that you would be scared of yourself, what would it be about/how would it look like? I can't handle those movies about women being raped and impregnated by a demon and shit. I can't. Fuck The Rite. If you could take a pill that would cure something in you that isn’t an illness - what would you be cured off? How ungodly shy and awkward I am. Ew. Do you like Rihanna? I don't know most of her music, but I don't enjoy most pop, so. Have you ever experienced hydroplaning? Not severely, anyway, and not while I was driving. What’s your opinion on the legalization of weed? Legalize it medicinally. What’s your current favorite song? Man idk. Have you ever hit a girl? I hit my sister once as a kid. What was your New Year's resolution? I don't make them. Do you find Eminem attractive? Not particularly. Are you wearing nail polish? I never do. Have you ever been/considered being vegetarian? I was for a couple months and definitely plan on going back to it once I get to the weight I want... if that ever fucking happens. What’s the last concert you went to? Alice Cooper. Do you own a cat? Yes. :') He's my best buddy. Do you like cats? I love cats. Do you like watching music videos? No. How are your grades? I'm not back in school yet. But SOON. Do you listen to Aerosmith? YO "Love In An Elevator" just finished on my iTunes. I love them. Have you climbed a tree in the past month? I never have. Were you ugly in middle school? Jfc save that child. What’s your type? CHARISMATIC. Stand out, man, and be proud of it. Having a smart head isimportant, too. Having a loving heart. Have a good sense of humor. Don't judge. Do you sleep with one of those mask things on your face? No. Have you ever straightened your hair? Yes. What kind of calculator do you use? The one on my phone or laptop. Have you ever seriously tried to count the stars? Lol no. Did you see the lunar eclipse? I'm guessing you're talking about the biggie from early this year? Yes. It was incredible. Do you have a bank account? No. Did you go on vacation last summer? What's a "vacation?" Where to? N/A Have you ever been in a choir? At church as a kid as well as elementary school. Are you happy with your looks? No. Have you ever gone streaking? You couldn't have paid me to do so even when I was in great shape. Are any of your siblings married? Yes. Were you in the wedding party? Yes. Have you ever seen a ghost? I've sure as hell seen something. Do you even believe in ghosts? I absolutely do. Have you ever had an eating disorder? Thank God no. What big corporation(s) do you support, particularly because you like what they stand for (many vegan items, donate large amount of money to charities, pay their workers a living wage, etc)? I'm really not educated on the morals behind most businesses. Oh, I do know Jeffree Star's products are entirely vegan and cruelty-free though, so his company definitely is one. If you wear foundation or have in the past, what type of applicator do you use (beauty sponge, foundation brush, fingers, etc)? Is there a type of applicator that doesn’t work for you? I've always just used my hands because we don't have anything else for foundation, I think. For those of you that do listen/watch ASMR videos, what are your favorite “triggers”? If you don’t watch ASMR, what are your thoughts on the whole phenomenon that seemed to happen the past couple years over it? I don't listen to it, but I don't care if others do. It doesn't do anything for me. I personally find the talking ones super uncomfortable, but if someone likes that, whatever. Are there any true crime cases that bother you immensely because of the story or verdict of the court case (ex. OJ Simpson)? I know there're some I've seen on Facebook and such. Do you use store loyalty programs? If you don’t use them, what is your reasoning behind that? What store loyalty programs do you feel offer the best incentives, regardless if you aren’t a member of them? I think I am for Hot Topic? I know I have a card for there. I think Sam's Club is a great place to have membership; that place has some damn deals. Mom used to be one, as well as an employee, and that shit was great. When it comes to skincare, what product could you not go without over the other ones? Where are you most likely to shop for your skincare needs? I could go without any, save of course for a wet washcloth. If I get something for skincare, it's just gonna be at Wal-Mart. Regardless if you aren’t someone who hoards or keeps stuff for a long time, what is one (type of) item that you have a hard time getting rid of? STUFFED ANIMALS. FUCKING CHRIST. If you eat meat, what is at least one vegan item (not necessarily a banana) that you like or would like trying (such as trying a soy ham substitute)? If you don’t eat meat, what is one meat item that you like and understand why people eat it? I have no idea. Being vegan just sounds... gah. I couldn't imagine. Major respect for vegans, man. What is a food that is always better homemade? How about a food that is always better at a restaurant? I don't know about the homemade one. Maybe like... cobblers? Meanwhile, steaks tend to be better at restaurants, I've found. If you watched teen dramas growing up (such as 90210 or One Tree Hill), which one was your favorite or you liked the best? If you watched family sitcoms growing up (such as Full House or The Fresh Prince), which one was your favorite or liked the best? I'm not sure if I watched teen dramas. For family sitcoms, ummm... I loooooooooooved/still love The Nanny. I like the two mentioned as well. What is a tradition either within your country or family that you feel is not needed or could in fact even be bad (ex. using paper plates for every party, eating hot dogs every weekend during the summer, etc)? Getting drunk as a motherfucker on New Year's Eve. Is there something you said you wouldn’t do, but in the end you did it? Yeah, a few things. Are you originally an American, or are you some other kind of nationality? I'm just American, save for like, if ancestry is involved. Then I originate from Europe. Do you sometimes pretend to do things you don't know how to do? No? What was the last compliment you remember someone gave to you? Who was it? Hm, I don't know. Have you ever had one of those pregnancy scares? When did this take place? Two completely unrealistic ones in high school. Are you someone who puts ranch dressing on everything you eat? No. Have you ever personally been friends with a stripper or prostitute? Not to my knowledge. What, to you, is the best way a guy can smell? Give examples? I personally like gentle colognes. How many times a day, on average, do you think critically about something? Twice or so. Are you someone who speaks their mind, or do you hold it all in? It depends. Where do you work at this moment in time? Does this place have insurance? I don't currently work bc I can't be a functioning adult in a work environment without collapsing into panic attacks. :^) If you have tattoos, which one that you have was the most painful? The inside of my forearm. Are you currently in the process of ‘bettering’ yourself as a person? I'm trying to grow more independent. What is something you tend to not be able to stand in the least bit at all? Anti-LGBT bullshit. OH BOY, or anti-vax insanity. Do not even interact with me if you're a "vaccines cause autism" imbecile. Does it make you angry when people complain an excessive amount around you? If it's over stupid shit or an issue you brought about yourself, then yes. At what age did you actually hit puberty? Was it hard for you to handle? I don't remember, and yes, it was. I remember crying outside the day I got my first period because I realized I wasn't a kid anymore. Are you considered a graceful person or are you more clumsy? I'm the clumsiest fuck you'll meet in your entire life. Have you ever sucked in helium? Did your voice change at all? No. Do you know any girls who have an overly manly voice and features? Girls can't be "overly manly," just as men can't be "overly feminine." Do you play any sports? If so, did you meet new friends that way? I did, and yes. Do people ever make fun of you for something you really can't help? No. Do you have any pets who will bite anyone else out there, besides you? No. Have you ever tried chocolate chip waffles? Are they now your favorite? Yes; no. What company are you signed up for car insurance, if any at all? N/A Are you someone who really likes to cook? What’s your favorite meal? No. Are you the candle lighting type? I prefer incense. Is your ex sexually attractive to you still? If he looks anything like he did, yeah. But I haven't even seen a picture of him in forever. Coffee in the morning, yay or nay? Don't like coffee. Do you ever drink your coffee black? N/A Body waxing, yay or nay? Ow, I would never do it. Honeymoon, where? I'd love the pink beaches of the Bahamas... but fuck Bermuda's Triangle, my conspiracy theory ass ain't going near that shit lmao. The black beach in I think... Scotland or whatever will do. Anal sex, yay or nay? Never tried, never will. The concept just really grosses me out. Has anyone ever written on you? Probably. Have you ever dated a fat person? I'd prefer the term "overweight," but w/e, once or twice depending on if you count one relationship as "dating." How many foreign friends do you have? In which countries do they live? Quite a few, having been on the Internet so long... I've got some in Europe and one in Australia. How long have you known the oldest friend you have? "Old" as in who I've had the longest? Since I was ten, I think. If you include my "real" friends. What’s the most interesting story you’ve never told anybody? Good question. When’s the last time you went to a bookstore? What did you buy? Last year when we were threatened by a really bad hurricane. I got The Fault In Our Stars and only read like... ten pages lmao. It wasn't because the book was bad, I just don't read anymore. What’s the most complicated meal you’ve cooked? Hunty I can't cook. I've cooked scrambled eggs and spaghetti like once lmao. What is truly attractive to you? Wisdom, for one. Have you ever come up with your own game? As a kid, yeah. What is something you value a lot in your life? The fact I have my mom in my life hit me first. I. Don't know where the fuck I'd be in life right now if my mom wasn't here with me. Whose hand did you hold last? Sara's. What was the last thing you planted? Oh boy, I have no idea. Oh wait, years ago I grew habaneros only to find out non-pickled ones are fucking gross. What or who was the last thing you gossiped about? I have no clue. I don't really do that. Did anything exciting happen just before you went to sleep last night? Well, my cat literally peed on Mom. That was "exciting." When’s the last time you helped a senior citizen somehow? I don't know. What’s the most selfless act you have done? Man, a lot of "I don't know" in this one. You see a spider web in the corner of your room. What do you do? I'm finding that guy or moving. Have you ever intentionally fed a house spider? No. How do you like your favorite beverage? Cold. What’s your big family secret? We don't have one. Do you answer the phones at your work? I don't have a job. Have you ever given up on someone and then went back to them? Many, many times with my former best friend. Did you wake up in the middle of the night last night? I do every single night, and it sucks ass. What shows do you watch? None. Have you ever broken someone’s heart? I don't know. Has anyone ever told you that you have pretty eyes? Yeah. When’s the last time you had a headache? I think I had a mild one a few days ago? I don't remember. My days are sooo blurred together. Do you know anyone who has been arrested? Yes. Think back to the last person you kissed, how many times have you laughed with them? A whole lot. Have you ever suspected anyone of cheating of on you? Yeah, because of his ex and a believable lie. It was ultimately a good thing that that was what immediately turned me away though, as I don't want to imagine how a long-term relationship with him would've gone, honestly. Who was the last person you kissed? Sara. Do you still talk to the person who hurt you the most in life? No. Who’s the last person you sent a friend request to? I've no clue. I don't really send requests because I don't know more friends on there. Is anyone in your family a criminal? Not by blood. Who was the last person you told to shut up? I don't recall; I don't tell people to shut up, generally. I haven't had a confrontation in a long time, besides the occasional arguments with my mom, and I wouldn't tell her to shut up. What was the last thing you lied to your mother about? I don't remember. Have you ever been in an abusive relationship? No. Name a song that reminds you of a past relationship: I could name 50 that remind me of Jason and myself if I cared enough to. Do you think anyone hates you? One person probably does, at least. What do you think your last ex would say about you? I don't know, but probably something nice. He's my closest friend irl. Do you still talk to the first person you fell in love with? No. Do you still want the last person that hurt you to have a happy life? Yeah. Have you ever had a crush on any of your teachers? No. I, along with like every girl in class, found a former band teacher attractive, but I definitely didn't have an actual crush on the dude. Thank God considering he was eventually fired for relations with a student. Why did your last relationship end? I learned I didn't like him romantically, and also because I discovered I liked Sara instead. How long did it take you to get over your last heartbreak? A year and a half. And that's just when I started moving on. Do you know anyone that looks up to you? I doubt it. Which one of your friends is always serious? I don't think any qualify for that. Are there any people in your life that you wish you never met? Yeah. Do people think you’re a bad person? Probably someone. Do they also think that you’re a slut? I don't see how a single person could think that. Are you with the last person you kissed? Yes. Have you ever been punched? No. How many people do you know that have been to jail? Multiple. Three off the very top of my head. Do you know anyone that sells drugs? I don't think so? Do you know anyone that does drugs? Yes. Do you care about what’s happening in other countries? Well yeah. I care about the world being a good, safe place. Do you think you have a pretty good reputation? I guess, at least as far as being a decent person goes. Meanwhile, I'm sure my rep as being a proper adult and such is shit. Where do you see yourself in 25 years? I don't want to think of that. You’re at a bar, you witness a man drugging some girls drink. What do you do? I'm not even REMOTELY kidding, I'm knocking the fucker OUT, calling the cops, and of course telling the girl. Fuck that guy getting out of that without a black eye. Who is more attractive, someone who is edgy or preppy? I could never, ever be attracted to a preppy person, so guess. I wouldn't want an excessively edgy person either, but I'm NOT into the preppy jazz. Short term dating, or long relationship? I've always been about long-term relationships. Kids? How many? Why? Names? Boy or girl? *Bugs Bunny "no" meme* Ever play that game MASHO?? "I’ve played MASH. I don’t know if MASHO is similar or something different entirely." <<< Same. A sad child, skinny and underfed, approaches you. What do you do? Obviously ask them what's up if they approach me, and from there, it would depend on what they tell me. I'd most likely call the cops first about a child like that because I wouldn't know the appropriate place to actually call; if the kid is underfed to an obvious degree, odds are I shouldn't find their parents first. I'd think it wiser to get some kind of officer to do so and determine if that child should even be with those people for their own good. What happens after death? I hope some kind of peace, but who really knows. Would you cheat on your BF/GF if you knew they would never know? No??????? Because I would know?????????????? And I have a conscience???????????????????????? Do you think there will ever be peace on earth? Why or why not? No. People as a whole can't get along and too many find violence to be the ultimate solution to big problems. Favorite childhood story growing up? I remember I particularly liked Stellaluna because of the drawings, and I enjoyed the actual story of Chrysanthemum. Worst way to die? Why? Some form of slow torture, I'm sure. Because if you've gotta die, make it quick. And humane. What were you in school? Jock, nerd, prep etc… I was recognized as an emo/metalhead thing. Did you ever eat playdoh at a child? I don't think so. Your dreams tend to be? As of the late, violent, at least those that I remember... I wake up attacking the air a lot. Describe your aesthetic? A quiet pastel bunny and a furious but awkward gothic demon are aggressively fucking 24/7 while trying to decide who's top and who's bottom. Do you believe in the afterlife? I believe in something. What book have you re-read so many times that the cover is completely worn? None. Are you a morning person or a night person? I'm in a brighter mood in the morning. Who do you most admire? There're multiple people I look up to for different things. But as for most, yeah, probably Mark. What is your favorite thrift/antique shop find? I love this shipwreck lamp that I have. What is the most incredible place in nature you’ve visited? The mountains. What is your greatest achievement? Still being alive lmao. Is something expensive better than something made with love? Almost never. What do you think of stealing? Uh, don't do it??????? If you could be told when you were going to die, would you want to know? NO. What would you do in case of the zombie apocalypse? Die very early on lmao. Okay but realistically, I'd want to climb somewhere. I'm going to assume a zombie can't figure out ladders 'n shit. What have you learned from pain? You yourself play a big part in making things better. Are you more worried about doing things right or doing the right thing? Doing the right thing. What’s something you know you do differently than most people? Eat biscuits like a fucking caveman by separating parts and eating each individually lol. Would you ever adopt a child? If I actually wanted a kid, yeah. If you could make anything glow in the dark, what would it be? *shrugs* Could you ever picture someone writing a biography about you? Hell no, my life's uneventful as could be.

[hollenka99]

New York

Summary: Jameson moves away from home, meets new people who will play important roles in his life and starts a company with his brother. Chapter 1.

September 24, 1906 Dear Mother,

Clifford and I have arrived safely in New York. Our accommodation is a small and we have taken to alternating whose turn it is to sleep on the floor. Fear not, I am sure we will earn enough soon to pay for a better apartment. However, for now, our arrangement will suffice.

Manhattan itself has made a decent first impression on me. There are a number of theatres within walking distance of our apartment. Cliff is interested in auditioning for some roles once they are advertised. Carnegie Hall is near us too. Do you remember me telling you about it before we left? It certainly has a reputation. Neither of us has the ability to perform there.

How are things in Saint John without us? I hope you are not too lonely with only Pearl at home to keep you company. We both miss all of you.

Yours, Jameson

October 9, 1906 Dear Mother,

We have become successful in securing ourselves jobs. I have become a proof reader while Clifford is being paid as an actor. With our salaries combined, we can bring home up to $45 a week. That isn't a bad amount, if I must say. Of course, that is the best case scenario. Cliff's contributions will be inconsistent. I don't wish to be the sole financial provider but I will if I must. Although, I must admit the thought of it is fairly stressful.

I have heard from Cliff that you scolded him for our sleeping arrangement. Please do not treat him as if he is forcing me into this situation. I was the one who suggested it. Furthermore, lying on my back has never caused me to asphyxiate before. I highly doubt I will begin being affected by it any time soon.

I promise you, I am healthy. You can be reassured that I trust my brother with my life. Clifford has never done anything with the intent of harming me. He will not risk my health nor my safety, especially not in an attempt to be at an advantage. There is no need to fret over this.

Yours, Jameson

December 26, 1906 Dear all,

I hope you have enjoyed Christmas together. It was odd to be away from you this year as well as a shame we could not visit. Unfortunately, money is short for us as of right now. If all goes well, we may be able to celebrate together again next December.

Despite this, we were not lonely. Of course, we had each other. However, we did invite two friends of ours to share our pitifully small spread. It was a night full of riveting conversations and laughter. I enjoyed getting to know our friends better. One of them teaches piano to the local children. If I invite her to celebrate Christmas in the future, I should ensure there is a piano for her to play. It will certainly make the long nights pass quickly if there is music for us to sing to. I myself may not sing but I'm sure there is a carol or hymn that requires a duet. I could always assist with the chords while she plays the melody.

The funniest coincidence occurred yesterday. Cliff and I have both been interested in purchasing a Brownie from Eastman Kodak. At $1 a camera and $2 for development, I'd say one of those cameras would be a decent investment. The two of us both agreed we'd save up, prioritising essentials such as food and rent, then we would discuss buying one to share. I will confess that I suffered impatience. I may have bought the camera for Christmas. So, it would seem, did Cliff. As consequence, we appear to be in a situation where we have gifted the exact same present to each other. It was a humourous beginning to the day.

I can hardly take 117 photographs in the space of 24 hours. Once I have become familiar with the device, I may choose to include some photographs in my letters. I doubt the elements will be kind to them but unfortunately, I do not have another choice but to expose them to potential damage.

Hoping this coming year treats us all favourably, Jameson

December 28, 1906 Dearest Siobhan,

I would hate for you to be lonely as we greet the new year. Clifford and I would be more than happy to have you celebrate with us. Please consider joining us on Monday night.

Yours, Jameson

March 11, 1907 Dear Jameson,

I have a query that has been on my mind for the past couple weeks. I hope I am not overstepping any boundaries by asking you for the answer. If I am, I apologize and will not bring the subject up again. I am simply curious as to how your muteness developed. You are clearly not hard of hearing as you understand everything I say to you in person. For that reason, my intrigue into you condition has grown. This is not something you are able explain to me with your hands. It seems too complex for that.

On an entirely unrelated matter, would yourself and Clifford be interested in joining me next Sunday for drinks? You told me you were half Irish on your father's side. If you would like to consider celebrating that heritage, I would be more than happy to host the two of you.

Please, do not feel obliged to answer my question if it makes you uncomfortable. That would be the last thing I would want.

Sincerely yours, Siobhan

March 14, 1907 Dearest Siobhan,

You would be correct in your belief that I am not able to explain my condition through American sign language. Do not worry about offending me. I was planning to tell you this story regardless, only at a later date.

Years ago, when I was a boy of nine, I found myself suffering from a malfunctioning thyroid. The doctors suggested surgery to treat me. Unfortunately, they must have made a mistake as I woke to part of my vocal cords being paralysed. The condition is known as vocal fold paresis or, if you really want to sound sophisticated, recurrent laryngeal nerve paralysis. While I am physically able speak aloud, it is difficult. I found it easier to speak through sign. My family learned ASL alongside me.

What I was not aware of was that vocal cords also contribute to breathing. You can imagine the physical education lessons in high school I had to endure. You should not worry yourself after receiving this letter. The extent this affects me is not great. I simply have to be vigilant when exercising and eating. If you are present when I accidentally choke on a meal, by all means help me. Otherwise, please don't act like I will meet my doom at any second. My mother still does at times and it is unbelievably frustrating to convince her I am fine.

I hope this was informative and answered any queries you may have had.

Patiently awaiting those drinks, Jameson

April 15, 1907 Dear Jameson,

While I do appreciate the poems slipped into my mail, if you send me any more, you may actually succeed in making me blush. You're lucky Lent ended two weeks ago. You should know better than to tempt those you care for with such sweet things. The next thing you know, you'll have enough to compile into an anthology.

Ever yours, Siobhan

May 23, 1907 Jameson,

You must tell me what you think of Elizabeth. Lord knows your brother won't tell me. He barely knows her, he can't after only a handful of months. How long have you lived in New York now? I think it may be seven or eight months. That is not enough time to truly get to know someone. Especially when you are planning to spend the rest of your life with them. Marriage is not to be taken lightly. Clifford clearly does not understand that.

Mark my words, he will regret his decision. I will only attend the ceremony because I can see you again after all these months. I am surprised you are not angered by this. After all, you are the one who pays for everything. How much do you actually earn a week? $20? You can just about to afford to live on that. You can't, however, afford to live on $20 and pay for a wedding. Are you not irritated by this? You should be, Jameson.

In other news, it should only be a few days before you become an uncle. I, for one, am delighted to become a grandmother. Harvey has made me promise to stay by Edith's side while he works. As if I wouldn't do so anyway. Even if a midwife cannot arrive quickly, I know how to help her. It is difficult not to have some knowledge after delivering five children myself. She is in safe hands. I suppose you will be able to meet the child at the wedding.

You have my love, Your mother.

May 31, 1907 Dear Cliff and Jem,

I have good news to bring you. Yesterday, Edith safely delivered a girl. Both she and our daughter appear to be recovering well. We have chosen to name her Dorothy. I hope you visit Saint John soon so you both may meet her. As to be expected, our mother is fawning over her first grandchild. I will not deny that her help is welcome.

Additionally, congratulations to you, Clifford, on your engagement to Elizabeth. Myself and Edith are looking forward to the wedding. We wish the two of you a long happy life spent by each other's side.

Wishing you well, Harvey

June 8, 1907 Dear Mother,

Unfortunately, I am not responsible for Cliff's actions. He appears to genuinely care for his 'Lizzy-Beth'. If things end poorly, I have no way of changing it. I understand your 'let him repent at leisure' sentiment. That said, he is an adult now. I don't feel I am in the position to tell him what he can and cannot do.

Elizabeth herself is a respectful woman. She is a teacher so I assume she is intelligent. You mustn't forget she agreed to marry a man she has only known since November. There are always at least two parties involved in an engagement. If the marriage does not last, they can regret their haste with equal responsibility for getting married in the first place.

Either way, the truth of the matter is that Cliff is getting married regardless of our opinions. We must learn to tolerate that reality. At least he will be able to point to whereabouts he made his mistake.

Yours, Jameson

July 2, 1907 Dear Mother,

With Clifford preparing to marry Elizabeth, I am sure you wonder whether I have met somebody myself. I must confess I have indeed allowed myself to become a fool for a woman.

Her name is Siobhan O'Hara. You may remember me indirectly mentioning her during my Christmas letter. I met her last December when she was playing piano at a dance. I felt the need to compliment her musical skill. After that, I encouraged her to leave the music to someone else at the next dance she attended. For some unknown reason, she accepted my offer. In the months since, I have been teaching her how to sign and spending many spare hours in her company. We have already visited Central Park multiple times together.

You really should hear her play. She is so graceful it is as if an angel possesses her. In fact, her hair makes me wonder whether she is not one is disguise. She has been tutoring me, much like the local children who pay her. Perhaps I should demonstrate my improvement the next time I return home.

I am sure you will be able to meet Siobhan at Cliff's wedding. I have not properly discussed attendance with her yet but I doubt she will decline my offer. She is a friend of Cliff's too.

Yours, Jameson

July 23, 1907 Jem,

Thank you for the birthday present; I love it. Perhaps your gift for me next year can be understanding sarcasm.

Your angel, Siobhan

(P.S. With complete honesty, I do adore the compilation. I hope I am not mistaken in thinking I saw some new additions. I will have a thorough read when I next get the chance. Afterwards, I should prepare for your birthday. You are not the only one who can perform grand gestures.)

July 27, 1907 Jameson,

I certainly must meet this young woman. From your words, I can tell you are enamoured by her. I am happy you are finding joy in her company. I remember frequently meeting your father by the dockyard when we were young. They were simpler times. My biggest worry when I was your age was understanding your grandmother's accent.

My only advice is that you treat each other well and do not rush into anything. You are not yet 20 years old. You have decades of life ahead of you. You have time to be careful in your choices. If in time nothing changes for the two of you, I will be delighted to welcome her into the family.

Wishing you well, Your mother

November 1, 1907 Siobhan,

I know you have appointments today. I know I only saw you yesterday too. However, if you are able, would you spend time with me tonight? We don't have to converse. All I am really wishing for is some company. Normally, I would be surrounded by my mother and siblings, remembering our father. Cliff and I made do last year with only the two of us. Unfortunately, he is with Elizabeth tonight.

By all means, bring a candle for your mother. I think I may have a spare from last year you can use if you don't own one. We can watch the flames as we reflect in peace. Choose whichever option you prefer but I would rather not be alone this evening. That said, only come of your own volition. I don't wish to force you into dedicating your time to something you are not interested in.

Thank you for understanding, Jameson.

November 2, 1907 Dearest Siobhan,

Thank you for last night. I wasn't expecting to learn more about you when I invited you. I am sorry to hear your mother died the way she did. I know it runs through generations but perhaps there is hope neither you nor Michael will suffer the same way. There is that possibility, correct?

Even if you do become afflicted with the disease, know that I will be there to care for you until the end. That is my sincere promise to you. It does not matter to me how it affects you, I won't leave you in when you need me the most. Besides, you are nineteen and I have barely passed the threshold of my twenties. Should you be affected, we still have twenty or so years before the first symptoms make themselves known. A great deal can happen in twenty years.

I love you dearly, Siobhan. I simply wished to have someone beside me as I acknowledged another year without my father. After what you told me, I cannot go about my day without ensuring it is explicitly clear to you that I will be there for you always. So long as you will allow me, of course.

Thinking of you, Jameson

March 21, 1908 Dear all,

Cliff and I are proud to announce that Jackson Brothers Productions has officially been founded. The financial aspects of it are still yet to become stable. However, that won't stop us from doing our best to become respectable members of the film industry. At the moment, we are not concerned with securing the position of top dog. That can be worked on in a few years when we have established ourselves as filmmakers people want to see.

I will be the head writer and manage the money while Cliff directs. We will both act in our films. The plan is to start off slowly, working our way up. The script for our first short for the company is finished. Once it is released, we hope you will enjoy it.

Here's to realising dreams, Jameson

August 10, 1908 Dear Mother,

I visited the Statue of Liberty recently with Cliff, Elizabeth and Siobhan. Lady Liberty truly does look magnificent. I hear she stands at 93 metres tall. To reach her, you must travel by boat. It was a simple case of cycling to the harbour then boarding the vessel to Bedloe's Island.

As we walked around the statue, Siobhan told us about the first time she saw it. It was back in 1904, she was still on her boat to the city and suddenly she had a clear view of the Statue of Liberty. She explained it instilled a determination of sorts within her, motivating her to make her plans work. I knew beforehand that she arrived before us and was therefore younger but I never contemplated the fact she would have been sixteen. Even at 18, I felt slightly overwhelmed with only myself and Cliff when we first came to New York. I remember Pearl being upset she couldn't join us but she was 14 in 1906, barely out of school and only just old enough to work.

Siobhan became enthralled in her own story. She began switching topics as she went off on tangents, to the point where I was the only one listening to her. I can certainly relate to the initial financial worries. I am impressed that she was able to keep a level head during those early days. It also pleases me that she sees the statue as a source of inspiration like I do, if only in a different way.

I have been reflecting on the day. Something about Siobhan made me realise something new about how I feel for her. I am not sure whether she reciprocates. I will ponder more on it and make my final decision by the end of this year. Either way, I will ask her to accompany me on a trip to Saint John this Christmas. I met her father last month during his visit to New York as a way of celebrating her birthday. It is high time she met you all too.

Yours, Jameson

December 13, 1908 Dear Sir,

I wished to discuss some important plans I want to begin preparing for. It was a pleasure meeting you in July and a joy to witness how close your relationship with Siobhan is. I appreciate being received so warmly by you, especially as you were only intending to celebrate her birthday. I can tell Siobhan is such a kind and caring woman because of your influence.

I hope it was apparent that your daughter means the world to me. I intend to spend the rest of my life proving that to her. I would like to ask your daughter for her hand and I would be honored to have your blessing. Please, in the very least, consider it.

Yours faithfully, Jameson Jackson

December 16, 1908 Dearest Siobhan,

You don't need to fret about meeting my mother and siblings. You already know Cliff. They are just as easy to get along with.

My mother is a worrisome yet kind-hearted woman. Ever since my thyroid operation, she is constantly fretting about my health. You've known me for two years now, you can tell she does not need to worry so excessively about it. There was a period of a few months when I was 14 where we were greatly at odds. She was incredibly protective of me which only lead to irritability. In hindsight, I understand she was only paranoid that her sickly son was going to develop complications. After all, she lost her husband to health issues that declined into complications. I suppose we were all trying to figure out where we all stood after his death. On an unrelated tangent, I think the only fault she will find in you is your lack of sewing skills. She works as a seamstress from home. The only reason I am vaguely competent in mending clothes is the countless nights where I mutilated bits of material as peaceful entertainment. She made my sister-in-law's wedding dress a couple of years ago. No doubt, she has already offered to do the same for Mabel.

Harvey is seven years my senior and the eldest of us. He followed our father into the shipbuilding trade so with the long hours, it is possible he may not be present often while we are visiting. He and his wife Edith have a year old daughter named Dorothy. I haven't met her yet so I am quite excited to do so. If Harvey attempts to bore you with war stories, simply nod and pretend to listen. He acts as if his participation in the Boer War makes him more of a man than those who have never served. He was barely of age as it was. We all suspect he'll join the next big war, should there be one. As you can guess, we all hope that war never comes. There is also the hope that he will be sensible, now that he has a family to stay in Canada for.

Mabel, like our mother, is a seamstress. Occasionally, she will refer to me as an early birthday present. That was more when we were younger. Oddly, having birthdays so close together caused us to become close ourselves. I cannot really explain it. We were mutually enthusiastic about each other's birthdays approaching because it also meant our own were too. There was some distance as well because little boys can't always relate to girls who are 5 years older than them. Either way, the two of us have a good relationship and I know the two of you will hit it off easily. She recently got engaged so you are likely to see her again next year when we attend the wedding.

Last but not least, there is Pearl. I may be the youngest son but she is the true baby. She is still only 16 and I worry what kind of attention she is receiving from young men. I may do my best to be respectful but some schoolboys are more like Cliff was. Cliff never practised infidelity as far as I'm aware but he certainly had a number of girlfriends in short succession when he was about 17. I have no doubt Pearl can handle herself but I can't help but be apprehensive. As you know, I have moments where I am of a mischievous nature. It is uncertain whether Pearl encouraged that side of me to develop or I was the one to trigger it in her. I must confess, the youngest three of us caused our parents such a headache in our youth. It used to be only myself and Cliff who pretended to act out these childishly outrageous tales. Then Pearl arrived, became old enough to play with us and earn her place as our third partner in crime. She wants to find success with us in the film industry but I still feel she is a little too young. One day, perhaps. She would certainly be a useful asset.

This is the closest we have come to being a complete family again after Cliff and I left home. It is a shame he won't be able to come with us. I understand his priority is Elizabeth and being there for the birth. Let's hope next year things will be different.

I promise you will be fine, Jameson

January 14, 1909 Dear Jameson,

Have you bought the ring yet? After meeting Siobhan, I am eagerly anticipating your big news in a few weeks. St Valentine's Day cannot come soon enough. Did you have to tell us during Christmas? That is six weeks of waiting.

A new girl joined us at the factory a few months ago. She finished school only last year. Like me, she does not see the point of being educated on how to be the best wife and mother when our own mothers can teach us. I am not sure about her but I am the youngest in our family. Our mother has time to teach me. The only students she ever had were myself and Mabel.

I don't know how much longer I can keep waking early, work for the majority of the day and then help Mother with sewing. I use my hands too strenuously. A good night's sleep (if such a thing existed) does nothing to help them recover. I am telling you, Jem, I will become a cripple by my 20th birthday.

Speaking of birthdays, you should buy me a ticket for New York. You know full well I want to join you in your endeavours. Isn't New York where all the filmmakers are right now? Forget about the papers, I will deal with all that. I can find myself work in a factory or bakery once I get there too. Or perhaps I could stay in your apartment and work as a seamstress from home. You left me behind but I don't wish to stand for it any longer. Allow me to make the Jackson Brothers into a trinity.

I hope to hear back from you soon, Pearl

January 27, 1909 Pearl,

You must be patient. While I would love for you to help us create our films, a lot is happening right now. I don't have the time, energy or in fact the expertise to go into details. However, to put it simply, Thomas Edison is in the process of destroying the prospects of filmmakers like us. Last month, the Motion Pictures Patent Company was formed. In short, Edison is attempting to raise his chances of success by controlling the industry before it develops further.

As I'm sure you can guess, Clifford and I are not only stressed about our professional lives but our futures as creators as well. This has all occurred in the past month or two so where this will lead is undecided. Either way, Pearl, this is one of the worst times you could join us. I promise you it would not be worth it. On top of everything, Cliff has Clara to worry about now too.

Once my finances have recovered from the inevitably large expenses that come with a wedding and Cliff settles into fatherhood, we will figure out how to proceed. Don't worry, the timing may be bad now but, if all goes well, this will change.

Please give everyone my love. Jameson

February 15, 1909 Dear all,

More good news! I am officially engaged to Siobhan. We are both eager to start preparations as soon as we can. I doubt the wedding will happen this year. Personally, I would prefer to celebrate a marriage during the warmer half of the year. Knowing Siobhan, I feel she shares a similar preference.

With Clara being born last month and my engagement, this seems to be shaping up to becoming an eventful year. Perhaps this should be the year I visit Ireland. It may be difficult with all that is happening to smaller producers here. That said, I feel I owe it to Siobhan. She has visited Saint John but I am yet to set foot in her homeland.

I do wish to see Ireland for other personal reasons. After all, I was named after the grandfather we left behind. Do you remember Granny's stories about him? I have always been bothered by Britain starving the Irish until they had no choice but to flee. It broke families like ours apart and lead to some never meeting their posthumous children. I know our father wished he had met his own.

Well, I appear to have changed the mood of this letter rather quickly, haven't I? I certainly did not intend to diverge onto such a sad tangent. By all means, have a drink on my behalf. Although, I would not encourage doing so in front of your daughter, Harvey.

Wishing you the same happiness as mine, Jameson

February 21, 1909 Jameson,

How could you? You don't know how upset you have made us. You propose marriage to such a lovely girl and refuse to tell your mother and sisters the details.

You disappoint us, Whiskey Boy. You live in secrecy and drink to your victory over us. Mother is crying, insisting that she did not raise such a terrible son. You must rectify this wrongdoing immediately. We simply won't stand for it.

Congratulations on your engagement, Pearl

February 23, 1909 Dear Jameson,

Congratulations on your engagement. I will certainly be thrilled to attend with Edward.

I struggle to believe you are already preparing to get married. It didn't seem too long ago that you were convinced I was getting married when you saw Mother making my communion dress. You also kept delivering me sand and broken shells leading up the ceremony. I don't think Father Henry was too pleased with you. It didn't help that you wandered up to near the altar in your little suit. How young you must have been back then. You can't have been older than two or three. You were always as sweet of a little brother as you were happy.

I'm glad you have someone who allows you continue your happiness in adulthood. I recall Siobhan telling me you were rather sweet as her gentleman caller too. Anyone can see how well the two of you go together. I'm warning you now, Jem, don't you dare mess this up. Women like Siobhan won't find themselves in your life often. You lose her, you will never replace the joy she gives you.

I suggest we celebrate properly in July when you visit for my own wedding.

Your loving sister, Mabel

March 7, 1909 Dear Pearl,

You can tell Mother to dry her eyes because she has a daughter so overdramatic that she will certainly succeed in an acting career, should she choose to pursue one. I did not give details because there is not much to say. However, if you must know the course of events, I will happily tell you them.

I invited Siobhan to accompany me for an evening stroll around Central Park. We walked for a while before reaching a place to rest for a moment. I asked her to marry me. She said yes. I chose not to sign during that moment. While she greatly appreciated the gesture, I can tell you my throat did not. That is purely the extent of the proposal. Forgive me for not boring you with the tale beforehand.

In all sincerity, if I have genuinely caused any of you to cry, I hope they are from joy. I have found a new source of optimism. My future is beginning to stretch out before me and I have every hope that it will be good.

Yours, Jameson

September 28, 1909 Dear all,

The harbour is beautiful now. There are lights everywhere as the city celebrates the 300th anniversary of Henry Hudson's discovery of the river and the centenary of Robert Fulton's paddle steamers. To live so close to the river, I have been enjoying the decorations. We will also witness a number of parades while we celebrate history. It began on Saturday and will carry on until October 9th.

I have been a resident here for the past three years now. It struck me that there was so much I didn't know about this city's past. Perhaps I should read up on the subject and educate myself.

But, for now, I think I will invite Siobhan to gaze at the Statue of Liberty. It made me realise I wished to love her for the rest of my days. Something about Lady Liberty inspires me. I am sure she looks even more majestic when covered in lights, especially after dark. If the answer to the Edison problem is to move elsewhere, I will certainly miss that statue.

I am also reminded of Reversing Falls. I long for that place too. Perhaps one of you should visit it on my behalf. It is odd what will stay dear to you.

I suppose I will leave you with that thought.

Yours, Jameson

November 1, 1909 Dearest Siobhan,

Thank you for the hat. I've never worn one of this style before. The men in my family were always more of the flat cap type. I have been inspecting myself in the mirror whilst wearing it. I feel a bowler hat suits me. It might give the illusion I am of a higher social standing than in reality. And with this facial hair that's growing due to negligence, I might see if a moustache suits me as well. If I can get the look right, I might have a character brewing.

Thank you again for the birthday present and the potential inspiration. If you do not appreciate the moustache, I can always be clean shaven during the wedding.

Yours always, Jameson

April 21st 1910 GROOM FULL NAME: Jameson Albert Samuel Jackson AGE: 22 RESIDENCE: West 42nd Street, Manhattan NUMBER OF MARRIAGE: First OCCUPATION: Proof-reader BIRTH PLACE: Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada NAME OF FATHER: William (Deceased) MAIDEN NAME OF MOTHER: Florence Hilliard

BRIDE FULL NAME: Siobhan Maria O'Hara AGE: 21 RESIDENCE: West 52nd Street, Manhattan NUMBER OF MARRIAGE: First OCCUPATION: Pianist BIRTH PLACE: Limerick, Ireland NAME OF FATHER: Jacob MAIDEN NAME OF MOTHER: Eileen Kelly (Deceased)

[eryiss]

Gambler’s Luck: Chapter Fifteen

Summary: A drunken night at a bar; that’s how it always starts. A few shots, some self loathing and a decision you would never make when sober. But for Laxus Dreyar, the morning after doesn’t include regret, copious amounts of aspirin and a stranger in his bed. For he only made one drunken decision, becoming the personal driver for professional gambler - Freed Justine. [Fraxus Multi-Chap]

You can read it on FanFiction, Archive of Our Own or under the cut. You can also catch up using the chapter list here. Hope you enjoy ^.^

Chapter Fifteen – The Masquerade

From: Freed

Hi. I should be outside of your apartment in a few minutes, just so you're not taken unaware. I've also got more than one mask with me, so you have some choice over the matter. I'll see you in a few minutes.

Drawing his eyes away from his mirror, Laxus pulled his phone from his back pocket and quickly read through the text he'd received. He had been standing in his bathroom after adorning his suit – a blue and black three-piece fit with a chain on the waistcoat – combing his hair and covering it with enough hairspray to keep it slicked back throughout the night. Looking at himself in the formalwear that, just months prior, he wouldn't have been able to afford gave him a slight lift in mood; a relief, since he hadn't been able to distract himself from the earlier events of the day since he'd arrived home at his apartment.

After leaving Cana in the rain, which he felt guilty about despite knowing she wouldn't take it personally, he'd walked around for a while as he stewed in his anger. Eventually, he'd returned home to shower and ready himself for the party. Despite managing to make himself look as though his day had been normal, his mind had constantly flickered back to his mother.

Silently scolding himself, he unlocked his phone and went to reply to the message. He'd promised himself that, form this point, he wasn't going to let his mother affect his life like she had before, he wasn't breaking that promise.

To: Freed

Ok. Can you come to the door instead of using the horn. Upstairs neighbour doesn't like me and probably would use it to get me kicked out or some crap. Thanks.

From: Freed

Of course.

Laxus pocketed his phone again and took a final glance at the mirror. He fixed the single hair that was out of place, covering it with hairspray for a final time before leaving his bathroom. He slowly began to walk around his living area as he waited, the sound of his new shoes squeaking slightly the only thing filling the room. He glanced out of his window to see that, thankfully, the earlier rain had died down; he didn't have a coat that he deemed as suit appropriate.

With a small sigh, Laxus thought about how the evening could go. He hadn't told Freed about his plans to meet with his mother, thinking it would overcomplicate matters. This, in turn, meant he hadn't told Freed his mother had not shown up. Laxus didn't know if he could make it seem as though he was fine throughout the whole party. He hoped that he could, Freed had invited him in good faith and probably didn't want his crappy mood brining it down. If he had to hold up some kind of façade, then he would try his best to do so.

He eventually decided that pacing around his living room wasn't a good way to pass the time as he waited for Freed, so sat down and absently scrolled through his phone. He tried to ignore the deafening silence of his empty apartment, which seemed to taunt him as it became harder to distract himself from the events earlier in the day.

Thankfully, just as the silence began to wear away at his resolve, a sharp knock came from the door.

The blonde was on his feet a moment later. He quickly unchained and unlocked the door, opening it

to see Freed standing before him holding a large wooden box and wearing a suit. A pretty sharp looking suit too; it was entirely black, expensive looking and completed with a bow tie. Laxus also noticed that Freed had his hair tied up in a high ponytail, in the same way that it had been in the morning they had shared together. Laxus wondered if his awkward compliment had anything to do with that. Whether or not that was true, it was undeniable that formalwear was an incredibly good look on Freed.

He realised after a moment that he was probably staring at Freed, so quickly stood to the side and motioned for Freed to come in. He hoped that the slight warmth he could feel in his cheeks wasn't visible; Freed didn't mention anything if it was.

"Evening," Laxus greeted, closing the door behind Freed.

"Good evening," Freed smiled, walking further into the blonde's apartment. He placed the large box on the kitchen counter, carefully unlatching it. "I thought it would be easier for you to decide on a mask here rather than in the car. That's okay isn't it?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Laxus nodded, walking towards the box he assumed the masks were in. "Is there one you want specifically?"

"No, mines in the car," Freed smiled a little. "Pick whichever you prefer."

When Freed opened the box, Laxus was presented with three masks of varying designs. The left most one was, Laxus expected, the most traditional as it was made up of a black fabric with a small pattern etched into it. The middle was the most intricate, with a neatly painted design covering it made to look like it was flaking slightly but covered in elegant swirls. The right was the most interesting, made from a metal with multiple intricate carvings and sharp edges.

Laxus looked over them all. His hand reached out to the simple looking one, but he stopped. Yes, it was probably the lightest and would be the easiest to deal with, but he just didn't feel it. His eyes kept flickering to the right most one, which he realised was the one he wanted to wear. He was making decisions on what he wanted now, why should this choice be any different.

Leaning forward, he carefully picked up the angular mask. It wasn't as heavy, or as cool, as he had expected, but it was defiantly made of metal. He carefully placed the mask against his face, noting that it seemed to fit the structure of his face well. He smiled a little, lowering it and looking to Freed.

"This one okay?" He asked, nodding to the mask.

"Of course," Freed nodded. "Actually, I picked that one specifically because I thought you'd like it. I'm glad that you do."

Laxus offered a small smile and a nod, keeping hold of the mask. "The car's outside, right? We should probably leave pretty soon, wouldn't be shocked if asshole kids upstairs noticed you leave and they're already trying to rip of the tires off to sell."

Freed let out a single laugh but nodded, closing the box of masks with a small smile. At the time of purchase, he hadn't been sure about the mask Laxus had chosen. The store claimed it had been kept in storage and hardly ever been used because of its non-conventional design, so he felt relieved that his assessment of it being representative of Laxus' personality had been proven true. It also, from the few moments it had been held against Laxus' face, seemed to highlight mans face in a way that was highly complementary, which Freed wouldn't complain about.

Soon, the two men left the apartment building and walked onto the rain-soaked pathway, which was slowly starting to dry. Parked outside the building was a car that Laxus had never seen before. Freed had insisted that this was Laxus' night off and that he should not have to drive, so he had hired a driver – and a car, it seemed – to take them to and from the party.

Although it wasn't greatly illuminated by the dingy streetlamps, Laxus identified the brand of cars immediately. It was a Rolls Royce. A luxury, brand new Rolls Royce limo. Outside of his shitty apartment building, waiting for him, was a car synonamous with luxury and wealth.

"Fuck," Laxus whispered, turning to Freed. "How much did this-"

"Don't worry about it," Freed cut him off, watching as the chauffeur left the driver's seat and opened the door for them. "I promised for this to be an enjoyable night to distract you, and I'm a man of my word if nothing else."

He walked towards the open door, nodding to the driver as he climbed in. Laxus followed and let out a small thanks, which the driver nodded back to. The blonde found himself in a weird middle ground where half of him was focused on the fact that, financially speaking, he was massively out of his depth and felt as though he didn't belong. The other half of his mind told him that he should have turned back to the window of his neighbour's apartment and stuck his middle finger at the old woman who constantly invaded his business and had a sense of antagonising superiority. Getting into a car like this would wipe the sneer of her wrinkled old face.

But he didn't, instead getting into the back of the car. Again, he did a double take, the interior was just as luxurious. The seats were large, upholstered with white leather. Dividing the back seats from the driver was practically a wall, with a closed drinks cabinet below a large TV screen which presented the words 'Blue Pegasus Automobiles.' Laxus hesitantly sat down, as if expecting he'd disrupt the car in some way.

"You needn't look so worried," Freed chuckled a little. "Just enjoy yourself."

"Sorry, just a culture shock," Laxus smiled a little sheepishly. "I mean I knew you had money, but this just feels like… it feels like another level."

"Perhaps if I brought the car. But hiring it for the night isn't nearly as expensive as you'd think," Freed assured him, not seeing any point in telling Laxus that he'd called in a favour from a friend to get one of the most luxurious models at a heavily discounted price. Instead, he leaned forward and opened the small drinks cabinet. "Something to calm your nerves?"

"Yeah, thanks," Laxus chuckled a little. He saw some scotch – some luxury damn scotch no less – and nodded when Freed motioned to it. "On ice, if there's any of it."

Freed nodded and shifted, revealing to Laxus a small bucket and some glasses. As Freed poured them both drinks, Laxus leant back and took in his surroundings. This was the difference between the life with his mother and his life now. If he had continued to live under his parents' shadow, he would probably be distracting himself from any problems in Mira's bar with an overabundance of alcohol. But he wasn't, he was going to the party of the elite in a car he would have never dreamed about entering months before. He was better than his past self, this encapsulated it, and Freed had a pretty big part to play in it.

The luxury itself wasn't Laxus' main focus. It was the consideration. Freed didn't have to invite him as a guest, but thought it would help Laxus, so he did. He could have let Laxus drive their normal car, but he wanted him to enjoy the night as much as possible so hired a driver and a different car. Laxus would have been happy with any mask, but Freed had not only given him choice, but picked one specifically for him.

His parents wouldn't have put that much consideration into anything. They wouldn't have fucking shown up.

"Here," Freed's voice cut across Laxus' train of thought before he could truly become angry again. He was holding out a glass of scotch with a small frown; obviously Laxus' face had shown at least a little of what he had been feeling.

"Thanks," Laxus forced a small smile as he took the drink.

Freed hadn't said anything despite the small amount of concern on his face, which Laxus was appreciative of. They both took a sip of their respective drinks, Laxus placing his glass in the holders that separated their chairs. He buckled himself in after noticing Freed had done the same, leaning back and trying to get his focus back on the fantastic car, rather than the issues with his parents. He could keep the façade up for a night, that was all he needed.

Through the cars speakers, the driver's voice asked if they were both ready to depart. After raising an eyebrow at Laxus, who nodded, Freed pressed a button on the armrest and said that they were. A small red light beside the button Freed was pressing – Laxus assumed it meant the driver could hear them when lit – went out and the car began to move.

"You ever wish you could have a driver like that," Laxus asked with mirth in his voice, trying to assure Freed he was fine without broaching the topic. "Open the door for you and ask when you're ready, you're missing out on all that crap."

"Perhaps," Freed said with a small grin. "But the people who get all that crap miss out on the joys that come with being driven around by a mongrel."

"Mongrel?" Laxus raised an eyebrow, genuine amusement forming on his face. "That what you see me as?"

"You've certainly got the scruff for it," Freed's voice showed how obviously teasing he was. "I would have thought you could comb your hair at least for today."

Laxus frowned. He knew Freed wasn't being serious but, given the time he had spent making sure his hair was entirely slicked back, he shouldn't have offered him anything to tease about with his hair. When he pulled out his phone and checked his reflection, he saw that the small amount of hair that had gotten out of place before had returned, much to the blonde's annoyance. He moved his hand to fix it, but Freed stopped him by gently catching his hand before he could reach his head.

"Don't," Freed spoke almost softly. "There's a charm to having it like that."

With a small nod that was probably too curt, Laxus was almost sure that he was blushing. Not only had Freed complimented him but feeling Freed's hand on his own was a new experience that Laxus wasn't averse to. He was sure that it had happened before, it must have, but it felt different. Maybe because, at least for the evening, they weren't employee and employer. They were friends.

Soon, the car fell into a comfortable silence. It seemed Laxus had achieved what he wanted in diverting the evening away from his issues, and they were both happy to listen to the gentle music playing. Laxus couldn't identify it, but it was a pleasant enough instrumental that gave the drive a relaxing atmosphere that Laxus was thankful for.

The ride to the library lasted a short while. It was in the lavish city centre that housed the tourist attractions and the most elite members of society, whereas Laxus lived on the fringe of Magnolia which was significantly less extravagant in looks. As the car travelled through the streets he was more familiar with, Laxus half felt as though they were attracting the attention of anyone who saw them. He supposed he should have expected that kind of reaction; the car did stick out compared to the second hand, older models that mainly populated outer Magnolia.

Slowly, the library came into view. Multiple luxury cars, well dressed people and even the odd photographer could be seen outside the doors. Laxus suddenly felt out of his comfort zone again, but Freed chuckled a little.

"Ignore the photographers. They won't care about us when there's celebrities and politicians around," Freed assured him. "And if they do take a liking to you, it's not as if you could be identified."

Laxus smiled a little, suddenly aware of the mask that was resting on his thigh. It reassured him slightly; he didn't need to worry about being out of his depth or not fitting in. He wasn't restrained by who he was – not by his crappy apartment, his lack of a designer suit, or by his shitty parents. For the night, he was a guest of Magnolia's elite and had as much right as anyone else to be there and enjoy himself.

When he looked up, he caught Freed carefully removing his hand from his head. Now covering the top half of his face was an intricate mask, also made of metal with multiple detailed and elegant looking carvings. It was a little smaller than the one Laxus had picked out but seemed to fit with Freed's image perfectly.

Freed really was a damn handsome man.

Before Laxus could be caught thinking of his praises, however, he picked the golden looking mask up and looked at it. It had two long pieces of silk coming from the side, obviously used to tie the mask in place. He carefully lifted it to his face, frowning a little as he wondered how he would keep it in place as he tied it.

"Would you like me to do it?" Freed offered, as if hearing Laxus' thoughts.

"Yeah, thanks," Laxus nodded a little.

He shifted in his seat, so his back was to Freed, keeping the mask against his face in a way that was comfortable and hindered his sight as little as possible. He soon heard a slight shifting from behind him and felt the gentle tugging of the ribbon as the mask was tied behind him.

As Freed began to carefully tie the silk into a tight bow, he noticed that Laxus' shoulders were hunched up slightly. There hadn't been a shift in his posture when Freed had leant over, so the action of tying the mask hadn't caused it. Obviously, Laxus was tense for some reason, and Freed just hoped that he would get more comfortable as the night went on. The night was meant to act as a break from stress, after all.

The car soon pulled to a stop, the driver exiting it and opening the door for them. Freed left first, nodding to the driver and slipping him some money with the assurance he would be contacted when they wanted to return home. Laxus shifted to the open door, where he saw Freed offering him a hand to help him out. With a small frown, he took Freed's hand and left the vehicle.

Freed had a pretty strong grasp. Laxus half expected it to be more delicate, but he wasn't disappointed by the revelation. In fact, he found himself rather pleased, for whatever reason.

The two masked men walked up the marble steps of the Grand Magnolia Library. As Freed had said, the few photographers present were occupied by people they saw as more important – Laxus could have sworn he recognised the young woman with silvery blue hair in a short bob that three members of press were fawning over from some pretty decent TV dramas. They were soon at the entrance of the building, where Freed pulled out two small cards from his jacket pocket and showed them to the bouncer, who moved aside to let them both in; Laxus nodded to him in a silent greeting as he walked inside.

Already, the room was filled with masked people in expensive clothing. Intermingled with them was a mask-less waiting staff, walking around with trays of drinks and food. There was a constant sound of talking, although Laxus laid eyes on a small band in the corner of the room, playing a cover of some popular song in a jazz style. In was an intimidating sight, but Laxus didn't exactly feel out of place, which he hadn't expected.

"Champagne for the two of you, sirs?" A waiter said as he approached, holding a tray of filled glasses.

"Thank you," Freed smiled, reaching up and taking a glass. Laxus followed his lead and took one as well.

"Thanks," He nodded, voice gruffer than he had wanted.

At this, the waiter nodded and walked away, going to greet someone else who had walked in. Freed guided them away from the doors and further into the library. Now out of what would be the reception area on a normal day, they walked to a less crowded wing, the calmer atmosphere of the new room welcomed by the blonde.

The ceilings were high and housed multiple lavish, identical chandeliers which illuminated the room perfectly. The walls were covered by bookshelves, each filled with leather bound books that were immaculately kept. Perfectly carved pillars were illuminated by spotlights to highlight them, and a small metal balcony hung half way up the wall, so all books could be accessed if someone needed to use them. In the middle of the room, multiple circular tables that were immaculately dressed covered the carpet. It was pretty damn impressive, to say the least.

"Damn," Laxus mumbled under his breath, taking a sip of his champagne. He then looked to Freed with a small grin. "Kinda different to the libraries I grew up with. Was half expecting the band to be shushed by some middle aged with glasses on a chain."

"Who somehow manage to wear a faded pink cardigan without it hindering her authority, I assume," Freed smiled. Laxus nodded, grin widening. "I'm sure, if we came back tomorrow, we could find someone like that without much trouble."

"Probably pissed that someone was eating near the books," Laxus smirked, Freed nodding with a smile. "D'you know if there's a specific time we have to eat?"

"I don't think so. Apparently, the organisers went in favour of a gourmet buffet instead of a traditional mean," Freed explained, walking further into the room. "I imagine that, later in the night, it'll be opened, and you'll be able to get something whenever you want."

"Okay," Laxus nodded. "Would have thought that the people who come to parties like this would wanna be waited on hand and foot, though."

"I think it's meant to be fashionable," Freed chuckled a little.

Laxus smiled at the comment, which seemed to be a joke at the expense of the pretentious rich people and their obsession with trends. The blonde was glad to hear that Freed also had more of an outsider view when it came to rich people, despite the fact he was one himself. Although Laxus knew Freed wasn't going to suddenly start looking down on him, he had a small amount of concern that Freed would change a little for the night to fit in with the crowd. He was glad to have that doubt put to rest.

"Although, it's a good decision. I've been to parties like this before and a three-course meal equates to three bites of pretentious and underwhelming food," Freed smiled a little as he continued. "The first time I came to one, I ended up leaving early and going to a little pizza place. The food there was actually quite an improvement."

With a chuckle, Laxus nodded and absently imagined a younger Freed, dressed in a stupidly expensive suit, eating some greasy monstrosity of a pizza in some dingy little store and sticking out like a sore thumb. It was a though that elected a single laugh out of the driver.

He shouldn't have doubted Freed, he realised. If Freed had proven himself to be anything, it was considerate. Whenever he'd called on Laxus' services as a driver, he made sure to give him a decent amount of time for Laxus to be prepared almost every time, and also tried not to interrupt any plans Laxus had previously set up. Even inviting him to this party was done because Freed was considerate. He should have known that Freed wasn't going to let him feel alienated or as if he didn't belong. He knew Freed was trustworthy enough to not do something like that.

Unlike his fucking mother, apparently.

The blonde silently scolded himself in his own mind. He'd managed to make it pretty far without her entering his mind, and he wasn't going to let her ruin it. He was with Freed, someone he actually could trust.

His attention was brought back into the room a moment later, when he realised that he had been looking at Freed throughout his short inner conflict. The other man had a small frown on his face, and Laxus expected he would have seen a small raised eyebrow of confusion if Freed's mask hadn't hidden it.

"Are you okay?" Freed asked, voice showing a small amount of concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Laxus assured him with a small smile. He could tell Freed doubted him, so quickly tried to change the topic of conversation. "Your, erm, your mask is a little uneven. Hold on."

Without thinking, Laxus reached forward and gently nudged the mask so it was completely straight; not that it was visibly uneven beforehand. After making sure it looked as good as he could get it, he retracted his hand slowly. He tried to ignore the fact his knuckles had unintentionally gently ran across Freed's cheek in an almost tender way, allowing him to feel both how soft his skin was and the impressive bone structure of Freed's face.

After he pulled back he knew he had a small blush, and he found himself wishing he had been given the option to wear a mask that hid his now reddened cheeks.

Both men were silent for a few moments. Laxus turned away slightly, not wanting to show Freed his blush if he could avoid it. He wasn't sure if Freed had even noticed the small amount of contact, and didn't want to find out; at least if he wasn't sure, he would be able to convince himself Freed hadn't felt anything. He took another sip of his champagne, hoping to think of something that would restart their conversation again. Thankfully, that burden was taken away from him.

"Freed?"

Both men heard a female voice come from behind them, making them turn. They saw a blonde woman in an extravagant looking dress approach them. She smiled when she saw it was, indeed, Freed.

"Oh thank god, it is you," The blonde continued. "These businessmen are so tedious. I thought you weren't coming to these things anymore."

Laxus watched as the woman took Freed into a hug, which was reciprocated. The woman was wearing a mask made of intricate patterns of metal that resembled flowers, intersplices with blue gemstones. She smiled as she pulled away, eyes straying towards Laxus.

"I thought this one might not be so detestable," Freed explained, before seeing the two blondes look at each other. "Oh, my apologies. Lucy, this is Laxus, my friend and, of course, guest for the evening. Laxus, this is Lucy Heartfilia. She's an author, but we really know each other from coming to these kinds of events and only talking to each other."

Lucy smiled at Laxus and offered him a hand to shake. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too," Laxus nodded, shaking her hand. Her grip wasn't as delicate as he expected, which made him think back to when Freed had helped him out of the car. The dying blush resurfaced a little, but he tried not to fell put off by it. Instead, he continued speaking. "So, an author? Anything I might have heard of."

"Maybe," Lucy smiled again. "I go by the name L.C. Heartfilia. But the most recent one was called 'Compositional Being', it was pretty popular."

Laxus thought for a moment. The name was familiar to him, as was the title of the book. He frowned, before he remembered that the crappy morning show that he listened to on the radio when he was still driving the garbage truck once reviewed it. Pretty positively, too.

"That's the one people were obsessed with a couple months back?"

"Probably," Lucy said, seemingly a little embarrassed. "Did you happen to read it?"

"No," Laxus didn't hesitate in his answer.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Freed let out a small snort. He happened to be taking a sip from his champagne at that time, meaning the sudden exhale shot the alcohol around his glass. Laxus half wished he could have seen it directly, because it would have been pretty fucking funny. Instead, he kept looking at the blonde woman, who was actually smiling a little more.

"Thank god," She sighed, making Laxus frown. "I mean, I know officially I should be offended or whatever, but pretty much everyone I've spoken to have been making it out like it's the next great novel and that it'll change the world, when we both know it won't. And the people who haven't read it are pretending that they have and it's just really awkward. So, it's nice someone hasn't got the note to treat me like I'm some sensitive five-year-old."

"Glad I can help?" Laxus replied, as it was the only thing he could think of saying.

Freed, who had evidently recovered form his near miss of having expensive alcohol up his nose, placed his empty glass on the table they were standing by. He didn't say anything, but he was glad that Lucy saw Laxus in the same way that he did: a welcome break from the pretention and stupidity of the people their class were forced to socialise with.

"I heard a rumour that it would be turned into a movie," Freed said, re-joining the conversation. "Is there any truth to that?"

"Yeah, actually," Lucy smiled again. "And the director wants me to be a pretty big part of it. Say's I get the final say on the script and I get to help with the casting. We picked the lead last week, actually. Yukino Agria, do you know her?"

"Yes. Is she here tonight? I think we might have walked past her when we came in," Freed frowned a little, and Laxus thought back to the woman with silvery blue hair from before.

"She is. You can meet her if you like, she's actually pretty down to earth. You'd like her."

Freed frowned a little. He had planned to spend the evening with Laxus – he was the reason Freed had decided to come, after all – and he doubted Laxus would enjoy talking to an actress for however long it would take. Freed himself had a passive interest in acting, but he would enjoy talking to Lucy more as she had been the reason these parties had been tolerable in the past. He slowly turned towards Laxus before answering.

"You wouldn't mind, would you?" He asked with a small amount of hesitancy.

Laxus took a few moments to realise that question was aimed at him, but he smiled when he did. This was further proof of Freed's thoughtfulness in relation to him. He probably assumed he wasn't interested in some actress he barely knew, which was a correct assumption, and was making sure Laxus would be okay if he went, despite not needing to. Freed really was a damn good guy.

Unlike some people- no! She was not ruining the evening.

"Nah, go ahead," Laxus assured him with a grin. "I'm not some kid, right? I can look after myself. Besides, if I get bored it seems like the only thing I need to do to fit in is suck up to any author I find and eat small amounts of food, right."

Lucy laughed at his assessment of the other party guests, and Freed smiled a little. "You're sure?"

"Positive. Go talk to people."

"Thanks," Freed smiled. "I'll try not to take too long."

Laxus nodded with a small grin. Lucy claimed that she enjoyed meeting Laxus and was soon directing Freed out of the wing they'd retreated to and towards the main hall of the party. Laxus watched with a small grin, before finishing his glass of champagne while finding amusement that Freed had assured him he wouldn't be left alone for too long. Considerate fuck.

Just before leaving the room, Freed looked over his shoulder with a small amount of concern. He'd noticed that Laxus had been a little vacant from time to time and wondered if something had happened. He felt guilty for leaving him, even if Laxus had assured him it was fine.

"You okay?" Lucy asked, noticing he'd stopped.

"I'm fine," Freed assured her. "But, if I get distracted for too long, could you sit with him please? He's not used to this, and I think maybe something's happened. He might appreciate the company."

"Yeah, of course," Lucy smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

The two of them started to walk again, Freed sending one final glance over his shoulder as he looked to Laxus with a frown. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, and he needed to make sure Laxus was feeling okay the moment he could get back to him. He just hoped Laxus could manage on his own for a short while.

~Later~

For what seemed like the tenth time in the last thirty minutes, Freed glanced over his shoulder. He looked towards his guest for the night, who was sitting at one of the heavily dressed tables. He was engaged in a conversation with Lucy, one that had commenced fifteen minutes prior. Freed couldn't begin to guess what the two strangers would have to talk about for that long of a time, but he was glad Laxus at least wasn't alone.

Freed's plan of keeping his conversation with Yukino short hadn't worked out as well as he wanted. He'd exchanged pleasantries and made general inquiries that an actress would expect, all of which hadn't lasted too long. But, once that conversation had ended, someone else dragged him into a new one.

The longer Freed was forced to leave Laxus, the worse he felt.

He had kept an eye on the blonde. Lucy had, true to her word, kept Laxus company in his absence and probably explained why he hadn't yet returned. Her being there had been the only thing making him conform to the social niceties instead of abruptly ending the conversation and walking away without a further word.

Thankfully, he expected he'd be able to get away from the endless stream of conversation soon. He was talking with the director of Lucy's movie – someone Freed expected had been sent over to him as it gave him an easy way out of conversation – who seemed quite relaxed and uncaring for the social rules of being at such a party, so probably wouldn't care for a conversation ending suddenly. Freed couldn't remember the man's name, but he had gaudy pink hair and was wearing an equally gaudy red suit.

"Sorry, kinda got off track," The director grinned a little sheepishly. "So, what d'you do then?"

"I gamble a little," Freed said, turning back towards the other man. "Although, sometimes I wonder if that's an accurate title considering there's practically no risk in me losing."

"So you're a challenge then?" The director grinned widely. "Bet I could kick your ass. What d'you play? Poker? I'm king at poker."

"Well, if that's true then I'd quite enjoy dethroning you some time," Freed smirked.

The director started to talk about how that certainly wouldn't happen, in a short but light-hearted tirade in which he explained he wouldn't lose to anyone. Seeing as he seemed to be getting lost in what he was saying and that the conversation didn't particularly need another person at that point, Freed took the chance to look over his shoulder again to make sure Laxus was okay.

Lucy wasn't talking to him anymore. She had been dragged away and, by the forced smile she wore, wasn't enjoying the conversation she was in. Still at the table, Laxus was now alone and looked a little lost for a moment, before trying to hide it. Freed turned back to the director, stopping his small monologue.

"Well, if you're as good as you say you are, we'll have to play together some time," Freed interrupted, glad the other man didn't seem offended. "Lucy has my contact details, so ask her to set it up. If you'll excuse me?"

"Oh, 'course," He grinned. "I'm gonna hold you to that though."

Freed nodded and took the chance to leave before it left. He strode across the marble floor, walking at a pace that clearly showed anyone who saw him that he wasn't looking for conversation. His eyes were solely on Laxus, and he wore a small frown that got more obvious the closer he got.

Something had been a little off with Laxus all night. Even when Freed had arrived at Laxus' apartment, the blonde had seemed a little self-contained. It didn't make sense that he didn't want to come, both Laxus and Mirajane, when Freed had visited her bar, had assured him he was looking forward to it. As he got closer to his guest, he knew that he would have to find out what had happened if he wanted Laxus to enjoy his evening; or at least he would try to find out, if Laxus didn't want to talk about it, then he wouldn't push the matter.

"Hey," He greeted, Laxus looking up. "Sorry that took so long. I think they see me as a novelty, I'll try not to let it happen again."

"Nah, you don't need to worry about it," Laxus grinned, but Freed felt as though it was forced. He couldn't be sure. "Your friend kept me company anyway, so I had someone to talk to."

"I'm glad," Freed smiled, taking a seat beside Laxus. "What did you talk about?"

"Nothing much. I asked about her book. She asked how we know each other," Laxus shrugged a little.

Freed nodded and looked at Laxus with a small amount of concern in his eyes. If the situation were different, he would have just assumed that Laxus was annoyed at him for leaving him for as long as he did. But Laxus had been subtly caged off for all of the night but was acting as if he wasn't. It was obvious he had something on his mind, and that it was bothering him, even if he was trying not to let it affect him.

The gambler considered how he should broach the subject for a few moments. He watched as a waitress offered them both a drink, and when Laxus raised his hand in denial before hunching up again. Freed also refused the offer, politely, but decided that there was no point being subtle with the blonde.

"Is there something wrong, Laxus?" Freed said, somewhat quietly.

Laxus looked up, eyes a little wide below his mask. He obviously must have expected Freed not to have noticed his mood, or perhaps he'd simply hoped that Freed wouldn't have noticed. His expression wiped the shock away quickly, replacing it with a gentle grin.

"I'm fine," He said, voice forcing a jovial attitude.

"Please don't bullshit me, Laxus," At Freed's cuss, Laxus looked up from his lap. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's completely your choice and I won't push it. But, I don't want you to feel as though you can't be yourself around me."

The blonde was quiet for a moment, before sighing. "It ain't because I'm here, I'm actually enjoying it more than I thought. Its just that… it doesn't matter. Don't worry about it."

Freed didn't say anything immediately. He was glad to have his assumption of the party not being to blame for Laxus' mood confirmed, but that did bring up another problem. If the party wasn't to blame, it meant something else was, and it seemed as though Laxus wasn't in the mood to talk about it. That was fine, Freed wasn't going to push the issue, but he still wanted to make this an evening where Laxus could get away from his troubles.

"Would you like some air?" He offered, Laxus looking up. "And some privacy, perhaps."

"Privacy with the press?" Laxus joked a little. "Some air would be nice, though."

"Come with me."

Not leaving any space for arguing, Freed took Laxus' hand in his own and pulled him up. Laxus allowed himself to be dragged out of the wing he'd been taken to and into the main reception area. He was taken up the grand staircase until he was on the third floor. The lights still illuminated the building and it wasn't as if they'd ducked under a velvet rope, but Laxus half wondered if they were meant to be there as they were suddenly alone. He focused on this, rather than the fact he and Freed were holding hands, even if it was just because he was being dragged throughout a practically abandoned library.

Freed took him to the corner of the large room, where he opened an unlocked fire exit. They were met with a sudden blast of cold air and the sight of a tiny looking balcony with a steep set of metal stairs. Seemingly knowing where he was going, Freed released Laxus' hand and climbed the steep staircase. Laxus followed suit, shutting the door behind him.

After climbing the staircase, Laxus was shocked with what he saw. It was a rooftop garden place, fit with multiple flowerbeds, the flowers filling them halfway dead; benches scattered both near the edge and in the middle of the roof; and what looked like a water fountain, though it wasn't in use. He took a step forward, appreciating the area.

"Didn't know this place existed," Laxus said, walking towards Freed.

"Most people don't," Freed smiled. "It was meant to be an outdoor reading area but was opened in the middle of winter, so nobody wanted to come out. By the time the weather changed, almost everyone had forgotten about it, so they keep the main entrance locked up. The only reason we could get in is because they can't lock the fire exit."

Laxus nodded, looking around. He walked to the edge of the building, placing his hands on the waist high wall. The sky had gotten darker, meaning Magnolia was illuminated by streetlamps and buildings. Although Magnolia wasn't anywhere near the biggest or most grand city in the country, it had a damn good skyline. Laxus relaxed a little, the cold air a welcomed break from the stuffy library full of people.

Freed took a seat on a bench beside Laxus. He watched his guest with an unreadable expression, his ponytail slightly lifted by the wind. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Laxus seemed a little more relaxed. Maybe it was the change in environment, or maybe it was because he'd shown something was bothering him, but Freed was thankful for the change.

They sat in silence, allowing the sounds of the busy sitting to sooth them. Laxus continued to lean on the wall of the garden, and Freed waited to see if Laxus wanted to speak.

Eventually, Laxus moved. He pushed himself off from the wall and turned, walking to the small stone bench Freed was sitting on and joining him. He could still see the skyline of the city, could still hear the gentle clicking of cameras below them, still smell the slight aroma of the flowers that surrounded them. Laxus placed his hands behind him, leaning back and looking directly up at the sky. Freed watched him with a mixture of caution and curiosity. Silently, Laxus let out a long sigh and turned his head towards Freed.

"I was meant to meet my mother today," He sighed, making Freed frown.

"Okay," The gambler spoke softly. He'd immediately focused on the most important word in the statement. "Meant?"

"She didn't show," Laxus let out a spiteful laugh. "I don't know what I expected. Because this is what she does. She lets people down. She fucks you around and leaves you to deal with the consequences. I don't know why the fuck I thought that this time would be any different?"

Laxus' voice cracked a little at the end of the sentence, and Freed tried to hide the sympathy in his eyes. Laxus, despite the fact he was clearly hurting, seemed to have relaxed a little more at his exclamation. Freed expected that he would appreciate getting everything off of his chest, so the gambler remained quiet and allowed his friend to talk for as long as he needed.

"You know, I really did think she was different," He looked back up again. "I thought, why would she bother coming all this way to see me, why would she try and reconnect with me, if she wasn't serious? Y'know, I didn't think she'd do that kinda shit if she wasn't serious. And now, honestly, I can't shake the feeling that it's me that's done something wrong."

"You haven't," Freed said with force. "Trust me, this is not your fault."

"Then why the hell didn't she come?" Laxus' voice cracked again, and he looked Freed with tears forming in his eyes. "What the hell changed? Two weeks ago, she was talking about how much she wanted to get to know me again. About how she realised she was wrong and wanted to make it up with me. What the fuck happened, because against every fucking bit of logic that was screaming at me, I was gonna try and make something with her. And she fucks me around again. So, either she's just some twisted bitch who enjoyed hurting me, or…"

Laxus let out a groan of frustration and looked back up again. Freed could see his hands screw up and his muscles clench.

"Or she realised she was better off without me after she saw me." He finished, voice almost fragile.

Freed couldn't think of the words that would make Laxus feel any better. He wished he had them, but just didn't know what they were. He couldn't assure Laxus that he was wrong about Sophia's reasoning, because he didn't know what had changed the woman's mind. He didn't know anything, other than Laxus was desperately hurting and it wasn't getting any better.

Without saying a word, Freed carefully placed a hand on Laxus' clenched fist. Although it didn't seem to calm the blonde, Freed wasn't batted away, so gently squeezed his hand. He hoped the small contact did something to sooth Laxus, if only a little.

"I'm sorry," Freed whispered.

"It's just- it's just shit," Laxus' voice was equally as quiet. "I mean, I just don't get why it happened to me. Why did I get stuck with a mother who fucks off and leaves me whenever I need her, or an alcoholic bastard of a father who can't keep out of fucking prison! Why is it that, when my life finally starts to get fucking good, I just get shit on again!"

He was yelling by the end of the sentence, and Freed could feel Laxus' fist clench tighter still. The gambler turned completely so that he was looking at Laxus, who still had his head tilted back and was looking at the sky.

"Laxus, I know you might not believe me, but I want you to listen," Freed spoke softly. Laxus remained quiet. "You haven't done anything wrong. You're not to blame for anything that's happened to you. And, even if it seems like life does seem to shit on you, you are still a good person and you certainly deserve better than what you get."

Laxus didn't reply, but Freed could feel his hand unclench slightly and saw his muscles relax. He let his head droop a little, chest heaving slightly but he seemed a little calmer. Freed carefully stroked Laxus' fist with his thumb, again getting no obvious rejection that would cause him to stop.

Silence fell between them again, and the calm atmosphere relaxed them both. Freed continued to gently stroke Laxus' fist, and they both looked over the Magnolia Skyline. The sound of cars passing by remained, as did the clicking of cameras from below them. Life continued on around them, but for the two men, the world was simply the roof. Simply one another.

"Sorry for exploding on you," Laxus said softly, looking towards Freed again. "You're one of the good things going on for me right now, I shouldn't have done that."

"I don't care," Freed said immediately. "I'm your friend, do it any time you need."

"Thanks," Laxus nodded. "And thanks for what you said. Hell, maybe I'll believe you one day."

"I hope you do," Freed whispered.

Laxus smiled softly, not moving his gaze away from Freed's face. They were closer than he thought, but that didn't matter. He was sure in his mind now, Freed was his future. At their closeness, he could feel the cold exhales of breath coming from Freed's lips and gently colliding with his own. He didn't care, he was going to experience every damn aspect of the other man.

His eyes slowly roamed across Freed's features. He took in his soft expression, the gentle look in his eyes, the angular and sharp features of his face. His gaze eventually settled on the man's lips, soft looking and inviting, before flickering back to Freed's eyes.

They were so close.

He seemed to be acting on instinct. He raised his hand – the same hand Freed had been stroking moments ago – and carefully cupped one of Freed's cheeks. Freed glanced at it but said nothing before reigniting eye contact. The soft skin of Freed's face sent tingles up Laxus' arm, the same tingles he hadn't realised had occurred each time their hands had connected. He tentatively stroked the man's cheek with his thumb, again Freed did nothing to stop him. In fact, his eyes seemed to soften slightly.

Freed was right. He deserved better than what he got. He deserved this. He deserved Freed.

Slowly and almost cautiously, he tilted his head and leant forward a little. He could see Freed practically mirror the action, sending a rush of exhilaration and bravery throughout the entirety of his body. He allowed his eyes to close, missing Freed doing the same. He continued to lean forward, putting himself in fate's grasp.

A second later, their lips were connected in a soft, needed kiss.

And so it begins. I really hope you  all enjoyed this chapter, it was really fun to write. Also, i mentioned a lot of things in this chapter that i had reference pictures for, so you can see them below if you want. I hope you enjoy ^.^

Laxus’ Suit | Laxus’ Mask | Freed’s Suit | Freed’s Mask | The Car’s Exterior | The Car’s Interior | The Library | The Garden

[uzair12blog]

8 Ways to Deal With Regret & Move On

“I've had a few regrets. Frank Sinatra famously sang, "But then again, there are too few to mention."

Unfortunately, I don't believe that most people can claim the same.

1- A third of Americans have second thoughts about significant life decisions.

2- Sixty-six percent of Americans are unhappy with their college education.

3- At least one financial regret affects 76% of Americans.

4- A whopping 63 percent of millennial homeowners are unhappy with their purchase.

And studies reveal that the majority of people regret not making decisions that would have led them to their ideal self.

Not to mention the lesser regrets that come with day-to-day decisions. That's a lot of regret in one sentence.

You are not alone if you have a regret (or a few) that is dragging you down.

Fortunately, there are certain techniques for turning regrets that you can't bear into regrets that are "too few to mention."

Here are some suggestions for dealing with regret:

1. Look for the Positive (Really Look)

Even if it's a very thin one, there's generally a silver lining to most situations. So, whatever your regrets are, keep an eye out for them.

I spent four years in college earning a bachelor's degree in environmental science, but I'm not using it right now. This is something I've recently come to regret. I put four years of my life into it, took out debts, and now I work in a completely other field.

However, those four years of my life shaped who I am and provided me with incredible experiences. I learned about a subject I'm interested in and a field in which I intend to work in the future. And, in general, having a degree helps you find other employment.

Focusing on the positives of any regret can help make it less overwhelming.

2. Turn Regrets Into Lessons

If you've made a mistake, you have two options.

You can either give up and live in regret, or you can learn from your mistakes and grow as a result of them.

When you learn from your regrets, they become a lot easier to deal with, and no matter what your regret is, you may learn something from it.

Regret can help you figure out who you are, what your beliefs and values are, and how you want to act in the future.

Some of the world's most successful people have failed the most, and we wouldn't have some of the world's most famous novels, art, or technology if they had wallowed in regret instead of going on.

3. Write Down Your Regrets

It's natural to ask why we didn't act differently or why we didn't respond at all when faced with regrets.

Writing down our regrets, asking why, and writing down the explanation will assist you avoid making the same regretful decision in the future.

If you snapped at your partner, roommate, or family member as soon as you got home from work, it's possible that you were agitated and needed a few minutes to calm before speaking to people.

If you didn't put in the effort to land your dream job or apartment, it's possible that you don't believe you deserve it, and it's time to reconsider your self-worth.

4. Start Building Self-Compassion

As I previously stated, remorse usually takes one of two forms.

It has the potential to either sink you or to ignite the fire of motivation that leads to self-improvement.

Self-compassion, according to researchers from Berkeley, is the difference between these two outcomes.

Self-compassion improves our ability to accept regret, learn from it, avoid repeating the activity that generated the regret, and enhance our lives instead.

Start by treating yourself as you would a loved one to cultivate more self-compassion in your life. Additionally, you can:

1- Write yourself a letter in which you express your regret in a sympathetic manner.

2- Use a positive counterstatement to challenge critical and negative self-talk.

3- Practice self-compassion meditations with the help of guided meditations (try playing meditation music in the background of these).

4- Remind yourself of all your good qualities (and don't be modest about it).

5. Don’t Let Regret Hold You Back From Doing More

You're probably thinking of things you've done when you consider your regrets in life. These regrets can lead to a dread of trying new activities in order to avoid greater regret.

What about the things you haven't accomplished?

According to research, the regrets that pain us the most and linger the longest are those that we don't have. Especially when the things we don't do are preventing us from becoming our best selves.

If your fear of regret is keeping you from doing the things that matter, remember that while taking action entails risk, doing nothing is just as perilous.

6. Make Amends

Stop wallowing in regret and apologise truly if your regret includes someone else you've wronged.

It's never too late to apologise, and even if your apology isn't accepted right away, the sentiment will grow on the other person with time.

It takes a lot of effort to apologise, and sometimes it takes a lot of effort to put your ego aside, but if you've done something you're truly sorry about, you'll feel a lot better once you say it.

Apologize in person, in writing, in a text, or with a small gift. Most essential, make every effort to avoid hurting them in the future.

However, once you've apologised, move on, fix the problem, and quit berating yourself.

7. Try to Live in the Present

The past is the past, no matter how few or many mistakes you make.

While it's necessary to identify and accept your regrets so that you can learn from them, there's no purpose in dwelling on them.

Regrets are a thing of the past; they are unchangeable. Bring yourself back to the present after you've given them some productive attention. Being present enhances self-resilience and efficient coping, according to research.

Mindfulness includes being present, and many people believe it is the only way to live a happy life. Being present, on the other hand, can be the most difficult thing to accomplish if you're constantly worried about the future or caught in your past regrets. As a result, start small.

Here are some suggestions for practising being present:

1- Even if it's only for a few minutes, meditate.

2- Get Out in Nature - Being quiet and present is easier in nature, so get out there.

3- Practice breathing exercises by inhaling and exhaling through your nose until your mind is quiet.

4- Detach From Your Thoughts - Practice recognising but not clinging to your thoughts. Your regrets and thoughts do not define you.

5- Take a Break — Put on some music and dance like no one is watching, go for a stroll, prepare a cup of tea, and concentrate solely on your break, even if it is only for a few minutes.

6- Repeat a Mantra — Repeating a mantra has been shown to minimise self-judgment and other negative self-beliefs in studies. When you're feeling overwhelmed by negativity, repeat your mantra to yourself or out loud until you feel more at ease.

8. Forgive Yourself

Most likely, you haven't done something heinous, so forgive yourself. There's no reason not to forgive yourself as long as you learn from your mistakes and seek to improve.

According to research, forgiveness, stress, and mental health are all intertwined. As a result, you can reduce stress and enhance your mental health by forgiving yourself.

Regrets Don’t Have to Be Bad

Regret is never pleasant, but it does not have to be unpleasant. It all comes down to how you handle regret and what you learn from it.

So examine your regrets, embrace them, and utilise them as fuel to become the best version of yourself possible.

[equinoxparanormal]

6 Famous Figures, Past and Present, Who Claimed to Have Encountered Ghosts

Being rich, famous, or influential has plenty of perks—but escaping the spirit world's torments isn't necessarily one of them. Here are six prominent individuals, both past and present, who have either claimed or been said to have had close encounters with ghosts.

1. Joan Rivers

Few people—either living or dead—likely would have wanted to mess with Joan Rivers. But when the late comedian purchased a swanky Upper East Side penthouse condo in 1988, she found herself facing a formidable foe: the ghostly niece of financier and banker J.P. Morgan.

Rivers’s new home was a Gilded Age mansion, which was converted into condos in the 1930s. When she tried to renovate her own digs, however, she noticed a peculiar presence: “It was just very strange,” Rivers recounted in a 2009 episode of Celebrity Ghost Stories, according to the New York Post. “The apartment was cold. I could never get any of my electrical things to work correctly.” She also recalled that her pet Yorkshire Terrier refused to enter the room for months, and she saw strange graffiti on the walls.

When the building’s elevator operator heard about the strange occurrences, he reportedly said, “I guess Mrs. Spencer is back.” Instead of going head-to-head with the specter—who reportedly still thought of herself as "the grande dame of the building," according to Rivers—the comedian called in a New Orleans voodoo priestess to cleanse the home of spirits, and Rivers reported that her dog finally came into the apartment. But the hauntings soon returned—until Rivers made nice with the ghost by hanging a portrait of her in the building lobby and leaving flowers out for her.

In 2015, less than a year after Rivers's death, a Saudi prince purchased the penthouse for $28 million. According to reports, he disliked her decorating style and planned to gut-renovate the apartment. No word, however, on whether he’s also personally experienced the ire of Mrs. Spencer.

2. King George IV

Raynham Hall is a palatial estate in Norfolk, England with a spooky backstory: It’s reportedly haunted by a ghost known as the “Brown Lady of Raynham Hall”—and it's said that King George IV once saw the spirit with his own eyes.

The Brown Lady (who gets her name from her brown brocade dress) became world-famous in 1936 after photographers from Country Life magazine allegedly took a photo of her floating down the stairs in Raynham Hall. She’s believed to be the spirit of Dorothy Walpole, the sister of Great Britain’s first Prime Minister, Robert Walpole.

An important noble family called the Townshends built Raynham Hall in 1620, and a member of the clan—Charles Townshend, an 18th century British secretary of state—married Dorothy Walpole. The marriage was rumored to have been a bad one, and in 1726 Dorothy died around the age of 40, reportedly from smallpox. (One alternate tale says that Townshend pushed her down the estate’s grand staircase and she broke her neck; another claims she died of a broken heart.)

Dorothy’s spirit lingered, and Norfolk legend says that when King George IV was the young Prince of Wales, he slept in the estate’s State Bedroom and woke to see “a little lady all dressed in brown, with disheveled hair and a face of ashy paleness.” The future king left Raynham Hall immediately, and swore he would never spend another hour in the cursed house again.

3. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

At the peak of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's fame, the Sherlock Holmes author became obsessed with the paranormal. He believed in ghosts, wrote books about spiritualism and fairies, and attended séances. Sir Arthur didn’t believe he possessed supernatural powers himself, but in his 1930 book The Edge of the Unknown, he described several chance brushes he had with spirits.

In one anecdote, Sir Arthur described waking up “with the clear consciousness that there was someone in the room, and that the presence was not of this world.” His body was paralyzed, but he could still hear footsteps echoing across the room. Then, Sir Arthur said he sensed a presence leaning over him, and heard them whisper, “Doyle, I come to tell you that I am sorry.” Moments later, the mysterious visitor vanished, and Sir Arthur’s body unfroze.

Sir Arthur’s wife slept through the entire thing, but Doyle was convinced that the experience wasn’t a dream. He believed the ghost to be “a certain individual to whom I had tried to give psychic consolation when he was bereaved.” The man had turned down Doyle’s offer “with some contempt, and died himself shortly afterwards. It may well be that he wished to express regret,” Doyle wrote. As for his sleep paralysis, the author believed that the spirit needed to borrow power from a living person to appear in the physical world, and it had chosen him.

4. Sting

Fans of Sting know he’s no stranger to singing about ghosts. But in a few interviews, the ex-Police frontman claimed to have seen one, too.

At the time of his sighting, Sting had young children and owned a 16th century English manor house. One night, the musician awoke with a jolt at 3 a.m. He “looked into the corner of the room and thought I saw [my wife] Trudie standing there with a child—our child—in her arms, staring at me,” the musician recalled in a 2009 interview with BBC Radio 2.

Sting then reached over and noticed that Trudie was still in bed. He “suddenly got this terrible chill,” he said. “And she woke up and said 'Gosh, who is that?' and she saw this woman and a child in the corner of the room.''

The ghostly figure disappeared, but Sting’s spooky encounters were far from over: “A lot of things happened in that house, a lot of flying objects and voices and strange, strange things happened,” he said. “When you live in old houses, you get this energy there.”

5. Athenodorus Cananites

Historians remember Roman magistrate and writer Pliny the Younger for his dramatic, first-hand account of Mount Vesuvius’s eruption in 79 CE, but he could also tell a good ghost story. Around 100 CE, the scribe wrote a letter recounting the time the Greek Stoic philosopher Athenodorus Cananites stayed in a haunted house.

“There was in Athens a house, large and spacious, which had a bad reputation as though it was filled with pestilence,” the tale began. “In the dead of night, a noise was frequently heard resembling the clashing of iron which, if you listened carefully, sounded like the rattling of chains. The noise would seem to be a distance away, but it would start coming closer … and closer … and closer. Immediately after this, a specter would appear in the form of an old man, emaciated and squalid, with bristling hair and a long beard, and rattling the chains on his hands and feet as he moved.”

The home was eventually abandoned, and it remained empty until Athenodorus came to town. He considered buying the property, but was suspicious about its low price. The philosopher would soon learn that the house was haunted—but surprisingly, this made him want to buy it even more.

Athenodorus purchased the home, moved in, and stayed up late working, hoping to run into the ghost. Sure enough, he eventually heard the rattle of chains, looked up, and saw the old man’s spirit standing in front of him.

The philosopher pretended to ignore the ghost, but the impatient ghoul beckoned toward Athenodorus, motioning for him to come outside. He did, and the old man vanished—but the next day, Athenodorus ordered for the spot he disappeared on to be dug up. There, he found the ancient skeleton of a man clad in chains.

The bones were given a proper burial, and the ghost never haunted Athenodorus—or any other citizen of Athens—again.

6. Dan Aykroyd

Dan Aykroyd’s experiences with spirits aren’t limited to Ghostbusters. In a 2013 interview with Esquire, he claimed to have once lived in a Hollywood abode that was haunted by singer Cass Elliot, from American folk rock group The Mamas & the Papas, along with the ghost of a man buried under a hillside next to the house.

“I had several experiences,” Aykroyd recalled. “I saw things moving around on our counter, and doors opening and closing. The staff also had experiences, direct contact in terms of tactile touching, and then turning around and there's no one there.”

One day, Aykroyd claimed, one of the two ghosts crawled in bed with him while he was taking a nap. He woke up “in a trance," he said, and noticed that the bedroom’s previously closed door was ajar. Then, the actor spotted “a depression in the mattress, like somebody was getting in there,” he said. Not one to be afraid of no ghosts, Aykroyd decided to snuggle the spirit instead of screaming for help.

[Kirstin Fawcet, Mental Floss]

[sikoko]

Hacking Hedonic Adaptation to Get Way More For Your Money

After three years, wall-mounted toilet paper has become the latest thrill.

When I built our current house, I decided to do as much of the work as practical myself, because I learned years ago that this is the most satisfying way I can possibly live.

I love sitting back late at night, especially during cold winter nights or intense summer rainstorms, and looking up at the high ceilings and the ornately framed windows and thinking about all that structure holding itself together and protecting us so nicely inside. Satisfaction.

Sure, practicality also required some compromises – I hired out the big, repetitive task of drywall, and hired friends to work with me on the heavy parts like framing the roof.

But as soon as the house was even remotely habitable, with plywood kitchen countertops and no bathroom sink, we moved in. This allowed me to keep working on the place without being away from the family, and also to move out and stage the previous house nicely so we could put it on the market.

That was in early 2014, and true to my nature I’ve never really stopped working on the house since then. The first things were urgent, like quality countertops and sinks and faucets, appliances and light fixtures and functioning closets, so I did these things quickly. Then I installed a really nice woodstove before that first winter came, then built the second bathroom, and moved on to renovate our son’s room in the old wing of the house that had not been part of the fully rebuilt section. Then more closets, trims, cabinetry, little features here and there as the need arose, and even the rather major feature of the detached Rock’n’roll Studio.

There have been a hundred little upgrades, always arriving with random timing, as time permitted.  And the interesting thing about them has been this:

Each little upgrade – whether big or small – has brought a similar amount of short-lived but genuine happiness.

When I upgraded the countertops from plywood to stone, we were all thrilled at the new, smooth and easily cleanable nature of the kitchen. Then after a week or two, this thrill became the new normal, and it was gone.

But then, I added shelves to a closet, and fighting with piles of clothes in laundry baskets became a joyful flip through a row of hanging shirts and nicely folded pants on smooth wooden shelves. Another thrill! For another couple of weeks.

On and on these small upgrades went, each one accomplished by my own two hands, so that I got the satisfaction of a job well done, and also lived in a house that was constantly getting just a bit better every week.

Looking back, this has been so much better than just moving into a pre-made, perfect, fancy house that somebody else built for me, and doing it this way has also saved me hundreds of thousands of dollars at the same time. And even if you’re not a carpenter yourself, you can get the same benefits by understanding the human pychology at work here.

Hacking Hedonic Adaptation.

You may recall me cautioning you in this long-ago MMM Classic, to avoid buying yourself fancy shit, because the thrill of every new life upgrade – whether it is a nicer dishwasher or a faster Mercedes – always wears off, and your overall life happiness returns to exactly where it was. It’s quite an un-intuitive result, but if you watch yourself over time, you will notice it is uncannily accurate.

For example, I started this blog seven years ago in 2011, and distinctly remember being very happy with life, even way back then. Sure, I had problems just like everyone else, but on balance it was still a great life, because I was already pressing most or all of the actual buttons for human happiness

Some of the recipe for happiness (a slide from my WDS talk)

Since then, I have stumbled into a few upgrades:

A nicer house

A nicer bike (several, actually)

A nicer car

A nicer dishwasher

Internet fame

Several times more money than I had before

A really fun new business (the MMM-HQ coworking space)

And many, many other nicer things (clothes, electronic gadgets, interesting trips, and so on)

And yet, I’m still not really any happier than before, sitting here right at this moment. My life looks more prestigious and luxurious on paper, but since I was already extremely fucking happy with life before, there was not much to improve.

This brings up a strange paradox. Because I also remember feeling quite giddy and thrilled with each of these upgrades as I made them. Those happy feelings were genuine. What Gives?

The Happiness Bump

The phenomenon at work was the temporary thrill of a new life upgrade. If we were to sketch it out on paper, it would look like this:

The Short-term Happiness Bump from lifestyle upgrades

As you can see, you make the upgrade, and you do get some genuine thrills for a short time.

The key thing to know about your happiness is that you have a ‘baseline’ level. Some of it is genetically inherited, but you can also have a strong affect on it yourself, by pressing the genuine happiness buttons in the diagram above.

Most lifestyle upgrades (cars, dishwashers, or even my new toilet paper holder) do not press these buttons, unless they truly address a shortfall in your previous life.

In the best possible outcome, you might make a life change that helps you gain new skills, increase your health, or improve your life’s core relationships. This could stretch out the shaded “Actual Benefit” part of the graph to be much longer, in the extreme cases for your whole life.

But in the typical outcome, most of us make changes that produce only a short bump, and then may even come back to haunt us with a payback time (which I labeled the “debt hangover” in the picture. Anything that puts you into debt, makes you less healthy or otherwise compromises your ability to live a happy life fits into this category.

Putting it into Practice

Your job as a wise, badass Human is to understand your strengths and weaknesses, and then arrange your life to make the best of things. The temptation to pursue  shiny but useless upgrades is one of our biggest weaknesses.  So try the following hacks:

Consider each potential change (whether it is a purchase, a trip, or a lunch out at a restaurant) from the perspective of one year in the future. How much better will your life be in one year, if you make this decision right now?

Delay everything and space it out as much as possible. The anticipation of a treat often provides at least as much joy as the consummation. Simply doubling your waiting period will cut your spending on this stuff in half. 

By cutting your upgrades into smaller pieces (as I did with the piecemeal home construction), you get to experience the thrill more often.

Put your priority on upgrades that remove a strong daily negative or a barrier to happiness. For example, upgrading from a 2009 to a 2018 BMW will very likely not make you happier, but upgrading a barely-functional bike or shitty kitchen faucet to a to a good one you use daily can make a real difference.

Find ways to modify each potential upgrade so that it presses more of your happiness buttons. Make it more challenging, do things that require you to learn or accomplish something first, choose things that allow you to create or strengthen friendships, and choose the healthier options out of any alternatives you are given.

Use your temptation to buy or consume new things as a habit trigger: catch yourself in the moment of weakness (because this happens automatically and frequently), and use this to do something good for you instead. For example, every time I walk by my fridge and gaze longingly at the handle, thinking of pulling out a cold beer, I am reminded to go out to my back patio and do 100 pushups instead. In really disciplined times (like the last few months for me), I back this up by also not keeping any beer in the house. But even if the end result is a bubbly reward, I have improved the reward bump by packaging in a permanent benefit (fitness) with the otherwise very short term reward of a drink.

And finally, keep a list of your top life priorities on your fridge door, or your work computer monitor, or somewhere else that you see it many times per day.  Stuff like better friendships, better parenting, health, financial independence, happiness, personal growth. Looking at this list before you decide to do anything – whether it’s planning a lunch or moving to a new house, can serve as a surprisingly powerful anchor to help you fine tune your happiness bumps – stretching out the good parts and eliminating the hangovers.

Happy Hacking!

In the comments: which life upgrades have you made that ended up producing neutral results or even regret, and which ones have provided more lasting happiness?

  Source: https://ift.tt/2IHzBSd