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atlafan · 5 months ago

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The Arrangement - Prologue + Part 1

a/n: hiiiiii posting this here and the rest on patreon! in fact, parts 2 and 3 are already live on patreon 🤭 This is heavily influenced by Ali Hazelwood's Bride, but it's not supernatural or anything like that. But we do have the arranged marriage, enemies to lovers trope which are always so fun. Also, if you couldn't tell, I'm obsessed with Bridgerton, so there's some influence of that in there as well. The yearning and pining is strong in this. warnings: a shit ton of backstory and angst :D TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of suicide and minor character deaths words: 11.3K (that's the prologue + part 1)

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Prologue

Margaret

Arranged marriages aren’t uncommon. They’re the norm, actually. Most heads of households make deals with other heads of households and trade their children like cattle. Since I’m a bit more upper class, I never had to worry about being sold to some forty-year-old man in exchange for three of his best cows or pigs.

No, the arrangements in my society are much more about big business, if you can even call it that. We aren’t traded for items, we’re traded for money. Dowries are like nuclei, they’re the powerhouse of our entire economy. It works both ways: a poor man with a title will often try to find a girl with a large dowry. A girl who may not have much of a dowry to offer can still get married, but she needs to marry well. That rules out a lot of men. Then you’re forced to manipulate some foul soul into courting you. It’s rarely a love match.

It’s all business. Not personal.

Dowries make sense in that it ensures that putting a new household together isn’t solely on the husband’s (or his family’s) shoulders. A man of modest means can’t be expected to buy a home, new furniture, or wardrobe all on his own. I certainly would never expect my husband to do all of that on his own.

My husband could, though, if he wanted to.

I have just married a viscount. Below an earl and above a baron, a viscount is a nobleman that holds a lot of power within society. If done right, a viscount can remain quite wealthy. A viscount owns multiple estates that can include fields, pastures, hunting grounds, streams, etcetera. Middle-and lower-class peoples tend to work this land or pay to have access to this land. To put it simply, you’d be a very lucky lady to marry a viscount.

But I don’t feel lucky. I hate to complain because I recognize my privilege. It’s just that I really thought I would be able to choose my own husband. My parents never gave me any indication that I wouldn’t be able to do so. Hell, I’ve turned down three marriage proposals! I suppose it wouldn’t so bad if I actually liked my new husband.

The fact of the matter is, if I had any choice or say in the matter, I never would have chosen to marry Viscount Harry Styles.

“Viscountess?” My lady’s maid, Agnes, peeps into the women’s parlor that I’ve been hiding in. Clearly, I haven’t been hiding well enough. “You and the viscount will need to make your entrance in a moment.”

“Thank you, Agnes. I just need one more second to myself.”

“Of course.” She nods and curtsies before closing the door.

I look in the mirror and sigh. It’s a shame, I look beautiful. I’m not being vain either. I never thought I could look this beautiful. It’s a shame because I would rather be radiating this beauty for a man I love, or, at least, a man I actually like. Some spouses grow to like each other, even love each other if they’re lucky. Many of my friends have married. Some have enjoyed it, and others detest it. Some seem to be good friends with their husbands, but there’s no sexual chemistry. (I’m a married lady, I can say things like that now.)

If the Queen herself wasn’t making an appearance, I would have fled. Oh well, this is my life now.

I take a deep breath and paint a fake smile on my face before leaving the parlor. No tears. No crying. Tonight, when I’m getting ready for bed, after my husband has taken me, then I will give myself the gift of a good cry.

Chapter 1

Twenty Years Prior to the Wedding

Harry

Something very strange is happening today. Mother’s told me that a girl will be joining me in the nursery for my schooling. I asked if it would be just for today, but she told me it was for the foreseeable future. I don’t think I would have minded, but I’ve gotten so used to having the governess to myself since Brother went off to school. This girl is a few years younger than me, so she’ll be learning different lessons than I, but she’ll be in the nursery with me. Playing with my old toys, getting attention from Nanny.

I asked Mother if this girl was coming to live with us, if that was why she’d be in the nursery with me, but Mother said no, that the girl and her parents would be moving into one of our family homes close by. When we’d go to the country estate, we’d all be under the same roof, but in London, we’d be in separate homes. But since Mother and the girl’s mother are dear friends, she joked and said it will be like they’re living with us all the time.

“Master Styles.” One of the valet’s comes into the upstairs drawing room where I had been playing the piano. “Your mother has requested your presence downstairs. The Abernathy Family has arrived.”

“Thank you, Carver.” I get up and follow him downstairs. My mother smiles at me and waves me over, putting her hands on my shoulders as I stand in front of her.

“Harry, you were about two the last time you met the Abernathy’s.” She tells me. “So, let’s have a fresh introduction, shall we? This is Lord and Lady Abernathy, and their daughter Miss Margaret Abernathy. She’s three, only three years younger than you.”

“Hello, it is nice to meet all of you.” I bow my head respectfully. The other adults smile warmly. I look at Margaret who is sucking her thumb and cuddling a blanket to her chest. She has absolutely no idea what is going on. I almost envy her.

“What a polite young man.” Lady Abernathy crouches to my level. “You may call me Aunt Catharine if you like. And Lord Abernathy gives you his permission to call him Uncle John.”

“What do you say, Harry?” My mother squeezes my shoulders.

“Thank you.” I bow my head again and receive a pat to the top of my head.

“He looks so different from his brother. Looks more like you, Edith.” Lord Abernathy, er, Uncle John, says to Mother. They know Brother?

“You think so? What a compliment.” She smiles. “Margaret, would you like Harry to show you to the nursery? He has a lot of toys to show you. Nanny will be here to meet you shortly. She’s a lovely woman, Harry adores her.”

Margaret continues to suck her thumb, but her eyes lock on my face. Her blanket hangs on the crook of her used arm. Her free hand reaches out to me. I’m not sure what to do.

“Margaret isn’t, ehm, as verbal as most toddlers.” Aunt Catherine explains. “She talks, she’s not dumb, but when she’s shy, she goes quiet. She wants you to take her hand so you can lead her upstairs.”

I nod and take Margaret’s hand. I grimace when I feel how wet her palm is. She must have been sucking the thumb on this hand before. Brother used to tell me he begged Mother and Father for a younger sibling. He wanted someone to play with. We are far apart in age, so it clearly took some time. I never felt the way he did. I like being the youngest, so I will not treat Miss Margaret as if she were my little sister. As a cousin, maybe, if she is lucky.

She gasps when we walk into the nursery, immediately running to get on the wooden rocking horse. She giggles as she rocks herself back and forth, then gasps when she sees my old blocks. She trips over her blanket on her way, but she doesn’t cry. Just shakes it off and gets back up to get to the blocks. She looks over at me, smiling.

“Wanna pway?” She asks me, and I raise an eyebrow at her.

“I need to get back to my piano lessons.” I mutter. It wasn’t a lie, I genuinely needed to practice to show my governess I was working hard.

“Nooooo.” She whines. “Pway wiff me, pwease?”

“Why are you talking like that?” I cock my head to the side. “Your teeth are in, pronounce things properly. You sound like a commoner.”

She blinks at me, scrunches her face, then says, “You’re mean”, before stacking the blocks on her own.

I am not happy about this girl one bit.

Fifteen Years Prior to the Wedding

Margaret

Many of the house workers have children my age, so I play with them a lot. If Harry isn’t with our governess, he usually plays with me. I’m dreading for when he goes off to Eton. He has two more years until then, but still, it will go by quickly. He helps with my Latin and has secretly been teaching me arithmetic. “Girls should know these things too”, he tells me. He’s so smart. He could be a great scholar someday.

George, Harry’s older brother, is back from university. He went to Cambridge a boy and has come back a man. At least, that’s what our mothers say when they gossip. Harry and I usually sneak around the drawing room when people are over. We like to listen in. I do find George to be terribly handsome, but I hardly get to see him. He spends most of his time as his father’s apprentice, learning everything that’s needed to one day become the viscount. When I do get to see George, he pays me a ton of attention, and will play games with Harry and I. If I’m lucky, I will get to marry a man like him someday, and if I’m really lucky, I might even get to marry him. Sure, he would have to wait another ten years or so for me to come out, but I think we would make an extraordinary pair.

When balls are held at Styles House, Harry and I sneak around upstairs and watch everyone dance and drink. I always feel a pang in my chest when I see George dancing with multiple young ladies. Sometimes I wonder if he hasn’t married yet because perhaps Father has made a deal with Uncle Michael to have me married off to George for when I’m older. That would be the greatest thing my father could ever do for me.

One morning, while Harry and I are having breakfast in the informal dining room, as we were so often banished to when we were at Styles Estate in the country, I look at him until he looks at me.

“May I help you?” He asks.

“Are you looking forward to Eton?”

“That is two years away.” He sighs.

“I know, but I am curious. I do not get to go off to school like you. I will remain here with our governess.”

“Your parents could send you to finishing school.”

“Your mother wouldn’t allow that. I overheard her saying finishing school was for the middle class.”

“She’s right.”

“But I am not middle class.” I furrow my eyebrows.

“You are, actually.” He tells me as he wipes his mouth with his napkin. “You just don’t know it because it is hidden from you. Why do you think you stay here with us when we come to the country, and not at a separate home? Why do you think you live in one of my family homes in London? Your family doesn’t even pay mine rent. We pay for all of the servants and maids and cooks, and we pay for the governess. You have what you have because your father has no pride. No Lord would ever accept pity like this unless he were desperate.”

“You’re…you’re lying.”

“Why would I lie to you? What would I have to gain from that?”

“You like to be mean to me.” I grumble.

“Margaret, I am forced to spend all day, every day with you. Unless we have callers that have children, I am forced to be with you. All I want to do is read or go help in the gardens, but I cannot because I am meant to watch after you.”

“Nanny watches after me.”

“Be that as it may, I do not wish to constantly be around a child.”

“You’re still a child.”

“Barely.” He scoffs. “You’re still in leading strings.”

“So?”

“So, you’re a child, a baby. I want to be with children, boys, my own age. I cannot wait to go to Eton.”

“You woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. You are not usually this nasty.” I start grinning. “Have you gotten your mences early?”

“Margaret?!” He nearly chokes on his juice. “How…you…where did you learn such a word?”

“Unlike you, I do not have my nose constantly in the air. When you do not feel like playing with me, I play with the other children in the house, the servants’ children. They know all sorts of things. For example, teasing boys when they have an attitude and blaming it on mences is quite fun, because you cannot have mences.”

“Stop saying mences.” He seethes. “And do not repeat that word again. That word is…not for men’s ears.”

“You are not a man. You are a boy.”

“And you are a girl.” He moves from his seat and stands. “I am meant to see my father today. I will return for supper, and afterwards, I will help you with your schoolwork if you need it.”

“Okay.” I smile. “Thank you, Harry.”

“You’re welcome, Margaret. Enjoy the day.” He bows his head before leaving the room.

Harry and I tease each other a lot. It’s all in good fun. I know he likes me. I’m his Margaret and he’s my Harry. George told me that Harry is starting to go through boyhood changes, so his mood can change quite rapidly. He told me not to take it personally, so I do not. I think I will venture out into the yard today, find a large bug, squish it, and press it into one of Harry’s books. Yes, I think George and I will have a wonderful laugh over that.

Ten Years Prior to the Wedding

Harry

Summer is my favorite season. It’s when I get to come home from Eton and spend time with my family. Many of my friend’s families are in the country, which means they can take their carriages to our estate, and we can go shooting. We can do whatever we like. Being sixteen, I am almost seen as a man. I have some authority now. Brother, who is now, twenty-five, is home for a while too. I do not get along with Brother. We are very different people. Luckily, he will be leaving soon to travel India. Why he would ever want to go there, I will never understand, but he’s desperate to go where he can while he can. Apparently, after he eventually marries, he doesn’t see himself traveling much. I suppose it makes sense. He’ll be viscount someday; he will need to remain local.

I’m heading outside when I see Margaret all done up, sitting by the windows in the downstairs drawing room. Out of curiosity, I walk in and sit across from her.

“How come you’re all dressed up?” I ask.

“Mama wants a new portrait painted.” She smiles. “She and Father bought me this new dress to wear for it.”

“When is the painter getting here?”

“I think in two hours, but I was so excited, I wanted to get dressed early. The ruffles are rather in fashion, don’t you think?”

“You certainly look like a young lady.” I smile. “How has the new governess been?”

“She’s dreadful.” She grimaces. “She’s nice, but so boring. I like it better when you teach me things.”

“Are you struggling with any subjects?”

“No, my marks are good.”

“Good.” I nod. “I discovered my new favorite subject at school this year.”

“Oh?”

“Botany. I love plants, Margaret, I simply love them. I am focusing my studies on how to best work land without overworking it. It’s quite fascinating, I must say.”

“It’s good you are enjoying your studies. George tells me all the time about how much he disliked school.”

“He’s a dunderhead.” I mutter, making her gasp.

“Bite your tongue.”

“I will do no such thing.” I see through the windows that a few of my mates are outside. “Ah, I need to be going. I’m going riding with my friends. Have fun sitting for your painting later.” I bow my head before heading outside to greet my mates. “Are we ready?”

We head to the stables and dress our horses before heading out. We talk about what dormitories we will be in next semester. We talk about alcohol. Then, not surprisingly, we talk about women. At first, we were discussing brothels. I have yet to go to one, but I know that it’s inevitable. The one thing I heeded George’s warning on was sewing my wild oats. Even though there is less pressure for me to marry and have children, I know it is still important for me to know what I am doing. I know love matches are rare, but the sex should still be passionate. I do not think I could be one of those men that does not care about his wife’s pleasure.

“When do you think your father will tell you you’ve been promised to Lady Margaret?” Simon teases.

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “She’s a child.”

“Children get promised to people all the time.” Timothy points out.

“Be that as it may, I am not going to think about even hypothetically marrying her. She’s only ten and three.”

“I don’t know, Harry, we saw you speaking with her before.” Simon grins. “You seemed awfully happy to be home.”

“She’s a child.” I repeat. “And trust me, I’m not the Styles boy she wants to marry. She has a crush on George, she always has.” We bring the horses back to the stables and walk up to the house to go have refreshments. Margaret is now outside playing hopscotch. “Child.” I mutter under my breath.

“Harry, if you do not wish for us to tease you about Margaret anymore, then you need to do something to prove you don’t have a tiny crush on the girl.” Timothy says.

“What are you proposing?”

“Offer to play with her, and then trip her so she falls into the dirt.”

“I can’t do that. That’s a new dress that she needs to wear for a family portrait. Name something else.”

“Sorry.” Timothy shrugs. “Actually…let’s play tag.”

“Timothy, do not go near her.”

It’s too late, he’s already by her side, bowing his head.

“Lady Margaret, would you care for a game of tag?” Timothy asks her.

“Really?” She smiles up at him.

“Sure. We haven’t played with you in ages. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay!”

“Harry’s it!” Simon yells, nudging my shoulder before running off.

“Bastards.” I curse under my breath before running after them. It would be so easy to trip Margaret, to push her down, but I would feel terrible. On the other hand, I don’t want them teasing me about her. I don’t like them saying things about her like she’s out in society already. It’s disrespectful. She’s a child. She’s giggling and running, and I catch up to her. I sigh heavily, then I push her, a little too hard, and she falls into the dirt and grass.

“Ah!” She gasps, having not expected me to push her so roughly. She gets up on her hands and knees before standing all the way up. She looks down at her dress, now covered in grass stains, then looks up at me. Her bottom lip is quivering and her eyes are watering. Damn. “You did that on purpose!”

“Don’t be such a baby, Margaret. It was an accident.”

“No, it wasn’t! You and your friends are always pulling things like this! I told you this dress was new. Mama is going to be so upset with me!” She stamps her foot. “You need to go inside and tell her what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything. You should have known better than to run around outside in a new dress.” Timothy and Simon gather around, both of them smirking. I could kill them. “You need to take responsibility for your actions.”

“But I-“

“Margaret Leigh Abernathy!” Aunt Catherine shrieks and comes storming outside. “Look at your dress!”

“Mama, Harry and his friends-“

“I do not want to hear your excuses, get inside now. The painter is here, and now I have to clean you up. Hopefully he won’t mind waiting with your father.”

“But, Mama-“

“Margaret.”

Margaret glares at me, then goes inside. She doesn’t curtsy, so Aunt Catherine apologies on her behalf before following her daughter. I turn to my friends and cross my arms over my chest.

“Happy now? You’re not tease me about her ever again.”

Eight Years Prior to the Wedding

Margaret

I hate Harry with a burning passion. He has just come home from his first year at Cambridge. I have been dreading it. Since he’s been gone, my family moved into Styles House. The viscount said that he wanted to be able to give the home to George so he could live comfortably out of the house. A very upscale home for his bachelor’s lodgings. I do not mind living in Styles House. I’ve spent most of my life in this house. We have our own wing to ourselves.

I knew there were rumors about my family, but no one would dare scandalize the Styles family. They were far too respected in our society. So, it wasn’t a big deal that Harry and I would be living in the same place. Out in the country in the larger estates, the rules are a bit laxer. But in London…well, people like to blow things out of proportion.

I’m sitting out in the backyard reading, enjoying the breeze under the shade when Harry plops down onto the seat next to me and snatches my bowl of grapes. I sigh heavily but ignore him. I essentially stopped speaking to him after he purposefully ruined my dress. We only speak in mixed company as to not embarrass our families. When he continues to bite into the grapes, obnoxiously loud, I put my book down and look at him.

“What do you want?” I snatch the bowl back from him.

“Is that any way to greet me? I’ve just returned from my first year at Cambridge. You could at least fake it.”

“I imagine you say that to a lot of women.” I smirk.

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about.” He rolls his eyes.

“I know plenty.”

“How?”

“I hear things.” I shrug. “I’m still friendly with the children of the servants. I ask questions and they happily answer.”

“For how much money?”

“They do not ask for money. This may surprise you, but some people enjoy the pleasure of my company.”

“There is nothing pleasurable about being in your company.”

“And yet, you sat down here without an invitation.”

“I’m already bored, I thought bugging you would relieve me from that.” He leans back and crosses his arms behind his head. “None of my friends are home. Many of them are traveling. I wanted to come home for a bit. I might participate during the season, dance with some people.”

“Are you going to marry?”

“No, but George is looking for a wife this season, and I want a front row seat to that trainwreck.”

“What do you mean George is looking for a wife this season?” I sit up a bit, frowning.

“I overheard him telling my parents. He’s of age, he’s had plenty of time to enjoy being a bachelor. He probably wants a wife now so that she can learn everything she’ll need to know about being a viscountess. Also, he needs to select someone who is alright with a family of freeloaders living with us.” He looks at me, probably thinking he just got a good jab in, but I stare off into space. “Come on, Margaret, it’s no fun to bash you if you don’t bash back.”

“George is going to marry this season…” I say more so to myself. “But I’m only fifteen…I’m not out yet…how…how could he do this to me?” I look at Harry now. “I thought he was waiting until I came out.”

“To marry you?” His eyebrows fly up. “I do not want to be cruel, but Margaret, George was never going to marry you. He sees you as a little sister.”

“I thought maybe my father made a deal with yours…”

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “No deals. I would have told you, I know you like George.”

“What do you mean you know? I’ve never said a word to you about my feelings.”

“You’re not exactly subtle. The way you look at him…ever since you were a kid. I mean, it’s painfully obvious.” He swings his legs over to sit on the edge of the lounger, facing me. “Are you terribly heartbroken? I could take you into town for ice cream.”

“You’re mean.” I stand up with a huff and Harry stands.

“I just offered to take you for ice cream.”

“Like a child!”

“You are a child!”

“And you’re mean!” I do something bold and push on his chest. “I am so sick you, I hate you!” I push him again, causing him to take a few steps back.

“Do not push me again.” He says lowly.

“Or what?”

“I’ll really treat you like a child and push your face into the dirt and make you eat worms.”

“I’d like to see you try. I’m not afraid of you.” I push him again. “In fact, I’d love to wallop you.”

“You should go inside. The heat and sun must be affecting you.”

“I’m perfectly fine in this heat.”

“You sure?” He leans forward, getting in my face. “Perhaps you have your mences, then?”

He’s barely finished smirking when I tackle him to the ground. I’ve clearly taken him by surprise, but it doesn’t take him long to fight back. We roll around in the grass, both of us holding our own, but at the end of the day, Harry is a man, and he is much stronger than me, so I end up with my arms pinned down on either side of my head and him hovering over me, straddling me. We’re both breathing heavily, and our eyes are locked.

“Get off of me.” I say through gritted teeth.

“Not until you’ve calmed down.”

“Harry!” I struggle under him and let out a frustrated sigh.

“I’m sorry that I had to be the bearer of bad news, but it was never going to happen with you and George, ever.”

“Stop it!”

“You need to accept it.” He presses harder on my arms. “Margaret, in a few years, you’ll enter society, and you’ll go to balls and you’ll be courted and the eligible men in this city will be beating down the door, desperate to come inside and call on you. You just need to be patient.”

I take in his words and nod. His grip loosens, but he doesn’t get off of me. He lingers, and for whatever reason, I’m not mad about it. I’m feeling sort of strange, actually. Harry and I haven’t wrestled since we were children. And that was fun wrestling, back when we used to get along. Now I’m all too aware that he, a man, is straddling me. And he’s not moving.

I clear my throat and that seems to get him to snap back into reality, remembering where we are. He gets off of me and lays down next to me in the grass, sighing.

“We should do this at night. Laying in the grass, I mean, not the fighting. I could point out the constellations to you. Have you read any of the books on astronomy I sent to you?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think so far?” He turns his head to look at me.

“I think it’s all very fascinating.”

“Good.” He smiles, then faces up at the sky again. “Still hate me?”

“Yes.”

“For telling you about George?”

“For pushing me into the dirt while wearing a new dress and purposefully getting me in trouble with my mother.”

“Perfect.” He grabs my hand and kisses the back of it before standing up. “Just the way I like it. At least that’s a valid reason for hating me. I respect it, actually. I’m off to the tailor. I have to pick up some new suits for the season. See you at dinner?”

“Yes.” I grumble, and off he goes.

I fucking hate him.

Four Years Before the Wedding

Harry

Margaret is coming out today. She will attend her first ball tonight. It’s a long day for a new debutante. She will present herself to the Queen, then come home and prepare for the ball. I’ve been wrestling with all of this. Now that I’ve been a part of multiple seasons, I know about the seedy underbelly.

I’m part of it. I have quite the reputation as a rake, but not the kind that would repulse people. In fact, the mothers can’t wait to flock to me at events to talk up their daughters. I’m a gentleman rake, meaning, the women I bed never leave unsatisfied. Whether I have paid for a French prostitute, or I’ve seduced a middle-class lady, they always leave happy. I’m also quite charming. I can talk myself out of any situation. It pisses my mother off to no end. My father just winks at me.

And George…he still hasn’t married. But I’m not surprised. He’s never going to meet a woman he wants to marry because he doesn’t want a woman. He wants a man. He doesn’t know that I know his little secret. I don’t personally care that he’s a dandy. It’s not something that can be helped, he was born like this. What person would ever choose to be burned at the stake by their society? A masochist, I suppose. But George is no masochist.

So, I’m the Styles son that the women flock to. I don’t mind the attention, I revel in it. But I have a feeling that this season is going to be far different from any other.

I head out to the stables to go for a ride. I don’t care to be around while Margaret gets ready for tonight’s ball. However, when I get to the stables, I hear her voice. I hear her laugh. And I hear another man’s voice. I approach cautiously, the expert eavesdropper that I am.

“And what if you get a marriage proposal tomorrow?” The man says, grinning, and awfully close to Margaret.

“I doubt it will happen that fast.” She smiles up at him, leaning back against the wooden wall. The man places a hand next to her head, slightly caging her in. “Will you be jealous?”

“Terribly.” He twirls his finger into one of her loose curls. “We will have to get more creative with our rendezvous.”

“Perhaps, you should switch chores and start tending to the fires in my bedchamber.”

“You know that’s not allowed.”

“Pretend to be attending to my father’s, then come to me instead.”

“That could work.” He grips her chin and leans in. That’s when I step in and snatch her wrist, pulling her away.

“Harry!” She gasps. “What…what….”

“Be quiet.” I tell her, keeping my grip tight on her. I look at the man, a stableboy who I’ve known for years. “Whatever this is, it is over. If you want to keep your job, which I think you do, you will not speak to Lady Margaret again. And if I hear of anything, I will have you fired and shipped off to mucking shit out of the streets. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy nods, shaking where he stands.

“Good.” I tug Margaret along, and once we have enough distance, I let her go. I place my hands on my hips and tap my foot. “I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“An explanation.”

“I do not owe you one.”

“You do if you wish for me to keep this a secret.”

“Please, don’t have him fired.”

“I won’t if he heeds my warning.” I take a step closer to her, inspecting her. “Has he compromised you?”

“It’s really unfair. You men get to go off and fuck random women all you want, and get praised for it, but if I do anything, I’m a whore.”

“I’m sorry about the double standard, but I have less to lose. I don’t have to worry about becoming pregnant. Now, answer my question. Has he compromised you?” I get right in her face.

“No.”

“That includes kissing. Has he kissed you?”

“No.”

“It looked like he was about to a moment ago.”

“He was going to kiss my nose. Or my forehead. Or me cheek. It’s all I’ve allowed.”

“Are you telling me the full truth?”

“Yes.” She pushes me away. “I’m not an idiot. I know better than to compromise myself. Everyone in the house thinks he and I are friends. Men and women can be friends, you know.”

“I’m aware of that, but you can’t…you can’t sneak around with a stableboy.”

“You’ve had sex with a ton of the servants!”

“It’s different!”

“How?!”

“Because I am not a beautiful, naïve young lady who has barely been out in society for three hours! I am a man, Margaret.” I place my hands on her shoulders, drawing her nearer. “I know what goes through a man’s head when they see a young lady like you. Stableboy or nobleman, they will do anything to trap someone like you into marriage. Is that what you want? To marry someone because you couldn’t control yourself until your wedding night?”

“Are you going to tell me that you’ve never slept with one of the debutantes?”

“I never have. I’ve slept with widows, I’ve even slept with married women, but I have never slept with an innocent girl that’s trying to find a husband. The risk is too high. I also don’t want to get trapped into marriage. Please, you need to…fucking hell.” I let her go and groan. “I’m going to have to attend every bloody ball this season.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to need to chaperone you. Lord knows your mother will be trying to get you to dance with every moron in the place. I love Aunt Catherine, but she’s still a desperate mama.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Apparently, I do.”

“You always said you’d never treat me like your little sister…why are you starting to now?”

“Margaret, let me make something very clear: I am not looking out for you because I see you as my baby sister. I have never looked at you and felt brotherly fondness. I am looking out for you because it’s the right thing to do. George can be your big brother, but I certainly will not be.”

“Okay, okay.” She blushes. Wait, what? I’m making her blush? I step back another foot and clear my throat.

“You should go inside. You need to get ready for tonight, and apparently, so do I.”

Margaret

My first ball as a woman of society. I have never been so excited. I’m on my father’s arm, and my mother is on my other side. I’m really happy with the dress I’m wearing. The modiste tailored my bust perfectly. My mother says the bosom is the first thing a man looks at when speaking to a woman. I was put off at first, but she kept explaining. Men want to see a healthy bust and wide hips. I have both. I am perfect for child baring. I didn’t want that to be my only worth, but at the end of the day, all girls are married off, forced to leave the comforts of home, and grow their own family.

When I see some friends, my father lets me go speak with them. We’re all sipping on lemonade, talking about how excited we are about being here. I look around and raise an eyebrow when I see a gaggle of women surrounding someone.

“Who are they flocking to?” I ask the group.

“As someone who was out last year,” Alice says, “it can only be Harry Styles.”

“You can’t be serious.” I respond flatly. “The rumors are true?”

“Truer than true.” Alice nods. “The mamas surround him first, introducing and pointing out their daughters. Once they fan out, the widows and the lonely wives try their luck. I wonder who the lucky lady of the evening will be.”

“God help whoever it is.” I sip my lemonade, then see Mildred’s jaw drop. “Millie, what is it?”

“He…Lord Styles is coming this way.”

“He is?!” Alice chokes on her drink.

I roll my eyes just as he’s approaching us.

“Ladies.” He bows his head. “Having a nice time thus far?”

“Oh, yes, Lord Styles.” Alice smiles, clearly nervous.

“You all look lovely.” He turns to me. “Even you, Miss Abernathy.” His eyes roam up and down my body. “Turquoise suits you.”

“Mhm.” I grunt and finish off my drink. I catch him looking at my dance card that’s dangling on my wrist. He takes it between his fingers.

“Ah.” He takes a pencil out of his jacket pocket and writes his name in the first slot, then draws a line down through the rest.”

“Harry!” I shriek. “Erase that, this instant.”

“No can do.”

“It’s improper for us to dance more than twice. You just filled up all five of my slots!”

“I am aware of what I have done.” He takes one of my hands and brings his mouth to my ear. “I said I’d be keeping an eye on you tonight, and I am a man of my word.” He pulls back and looks at Alice and Mildred. “Ladies.” He bows his head, then tugs me to the dance floor.

“Mean.” I mutter as he begins to lead me.

“Do you remember when our governess would let us practice dancing together? You liked it when I’d let you step up on my feet and dance you around.”

“Yes, I remember. It was one of the few times you and I got along.”

“I’ve always gotten along with you. I’ve just created boundaries over the years.”

“Right because it would have been horrible to treat me like a member of your family.” I scoff.

“It would be. I’ll never look at you or treat you like someone I’m related to.” He twirls me around, then continues our waltz.

“Mean.”

“Don’t you want to know why?”

“Because you think I, and my parents, are freeloaders.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. You’ve said so several times throughout the years.” I look around. “Where’s your brother? I’d rather dance with him.”

“He’s at the gentleman’s club tonight, having brandy with some mates.”

“You didn’t want to join him?”

“No, I needed to be here.”

“You didn’t need to do anything. Now no one else will be able to dance with me. Everyone is going to think I belong to you.”

“You do.”

“Harry.” I suck my teeth. It’s very undignified, but there’s no need for us to be formal with one another. The rules don’t always necessarily apply to us.

“Margaret, I am the son of a viscount. Do you have any idea how many callers you’ll have tomorrow? Everyone will see us dancing, and then-“

“I didn’t need help.” The music stops and we bow at each other. “Erase your name. If we dance more than two times together, people will think we’re courting.”

“No.”

“Harry.”

“Margaret.”

“Why do you care so much?! Are you out to ruin my life?! I have to take this seriously. This is my future that I’m trying to secure.”

“You’re not getting married this season.”

“Whether it happens or not, I get to decide for myself.” The music picks back up, and he starts leading me again. “I’m going to put a dead fish under your pillow.” I threaten him.

“If you want to come into my bedchamber so badly, you could just ask.”

“Shut up.”

“Why don’t you like me anymore? You used to adore me.”

“You were mean to me one too many times. Now I hate you.”

“This isn’t hate.” He chuckles lowly, shaking his head.

“What is it, then?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

I huff with frustration at him. I’m silent for the rest of the song, then I excuse myself. I head to the women’s parlor room and stop when I see my mother and Aunt Edith chatting. They both see me and smile, so I approach.

“Having fun, dear?” My mother turns my dance card over and gasps.

“What?” Aunt Edith says. Then a gasp leaves her. “Why did he do this?”

“I don’t know.” I frown. “But I’ve already danced with him twice, and I do not wish to flaunt a third.”

“He��s probably using you to avoid the flock of desperate women.” Aunt Edith rolls her eyes. “Luckily, I have a pencil.” She reaches into her bust and pulls out a pencil, then erases the line Harry drew. “There, you’ve just freed up three more spaces.”

“I think there was a young man your father wanted you to meet.” Mother says. “Come, I’ll lead you to him.”

“I’m going to speak with my son.” Aunt Edith says.

Later on, I see Aunt Edith having a few words with Harry. Serves him right.

I end up dancing with three other, very charming, young men. I’m walking on clouds as I make my way up to my bed chamber later that night. Agnes helps me undress, and then I send her on her way. I wanted to write in my diary for a bit before getting into bed. Just as I’m getting into my nightgown, I hear a knock on my door.

“Mama, is that you?” I open it and see Harry. He puts a finger up to his lips before forcing his way inside and closing the door. He paces around my room. He stops to look at me, then blushes. He looks around and tosses my dressing gown at me. Wait…he was blushing because of me? “What do you want?” I whisper. “We haven’t been allowed in each other’s bedchambers since we were old enough to leave the nursery.”

“I’m aware of the rules.” He continues pacing. “Names. I want names.”

“Of whom?”

“The other men you danced with tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because I will need to speak to them about how to be respectful. Some of these men are vultures. Some of them are much older than you. You’re still a child, Margaret. I will not have a forty-year-old man asking for your hand.”

“I’m nineteen, I’m out, I am no child.”

“You’re naïve and innocent and immature. Now, the names.”

“You’ll find out tomorrow when they come to call on me.”

“Margaret, I am not asking.”

“Harry, I am not telling.” I cross my arms over my chest, he plants his hands on his hips. We’re having a classic standoff. He usually wins. “Ugh, fine. Lord Blythe-“

“A rake.”

“It takes one to know one, I suppose.” I shrug. “Lord Howard.”

“Too old for you.”

“And Lord Fairchild.”

“No money.” He shakes his head. “None of them will do.”

“Harry, I think my father and mother will take care of all of this. I am not your ward. It is not your responsibility to make sure I’m married off.”

“You have to marry someone you like, Margaret. You won’t like any of those men.”

“Alright, what about Simon or Timothy?”

“What about them?”

“They’re your friends, you must trust them.”

“Not with you.”

“Tell me who you would have me marry, then?”

“I’m going to bed.” He shakes his head.

“Oh, so I have to answer your questions, but you won’t answer mine?”

“Exactly.” He smirks. “Even you aren’t a match for my charm.”

“Mean.”

“Too bad.”

“Get out of my room.”

“I already said I was going to bed.” He brushes by me. “I will be dancing with you at every ball you attend. I don’t care what my mother says. Your father is a nincompoop. He won’t make sure you’re cared for. My father is too busy focusing on George and pressuring him to settle down. That leaves me, the only other man in your life, to look after you. I will be chaperoning any callers tomorrow.”

“No, you’ll intimidate them.”

“Good. Whoever you marry will have to deal with me. Best for them to learn that now.” He opens the door and looks back at me. “You looked really…pretty tonight.” Then he leaves.

I hate him.

Three Years Before the Wedding

Harry

There is nothing more cliché than rain at a funeral. I’m just glad we’re in the country, otherwise all of London would have fought tooth and nail to be at this service. I knew this day would come, I just didn’t think it be before my father could be a grandfather.

It was sudden. I wasn’t there, but I was told that he couldn’t breathe all of a sudden. The doctors suspected it was some sort of heart attack.

George is currently giving a eulogy, my mother is sobbing, and I am as frozen as a statue. I feel more angry than sad. I haven’t cried yet. I tried to, but nothing would come. I hear a sniffle beside me and see Margaret dabbing at her eyes. Unexpectedly, I feel a warm hand in mine. It’s hers. I look down in shock. She’s squeezing it and rubbing her thumb along my knuckles. She looks up at me and gives me the most somber smile. That’s when I feel tears streak down my cheeks. I squeeze her hand back, and face forward again.

That’s the thing about Margaret. She can’t always find the words, but somehow, she’s able to say so much without saying anything at all. She’ll never know how much her holding my hand helped me through my father’s death.

Two and a Half Years Before the Wedding

Harry

“Sir, we must start making the necessary arrangements.” Peters, my valet, says to me. “How would you like to proceed?” I look at him, then I look back down at my brother’s lifeless body.

“Do what you think is best, Peters. I have more important things to worry about. I’m the viscount now, and I don’t know a single thing about being a viscount. I have a lot of studying to do, I have ledgers to read, I have deeds to go over. I’ll be very busy. You know how to put a funeral together. Send for the coroner, get him embalmed, and get the carriages ready to bring us to the country. He will be buried in a plot by my father. Oh, and have someone collect all of the contents of George’s study. I’ll need to look over any contracts or anything he may have signed off on.”

“My lord…” Peters places his hand on my shoulder, not something most people would allow, but I allow it. “Your brother is dead.”

“I didn’t know him. He never let me know who he really was. That isn’t my brother. That’s just…that’s just a man named George Edward Styles. And he was nothing more than a coward.”

“Do you not even want to read the note?” Peters holds it up.

“No. Burn it.”

Margaret

It seems like I’ve been wearing nothing but mourning attire these days. I’m devastated over the loss of George. Styles Estate House isn’t the same without him. I haven’t had romantic feelings for him for years, but George and I grew to be wonderful friends. I miss him dearly.

And Harry…Harry has grown cold. He’s as cold as he was when I first met him. I’d never met a more adult child than him. It fascinated me. I forced him to warm up. Now, I’m not sure what I can do. Aunt Edith is catatonic, I do not blame her. My own mother spends her days doing her best to console my aunt. She even moved her bedroom to Edith’s wing of the home. I’m not sure how my father feels about that.

Harry spends a lot of his time in the study. The good student that he is, he has learned how to be a proper viscount in no time flat. I feel bad he can no longer focus on his agriculture studies or his astronomy studies.

Things with him have been weird even since before George died. Right before we left for the country, I had been proposed to. It was rather awkward because I had been courting with multiple men. When the man proposed, he did it in front of my mother and Harry, my usual chaperones. I looked at Harry, and that was all it took.

“No.” He said. “She doesn’t accept. Please leave now before you embarrass yourself further.”

He wasn’t even viscount yet, but he held so much power in that room that the man who proposed scurried away. Even though Harry is my mortal enemy, I took comfort in knowing that he and I can still communicate nonverbally like we did when we were children.

I come down to the study one evening. He did not come to dinner, so I had Cook plate something up for him and I offered to carry it. The country is much laxer, I love it.

“Harry?” I knock on the door and open it. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“I’m not.” He says, not looking up at me, scribbling in a ledger.

“You need to eat.”

He puts his quill down and slowly and looks up at me. His eyes are red, bloodshot. He’s either been drinking or crying…or both. I set the covered plate down on his desk.

“Why did you bring this to me?”

“You weren’t at dinner.”

“Why would you care?”

“Harry, your-“

“I’m not Harry anymore. I’m the viscount. I own all of this.” He stands up and runs a hand through his hair. “Do you know how fucking terrifying this is? This was never supposed to be me. My father never trained me on any of this because he didn’t think he’d need to! And now my brother is gone! He left on purpose! He didn’t care about what he’d be leaving me with.”

“What do you mean he left on purpose? I thought he died in his sleep.”

“He did, after he poisoned himself.”

“Why…why would he do that?” My eyes water.

“It’s not for your ears. You should go get ready for bed.”

“Harry, can I help with anything? I’m good at arithmetic because of you, I could-“

“You can help me by leaving me be. I just want to be alone. I have a lot to do.”

“Okay.” I nod. “When you feel like not being alone, I’m here.”

“You’re a distraction. I don’t need any distractions right now.”

“Sometimes you need a distraction to-“

“Margaret!” He slams his hands down on the desk. “What are you even doing in here alone with me? You shouldn’t be alone with me. Not now, not ever.”

“This is absurd. You’ve come to my bedchamber before.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you! Get out!”

“Mean!”

“You’re damn right I’m mean. Now get the fuck out of here before I show you just how mean I can be.”

I fled after that, tears running down my face. I took a reprieve from hating him. I won’t be doing that ever again.

One Year Before the Wedding

Margaret

It appears as though every time I receive a marriage proposal, someone dies. I turned down another, and then three days later, my father died. He had been rather ill, he caught a flu a few months ago and never recovered. It was so slow and painful.

Being in mourning means that we can’t attend any functions. We can’t even leave the house. I’m a bit worried about what is to happen to our own estate. Even though we have no land, my father was still a lord. That should count for something. Some distant male cousin may come and tell us we need to live with him now. I’m petrified of that happening. My mother doesn’t seem worried about anything, though. If she isn’t worried, then I suppose I won’t be either.

Harry

Lord Abernathy’s funeral was rather well attended. He was buried in London, but since we’ll be in mourning, we have gone out to the country a month or so earlier than we intended. It’s fine by me. I much prefer the solitude of the country.

“Harry?” My mother knocks on my study door, Aunt Catherine is beside her. This conversation was inevitable. “Do you have a moment, there is something we must speak with you about.”

“I know.” I sigh. “Come in, and please close the door.”

“Darling, ehm, years ago, your father, George, and Lord Abernathy wrote up a marriage contract for Margaret.” Mother says.

“I know.” I round my desk and open one of the drawers, pulling out a file. “It was amongst George’s things.”

“You’ve known about this since your brother died and you did not bring it up?” Catherine asks.

“Neither of you brought it up, and Lord Abernathy certainly didn’t bring it up to me. I thought maybe he had secured a different marriage contract for Margaret. In all honesty, I was rather disappointed in all of you. George was much too old for Margaret.”

“He would have made Margaret happy.” Catherine says.

“And George needed to settle down before he got too old. Your father made him a deal: if he could not find a woman to marry, then he would marry Margaret when she was at a more appropriate age. It worked out for everyone. She would make a perfect viscountess, it would secure her family’s finances…”

“Did Lord Abernathy secure a new marriage contract for Margaret or not?” I cut to the chase.

“No.” Catherine answers, her eyes watering. “I do not know what to do now. I do not have any male relatives to turn to for help. My ladyship hangs in the balance, which means Margaret’s ladyship hangs in the balance. My husband does not have any male relatives close to here. Someone I do not even know could come claim Margaret and I…and I’m terrified that she will be taken advantage of.”

“Someone from parliament will be by to discuss the Abernathy lordship.” Mother says. “I know of a few men who might-“

“I will marry Margaret.” I say. They both go silent and wide eyed. “It is the quickest way to write up a new contract. I can forge George’s signature. Aunt Catherine, you must be able to forge Uncle John’s. We can write up a new marriage contract stating that George knew he was sick and wanted to secure a proper match for myself and Margaret. It would honor the original Abernathy agreement, and it would explain why a young lady would be promised to a second son. This would also ensure that you and Margaret will not be taken away by some male cousin. Everything that’s left of your estate will go to me, that will be Margaret’s dowry.”

“We have money set aside for that.”

“I do not want your money. Save it for clothing and jewelry.” I grab a fresh sheet of paper and dip my quill into some ink. “We have to do this quickly. This will need time to dry and I will need to dunk it in some tea and dry it again so it looks older.”

“Harry…Margaret was never told about her arrangement with George. I am worried she will not take this news well.” Catherine says as she forges her husband’s signature.

“She is not ready for marriage yet. Wait for her to actually consider a proposal from a suitor, and then you can tell her of the arrangement.”

“What if she’s in love with the suitor?” Mother asks.

“She won’t be. I know Margaret Leigh very well, like the back of my hand. Believe me when I tell you, she will not fall in love with any man who tries to court her.”

“Harry, are you certain you are alright with this?” Mother asks, placing her hand on my shoulder.

“It is how Father would have handled things. Besides, at least with me, Margaret will actually be able to produce an heir.”

“Why would she not have with George?” Catherine asks. My mother and I make eyes, then look at her. “What?”

“George was a dandy. He may have bedded Margaret on their wedding night, but probably not again after that. And sometimes, an heir is not made during the first go at things.” I explain.

“Oh, goodness. I suppose George wouldn’t have made Margaret happy, then.”

“No, he would have. They were good friends, and that’s how they would have remained. She would have just needed to seek out nightly comfort from someone else.”

“Enough, this is not appropriate.” Mother says. “Do what you need to do to the document. Speak with the representative from Parliament, let them know that there is a plan in place for Margaret. She will be informed of everything when the time is right.”

Seven Months Before the Wedding

Margaret

“Give me one good reason that I had to turn down Lord Chesterfield?! It was a perfectly acceptable proposal!” I shout at my mother as we enter the upstairs drawing room.

“Because! Because you have a marriage contract already!”

“What?! Why did you never tell me? When did this happen?”

“Your father arranged for it well before he died. We were just waiting to tell you until you became a bit older, a bit readier for marriage. The man we originally planned for you to marry was much older than you.”

“Why are you speaking of this man in the past tense?”

“Because he is no longer alive.”

“Who was it?”

“George.”

“As in George Styles?”

“Yes.”

“Why wasn’t I ever told about this?!” I’m about ready to rip all my hair out.

“It would take too long to explain.”

“I think I deserve an explanation.”

“I honestly do not have one. Your father kept me in the dark about most of it. I was just happy that he secured a good match for you. He did his job.”

“And now? Who am I to wed now?”

“Harry.”

“Very funny.”

“I am not kidding.”

“Mother.”

“You have been promised to him.”

“I’m not marrying Harry. I refuse!”

“You can’t.”

“What will he be getting out of this?”

“Aunt Catherine, may I have a private word with my betrothed?” Harry stands in the doorway, smirking. He’s like the villain in a children’s story. “I think I will be better able to answer her questions.”

“Of course.” My mother stands up and leaves the room.

Harry closes and locks the door. We stare at each other for a few moments.

“Not excited?” He finally asks.

“Why would I be?”

“You could do worse.” He shrugs.

“Why would you…you just agreed to this so easily?”

“There are many factors at play. You no longer have a male close to you to look out for you. We haven’t heard a thing about any relatives. I think my mother would off herself if you and Catherine were taken from here.”

“That would have happened when I eventually married.”

“No, just you would be taken away. Catherine would have remained here.”

“So, you’re doing this for your mother?”

“And for you. I don’t require a dowry, I have plenty of money and plenty of homes. You’ll be taken care of. You won’t even have to move. You can go on existing as you do now.”

“You don’t want to be married!”

“No, but I need to. I need to produce an heir at some point.”

“You could choose any other woman to marry. Why me?”

“Well, you’re the most suitable option. You can carry on an intelligent conversation. So many of these girls…they just say what they think you want to hear, what their mothers have told them to say to a man like me. I can speak candidly with you. It would take years for me to forge a relationship like that with another woman. You already know how an estate such as mine needs to be run. You’ve been watching my mother be a viscountess for ages. You’ll slip into the role flawlessly, Margaret. You’ll take your place in society. And she’s still here to keep showing you the ropes. You also know every single person who works for us and they all like you. That’s a big deal. Why should I bring a new woman in here? What if none of them like her? Some of these women are witches in disguise. This is convenient for both of us.”

“But…Harry…I hate you.”

“So?”

“So?! So?! I want to marry for love!”

“Margaret, grow up!” His voice booms, and he stalks toward me. I back up until my back hits a bookshelf. “You are an over-privileged little brat who has never been told no. You’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted throughout your entire life! People like us? We don’t get to choose what happens to us! I was never supposed to be viscount, and yet, here I am! I have to produce an heir. I need a wife. I can’t keep going to these events, pretending to care about anything any of these girls have to say! Don’t you think I’d want you to marry for love? That’s typically the exception, not the rule. Most people like us don’t marry for love. They marry for money and stability. Your mother will be well taken care of into her old age now. She and my mother will move into the other family home, the one you grew up in. We will have Styles House to ourselves. You can make it your own.” He takes a step back from me. “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do.”

“This isn’t fair.”

“Life isn’t fair! I lost my father and my brother within a year of each other. I had to grow up in the blink of an eye. I had to put all of my interests and dreams aside to come home and take care of my family. And if you think for a second that I wouldn’t see to it that you weren’t also well taken care of, then you’re a lot dumber than I thought.”

“In order for me to produce an heir for you, that means we will need to…share a bed.”

“I’m aware of how babies are made.” He rolls his eyes.

“No, I mean…you would really…bed me?”

His face is, well, I can’t read it. He’s looking at me like I’m crazy. His hands come up and they look like they’re about to cup my face, but he just grips the bookshelf on either side of my head, caging me in.

“For the last four years, I have had to endure you being out in this society. I have had to watch you be called on, courted, and proposed to. Do you have any idea how much I wanted to wring the neck of every man that thought they were good enough for you? None of those men could have you. None of those men would even know what to do with you.” He’s so close. I can smell the mint on his breath. I can see the sweat forming on his face. My heart is racing.

“Why would you care about any of that? It’s not like…it’s not like…you agreed to push me down into the dirt just so your friends wouldn’t tease you about me, so don’t stand there and tell me you’re more than willing to marry me.”

“You need to let that go.” He growls. “I’m not a boy anymore, and you’re not a girl. I’m a man, and you are a lady.”

“I’m not marrying you.”

“Yes, you are.” He steps back from me. “The contracts have been signed. I went to the bishop to apply for a marriage license. We will marry at the beginning of next season. That leaves you plenty of time to plan the wedding of your dreams. Make it as lavish and extravagant as you like.”

“None of this makes any sense.”

“Let me make it make sense, then. If you don’t marry me, you will be forced to marry someone out of absolute necessity. You know who doesn’t care about dowries? Disgusting old men who will force you to give them an heir.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“I’m not forcing you to do anything with your body that you don’t want to do. But if you want some shit-stained, yellow-teethed, drunken old fuck with lots of cash, be my guest.”

“There are plenty of other gentlemen-“

“You don’t have the time to find one. You and Catherine have been given a grace period, one that I asked Parliament for. That’s why you haven’t been taken by a male relative yet. No one has been contacted. But that grace period is almost up. I looked into who would end up taking over your estate. Would you like to live in the Scottish countryside? Because that’s where you’re going if we don’t get married. This is about survival, on both of our ends.”

“Mean.” Is all I can say, just above a whisper as tears burn at my eyes.

“This is all business, Margaret, try not to take it too personally. I’m not doing anything to you on purpose. I learned my lesson when I did that to you the first time.” My eyes snap to his. “I have a ring for you. I picked out something I think you will like quite a lot.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the small box. He kneels before me on one knee and takes me left hand. I’m shaking. “Miss Margaret Leigh Abernathy, would you do me the great honor of becoming Viscountess Styles and being my wife?”

“Why are you asking if I don’t even have a choice?”

“Because even you deserve a proper proposal.”

I nod and he slips the ring on. It is quite beautiful. Damn him for knowing my taste in jewelry. He stands back up and brushes himself off.

“Good. Now the moving can begin.”

“Moving?”

“Yes, you and Catherine will be moved back to the other London house during our engagement. It wouldn’t be proper for us to live in the same home. People would talk. People don’t talk about my family often, but this is something that would be talked about, and I will not have your reputation ruined. This works out well since Catherine will end up living there after we’re married anyways. Gives her time to become reacquainted.” He places his hands on my shoulders. “Buck up, princess, you’re marrying a viscount.”

#the arrangement #viscountrry #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x oc #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #regency era #victorian era

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zmwrites · 3 months ago

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hi Ghosty

if you have a particular trope(s) that pop up in all your stories, do you make a conscious effort to make sure you're writing it differently every time, or do you let it become its own version as you go, or do you not really care because you love this trope and you'll just have it the same way every time? (this is of particular interest to me)

hi sleepy!!!

it depends on how obvious the trope is, but usually between the “let it become its own version as I go” and “not caring” bc i never know which stories will make it to the finish line. why deprive myself of my favourite tropes until i start publishing books? and even then, will people really complain that i made too much of a certain type of cake?

i do try to subvert certain tropes i find myself using too much. i found myself writing exclusively action girls who didn’t care about fashion or society’s expectations, so my next wips were Remnants and Open Seas which follow an assistant dressmaker-turned-healer (Radka) and a society darling whose entire life is dictated by society’s expectations (Tess). they both still get action and adventure during their stories, but they’re not stereotypical action girls by any stretch.

then i found i was writing too many ��special” main characters — Violet and Maisy from Indigo Wars are a chosen one and a princess whose throne was stolen, respectively, and Radka from Remnants has special magic, so then Jane from Just Jane was created. she’s no one special, but there’s shit that needs to be done and she’s there so she’s doing it.

and, of course, i was writing a bunch of fantasy and then found myself writing a cheesy modern romance story just to write something different.

so i do make an effort to ensure stories and characters are different from each other, especially if i’ve been writing too much of one thing, but i don’t get upset if certain things pop up again and again. i think of it like a trademark. it will never be exactly the same bc the stories and characters are different, so what’s the harm?

#zoe replies

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trickstarbrave · 1 year ago

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examples:

miscommunication:

this one is hated because it's actually rarely done correctly at all whenever someone is complaining about it. the classic trope for romance stories when the author has no idea what to do fucking do: have a character hear or see something out of context, assume the worst, not talk to their partner, and get depressed/anxious/insecure and act like an ass.

this isn't actually miscommunication. its a LACK of communication. miscommunication is when two people are communicating verbally or through other methods and they come away with wildly different understandings of the conversation. this happens regularly in real life where mistakes in tone, cultural values, and other things that make people unique can lead to wildly different interpretations of the same conversation. and also more importantly for this trope: the pay off of the understanding has to match the drama of the miscommunication. if your couple has a third act break up over a "misunderstanding" that is actually just an assumption made with 0 communication, just having the realize "oh tee hee sorry i assumed the absolute wrong thing, my bad, lets get married" is going to feel completely fucking cheap, contrived, and annoying to get through.

pregnancy trope:

this one will def still have some haters who are child free, scared of pregnancy, or just don't like reading about it. that's perfectly fine. but i think the general annoyance with the trope is also due in part because lazy authors like to make various assumptions which are: 1. having children with someone makes your relationship stronger, better, more true, or any number of things and 2. assumes that in order for a woman (and its usually a woman) has to have children in order to be fulfilled in life. which are sexist tropes that are used to back it up, making this frustrating and annoying to slog through. actual logistics of having a child, complications, cost analysis, etc is usually thrown to the wayside when uhhhhh having a child is usually a pretty big and important (and depending on the setting, dangerous) thing to go through. i think if pregnancy was only chosen to be in a story when it suits it rather than just being an assumption that its the natural progression of a relationship/woman's character arc to make babies, it would be a more personal ick than a widely disliked trope.

love triangles:

very rarely are these ever done in a satisfying way and are almost always used for unnecessary drama and hype and as a way to cause fandom disputes for hype. i think we were all burnt out as a society from the team edward vs team jacob shit. i think the problem is very rarely is a love triangle in many stories given as a way to further the narrative or as genuine character growth, and also they are typically very clearly unevenly balanced. overseas stories already point this out and assign them clear hierarchies: there are male leads, and there are secondary male leads you know don't even stand a chance. they aren't gonna get the girl. its never really a will they-wont they situation and more so feels akin to ship bait. but ultimately, especially in western stories, people throw it in not because others enjoy the trope but because they have seen it hyped up in other, more successful stories.

i have to say it. a lot of people hate specific tropes not because they hate the concept of the tropes, they just hate it when they are used badly. im sure some people will still hate these tropes even when done well, but most of the time you just hate this dogshit contrived situation that is only in the story because the author had no other fucking ideas

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kategorema · 4 years ago

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So fun fact you should definitely know about me: i absolutely love romance as a genre, be it movies, literature or series (it's taken me awhile to accept that but that's a whole other post), and i absolutely love every single trope because at the end of the day they are very useful devices that serve the development of the plot, each one highlighting different aspects of the story/characters, and fake dating is no exception. I make this post as a fan first and foremost and im definitely no authority on the subject.

In my mind, this trope is often used to sort of liberate the characters, to allow them to behave how they actually want to and to express their feelings in a way that feels "safe". Being able to attribute their behaviour to acting allows them to express mutual admiration, interest and attraction a lot more freely until they're ready to admit that all that was 100% real and i feel like Vincenzo leaned into that really well. So here's some of the fake dating motifs i absolutely adore and were used in episode 14 to showcase their true feelings:

physical contact: no. 1 rule of pretending to be a couple is an excess of physical contact and they certainly delivered. In the gallery scenes chayoung is leaning on his shoulder when they're standing around and vincenzo constantly has his hand on her back while they're walking. I absolutely love the way this motif was executed because he does it almost absentmindedly the director is not even looking at them they have no reason to pretend but he doesn't take his hand off and that is usually used to highlight the familiarity and intimacy between the couple.

gifts: so this is a fairly common motif in fake dating when one half of the couple has a certain amount of money and can easily be mishandled. It's easy to end up in a "makeover scene" where it feels a lot like one of them is trying to change the other and make them "fit in". I honestly wasn't so sure about it when vincenzo said that line about his partners but once again they did not disappoint. The clothes and jewellery that they bought together felt completely chayoung and were chosen by her and so that line felt more like an excuse vincenzo used to buy her something without having to say he wanted to offer her a gift than anything else.

pet names: usually it starts as a "strategy" to convince whomever that they're a couple but the best part about it is when they forget themselves and use them when they're not pretending, which vincenzo absolutely did. Another motif that adds to the sense of familiarity between the couple. I don't have a "valid" reason to love this as much as i do i just think it's extremely fucking cute.

compromising positions: purely a plot device to get things moving usually consisting of people asking the couple to kiss or asking questions about their "love story". As always Vincenzo raised it up a notch and the poor man ended up having to propose as well as having to kiss her (not that he's complaining). I feel like it's obvious why i love this it makes things happen and it's usually the catalyst for a lot of Realizations™

Lines: this motif brings me back to the safety of the "pretense" where basically the couple allow themselves to be verbally expressive in a way they never would otherwise bc that's what a boyfriend/girlfriend is supposed to say, right?!. Clear examples of this are when they both say that was a magical unforgettable night or when vincenzo throws that line at the jewellery store and then can barely look at her. Look i just really enjoy subtleties alright??

first kiss: first kisses in fake dating are extra special in my opinion bc they're always supposed to start unsure and by the end the couple have forgotten the world around them. The uncertainty of whether their partner actually meant that or are they just that good of an actor adds extra spice. Vincenzo once again passed the bar bc, and i've said this before, that was a long ass kiss for a kdrama holy shit the slow burn is superb. The hug test might have failed but after that i dont think anyone doubts his feelings right?

All in all, i fucking loved this episode it took all my favourite things about fake dating and elevated them further. The whole thing felt an awful lot like foreshadowing of chayenzo as a couple which makes me positively giddy.

#analysis #vincenzo #chayenzo #kdrama #vincenzo x cha young #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #tell me how you like it 😅

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wolfstar-in-color · 3 years ago

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July Colorful Column: Remus is a Crip, and We Can Write Him Better.

There is one thing that can get me to close a fic so voraciously I don’t even make sure I’m not closing other essential tabs in the process. It doesn’t matter how much I’m loving the fic, how well written I think it is, or how desperately I want to know how it ends. Once I read this sentence, I am done.

It’s written in a variety of different ways, but it always goes something like this: “You don’t want me,” Remus said, “I am too sick/broken/poor/old/[insert chosen self-demeaning adjective here].”

You’re familiar with the trope. The trope is canonical. And if you’ve been around the wolfstar fandom for longer than a few minutes, you’ve read the trope. Maybe you love the trope! Maybe you’ve written the trope! Maybe you’re about to stop reading this column, because the trope rings true to you and you feel a little attacked!

Now, let’s get one thing out of the way right now: I am not saying the trope is wrong. I am not saying it’s bad. I am not saying we should stop writing it. We all have things we don’t like to see in our chosen fics. Maybe you can’t stand Leather Jacket Motorbike Sirius? Maybe you think Elbow Patch Remus is overdone? Or maybe your pet peeves are based in something a little deeper - maybe you think Poor Latino Remus is an irresponsible depiction, or that PWPs are too reductive? Whatever it is, we all have our things.

Let me tell you about my thing. When I first became very ill several years ago, there were various low points in which I felt I had become inherently unlovable. This is, more or less, a normal reaction. When your body stops doing things it used to be able to do - or starts doing things you were quite alright without, thank you very much - it changes the way you relate to your body. You don’t want to hear my whole disability history, so yada yada yada, most people eventually come to accept their limitations. It’s a very painful existence, one in which you constantly tell yourself your disability has transformed you into a burdensome, unworthy member of society, and if nothing else, it’s not terribly sustainable. Being disabled takes grit! It takes power! It takes a truly absurd amount of medical self-advocacy! Hating yourself? Thinking yourself unworthy of love? No one has time for that.

Of course, I’m being hyperbolic. Plenty of disabled people struggle with these feelings many years into their disabilities, and never really get over them. But here’s the thing. We experience those stories ALL THE TIME. Remember Rain Man? Or Million Dollar Baby? Or that one with the actress from Game of Thrones and that British actor who seemed like he was going to have a promising career but then didn't? Those are all stories about sad, bitter disabled people and their sad, bitter lives, two out of three of which end in the character completing suicide because they simply couldn’t imagine having to live as a disabled person. (I mean, come on media, I get that we're less likely to enjoy a leisurely Saturday hike, but our parking is SUBLIME.) When was the last time you engaged with media that depicted a happy disabled person? A complex disabled person? A disabled person who has sex? No really, these aren’t hypothetical questions, can you please drop a rec in the notes?? Because I am desperate.

There are lots of problems with this trope, and they’ve been discussed ad nauseam by people with PhDs. I’m not actually interested in talking about how this trope leads to a more prevalent societal idea that disabled people are unworthy of love, or contributes to the kind of political thought processes that keep disabled people purposefully disenfranchised. I’m just a bitch on Tumblr, and I have a bone to pick: the thing I really hate about the trope? It’s boring. I’m bored. You know how, like, halfway through Grey’s Anatomy you realized they were just recycling the same plot points over and over again and there was just no WAY anyone working at a hospital prone to THAT MANY disasters would stay on staff? It's like that. I love a recycled trope as much as the next person (There Was Only One Bed, anyone?). But I need. Something. Else.

Remus is disabled. BOLD claim. WILD speculation. Except, not really. You simply - no matter how you flip it, slice it, puree it, or deconstruct it - cannot tell me Remus Lupin is not disabled. Most of us, by this point, are probably familiar with the way that One Canonical Author intended One Dashing Werewolf to be “a metaphor for those illnesses that carry stigma, like HIV and AIDS” [I’m sorry to link you to an outside source quoting She Who Must Not Be Named, but we’re professionals here]. Which is... a thing. It’s been discussed. And, listen, there’s no denying that this parallel is a problematic interpretation of people who have HIV/AIDS and all such similar “those illnesses” (though I’ll admit that I, too, am perennially apt to turn into a raging beast liable to harm anything that crosses my path, but that’s more linked to the at-least-once-monthly recollection that One Day At A Time got cancelled). Critiques aside, Remus Lupin is a character who - due to a condition that affects him physically, mentally, emotionally, and intellectually - is repeatedly marginalized, oppressed, denied political and social power, and ostracized due to unfounded fear that he is infectious to others. Does that sound familiar?

We’re not going to argue about whether or not “Remus is canonically disabled as fuck” is a fair reading. And the reason we’re not going to argue about whether or not it’s a fair reading is because I haven’t read canon in 10-plus years and you will win the argument. Canon is only marginally relevant here. The icon of this blog is brown, curly haired Remus Lupin kissing his trans boyfriend, Sirius Black. We are obviously not too terribly invested in canon. The wolfstar fandom is now a community with over 25,000 AO3 fics, entire careers launched from drawing or writing or cosplaying this non-canonical pairing. We love to play around here with storylines and universes and races and genders and sexualities and all kinds of things, but most of the time? Remus is still disabled. He’s disabled as a werewolf in canon-compliant works, he’s disabled in the AUs where he was injured or abused or kidnapped or harmed as a child, he’s disabled in the stories that read him as chronically ill or bipolar or traumatized or blind or Deaf. I’d go so far as to say that he is one of very few characters in the Wide Wonderful World of media who is, in as close to his essence as one can be, always disabled. And that means? Don’t shoot the messenger... but we could stand to be a tiny bit more responsible with how we portray him.

Disabled people are complicated. As much as I’d like to pretend we are always level-headed, confident, and ready to assert our inherent worth, we are still just humans. We have bad days. We doubt our worth. We sometimes go out with guys who complain about our steroid-induced weight gain (it was a long time ago, Tumblr, okay??). But, we also have joy and fun and good days and sex and happiness and families and so many other things.

Remus is a disabled character, and as such, it’s only fair that he’d have those unworthy moments. But - I propose - Remus is also a crip. What is a crip? A crip - like a queer - is someone who eschews the limited boundaries placed on their bodies, who rejects a hierarchy of oppression in favor of an intersectional analysis of lived experience, who isn’t interested in being the tragic figure responsible for helping people with dominant identities realize how good they have it. Crips interpret their disabilities however they want, rethinking bodies and medicine and pleasure and pain and even time itself. Crips are political, community-minded, and in search of liberation.

Remus is a character who struggles with his disability, sure. But he’s also a character who leverages his physical condition to attempt to shift communities towards his political leanings, advocates for the rights of those who share his physical condition, and has super hot sex with his wrongfully convicted boyfriend ultimately goes on to build community and family. Having a condition that quite literally cripples you, over which you have no control, and through which you are often read as a social pariah? That’s disability. But using said condition as a means through which to build advocacy and community? Now that’s some crip shit.

Personally, I love disabled!Remus Lupin. But I love crip!Remus Lupin even more. I’d love to see more of a Remus who owns his disability, who covets what makes him unique, and who never ever again tells a potential romantic partner they are too good for him because of his disability. This trope - unlike There Was Only One Bed! - sometimes actually hurts to read. Where’s Remus who thinks a potential romantic partner isn’t good enough for him? Where’s Remus who insists his partners learn more about his condition in order to treat him properly? Where’s sexy wheelchair user Remus? Where’s Remus who uses his werewolf transformations as an excuse to travel the world? Where’s crip Remus??

We don’t have to put “you don’t want me” Remus entirely to bed. It is but one of many repeated tropes that are - in the words of The Hot Priest from Fleabag - morally a bit dubious. And let’s face it - we don’t always come to fandom for its moral superiority (as much as we sometimes like to think we do).

This is not a condemnation - it is an invitation. Able-bodied folks are all but an injury, illness, or couple decades away from being disabled. And when you get here, I sincerely hope you don’t waste your time on “you don’t want me”ing back and forth with the people you love. I’m inviting you to come to the crip side now. We have snacks, and without all the “you don’t want me” talk, we get to the juicy parts much faster.

Colorfully,

Mod Theo

#wolfstar #disability in fandom #disabled remus #crip remus #please write me some crip remus #I beg of you #fandom meta

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n0bamak1s · 4 years ago

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distracted - mai zenin x reader

request: “could you write a fluff for mai please? also can the reader be gender neutral? thank you have a nice day.” - @hitchsimp

summary: reader and mai are interrupted in their baseball practice when mai’s daydreaming about the reader causes her to get hit in the face by a baseball and reader tends to her injuries. takes place before the baseball game in episode 21. (genre: fluff, friends to lovers, slice of life-ish)

word count: 1.1k

warnings: mentions of violence and blood (nothing graphic), a couple swear words, lowkey oblivious reader lmao, the tiniest bit of angst

a/n: since the request was pretty broad i decided to go with some friends to lovers since it’s one of my fave fluffy tropes but if u wanted just general fluffy hcs or something else feel free to let me know!!

“hey! wait for me!” mai heard your all too familiar voice behind her as you jogged towards her to keep pace. your cleats dug into the dirt with each step, and mai could feel her steps halt as she waited for you. personally, mai felt that the baseball game was a stupid and childish way to determine a winner to the exchange event, but that didn’t seem to stop her from agreeing to practice with you in the days leading up to the ‘big game’ as you liked to call it.

truth be told, if it had been anyone else asking her to practice, mai would have probably scoffed and chosen to practice on her own, or even not at all. but for some reason, she couldn’t seem to help herself as she followed you to the small baseball field that went mostly unused by the school.

she’d always seemed to have something of a soft spot for you, that everyone else seemed to notice but you. the usually blunt and sometimes rude girl let her guard down around you, allowing you to see her soft side.

however, even you seemed to test her patience a little bit now that you hit her square in the nose during your practice.

to be honest, it was more so her fault, though she’d blame it on you, saying you distracted her. as you began to warm up with a simple game of catch, mai felt herself zoning out. it wasn’t her fault you looked so damn good in that baseball uniform the school had gifted everyone for the game. her baseball glove stayed up, sure, but she let her mind wander when her eyes glanced from the hair that peeked out from your cap, to the way your uniform hugged your body so well. she swore you were gonna be the death of her.

except, you might literally be the death of her after the ball you tossed to her bounced off the top of her glove and hit her straight in the nose.

“oh shit! are you okay?”

immediately, you rushed over to her side as she clutched her now bloodied nose. pulling off your glove, you grabbed her free hand in yours.

“i have a first aid kit in my dorm, it’s the least i can do to say sorry.” you said, your voice filled with concern.

“don’t worry about it,” mai muttered, hoping that her flushed face could be attributed to a bruise, rather than her embarrassment at how casually you held her hand “i’ll sleep it off, it’s no big deal.”

“ah, come on! we can’t have our star player being injured, can we?” you turned to her with a smile and gave her a wink. she tried her best to seem nonchalant as she let out a scoff, despite how she let you tug her along to your dorm. she hoped that you would also ignore the sly look todo gave the two of you as you made your way down the hallway hand in hand.

once you entered your room, you gestured for her to take a seat on your bed and gave her an ice pack to keep her nose from bruising, which she did without protest, surprisingly enough. meanwhile, you rifled through your drawers looking for some tissues, holding them up triumphantly when you managed to fish them out.

she felt the weight of the bed shift as you took a seat next to her, and turned her gaze to make eye contact with you. with a surprising amount of gentleness for a jujutsu sorcerer like yourself, you grabbed her wrist and moved it from its spot hovering over her nose so you could move to stop the bleeding. her breath hitched slightly when you leaned in even closer to dab her nose with a tissue.

“sorry again about this.” your voice is so soft that she can almost feel it on her face due to the close proximity of you too. sure, she was used to her injuries being tended to, it was only a part of daily life as a sorcerer. but there was something so different about when you did it, rather than a school nurse. you were so gentle, like you were afraid that one wrong move could break her. it was so refreshing to her, growing up around maki, who seemed to only want her to toughen up, you on the other hand just wanted her to feel cared for.

truth is, the reason mai has such a soft spot for you is that you’re one of the only people who makes her feel like a teenager. you aren’t so stuck up about your status like some of your other classmates, you just want to enjoy life. to her, you’re so comforting, because she feels she can be her true self around you instead of putting up a ‘tough’ front.

snapping her out of her daze, you waved a hand in front of her face. “maiiiii?” you drew out her name as you said it, “don’t tell me i gave you a concussion or something.”

she wordlessly raised an eyebrow at your teasing smile.

“you know, now that i think about it, you’ve been kinda spacey all day. do you need to see a nurse?” despite your lighthearted tone, she could tell you were legitimately concerned that she may have hit her head during the group battle.

mai broke eye contact, worried if she looked you in the eyes you’d completely break down her tough exterior. “just some bruises, no big deal.”

you put a finger to your chin in thought for a moment, before looking up, clear that you’d come up with an idea. “i’ll kiss it better for you!”

now this got mai’s attention real quick. she turned her head so fast she might as well have gotten whiplash. “what?!”

“well when i was younger my mom would always kiss my bruises better, it always seemed to work for me!” you said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. mai shrugged in response, figuring that if she remained stoic, she could indulge in this moment with you, even if it was just for a few seconds.

she fluttered her eyelashes closed as you leaned in, expecting you to kiss her on the nose where the bruise was. what she was not expecting, however, was the feeling of your lips pressed against hers. not that she was complaining, obviously, she was quick to kiss back, as if it was her only opportunity. she felt you smile into the kiss, signaling that you knew the feelings were mutual.

“by the way,” you said as you pulled away “i think you look really cute in your baseball uniform too.”

god, you really were gonna be the death of her.

#mai zenin x reader #mai zenin #jjk x reader #zenin mai x reader #zenin mai #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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bemusedlybespectacled · 3 years ago

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I posted 2,082 times in 2021

80 posts created (4%)

2002 posts reblogged (96%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 25.0 posts.

I added 1,723 tags in 2021

#love me that's all i ask of queue - 1470 posts

#personal - 77 posts

#leverage - 38 posts

#someone get that man a dom - 25 posts

#history - 22 posts

#anonymous - 20 posts

#cackling - 19 posts

#leverage: redemption - 18 posts

#bb is a lawyer - 17 posts

#star trek tos - 17 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#i had four teeth removed solely for aesthetic reasons when i was like twelve and no one was handwringing over my irreversible mutilation

My Top Posts in 2021

on the flip side of “characters are not real people and so shouldn’t be held to the same standards we hold for actual humans,” real people aren’t characters whose traits are chosen by an omnipotent author. real people are people who are a unique constellation of traits, each of which is shared with millions of people.

the usual problem with a fictional character falling into a stereotype is that it’s their only characterization. the important thing about the damsel love interest is that she’s in danger and she’s in love with the protagonist, so we don’t need to know about her passion for stamp collecting if it isn’t plot-relevant; there’s no scene where we watch the evil terrorist check out the devil wears prada from his local library immediately before trying to murder the hero with ten other terrorists. and, typically, they are the only character of their kind: the only gay guy is the villainess’s sycophantic sidekick; the only black woman exists only for the heroine to have a best friend.

but humans, by dint of being human, are always three-dimensional, multi-faceted beings, and are always one out of millions of other people. having the only female character in your cast have no personality other than “liking pink” is trite and overdone; an actual human woman who likes pink is always going to be more complex than that.

if your complaints about someone’s actions, experiences, or inherent traits read like an editor complaining about overdone tropes or stereotypes, you aren’t actually making a valid critique, you are demonstrating a fundamental inability to discern truth from fiction.

1973 notes • Posted 2021-11-15 04:57:05 GMT

~hot take~ about a book that came out ten years ago but one of the biggest reasons 50 Shades of Grey fails as a fanfiction - not as a piece of writing, but as fanfiction specifically - is because it fundamentally misunderstands the central conflict throughout the Twilight novels and as a result makes Anastasia and Christian’s relationship even more incomprehensible and unhealthy than Bella and Edward’s. that conflict NOT being the Volturi or anything to do with other vampires, but the fact that Bella wants to be a vampire and Edward doesn’t want her to be a vampire.

like, Bella doesn’t want to grow old, she’s been parentified by her parents, and she feels boring and ordinary, so eternal youth + superpowers seems pretty fucking cool to her. meanwhile Edward hates being a vampire and sees it as a burden, especially since part of being a vampire is the constant threat of accidentally injuring or killing his girlfriend. the tension is the push and pull between what Bella wants and what Edward wants, and it’s only resolved when she does actually become a vampire.

so if we assume that BDSM is the vampirism metaphor in the 50 Shades fics (namely, something dangerous but also sexy and alluring), then Anastasia should be completely gung-ho about the kinky shit and Christian should be wracked with guilt every time he even considers spanking someone. finding out Christian is kinky should make Ana realize that whatever feelings she’s had before has a NAME and OTHER PEOPLE and is NORMAL and that her secret kinky fantasies are validated, while Christian should be crying into his pillow at the idea that he’s corrupted poor innocent Ana with his perverted ways.

what I’m saying here is that it not only makes the storyline way creepier, because BDSM - and a relationship with Christian, since the story explicitly says you can’t have one without the other - is something that Ana is afraid of instead of excited about, but also makes it WAY more boring. oh ho hum, “a sexy millionaire overcame my protests and had his sexy sexy way with me!” said every fucking Harlequin novel ever. groundbreaking.

tl;dr: the plot of 50 Shades should be “Ana discovers Fetlife on bing.com and they go back and forth on their kinky needs v. Christian’s guilt at potentially hurting his love until they split the difference and have Ana top”

2895 notes • Posted 2021-11-03 21:42:21 GMT

one of these days I’m gonna get an expensive mic and Final Cut Pro and I’m going to do an extended Youtube series called “You Don’t Know How To Write Fanfiction” and it’s going to just be me tearing apart big-name writers and directors for having shit characterization and no idea how to write creative plots for existing franchises because they’ve never had to write a crossover or AU in their lives

3338 notes • Posted 2021-01-15 02:52:18 GMT

the thing that bugs me the most about the censoring of the internet to please advertisers is like... tv shows aren’t having less sex and violence in them. movies aren’t having less sex and violence in them. HBO can do eight seasons of graphic murder and nudity and it’s the cultural phenomenon of the decade, but I can’t show a nipple on tumblr or talk about death on tiktok. it’s not that the internet is becoming “safer,” it’s just making these topics a privilege only for very rich people, and putting it behind a paywall for everyone else.

16355 notes • Posted 2021-11-28 15:57:39 GMT

disney looked at the success of maleficent and thought audiences really wanted shot-for-shot live-action retellings of existing disney movies and/or villains with tragic backstories, when the success of maleficent really was down to two things:

a well-crafted version of sleeping beauty that was still recognizable as sleeping beauty, but with enough deviations that it felt like a new story, complete with worldbuilding/lore and a very sweet and realistic mother/daughter relationship between maleficent and aurora, and

sexy bird man

20851 notes • Posted 2021-05-28 04:50:15 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #utterly shocking that my maleficent hot take has more notes than my internet censorship one but then again it has several months headstart #personal

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silver-wield · 4 years ago

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Putting the ship war aside, who is the most popular between Tifa and Aerith? I see Tifa get a lot of love, but then again, outside of Crisis Core, I’ve always found her… less than endearing. I see that polls get botted by the cult, and Tifa comes out on top, but is that just the regions paying attention to the poll? Or are there regions where Aerith is more popular than Tifa? (Non ship. Just based on character alone.)

Same anon that asked who is more popular. I am team Tifa. I meant I found Aerith less than endearing. Didn’t check my question before I sent.

Np, I figured that's what you meant 😁

Tifa’s more popular. It's just a fact. She's been more popular for about 15 years. Aerith was popular when FF7 dropped and then for the first few years after cause of the dumb Sony ad that confused the narrative, but even then Tifa was chosen as the icon pinup girl of the cyber generation, which showed she had fans no matter what some salty butthurt people might say.

With the additional fanservice games that focused on Tifa as Cloud's partner or showed her off in a better light, popularity shifted more towards her as an individual. Aerith is a generic magic girl seen in a lot of animes. Weak, wears pink, uses magic, trips over her own feet and saves the world.

No offence to fans of that, but it got old.

Tifa's strong, kind, actively fights has a shit load of trauma, but is still a good person. She's not a "tough girl trope" because her personality breaks away from it. She's sweet, shy, demure, likes being a homemaker and mother, great cook and can handle a business. She's a 3 dimensional character that's more than just "punchy girl". Of course she'd just get more popular as time went by because society's views of women have changed. In the Aerith era, girls wanted to be special and magical and save the world while looking girly. Now we just wanna kick as much ass as the boys do and not get told to fucking smile while doing it.

Aerith's outdated. Tifa’s current and remains current because she ticks more than one box. She's gorgeous, strong, skilled and has a soft personality. She has something for everyone.

Tifa tops polls unless certain people cheat (looking at you nhk). She's loved worldwide, which is more obviously picked up on if you take the cult bs when they complain about "Tifa’s more popular in the east/west" depending on where they lost a vote.

If they hadn't botted that recent poll, Aerith would've lost to Yuffie, too. Why? Because of them. Their insane lies about Aerith have made people turn away from her. It's embarrassing to admit liking her because that means you get associated with nut bars who think shit like a vending machine logo predicted Cloud and Aerith will have kids. Or they're people who cut Cloud out of scenes with Tifa and say they're with Aerith.

Nobody wants to associate with liars. That's why Aerith's popularity is tanking so hard.

I remember last year the cult whined because Tifa got 36k likes on her birthday tweet while Aerith only got 17k. They said that because Tifa's birthday was after the game's release she had an unfair advantage and that this year, Aerith would prove her superiority.

She couldn't even beat herself, let alone Tifa.

And yeah, before anyone asks, I do have Tifa's for last year, and I'm tracking it for this year cause I'm a petty bench and gonna enjoy showing off just how popular Tifa is for two years in a row. 36k is a big ask since the game's been out for a year and interest has waned. A lot of people on FF7 twitter have also unfollowed the 7r acc because the one handling it keeps being a dumdum, but I reckon she could crack 24k by the 24hr mark. No bots needed either 🤣

#Ship war #For our girl

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m0etenchandon · 6 years ago

Text

Truths and kinks (Reader x Joe Mazzello SMUT)

Pairing: Reader x Joe Mazzello Summary: Ben knows you and Joe like each other, so he comes up with a plan to get you two together. Joe has to stay the night when his Uber cancelled, only problem is you only have one bed.. Warnings: SMUT (18+!), friends to lovers, fluff, oral, fingering, blow jobs, unprotected sex (when is it not?), gentle dom!Joe A/N: I can´t even remember how I came up with this idea, I just really like the “there was only one bed” trope. Also, I was in need of some fluffy Joe smut Word count: 5.7 K

Masterlist

Gif found here

“Truth or dare, Joe?”, Ben asked, eyeing his victim. They were all over at your placw for a quiet night in. Well at least it was quiet until someone brought out the booze and insisted on playing a game of truth or dare like a bunch of teenagers. It´s not that you were complaining, but Ben knew about your feelings for Joe and you really didn´t want them to come out. At least not in this setting.

“Truth”, Joe said.

“If you had to shag one of the girls here today, which would you choose?”, Ben asked.

You immediately felt your heart beat start to increase. There were only five girls in the room, but both Lucy and Gwilym´s fiancée was obviously taken. One of the girls had come with Ben but they weren´t really dating or anything, you were pretty sure they were just having casual sex. And then there were your friend, who you knew all boys usually fancy.

“Oh, uhm Y/N”, Joe answered, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks. He refused to make eye contact with you, which to be honest was probably for the better because you were pretty certain you were about to have a heart attack.

Ben nudged your side, causing you to just about avoid starting to hyperventilate. He gave you a “I told you so”, look before focusing his attention back on the game. Ever since you told him about your not-so-little crush, he had been telling you that Joe felt the same way. Obviously, you didn´t believe him, it was too good to be true.

“Your turn, Y/N. Truth or dare?”, Lucy asked after a few rounds. You had avoided many of the more mature truth or dares, but the look in her eyes told you that you were in for it now. Lucy loved to leave people flustered. She was so open about her sex-life herself it didn´t really cross her mind that you might have more of a filter.

“Truth”, you said, taking a big sip of your drink to gain some liquid courage.

“What are your top three kinks?”, she asked, causing you to almost choke. Your eyes went wide, wondering if you heard her right. But the look on her face told you she meant it. Fuck.

“Oh my god, I can´t believe I´m telling you guys this but I guess praise, hands, and uhm choking”, you mumbled the last one, but no one was really paying attention anymore as Rami had knocked over his drink. However, you swear you could see Joe shift in his seat, his gaze burning into your side.

When it was Joe´s turn again, he chose dare. You immediately knew where it was going as Gwilym shot you the cheekiest grin ever, already feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

“I dare you to kiss a girl of your choice for 10 seconds”, Gwilym said, leaning back into his chair way too chuffed for your liking. Ben had obviously told him, that little prick.

Joe rose from his seat and closed the distance between you.

“May I, Y/N?”, he asked, offering you his hand. Shit. You wanted to, you really did, but what if he didn´t think you were a good kisser? Or if he just picked you because there was a shortage of available girls. Joe is so gorgeous, and he´s so nice, and you just can´t picture him actually liking you back.

“Jesus, get on with it”, Ben called out, causing you to look Joe in the eyes and nod. A giant smile spread over his face as he helped you to your feet. Joe licked his lips, grabbed your face and slowly leant in. His lips were so soft against yours. His hands were warm against your skin, making the butterflies in your stomach go into a frenzy.

You reached out to touch his chest and there was definitely a little moan coming from Joe´s mouth into yours. You melted completely into his touch, and the ten seconds went over way too quickly.

“Aww look at those two, you´re so cute together”, Lucy gushed when you pulled back. You tried to shoot her a mean look, but you couldn´t stop the grin spreading over your face. You felt like a school girl with their first crush, and the fact that Joe was blushing too made you all giddy inside.

You could swear you heard Joe thank Gwilym when he went to sat down.

------

“I´m really sorry for keeping you up”, Joe said, running a hand through his hair as he glanced out the window. The others had left around 15 minutes ago, but Joe was still waiting for his Uber. It´s not like he was drunk, but he still shouldn´t be driving. You didn´t mind though. You didn´t know Joe all that well, but you enjoyed his company. And besides, the kiss was still fresh in your memory. Almost able to feel the remains of his lips on yours.

“It´s okay, I don´t mind”, you said. Joe shot you a thankful smile which made your insides turn to goo. God that man had you wrapped around his finger and he didn´t even know.

“Shit”, he muttered when his phone dinged, “He cancelled on me and there´s no-one available for a few hours”

“Oh”, you said. Should you invite him to stay over? Were you that close of friends?

“You can stay over if you want to”, you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. You could hear him let out a sigh of relief, which made you relax a little bit.

“Can I? Y/N, you´re an angel”, Joe exclaimed. He leant over and wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you flush to his body. You closed your eyes, buried your head in his neck and took in his scent. You could stay here forever, just feeling his body against yours. Feeling your heart swell with each passing second. The hug lingering for longer than your usual just-friends hug.

“Your sofa looks really comfy anyways”, he giggled when he pulled away. Both his words and his movements sent a wave of disappointment through your body. That´s not what you wanted.

“Don´t be silly, Joe. You can stay in my bed”, you said, shooting him a shy smile, “I really don´t mind”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I just have one question”, you said, poking his chest. “Are you a good cuddler?”

Joe broke out into a huge grin, pulling you close to his body again. He gave you a quick hug before reaching over to dispose of his wallet and keys in his jacket. Ready to settle in for the night.

“Babe, you have no idea what you just signed up for”

Your stomach flipped at his words. For some reason you never bat an eye when anyone called you babe, but coming from Joe was different. He probably didn´t think twice of it though.

“Do you mind if I sleep in my boxers? I don´t have to if you feel uncomfortable”, Joe said as you reached your bedroom. You had retreated to the bedroom to do your skincare routing while he slipped into bed.

“Oh, no just go with whatever you want”, you called back. You tried to sound like you couldn´t care less, but oh man did you. He was going to be half-naked. Just beside you. In your bed. Oh my god it was going to be so hard to not make a move on him.

You walked out of the bathroom just in time to catch a glimpse of Joe´s body before he slipped under the duvet. It immediately made your heart beat increase in frequency and your palms begin to sweat. He was absolutely gorgeous.

“You look really cute”, Joe said as he took in your form. You had thrown on an old t-shirt over a pair of panties. But they were nice panties. Just in case.

“Thanks”, you giggled, slipping under the cover yourself. You laid on your side, facing Joe. He had this stupid grin on his face and you couldn´t help but laugh at it.

“What?”, you asked.

“I´m just thinking about our kiss earlier”, Joe said, his eyes falling on your lips for a split-second before meeting your gaze again. Oh.

“Well you were pretty short on options”

Joe furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“What? I would have chosen you out of a hundred girls”, he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Electricity buzzing between his fingers and your skin.

“You would?”, you asked, feeling your skin heat up under his touch. The duvet was way too hot, he was way too hot. And he wanted to kiss you.

“Of course, you´re absolutely stunning and you´re so funny and kind too”, he said, a giant grin on his cute little face. “In fact, I would very much like it if you let me kiss you again, without an audience this time”

“I would like that too”, you whispered as he leant in. You closed your eyes and a second later his lips were on yours again. They fit so perfectly against yours you almost forgot how to breathe. He deepened the kiss, holding your face close to his. Joe´s beard was rubbing against your cheek, only adding to the tingles that engulfed your entire body.

He swiped his tongue over your bottom lip, pressing his tongue into your mouth when you parted them. Joe really was a good kisser. He was in charge of it, that was for sure, but it wasn´t too much. It was just perfect.

Joe pulled away with a dopey smile on his face, his lips pink and plump from the kiss.

“You´re incredible, Y/N”, he said with a giggle.

“Now what?”, you laughed. It felt so natural to have him half-naked right next to you all of a sudden. You couldn´t quite believe that it was actually happening, but you wouldn´t trade it for the world.

“It´s just that you´re so cute and then I remember that you have a choking kink and I can´t believe you´re real”

Embarrassment flooded your body making you hide your face into the pillow. You could hear Joe laugh, but you were busy being absolutely mortified.

“Hey don´t be embarrassed, I get it”, he chuckled. Joe reached out to run a finger down your spine. It tickled, but in a good way, and it made you oddly relaxed. “I mean I haven´t tried it myself but I´m sure it´s really hot”

“You haven´t?”, you asked, slowly turning to face him. Joe shook his head. “You just- I can show you if you like?”

“Sure, show me what I´ve been missing out on”

You grabbed his hand and brought it up to your neck. Placing your hand over his, you pushed it against your throat.

“Press into the sides”

You pressed his thumb and fingers into each side of your throat, just how you like it. A little whimper left your mouth and you could see Joe´s eyes darken.

“Right there”, you practically whined, feeling heat rush to your nether regions.

“Wow okay that´s so fucking hot”, he muttered, watching you intently.

“It feels really good too, especially during sex”, you said. You didn´t even know what came over you, but you felt so relaxed in Joe´s presence you all of a sudden had no problem talking about very intimate situations. Maybe the drinks you had earlier helped too.

“And besides you get to see the guy´s arm muscles flex which is really hot”

Your eyes fell on his bicep as you spoke. Joe´s eyes followed yours, making him blush the prettiest of pink colors when he realized you were practically checking him out. He let out a deep breath and pulled his hand away from your throat.

“I-uh, I don´t want to freak you out but I´m so fucking hard right now”, Joe muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Oh. Your eyes trailed down his body and sure enough, you could see his duvet tenting over his crotch. Heat rose to your ears as you looked back up at his darkened eyes. He looked so fucking hot like this, turned on and sweaty. Because of you.

“I´m sorry I don’t know why I told you that”, he said, a nervous giggle leaving his mouth.

“It´s alright”

“It´ll go away”, Joe said, resting his head against the pillow, “Eventually”

“Oh okay, well maybe let´s just chat then yeah?”, you asked, watching as Joe nodded. “Well you know about my kinks, what about yours?”

“That´s definitely not helping my situation, Y/N”, Joe laughed, throwing his head back. You couldn´t help but admire how cute he looked, but you also couldn´t shake the want to let your eyes trail down to his crotch again.

“It´s only fair”, you muttered in amusement. Joe rolled his eyes.

“Fine, uhm, I like to be dominant in bed. There´s nothing I find hotter than having a girl under me”, he started, his voice a few octaves darker. You nodded, eagerly listening to him. God what you wouldn´t give to have him pin you down and fuck you right now, but it was probably too early for that. You had just confessed your attraction for each other, you hadn´t even gone on a date yet. Besides, he didn´t make a move on you so you just assumed he didn´t want to. Trying and failing to ignore the tingling sensation underneath your panties. The panties that were definitely quite damp by now.

“I also really like dirty talk and praising”, he said with a knowing smile. Fuck, he really did pay attention earlier. “And now I´m pretty sure I have a choking kink as well”

“Hmm, I´m sure any girl would be lucky to experience that”, you said, a non-genuine smile on your face. You didn´t want any other girl to sleep with Joe, you wanted it to be you. You wanted him to take control, to tell you how good you were, and to have him choke you while he brings you to the brink of tears from an orgasm.

“Want to find out?”, Joe said. His whole body showed how nervous he was. He was holding his breath, waiting for your reply. Little did he know you were just as nervous as him. And also nearly passing out from his suggestion.

“Wha-, you want uh- you want to have sex with m-me?”, you asked, your eyes wide.

“I thought that was obvious already”, he laughed, reaching out to stroke your cheek. You swear you could melt right then and there. Shit, why did he have this much power over you?

“I´m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, I totally get it. It´s just that, fuck, you looked so hot with my hand around your throat and I´m so hard for you, Y/N”

“I do”, you blurted out.

“Yeah?”, Joe asked, a grin spreading over his face. “Wow I don´t even know how I managed to grow the balls to ask you. I mean you´re so pretty and I´ve liked you for so long and Ben have told me so many times to just tell you and I-“

“Shut up and kiss me, Mazzello”, you giggled, interrupting his rambling.

Joe´s eyes went wide for a second before he mustered up the courage to grab your face and press his lips to yours. The kiss was way more intense this time, both of you breathing heavily into each other´s mouths. Joe slipped his tongue past your lips to deepen the kiss. His fingers pulling at your hair. It was so fucking hot, but you wanted more. You pulled his duvet away and threw a leg over his hips. Joe whined into your mouth when your clothed heat met his bulge. His hands immediately flew down to your hips to urge you to start moving.

“Fuck that feels so good, Y/N”, Joe whispered against your lips, “I can already feel how wet you are. You really want this too, don´t you? You liked when I choked you?”

You whimpered in response, speeding up your grinding. His hard cock nudged your sensitive clit, giving you some much-needed friction.

“You´re already desperate for my cock, I can see it on your face. You look absolutely beautiful on top of me, babe. But, I did say that I like to be in control”, he said, tightening the grip on your hips and flipping you over.

A yelp left your mouth when your back hit the mattress, but it was soon replaced by a moan when you felt his wet and swollen lips against your neck. You grabbed onto his auburn hair, tugging at it and stretching your neck, giving him better access.

He sucked on your sensitive skin while sliding a hand under your t-shirt. His touch was almost burning your skin, but at the same time creating goose-bumps in its bath. God, he had you completely at his mercy and he hadn´t even touched you properly yet.

“You´re so responsive, Y/N”, Joe muttered against your neck. He slid his hand up to cup your breast, making you arch your back in pleasure. You could feel Joe grin as he tweaked your nipple with his skilled fingers. “Shit, your boos are just perfect”

With his free hand, Joe reached down to pull at the material. Eager to comply, you lifted your arms to allow him to slide the material over your head. His eyes darkened even further when he took in your exposed breasts. Nipples hard and eager for his touch. He cursed under his breath before leaning in. Joe started with placing a kiss to the bruise of your neck before slowly trailing his lips over your collarbones, placing hot open-mouthed kisses all the way down to your breasts. He let his tongue slid over the soft contour of your breast before flicking the nipple.

You were sure you could cum from the stimulation alone, but the pleasure was short-lived. Joe shot you a knowing look, that smug bastard, before kissing his way down your stomach.

“Hmm, do you want to feel my tongue on your pussy? I know you enjoyed it on your boobs”

“God, yes Joe. Please I-fuck, I need you”, you whined. He was going to be the absolute death of you.

Joe chuckled, pressing a wet kiss just above the waistline of your panties. He hooked his fingers into the material and swiftly pulled it down your legs. The cold air hit your wet folds, making you want to press your thighs together, but Joe had a harsh grip on each of your thighs.

“Your pussy is so pretty, baby”, Joe cooed, leaning down to press his lips to the very edge of your heat. He flicked his tongue over the sensitive skin, humming at your taste. “And so wet too. Gonna make you cum so fucking hard”

And with that, Joe went to town. He peppered kisses all over your heat, except for your clit. You were a frustrated, moaning, mess as he continued teasing you, never giving you the friction you so desperately craved. He dragged his tongue through your folds, stopping right before he reached your clit. His chin was completely covered in your juices by now and my god was it a hot sight.

“Joe”, you whined, tugging at his hair, “stop teasing me”

“Desperate, are we?”, he asked, raising an eyebrow. You threw you head back in annoyance, considering reaching down and rubbing your own clit. Especially when you heard and felt him chuckle against your heat.

“Fine, I´ll give you what you want, baby”, he said, immediately wrapping his lips around the sensitive nub. You gasped as a bolt of pleasure shot up your spine. The knot in your stomach tightened at an alarming rate, and you had to hold back as to not cum right away.

He sucked with just the right amount of pressure, his eyes locked on yours. It was all too much, you couldn´t hold back. Joe could tell too. He raised an eyebrow, watching you squirm underneath him. Your thighs beginning to shake in his hands.

Joe flicked his tongue over your clit and you were done for. Your orgasm rippled through your body, starts clouding your vision. The knot in your stomach unraveled, leaving a delicious tingling feeling behind.

Joe pulled back with a smug look on his face, watching as you heaved for air.

“Do you always cum this quick, because that was amazing”, he said, pressing a chaste kiss to the apex of your thighs. You were still so sensitive from your high, you involuntarily jumped at his touch. Joe hummed in amusement.

“I-I´ve never, fuck, not even my vibrator can make me cum that quick”, you said.

“I´m going to take that as a compliment then”, Joe laughed, “I really want to make you cum one more time before I fuck you, do you think you can take it?”

“Please”

“Hmm, that´s my good girl”, he cooed, before realizing what he just said. “I mean fuck, you uh- I didn´t mean to say that I´m sorry I-“

“Joe”, you giggled, cutting him off for the second time that evening. “You can call me your girl if you want to”

“Yeah?”, he asked, his entire face lighting up. God, he was too cute to handle. But as much as you wanted to kiss his stupid face all day, you couldn´t ignore the dull ache between your legs anymore.

“Of course, but can you get on with it?”

“Oh, right. Sorry”, Joe said, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

He leant up to press a sweet kiss to your lips, sharing your own cum between your mouths. The semi-bitterness coating both his and your jaw at this point.

Joe slid one of his hands down from your knee, his fingers dancing along the sensitive skin as he made his way towards your heat. You could feel him smirk against your mouth as you jerked your hips, desperate for him to move faster. You needed another release.

Joe´s lips left yours at the same time his fingers reached your heat. He slid two fingers between your folds, gathering your wetness before pressing them against your entrance. You gasped, your fingers digging into his arm as he slid inside. He stretched you just right, the delicious stinging pleasure taking over your body.

“Fuck you´re squeezing my fingers, Y/N. Feels fucking amazing”, Joe mumbled. He watched your facial expression as he started searching for your g-spot, grinning in victory as you let out a long moan of his name. “Hmm, there it is”

“Does that feel good, baby?”, he teased, pressing his fingers harder against the bundle of nerves. The tight tingles already starting to build for the second time.

“God, yes”, you whined.

Joe smirked. He slid his thumb down from your thigh to rest against your clit, making you arch your back in pleasure. He didn´t even have to rub, it was enough to push you right towards the edge.

“Are you going to cum again for me? You look so beautiful all caught up in the pleasure”, Joe cooed, leaning down to press his lips to the dark spot on your neck. He flicked his tongue against it, enjoying the shudder your body responded with. “Want to watch you cum for me. Cum.”

His voice was so demanding, his touch so expertly precise, you couldn´t even hold back if you wanted to. Wave after wave of pleasure shot up your body as your orgasm took over.

Joe guided you through your high, ignoring his aching hard-on as he watched your face scrunch up in pleasure. It was the prettiest sight he´d ever seen. His cock twitching in his pants. Swelling even further

You pulled his hand away when you got over-sensitive, your clit still twitching with aftershocks. Heaving for air as you tried to come back to reality.

Joe sat back on his knees and brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean. He kept eye contact the entire time, expertly flicking his tongue over them. Just like he had on your clit. Fuck. He shouldn´t be allowed to be this hot. Your eyes trailed over his body, down his chest and over his soft tummy. You reached out to drag your fingers over it, feeling Joe tense under your touch.

“Ah, I-uh, please don´t”, he said shyly, grabbing your hand and bringing it down to his boxers instead. You played with the waistband, your fingers almost brushing against his hard cock.

“Your body is so fucking hot, Joe”, you cooed, pushing him down on the bed. You straddled his lower thighs.

“I don´t like my stomach”, he mumbled, watching you lean down and press a kiss to his chest.

“Hmm, I think it´s sexy”

You moved your lips down to the top of his stomach, looking up to see if you could keep going. Joe nodded, his eyes glued to your movements as you smiled. You pressed kisses all over the soft curve of his stomach, enjoying the little moans he was making. They grew louder when you inched closer to his boxers, a gasp escaping when you hooked your fingers into the material. You pulled then over his hard cock, releasing it of its restraints as you pulled his boxers down his legs.

You couldn´t hold back the smirk that formed on your lips as you wrapped your hand around his shaft. It has hot and heavy in your grasp, thick. The tip was red and swollen, a small bead of pre-cum oozing from the slit. You swiped a thumb over it, using the liquid as lube as you slowly started moving and twisting your hand.

“Fuck you´re so good at that”, Joe mumbled, throwing his head back. The moan that left his lips when you leant down to press a kiss to his tip, made a wave of wetness rush to your heat. You wrapped your lips around the head, sucking him into your mouth as you worked the rest of his cock with your hand. God his moans were so pretty, so hot. You started to feel desperate to have him inside, having him fill you up.

Apparently, Joe felt the same way because he pulled at your head, needing you to stop before he shot his load into your mouth.

“Wanna fuck you”, he said, flipping you over.

He positioned himself between your legs, grabbing his cock and running it through your soaked folds. His pre-cum mixed with your own excitement, allowing him to easily slide up to your clit. He slapped his cock against the nub, applying just the right amount of pressure to have you gasping for air. Way too sensitive from your previous orgasms.

“Are you ready?”, he asked, sliding his cock down to rest at your entrance. Pressing against it.

“Yes, fuck me, Joe”, you moaned, reaching out to grab onto his arms. Your fingers digging into the skin as Joe slowly slid inside.

You gasped, feeling him stretch you out. The burn mixing with absolute euphoria. He fit like a hand in a glove, filling every inch of your pussy.

“Fucking hell”, Joe mumbled when he bottomed you out, his balls resting against your skin. You couldn´t help but clamp down on him, relishing in the feeling of being full. “God you´re so tight for me”

“Fu-uck, please move”, you whined, needing to release the knot in your stomach again. It had already started to tighten, the mere feeling of having him close enough for the tingles to start.

Joe didn´t need to be asked twice. He cursed under his breath as he looked down to see his cock slowly slide out of your pussy. Your arousal glistening around him, making him easily slip back inside with a thrust of his hips. His cock nudged against your g-spot, making you scream out and scratch as his arms.

“I-fuck you feel so good around me, baby. I feel you squeezing me so tight”, he muttered with a snap of his hips.

“Harder, Joe”, you moaned, feeling your orgasm start to build.

Joe groaned, grabbing your legs and throwing them around his hips. He leant down to rest on his elbows on either side of your head, using his entire body weight to push into you. The bed scraped against the floor. Your legs pushing him further inside with each thrust.

“`m not going to last long”, Joe warned, his hips stuttering as he held back. Needing to feel you cum around his cock before letting go.

“Shit me too”, you whined, “Choke me”

“Fu-uck”, Joe growled, immediately wrapping a hand around your throat. He added just the right amount of pressure, pressing into the sides. The tip of his cock nudged against your g-spot, his pubic bone rubbing against your clit with each thrust.

“I-I´m gonna, fuck, gonna cum, I´m gonna cum”, you moaned. The knot in your stomach started to unravel moments later, the delicious tingle spreading all the way out to your fingers. Your walls clamped down on Joe´s cock, your legs crossing behind his back and keeping him deep inside. His grip on your throat only adding to the pleasure.

Joe watched in awe as you came down, ignoring the pressure building in his balls. He watched your mouth fall open with a cry of his name, feeling your nails scratch at his skin. Definitely drawing blood. The pain only elevating his pleasure. The way you squeezed around him almost causing him to cum.

“Shit that´s the hottest thing I´ve ever seen”, he mumbled, giving you a tentative thrust. You yelped in surprise, your entire pussy way too sensitive. “I´m gonna cum, baby. You want me to cum in your pretty pussy?”

You shook your head, unwrapping your legs and pushing him away. Ignoring the empty feeling you were left with as his cock slipped out of your heat.

“Want you to cum in my mouth, Joe. Want to taste you”

“Fucking hell I´m gonna blow”, Joe groaned, wrapping his hand around his cock.

You quickly turned over, positioning yourself in front of him. You knocked his hand away to replace with your own before taking his head into your mouth. Wrapping your lips around his cock, you bobbed your head up and down, letting his cock slip from your mouth before taking him back in. Joe tangled his fingers in your hair, grunting and moaning as he felt his balls draw up.

“Gonna cum”, he warned before you felt the first spurt of cum coat your tongue. You stilled your head, working his shaft with your hand. Rope after rope of hot white liquid shot out of him, the sweet and salty liquid warm against your mouth. Joe moaned your name, his hips stuttering as you milked him dry.

You let him slip from your mouth, opening up to show him all of his cum. Joe cursed.

“Can you swallow for me?”, he asked, grinning when you did so. “Good girl”

He reached down to swipe his thumb over the droplets that had escaped your mouth, pushing it between your lips. You let your tongue swirl around his digit, watching in amusement as his cock twitched in defeat.

“Fuck that´s hot”, Joe muttered as he slumped down onto the mattress. You giggled, following. Joe wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you to rest your head on his chest. Pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I definitely have a choking kink too”, he said, an amused sigh leaving his lips. You perched your head on his chest, looking up at his now softened eyes. Reaching up to move his hair off his sweaty forehead. “I´m really glad we did this, Y/N. And that you actually like me back”

“You´re welcome”, you beamed.

“What are you smiling about?”

“How much of a softie you are”, you giggled, watching a blush creep up on his face. “I´m not complaining, but I was kind of expecting you to be more dominant”

“Oh? That wasn´t good enough for you, was it?”, he asked, humor lacing his voice. “Three orgasms are standard for you then?”

“Hmm, no it´s not. It was amazing. But, I think you can do better.”

“Is that a challenge? Because I´m more than willing to comply”, he teased.

“Mhm”, you hummed.

“On one condition”

You raised your eyebrows in question, a smile playing at your lips.

“Go on a date with me”, Joe said, leaning down to cup your face. His fingers ghosted over your cheek, making the butterflies in your stomach go into a frenzy.

“I would love to, Joe”, you said. Joe grinned, and you couldn´t help but lean up and kiss him and his stupid face. Wanting to feel that rush of feelings when you pressed your lips to his.

Once you pulled back, you pressed your lips to his chest before resting your head on it. You could feel his heart beat slowly steady against your cheek, making your heart swell. Not only had he confessed his feelings, but he had also asked you on a date and gave you the best sex you´ve ever had. He was definitely a keeper.

“Do you want to know a secret?”, Joe asked after a while, pulling you from your train of thoughts.

“Yes”

“The Uber never came because Ben stole my phone earlier to cancel it”, he admitted, causing you to look up at him in surprise.

“What?”

“Well he kept telling me how much you liked me and when I didn´t believe him he came up with the idea. I thought it was stupid back then, but I´m not complaining now”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hold back the giggle that erupted from your lips. You leant up to press your lips to his, relishing in the sweet kiss for a few seconds before pulling back. Making a mental note to yell at Ben. And to thank him.

Masterlist

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early-sxnsets · 5 years ago

Text

18) You’re Bleeding Magic

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20833622

Chapter 18 of The Carry On Round Robin (@carry-on-round-robin)

Word Count: 2745

Summary: Ham and cheese sandwiches, a new relationship, and a test, of sorts. Sixth Year is not off to a good start. (Trope: Power sharing)

(See AO3 for more notes, but thank you to @sharkmartini for betaing, and thank you to @basic-banshee for organizing!)

~~~~~~~~~~

BAZ

Fiona agreed to drive us back.

Still, yes, us. Us plural. Us--“He loves me”--us. Us--”I’m afraid he’ll die snogging me”--us.

Snow and I, us.

This us part is a bit complicated. And head-spinningly new. So new that I haven’t gotten a proper answer for what we do once we make it to Watford. I want the answer to be for us to have gross, full hair-pulling, disgusting mouth-noises make out sessions on the green, in front of everyone for them and their grandmothers to gawk at in horror. I want him excessively and undoubtedly attached to me for the flaunting.

I want the security of knowing he’s properly mine.

But what I want and what we need are two very separate things.

There’s a few things we need before the things that I want come into play. We need The Mage not to figure out a way to rip us apart (which he might very well do, shred-by-shred). Snow needs to tell Bunce. I need to keep a certain level of discretion with those involved with The Families.

We need to keep it hidden. We need to keep it quiet (well, as quiet as we can after my lapse in judgement during last year’s dance).

We need a plan, which is a bit difficult to figure out when your boyfriend would much rather ignore the concept of a plan altogether and ram himself headfirst into any possible situation, repercussions be damned.

Still, I try. I’m trying.

I’m trying right now as I stare at him across the dining table, arms folded onto the back of a chair as he picks at what I think is his third sandwich. (Despite having an entire summer to learn that Snow is a bottomless pit, it seems as though my family’s cook caves and continues feeding him well past when he should be fine). I drum my fingers, letting the sound echo through the emptied room over his obnoxious chewing.

He’s looking at me like I’m a bore (or like I won’t let him finish another sandwich, and he might be right). “I don’t see why we need a gameplan,” he mumbles, cheek full and voice muffled by what sounds like bread stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Don’t see why, or don’t want to see why?” I chide, lip pulling up as he continues to chew with his mouth open. Disgusting.

He gives me back a less-than-pleased look, seeming to open-mouth-chew more menacingly than before.

That’s another bit to this navigation--we don’t quite know where to steer our aggression once it hits.

It’s still there, just simmering below the new relationship label. It’s not like it disappears and everything’s all candy and unicorns. It’s dark. It’s strange. It’s difficult to not snap at him whenever he’s more than a tad idiotic, and it’s even more difficult to not snap back when he gets frustrated.

I think Snow’s figured that the only thing he can really do is kiss me hard, and hope I shut up. (I usually do, in all fairness.) (Usually.) (It won’t work for this, though. This is serious.)

“Don’t like feeling like I’m going into something,” he says it into the ham and cheese in his hands, going for another bite before continuing, “feels like a battle. Don’t like it.”

“You think I do?”

Outside, the soft slam of the ‘67’s boot is followed by the crunching steps of Fi’s docs against the gravel, heading towards the front door. And, while we’re in no real rush to get to Watford time-wise, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s Fi driving us, and if we take all day having a pointless domestic while Snow takes back sandwich after sandwich, she’ll have my head.

He hears it too. The front door opening, the disgruntled grumbling and heavy wood creaking below her as she goes to retrieve something from her room. She’ll want to be out within the next 15, then.

I raise a brow to him, as if to beg him whether or not it’s a reasonable argument to have, and he gives in, shoulders hunching down while he stuffs another bite into his mouth.

“Fine.” I think I see crumbs spit out while he speaks. I must seem like I’d seen it, because he’s glaring at me like I’m giving him an equal look back. “We can talk shit out back at Watford. Can I just eat, please?”

I wave my hands, lifting them from the seat I’m leaned up against. “Let that be your last sandwich, then. Fiona will murder you if you puke in her car.”

I hear him swallow as I turn to leave, which is followed by a distant “I think she might kill me anyway” after it.

I smirk at that, grinning to myself all the way outside.

For once, Snow’s got more than a half-filled duffel bag to bring back to the room.

Now, his is not quite the proper trunk. Not with engraved initials on the side, and it looks quite plain next to mine, but it’s his. Filled with his clothes. His belongings. His own stuff.

We had to spell the boot elastic to fit it in, too. To give him space.

As if Snow needs more space in this world.

As if he doesn’t consume enough of mine. Enough to make me dizzy.

Enough that when I slide my hand against the humming metal body of the car, all I can think of is him complaining about sitting in the barely-there-backseat. And him frowning at Simon (the cat). And threatening to snog me against the side whenever Fiona steps off for a minute…

“Oi, where’s Boy Wonder?”

I whip around, startling as Fi starts walking forward with her nose in her mobile. At first, I blank. She gives him the occasional different nickname (“H-Bomb”, “The Mage’s Personal Footrest”, “Killboy Powerhead”), which, I suppose, is a tad better than simply “The Chosen One”. Mildly less condescending.

“Inside. Eating.”

She snorts. “When isn’t he?” She stops, gives me a once over, then pulls the side of her mouth in. She wants to say something, but I can tell that something about me is stopping her.

“Do you have a question, or am I that interesting?”

“Got nothing new to ask you.” I can hear the list of what she’s said before scroll through my head. You’ve got to have a better plan than allyship, Baz. Crowley, you can’t just expect him to wave a hand and let you run the bloody school. Do you think he’ll actually cave? Will having all the shitbag’s little puppets in one place be a benefit, or will they turn you in? Does he know about… that? He doesn’t, right? Merlin, Baz, tell me he doesn’t--

“And I’ve got no new answers.”

Can’t you just stun him still and bust into The Mage’s office? You’re welcomed in there. Your whole bloodline will be, too.

She nods, lowering the aviators over her face--she thinks she looks Top Gun-cool--before pulling back her hair. “Go get him, then. Rather not sit out all day.”

Right. Like I would either.

I walk past her, peering into the dining room (empty plate, but no Snow), then into the kitchen (no Snow in there, either), then check most places where he’d possibly be until I hit my bedroom, slowly pushing the door open with a curious frown on my face. Why is he off up here…

SIMON

I hate this bloody cat.

I hate this bloody, fucking, stupid, bloody, idiotic fucking cat.

“I just wanna--” I whisper (to myself, it seems), going to reach for it while it darts away from me, tail flicking high into the air. I glare, spinning around, and following it slower than before.

Now, I’d figured that Baz would want this cat (this fucking obnoxious little furball cat), and hey, maybe he’d loosen up a bit if I could catch it and bring it down for him, but no. This little bastard on four legs refuses to stay still just long enough for me to grab it (well, except for the one time, but then it took a swipe), and now I’m the idiot chasing this fucker around the room.

Which, of course, is where Baz finds me. Half crouched, arms out, and glaring at this fucking cat as I angrily whisper “Here kitty kitty…”

“Snow?”

I jolt, shooting upright as Baz slowly steps inside with an overly amused look on his face as other Simon (bastard) happily pads up to him and rubs up against his leg.

I’m glaring at him (the cat) as I speak. “Just trying to do something helpful,” I grit, which makes Baz chuckle, a hand coming up to cover his face. I ignore it, getting into a staring contest with the fucker running around between my boyfriend’s legs (I might be jealous of a cat).

Baz leans down and scoops him up, letting him curl up on his arms as he keeps that pleased look. “Come on.” Suddenly, his voice is soft. It makes me feel all tingly. “I’m afraid if we keep Fiona waiting, she might make us walk.”

I know he’s probably joking, but it’s not something I’d put entirely past her.

And, after all, she does make me sit in the backseat after a half-hearted judgemental once-over when we do get down there. Not that I expect much else from her, though, given I’m probably near the bottom of her list of people she’d like to drag around with her. At least we have mutual hatred for the fucking cat…

I nod to her as I climb in, getting myself as comfortable as physically possible as she shifts into drive.

BAZ

It’s a guilty pleasure of mine watching Snow bob in the backseat, growing increasingly pale and teetering on quite literally green.

I don’t enjoy the concept of getting puked on, though, so I do utter a “Get well soon” on him when he’s not paying attention. He eases up then, closing his eyes and relaxing a bit into the upholstery. Feels like it’ll be smooth sailing from there.

Well, as smooth as the M3 in an old sports car can be. Motorway riding feels a bit distancing when you’re trying to focus on six things at once (boyfriend dying in the backseat, cat on your lap, aunt driving, her music, the impending doom of the school year, and the fact that the boy in the backseat is your boyfriend). Given the circumstances, I allow myself to space out briefly and absentmindedly look out over the familiar backdrop of the land around us as my thoughts focus more on the issues at hand.

Like boundaries. Like survival.

The issue of us. Us. Us us us us us…

I’m spaced out for a while, and then I’m not.

I’m snapping back to a reality that seems more jarring than what I was busying myself with mentally.

“What the--”

I rub my eyes and look around. Simon (feline) is tensed, the hair on his back sticking up as Snow (human) is shifting in the backseat, the thick trickling of his magic hitting me in pulsing waves.

I look around, and see… nothing.

Well, not nothing.

I see trees. I see a clearing, vast and stretching.

I see the road around us, and the trees on the other side.

I know these trees. I know this area.

I know that it shouldn’t be empty. I know I shouldn’t see nothing, and I think we’re all a bit too shocked to properly react.

Fiona pulls to a stop, throwing on the blinker as we collectively gape at an unsettling, bare nothingness. Too much of it. A damned school’s worth of nothingness.

I don’t quite know what comes over me in the moment. Panic, maybe? Fight or flight? Or maybe Snow’s stupidity leaked into my system, oversaturated on his end and diffusing into me through all the snogging? Impulsivity has rotted away all my better reactions, I suppose, because I’m throwing myself out of the car and sprinting towards the field with a drawn wand.

There’s plenty of things that this could be. A trap (most likely). The Humdrum (least likely--no feeling). A nightmare (maybe a bit before The Humdrum on the list)

But this definitely, definitely, isn’t real.

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” I scream, pointing my wand outward. I feel Snow running after me, saying nothing but bringing everything about him (and, if I’m not mistaken, Fiona’s taken to jogging after him).

The spell doesn’t do anything. Not that I’d expect to reveal an entire school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try every uncovering spell in the book.

Snow draws closer as I keep running. “Ready or not, here I come! True colors!”

I feel it hit me before anything else makes sense.

I slam into it, then bounce back a bit, stumbling and blinking, then stepping again.

It’s like hitting a fucking wall.

It is hitting a fucking wall.

I pat my hand forward, and feel brick, but when I look, I just see fields upon fields of nothingness.

I inhale and smell it. The moat, the slow deterioration of buildings from time coupled with the heavy reapplied spell after spell of protection onto the drooping foundations. The welcoming, all-encompassing scent of home.

It’s there, alright. It’s just not there.

Snow’s closing in, touching the same space where my hands are still as he follows along, tracing his fingertips over invisible brick. He reeks. He smells like he’ll set the grass on fire, which will help none of us (especially me) in this situation.

When I look over, I see that his sword’s already out and ready, hanging from his hand as his other one closes around my back. His eyes are wild, darting about while desperately trying to find a proper baddie to fight--something winged or clawed. Something with talons and hypnotic eyes, or a mist that alters perception.

But there’s nothing. There’s a wall to Watford, and no way to see inside. And it’s infuriating.

“Show yourself!” I snap, pointing my wand forward before trying “Come out, come out wherever you are” again, to no avail.

I feel the weight of Snow’s hand pressing into my back, warm and steady and thumping like his magic does. Like his magic is. Like how it fills the air around us, making me nearly choke every time I breathe.

His palm rests against my shirt, then slides up, pressed strongly to my shoulder blade. I turn to him, eyes wide and unsure as he stares back and--

Something clicks. Like a switch. Like a fucking surge protector broke, and now I’ve got a nuclear power plant at my disposal. I shutter. I feel like I’m burning alive, but when I look down at myself, I’m fully intact.

I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know how to describe it, but bloody hell, I think I could do a proper nursery rhyme.

I still myself, pressing back into his hand as my wand raises, unwavering. “Oh where, oh where, has my little dog gone? Oh where, oh where can he be?”

“Crowley, Baz!” I hear Fiona behind me. She sounds so close yet so distant. If I had half the mind I usually do, I’d be telling her to stand back. Instead, I’m too intoxicated on whatever Snow’s doing to me (a spell?) (Shit, maybe I am dead, and this is the surreal afterlife).

Snow’s hand slowly runs down my back, settling onto the dipping curve of my spine and shocking me into a shiver as I gasp and continue, voice raising. “With his ears cut short and his tail cut long,” I call, watching the wall in front of me shimmer and start to filter back into existence as I start the final line. “Oh where, oh where could he be?”

It all comes at once. A pop into existence, and the swift, overwhelming detachment from whatever Snow just threw me into with the removal of his hand. It’s enough to make me nauseous, stumbling back onto the ground behind me as Watford reappears in full.

And so does The Mage, about 50 feet away from us with a careful, studying gaze.

#carry on round robin #carry on #snowbaz #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #mine #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #simon #baz #safe from ws!!!!#canon diverge sixth year #trope: power sharing

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sunflower-le-tournesol · 5 years ago

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Snowbaz - Relationship, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow Characters: Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Snow Storm, Cuddling/Snuggling, for survival!, mostly!, Fluff, Light Angst, Hypothermia, Frostbite, Pre-Relationship, so many tropes and cliches, baz is lovesick, Hurt/Comfort, Protective!Baz Summary:

Clearly, this is not the first time that Simon Snow has nearly frozen to death.

It’s a bit horrifying, so I try not to dwell on it.

Fortunately, I have plenty of other things to keep me occupied, like the threat of frostbite and hypothermia.

... Or, Simon and Baz get stuck in a blizzard.

Baz

Clearly, this is not the first time that Simon Snow has nearly frozen to death.

It’s a bit horrifying, so I try not to dwell on it.

Fortunately, I have plenty of other things to keep me occupied, like the threat of frostbite and hypothermia.

While I’m not actually sure that the cold can kill a vampire, it’s certainly not a pleasant experience, and I know the cold can definitely kill a Chosen One.

Simon is shivering so hard I’m afraid that he might chip a tooth.

I give his fingers a squeeze.

Crowley, mine barely want to cooperate.

If we don’t do something soon, we’re fucked.

“We nn... need shelter,” Simon manages to mutter through his chattering teeth. He’s got his hand wrapped around mine to link us together, fearful that we’ll lose each other the storm, an unseasonal white out that swept in quickly and viciously. “We’ll never ma-make it b-b-back to Watford.”

He’s right.

The strength of my warming charms waned as the chill set into my bones, and every time I tried to start a fire, the frigid wind snuffed it out.

We’re running out of time.

“L-look for a ca-cave or a b-b-big tr-ee.... Any-nything that can b-block the w-wind.”

We trudge through more than a foot of snow, and it’s slow going despite our best efforts.

Simon squints against an icy gust and murmurs, “Th-think... I see... something. Up. Ahead.”

I follow his line of sight and am suddenly grateful for my enhanced senses. There’s an outcropping of rock no more than half a meter in the distance. Patches of gray stone and muddy forest floor are just barely visible, but it’s enough.

“Thank fuck,” I mumble through my chapped lips.

I start tugging Snow in the proper direction, but he stumbles and lags behind a step.

“M’fine,” he answers before I can ask, and then he’s back in step at my side. The wind howls as we continue in silence, and Simon bumbles into me a handful of times as we cross the icy expanse. He apologizes, and I notice that his lips are turning blue.

I urge him faster.

We’ve nearly made it to our best chance at shelter when his hand goes limp in my own and his knees buckle.

I get an arm under his shoulders just before he hits the ground and lower him the rest of the way. Protectively, I hunch over him and brush the frosty curls from his uncharacteristically pale face.

“Shit, Simon,” I swear. “Shit. Get up.”

His eyelids twitch, but he doesn’t open them. “Ngh. Baz?” he groans. His mouth twists into a frown. “S’cold.”

It can’t be good for him to be lying in this shit.

“I’m fucking aware, Snow,” I curse as I haul him back to his feet. It’s harder than it should be for someone like me, and he sways as soon as he’s upright.

“M’tired, Baz,” he whines as the snowflakes catch on his eyelids. They don’t even melt, and he’s normally a furnace.

I brace him with both hands on his biceps and look over his shoulder toward the makeshift cave.

And then I scoop Simon into my arms.

He doesn’t complain, which is a bad sign in its own right.

Somehow he’s languid and stiff, and he uses the last of his strength to curl against my chest.

His breath puffs against my jaw in short pants.

His head lolls onto my shoulders and a few bronze curls spill out from beneath his hat.

Fuck.

I tighten my arms around him, and l haul us both through a blizzard with single minded focus.

Simon

Baz is swearing and spelling under his breath, and he sounds scared, which is weird.

Baz is never scared.

My eyes don’t want to open, so I take stock with my other senses.

I’m lying on the ground, but there’s something soft under my head.

Something rustles, and there’s a sudden burst of warmth. Baz sighs audibly and sags in relief somewhere near my head.

Then his hands are on my face, and they feel warm to me, which is not probably not good because Baz runs so much cooler than I do.

I crack open an eye. His expression floods with relief, and he drags me closer to the small crackling fire.

“Crowley, you’re fucking soaked,” Baz cringes and starts stripping me out of his coat with fumbling fingers. “Don’t you own anything that’s waterproofed?”

It’s not really a question. “Fuck. Why aren’t you shivering?”

This one isn’t really, either, but I force myself to respond even though my tongue feels like it weighs twenty pounds, “S’bad.”

Baz pauses in his ministrations before he’s back at it with military precision. Once he’s got the coat off, he tries a drying spell, but he’s too drained for it to do any good.

Baz snarls, punches the frozen ground, and proceeds to tug off my sopping jumper and undershirt. They hit the rock with a wet smack when Baz flings them to the side.

Baz’s mouth twists into contemptuous scowl when he sees my trainers. I don’t own boots, but I don’t bother to point it out. He pulls off my shoes and socks. I can’t quite hide the wince.

“Aleister fucking Crowley,” Baz swears. My feet have been numb for awhile. They just look awful.

Baz grimaces, but then his expression becomes more resolute.

He deftly unbuttons my trousers and tugs them down over my hips, knees, and frozen toes.

I’m left in my pants, but only for a moment.

I’m too tired to care anyway.

Baz sheds his own coat, wraps it around me, and then drags me into his lap. My heads come to rest against his chest, but he’s still not finished.

His missing scarf must have been my makeshift pillow, and he unfolds it before wrapping it around my feet and tucking them under the coat.

When he’s done, he pulls it over my head to trap in the heat.

“If you fucking feeeze to death, Simon, I’ll kill you,” Baz threatens. I make an affirmative noise low in my throat. It’s all I can manage right now.

“Don’t go to sleep,” he chides after a few minutes of quiet. He’s parroting my advice back to me, and I chuckle. It comes out a little hoarse, a little broken. “Why exactly do you know so much about exposure? Did the Mage take you on an exhibition to fight a Yeti?” I shake my head.

“No? Do tell,” Baz is going for his usual snotty aristocratic tone, but I know him well enough to hear the tremor of panic hiding underneath his sneer.

I lick my lips and try to force the words out of my mouth, “L-locked out. Got. Locked out.”

I was little. It was a crowded group home with overburdened foster parents, who were strict on curfew. To drive their point home, they locked their door at nine o’ clock and refused to open it.

I missed the deadline one time, and I never missed it again.

An older girl who had been living on the streets prior to the placement told me everything she knew about surviving exposure as we huddled for warmth against the side of the house.

“Just in case you ever need to know,” she’d said. She was probably no more than fifteen, but her eyes seemed much older. “Sometimes I have better luck roughing it.”

It was a long night.

She ended up running off again a few days later, and people the children’s welfare office eventually took us all to a new group home.

I don’t know what happened to her.

Sometimes I still wonder.

Baz

Simon still isn’t shivering.

I’m bloody freezing, and it’s getting more difficult to remember all the bits about survival he’d rattled off from memory when the storm took a turn for the worse.

I know he mentioned something about skin-to-skin contact because I nearly went into cardiac arrest.

Not that I can go into cardiac arrest.

I think.

If anything is going to give me a heart attack, though, it’s definitely the idea of being pressed together with Simon Snow in nothing but our pants.

I’m too worried to really enjoy his proximity at the moment, but I can’t imagine I’ll have any real composure if I’m forced to strip down as well.

Idiot. Of course he couldn’t have dressed for the weather. My layers are relatively dry, but Snow walked out into a blizzard in his usual brand of street urchin chic and fucking trainers.

And now I’ve got a lapful if Chosen One freezing to death in my arms.

I used the last of my magical reserves to dry enough kindling to keep the fire going and cast Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

I’m spent.

I’m out of options.

And then Simon sniffles.

Fuck.

Okay, sure, this is fucking happening.

This is what my fucking ridiculous life has come to.

I can’t help my frustrated snarl as I yank my tie loose and unbutton my sweater.

Bundling the coat more securely around Snow, I push him away just long enough to finish removing my own clothes.

Once I’m basically starkers, I drag him back into my lap and fold him against my chest. He’s compliant, like a limpet, and I hate it because usually he’s sparking with life and energy. Literally .

I wrap my clothing over both of us and rub my hands up and down Snow’s arms, hoping to create some friction and generate some warmth.

I tuck his frozen feet underneath my bare thigh and suck in a suffering breath through my nose because fuck, those are fucking cold.

And then I try to ignore that fact that I’m in my pants, pressed up against Simon, who is also in his pants.

He doesn’t make a single comment about our predicament, which only serves to make me more anxious.

Okay. I need to keep him awake, like he said; I’ll keep him talking.

“Snow,” I nudge him with my shoulder, “How d-did you get l-locked out?” He doesn’t respond, so I jar him a little more forcefully.

He grumbles weakly, but he finally says, “Was... late.”

“Late?”

“Care... home,” he says, like it explains anything. “Locked... out.”

“You w-were late,” I puzzle out aloud, lowly, “so they locked y-you out?”

Simon nods.

“Use your words, you n-nightmare,” I chastise, but there’s no real best to it. It’s just habit, an automated response.

Because right now I’m sticking on the implication of his words.

Who the fuck locks a child outside for being late?

Even a child as annoying as Simon Snow.

I had assumed that a number of the care homes had left something to be desired: Every year Simon came back underfed, his blue eyes too big in his face, and sometimes he ended up sicking up in the bathroom after the first few meals if he overcompensated.

Truthfully, he’d come back to Watford bruised up some years, but I had assumed it was related to the Mage or the Humdrum, or that Simon had just gotten into a row with some other boys their age.

I curl more protectively over Simon without realizing what I’m doing.

What if there were no summer excursions with the Mage? What if it was more than a few tussles with peers?

Suddenly, the sickening image of a faceless man towering over a too thin Simon Snow fills my mind.

I’m shaking now, but it’s not cold anymore: It’s rage.

Simon

“Baz?” I ask. He’s gone strangely rigid, tensed like he’s angry, like a snake coiled to spring.

His shivering feels more like fine trembling, and I can sense a shift in his mood.

Baz is pissed off.

I hope he’s not about to shove me off him and back into the blizzard. I don’t think I’d last long, especially in my pants.

I’ve actually started to warm up, I think. I might just be imagining it, though. I guess that’s what happens when you’re too cold for too long. You don’t even realize you’re cold anymore, and that’s what kills you.

I really don’t want to die out here.

It’s too anticlimactic for the Mage’s heir.

Baz shifts, and somehow I’m snuggled even closer to his bare chest. My cheek rests on his shoulder, and my lips are pressed against the skin just above his collarbone.

It’s intimate.

I can feel the heat creeping into my face.

“Baz?”

He flinches when I repeat his name, but then he abruptly settles. His voice is emotionless when he asks, “What h-happened next?”

Talking is exhausting, so I try to keep it brief. Even I know that’s counterproductive, but I’m so fucking tired.

“S’long night. Rainy,” I try not to think about the way my lips brush over his skin, like a kiss.

I like it.

I want to do it again.

I stop that train of thought before it can gain any more traction.

This is survival. This is purely platonic.

We’re just cuddling platonically for survival, like I told Baz earlier.

I’ve always found Baz to be pretty fit, though, and feeling him up close like this is doing things to me.

I don’t know where the urge to snog my roommate is coming from right now, but I can’t let myself make this weird.

And then Baz buries his nose in my hair and inhales.

I shiver. Baz’s fingers flex.

He whispers, “They l-locked you out all n-night?”

It’s so strange to hear him stuttering, so unlike the carefully composed Baz that I’m used to.

He must be freezing.

“Mhmm,” I answer. “Welfare... c-came a few days... la-later. Moved all.. all of us.” I close my eyes and picture her face, “Sometimes... I still... look for her?”

“Who?”

“The girl,” I say. I don’t know why I’m telling him of all people. I’ve never told anyone. “She ran... away. Said... sometimes it was better... on the streets.”

A chill pierces me to the core. Sometimes I worried it was my fault. The police questioned me and everything once they found out she’d run off, but I couldn’t tell them anything useful.

I cuddle closer to Baz before I share the next bit, the fate I hoped she’d avoided, ��She... saw a guy freeze... to death once... Said he went to sleep... and he never woke... up.”

I’m seeking comfort more than warmth at the moment, but I hope he can’t tell the difference.

Thankfully, he does comment on the fact that I’ve wiggled even closer, nestled snugly into his chest. Instead, he asks, “H-how old w-were you?”

I purse my lips, think, and answer, “Seven? Probably.”

Baz curses under his breath and spits something about a prize for fucked up childhoods.

“S’fine... I think... they felt b-bad,” I recall. “I got an... extra serving at breakfast the next... morning.”

I’m not sure I’m making sense anymore, honestly.

Baz seems to follow my train of thought, thiufh, as he darkly drawls, “How nice of them to feed you .” He huffs, “I can’t believe this is how we’re going to die.”

“You’re already dead,” I remind him, and then I frown because it seems sort of cruel, “Kind of.”

Baz snorts, and I like the sound.

But I’m tired, so I yawn, my eyelashes flutter, and Baz twitches before he softens, “Stay awake. It’s my destiny to kill you. I won’t be upstaged by a snowstorm.” I can feel his lips quirk against my forehead, “The irony would be insufferable.”

“Mmm,” I agree. “Do... you still want to...kill me?”

“Of c-course,” he responds without missing a beat, and somehow this makes me sad.

Most of the time I think he’s joking now, but if I’m going to die of hypothermia, I don’t want to take any chances or leave anything unsaid.

“Oh.”

The cold is really starting to get to me, making me emotional, because I want to make sure he understands. He needs to know.

I need him to know.

I swallow, “I don’t... want... to kill you.”

“How noble,” he lilts, and I know he’s not taking me seriously.

Fine.

I’ll make him listen.

My limbs feel heavy and clumsy, but I sit up even though Baz makes a sound of confusion and tries to pull me back, but I’m on a mission.

He’s staring at me in the relative darkness of our clothing fort like I’ve gone round the bind, but it doesn’t matter.

I take his perfect face in my hands and try to ignore the softness of his skin.

I force him to look me in the eye, and now our faces are probably too close together.

Close enough to kiss.

“I don’t want... to kill... you,” I repeat. “I haven’t... for a long... t-time.”

Baz

Snow is driving me mad.

I’m sick with worry over how quickly he’s deteriorating, but I’m also completely distracted by him.

Every tiny shift, the brush of his lips against my clavicle when he speaks, his eyelashes on my skin, his breath against the column of my throat, the soft little noises he makes when he leans more firmly against me, it’s going to be the death of me.

I knew Snow would kill me.

Proper noun, common noun, fuck it all, this is my life.

Now he’s cupping my face between his palms like I’m something precious, important, and pinning me with the intensity of those vibrant blue eyes.

I think my heart is going to beat out of my chest.

I love this stupid, noble idiot.

His speech is slurred, but he fights to make his point.

“I’m... glad the Crucible... put us together.”

Oh, fuck no.

My blood sours in my veins.

This is not goodbye.

I am not doing this right now.

My hands drop to his shoulders and I shake him, “Shut up.” I’m growling, which would be embarrassing if weren’t so fucking scared right now. “Shut up.”

He shakes his head, “I... mean it.” He tilts forward until our foreheads are touching, “I mean... it, Baz.”

He shudders abruptly, and his eyes roll, like he’s used the last of his strength to say this to me, like my name is the last word he’ll ever say, like I would want him to waste his fucking breath on me right now.

He collapses against me.

Fuck.

“Simon,” I shake him. Nothing. “Simon. Wake up.”

The panic I’ve managed to contain begins to grip my body like a vice. “Simon,” I implore. “Simon. Please.”

The silence stretches.

The whiteout rages around us.

We may as well be the only two people in the universe.

I pat his face insistently, trying to wake him, “Simon, love, please.”

Fuck.

His heart rate is so slow, and his nails are turning blue.

And I can’t watch him die.

So I smack my numb hands against my thigh until I get some feeling back.

And then I slap him.

Hard.

“Ngh,” he groans pathetically, but his eyes blink open. “Stay awake,” I demand. I clear my throat, suck in a breath, and confess, “I don’t want to kill you either, okay? So stay awake.”

He sighs, “S’good. T’nks.”

And then then he reaches for me.

I’m hovering over him, so I lean forward. When I’m close enough, he grabs my shoulders and pulls at me until I lie beside him. He’s too weak to make me do anything, but I go willingly.

I rearrange our cocoon, and Simon tucks himself against my side until there’s no space between us.

My arm comes around him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I run a hand over his back, and he makes a pleased humming sound that makes my heart hammer in my chest and my face flush.

He whispers, “Hey, Baz?”

“What, Snow?”

He waits, like he’s thinking of something, “I like... this better than... k-killing each other.”

My fingers still for a moment before I admit, “Me too.”

I smile humorlessly, “Though I could do without the threat of frostbite.”

“Mm,” Simon agrees.

The fire snaps and pops, merry and indifferent to our predicament, and if I close his eyes, I can almost imagine that we’re anywhere else.

It’s a stolen moment, where I can’t help but dream that this is something that I can have, keep.

The wind howls, Simon shudders, and I weave my fingers through his matted bronze curls.

It’s indulgent.

I can’t even justify it by claiming that I’m trying to keep Simon warm.

No, this is just affection and desire, the desire to bring comfort, the desire to be something more if only for a little while.

Simon

Baz slaps me two more times before he announces that the worst of the storm seems to have passed.

He crawls out of the mess of clothing.

When I peek our, he snarls at me, “You’re g-going to freeze.”

And then he pulls his coat back over my head.

The next time I try to look, he’s fully dressed and somehow still looks poised and posh in spite of the last few hours.

It’s unfair.

When he doesn’t scold me, I make a grab for my discarded shirt, but it’s cold and stiff and damp.

Baz flowers. “I didn’t save your l-life just for you to c-catch your death now.”

He punctuates his sentence by tossing his sweater to me.

I catch it out of reflex and blink, “But won’t y-you be c-cold?”

Baz barely looks up from primly straightening his bloody tie and quips, “I’m considerably more durable than you, Snow.”

“S-Simon,” I say automatically.

“Hmm?” he asks absently. He takes the jumper from my numb, fumbling hands and pulls it over my head. He does up the buttons in a snap.

Sputtering, I say, “You c-called me S-Simon. Earlier. I h-heard you.”

“You’re h-hallucinating,” Baz contradicts firmly, but the shivering ruins the effect.

He turns and hands me my trousers, which had been drying by the fire. I try not to combust when his fingertips graze my hips as he helps me pull them on.

I make a point not to look at him again until I’m mostly dressed.

“You d-did. You c-called me S-Simon.” I pause and consider my next admission, “I l-liked it.”

Baz whips away to grab his coat before I can see his reaction, and then he throws it over my shoulders with a flourish. It’s so long on me it nearly drags the ground.

“B-Baz,” I protest.

He presses a long, thin finger against my lips, and I’m suddenly thankful for the cold because I’m sure I would be crimson now.

I want to kiss his finger.

What the fuck.

“Be q-quiet, S-Simon.”

And I am.

Quiet, I mean. Stunned into silence while my heart tries to beat out of my chest.

His stormy gray eyes drop to my mouth, I swear, and then he turns away, brandishes his wand, and casts, “Follow the yellow brick road. ”

And maybe I am a bit delirious because I laugh when I hear the spell.

A yellow brick road rolls out in front of us before it disappears under the small hills of snow.

Baz steps out into it and kicks a mound aside to reveal more of the brick. He squints against the light.

I’m practically snowblind, but of course he adjusts quickly.

“It’s n-not far,” he says, and then he smirks, “You w-were leading us in the right d-direction after all.”

I’m glad because I don’t think I’m up for a long jaunt back to Watford. I have trouble just trying to stand up, and my feet feel like lead weights.

And then Baz is there with his hand outstretched.

I take it and slump unsteadily into his side.

I wait for a comment about my deficits of grace, but it never comes. Instead, he smoothly wraps my arms around his neck, twists, and lifts me onto his back with the sort of fluidity that’s both enviable and annoying.

His hands slide under my thighs.

“I can walk,” I lie.

“Don’t be stupid,” he replies.

He carries me like I weigh nothing, even if he teases me a few times and complains, and something about it all makes me feel lighter.

When we finally make it back to the gate, the yard is thankfully empty.

I’m already daydreaming of my bed and maybe a shower.

I’m sure Penny will come by later, and I’m sure I she would be happy to bring breakfast and cast a few warming charms.

But Baz doesn’t walk toward Mummer’s House.

I groan, “Can’t we j-just go to b-bed. Where c-could you possibly need to go r-right now?”

Baz hitches me a little higher on his back, and I yelp, which is embarrassing.

“The infirmary, obviously.”

My brow furrows. Is Baz sick? Is he hurt? Is he worse than he let on?

I squirm a little to get a better look at him and ask, “What’s w-wrong? Are y-you okay?”

He makes a put upon sound, “I’m fine.”

“Then w-why...?”

“You’re r-ridiculous,” he announces as he enters the main building.

A gust of heat rushes up to greet us, and I sigh.

He makes a left, and then we’re in the infirmary. He settles me on an empty bed with a gentleness I wouldn’t have thought him capable of before last night, and then he runs a hand through my hair before he disappears into the office.

“Dithering about in this weather,” Olga chastises as she emerges alongside him a minute later. “You’re lucky Basilton found you.”

I shoot him a look, and he shakes his head imperceptibly. Apparently we’re here for me, and he’s getting off scot free.

Olga jams a thermometer in my mouth and tuts when she reads the numbers, “Going to need warm saline.” She makes a note on a chart that seems to have appeared out of thin air and instructs, “But first you need to be dry. Take those wet things off.”

When she opens the supply closet to rifle for supplies, I start removing my clothes again , which is stupid. Really, I’m not that wet. Just my pants, my trousers, my shoes. Baz’s fancy designer jumper and coat kept me dry on the walk back to the school.

He’s the one she should be fussing over.

A button on the jumper catches on my hair, and I’m

about to tear it loose when Baz stills my hands and untangles the knot.

“This really isn’t necessary,” I tell him once I’m free of the thing. “And w-why aren’t you up on one of t-these beds getting l-looked over?”

Baz eyes me like I’m insane.

“You’re t-temperature is 35 degrees,” he says. He fixes me with a hard look and whispers, “I don’t think anyone needs to know m-mine.”

Oh. That’s a pretty good point, actually.

“Isn’t there a s-s-spell or s-something for this?” I ask him.

But it’s Olga who replies as she bumbles back over with an IV drip and a needle, “Sometimes the Normal way is best.” She jams the needle into the crook of my elbow, and I cringe.

A few droplets of blood well up around the puncture, and I glance to Baz, who looks wholly indifferent.

He must’ve fed sometime before we left last night.

Before I can think on it anymore, Olga bustles back over and holds out a few pills in a little paper cup and a glass of water.

I eye them warily. I’m not really in any kind of pain, or at least any I can’t handle. Dubiously, I insist, “I’m f-ine. Really.”

Olga isn’t having it. She rolls her eyes, “Basilton, please fill this tub with warm water. Warm, not hot.” Then she waves her wand at the bed until I’m sitting up in a reclined position. “Sit it here, please.”

Baz frowns thoughtfully, “Does he have frostbite?”

“Near enough,” she explains. “Mild though.”

She gestures for me to put my feet in the tub.

Once she’s finished prattling around me, she announces that she’s going to put the kettle on for tea in her quarters and insists it’ll do us both a world of good.

And then we’re alone.

Baz

I’m not sure what to do with myself once Olga vanishes back into to her rooms. While Snow and I have shared a room ourselves for years, there’s no real precedent for this moment.

Something between us has shifted, and I don’t know how to proceed.

I know what I want, but that’s a fantasy.

I’ll settle for whatever this is now, a truce, a tenuous friendship at best?

I’ll take what I can get.

I won’t ask for more.

I’m relieved when Olga pronounces his frostbite to be mild, and I’m amused by the way he pouts once her back is turned.

Honestly, this idiot came in here insisting he was fine. He thought there was something wrong with me , which is as endearing as it is ridiculous. I’m the vampire, as he has pointed out all these years. I didn’t even bother to correct him when he brought it up earlier. Why is he worried about me when he is the one who actually has frostbite?

Frankly, I’m already feeling marginally better now that we’re back inside, and I’m looking forward to the promise of tea.

I’m wondering if Olga will bring enough sugar and trying to figure out how to approach the change in our relationship when Simon suddenly hisses a breath through his clenched teeth.

I snap into focus and almost bask, “What?” His face scrunches up. “Do you need...?”

“No,” he gasps. “Shit that h-hurts.”

Oh. My eyes drift to the tub of water. Yes, re-warming is probably pretty miserable, like when a limb has fallen asleep too long, pins and needles.

Simon groans and his head drops back.

And I grab his hand.

Because I’m an idiot, and I can’t help myself.

The last several hours have been endless, and my overtaxed stronghold on my emotions is starting to fray.

But he doesn’t pull away.

He squeezes my hand and flashes me a grateful smile that soon becomes a grimace of pain

I brush my thumb over his knuckles, and he relaxes minutely, so I do it again.

The door opens, and I pull away before we’re seen.

Olga strides back into the room with two cups of tea that I accept gratefully. The warmth surges through me.

Meanwhile, Olga takes one look at Simon’s gray face and gives him a sympathetic pat, “The medicine should be working soon. You’ll likely sleep through most of the morning.”

I’m glad because his constant wincing is hard to watch.

“I’ll be back to give your feet a rest in half an hour,” she remarks. “Knock if you need me.”

And then she’s off.

I study the door and consider her for a moment as I take a second sip of my tea.

While everyone knows we don’t get along, Olga believes in the Crucible. Even if we were the reason the other was in the infirmary, she always still insisted on treating us like we were friendly.

And I’m grateful for it now because I don’t have to explain why I don’t want to leave.

Shakily, Simon sets his cup on the bedside table.

“You should s-sit,” he nods toward the chair next to his bed. “You h-have to be t-tired. I’m kn-knackered.”

I mock him lightly, but do as he asks, and he looks pleased.

We lapse into relative silence, save for the soft, pitiful noises he makes when the pain spikes. I hear him suck in a breath through his nose and see him squeeze his eyes shut against the pain.

And then he takes me by surprise because he suddenly grabs my hand, laces our fingers together like he’s done it a thousand times.

Stunned, I gaze at our joined hands a little too long before I look up to search his face.

Merlin, he’s blushing .

The color is hot in his cheeks, and I swallow.

He averts his blue eyes before he looks at me firmly, presses his lips together, stammers, “Is... Is this all r-right? I... kind of f-feel better, uh, f-felt better. When y-you were... um, holding me? I mean, when y-you were holding m-my hand, you know?”

Crowley. It’s too easy to remember the way he felt, pressed against my naked side. It’s too easy to picture him in my jumper, just a bit too long, and wrapped in my coat, like lovers sharing clothing.

And I imagine it.

I imagine waking up in the mornings with his head on my chest, his lips against my collar, my name on his tongue, a soft, sleepy smile just for me.

I see him in my football jersey, Pitch spelled out across his back like a declaration.

We hold hands just because we feel like it, just because it feels right .

And I love it.

Now that we’re out of the literal woods, it’s like an uncontrolled fire has been set alight inside of me.

Love, warming me from the inside out, too hot, too fast, too bright.

It’s blinding.

I can’t answer him.

I don’t trust myself.

But I don’t let go.

And I hope that’s enough.

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fae-fucker · 5 years ago

Text

Review: The Songbird’s Refrain

by Jillian Maria

When a mysterious show arrives in town, seventeen-year-old Elizabeth Brighton is both intrigued and unsettled. But none of the acts capture her attention quite like the blue-eyed woman. Locked in a birdcage and covered in feathers, the anguish in her voice sounds just a little too real to be an act—because it isn’t. The show’s owner, a sadistic witch known only as the Mistress, is holding her captive. And she’s chosen Elizabeth as her next victim. After watching the blue-eyed woman die, Elizabeth is placed under the same curse. She clings to what little hope she can find in the words of a fortune teller and in her own strange dreams. The more she learns, the more she suspects that the Mistress isn’t as invulnerable as she appears. But time is against her, and every feather that sprouts brings her closer to meeting the blue-eyed woman’s fate. Can Elizabeth unlock the secret to flying free, or will the Mistress’s curse kill her and cage its next victim?

Full disclosure without the fancy wording: Jillian straight up gave me a free copy of this book, and I’ve followed the development of this novel since pretty early on because it sounded like it was My Jam. Spoilers: it was, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be honest with my opinions! With that said: Jillian, don’t read this. And also, holy shit congrats on writing a book, we stan!! <3 But seriously, don’t.

This review contains vague character spoilers to serve as examples. No names are mentioned.

The Writing

Having read a couple of early versions of the first chapters of this book, I can’t express enough how amazing it is to read it in its final form, how far it has come from the days when an early draft was posted on a tumblr page which the author coded herself. That’s not to say the early versions of it were bad, but I don’t want to undermine and deny how far it has come and how polished it is.

As you all know, I’m not a huge fan of overly flowery prose because it often takes me out of the experience, and luckily, I can’t remember a single time I thought something was overwritten or took me out of the story.

The writing is evocative without being flashy and Elizabeth has a clear, wonderful voice that feels fresh and easy and intimate at once. The dialogue feels natural and I’m honestly impressed with how characters rarely swear despite being in terrible situations, and how it never felt like a copout or like the author was censoring herself for the YA age range.

Probably a weird thing to point out, but my characters swear constantly and I have no idea how to stop them from doing that without making it very silly, so props to the author for succeeding where I would definitely fail.

The Characters

Oh my what a smörgåsbord of fun people! I won’t dwell too much on this section because the mystery is very much tied deeply into the characters themselves, and I don’t want to spoil things before the book is even out.

Elizabeth is a bean. She’s self-aware and relatable without losing her own individuality in the process. I hated seeing her suffer but loved watching her grow stronger through it. She has standards and opinions yet she doubts herself on nearly every step and all I wanted to do was to reach through the pages and give her a slap and go GIRL, YOU A STAR. She’s what a YA protagonist should be, in my humble onion. My only complaint would probably be that she’s a bit too self-aware for a reglier teenager, but it makes sense for the story and the premise and the growth she goes through, so I don’t think it’s something that ruins her in any capacity. Maybe she’s just way more clever than I was at 17, lmao.

The Mistress. What can I say without saying too much? Man, what a villain! Like, damn! Yes! Gurl! Yes! Terrifying! I hate her absolute guts! Every time she was in a scene I wanted to crawl under a blanket and bring Elizabeth with me to protecc her. This woman’s aesthetic and evil-ness rivals a Disney villain, and like, not in a bad way, but in the best way. The panache with which she does all her evil shit is just *chef kiss* I wanted to do violence to this woman but I knew if I’d existed in this story she’d absolutely destroy me if I looked at her wrong, and I think that’s what my ideal villain archetype is. The Mistress is deliciously, stylishly evil. You read the book half because you want Elizabeth to win, and half because you want, nay, NEED to see the Mistress lose. Some might say they need a villain to be more complex or whatever, but I’m firmly in the “evil people exist and evil antagonists are fun to write if you do it properly” camp, and here it’s done properly, IMHO. The Mistress doesn’t need a sad backstory or a complex motivation to be an effective, intimidating, and interesting antagonist.

I also really liked Madame Selene. At first I found her to be kind of cliché as a mystical fortune teller, but there’s actually a very interesting spin on that trope in her character, and I found her to be endlessly interesting as a result of it. I can’t say much more without further spoilers, but let’s just say there’s a reason she’s all cryptic and weird and refuses to speak plainly. My biggest gripe is that she didn’t get as much screentime as I wanted. I just need more of Madame Selene.

I honestly can’t say I found any of the other side characters to be lacking (even Bridget, whomst I need to strangle, was fun to hate), but I will say that my favorites were definitely one of the couples. The older one especially.

I will also repeat that I love Elizabeth. Very much. I love Elizabeth twice. Ahem.

Anyway, special mention should be made that the cast is quite diverse despite being fairly small. I didn’t expect anything less from Jillian, of course, but I just wanted to point it out for those who had doubts.

The Negatives and the Mehgatives

Because oh yes, it ain’t a review by Eff if they don’t complain about shit.

Now, some of these are things that aren’t necessarily bad, but others did feel like they were in the way of making this book as good as it could be. I usually split my reviews further up into “worldbuilding” and “plot”, but since I don’t feel like I have enough to say about those to justify their own sections, I’ve decided to just throw them in here.

The worldbuilding is sparse, and that’s fine for this genre and this specific story. It plays out (mostly) in the reglier world with sort of reglier people, so I wasn’t expecting Tolkien levels of depth going in (in fact I find Tolkien levels of depth to not be necessary more than half the time but that’s another discussion). I got glimpses of some very interesting things that I’d very much like to see more of, but it feels more like stuff that would fit an “extended universe” sort of series and the lack of more supernatural/unique elements felt fine and didn’t really bother me.

Now to the less than good stuff. As much as I enjoyed the progression of the plot and Elizabeth’s character, and the steady flow of hints and developments felt elegant, I did feel like the mystery was a little bit predictable, and the foreshadowing a bit on the nose, especially in the very beginning. (Elizabeth’s shoulder scar was mentioned probably half a dozen times more than necessary.)

For example (mild spoilers, skip to next paragraph if you want to avoid), there’s a section where a character is taken away and Elizabeth hears them scream. After that, she keeps mentioning how that character is definitely, 100% dead, there’s no way they survived, they’re totally a corpse now, someone dig a hole and find a coffin. I thought it made sense for Elizabeth to feel fear and grief and assume the worst, so I’m not as bothered by it as I would’ve been in a worse book, but it did feel a bit like she was trying to convince the reader more than like she was mourning.

The foreshadowing being on the nose and the mystery being predictable are sort of intertwined, and I think it’s probably the book’s biggest flaw? That said, if you don’t consider yourself super savvy with writing and storytelling techniques, you might not pick up on this stuff at all. I also liked the plot despite finding it predictable, so if you’re not really interested in a super complex mystery but are interested in a good story, you’ll probably find this intriguing enough.

The second biggest flaw of the book is the ending, in my opinion. It felt a bit rushed, and I would’ve liked to see side characters tied up as neatly as the plot itself. Not ... in a sexy way, yikes. I mean their arcs and stuff. There’s one in particular I felt was lacking, where I would’ve wanted to see more of a reaction and conclusion to something terrible that happened before. The character in question was pretty important during the whole middle of the book, and in the end they’re just sort of glossed over and exit the narrative, literally. The ending is supposed to be sort of open, I think, so I can respect that, but it could’ve been open while still feeling complete, ya know?

And the romance ... Well, let’s move on to the next bit, shall we?

The Gay

Full disclosure: I’m straight. Well, that’s the word I use, and some might disagree with it because I’m nonbinary and say my attraction to men would make me “queer”. But that’s the word I use for my general thing, not my sexuality specifically.

ANYWAY. This is all fluff that I’m using to ease you into the real point: I’m, like, not into reading wlw romance. Or mlm romance. At all? I’m not against it by any means, go wild my dudes, and I hate 90% of all “straight” romances because straight people largely can’t write love for shit.

I’m saying this because I think there’s a lot of fellow straighties out there thinking they’ll be made “uncomfortable” by the gays or that it’ll make them question their sexuality and stuff. And 1) lmao cowards 2) I get it, it feels “”””weird”””” and you don’t relate but like 3) stop being a lil bitch and open your mind.

If you’re a straighty and you’re curious about this book but think that the lady-kissing is spookie, I’m here to inform you that yeah, romantic love between women is heavily, and I mean heavily, tied into the main plot. But it’s not really a book about homosexuality or homophobia. It feels natural, and normal, and is never made out to be a Thing, except when Elizabeth speculates about her parents’ reactions to her coming out. It’s not a book about TEH GAYS specifically, it’s a book about love, that just happens to be between women. If you can accept that and go into it with an open mind, like I did because I am Very Woke, I think you’ll find a new appreciation and perspective for romances that aren’t straight.

Now, back to the actual book. The romance in TSR is frustrating to me because one of them is amazing, so amazing that even I, a filthy man-lover, found it melting my heart. It’s lovely, it’s beautifully written, it’s got a gorgeous aesthetic and an excellent pairing with plenty of warm and fluffy chemistry without shying away from their sexuality. I loved this relationship and I wish there was a book just about these two ladies. It’s honestly #romancegoals.

The second one is ... not that. It felt sort of rushed and like it was constantly trying to justify itself. It wasn’t instalove, but it also sort of was? I can’t explain it without spoiling so you’ll have to read it for yourself. It could have something to do with the fact that the other couple are teenagers and the previous one are adults so their relationship felt more mature and established, but both get roughly the same amount of screen time and I’m quite frankly baffled by how differently they’re handled.

Given how dark and honest and real most of this book was (despite the magic stuff), it felt really jarring to have the second romance be so empty.

To its credit, I was very much rooting for the teen couple. I even imagined how they’d meet up and fight the villain together. If their ending had been just a little bit more open (as opposed to the general ending, which I wanted to be less open lol) and their romance not quite as definitively sealed, I think I would’ve loved it too, because it would’ve fit better with the tone of the rest of the storytelling.

As it stands, I think the different romantic relationships shown in this book are interesting and show off different dynamics and are a good starting point for important conversations baby wlw (and other romantically inclided peeps tbh) might want to have. Yes, even -- and possibly especially -- the abusive ones.

This story has a lot to say about love and I think it’s important stuff people need to hear nowadays, especially YA audiences.

The Conclusion

If you’re looking for a paranormal YA mystery with a bit of gore thrown in, complete with a lesbian protag and a diverse cast, self-contained and tasty like a very small hamburger, The Songbird’s Refrain is well worth your time.

It’s got a great romance, an excellent protagonist, an unsettling atmosphere, a fun villain, and a genuinely touching story dealing with important subjects like healthy love, abusive relationships, and self-worth.

If you’re not a fan of one aspect of this book but the rest seems appealing, I think you should go for it and maybe realize as you’re reading that it doesn’t matter that much because the rest of the package deal is excellent.

#book review #book recs #the songbird's refrain

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