#she starts knitting the wardrobe of her new son

[lokijiro]

Baby Loki wearing Thor’s old baby clothes until Frigga can dress him in clothes of his own.

[titlemewickedwonderland]

Autumn Selfie - Jamie Campbell Bower

If you love my work please consider reblogging! <3

She loved Autumn. She loved the crisp cool air on her morning walks. She loved the gentle crunch of leaves in the shades of red, yellow, orange, and brown. She even enjoyed the dampness of the air on days that it rained. Most of all though she enjoyed the way the ambiance of the city took during the season's change. Just like a holiday coming around the corner the season of Fall had that extra spark of magic that most people didn't recognize. She did though and she loved it. Her morning walks always led her down the path that had those big trees in the color of a sunset lining the path as she walked by street houses in the early morning of the weekend. A soft drizzle was starting to come from the dreary-looking clouds but a quick flick of an umbrella over her head shielded the young woman from the rain. Her rainboots helped protect her feet from the puddles that were starting to form on the concrete and on top of the shield of leaves as she walked down the road to the stop light. Her hand reached out to press the cold metal of the sidewalk pole while she patiently waited for the sign to blink to that green shape of a person to tell her she could cross the streetway. Her head was softly bobbing along to the gentle music playing in a pair of white Bluetooth earbuds in her ears that barely peaked from beneath her beanie hat; the faux fur pom-pom knitted into the top swaying and bouncing with every gentle bob of her head. Hands without gloves were tucked into her winter coat keeping the autumn air from her skin as much as possible.

She was dressed for the type of weather as much as her limited wardrobe allowed her. An oversized brown knitted sweater was tucked into a pair of black leggings that were lined with fur inside to keep her warm and she the aforementioned rainboots that seriously didn't match with the subdued hues of her outfit with its bright yellow rubber. But she didn't care. She was happy to be walking outside in this sort of weather and even happier to be able to walk to the local coffee shop that was just a block away from the rented studio apartment for her stay here in New York. Y/N had come out here for a mini vacation after she and her significant other broke up after a long 2-year relationship when she caught them cheating on her with someone who she claimed was her friend. Backstabbing bitch. So away she'd packed her things for a 2-week stay in New York to visit some museums and art shows, maybe check out some cool shopping stores, and generally just…site see the places that her imaginative mind could soak up during her stay. The reality was that she was running away from her problems as if they could be fixed simply by removing herself from the situation. Of course, the backstabber and homewrecker would be there waiting after she came back but for now she had this time for herself to recollect and redefine who she was.

When the light finally turned green she was quick to put one foot in front of the other to cross the street with the others who had gathered behind her. New York was always so busy no matter the time of day. Just like the brisk walkers of the residents here Y/N followed foot traffic until the gently swaying sign above the door to the coffee shop came into view. She was quick to follow her nose straight inside. Sighing at the warmth of the shop itself but also because the smell of fresh ground coffee was everything! She loved the decor inside too. Definitely decorated for the Autumn atmosphere to make it like a cozy nook. Fairy lights draped across the ceiling and pillars with fake plastic autumn leaves and vines with potted plants gracing the window sills and tables. Y/N loved this place because despite it being small it was a local favorite for not only the freshest coffee but also because it was a small family business owned by an old grandpa and his two sons who worked the coffee like they did their customers. With familiarity, respect, and charm. You'd never taste a better cup of coffee than at The Java Bean. That much was obvious by the long line already to the register where said old grandpa Louis was chatting up a customer as he placed the orders on the computer.

The young woman smiled to herself and glanced around the coffee shop for a place to sit if any seats were still open by the time she got her coffee. Her favorite booth in the back by a large window was still open and she was keen to sit down in the plush leather booth to enjoy her book tucked away inside her jacket while surrounded by the scent of fresh coffee and Fall ambiance. As she looked around she noticed a handsome man standing behind her. He looked oddly familiar even beneath the grey flat cap he wore; she say vaguely familiar because she didn't want to be rude by turning around to stare so blatantly so instead she'd given a quick glance his way as if she was looking around behind her at the shop. She didn't see enough details of the man just that he was blonde, tall, and looked handsome from what small glimpse she'd seen from her once over.

When she finally got to the front she smiled widely at the grandpa while taking out her earbuds and tucking them back into her jacket pocket. "Good morning Louis! How are you feeling this morning? You're chest cold gone?" she asked as a form of greeting

"Y/N my darling girl! Your usual?" at her brief nod he typed in her order before answering her question with a jolly laugh. "I am feeling much better thanks to you! That homemade remedy helped this old man greatly! Back on my feet like an young sprite." he stated before he rung her order up. "That'll be $5.89."

"Good! That was the idea, wouldn't want my favorite coffee shop owner dying on me now do I?" she grinned playfully as she began to reach for the small leather wallet she usually kept in her coat pocket only to find the pocket empty.

Frowning she searched the other pocket only to find a tube of chapstick and her earbuds she'd placed inside moments before instead. Feeling a little embarrassed she looked up at Louis. "Okay, nevermind then. Um, looks like I left my wallet back at my place Louis. I'll have to take a raincheck on that coffee-" she began but someone reached over her shoulder and held out a $20 bill towards the man while the soft tone of a British accented voice spoke near her ear.

"Regular coffee please with 3 sugars, a pump of hazelnut, and a few packets of sugar on the side. I'll pay for the lady's as well." The older man behind the counter looked over at Y/N as if asking if the man behind her was with her but she was already turning around to face the kind stranger.

"Absolutely not! I can just go grab my wallet and come back for my coffee there's no reason for you to pay for me-" her words died in her throat when she got a good look at the sharp features that stared back down at her with a soft smile and blue eyes piercing her own E/C ones.

"I insist. I'd hate for you to walk back home in the rain for your wallet love. Really, it's no trouble." those blue eyes lifted from hers to the old man and handed him the money over.

"Coming right up, young man." Louis hid a small grin as he took the money and exchanged it for the recipe and the change which the blonde man grabbed graciously before stuffing all the change in the tip jar on the countertop and instead only allowing the receipt to be tucked away into his pocket.

Feeling a bit embarrassed but touched by the man's gesture the young woman walked behind him over to the pick up counter where she could see Aaran, one of Louis's sons making their orders. Biting her lip Y/N looked up at the blonde who stood watching with patient eyes as Aaron went about his task at making the coffees but feeling her eyes on him his own gaze turned to her and his lips curled up into a smile.

"Would you like a picture? Or an autograph? Might last longer than staring, love" he chuckled when his question made her cheeks darken in color.

"Am I that obvious?" she questioned with a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to stare. I know celebrities don't tend to like being ogled but…I mean…" she faltered but the blonde merely flasehd her a charming smile full of teeth and held out a hand out to her.

"Then let's do this properly. Hello there, I'm Jamie Campbell Bower, a pleasure to meet you, darling." Y/N's teeth sank into her bottom lip as she shyly placed her smaller hand in his and shook it.

"I'm Y/N. It's very nice to meet you too Jamie. And thank you again for the coffee…I owe you one. If you have like cashapp or something I can totally pay you back-"

"Don't be ridiculous." he laughed "I don't want you to pay me back. You're alright," he told her sincerely.

It didn't slide past her that he had yet to let go of her hand and instead was holding it between both of his and rubbing at her skin. She realized this was because her hands were freezing cold from the walk along the block in the rain without a pair of gloves. It was a cute gesture but sadly was soon broken when Aaron placed their coffee down on the counter. Jamie let go of her hand in favor of grabbing both of the cups and held one up to his eyes as he read the label.

"White chocolate mocha with chocolate drizzle and whipped cream." one brow raised playfully before he held it out towards her. "Sounds like a sugar overload." he joked as she took it from his grasp; fingertips grazing each other as they exchanged the hot beverage.

"It's good, Don't knock it till you try it mister." her nose playfully wrinkled as she took a sip from her hot cup and watched as he popped open his own coffee and began pouring a few packets of sugar into it from the display of condiments at the end of the counter.

"If you don't mind my asking Y/N where you from? You don't sound like someone from New York." Jamie commented as he stirred the liquid a few times and replaced the cap before turning towards her with a curious but polite smile on his face.

"Oh, I'm actually from H/T (Home town) I'm just here visiting…" she shrugged as she shifted out of the way for other customers to stand by the counter for their pick up order.

Jamie nodded as he placed an arm around her shoulders to lead her out of the coffee shop and back into the cold air where they could sit at one of the metal tables under an awning. "That's a distance. Just…vacationing?"

"No not exactly…actually more like trying to figure out where I'm supposed to be in my life I guess." Y/N sat down in one chair while Jamie took the other across from her. The slight crease of his brow made it apparent that he was curious for more details but didn't want to press out of politeness.

"My um..my partner actually cheated on me with someone I thought was my friend so I ran away to try and figure out just who I am. Distract myself from the trouble I'll be in when I get back." the woman snorted lightly as she sipped at her coffee and traced the pattern of the metal bars that twisted into a flower by her cup.

"Ah, that's a bunch of bull. I'm sorry you had that happen love. That's never a good thing." there was slight sympathy in his gaze but he didn't want her to feel bad so he switched at something a little more light hearted. "We should take a selfie together and post it on whatever social media they're on to make 'em jealous."

The idea was…actually appealing. A little 'fuck you' moment to them that Y/N actually liked the sound of. Grinning mischievously she nodded. "If you don't mind at least?" she didn't want to make Jamie think she was trying to give a sob story or something just to get something out of him.

But the look he gave her was genuine as he grinned and beckoned her over to him. Grabbing her coffee along with her phone from her pocket she rose from her chair to walk the two steps it took over by his side. He pulled away from the table a bit so that she could bend down to his level to take a selfie with him.

"There we go!" she smiled at the photo realizing just how surreal it felt taking a selfie with a celebrity.

"Here, let's try another one! I'd love to put one on my social media as well!" Jamie said excitedly and Y/N had a sneaky suspicion that he just liked taking selfies but she obliged because frankly she couldn't deny the fact she enjoyed being that close to him as well as having something to remember this encounter by.

But this time instead of allowing her to bend down to be face to face his hands grabbed her hips gently and placed her on his thigh as he held his phone in front of them. Feeling the heat of a blush creep up her face Y/N held her cup up as if she was trying to hide it by taking a sip of her coffee just as Jamie took a picture. He pouted playfully at her; their faces were a little too close than strangers should have been considered okay but she wasn't complaining. His eyes looked so pretty up close like this.

"Come on now, we have to get a proper one for my twitter love! One more please?" those damned blue eyes would be the death of Y/N she just knew it.

She caved. Allowing him to lift his phone up one more time and this time he wouldn't let her go as his arm that was wrapped around her waist to keep her still lifted so that his arm crossed the front of her chest as if he was hugging her from behind. This position brought her flush against his chest as she was forced to lean back against him and his chin rested against her shoulder. The coldness of his cheek pressing against hers as he snapped the picture and if anyone dared ask; the red ringing her cheeks was from the cold Autumn air and not from the blush that was making a permanent residence on her face.

He didn't let her go immediately after as he opened his photos app to check out how the photo turned out and his lips curled into a satisfied smile. She couldn't help but think they looked like two lovers on a date posing for the camera in a selfie. That thought both worried her and made her stomach flutter with butterflies.

"Are you sure it's okay to post that on social media?" she uttered quietly as she took a sip of her coffee; realizing just in the briefest of seconds that she was still perched on his thigh.

"Of course, why wouldn't it be okay?" a frown crossed his features as he looked over at her. "Are you afraid fans will think we are dating and that the media will blow up the internet about the mystery girl Jamie Bower is dating?" a cheeky smile of amusement crossed his face and she couldn't help but smack his other leg she wasn't sitting on.

"It's not funny Jamie!" but she was laughing regardless. "People will recognize my face, people I know will blow up my socials asking what the hell is going on." she rolled her eyes. "And what am I supposed to tell them? I met rockstar actor Jamie Campbell Bower on a whim at a coffee shop while I run away from my problems?" he blinked at her rant

"Exactly. That's the truth isn't it?" he chuckled patting her leg; she took this as a sign to get off his lap but as she began to rise his hands yanked her back down with a frown. "Who said anything about moving?" he pouted. "You're warm."

Her face fell into her hands and as she groaned. "Jamie people are looking at us strangely." she whispered peeking at her surroundings through her fingers.

The warm laughter that echoed around the cold air definitely didn't help the curious looks and whispers as the blonde wrapped his arms around her briefly in a hug before dropping his arms allowing her to rise. He rose with her and grabbed his cup. "How about you give me your number so that we can send each other those photos?" he offered instead

She thought about it briefly. her teeth chewing at the inside of her cheek a moment before she nodded and handed over her phone as he did his and within moments the phones binged with text messages in forms of the selfies they took together. Feeling a little bit of a rush at the thought of having such a man's number she glanced up to see his gaze flicker up from his screen to meet hers and the small smile that tugged at his lips was genuine and soft in comparison to the teasing looks he'd had previously.

"Hey, so. I'd like to ask you a favor." he said suddenly as she fidgeted with her cup. "Doesn't have to be tomorrow or the next day if you don't want but…I'll be here in New York for a premier all week. So, before you scuttle off back home…text me maybe? At least so that I can say goodbye properly?" he asked playing with the rings on his hands.

Y/N studied him a moment and realized he was dead serious. A shy smile graced her features and she nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that. I mean and if I don't…remember or have time or whatever the case maybe….you got my number now so…" she bit her lip and swayed side to side. "Text me sometime. If you like I mean. No pressure. I am just a fan." she laughed looking down at her rainboots.

"You're not just a fan Y/N." Jamie reached out to tap her nose playfully. "You're my fan and I care about my fans." he said with genuine warmth.

She smiled at that and nodded before turning around. "Well, if anything. I might just text you first…I have to pay you back for that coffee remember?" she chuckled.

"Ugh, love how many times do I have to tell you?" his voice called after her with mock sternness. "There is no need to pay me back!"

Y/N was already walking down the sidewalk as she turned around to walk backwards as she waved. "Oh shut up, it'll give me an excuse to see you again!"

Jamie grinned after her but she was too far for a quip back. Instead, he watched until he couldn't see her in the crowd anymore, and then he looked back down at his phone just as his phone binged and a text message from an unknown number popped up with a coffee cup emoji signed with a smiley face and he shook his head in amusement as he tucked his phone back in his pocket and headed back down the sidewalk towards his waiting car. Oh yes, he'll be seeing her real soon.

[mysterioushogwartsrequests]

Hello! Can I request an imagine with Draco and a Slytherin! Reader where they both are totally in love with each other and maybe one day in class Draco is being particularly needy/frustrated one day and she’s his partner and sees he’s super hard and she teases him but when class is over he asks the reader to give him a blowjob because he loves her mouth and he’s just so whiny and he later spoils the hell out of his girl at Hogsmeade!

This is literally SOOOO LONG!! I don’t know why I wrote so much, but I just really wanted to include all that stuff, lol. My excuse for the length is that I hit a 1,000 followers about two days ago so this is the celebratory piece! 

This goes without saying, but this piece contains a lot of sexual content so please do not read if you are underage or uncomfortable with said topics. I also wrote this in a different perspective because I wanted to try it out so I hope you enjoy!

Warning: SMUT, Oral (Male Receiving)

Title: Princess

                                                 ϟ ϟ ϟ

It was a warm summer’s day, close to the start of the new term. These past few weeks at Malfoy Manor had been tense and Draco often found himself rather stressed . A large part of him felt guilty for leaving his mother at home in the presence of Lord Voldemort, but another part of him felt grateful to be out of his sight. Finally, he could escape the Dark Lord’s watchful eyes, but he could not escape the plan set for him to complete.

Draco’s eyebrows knitted together as he squinted towards the merchandise wall inside Twilfitt and Tattings. Even when he was not around, Draco could still sense the Dark Lord’s influence and the constant reminder of the outcome if he were to fail. However, as he thought of better ways to mend the vanishing cabinet, something caught his attention.  

“Draco darling,” You called to him, stepping out of the changing room with a small smile on your face. Draco’s eyes widened in an instant, a lump forming in his throat as he examined the champagne dress clinging to your body. It was a delicate number with thin, spaghetti strap sleeves attached to the cowl-neck gown, the silk fabric shimmering softly as you stepped onto the podium.  

With a content hum, Draco pushed himself off the wall, his grey eyes locked with yours in the shop mirror as he walked towards you. He rested his hand against your waist, his fingers tenderly sliding down to feel the smooth silk against them, “You look ravishing,” he whispered against your ear, pressing a kiss against the shell of it before stepping back to get a better view of you.  

You smiled satisfyingly, taking a moment to admire the all-black ensemble he wore and how it slimmed him down in all the right places. He stood in a black turtleneck and a fitted suit jacket, his left hand in the pocket of his slacks while the thumb of the other swiped over his bottom lip. A string of questions crossed through Draco’s mind, “When would you wear this?” he thought, tapping his finger against his chin.  

Surely, there was no surprise ball this year, he would’ve heard by now. “Would you wear it on a date?” he questioned, imagining a scenario where the two of you ate dinner at a fancy restaurant, illuminated by just candlelight. “Even better,” Draco trailed off, his eyes lingering over your arse as you admired yourself in the mirror, looking over your shoulder to see the diamond detail that connected the open back, “What would such an expensive piece of clothing look like on his dormitory floor?”  

Draco recalled the conversation he shared with his mother a week prior, where she had counseled him after a particularly difficult day. Narcissa Malfoy had an interesting way of comforting her son. Of course, she sat and listened to him, holding him as he cried, a mixture of guilt and failure coursing through her veins as she fought against the Dark Lord’s plans for her beloved son. The next day, however, she entered Draco’s room with a smile and presented a brand-new wardrobe for him as a start of term gift.  

Pulling himself away from his thoughts, Draco gave a gentle smile and looked up at you, instantly meeting your hopeful eyes.  

“Oh, those eyes” 

“I’m not sure if I should get it,” You admitted, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout as you hopped off the podium and halted in front of the platinum-haired boy. Closing his eyes, Draco took a deep breath, captivated by the intoxicating smell of vanilla radiating off your body. An exquisite aroma, packaged in a —hand-blown— glass perfume bottle with delicate golden leaves painted onto it, finished off with your initials carved at the bottom of it.  

Another one of Draco’s thoughtful gifts.  

“And why is that?” asked Draco, his hand resting against the side of your neck, his thumb rubbing small circles against your jaw. The dress was cut just right, the tight, draped bodice granted him a wonderful view of your breasts, but he looked away to halt the tightening of his pants.  

“I’ve got no occasion for a dress like this,” declared a slightly defeated (Y/N), taking another glance in the mirror, “Well, we’ve still got the goodbye dinner with your parents” You recalled, running your hands down your hips, unintentionally catching Draco’s attention as he remembered the family dinner he had forgotten about. 

“That settles it then,” announced Draco in a chipper tone, “I’ll buy the dress,” he grinned, stepping towards his girlfriend, but halting by the display of diamond accessories. With a glance over the merchandise, he pointed at a necklace set with a pair of earrings, receiving praises from the shopkeeper. Taking the necklace from the older wizard, Draco walked over to (Y/N), “turn around,” he uttered and you happily obliged, watching him as he placed the delicate piece around your neck.  

“Draco-” you began to protest, but he only pressed a kiss against your cheek, clasping the necklace and letting his fingers linger at the back of your neck. The necklace was a breathtaking, diamond necklace with seven glittering emeralds spread evenly across the center.  

“The bracelet and earrings will do nicely as well,” Draco said, nodding his head in approval and signaling for the shopkeeper to begin ringing them up. You opened your mouth to protest again, but Draco placed his finger against your lips, “I believe you recall what I’ve told you, hm?” he teased, raising a questioning eyebrow as (Y/N) nodded, fighting back a smile, “Then, let Daddy spoil you, Princess.”  

There was no denying the power Draco’s tone held over you. His words shot straight between your legs, the feeling of his lips pressed against the side of your neck making you fall against him, finally becoming aware of his erection now pressed against your thigh. 

“Let's finish up so we can go back to the Manor,” you proposed, shifting your thigh ever so slightly to provide him with some much-needed friction. Draco bit his lip and gave a stiff nod, stepping away from you before you could tease him further.  

“Go change,” he ordered, the cocky smirk returning to his lips, “You’ve got five minutes.” Running back towards the dressing room, you peeled off the dress and stepped into your usual clothes, practically sprinting out of it once finished. After a hasty checkout, the two of you exited the shop hand-in-hand, the bag containing your gifts swinging in Draco’s other hand.

                                                             ϟ ϟ ϟ

This school year proved to be the most difficult one yet. N.E.W.T.s we’re now less than a year away and it was never too soon to begin revising. You, however, found it quite difficult to focus on school these last few days. Despite his constant reassurances that he was all right, (Y/N) found some of Draco’s recent behavior quite odd. This strange feeling first arose the week you stayed at Malfoy Manor, where the four of them sat cautiously at a table with Draco’s aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange. You had always had a good relationship with Draco’s relatives, but it was clear to you something was occurring under wraps, something Draco did not want you to know about. Noting his hesitation whenever you brought up the subject, you decided against prying any more information out of him and returned to your studies. Your dedication to academic achievement, much to your surprise, did not go unnoticed by the new Potions Master at Hogwarts, who had heard all about you and Miss Hermione Granger, the two top students of the sixth year.  

Horace Slughorn was a portly, older man, but very gifted with potions and an excellent Professor. Upon arrival, he sought out some of the school’s most promising students and invited them to his office for an elegant dinner. One morning, during breakfast, your owl dropped the intricately decorated envelope right in front of your plate. You had no chance to conceal the envelope from your curious boyfriend, the same one that had tried, without succeeding, to get invited to said dinner.  

However, to your surprise, Draco was not upset. Instead, he pressed a gentle kiss against your temple and muttered the words, “You deserve it, baby girl.” The pet name sends chills down your spine, a smile playing at your lip as his hand rests upon your knee, the cold metal of his rings easing any sort of tension in your body. His left hand rested against your jawline, his slender fingers twiddling with the pearl earring, admiring the small ruby motif encrusted right above the hanging pearl.  

(Y/N) leaned her cheek against his palm, setting the invitation down on the dining hall table, “Are you sure, Darling?” you questioned, taking the time to rest your hand over his, “I might not be able to fit it into my schedule...” you admitted, thoughts of Draco’s mysterious disappearances crossing your mind. Bringing your hand up to his mouth, Draco pressed a soft kiss against the back of it before leaning to press one against your lips.  

“I think,” he started, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes, “You should go show them what the brightest, most caring, and, without a doubt, sexiest girl in Slytherin House has to offer” Draco praised, giving your thigh a small squeeze before dipping to steal another kiss from you, “How does that sound?” He asked sweetly, showering you with yet another kiss, this one against your forehead.  

It was no secret that Draco Malfoy and (Y/N) (L/N) were truly and undeniably in love. Often, the corridors were filled with the incessant whispers of jealous girls who longed for Draco’s attention, but he paid no attention to them. The Slytherin Prince only had eyes for you, the only constant ray of sunshine in his life. Whenever he looked at you, he reminded himself of his vow to keep you completely satisfied, and the only reward he wanted was seeing that gorgeous smile on your face. You were everything to him. You were the only one who knew about his previous family troubles, the one who would hold him when he cried during the late hours of the evening. The one who would fix his tie the second it seemed out of place, the one who would rub his shoulders whenever you noticed him bent over his assignments.  

He would do everything and anything to ensure you felt like the luckiest girl in the world because he knew you, out of all people, deserved it the most.  

”You make an excellent point, Mr. Malfoy,” You grinned, nodding your head in agreement, and flinging your arms around his shoulders. A soft smile crept up Draco’s lips as his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly against his chest and placing a kiss at the top of your head.  

“Don’t I always?” teased Draco, running his fingers through your hair as the other students exited the Great Hall and made their way towards the classes. Rolling your eyes at his response, you placed your hand against his cheek, stealing a kiss from him this time and rising from your seat.  

“We should go,” you announced, stretching your hand out for him to grab, which he happily obliged, rising from the bench and escorting you to your classroom.  

                                          ϟ ϟ ϟ

 A week had passed since Slughorn’s dinner party, the memory of the evening still fresh in Draco’s mind as he tapped his fingers against the wooden desk. Needless to say, he was not particularly pleased with the events of last Saturday. One of Slughorn’s guests had taken quite the liking to you, practically undressing you with his eyes during breakfast hours, something Draco found incredibly disrespectful. He recalled the way Cormac McLaggen eyed you this morning when you bent over to kiss your boyfriend goodbye, skipping out of the Great Hall without a care in the world.  

Draco clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as his eyebrows knitted together, sparks of frustration igniting within him. Not only was McLaggen ogling you like you were his last meal, but he was also casually brushing up beside you in the corridors, shooting Draco arrogant smirks when they locked eyes.  

Oh, how he would love to jinx that insufferable look off his face. Yeah, that’ll show him.  

He should have been paying attention to Professor Flitwick discussing the proper hand movement for the Gouging Spell, but the thoughts of McLaggen badgering you when he was not around boiled his blood. In hindsight, it was a good thing he was neglecting this lesson because the prospect of gouging a large hole through Cormac seemed very appealing. 

You were particularly busy this week and did not have a lot of time to spend with Draco. Sure, the two of you bid your usual goodnights in the Slytherin common room, but your studying had kept you away from Draco. Due to this, Draco Malfoy was left very touch starved and found himself daydreaming of your earlier rendezvous around the castle.  

Draco turned his head towards you, his face relaxing at once as he watched you diligently taking notes, as usual. You had your bottom lip between your teeth, gnawing it softly as your quill scratched against the parchment. With a content sigh, he admired your concentration and wondered how a person could be that gorgeous. He was, truly, the luckiest man in the world when it came to you.  

He supposed that one could not blame McLaggen for falling for you- I mean, who wouldn’t? Any person would be swept off their feet if you entered the room wearing those silk dresses you were oh so fond of. Draco glanced down at those pretty, pink lips of yours, his eyes practically rolling to the back of his head as you parted them, tongue swiping over your upper lip as you added the final details to your diagram.  

Biting his lip, Draco forced his attention towards Professor Flitwick, but it was already too late. The thoughts of you, sprawled across his bed at Malfoy Manor were enough to replace his earlier frustrations with feelings of lust.  

“Stop,” thought Draco, closing his eyes to contain his feelings, but it was no use. Your lips made an “O” shape when you finally grasped the Charms concepts, making goosebumps appear on Draco’s skin as he shuddered.  

What he would do to have you begging for him right now.  

His pants grew considerably tighter and he couldn’t help but feel grateful towards the school uniforms. The robe he was wearing did a decent job at hiding his current problem, but he knew it would be noticeable when he stood. However, that did not stop him from hearing the way you called his name in the back of his head.  

“Please, Draco...”

“Fuck,” cursed Draco under his breath, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, a slight touch of pink dusting his cheeks. Unable to keep his eyes away, Draco looked back towards you, scanning the soft skin of your neck, and noting how awfully bare it looked. With his self-restraint wavering, he subtly slid down the bench you shared and rested his hand on your knee, something he did quite often. However, you did not question him until you felt his lips against your neck and a hand wrapped tightly around your thigh. Turning your head to face him, you were surprised to see him with his hand over his mouth, his eyes averted from yours as his fingers danced against the smooth skin of your inner thigh.  

“Draco,” you cooed, but the only response you received was a rather harsh nip at your neck, “Draco, someone will see…”  

“I don’t care,” Draco snarled against your ear, “I need this bloody class to be over…” He murmured in a much softer tone, his hand rubbing circles against your thigh and inching closer to your clothed heat. But once you turned to scold him, you noticed the dark, red blush that painted his cheeks and felt his hot breath fanning against your face.  

“Are you alright?” you asked cautiously, innocently rubbing your thumb against his thigh, but that only made Draco twitch in his seat, and his reaction suddenly lit the bulb over your head. Your lips curled into a smirk as your hand moved closer to the bulge on Draco’s pants, turning your attention towards the front of the class as you continued your movements.  

Luckily, the two of you sat at the farthest end of the Charms classroom, away from any overly inquisitive eyes. You were certain nobody would notice, if Draco kept his cool, the two of you would be in the clear.  

“Couldn’t even wait till class was over?” You tutted, delicately tracing your fingers over his crotch, and smirking as he shifted in his seat, “Be careful, I don’t want us to get caught.” You added, firmly cupping his erection through his slacks, a wide grin spreading across your face as he doubled down and hid his face behind a book he propped up. It was honestly quite surprising to see Draco this way. Usually, he would be the one teasing you to no end, but you were currently in control and that was enough to light the fire of your arousal.  

“D-Don’t stop,” Draco pleaded under his breath, biting down on his thumb to hold back a moan as your palm worked to release the built-up tension. Encouraged by his dick twitching underneath your hand, you quickened your pace and watched as he parted his lips, struggling to keep any sound from coming out. As his breathing grew more ragged, you felt his abdominal muscles tense up against your touch, indicating that his release would wash over him soon.  

Fighting to keep the small sense of composure he had left, Draco gripped (Y/N)’s wrist and halted her movements. It took him a minute to catch his breath, but when he did, he spoke in a low whisper, “Wait...” His eyes never met yours because if he looked into those beautiful eyes of yours, he would not be able to control himself. And although the prospect of taking you over the desk seemed quite promising, he did not fancy the idea of letting the rest of the student body see you bent over in such a vulnerable state.  

That was only for him, of course.  

“What’s wrong, Darling?” You teased letting your fingers trace over his crotch again, but he only clicked his tongue at you. Draco knew you too well, he knew you were only trying to rile him up again, but he could not let that happen, not right now. With adrenaline coursing through your body, you leaned towards Draco and let your breath fan against his neck before licking a stripe behind his ear, “Didn’t want to come all over those expensive slacks of yours, hm?” You murmured, gently nipping his earlobe, and taking his momentary lapse of strength to palm his erection once more.  

Draco gritted his teeth once again, pulling your hand away from his pants, “I said wait,” he growled, his lust-clouded eyes finally meeting yours, “You do know how to follow instructions, don’t you?” He asked in a much harsher, more desperate tone.  

“Depends on who’s giving them.” You replied sarcastically, placing your free hand on his knee with a smirk.  

However, Draco did not get a chance to shoot his response back at you. Once the bell signaling the end of class rang, he shot up off his seat and gathered both your belongings before taking your hand and hastily pulling you out of the classroom. A few students stared as the two of you rushed down the hall, blushing in embarrassment as you stumbled after Draco.

His hand gripped yours tightly, leading you towards the Prefects’ bathroom, and stuttering out the password once the two of you arrived. Flinging your book bags across the floor, Draco turned and stalked towards you making you step back until your back hit something solid.

“Think you’re funny, are you?” sneered Draco, pinning you against one of the cubicles, his thigh pressed firmly between your legs and his right forearm braced beside your head. Replicating your earlier movements, Draco dragged his tongue underneath your ear before taking the lobe between his teeth, making you gasp. “Why don’t we put that filthy mouth of yours to better use?” He cooed, blowing a puff of air against your ear, and admiring it as it turned red.  

With a sudden burst of confidence, you gripped his robes and pulled his face towards yours, breaths mingling together, “I think,” You muttered, leaning your lips close to his, “That’s the best idea you’ve had all day…” Looking up at his half-lidded eyes, you crashed your lips against Draco’s, fingers immediately tangling themselves in his hair. Draco returned your kiss eagerly, his hands cupping your arse underneath your skirt and pulling your body flush against his.  

You could feel Draco growing more impatient by the minute. His hands were grabbing desperately at your skin, squeezing every inch of bare flesh he could feel. Longing to have you closer to him, Draco slipped his hand underneath your thigh and hooked it over his hip, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. Your back arched off the wall, hips grinding against Draco’s as your tongues laced together in a heated kiss. Tugging at your tie, Draco reached to unbutton your blouse and pulled it open, exposing your bra-clad breasts.  

He pressed his lips against the base of your neck, biting and sucking encouraged by your moans beside his ear. One of his hands held your thigh firmly while the other kneaded your left breast, pulling the fabric of your bra down and taking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You gasped harshly, bucking into him, and digging your fingers into his hair, messing up the parts that remained previously neat. Draco rolled his erection against your soaked panties, smiling down at your face as his hands kneaded your clothed breasts, “So pretty,” he murmured, captivated by your flushed face and the shameful sounds passing through your lips.  

Your hands reached up to grab his face, pulling him down for another kiss. This time, using the momentum to switch your positions so Draco’s back hit the stall door, earning a small moan of surprise from him. Grinning up at him, you pressed your lips against his neck and slid your hand down the front of his body, cupping him firmly as you sucked the sensitive skin. 

Draco let out gasping breaths as you moved your hand, his fingers digging into your waist, “On your knees,” commanded Draco, trying to regain some sort of control over the situation. You obliged happily, dropping down to your knees and lazily running your fingers over his thighs before reaching up for his belt. After fiddling with the buckle, you took your time sliding Draco’s slacks down, purposely neglecting his throbbing dick hidden in his underwear.  

“Don’t be a tease,” snapped Draco, gripping your chin harshly, “Suck,” He commanded firmly, releasing you as you pulled down his boxer briefs. Draco’s thick length snapped up towards his lower abs, almost slapping you in the face when it sprung out of its constraints. Almost drooling at the glorious sight of his cock, you took it in your hand, running your thumb over the pre-cum leaking out of the reddened tip. Draco bucked his hips forwards, hissing at the light touch, and looking down at your concentrated expression as you slowly pumped your hand.  

Lolling your tongue out dramatically, you leaned forwards and gave the tip a kitten lick, earning a frustrated groan from Draco. Satisfied with his discomfort, you gave the swollen tip another kiss before taking his length fully into your mouth. He let out a strangled gasp in response, his eyes squeezed shut as you enthusiastically licked up his length. Sealing off your lips, much like a vacuum seal, you bobbed your head up and down his shaft, tongue swirling around it as Draco trembled underneath you, his hand over his mouth attempting to stifle the sounds coming out of it.  

Draco looked down at you, unable to control the string of low moans and grunts spewing from his lips. The sight of your plump lips stretching around his cock made him lose the few ounces of coherent thoughts he had left in his mind. Draco let out another strangled moan, throwing his head back against the stall door as you swirl your tongue around his shaft and use your hand to pump the base of his cock. His hand flew to the back of your head when you moved to take all of him in your mouth, your nose brushing the trimmed tufts of hair as you choked around him, the contraction of your throat making him groan out your name.  

With another husky moan, Draco balled your hair up into a ponytail and used it as leverage to thrust into your mouth. “Yes, yes,” whimpered Draco, his face flushed red and his breath caught in his throat, “Just like that, (Y/N)” he hissed, his grey eyes flickering down and meeting yours, making his roll back again as he pulled his lip between his teeth. Your fingernails dug into the back of his thighs, squeezing them tighter as he quickened his pace. You moaned around his dick, the vibrations sending a violent quake through his body as he face-fucked you, his climax only moments away.  

“Ah, you take my cock so well, Princess” groaned Draco, his pace stuttering, “You’re so bloody gorgeous” He sighed, his fingers delving tightly into your hair as you continued to swirl your tongue around the shaft, relaxing your jaw to let the tip of his penis hit the back of your throat.  

The sounds coming from Draco’s mouth had you soaking wet and yearning to feel his load shoot down your throat. Determined to finish him off, you moved your hand to fondle his balls, moaning with satisfaction as his cock pulsated in your mouth. His breaths grew ragged and the only sounds coming from him were small whimpers and grunts. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, his platinum blonde hair fell messily over his eyes, which were currently screwed shut as his face twisted with pleasure.   

Draco’s eyes fluttered open, meeting your eager ones for a second time, but it was too much. Cursing loudly, Draco’s pace grew sloppier and rougher, his body trembling as you fondled his balls once again.  

“(Y/N)!” He cried out as you gagged around him, thick ropes of cum coating the inside of your mouth as he came, hard. You struggled to swallow his heavy load, but you were adamant on taking every last drop, just how he liked it. Draco gasped as he caught his breath, his hand still in your hair as he gave your mouth two final shallow thrusts, pulling out as you licked him clean.  

With his chest heaving, Draco delicately placed his hand against your cheek and slid his thumb over your swollen lips. You press a chaste kiss against the pad of his thumb, the corners of your mouth curling up into a loving smile. He brought you back up to your feet, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all tongue before pulling away with a satisfied smile on his face.  

“You’re quite chipper now, aren’t you?” You teased, hitting him playfully on the shoulder as he pulled his slacks up, tucking his shirt back into his pants and shooting you a wink.  

“Yes, actually,” He retorted, his usual smirk appearing on his lips, “And why is that?” You asked, taking the time to button your own shirt, blushing as Draco stalked towards you. He placed his hand on the side of your neck, pulling down your collar to admire the angry, red marks that decorated it.  

With a small huff, he dipped down and sucked on the spot below your jaw, your knees buckling and hands gripping his shoulders as he bit down. Once he was satisfied with his handiwork, Draco pulled away, smirking at the mark that would surely be visible for days.  

“Because I’m the only one who gets to have you like this,” admitted Draco, pulling you into a hug and resting his chin atop your head, “Can’t wait until I catch McLoser drooling over you, I’ll make sure to remind him who he’s dealing with.”  

You laughed at Draco’s declaration, your arms tightening around him as you embraced, “Are you ready for lunch then? He could already be there” You teased, pressing a kiss against his nose, and pulling away to pick up your bag from the bathroom floor. Draco chuckled as you skipped back towards him, giving your behind a playful smack as you walked past him, “Don’t run off thinking I won’t return the favor,” stated Draco salaciously, catching your hand and pulling you back before you could exit the bathroom.  

You looked up at him with a curious expression, “Is that so?” You questioned with a grin, walking towards him, and placing your hand on his chest, “Is it something I should look forward to?” You asked, tilting your head to the side innocently.  

Draco laughed, raising his hand to cup your cheek, “Come to my room tonight at eleven, wearing that pretty little dress from Twilfitt and Tattings,” muttered Draco, his lips close to yours once again, “I’ll make it worth your while,” he winked, his fingers dipping underneath your skirt to swipe over your clothed core.  

Shivering under his touch, you blushed embarrassingly as he examined the slick now coating his finger, “All for me, Princess?” He teased, contently licking his finger clean and grabbing his own book bag, “Actually, I was thinking about McLaggen” you quipped, stepping out of the Prefect’s bathroom with a bounce in your step which Draco followed after, his eyebrows furrowed as he flanked you. 

“Careful, Love” warned Draco with a hum, his hand sliding into yours as you walked, “or I’ll have to teach that naughty mouth of yours another lesson.”

                                               ϟ ϟ ϟ

 Your four-year anniversary drew nearer, and you found yourself worried about Draco’s behavior yet again. He grew increasingly distant as the term progressed and you could not help but worry, despite his constant reassurances, stating there was nothing to worry about. This, again, left you feeling frustrated. You and Draco started dating during your third year and it had taken a while to break down his walls to understand him, but now it seemed like some of that progress was overturned. 

However, when he was around, he always made the effort to shower you with affection and ensure you were being taken care of. Draco knew your habits better than anything, he knew you would be questioning his behavior and launching your own investigations to find the underlying cause of it, but he could not let you interfere. He was already under fire for having ‘distractions’ and had promised the Dark Lord nothing would come in the way of his success.  

To keep you safe, you had to be left in the dark. It wounded Draco to see that distraught expression on your face when he came into the common room past midnight, sometimes even asleep, curled up on the couch waiting for him to return. He felt guilty for putting you through all this, but it was necessary for your safety and nothing was more important than protecting you.  

His nights were constantly haunted by horrifying images of you injured or worse, dead in his arms after some terrible mistake he made. These thoughts were constantly wearing him down, but he could not tell you, it was just too risky to involve you in this situation. This stressful internal struggle encouraged Draco to show you how much you meant to him.  

He wanted you to know that you were, truly, the most important person in his life.  

“Draco,” You whined with your hands over your eyes as Draco led you through the empty streets of Hogsmeade, “Can’t I just open my eyes? I’ve been to Hogsmeade plenty of times” you reminded him, but he only chuckled beside you, holding you by the waist as you walked.  

“I’m trying to surprise you,” Draco stated, rolling his eyes, “So why don’t you stop complaining and follow me.” He declared, pressing a kiss against your cheek, and leading you towards the clothing shops in the village. Draco halted in front of a large store window, looking up at the dress and envisioning you in them with a proud grin.  

“Alright,” he started, grabbing the hands that covered your face, “Ready?” He murmured, pressing a kiss against her fingertips as you nodded. Counting to three, Draco pulled your hands away from your face and stepped out of your view, letting you take in the sight before you.  

In front of you stood a tall mannequin wearing a floor-length shimmering, emerald green gown with small silver detailing the bust, “Wow” you muttered breathlessly, leaning closer to the window to get a better look of the design. The mannequin turned 180 degrees, giving her a better view of the open back and long train that followed the dress.  

“Do you like it?” Draco asked, looking down at his ring with a content smile on his face. 

Your eyes scanned over the glittering, diamond pendant necklace complete with matching water drop earrings, “It’s gorgeous,” you replied, looking over at your boyfriend with a puzzled expression, “Why do I get the feeling you’re up to something?” You asked, quirking your eyebrow at him as he laughed.  

“You know me well, Darling” Draco admitted sheepishly, leading you towards the door of the stop and holding it open, “I just thought, since you’ve been attending Slughorn’s dinner parties, that you would need some more evening outfits to show off,” He stated proudly, his hand against the small of your back as he gestured you towards the changing rooms.  

“Draco, I couldn’t possibly! You bought me one at the start of term!” You protested, grabbing his hands but part of you knew his mind was already made up. 

“You’re right,” He agreed with a nod, placing his hand against your cheek, “And I’m going to buy you four more today,” He stated nonchalantly, looking back at the four sets of the dresses brought over by the shopkeeper, “You better get started,” he urged, taking a seat on the ottoman in front of the dressing room.  

With a loving smile, you captured Draco’s lips in a kiss, “I love you” You said, squeezing his hand as he returned your smile.  

“And I love you most,” He replied, pressing a kiss against your forehead, and urging towards the dressing room, “Come on, I want to see how stunning you look in those.” Giggling, you ran into the changing room, winking back at Draco before sliding the curtain close and getting into the first dress.  

Several hours later, you and Draco exited the shop with four bags containing various dresses, jewelry pieces, and, even, a brand-new suit. After one final stop at Honeydukes, the two of you made your way towards the castle, treasuring the time you spent together and the memories you created while doing so.

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Hi!

I wanted to telI you I really enjoyed your meta on Christopher's room. I always look forward to your breakdowns on their clothing as well. After reading your post, I was wondering if you could or would like to speculate on colors, designs, and/or accessories to expect this season. You tend to be pretty on the nose with these things, again I love reading your thoughts on all the characters. If it's not too much trouble that is. 🥰

Desiree!!!

Thank you so much for your kind words. It truly means so much - whenever someone says they enjoy my Metas etc. I'm so excited that I get to start doing post episode costume breakdowns again - I've missed them!!

I don't have the time to go into too much detail, but here is a little brief summary of what I think we'll see for various characters - fingers crossed I'm close!!!

Bobby I'm expecting more of the same for Bobby - button up shirts and jeans - but I think we might start to see the colours trending darker - and the same for the undershirts

Athena I was so excited to see her in colours in the trailer! Angela has the most beautiful skin tone and can wear colour so well that I'm looking forward to seeing her in ore of them - it has been a general trend for her - moving away from the black, white and creams, and army greens and into more colours, so I expect that to continue - its a signifier of where she is emotionally - happy Athena wears jewel tone colours - Athena in 'work' mode or deal with family issues mode - will always revert back to the limited colour palette which is very military like (this is why her and Eddie are son interesting as a parallel!!)- so expect to see that carry on in s6!

Buck I think we'll continue to see Buck trend towards either being in a hoodie, tees, or in smart shirts and the sort of knit polo shirt we saw him wear at the wedding. I'm expecting to see him trend towards the darker shades of colours initially with him moving back towards brighter shades as the season progresses, but I'm expecting a lot of black, blue, grey and white with the odd colour such as the browns and yellow ochres and maybe some maroon. I also expect to see the patterning continue to be small as he heads into his spiral - with the patterns getting bigger as he comes out of said spiral and heals/moves forward. (as I was writing this Oliver posted that 'watch the show tonight' video which looks to be in costume and has proven my theory already 😂 Happy days!!)

Eddie Eddie is an interesting one!! I have this feeling we're gonna be seeing him evolving away from the muted colours we've seen him up to now and very definitely away from the army shades - they will still be there, but less frequently as he finds who he is without the military PTSD etc hanging over him. I'm expecting richer tones - and I think we'll be looking at shades of blues and darker greens - navy, teal, lighter blues and the like -as we saw in 5x18.

Maddie Have to say - seeing the pink number from the trailer has thrown me a bit with Maddie!!! I'm now expecting to see a lot more colour in her wardrobe than I thought we'd be getting - which is great becuase it means we're back to happy Maddie - I just wasn't expecting to get there until a bit later on!! I'm expecting a move away from the leather jackets and a move back into blazers and denim jackets, I'm also expecting a combination of logo print tees and shirts for her. I think we'll see some new jewellery for her as well - possibly a necklace with Jee-Yun on it, or some varitation of!

Chimney Chimney is the one character I don't expect to see a huge amount of change from - especially in terms of colour palette and style. we might see far more stripes and checks (fitting in with my theories) and possibly less of the tan and lighter colours, with the darker greys, blacks and blues gaining more prominance, but I don't think we'll see a huge difference (he might look a bit more frazzled and not as well turned out but it depends on what direction they take his spiral in!) in his wardrobe - he's always (along with Bobby) been the one who has the most consistent clothing!

Hen I think we're going to be seeing a lot more patterns in Hens clothes - especially as she struggles to juggle everything. I think we're going to be continuing to see the designer tracksuits etc. but the patterns will be out in force. I feel like we might see a bit more of the frayed stuff going on as well - which we've seen in the past. but I think colour wise we'll be getting more of the same - bright and bold colours in all shades as well as some lighter toned items to bring it together. we'll definitely continue to see the big hoop earrings when out of uniform and I'm waiting to see what uniform earrings she has this season - because they, like her glasses, are different each season depending on what she has going on!

If I have more time later I might speculate on some of the other characters as well, but these are our mains and hopefully I'll be proven right (although I wouldn't put it past the wardrobe team to be on to me that I'm on to them and mix it up 😂😂) I hope this answers your ask - let me know your thoughts!!

[watchmegetobsessed]

Serendipity - Part I. (Harry Styles)

a/n: i am BEYOND excited to share this story with you guys! i’ve been working on it for over a month now if not more and what started as just a oneshot, slowly grew into this massive fic. i really hope you’ll love the story of Harry and Lis bc im obsessed with them haha. please feel free to share your thoughts and reactions about the chapter and the fic itself!

pairing: Harry x OC (Annalise Lloyd)

word count: 8k

SERIES MASTERPOST  ⚫️ my masterlist  ⚫️  come and talk to me about Serendipity!  ⚫️ consider buying me a coffee!

Serendipity (n.) Finding something good without looking for it.

There are people who plot out their New Year’s Eve plan even months before the last day of the year, making sure they will be celebrating the upcoming year at the best party possible. And then there are the folks who just ignore it until the very last moment and end up spending at a random place with even more random people.

Harry Styles desperately wanted to be the first kind, but unfortunately often found himself falling into the second case scenario. With his busy schedule and endless ocean of his upcoming projects, he never really had time to think about the last party of the day and usually ended up just tagging along some of his friends wherever they headed to. This year was no different, having to work up until even the last few days of the year, Harry had little to no thought about where he would be when the clock strikes midnight.

Just about a day before it, one of his old high school friends, Griff hits him up with a text if he would want to join them for the celebration at the pub he opened not that long ago. Harry didn’t think twice to accept the invitation, finally checking one more thing off his list, so he won’t just stay at home, and pathetically fall asleep at ten.

It’s nothing big or fancy, Griff assures him in the morning when he rings his friend up to ask when he should arrive and what he should bring.

“Nothing, ey? Just come and ‘ave a good time with us,” Griff tells him, though he already knows Harry won’t show up empty handed.

 December 31st

A little before seven Harry opts for a quick shower before he dives deep in his wardrobe to find something to wear. He is torn between wearing a fancy outfit or something cozier, but eventually stands up for the latter, putting on a pair of light washed jeans, a simple white button up and a seaweed green knitted jumper under his coat. He doesn’t pay much attention to his hair, his curls falling around his head in a messy, warm brown halo. It’s been raining all day, it wouldn’t have had any use to try to tame them.

Slowly but surely, Harry feels the buzz in himself, excited to see his old friends and maybe meet some new people while having drinks and just relaxing. He grabs a bottle of fancy whiskey from his bar and heads out around eight.

Griff is one of the few people Harry stayed in touch with after his career launched so abruptly, the two of them often met up whenever Harry was around, having a pint together, just chatting up. Griff bought an old pub a few years prior and completely renewed it, opened at the beginning of the year, Harry was there at the opening party, he had way too much to drink, but he surely had a great time.

“There he is! My favorite arrogant son of a bitch!” Harry immediately hears as soon as he steps into the pub that’s already quite filled.

The tall lad makes his way through the groups of guests until he can envelop his old friend in a warm, brotherly hug as Harry chuckles at the name he just called him. Griff always loved that line from Harry’s song and never missed a chance to call him that. He doesn’t mind though, keeps that playful side of their friendship he always adored so much.

“Good to see you, mate,” Harry smirks at him. “Here, this is for yeh.” He holds out the pricey drink and Griff shakes his head at him.

“Told ya not to bring anything!” he sighs but accepts the gift anyway, knowing well Harry would just sneak into the back anyway and leave the liquor on his desk. “We ‘ave a nice evening ahead of us. Got food, drinks, everything’s on me, take what yeh want,” Griff assures him as the two of them walk further inside.

Harry sees a few familiar faces, high school friends, kids from around the neighborhood that are now grown adults, just like him, but there are quite a lot of guests he doesn’t know.

“C’mon, yeh need t’ ‘ave a welcome drink with me,” Griff grins as he pulls Harry to the bar and fills up two shot glasses generously. Harry doesn’t even bother to ask him what it is, he just takes the glass willingly and after they clink in the middle they both send it down.

Harry grimaces as the hard liquor burns down his throat, Griff never played around with the soft drinks, he knows what hits the best and fastest and Harry figures it’s one of those drinks that would have him crawling on the floor after two more shots.

It doesn’t take Harry long to mix and mingle, get into conversations and meet new people, just enjoying the welcoming and warm atmosphere of the party. He is pleased to see that people treat him just like any other guest, rather than a famous person and he is beyond thankful for that.

Near the bar, Griff has set up a quite rich buffet table filled with all kinds of snacks and food. It’s way past ten when Harry shuffles over there feeling his stomach growling. He grabs a paper plate and his eyes roam everything that’s set on the table. Humming to himself he decides to opt for the delicious looking fries, his mouth drools just at the sight of them, so he puts a generous amount to his plate before his eyes spot the bowl of peas. That’s exactly what he needs to go with the fries.

He goes a little overboard, but he couldn’t care less. Once he is satisfied with his meal he puts back the spoon that was sat in the bowl of peas, right when someone reaches for it. Glancing up his gaze meets a pair of warm brown eyes and a shy, but playful smile. Harry can’t stop himself from smiling instantly as the woman takes the spoon and fills her plate with peas. He looks down and sees that her plate is filled with the exact same things: fries and peas.

“Excellent choice,” he smirks teasingly and her eyes snap down to her plate before she sees the similarity on Harry’s plate. She lets out an airy chuckle before she tugs her chestnut colored, wavy locks behind her ears with her now free hand.

“Mother always told me to balance the junk out with something healthy,” she admits, the corners of her mouth curling up as she blinks a little shy under Harry’s burning gaze.

He always knew he had an eye for pretty things and he never dared to deny himself from admiring them once he laid his eyes on something he found breathtaking. She was by far the prettiest thing he has seen in quite some time, so he doesn’t shy away from taking in her figure in front of him. Delicious looking curves dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a sheer shirt with a top underneath it, the front tugged into the waist of the jeans. Her hair looks effortless, but he can tell she probably spent some time forming the natural looking waves before coming here. The thin eyeliner makes her eyes appear more cat-like and her long lashes dance around with each look she pays him.

“You want to—um, sit?” she stammers nodding towards an empty table near the buffet, a soft blush tainting her soft skin. Harry absolutely adores the hint of innocence in her features.

“’fcourse,” he nods and follows her.

The two of them move over to the table and sit down with their meal, Harry sneaking a fry into his mouth right away.

“’M Harry, by the way,” he says, realizing he hasn’t even introduced himself just yet. Some people tend to look at him weird whenever he does it, as if it should be common knowledge to know who he is, but he never takes it for granted. Luckily, she doesn’t find it funny or weird that he introduced himself.

“Annalise. But everyone just calls me Lis,” she explains and holds out a hand for him, which at first looks a little odd and he can tell she regrets the motion, but he appreciates it, even finds it cute. So before she can pull her hand back he takes it and gives it a soft shake. “So what brings you here tonight?” she asks as both of them digs into their food.

“Griff invited me, saved me last minute, didn’t have any plans.”

“How do you know him?”

Harry finds it amusing that she didn’t bring up that a famous person like him would probably have tons of invitations to fancy parties. He hates when people assume that his social life is blossoming at all times, packed with parties and events to attend every day.

“We went to high school together. Stayed in touch through the years.”

Lis nods with a small smile before her eyes return to the plate in front of her.

“How ‘bout you?”

“Oh, um… Well, Griff and I had a blind date like ages ago, but we both figured out pretty quickly we are never gonna be more than just friends. But that we are perfect for. Have been meeting up every once in a while. I was kind of in the same shoe like you, wasn’t planning on coming out tonight, but… I was forced to,” she admits with a nervous chuckle.

“Y’ don’t like to go out?”

“I—uh, don’t really have the time,” she answers, clearly a bit nervous at the topic so Harry decides to just drop it.

The two of them sit there, just talking and eating and with each passing moment Harry finds himself more and more enchanted by the woman sitting on his right. The way she rambles sometimes, how her nose scrunches whenever she is laughing hard, how she likes to keep tugging her hair behind her ears all the time, are the smallest things but they easily catch Harry’s attention.

Besides, she is not just the looks, also an amazing company. Easy to talk about anything, even the riskier things too. She doesn’t shy away from giving her honest and raw opinion, but also doesn’t attack if someone thinks differently. Instead, she is open to other point of views, seeking opportunities to learn and grow. It’s a mindset Harry values highly and feels like it’s hard to find it. But on this evening in his mate’s pub, he found a gem, it feels like.

The plates soon get swapped to beers and Lis is getting giddier with each gulp, which he finds amusing, especially because she lets her thoughts slip without thinking about them and it allows Harry to look into that pretty head of hers easier.

He doesn’t fail to notice how his heart flutters every time she touches his arm or hand whenever she is deep in a story. The warm touch of her soft hand is sending him into trembling and he is glad they are sitting because he surely would be having a hard time keeping himself up on his feet. She is just the kind of person that wraps others around her fingers without even trying or noticing.

Though it’s only been over an hour since he first laid his eyes on her, he feels like he has known her for ages. The connection built up fast and smoothly, sweeping Harry right off his feet. He’s got it bad for her and he already knows he wants to see her again once this night ends.

“Oh, it’s almost midnight!” Annalise gasps snapping out of her thoughts, a hand snapping to Harry’s upper arm. The crowd is starting to buzz, getting ready for the count down.

“C’mon, let’s get some champagne,” Harry tells her and helps her up from her seat.

They head to the bar and each of them grabs a flute filled with the sparkly alcohol. They stand a little to the side, but still mingled in the crowd of guests. Harry can feel his hands getting sweaty as he thinks about the countdown. Every fiber in his body is aching to kiss her, even though he knows it’s quite crazy knowing the fact they have known each other for only two hours. But he just can’t help it, she has a spell on him with just one look, making him act like a teenager in love.

Annalise peeks up at Harry with a lazy smile, the drinks have made her a little lightheaded, but she is nowhere near being drunk. Her thoughts are absolutely clear and they all focus on the man standing close to her.

Harry watches her bite into her bottom lip and he wonders if she is thinking about the same thing. If she’d be mad if he kissed her when the clock strikes midnight or slap him right across his face. He notices as she draws a deep breath, eyes looking around before they return to him.

“Get yo’ drinks, lads!” Griff shouts from somewhere behind the bar and those who haven’t picked up a glass quickly work on the problem.

Then the countdown begins.

“Ten!... Nine!... Eight!...”

Annalise glances up at Harry and her cheeks blush when she catches him already looking at her. She wishes she had her beer so she could hide in her glass from his burning eyes.

“Seven!... Six!...”

Harry turns so his whole body is facing her and takes just one tiny step towards her. When she doesn’t back away from him, he takes it as a sign that she might want the same thing as him.

“Five!... Four!...”

She looks straight up at him with a sheepish smile and pushes herself against him right when his free hand finds its way to her waist. She sucks in a sharp breath, but doesn’t move while Harry is aching to taste her plump, soft lips.

“Three!... Two!... One!... Happy New Year!”

The crowd cheers as one, guests are clapping and screaming, welcoming the new year with high hopes and full of planes for the new chapter that just started.

Harry and Annalise lock eyes and while everything around them is a full chaos, he feels like a bubble of silence and tranquility is surrounding them. Harry sucks in his breath, lips parted as he doesn’t break his gaze with hers. There’s a moment of hesitation, but the voice in the back of his mind tells him that he can’t let this moment go to waste.

Fuck it! He tells himself before he leans down and his lips meet hers in a soft, warm and breathtaking kiss.

He is a man who believes in magic, in things he can’t explain rationally, he is a man who doesn’t try to pull reality into everything when something odd happens. When his lips meet hers, he is swept right off his feet with just that tiny touch. It’s not a demanding kiss, very restricted and shy, but it still makes his insides tremble for her, almost falling to his knees right in front of her.

There’s a moment of hesitation from her side, when their lips are just touching in a little awkward way, but it fades into nothing before Harry could wrap his head around it, her lips parting as she lets him deepen the kiss, a soft moan slipping out of her throat that brings a knot to his stomach.

The moment is so vivid, raw and intoxicating, he wishes he could bottle it up and open it to have a taste of her anytime later, keep her in his pocket just to have her lips glued to his like this whenever he needs to be grounded or taken away from the world. His fingers dig into her waist, pulling her close to his body, hoping to just merge into her, become one with the woman in his arms.

She softly glides her hands up his arms, through his shoulders before they stop at the back of his neck, digging into his soft curls, while never breaking the kiss. Their lips stay melted together, tongues and teeth clashing, they are a hot mess in the first minutes of the new year.

The cheering slowly dies down and the usual buzzing of conversations and laughter replaces it, but the two of them are still busy with each other and it takes quite some time to pull themselves out of the bubble they created.

“Happy New Year, Lis,” Harry smiles down, lips swollen, eyes glistening from the joy that’s filling up his veins. She glances up at him shyly from under her lashes.

“Happy New Year, Harry,” she whispers, biting into her bottom lip, coming off the high this little make out session gave her.  

One hour passes by, then another and the party is starting to slowly die down. People are flaking out the door, the crowd is getting smaller with each door opening.

Harry and Annalise remain in the corner of the place after their kiss, a barrier that’s been noticeably present before has come down as Harry has his arm swung over the back of her chair and she lets herself lean against his side. There’s something so calming and tranquil in just being so close to each other, sharing thoughts and stories while his fingers graze on her shoulder gently and her head always falls to his shoulder when she laughs on something. He loves her laugh, it could easily light up any place and Harry can’t help but feel sorry for the people who don’t see her shine. So many guests didn’t get the chance to get to know her, but on the other hand, he is a bit selfish, he wants her all to himself. No one else should have the honor of making her laugh or bringing a smile to her perfect lips. He wants her all to himself, even if it makes him sound like a mad man.

After she leaves to the restroom, she comes back with her phone in her hands and a tired smile playing on her lips.

“I, uhh—called an Uber. I really should get going,” she tells him and he wants to make her stay. He wants this evening to last forever, but he can’t ask her to stay longer than she wants, so he just slowly nods.

“I’ll walk you out,” he offers, but it’s more like a fact.

The two of them find their coats on the packed rack, Annalise says goodbye to the handful of people she knows, hugging Griff before they head outside to wait for her car to arrive.

“I really enjoyed tonight,” Harry mumbles, shoving his hands into his coat’s pockets, feeling like a nervous teenage boy talking to his crush. She glances up at him with a smile, but there’s something clouding her eyes he can’t really put his finger on.

“Me too,” she assures him, a pair of headlights turning the corner and they both look in the approaching car’s direction before facing each other. “It was really great meeting you, Harry. Take care of yourself in the new year,” she tells her, but he doesn’t like the weight of her words. It sounds like a proper goodbye, like she is bracing herself to never meet him again, but he can’t let that happen.

“Can I—Uh, can I have your number? I would love to take you out sometime.”

The car stops next to them and she nods in the driver’s way to let him know she’s the one he is supposed to pick up. Taking a step to the backseat, she looks back at Harry.

“I’m really sorry, Harry, but we can’t.”

Devastation washes over him, her words are like a punch into his stomach each. Why is she rejecting him? Did she not enjoy the evening? Did he say something stupid? She seemed to be having a great time, so why can’t he see her again?

“What? Are you sure? Because I really loved tonight and would love to see you again.”

Annalise opens the car door and shoots him an apologetic look. He has never felt this helpless in his life, than at that moment, looking at the woman of his dreams escape from his reach.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t get into… whatever it is you want from me. I really am sorry, I wish it was different.”

“But I just want to see you again. I thought… You didn’t feel like it was something special?” he breathes out, feeling the world crashing down on him with each passing moment.

“I did, but I can’t do this. I’m sorry. Take care, Harry,” she sighs, clearly not happy about her own actions and he doesn’t understand why she is fleeing away like this.

He stands there, completely frozen as she gets into the car and shuts the door open. Their eyes meet through the window one last time before the car starts moving and she falls out of his view. He stares after her until the very last moment, when the car disappears at the end of the street, leaving him in pieces from the major rejection he just suffered.

He stays out there until his nose and cheeks turn red and his ears are freezing off, part of him wishing that if he just waits she’s gonna magically reappear and tell him it was just a joke. He can’t believe he met such a wonderful creature and had to let her go like she didn’t flip his whole world upside down under just a couple of hours. Does she know how much of an effect she had on him?

She probably doesn’t, he thinks to herself, because then she wouldn’t have left so abruptly and without a trace for him to find her again.

When Harry returns to the pub, he is met with a tipsy Griff, shoving a pint into his hand immediately.

“Ay, saw you hanging with Lis all night!” he teases Harry, but the mentioning of her name just makes his heart ache. However, knowing that Griff is friends with her, he is ready to use him as a way to get to her.

“Yeah, hey, you have her number?” he asks, trying his best to look as innocent as possible, but Griff sees right through him, even with all the alcohol in his body.

“Sorry, mate. F’she didn’t give it to ya, I won’t go against her.”

“I’m begging you, Griff. I need to see her again!” he sighs in despair, ready to do anything he can to get to her.

“Y’not the first bloke to fall for her magic. I know what it feels like, but I can’t do anything, sorry.” He shrugs his shoulders, giving an apologetic look to his friend before he joins another conversation.

Harry could scream from the frustration, the urge to punch something or someone is growing with each passing moment, but he has to realize there’s nothing he can do at this point other than accept the fact that he met this wonderful woman, had the best night with her and then was forced to watch her walk out of his life before she could even become part of it properly.

Harry starts to realize that what he thought about heartbreaks is nothing compared to the feeling Annalise left in his heavy heart.

There has to be a solid reason for what she did. Or did not do.

Endless theories about Annalise flood his mind through the days following that night when he was forced to watch her leave on such a bitter and painful note. Harry couldn’t stop himself from making up the most ridiculous cases just to give himself a possible peace of mind, but neither of them brought him enough comfort to forget about her.

His best shot was that she had a boyfriend, or even worse, a husband. This was the only version that sounded somewhat real and believable, though he just knew she is not the type of woman to cheat on a significant other.

How would you know? You spent just one evening with her, she could be a serial killer for all you know! Harry’s rational side was always quick to shut him down when his thought swirled around the idea of knowing her well enough to assume anything about her.

As the days dragged by him in a painful pace, he slowly had to realize it’s going to be a question in his life he’ll never get an answer to, so he just has to learn to live with the thought of the woman that got away.

The end of January rolls around faster than he could comprehend, February comes and he finds himself spending his days mostly in the studio, cooking up new music. Studio sessions are his favorite. That’s his element, he feels safe and comfortable, surrounded by people he trusts and enjoys creating his art fully. In the new year, he has also been eager to pick up a new hobby so he has been trying himself out in knitting and painting recently, finding both of them just a tad bit too hard for him just yet, but they were enough to get his mind off of the one woman who was constantly occupying his thoughts following New Year’s Eve.

Sitting in an armchair in the studio, he and his bandmates are listening back to some recordings they did today and he is trying to find that one thing that keeps throwing him off whenever he hears the song.

“I think it’s great,” Mitch states once the recording ends, and Harry agrees, it is great, but not the best.

“Maybe we could tone down the keyboard a little through the bridge, give more space for the guitar,” he contemplates, but really, he is just shooting in the dark, not sure what it is that keeps him on edge about the song.

“Why don’t we have a break?” Sarah suggests with a warm smile, seeing how everyone is keen on leaving for a little, except Harry, who is still fixated on mastering the song. But he agrees to have the break, however while everyone gets ready to leave and grab something to eat from the diner that’s around the corner, Harry stays where he is, eyes glued to his notebook.

“You’re not coming?” Charlotte asks him and he just shakes his head.

“No, not that hungry.” He looks up and shoots them a short smile and though they all can tell he could use the time out, they know him enough already that he won’t leave before he finds what’s not right.

“Alright. We’ll be back in an hour,” Mitch informs him and he dismisses them all with a nod.

He stays right there, going through the lyrics a few more times, making tiny changes in hopes that it’ll fix it all, but he can feel himself growing frustrated. Doesn’t matter how hard he is trying, he realizes his brain needs a break. Letting out a defeated huff he leans back, looking around in the empty studio. He doesn’t feel particularly hungry, but he could use something to snack on. So grabbing his coat he locks up the studio and heads out to the nearby Tesco they usually run out during sessions.

He is still humming the melody to himself when he walks in, a pair of sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, his famous curls hidden under a green beanie. He doesn’t bother to get a cart or basket, just strolls inside and roams down the aisles, trying to decide what he desires.

He settles on some kind of canned tea and a protein bar, but before he heads towards the cash registers, he wanders down the aisle where they keep cereals, looking around aimlessly. It’s the middle of the day on a weekday, most people are at work at this hour, so just a few other customers are lingering around, filling their carts. At first, he doesn’t pay any attention to the figure a little further down the aisle, his eyes are glued to the shelves, but then he just mindlessly glances to his left, his brain not even processing what, or who he is seeing at first. Then he takes a double take and his stomach drops to the tiled floor when he recognizes the woman, deep in her thoughts to decide which cereal to buy.

Annalise is standing just a few meters away from him, looking just as beautiful as he remembered, wearing a pair of simple jeans, light blue sneakers and a white jacket, her hair is in a loose ponytail on the top of her head.

“Lis?” he calls out, as if he thinks she is just a ghost. Taking a few steps closer he watches as her eyes fall from the products on the shelves to him, then they widen and her lips part in shock.

“Harry? Wha-what are you doing here?” she asks and Harry is quick to read the panic out of her tone as she looks around cautiously.

“I’m… shopping?” he answers with a soft chuckle, holding up the items in his hands.

“Haven’t seen you around here.”

“The studio we use is nearby, I drop by sometimes. But today is clearly my lucky day.” Even though her reaction is giving him doubts, he can’t hide his joy upon seeing her again, fate clearly playing on his side this time.

“Uh, yeah?” she lets out an anxious chuckle, her eyes often wandering off him, as if she is waiting for someone to show up and it just fuels Harry’s rich theories about her.

“So, are you here with your boyfriend?” he boldly asks, deciding to just go for it. Annalise’s eyes widen once again, but not in a way that makes him think he just busted her, it’s more of a confused one.

“Boyfriend? What are you talking about?”

“Well, you basically ran away from me that night, I figured you had someone and that’s why you didn’t want to give me your number.” He tries his best not to sound petty or bitter, though that’s exactly what he’s been feeling ever since she left that night.

“Harry, that’s… not the case.”

“Okay, so does this mean you’ll give me your number this time?” he tries and he is so busy with her presence, he doesn’t even notice when a smaller frame runs past him down the aisle.

“Mommy! I want this!”

At first, he doesn’t even register that the little boy is talking to Annalise, he dismisses his presence, eyes still fixated on her, but then her gaze leaves him and turns down to the boy, holding up a bar of chocolate.

“Honey, that’s too big. Choose something smaller, alright?”

It takes Harry a few moments to put one and one together. This kid just ran up to her, called her mommy and most likely not on accident since she answered him, very much talking to him like his mother. Though Harry can’t see his own face, he knows it fell, shock completely taking over him as his thoughts finally add up. Annalise looks back at him in panic, completely puzzled about what to do or say.

“Benji, go get another one, a smaller one while I talk to my friend here,” Annalise softly tells the boy.

He turns to Harry, eyes meeting his as he cocks his head to the side, examining the shocked adult standing in front of him.

“Who’s this?” he blurts out.

“Just a friend, alright? Go get your chocolate,” she urges. Benji gives Harry another look before nodding and running off, leaving them alone once again in the cereal aisle. “Harry, I-I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to know.”

“Are you married?” is his first question, taking her by surprise.

“What?”

“The father. Is he your husband?” he urges, eager to clear the picture. Annalise shakes her head.

“No, we were never even married.”

He feels relief washing over him. At least at this point he doesn’t feel like a homewrecker. If he found out she wasn’t only a mother but also married, and that she cheated on the dude with him, that would have crushed him. But it’s one less thing to worry about on a long list.

“Okay, it’s fine. You are not married, it’s all good,” he breathes out and it brings her a smile through this absurd situation.

“You thought I was married?”

“Or at least had a boyfriend, yeah,” he nods, hands on his hips as he licks his lips. He surely had a mini panic attack, but he can feel the life coming back into his body.

“Do I come off like the kind to cheat that easily?” she asks with raised eyebrows, but she didn’t take it as an offense, she more like finds it funny rather than hurtful.

“No, not at all! I was just trying to figure out why you rejected me and this was my best shot!”

“I’m sorry, Harry. I just… I didn’t know how to tell and I didn’t really think you would want to see me again after that night.”

“I think I made it clear that I wanted to when I asked for your number.”

“Well, yes, but I thought you just wanted a hookup and that’s just not what I can do.”

“Because of…” he gestures towards the boy that jolted down the aisle just a few minutes ago.

“Because of Benji, yeah.”

“Alright, it’s understandable, but I did not just want a hookup, and that’s still not what I want,” he clears, his words certainly surprising her. This is definitely not what she was expecting when she came down to get groceries today.

“Harry…” she breathes out, already feeling guilty that she is about to turn him down once again. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a single mother with a six year-old and you are… you.”

“I don’t see your point,” he truthfully answers.

“I’m not some model you chatted up at some award show, who is living her best life, traveling the world just like you. My days consist of work, doing laundry, cleaning the house, cooking, doing first grade homework, going to football practice and watching cartoons. We are polar opposites.”

“No, just our lifestyles, but that doesn’t mean we can’t get closer.”

“Is that really what you want?”

Harry is about to answer right when Benji emerges again, proudly holding up a bar of KitKat in his hand this time.

“This one! This one!” he declares, stopping next to Annalise.

“Okay, put it in,” she nods and the little boy throws the chocolate into the cart with a beaming smile. Her eyes flicker back to Harry, who is now staring down at Benji, who is seemingly not that interested in him at the moment, his attention is more focused on the cereals on the shelves.

She is aware she can’t really push this conversation, but she also doesn’t want Benji to hear it.

“Benji, can you get me three apples? I’ll go get paper towels in the next aisle, alright?”

“Three?” he asks holding up three fingers to make sure he heard her right.

“Yes.”

Benji nods and runs off once again, while Annalise grabs a random box of cereal off the shelf and starts pushing her cart, Harry walking along with him.

“It’s nice that you want to prove that you are fine with whatever baggage I come with, but I’m not stupid, Harry. I know I’m not the jackpot and I’m not naïve, I’m not trying to make myself believe that I’m easy to date when I’m clearly not.”

“You act like you are the only single parent out in the dating field. I genuinely don’t think that it’s that big of a deal.”

“Yeah, that’s what you are saying now. But then we would get more involved, you’d grow frustrated that I can’t just go after you whenever you feel like it, or that I would have to cancel on plans because Benji is sick or has homework to do that he needs help with. Or that my Friday night consists of playing board games, then watching whatever cartoon Benji is keen on seeing and I’m in bed by ten while you probably spend these nights out with your friends, hopping from one bar to the other. And I’m not saying that you shouldn’t, that’s exactly what you should be doing at your age… at our age. But for me, it’s just different.”

She is not talking just out of theories. She has tried to date, several times, but it was always kind of doomed from the beginning. Men in their mid-twenties don’t want to be a stand-in dad, though it’s completely not what she expects. But as time went by, they all grew tired of having to deal with a kid in the relationship and they all ended up leaving and she can’t even blame them. It’s not what they want in life at this point, but she can’t be what they wanted her to be so slowly but surely she gave up on finding a man before she turns thirty and her peers start to get into the whole idea of having a family that’s already been her reality since she was eighteen.

And the situation is even more complicated with Harry. An international rockstar is definitely not the right person for her and vice versa. She can only imagine what some lowlifes would think when they found out he is dating a single mother. People can be cruel for no damn reason and she is definitely not in the right mindset to be humiliated just because she is a mother.

The two of them move down to the next aisle so she can grab the paper towels along with some dish soap. Harry is keen on making her understand that he is still very much interested and he has nothing against her being a mother. It was just a little shocking to find out this way, instead of hearing about it from her.

“I think you have an unreasonable picture in your head of what my life is like,” he explains. “Yes, I do travel a lot and I go to parties, but it’s not what I do most in life. And I’m not expecting you to turn your whole life around for me.”

“Yeah, but dating me is kind of me asking you to turn your whole life around for us,” she simply says and he is stunned at her words, having nothing to bring up against them. “Look,” she sighs. “I appreciate the effort and everything, but I want to save you the time, just like I originally wanted to. I know that it seems reasonable now, but once you get involved, it’s a whole different world, I’m telling you. And while I would love to give you the chance to prove me wrong, I still have to think about Benji. I can’t just drag someone into his life and then have them leave when they figure out it’s not what they want after all. He needs stability around him and it’s enough that he can’t get that from his father.”

Harry has a million questions roaming in his head that he is dying to ask. Mostly about the father, because if he is not in the picture, he can’t imagine what kind of scumbag he is for leaving someone like her. But he keeps them all to himself, especially when Benji appears again with the three apples, putting them into the cart with a proud smile. The boy turns to Harry this time, finally acknowledging his presence.

“Who are you?” he asks. Harry looks down at him and pushes everything else into the back of his mind as he hunches down a bit, holding out his hand for the boy, a friendly smile playing on his lips.

“I’m Harry, your mum’s friend. Nice to meet you.”

The boy doesn’t hesitate to take his right held out, his small hand almost getting lost in Harry’s big palm as they shake hands like two adults. Harry is stunned by how confident he is, unlike most kids his age.

“I’m Benjamin Lloyd,” the boy introduces himself smiling and Harry can see the resemblance now clearer than anything. His smile is certainly his mother’s and the shape of his eyes along with his chin are the exact same as Annalise’s, leaving only a few traits that must have been inherited from his father.

Benjamin lets go of Harry’s hand and turns back to his mother completely unbothered by the man he just met.

“Mum, are we staying on the playground a little?” he asks as they all move down the aisle, heading to the cash register.

“Uh, yeah, we can stay for a little, but you need to do homework when we get home. Mrs. Conrad sent me all the work you missed today so we have to catch up on everything. You got away with faking sickness this morning, but you are doing the work you missed.”

Benji doesn’t fuss about having to do work, he knew this would happen when he faked to have a tummy ache, he nods understanding the importance of doing his homework and Harry is amazed by how great his behavior is. Most kids his age would have thrown a tantrum over what Annalise just said, but not Benji. He is like a small adult, Harry thinks.

“I honestly don’t see why you still have to push me away completely. Did you not enjoy talking with me?” Harry continues as they stand in line, Annalise putting everything to the belt from the cart while Benji is busy playing around the poles that separate the lines.

“Of course I did!” she sighs.

“So then why can’t we just continue? See where it goes?”

“Because that’s just not how things work for me,” she says with a soft, sad chuckle.

“What, you can’t have friends?” Harry asks innocently as Annalise finishes packing, puts a divider on the belt so Harry can put his items behind hers.

“Oh, so you just want to be friends?” she asks raising her eyebrows, seeing through him easily. Harry opens his mouth, but then closes, a cheeky smile stretching across her face that makes her chuckle.

“For now, yeah?” he tries to sound convincing, but it’s more of a joke.

The cashier starts to scan her items so she pushes the cart over to the end and starts packing everything back, Benji still climbing on the poles, completely oblivious to the conversation happening around him, or he just chooses not to listen.

“You are unbelievable,” she shakes her head at the man in the line. The cashier finishes up with her items and she taps her card on the terminal, pushing the cart away a little.

Harry is scared that she’ll flee the moment she gets the receipt and leaves before she could go after her, but for his biggest surprise, she just pushes the cart a little away from the cash register and starts packing her items into totebags. Benji runs up to her and she gives him his KitKat without a word, the boy happily tearing the packaging open, snacking on the chocolate.

Harry is quick to finish with his items, catching up with Annalise as the three of them head out of the supermarket.

“Look, I’m gonna be honest with you, I haven’t felt like this with anyone in a long time, Lis. I loved talking to you, I feel like we had a connection, and I think you felt it too. I would hate to waste whatever we had so I’m offering you my friendship. I want to hang out, spend time with you, just as two adults enjoying each other’s company. Nothing more, if that’s what you really want for now. And we can see where it heads later. How does that sound?”

They reach her car and Benji runs to the backseat, tearing the door open while Annalise opens the trunk and she is surprised to see Harry help her pack her bags into the car, but she doesn’t protest.

“I really don’t know…” she sighs.

“Come on! Just friends. Give it a try! I have a great feeling about it and I promise to be very careful. I understand that you need boundaries because of Benji and I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable in any way. But you do have to realize that you need to open up at one point. You can’t use him as an excuse forever.”

“I’m not using him as an excuse!” she points out, but she can feel how that’s not the whole truth.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Lis,” Harry smirks, pulling his phone out of his coat’s pocket and unlocking it he holds it out for her once she has closed the trunk. “I’m just asking for your phone number, not to travel the world with me. You can decide to block me later if you change your mind, it’s nothing serious, alright?”

Annalise’s hesitation is clearer than the light and in any other case, he would take offence at it, but not with her. Harry is keen on proving to her that he meant everything he said and that he is willing to take a chance with her.

Chewing on the inside of her cheeks, she glances back at Benji, who has climbed into his seat in the back of the car. She is fighting with herself, bringing up all pros and contras until she finally caves in. Grabbing the phone from Harry’s hand she types her number in and gives herself a ring so she can save his number as well. She hands the device back and Harry’s smile is so wide, she almost wants to punch him in the face, but she can also feel the excitement running through her veins.

“Great. You won’t regret it, Lis,” Harry beams shoving his phone back into his pocket. His hand reaches for her arm and gives it a gentle squeeze as he doesn’t want to try anything further with her at the moment.

“I better not,” she mumbles shaking her head before turning around to buckle Benji in. When that’s done she pays one last glance at Harry who stands at the car next to hers, watching her get behind the wheel and back out from her spot. He waves at her happily and she just nods in his way before turning around the car and driving away.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!” Harry rages through the phone, his anger only met with a soft chuckle from Griff on the other end of the call.

“Mate, I told ya, s’not my place! She didn’t tell ya, so I didn’t either.”

“You saw how hooked I was on her! You could have, no, no… you should have told me!”

Harry was quick to run back to the studio and called Griff right away to load everything out on him. He felt betrayed that his friend didn’t let him know this small little detail even after seeing him all crushed after she left without a trace to find her. He gets his reasoning, he does, but it still doesn’t stop him from being so bloody mad at his mate.

“Sorry! I really am sorry! But I know how protective she is over Benji. I was not gonna betray her like tha’.”

Harry takes a deep breath, paying up and down the hallway in the studio, trying his best to calm his nerves. It’s an unfortunate situation as a whole, he sees that clearly, but the frustration how it had to go down at the end is getting the best out of him for sure. He is not mad at one specific person, because everyone was doing what they thought to be the best, but everything added up to be such a shitty outcome, or at least on Harry’s side.

Pinching the bridge of his nose he huffs again, putting aside his burning emotions.

“Okay, okay. Sorry to snap at you like that, it was just… a lot.”

“I get it, don’ worry about it,” Griff assures him, glasses clinking behind him somewhere, he is probably working at the pub as they are speaking. “She gave ya her number now, right?”

“Yeah, she didn’t want to, but I talked her ears off,” Harry chuckles lowly. He could still feel the excitement that rushed through him when she finally gave in.

“M’happy for ya, mate. But please be bloody careful. She doesn’t need any shit right now, has enough on her plate.”

“I know. I’m just trying to be her friend first, that’s all.”

“Alright. Swing by the pub sometime soon, if ya want.”

“Sure thing. Bye Griff,” Harry smiles before ending the call.

Walking back into the recording room, all eyes snap up to him and he stops in his track.

“What?”

“The hell was that about?” Sarah questions, asking in the name of everyone in the room. They all just heard his rage outside and now are dying to know what it was about.

“I uhh—I found her,” he simply says and watches all his bandmates gawk back at him with wide eyes.

“What? Did you like, hire a private investigator or something?” Charlotte asks, making Harry chuckle as he shakes his head no.

“No, I ran into her at Tesco. Well, her and her… son.”

His last word washes out the whole room, everyone stops breathing for a moment as they stare back at Harry who has that ‘yeah, you heard me right’ look on his face.

“A son?” Mitch asks snapping out of his shock. “Like a proper kid?”

“How do you not have a proper kid?” Harry asks him with a look.

“I don’t know! I’m just… surprised. How old is the kid?”

“Like six or seven. She said something about being a first grader.”

“Didn’t you say she is a year younger than you?” Sarah asks, as everyone is doing the silent math in their head.

“She is, with one year. Or that’s what she told me.”

“That makes her, what, like eighteen when she had the kid? And what about the father?” Charlotte trails, still trying hard to put the picture together.

“She didn’t say much, but from what I understood, he is not really in the picture. So at least she is not married or something,” Harry adds, still open about the relief he is feeling about that information.

“This shit is twisted,” Sarah huffs. “So what’s gonna happen now? Did you ask for her number again?”

“Ask?” Harry chuckles bitterly. “I begged, Sarah. I was ready to be on my knees in the middle of a bloody Tesco.”

A round of laughter runs through the room and the mood finally eases a little after the shock that just set in. It wasn’t the fact that Annalise had a son that sent everyone over the edge, but rather that she didn’t say a single word about it and how it all surfaced.

“And did she give it to you?” Mitch prompts and Harry nods, a shy smile stretching on his lips as the two girls start clapping and cheering.

They all saw his long face after New Year’s Eve, it couldn’t be missed how he was moping around for weeks. He told them all about this girl he met, who completely blew his mind just before breaking his heart. Now that she was found and gave him just a small crumble of information about her to him that makes him able to contact her, the change is visible. That little sparkle in his eyes is back and that’s all his friends wanted to see.

“So what are you gonna do now?” Sarah asks as Harry walks over to one of the armchairs and makes himself comfortable.

“Now… I’ll try not to scare her off. Hopefully she won’t push me away and at least let me be her friend.”

“Friend? Is that what you want to be?”

“Of course not,” he sighs, his head dropping to the back of the armchair. “But this is all I can do for now.”

They all just nod, tasting his words and letting everything that just happened sink in. Harry is doing the same, he has a lot to think about and figure out, but there’s one thing he is one hundred percent sure about: he will not give up on Annalise.

NEXT PART

-

TAGLIST

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@stylesfics-xx​​ @dontworrysunflower​​ @mariamuses​​ @bookwormandtea​​

[casuallyimagining]

Just Us

Percy Jackson x Reader Percy Jackson & the Olympians

Anonymous asked: I love your blog! If you are doing requests right now, are you able to do something with Percy and his S/O arguing and making up. Or some angst with a happy ending?

This got a little long. Hope y’all don’t mind :) Enjoy!

Requests are open for headcanons and fics!

The lonely apartment felt weird. It was happening more and more frequently as of late, but that didn’t mean it was any less wrong.

When you and Percy had first moved in together, the apartment on 76th Street had felt so alive. It was perfect, and he was perfect, and nothing could possibly have taken that feeling away. And it had lasted, not forever, of course, but long enough that you were confident that letting yourself fall so hard for the scruffy-haired skater boy from the Upper East Side was the right choice.

Sure, living with the son of Poseidon had its interesting moments, like the pegasi that tended to show up on your fire escape every so often, or the monsters that would sometimes follow you home after date nights. But overall, it was good and it felt right.

Until recently, that is. When the apartment started getting lonelier and lonelier, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that your world was somehow irreparably different. Like how your mouth feels after you get a tooth pulled. Something was missing, even when the apartment wasn’t empty.

Sometimes, it was his mom needing someone to watch Estelle. She was always so happy that Percy wanted to be a part of his little sister’s life. And who were you to deny him that? So off he would dutifully go, often not getting back until after you were asleep, sometimes just staying the night and not getting back until after you had gone to work the next morning.

Other times, it was Jason requesting help making sure both demigod camps had appropriate tributes to every minor god or goddess. You knew the work was tedious, and you knew how much Percy valued his friendship with Jason. So when the son of Jupiter called, you waved dutifully as Percy climbed on Blackjack’s back, not coming back for days, or sometimes even a week or more.

Most times, though, it was Annabeth or Grover just wanting to hang out. And you understood, really, you did. His two best and longest friends didn’t really have time to consistently spend with him anymore. Annabeth had gotten into Harvard’s graduate architecture program, so she only had precious little time to spend with Percy, and she could never leave Cambridge. Grover, of course, was still off spreading Pan’s message, and rarely did he have time to spare for his best friend. So, of course, you dutifully watched him race to gather his things, often enough forgetting to even say goodbye, before he was out the door for who knows how long.

Sadly, you sank into the couch—a plush leather hand-me-down from Sally and Paul when they redecorated their own apartment a couple years back—and turned on the TV. When he was gone for long periods of time, the news was often the only way to see what he was up to, even though he had a cellphone and a way to Iris message you on his literal wrist.

It was almost time for the 11 o’clock news, and, in theory, Percy should be home soon. You hadn’t heard anything from him all day, which wasn’t surprising, despite the fact that he was literally just on the other side of Manhattan babysitting.

But you weren’t so sure that he’d be home that night. Not only because Sally didn’t like when Percy walked home late at night. Of course she didn’t, and you didn’t either. The walk was quick during the day because he could just cut through Central Park, but late at night, the park was closed to pedestrian traffic. That, plus the fact that you and Percy had gotten into a bit of an argument before he went left you uncertain that he would return that night.

Or ever, for that matter, although your brain told you that was ridiculous.

All you had done was ask him to spend a little more time with you. You didn’t want to take him away from his friends and family, but you rarely got to spend time with your boyfriend anymore. Between work, helping out at camp, and him spending what seemed like every spare moment with his friends and family, you missed him. And you told him that.

Maybe you communicated it wrong, or maybe he misheard you, but whatever the reason, he left the apartment in a huff at noon.

Shortly before the news ended, you heard a roll of thunder and rain pattering gently on the window. There was no way Sally would let him leave in a storm. You stood and stretched, feeling your back pop, and made your way into your bedroom.

You had only been in bed for what felt like a few minutes when you heard the clattering on the fire escape. Annoyed, you got up and went to the window. You were getting ready to yell at Blackjack for making so much noise when you saw Percy half-slumped over on his back, clutching at his side. His shirt was torn and ruddy, and he was soaked from the rain that had progressively gotten worse.

Silently, you scrambled out the window, patting the pegasus’ nose as he shuffled to give you better access to his injured rider. You helped Percy dismount, pressing your hand to his wound so that he could use both of his arms. He mumbled a quiet ‘thanks, buddy’ and leaned his head against Blackjack’s snout for a brief moment before pushing away and letting you help him gingerly climb through the window. Your brain barely registered the flap of wings outside as you led Percy to sitting on the bed.

“What happened?” you asked softly, replacing your hand with his own before going to the bedside table to grab the container of ambrosia you had stashed in every room of the apartment.

“Empousai in the park.” His voice was hoarse, and he sounded tired. You doubted his six-year-old sister had tuckered him out that much. “Didn’t see them until it was too late. They chased me halfway through the Ramble before I was able to get some ground on them.”

You frowned, cupping a hand to his cheek briefly. “You’re home now,” you whispered. “That’s what matters.”

He paused for a moment, and you could see an emotion flash across his face too quickly to identify. Then, he nodded.

Silently, you went to the wardrobe and pulled out dry clothes for him to change into. Percy took the pajamas gratefully, and for a moment, his sea green eyes met yours. You were glad in that moment that he wasn’t the son of Zeus—the electricity in the air was palpable.

“How was Estelle?” you asked quietly, breaking his gaze. You sat on the edge of the bed while he changed.

He chuckled, wincing slightly. The ambrosia must not have fully finished healing him yet. “Good. She’s good. She asked about you.” You raised your eyebrows in shock and he continued. “She wants you to come over to play school sometime.”

You laughed. The last time you had played school with the five-year-old, she had been the teacher and you and Percy had pretended to be her bad students. She loved it. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to make that happen, then.”

He nodded and went silent as he pulled the ratty Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt over his head. It used to be a hoodie—you had gotten it for him shortly after you met him—and he wore it so much it was practically threadbare. He had cut the hood off at some point, and the front pocket had ripped off in a monster fight two years ago, so now it was just a thin sweatshirt that had been mended and sewn back together so many times, most of the stitching wasn’t original. But still he refused to throw it out.

After a moment, he sat down beside you, and for a second, you thought he wasn’t going to say anything. Then, he grabbed your hand. “Mom asked about you, too.”

“Oh?”

Percy sighed. His hair was soaked, and it stuck to his face at odd angles. He looked a mess, although if you were honest with yourself, he had certainly looked much worse. “I’m sorry I’m a shit boyfriend,” he mumbled. His grasp on your hand loosened. “I didn’t realize…”

You squeezed his hand.

“Everyone always told me that my fatal flaw was being too loyal to my friends. I never knew what that meant. ‘Til now.” His sea green eyes were sad when he finally let himself meet your eyes. “Turns out you can be too loyal.”

“I love how much you love your friends,” you reassured him. “I just want a bit more balance. I was starting to get the impression you didn’t want to spend time with me anymore.”

His brows knit together in frustration. “Of course I want to spend time with you. I love you.” The way Percy said it, so finitely and sure of himself, caused your heart to do backflips in your chest.

You leaned over and kissed him chastely, your lips barely brushing his. Before you had a chance to pull away, he was pulling you closer and kissing you again, one arm around your waist, the other cupping your cheek tenderly. It was brief, but kissing Percy always tied your stomach into knots like it was the first time.

He leaned his forehead against yours, and in the close proximity, you could feel him smile without even looking at him. “Mom invited us both for dinner tomorrow,” he mumbled, his sea green eyes meeting yours once again. “Maybe after, we can start that thing on HBO. The one with the monsters. Just us.”

You smiled. “Just us.”

[justablobfish]

Finding a present for that person that is impossible to find a present for

Day 13 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list

Read on AO3

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

______

It's going to be Jaskier’s second time visiting Kaer Morhen. 

Two years ago, Geralt had asked him only a few days before they were scheduled to separate for the winter. It had all been rather sudden and the whole season had passed in a blur of anxiety and excitement.

He hadn't even met the whole family then, Geralt's little brother Lambert hadn't made it to the keep that year. Then, the year after, Jaskier got delayed by his family until he couldn't make it to the keep anymore; the path had already snowed over. 

This year though - this year Jaskier is determined to make the most of his time at Kaer Morhen and charm his way into the hearts of Geralt's family until they can't imagine winter without him anymore. 

Step one is to make a good first impression after the Wolves haven't seen him in so long. And the easiest way to do that is to get the perfect welcome gift for everyone scheduled to be there. 

He comes across the first gift mere weeks after the snow of the previous winter has melted. After the tedious experience with his parents he decides to spend some time in Oxenfurt to recuperate. 

In his favorite dingy little bookstore he finds the perfect present for Eskel. 

Yes, yes, a steamy romance novel might not necessarily be the best way to prove himself to his lover's family, but the cover of the book shows your usual handsome warrior with very revealing clothing clutching a swooning damsel in distress in his overly muscular arms. Except this protagonist is drawn with an enormous scar covering the left side of his face. 

He's extremely handsome. So is Eskel, of course, but whenever Jaskier tells him as much he just dismisses the compliment. With this book though, Eskel will have to believe him that scars are seen as attractive by quite a number of people. Why else would they draw the cover like this? 

His second gift he also finds in a bookstore, though this place couldn't possibly be more different than where he found the book for Eskel. 

The "Ye Olde Books" in Toussaint sells only the most esteemed antiquities to rich noblemen who never intend to read them and only display them to prove their supposedly good taste and to exaggerate their riches. 

Jaskier quickly determines the oldest book the store has on offer. It's still younger than the recipient of the gift, of course, but the fairy tale stories it holds should still be similar enough to the stories that must have been popular when Vesemir was a child. 

After the events of the last winter Jaskier at least managed to guilt trip his parents enough that he has no trouble paying for the delicate tome. 

As for Lambert, Jaskier didn't meet him the one year he spent at Kaer Morhen, but he and Geralt ran into the younger Witcher on the Path once. It was a brief encounter and Lambert didn't seem to particularly like Jaskier. 

Geralt reassured him afterwards that it's nothing personal and that Lambert doesn't like anyone. 

Even though they couldn't possibly be more different, Lambert somewhat reminded Jaskier of himself. Jaskier is happy with his place in the world now, but he had to carve it out for himself, which hadn't always been easy. He remembers a time when he, too, felt trapped in the life he was born into, never good enough to satisfy his parents or to become a person in his own right, not just the heir to a legacy he wanted nothing to do with. 

So the bitterness Lambert carries around with him feels very familiar. 

His third gift, therefore, is just as expensive as Vesemir's and on top of that requires a large amount of convincing to work out. Luckily, Jaskier has practice annoying someone enough until they agree to anything. He spent most of his life perfecting the skill with the involuntary help of his lover.

By the time winter comes around again, the specially commissioned Gwent card will have started distribution. Though of course Jaskier will carry a copy of the new Lambert hero card with him as well and present it to Geralt's younger brother. He's made sure it would be stronger than the White Wolf card that became popular in recent years. 

Ciri's gift is easy enough. Jaskier simply buys the biggest, fluffiest teddy bear he can find. Ciri is going to roll her eyes at him and claim that she isn't a kid anymore, but that's exactly what makes it the perfect present. With all that destiny business, the kid forgets far too often to allow herself to be a child sometimes. 

How to get this monstrous thing, which is nearly as tall as Jaskier, back to Kaer Morhen is an entirely different story, though… 

The gift for Yennefer isn't hard to find either once he meets up with Geralt and travels with him again. In a run-down little general store in a village in the middle of nowhere, in the furthest corner of the shop, hidden under a fishing net and a set of gardening tools, lies the most atrocious knitted sweater Jaskier has ever seen. There's no reason to abandon old traditions, even if he and Yennefer don’t meet up at Oxenfurt anymore. And in case Yennefer doesn't attend Kaer Morhen this winter, he'll simply keep it around until the next time they meet. The knitwear is so incredibly ugly, it would be a shame to waste it. 

Geralt informs him one day that Lambert will bring a plus one. Not a boyfriend or close friend or anything, just a superficial acquaintance. The fact that Lambert risked his own hide to save the man's life is - apparently - entirely coincidental and without meaning. It's just that this other Witcher of the Cat school has no other place to spend the winter. Nothing more. 

Geralt calls his little brother an emotionally constipated idiot and Jaskier can't help but burst out laughing at the hypocrisy. 

Jaskier isn't sure whether to get this Aiden a gift as well since he never met the man, but as so often in his life, fate takes matters into its own hands. 

He's perusing his favorite clothes store in Vizima when he finds the most beautiful scarf. It's big and woolen and perfectly flashy. Every handspan or so the pattern and colours change completely. All in all it shows every colour of the rainbow. 

That is not the gift for Aiden, of course. But it's going to look great on Jaskier, especially since Geralt still insists he wears that old grey winter cloak. Granted, the cloak is warm, but oh so boring looking. The scarf will be just the right accessory to add a bit of color to his winter wardrobe. 

The gift for Aiden he comes across as he leaves the store. A little boy, who must be the owner's son, sits at the side of the road and busies himself with thread and needle. 

Curious, Jaskier steps closer and finds that the boy is attaching pieces of felt to a simple hairband. 

Once the kid is done he puts the headband on and the felt pieces stand up in such a way that it appears like the boy has kitten ears growing out of his head. 

Jaskier considers for a moment but then decides that if this Aiden is voluntarily hanging out with Lambert, he must have a good sense of humor. He buys the headband off the boy and heads back to his and Geralt's inn room. 

Maybe it's because he's traveling with Geralt and can't really go looking for a gift for the White Wolf, but by the time their departure for Kaer Morhen rolls around, Jaskier has a little something for everyone, except Geralt. He doesn't even have an idea what he could gift to the man. Anything practical like a new whetstone, better armor or a fancy dagger is something that Geralt is far better equipped to pick out himself. Jaskier has little knowledge about such things. 

And while Jaskier has spent the last twenty years of his life convincing the big oaf that he deserves pretty things every once in a while, too, Jaskier can't think of anything that wouldn't just be in the way when they eventually set out on the Path again. 

The end of autumn creeps closer and closer and Jaskier’s head stubbornly remains empty. It shouldn't be this hard to think of something that Geralt would enjoy. After all, Jaskier has known him for over two decades now. But it seems like everything he could get his favorite Witcher he has already gotten him at some point during their travels. 

He still has no idea when they pass the last village on the way to the Witchers’ keep. 

Or when they start making their way up the mountain path. 

Maybe there's a pretty rock he can pick up? 

What? No, that's a dumb idea. He's not just gonna pick up a random rock just because he's desperate. At this point he'll just have to accept the fact that he has no gift for Geralt.

They reach the keep after two days of tedious climbing - not something Jaskier missed from his last visit - and are greeted at the gates by the other Witchers. Geralt's family members each welcome Geralt with a short hug and a pat on the back, while another man, who must be Lambert's tagalong, awkwardly stands to the side. Vesemir and Eskel nod at Jaskier courtly, Lambert only grunts at him. 

Jaskier makes eye contact with Aiden who rolls his eyes at him apologetically over Lambert's behaviour. 

Then Geralt brings Roach to the stables and they all quickly make their way inside. 

In the large dining hall they meet Yennefer and Ciri. Apparently they only came here a day earlier via portal, making Jaskier and Geralt the last to arrive. 

"I have welcoming gifts!" Jaskier addresses everyone. 

Eskel reacts to his present with eyes narrowed in confusion. Then they grow wide with realisation and wonder. 

Lambert scoffs when Jaskier hands him his parcel. He doesn't scoff again after he unpacks it. 

Aiden grins at him widely and immediately puts his gift on. 

Vesemir simply hums appreciatively. It reminds Jaskier far too much of Geralt. He supposes the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. 

Ciri, as expected, reacts with a pout and the declaration that she's not a child anymore. Still, she clutches the plushy to her chest and refuses to let it go when Aiden says he'll take it if she doesn't like it. 

Yennefer snarls at her sweater and quickly turns away from the group to hide it, but just like Ciri does with the teddy bear, she clutches it to her chest protectively. 

Which only leaves Geralt. 

"I, uh…, " Jaskier stutters and stares at his empty hands. 

"Hmm," Geralt hums. "Saving the best for last?" 

He grabs Jaskier by the shoulder, turns him around so that he's facing the room. He hugs Jaskier from behind and places his chin on Jaskier’s shoulder. 

"Seems like you got me the best gift of all," Geralt hums. "Look!" 

Confused, Jaskier glances about the room. Vesemir and Eskel are sitting in a corner, flipping through their respective books. Lambert is chasing Aiden through the room, who has stolen his Gwent card and is waving it around tauntingly. Ciri holds the teddy out to Yennefer, who's holding her sweater to the bear's chest to see if it would fit him. There's nothing out of the ordinary that Jaskier can spot. 

"I don't under-" he begins. 

"Everyone's here," Geralt explains. "My whole family in one place for the very first time. I couldn't possibly ask for more." 

[royalcordelia]

Summary:  After returning home from medical school, Gilbert discovers that the neighbor girl, Anne, has gone missing. He won't rest until he's found her, even if it means taking a leap of faith and venturing into his father's old wardrobe. (A Narnia!AU).

Notes: Merry Christmas @londonsboy​!! I was your secret santa this year and I was delighted to get to know you! Talking to you made me remember how wonderful Narnia is, and I realized that Anne of Green Gables and Narnia both have that same whimsical charm about them. I hope your holiday was cozy and lovely!  

*

1: A Child’s Lore

Gilbert remembers the Storygirl. He remembers the red twists of hair braided down her thin shoulders, each tied with bowed ribbons. He remembers the monarch butterflies balancing gingerly on her freckled fingers and the dimples haloing each half of her smile. He remembers cloaking himself away under the shadows of the treeline and watching the girl move slowly through the tall grass. With care and ease, she urged the butterflies to amble onto a nearby flower. 

“Would you care for a story?” she asked them. Gilbert remembers straining his ears to pick up any trace of her voice, tender and easy on his senses. “I won’t fault you if you fly away, but if you have a few moments to spare, I have such wonderful tales.” The butterflies remained in place, fluttering their wings slowly in the warm sunlight. 

“Very well, a story you shall have!” continued the Storygirl. “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess named Cordelia. Oh, but she didn’t start out that way. You see, for most of her life, Cordelia suffered the great calamities that all poor orphan girls do…” 

Gilbert’s back slid down against the tree, somehow too captivated to tear his eyes away. He settled on the ground, pushing aside verdant brush to keep his sights on her. Never before had he taken himself as a fellow who enjoyed fairytales, yet something about this tale and her voice left him no choice but to listen. So he listened. He listened and listened until she whispered, “The end!” The blues of her eyes turned toward the trees straight at him as if she’d known he was there all along. And then, she ran off, disappearing into the heart of the valley forever.

He was only thirteen then, but he remembers. 

Now, he keeps the memory of the Storygirl in the same place he stores the memory of his father’s wardrobe—deep in the parts of his mind full of things he’d seen as a child, but could never prove the existence of as an adult. Myths, legends, and fancies of a child’s imagination. There lives the memory of the Storygirl and the days of yore when his father’s wardrobe held clothes, evergreen trees, and sweet breezes. 

Gilbert knows they’re not real. But sometimes he wishes they were.

2: A Silhouette

Avonlea is uncertain and strange when Gilbert finally returns home. As his carriage carries him through town, the heavy feeling sinks deeper into his chest. Where has that ethereal beauty of the island gone? It used to seep out of the red soil like petrichor, but now the air has lost its fragrant charm. Gilbert can’t help but feel as if maybe the magic PEI days of his youth had been but a childish whimsy, stripped away by inevitable adulthood. 

Then, the hazy memory of the Storygirl returns and for a brief moment. Uninvited, but not unwelcome. Gilbert closes his eyes and lets himself recall the details of her face. There’s comfort in his own childhood myths, as if he is not so far gone, after all.  And when he opens his eyes, he’s home. 

From the doorway, it looks like a portrait—Sebastian frozen on the parlor sofa with low hung shoulders, Mary holding his head to her middle and caressing his bushy silk hair. Gilbert emerges from the blue shadows of the entryway. 

He should announce himself properly. Perhaps attempt reentering with a wide smile and some kind of good news to brighten the mood. Instead, he hears himself say, “Who died?”

Mary tears away from Bash with a gasp, soaring over to the door to pull Gilbert’s face into the crook of her neck. 

“Gilbert! Were you due home so soon?” she says after drawing a watery breath. “I think we’ve lost track of the days!” 

“Yes. I’m on time down to the minute,” Gilbert replies with a smile. “Are you...going to answer my question?” 

Mary’s brows knit together in confusion as she pulls away to examine the state of his face. Her fingers smooth over the frown lines at the corners of his own eyes, but it’s Bash who answers. 

“No one died. At least, we really hope not,” he explains, distracting Gilbert from his vague answer by pulling Gilbert close for a hug of his own.  “None of that for now. Take your coat and shoes off before someone starts to believe that this isn’t your own home.” 

For the rest of the day, Gilbert tries to whittle out the truth from Bash at any opportunity he gets. At the lunch table, after recounting tales from college and his boring graduation ceremony. At the kitchen sink, elbow deep in sudsy water. At the foot of the garden, pulling weeds and sprinkling water onto thirsty soil. He tries again and again, but Bash does not budge. 

When evening rolls around, it’s pull has already lulled Gilbert to sleep on the parlor sofa. Across from him, Mary stitches together a small hole in one of his old shirts until her own exhaustion makes her prick her finger. 

“Can’t keep my eyes open a second longer,” she yawns. Depositing a kiss on Bash’s head, then Gilbert’s, she murmurs, “Don’t stay up too long. I want to keep looking in the morning.” 

Bash lets a moment pass when he hears their door shut, waits a few seconds more, then crosses the room to where Gilbert is sprawled out on the sofa. The newly minted doctor stirs at the feeling of his brother shaking him awake. 

“Mary’s gone to sleep. We can talk now.” 

Gilbert’s eyelashes are heavy, but he pries them open at the stony tone of his brother’s voice and pushes himself to an upright position. 

“So...What have you been hiding from me all day?” 

Bash’s lips press together. 

“Did you know the Cuthberts adopted a daughter?” 

“No, I didn’t,” Gilbert replies, confused why it matters. 

“They adopted her just before your father passed away, I heard. You went away to our steamer, then straight to college, so you never had a chance to meet her. But when you sent me and Mary to this house, she was here waiting for us. Someone had told her that she’d be getting new neighbors, neighbors that might face the same sort of hardships she did when she first arrived. She showed us around Avonlea, helped Mary clean the house after being empty so long. Her name is Anne. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.” 

“Did something...happen to her? Do you need me to see her?” 

“You can’t,” Bash spits bitterly. Then, remembering himself, he says, “She’s not sick.” 

“I don’t understand, then.” 

Bash sighs, balling his fists in his lap. 

“Mary and I went to visit her son in Charlottetown for an afternoon last week. Anne offered to come and give everything a good cleaning while we were gone, as a neighborly gift or something. We tried to tell her that it wasn’t necessary, but she insisted. She’s not one to lose battles. She arrived a few hours past dawn, but when we came back, she was gone. Then we found out she never went home to Green Gables. No one in Avonlea has seen her in over a week.”

Suddenly, it makes sense to Gilbert why the house is weighty with the feeling of loss . It has lost something. Gilbert doesn’t know this Anne, but whoever she is, she took the island’s light with her.

“What do you think happened?” Gilbert asks, rubbing his knuckles over his eyes.

“Someone broke in. Found a woman all by herself with no one around for miles. You can imagine the rest.” Bash holds his fist with his other hand, as if he might hit something if he lets go. “Anne is...a unique woman. Kind and brave. But to Avonlea she is strange and of varlet stock, and with the way they see Mary and I… Only a few families have been willing to help us look for her. Would you? In the morning? You know Avonlea better than us.” 

Gilbert doesn’t hesitate. 

“I will.” 

3: A Recollection

It just doesn’t add up, Gilbert thinks bitterly, splashing cold water on his tired cheeks. His reflection stares back at him, looking just as dejected as he feels. But what else could there be? I’ve already scoured the house. No signs of a struggle. Nothing broken or stolen. Guess I’ll just have to look just as hard in town. See if anyone knows anything. He scoffs. It sounds like something out of a children’s book. A fair maiden walks into a house that swallows her up whole. Too bad I’m a doctor and not a knight. He means it only in jest, but it sparks the flame of an idea in the farthest corner of his mind—the corner containing his childhood and its fanciful inventions. 

And then, there it is. A memory, a reminiscence of sorts. 

One wardrobe. 

One door drawn open.

One small Gilbert Blythe crawling into it. 

He couldn’t have been more than six or seven when it’d happened, nor can he remember why he’d even ventured into the wardrobe in the first place. Perhaps it had been a particularly clever hideaway in a game of hide-and-go-seek. Or maybe his father had sent him in search of his coat and something had tipped him off that there was more. 

The memory itself is relatively uneventful. Little Gilbert opened the wardrobe door, crawled in, and somehow, miraculously tripped into a bank of snow. The bank of snow was only a mere plot of land in a world Little Gilbert was not brave enough to explore. He’d scurried back to the door, but left it cracked open for just a moment longer to memorize the world he’d found. It left an image in his mind that he carried with him forever, a memory just as fond as that of the Storygirl—a patch of evergreen trees, sweet air, and an impossible winter magic. 

Let’s pretend for a moment this memory is actually a memory and not just a childish imagination, Gilbert ponders. If Anne came to clean the house, maybe she opened the wardrobe to clean it and organize it. Could she have fallen in? Maybe she’s lost! Maybe she has no way home and—

Dr. Blythe, get a hold of yourself. Exhaustion has made you mad. 

You’ll assist Bash in the morning, you’ll question the town’s people, you’ll come to the bottom of this. But you won’t be able to find her by courting such preposterous ideas.

4: An Act of Trust

His resolve lasts an entire hour.

Then it dissolves hopelessly and gives way to the memory of the Wardrobe-world.  Pacing in front of his father’s bed, Gilbert weighs whether or not he should indulge his childhood suspicions. It plays over and over in his mind, a frustrating possibility.

At first, he fights it.

If Anne Shirley-Cuthbert is really as headstrong as the Bash has described her to be, then perhaps she left on her volition, tired of small-island life. It can’t be that hard to believe that a woman could abandon a monotonous past in favor of whatever this young century has to offer her. Gilbert’s very last suspicion should be that Anne somehow found a magical world inside a wardrobe and never returned. Yet, here he is, nudging his foot along the carved trim of the wardrobe with an itching to open it . 

Damn it all. What is there to lose?  

Then he does open it. The hinges of the doors screech after being left to sleep, untouched for a decade. At first, it smells of mothballs and the stale smell of his father’s clothes. But seconds later, there’s a hint of sweet—

Gilbert slams the door shut. Absolutely not, he scolds himself. You’re hallucinating. You want this woman to return so badly that you’ll pretend she’s anywhere but dead in a ditch. But then again … Gilbert turns back to the door, placing his hand on the newly dusted wood. Who would know if he indulged in this wild feeling? Shouldn’t he, a trained doctor and an intelligent man, listen to his own gut? 

Alright , he decides. If he’s going to do this, he isn’t going to do it halfway. 

With a short breath, he draws the door open and closes his eyes shut. Then, he’s crawling in, a grown man squeezed into the tight confines of a wooden closet. It’s difficult to breathe above the heavy smell of age and wool, but just like before, it slips away into an unexpected sweetness. Gilbert crawls closer to it, hands and knees finding new space with every pace forward. Behind him, the wardrobe door is abandoned and opened, but Gilbert doesn’t come back out. 

Instead, his fingers find tall, soft grass and his intuition cries in victory.

5: A Twinless Shoe

Gilbert allows himself exactly ten seconds to sit and stare at the pleasant forest clearing before doing what any logical doctor might do in his situation—secede to the visual proof of a magical world and promptly begin observations.

On a first glance, the impossible world-inside-the-wardrobe doesn’t seem all too different than his Avonlea. There are clusters of trees surrounding the clearing, each crowned with vibrant shades of green, moreso than those of home. A mystical softness teems in the air like a breeze, loitering along his skin until he is a mess of goosebumps. A single lamppost towers over him catching sunlight, unlit but clean of moss or dirt. At its base, a leather boot, dainty and slim. 

Something clears its throat, propelling Gilbert’s soul from his body at the shock of it. He whirls around, grass stains on the knees of his trousers. Before him, sits a trio of white-tailed foxes, peering at him with more expression than should be allowed for such creatures. Gilbert tries to steady his pulse but finds the effort unsuccessful. 

“They’re only foxes,” he reasons with himself. “They make all sorts of strange noises. No cause for alarm.”

“That’s a foolish delusion,” the largest of the foxes answers. 

Gilbert blinks. The fox quirks an invisible brow.

“I beg your pardon?” Gilbert stammers. 

The fox stretches, equal parts annoyed and bored.

“With the types of humans that are supposed to stumble out of that door, you think you’d have a firmer head on your shoulders. Wonder what Aslan chose you for?” 

“I dunno, Rambleleaf. Maybe he’s here for entertainment?” the second fox pipes in. Turning her sunbright amber eyes to him, she asks, “Do you sing? Dance? Tell stories?” 

“That is what he brought Anne for,” the third fox adds. “Maybe one storyteller wasn’t enough.”

“I have a hard time believing that this schmuck could tell stories as well as Anne could,” Rambleleaf counters.  

“Anne’s here ?” Gilbert spits out, desperate. The conversation between the foxes dies out as quickly as it started, replaced by a stunned silence. They exchange a glance, as if deciding whether or not to indulge this fumbling fool in Anne’s whereabouts, but Gilbert is desperate. “Is Anne Shirley-Cuthbert here? I’m told she has red hair and freckles.” 

“You...you speak as if you don’t know her?” Rambleleaf queries, eyes narrow. 

“Not personally,” stammers Gilbert. He clambers to his feet and rushes to the foxes, who jolt but don’t shy away. It seems as if he has surprised them, as if they’ve never had a human kneel so desperately before them. “We’ve been looking everywhere for her, trying not to fear the worst. Her parents are friends of mine. They’re worried sick because one day she left to visit my family’s home and never returned. Please , will you take me to her. I need to make sure she’s okay.” 

“How did you know to look here?” Rambleleaf states, unconvinced. Gilbert can give them no answer, but the truth. 

“A feeling. I once came once here as a boy and remembered it, though I can’t say I know where here is.” 

Rambleleaf ponders this, his tail coming up to the underside of his chin, like a hand scratching at whiskers. His eyes trail to the boot underneath the lamppost, then fall undecidedly on the poor fellow before him. 

When finally he says something, it’s—“Who are you?” 

“Me? Oh, um, I’m Dr. Gilbert Blythe.” 

“Well, Dr. Gilbert sir, I’m Rambleleaf, or just Ramble if you’re nice about it. Welcome to Narnia.” The name Narnia sends a warm thrill down Gilbert’s spine to finally hear it. The existence of it is already enough cause for hope. Rambleleaf nudges Gilbert’s hand with a clawless paw and points over to the single boot laying sideways in the grass. “You’re in luck. We’re good friends of Anne’s. She sent us back to find the shoe she left behind, so if you want to see her, you can follow us back to the Larsack village. It’s not far from here. Just a bit north on the west border of the Western Woods.”  

“I’ll follow you,” Gilbert decides resolutely. 

“Good. Then grab that boot and we’ll be on our way.” 

Gilbert does as he’s told, pushing aside the frustration of being told what to do by a fox. With the shoe in his possession, he curses that he didn’t think to bring any sort of satchel or carrier case. Then again, he isn’t supposed to be here long. Just long enough to find Anne and bring her home. 

Then, without wasting another moment, the foxes disappear in the wood, leaving Gilbert to follow. 

And he does, the door to his father’s wardrobe entirely, completely forgotten.  

6: A Duet

They trek through the thicket of the forest until the soles of Gilbert’s feet have grown sore at the unfamiliar terrain beneath them. Having left his pocket watch sitting on his desk back home, Gilbert can’t be sure of how much time has passed—enough certainly for the foxes to have eased their snide opinion of him. He finds they like to listen, asking Gilbert all sorts of questions but offering no answers of their own. 

As it turns out, Gilbert is not so bad a storyteller, after all. 

“—but children believe in magic the way adults in my world don’t. So I told the little girl that the cure for her stomachache was a feather on the underside of her toes and all her laughter made her forget that she had eaten too many biscuits. Sometimes I think medicine has more possibilities than we can know. Certainly being here has…”

Gilbert slows to a stop and turns his ear to the sky. He draws in a quick breath of hope at the faint lilt of laughter, music, and one rich voice towering above it all. 

He takes off running, hopping over Rambleleaf and sprinting down the path. A crowd’s cheers and the minstrel songs grow closer and louder with each wide stride. He all but crashes into someone at the back of the crowd, scanning the clearing for a head of red hair and a face of sandy freckles. There are a few tents set up along the circle of the crowd, and in between them must be a hundred people sitting and standing, all with their attention locked on one person. From the back, Gilbert finds his view obstructed by some particularly tall Narnians. Just as he begins to plan a route through the mass of people, a soft paw nudges his ankle. 

“You’re just in time to hear her speak,” Rambleleaf says at his feet. “Can you lift me up so I don’t get stepped on? I want to see this too.” Gilbert kneels, allowing Ramble to hop onto his shoulder before embarking into the crowd, drawing closer and closer to the makeshift stage. 

And then he sees her and all the pieces of his mangled heart slant together, restoring it in one, breathless moment.

“The Storygirl, ” Gilbert heaves quietly. 

“That’s what we’ve taken to calling her here, too,” Ramble says. 

His Storygirl hasn’t changed a bit. There are still halos crowning her smile and kingdoms of possibilities in her eyes. But the young dreamer and commander of words Gilbert had seen in the fields all those years had grown so tall and beautiful that he had no words left for himself—only a fiery warmth and an insatiable desire to talk to her.  

“That’s Anne there?” Gilbert whispers to Ramble. 

“Unmistakable, right?” Ramble murmurs back.

“I’m going to get closer.”

“Oh, good! I can’t hear from all the way over here,” Rambleleaf agrees, nudging Gilbert with his nose. 

Gilbert collides with a few shoulders and elbows as he passes through, but only because he cannot tear his eyes away from her. He feels like the thirteen-year-old lad with weak knees and a pining heart all over again. When they’ve reached the makeshift stage, Ramble waves his tale to the Storygirl. The flash of white catches her attention and through the next words of her tale, she gives a dimpled smile and nod. 

Then her eyes fall on Gilbert and her tongue stumbles. He watches her gaze travel from his heart-struck eyes, to his Avonlea clothes, to her boot in his hand. Anne chuckled and extended her bootless foot. Gilbert blinked down at it, the “Doctor” part of his mind wondering if she wanted him to examine it. 

“The boot, Gilbert,” Ramble hisses in his ear. 

“Oh! ” 

Anne continues to keep the crowd enraptured in her tale even as Gilbert slides the boot over her lacy stockings and ties the laces. When he’s finished, she bends low to him and whispers, “Care to help me with my story?” 

“Me ?” Gilbert chokes. 

“Yes, Gilbert Blythe. You .” 

A shiver shoots like a flash of summer lightning down his back. How does she know my name? Gilbert’s mind wonders on repeat. He feels himself nod, only to be swept up onto the stage with her strong hands a second later. She offers Ramble a hand down, pressing a kiss to the top of his fur, then turns back to Gilbert. 

“Play along!” she murmurs quietly. 

Gilbert nods once more, turning nervous eyes to the crowd of onlookers. Beside him, Anne shoots back into her carefully woven tale. 

“It would’ve been easy for Cordelia to resign herself to the fate everyone wanted for her. But could she submit herself to everyday mundanities? Milking cows and pulling weeds? She could see the honor in these tasks, but somehow knew that her destiny laid elsewhere. She turned to a neighboring lad and asked him his thoughts.” 

Anne grabs Gilbert’s fingers and poses her body as if engaged in a conversation with him. Her tongue stills, and she urges Gilbert to take the next few lines. 

“Well, er…” Get it together, Blythe. He takes a deep breath. “The neighbor lad assured her that she bore enough heart and talent to succeed at any task she put her mind to. That it wasn’t a matter of finding her destiny, but...creating it? For herself.”

Anne smiles. Gilbert feels it thrum pleasantly behind his ribs. 

“Cordelia asked the neighbor lad if he would help her find the better feelings of her heart, the truth behind her soul and desires.” 

“He agreed,” Gilbert says resolutely. “Because the lad had already traveled across the world to find her. What was another journey?” 

7. A Pair at Tea

“You must tell me how you managed to find me!” Anne exclaims, pouring sweet tea into two small stone goblets. Her hair is loose over her shoulders, and Gilbert wonders if it’s the reason for the raspberry, rose smell of her.

Gilbert hasn’t quite shaken the timid nervousness. This is how he imagines he might feel if he were engaged in conversation with the King of England—only Anne is much more beautiful, even if she is just as intimidating. His eyes follow her hands as she hands him his tea, and he accepts the offering as something to occupy himself with.

He ignores her question. For now, at least.

“How...how do you know my name?” 

Anne smiles into her goblet.

“I’ve dusted your photograph hundreds of times helping Mary clean your home. You’re often all she can talk about when we’re polishing the silver or scrubbing windows.” 

“Really?” 

“Indeed. I know plenty about you, Dr. Blythe.” 

“Just Gilbert is fine,” he hums, cheeks warm. Then his eyes dim and he stares at his own reflection in his tea. “What sorts of things do you know?” 

Anne ponders this for a moment. Her fingers twist strands of hair into a gentle braid as she speaks, “I know that we just missed each other when we were children. That you left the island the same winter I arrived. I know that you’re the golden boy of Avonlea, and that all the mothers have been counting down the days until your return to marry their daughters to you. I know you won a prestigious scholarship that allowed you an excellent medical education. Congratulations by the way. I know—”

“ Alright !” Gilbert coughed. “I almost feel ashamed that I know barely anything about you. Only that you’re selflessly kind, a legendary master of storytelling, and that you’re unearthly beautiful.” 

Roses flourish her cheeks in lovely shades of red. Gilbert bites his lip to keep from smiling. 

“Anything you’d want to know, you only need ask. I’m an open book.”

“Then may I ask what it is you’re doing here?” Gilbert begins carefully. “The Cuthberts are worried sick. Bash and Mary, too. We all thought something terrible had happened to you.” 

“Terrible? Why? I’ve only been gone nearly a day. I’ve disappeared for longer periods of time into Charlottetown to visit friends.” 

Gilbert blinks.

“Anne, you’ve been missing for over a week. You came over to help clean the house a whole week ago.” 

Her face shoots up to him. 

“You must be mistaken. This isn’t my first time visiting Narnia. Time travels more quickly here than it does in Avonlea. That’s the way it’s always been.” 

“All I know is what I’ve been told.”

Anne rises from the table, a hand over her mouth. 

“A week? But...but how did you know where to find me?” 

It’s Gilbert’s turn to blush, but he answers honestly. 

“I think I accidentally stumbled upon Narnia as a boy, but always thought it was a dream or an imagination. When you went missing at my house, I just had this...feeling I couldn’t shake. I’m still having a hard time believing it, to be honest.” 

“For a man of science, I think you are doing admirably,” Anne says warmly. “I admit, I stumbled here in a similar way. I was going to wash your fathers old things because they’d grown so dusty, but I tripped into the wardrobe.” 

“That’s kind of you. To take care of my father’s things, I mean. Especially when you weren’t acquainted with him.” 

“Mary told me he meant a lot to you,” Anne answers easily. “Besides, you’re a man now. I thought you might like to wear some of his things to help keep his memory closer by. I know I wish I could. Wear my mother’s dresses, that is.” 

“Oh,” Gilbert frowns. “I apologize. I’d forgotten you’d lost your family too.” 

“An unhappy sort of thing to have in common with someone, I’ll admit,” Anne replies, a sad smile on her lips. “But you and I both have our makeshift families now. And this new little friendship of ours. That brings me to this question, though, Gilbert. How long do you plan on staying?” 

“How long do you plan to stay?” Gilbert replies, heart catching speed in his chest. 

“For the duration of the match,” Anne replies, as if it were obvious. 

“The...match?” 

“Ramble didn’t tell you? There’s a Storytelling Match that’s taking place right now. Whomever can spin the best tale will get to tell a story to Aslan, the King of Narnia.”

“Ramble did say something about Aslan bringing you here for entertainment.” 

“That’s only a guess,” Anne corrects warmly. “I’d like to win the match and meet Aslan, and then I plan to return home.”  

Gilbert isn’t sure what to say next. The right thing to do is return home and explain as best he can the truth behind Anne’s disappearance. At the very least, fabricate some lie that assures everyone of her safety and inevitable return home. 

But to his surprise, he finds he doesn’t want to leave. He wants to witness this storytelling match, support Anne and witness her victory. Maybe what Anne said about time in Narnia is right, after all. If they stay in Narnia for a while longer, perhaps it will be like no time has passed at all. 

“Will you stay, Gilbert?” Anne asks quietly. “I know you’ve just met me and that we’re barely acquaintances. I won’t fault you if you return back home to your patients and to our families. But…” 

“But?” Gilbert whispers hopefully. 

“But if you’d like to stay for a while and explore Narnia with me, I would welcome the company. In fact, I’d be glad for it.” 

“I’m so newly home that I don’t quite have patients yet,” Gilbert says offhandedly, mulling the idea over in his mind. “And there’s no guarantee that if I leave that I’ll ever be able to come back and see you. To make sure you’re alright.” 

“There’s not,” Anne agrees, eyes glimmering with warm light. 

He surprises himself with what he says next. 

“Then I’ll stay.” 

[sweeethinny]

The Duke - Chapter 5

I took a while to update, I thought about quitting sometimes, I won't lie, but, I started reading fanfics and books about Monarchy and regency era theme, and all my creativity came back.

Thank you as always, @theroomofreq who is very kind to me and helps me beta this story And to all my friends who need to listen to my crazy ideas

AO3 | FF.NET | SIYE (soon) 

| G. W |

It was barely dawn when that newspaper fell on the Weasleys' door and the elf caught it. It was like every other day, well rolled, with the ink still fresh, full of gossip, important news, and political speculation, in addition to that malicious hint that they introduced in the news, to be just mean to some stupid Viscount that was stolen - and deserved it - or a newly decorated Marquis who married a woman who struck him - and who also deserved it.

It was just another normal day.

Or so it was meant to be.

As soon as Ginny came down to breakfast, she felt that something was different in the air, or maybe it was the fact that her brothers and mother were on top of her father to be able to read the newspaper page too.

‘’Good morning.’’ She called, but no one paid any attention to her. ‘’What’s so important? Did we find a gold mine?’’ Ginny stood next to Ron, needing to tiptoe to read the main and most eye-catching story on the front page of the newspaper.

'’The - yet - Duke and Duchess of Godric’s Hollow, James and Lily Potter, open the doors of their country house, for the first time in 20 years, for the fiftieth Dueling Party.

Check out more information, and the guest list so far, on page 13.’’

‘’Were we invited?’’ Ginny asked, wanting her father to leave that page right away where showed a picture of the couple in front of their huge country house, with the two of them not looking so happy to pose for the camera.

‘‘We were.’’ Ron confirmed, still looking at the newspaper. ‘’I think… Did Mr Potter go crazy?’’

‘’Ron! Don't say that!’’ Molly slapped his son on the arm, scolding him. ‘’Arthur dear, do you know why… this? Lily's authorizing something like this to happen?’’

''James had talked about applying some measures at Godric's Hollow and some changes but ... I didn't imagine he would host the Dueling Party ... I mean, they have a pretty big list of guests.'' Father said, still standing at same page of the newspaper.

‘’I heard they think they know where their son is.’’ Fred said, a little quietly, as if saying something terrible.

‘’Lily will die looking for that son.. I don’t blame her, of course, but… It’s been almost 24 years, how does she think she can find the boy? Only Merlin knows who took him, where they took him…’’ Her mother put her hand on her chest, facing Ginny. ‘’We need to find you with a new dress.’’

‘‘No mom, please.’’ Ginny denied, looking back at the newspaper. ‘’But what if he’s really alive? How will they find him? Is that why they’re having the party this year?’’

‘’James says the boy was born with a brand.’‘ The father clarified. ‘’But I don’t know if that’s why they decided-- ’’

‘‘-- I’m sorry.’’ Henry’s voice interrupted Arthur’s, and the man bowed to everyone in the room. ''Mr. Weasley, I think you would like to accompany me.'' The man did not look at Ginny, as if he was afraid to show too much, holding a torn piece of paper tightly and having his left forearm grated and dirty. Had he fallen?

'‘Of course, Mr Figg. Excuse me, love.’’ Arthur kissed his wife respectfully and then followed Henry out of the dining room. Ginny almost ran after them, knowing it seemed to have something to do with her, just from the way Henry avoided looking at her.

She hated it when they made her look like a damsel in distress who couldn't distinguish fire from ice.

''Ginny, we will see this afternoon about your dress, and Ron, we also need to decide on new clothes for you ...'' Her mother continued to talk about the duties they would have for the next few days, but all Ginny could pay attention to was in Henry walking away. His cloak was torn in the back and it looked like he had just arrived - which was strange, because he never left in the morning, always preferring to go out in the afternoon when Ginny was at tea time with her mother, or at night, at dinner time. Henry always said that in the morning, it was the time that crazy people wake up and make a mess.

He looked over his shoulder after her dad turned the corner of the hall and disappeared towards the office, but he also followed the path before Ginny was able to have any appropriate reaction.

After his intrusion, and the delay for her father to return, Ginny had to be taken care of by another Auror (she was told that Henry needed to go to his office), and nowhere was Thomas as gentle and nice to her as Henry was. 

All morning, Ginny felt like she was being followed by a ghost, in silence for all the hours that passed, a little disconcerted that Thomas didn't like talking to her like Henry did - even though sometimes it was just yes and no - and when she had to leave the house to keep her mother company on the way to the center, Ginny was excited to at least hear different voices.

''Does Mrs. Potter know that I need to bring Mr. Figg?'' Ginny asked, looking at the windows they passed, daydreaming about those colorful and well-sewn dresses.

Even though her father was a Viscount, Arthur had been decorated one after the other 10 in front of him died, so there was not much inheritance for them to benefit from. They weren't really poor, Ginny could still choose a dress sewn by a top dressmaker on special occasions, but she knew that the family had far more limitations than other families who had a wardrobe all made just for them.

‘’I wouldn’t like you to bring him,’’ The mother started, raising her gloved hand as if she already knew that Ginny was going to interrupt her. "It's always quite threatening when he stays behind you wherever you go, and maybe that's what limits gentlemen to ask you out." The younger redhead bit her cheek, swallowing the urge to say what prevented men from getting close to her was that she was seen as crazy. ‘‘But your father would never let us leave the property without him following, so… Yes, Mrs. Potter already knows that Mr. Figg will be with you.’’

‘‘I thought they didn’t throw parties anymore.’’ She commented quietly, smiling at a lady who was looking at her a little terrified, pulling her little daughter aside when Ginny passed.

Ah, London hospitality, always so pleasant.

‘’We all thought so.’’ Molly spread the fan in her hands, fanning herself because of the heat that seemed to be almost deadly. ‘‘But it looks like Mrs. Potter is tired of leaving the doors closed.’’

‘’I don’t remember visiting their house.’’

‘’You first came right when you were born, we introduced you to them. We have a picture of you and little Harry in the crib.'' Her mother sighed, stopping in front of the shop for hats, gloves and other accessories (not as chic as the one on the top street where jewelry was sold) and smiled at Ginny . ‘’Let's go in, I want to see if we can find some hats for you. Maybe there is a suitor who captures your heart during the Dueling Party.’’

[...]

‘'The Dueling Party …’’ Ginny repeated, rereading the news for the tenth time. ‘’Do you know what they say about this party?’’ She asked, looking over her shoulder at Thomas, standing behind her, while she was dining alone.

He denied. Ginny snorted, annoyed by the silence.

‘’Do you know where Mr. Figg is?’’ It was a lot more fun to have dinner with his company.

‘’No, Miss.’’

‘’Do you know when he comes back?’’

‘‘No, Miss.’’ Ginny turned to the untouched plate in front of her. Her father had spent the day outside, just like Henry, Ron had gone out with Fred somewhere, and her mother had already gone to bed, saying she was having a headache from the heat. She sighed, alone.

Thomas was married, not that he told her, she had seen the ring in his hand, and Ginny hoped he would be more talkative outside of work, or she would send her condolences to the poor woman who was married to a ghost.

The day had been quite boring, even after going out with her mother - which resulted in her buying a new hat - her father had sent a Patron with strict orders not to leave the house. Not even to fly. So Ginny spent the afternoon reading, knitting, and even pruning some flowers. All without saying much, since Thomas seemed to hate any human interaction.

At first, Henry was like that, too, quietly, until he seemed to feel sorry for Ginny's loneliness (and his own, since he was 24/7 by her side), and they started talking and she was even able to convince him sit at the table with her when no one was attending dinner.

But today, even after Thomas has been with her a few times, he still seemed to completely ignore the warmth and preferred to remain silent, leaving Ginny talking to herself.

When she thought about starting dinner - even though the chicken looked pale and the potatoes didn't look so appetizing - she heard footsteps toward the dining room, and before she could understand who was coming in, his voice boomed through the quiet room; ‘’Mr. Thomas, you can go to your home. Thank you very much.’’ Henry bowed to her a little. ‘’Good night, Miss Weasley, forgive me for being late.’’

‘’Good night, Mr. Figg.’’ ’Ginny had to bite her cheek to avoid the smile that wanted to break her face. The other Auror bowed to her and left the room, looking even relieved of an unknown tension that weighed on his shoulders. ‘’He doesn’t seem to like me very much.’’ She continued to look at the door through which the man had disappeared.

‘’If you want to know a secret,’’ Henry spoke softly, and approached her a little. ‘‘I don’t think he even likes himself.’’ Ginny laughed, her chest seeming to burn with that feeling of comfort that the man gave to her. It was always so simple to be around him, even when they were around several people and Henry was not allowed to give his real opinions (he would never give them, anyway, but Ginny knew that when it was just the two of them, he could be one little less judicious)

‘’May I know where you and my father have been?’’ She gave up on dinner, turning entirely to Henry and putting her arms on the back of the chair, resting her head there and staring at him curiously. ‘’It was a very boring day.’’

‘’Sorry to leave you, Miss.’’ Like a great gentleman he was, he nodded politely. ‘’But unfortunately I can’t tell you where we went. You’ll have to ask your father.’’

‘’And will he tell me?’’ She tried hopefully.

''I do not think so. Sorry.''

‘‘It’s not your fault.’’ She shrugged, only then really looking at him. Henry was still as he was yesterday; his slightly old and crooked glasses made his green eyes even bigger, Auror's clothes were so tightly buttoned and without any wrinkles that Ginny was embarrassed about her dress, which had a slightly worn hem. But unlike yesterday, she realized that his left hand was bandaged. ''What happened?''

‘’Ah… problems.’’ Henry shrugged. ‘’Another time we can discuss this, but I don’t think it is an issue for a lady who… still needs dinner.’’ He looked over her shoulder at her untouched plate - which now seemed to have gained color and life.

‘’Have you eaten yet?’’ Ginny turned around, slicing the chicken and smiling eagerly for him to sit with her.

''Already, Miss. Sorry.’’ Ginny could even hear his sad smile.

"But sit still, you know I hate to eat alone." She helped herself to the wine, having to bite her cheek again to keep from smiling and bursting into words she swallowed all day, when he sat in front of her. ‘’Can I ask you just one thing?’’

‘’For sure, Miss.’’ Henry seemed to want to disagree when Ginny spilled wine in his glass, but said nothing.

''Your bruised hand, the disappearance for the whole day, and the bloody story... has to do with me?'' She said, filling her mouth with a good forkful of chicken, peas and puree, staring at Henry with a pink color on his cheeks and he looked away from hers for a second.

‘’Yes, Miss.’’ He sighed, looking tense. ‘’But I’m not allowed to say more than that.’’ And then Henry pointed his finger at the walls around them, silent, and then at his own ear.

The walls have ears.

Ginny could not contain the reaction of bulging her eyes and looking at the large window beside them, which showed the entire backyard of the dark and lost yard in the darkness of the night, the trees making a lot of noise, as well as the wind whistling in the small openings of the glass and some old wood.

Henry was still staring at her, his green eyes almost seemed to enter her mind.

‘’What was I doing when I got the scar on my leg?’’ Ginny was alarmed, placing her hand on the wand at her waist, and the other holding the knife even stronger.

‘’You went up on the roof to save a cat, and when I thought was safe and tried to go up too, you slipped and cut your leg on a loose tile.’’ She blew out the air she seemed to be holding. ‘’I’m glad you remember to ask this, but it would have been too late,’’ Henry said, without taking his eyes off her. ‘’You have to do this when I arrive, not after inviting me to sit.’’ He warned her, his eyebrow dark and cut in half by the scar, rising and arching.

‘’I would know if you were an impostor.’’ For some reason she couldn’t take her eyes off him, feeling her chest burn and her hands tremble. And unlike any other time this happened, it was as if her magic was more controlled rather than totally insane inside Ginny.

‘’Miss didn’t seem so sure of that.’’ Henry didn’t seem bothered to look her in the eye either.

‘’I just doubted it. But I would know.’’ She didn’t know how, but something inside her said she would know.

‘’I’m happy that no imposter would take my place.’’ Henry smirked. ‘’I would also know how to differentiate you from an impostor.’’ And then he looked away at the window, and Ginny’s chest seemed to almost break without the pressure that was building there.

She even managed to fill her lungs with air.

| H. F |

‘’If you allow me to ask..’’ Ginny started, as they walked to the place where they were training duels. A place that Mr. Weasley had built after the clearing, where no one would get hurt or end up drawing much attention. It was not respectful for girls born in good families to know the art of dueling.

It was another day, nearly seven in the morning when Henry had to wake Ginny up so they could train the duel. After yesterday's threat, it would be necessary for her to be more than prepared if he could not defend her alone - but he was training even more so that it would not happen.

‘’Where do your scars come from? The one you have on your forehead. I mean.'' She pointed with her gloved hand at his forehead, almost touching where the lightning-like scar was marked on his skin.

‘’It’s too bloody a story for seven in the morning. And for a lady like you.’’ He kept up his education, already seeing the hut they haven’t visited in a few months, trying to ignore the feeling of failure due to having to make a woman like her, needing to learn the art of dueling. Dueling with an auror, to top it off, and not with figures he would transfigure, as he did for the boys who had been a tutor a few years ago.

No Auror learned to duel as Ginny Weasley needed to learn.

Women usually - if they learned to duel - did it with transfigured birds, wooden figures, and sometimes, if it was very necessary, the teacher would participate or call another woman who also trained, so that they would duel.

Ginny was dueling with an Auror who could do this even with his eyes closed, and who had already killed so many men that he almost needed a third hand to count how many.

''Well, if I'm asking for the story of your scar, I'm wise enough to know that I'm going to hear a bloody story.'' Henry opened the wooden hut door for her to enter first, and the smell of damp wood and dust entered their noses. Sunlight passed through broken planks and windows, and the lack of furniture (or what was left over and already broken) caused their voices to echo.

‘’They tried to kill me when I was a kid.’’ He didn’t have to look at her to see her eyes bulge, instead he walked to his usual place and started getting ready for them to start dueling.

‘’Who would do that ?! This is ... This is horrible!’’

‘’I know, Miss.’’ Henry never doubted that. ''But you would be astonished at how many crazy people there are.'' He saw her getting ready across the room, taking off the cloak, gloves and hat that her mother insisted she really wear, even inside the property.

‘’How did you get out alive?’’ Her brown eyes looked a little horrified and a little angry, as if she wanted to protect him. Henry wanted to laugh at the concern of a Viscount's daughter, at a poor man like him. In no dream or hallucination would a woman so above him look at him and speak as she did, always so friendly, seeming not even to notice how foolish she left him.

Henry was only above the bourgeois and, obviously, the miserable and squib (a class that his mother, unfortunately, belonged to), and by very little yet. If it weren't for sheer luck and being in the right place at the right time, Henry would never know what it was like to step inside the Auror Department.

‘‘My mom saved me.’’ He said, simply, but Ginny was still staring at him absurdly. ‘’In fact, she’s not my birth mother… My birth mother died at the hands of the Death Eaters. But she has looked after me since one of the Death Eaters tried to kill me, and here I am, safe and sound.’’

''I've never seen a spell that left a scar.'' She approached, eyes fixed on Henry's forehead, and her bare hand touched his skin, making him shiver and make him walk away in fright, as if her touch burned his face. ‘‘Sorry.’’ Ginny blushed furiously, still looking more scared, withdrawing her hand.

'’It's okay, Miss.’’ Henry swallowed, the wand in his hand shaking slightly, as if the magic wanted to explode out of it at all costs. ‘’And, I don’t know how I came out with just a scar. Maybe my magic saved me.’’

‘’Yeah… maybe it is.’’ Ginny now looked into his eyes, looking a little too serious, the brown eyes that Henry thought were so beautiful, seemed to carry a mountain of feelings that she would never let out. At least, not for him. ‘’Come on… let’s train.’’ And then she turned her back on him, the purple robes making her look like a witch from a Muggle fairy tale. Her hair tied tightly in the braid made her look a little more challenging than she usually was.

Henry knew he would never find a woman more beautiful than she was, and he cursed himself for thinking of her that way.

‘’We’re going to start.’’ He had to breathe deeply, before getting back in line and starting.

They bowed to each other in a sign of respect - if there was any respect in a duel - and then raised their wands.

Ginny and Henry had already dueled a few times, much more than a lady should, and he knew that she was really good and that if they accepted women at the Auror Academy, she would be even better than most the men who worked there. But whenever they dueled, Henry felt that electricity running in his wand, making it difficult to keep the spells for a long time, as if his wands refused to duel.

The magic was out of control - that's why Mr. Weasley had a hut built away from everyone and empty - and he could see the intensity of her magic almost greater than his. There always seemed to be something missing to make his strengths equal, and Henry thought that maybe it was the fact that he always feared for hurting her, while Ginny was instructed to use all her strength.

‘’Expelliarmus.’’ He whispered to himself

‘‘Estupor.’’ Ginny also spoke in an almost lower tone than Henry, and then the spells dueled, and the electricity almost looked like it was about to kill him. His arm was shaking, and the strength of the spells facing each other made the boards tremble and the rest of the entire furniture began to want to dismantle.

But for some reason Ginny lost her focus, and then Henry's magic won and her wand flew into his hands, just as her body stumbled over the furniture behind her.

He also lost his balance, and had it not been for the table well placed behind him, he would have been shamefully thrown back.

‘’I heard a noise.’’ She said, startled. ''I saw someone passing by, behind the house.'' And as if all the strength was suddenly recovered, Henry stood up and looked behind him, through the gaps in the wood where all you could see was the forest.

‘’Are you sure?’’ He asked, already casting a protective spell around them and throwing her wand at her, walking towards her and keeping her behind him - even though she insisted on going to his side.

''Yes. I saw someone. It wasn't a deer or anything. It was a person.’’ Henry’s magic trembled again, and just for safety, he cast three more protective spells around them, and grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the house. ''Don't let me stay behind, someone can hit me from behind and you won't even see.'' She complained when he once again put his body in front of hers, stamping her feet next to Henry, who was looking at the forest silent around them.

‘’Miss, you will stay in the circle of protection, while I will see if there is anyone, understood?’’ He stared at her, the taste of blood dominating the palate with the idea of ​​yet another crazy men trying to kill her.

''But I--''

‘’--Don’t make me petrify you. And I will. ’’ Henry didn’t even give her time to complain, throwing more protections around her, stepping out of the circle and preparing to grab another idiot who tried to get close to Ginny.

Yesterday morning Henry had found a miserable boy, doing the dirty work for wealthy people, bringing with him a cursed Ginny doll and a letter detailing exactly what they would do when they caught her. Henry didn't even like to remember the fury that surrounded him when he read what they intended to do. Not even over his corpse, would anyone touch her.

They were starting to be more creative now. It was the second cursed item they tried to get to Ginny.

Making sure she was still safe - and she looked furious in the circle Henry had created - he started walking around, looking at the sides of the house and a little way through the trees, but never losing sight of Ginny, who was so well protected that he could barely hear her voice.

But maybe Henry should have paid attention to what she was screaming, or trying to scream, because when a spell tried to hit him and ricocheted away, he knew it was she who was protecting him, and that they were with visitors. But he saw no one.

Turning to her, even more furious, Henry felt protected once again, seeing that Ginny was also surrounding him with protective spells, and he made the sign that she needed to leave. He told her to Apparate, but Ginny stayed there, denying it while Henry felt his protective sense scream inside him.

Better him than her.

He hid behind a tree, still feeling protected, and concentrating on the image of Ginny and her mesmerizing eyes, Henry struggled to enter her mind, as they had trained exhaustively. But it always seemed easier with her.

''Apparate out of here.. Now.''

He ordered, even though that part of the Forest was strangely quiet. Had they given up?

‘’Not without you.’’ She snapped in his mind, and Henry wished he could shake her shoulders.

‘’You are more important than me.Get out. They won’t see you, you’re protected.’’

''Not. Without. You.''

Henry took a deep breath and looked behind the tree, looking for whoever it was, wondering what he would do with that stubborn woman. There was no more noise, no spell shining, everything was silent. Which was even more dangerous.

They wouldn't come and just shoot Henry and leave without even fighting. But he was not staying to see.

And if he could bet, he knew it was more dangerous for them to stay there, waiting for them to come back. They had done this once, killed a deer as a threat, so Henry knew there must be a dead animal somewhere nearby.

He would send a patronus to Robards.

'’Apparate to our safe place. I will meet you there.’’ He spoke to her, still in mind.

‘’Do you promise to go?’’

‘’I’m right behind you, Miss.’’

[persiistents]

⧼   madchen amick, cis female, she & her  /  soon you’ll get better - taylor swift +  A LOVING MOTHER. a mother who loves her children more than anything in the world. a mother who will do anything for her children, no questions asked. and yet, a mother who is not afraid to call her children out for their wrongs.  AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN. who started as an independent girl, always determined to do everything on her own, stubbornly refusing to admit she needed help. a girl who never wanted to do as she was told. and yet, grew into the young woman her parents had always wanted. who married and had children, and settled down. and never quite content with the housewife roll, continued to do exactly as she pleased. A CAREFULLY MAINTAINED APPEARANCE. not a single strand of blonde hair out of place. a pristine french manicure, not a single chip goes unfixed. a carefully curated wardrobe, each item hand-selected. a strand of pearls and an oversized fur coat. a closet of designer gowns and more shoes than one can count.   ⧽   ━━   hey, isn’t that HÉLÈNE GRAVES LEVESQUE? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the FIFTY year old pureblood WITCH is a BEAUXBATONS alumnus who has gone on to be a HOUSEWIFE DANCE INSTRUCTOR. i’ve heard they can be quite FERVENT & SOPHISTICATED, but i don’t know… they came off very ABRASIVE & DECEITFUL in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it?

meet hélène levesque:

mentions of abuse tw, mentions of abuse cw, mentions of death tw, mentions of death cw

about:

the oldest daughter of étienne and béatrice levesque, hélène has been strong willed and independent since the day she was born, a whole two weeks early. 

at her mother’s suggestion, hélène was enrolled in dance lessons at the age of three. her parents thought and hoped, it would help to settle her unruly spirit. and they were correct. 

from an early age hélène was instilled with the idea that one day she would marry a pureblood man from a respectful family and begin a family of their own. an idea which she romanticized as a young girl, resented as a teenager and grew to accept as an adult.

she was twenty years old when she first met the man who was to be her husband, an american named archibald graves. he was perfect in every single way and yet she found herself dreading their impending nuptials. but she did as she was told, what was expected of her and married this stranger.

and then on their wedding night, archibald revealed his plans for their future together. he had business opportunities in england and they would be relocating as soon as they returned from their honeymoon and that was that.

caught off guard by the news, hélène tried her best to hide her disappointment but it was clear she was upset. she spent the remainder of the honeymoon dreading their impending move, but she did it without protest, trusting her husband knew what was best.

adjusting to life in a foreign country wasn’t as hard as she thought, she had the close knit-nature of pureblood society to help her with that. and her mother, who helped with the move and stayed for the first month.

the couple spent the next couple of years integrating into the pureblooded society of england. whether it was their attendance at galas, or sending a gift for someone’s child’s birthday.

and then hélène learned she was pregnant with the couple’s first child and once again her life changed. suddenly, she was thinking and acting for two people instead of one. and she was terrified.

fortunately her pregnancy went smoothly, and she gave birth to a healthy baby boy who they named damien. she fell in love with him the second she laid eyes on him, her beautiful baby boy.

they would have a total of four children, whom hélène dotted on. though, her husband seemed to have other ideas about how their children should be raised, they reached a compromise of sorts. hélène got to dote on them as much as she wanted but they would be raised with their father’s beliefs.

and at first, there wasn’t any problem, but as the years passed and their children grew, hélène realized that maybe this wasn’t the way to be raising children. yet, it wasn’t until their oldest son ran away that she finally had enough.

she had recognized her husbands pattern of abuse and how it had drove damien away, and determined not to lose another child she left. it was less than amicable, but after six years they don’t have much to do with one another. the exception being rowan’s funeral which was something. -- see below for more on this

hélène had thought about returning to france after their divorce. but she quickly dismissed the idea as foolish, her children were in england and that’s where she would be. this led to her purchasing her own house (manor, lbr) and turning it into her dream home. 

it was her boredom that led her to reconnect with dance, and although she had fallen out of practice and was far past her prime she was happy. and eventually, she decided to offer lessons to the wix community. her primary focus being ballet, but she also taught ballroom dancing.

rowan’s death absolutely rattled hélène, i’m not sure how else to describe it. that was her baby, after all. she’s slowly getting back to her normal self, damien’s return has helped a lot but it’s been difficult.

fun facts:

if you hurt her children, she will hurt you. 

post divorce hélène has been very into trying new things/just doing things she never got to do growing up or during her marriage. this includes things such as flying, 

hélène would deny this if you brought it up, but she has definitely taken to mothering any younger wix that she’s encountered. this probably has something to do with what she considers her failures in raising her own children, but again she doesn’t talk about that !

has always been a huge patron of the arts, this is worth mentioning bc she just lvoes them so much !! 

she loves floral arrangements. she has a new one in her entry way at least once a week.

she loves scented candles like a lot 

i’m going to edit this later !! i just wanna get the basics out 

pinterest board: coming soon

playlist: coming soon

wanted connections: 

the remaining graves children (please see the main for the formal connection)

otherwise, i haven’t gotten around to actually writing up these wanted connections & submitting them to the main but these are some rough ideas!

her first friend in england! definitely pureblood, they would’ve met thirty years ago when hélène first moved to england !! i have this idea of them being the first person to truly make her feel welcome and they’ve stuck by each other through it all 

just other friends in general !! maybe a rival of sorts ?? 

a post divorce fling could be funky 

students !! hélène was a ballerina growing up and after her divorce she started to teach lessons !! her main focus is ballet but she also teaches ballroom dance classes !! 

friends from france !!

members of the levesque family !! i’ll definitely be working on a more detailed wanted connection but she had at least two sisters and a brother all of whom would be welcome as well as any nieces, nephews or niblings !! 

[lightthewayofficial]

Chapter One: Atticus

The Parish family have been in the service of the Klaus Foundation since 1853. Queen Victoria and King Albert, both partial to a Christmas celebration, had countless serving staff to make their holiday as spectacular as possible, William Parish being amongst them. Bill had shown a particularly commendable demonstration of seasonal good-will when he’d saved Queen Vicky from being set alight by one of the Christmas tree candles. Saving the British Monarchy from being burned alive was very much considered in line with the Christmas spirit, and he was thus knighted by the reigning Santa Clause (at the time, this was Georg Klaus II). 

Parish continued to serve the British Royal Family into his old age. Whilst his children did not receive work within the palace, they were offered a coveted place at the Klaus dinner table and an invite to the Boxing Day Ball every year. After Bill’s daughter, Molly, managed to quickly avert a Christmas pudding related crisis- rather too much brandy, rather a lot of bushy beard in proximity of the pudding’s flame- it made sense for Georg II to employ the Parishes permanently. The Klaus Foundations’ fire-putter-outers. Today, the most recent generation of Parishes has recently hung up his fire hose, though, disappointingly, he didn’t get much of an opportunity to use it. 

His son, Atticus Parish, is currently stepping off the District Line at High Street Kensington to meet his girlfriend, Saskia Harper-Smith. He is ready for a cigarette after a long day of photocopying, and he’s absolutely bloody starving, because a Pret-a-Manger crayfish salad may be delicious but it certainly isn’t filling.

I am that man. Enough of the pretentious third person- I am Atticus Parish. And if I have to spend one more day at that Advertising company, I may just start tearing the photocopy machine apart bit by bit, and throw all the pieces across the office. I feel like I could easily revert back to my caveman days if I slip, even just a little. One more ‘are you busy, Atticus? Could I trouble you to print 300 of these flyers?’ and I’ll be a monkey flinging poo at the zoo enclosure window. 

Usually, the Christmas spirit is enough to pick me right back up. These past few weeks, I’ve seen Kensington High Street putting up its lights, colouring its shop windows with stockings and wrapping paper, litter the streets with after-school and after-work shoppers. It’s nice. I can smell cinnamon when I walk past Starbucks. I can wrap my scarf closer around my neck and sink into that seasonal feeling that usually has butterflies fluttering in my belly. Typically, I’m that person who’s sickeningly festive and starts playing Michael Buble in October. 

What can I say? It runs in my family. 

But there’s something different this year. And the year before that. And before that. Really, it’s since I left University. It’s like, whatever little switch that I have in my brain that automatically flicks on when 1st December rolls by has gone faulty. The fuse has tripped and I can’t turn it back on. These past few years I’ve been fumbling in the boiler room cupboard searching for the bloody thing with a little torch, and I just can’t find it. 

Actually, I don’t think that feeling is just reserved for my missing Christmas Spirit. This disorientation has been a general feeling for a while. Sometimes, it seems like every single twenty-something year old feels the same. 

An ambulance screams down the High Street. Boys in their school uniforms trapse out of Sports Direct, unable to afford any of the shoes they’ve had their eyes on all year. I turn left and step in a puddle that smells suspiciously of beer and piss. That’s just the fragrance of London. 

I put in the keycode for Saskia’s apartment building, opposite the Indian Restaurant that I always have to go to to pick up the food because Saskia’s called shotgun. I take the steps one by one, very slowly, and I open the flat door with my key. 

Saskia is home. This is unusual. She sits on the dogleg sofa with her tight-clad feet tucked under her bum. She extends a cigarette towards me before I even get to ask her how her day was. 

I take the cigarette. She’s staring at the page of her book. “How was your day?” I manage to ask. 

“Oh,” she sighs, in the way that says, oh, you know. Shit as usual. “Wine’s open on the counter.” “Brilliant.” I see the bottle of Campo Vecchio open on the black, marble top counter. I walk past Saskia’s abandoned Leboutins, towards the bedroom. 

I leave the door open behind me as I remove a suitcase from our shared wardrobe and begin to throw in random pairs of underwear. 

I hear movement on the sofa.

“What are you doing?” she asks, as if she already knows. 

“I’m going to The North Pole,” I reply, a bit giddily. 

“Don’t be daft.” I can smell her cigarette smoke, and it reminds me that I haven’t lit mine. I take a lighter from my jacket pocket and light the cigarette dangling between my chapped lips.  “You haven’t told them you’re coming.”

I pause, pyjama bottoms in hand. “That’s true. I haven’t been back in about fifteen years. It’d be rude to turn up unannounced, wouldn’t it?” “It’s less that,” Saskia calls casually. “I’m sure they’ll be slobbering all over a Parish, back in the good old NP. It’s more that you might not have a job waiting for you there.” My packing slows as I begin to fold my pyjamas carefully. I tap my cigarette on the closest mug; the ash was very close to burning a small hole through my tartan PJs. 

“Ever sensible. What would I do without you, Sas.” “Well, you’d better start thinking up the answer to that fast. Pole’s a long way away, sweet.”

I come to a stop then. Slowly turning around, I measure the view of my girlfriend, sat in her minimalist living room with smoke drifting around her straightened, dark-brown hair. She’s still burrowed in her book. 

“I’m sorry, Sas.”

That makes her put down her book, looking at me over the back of the sofa with a frown. “What on Earth are you apologising for, Atticus? You and I both know we don’t love each other that way.” At this point, Saskia’s blunt delivery shouldn’t come as a shock. It does, even now, even after knowing her for five years. “I know. I mean. We’ve spoken about it. But that doesn’t make it less rubbish that I’m up and leaving.”

She turns back to her book. 

“I’d rather you’d go if it’s your gut instinct, Attie. Your gut’s always been a good guide.”

“Only when you need help choosing from the takeaway menu.” She doesn’t laugh. I laugh to myself a little, though. 

“What made you decide this now?” she continues. “You could pop back to your apartment and get some proper clothes. You haven’t left an awful lot here.” “It just struck me as I was walking through High Street Ken.” “Ah. The horrible commercial aspect of it all?” I’m on hands and knees, rummaging under Saskia’s bed. She has some of those amazing vacuum pack things with a few of my winter jumpers in. I pull one of the packs out and it’s rock hard, like a sachet of compressed cocoa powder. 

“Sort of,” I say, voice coming out strained as I try and open the vacuum nozzle. “It’s just-” I pop the nozzle open, and it wheezes like an air mattress. “All the stuff in the news. The horrible political situation. Ice caps melting.” “Mmm.” “And what people need most is hope, a light to guide them, and instead it’s iPhones and Build-a-Bears.” “I like iPhones.” “And I like Build-a-Bears,” I continue, opening the vacuum bag and finding my warmest Edinburgh Woolen Mill knitted item. I have a fair few. “I’m not diminishing the power of a good present, of those little gestures. Of those things in life that make you happy. But the world is just so much more complex than our parents ever made it out to be, and now-”

There’s a thud from the apartment upstairs. The neighbours’ toddler has just started walking, and she keeps bumping into things. The comes a shrill cry as she registers that she’s fallen over. 

“Now,” I continue, “even when there’s good intentions behind it, even when these material things are helpful or fun or good, or whatever, it’s hard to forget that it’s probably been made in some sweatshop. Or that the company that came up with it isn’t paying any taxes- or it’s burning down the Amazon Rainforest. Or that one action figure is wrapped up in layers of pointless plastic packaging.”

A deep breath. And then I fold a second jumper and put it in the suitcase.

“Oh. Sorry- mind if I steal your suitcase, Sas?” “No. Has all of this only just occurred to you? And when did you become such a pessimist, Atticus Parish? I’ve never known you to talk like this, and quite frankly it’s terrifying.” I’m searching through my shirts. Why don’t I own any turtlenecks? “I know, it really is terrifying.” “Does this mean that you’re officially pursuing the Parish family business at Klaus Foundation, then?” “I suppose it does.” I zip up the suitcase.

“I’m.” There’s a pause, and I hear here close her book whilst I’m zipping. “I’m happy for you, Atticus. It’s always mattered to you, spreading hope and joy and all those sorts of things. Much more of a natural at Christmas spirit than me.” I’ve forgotten my toothbrush. My voice echoes in the bathroom as I say, “How would you know? You could be a natural. You’re a Smith who’s never wielded a blacksmith’s hammer before. Have you ever wielded a hammer, Saskia Harper-Smith?”

“No, and I daresay I never will.”

I pull the heavy suitcase off the bed- I packed too many shoes, but never mind- and I suddenly catch my reflection in the full-length mirror. Red curls getting too long, nose still red from the cold outside. Looking more energetic than I have in a long time- which is only, really, the sort of thing you notice when you’ve been particularly sluggish for a long time. Suddenly, I feel like I don’t have the time to stop and think about all of this. 

The sound of the suitcase rolling on the polished concrete floor is horribly loud. Saskia is standing, cigarette put out, only halfway finished. Her large eyes look suddenly larger and more childlike than they ever have before. 

“Look after yourself, thank you,” she demands.

“Of course, darling.” I bring her into a hug. She doesn’t typically like them, but I do, and she acquiesces today. I feel her skinny hand pat me awkwardly between the shoulder blades. 

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” I mumble into the material of her cardigan. 

There’s barely a beat’s hesitation before she replies, “Yes you do.”

✨✨✨✨

It’s been a very long time since I’ve been on the boat to Håperg. 

This close to Christmas, it’s frankly irresponsible that I’m on this boat close to the darkest, coldest time of the year- and it’s remarkably lucky that these kind people have offered to take me. But here I am, and here they are, and I’ve done my best to offer them some of my tea from my flask as a thank you but they just smile and shake their heads politely. 

Seagulls screech overhead. I’m always amazed by how far-out seagulls fly- I don’t know enough about their eating habits to understand what they’re doing here. They’re probably thinking the same of me. The water occasionally splashes over the side, though the current isn’t that bad. It’s the ice that’s the problem, and I can’t shake off that unsettling feeling that we’ll just be the miniature version of The Titanic and end up sinking out here. When I came out here as a child, I didn’t really think about my own mortality so much. Now, I’m looking around and all I see is the receding shoreline of Spitsbergen and the sun failing to reach the horizon, that weak, pinkish glow dusting the clouds. It’s a bit terrifying.  

It’s perfect here.

I remember how much I loved it the first time, when I was six; the second time when I was ten. My lasting memory of both visits is the taste of chocolate and the cold scraping up my lungs. I loved it here, I loved seeing where my father came to work four months of the year. I won’t ever fully understand why he tried to put me off it, and I won’t understand how he almost succeeded. 

I close my eyes and breath in, and let the gentle rock of the boat silence my thoughts. The old engine roars and the seagulls continue to sing. I watch the ripples in the water, the pink and the stars reflected in the mirror sea-surface. 

It takes a good couple more hours for the boat to moor. The ocean is eerily still, the wind whistling in a high-pitched shriek. It picks up the ice in the air and whisks it around. It’s pitch-black out here now, as it will be for the next few months of the year. And this would be a frightening place, if not for the glittering lights of Håperg in the distance. Like fallen stars on the horizon. It’s just as welcoming as I remember it, an atmosphere of comfort and safety that could almost make you forget how unbelievably cold it is. And how many days it’s taken to get this far from London. 

The two men who’ve brought me here from Spitsbergen busy themselves with docking safely. One of them takes my suitcase, completely ignoring my inarticulate complaints- complaints that are essentially just me waving my hands about uselessly. The other hums something tunelessly to himself, unknotting some rope and, amazingly, pulling away his fur-lined hood. These men are made of stronger stuff than me. 

The step from the boat to the ice is high. The ice is slippery. I wobble in my descent and make a bit of a tit of myself, but that’s to be expected. 

“First time, yes?” The man with my suitcase asks. I feel terrible, I had asked for his name, but he didn’t give it and I’m too awkward to ask again. 

“Yes. Wait, no, sorry. This is my third time. But, the first in a very long time. I came as a child.” Through the flickering whisps of fur, I see the wincing expression of a young man. “Good. You remember the cold.” “Oh yes, hard to forget,” I call out over the wind. 

We walk for a minute or two through the snow- no idea where- and I learn that his name is Jakob. He learns my name. He asks whether I’m expected at Klaus Lodge, and I say no. His jovial laugh makes me wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake. How incredibly presumptuous I’ve been, just turning up like this. 

Jakob comes to a stop by a shed and some parked sleds. The poor sod still has Saskia’s bright pink suitcase in his hand as he whistles loudly with the other, thumb and forefinger in his mouth. At first, I have no idea what he’s trying to summon. It’s dark and the flakes of ice in the air make it hard to see anything except for Håperg’s distant lights. But then, I see them. They bound over and I can hear their excited yelps. 

“Huskies!” I cry like a boy.

My new friend laughs. “You like dogs, I hope.” “I love them.”

I watch them run over, though I have no idea where from. There’s eight of them, and the front two are grinning with their tongues hanging out and breath blooming in clouds. There’s snow spraying around them like they’re jumping in puddles. And honestly, I haven’t felt such childlike joy in years. 

They crash to halt and run circles around us, yelping in excited, high-pitched cries as they jump up at Jakob. He pays them no attention, walking soberly towards the sled and expecting them to follow, which they do. They’ve been trained well, even if huskies tend to be a little bit bonkers. That much I remember. One of the front runners is wagging his tail so hard the whole back half of his body is swinging from side to side. 

“Blåbær will take you there.”

I run my gloved fingers through the frontrunner’s fur. He turns to nip playfully at me, perhaps also a bit defensively, before sniffing my hand and rubbing his face on my shoes. “I take it you’re Blåbær,” I call out to the dog over the roar of the wind. 

“He is best.”

I couldn’t agree more. 

Jakob loads me and my silly suitcase onto the sled so that we’re lying down in front of the handle and reigns. It makes me feel like a piece of luggage. And then I watch him hook up all the huskies, standing diligently in line and occasionally chattering to each other. And then I feel him take his stand at the helm. 

And then we’re off, and I get just the smallest amount of whiplash from the sudden start. I also get a faceful of snow from the huskies’ paws. It’s in my eye, which hurts a lot, and it melts in my mouth, too. I cling onto the suitcase. The mountains start to take shape through the flurry. I look up- the stars are watching our journey to Håperg. And- my God. The Northern Lights. They’re doing a Mexican wave above our heads in greens and yellows and blues, like an 80s synth dream. 

Something about it all has my heart radiating, making ripples of rightness through my chest. It has taken me too long to come here. 

At least I’m here now.

[justanoutlawfic]

Home: Sentimental (Red Snowing)

I was looking at close up pictures of Emma's nursery and was inspired to make this off the little details.

Also on AO3/FF

Snow hadn’t been lying when she returned from the Enchanted Forest after the curse broke. Emma’s nursery was truly in shambles. Ruby could remember how much hard work and dedication went into putting it together. David and the dwarfs had built the crib. The unicorn mobile was a gift from Cinderella and Thomas. All of the toys had been picked out by the three of them. Geppetto had taken a break from carving the wardrobe to make a beautiful dollhouse with tiny wooden dolls that resembled the dolls and Snow. There was a prince charming doll, along with plenty of other princess ones and stuffed animals. They had purchased an abacus and other things their new daughter would need as she grew. The three of them had put everything up together. There was a place for everything. As always, Snow had a method to her madness.

 Now, that was all for nothing. The crib was turned on its side. Most of the toys had fallen off the shelf and were destroyed. Stuffed animals had footprints dragged across them. Porcelain dolls had cracks in their skin. A teddy bear that never had a chance to be snuggled was already missing an eye as if Emma had loved it her whole life. The unicorn mobile had ended up in Gold’s shop and hadn’t made it back after Pan activated the destruction on the town.

 Lost forever, just like so much of their lives.

 Ruby knew that their second child could not sleep in this nursery. Snow had already selected a second room for them. Even so, Ruby wanted to try to make this old one look at least a little presentable. She couldn’t bare the thought of the place they had put so much work into in such a state.

 As she picked up the broken toys, she moved them into two boxes: one for repair if they looked like they could be and one for those that were too far gone. She looked at the shelf where some of the toys still stood standing. The dollhouse and the tiny wooden dolls had survived. She could see a sheep stuffed animal not far behind them, which brought a small smile to her face. David had found it at a market stand and insisted on buying it. He may have been a prince, but he would never stop being a shepherd at heart.

 “We’ll take her to visit farms when she’s growing up, so she can learn how to feed the animals,” he had told his wives.

 Another dream that died that awful night in this nursery.

 Ruby’s eyes looked upwards on the shelf. The alphabet block they had once purchased were scattered everywhere. Stuffed in the corner was a familiar doll. She picked it up and flicked off the dust. It was handmade, wearing a blue dress and red cape. The doll had dark hair and tiny eyes. Ruby gave it a watery smile as she remembered back to how this toy in particular came to be.

 Red poked her thumb yet again. “Ow!”

David looked up from his book while Snow stopped rubbing lotion on her stomach. “What are you doing, Red?” he asked.

“I’m trying to make a cape for this doll.” She held up the naked figure. “But it’s not working out like I thought.”

“A cape, huh?” David wiggled his eyebrows. “And just why would that doll need a cape?”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “She has a prince charming doll, not to mention that lamb you bought for her. Geppetto made the castle and the representation of Snow. I just want her to have something of me.”

“I think that’s a sweet idea,” Snow piped up.

“I’m just not an expert at knitting and sewing like Granny is.”

“She’s going to love it no matter what,” David said. “Because her Mama made it.”

 Ruby held the doll close to her, thinking about how excited she had been to give it to her daughter. They knew the curse was coming but they were doing everything in their power to stop it. They had hope they would get to raise Emma. In the end, not only had she never gotten to sleep in this nursery, she had never gotten anything from it.

 It wouldn’t feel right to give this to the new baby. She’d make he or she something else. In the meantime, she’d save this. She had to have hope that she hadn’t seen her pup for the last time.

*******************************************************************************************

Christmas in Storybrooke was a huge deal. In the Enchanted Forest, they had the winter solstice with the legend of Father Christmas but that was it. Ruby had to admit she much preferred the holidays in the small town in Maine. Main Street was decorated with bright lights and figurines. They had several festivals and parties to celebrate.

 One holiday that was similar in both the Enchanted Forest and Storybrooke was Hanukkah. Ruby hadn’t grown up celebrating it but once she married Snow, she converted. They all agreed their future children would grow up celebrating the holidays that came with both the Catholic and Jewish religions, since David’s family came from the former. Eva’s family had a beautifully handcrafted menorah that was passed down from generation to generation. Luckily, it had ended up in Gold’s shop. The holiday season after the second curse, he had given it to the Lucas-Charming family free of charge, claiming he couldn’t picture charging them for something like that.

 Emma had never celebrated Hanukkah and Ruby loved getting to watch her daughter do it for the first time alongside their 3-month-old son. It was months after the second curse had broken and things were finally returning to some sort of normal. Henry, Regina, Roland and Robin came by as well for the first night since Regina had celebrated Hanukah with Leopold and Snow during their marriage.

 Despite it being their first Hanukkah in Storybrooke, they wanted to follow the same tradition that they had in the past. They exchanged gifts with one another for some of the nights, while giving to charities that they felt important on the others. It had been a tradition that Eva had started a little after Snow was born and her daughter wanted to keep it up with her own family.

 However, this was the first night of Hanukkah and the family had agreed upon sentimental gifts. Snow had repurposed the unicorn mobile into windchimes for Emma. David had crafted a beautiful wooden frame to put his favorite picture of him and Emma standing in front of the sheriff car for her. Ruby knew immediately what she wanted to give her daughter, but she just wasn’t sure if she was going to be okay with it. It was a bit childish, but it was something that Ruby had wanted to give her daughter for 29 years.

 When time came to exchange presents, it was a bit hectic given their large family. Ruby watched as Emma teared up at her new windchimes and grinned widely when it came to the picture frame which include a quote to remember to enjoy “the moments”. Her packages sat awkwardly in her hands. Eventually, everyone else was busy with each other, so Ruby pulled Emma aside.

“If you hate it, I still have a few nights to make up for it,” Ruby only half-teased.

Emma chuckled. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

 She unwrapped the first package which was a storybook that Ruby had made with the help of Henry. Inside was the real story of how both Ruby had met Snow, then how Ruby had David and how they all became a couple. The Author had left it out of the official version of the storybook for some reason and she wanted Emma to have it. It ended on them finding out they were expecting their first child.

“Mama, this is beautiful,” Emma said, flipping through it.

“Henry drew the pictures,” Ruby admitted. “My artistry skills are not that high. But I wanted to give you this to go along with it. It also has a story.”

 She handed Emma the second package and watched her unwrap it. Emma tilted her head when she saw the doll.

 “You got me a version of you?”

“I made it when Snow was pregnant with you,” Ruby explained. “You were meant to have all these toys that represented us as your parents, so I did this. When we all were back in the Enchanted Forest last year, I found it in your old nursery and tucked it away. When we got back to Storybrooke and your mom went looking for the mobile, I found it.”

“This was always meant to be mine?” Emma asked in wonder.

“I know you’re too old to play with it now, but to me it goes with the book. It’s a part of our story, Emma. It’s a part of how I connected to you, even when you were in Snow’s womb. I had all these plans for you and I want you to know they don’t stop just because I didn’t get to raise you…”

 Emma cut Ruby off by pulling her into a hug. Ruby let out a deep breath and hugged her tighter.

“It’s perfect,” Emma said. “I love it.”

“I’m glad.”

“My present’s kind of lame in comparison.”

“Emma nothing you get me could be lame.”

 Emma pulled away from her, gently setting her presents to the side. She picked up a medium sized package and handed it to Ruby.

“Ironically, Henry helped me with my gift as well.”

 Ruby took off the messy wrapping paper to find a basket. Inside of it was a bag of coffee grinds, a Guns N’ Roses CD, a bottle of red hair dye for streaks and finally, a packet of gummy sharks.

“It’s all stuff that made me get to know you under the curse,” Emma explained. “We used to get coffee together when you worked at the sheriff station. We’d listen to rock music in your Camaro. Mom said you were thinking about highlighting your hair again, like you did under the curse so I threw that in. And the gummy sharks were from when we saw that movie together, the first time we bonded after the curse broke. That was the candy you picked.”

 A watery smile flew across Ruby’s face.

 “Oh, and Henry helped me pick the basket. I was going to wrap them individually but he said Little Red Riding Hood would need one.”

Ruby laughed in spite of her tears. “Of course he did.”

 She pulled Emma back into her arms. Maybe she didn’t carry Emma in her stomach, but there was no doubting that their bond was strong enough to last any curse that came their way.

[corneliahall]

My dreams that night were more than enough to scare me. After sharing a silent, awkward dinner with my mother, I went straight to bed and let Cameron's silky fur comfort me through the disturbing images my brain was processing. Memories of my childhood oddities and, of course, the generated ones that I might encounter in the future. I woke up to the sound of my phone's alarm, reminding me that everything else around me was normal. Everything beyond my house did not change at all. I got up, showered, and did all the mundane things my body required. It felt weird to stare at the mirror after the strange talk with my teacher and Mr. Ryder last night. Still, my choppy, curly red hair was normal. My blue eyes were still normal. My skin, although rimmed with darkness around the eyes from last night's lack of sleep, was more or less normal with its impertinent pinkish glow and the rust-colored freckles. Goth ginger. Giselle the Goth ginger is what they called me because of my wardrobe consisting of dark-colored clothes. Mostly deep blues, purples, violets and tinges of neon. Purists at my school would argue I was not a proper one since I don't exactly follow the entire lifestyle. In truth, dark colors just make me feel safer. You would never guess my favorite color is white. My mom went out early due to the store's start-of-season sale. Her mini beauty store, the pompously-named Margaret's Beauty Choice, allowed me to have my own variety of lipsticks and eyeshadow palettes. We are both make-up junkies. While she used to do make-up for small-time models in New York, my earliest experience was putting on a Ruby Woo lipstick on my eight-year-old lips. I caught up to the school bus just right on time and decided to sit further back than usual. Alyssa's pretty face was still healing when I heard about it yesterday and she might appear today in school to get some counseling. Hah. Like she would ever listen to anyone. Just then I noticed something out of the ordinary. Someone. Normally, Lilly Saint-Louis was the one who took this seat of the school bus. Lilly was not there; a new kid was. I've studied at Sheffield since last year—the longest standing school since I was six and that's an achievement—and not once have I seen the guy. He looked like he was brooding over something, with his eyebrows knitted over his dark eyes. He was obviously of Asian descent; his eyes were single-lidded slanting towards the inner corners. He had black hair trimmed like those I read in Japanese comics. He was handsome but I would not give him the chance to see me acknowledging such a fact. My eyebrow arched up almost automatically but I just sat next to him. He acknowledged my presence once and went back to staring at the world outside the school bus. "So... new kid?" I could not help it. I wouldn't want an awkward start if he were a new student. He did not answer me and just looked at his phone while he was shuffling to find something in his pocket. Thankfully it was not a knife but a pair of earpods. I would have to praise him later for not misplacing that. "Nah. Just a stowaway. I snuck inside here last night. Typical rendezvous from the world, don't you think?" His accent was still evident. Though he must have been some kind of a rich kid since he knew big words that no normal American teen would use, unless in an essay. It was hard to tell if he was joking but from his deadpan face, he seemed pretty serious. "How did you get past the bus camera?" I was completely mystified. Sheffield had the best bus cameras in Minneapolis. Heck, I could not even sneak back inside to get my bag whenever I forgot it. He shuffled in his bag again to show me a dislocated pair of vehicle cameras. "I took it out. It's pretty easy to do if you have god-given talent as I have," he flashed his pearly whites briefly and then reverted to his brooding face. "We're going to Sheffield, right? Is it cool? You do know your school buses ain't parked in your own lot at night, right?" He must have snuck inside the school lot downtown. I shrugged. "Yeah, it's one of the weird things I do not understand at Sheffield but... I think it makes sense since we are a small school." Pfft. Wow. We. As if I was ever genuinely a part of this school. "What about life in Minnesota?" "Great. If you mean great as dead, boring winter nights. Plus, nothing is really that good here. We just have cool frozen lakes." He sighed and scratched his head, "New York and Cali never gave me a break so I guess I'd love a quiet place," he murmured and bent backward to stretch, the thinness of his lanky frame showing slightly. Underneath, he was wearing an orange shirt with weird markings too good for my poor reading skills. "New York, huh? Ever heard of a camp?" He frowned. "Camp? There are tons of camps in New York. Camp Crystal Lake. Yeah, Crystal Lake is a thing. Camp Eisenhower. Lazo Jersey Camp. A whole lot of camping sites upstate. Well, I was not really from New York but I camped a lot for some time. Pretty cool for hiking and canoeing, too." Hiking and canoeing seemed way better than staying at Walmart as a cashier. "Oh, if those things were boring, you might have been looking for more difficult challenges, huh?" "I'm looking for a quiet life. Away from the go—Goths. I mean, Goths." "Goths?" I almost snorted a laugh. "You don't look like a Goth to me, Miss Ginger." He looked at me up and down before he went back to staring at the crumpled love letter lodged in between our seats. Not one of us read it. I shuffled my ankles. "I am Giselle, by the way. Giselle Blair." "Too much information, Giselle. Can I call you Gee?" "That's a no." Though Mom does call me Gee sometimes. "You sound like the late Simon Cowell, bless his soul." I did not know who Simon was but it turned the light chat into a long, awkward silence. "Haruto," he said as the bus took a turn from the intersection. "What?" He looked around as if he was being watched before carefully placing his lips next to my ear. "Call me Haru. My name is... Haruto." A blush rose to my cheeks. "You know you could just tell me your name without getting too close, right?" Haruto chuckled. "Don't be such a priss. I don't like ginger girls anyway. I was just being—ahh... never mind me." He began to look again at the scenery outside. We were almost at Sheffield but this time, something strange happened. The moment we entered the tunnel leading to the school gates, the bus began to act up, as if it was being pulled in all directions. Dark liquid began to creep up our windows like anti-gravity crude oil and all of the students began to scream. Even the bus driver screamed curses at what was happening. Only Haruto seemed to know what was happening. He hissed but it was as if he knew this was going to happen. "Stupid me. They know I am here!" He growled, running towards the bus door and slamming it open. A scrawny kid knocking down pneumatic bus doors? That was fascinating... if we ignore the fact that we were not attacked by a giant shadow sludge. The bus driver tried to gather us all up at the back of the bus but I knew in me that it was wrong. Instincts drove me to the edge, letting me slash my way outside the bus. "Haruto!" I screamed around while the bus was slowly swallowed by the dark sludge. For a second I was about to be convinced Haruto was just an imaginary friend my mind created for the sake of coping from yesterday's mysteries. The shadows seemed to leave the bus alone, as they receded from the shuddering vehicle and unfortunately came at me. I knew I should have been a huge ginger slush right there at the gates of Sheffield if not for the spine-tingling explosion over me. The exploding rocks were about to shower down on me if not for Haruto, who suddenly rolled into the scene and led me out to safety. Son of Zeus! You still have not learned from your mistakes in Anaheim! A voice made from a thousand ones grittily scolded Haruto. It seemed that it was coming from the dark mass of shadows around us. Haruto just looked at the shadows with utmost distaste. "A dark shadow... attacking a school at 08:00 in the morning. Clearly, you guys are just desperate!" The swirling mass of shadows and fog seemed to solidify into a shape of a large, muscular man. Its eyes were as bright as the stars on a clear night. Though his intense stare at me made them look like headlights about to send a doe to deer heaven. Bah, you are not what I am here for. I will finish you before I get my hands on the girl! Haruto gave me a sideways glance but I was totally clueless at the moment. I was sure that maybe one of the girls in our school had summoned a shadow demon and the experiment went wrong. Now, the shadow demon wanted to seek vengeance and he probably mistook me as the one who summoned him. There were at least three people in school with red hair. Boy, was I all wrong.

Excerpt from The Night’s Call

[markswoman]

touch | njm

relationships require holding hands, soft caresses, and gentle kisses. jaemin can't provide any of that.

pairing | jaemin x reader | angst | 3.5k | mentions of death

an: i guess this is kind of like a twist on the midas touch.. have fun folks especially @najaeminloveclub ♡

Everyone Jaemin touches dies within 24 hours. That's just a rough estimate he's reached. There is no science, no logic behind it. It just happens. Jaemin has never really liked having skin on skin contact with other people - he was just that sort of person. Yet he could never resist a hug from his mother or a pat on the head from his father. Nothing ever happened to them. So when he is told that the boy in the other preschool group who pushed him over yesterday and snatched his juice had gone and won't be coming back, Jaemin doesn't understand. A week or so later a girl with a plait tried to put a daisy chain on his head. He flinched as her cold fingers grazed his ear by accident. Frowning, he threw the daisy chain back at her and stomped away to play in the sandbox. The next day the girl isn't back. But Jaemin doesn't really think much about it. Maybe she's making more daisy chains. Jaemin is sad to hear that another girl also left their class. She shared some of her chocolate chip cookies with him yesterday and he had asked his mother for an extra chocolate bar to give to her. Another two boys are gone. His parents decide that this isn't the sort of area they want their son to grow up in, so they move.

–

His primary school wasn't too bad. He found he liked to run around occasionally but he didn't like the tag games that the other boys played. He'd rather stay inside with his sleeves down to his fingertips and a crayon in his hand. His teacher tries to coax him outside. Jaemin thinks she has a nice smile so he holds her hand as she leads him to the door. A new teacher takes over their class. Jaemin thinks her smile isn't as nice as his last teacher's. –

He starts to feel uneasy in high school. His friend decides to run for class president and Jaemin cheers at the end of his speech. His friend goes down each row of seated students and high-fives them. Jaemin grins widely as their palms meet. Jaemin can't stop crying as the headmaster addresses the entire student body. His friend was hit by a taxi on his way home. He had a bright future ahead of him, Jaemin is told by the solemn headmaster. Jaemin wipes his tears with his tingling palms. No one is his class high fives again. It's a painful memory. – A couple years later, there's a new girl in the year below. Her lips become heart-shaped when she smiles widely and her laugh is melodious and sweet. Jaemin wonders if her lips feel as soft as they look. Many conversations and smiles later Jaemin discovers that her lips are even softer than he imagined. Jaemin keeps grinning as he tries to fall asleep. He's looking forward to meeting her after school tomorrow. But she never shows up. Feeling dejected, Jaemin asks her friends if they've seen her. Apparently she didn't turn up to school that day and Jaemin brows knit in confusion as each of his text messages are left unanswered. The news channel says that a local girl was admitted into hospital last night after a heart attack. The doctors are baffled since the girl showed no previous history of any heart disease related symptoms. It's tragic, Jaemin thinks as he fiddles with the remote. But the remote slips through his fingers as they show a picture of the girl from a smiling school photo. Jaemin recognises that smile too well and suddenly he's tripping over the table in his haste to get to the bathroom. He vomits into the toilet bowl again and again until he's retching and crying and he can't breathe. His mother calls out to him, worry evident in her voice. A dark realisation dawns on Jaemin and he retches again. – Newspaper articles are easy to find online. Jaemin retraces his past homes through the articles; five preschool children dead within a month, the tragic deaths of three students and a teacher at his primary school, friends, strangers, faces he recognised but can't put a name to. His hands shake in horror. But perhaps it's just coincidence? These people may have just been very, very unlucky. How can it be Jaemin's fault? Jaemin who cried when his father stomped on a spider that he was trying to catch and take outside. Jaemin who hated violent games and death. It's not possible. It's a sunny day at the park. The breeze isn't quite strong enough so Jaemin sweats slightly under his long sleeved shirt. It's just an experiment, he convinces himself as he looks at all the faces passing him. An elderly lady leans heavily on her walking stick as she shuffles past the bench he's seated at. Jaemin jumps up and offers her his assistance. The wrinkles around her eyes deepen as she smiles at him. Jaemin smiles back but he can feel his heart thud with anxiety as she grabs his arm. He walks her back to her home, painfully aware of her soft hands brushing his as she places a candy in his hands as thanks. "You're a good boy." Jaemin doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. He decides he would rather not know but his feet still lead him to the lady's house the next day. He knocks lightly at the door but there's no answer. He knocks again. Panic settles into his stomach and he wants to run. He tries the neighbour and explains in a quiet, shaking voice that the elderly woman he helped yesterday isn't answering her door. Ambulances blare too harshly; Jaemin can't hear himself think. A police officer with a beard asks him a couple of questions but he starts to hyperventilate. They try to calm him down but he can't. He doesn't understand, he doesn't want to understand. He wants to rip his bloodstained hands off. –

Now he's 21 and Jaemin lives by himself. He sometimes goes to visit his parents but he thinks it's safer this way. He has been murder-free for 2 years as far as he knows. For it is murder in his eyes; allowing someone to touch his skin, accidentally or on purpose, when he knows they will die shortly after is just as bad as taking a knife and sliding it between someone's ribs. Jaemin's wardrobe is filled with long-sleeved shirts and an assortment of gloves. He has three cats - two were strays he found as kittens, mewling sadly in an alleyway. They enjoy nuzzling into Jaemin's hands and Jaemin laughs at their antics. He occasionally goes out to eat with friends but he thinks it's better to stay at home. It's a little lonely but at least it gives him peace of mind. The sun is shining brightly down on Jaemin's back as he runs to the bus stop. He curses the hot weather, he curses the alarm clock that didn't go off, he curses the bus, he curses the leather gloves suffocating his hands, he curses the curse that makes him have to keep them on, he curses- Suddenly the wind is knocked out of him and he falls painfully to the floor. Looking up he's surprised to see you similarly sprawled on the floor. You get up first, dusting your jeans off before extending a hand to help Jaemin up. "Sorry about that! I guess I wasn't really looking where I was going," you chuckle slightly in embarrassment and Jaemin thinks it's a pretty sound. "Don't worry," Jaemin said with a nervous smile. "I wasn't looking where I was going either." "I guess we both need to see our optometrists! It's nice to bump into you um..." Jaemin laughs and shakes your hand, "I'm Jaemin. Same to you too." "So where's your motorcycle?" "What?" "You're wearing leather gloves in this awful heat; you must have a motorcycle parked somewhere." Jaemin doesn't know how to respond and you chuckle again. "Don't look so panicked! I was just teasing you. They're nice gloves." "Oh thanks." Jaemin thinks you have a cute smile – you look almost catlike. "I wish I had a motorbike though. It'd be better than running after buses." "And running after trains," you add. "Maybe we should start a motorcycle gang." you snort and Jaemin couldn't help but laugh along. "Only if I get to be the gang leader." "I think we both know who wears the gloves in this relationship," jokes Jaemin, raising his gloved hands. Your eyes crinkle beautifully when you laugh. "Good point! I have to go now, but I'll see you around!" you wave and then you’re gone. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Jaemin ambles to the bus stop. He knows he missed it but he doesn't mind now. The image of eyes crinkled with laughter comes to the forefront of his memory and Jaemin can't stop the smile tugging at his lips. Maybe he should get a motorcycle. Jaemin never wants to ride a motorcycle again. The trial run he had at the local store almost resulted in him crashing into the side of the building. They are extremely unsafe machines and Jaemin can't afford to get hurt. Getting hurt would mean going to the hospital which would mean doctors and nurses touching him, assessing damage and injecting medication. So no motorcycles. He's surprised to see you sitting at his bus stop a few days later. You wave to greet him.

"So we meet again!" "So we do," and Jaemin can't help but smile brightly. "How are you?" "I'm good thanks. Kind of bored though," you look hopefully at Jaemin. "Hey, do you want to go grab a drink or something? It's better than sitting here." "I'd like that." Somehow one coffee became several hours of chatting about the weather, cats, politics, music, life. Jaemin thinks his office job sounds very boring compared to you studying psychology but you appeared eager to know more about him. But Jaemin didn't miss the occasional glance you made at his gloved hands wrapped around his mug handle. He prayed there wouldn't be any inquiries into his...."quirks". You didn't ask; instead, you invited Jaemin to hang out with some of your friends that Saturday. Jaemin should have said no, but he couldn't refuse your earnest face. That one meeting became many and soon Jaemin had merged into your group. Jaemin really enjoyed hanging out with them and being with you. It's been a while since he felt so happy. What really touched him was how none of them would press him into removing his gloves. Jaemin didn't have to come up with excuses because no one questioned it. Then you invited them all somewhere for your birthday. Jaemin stares in horror at the bowling alley. He tries to silently tell you that he can't do this, but his new friend refused to meet his eyes. Jaemin could feel his heart sting slightly at the betrayal. "I can't play" he says apologetically to Chenle. "Why not?" the younger is confused but his eyes flickered down to Jaemin's hands. "Um, I can't take my gloves off." "You can't or you won't?" "...I can't." Chenle looks carefully at Jaemin before nodding. "Fair enough then. It's going to be boring if you just watch us play though." Jaemin smiles in relief. "If you guys are having fun then so am I." "Awwwwww," Chenle coos at him. "You're so sweet I might have to pinch your cheeks." He reaches out his slender fingers to do just that before Jaemin dodges and punches him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't forget I'm older than you!" "Alright, alright, old man. Sit down and watch how a pro bowls." Chenle loses the match. Jisung laughs heartily and pats his shorter friend's head, laughing even harder when Chenle frowns. When everyone departs that night, your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes. –

"Go out with me."

Jaemin blinks in surprise. He wasn't expecting you to be so straightforward. He also wasn't expecting you to like him back. "I can't," Jaemin says quietly. Your eyes narrow at him. "You can't or you won't?" "...I can't." "You can't in the same way you can't take off those gloves?" Jaemin swallowed nervously. "Yes." "Do you like me?" "...Yes." "Then I'll pick you up this Friday at 8." Jaemin couldn't stop his hands from trembling. He really shouldn't be doing this, he shouldn't be leading you on. He can't have a relationship. Relationships require holding hands, soft caresses, gentle kisses...and Jaemin can't provide any of that. He can't hold you in his arms when you can't sleep, he can't brush the hair from your face, he can't even squeeze your hand to let you know that everything will be okay. As long as Jaemin is there, everything won't be okay. The faster he accepted that the better things would be for everyone. Yet come Friday, Jaemin found himself sitting across from a beaming you in a posh Chinese restaurant where each chopstick was wrapped individually. You talked and laughed until Jaemin almost forgot his apprehension. You reach your hand across the table and entwined your fingers with Jaemin's. Jaemin barely feels the heat from your fingertips through the leather of his gloves. "We can't do this." "Wha-" but Jaemin runs out of the restaurant before you could finish your question. He ignores your calls and texts. When it got too much, he turned his phone off. Jaemin should have cut himself off from you the moment he felt himself falling for you. But now you liked him back and things would only spiral down from here. It was obvious what would happen if he let himself get drawn in, if he let himself even hope for a different fate, because it just wouldn't work. Time and time again he had let himself think that perhaps it isn't him, it never actually was him, it was just an awful series of coincidences following in his wake. So he would accidentally brush fingers with a familiar stranger. But then he'd never see that face the next day, or the next, or the next and Jaemin knew what had happened. What he had done. He'd set his streak back to zero days, don his gloves once more and mourn. But you didn't give up so easily. You turned up on Jaemin's doorstep, your brows creased with worry and frustration. "Why?" Jaemin could tell all the why’s you wanted answered. Why have you been avoiding me? Why can't we do this? Why do you always wear gloves? Why won't you tell me? "I'm not good," Jaemin gulped painfully. "I'm not good for you." "Are you crazy?" you looked at him like he had lost his mind – maybe he had. "Not good for me? You're one of the greatest people I know." Jaemin shook his head, "No. I'm not. Please. Don't do this." "Give me a chance, Jaemin. Please. I know you're scared, but don't be. I've got you. Trust me." He met your eyes. They shone with determination, sincerity and Jaemin wanted to believe them. He really wanted to believe them. "I-" "I like you. A lot. And I know you like me too. We can't let something like this go." Jaemin could feel his resolution begin to crumble; it had already been weakened by years of loneliness. "You'll regret it," he whispered, voice taut with sadness. "Never," and you smiled at him. The same smile you had the first time they met. – He couldn't remember being so happy. Not only were you always on his mind, you were always around Jaemin. Joking, smiling, teasing, laughing, and giving him strength. You seemed to respect Jaemin's wishes and didn't hassle him about his gloves, which Jaemin was deeply grateful for. But you had tried to kiss him on the cheek once. Jaemin had been distracted by a dog chasing a yellow ball in the park, he almost hadn't seen you shift his weight towards him. He had lunged away so fast he fell off the park bench. You had laughed about it afterwards but Jaemin knew it wouldn't rest. "Take your gloves off." "I can't." "Why?" Your voice was dripping with frustration. "I want you to tell me. Please." "I have a skin condition," Jaemin worded carefully. It wasn't strictly untrue; there was something definitely wrong with his skin. "Don't lie to me. I've seen you open your window from outside before – you weren't wearing gloves." Jaemin froze in horror. You sounded more despondent than angry, which made Jaemin feel even worse. "That's a bit stalkerish don't you think?" laughed Jaemin awkwardly. You shook your head, "I was heading up anyway. I just happened to see that...maybe I was meant to." Jaemin kept his eyes averted from your deep, searching ones. He really couldn't deal with this. Things had been going so well; he had even dared to hope that his secret would be left locked and ignored, gathering dust out of sight and out of reach. He could feel himself start to panic, his heart thumping wildly beneath his ribcage, deafening his thoughts. "Is it because you're self conscious about your hands?" You asked gently. Jaemin could feel himself struggling to inhale and his eyes start to prick. If only he was just self conscious. If only. He felt a hand softly grip his arm and your voice hushing his fears down. "It's okay, Jaemin. It's okay. I think I was meant to see that. I think I was meant to meet you," you reached out a hand to cup Jaemin's face. "I think I was meant to help you with this." It took all of Jaemin's self control to lean away from your reach. It was so hard, so hard because all he wanted to do was bury his face into your warmth, your arms, and believe everything you said. You squeezed his arm gently. "Don't be afraid, Jaemin. I won't let you go." "Y-you can't. I can't. We can't do this. We can't." "Why?" Your voice was barely above a whisper. Jaemin made the mistake of meeting your eyes and he could feel himself start to crumble. What if he told you? Told him everything? The truth about his skin, his touch. Told him why he couldn't allow you to touch him. Told about the deaths, the deaths he had caused, just from one touch. But then what would happen? What if you believed him? What if he was so shocked and disgusted with Jaemin and refused to see him again? What if you told the police about Jaemin's murders? And then they would break into his house, take him away to be killed. Or researched on. Masked face after masked face prodding him with needles, taking away everything from him, maybe even harnessing his curse into a weapon. But what if you didn't believe him? What if you got angry at Jaemin for concocting such a story and left him? Or what if you touched Jaemin instead just to prove it wasn't true? What if you died? Leaving Jaemin to pick up the remains of his broken heart. What if you didn't die? What if you were an exception like his parents? What if Jaemin could touch you without any fear or hesitation like he's wanted to do for so long? What if the deaths really were just coincidence? What if you could both lead normal and happy lives, your hands intertwined as you walk side by side? Each “what if” was drowning him, plunging him into each possibility until he couldn't tell which truth was true. Then he felt a soft pair of lips on his. Your hands rested on Jaemin's neck and you pulled him closer, making the choice for Jaemin. The kiss didn't last long and the moment you pulled away, Jaemin felt like he was drowning again. Jaemin pulled you close and kissed you again, more desperate and panicked than before. What’s done is done and Jaemin is too scared to find out what will happen if he stops. Your skin is warm and silky against Jaemin's. Soon more and more skin was in contact and Jaemin felt flames running across his body, under his skin and all he can think about is you. After you remove the gloves, you kiss each of Jaemin's fingers, trailing your mouth slowly back to Jaemin's lips. Jaemin clings to you. Your fingers lie intertwined tightly on the bedsheets and Jaemin leaves small kisses along your neck. You have already fallen asleep, snoring softly with a smile on your lips. Jaemin fights sleep for as long as he can, imprinting the feel of your skin against his in his memory. He's so scared.

When he wakes up, your skin is cool against his.

[hellospunkiebrewster]

You have been TAGGED! Share at least 3 choices AU idea that you have pending and would like to write someday. 💞 Tag other writers to keep the game going.

D&D Amnesia AU: Harry runs off to the Napoleonic Wars as a soldier, not a spy. He assumes a new identity. While there, he suffers a head injury and gets sent home, but never makes it to Edgewater because he doesn’t remember where he came from. He settles into a small English town and takes up the needle, using skills he learned from his time overseas since he is quite petite and had to often mend his own things, and becomes a tailor. Each day he dresses as an English gentleman and becomes known as the “dandy of the countryside”. While he makes mostly clothes for the common people in the town, his reputation precedes him and a one Luke Harper is referred to him when he’s in need of a full gentleman’s wardrobe after being elevated for his service to the crown. Sir Luke is hoping this new wardrobe will make him feel less an outsider (for many reasons) and soon becomes fast friends with this new tailor.

“Wearing what you create, sir, it makes me feel ten feet tall.”

During the course of the creation of this new wardrobe, Luke regales the tailor with stories of the Countess of Edgewater, her escape from the Duke, her dashing new husband, and so on. Harry, who loves the appearance and attention afforded by his manner of dressing, eats these up. He loves every bit of it, imagining it as if he belonged in that world like Sir Luke, the Countess, the Imperial Ottoman Prince, and the Master of Ledford. One day, Luke asks the tailor if he’d accompany him to a dinner party at Edgewater so that he’ll have company who he can relate to.

“There’s something about this place, Sir Luke. Mayhaps I was an Earl in a past life.”

They arrive for the dinner party and pandemonium breaks out. Harry has returned from the war, he’s alive, and Henrietta is hoping he’ll take up a role at the estate. Only Harry isn’t so sure that’s what he wants... sure he dresses the part, but it’s just that— a costume for a part. He loves that costume, but not so much the responsibility that may come with it.

Luke’s an outsider who now belongs, Harry belongs but feels an outsider.

D&D Modern Online Gaming AU: Ernest Sinclaire is a hopeful game developer with his friends (Annabelle, Luke, and Hamid), he’s about to graduate and his new gaming engine is sought after by companies all over. He is also a top ranked player in the most popular MMO of the time. He proposes a partnership with MC, who is also a top player, for a big PvP tournament. The two end up close, without ever having met in person. She knows who Ernest is, as they attend the same school, but she never realized he and her gaming partner online could be the same person.

Modern Briar x Edmund AU: After a very rough breakup, Briar moves to the new, small, and close knit town of Edgewater. She opens a small restaurant there making the foods her mother made her as a girl. Quickly, her little hole in the wall restaurant becomes a neighborhood hangout for the local business men before they head home. A local celebrity, the step son of the town’s mayor takes a liking to her and begins to start showing up to help her out and even ends up fighting battles for her. However, after her very rough relationship, she isn’t sure she’s worthy of the attention of such an important person.

Plus all the ones I have going on already... 😭

...and there’s more.

[timelordthirteen]

Synchronicity 1/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Teen

Summary: Storybrooke, Maine is a haven for people who haven't found or who have lost their soulmates, allowing them to live a happy, peaceful life away from the pressure to find their One True Love. Elias Gold doesn't believe in soulmates, or rather, he doesn't think there's one in the world for him. Until the library reopens.

Notes: So, this is a one-shot for now, but it will be expanded in the future. I like to call this my anti-soulmate soulmate AU because the idea that you have to find your soulmate to be happy, that there is a person out there in the world that you will know is The One the moment you see or touch or talk to them feels like it craps on the entire concept of what a relationship should be. So, I had this idea, wherein Gold and Belle are two people who have no soulmate, and who are trying to go through life without being overwhelmed by the constant nagging pressures of a society that doesn't understand or accept them. For the Writer's Month prompt #16: soulmates.

[AO3]

Elias Gold did not believe in True Love.

Well, it was a bit more complicated than that. He did, as a general concept, believe in the existence of a bond between persons, which had come to be referred to as Soulmates. Such bonds had been scientifically proven after all, and there were enough pairs of soulmates in the world now that it was far more the norm to have one than not.

There were even professional services, both public and private, dedicated to searching out pairings for people. So extraordinary was the energy between soulmates, that it could alter them on a physical level, including, but not limited to, an enhancement of one’s sight that was described as a fog being lifted such that one could finally see the true beauty of the world. Emotionally, the sense of love and tranquility in these relationships, had come to be known as True Love.

However, Gold did not believe that he, specifically, could ever experience the romantic form of True Love, nor did he entertain the idea that he had a soulmate. He had tried several different services, all claiming to be able to find him his Soulmate, and absolutely none of them succeeding. His hope had been shattered over and over again, and he had learned through the years to be content with the state of things.

His son, Neal, had a soulmate, found rather accidentally at a summer camp a year ago. Both of them were only ten and found the whole thing silly, but there was no denying the connection between Neal and Emma. Emma’s parents were soulmates, of course, and though sometimes their interactions were so lovey dovey that they made Gold feel ill, he liked them well enough individually. If things were to proceed as planned, he’d be seeing a fair bit of them over the course of Neal’s life, and he would just have to accept that they, like so many others, had what he couldn’t have.

These days it was strange for anyone to have a child with someone who wasn’t their soulmate, but at the time Gold and his now ex-wife Milah, had believed it could be enough to bind them together for the long haul. They were both in their mid-thirties when they met, and hadn’t found their soulmates. They’d met through a mutual friend, and got on well enough that they started dating. Plenty of people dated until they found who they were meant to be with, but there was always the understanding that it was temporary.

When Milah told him she was pregnant, he didn’t think twice about marrying her, no matter how out of the ordinary society might have found it. It wasn’t as if they were the only people who found happiness outside of the soulmate bond of True Love.

Unfortunately, a few years later, Milah found her mate, and the peaceful life Gold thought he had made for himself fell apart. Milah divorced him and moved across the country, and Gold found refuge in the town of Storybrooke, Maine, founded by an enclave of folks who were mate-less. Some had found their soulmate only to lose them to a deadly disease, or a tragic accident. Others were simply too old to go looking any longer, or, as Gold believed, had none at all.

He couldn’t say it was all bad though. Neal had a good relationship with his mother and step-father, a man named Rogers. Rogers was a police detective in Seattle, and Milah had found a new career working for an international soulmate search company. Twice a year, Neal went out to visit them, sometimes over his birthday, other times over a holiday. This year he would be staying for Christmas and New Years. Gold was not looking forward to being alone, but he knew that he and Neal would make up for it later.

That was still a few months off, however. School was starting next week, and Gold had heard the town finally found a new librarian. There was always a curiosity around newcomers in places like Storybrooke. Everyone wanted to know what mate-less category they fit into, and if they’d be moving on once they found their soulmate. The previous librarian, a woman named Wendy Darling, had, after nearly sixty years of life, found hers and left.

Naturally, most of the town was happy for her. Gold just sneered and demanded the security deposit back on her apartment. What did she care? She was about to be deliriously happy for the rest of her life, however short that might be.

The world wasn’t always a kind place, and for people like Gold there was a constant tinge of gray. Neal had tried to describe the colors he saw after meeting Emma, but all it ever did was make Gold annoyed. He understood that his son would see things differently, both figuratively and literally, but he didn’t want to hear about it in agonizing detail. He’d adapted a long time ago, treating it as if he was colorblind all together. His wardrobe consisted of mostly dark, sedate colors that were easily matched between shirts and tailored suits. His home was filled with antiques and knick-knacks, in a comfortable level of clutter that made his life feel somehow less empty by its very existence. The outside of the old Victorian was allegedly salmon pink, whatever that was, but to him it just looked vaguely brown and faded.

It didn’t bother him that he’d never see the world as Neal did. He was happy for the boy, truly, and when he looked at his son there was a light there that didn’t exist around anyone else. His love for his child was so great that at least in that small way, he was blessed by a true, unconditional love. Still, the townsfolk labeled him a bastard, and made remarks about how it was no wonder that there was no soulmate for him.

Who could possibly love such a beast?

He reveled in the idea. It meant that he was correct after all, there was no one for him, and that True Love was not the universal ideal that everyone made it out to be. Maybe, in time, enough people would be like him that it wouldn’t matter, and the quest to find the one singular person on whom all your hopes and dreams hung would be a naive fairytale at best.

Gold looked out the window of his pawn shop, eyes narrowing at the building across the street.

Trucks were parked in front of the library with several workmen unloading boxes and carrying them inside. The building had been closed for over a year, but at the last city council meeting, Mayor Mills had announced that it would be reopening due to the hiring of a new librarian.

He hadn’t seen any sign of this new librarian, but in his mind, he pictured an older woman, gray hair, a mouth that always looked like it was frowning, and a severe stare, like the Mother Superior at the convent. He smirked and opened the door, intending to nose around the library and see what was happening. The new librarian would need to sign a lease on the upstairs apartment, and, as it was his building anyway, he should be the one to bring it to her.

He stepped outside and immediately collided with someone.

“Oh!” came a high, soft voice.

Gold staggered backwards, one arm going out to try to brace against the building while the other squeezed the handle of his cane and pushed it against the concrete. Something fell to the ground with a soft thud, and a mass of hair hit him in the face.

“I’m so sorry!”

He shook his head and squared his shoulders as he stepped back, brow knit in annoyance. A young woman turned around, her dark hair flipping over her shoulder. She bent to pick up a book, and when she straightened, his lips parted and a for a long moment he held his breath.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her head tilting to the side.

He met her gaze and held it, astonished by how blue her eyes seemed to be. Something was different about her, but after a long moment, he realized he was staring and recovered, fixing her with his best overdue renter scowl. “You should watch where you’re going, Miss -?”

“French,” she said, smiling. “Belle French. I’m the new librarian.”

His eyes trailed over her. The rest of her looked normal as far as he was concerned, the same drab, muted colors he always saw, but her eyes stuck out so strangely. He glanced down and saw her hand held out, presumably waiting for him to shake it, but he ignored her and she let it drop to her side.

“And you are…?”

Belle’s eyes settled on his again, and he felt the disconcerting sensation that he was falling forward, that the world had somehow started to pivot around him and gravity had been thrown out the window. The blue of her eyes seemed to shift as he watched, brightening like a lamp being turned on, or the sun slanting through glass at just the right angle.

“Mr. Gold,” he replied finally, setting his cane in front of him, hands folded over the handle as stability returned. “I believe, Miss French, that we need to discuss the matter of your rent.”

“Oh, I’m not here to rent an apartment.” Then she held up the book she’d dropped after running into him. “I was told you might deal in rare books, and I was wondering about finding another copy of this.”

The book in her hands was thick and gray, though Gold supposed it could have been blue as well. He frowned and scanned the titled before rolling his eyes. Her Handsome Hero.

“I’m afraid, Miss French, that I don’t traffic in trashy airport gift shop romance novels.”

Her face fell, and for a second he was almost disappointed.

“I see,” she said softly. “Well, thank you anyway.”

She turned to cross the street, but stopped with one foot off the curb. When she turned back to him, something about her expression made him think she was having the same odd dizzy feeling he had, but then she shook her head and gave him a small smile and a shrug. “Maybe I’ll see you at the library?”

With that Belle French crossed the road, and Gold’s eyes narrowed. He shook his head and the odd feeling that had come upon him so suddenly, abated, but the color of her eyes remained alarmingly strange in his mind. He glanced up and down Main Street in front of his shop, but nothing about the world had changed as far as he could see.

“How strange,” he said to no one.