#she once burnt down an old manor house | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hiramaris · 2 months ago

Text

I can’t read you but if you want, the pleasure’s all mine.

SPECIAL CHAPTER

Chapter Summary:

You have a plan. Check the farm. Leave. Simple. You make it about three steps before stopping again. Your gaze drifts back toward her. She’s smiling softly at the photo she just took, adjusting the camera settings before raising it again. Cute. And the plan? Crumpled. Burnt. Gone. With a sigh, you trudge toward the farm, muttering under your breath, “Looks like I’m going to live on a farm after all.”

Pairings: Haley x Fem!farmer

Disclaimer: I do not own Stardew Valley or any of the related characters. Stardew Valley is created by and owned by ConcernedApe. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Stardew Valley story belong to ConcernedApe.

Warning: None. Just a useless lesbian.

Notes:

Ever wonder what the farmer's perspective is about all these? And how you seemed to be there whenever Haley needed you to be. That's just a plain ol' coincidence, right? Right? Well, worry no more, 'cause you're about to find out.

Spring 1

You arrived in Pelican Town with nothing but your suitcase and the stiff suit clinging uncomfortably to your skin. The tie at your throat feels like a noose, and the weight of city life still lingers on your shoulders.

You're far too overdressed for this place. If a crowd existed, you'd stick out like a sore thumb.

The bus sputters off behind you, kicking up a cloud of dust that lingers in the crisp morning air. You watch it disappear down the road, leaving nothing but silence in its wake. No honking cars, no distant chatter, no hum of neon lights. Just birdsong, the whisper of the wind through the trees, and the faint scent of damp earth.

The quiet is unsettling.

Before you can fully process the sheer stillness of the valley, a voice had cut through the air.

"Ah, there you are, Y/N! Welcome to Pelican Town."

An older man—short, with a thick mustache—approached you with an easygoing grin.

"It’s good to finally meet you. I’m Mayor Lewis," he said as he adjust his hat. "I used to be good friends with your grandfather. You probably don’t remember me, but we met once when you were little."

You don’t remember, but you nodded anyway.

Beside him, a woman with fiery red hair pulled into a loose ponytail grinned at you. She held a clipboard under one arm, boots tapping against the dirt road as she sized you up.

"And I’m Robin, the local carpenter," she greeted. "I’ve been fixing up your grandpa’s old place for you. It needed… well, let’s just say a lot of work."

She smirked, and you get the feeling she's holding back from saying something worse.

You shifted your grip on your suitcase. "I appreciate it, but—"

Robin gestured down the road before you can finish. "Come on, let’s head to the mayor’s manor first. Your farm’s just down that path"—she nodded toward a dirt trail on your right—"but the Mayor wanted to talk to you first."

Lewis nodded. "I need to go over a few things with you before I send you off. Won’t take long, promise."

You hesitated but fall into step beside them, your dress shoes crunching against the gravel road. The manor is just down the road, tucked neatly near the town square. Luckily, it's still early. The streets are empty, the town barely waking up. The houses lining the path are quaint, with colorful wooden signs swinging gently in the breeze.

You aren’t sure if it’s the morning chill or something else entirely, but the weight in your chest feels heavier with every step.

Lewis lead you up the short stone steps of the manor and gestures for you to step inside. The air inside is warm, filled with the scent of wood polish and something faintly herbal—tea, maybe. The walls are lined with old photographs, shelves packed with neatly organized town records. It's a lived-in space, one that feels much too welcoming for someone like you.

"Have a seat," Lewis said, motioning toward a wooden chair in front of his desk. He lowered himself into his own chair with a sigh, then rummaged through a drawer before producing a rusty key.

"Here’s the key to your farmhouse," he slid it toward you. "It’s a little run-down, but with some work, you’ll have it back in shape in no time."

You picked up the key, turning it over in your palm. It's cold, the metal worn with age.

Robin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "I already stopped by to check the place out—patched up a few things, cleared some of the worst debris." She tilted her head with a teasing smile. "Figured you'd appreciate not falling through the floor on your first night."

You're not sure what to say to that.

Instead, you nodded, offering a polite, "Thanks."

Lewis pulled out a large map and flattened it on the desk in front of you. "Now, Pelican Town isn’t a big place, but you’ll want to familiarize yourself with it. We have a small, tight-knit community here. It’d be good for you to meet the townsfolk." He tapped a few locations on the map. "The general store, the saloon, the blacksmith—these are the places you’ll be visiting the most."

You glanced at the map, taking in the layout of the town. Everything looks so… open. Unlike the structured, rigid grids of the city.

Lewis leaned back in his chair. "I know this is probably a big change for you," he said, his tone softer now. "But we’re glad to have you here. Your grandfather was well-loved in this town."

Your throat tightens at that. You don’t answer.

Instead, you slide the map toward yourself and fold it neatly. "Right," you said, standing. "I should get going. Thank you."

Lewis nodded, rising to his feet as well. "Of course. I won’t keep you."

Robin pushed herself off the doorframe, stretching her arms. "I’ll check in later to see how you’re settling in. Try not to break anything before then."

You’re not sure if she’s joking.

Lewis walked you to the door, and as you step outside, the morning air feels cooler against your skin. The manor may have been warm, but this place still isn’t home.

You glanced at the map in your hand, then at the road ahead.

You have a plan.

Check the farm. Leave.

Simple.

And yet, instead of heading straight there, you decide to take a detour.

The town feels too small, the air too clean, the people too… friendly.

You aren't in the mood for conversation, so instead of taking the main road, you cut through the graveyard. The map shows a southwest path leading directly to the farm—perfect. Less people, less awkward small talk.

Or so you thought.

As you stepped past the last row of tombstones, a door creaked open.

A young woman stepped out from the house ahead (2 Willow Lane, according to the map). Sunlight caught in her golden hair, turning it almost white at the edges. A camera dangled loosely from a strap around her neck, swaying gently as she moves. She lifted it, adjusting the lens, before taking a step forward.

Your breath catches.

You’ve only looked at her for a second—two at most—but it's enough. Your grip tightened on the map. The delicate curve of her nose, the way the breeze tugged a stray strand of hair across her cheek, the soft squint in her eyes as she scanned the sky—somehow, you've already memorized it all.

What the hell?

Panic surges through you, and you do the first thing your brain deems logical.

You snap the map up in front of your face.

Like an idiot.

You peek over the top just in time to see her lift the camera again. The quiet click of the shutter follows, and you realize she’s taking a photo—not of you, thankfully, but of a small potted cactus sitting on her porch.

You exhale sharply, willing your heart to settle.

What was that?

Shaking your head, you lower the map and start walking again, forcing yourself to focus.

You have a plan.

Check the farm. Leave.

Simple.

You make it about three steps before stopping again.

Your gaze drifted back toward her.

She’s smiling softly at the photo she just took, adjusting the camera settings before raising it again.

Cute.

You forced yourself to keep walking, chastising yourself for acting like a creep.

All that gawking, and you didn’t even have the guts to ask for her name.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because the moment you saw her—blond, shiny hair, brilliant blue eyes, and that damn camera swinging from her neck—you knew you were fucked.

The plan?

Crumpled. Burnt. Gone.

With a sigh, you trudged toward the farm, muttering under your breath, “Looks like I’m going to live on a farm after all.”

****

Spring 2

The forest was quiet except for the gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird hidden somewhere in the branches.

You had only been here for one day and you were already starting to like it here—the air was cleaner, untouched by the thick smog of the city, and the silence was more comforting than suffocating.

You crouched by the riverbank, palm open as the tiny squirrel sniffed at the wild walnuts resting in your hand.

It had taken patience to earn the little guy’s trust. Just yesterday, wildlife scattered the moment you approached, unfamiliar with you, an outsider. But now, after some consistence of offering food and waiting, they hesitated a little less, inched a little closer.

This one, in particular, had grown bold. His tiny paws brushed against your fingers as he picked up a walnut, nibbling it with twitching whiskers.

A small smile pulled at your lips.

Then—click.

The sound was sharp, foreign. Unmistakable.

Your body reacted before your brain caught up, head snapping toward the source.

Someone was standing just beyond the clearing, partially hidden by the trees.

A girl.

Blonde hair, bright blue eyes, camera raised.

Recognition hit you a second later.

The girl with the camera.

The one you saw yesterday, standing on her porch, light catching in her hair as she focused on something behind the lens.

Despite the many faces introduced to you yesterday, her face stood out in clarity on most of them.

It's funny how you can remember her despite not knowing her name.

But now she was here. And she had just taken a picture of you.

You blinked at her. She blinked back.

Neither of you moved.

The squirrel let out a startled squeak and bolted into the underbrush. You exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of three remaining walnuts still sitting in your open palm.

Then, finally—

"Uhm," you started, voice breaking the tension. You straightened, dusting dirt from your hands. Now that you were standing, you realized just how much shorter she was up close.

And prettier.

Still, she didn't say a word. Just stared.

A nervous chuckle left your lips. “You’re the girl with the camera yesterday, right?”

She nodded, slow, like her brain was still buffering.

You tilted your head slightly, studying her.

“Oh… You’re that new farmer girl or whatever, aren’t you?” she said, almost absently.

She stood there, staring at you like you had grown a second head, blue eyes flickering over every detail of your face, your clothes—lingering too long, like she was trying to piece something together.

You didn’t understand why she was looking at you like that, but for some reason, you kept talking anyway.

You told her about your grandfather. About how this farm wasn’t planned, how Zuzu City had drained you dry, leaving you with nothing but exhaustion and a letter promising a different life.

You weren’t even sure why you were explaining yourself. Maybe because her presence—so out of place in the middle of the woods—reminded you of who you used to be. Or rather who you are yesterday. The city life, the carefully curated image, the feeling of being misplaced in your own skin.

But Haley wasn’t listening, at least, that’s what you thought.

She was nodding absently, her eyes locked onto your face, mouth slightly parted as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Then you smiled.

A small, amused smile—not at her, not at anything in particular, just at the absurdity of the moment. Of being here, talking to some blonde girl in the woods who looked like she belonged on a magazine cover rather than in Cindersap Forest.

And just like that, something shifted in her expression.

It was so fast, you almost missed it.

Something too bright flashed behind her eyes—an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Shock? Embarrassment? Frustration?

Whatever it was, she reacted to it the way a cornered animal might—by striking first.

"If it weren't for those horrendous clothes, you might actually be pretty."

The words hit you like she slapped you. Hard.

Your smile faltered, dropping so fast you almost felt the sting of it.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

"Excuse me?"

You didn’t raise your voice, but there was an edge to it now—something sharp and unforgiving.

Haley shifted slightly, like she suddenly wanted to be anywhere else. "Actually, never mind," she muttered quickly, brushing it off.

You watched her for a moment longer before exhaling slowly, fingers tightening around the strap of your rucksack.

Maybe this was just how she was. Maybe she hadn’t meant anything by it.

Or maybe she had.

Either way, you weren’t going to waste your energy on it.

Without a word, you reached into your bag and pulled out a daffodil—bright yellow, delicate in your palm, freshly picked from the clearing earlier.

You held it out to her.

"For me?" she asked, voice quieter than before.

You nodded. “Hmm. It kinda looks like you.”

Something in her shifted again.

This time, when she looked at you, it wasn’t annoyance or scrutiny. It was something else. Something softer.

And you find yourself staring a little longer than you should have. Studying her.

She said thank you. You hummed in acknowledgment. But you didn’t smile this time. It felt wrong to fake it.

The silence stretched between you, heavy, thick with something unspoken.

Then, finally, you broke it. "It's my grandpa's."

She frowned slightly. "What?"

You gestured vaguely to your clothes. "These. They were his."

You saw the realization settle in her eyes.

Understanding. Then, maybe, guilt.

"I moved here with nothing but myself after I decided spontaneously that I can't live a life as I had in Zuzu's." You admitted, exhaling a quiet chuckle. "Didn’t plan on it. Just… happened."

"I—"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be so grim." This time, when you smiled, it was small. Distant. But it was real. "Uhm, sorry to cut this short but" you stared at your watch. "I still have to tidy the farm up; you know it's not exactly the cleanest place right now. I just took a break to feed the little guy. I'll catch you later, Haley."

She didn’t respond. You didn’t expect her to.

As you turned and walked away, you felt her eyes on your back the entire time.

You let out a small smile despite it all. She has a pretty foul mouth.

But pretty, nonetheless.

****

Spring 7

The walk from the farm cabin to Leah's cabin was peaceful, the kind of quiet you had come to appreciate since moving here.

You decided to stop by to drop off some fresh salad. Leah had been kind enough to show you the best places to forage when you first arrived, and you figured it was a decent way to return the favor. She had smiled warmly, thanked you, and invited you to stay for a while, but you had politely declined.

Too much work still needed to be done back home.

With the sun hanging high in the sky, you adjusted the strap of your rucksack and started toward the river, figuring you’d take a little break.

The river had always been a place of quiet for you.

After spending the past few days buried in work—clearing debris, tilling soil, hauling supplies back and forth—the stillness of Cindersap Forest was a welcome break.

And that’s when you spotted her.

Haley.

She was crouched near the water, camera in hand, completely absorbed in whatever she was trying to capture. The focused expression on her face was one you hadn’t seen before—her lips slightly parted, eyes narrowed in concentration. It was… different.

Before you could even think about calling out to her, she suddenly stiffened.

She had seen you.

And then—she ignored you.

Then again, you hadn’t expected much of anything when it came to Haley.

You had assumed, after your last encounter, that she’d brush the whole thing off. That you’d become another passing thought, a minor inconvenience in her otherwise polished life. But the way she looked at you in the forest that day… the way she hesitated, the way her lips had parted slightly in something close to regret—it stuck with you longer than it should have.

You haven’t seen her for days. Not that you were counting.

Not that you’d been avoiding her.

No, you were just busy.

Busy enough that you hadn’t gone out of your way to see her, or anyone in particular for that matter.

You watched as she very purposefully looked anywhere but in your direction, her hands tightening slightly around her camera, adjusting the lens like she was just so busy she couldn’t possibly be bothered to acknowledge your presence.

You almost laughed.

Seriously?

The past few days, you had gotten the feeling that she had been looking for you—whether it was in passing comments from the townsfolk or the way you caught glimpses of her lingering near places you know she normally wouldn’t be. But now, when you were literally a few feet away? She suddenly had nothing to say?

Fine.

If she wanted to pretend she didn’t see you, you weren’t going to stop her.

You smirked slightly and kept walking, letting her think she had the upper hand.

Except then—

Her foot slipped.

The wet ground beneath her gave way, and you barely had time to register what was happening before she was stumbling forward, arms flailing, panic flashing across her face.

Her camera—her expensive, very breakable camera—was still strapped around her neck, and if she fell, it wouldn’t just be her hitting the water.

Without thinking, your hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her wrist in a firm grip as you yanked her toward you.

The force of it sent her stumbling forward, right into your chest.

For a second, neither of you moved.

You could feel her breath—sharp, uneven—as she processed what had just happened. Her hands were pressed against your chest, her camera strap tangled between you, and for some reason, she wasn’t pulling away immediately.

"That was a close one," you said, your own heartbeat a little faster than normal.

She jerked back like she had been burned, separating from you so quickly that it was almost comical. "I—I..."

"You okay?"

"I am!" she answered too quickly, laughing nervously.

You tilted your head, watching her fidget. Haley was always composed, always sure of herself—but right now? Right now, she looked like she had no idea what to do.

"Thank you, um..." she trailed off, eyes darting anywhere but at you.

You raised an eyebrow. "It's Y/n, remember?"

Something flickered across her face—annoyance? Embarrassment? Both?

"Of course, I remember," she scoffed, tilting her chin slightly. "I was just… I haven't seen you since whatever and—" she huffed, crossing her arms before realizing her camera was in the way and dropping them again. "I was still shocked, okay?"

You fought back a smirk. "Wait, so you were looking for me?"

The way she reacted was immediate. "No!"

You smirked. Right.

"Well," you said casually, throwing her a sideways glance, "if you were wondering, I was actually busy tidying up the farm. Brought over some things I left in the city."

"Okay." She shrugged, still pretending to be indifferent. "As I said, I wasn’t looking for you or anything."

Your chuckle was genuine this time. "Right, right."

She looked like she wanted to smack the smirk off your face.

"You should be careful next time, though."

"I know." She huffed, brushing her hands off on her skirt. "I was just taking a picture of..."

She turned to point at her subject—only to realize it was gone.

"Great," she grumbled. "It’s gone."

You followed her gaze. "What is?"

"The squirrel!" she flailed, frustration seeping into her tone. "I've been trying to get the perfect shot for hours!"

You hummed in acknowledgment before reaching into your pocket. "Here."

She blinked at the handful of walnuts in your palm, then at you.

"You want me to eat these?"

You chuckled. "No, princess. Hold them out."

She frowned but did as you asked. Without warning, you reached out, wrapping your fingers over hers, positioning her hand so the walnuts rested properly in her palm.

Haley froze.

She didn’t pull away.

You ignored the way your own skin felt too warm from the contact and crouched down beside her, clicking your tongue a few times.

"Just wait a second," you murmured. "They’ll come back."

And sure enough, a moment later, another squirrel peeked out from behind a tree, its tiny nose twitching.

Haley inhaled softly, watching with wide eyes as the small creature scampered closer.

She was entranced.

You found yourself watching her instead.

"It's so cute," she murmured, and for the first time since you met her, the smile on her lips wasn’t forced, wasn’t teasing or sarcastic.

It was real.

Your own smile tugged at the corners of your mouth before you could stop it. "Aren’t they?"

She raised her camera, snapping a quick shot, and you watched as she checked the viewfinder, her brows furrowing in concentration.

"Wow, this looks good." You murmured, stepping behind her to look over her shoulder. "I'm glad you made good use of the natural lighting. Squirrels get frightened a lot with flash."

You didn’t realize how close you had gotten until she suddenly stiffened.

"Kiss ass much?" she muttered, but her voice was quieter than before.

You cleared your throat, pulling back slightly, ears burning. "I'm not—I..." you trailed off, shaking your head. "It's a good photo, okay?"

Haley let out a laugh—loud, unrestrained, warm.

You pretended to be offended. "Haha," you deadpanned, stepping back like you were going to leave.

Immediately, her hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist for just a second.

"I was kidding!" she said quickly, still laughing. "Yoba, you're so serious."

You looked down at her hand, then back up at her face, before shaking your head with a grin.

"Am not."

"Am too."

"Am not."

"Am too."

The back-and-forth continued, and you weren’t sure why it felt so easy.

When had that happened?

Eventually, you sighed dramatically. "You win, woman."

She grinned in triumph. "Ha, I’m always right anyway."

You rolled your eyes but found yourself watching her again, really watching her, and noticing something different.

You couldn't help but think if she had always been like this and you just never noticed.

Or you had been quick to judge her.

Because the Haley you had come to know the past days wasn’t supposed to be this.

Not this close, not this real, not this... beautiful.

You had seen her before—the perfectly put-together version, always polished, always poised. The kind of person who moved like the world bent to her whims, the kind who scoffed at things that didn’t fit into her carefully curated life.

But this Haley?

This was different.

Windblown hair, dirt smudged against the sleeve of a designer outfit that probably wasn’t meant for trekking through the forest. The usual sharpness in her eyes was softened, replaced with something brighter—something curious.

And damn it, you found yourself staring.

You caught yourself just in time, turning away—only to realize she was staring, too.

Your brows furrowed slightly. Was she…?

"Is there something on my face?" The words left your mouth before you could stop them, genuine confusion lacing your tone.

She blinked rapidly, snapping out of whatever daze she had fallen into. "You're fine," she said quickly, her voice a little too forced, a little too rushed.

You frowned slightly, touching your jaw as if doubting her response.

She huffed, rolling her eyes before reaching into her purse. "Oh, for Yoba’s sake," she muttered, stepping forward.

Before you could react, she was dabbing at your jawline with a small handkerchief.

Your body froze.

Her fingers brushed against your skin, the touch featherlight but warm. She was standing too close now—close enough that you could see the way her lashes fluttered slightly, the way she chewed the inside of her cheek in concentration.

You should step back.

You should.

But you didn’t.

Instead, before you could think better of it, your fingers moved on instinct, pulling a daffodil from your pocket.

And then, just as easily, you tucked it behind her ear.

She froze.

For a split second, you almost regretted it.

Almost.

"As a thank you," you said quietly.

It sounded stupid the moment it left your lips.

You immediately sputtered out something else—some excuse, some way to make this moment not feel as heavy as it did—but your brain was too busy cursing itself into oblivion to form anything coherent.

She startled you again by responding just as frantically, as if she was the one who had overstepped. Something about how she touched you first, how she was just wiping your face, as if that evened things out.

Neither of you made any damn sense.

Then she reached into her bag, pulling out something small.

A photograph.

You hesitated before taking it, eyes widening a little when you realize who’s in it.

It was you.

From the other day.

You stared.

Seeing yourself through someone else’s lens was… strange. You looked at your own expression, the way the light framed your face, the rawness of it all. It didn’t feel posed, didn’t feel artificial.

You wanted to ask her—is this how you see me?

Instead, you swallowed down the words and asked, "Are you sure?"

"Keep it," she said, voice steadier than before. "Please, it's the least I could do after taking that shot without your consent."

Consent.

Funny. That wasn’t something people in the city had cared much about. But she said it so easily, so naturally, like it was just given.

Your lips tugged into a small, genuine smile. You met her eyes, and for the first time, she didn’t look away.

"Thank you," you murmured.

And in response, she didn’t roll her eyes.

For the first time, you saw something else—a brief flicker of relief, like she had been waiting for you to say it.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, you glanced back down at the photo, running your thumb over the edge of it. That’s when you noticed something.

There was writing on the back.

You barely had time to tilt it before she panicked.

"No problem! Uhm, I still need to cook for lunch, yeah," she blurted out.

It was still morning.

You weren’t going to correct her.

She was already stepping back, clutching the daffodil in her hair like she had only just remembered it was there. "Thank you again for helping me and for the… saving thing. I’ll… I’ll see you around, yeah?"

She bowed slightly—actually bowed—before turning on her heel and walking away.

You blinked.

Did she just…?

You exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking your head as you watched her retreat.

You weren’t even sure if she heard your response.

Maybe you should have teased her about how she had absolutely been looking for you.

But then again…

You had been looking for her, too.

And you liked looking at her.

****

Spring 8

You weren’t exactly expecting much when you walked into town that afternoon.

The note Haley left on the back of the photo had been unexpected enough—an apology, a breakfast invitation. It wasn’t something you thought she’d do, let alone so soon after that flustered mess of an interaction yesterday. You had read it more than once, half-wondering if she regretted writing it the second she left it in your hands.

Still, you had considered showing up, maybe knocking on her door just to see her reaction.

But something about the way she wrote if you’re free told you she wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

So, you didn’t go.

Not today, anyway.

Instead, you had been running errands—picking up some supplies, stopping by the community board—when you spotted something familiar near the playground. A stray hair tie, tangled around the corner of the bench.

And there, sitting on the swings, was Haley.

She looked… relaxed. Not posing for anything, not trying to capture the perfect shot. Just there, with the spring breeze tugging at the loose strands of her hair, her blue tank top bright against the muted colors of the playground. It wasn’t a place you expected to see her, but somehow, it suited her.

And for some reason, you found yourself staring longer than necessary.

You shook the thought away and approached, holding up the hair tie and the daffodils you had picked up earlier.

"Uh, Haley?"

She stiffened immediately like she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

Slowly, she turned to face you. "Oh… hi there," she said, her voice cautious, as if she weren’t entirely sure how to react to you being here.

You barely noticed her initial reaction, already launching into a casual question about whether the hair tie was hers.

She didn’t respond right away, but that was fine. You figured she just needed a second to realize she’d lost it in the first place.

So, you kept talking, mentioning where you found it, all while loosely holding the daffodils at your side.

You noticed her watching you, gaze flickering over you in a way that almost felt calculating, but you assumed she was just listening.

For a second, you could’ve sworn she lingered on your mouth—but that was ridiculous.

Right?

Her expression shifted slightly, something unreadable passing over her features. But instead of answering, she glanced past you, eyes locking onto something in the distance.

You were about to turn, to see what had caught her attention, when—

"Uhm, how do I say this…"

You blinked at her sudden change in tone.

"I appreciate your gifts and such," she continued, shifting uncomfortably. "But please don’t get the wrong idea. It’s not like a little flower will make us besties or anything, you know."

You blinked.

What?

The words hung awkwardly between you, and for a second, you weren’t sure whether to be confused or amused.

Your gaze flicked down to the daffodils in your hand, then back at her.

"Uhm," you started, trying not to grin, "I was just asking if this is your hair tie."

Haley visibly froze.

"Oh!" she squeaked—actually squeaked—before yanking the hair tie from your fingers like it had personally insulted her. "I didn’t even notice it was missing…"

Her cheeks were turning pink.

You tilted your head slightly, watching her fidget. She was embarrassed—deeply embarrassed—but instead of backing down, you decided to push just a little.

"You were saying…?"

The look she gave you was caught somewhere between a glare and complete mortification.

"Sorry for jumping to conclusions,"she muttered quickly, barely meeting your eyes. "I was just… well, never mind."

You chuckled, still not entirely sure what just happened but deciding to let it go.

"Hey, you weren’t wrong." Before she could overthink it, you held out the daffodils. "These are actually for you."

Her fingers twitched slightly but hesitated before taking them.

"And I’m not expecting you to be friends with me just because I give you flowers, you know?"

"Then what else were you expecting?"

The question should’ve sounded snappy, but her voice came muffled this time as she buried her nose in the petals.

You grinned, shifting your weight slightly. "Ever heard of giving a pretty flower to a pretty lady?"

From somewhere behind you, there was a distinct sound.

Something like—

A snort?

Only then did you notice movement from the corner of your eye.

Demetrius.

He was walking past, definitely within earshot, and judging by the way he was fighting back a laugh, he had heard everything.

Haley let out a long, suffering sigh, pressing the flowers closer to her face like they could somehow erase the last two minutes of her life.

But she wasn’t throwing them back at you.

She wasn’t storming off, either.

Instead, she stood there, half-hidden behind the petals, golden hair catching the sunlight in a way that made the moment feel surreal.

Weird.

How can someone be prettier next to a pretty flower?

****

Spring 9

You finally decided to accept Haley’s invitation.

It had been sitting in the back of your mind since she gave you the photo—her apology, neat but uncertain, scrawled onto the back like she had debated every word before leaving it in your hands.

You didn’t take her for the type to apologize easily.

Or at all, really.

But she had.

And if she had gone through the trouble of inviting you to breakfast, the least you could do was show up.

So, on Spring 9, you knocked on the door of 2 Willow Lane.

Emily answered, bright and welcoming as always. “Hey, Y/n! Come in, come in,” she chirped, already moving toward the kitchen. “Tea?”

You hesitated, glancing past her toward the small dining area. The house wasn’t big, only a few rooms. If Haley was here, she’d be just past the kitchen, maybe in her bedroom or the bathroom, but nowhere far enough to not have heard the knock.

“She’ll be out in a sec,” Emily assured you.

So, you waited.

And waited.

And by the time you reached the bottom of your mug, Emily was giving you an apologetic smile, one that silently said, Yeah… she’s not coming out.

You left soon after.

The next morning, you tried again.

This time, Emily didn’t even pretend. She cracked the door open, sighed, and leaned against the frame.

“She’s… busy.”

Which was just code for hiding.

You didn’t have to peek inside to know Haley was there. The way Emily shifted like she was blocking the view, the faintest rustle of movement from the other side of the house—it was obvious.

Emily gave you a knowing look, half amused, half exasperated.

You just smiled, adjusted your satchel, and said, “No worries. Tell her I stopped by.”

And that was that.

You didn’t try again after that.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t notice her.

You saw the way she turned away when she spotted you from across the bridge.

The way she peeked through her window, only to snap the curtain shut when she realized you were looking back.

The way she hesitated—for just a second—whenever you passed by, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t figure out how.

You weren’t sure whether to be amused or frustrated.

She was avoiding you.

That much was obvious.

What wasn’t obvious was why.

So instead of focusing on it, you spent the rest of the day helping Penny.

If Haley was going to keep her distance, you weren’t going to waste time chasing her.

Penny was one of the first people to welcome you to Pelican Town, long before anyone else had warmed up to you. She was quiet, kind, and had an easy presence—one that made it effortless to spend time with her.

On most afternoons, you could be found helping her with Vincent and Jas’s lessons under the big tree outside her trailer. Not because she asked you to, but because you liked it.

She always seemed so grateful, even though you barely did anything.

Which was why you were more than a little surprised when she wasn’t entirely thrilled to see you today.

"You look tired," she observed as you sat down beside her, a book resting in her lap.

You raised a brow. "Do I?"

Penny hummed, giving you a once-over. "You’ve been… distracted lately."

You blinked.

You hadn't expected her to notice.

"I’ve been busy," you said, which wasn’t exactly a lie.

Penny gave you a look. A soft, knowing look that made you feel like she could read right through you.

She didn’t push. She never did.

Instead, she simply turned her attention back to the book and said, “the kids are late again. Want to read until they get here?”

And that was that.

You didn’t bring up Haley.

And Penny didn’t ask.

But later, as you helped Jas with her spelling, you caught Penny watching you, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at her lips.

You had a feeling she knew exactly what was on your mind.

Maybe even better than you did.

****

Haley was still avoiding you.

By now, you were starting to wonder if she thought you were some kind of curse she needed to outrun.

You still weren’t sure what you did to make her act like this.

She had been fine at the playground. She had been flustered, sure, but she had laughed with you, teased you, even handed you a photo like it actually meant something.

And then, suddenly, she was gone.

It wasn’t like you had time to dwell on it, though.

Between the farm, errands, and helping Penny with her lessons, your days were full. You spent the morning delivering leeks to Evelyn, knowing she liked to cook them for George. You spent the afternoon tending to the crops and making sure you didn’t completely ruin the fencing you had hastily built last week.

And now?

Now you were standing in front of the community board, scanning over Pierre’s latest overpriced sale, when a voice pulled you from your thoughts.

"You’re doing it again."

You turned to find Penny standing beside you, arms crossed, her expression patient but pointed.

"Doing what?"

"Spacing out," she said simply.

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "You should stop paying so much attention to me."

Penny just smiled. "I can’t help it when you’re so obvious."

You gave her a look.

She returned it, unbothered.

After a moment, you sighed and leaned against the board.

"You ever get the feeling that someone’s avoiding you?" you asked.

Penny tilted her head slightly. "Oh?"

You weren’t sure why you asked.

Maybe because you knew Penny wouldn’t tease you for it. Maybe because you knew she’d actually give you an answer worth listening to.

Or maybe because she had already figured it out, and you didn’t feel like pretending otherwise.

Instead of answering immediately, Penny tapped her chin in thought.

"If someone is avoiding you," she said slowly, "there are usually two reasons."

You raised a brow, waiting.

"Either they don’t like you," she said, glancing at you, "or they like you too much."

Your breath caught—just for a second.

Penny noticed.

And she smirked. You know it’s bad when Penny smirks out you. She never does that after all.

You groaned, running a hand down your face. "Penny. Come on."

"What?" she laughed, shrugging. "I’m just saying."

You shook your head, not entirely sure whether to be annoyed or impressed.

And yet, as Penny walked off, you found yourself staring at the daffodils blooming just a few feet away.

The same ones you had given Haley.

The same ones she had buried her nose in, pretending she wasn’t flustered.

The same ones that, for some reason, made your stomach twist.

Either they don’t like you…

Or they like you too much.

You weren’t sure which one was worse.

But you were pretty sure you were about to find out.

****

Spring 12

You hadn’t planned on stopping by 2 Willow Lane today.

But after running errands near the town square, you figured—why not? It wasn’t like you were doing anything urgent back on the farm, and besides… you still owed Haley a proper conversation after she practically disappeared for the last few days.

The last time you saw her, she was stuffing her face into a bunch of daffodils and acting like she wasn’t flustered. Now? You weren’t entirely sure what to expect.

Maybe today would be different.

So, you knocked.

“Hello?”

The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted by two very different expressions—Emily’s, which was polite but amused, and Haley’s, which looked… well, looked like she was about to strangle someone—possibly you, but more likely Emily.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes.”

You blinked at Haley’s blunt answer.

Emily let out a heavy sigh, rubbing her temple. “Sorry about that, Y/n/n. Haley’s just complaining because I asked her to clean the cushions—”

“—which you should be doing because it’s your schedule, not mine.” Haley cut in sharply, sending her sister a glare. She then turned to you, her blue eyes sharp and expectant. “It’s important to mention that I already cleaned them last week.”

“Haley…”

“Shut it, Em. I want to hear what she has to say.”

You blinked.

Oh.

This was a thing.

Emily looked exasperated, while Haley looked… weirdly eager?

Did she actually want your opinion on this?

For a second, you hesitated, glancing between them. The last thing you wanted was to somehow make things worse, but at the same time, Haley was looking at you like she really wanted to be validated right now.

"Well," you started carefully, trying to find a middle ground, "why not have this be your one weekly job?"

Haley’s face immediately dropped.

Oh.

Not the answer she wanted, then.

Before you could backtrack, she turned on her heel, clearly done with the conversation.

And for some reason, that didn’t sit right with you.

Without really thinking, you reached out and grabbed her hand.

She froze.

"W-wait," you stammered, suddenly realizing what you’d just done. “I’m not siding with anyone."

Haley stared down at your hands, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she looked back up at you, skeptical. "Sure."

You swallowed. "I just thought it’d be the best course of action, so you two don’t have to argue over it again. If you took this job, Emily wouldn’t bother you again with cleaning the bathroom every two days. Right, Em?"

“Yeah!” Emily agreed immediately, then frowned. “Wait, what?”

You turned back to Haley, watching as her lips twitched—like she was this close to smiling, but was too stubborn to let it show.

“Doesn’t that sound more appealing?” you prompted.

For a second, Haley didn’t say anything. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, she shrugged.

“Alright, you win.”

Emily squinted at her, as if trying to figure out how you had gotten her to agree so quickly. Then, to your surprise, she turned to you with an almost appreciative look. “Thanks, Y/n/n. That was a great solution.”

You chuckled, rubbing the back of your neck. “It’s no problem, really.”

Emily clapped her hands together. “Why don’t you stay for breakfast?”

You opened your mouth to decline, but before you could, Haley spoke.

“Your hands are rough and warm.”

You blinked.

“…Huh?”

Haley’s eyes widened slightly, and then, for the first time, you actually saw her panic.

“I mean—what I meant to say was—” She sputtered, tripping in every sense of the word before taking a deep breath to let out a composed response. “Yeah, you can join us for breakfast.”

You saw Emily smirked and gave Haley a look. “Good! Then I’ll get on with it. Haley, keep our guest occupied.”

“You sure?” you asked when you saw the hesitation in her eyes.

If she's still uncomfortable around your presence then you would politely dip out. You got all the time in the world after all.

“Of course.”

“…Okay,” you said slowly, though something about the way her face was slightly pink made you really want to tease her about it. Instead, you nudged her lightly. “How about we clean these cushions now? So, you won’t have to later?”

Haley scoffed. “Eh. It’s fine. I can do that later.”

“I insist. Two pairs of hands are better than one, y’know?”

“Ugh. Of course you’d say some dorky crap like that,” she grumbled, but you could hear the slightest waver in her voice, like she was fighting back a smile.

You only laughed, moving to lift the couch.

****

Spring 13

You hadn’t really thought about birthdays before moving to Pelican Town.

Back in the city, they had been just another day—sometimes an excuse for coworkers to bring in cake, but mostly just something you marked on a calendar and then forgot.

But here? Here, birthdays mattered.

You had been scanning the community board at Pierre’s when you first saw it—"Haley’s Birthday – Spring 14."

It was written in neat, careful script, decorated with little doodles of flowers in the corners.

For a second, you just stared at it.

You could have ignored it. You weren’t really friends. Acquaintances, sure—closer than before, but still hovering in that weird in-between where it wasn’t clear if she actually liked you or just tolerated you.

But then you thought about the coconut-themed bandage she forced you to wear a few days ago.

Your forehead still had a faint scab from when you accidentally ran headfirst into a low-hanging branch while foraging. Haley had been the only person around when it happened, and instead of laughing at you like she definitely wanted to, she had sighed dramatically, muttered something about “idiots getting themselves killed,” and yanked you inside her house to clean it up.

You still remembered her standing over you, scrutinizing her first-aid kit before pulling out a very unnecessary selection of bandages.

"Sunflowers or coconuts?" she had asked, dead serious.

"That’s… the only choice?"

"Obviously. Pick one."

You had sighed, pointed at the coconut-themed one, and watched as she carefully placed it over your cut like it was some sort of delicate surgical procedure.

"You’re officially less ugly now," she had declared, patting your cheek before walking off.

It had been ridiculous.

But for some reason, you had thought about it again when you saw her name on the birthday list.

So, naturally, you did the most insane thing possible and spent majority of the day trying to find a coconut for her.

Spring 14 - Early Morning

Your quest to find her a perfect gift yesterday had been nothing short of a failure.

Coconuts weren’t local here, after all.

You had checked everywhere (except Joja’s, of course)—Pierre’s, even asking Pam in case she’d somehow stumbled across one.

"Calico Desert," she had said. "That’s where you’ll find ‘em. But unless you got wings, kid, you ain’t getting there anytime soon."

Right. The bus was still out of service.

You made a mental note to prioritize that when working on the community center. Maybe the Junimos could help.

But for now?

You needed another plan.

The traveling merchant.

Marlon had once mentioned her in passing—"If you’re looking for something rare, something out of season, she’s your girl. But she doesn’t sell cheap."

You had barely waited for sunrise before setting out to find her, boots crunching against the damp forest floor as you took the back route toward Cindersap.

By the time you arrived, she was already setting up shop, humming a tune under her breath.

She barely looked up as she greeted you. "Back so soon?"

No time for pleasantries.

"Please tell me you have a coconut in stock," you said, then hastily added, "or a sunflower."

She let out a low hum, tapping her chin, drawing out the moment just to toy with you.

"Mmm… you’re in luck. Got a few coconuts left. But they aren’t cheap."

Of course, they weren’t.

Didn’t matter.

You pulled out the pouch from your pocket, untying the string with practiced ease. The weight of it was familiar, comfortable.

More than enough.

The merchant raised an amused brow as you handed over the payment without hesitation.

"Didn’t even ask the price, huh?"

You just smiled, rolling the coconut in your palm, satisfied.

"Didn’t need to."

It was plump, perfectly shaped—exactly the kind of thing you imagined Haley would appreciate. You even took the time to wrap it (poorly) with a ribbon you found lying around in your house.

It looked ridiculous.

But handing it to her unwrapped felt even weirder.

And now?

All that was left was to find her.

Late Morning

You checked the beach first.

Then the town square.

Then the entire stretch of road leading to Marnie’s ranch.

Nothing.

You were starting to wonder if she had just locked herself in her house all day when, finally, you spotted a familiar blonde figure sitting on a bench in the playground.

Huh, this scene feels familiar.

For some reason, the sight made you pause.

She wasn’t posing. She wasn’t talking to anyone.

She was just there, her arms loosely wrapped around her knees, her gaze distant.

For a moment, you considered turning around.

But instead, you stepped forward.

"Thought I’d find you here."

She looked up, startled, before quickly masking it with an indifferent shrug. “Done with your chores?”

You plopped down beside her. "Woke up extra early to finish them all."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why? You have plans?"

Your stomach did a weird little flip.

"Had to run some errands," you said, reaching into your rucksack, "and I wanted to give you this."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Give me your hands."

The second the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

That sounded way too serious. Way too something.

And then, to make things even worse, you followed up with:

"Just trust me, Hay."

Oh, Yoba. No. Abort. Abort.

Why did you say that? You never called her that before.

She was definitely going to call you out for it. Or roll her eyes. Or—

…Or she’d just listen.

Because, to your absolute shock, she sighed and held out her hands.

You barely had time to process your overwhelming relief before you carefully placed the coconut in her palms.

She blinked.

Stared down at it.

And then, for the first time since you met her, she seemed completely, utterly speechless.

"I… I love coconuts."

You exhaled a quiet laugh, suddenly feeling like maybe—maybe—this was worth all the trouble. "I know."

She clutched it a little tighter. "How did you know?"

You rubbed the back of your neck, feeling weirdly shy. "Remember when you patched up my cut? You made me pick between a sunflower band-aid or a coconut one. So, I kinda assumed they were your favorite."

She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “B-but how? You can’t just summon a coconut tree, and there’s no way you had time to go to the desert—"

"It was pure luck," you admitted. "The traveling merchant had a few in stock. But she warned me they’d sell out before noon, so I got there early."

Her fingers traced the edges of the ribbon, her expression soft.

Then, almost too quietly, she murmured, “Thank you. It’s really sweet of you to do all this.”

"No problem. I like it when you smile." You shrugged, trying to play it off. "Happiness looks good in you."

Something flickered in her eyes.

For a brief moment, neither of you spoke.

The park was quiet, the sun warm against your skin.

And in that stillness, you realized something—

You weren’t just acquaintances anymore.

You weren’t quite friends, either.

But whatever this was?

It was something.

****

It had started as a casual thing.

You never really planned on showing up at 2 Willow Lane every morning.

But after that first breakfast—where Emily practically shoved a plate in your hands and Haley begrudgingly tolerated your presence—you just… kept coming back.

At first, it had been an excuse to escape the overwhelming solitude of the farm. Waking up at dawn, toiling in the fields, eating alone—it was fine. But it wasn’t exactly fun.

The mornings here were different.

Emily would hum while cooking, always somehow awake and cheerful despite her late-night shifts at the saloon. Haley, on the other hand, would sit at the table looking half-asleep, hair an absolute mess, grumbling about how “humans shouldn’t be awake before 9.”

It was domestic. Easy. Nice.

And you liked it.

So, you kept coming back.

And for some reason, Haley never told you to stop.

Which was weird, because Haley Carter absolutely would have told you to stop if she actually wanted to.

Emily must’ve noticed something too, because one morning, after you had helped clean up the dishes, she pulled you aside with a conspiratorial grin.

"Haley's a little calmer when you're around, Y/n/n."

You had laughed, shaking your head. "I think she just doesn’t want me to see her throwing a spoon at you."

Emily only winked.

And maybe—just maybe—Haley had heard, because the next day, when you showed up at their door like usual, she muttered something under her breath before letting you in.

Something suspiciously close to "You’re late."

****

The thing about Pelican Town was that it had a rhythm.

People followed routines here. Maru always took the same route to work. Jodi always went grocery shopping on Mondays. Penny always had her class under the big tree at the same time each day.

And Haley?

Haley had patterns too.

At first, you thought it was coincidence.

That every time you turned a corner and saw her, it was just luck.

But after a while, you started to realize that maybe—maybe—you had started to learn her habits without meaning to.

Like how she always went to the riverbank after lunch if it was sunny.

Or how she stopped by Pierre’s around noon but only ever bought fruit.

Or how she took the long way home through the park when she thought nobody was looking.

You weren’t following her or anything. That would be weird.

But sometimes, your paths just… lined up.

And, more and more, it started feeling less like an accident.

Because instead of rolling her eyes and storming off like she used to, Haley had started doing something else entirely.

She started stopping.

Not always. Not every time.

But sometimes—when you greeted her in passing or made some dumb joke—she’d actually pause, sigh dramatically, and talk to you.

Complain about the weather. Ask if you had seen Alex. Casually mention that she had "accidentally" taken a picture of you feeding the squirrels and no, you definitely couldn’t see it.

And if she really wasn’t in the mood?

Well.

She still didn’t walk away.

****

You stood outside 2 Willow Lane, balancing a small crate in your arms as you knocked lightly before pushing the door open.

Haley was already at the table, sipping what looked like a strawberry smoothie. She glanced up as you entered, giving you a once-over before looking back at her drink.

“You’re late.”

You blinked.

"...It’s 8:07."

"Exactly."

You huffed out a laugh, kicking the door shut behind you as you set the crate down on the counter.

Emily peeked over from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Oh! More eggs and milk?”

“Figured it’s only fair,” you shrugged. “Can’t keep letting you guys feed me for free.”

Emily waved you off. “Oh, please. You’re basically family at this point.”

Haley made a noise suspiciously close to a choke.

You didn’t comment on it.

Instead, you slid into your usual seat as Emily set a plate of pancakes in front of you with a satisfied grin.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew it.

This was a routine now.

And neither of you seemed to mind.

****

Mornings at 2 Willow Lane had become second nature by now.

You didn't even hesitate before knocking, pushing the door open with a familiar ease, half-expecting Emily’s usual cheery greeting.

But instead of Emily, the first thing you heard was Haley grunting.

A frustrated, muffled noise, followed by a sharp “Come on, just open already!”

You stopped mid-step, blinking.

You weren’t entirely sure what you had walked into, but based on the sheer determination in her voice, it was either a battle for her life… or a particularly stubborn jar.

Considering this was Haley, the latter seemed more likely.

Peering into the kitchen, your suspicions were confirmed.

Haley stood at the counter, face scrunched up in frustration, gripping a jar like it had personally wronged her. She twisted the lid with all the strength she could muster, letting out another huff when it refused to budge.

You bit back a laugh, watching for a moment as she scowled at the object like sheer hatred alone might force it to open.

Yeah, this was too good to pass up.

"You need some help?" you finally spoke up, amusement thick in your voice.

Haley jumped.

She turned quickly, blue eyes wide with surprise before she covered it up with an exaggerated scowl.

"Ugh. How does it feel seeing me in pain?"

You grinned. There it is.

"Aw, does the baby need help?" you teased, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter.

That was a mistake.

The look she shot you could have incinerated you on the spot.

"Hmp," she scoffed, holding the jar closer to her chest like a challenge. "I was about to cook breakfast for us, but now I don't feel like doing it."

You held up your hands in mock surrender, biting back another chuckle. "Alright, alright, miss sassy pants. Come here."

Before she could protest, you reached over, tugging lightly at the loop of her belt to pull her closer.

You hadn't really thought about it—just something casual, something natural—but the way she froze made your brain catch up real fast.

Oh.

Had that been too bold?

But before you could dwell on it, you grabbed the jar from her hands, twisted the lid with ease, and plopped it back into her grasp like it was nothing.

"Piece of cake," you said smugly, flashing her a grin.

For a second, she just stared.

Then—

"Hmp. You're stronger than you look," she muttered, crossing her arms with a faux pout.

You quirked an eyebrow. Stronger than you look?

"Excuse me?" you repeated, placing a hand on your hip. "What do you mean stronger than I look?"

Haley gave you a once-over, not particularly impressed. "I mean, you’re kinda…" She gestured vaguely at you. "Scrawny-looking under all those baggy farm clothes."

You gasped. Scrawny?!

Alright. Fine. Now it was personal.

Rolling up your sleeves, you flexed dramatically, putting on your best Alex-worthy showmanship. "I’ll have you know, Miss Carter, farm work is no joke."

Haley blinked.

Her mouth parted slightly—just for a second—before she quickly turned away, crossing her arms tighter. "Y-yeah, yeah, show-off."

Huh.

Weird reaction.

She had seen Alex flex a thousand times and usually mock-gagged at the sight.

But right now?

You had a very strong suspicion she had definitely just checked you out.

Oh.

Your stomach did something.

You quickly shoved that something into a box and locked it away, because nope, not unpacking that today.

And then—

"I wonder how many other ladies have been lucky enough to see that impressive display."

You nearly choked on air.

WHAT.

You blinked at her, half-expecting her to burst out laughing or tell you she was joking, but—

No.

She was smirking.

Smirking, while still not looking directly at you, her fingers toying with the hem of her shirt like she hadn’t just said that out loud.

Your brain short-circuited.

It took a full three seconds before you recovered enough to bark out a laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. "Uh, how many are you?"

It was Haley’s turn to choke on her own spit.

Her face turned pink.

You grinned.

"I’m gonna hit you," she sputtered, clutching the jar like it was a weapon.

You laughed, backing up with your hands raised. "Okay, okay! I’ll help you cook, alright?"

"Fine," she muttered, recovering quickly. "But you’re going to boil the pasta. You suck at making the sauce."

"Yeah, yeah, M'lady. Let’s do it your way."

****

You weren’t entirely sure how the two of you worked so well in the kitchen, but somehow it just… clicked.

Maybe it was because Haley actually knew how to cook.

Like—really knew how to cook.

You had expected her to just throw ingredients into a pan and hope for the best (or, at worst, order you to do all the hard work), but nope.

She worked with practiced ease, moving around the kitchen like she had done this a thousand times before.

Which—maybe she had.

It wasn’t something she boasted about.

Which made it all the more surprising when you found yourself… actually impressed.

"Okay, stir gently," she instructed as you stood next to her at the stove. "You don’t want the sauce to break."

You did as told, though not without a little dramatic flair. "Like this, boss?"

"Less stupid, more stirring."

"Wow. So bossy."

"Yeah, well, someone has to keep you in check."

You grinned but didn’t argue.

Because standing here, in the warmth of 2 Willow Lane, listening to Haley boss you around while the scent of fresh pasta filled the air—

You realized something.

You didn’t mind at all.

****

Spring 20

In hindsight, challenging Shane to a drinking contest was a mistake.

You weren’t a lightweight by any means, but you also weren’t a regular at the Stardrop Saloon, knocking back beers like they were water. Unlike Shane, who, for all his problems, had a tolerance that could rival Pam’s.

Still, it had been his birthday, and after spending weeks drowning in farm work with barely enough time to breathe, a part of you thought—why not?

Bad. Idea.

The first couple of drinks had been fine. You laughed, listened to Gus grumble about Shane’s tab, even managed to hold a decent conversation with Sam before he had to carry Vincent home.

But by drink number five, the world tilted just a little.

By drink number seven, you were buzzed.

By drink number nine, Shane was on the floor, Pam was laughing at you, and Emily was calling for backup.

And now?

Now you were leaning against the bar, eyes half-lidded, vaguely aware that someone was helping Shane, but—

Oh.

Oh, she’s here.

Even through your drunken haze, you’d recognize that perfume anywhere—clean, soft, expensive.

A sleepy grin pulled at your lips.

"Hay…? Is that you…?"

She sighed, her voice half-exasperated, half-soft. "Yeah, it’s me."

Her arm looped around your waist, pulling you upright as she guided you toward the door.

Warm.

She was warm.

And soft.

And so close.

Haley smelled really good, which wasn’t surprising, but it was distracting because your brain was already a mess and now there were too many thoughts happening at once.

"You smell geurd…" you mumbled.

Haley stiffened against you, and if you were sober, you might’ve enjoyed the way her breath hitched.

"I know," she retorted, voice tight. "And you smell like beer."

Which—fair.

But you could still smell the lemon and mint under all of it, the scent of fresh air and something sweet that made your stomach flip.

She smelled better than anyone had the right to.

You let her drag you outside, vaguely aware of voices around you—Pam yelling something about kids these days, Leah offering help (which Haley firmly declined, for some reason?), and Penny’s gentle concern.

Didn’t matter.

None of them were Haley.

You barely noticed when the town’s quiet streets replaced the saloon’s warm glow, the crisp spring air biting at your flushed skin. The cobblestone path blurred under your feet, and if it weren’t for Haley, you’d probably be face-first in a bush.

"Where… we going?" you slurred, stumbling slightly.

"Home," she grunted, adjusting her hold on you. You chuckled, amused by how done she sounded. "Yoba, just how many beers did you drink? Surely, you're not that much of a lightweight."

You held up three fingers. "I had nine." You thought for a second, then added, "Shane, I think… had seven."

Haley snorted. "I’m pretty sure I’m not dumb enough to count three on your fingers."

"It’s three times three," you explained sagely.

"Yeah, sure."

"Yeah! And I'm completely sober."

You took two confident steps forward—

And immediately tripped.

Haley caught you, her arm tightening around your waist before you could faceplant into Marnie’s fence.

"Oops—" You grinned, looking up at her through hazy eyes. "Thanks, babe."

Haley froze.

Like. Froze.

Her whole body went stiff, and for a second, you thought she might actually drop you.

Her grip on you tightened instead.

You felt her heartbeat pick up, her breath hitch slightly as she stared at you, her face suddenly red.

Weird.

You liked that.

"Wow, you sure are flirty tonight," she muttered, clearing her throat. "You sure you're sober?"

You hummed, contemplating. Were you?

You stopped walking. Haley turned, confused, as you stood still under the streetlights, the dim glow casting shadows across her face.

You wanted to remember this.

Because it felt… important.

Because Haley Carter was looking at you.

Because Haley Carter was holding you.

And because, drunk or not, you had just said something honest.

"The only time I allow myself to be this close to you," you murmured, your words slurring less now, "without my heart pounding in my chest, is in the reality I’ve created in my dreams."

You lifted your head, searching her expression.

Her lips parted slightly, eyes locked onto yours, uncertainty flickering across her face.

The air between you felt… different. Thicker.

"So, tell me, Haley…" you breathed, voice quieter now.

Your head tilted, gaze tracing over the softness of her features, the way her lashes fluttered, the way her fingers tightened slightly around your wrist.

"Am I sober, or is this just a dream?"

And Yoba—

You really, really hoped she had the answer.

****

Spring 24

You had never run away from anything in your life.

Not when Joja tried to groom you into something you weren’t.

Not when the weight of a legacy you wanted no part in nearly crushed you.

Not when you packed up your bags, left everything behind, and started fresh in a quiet little town where no one knew your name, your past, or how much money you technically had sitting untouched in a city bank.

But Haley Carter?

You ran from her.

For four days.

And Yoba help you, but you had no idea what you were even running from.

Maybe it was the way she had looked at you that night—half-lidded blue eyes too sharp, too soft, too knowing. Maybe it was the warmth of her fingers ghosting over your wrist, your shoulder, your neck. Maybe it was the fact that you had called her babe, and for once in her life, she hadn’t snapped at you for it.

No.

It was worse than that.

It was the way she hadn’t corrected you at all.

You woke up the next morning with a splitting headache, wearing nothing but shame and your bedsheets, and found Haley in your kitchen, wearing your damn shirt, making breakfast like it was the most normal thing in the world.

It had nearly killed you.

And then she had turned around, grinning like she knew exactly what she was doing to you, and teased you about your weak alcohol tolerance like it was all so simple.

So, yeah. You ran.

Straight into the mines, where monsters were easier to fight than whatever the hell was happening to your heart.

Away from breakfast invitations, away from Emily’s knowing glances, away from your own stupid, reckless, painfully obvious feelings.

It wasn’t like you expected her to chase after you. But you also didn’t expect her to notice your absence this much.

You had meant to skip the Flower Dance.

Even if dancing was something you could probably master in five minutes if you really tried.

Even if the festival would have been another thing to add to the ever-growing list of things you were unexpectedly good at.

That list was getting long. Too long.

At first, farming had been just another thing to conquer.

You had picked up a shovel for the first time, read a few books on agriculture, and within weeks, your farm was thriving like a well-oiled machine.

Your crops flourished, your animals followed you like a shepherd, and the once-abandoned land now looked alive in a way that felt almost... personal.

And somewhere along the way, it stopped being about proving you could do it.

Somewhere along the way, you started waking up excited to see what had grown overnight.

Somewhere along the way, you fell in love with it.

Not because it was something you were good at, but because it was something that felt like yours.

And Haley Carter? She was the first thing in your life that didn’t come easy.

And maybe that’s why you had been avoiding her.

Because you didn’t know what to do about something you couldn’t master in a day.

And then, of course, Alex has other plans.

Before you knew it, he grabbed you by the collar before the Flower Dance and forced you back into her orbit.

****

"Old Mac here can replace me. I already taught her the moves."

You nearly choked on your own breath. "What?"

Alex grinned like he was enjoying this way too much. "You got this. There's no need to worry."

"I don't—"

"You got this." He cut you off. You barely had enough time to wrap your head around what was happening before Alex was shrugging off his jacket and shoving it into your hands.

Haley’s eyes were already on you.

You could feel them. Watching. Waiting.

And you?

You were panicking. Internally, of course.

Externally? Blank face. Neutral expression. Playing it cool.

But inside? Complete. Freaking. Chaos.

Penny, bless her, tried to intervene. "Wouldn't it be better if Sam takes your place since he's already familiar with the dance?"

"Um, no," Alex dismissed the idea immediately, grinning wider when he saw the panic in your eyes. "Haley feels more comfortable dancing with Old Mac. That's more important."

Your entire soul left your body.

Your mouth was dry. Your brain was short-circuiting. You wanted to look at Haley but—NOPE.

Because if you looked at her, you might see hope. Or worse—disappointment.

And Yoba help you, you didn’t know which was scarier.

Then she said it.

"Wait a second—can’t we get a say in this?!"

And your stomach sank.

Oh. Oh.

So she didn’t want to.

You should have expected that. You should have prepared for that.

You should have let yourself believe that was coming. But for some reason, it still stung.

For a split second, your fingers curled around the jacket in your hands, grip tightening, something raw twisting in your gut. You weren’t sure what you had been hoping for, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

The rush of disappointment came so suddenly that it nearly threw you off balance.

Of course, she didn’t want to. Why would she?

You had never felt less qualified for anything in your entire life.

The moment was so quick—so fleeting—that you barely had time to process it before Alex shut her down with a cheery, "Nope!"

"Very well, then." Mayor Lewis clapped his hands together. "Let the festival begin!"

****

Haley was warm.

That was your first thought when you wrapped your hands around her waist.

Your second thought was, I should not be thinking about this.

But it was too late. Her perfume—light vanilla and something faintly floral—wrapped around your senses, and the heat of her skin, even through layers of silk, burned. For a second, you forgot how to move.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Her voice was quieter now, breathless.

You swallowed hard and forced yourself to meet her eyes.

Haley, in white silk and soft curls, looking up at you with something you couldn’t quite name. Your heart stumbled over itself.

Her hands—small, delicate, trembling ever so slightly—rested on your shoulders.

You should say something. Anything.

But all that came out was, "Huh?"

Not your best moment.

Haley had just said something, something important—and all you could do was stand there like an idiot while your mind scrambled to catch up.

Her voice was quieter now, breathless, uncertain in a way you rarely heard.

"You were avoiding me."

Your grip on her waist tightened.

She noticed. Of course, she noticed.

You swallowed hard, the warmth of her hands on your shoulders burning through the fabric of your suit.

Your first instinct was to deflect. To say something easy. Lighthearted. Something that wouldn’t make your chest feel like it was caving in under her stare.

But the way she looked at you, with something too sharp, too knowing, too close to understanding what you weren’t saying, made it impossible to lie.

You scrambled for an excuse, anything to steer away from the truth.

"You don’t want to dance with me."

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, sharp and certain, like she had already decided the answer for you.

Something inside you twisted. You felt it—the briefest flicker of disappointment, sharp and bitter, before you could shove it down. It was stupid. Irrational.

But for a single, awful moment, you thought maybe she had been hoping you’d refuse. Your stomach twisted.

"I wasn’t…"

Her blue eyes narrowed. "Could’ve fooled me."

You barely had time to process the sting behind her words before the music started.

Instinct took over. Without thinking, you twirled her.

Haley gasped softly, caught off guard, her hands instinctively tightening against your shoulders to keep herself steady.

And just like that—you were dancing.

The steps came easily. Too easily.

It should have been hard to match the rhythm. It should have taken weeks of practice to master the precise footwork. Alex had only shown it to you once. Like everything else in your life—it only took once.

And Haley? She moved effortlessly, like she was made for this. Like she was made to fit against you like this.

She returned to your arms just as swiftly as she left them, her fingers curling tighter around the fabric of your coat.

"You wanted to dance with Penny, didn’t you?"

You faltered—barely, but enough for her to notice.

"I don't."

The words left your mouth too fast. Too immediate.

Haley’s lips parted slightly, startled by your complete lack of hesitation.

"You don’t?"

You hesitated now. Not because it wasn’t true—because it was.

Because saying it out loud, with her, right there, in your arms, looking at you like she was trying to solve a puzzle—felt like admitting to something much bigger.

Something you weren’t ready to name. And yet—

"I don’t want to dance with anyone but you."

There. There it was.

Your dumb, reckless mouth running away from you again.

The words had left before you could stop them, slipping through your defenses like water through cracked stone. And now—now there was no taking them back.

Haley stilled in your arms. Her grip on your shoulders had eased, but her eyes never left yours—sharp, searching, waiting. A slow inhale.

"Then why?" she pressed, voice steady but insistent. "Where were you? I haven’t seen you in days. You haven’t visited us for breakfast."

You swallowed thickly. Damn it.

Of course, she noticed. Of course, she counted.

Four days.Four days of avoiding her. Four days of working yourself into exhaustion, of diving headfirst into the mines with reckless abandon, hoping—stupidly, naively—that maybe if you buried yourself deep enough, you could outrun whatever this was. Whatever she was doing to you.

But the thing about Haley Carter?

She never let anything slide.

"Tell me."

There was something in her voice that left no room for avoidance. No escape.

And when your eyes met hers again, the music, the crowd, the festival—all of it ceased to exist.

It was just her. Just you.

And the four days of silence stretched between you, fragile as glass.

You inhaled, forcing the words out. "I was out mining."

A flicker of something—doubt? frustration?—crossed her face.

"And?"

You hesitated. Your fingers tensed against her waist.

She was close. So close.

You could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her dress, the faintest scent of coconut and vanilla clinging to her hair.

And Yoba help you, you were so weak for it.

"And maybe I was kind of avoiding you…"

Her glare was instant.

Your stomach plummeted. Oh, shit.

Panic sets in.

You scrambled to backpedal, hands tightening around her waist like that would somehow ground you.

"I was embarrassed that I puked on you!"

A beat of silence. A single blink. And then—

"You what?"

You winced. Oh, fantastic. Perfect.

You had somehow, miraculously, spectacularly, made this even worse.

Desperate to recover, you hurriedly added, "Alex told me it was your self-care day and… I know I ruined it for you. And now I ruined your dance."

The irritation in her eyes softened.

Shifted into something else. Something gentler. Something far more dangerous.

"Idiot."

It should have been biting. It should have been mocking.

But instead, it came out like a sigh of relief.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world—

Her arms relaxed completely, hands slipping from your shoulders to wrap around your neck. Your breath hitched.

She let you hold her. No hesitation. No resistance. Just… trust.

The warmth of her breath tickled your collarbone as she whispered, "You haven’t ruined anything."

"Yet." You chuckled, squeezing her waist just a little—just enough to feel real.

"You know…" Haley’s voice dropped to something softer, something almost dangerous.

She leaned closer—so close that her lips nearly grazed your jaw.

"You smell good today."

You nearly stopped breathing. Her words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You could take on a horde of monsters in the mines. You could rebuild an entire town from the ground up.

But this? This had you completely, utterly defenseless.

And then, like a goddamn idiot, you whispered, "Had to smell my best for my queen, right?"

She smiled. She actually smiled.

And Yoba help you, you were so, so doomed.

****

A/n: I only wrote this different perspective for fun and yet I found myself giggling as I wrote the scenes. From Haley’s perspective, it’s completely and utterly different. It was messy, chaotic and uncertain. It was a push and pull of some kind. And our farmer, the ever calm and collected between the two of them has been fighting a losing battle all this time. She was better with emotions but she’s quite a runner, and well… denial is her thing also haha. Also if you noticed, some dialogues were different but with the same thought. I thought it’d be a fun detail to add that since it’s from a different perspective, they have a different way of narrating the scenes. Anyway, I have to stop here because it’s getting far too long. I also maxed out the block per post soooo . 🤷‍♀️ I also didn’t plan to do the farmer’s perspective for every chapter but I found myself writing it nonetheless. I find it quite fun and interesting that while writing, I’m starting to learn the qualities and quirks of the farmer even though she’s my own creation.

If you want, you can listen to Every Breath You Take by The Police, Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer, and Bags by Clairo while reading because this special chapter is inspired by these songs.

Anyhow, sorry for the long wait. I only have time on Saturdays to write so please forgive me. I hope you’re all doing well. Ciao!

#stardew valley #haley x farmer #haley x reader #stardew farmer #stardew haley #stardew fanfic #haley x you #stardew haley x farmer

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cryptomiracle · 2 years ago

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Yeah I would love to see some headcannons where reader is there little sister with Lyra and Toby, Cody

OHH SORRY I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND LAST TIME LMAO

I didn't get much sleep last night 💀

Ticci toby, x-virus and lyra, headcanons where you're their younger sister.

Warnings: blood, murder, mentions of death, sh, etc

Lyra

Lyra would 100% be over protective of you.

She would try her best to shield you from any danger.

Her and toby would tag team and beat someone up for you lmfao

She's very motherly towards you, Connie is usually busy teaching toby, or cleaning, so lyra was there when she couldn't be.

She cares for you very much.

She LOVES to do your hair, whether it's braids, ponytails, literally anything, she always makes sure your hair looks nice.

When she got her first job, the first thing she bought with her check, was a birthday cake for you.

Lyra enjoyed writing, so she wrote a few poems for you.

She didn't know at the time how much those poems would mean to you.

Toby

You and toby are only a few years apart, he was about 4-5 when you were born, but when you were first born, he was a bit envious of you, because he didn't want to share his mothers attention, but as you two grew up, he didn't feel that way anymore.

When you two were teenagers, you were practically best friends.

You had a tree house in the forest, you, toby, and lyra built over the summer.

You and toby would go out there and listen to music, draw, and just talk about anything until nightfall.

When you told toby about the voices, the dreams, and the things you saw, he was your only comfort.

Which is why when he found you at the tree house, and asked you to run away with him to somewhere "you two would be accepted"

You said yes.

------

A quick explanation:

After lyra died, you started having dreams about Slenderman, and hearing voices telling you to go into the forest, and do things, like hurt yourself, or others.

At first you thought the voices were just intrusive thoughts, but then they started to get aggressive.

They'd scream at you, and taunt you.

The dreams eventually turned into lucid dreams, where you'd see Slenderman just standing there, watching you.

You'd start to see things out of the corner of your eye, body parts, like eyes, teeth, and ears would show up in your yard.

You'd wake up with blood on your hands, or cuts and scrapes on your knees and arms.

So by the time toby killed your father, and burnt down the neighborhood, you were in a state of shock, and toby was the only one you thought you could run to.

But you didn't know at the time what he was dragging you into.

-------

Cody

By the time you met Cody, you had already been a proxy for some time, the same for toby.

You and Cody instantly hit it off, you and him had an "older brother and younger sister" kind of relationship, even before you found out he was your half brother.

having Cody around was like a breath of fresh air.

He actually listened to you, and enjoyed learning about things you like.

Cody loves to show you stuff he made, like the new bacteria he created, or a fungus he grew, etc.

He tries to protect you from the other creepypastas (Jeff and LJ specifically)

He's a horrible cook, but he tries.

One time you two almost burnt down the entire manor trying to bake a cake.

He named his pet chicken after you LMAOO

You and him stay up late at night going on an old horror movie marathons.

Current relationships

After everything that happened, your relationship with toby was.. complicated.

You didn't hate him, and he didn't hate you.

You two just weren't on speaking terms.

You two had a big fight, and after that you two never really talked unless you were on a mission.

But after Cody came along, you and Toby's relationship started to get better.

You two talked more, and started hanging out again.

You were still grieving over lyra, but you were happy you had toby and cody to help you through it all.

Once again, I'm so so sorry I didn't understand the first time.

I hope this one was better than the last!

Ty for reading - M ⁠♡

#creepypasta #headcanon #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby #x virus #lyra rogers #ticci toby headcanons #creepypasta ticci toby #slenderman #jeff the killer #fanfic #headcanons

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rockislandadultreads · 3 years ago

Photo

Fiction Set in the Victorian Era: Book Recs

The Mystery of the Sorrowful Maiden by Kate Saunders

In the spring of 1853, private detective Laetitia Rodd receives a delicate request from a retired actor, whose days on the stage were ended by a theater fire ten years before. His great friend, and the man he rescued from the fire, Thomas Transome, has decided to leave his wife, who now needs assistance in securing a worthy settlement. Though Mrs. Rodd is reluctant to get involved with the scandalous world of the theater, she cannot turn away the woman in need. She agrees to take the case.

But what starts out as a simple matter of negotiation becomes complicated when a body is discovered in the burnt husk of the old theater. Soon Mrs. Rodd finds herself embroiled in family politics, rivalries that put the Capulets and Montagues to shame, and betrayals on a Shakespearean scale. Mrs. Rodd will need all her investigatory powers, not to mention her famous discretion, to solve the case before tragedy strikes once more.

For readers of the Grantchester Mysteries, The Mystery of the Sorrowful Maiden is the charming third mystery in Kate Saunder's series about Laetitia Rodd, the indomitable lady detective.

Parting the Veil by Paulette Kennedy

Some houses hold secrets that are meant to be kept forever… When Eliza Sullivan inherits an estate from a recently deceased aunt, she leaves behind a grievous and guilt-ridden past in New Orleans for rural England and a fresh start. Eliza arrives at her new home and finds herself falling for the mysterious lord of Havenwood, Malcolm Winfield. Despite the sinister rumors that surround him, Eliza is drawn to his melancholy charm and his crumbling, once-beautiful mansion. With enough love, she thinks, both man and manor could be repaired. Not long into their marriage, Eliza fears that she should have listened to the locals. There’s something terribly wrong at Havenwood Manor: Forbidden rooms. Ghostly whispers in the shadows. Strangely guarded servants. And Malcolm’s threatening moods, as changeable as night and day. As Eliza delves deeper into Malcolm’s troubling history, the dark secrets she unearths gain a frightening power. Has she married a man or a monster? For Eliza, uncovering the truth will either save her or destroy her.

Down a Dark River by Karen Odden

London, 1878. One April morning, a small boat bearing a young woman’s corpse floats down the murky waters of the Thames. When the victim is identified as Rose Albert, daughter of a prominent judge, the Scotland Yard director gives the case to Michael Corravan, one of the only Senior Inspectors remaining after a corruption scandal the previous autumn left the division in ruins. Reluctantly, Corravan abandons his ongoing case, a search for the missing wife of a shipping magnate, handing it over to his young colleague, Mr. Stiles. An Irish former bare-knuckles boxer and dockworker from London’s seedy East End, Corravan has good street sense and an inspector’s knack for digging up clues. But he’s confounded when, a week later, a second woman is found dead in a rowboat, and then a third. The dead women seem to have no connection whatsoever. Meanwhile, Mr. Stiles makes an alarming discovery: the shipping magnate’s missing wife, Mrs. Beckford, may not have fled her house because she was insane, as her husband claims, and Mr. Beckford may not be the successful man of business that he appears to be. Slowly, it becomes clear that the river murders and the case of Mrs. Beckford may be linked through some terrible act of injustice in the past—for which someone has vowed a brutal vengeance. Now, with the newspapers once again trumpeting the Yard’s failures, Corravan must dredge up the truth—before London devolves into a state of panic and before the killer claims another innocent victim.

Miss Moriarty, I Presume? by Sherry Thomas

A most unexpected client shows up at Charlotte Holmes's doorstep: Moriarty himself. Moriarty fears that tragedy has befallen his daughter and wants Charlotte to find out the truth. Charlotte and Mrs. Watson travel to a remote community of occult practitioners where Moriarty's daughter was last seen, a place full of lies and liars. Meanwhile, Charlotte's sister Livia tries to make sense of a mysterious message from her beau Mr. Marbleton. And Charlotte's longtime friend and ally Lord Ingram at last turns his seductive prowess on Charlotte--or is it the other way around? But the more secrets Charlotte unravels about Miss Moriarty's disappearance, the more she wonders why Moriarty has entrusted this delicate matter to her of all people. Is it merely to test Charlotte's skills as an investigator, or has the man of shadows trapped her in a nest of vipers?

#historical fiction #mystery #mysteries #to read #tbr #reading recommendations #Book Recommendations #victorian #victorian era #library books #reading recs #book recs #library #booklr #booktok #book tumblr #highly recommend #Highly Rated #female mc

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howlingday · 4 years ago

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jaune's from a family of raiders

well not quite he's from a culture that puts a lot of stock in capturing and ransoming off their friends and neighbors from other tribes. think of it like a combat sport only some times you're also stealing cattle and horses.

he's a prince of the high king

well again it's more complicated the kingdoms are like city states they don't exactly legislate or collect taxes all the way out into the wilds. but they do send huntsmen to protect the area and then tax the huntsmen.

jaune's dad just happened to be a huntsman who didn't pay taxes because the area his family had lived in for generations also happened to be outside the control of vale. and lots of people wanna live near the huntsmen who can keep them safe. so he has a position of respect among all the tribes. and jaune is his son

he's also required to have a harem

this one is interesting because it's one of those cultural things that seems weird from the outside but makes more sense when you look at it. men are hard to keep alive without a hospital. even with aura. women are part of a protected group like children and so take less risks in life. leading to there being a ton more women than men. and since technology isn't quite to the level of the kingdoms proper,

well more hands to help maintain a house isn't bad right?

but most of all jaune is a man who only wants to do right by his family, whether that be those from the past, or the woman, or women, that he loves.

and this part needs no further clarification

tldr: au where jaune's part of a tribal community and brings his lover or lovers home to meet the family. how does that go for everyone?

P.S: also sorry for the flowery ask, i felt inspired by something

Ooh, do tell the inspiration!

"Unhand me, you brute!" Jaune sighed as the girl in white screeched and squirmed behind him. "Do you know who I am?! When my family hears of this, they will hang you for this! Do you hear me?"

Jaune kept his focus on the road ahead as he gripped the reigns of Valorie, his mare, glancing left and right occasionally to avoid an ambush. His family might have a hold on the territory, but with his father growing in age, so, too, did that grip loosen. A rival tribe or rogue patrol from the kingdoms would easily snatch up an easy target like the lone swordsman and his latest bride.

"Could you at least tell me where we're going?"

"Home." Jaune answered, not looking back.

"Oh, yes, of course! How could I not know? And where exactly is your home?"

"Just up ahead."

"Uh huh, I see, and what are you going to do once you're home?"

Jaune let out a long sigh as he stretched his shoulders a bit. "Well, drop you off with the others, then have you judged, if there's enough time."

"Judged?" Weiss raised an eyebrow. "Judged for what?"

"Wife material." Weiss blushed and her jaw dropped. "Can you cook; can you clean; are you good with children; can you have children; do you have any family illnesses?" He shrugged. "Routine wedding discussions."

"W-Wedding?!" Ah, and just like that, the shrieking began anew. "You savage! You brute! I refuse to be treated like some stock taken to auction, about to be sold to some pervert noble!"

"You're not being sold to a noble." Jaune smiled and looked back. "Just me." Before she could begin again, Jaune let out a sigh of relief. "Finally, we're home."

It may have only been about a week since Jaune had left, but it felt like forever since his departure from the lands of Arcadia. The valleys and hills were as green and lush as ever, and the summer winds carried the calming scent of flowers across it all. He passed the growing crops, where he saw his sisters, their wives, and some of his own watering and tending to them. They waved to him, and he returned one to them.

"Welcome home, Miss Weiss." The girl marveled at the beauty. She had only heard of such places from her studies in the manor, but to see it in person was something else. Before she could admire it more, however, the mare stopped, jostling her from her focus.

Jaune slid down, then pulled Weiss down as well, carrying her bridal style. He then set her onto her own feet and untied the binds on her wrists and ankles. She lifted her leg, then kicked his shin. He yelped in pain.

"That was for the kidnapping!" She shouted.

"Yeesh! Just a kick?" Weiss turned to see a lilac-eyed blonde woman in fieldwork garments smiling at her. "When he dropped me off, they had to get his old man to get me off of him." She looked past Weiss to Jaune. "You going soft on me, or just your taste in women?"

"And who are you?" Weiss spat. "One of his whores?"

Yang laughed and placed a sweaty, mud-encrusted paw on her delicate shoulder. It felt warm at first, then hot as her grip became tight, and her eyes red. "I dare you to say that again."

"Yang, stop it!" Weiss and Yang looked to the younger girl running from inside the house. She was a brunette with red tips and silver eyes, and she wore a red apron that she had to roll up to her shins. She futilely tugged on the blonde woman's arm. "Jaune told you not to hurt anyone else!"

She let go, making the girl yelp as she was lifted with her arm. "Aw, c'mon, Rubes, we were just playing!" She then looked to Weiss, her eyes lilac once more. "Ain't that right, Ice Queen?"

"Ice Queen?!" Weiss balked.

"Yang, cut it out, please." Jaune sighed.

"Fine, fine!" Yang turned around, lowering her arm. The smaller girl let go as she walked away. "Besides, the crops won't grow themselves. I'll go be a good workhorse." She stopped to look back and winked. "I expect my carrot tonight, though, sweetheart~."

"Play nice and we'll see." Jaune responded with a smile. With that, Yang chuckled and resumed walking, swaying her hips for a few more yards before jogging back to the field. He looked to the younger girl and smiled. "And how have you been, Ruby?"

She sighed. "Do you mean after you left, or after you came back?"

"Both."

"After you left, I missed you. It was your mom's birthday, but I couldn't afford a present, so I took on her chores for the week, but I didn't expect her chores included chimney cleaning, so now I have soot so far up my nose, I'm still sneezing black. Then I had to tend to the chickens, but they're so vicious, and I swear they can smell weakness, because the rooster jumped me at least six times. Then Zwei needed a bath, but he somehow tricked me into the tub, so I smell like wet dog a little bit. And then I had to bake her cake all on my own, but there were eggshells in it and it came out both burnt and raw somehow, and I just- Argh!" Ruby collapsed into Jaune's torso. "I really missed you."

Jaune held her and kissed the crown of her head. "I missed you, too, Ruby." He stepped back and held a hand outward towards Weiss. "Ruby Rose-Arc, this is Weiss Schnee. She's going to be my newest bride." He looked to Weiss. "Weiss Schnee, this is Ruby Rose-Arc, my second wife. She and Yang will help prepare you for judging."

"It's so nice to meet you!" Ruby swooped in, snatching the other woman's hands in hers. Her smile was wide and bright. "It'll be nice to have another short girl in our home!"

"No!" Weiss yanked her hands away. "I refuse! When my father hears of this, he'll-"

"Oh, that reminds me!" Jaune walked to Valorie and reached into her saddlebag. Weiss grumbled as she watched him pull out a small, burlap sack. "Here, Ruby. This was part of the dowry, but I want you to have it."

Ruby opened the sack and squealed in delight. "Dust crystals!" She hugged the new woman tightly. "You are the bestest bestie a bestie could ever have!"

"What the-?! Where did you get those?!" Weiss shrieked.

"From your father." Ruby ran inside with her new sack. "In exchange for marrying you, we'll allow him to trade through our lands."

"My father would never-!" Jaune gave her a curious look. "I mean, not to one of his own-!" Her voice grew softer. "I thought..."

"Listen," Jaune placed a hand on her shoulder, "if you don't want to marry me, I understand. Most of the others didn't want to, either. But if you give it a few days, you might learn to love it here. You won't go hungry, you'll be well protected, and I promise you'll be loved every day."

"I just... I didn't think I would be treated like this. By my own family."

"I know." Jaune removed his hand. "Would it be okay if I hugged you?"

"I-"

"JAUNEY!" The two saw a young woman bull rush towards Jaune, carrying a dead boar high above her head. Jaune extended his arms out and caught her, spinning in place at least a dozen times. Blood sprayed around, including onto Weiss and the other two as they embraced. When they stopped, Jaune set her down, giving her a butterfly kiss with his nose to hers. "You're home!"

Jaune chuckled. "Yup!" He peered around her and looked to Weiss. "And I brought back someone new."

Nora turned around and gasped as she looked at Weiss. "Oh! My! Dust! You are so small!" She looked to Jaune and waggled her brow. "Be careful you don't break her!" She then laughed. "I'd shake your hand, but, uh, I'm a little busy. I'm Nora Valkyrie-Arc, Jaune's fourth wife."

"Weiss Schnee." Blood dripped from her hair. "And I was just about to leave."

"Aw! Already?! We were gonna make pancakes tomorrow!"

"I was going to make pancakes, Nora." Weiss turned to the male voice and saw a slim man in the doorway, wearing both an apron and a blank expression. "Just like I do every morning for you."

"Renny!" Nora cheered before tossing the trophy to him. "This is my first husband, Lie-Valkyrie Ren!"

Despite his slim figure, the man held the heavy beast with seemingly no trouble. "A pleasure to meet you." He nodded, before turning to head inside.

"Is he also your husband?" Weiss asked. Jaune chuckled nervously. This was going to be a long day, but they both already knew that.

#rwby #weiss schnee #jaune arc #yang xiao long #ruby rose #nora valkyrie #lie ren #my answer

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inactiveanimeblog · 4 years ago

Text

shikamaru x reader fic

“change” chapter one

tw : smoking, alcohol

brooo i’m honestly so sorry this took forever but dont worry next chapters won’t take as long at all, i already have them planned out. and just a heads up there will be smut in this story, not this chapter but possibly chapter three.

eh i don’t really like the way this chapter came out but i can promise better in the future ones.

warnings: for now just alcohol, weed, and swearing

shikamaru and you had been best friends for as long as you both could remember. since you both had grown up together, through your parents being close friends, you and him were inseparable. you spent most of your childhood being around each other. but once you guys hit 16 years old things started to be different.

shikamaru started to drink, smoke, get tattoos, and flunk school. it was a miricale that he even graduated high school thanks to you tutoring him and completing his homework assignments. you on the other hand were a straight A student, a teachers pet, a quiet kid who didn’t party or do anything most teenagers around you were doing. you wanted to, but you were anxious and even a little scared that you werent ‘enough’ to be friends with others who were out having good times and enjoying their teen years. you were timid, you couldn’t be outgoing to save your life, so you watched from the sidelines.

once you graduated high school you traveled to another part of japan for eleven months to find yourself, learn to break out of your shell, and to switch up your style leaning more towards looking sexier and attractive. which meant leaving shikamaru behind to say goodbye for the time being. neither of you really talked when you left, in fact, you guys didn’t talk at all. you had missed him more than anything while he was well, being him. shikamaru messed around with girls, making them feel special, having sex with them, but he never put a label on their ‘relationship’. he would end things when he would get bored and find a new pretty girl to fuck, which left all the other girls broken hearted. you envied any girl he was involved with in a sexual way, you wanted him more than anything but you never told him. hell no. you could never tell him. he would never feel the same as you feel. there was no changing the way shikamaru was. he would never love and you knew that.

you came back to konaha a couple of weeks ago, settling into your new place, a nice little apartment, decorated in a modern manor, as well as starting to make friends in town through social media, slowly starting to go to parties and going out to clubs. you changed your look, dying your hair, getting a new piercing, switching up your style to something different, something new. you felt a lot better about yourself and you wondered if shikamaru would be interested in the way you looked. you weren’t confident, but the attention you’ve been getting from others lately hasn’t gone unnoticed.

hey shikamaru, i came back to konoha a few weeks ago finally! sorry i haven’t told you yet i’ve just been busy moving into my new place and stuff. we should hangout or something, it’s been so long since we seen eachother. you sent him a text, hoping that he would text you back wanting to make plans.

yeah we can link. i’m busy tonight but if you’re free tomorrow you can come by my place around 18:30 and we can catch up. you won’t be able to stay for long though.. maybe an hour at most. just lmk when you’re on the way. it took him a little while but he answered.

okay, that’s fine i have plans a little while afterwards so i won’t be able to stay long anyways. i’ll see you tomorrow and i’ll let you know when i’m on the way.

you were so excited to see him, butterflies already forming in the pit your stomach. you planned out a fit, the way you wanted your hair, and makeup. this was the time you and shikamaru would be able to catch up and maybe even become close friends again.

unfortunately shikamaru wasn’t too excited to see you. you guys haven’t talked in a long time and he saw no point or benefit to your friendship. he’s made a lot of new friends, other friends who are interested in the things he is and he’s been busy fucking new girls all the time. he thought it was such a drag that you wanted to hangout, and truth be told he wasn’t even gonna be busy tomorrow. he just didn’t want to waste his night hanging around you.

_______________________________________________

the next day you woke up around 11:30 am, starting off with eating a light breakfast, showering, shaving, and skin care. getting ready and facetiming your friend mikasa (hehe aot name but i love her name) to talk about how excited you were for first off going to see shikamaru for a little bit and second off going to a house party later that you guys were invited to.

“i’m so nervous ‘kasa, like what if he doesn’t like the way i look? or what if he thinks i’m weird now?” you sighed, brushing your fingers through your hair, checking yourself out in the mirror.

“it’ll be fine y/n! just try your best not to show your nervous. act like he isn’t intimidating at all. you look hot, nothing to be scared of.” she responded

“hm, you think so? are you sure i should wear this? i don’t wanna look like a try hard..”

“you don’t look like a try hard just mention to him that you’re hitting a party later he’ll get why you’re in a cute ass outfit. now go to his house, it’s already 18:07, don’t keep him waiting. he said he didn’t have much time anyways.”

“alright i’ll see you later tonight then.. wish me luck, i’ll let you know what happens. bye.”

“good luck and bye bitch! don’t have too much fun!” she answered while wiggling her eyebrows and hanging up the phone.

you texted shikamaru that you were on your way, he responded shortly saying to just knock when you got there.

third person point of view

“yo kiba, i have a girl coming over today.. she’s just an old friend. she’s shy so try not to scare her off. don’t smoke out in the living room while she’s here. i don’t need her getting uncomfortable. it’ll be such a drag listening to her get upset about the smoke.”

“say less, but is she hot? if she’s just an old friend let me make a move on her.” kiba answered hopping on the couch next to shikamaru.

“no. she’s not cute and you wouldn’t want her anywa-“ shikamaru was cut off by a light knock on the apartment door.

“can you go invite her in for me?”

“do you ever get off your lazy ass? whatever fine.” kiba said while getting up off the couch and walking towards the door.

kiba opened the door and didn’t say anything, he just stared down at y/n who looked back up at him confused clearly expecting shikamaru to answer. ‘not cute?’ kiba thought. ‘is shikamaru out of his MIND??’ surely this couldn’t be the girl shikamaru was talking about, shikamaru would have to be an idiot to not find her attractive. she was dressed in a sexy yet subtle outfit. she smelt nice and her hair looked so soft, her skin was like porcelain, delicate and smooth.

“uhh i’m sorry, who are you?” kiba asked

“oh- i umm, i’m y/n nice to meet you. i’m here to see shikamaru.. i’m at the right apartment, right?” shikamaru tried to look over at y/n but he couldn’t see much with kiba standing in front of the door. he looked back down at his phone and rolled his eyes.

“well? are you gonna let her in? i just told you i had company coming over two minutes ago. how burnt out are you?”

“oh right um come in, i’m kiba, shikamaru’s roommate by the way. make yourself at home.. shikamaru’s on the couch.” kiba stuttered out scratching the back of his neck and moving out of the way so y/n could entered.

“wow shikamaru your place looks nice. is it just you and your roommate living here?” y/n said.

shikamaru looked up from his phone to see her staring around the room and his first thought was ??? what the fuck ?

“y/n?” shikamaru said. he stared at her as she sat on the other couch, his eyes focused on her appearance.

“yeah?” y/n answered smiling back at him.

“nothing i just— you just look really different since i last seen you last. what have you been up to?” he asked still eyeing her up and down, blushing slightly. he felt a little weird, he wasn’t expecting his nerdy childhood best friend to look so good.

“i’ve been busy honestly, i finally moved into my new place and i’ve been going out with friends, it feels nice to finally be back home although i do miss traveling.” friends.. she has other friends now?

“what about you? what have you been up to?” she said still smiling, she looked beautiful, like she’s grown up.. grown into a women’s body, she’d grown into her face as well, no longer looking so babyish. her outfit was nice, showing some skin leaving little to the imagination. this was nothing like her.

“nothing really, just be doing the same old things.... you made some friends when you came back to konoha?”

“yeah i did, i made a few. you should meet them one day, we usually hit parties on the weekends or we’ll chill at one of our houses, drink and smoke or whatever. you would like them.” she exclaimed nodding her head slowly.

huh? wait she even drinks and smokes now? what happened to her? and what changed her when she left.. why was she so different now?

“you drink and smoke now? wow you really are different.”

“oh please” y/n giggled a bit. “i’m still the same old y/n, i’m no different only been living my life in other ways. i’ve been enjoying it ever since i left eleven months ago, you know? i’m having fun i guess.”

“well.. i honestly never expected the day where you would find drinking and smoking fun since you always used to scold me for it.” he said, rolling his eyes playfully, a grin forming on his lips.

“and by the way do you want something to drink, like a water or anything?”

“you know i was just inexpirienced back then shikamaru” she said placing her elbow on the couch arm rest, resting her cheek on her palm and she still had a cute small smile on her face.

“and i’m good, i’ll probably be leaving not too long from now anyways.”

“you in a rush?” shikamaru questioned, slightly raising one of his brows

“hm, kind of. i’m gonna go pregame at one of my friends houses tonight and get ready for a party.”

kiba walked in and sat next to her, he gave shikamaru a pointed look before butting in their conversation and replying “a party tonight huh? you gonna give us the invite?”

“well i mean if you guys wanna go it’s gonna be at 227 Clock Street, not far from here maybe a 15 minute drive. if they ask who you know just say you know me.” she said looking back at kiba “you shouldn’t have any problems. but also, i believe shikamaru said he was busy tonight. right shikamaru?”

“yeah.. well, i do have plans later. but i could just cancel them now, not really important anyways. i guess we could go out. do you think it’ll be a problem to bring others?”

“nope it shouldn’t be a problem at all. the more the merrier, and you and your friends will be able to meet mine tonight!” she said excitedly.

shikamaru excused himself to use the bathroom as kiba continued to talk to y/n and ask her about herself. it was so very obvious that kiba wanted to take her to his room and bend her over, but y/n being hella naive couldn’t tell.

shikamaru looked in the mirror while washing his hands. his eyebrows were scowled, and his eyes were dazed. never could he imagine something like this would happen where y/n would come out of her shell. where she would party. she was as sweet as ever still, she would always be a kind person. nothing could change that, but she wasn’t as quiet as she used to be. it was nice seeing her talk more, no longer stuttering out every other word.

‘if i bring my friends tonight and the rest meet her there’s no doubt she’ll be around more often. i already know they’re gonna be all over her, i’m just curious if she’s still innocent sex wise. last time i seen her she was definitely still a virgin. maybe i should ask her myself.’

#naruto headcanons #shikamaru nara #shikamaru x reader #shikamaru imagine #shikamaru nara x reader #naruto shippuden #naruto #naruto x reader #shikamaru imagines #shikamaru #shikamaru smut

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fridayfirefly · 4 years ago

Text

Virtual Sleepover

Read Virtual Sleepover on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 4 - Internet Friends

Quarantine had been rough at Wayne Manor, but for Tim Drake, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a bright light through it all. Tim was getting ahead of himself, though. The story of Marinette Dupain-Cheng started on March 20th, 2020. Panic over coronavirus was sweeping the nation. Bruce had gathered all of the members of the Wayne family into the dining room to explain the new rules of the house. No one was to go in or out. Groceries would be delivered to the house. There would be no superhero outings for at least two weeks. Tim didn't think his family would be able to survive, trapped in a house together.

So to preserve his sanity, Tim turned to the internet. There were hundreds of cold cases that he had put on the backburner and hundreds of forums and websites dedicated to solving cold cases. Tim turned to the most popular website and started dumping information, hoping for someone to show up and work through it with him. That's how Tim met Marinette. @MarinetteDC showed up on his page with a friend request, a wide range of technical knowledge about textiles and designs, and about seven different theories on a murder case Tim considered all but unsolvable. Her sleep schedule was just as chaotic as Tim's and she also drank a near-inhuman amount of coffee. Marinette Dupain-Cheng enthralled Tim. And when the chaos of his house threatened to make Tim lose his mind, Marinette became his lifeline.

"Can you hear me?"

Tim nodded. "Yep!"

"Nice!" cheered Marinette. Tim relished the opportunity to see her face, even if it was through a zoom call. "So what do we want to do first? I don't have class until Monday, so we have the whole weekend ahead of us."

"I think we should start with the iconic sleepover classic: truth or dare," suggested Tim.

"Alright. Truth or dare, Tim?"

"Dare." Tim was confident in his abilities to pull off any stunt she might come up with. However, his confidence started to fade as he watched a devious look grow on her face.

"I dare you to bake a batch of cookies - any kind of cookies you want - without using a recipe."

Tim blinked, trying to recall the last time he had baked. Besides a few times helping Alfred out in the kitchen, Tim wasn't certain that he had ever used the Wayne Manor kitchen for anything other than brewing coffee and heating frozen pizzas. "Could I have a new dare?"

Marinette shook her head, the grin on her face demonstrating exactly how much fun she was having, watching the panic in Tim's eyes. "I'll give you one hint on how to make them, but only one, so use it wisely."

Tim groaned, unplugging his laptop from its charger so he could move it to the kitchen. "I'm not actually certain I know all of the ingredients in cookies. Or how long you bake them for. I feel like an hour is probably too long, but I feel like half an hour might not be enough time."

On the other side of the screen, Marinette tried to stifle her giggles but was unable to keep them all in. "No offense Tim, but this is going to be a disaster. I can't wait."

Tim let out another groan. "Must you torture me?"

"How about you keep the laptop camera pointed towards the oven, that way I can tell you once something starts to burn?" Marinette joked.

Tim knew that she was teasing, but honestly, he knew he could use all the help he could get. Still, he wanted to preserve at least a little of his dignity. "Very funny," Tim said sarcastically, setting the laptop down on the kitchen counter.

"Start with ingredients," Marinette advised.

"What all goes into a chocolate chip cookie..?" mused Tim. He got out the flour, white and brown sugar, eggs, butter, vanilla extract, and three different types of chocolate chips that Alfred kept stocked.

Marinette raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

Tim cast a wary gaze upon his ingredients. It didn't seem like enough, but at the same time he couldn't figure out what he was missing. Tim sighed. "I'm ready to use my hint. Tell me what I forgot."

"You forgot to get out the salt, and more importantly, the baking soda," advised Marinette.

"Can I have a second hint?" asked Tim as he gathered his two missing ingredients.

"That depends on what you're asking," teased Marinette.

"I'm going to start listing measurements, and you tell me if it's too much or not enough."

Marinette pretended to think it over before replying, "I'll do it, but only because I want the cookies to come out edible, not because we're friends or anything like that. There are no friends in the Dupain-Cheng kitchen," said Marinette, her voice filled with faux seriousness.

"Lucky for me, these cookies are being made in the Wayne kitchen, and we're all very nice here, and we don't let Tim burn his cookies."

Marinette giggled. "You have a point there," she acquiesced. "Start listing your measurements."

Tim grabbed the measuring cup and starting approximating. "Two cups flour?"

"That will make about five dozen cookies."

"One cup of each type of sugar?"

Marinette shook her head. "You'll want a 3/4 cup of each."

The rest of the measuring process proceeded smoothly, with Tim guessing measurements of fluctuating accuracy (he correctly guessed that he would need two eggs, but his guess of a half-cup of baking soda led to Marinette questioning whether he had ever been in a kitchen before). Once Tim got the cookie dough mixed, spooned out onto a tray, and put in the oven, they resumed their game of truth-or-dare.

"Your turn, Marinette. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Tim tried to think of a good question to ask. "Since you've now seen how abysmal I am in the kitchen, I want to know one thing that you're terrible at."

Marinette scrunched up her brow. "It's nowhere near as bad as you're inability to crack an egg-"

Tim winced a little, remembering the painstaking process of digging out fragments of eggshell after he completely shattered it in his attempts to crack it.

"-But I have really bad depth perception. I trip over every little crack in the sidewalk. I'm probably the clumsiest person you'll ever meet."

Tim chuckled. "And here I thought you were perfect."

Marinette grinned. "Almost perfect. Truth or dare?"

"I'll pick truth this time, and hopefully avoid being humiliated again."

"I'll go easy on you this round. When was the last time you lied, and what was it about?"

Tim combed back through his memory of the past week, trying to pick out the last time he lied. "I think it was yesterday morning. Dick asked me if the coffee I was drinking was my first coffee of the day. I said yes, but really I hadn't slept that night so I just decided to arbitrarily count my start of the day at the time I would have woken up had I actually gone to sleep."

"So how many coffee's had you had yesterday?"

Tim shrugged. "Since midnight? Probably three or four. I've gotten away with a lot more coffee since I modified the Keurig in my room to stop making so much noise."

"I'm lucky," said Marinette. "My parents sleep so far away from me that they can't hear my Keurig."

"Truth or dare?" asked Tim, continuing the game.

"Truth."

"What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done because you had a crush on someone?"

Marinette flushed red, and Tim immediately knew that this was going to be a good story. "Once I accidentally sent a text to my crush so I stolehisphoneanddeletedthetext." Marinette rushed the last few words, so fast that Tim couldn't quite make them out.

"What was that?"

"I stole his phone and deleted the text before he could read it. In my defense, I made a lot of questionable decisions at that age."

Tim burst out laughing. "How old were you?"

"I was thirteen," admitted Marinette.

Tim couldn't stop laughing at the absurdity of her claims. "You couldn't have asked him to borrow his phone and deleted it then?"

"I was in panic mode. It was between steal his phone or destroy his phone."

"Those were your two options?!" exclaimed Tim.

Marinette blushed even more furiously. "It's your turn. Don't expect me to go easy on you this round. Truth or dare?"

Tim kept up the trend. "Truth."

"What was the worst thing you did at thirteen?"

Tim thought back to his days as Robin, and the many, many stories he could tell. In the end, he settled on one that Jason still brought up when he needed leverage over Tim. "It's not as bad as phone thievery, but it's still a pretty funny story, looking back on it. You know how I have two older brothers, right?"

"Dick and Jason," Marinette confirmed.

"Well, one night I managed to convince Dick to let me drive Bruce's favorite car. Now, keep in mind, I had never actually driven a car before. Surprisingly, I wasn't that bad at driving. I made it home without incident - that is, until I tried to park the car back in the garage and accidentally crashed into Jason's motorcycle. For years after that, Jason used the threat of telling Bruce about my little car crash to keep me in line."

Marinette snorted. "You think that borrowing a phone to delete a text message is worse than borrowing and crashing a car?"

Tim shrugged. "It's a matter of opinion. Truth or dare?"

With a roll of her eyes, Marinette said, "Truth."

"What's one thing you would never tell me?" It was the sort of question that could only be asked during a game of truth or dare. In Tim's opinion, it was this sort of question that made the game worth playing.

Marinette pouted. "I don't like that question."

"Too bad. The rules of truth or dare state that you have to answer it."

"Fine." Marinette looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought. Just as she turned back to face her laptop, her face lit up. It was evident that she had an answer. "Usually I let people learn from their mistakes in the kitchen. However, I will now tell you - because I have to - that your cookies have been in the oven for too long. They're going to start burning if you don't take them out soon."

Tim jumped up to get his cookies out of the oven. They looked a little burnt, brown rather than the golden-brown that Alfred would make, but they still looked edible. "I'll accept your answer, but only because you saved my cookies."

"Now that your cookies are done, do you want to finish up our game of truth or dare?"

"One last question," decided Tim. "And I'll pick truth, to make it easy for you."

"What's the biggest secret that you've currently keeping from your family?"

After Tim's last question, he had expected Marinette to follow it up with an invasive question. Luckily, her question had a very simple answer.

"Easy question - my friendship with you."

Marinette looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Most of my friendships begin through the connections they have to my family. Because of that, I've never really had serious friendships that my family wasn't actively involved in."

"It's not because you're ashamed of me, right?" Marinette sounded unsure of herself. Insecurity was a side of her that Tim had never seen before.

"Of course not," Tim assured her. "You're the best friend I could have ever asked for, Marinette."

"Good, because you're not getting rid of me that easy. I still have a lot to teach you about baking. I think we might try cupcakes at our next sleepover."

Tim laughed. "We'll see about that." He had no doubts that there would be sleepovers to come, and shenanigans involving baked goods to go along with them.

@maribatmarch-2k21

#maribat #MaribatMarch2021 #timari #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Tim Drake #miraculous ladybug fic #my work

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bowieandqueen11 · 5 years ago

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Luke Crain Headcanons

Request: Hi🥺I’m usually not to good about making request but I’m trying to breakout of my shell on that cause you are an amazing writer and I love everything you write!! But can I request a Luke Crain headcanon where you guys grew up together but distanced while he was in rehab but you came back together after what happened with Nellie! Thank you so much you’re an angel🥺💛

Thank you SO much @cathrinexxxv I LOVE LUKE CRAIN! Also I’m so ready to binge watch all of Bly Manor tomorrow!! <3

You and Luke first met when you were very young. As in, really really little. To this day, you’re still constantly teasing him and making him blush smile about his huge magnifying pair of glasses and his obsession with bowler hats.

You and your family used to live in the small village which was a fifteen minute walk away from the looming heights of Hill House, so when a rumour started spreading down the houses that a new family full of children were moving in for the summer, you, naturally, were intrigued.

One night, when you had heard from your mother that the new family had moved in, you sneaked out your back garden on a warm afternoon before dinner, cutting through the dark and dingy forest until you reached the outskirts of the property. Seeing a boy around your own age sitting on his own on the burnt grass, you waved to Luke from behind the branch of a nearby, crooked oak tree. He was startled, to say the least, but as he watched you hide slightly behind the bark, he was surprised to find he wasn’t scared in the slightest.

He felt as if he almost knew you already. As if this was always meant to happen, that you were meant to find each other here.

Nudging his glasses back up the bridge of the nose, he shyly waved back. Once he finally realised that you weren’t going to budge from your hiding place, nervous from the stories your neighbours had told you about this house, he decided to pick up his crayons in one fist and his paper in the other, before he sets off half stumbling, half stomping along the uneven ground towards you.

When he finally reaches the trunk, he stops and looks at you kind of funnily, tilting his head slightly before he decides the right reaction was to smile at you.

‘My name is Luke Crain. Do you want to play with me? All my siblings ignore me and they don’t want to draw with me.’

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon huddled under the shaking leaves, sitting on the roots of the tree, Luke tracing out a picture and you giggling as you tried to bump his hand out of the way to colour it in.

From then on, the two of you were inseparable. Nellie loved you of course, and saw you as her honorary best friend as well, as did the rest of the siblings (even though Shirley would never admit it, and Theo was too stubborn to), which meant constant sleepovers at Hill House.

Hugh would always chuckle and shake his head when he peeked into Luke and Nellie’s room, seeing Nell asleep on a red bean bag with a half open bag of sweets lying deserted by her feet, and you and Luke sprawled out on the mat by the iron railings of his bed, snoring.

You were also the only one he allowed up into his treehouse. Although, sometimes he was too embarrassed to let you, or his siblings, in, because he had stuck pictures up on the wall of the drawings he had tried to do of you.

Growing up with Luke also meant having to calm him down after he starts seeing the tall, floating ghost. Sometimes you would try to climb up the ivy outside of his bedroom window, only to topple into the house headfirst when you start to hear Luke’s high pitched screaming coming from under his bed. Although Olivia would come running in, she would always end up comforting sobbing Nellie, as Luke would only grab onto you, the two of you sitting on the edge of his bed as you remind him the rule.

‘Breathe in and out Luke, that’s it. In and out, seven times - that’s what keeps you safe.’

‘Eight’, he would say with a trembling breath. ‘Eight times. You’re my family too.’

The two of you were gutted when Luke had to move away, but your parents could already see how close the two of you were, and so decided that a move away and a new school for you, perhaps, wasn’t the worst idea. Especially, they decided, since you had been there that night as well.

Although the two of you were close for the whole of your childhood, it takes Luke until he’s eighteen years old to realise just how long he’s really been in love with you. It takes some nudging on from Nellie, pointing out how you would run up to his locker during breaks between classes and just fill him in on how your day was going - each break, no matter how long it had been, without fail. Luke was the only person you wanted to talk to, and from the look of pure delight on Luke’s face as he leans against his locker door and gives his full, undivided attention to you, you’re the only person he wants to listen to.

Or how, Nellie would continue, you would come round to their house for dinner, and although Aunt Janet tried to separate the two of you by sitting you opposite each other, you would just spend the whole dinner ignoring whatever Theo was talking about and giving each other funny looks as you kicked each other in the shin.

Or, when the two of you got a bit older, and you would sneak out of your dorm to visit him in the middle of the night, throwing little rocks at his window until his curtains would rustle and the window latch would be thrown open, his grinning face peering down at you. Despite having spent the whole weekend together, reading to each other in the town’s local library, or just lying shoulder to shoulder watching movies, the two of you would sit out in his garden, on the dewy grass, constantly craving each other’s company. You made him blush one night, when you suddenly grabbed his hand and intertwined his growing fingers over your smaller ones, pointing up at the moon, and the glowing stars, not realising the little side eye, euphoric look he would give you.

That’s when he finally realised how immensely, and terrifyingly in love with you he was.

It scared him, to realise this, but deep down he knew it had always been you.

He has so many nightmares though. So many nights are spent with his head lying heavy in your lap, as you brush through his golden hair, trying to shush him and calm him down, or rocking him as he cries into your shoulder because of the nightmares he has about his mother, or about Abigail.

As the two of you start to escape your teenage years, and the wishful chasing after each other that came with it, your relationship becomes slightly more strained when he starts using. You choose to move in with Nellie for a while, once he finally goes to rehab. When she gets married, and you're forced to find somewhere new to live, you think you'll never hear from the Crains again - you get the odd visit from Nell, or Theo, but they're so busy enjoying the newly wed life, or studying for their degree that it's not enough - nothing fills the hole that comes from missing Luke.

It hurts that he never comes to see you, but little did you know that he used to sit at his little beige desk every night, underneath the barred window, just staring up at the moon as he bit on the edge of his pen, a feeling of such wistfulness and loneliness and longing weighing down his chest.

He used to write you a letter, every day, just pouring out all the feelings he was too afraid to tell you, but he always crumples them up and throws them away, too scared to send them.

When Steve phones you up to tell you the news about Nellie’s passing, you told him to immediately come and pick you up.

You're terrified when you open the door and walk out into the bone chilling night to hug him, your heart thumping in your chest when he tells you about how Luke has left rehab again and is somewhere out on the streets, probably using. It breaks your heart, but you know you have to be the one to find him, to bring him back.

When you reach him, and see the man you've loved since you were a child wandering, shoeless and shivering along the freezing, cracked pavement, muttering to himself, you can’t help a tear slip out as you unbuckle your seatbelt and hop out of Steve’s rental.

Luke is so terrified, he doesnt recognise you for a second. It’s only a second, though, before his eyes widen and he pounces on you, wrapping you into him so familiarly, his frame looming large above you but yet feels so fragile in your grasp as he buries his head into the side of your neck and starts crying.

‘I’m so, so cold, Y/n, and my arms are s-s-so stiff, and I’m s-so sorry, I’m so sorry-’

You can’t bear to tell him the news, so you just hold the nape of his neck and pull him tight against your chest, hating the way his whole body shakes in your hold.

On the day of Nell’s funeral, he doesn't leave your side once - it’s as if the two of you had never been separated at all. As everyone files in through the main door, ignoring the sour face on Shirley as they wander into the reception area, you and Luke just sit knee to knee on the couch opposite the entryway.

‘I tried to write to you,’ he starts, as he fumbles a cigarette from out of his breast pocket and tucks it away behind his ear, trying to busy himself with anything so he doesn’t have to meet your confused eyes, and so you don’t have to see the guilt ridden in his. ‘I want you to know that. Nellie kept on telling me off, but i just didn't know how to say what i needed to say to you.’

‘Luke, its okay, i understand how difficult it was for you-’

‘No-no, Y/n, no more excuses! You mean so much to me and i- i cant... i can't lose anyone else. Just-’

He's so gentle when he finally reaches over and kisses you, trying to shake off his fear and just show you what he meant instead. His suit rumples against your chest as he smooshes himself against you, cupping your cheeks softly with his large hands as he tilts you to the side to meet him in a needy, a desperate, a long anticipated kiss.

He doesn’t pull away - he can't - until you finally break for air, and only then does he finally concede and places his forehead against yours with a soft thud, just closing his eyes in both agony and bliss.

‘I’m sorry that took me so long to do.’

‘It was worth the wait. Although, I have to be honest, your timing has always been rubbish.’

He chuckles, his deep voice vibrating against your chest as he rests his head on your shoulder like a lost puppy, gazing up at you with those wide, lost eyes, and for the first time you can finally see the adoration and awe and just pure love that’s always been in them.

For the rest of the reception. before he tells you of his plans to go back and burn Hill House to the ground, is spent with the two of you escaping from his siblings by stepping outside and sitting on Shirley’s porch. Your arms stay linked tightly together, as if afraid to let go again, and his coat is wrapped around both of your shoulders as he rests against you, just content to be surrounded by your presence.

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warrmonger · 2 years ago

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🖋 - cloud, aerith, or sephiroth? i'm just interested in seeing you try another ff7 character who's not like heid and those are who i thought of.

SEND ME A 🖋 AND A CHARACTER YOU’D LIKE TO SEE ME WRITE, AND I’LL GIVE IT MY BEST SHOT!

of these ? i chose ( cloud )

he’d not thought of it till now - not thought about the fact that they’d been trekking toward his hometown. that the home he’d once watched burned was next in their path. his heart still holds heavy from the revelations that had come with nanaki’s village; the feelings bought on by the hound’s father. not that the merc would show it, not that he’d any space in his head for empathy - - not that he could spare a thought when so many already screamed with words he simply doesn’t understand.

the smell of the town is the first thing that he notices; the scent of fresh flowers almost disguising the musk of a not-so-distant shinra reactor. the town looks ‘new’ - as if he’s not lived its fate in flames.

‘thought you said this place had burnt down-’ something along those lines is echoed by the ones at his side. a dash of his eyes is offered in return. he had. it did.

regardless; footsteps have him falling further into the town. nibelheim, welcoming but something so entirely off about it that it has him feeling sick.

he turns attention toward barret; the AVALANCHE leader sporting a frown and a cocked brow. he almost looks like he doubts him.

tifa, she doesn’t even look.

“the place was a wreck.” everybody he knew, dead. others, wounded. he couldn’t have made that up. he hadn’t! ( had he? ) “sephiroth burnt it to the ground. i know what i saw.” steely words come with a stoic refrain but his heart beats like a tin drum - his palms are laden with sweat (not that anybody but his sword would know), his stomach twists into knots that have him, pale.

once again, he finds his eyes scanning the close distance - the houses, not a brick out of place. the people, smiling. what have they got to smile about? cloud certainly couldn’t. not when eyes fall upon his old home. his mother’s house. she was gone. gone like everybody else. and with that thought comes a pang of sadness; enough to interrupt the constant whisper in his ear of an old friend (or perhaps a familiar enemy). enough to have those icy hues melt for just a moment before distraction pulls attention toward the old shinra manor.

like a blight, it stands. a reminder of the past - untouched. the only place (aside from the mountains that is) that there could perhaps exist a truth.

“there-” he gestures “that’s where we’re going.” and with that - no elaboration, only determination - he heads forth. ready to lead the way toward a truth. ready to show them that he tells no lies - and hopefully, to reassure himself that the only fabrication is that of shinra’s weaving.

not his own.

#(answered)#(ic)#(altmuse)#i had fun with this! i tried at least haha #out of those i find cloud the most interesting cause he is one messed up guy #also went for oldschool aesthetic cause ofc i did pffft #did i make a header / blockquote for this? yes yes i did

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highqueenofelfhame · 4 years ago

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Hi Em! Could you write something with the word mirror?

this isn’t what you asked for because it isn’t fanfiction but it is involving a mirror idk i hope you guys enjoy it a little bit lol

Leaves crunched under her feet; shoes smudged ash on the sidewalk. She moved down the road, the smell of burned hair stinging her nostrils as the wind splayed her hair across her face. The breeze caused the smallest of bumps to erupt over her soot-covered skin, the unusually cool bite barely registering in her mind. She moved slowly, numbly, blindly through the street, unable to form a coherent thought about the events of the day. There seemed to be a towering black wall blocking out of her memory that refused to budge as she attempted to recall her morning. Something had happened, that much she knew, but it was merely a shadow behind her that she couldn’t quite reach.

As dusk approached, the sky was murky with clouds of smoke curling from lumps of debris. The heavy smell of fire filled her lungs and sent sharp chills up and down her spine, almost shooting holes in that wall in her memory, that thing she couldn’t quite grasp. Still it remained out of reach, as difficult to retain as reaching out and catching a handful of wind.

At the end of the road, there was a manor house, gray stone blackened by the tongue of flame. She stopped at the bottom of the staircase, green eyes shifting up to the once-grand building. Everything about it was familiar but unfamiliar. Her body had been moving down the street and toward this building on its own accord as though she were a pawn in a chess game or a magnet meeting it’s other half. If someone had come up and asked what she was doing here, words would have failed her. What was she doing here?

She took the first step, black boot leaving an imprint in the ash that littered the stone steps. A twig snapped in the heavy silence, and she whipped around, hair spinning out and cutting through the air. Nobody was there. It was only her on the abandoned road in the middle of an equally abandoned neighborhood. There didn’t appear to be another soul in the entire universe. Just her and this house with a symphony of howling wind cutting the silence.

By the time she reached the door, she felt like her entire body was vibrating with energy, tension, and anticipation. The large door was already cracked open and a slight push had it swinging in on its hinges. It was dark — it took several moments for her eyes to adjust. The only light source was a dim illumination of an overcast sky coming through dirty windows and tattered curtains. The white marble of the flooring was tarnished and cracked in some places. Every step was punctuated by the crinkling of dead leaves. Vines twined down the walls, twisted up through the broken pieces of the floor to reach up and out. The whole setting reminded her of a fairytale.

A skeptical part of her remained aware that anything or anyone could be hidden in the shadows.

Step by step she edged deeper into the manor, taking in every fragmented detail of the dilapidated place. It was impossible to be sneaky within the walls of the manor with how littered the floors were. If someone dangerous was lurking about, they would have known about her entry the moment she stepped foot inside.

Her eyes shifted around the first room she peered into – a sitting room. The furniture had been burned to heaps of black crumbles on the floor, nothing left but the wirework and metal that made up the skeletons of once luxurious and elaborate settees and chairs. Paint and paper peeled from the walls, curling and laying on the ruined wooden floors. They had once been glossy but now had no evidence of shine. No one had been here to take care of the home in years, maybe even decades. Not since well before the fires, since well before the town was ruined. The paintings that had once been intricate and priceless were destroyed and worthless. It was a shame, she thought. Seeing the fragmented remains of once vibrant color tickled something in the back of her mind. Maybe she liked art. Maybe she was an artist. Her lips turned into a frown when she couldn’t even remember that much about herself.

The next door, the white one in the middle of the hallway, caught her eye. Where the rest of the manor had been in ruins, this room was untouched by flame or time. Instead, the white paint of the door was pure —the color of freshly fallen, sparkling snow. She wasn’t even sure what the original color of the first door had been. Perhaps it, too, had been white, but the damage had it in ruins. It made little sense that this one looked as though painters had just finished the job.

She peered inside, lips parting in surprise at the warm light that illuminated the room. There was no dust on the mantle; the marble floor was polished to the point that she could make out the dirt and ash that marred her pale skin. The furniture, which was regal and made with silky floral designs, looked brand new as though not a soul had ever sat on its cushions. The walls had the lower half painted, the upper half covered in fleur-de-lis wallpaper that glistened in the golden light illuminating the space. The metallic nature of the paper itself reflected at certain angles in such a way it almost hurt her eyes to look at. Above her, golden filigree twisted and curled around and around. Beautifully painted men and cherubs perched on fluffy clouds in the bluest of skies on the ceiling. If the rest of the house hadn’t been in utter ruins she would have been entranced to inspect every inch of the artwork. Instead, her hands curled into fists. Something deep inside her was screaming that this was wrong and unnatural. It sent unease running along her nerves, a tremor working its way from her fingers to her toes. She may as well have been shivering for how profound her anxiety seemed to be.

She turned her head to survey the rest of the room but was stopped by a wall covered in mirrors. The room was reflected perfectly, not a thing out of place. It was her own appearance that stood out in stark contrast. For a moment, she forgot that this room was the red flag. Instead she felt as though she was out of place, like she was the one that didn’t belong. She moved toward the mirrors, almost as though a phantom wind urged her along, guiding her until she stopped before the largest mirror in the center of the wall.

Gone was the soot that had covered her body. All that remained smooth, pale skin. No traces of dirt remained. The burnt ends of her hair had grown back, once again long and flowing to her waist. Somehow it had more luster and shine than her chocolate locks had ever held, from what she was able to remember through the brain fog. Her eyes were bright and alight with wonder, not plagued by whatever tragedy she failed to recall. Even her cheeks had color to them like rose petals had been pressed into them; her lashes were long and thick. This morning the glimpse of her reflection had been dirty and ragged. The filthy denim jeans she wore looked fresh off the rack in the mirror before her and even the white shirt that hung from her frame was spotless and free of a single wrinkle. By some strange magic her clothing seemed to fit better. Everything about her had been gaunt and grim in the shop window down the street when she had pulled herself to her feet. In this mirror, however, she was clean from head to toe. Brand new. Immaculate.

When she looked down at herself, she appeared as she had walked in. Her hair was short and choppy, ends singed from fire. The old clothes she wore and her skin were covered in dirt and ash, scars and blisters. Her nails were black from the mud packed beneath them and broken. Once black boots were more gray than black, old from years and years of shuffling around through town. Soot was caked on so thickly that when she swiped over it, there was a small heap on her fingertip. When she looked back in the mirror, however, everything was perfect. Not a hair out of place.

Her fingers rose, brow furrowed as she touched the mirror gently. More curious than the perfect room in the crumbling mansion, more curious than the reflection that reflected incorrectly, the mirror—which stretched wall to wall, ceiling to floor— rippled like water beneath her touch. Waves distorted the once perfect reflection, the view almost making her nauseous. She staggered back, taken by surprise as her reflection wobbled from the effects. The liquid mirror rolled out to the edges of the ornate golden frame like the ocean. Unable to ease her shock, she reached out again to feel for any discrepancy in how it should feel. What she expected was a cool hard surface that she associated with mirrors and planes of glass. There was no reason for it to feel like any icy lake in the middle of winter, but she swore it had.

When her fingers nearly touched the mirror for a second time, it distorted again. This time, though, to her utter horror, something was reaching back at her.

It happened very quickly. So quickly that she was unable to get away from the mirror, unable to stumble back, unable to get out of the room. From the center, a hand extended, every curve reflecting parts of the room at odd angles – the ceiling, the floor, the paintings and the golden carvings, the candles, and the crystals that hung from the chandeliers. As she tried to step and stumble away her feet seemed cemented to the floor. Her body froze in place as ice-cold fingers wrapped around her wrist—fingers that were frozen and solid, not at all like those of a human— and yanked her through the mirror and into a world that was nothing like her own.

#original #my writing #writing #writeblr #original work #the mirror

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coeurdastronaute · 4 years ago

Text

The Story, Ch. 1

I am going to tell a story.

It is not a marvelous story, nor is it very heroic, nor ghastly, nor mysterious, nor epic by any Ovidian means. It’s much more simply just a real story, perhaps a true story in that it could very much happen, but hasn’t, exactly, to the best of my knowledge.

I’d rather like to use the word true in the sense that it is universal, innate, honest to very idea that all humanity is capable of experiencing it. It’s true and honest and real, and that might not sound like magic, but if we’re being honest, as most storytellers are known to be, the most magic that can be found is in the moments we can’t tell about-- the moments stricken from pages for being mundane, superfluous from the plot, as if it’s possible to decide so easily what matters, and what doesn’t, as if memory and life are easy enough to foresee to know that a single moment won’t resonate indiscriminately through time and space, etching deep ridges and valleys and canyons into a person’s heart.

I am going to tell a story that is superfluous from the plot, that’s not very heroic nor ghastly nor mysterious nor epic, and yet one that is full of bravery and ghosts and fear and perseverance.

No one will tell you what I want to tell you, that it is impossible to truly understand that depth of the pain that life will haphazardly, and often lazily, often with abandon, toss upon you. I need you to understand this, because once you do, you can survive it, and if you survive it, you can fill in the spaces, the inbetween, the pauses and inhalations and dark, dark, deep and dangerous moments with perhaps a dash of love.

I am going to tell a story that is true and honest, I am going to trip over my words because I believe in being exact, and perhaps precision is muddled by searching for perfection. I will not tell you what I hope you take from it, for that would defeat the need to finish it, but rather I shall tell you the how. I hope you read this and forget the words, or at least think you have until one day when you understand them more than you do when you read it.

This tale has no more ghosts than the normal amount. It has no more pain, no more love, no more jealousy, nor anguish, nor magic than the average truth would. This is the warning.

I am going to tell a story, now.

XXXXXXXXXX

In the summer of her twelfth year, the fair came to town. She remembered it especially because it was not the same as the festivals that came with such regularity it was practically ingrained in her DNA, and much like sparrows, the town just went to work of returning to every year. No, the fair that came to town was different. It was not of them, but for them.

To be honest, she hadn’t thought of it much since it happened, as time wiped away the newness of it, replacing it with the present and the not-too-distant.

Later, she would come to remember that as the year before the end of it all. With the perfect hindsight she realized had she just listened, she might have heard it, as an adult she could practically hear the knowledge that something was indeed almost over, the knowledge that hummed, faint and lazy below the noises of the house and the town and the summer evening, the sound Jamie heard when she tossed and turned in the stale, sticky heat of her bed when the breeze was no where to be found.

Gawky and just becoming aware of her body, she remembered the look she gave herself in the fun house mirrors. The one that stretched her legs, all knees and knobby, the whole way up to her chin. The one that made her hips jut out and when she bent over, that made her chin and nose and ears disproportional, or more so than she already knew them to be. But her little brother didn’t mind at all, laughing at how ridiculous he looked, and then at her until she punched him in the arm, earning a wail of pain.

With change scrounged and stolen from pockets, she bought their first taste of cotton candy. They snuck onto the rides and rode until they threw up behind the animal tent. For hours and hours and hours, for what felt like days, they roamed the fair in a type of delirium, removed from the ordinary, escaping, as it were.

But that night was forever tinged a different hue than pink cotton candy and a burning sky where the sun refused to set. It wasn’t even stained black like her father’s hands, nor did it reek of gin or shine on her mother’s breath.

Alone and indignant, she wandered through the tents and shoddy booths after rinsing her mouth with water from a bucket hanging near the horses. Her brothers were done, tapped out of money and eager to hold onto anything left in their stomachs, but Jamie didn’t want to leave. She never wanted to go home again.

Forgotten was the looks she gave herself, unable to table the mess of frizz on her head, unable to comprehend the knobby knees and perpetual layer of dirt accumulated on her clothes and cheeks. Forgotten was the music of her brother’s laughter, shrieks, and crying accompanied by the splashing of guts against the compacted dirt mixed with the smell of the animals. Lost to time were those moments unless they were dug for, rooted up and yanked back into tangibility with a great deal of effort.

What remained of that night was the sheer terror of the tent with the black curtains. The tent on the edge of the fair, that Jamie stumbled upon, as young women stumbled out of, afraid and clutching different bundles of herbs or totems. The tent under the smooth-leafed elm near the broken fence, list solely by candles and a fire that never seemed to grow higher than flickering.

What Jamie remembered was the large velvet chair and the ancient lace that covered the tables. She could smell, from time to time, the old, moldy dried herbs and flowers that were packed and chopped right there.

And for some inexplicable reason, she slid across her last five pence piece and waited for the woman to take it. And when she presented her palm, dirty, with moon shaped divots where her fingernails had dug into to find some steel against the appraising eyes, she clenched her jaw, almost defiant, and waited.

Kindly, the woman smiled, prepared to believe in her own magic for a moment for this brave little girl. While she made her money selling potions to unhappy wives and bundles of herbs and totems for pregnancy and wealth, she refused to use her gifts unless called upon. As inexplicable as it was to Jamie, so too did this woman not understand what made her cradle the small palm in her hand for a tenth of her normal fee.

Occasionally, as if a slowly moving echo, Jamie would hear her words, or rather bursts of them, phrases really, bouncing back to her from that moment. The older she got, the less she listened enough to hear them, though they kept moving forward toward her at a steady pace.

With kind eyes, she remembered, a softening of features, the woman across the table tenderly traced the lines in her palm, something Jamie would do from time to time in the years to come, as if she, too, could see something important.

With a heavy heart, the palm-reader shook her head and kissed Jamie’s palm. I am so sorry, my love. It is not fair.

As much as she wanted to snatch her hand back, Jamie remained still and listened to the entirety of the woman’s words. She allowed her to rub an oil onto them, to write with burnt twigs, tiny symbols on her wrist, to hum a tune and press the coin back into her hand.

Only much later would Jamie realize it was a kindness, to understand someone’s future and be unable to do anything about it, but to try anyway.

But the great pain, the great sadness, the great joy, the great everything that the woman promised, Jamie refused to acknowledge ever again. She avoided those echoes and she didn’t stop running. That was how she was going to survive it.

And as the woman pulled out a knife and sliced a gash in Jamie’s palm, as she muttered the words, as Jamie recoiled in pain, pushing back the chair and frantically looking for the exit, she saw the flames growing higher, she felt the woman corner her as she scuttled across the floor, the dirt and the discarded stems of her herbs searing the cut, leaving a trail of blood there. She fled beneath the tent flap, crawling and tripping over herself until she was home, safely in her room behind a closed door.

She pressed the gash on her palm to her chest as blood warmed her shirt.

She never spoke of it again.

For some reason, the fair that came to town the summer she turned twelve came alive in her mind once again, the moment she walked into the kitchen and saw a new face at the table. It was instantaneous, the appearance of that memory. All-encompassing were the noises and smells and terror in her heart.

In a move that would look, to anyone else, as if she were merely wiping the dirt from her hands, fighting against a stubborn smudge, she ran her thumb along the perfectly straight but raised scar through the middle of her palm.

But she washed her hands and ignored the momentary echo before sitting down at the table, forgetting it all once again.

XXXXXXXXX

With a great start, the new au pair’s eyes burst open as she inhaled a shaky breath, as if she’d been holding it for hours and was finally able to defeat whatever had been sitting on her chest, choking her through the night.

It took a full minute for her sense to come back, for her to understand where she was, to chase away the remnants of the dream that seemed to repeat itself nightly despite her best efforts to escape it.

Slowly, and with great effort, Dani focused on the sound of the birds just outside her window in the copper beeches that towered alongside the manor. Outside, the waking of the manor and the grounds were becoming regular and soothing, reminding her in their foreignness that she was not home anymore.

It was still early as she climbed out of bed, the thin fabric of her sleeping gown clung to her skin as the heat and her dreams had won against the coolness of the lovely breeze during the night. She stood by the large window with the heavy, ancient glass and peered out onto the lawn as the haze did its best to burn itself away in the rising of the day.

Three weeks ago, she’d answered the ad that took her out of London and deep into the countryside so that even in an atlas, she was somewhat unsure of how to get back if she were have the need to escape, which was simultaneously terrifying and freeing.

Even after a full week of waking in a lovely English manor, Dani hadn’t grown too used to the feeling of peace she experienced despite the dreams, as if waking was a better time than sleeping, as if she was living a dream, even, and her dreams were the reality she resigned herself to at night, forever haunted.

Before the children could wake, Dani washed and dressed, taking a little bit of time every morning to explore the expansive house and grounds. The tragedy of the entire home softened slightly in the beauty it still had, and the hope the children still, despite all else, seemed to cling to against all odds.

Walking helped clear her head, helped to shed away the old skin, like a snake rubbing against rocks, wiggling out of old skin that it’d outgrown, though she felt it was more forced than that for her, that perhaps the skin she was in wasn’t ready to be shed, and despite her best clawing and scratching and wiggling and rubbing was struggling to pull it off. The past was a sweater that shrunk in the wash and now she couldn’t escape it despite contorting herself into all different positions and yanking.

So instead, Dani walked in the morning.

Sometimes she beat Owen, who arrived early with arms full of fresh things to cook for the day. Sometimes she would slip out through the back and he wouldn’t have arrived yet, or she would hear the sound of his tires on the gravel as she turned the corner away from the house.

A few times, she even beat Hannah, up before the housekeeper had made it to the kitchen, though Dani suspected Hannah rarely slept, and was instead simply elsewhere.

Only twice had Dani seen the gardener, and with grounds that she was still discovering, she doubted their orbits would often overlap. They’d never formally met, but it seemed only a matter of time with such few options for adult conversation in the manor.

On her walks, Dani didn’t let her mind wonder too far from the course of action for the day, plotting how to keep two active and unpredictable children busy taking up much of her energy and leaving her exhausted every night in a way that made her hopeful for rest. She thought slowly, taking her time, careful not to let those thoughts drift, steering the ship purposefully.

More and more, she was allowing herself to relax at the manor, to shirk off some of the guilt and the pain of her previous life that existed just a few months ago. There was a healing that could be found in a departure. There was a kind of reward in giving up. A ghost still followed her, still reminded her. How simple the act of forgetting seemed to be, except when it truly mattered. It baffled her, that she couldn’t remember what Eddie’s particular brand of toothpaste was called, but a random whiff of something close to his cologne strangled her entirely.

Memory was cruel in that way, stealing away anything good, and leaving the worst of it. Those dark thoughts stained the countertops of her mind, the ring of week-old coffee that refused to be wiped clean and seemed to dismiss all notions of fading.

The loss was too much to hold, sometimes. He followed her around everywhere despite her departure from the routine

Maybe if she stayed here, stayed at Bly and got used to it, the familiarity would wipe away the dust and dark. Dani was determined to start new, to begin again. That was the only thing to do after such a thing.

“Oi, watch where you’re walking!”

The voice startled the absent au pair as she jumped away from whatever she’d apparently been walking on.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-- I don’t see where I…”

“You almost went knee-deep into my fertilizer, and my Delphiniums have been quite eager for that. I’d hate to make them cross so early in the summer.”

The lilt of her tone bordered on teasing, but Dani was almost certain there was some honesty there, as if the gardener really did worry about the moods of her plants and of the garden as a whole.She quite liked the pleasing way the gardener’s mouth moved, cocked up at one corner in an oddly shy grin, and she quite liked the pleasing way the hardness of consonants were mulled over and softened.

In just that moment, Dani realized she was missing some gentleness, and how shocking it was to find it in the sticky heat of the countryside morning.

“I’m sorry,” Dani offered weakly, looking around and finally seeing the pile of compost and fertilizer waiting to be dispersed throughout the day. “I hadn’t-- I was a little lost there, I guess.”

“Try not to get too lost, Poppins. We need someone to wrangle those two heathens, and I have my hands full.”

“Delphiniums are notoriously ornery.”

They shared a smile and Dani looked over the gardener, mud already appearing on her bare shoulder while her overalls had pockets full and gloves hung near her hip and a patch sewed on one side of a thigh. The messy mop of curls was somewhat tamed in a bandana, and even without make up, her lips seemed impossibly red, like strawberries.

“If you think they’re bad, you should hear how my peonies have been acting out. Don’t even get me started on my deutzias, who are normally so well-behaved.”

As she rambled, Dani thought about how nice it was, to hear someone talk about something that they clearly loved. She couldn’t help but smile, which made the gardener slow down and end her explanation earlier than either would have liked.

“I should let you get back to your walk. You looked like you were going somewhere important, with purpose.”

“Oh, yeah, I was… not really. Just clearing my head.”

“That can be tricky,” Jamie nodded.

“Thank you for saving me.”

“It’s my pleasure. I kind of prowl about all day waiting to save beautiful damsels. It’s part of my charm.”

“I’d work on the delivery,” Dani teased, taking a few steps back as she realized it was late enough for the manor to be waking.

“Never been my strong suit,” Jamie shrugged it off. “How was the follow through?”

“I’d give it a solid B-.”

“Tough marker, you are. I feel for those little ones already.”

“Practice makes perfect, Ms. Hawthorne.Can’t disappoint those damsels.”

“I’d never want to do that.”

With a rakish grin, Jamie nodded a farewell to the au pair, and Dani returned it with a small wave over her shoulder.

The realization that the gardener had called the au pair beautiful was met simultaneously by both members of the previous conversation. Dani was nearly rounding the corner as she replayed it all in her head, stopping suddenly at that detail while Jamie was furrowed and pulling on her gloves, meeting at the same point. Both looked up at each other when it happened and from across the lawn, looked away quickly.

As swift as her legs would carry her, Dani retreated into the routine of the day, refusing to think of gardeners or Delphiniums.

#bly manor #dani x jamie

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seriousfic · 4 years ago

Text

Watching Snyder League

-Diana literally vaporizes a guy armed with nothing but an assault rifle.

-Also, these have gotta be like the dumbest terrorists. Their plan:

A. Send multiple armed gunmen to take hostages.

B. Stall for time

C. Set off a suitcase bomb on a one minute countdown (why not just set it off immediately? It's In The Script)

You have a suitcase bomb--just park a car somewhere, set the timer, leave it in the trunk, and walk away. You can kill as many people as you want without losing any of your own guys.

-Superman's scream sends out five separate shockwaves. Which makes me think the guy's milking it, personally.

- I'm amused that both SOP for the Amazons is having, like, fifty people standing around guarding the Mother Box. AND that they don't ramp up security after it wakes up.

- And there's this system of burying the Mother Box. Which 1. seems like the only way to get there in the first place is to teleport in. What good is this system against a teleporter?

2. It takes six guards to suicide themselves by knocking down pillars, which seems like--in five thousand years, you couldn't come up with something where you just pull a level from twenty feet away?

This is the problem with the Amazons. They're all women, so none of them go into STEM fields.

- It's also real weird that this Bruce Wayne doesn't even try to hide that he's Batman. He just walks right up to Aquaman and goes "hey, Bruce Wayne, I'm also Batman." And remember, he's getting the Justice League together entirely based on a hunch. At least in Josstice League, there were Parademons all up in Gotham.

- And should I even bother to ask why Darkseid's people can't just bring three new Mother Boxes to Earth? Are those the only three? If so, you'd think they'd try to get them back sooner. Like, A LOT sooner.

- Okay, this was supposed to come out one year before Infinity War, but still, it was pretty obvious what Marvel was doing with Thanos and the Infinity Gauntlet. They had to know they were inviting comparisons.

-I love the implication, tho, that Darkseid just lost track of the Mother Boxes and just... no one realized they were back on Earth. And they have Parademons that can specifically sniff out the Mother Boxes.

-And if Superman dying was such a momentous occasion that it woke up a Mother Box, why not the Old Gods dying? Why not Ares dying? Wouldn't that have left Earth just as undefended?

-I have no idea why any of this is happening a couple years after Superman debuted and then died and not in, like, 1446.

-Are the Mother Boxes like finicky computers? Do you need to turn them off and on again? When Superman showed up, did they shut down for real, and then he died, so they came back on for real? Is it like a Windows 95 thing, where you can't JUST turn the computer off, you have to go to the start menu and press Shutdown and then wait for it to close up shop?

-It’s so weird that this is supposed to be a Dark, Mature Adaptation For Adults! And it doesn’t have the same basic logic you’d get from an episode of Power Rangers.

-So. Much. Daddy issues.

-Please stop letting Ezra Miller improv.

-They cast like the gayest man in America to play the one guy with a love interest.

-Diana: "I lost someone I loved once." Well, twice, but who's counting?

-All those reshoots and they couldn't get Amber Heard to knock off the British accent?

-Why is Desaad, of all people, Darkseid’s dragon? Is it just because they were rifling through all the Fourth World saga to find the few guys with scary names instead of Granny Goodness or Virman Vundabar?

- And they really play up Darkseid appearing to Steppenwolf, but we've not only already seen him in the big flashback, we saw him get his ass kicked by Zeus of all people.

- And the whole thing where Steppenwolf is part of Darkseid's 'family' really isn't helping the Thanos-Nebula-Gamora comparison.

-It's weird to introduce Darkseid as the guy who was already beaten once. Wouldn't it make more sense that Steppenwulf was the guy who lost, and that allowed Darkseid to take over, and now he's trying to redeem himself for his defeat? Or that Darkseid was never defeated at all, but someone stole the Anti-Life Equation from him and hid it on Earth? Something. Instead, it’s literally just randomly burnt into the crust of the Earth, Darkseid discovers it, then forgets all about it for reasons the movie doesn’t get into despite being four damn hours long.

-It’s only the central plot, whatever, forget about it.

- Pretty sure Kal eye-lasered a couple Army guys to death after he was resurrected, not that he ever gives a shit.

-Third big reveal of Darkseid. Come on, you've shown him three times now. We've heard him talk.

-And this does the same thing as Josstice League with Superman being more powerful than the rest of the JLA put together. Here, he even no-sells Steppenwolf's axe. He just lets it hit him and it doesn’t do shit. So Doomsday could kill him, but Steppenwolf can't even scratch him. And yet Wonder Woman seems pretty evenly matched with both, if not outclassed by Steppenwolf.

-Barry Allen spends the whole climax running in a circle. And he fails at it! Dude's really retarded when he doesn't have Team STAR Labs cheering him on.

-He also casually travels back in time to undo his side getting a Game Over, which makes you wonder how any conflict in this universe can ever have any stakes. Say what you will about Endgame, but at least they explain why time travel can’t solve every problem they ever have.

-Hell, the Mother Boxes can bring people back to life. The example used is literally “it can turn smoke back into a house.” Why not bring Joe Morton back to life? He did a good job in T2, c’mon.

-Speaking of, according to TV Tropes, Ray Fisher got to come up with his own backstory for Cyborg (”I don't praise Chris Terrio and Zack Snyder for simply putting me in Justice League. I praise them for EMPOWERING me (a black man with no film credits to his name) with a seat at the creative table and input on the framing of the Stones before there was even a script!”), which makes it kinda hilarious that this movie’s characterization of Cyborg is that he’s a genius sports hero who also loves helping out the underprivileged.

-AND his big conflict with his dad is that Silas Stone was never there for him, as literally represented by there being an empty seat next to his mom at Vic’s big sportsball game. So apparently the black experience is indistinguishable from Austin Powers In Goldmember. Who knew?

-What else? It's weird that the narrative tries to put some importance in Martha Kent, but then in her big scene with Lois, she's really Martian Manhunter (not kidding) and when Superman is resurrected, he hears encouraging words ONLY from Jor-El and Jonathan. All she really contributes to the story is hugging Superman after he comes back.

-Also, Batman spends a lot of time in the climax shooting people with a rifle. They're bug people and it's, like, a Halo rifle, but still. You can tell Snyder's just chomping at the bit to have Batman carry around a Colt Commando.

-They give no shits about secret identities in this, so why do they still bother with putting a shitty distortion effect on Batfleck's voice? He has a pretty good Batman voice outside the suit, but once he puts it on, he starts sounding like he's giving a blowjob to Daft Punk.

-One of the movie’s, like, four cliffhangers is Lex Luthor telling Deathstroke about Batman’s secret identity, because Deathstroke has a private vendetta against Batman and is out to get him. Of all the Bat rogues who are solely motivated by taking out Batman--why choose Deathstroke, the guy that’s just a mercenary for hire, to characterize as simply hating Batman? (They also imply Batman took out Deathstroke’s eye and THAT’S the big feud between him and--guys. C’mon. This was really supposed to be a whole movie of Deathstroke getting revenge for his eye?)

- The movie ends with them making Wayne Manor the JLA headquarters--God, just tell me if secret identities matter or not.

-Did we really need two ‘beyond the impossible’ scenes back to back, one for Cyborg and one for the Flash?

-Oh, it’s not Arkham Asylum, it’s ‘Arkham Home For The Emotionally Troubled.’ Was this supposed to be one of those Arrowverse things where they call it Starling City for a while, only to rebrand it Star City because that’s somehow better than just calling it Star City in the first place?

- "[Snyder] also said that the reason Darkseid lost track of which world the Mother Boxes were left on was because he was gravely injured and their forces sent limping away, and upon returning to Apokolips had to fight a civil war for the throne (possibly the event hinted where Steppenwolf betrayed him), wherein their records were lost." Imagine having a movie four hours long and not explaining the fucking backstory.

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unholyhelbig · 4 years ago

Note

Bechloe Apocalypse AU? I know it's been done before, but damn, do I love a good trope.

[A/N: This prompt has been in my inbox for a long time and I’m just now getting to it. But the main idea is from @auideas]

Read on AO3 | Request Prompts here

Beca was always the first to stir in the morning. It wasn’t by the light that streamed through the blinds, but her own biological clock that did it. A seven am on the dot, she would wake and stretch and feel her fingers met with the cold of the house. The blinds were drawn and a little slit of yellow, or sometimes gray depending on the weather, mapped itself on the wooden floor.

They hadn’t done much to the old Victorian manor at the edge of town. It came furnished and the only thing they bothered changing was the sheets on the four-post bed and the towels in the closet. They smelled so thickly of must that Beca made the begrudging trip into town for supplies.

Beca would pad down to the kitchen on the creaky wooden stairs and flicked on the coffee maker. She reveled in the darkness, in the cool relief from the South Carolina air. They kept the central unit on high and thick curtains over nearly every pane of glass in the house.

Chloe would stir an hour after her wife.

Maybe it was the absence of heat or her own lungs filling with dark roast. She followed the scent and grasped at the paper set on the kitchen table. She would skip to the sports section first but would always return to the front page for whatever story they deemed import enough.

“Ah, a firefighter with a cat.” She creased the paper “Charming and quaint.”

Beca grunted as she stood on her toes to grasp two mugs. They also came with the house, covered in dust until she scrubbed them. A cartoonish illustration of teddy bears dawned the front and she couldn’t bring herself to read the cheesy sayings past their first week in the Victorian.

She didn’t’ want to get to know the people in town. It was small enough that she got questioning stares from the gas station clerk whenever they ran out of allergy medication or on the rare occasion, milk. He bit his tongue but studied her face. Doveport South Carolina. Not even on the map.

Chloe figured that this is where people went to disappear. Not when they had fresh blood on their palms and dirt under their nails, but when the dust had settled, and they needed a place to ride out the storm. People lived on boats and deep in the swampy woods. They bought foreclosed homes with cash. They barely went outside, and hell- the air was too stiff.

“Did he pull it from a tree?” Beca asked.

“A storm drain, actually,” Chloe said.

The shorter of the two set down a steaming cup in front of her wife. It was loaded with French vanilla creamer and too much sugar for Beca to stomach. She swallowed two gulps of black coffee and cupped her hands around it to keep in the warmth. The house had to be cold. Though, her nose suffered the most from the stark temperature.

Chloe hummed into the steam rising from her drink “Coleman is supposed to drop of the sample today.”

“Coleman is s douche.”

“A douche with a sample. And besides, he won’t even come into the house. The light is too much for anyone to handle, much less the test slides. He’ll drop it by the greenhouse and be on his way.”

“I don’t even want him in my vicinity, Chlo. His male testosterone permeates the air.”

Chloe didn’t’ dignify Beca’s dramatics with a response. It reminded her of the days when she would run around on playgrounds, crunching over mulch and trying to get away from the boys with cooties. But then she had become a biochemist and even well before that, knew that that’s not how things spread.

Not cooties anyway. Maybe the flu or a common cold, but the only thing men were good for in this century was transporting what they needed. People in Doveport never gave a man a second look. Not when they dawned a hat and had grease on their hands. They wouldn’t question his duffel bag or the scent of gunpowder.

Beca went to take another sip of her coffee but stopped mid gulp when the familiar hum of the central cooling system sputtered to a stop. They had grown so used to the noise and the icy atmosphere. She exchanged a worried look with her wife and lowered the cup. “Well shit.”

“Was it supposed to storm today?”

“No. I checked.” Beca tapped the paper absently before pulling herself from the kitchen table. They didn’t’ have much time before their backup generators would kick on. But those hadn’t either. Not yet. Why hadn’t they? Fuck.

Chloe must have had the same thought. Worry crossed her features before she padded across the kitchen and pulled the door to the basement open. She creaked down the steps and was instantly overwhelmed by the heat that had already begun to fill the sod-coated room.

There weren’t basements in the south. Not usually but they had chosen the old Victorian because it had one in the first place. She walked towards the line of tables that were usually lit by a bluish-purple light. Those had gone off too.

In the stumbling darkness she grasped the samples carefully and placed them in the large freezer under the stairs. The ice that incrusted it wouldn’t’ last long but hopefully this power outage wouldn’t either. She sealed it. She prayed about it too but wouldn’t’ let Beca know about that.

Science was magic and magic was science and religion fell somewhere in between but it eased her mind to speak to a higher power regardless.

“Chlo! I think you should see this!”

She didn’t waste any time sprinting up the slotted stairs and leaving the musty basement behind. Sweat had formed against her cheeks and made her skin tight when it hit whatever cold air was left in the nearly empty living room. Beca had peeled the blackout curtain back and the light stung her eyes.

“You opened the window?” Chloe asked.

“I was curious.” Beca Said.

Chloe sighed and squeezed close to her partner before she herself pulled back the dark cloth just an inch. Her heart rushes faster and there was a heat leaking through the windows. She hated the south and the lack of silence that it held onto.

It was the same street that she saw once or twice a month when she ventured from the house. There was another house across the way that had been empty since they arrived. There was a cop that lived next door and a nice family adjacent to them. But right now- there was blood.

The patrol car that usually sat in the driveway was turned on its side and a mass of guts and blood and teeth stirred in the front driveway. She saw fingers flick and smelled fire, or gas, or a mix of both. It made her throat burn.

A stranger, a man in fishing waders had half of his face missing and a dead look behind his yellowed eyes. He limped and groaned tepidly, continuing like he was going on a stroll. His jaw swung back and forth as a clock and Chloe grimaced.

“Well damn.” She let the curtain fall, “This is bullshit we were so close.”

“I know, but someone else was closer.”

Beca walked back towards the kitchen and grasped her now chilled cup of coffee. She finished it off and grabbed the newspaper, looking at the smiling face of the firefighter with a burnt-looking cat in his arms. It was filthy and its fur was matted. She frowned and placed it back on the table.

“Damn government funding. If I could have just gotten my hands on the Amscope.” She grimaced “we’re going to buy you a whole house but you can use a magnifying glass to create a zombie virus.”

“The institution is counting on you, Miss Mitchell.” Chloe mocked.

“Doctor Mitchell, I swear, they always forget that part. You know what we can’t forget? The nine years of our life that we spent getting degrees in science and then another three years held up in this place creating a bioweapon that we didn’t even get to release.”

Chloe lifted her eyebrows and leaned against the adjacent kitchen wall. She had to admit, it was a little disappointing. A letdown after all of this time. But she felt a bit of relief well up inside of her. They would send an extraction team for them at some point and then maybe they would be directed to create a cure. Maybe.

“I think we should get a cat,” Chloe said, picking up the paper and wiggling it towards her wife. “Look at his cute little face.”

“Mm, before or after the apocalypse?” Beca asked.

“During, probably,” Chloe said. “I’d consider a dog.”

#beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe #bechloe fic rec #bechloe fanfiction #Pitch Perfect #pitch perfect fanfiction #request #apocolypse au

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t-o-m-hollands · 5 years ago

Text

Locksley Hall - Part II

Summery: Tom doesn’t know quite how it happens, but one moment he’s working as the gardener at Locksley hall, and the next he’s run of to marry the lords daughter, a girl he hates. Set in England, 1920.

Word count: 5500 (sorry...)

Pairing: Tom x OC

A/N: Again, this is heavily inspired by the first part in Atonement – Ian McEwan, but the plot is different.

Music wise: For Madeleine’s parts I listened to Old Money – Lana del Rey and for Tom’s part I listened to NFWMB and Work Song - Hozier.

R E A D P A R T O N E H E R E

Gideon’s cottage - 1920.

Tom is awakened by yet another expensive automobile driving up the road and past his cottage. His brain works slowly, still half asleep, one foot in a dreamland where he’s chasing someone in a labyrinth made out of peonies. Slowly he wakes his body by moving his toes, and then his fingers too, before stretching his arms over his head, letting out a tired groan. His body feels warm and his limbs lethargic and slow, as they do after a particularly long nap. For a long while he lays there, eyes half-closed, staring at the dust aimlessly drifting in the sunlight.

Another car passes by outside.

Downstairs he can hear Mr. Higgins doing the washing up. If he concentrates, he can hear the guests from the ball chatting and laughing up at the manor. If he concentrates further still, he can hear the blood pumping through his system, steady and slow.

The whole world feels slow. Like the air in the room stands still, despite the wide-open window. It is mid-July, and the heat feels oppressively persistent, there is no escaping it. Only now, as the clock is nearing eight in the evening, does the world seem to cool. All morning he’d worked in the garden, preparing the grounds for the ball under the watchful eyes of old Dowager Locksley. When she was finally satisfied that there wasn’t a dead leaf, not a single weed, nor an unwatered rose in sight she’d sent him off, ready to attack the kitchen staff instead. He’d walked down to Locksley bay. There he’d rid himself of his sweaty, earth-stained rags and he’d swam until his body felt cool again before returning to the cottage for a long and well-deserved nap.

He stretches again and groans. He desperately wants a smoke, but his pack of cigarettes along with his lighter is all across the room, thrown on the cluttered desk along with countless of books and an old typewriter that the library had given away. The letter M was irreversibly lost and therefor it had been deemed useless. He’d taken it with great gratitude, glad to have something he’d normally wouldn’t be able to afford. It had amused him, typing long passages without using any word containing the 13th letter of the alphabet. In a strange way it thrilled him, that some words in the dictionary simply became forbidden for him. Suddenly out of reach.Words like magic, monarch, melancholy, magnetic, maddening, maiden,

Madeleine.

Finally he gets up, walks across the room and sits down by his desk. He lights a cigarette. Staring out the window he watches as yet another car makes it up the driveway to join the ball.

The sky outside is lilac, and the first evening breeze makes its way through the grass like a wave in the ocean and he prays it’ll make its way through the window to cool his head. He inhales deeply, but the sinking feeling he’s had in his stomach all day stays where it is.

And half of his mind is still in his dream.

Had he been better at drawing he’d drawn her hands, soft and small compared to his calloused ones. Maybe if he’d draw them, he’d be able to get the picture of them out of his mind. Those hands, gracefully holding a cigarette as her eyes, dark and deep and framed with long lashes, observed him with great disapproval as they’d discussed poetry. She always looked disapproving when she was observing him. She’d worn a evening gown in the finest silk, and his ratty jacket over her shoulders, her normally perfectly pinned hair falling down in cascades over her shoulders. It had felt strangely intimate, seeing her like that, so undone and wearing his jacket

Swearing, he puts out the cigarette. He’d been distracted, not noticing how it’d burnt down to the butt, burning his fingers. He doesn’t light a new one, but leans back in his chair, runs his hand through his hair and tries to calm his breathing.

It hadn’t always been this way.

Once upon a time, they’d been friends, hard as it was to believe now. They’d defied gravity when they’d climbed the great oak three behind the cottage. He’d taught her how to swim in Locksley bay, held her up in the water and told her to fill her lungs with air in order to float. She’d taught him how to read. His teacher in the village school had called him slow, so she’d sneaked out books from the library, and with patience of a saint she’d taught him how to recognise each symbol until he could make sense of the words.

She’d been his first kiss.

It had only been a small peck on his lips, lasting not more than a second, but it counted. He counted it.

She’d find him in the greenhouse, crying over the trashing he’d gotten from Mr. Higgins for attacking Francis Locksley. Silently she’d sat down beside him, her long dark hair in a braid and dressed in her Sunday best, having just been to church. She’d taken his bruised knuckles in her hands and she’d kissed them, before kissing each tear streaked cheek, and then ever so briefly, she’d pressed her lips against his. He had felt like a knight, being awarded by the queen for his brave service. He hadn’t known what to make of it, but she’d held his hand in hers and he’d leaned his head against her shoulder and for the longest time they’d stayed that way until he’d forgotten all about stinging bruises and tears.

He lights another cigarette and another car drives up the driveway.

The sky is now a dark blue, the last evening light turning the leaves in the trees golden. Earlier that day Mr. Higgins had put out lights all along the drive way to the manor house and they now lit up the summer evening.

Against the evening sky he sees a bird shoot up, rising to the sky.

Once when they’d been children they’d found an injured songbird in the woods. He’d watched as Madeleine with the gentlest of fingers picked the bird up. He’d watched as she held the wounded creature in her hands, as she observed its broken wing. She’d looked at him then, her dark eyes sad, and she’d told him they’d have to help it heal.

So they’d gone to Gideon’s cottage and he’d sneaked her in, while Mr. Higgins worked in the garden. She’d placed the songbird on his bed. While she was kneeling in front of it, as if in prayer, he’d taken out bandages. He’d watched as she’d gently wrapped it around the bird’s wing. She’d looked at him, and told him to sing. She’d said that it would make the bird feel safer, that it was what she used to do to baby Beatrix when she was crying. So, he’d sung a song to the poor harmed thing, while Madeleine patted its head.

For seven days the nursed it, making sure the wing healed as it should. It had been their secret. She’d snuck out of classes with her governess and he’d faked being ill until Mr. Higgins let him be home from school and they’d sat in his room, and he’d sing for them. They kept the bird in a box, on the lid of which he’d put air holes in, and she’d placed her cardigan in the bottom of it, making sure it was soft to sleep on. They’d feed t worms Tom had dug up in the garden and Tom would sing to it every night.

In the end the songbird had healed, and they’d released it in the woods again and watched as it flew away, awkwardly at first, nearly toppling towards the ground before it found its strength again, slowly rising until it was only a speck of black in the distance. He’d held her hand, biting down hard on his bottom lip to keep himself from weeping, while she had cried openly, pressing his hand in hers. They’d hid in the labyrinth until late that evening, far away from nanny and Mr. Higgins. He’d sung her songs until she’d stopped weeping.

Tom stands up, puts out his cigarette and stretches out one last time. Then he walks out, leaving his memories in the smoke-filled room, heading towards the pub.

The Wild Boar, the village pub

“You ever think about headin’ out of here?” he asks his friend.

They’re in the village pub, The Wild Boar, throwing back beers. A Victorian pub with murky green wallpaper, beer-stained velvet booths and worn mahogany wooden floors. The atmosphere is always good and someone is always singing. Harrison, who most days works in the bar but is enjoying a rare day off, calls it his home.

“What, go somewhere else to drink, you mean?”

“No, no, I mean like leave Milchwood, go to London or something, head somewhere else you know”.

Harrison gives him a puzzled look and Tom can tell he doesn’t feel the same. They’re both comfortably leaned back on each side of the booth. Around them the other patrons are talking loudly, discussing this and that, enjoying their Saturday night and the unusually warm summer weather.

“No” Harrison answers in the end “no, I mean, it’s home, yeah?” He drowns the last drops of his pint, waving to the bar for another before looking back at Tom, “you feel like leaving?”

“Dunno, maybe, sometimes” he says. “’is just, some days I want nothing more than to head out to Milchwood station and take literally any train away from here.” He takes a long gulp of his own pint.

“Well, why don’t you?”

It takes some time for Tom to answer. He keeps his eyes on the dirty window in front of him. Far away he can just make out the silhouette of Locksley Hall. They are all up there now, the lords and the ladies, having a ball.

“’s just hard to leave you know.” He takes another gulp of beer as the bartender places another pint in front of Harrison. “Spent most of my time in France wishing I was back here and now” he waves his hand in front of him, as if this would explain the strange sinking feeling he’d been walking around with lately. “Now it feels like it all stands still, like I’m just walking around, waiting for something to happen.”

Harrison gives him a worried look “but what’s keeping you here then?”

“Dunno, it’s just, it’s hard to leave”.

He doesn’t have ties to this place the way Harrison does. He has no other family part from Mr. Higgins. Mrs. Higgins had taken him in when he’d been nothing more than a baby, but she’d passed away before his fifth birthday. He hardly remembered her. Mr. Higgins had kept him on, and despite his stern ways he’d been kind to the boy, and taught him all he knew of gardening and thus ensuring that Tom would have a future secured. But Tom knows that Mr. Higgins wouldn’t mind if he took off, that maybe he’d even expect it.

“Yes, we saw ‘em, didn’t we Billy!” Owain Murphy’s loud voice booms from the booth beside theirs.

“Yeah” Billy concurs, nodding his head and staring down into his glass.

“Yeah, we saw ‘em, all ‘em gently folks up at Locksley Hall”.

“Yeah” Billy nods again.

“They say the ‘eir is being married off!” Owain bellows.

Billy is too busy drinking now to agree.

“She looked a vision, didn’t she Billy?”

Something twists uncomfortably in Tom’s stomach. He drowns his beer and nods to his friend. It’s time to leave. The night air is cool and he takes deep breaths of it as he steps outside. They walk and chat for a while, before hitting a fork in the road, saying their goodbyes and promising to meet up for another pint the next day they then part ways, Harrison walking to the house he shares with his parents and little sister, and Tom steers his feet to Gideon’s Cottage and Locksley Hall.

He can see the lights from the building, hear the piano music even from outside. Across the lawn people are taking some fresh air, surely they’ve been dancing for hours. They’re all dressed in their finest clothes, heavily bejeweled. Tom closes in on Gideon’s cottage, and he can’t wait to throw himself on the bed and sleep for a few hours. Tomorrow is Sunday, the day for resting, and he’s free as a bird.

A flash of white moves in the corner of his eye and he looks over.

By the enormous rhododendron bush stands Lady Madeleine Locksley, wearing a silky white gown that somehow plays tricks with his brain; for when he first lays his eyes on her, it looks to him as if she’s wearing nothing more than moonlight, the diamonds from her tiara glistening in the night.

For a moment it feels as if he’s actually gotten the breath knocked out of him. Owain Murphy had been right, she did look a vision.

A man joins her, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s tall and blond and even from this distance he can tell she’s bored with the conversation, but she politely goes along with it.

Tom walks into the cottage, closing the door behind him.

The cliffs of Locksley bay

The Atlantic Ocean spread out in front of her, wide and far and impossibly blue. She’s standing on the cliffs beside Locksley bay. If she were to turn her head to her left, she would see the docks with the boats lined up one after the other, each more impressive than the last. It is summer, and high season for travellers. Would she instead turn her head to her right she would see the bay, and the people playing in the water, lying in the beach and soaking up sun. Enjoying themselves and cooling themselves off in the unusually warm weather.

But she keeps her eyes far ahead.

Out on the water she can see sailing boats slowly drifting over the landscape. It’s not a good day for sailing, not even up here on the cliffs can you feel anything more than a gentle breeze. The heavens are almost violently blue, not a cloud as far as the eye can see. In the sky seagulls fly, screeching as they go and she inhales deep breaths of the ocean air. She feels so far removed from them all, the people on the boats and the ones on the beach.

Her lungs feels tighter, there’s a scream in them that needs to get out.

She takes a step closer to the edge.

A pair of arms grabs hold of her and pulls her in against something hard. “What are you doing?!” A familiar voice inquires angrily in her ear.

He pulls them both a few steps back, away from the edge, before turning her around to face him. Anger clear on his face. His chest, still close to hers, is heaving.

“What are you doing?” She asks, not quite managing to match his level of animosity. His hands are still holding a firm grip around her arms. She pulls herself free and takes a step back, trying to create some distance between them, though she swears she still feels the heat radiating of his body, his scent, which she’d briefly inhaled, surrounding her.

“Were you going to jump?” he asks in a serious tone, his warm brown eyes intensely searching her face for something.

“No” she says, voice firm, and he relaxes somewhat, though he still looks angry. That frown, seemingly permanent on his face whenever she’s around. “But it wouldn’t have killed me if I had, people jump from here all the time”

“Sure, but not young heiresses”. He sounds almost sarcastic and she can feel her blood nearly boiling. Her diamond heart beats faster in her chest.

“Have you?”

He observers her for a heartbeat, like he’s searching for something in her face. The long days spent working in the garden has given him a nice tan. His brown hair looks windswept and he’s not wearing his usual uniform of muddy trousers, suspenders and a dirty white shirt. Instead his clothes look washed and clean; he’s wearing his Sunday best, linen suit trousers, clean white shirt and suspenders that don’t look quite as worn. His arms, well developed from all the hard work, fills out his shirt in a way that makes something inside her flutter, and she hastily looks away.

“Yes” he answers in the end. “Yeah, me and Harrison jumped it last year”.

“Yet you’re so against me doing it?”

He’s silent for a few seconds, and she can tell he’s weighing each word carefully. “I just, I didn’t take you for a thrill-chaser, is all. It surprised me”.

Now he’s avoiding looking at her.

“So, how was the ball?” he asks eventually, having to fill the stale, strange silence.

“Long” she answers and sighs. “Awfully long, and dreary”.

“Poor girl” he teases, but she wonders if there isn’t real malice underneath. “And how is your betrothed?”

She narrows her eyes at him. “James is not my betrothed” she says, trying to keep her voice calm. He’s got his hands in his pockets, an arrogant look on his face and she wants to scream at him.

“Huh” he says, “I heard you were being married off”.

“Well, I’m not. Not yet”

“So, what’s he’s like, this not betrothed man of yours”

He sounds so nonchalant, and it’s making her skin itch with irritation. “He’s nice, actually”.

He scoffs, “nice?”

“Yes! He’s very nice, unlike certain people! And he gave me a book of Wordsworth poetry”

Tom snorts “you hate Wordsworth, you always have”

“How do you know?” She asks, annoyance clear in her tone.

“You told me” he answers, and he sound so certain of himself.

“Yes, when we were children, I might have changed my mind since!”

“You haven’t though”.

“Funny isn’t? All the things you remember?” She tries to sound superior, but she’s not sure she accomplishes anything. He’s still standing there, hands in pockets and a devil-may-care smug smile on his face.

“You find him dull”.

“How do you know if I find James dull or not! You’ve never even met him! Maybe I find it fascinating to talk about dog breeding and horses!” you scream at him.

But he just smiles wider. “I was talking about Wordsworth. You find Wordsworth dull. But clearly I hit a nerve”.

She’s so angry she’s speechless. From the village they hear the church bells ring.

“We should go” he says and nods to the path back.

“No”

“Lady Madeleine, -”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Well, it is your title”.

“Oh, like you give a toss about people’s titles! I’m Madeleine and we used to be friends, or don’t you remember that part?”

“Alright Madeleine” he says slowly, like he’s talking to a particularly petulant child, “we better head home now, they’ll want you back for dinner”.

“I don’t want to” she says stubbornly. “You head back. I’m staying here to watch the sunset”.

“They’ll just sent me out to look for you if you´re not there for dinner, let’s go”.

She takes a deep breath and a step backwards, towards the edge. “You know, I’m so tired of everyone telling me what to do all the time, were to be and what to think, and how to feel”. She takes another step backwards and the smugness on his face is soon replaced with worry.

“I’m so tired of people telling me that I can’t do things when they have no issue doing it themselves”. She takes yet another step back and as he reaches out for her, realising what she’s about to do. She turns around and runs toward the edge.

“No Maddie, don’t!”

But she’s already taken the leap.

Locksley Hall

The next morning she wakes early, though it feels as though she’s hardly slept at all. Memories plays behind her closed eyelids from the day before. The cliffs, Tom’s arms grabbing hold of her, the argument, the jump, the fall, the splash, the sinking, the searching for the surface. And then, a hand grabbing hold of her, pulling her towards the light.

He’d jumped in after her, had thrown himself of the cliff in his Sunday best without any hesitation.

He’d always been the better swimmer, he was the one who had taught her after all, and luckily it hadn’t taken him long to find her beneath the surface.

They’d swam ashore, dragged themselves up in their heavy, wet clothes watched by the bathers who looked at them, some agog and some in chock. (“Is that not lady Madeleine?”)

He’d been furious, practically steaming with anger. It hadn’t mattered how many times she’d tried to talk to him, tried to apologise, he’d only ignored her and kept steering his feet forward to Locksley Hall. Only when she tried to thank him for having saved her did he respond.

“Don’t” he had uttered, his resentment almost palpable.

They had been walking through a path in the woods, sun shining through the canopy, painting the whole world a bright green colour, and she stumbled after him, keeping her eyes on his wet white shirt, his suspenders holding of his soaked beige trousers.

She too had grown angry then. Had tried to argue with him. Tried telling him that he was overreacting, that no one had forced him to jump in as well, that it would have been better if he hadn’t, that they both knew he wished he hadn’t and suddenly -

She’d been pressed up against a tree, his face just centimetres from hers, both their chest heaving with conflicting emotions, his arms on either side of her face, in the most beautiful trap.

Madeleine untangles herself from her many sheets and blankets and walks to the window to pull apart the curtains and let in the morning light. The grounds outside are empty, no one is yet awake. It must be very early indeed, for even Gideon’s cottage seem peacefully quiet.

She opens the leaded window and drags in deep breaths of fresh air, but her lungs still feel too tight. She fishes up a package of cigarettes from one of the pockets of her silk robe and with trembling hands she lights one. Everything is set now. She is to marry Sir James Hatfield, and settle down at Hatfield house in all its ugly Tudor glory. It didn’t matter if she smoked in the house anymore, she wouldn’t stay here much longer.

With picture perfect certainty she imagines married life with Sr Hatfield. Endless conversation of the breeding of horses, hunting and dogs. Her life spent doing things the way they have always been done at Hatfield house, keeping up with the traditions of a family she has no interest in. And then, several blonde little children would come along. All boys, all taking after their father in looks and manners.

Her life would surround around them. She would be Lady Madeline Locksley no more, but instead, Lady Hatfield. She would have to leave Locksley hall, leave Benie,

leave Tom.

The thought startles her, and she gets up from the window ledge, starts walking aimlessly round the cluttered room.

Using her empty tea cup from which she’d drank her evening tea the night before as an ashtray she puts out her cigarette, and with hands trembling more than ever she lights another, before throwing herself back on the bed.

Tom.

Who surely hated her now. The achingly long moments when he’d trapped her against the tree plays again in her head. She’d seen so many emotions on his face, his chest heaving from all of it. First there had been anger, then confusion and then, unless she wasn’t entirely mistaken; because god knows her experience was non-existing in the area,

- lust.

But he’d torn himself free, and marched off, without looking back. And she’d stood leaned against the three, feeling like a planet spinning out of its axis, struggling to remember how to breath again.

When she walked into the great hall she’d been met with her mother, Benie and granny. Upon seeing her, they’d all gone completely silent, the only sound to be heard the water dripping off of her, landing on the newly swapped floors.

“Oh Madeleine!” her mother had eventually burst out “what’s happened?”

She had told them she’d been at the cliffs, and that Tom had come along, but then her granny had interrupted her. “Are you telling me” she’d asked in her superior voice “that you were ‘hanging about’ the cliffs with the junior gardener?” The disapproval in her voice was evident.

“No” Madeleine had answered, trying to keep her voice steady and calm. “I’m saying that I was there, and he was there, he annoyed me, and then I jumped off the cliff”.

Dead silence again.

“You, you did what?”

“I jumped off a cliff. And then he saved me. And now, I really must change, so would you please excuse me”. The wave of emotion that washed over her had surprised her, but suddenly she’d been holding back tears.

““Madeleine, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but you need to go and get changed, right now. Sir Hatfield is invited for dinner, and you will behave yourself and you will conduct yourself accordingly” her mother had told her in her sternest voice. So, Madeleine had nodded and walked up the stairs, choking back on tears, her wet clothes leaving a trace of water in her wake.

And she’d changed and Alice had done up her hair and she’d joined the others for dinner. And she’d sat beside James at dinner and listened to him lecturing her on various dog breeds and she’d smiled appropriately. Then, after dinner, he’d taken her aside. Professed in a dry tone his admiration for her and asked for her hand in marriage. He’d told her that he’d already settled things with her father. She had smiled and complied and tried to press down the feeling of nausea in her stomach, tried to ignore to scream growing ever larger in her lungs.

She stands up again, puts out her cigarette, takes one of the many dresses scattering the floor and slides it on. Then she’s out the door. With silent steps, as to not wake anyone, she makes her way down the corridor, and then down the grand staircase and the foyer and out the door. The pressure in her lungs grow tenser and tenser and her feet move faster and faster, until her naked feet are sprinting over the grounds, the dewy grass cold under her soles. When she finally reaches the greenhouse, she’s sobbing.

This had always been her secret place. Not even Tom had known about how she’d used to come here when things became too much, when things would build and build inside of her until she had to let it out. Like it was a living, moving thing in her chest, begging her to set it free. Knowing that the old greenhouse was the only soundproof place in all of Locksley Hall it became her safe place to let it out, she’d always steer her feet here. When she’d been to boarding school, and then in Canada, she’d been forced to try letting the scream free under water, no other place felt safe enough, but it hadn’t felt the same.

She slams the door shut behind her and then she lets it out. Nearly bending over from the force of it she shrieks, for as long and as loud as she can. Her eyes pressed shut and trembling hands in fists. When she finally stops it still seems to echo in her ears, and she feels exhausted. She’s breathing as if she’s just run for miles and miles. Slowly she stands up straight again, unclasping her fists. Opening her shut eyes.

Tom.

Standing in front of her, looking shocked and horrified, hands and shirt muddy. He must have been in here for some early work before the heat gets too intense.

They stand there, for a long time, just staring at one another, her screams still echoing in her mind. And then, like she’s a wild animal, he slowly walks towards her. Taking her hand in his, an arm around her waist, he gently guides them towards the pond, on the side of which he helps her sit down. Bending down in front of her, so that he’s on his knees, he looks up at her, a strand of brown hair falling down, framing his face.

It’s so tender, the way he looks at her. So unbearably tender. His earth-stained hands clasped around hers, placed in her lap, calloused and warm.

“What happened?” He asks, voice soft and low.

She doesn’t know when it started, too distracted by his gentleness perhaps, but she realises then that she’s crying, two tears falling from her cheek and landing on their hands.

“I’m just being silly” she responds, but her voice sounds hoarse and dead even to her own ears.

“I doubt it, what’s wrong?”

“I, I” she begins, her lungs feeling tight again “I have to marry.”

His kind eyes blink up at her, and for a moment she swears he holds on tighter to her hands.

“But you don’t want to.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. “Why do you have to?” His thumbs stroke her trembling hands and it feel and it is the gentlest thing that’s ever happened to her.

“There’s no male hair. So, if papa dies before I marry, we’ll lose everything”. Her voice is hoarse from screaming and she wonders if he finds her pathetic, but in his eyes she only finds sympathy, and maybe a fair share of pain.

“But you don’t have to marry Hatfield?”

She shakes her head, and more tears fall. “No, but he’s the best option. I can’t afford to wait”.

Silence for a while as he observes you.

Then,

“What if I’ll marry you?” his voice is steady, but his eyes are fixed their clasped hands.

“What?”

“I’ll marry you” he states and looks up at her again. She stares at him in disbelief, for surely, he can’t mean it. He continues. “I know it’s not a good option, but the estate will be safe, and you won’t have to marry Hatfield, you won’t have to leave Locksley Hall.”

When she just keeps staring at him in silent disbelief his cheeks turn pink. “I know I haven’t got anything to offer; you know I don’t. But -”

“Alright”. Her answers comes without her thinking about it and it seems to catch him off guard. “But, are you sure?” she asks, worried that he doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.

“Yes, Madeleine, I’m sure” he smiles, his hands continuing to gently stroke her hands.

“But, but” she starts, feeling almost dizzy. “But why would you want to marry me?”

“What?”

“Why would you help me? It would change your life forever.” She keeps her voice serious, knows that it’s of utmost importance that he understands the importance of this.

He seems struck silent and for a long while his brown eyes stare up at her in disbelief. “Well I, I mean I would, I” he starts, letting go of her hands and standing up, placing them his pockets instead. It is like he’s trying to look as nonchalant as he usually does.

Turning slightly away from her, eyes fixed on the koi fish in the pond he then continues. “Well, I’d get to live in Locksley Hall, wouldn’t I? I’d be the lord of the manor. No more hard toil in the garden”.

“So, mostly self-interest then?” She says, not knowing whether she feels more relieved or disappointed. More than anything she feels light headed.

“Yeah” he agrees, eyes still fixed on the pond. “It’s self-interest".

Silence spread between them. This is new territory that neither one knows how to tread.

In the end she stands up and he turns to look at her again, something like worry in his expression. “We, well we’ll have to discuss this. If it’s to happen it needs to happen soon.”

“It is to happen” he says, firmly, but then his cheeks turn pink again. “As long as you want it to”.

“Well then” she says, a small but genuine smile on her face. “It can’t happen here; Gretna Green is our only option. We have to come up with some excuse so we can leave for Scotland for a few days”.

He nods, but he too looks more relaxed now. “I’ll think of something”.

“So much to be fixed” she says, mostly to herself. “Wedding dress for example, though the wedding will be so small only something simple will do.”

“Could you” he begins, and he avoids her eyes again. “You could wear that dress you had on at the ball” he asks awkwardly, fidgeting slightly where he stands.

“Oh, yes of course” she says, just as awkward. “If that’s what you want”. She smiles at him, and he smiles back. Its embarrassed, but it’s tender too.

“Meet me at the fountain tonight?” he asks, and that strange fluttering sensation she’d felt when he’d pressed her against the tree makes another appearance. “To discuss how we’ll do this?”

She nods “yes, I’ll see you then. I better get back now, or Alice will notice I’ve left when she brings in breakfast.”

She turns to leave, but changing her mind mid stride she turns back to him. When she reaches him she stands on the tips of her naked, now muddy, feet. She presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you” she whispers.

***

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