#somewhere in the townhouse a person prepares for the night

[lologoinsolo]

In The Shadows

Chapter 6, Chapter 7

In The Shadows Masterlist

TW: I personally don’t think there’s any triggers in here BUT. There is talks of how Gaz views the people in the town and he likens them to a cow sooooooo yeah

“Hey, you okay?” Gaz knocks a light tap on the glass. You must’ve been in too long of a thought for him to have to ask. Once he gains your attention again he speaks, “Soap’s been talking about you so much. Wanted to see you for myself.” His eyes seem warmer than Soap’s bright blues. “You’re beautiful,” his eyes trail you up and down. There’s not much light save for what the full moon gives but he and Soap always find you easily. Were you ever able to hide?

You can’t seem to find your words. Your tongue twisted into knots as your fingers tightened over your old shirt that you’ll be needing to wash with the amount of sweat growing.

“Are you sleepy or nervous? Must be both by now,” he says, cooing at you gently, playing the part of a dashing gentleman. If there wasn’t a sharpness to his teeth you probably would’ve forgotten just what he is. “it’s alright, promise I’m not a right bastard like Soap. I swear he doesn’t know how to act around pretty birds like you.” And you do? You nod slowly at him and he's pleased but only for so long. Tapping just once on the glass, “talk to me.” Again, not a question but not a demand either from how his tone is so velvety soft.

Your knees bounces slightly, it’s inevitable that you’ll have to keep up a conversation with him. You wished and maybe hoped that he’d say a little piece and be off but no. He waits for you to get comfortable enough to talk once more. Your body might be a live wire but your brain is actively looking for a way to just sleep. You’re not like these creatures that come knocking at night. You need your sleep and maybe they do too but at least you don’t go banging on the walls or tapping at their windows.

“Comfortable yet?” He asks, albeit there’s something prickly in his warm eyes. Maybe it was always there but you haven’t noticed till now. “You look all soft and sweet sitting there.”

Sweet… “Gaz likes them sweet.. tastes better to him..” Soap’s words that he used earlier have become a wisdom of caution that snaps you out of your silence. “Yeah,” your tone is short and he blinks, the first one to do so. “I’m fine, it’s nice.” The chair being nice but your hips ache from sitting for so long and so does your neck from how it was bent back. You’ll have to massage it come morning. “Could be better.” You’ll probably be too tired to do much so maybe you won’t get that massage.

His shoulders shake a little as he grins. His deceptively warm eyes sucking you in even as you try to be pointed with him. “Have I upset you? Haven’t even spoken to you till now.” He sounds genuine but you know better.

“Soap didn’t tell me I’d get another visitor.” It’s the honest truth but you don’t know if Soap’s made mention to him that he told you what Gaz does at the Townhouse. “Forgive me for being unprepared.” If Soap had told you before running off like he did that Gaz would be here then maybe you’d be acting better than you are.

“Apology accepted, sweetheart.”

You can’t hide your scowl now. Your arms crossing tightly over your chest. “Where’s Soap?” At least Soap is easier to manage… sorta. Gaz plays the part of gentleman extremely well, he’s the kinda guy you’d take to your parents after the second date. The one you’d make scrapbooks for a future wedding before an ‘I love you’ is even said. It’s why you’re so on edge right now. What’s his game? You do your best to choke down your own anger before it gets the better of you. Pissing Gaz off will do you no favors and it sure as hell won't keep Erin safe. Before you can apologize, even when you don’t want to, he answers your question easily.

“He’ll be pleased to know you miss him.” There’s his dazzling smile once more. If your attitude makes him upset then he’s hard pressed to say anything. With Soap you knew he’d get upset by the sound of his accent deepening and how his skin would stretch tight. Gaz gives nothing but a smile and sharp eyes. “To answer your question.” He leans more of his weight to his right side, “he’s off hunting.”

You stiffen a bit. Hunting could mean he’s looking for an unsuspecting animal or… he’s going after a human stupid enough to actually be outside. Is that why he left so suddenly? You have an urge to grab your binoculars to look out but Gaz is standing in the way of you seeing anything important. “What’s… what’s he hunting?” You ask, curiosity and worry bubbling up in your heart. You hope it’s not a person, you hope it’s a rabbit or a bird that’s caught his eye. Something that won’t scream and haunt your nightmares.

His head tilts, “do you really want to know?” His voice sounds amused now, “curiosity ate the cat from all the questions the cat asked after all.” That’s not how the saying goes but perhaps here things are different.

You swallow and shake your head ‘no’ quickly. “Nevermind then.” It doesn’t matter. Deep down you don’t want to know. It’s not like you’ll be able to do anything if it was one of the townsfolk. You’re not a runner, you’d just get in the way and then you’d be their meal. As selfish as it sounds… you don’t know if you’d ever leave your home to save another.

You’re stuck in this cage just as much as your visitors are stuck in their nature. They won’t change their ways anymore than you’ll decide at random to open the door or pull the nails off the windowsill to open the window.

He hums a little tune, one that sounds vaguely familiar. The same one that Soap hums, the same notes from when you were at the dinner with Erin for the first time. The same song Gaz himself hummed when he spotted you at the Townhouse.

“That,” you start and he perks up, “that song.” He nods as if to encourage you, “you and Soap hum that a lot.” The question is why? Why that song in particular?

“Catchy isn’t it?” It’s your turn to nod albeit unsure, “heard Soap humming it a while back and now it’s stuck in here.” Tapping his forehead. He grins a little grin, “must be stuck in yours too for you to have noticed.”

That song isn’t stuck, it follows you. Sometimes you’ll hear it in your nightmares. Especially in the one that’s been plaguing you here recently. Sometimes they’re exactly the same and other times they are slightly tweaked.

Running through the forest. Home is just up head even with how dark it is. The branches pick at your skin as you run and then fall. You look up when you hear a laugh, a person blurry to your vision. Like they’re not all there comes into view and blocks your sight to the house. They stand far away and every step that it takes towards you they hum the song.

“Yeah… you could say that.” Shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly, no dream has stuck with you like that one does. That one has been coming around too often for your likening and you’ve started considering it to be a warning. “Why,” you bite your lip to reword any sharp tone that could come out. You take a breath and speak to mimic him in a way. “Can I ask why you are here?”

“I told you, sweetheart.” Tutting softly, “Soap talks about you a lot. Wanted to see you for myself.” His eyes roam yours just for the show of it but he lingers and drags for a few seconds over your neck and chest.

That’s not much for you to go on. There’s always a reason with them. There has to be something more. Why now? Why come when Soap’s gone?

“I can’t come see a pretty bird like you?” He asks and you have a half a mind to think he’s getting upset but there’s no difference in how he’s acting. “Are you Soap’s only?” Grinning wide when your eyes open like a deer in headlights.

“No!” You cough as you stumble over your words, “I just meant,” you sigh and pull yourself together before he gets anymore joy out of this. “What I mean is, is that only why you’re here?”

“Nope.” He pops his ‘p’, he teases now. “I figured it’s time we met. It’s not every day that we get something as curious as you. Landed you somewhere you didn’t want to be in, huh?”

Your hand slowly balls into a fist in the fabric of your shorts. There it is. Now you’re getting somewhere with him. “Yeah, you could say that.” To your credit, you don’t grit your teeth or scowl. You keep neutral or as neutral as you can be. Your hand comes to cover your mouth as you yawn loudly. Rubbing your cheek and staring at him, he hasn’t blinked again. His eyes seem hallowed now, that warmth that was there is gone. Artificial like the artificial sunlight lamp you got your grandpa when you got your first paycheck. It was never real and you knew it but why show it now?

“Do you want to know who I’m talking to?” Of course you do, you’ve been racking your brain since Soap threatened you. You want to know. If you can find out who he’s romancing then you can prevent a massacre. He knows this of course, dangling it over your head and raising it higher and higher when you reach for it.

“Yes.” No point in lying. No point in pretending otherwise like he and Soap and the rest of his friends do.

He brings a finger to tap at his chin in thought. “Now, why should I tell you?” There’s an offer in there, persuade him. Make him give you the answer you so desperately want.

But what can you offer death? What does death even want?

“You can have me.” That’s all you can give. “I’ll open the door to you tomorrow night. You can kill me however you want if you tell me who you’re talking to.” You’ll tell the sheriff once Gaz gives you the answer and then tomorrow night you’ll drink yourself to numbness and wait for hands to rip you apart. At least it’ll be your choice, you’ll be selfish to drink liquor. All their other victims weren’t allowed to prepare but you’ll take your death willingly if it means your only friend in the Townhouse will be safe.

It must be a good deal with how his smile widens but everything sours when he tosses his head back to laugh loudly. He laughs as if you’ve told something so hilarious that even a professional comedian couldn’t hold a candle to you. Maybe you are laughable in saying something like that.

“One meal against how many in there?” He rolls his head to look back at you. Moving up and down on the balls of his feet before settling once more. “Let’s see,” He counts on his fingers the bodies that live in the Townhouse. Each count makes your chest squeeze, he and his friends are incredibly greedy you realize. Hounding for something bigger than what your body can give. For the first time in your life you’re the smallest compared to the rest. Gaz makes a disappointed whistle, “doesn’t seem like a fair trade, don’t you think, sweetheart?” Patronizingly sympathetic as he speaks, maybe he’d pat your head if he was inside the house.

Your teeth grind, he has you against a corner. Backed you in there and made you see that you’re not all that. What else can you offer him?

“Nothing,” he says as if he’s in your head. You stare wide eyed for a fraction of a second, “there’s nothing you can give me.” That forehead of his falls to the glass and you see him clearly for what he is. Despite the kindness and warmth he’s shown, he sheds it fast. “The only reason I haven’t gotten my meal is because now I’m made to wait.” His skin, like Soap’s, stretches little by little. Pulls back and keeps whatever straining to get out to stay put. “Eating you won't satisfy me the way that one will.”

“Because I don’t love you?” Snapping quickly at him and he just grins. You’d liken him to a wolf and a cat with his teeth show.

“Soap told you what I like, hmm?” Licking over his lips, his skin stops thinning out and he’s slowly pulled right back to normal. He’s right back to being a charming man, nothing monstrous underneath him at all. “Can’t blame a guy for wanting something sweet to love him.” He sighs longingly, “sweets are something I prefer. Tastes better on the tongue more than salt, don’t you think?”

Your brows twitch, “you’ll kill him though.” It’s a long shot if he’ll correct you on the gender. You’re hoping to narrow down the men from the women in the Townhouse. “He’ll open the door to you and then you’ll kill him as the rest of your friends will kill everyone else just so you can eat.” It makes you sick to your stomach to even mention it. If you had eaten earlier maybe bile would’ve come up.

There’s an annoyed scoff from him that dampens your bravado. “Do you feel sad when a cow is slaughtered for you to quench your hunger?” His eyes darken, the brown blurring to black as his hand lands on the window. Soaps eyes brightened like an electric blue but Gaz’s deepens like the abyss, reminds you of Mask’s soulless eyes.

“Is that what he is then? Just a cow for you to cut open?” You trail on, is that all anyone breathing is to these creatures? “Never mind that he—“

“You keep saying he,” cold washes over you as his head turns like a cat does to its bird. He watches you with intense observation. You flapped your wings too hard and he caught wind of what you're trying to do. “Clever little minx. Tried to get me to slip up, didn’t you? Thought I’d give something of a detail away to you?” Your heartbeat quickens and he shushes you, probably smelling your anxiety the way Soap can. “It’s no fun if you can narrow down who my ‘cow’ is and even if I did tell you,” he whispers and your ears strain. “What would stop me from going to the Townhouse to just kill them right now once their name is known to you?”

“I—“

“You?” Gaz laughs but there’s no joy in it but sick pleasure. “You’ll what, sweetheart?” Your eyes fall as does your shoulders, “oh don’t look like that. You tried your best, almost had me slip.” He says but it could just be a lie. “How about this,” he sighs like there’s just no way to please you. “I’ll tell you if you give me an exchange?” He sees the tiniest form of confusion and Gaz smiles like prior, “give me ten people and I’ll tell you the name.”

“Ten?” Ten names? But that’s not it and you know it. “I…” what’s to stop him and his friends from still going after the Townhouse. You’ll kill just to get a name and then what? Will they stop? “I-I can’t,” your minds jumbling together, so many pros and cons smashing and making it difficult to be steady in your voice. “I won’t do that.” Who’s to say he or his friends wouldn’t make you do it again?

“Then happy hunting,” he grins and stands. Your heart lurches to your throat as you stand quickly. Your chair is thrown backwards as you press against the window.

“Wait! Wait,” he hasn’t moved, “where are you going? Don’t—“ his index finger comes up and curls over the glass where your face would have been touched if there was no barrier. He crouches once more so he can be better leveled with you.

“I’m not allowed to have my meal just yet.” Your heart doesn’t ease when you hear that but at least the Townhouse gets another night. “The Captain will be speaking with you soon enough.” He rubs his index up and down and you swear you could feel it against your cheek. Whoever this Captain is, you don’t want to meet him but there’s no choice here. There never has been. Gaz speaks softer now, a gentleness that he puts on just for you. “Get some sleep, the suns gonna be coming up in an hour or so.” He leans back so he can look at how the night sky has become lighter.

You don’t say anything as he stands up once more. He jumps down like Soap did and you’re quick to grab your binoculars to watch him. He passes the sheriffs office and keeps heading north till he disappears into the woods. You follow the tree line, looking to see if anyone else is there but your back tenses when it is Mask that you find staring back at you.

He makes no motion, makes no move to turn away. Just stares at you, his boney mask shining better with the night sky that begins to ebb into just the tiniest sliver of sunrise yellow. Mask eventually fades into the woods leaving you to worriedly ponder over everything.

Eventually you toss your binoculars on the bed. You can’t sleep, Frank is coming around with food and even though you’re exhausted you are also hungry for something to eat. Your stomach growls and growls even longer as you sit on the ground. Your head against the wood of the windows edge, the bed is too enticing and even touching it could make you pass out. So you just wait for the coming—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

It’s softer than Soap’s and your eyes, try as you might, have to be forced open since they closed without your permission. You stand with a groan as you faintly hear the old man yelling for you to, “come on down, can’t stay asleep forever!” Snorting a heafty laugh, as if you could.

Trudging down the stairs is a chore in itself but you get to your door and open it up for him. He’s got two large brown bags with food for you to use for your week. It smells divine to you, there’s the prettiest red apple that you’ve ever seen peaking out on top and your stomach growls so loud that Frank cocks a worried brow.

“Need food in your stomach,” as he states the obvious you open the door wider for him to step in. “And sleep,” of course he’d notice that, “you look like you’ve been run through the ringer.” He laughs to himself as he sits the bags on the kitchens counter. You try to put them up but he smacks your hand. “Go sit before you pass out here. I swear I’ll never understand young people and their need for staying up late.”

You rub your hand, you could argue with him but all your energy is being put into standing still long enough and then for taking heavy steps to fall on your couch. You faintly hear him rummaging about your kitchen. Muttering under his breath about the cast iron needing help and it doesn’t take long for sleep to take you. It’s safe to sleep with him your mind must think.

He must’ve let you sleep for longer than you would’ve liked when he rouses you, “lunch?” He offers with a plate of breakfast and a kind smile on his face. “It might not taste good, my mom didn’t teach me all that much but I can make a mean omelette.” It looks good and he sells himself short on his cooking.

You hork it down fast not even listening to him chastising you about how you’ll choke. He shoves cup of water in your hand and takes the plate from you so he can clean it. Doesn’t need to clean much since you licked it clean or so he says. He must’ve already ate because he didn’t eat with you and that does make you feel just a bit guilty since you were supposed to eat with him. “Oh well,” you sigh and he pokes a head back.

“What’s that?”

Your head falls on the back of the couch as you peer to look at him. “Sorry for sleeping, I’ve uh..” god, what can you say? What can you tell him without something bad happening? “I’ve got—“

“Nightmares?” He offers and you simply nod. Not a lie but also not a truth. He sighs, making his way to sit on the recliner, “wanna talk… about it?” Rubbing his neck and he looks away before looking at you.

“Not really.”

“That’s fine,” he murmurs, “you don’t have to but,” his fingers tap on his knee, “if you want to. You can tell me. Promise I won’t tell a soul.” He laughs slightly to ease the awkwardness. He’s used to giving orders and keeping people safe, he lends and ear and a shoulder whenever he can but that doesn’t mean that he’s good with this. “I get my fair share of nightmares too.”

“Really?” Makes sense, you turn a bit on your side to lay down fully on your couch. “Mines not something that makes any sense. Too many things and not enough time to figure them out.”

“You wanna figure them out?”

Shrugging your shoulders, “I’m curious.” About your recurring dream and your visitors. He doesn’t need to know about the visitors though.

“You know what they say about curiosity,” he hums with a knowing tone, “curiosity eats the cat when it asks too many questions.” Rolling his eyes just as you scoff. “It’s the truth, sometimes things are better left unlearned.” He rocks now, the point of his shoes pushes off so the recliner will move. “Must be some dream if it’s bothering you so much.”

“It’s… yeah, it is something.” Curling up as best as you can. For a moment you can pretend it’s your grandpa talking to you, for a moment you can pretend you’re back home in that trailer with that old air conditioning that hums. Can even pretend to smell the leather from your old couch to this fabric couch and pretend it’s your grandpa that made you breakfast. Just pretend for even a second that you’re somewhere safe and loved.

“Hey?”

You hide your face, you blame how tired you are for starting to cry so easily. It’s not fair. Why does Frank have to be so nice and observant?

“You okay, hun?” Thankfully he doesn’t stand up but there’s an old gentleness in his eyes that makes you wish you were blind.

“I’m just tired gr— Frank,” biting on your lip when you nearly slip up. “I’m just really tired.”

“I know,” he murmurs softly and the sound of the recliner squeaking comes to a stop. You silently cry and he stays seated, probably because he doesn’t know if he should hug you or tell you the lie that everything is going to be okay. “You know,” he starts as you blink in rapid succession to stop any newer tears. “I used to have this nice barbecue grill,” he stands finally and sits down on the floor. His back to the couch as he nears you but doesn’t make you do anything to move. “God, I loved that thing. Me and my dad,” he makes a sharp whistle, “we’d try to outdo each other.”

Sniffling, “really?” Wiping the stray tears from your cheeks as you look at him.

“Yeah,” he laughs, “one time though.” He rolls his sleeve up on his right arm. A strip of a nasty looking burn mark is faded but still telling, “I got too excited. Hurt myself real bad, some kids,” he sighs at the painful, old memory, “some made fun of me and it made me real sad. Messed with my head a lot and I finally just went and told my dad about it and you know what he said?” Frank turns his head to you, you give him a turn of your head for him to continue wordlessly. “He said, “Frankie, you can let those voices hurt you or you can tell them to shut up and keep going” needless to say, I’m still here.” He gives a tentative pat to your knee. “Listen, kid, I don’t know what’s going on up in there.” Motioning to your head, “it might really be dreams or something else you’re not telling me, and you don’t have to say just what, but whatever’s messing with your head. Sometimes,” he pats again a bit more firmly, “sometimes you just gotta ignore it.”

“This place will chew you up and spit you back out,” parroting what he told you the day you came to the house. Not exactly the same but close enough and he smiles.

“Exactly,” his hand moves but he’s yet to get off the floor. Too old to move too quickly anymore, “don’t let this place change you. If you want me to stay the night then I can do that. Or if you want me to start coming over to make breakfast for you I can.” He offers, “I’m no stranger to spending the night. Sometimes people just need a new perspective, you know? Or sometimes they feel safer with the ‘sheriff’ coming around.” His fingers make a dramatic gesture of quotations around the word. “Don’t want to toot my own horn but I like to think I can be a nice shoulder to lean on. Even for hermit kids like you.”

The good feeling is gone and you sit up just to shove him and he groans like he’s been shot. Ever dramatic in how he bends over.

“Hurting the elderly is a crime here,” he cries as he gets on his back to look up at the ceiling, “I’m never making you an omelette again.” Glaring half heartedly but he’s glad to see you smiling once more.

“Not even if I try to find a grill?” Tempting him like the snake did.

He sits up and his bones pop, “if you find a good enough grill then I’ll make you as many omelettes as you want.”

“So long as I get some ribs. I’d kill for those.”

“And a nice steak?” His hands rub together as an invisible cloud bubble forms over both your heads of all the things you could make on a grill. Eventually you both talk so much about it that you feel better than you did. Can’t even remember why you cried in the first place but you’re grateful for his company.

He gets to leaving albeit he was slow to get going. Apparently his hip has been acting up lately and you offered to help him with making the rounds around the town but he brushed you off. “Get some sleep, kid, if you ever need me to stay or need some old man advice just tell me you need an omelette.” A secret code that only you both will know and understand, “might get eggshells in them from time to time but everyone needs their calcium.” His brows wiggle and your eye rolls hard.

Once he’s gone you’re left alone in this big house. You feel lighter than before. If there was a safer way to tell him what’s really going on then maybe you and him can make a plan. Gaz gave you nothing to work with but he did seem upset about you saying his… cow… is a man. Maybe his ‘love’ isn’t a man but a woman? You head to your kitchen to find everything has been cleaned and put away. Hardly anything to do besides wait for night to come. You could go to your garden but you’d rather just stay in for the day. Tomorrow you’ll garden, you’ll get the little slice of peace back even with the growing pressure.

[prospectivereality]

Burning desire | SV5

your complex relationship with Sebastian, your co-worker, reaches its climax during that one infamous night in cold Milan. Is it better speak or to die? Well, when you are both jealous stubborn maybe the way is to show

words: 4.9k, warnings: slight mentions of alcohol overuse, minor angst, mature (!) sexual content

Milan, late winter of 2019

Your breath hitched in your chest. You would have been lying if you said you weren't anxious. It seemed like just another day at work, but you felt like something was eventually going to happen. How could it? After all, it was just another season and just another gala di apertura with guests, sponsors and staff. It happened every year and you were part of it. Yet, you couldn't identify the reason why you felt different in that case.

The taxi driver just said you had arrived. Looking out the window, you checked out the surroundings where the event occurred. The tall, chic and historic building with luminous lights on the walls looked welcoming. It contrasted the city itself, full of graffiti, crumbling townhouses and streets. Such gems hidden in this city were not uncommon, and you allowed yourself a few seconds of silent praise for the Ferrari’s choice before leaving the car and paying.

A long, silky red gown hit the carpet, which was prepared for the guests, as you took your first step. Goosebumps immediately showed on your skin the moment the chilly wind enveloped your whole body. Your entire back was exposed in that dress, you could have been prepared and taken a jacket. For the sake of a ”flawless look,” you had resigned. After slightly fixing the dress by hand, you headed towards the door passing the assistants in suits waiting outside with a faint smile.

This was the time to put your charm on.

The inside was already boiling. The excited bustle and warm laughter filled the spacious red-decorated hall. Dimmed lights added intimacy and elegance to the décor, while an orchestra hidden somewhere in the corners played Italian classical music. Ferrari events were, well, to say at least pleasant in terms of the atmosphere and venues. They always had an Italian touch framed by timeless elegance. Sometimes you even regretted being here because you worked there. Those nights would have been so much easier as the wife of a millionaire posing for photographs by his side.

You began to pass shy but elegant smiles to every single guest who locked their eyes on you. With the long dress and perfectly styled hair, you could simply blend into the sea of guests. A person who did not work with you every day would not be able to distinguish you from a worker or potential investor. Some men seemed to keep their gaze on you for a little too long time to be considered appropriate, which you found amusing. However, unveiling the whole truth and speaking frankly - you were bored. You were extremely bored with those events and you have discovered in recent months a rather risky but effective way for passing the time. Little innocent talks with gentlemen. They were always pleasing and showering compliments. You heard a lot of stories about their miserable love life, cheating wives or unfaithful girlfriends. To some extent, you had a lot of fun listening to their monologues but part of you was telling you ”they think that you can be a perfect replacement and distraction”.

But now, you headed your steps to the waiter holding the champagne tray and took one glass, just to create an aura of warmer appearance. In darker corners of the room, you always drank with lustful sips this light liquid and swapped glasses with waiters in a discreet way. You couldn’t let yourself to be actually seen drinking champagne by your boss. However, it was encouraged to just hold it in order to make the whole event more social and less resembling a big sponsorship hunt. It soon turned out that coping with all your evening positives or nightmares was impossible for you without getting intoxicated. This made you start to suspect that someone must know your little secret, and you honestly didn't know which of your two secrets would be more awful if they went out.

You barely had time to notice that some gentleman in the near distance of two meters seemed to approach you. Smiles that you were giving out to other guests in the recent minutes were apparently encouraging him to do so. Trying to remain your mask and give him as natural appearance as possible you moved your gaze at him and welcomed by passing your hand and offering your name.

”Is my pleasure to meet you. My name is Niccolo” the man bowed slightly with respect and squeezed your hand with grace. A soft smile danced on his lips. In his words, you couldn’t sense a single note of an Italian accent in his perfect English.

He looked rather old money in his dark grey suit and perfectly plain shirt. Some expensive watch shined on his wrist and a tiny gold brooch sparkled on his suit. You quickly noticed how his sharp jaw and nose enveloped his face giving a masculine appearance. His sparkly dark eyes were looking at you quite empathetically. It was not difficult to observe that his dark bushy hair was also arranged impeccably. He was probably in his late 20s. You would be lying if you said he didn't look handsome. Elegance was beaming from him and he was undoubtedly a resemblance of every woman’s dream.

”I bet you are representing ferrari tonight? Looking at your dress” he said halfway letting out a soft chuckle.

You laughed politely at his notice.

”Actually I am. Does my covered inspection of guests give everything out?”

”Mh.. I would rather say it was the way you move around the place. With confidence and grace. Seems like you are in your element”

His words were genuinely astonishing to you. But you knew you couldn’t fall for intelligent banter.

”If I may ask to get to know about you a little more. Are the finances or something else close to your profession at ferrari?” He asked locking dark eyes on you and taking a sip of champagne.

”None of it. I don’t actually know why they insisted me on going here. I work for scuderia ferrari”

”Woman in motorsport? That is very impressive to see” He admitted

Throughout the conversation, he seemed highly professional and did not seem to ask you about any details. You were in a way surprised by the respect he paid to you by showing how equal he treated you.

It was still the bare minimum.

”I would love to learn something about you too,” you said pretending to be truly interested in conversation ”What is your purpose for tonight?”

He changed his look to a more serious yet excited one, looking as if he had been waiting for such a question.

”My family company has been working closely with ferrari for the past few months in terms of marketing. We are delighted to have this manufacturer as our client. We know that Italians see the Ferrari as the sacred thing for their culture”

”You are not Italian?” you said with a confused mimic on your face before you had time to think about it.

”Well, technically I am” he laughed seeming amused by your reaction ”but we are based in Geneva, Switzerland. It is our hometown”

”Oh I see now” you said passing a bland smile.

Another rich man who will try to make you fall in love with his money and prestige

”You really intrigued me” he said suddenly looking straight in your eyes ”I love dropping by Monaco in May to see the formula races, but I still haven’t had any opportunity to speak with someone who works in that industry. Could you tell me more about it?”

”Well” you started ”It is rough. Much more different than fancy galas and special events. It’s loud, it is chaotic and emotional. You have to think and act fast, especially if you sit in a garage like me. I am an engineer” you said faking a smile.

”I thought I couldn’t be more mesmerised by a woman tonight. I am looking up at you” he sightly laughed with astonishment and disbelief.

You sensed that someone was observing your conversation. That was when you saw him. Looking to your right at a distance of a few meters and observing you carefully with discreet, light-shot diamonds from his eyes. Without shame, he looked intently at the two of you while sipping champagne, one hand held in his pocket.

He looked annoyed, like a little brat that was taken away from his favourite toy. You know him, he acts like this when he doesn’t get what he wants. There was a slight assumption in your mind earlier that he would also be here tonight. Why wouldn't he be? He was the Ferrari star that they like to show off to sponsors.

You looked again at Niccolo and tried to act normal as the cold, unpleasant shiver ran down your back. It wasn’t caused by fear, it was anger.

”Are you alright?” your speaker turned to you snapping you out of trans.

”Yes, everything is fine” you said trying to sound convincing and passing a bland smile.

You knew that he was still looking at you.

_

You did not have to wait long till he found you and caught you near the tables with fancy appetisers. The place was much more intimate and discreet than the rest of the ballroom, allowing you to catch your breath and take a break from the business small talk. But even solitude accompanied by a single potted palm couldn’t save you from Sebastian. After catching him approaching, you averted your gaze immediately.

You didn’t have to look at him to be sure who was standing next to you. His presence, smell and movements suddenly appeared similar to you, even natural. For several seconds, he did not speak until he faced you fully and shamelessly while you were still pretending to be curious about the appetisers.

”Hmh” the unnatural sound left his throat. He seemed tensed.

You continued to ignore him by putting perfectly sliced smoked salmon with celery crunch on your plate.

”Good to see you’’ he said with more conviction in his voice slightly raising his head up.

It was becoming hardly possible to ignore him anymore. You allowed yourself to shed the last remnants of your pride and face him. A familiar sight of black steed on his chest first caught your eye, but this time it was falling up and down along with his white shirt underneath rather quickly with each of his breath. The black suit looked flawless, but he still had trouble finding the right length of pants.

”Surprised you decided to talk with me”

”Why wouldn’t I?”

”You are no longer worried about your boss's opinion now? A very important gala for the brand and here you are chatting with your engineer. Maybe he is annoyed with you at this very moment because you are more needed next to some Italian billionaire"

”You like to be bitter shatz, do you? What is wrong with talking about work in work? Don’t you think I have different intentions”

”Hm, honestly I stopped after some time when you limited your words towards me to some quick analyses after the sessions” you could see how Sebastian already opened his mouth to say something in his defence but you continued ”but now I think you just wanted me to stop talking to that man”

”Honestly, I couldn’t care less” he said full of himself, but you knew that his words were far away from being honest.

A silent treatment was given to him by you. He never was a good liar and his pride and stubbornness never made it better. You watched as he reached for one of the appetisers in front of you. This movement forced him to take his eyes off you, which he did rather willingly, and get a little closer to your left to be able to grab food.

”What did you want to discuss Herr Vettel?” After some time you went on with irony in your voice ”some problems in the sim? Or questions about new regulations-”

”What was his name?” He interrupted you and gave no interest in what you have been saying. His tone was firm yet definitely not jealous. Casually and still not looking at you, he took another bite of his appetiser. Watching how his lips sank into the food you blinked astonished. He is the only person who could deny the accusation a few moments earlier just to confirm later the obvious.

Before deciding to answer his question you took a glass of champagne that lucky was nearby.

”Niccolo? I guess. Some wealthy old money from Geneva”

”Sounds like most of them” he said looking amused ”Young, good-looking and prosperous. Did you give him your contact already?”

Sebastian was behaving mean and viciously. He knew he was stepping on thin ice and regretted the words that hung in the air.

”What kind of a woman do you take me for?” you huffed, visibly disappointed with his behaviour.

The moment of realisation hit him when the content expression was fading from his face. He genuinely looked concerned suddenly, almost scared. A lump in his throat appeared in a matter of seconds while he swallowed nervously, his Adam’s apple visibly popping off.

”The wisest one, shatz” he tries saving his position like a soldier on the front losing an inevitable war. ”Don’t mind what I sa-”

”If you think you are able to sweet me up with your silly words you are mistaken Vettel” you say sharply looking straight into his eyes ”I am not a goddamn FIA”

Normally Sebastian would share a chuckle at your words but he wasn’t able to take such a risk at the moment. He just stood there with an empty mind and lack of words on his tongue, but at the very moment when you turned around and made your way towards the lavish parquet he stormed after you, your name leaving his lips in a rather jittery tone.

”Hey! Stop” his voice reaches your ears to your great dismay. You attempted to gracefully escape from him and hole up in a crowd. Dozens of lavish guests and scrumptious businessmen had become a jungle in which you tried to escape from your predator.

You were so close, that you thought you almost got it when you felt his warm hand grabbing your shoulder. Reluctantly you turned around trying to behave normally somehow. In the crowd next to all your coworkers, there was never any room for error.

”Talk to me” says Sebastian softly, his tone and mimic visibly different than from minutes ago. He took off his mask and was honestly asking you for this privilege. His hand still hasn’t left your shoulder, probably forgetting where you were or simply doing it by habit.

”Not here, Sebas-” you started sounding defeated.

”Come on” without hesitation he adjusted his grip this time grabbing your hand and directing the both of you somewhere. He didn’t care if someone saw you so he led you towards the corridors, passed bathrooms and finally reached one of the backrooms.

To his delight the doors were open and the sight of a private lodge appeared before your eyes. Sebastian was fast closing them behind and sighting deeply, standing his back to you.

”Well, what a scene” you huffed ”I thought that one in Hungary would be the last one”. The tension of the situation wasn’t in your favour which forced you to practice mockery as a coping mechanism.

”Listen,” he said his accent getting thicker ”This doesn’t work”

”Sorry?” you said bewildered frowning your brows.

German turned around slowly now facing you but still having trouble with maintaining eye contact.

”This dynamics or whatever it is”

You could feel how anger bubbled inside of you and the colour of your cheeks started to match the one of your dress.

”Yes! Because what have you been thinking while you don’t dare speak a word to me? As you play push and pull game with me around the paddock and live in the delusion of whatever is going on!” you raised your voice taking a step closer to him.

”Sorry, but I don’t quite understand what should I do? What do you expect from me? Just to pretend everything is fine and continue this?” He started to step away from his calm stance seeing your reaction.

”See? You are running from responsibility, and consequences. You act like everything is amazing and then you completely ignore me the next day, I see you in that garage and you just stare as if you see a ghost. That’s fucking heartbreaking”

Your voice sounds for a second like it is close to cracking. Sebastian is standing before you, looking at the floor as he is debating internally. You decide to say something more, something that was deep in your thoughts for a longer time.

”Why are you just so cruel and do this to me and then leave me? I don’t understand you. You leave me every time. Every time after you begged me to stay, after kissing me, making love to me. You are not decided. Why do you do this shit and then I see you flirting with other women?”

You feel burning in your eyes and you swear internally at yourself because the last thing you ever wanted to do is to show him that you care that much.

”You need to understand” Sebastian says quietly knowing that his heart is fighting with his mind. The words he is saying are unnaturally formulating on his lips, and he is feeling the weird taste of the lie he will hate afterwards. ”You are just my engineer. Nothing more”

An uncomfortable spike in your chest appears unwillingly but you don’t want to believe his words. You know he lost this war. He can be untruthful with himself but you know him too well now to not know what is the reality.

”It is not true,” you say taking the risk. He is now fully looking at you ”You are scared.”

Sebastian felt like he was sinking. His knees never felt tonight weak but suddenly, someone, made them unstable. The sound of fears spoken aloud happens to be the worst wake-up call. He swallowed hard taking a step closer to you and a weird sensation of madness appeared in his body. It was so strong that he couldn’t compare it to anything that made him angry about you earlier. It wasn’t near to that stupid argument over the strategy or the time you first time drunkenly made out at the celebration party.

”Honestly, I can’t bear you,” he said staring into your soul. He wasn’t lying, you knew he spoke the truth once you noticed his dark gaze. ”I can’t stand being in the same room with you, hearing as you speak. You cursed me.”

”Sebastian” left your lips more as a warning than a plea.

”You consumed me so much, that I had to do that. Don’t you understand? You messed up my head, you ruined me in a way nobody will fix.”

Your chest was falling up and down quickly. Suddenly, it became even harder to breathe than speak. ”Could you..” You started but his eyes were almost eating you and your bodies involuntarily got closer speaking for your thoughts. Choosing to listen to your own selfish needs that appeared in your body like an uncomfortable itch you closed the gap as your lips smashed on his. He was tensed, but as soon as it happened he started to attack your lips mercilessly. There was a lack of gentleness in his action; he was starved as you of tasting each other. Slowly taking in more air between kisses you sweetly moaned.

Sebastian grabbed your arms hardly pushing you against the marble counter standing nearly. He pressed his bodyweight into yours, gaining some stability and power in the position and shamelessly grabbed your breast, sensually yet firmly caressing it. Drowned in desire you bit his down lip hardly and felt how the man parted his lips and groaned. He always looked so beautiful as he did it. You could swear to death that nothing ever made you more full of yourself than hearing his pleasure. Soon enough you felt the taste of his blood on your teeth.

”Up for me” German said touching your thighs now.

He didn’t have to ask you twice. You willingly sat on the marble, feeling its coldness through the thin satin of your dress. He continued to kiss you, now more slowly moving his interest over the chin and neck. You threw your head back slightly hitting the mirror that was on the wall behind it. The guilt washed you weirdly mixed with overwhelming pleasure and desire. Closing your eyes you imaged how his dumb full lips would feel on your breasts. Your hands got lost in his blonde curls pulling them rather painfully.

His firm and soft palms rolled your dress up as your legs parted to make just enough space for him, you needed him closer. You felt how his interest was moved to your neck and to the forgotten necklace you wore for the night. Unexpectedly the end of his fangs grabbed it and dug into the gold harshly.

”I will buy you the one with ”S” on it,” he said under his nose more to himself than you. He was being possessive now, which normally would annoy you but now you were too lust-drunk.

His hands moved smoothly to your open back not breaking the kiss. Goosebumps welcomed you as you experienced skin-to-skin contact, Sebastian was quick to take off your spaghetti-thin straps and the satin fell exposing your breasts. Seeming very occupied with worshipping your neck he only touched them and twisted your nipple earning a high whimper from your mouth.

”That’s my girl.” he murmured against your skin.

But he was tempted for more as he a few seconds later moved his pinky lips to envelope one of your now painfully hard nipples. You let out a moan that was louder than once before, welcoming him and tugging his curls even firmer. He was the only one who could bring heaven and hell for you, purity and sin, unconsciously linking your souls through invisible string.

His soft and very much adored hands were on your hips as he kissed your sternum moving down. It felt like torture that could make you blush easily, all this intimacy was sky-rocketing with each of his movements.

”Seb” you whispered not knowing exactly what you wanted to say.

He returned to your lips, kissing them hungrily. You felt a spark of energy and decided to put your hands to use. They landed on his shoulders taking off the jacket and loosing up a tie in blind movements. He quickly got your idea and added his pair of hands to help you. Soon his shirt was loose, with a few undone top buttons.

You tried desperately to bring him even closer and place sweet kisses on his lips again. Moving them down you peppered with kisses properly his jaw until you reached his neck. Feeling all dominant all of sudden you sucked his skin, biting gently. A shaky groan left his throat as you let out his skin with a wet pop. Your masterpiece was done - red marking showing that Vettel is not such available as it may appear to women.

He took a few seconds to look at you. His eyes were now in deep ocean blue mirroring your body impatiently. His movements were yet controlled, and his hands again found their way on your thighs but you felt like he was winning at this game.

”Sebastian, could you just fuck me” a whine left your lips. You were done.

Normally if he was cruel, he would just chuckle and mock how needy you are for him. He would show his infamous half-smile and take pleasure in it. But he was far from fucking it up this time, again. He wanted it to be serious, he wanted it to be the time.

That was a moment Sebastian Vettel promised himself to ruin all men for you.

”Schatz” he said lowly, kissing your face again ”Schatz, Schatz, Schatz. Anytime”

He didn’t hesitate unbuckling his belt and to get his semi-hard manhood on display. He gave it a few strokes and looked for the condom, he knew he had somewhere in his pocket. You didn’t give a second thought why he came to the gala with protection, trying to push out any feelings of uncomfortable jealousy it could give, you wanted him too much to worry about it now.

Positioning himself you moved a bit on a counter, and soon with a feeling of him being inside you both gasped. He started to move putting his hands on your hips as your legs enveloped his waist.

You would lie if the feeling of him wasn’t addictive. It was too addictive. It shuttered your world to pieces and made it an eden at the same time, leaving you longing, wishing that he could be more than just an undefined sex partner. The labels have never been put on, and this to much of your dismay itch you a bit.

Oh but you know it wasn’t just sex. Oh, it wasn’t

Sebastian was more and more confident and adjusted to your walls as he began to thrust deeper, faster. It was purely erotic as he was able to create sweet moans coming from your mouth. He got closer kissing you shortly before placing his head near your shoulder and erratically breathing right in your ear.

It felt too intimate, but you didn’t care. You also didn’t care as the furniture gave a little sound with your movements. You didn’t care about the probability of half of Ferrari looking for you right now at the ballroom. You only heard husky ”I missed that”, ”you take me so well” and ”show me how much I do you right shatz” praised right next to your ear.

It was getting sloppy. Your skin and clothing started to get sticky to each other, your breathing pattern was irregular and you weren’t so quiet anymore. Sebastian's movements were more and more firm now, taking you right, fuc- making love to you properly.

”Schatz. fuck. You are- ” you really wanted to listen to him but your head was feeling dizzy. ”You are mine. Never fucking again I will leave you”

”Oh, Seb” You started to cry, You weren’t sure if it were emotions anymore, pleasure or just the sense of relief.

Sensing you were close to German placed his thumb on your clit rubbing it in a circular motion.

”For me? Come for me pretty” he begged trying to kiss you but missing greatly due to his fast thrusts.

The orgasm hit you shortly causing your back to arch and again banging your head by the mirror. Warm pleasure taking over the control of your body felt better than you last remembered. Him being with you, doing this to you was your sweetest curse.

His movements got more irregular and soon he groaned lowly spending himself and kissing you again hotly. The image of his closed eyes and open mouth was undoubtedly an underrated artwork you could admire the whole day, and do everything to see it again and again. You both were going back from your high, catching your breath.

You wish it was simpler, you wish you weren’t coworkers. You wish he could see you the same way and don’t break your heart by confusing you.

”Seb?” you whispered gaining his all attention and eyes on you.

He didn’t say a word just stared patiently at your flushed and wet cheeks.

”I shouldn’t be wanting you”

”Why?” He asked confused frowning his brows, which quite didn’t match his blue angelic eyes.

”If we weren’t in such dynamics it would be easier. I just- it is wrong. It makes me feel bad and guilty” you confessed ”and so tired and confused fighting with you.”

Resisting too.

He hesitated for a moment, his hands gently stroked your back.

”If you think of the reaction of others, well I would lie if I said we should fuck them. But remember, it is about you. You make decisions about your own life. You cannot just live and be people pleaser all the time. You believe you are doing something wrong because someone told you it must be, we cannot choose what we like, can we?”

”Or we love,” you said without thinking.

Sebastian looked at you with visible terror in his eyes. It was not supposed ever to leave your lips.

”Don’t play with me” he said quietly resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes.

You kissed him and stroked his hair gently. It was in mess now, the strands of hair falling on the warm forehead were wet from sweat.

”Please, you can- may, continue, Sebastian”

”I think” he started with a puzzled expression ”that we just fucked a couple of minutes ago”

”Again, please” you looked at him sadly ”I don’t want to leave, go back to those people. I want to stay with you”

Stay with you for eternity. I missed the feeling of being in your arms,

I wish I could never leave them.

You thought but you had enough sanity not to say.

[theswordwrites]

PART THREE (the alchemy)

Juniper Greyson signs a contract, putting her into a PR relationship with Aemond Targaryen.

tw: nothing crazy, lowkey power imbalance, my sweet junie girl :(

word count: 2.4k

PART THREE

Juniper Greyson considered herself a rational person. She loved to make lists: pros and cons, to-do’s, her favorite things. But as she walked up the steps to Aemond Targaryen’s townhouse, she felt anything but.

She hadn’t told her friends—hadn’t told anyone—what Aemond had offered her. Edith and Arianne believed that he would simply deny the rumors, and the media storm would blow over as quickly as it had begun. June figured there’d be a nondisclosure agreement buried somewhere in the contract, so she hadn’t yet thought much about how she would explain things to them when more photos, more headlines, and more attention inevitably followed. Her borrowed time of anonymity wouldn’t last long.

Aemond, ever calculated and cunning, would surely coach her on what to say when that moment came.

The night before, she’d done her research. It was only smart to be prepared, though clearly, Aemond had one-upped her on that front from the start. She’d spent hours scrolling through his campaign footage, galvanizing speeches, and a mountain of articles on the infamous rift between his family.

When his father was ousted from his seat as Prime Minister, Viserys urged his advisors to consider his daughter as the next face of the party. Westerosi men being… well, men denied his wishes. Claiming that Rhaenrya, despite her law degree and experience as a legal aid, was too inexperienced to run for office. She was cast aside for her uncle, Daemon Targaryen. While he had the experience and the prowess, his ideology created a rift between within the Black party. Viserys’ closest aides left in protest, throwing their support behind the emerging Green party—promising fresh ideas and a better future for Westeros.

By then, Aemond had already earned two PhDs, completed a clerkship with the Westerosi courts, and championed multiple activism organizations across various causes. Politically, he was the perfect candidate. He was progressive enough to win over younger voters with promises of change but aristocratic enough to appeal to the establishment that was disillusioned with the Blacks.

Personally, though, he had an image problem. Or rather, a lack of image issues. In every article, every video, every think piece, there was nothing about his personal life. No wife, no scandals, no hobbies—just politics. His brother Aegon, on the other hand, was a walking headline with a string of scandals, a modeling contract, and a very active Instagram page. His sister Helaena kept out of the limelight for the most part, choosing to advocate for environmental conservation and animal welfare on the coast.

June even tried to find out how he’d gotten the scar over his right eye but came up with nothing beyond a Reddit page full of wild theories. A boating accident, a fight with his cousin, a jilted lover.

The door opened, snapping her out of her thoughts. Aemond stood there, dressed in a knit sweater and jeans. It was the most relaxed she had ever seen him—normal, or at least as close to normal as the silver-haired, one-eyed Targaryen could be. In the daylight, she noticed the slight difference between his natural eye and the artificial one. The glass eye was a pale blue, missing the subtle violet undertone of the other. Again, she wondered what had happened to him.

“Hello, June,” he greeted her, his voice soft but focused. He gave her a once-over, a near-imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Her pulse quickened. She had spent an hour hidden away from Arianne, agonizing over her outfit and rehearsing what to say. What does one wear to sign a contract for a fake relationship with one of the most well known men in Westeros?

She hadn’t the faintest idea, so she settled on a simple dress with a sweater layered over it. It seemed to pass his inspection as he nodded and stepped aside to let her in.

The last time she’d been here, she’d been too inebriated to appreciate the decor. But now, in the late afternoon light, she noticed the understated elegance of the townhouse—the art on the walls seemed more vibrant, the details more intentional. She chalked it up to her sobriety.

“Your home is beautiful," she managed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress as she glanced around.

“Thank you,” Aemond replied, a hint of pride in his voice. “I’d like to take the credit, but my mother had a hand in it. I’m not one for all the pomp and frills.”

He walked ahead, leading her through the house with the grace that seemed intrinsic to him. In the kitchen, her eyes landed on a neat stack of papers on the pristine marble countertop—the contract, no doubt. Her stomach lurched at the sight of it.

Gods, am I really doing this? She thought to herself.

“Coffee?” Aemond asked, already reaching for two mugs.

“Yes, please.” She nodded, her words clipped and polite.

“You were much more talkative the night we met.” he remarked, a playful ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as he poured the coffee.

“Apologies,” she replied, mirroring his smile. “I couldn’t find an etiquette manual for how to interact with your fake-boyfriend whom you know nothing about.”

Aemond laughed, a soft, brief sound that broke through his usually stoic demeanor. She found she liked the sound of it.

“That’s fair,” he conceded, his tone losing some of its edge. “I know this must be—” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “—challenging and overwhelming. But I think we could be friends. Or at least come to some sort of understanding.”

“I would hope so, since we’ll be contractually obligated to spend time together.” Her tone was wry, but she softened slightly. “I think we could be friends. I could teach you about some of the art in the foyer. You have no idea the significance of the water lilies piece. It’s probably worth more than this house.”

“I’d like that,” he said, his gaze lingering on her. “I don’t have many friends—well, I have some. But I’ve always been the type to keep to myself.”

Aemond’s admission caught her by surprise, and she saw the slight tension in his posture. She felt a small pang of empathy for him, but that didn’t stop her curiosity from getting the better of her.

“Is that why there's nothing about your personal life? Anywhere?” The question left her mouth before she could stop it and she tugged her lip in between her teeth in embarrassment of her brashness.

He only raised an eyebrow at her, “Stalking me?”

“Please,” she quipped back with a grin. “I didn't tell you my name before you showed up at my apartment. How’d you manage that?”

“Aegon told me.” he admitted casually.

She nodded and he slid the contract towards her, along with the mug. Her nimble fingers thumbed through the pages, the headings leaping out at her.

I. DURATION

II. RULES

III. CONFIDENTIALITY

IV. COMPENSATION AND BENEFITS

V. TERMINATION

Each word seemed heavier than the last.

He began, “Duration-wise, I’d suggest at least until the election in four months. If we find the arrangement works, we could extend longer into the first part of my term. The termination clause allows us to end it whenever we see fit, with some stipulations, of course.”

June’s eyebrows arched slightly. “Stipulations?”

“If you decide to terminate,” Aemond explained, “you’d have to sign another confidentiality agreement stating that you won’t speak to the press. The benefits change with each month—my lawyer calls it an incentive to continue, but I think it’s fair for the time commitment.”

She only nodded, “And the rules?”

“We’d need to be seen together, obviously, sparingly and privately at first. But you’d be expected to attend campaign events, galas, public events eventually. We’d have to be seen on dates and with friends. Like a normal couple would. My publicist has worked out a schedule that will intensify as the months go on. Leading people to believe things are getting more and more serious.”

He continued, “We won’t be seen with other people. No secret hookups or affairs. No real intimacy between the two of us outside of the public eye. Hand holding, small touches would be appropriate but I’m not expecting you to snog me on the street.”

June’s eyes skimmed over the section marked RULES, but her focus stalled on a single phrase: intimacy in public. Her stomach twisted. She was expected to hold his hand, look at him like he was her boyfriend, touch him like it meant something.

Her breath hitched slightly, the pen momentarily forgotten in her hand. Could she even do that? Fake a relationship so convincingly that people wouldn’t see through it? The very idea of pretending to care—of pretending to feel something for someone she barely knew—made her chest tighten. And the idea of physical closeness… holding hands, even the suggestion of small touches, left her feeling exposed, like her skin was too thin. It wasn’t that she was completely inexperienced with relationships, but she wasn’t someone who offered affection easily. Intimacy wasn’t just about the physical act; it was the vulnerability it demanded.

She stared at the page, her heart hammering as a thousand doubts rushed in all at once. What if I can’t pull this off?

Aemond spoke about public appearances like they were part of a play, something to be rehearsed and executed. But June didn’t know if she could act. Would she be able to hold his hand, let alone lean into him for a picture, while pretending to be someone she wasn’t?

Her fingers traced the edge of the contract again. No real intimacy outside the public eye, it said. But even in public, the thought of being close to him—this man who seemed all edges and secrets—made her pulse quicken with a different kind of fear. Wouldn’t her body betray her, show the awkwardness, the discomfort? How could she look at Aemond like he was hers, when the very idea of such closeness made her stomach twist into knots?

She had spent years building walls around herself, carefully keeping others at a distance. Now, she was being asked to tear them down for the world to see, even if it was only pretend. She swallowed, the dread thick in her throat.

June’s eyes flickered down to the compensation section, and she paled at the figures listed. The sum was staggering, more than she had ever dreamed of. For that amount of money, she would hold his hand, touch him and let everyone think it was real.

Who would turn down that offer? An idiot. She thought. With that, her decision was finalized in her mind.

“This is really happening,” she said, her voice soft.

Then, she leaned against the counter, signing in swooping, cursive letters.

Juniper Greyson

“So, what’s next?” She slid the contract back to him, watching him repeat her motions and ink her name next to his.

“I’ll have my publicist send you our calendar. Any time there’s an outing, a car will pick you up or I will. I have a guest bedroom here, when it’s necessary and I can have my assistant buy any essentials you need while you’re here. Send him a list.” He pushed a business card toward her, their fingers brushing briefly. “We’ll start with something casual—a private dinner. The restaurant will leak photos afterward. Are you free tomorrow evening?”

She nodded.

“Any dietary restrictions?”

“No.”

“Well then, Juniper Greyson,” he said, a playful glint in his eye as he leaned forward slightly, “would you like to go on a date with me?”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The rest of June’s day and the next felt like a blur under the weight of what she had agreed to. A date. A full-blown fake relationship. A chance at a prestigious career. She hadn’t told anyone that she had seen Aemond, much less about their arrangement. The non disclosure agreement she signed was airtight, with a list of consequences so long she didn’t even think about breaking it.

She figured that she would tell Arianne, and the rest of her friends, before the date. June would play the coy, crushing fool and gush how Aemond had apologized for the photos and invited her to dinner as an apology. “He’s actually… sweet, you guys. More normal than I ever thought.” Practicing in the mirror felt stupid, laughable even, yet she found herself doing it anyway. It made the guilt creep in faster, overtaking the excitement she would never admit to feeling. She hadn’t been on a date in ages and as she put on a pop playlist and sipped her wine, she decided she felt happy. Happy to dress up and feel pretty, happy with the deposit in her bank account that hit earlier in the evening and happy to make a new friend, strange as the circumstances may be. Arianne still wasn’t home from work. so she sent a text to their group chat.

JUNIPER: I have something to share with the group

Her phone dinged once. Then twice. Then a third time.

EDITH: SPILL!!!!!

SERAPHINA: if it’s about the guy from the library I totally saw him snogging a guy yesterday

ARIANNE: Does it have anything to do with your disappearing act yesterday?

Her heart beat faster at the last text. Of course Arianne, of all people, would have noticed her avoidance the day before.

JUNIPER: Well kind of. Aemond invited me over for coffee to apologize about the photos.

They released a statement this morning, he explained that the press has been hounding him about his dating life and they’ll bite at anything

But… he may of invited me to dinner because he felt so bad

And I might have said yes

SERAPHINA: oh i was not expecting that

EDITH: Omg

JUNIPER: He promised his security would take care of any paps and the restaurant would be super private.

He was really sweet and more normal than I expected.

Doesn’t hurt to have friends in high places right?

ARIANNE: I’m not sure if getting involved with him is a good idea.

June let out a breath. Arianne had no clue exactly how involved she was about to get. She quickly responded.

JUNIPER: I wouldn’t say we’re involved!

She put her phone on do not disturb after that and took a large gulp of her wine. Although she felt a bit of relief that they knew something, the guilt of lying quickly washed over her.

They would do it too, she told herself as she finished her makeup.

It will be worth it, she told herself as she slipped on her coat.

I’ll be fine, she told herself as she got into the sleek, black SUV Aemond sent her

an: okay now we’re getting into the good stuff!!! i hope junes indecision comes across as genuine; she knows that the benefits of agreeing to help aemond would greatly improve her quality of life, her career, her status etc. but she is also very aware of it being a bad idea. like there’s no universe where it just goes well but a girl cannot turn down a dollar sign and a pretty man. im excited to play around with the friendship dynamics, and i hope you got a little peek of that in this chapter :) thank you for reading!!!

[missymurphy1985]

The Return

It's been 2 years since you were last in Dublin. 2 years since you up and left without warning, saying goodbye to your life there and restarting somewhere completely new. Sometimes, you have to go backwards in order to move forwards.

Requested by @noctvrnalmoth I hope you like it!

*Featuring Jim from the Delinquent Season*

Stepping off the train into the platform, you sighed. It all looked the same, and yet so different. Pulling the buggy open, you gently strapped your sleeping son in and made your way to the taxi rank, your suitcase trailing behind you. A kind lady helped you with your bags and waited with you for an available taxi.

"You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders there, are you okay?" She sat next to you on the bench as your son murmured adorably in his sleep. "Sorry, I don't mean to pry..."

"No don't be sorry.. just been a long time since I came back here is all. Few loose ends to tie up." You glanced at your son's sleepy features as his eyes started to open. Beautiful, ocean blue eyes alongside his dark hair, growing more every day... The memories of that night flooding back before you took a large gulp of water from the bottle in your bag, forcing them back down. You'd done so well... 2 years and you'd built a new life in London. New friends, amazing new job allowing you to put that degree in marketing to good use - you were finally making a complete fresh start. But the secrets you had buried deep inside kept coming to the surface the more your son grew. He deserved to know his roots, who his father was, you knew that, but you couldn't do it.

Choking a tear back, you thanked the kind lady for helping you as a taxi pulled up and she helped you to get in.

Pulling up outside your cousin Natalie's townhouse in the city centre, she was waiting for you at the gate to help with Jackson and your bags. Grinning from ear to ear she pulled you in for a huge hug once you'd got inside and settled on her couch as Jackson sat in this new lady's lap tugging at her earrings.

"I can't believe I'm only just meeting him y/n.. he's the image of you!!" She kissed his cheek, bringing him up to look at him properly for the first time not over Skype.

"I never see it, I just see.... I just see him I guess..." You mind wandered to the man you actually saw, but you didn't let it slip.

"Those EYES!!! So blue and vibrant, just beautiful!" Natalie was swooning now, she'd never seen eyes that blue on a baby. Your eyes were brown, so he clearly inherited them from his father, although you had never revealed his identity - just a drunken one night stand and he wasn't involved. You weren't lying, technically...

After catching up properly, Natalie told you she'd planned a few people coming over to welcome you back that evening - nothing major, just a few friends from years ago that were keen to see you after so long away.

"Oh.. yes, that would be nice... Um, who's coming?"

"Well I think David and Amanda, possibly Caroline.. I think Liam is asking Jim too but I'm not sure if he's up for it - he's been through a tough time lately.." you caught a gasp in your throat at the sound of his name. Last you heard, through Natalie, he and Danielle were going through a rough patch. Cheating accusations on both sides, they'd agreed to a trial separation. "Apparently she isn't as broken hearted as once thought - already shacked up with someone new, fancy house on the coast, new Jag on the driveway, she's doing quite well for herself!" Your chin began to wobble, not unnoticed by Natalie, who placed Jackson in his bouncer on the floor and moved to place a hand on your shoulder.

"I'm fine Nat, honestly I'm good. It was a long time ago, things have changed. I'm not that silly little girl with a crush anymore..." Natalie looked into your eyes. Nothing ever got past her.

"Y/n.. when I said I'd never seen eyes that blue, I meant on a baby. Only one person I know has eyes like that, and I think you know too. Tell me the truth, please?" You were frozen, until tears escaped and you couldn't stop them. Jackson looked to see his mum crying and began crying too. Scooping him up, you held him close.

"It happened once... Just once Nat... And he doesn't know and he doesn't need to know, let's just leave it there, yeah?"

"What?? This is Jim's son? I was almost kidding y/n... How could you keep this from him for 2 years??" She was stood up now in complete shock. Jim wasn't just her friend, he was her husband's brother - this made things even more intense. The atmosphere could be cut with a knife.

"Please Nat... This wasn't easy okay? I was 21, I slept with a married man, and I got pregnant... Then mum died.. I had to go back to London to sort out the funeral and the will... I didn't want to be seen as the homewrecker that got herself knocked up..."

"And what about Jackson? Doesn't he deserve to know his father?"

"Of course... And he would.. when I was ready Nat. And I'm not ready..."

"Not ready for what?" Liam, Natalie's husband was stood in the doorway, as you heard the front door close. Now standing next to him was the man you were desperately trying to avoid... Jim stood behind him, eyes wide at the sight of you with a baby in your arms.

"Baby, we need to go pick up that delivery from the post office, remember the one we missed last week?" Natalie pulled a confused Liam out of the room, leaving his brother and you alone.

"Y/n... Hey.. um.. how are you?" You tried to smile in response but your heart was pounding in your chest, you could barely breathe.

"I.. yeah.. um, yeah I'm okay.." you glanced down at his hand.. the wedding ring was gone. "I'm sorry to hear about you and Olivia..."

"Probably for the best eh... We weren't exactly getting along, just stayed together for the kids I think. They're older now though, they're fine. Y/n.. where did you go? Why did you go?"

"My mum was ill... She'd had a stroke and they couldn't save her, I had to go... I just stayed.. and things happened.."

"You had a baby..." He looked at the little boy in your arms, feeling extremely nervous now. "He must be just over a year old, right?" You nodded.

"13 months.."

"And we... We had sex y/n.. the day before you left..." His own breath was faltering now as the dates in his mind started to catch up. Again, you nodded, tears rolling down your cheeks. The realisation of what was happening dawned on Jim. He started to back away, before shaking his head and storming out of the house, the door slamming behind him making you and your son jump.

Your sobs came out in full force now, Liam and Natalie coming back into the room. Liam took Jackson into the kitchen to find him something to eat as Natalie held you.

"It's okay y/n... Give him time yeah? Poor guys just had the shock of his life, he'll come round." Your heart was sinking.. you hadn't meant for any of this to happen, but here it was. The memory of that afternoon had never left you, you hadn't even been able to move on - your son, for starters, looked just like him, how could you find love with anyone with the constant reminder of the man you'd never have around you 24/7.

Flashback

"I'm so sorry Jim, I didn't know who else to call..." You climbed into his car, cheeks burning as he picked you up from outside the pharmacy. You'd been walking along the road when a pothole in the pavement took you by surprise and you'd tripped, your ankle turning funny - the pain was horrific, but no one seemed to be answering your phone calls when you rang around for someone to come pick you up. Reluctantly, you'd dialled Jim's number, your cousin's brother in law. He'd given you his number the previous week, after offering to help you move into your new apartment later that month.

"No problem, I was just dropping the kids at school so I was only round the corner." He helped you into the car and drove you back to his house. "I figured your place is in boxes, no chance of a first aid kit either, I'm guessing?"

"No," You laughed. "Thank you so much.." you grimaced as you turned your foot round, trying to ease the pain.

"Definitely not broken, just need to rest it. I'll put the kettle on." Jim led you into the kitchen and sat you down at the kitchen table, and grabbed an ice pack from the fridge. Lifting your leg onto the chair opposite, he placed the ice pack onto your ankle. "Feeling okay?" He asked, flicking the kettle on and preparing two mugs of coffee.

"Much better.. thank you." Definitely better.. the physical contact from him was driving you insane, you had to swallow the blushes in your cheeks, praying he hadn't noticed.

"I've only got instant coffee... Hope that's okay - Danielle won't let me buy a coffee machine." He rolled his eyes. His wife was one of the tightest women he'd ever met.

"It's fine, thank you.. and I honestly can't thank you enough for coming to get me.. I can't believe how clumsy I am!"

"Hey those pavements are a nightmare - I'm surprised no one's broken a leg yet! Don't you be moving now, I'll take you back home once that swelling has gone down."

"How did you know how to fix it all?"

"I have a son, y/n, who at one stage a few years ago thought he was an actual superhero and would fling himself off anything to check if he could fly.. you learn the difference between a broken ankle and a twisted one pretty quick!" He laughed, remembering the time his son climbed the tallest tree in the park, giving him a heart attack before throwing himself from the top - luckily Jim caught him before he hit the floor.

"I think it's better now, Jim, I can try and walk." You said, after chatting for a while in the large kitchen.

"Let me help you.." he held your hands and guided you upright, your chests now pressed together as you placed your foot gingerly on the floor, testing it's strength. Stumbling slightly, Jim caught you, your bodies now even closer together. You could feel his heart racing, could he feel yours? His hands wrapping around yours, holding you up, an arm snaking round your waist. You looked up and found him looking right back at you, your face inches from his. Before you had time to think, you kissed him, before quickly pulling back.

"Shit I'm sorry... Oh god.. no... I'm sorry..." He took your hand in his and pulled you back to him, pressing his lips back to yours. This time you didn't pull back, your mouth opening allowing his tongue to dance against yours. Lifting you up, he sat you on top of the counter, his hands roaming your body hungrily.

"I can't... I shouldn't..." He murmured against your neck, the vibrations driving you wild with need. "You're so fucking beautiful y/n..." He ground your hips against yours, you could feel his erection through his jeans as you reached down to cup it through them, kneading it slightly. He growled, pulling your hand up to his chest, his heart hammering underneath his shirt. "You feel that? Feel how fast that's going?" Silently you took his hand and placed against your chest.

"Feel mine...." You pushed his hand down lower.. over your breast... Down your stomach and under the waistband of your skirt. His fingers found your folds, and he gasped your name. "I'm wet... I'm so fucking wet..." Lifting your skirt up, he pulled your underwear down. You relieved him of his jeans and they fell to the floor, revealing no underwear, just his huge, hard cock already leaking.

"I see you are too..." You ran a finger along the slit, taking some of the precum and lifting it to your mouth. "You taste good..."

"You want this...?" He asked, lining himself up against you. You nodded, and he pushed in easily, you gasped his name and threw your head back as he filled you completely. Pulling on your hips, he rocked you against him as he moved his own hips back and forth, fucking you against the countertop. You legs wrapped round his waist as his thrusts came harder, deeper, faster.

"Fuck... Right there... Jim... Oh god...." He bit down on your exposed neck, hands pushing against your still covered breasts, he moaned.

"Feels so good y/n... You feel so good... That's it baby, I need to feel you... Cum for me..." You leaned back, and eyes locked with his you drew a hand down to circle your clit as he moved inside you.

"Gonna make myself cum on you... Gonna cum hard for you... Faster Jim..." He pounded into you now, your moans echoing through the kitchen as you came over him, his release following seconds later. Both of you leaned your heads together as your worlds came back into focus.

Present Day

"Hey."

"Hey.." you'd agreed to meet Jim for a coffee a few days later. He'd called you the evening before, slightly tipsy which made you chuckle. Liam and Natalie were watching Jackson while the two of you caught up.

"How's the hangover?" You smiled, he grimaced.

"Well I've definitely felt fresher.. it was a bit of a shock y/n..."

"Listen.. for what it's worth.. I'm sorry. I didn't know I was pregnant until I was nearly 20weeks. With the stress of losing mum and the funeral, I hadn't had a period for a while but I thought it was just the stress.. then my friend convinced me to take a test and the doctors confirming it.. it was too late to do anything about it.. then I heard you and Danielle were trying for another baby and I just couldn't do it Jim.. I couldn't destroy your life like that.." your hands were shaking. He leaned over and took your hands in his.

"I understand y/n.. I do. I spent most of this week thinking about it. I don't blame you for what you did.. but I do wish you'd told me."

"I'd done enough damage Jim, sleeping with a married man? On his kitchen counter where he makes his kids breakfast? Where his wife makes her coffee in the morning? I couldn't face you.. I couldn't face what I'd done.."

"You know where my wife was, that morning?" He leaned back, smiling a little. "At her office, bent over the desk while her boss fucked her from behind. She called my number by accident while it happened. I didn't answer, obviously, I was busy.. but my voicemail picked up the whole thing. I'd had my suspicions for a long time, but that confirmed it. We were never trying for another baby - that's just what she told people to distract them from the fact we were clearly falling apart at the seams. Couldn't exactly be mad at her after what I'd done with you though."

"Did you tell her?"

"Yes, but she didn't know it was you. Then you up and left.. I thought there was no need to tell her who it was. I guess now we kinda have to, right?"

"Jim, I don't expect anything from you, okay? I have an inheritance from my mum, I'm fine for money, there's no need to be involved if it'll cause you problems.."

"No. You've kept him from me for nearly 2 years y/n, don't do this again, please? I'm not asking you to move in, I'm not asking for a relationship, I just want to get to know our boy.. that's all.. please?" You saw it in his eyes. It was there, for all to see. Was it love?

"I'll call Nat.. ask her to bring him over, maybe we could go for a walk?" Jim smiled, nodding. You made the call, and an hour later you were walking to the local park, Jim pushing the stroller. He took Jackson out of the buggy and placed him inside a baby swing, pushing him gently while pulling silly faces making him giggle. Your heart swelled watching them.

"He's incredible.. those eyes.."

"Your eyes, Jim." He looked up at you and smiled listening to his son's giggle, before he started becoming grouchy again.

"He's teething... Come on little man, let's get you back shall we?" Jim lifted him from the swing and placed his little finger in Jackson's mouth. He responded by sucking his gums along it, finding relief. You smiled, watching Him soothe your son's whimpers of pain as his teeth came through.

Making your way inside Natalie's house, you were surprised to find it empty. A note on the kitchen counter read that they'd gone out for the afternoon, they wouldn't be home until the evening. You warmed a bottle of milk for Jackson as Jim gave him some Calpol. Taking the bottle from you, he fed his son, as you watched, heart pounding as you watched the man you were still in love with take such good care of your baby. Within 15 minutes, Jackson was fed and had been rocked to sleep in his father's arms, you took him and placed him upstairs in his cot to nap. You knew he'd be out for at least an hour after all that fresh air. Walking back into the lounge, you found Jim sat on the sofa waiting for you.

"Come here, y/n..." You sat next to him as he turned to face you, hand gently caressing your cheek. "What are we going to do now?"

"I'm heading back to London tomorrow Jim..." His eyes glistened slightly. He'd just found his son, and now he was going again. He'd just got you back in his life, and now you were disappearing again...

"What can I do to make you stay?" His question took you by surprise. Stay?

"Jim, I..."

"I haven't stopped thinking about you.. about what happened 2 years ago. How long I'd wanted you, how long I'd dreamt of you, how I still dream of you even now.. and we share a son y/n.. I can't let you go again, it'd break me.."

"I'm half your age Jim! I'm barely older than your eldest child, how can this possibly work?" He answered with a kiss. Leaning forward to take your mouth against his, without thinking you returned it, linking your fingers with his as he pulled you into his lap.

"It'll work because we'll make it work.. nothing else matters.. all of that other stuff is irrelevant.." he felt you grind your hips against his and his erection was burning against his jeans. He needed you, now.

"And Danielle?"

"Is fucking a man old enough to be her own father - opinion invalid. I don't care about her, I care about you.. please.." he was aware of how desperate he sounded but he didn't care. He had his hand under your t-shirt against your breast, no bra in the way this time. Lifting you up, he carried you upstairs to the guest room you were staying in, and laid you down softly on the bed underneath him.

"Birth control?" He looked at you, smiling.

"The coil - don't worry, I'm covered this time.." You smiled back as he lifted your t-shirt over your head and kissed you again. The reason for being at the pharmacy 2 years ago was to collect your prescription for the pill - you'd not taken it for a couple of days after running out suddenly. After Jackson was born, you switched to a more efficient form of birth control.

Pulling your skirt down and off, along with your underwear, he nestled his face between your thighs, now parted by his hands.

"I want you to watch me y/n... Watch me as I make you cum..." Your core burning, you raised yourself up on your elbows as he blew a hot breath against your wet folds, causing you to shiver under him. He parted your lips with his fingers, before licking from your pulsing hole up to your clit, finding a rhythm that made you cry out and shudder underneath his tongue. Smiling, groaning into you, you tried to keep your eyes on him as he licked and sucked your throbbing clit in his mouth.

"Jim.. don't stop.. oh god..." You hadn't had sex since that afternoon 2 year ago, no one being good enough to compete with the man currently buried between your legs. No pleasure you'd given yourself since was a patch on this, and you felt that burning feeling in your stomach starting to rise. "I'm close... Mm... Fuck I'm close..." Your words barely a whisper but he heard them, pushing harder with his tongue as a finger entered you, hooking upwards to find that spot inside, the one you didn't think actually existed, but there it was.. you bucked against his mouth, coming hard and fast - you felt your liquids gush over his chin, there was no stopping them... "Aha... Oh god Jim... Fuck... Stop, it's too much..." He smiled, blowing another warm breath over you before moving back to your mouth. You could taste yourself on his lips, turning you on even more.

Flipping him onto his back, you lifted his clothes off him and kissed down his chest. Your core needed a breather before you took him inside you. Licking the top of his now rock hard cock, you slowly sank your lips down, taking him fully inside your mouth. You'd never had a strong gag reflex, and you enjoyed the feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

"Holy fuck... Jesus y/n... That's it baby..." Up and down your head bobbed, swapping between hard and light sucks, your teeth gently scraping the underside of his cock and your fingers lightly playing with his balls underneath you. Every time you felt them tighten, you'd ease off, allowing him to catch his breath, before bringing him into your mouth again. After a few near explosions, he couldn't take anymore and lifted you off motioning for you to sit on him. "Ride me y/n..." You smiled, and sank your pussy onto him, allowing him to fill you. Slowly so as to adjust to his length, your hips moved, back and forth, up and down, finding the right rhythm for you both. He sat up, chests together and his hands under your thighs as he rotated his hips from underneath, driving his cock against that magical spot again.

"Yes... God that feels good... Jim..."

"I'm not gonna last long y/n..."

"That's okay.. we've got plenty of time to make up for this... Cum in me, give me all of you..." You felt his cock twitch inside you as he moved your hips faster. Leaning back, you rode him hard, the bed frame squeaking underneath as you both cried out, your climaxes arriving simultaneously. Coming back to rest your head against his, you clenched your core once more causing him to gasp as you drew yourself off him slowly. Lay down next to each other, he pulled you into his arms.

"Did you mean what you said?" He asked, kissing your head gently. "Plenty of time?"

"I meant it, Jim... I need to get back to London to sort a few things, put my flat up for sale.. my job... But yes. If you'll have us, we'll come back.." you looked into his eyes. He lifted your head to kiss you and you felt it. All the love you thought you'd never find, in the man you thought you'd never find it with.

Everything was going to be fine, you couldn't wait to start your life over again, this time for the last time.

@margoo0 @queenshelby @peakyscillian @cloudofdisney @ntmynouis @being-worthy

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 6

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. There's non-explicit smut in this part!

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Remember that questionable morals remark? Yea, this chapter is the reason. Y/N, girl, you gotta stop... But at least it's kinda funny. Okay, it's pretty damn hilarious.

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! She is amazing. I larb her. 💙

"And then I was like 'No Way!' and he was like 'Totally' and that's how I met Tony Stark," I finished excitedly, opposite a laughing Mr. Davies. The story of how I met Iron Man was a total hit with the teacher and my vigorous mimicking of the facial expressions that described my feelings during the time had my teacher busting a gut something loud. 

"I honestly have some trouble believing that but - hey, what the hell, he's a billionaire superhero, it's basically expected for him to be a little strange," When his laughing fit was over, Mr. Davies reminded me he was, in fact, a psychology doctor. There was serious brain power under that easygoing attitude.

I expected detention to be bearable in his company but Mr. Davies rose above expectations, welcoming me with another cup of tea and some colouring pages. Admittedly, I contemplated stealing some - those mandalas were really captivating.

"Oh, he's strange alright, but nothing I can't handle," I twirled a pencil between my fingers. 

Mr. Davies grinned knowingly, too knowingly for my comfort, and I had no choice but to make a stone face before looking him in the eye. 

He smirked. "So, anything else interesting for you going on?" 

"Nah, not much. Really looking forward to being done with high school and going out into the bigger world, y'know."

"You turned 18 already, right?" I nodded in confirmation. "Maybe get a job, something part-time? OsCorp always hands these leaflets out, they're looking for lab assistants."

I wrinkled my nose. "I don't need a job. Plus, I'm sure Bruce-err, Doctor Banner would smash me if I went to work at OsCorp," I glossed over my slip-up, hoping Mr. Davies would do the same. But no such luck happened.

"Right. Me and Bruce, we actually go way back," He smiled, stirring his tea. I perked up in interest. "We studied psychology together, sat next to each other in half of our classes. It's a shame what happened to him but I hope he's happy now," Mr. Davies was smiling earnestly, looking out of the window where rain had started flowing down on the glass.

"Really? That's cool," I said, lacking anything else to add to his statement.

"He used to skip classes and always lost his glasses even though they'd be on top of his head," My teacher continued. "Banner was actually quite a rowdy student," He added with a smirk.

"Hah, he still routinely loses his glasses, although he wears them on a string around his neck now," I chuckled fondly. Bruce was such a dork.

I chatted with Mr. Davies some more, just casual conversation about everything and nothing in between. His parents were hippies, he had two moms and one dad and according to him, Thor was very overrated. I didn't even notice we were up in each other's space until our knees brushed when Mr. Davies - "Call me Will" - was showing me the pictures of his cats, dog and lizard. I figured that as the hippy child, personal space was kind of a foreign concept to him - and that rang true, I've seen Will give out more shoulder grabs and high fives than anyone else sans the gym teacher.

The clock's ding announced 6 PM and I quickly gathered my things, hastily saying goodbye. I was stopped though.

"If you don't mind a quick stop at my house, I can drop you off. It's pouring buckets outside and I would hate you to get sick," Will spoke casually. 

Technically, I knew he was bending some rules of conduct. But it was also 55° outside and the water coming from the sky was unlikely to be warm. So I caved without any guilty conscience, obediently following Mr. Davies -Will- to the parking lot where a new-ish Jeep Cherokee proudly stood amongst several older, less gently used cars. With New York city traffic being the way it is, I didn't text Bruce yet, fully expecting for the trip to take a whole hour if not more. 

Thankfully the parking gods were merciful and Will managed to find a spot right across his two-story townhouse. "You're welcome to come in if you feel comfortable, I just need to fetch some documents," He said.

And that's where I fucked up. I nodded affirmatively, I followed him through the door and made myself as comfortable as I could on his living room couch. It was a cozy home, his iguana chilled opposite me in it's terrarium and the little mutt that was his dog really reminded me of the atrocity that my parents used to own before they had me. It yipped and yapped, wagging it's bushy tail at me and demanding pets.

The steaming tea mug was dutifully placed in my hand by Will who hopped upstairs immediately after that, skipping steps. I watched the man with a benign stare: he'd removed his sweater and I could see the defined muscles of his back and the admirable backside that he possessed. There was no harm in looking respectfully, right?

I was halfway through my mug when Will came back down, brandishing a truly impressive stack of manila folders, setting it on a nearby table before sitting down on the other end of the couch, maintaining a respectful distance between us. We chatted some more and the more he spoke about his current research, the more passionate he became; by the end of his truly epic description of the effects that anti-depressants have on the learning process of depressed adolescents, I was mesmerized by the way his pink lips formed words.

Sitting with my calves tucked under my butt, leaning against the armrest , I was a goner. He caught my eye, diverting his own stare from my exposed legs to the side, blinking furiously. It calmed my spirits somewhat, knowing that I wasn't the only one affected by the sudden change of atmosphere in the room. My mug landed on the low table with a loud clang as I leaned forward, the sleeves of my sweater accidentally brushing against his leg.

Will cleared his throat and I startled, tilting my head up towards him in confusion. He was staring at me with a mix of fear and delight in his eyes, like a boy preparing for his first kiss. I would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation if the darkness in his stormy grey eyes didn't make my own breath do somersaults somewhere between my lungs and my esophagus.

Fifteen minutes later, both my sweater and my panties were thrown somewhere in the furthest end of the room and those thin lips were making me see stars. For some reason he was convinced I'd had only typical teenage disappointing sex up to this point and was really eager to show me what a grown man can do. I mean, I wasn't complaining, he was really, really good with his mouth - but I didn't have all night, so I flipped the tables and showed off my own oral skills until he had to bodily remove me from his dick and lift me onto it. Every movement felt surreal, like I was living in a dream. Despite my common sense yelling expletives at me, I kissed Will back with twice the heat and none of the finesse, each of us reaching the peak nearly in sync.

"Can I get that ride to the tower now?"

Will let out a decidedly unmanly squeak when he realised where exactly he'd be taking me after we did what we'd done. I smiled at him in hopes of calming down the man but it seemed it came out more predatory. He shivered, his dick twitching within me.

I texted Bruce the same time I was getting into Will's car. My brain was still somewhat in a state of shock and I used the brief moment to tidy up my hair and makeup, taking note of my sex-flushed face. I only hoped I didn't stink like man-sweat and Will's cologne. 

Another realization was startled out of me: that was my first time having had sex without a condom. I was on birth control since I was fourteen so pregnancy wasn't a scare; currently, I was more worried about the mildly uncomfortable, wet feeling in my panties where my teacher's cum had pooled out.

Yikes. That moment Will took a careful monitoring of my facial expression and it took me a lot to keep it somewhere between neutral and happy. Internally, I was freaking the fuck out, torn between horror and incredible arousal.

It morphed into full fledged mortification when I saw Bruce's lab coat from afar, the man standing next to the entrance door. Having had a dumb moment, I texted Banner that a former schoolmate of his was the one giving me a ride and it really shouldn't have been a surprise that Bruce would go downstairs to greet Will.

'Fuck you, you dumbass,' was my approximate train of thought, directed at myself, when all three of us gathered, hiding from the cold rain and the autumn wind under the safety of the roof. Both men shared a brief, warm embrace before Bruce's arm snaked around my waist.

"You go upstairs, okay? I don't want you to get sick," Banner said, eyeing the disastrous weather.

I looked at Will, finding his eyebrow cocked at Bruce's frivolous gesture and a faint flush blossoming on his face. The man shuffled awkwardly, giving me a small wave and a tight-lipped smile before turning his attention back to Bruce. I wished him good night, hastily retreating into the safety of the elevator.

"What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fu-u-uck..." I chanted under my breath, acutely aware of the blossoming bruises on my hips where my teacher held me, the dampness of my underwear. 

The elevator doors opened, revealing the common room couch being occupied by Wanda. Peter, Wanda's brother and the two resident super soldiers setting the table for dinner. Tony was off bickering with Loki and Strange by the coffee maker and Thor was standing outside on the patio, doing something very strange with his hands and his hammer. Was he summoning the shitty weather?! The audacity!

"Hey," Wanda greeted me quietly. Her eyebrows raised upon seeing my face full of perplexed confusion. "You okay?.. Wait, what? Tell me you did not!" As my internal crisis reached its peak, I remembered that a) Wanda is a telepath and b) There were other people in the room.

One ungraceful landing next to her later, I turned my bleary stare onto her. "Oops?" I offered in the way of explanation. What was I supposed to say if I didn't know for myself what the devil possessed me to fuck my social studies teacher after school? He was fucking hot, okay.

The witch smirked, obviously following my defensive internal monologue. "Oops?" Her tone was laced with gleeful sarcasm.

"I'm a human disaster," I groaned, finally caving in and palming my face. Wanda began snickering. "I have zero impulse control," I continued wallowing in self-pity. The redhead just cackled harder.

"I feel so attacked right now," Tony's voice loudly announced the man's presence. I was thankful for the distraction, happy that today, out of all the days, he decided to make the situation about himself. "I am the resident hot mess and nothing you do will change that. Or get out of my tower," He made a dramatic gesture, waving along everybody to the table.

At the dinner table, with Peter on one side of me and Bruce on the other, Wanda's speech was clear. "I think you two are about on the same level, Tony," Her tone was dry. The looks she cast me were cheeky at best and downright gleeful at worst. Not only was she the resident telepath but also, apparently, a huge drama fan.

I, on the other hand, felt like a fish thrown out of water. My mind was still jumping between astounded and horrified like a rabid rabbit and Bruce's excited remark about seeing a former schoolmate only worsened the anxiety. My brain was telling me EVERYBODY knew EVERYTHING whereas in reality, it was only Wanda and it didn't seem like she was upset enough to give up my dirty little secret. If anything, the witch seemed almost impressed. And that dry, mildly interested facial expression only solidified when she put two and two together: my teacher, whom I fucked, also known as Bruce's former study buddy.

"I have some spare sweatpants that might fit you," Wanda directly addressed me as we were finishing up the wonderful chicken roast courtesy of Clint and Bucky. Nobody batted an eye at the sudden exclamation, evidently used to being around someone who could hear their thoughts. 

I nodded, mentally waving a big, red thank you note. With sparkles. And hearts. Wanda chuckled.

"Hey, did you change your perfume?" Peter's innocent remark made me nearly freeze in my spot. 

Kill Bill sirens started playing in my head on repeat as I heard Wanda choke on her asparagus, inadvertently drawing attention to the three of us. Peter looked at us in confusion: Wanda kept on gasping, but it seemed like the dam had finally burst and she was laughing in earnest, snorting, loudly, as I engaged my willpower to stop myself from doing the same. Needless to say, it was a spectacular failure and now both of us were bent over our dinner plates, absolutely losing it - much to the concern of the adults present at the table. The rest of the team was growing concerned.

"Oh my god, your FACE!" Wanda's incoherent mumbling and the accusing finger pointed in my direction did it.

"A lady doesn't... kiss... and tell...." I fervently gulped the oxygen as I tried to articulate my thoughts into something comprehendible. The hysterical laughter won by a wide margin.

"Who's the lucky guy?" Natasha seemed to get the gist, relaxing immediately and picking up her fork to continue her meal. 

I shook my head, unable to form a coherent thought, much less a sentence. Bruce chuckled from somewhere beside me and just like that, the tension broke. The adults in the room traded knowing looks, chuckling and snorting amongst themselves. 

The moments I needed to calm down went to waste really quick: my first laughing fit over, I took one look at Wanda and yet again, both of us were puffing out our cheeks to try and prevent another hysterical fit. 

"Whew," I exaggerated, eyes wide and looking ANYWHERE but at Wanda.

"What a wild ride," She snorted and I put a palm over my face, shaking my head in... 

Disappointment at myself? I wasn't disappointed. Now that I got over the WTF factor, I found the situation to be pretty damn hot. Will was hot. Eh, whatever. 

My casual mood of zero-fucks-given began returning. After few of the last bites of potatoes, I was prepared to face  Natasha. I looked the Black Widow dead in the eye as I firmly stated: "And for the record? We are NOT having this conversation."

She elegantly arched her eyebrow whilst everybody else held their breath. "That bad, huh?" The retort was immediate.

I allowed myself to radiate a bit of that newly acquired smugness I had begun to feel: "You have no idea," I hoped my smirk was as devious as I wished it to be.

"Alright, heartbreaker, colour me impressed," Natasha nodded in affirmation. We shared another meaningful look and reverted back to our plates with the menfolk observing us akin animals at a zoo. 

Somewhat amazed, slightly afraid. Bruce's stare was somewhat concerned, too: he contemplatively eyed me from the corner of his eye, the same way I eyed him, checking out the fact that he appeared somewhat annoyed. Like a proper father would, I suppose. 

Luckily for me, I finished off the remaining food and drink quickly, with Wanda being my saviour once again as she all but bodily dragged me into the elevator, promising to return me to the science den in no more than an hour. Tony went to complain but was promptly stopped by Natasha inconspicuously reaching for the butter knife: the engineer knew how to pick his battles. I didn't doubt that Romanoff was going to hear "all about it" second-hand from Wanda and I was fully prepared to face the redhead spy's judgement. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, escaped that clever woman.

A quick shower and a change of clothes later, I sat on Wanda's couch, nervously fiddling with the two sizes too big sweatpants, occasionally stopping to straighten the plain white tank top that just barely fit me. I washed my hair but didn't  dry it before Wanda was impatiently telling me to hurry up: the mess sat atop my head held up by a single scrunchie.

"Okay... Where do I start?" She asked me, looking like the cat that ate the canary. 

"Don't start," I stopped her with a raised palm. "It was a casual, one-time thing and I've no interest in pursuing that shit on the reg," I answered honestly. The fact that he was my teacher simultaneously worsened the situation and made me elated. But ultimately, I didn't want to risk the trouble that would come along with this mess. Besides, I had no feelings for the guy whatsoever. As I've said previously, it was just bad impulse control on some teenage hormone steroids.

"You're a strange one," Wanda's penetrating gaze made me shiver. "You live without a care in the world but at the same time, your mind is always all over the place. It is interesting."

"Uh, thanks? I guess?"

"I think we should try being friends," The witch remarked after a brief moment of awkward silence. I stared at her, dumbfounded. "Because of my powers, I can literally see through people and predict what they will do before they even think about doing it. With you, it's not like that," She explained, her Slavic accent making a full guest appearance.

"So...you want to be friends because I'm a fucking mess?" I couldn't help but feel a little offended. The occasional shitty decision aside, I didn't think of myself as that bad.

"I want to be friends because I like you," Wanda fondly rolled her eyes, standing up from the couch and motioning for me to follow. "Now let's get you to Tony or he'll blow a gasket. He's already insufferable as he is."

@another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem

[epochofbelief]

Breath Control, Chapter Five

An A Court of Mist and Fury College Swim Team AU

All characters belong to SJ Maas!

Feysand.

Warnings: mature content, cancer, cursing, alcohol use, etc, etc. 

Let me know if you want to be tagged:)

Please Enjoy, this one’s kind of long!! 

FIVE

The rest of the week passed in a blur. Everyone besides Rhys, me, and the few others who weren’t traveling was so busy preparing for the travel meet that I kind of shut myself down and ignored their excitement. I was treated to (or forced into, depending on the point of view) a few dinners with my ‘new group.’ Amren was a little intense but Cassian and Azriel were fun to be around. Mor was always there with something snarky to say to the boys and positive to me. And then there was Rhys. 

He appeared to embrace he whole broken-foot thing pretty quickly. He hadn’t hit that frighteningly somber mood since I’d picked him up early Monday afternoon. I hadn’t spent any time alone with him since then, either. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that his positivity was feigned for the sake of all his friends. Everyone was so excited to race the distant (quite good) team that it made it easy for him to take a backseat in the group discussions over dinner, or during weights, or after practice. He let them have their excitement, which showed the good in him. He never did a thing to take away from it. 

It was. . . easy to find my niche in the group. Something I’d never really had before. Tamlin and Ianthe had a tendency to bulldoze over those whom they spent time with. But despite the enormous personalities of my fledgling friends, I never felt forced to take the backseat and acquiesce to their whims. And I was reluctant to admit it, even to myself, but I was having fun spending time with them. It was nice to feel like I belonged somewhere. 

They had taken me in.

It was the only explanation for how quickly they started inviting me to their every gathering, every meal together. And a part of me was ashamed at needing the help, anxious over the fact that I hadn’t bounced into their group with the confidence of Mor and charmed them with my easygoing attitude. They’d taken the first few steps. But wasn’t that what teammates were supposed to do? Welcome anyone who needed a place to go?

That’s what they had done for me. 

The second the travel bus departed, though, I found myself alone with Rhys. It was up to me to escort him back to his place. And despite our week without any alone time, I couldn’t dispel the growing suspicion that Rhysand Night had a ‘crush’ on me. And it seemed as though he had been for a while. 

It made no sense, seeing as I’d joined the team and jumped into a relationship with Tamlin. I’d barely spoken to Rhys for the past year. And yet all his behavior over the past three weeks, the subtle hints I’d gleaned from Cassian and Azriel, Mor’s occasional pushes for us to spend time together, pointed to that being the truth. 

It had only been three weeks since Tamlin. I wasn’t ready for a new relationship. But it was flattering that someone else had feelings for me. Even if it made me twice as nervous to be spending virtually the entire weekend alone with Rhys. He’d need me to drive him everywhere, seeing as all of his other friends were gone until late Saturday night.

I followed him to my car a few minutes after the bus pulled out of the parking lot. He threw himself into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him. We rode in silence. I was too nervous to start a conversation and the tension he was exuding didn’t help my nerves. Finally, as I pulled into his driveway at Astrid Oaks, he spoke.

“Is this it for me?” 

“What?” I asked, startled, putting the car in park and opening the driver’s side door.

He followed suit and I walked around the front of the car to meet him. I could have just dropped him off but the urge to see him into his house in one piece was too strong. “Has my broken foot just royally fucked up my career? I’m a junior, Feyre. The rest of this year’s season is ruined, most likely. I’ve only got a year left after this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll be back in the water before Christmas training. People have recovered from worse injuries than this.”

“But what if I don’t?”

“Well I guess that’s your choice then. Whether you want to have a positive attitude or a negative one.”

He crutched past me up the short sidewalk to his front door. “Oh, just like you chose to give up these past few weeks and months and happily accept the fact that you didn’t make the travel team this weekend?”

He was mad and I knew it was because he had been deprived of something he was passionate about, passionate in the way most athletes should be about their sport. Going months without training could threaten a career, if not ruin it. And the drive for most athletes to keep training, keep pushing themselves to be the best they can be… It was strong. If something prevented an athlete from working toward their goals, it was felt like something akin to torture for that person. I knew. I’d torn my rotator cuff my freshman year of high school and I’d been like a caged tiger for the months it had taken to heal. But my understanding didn’t change the fact that he’d just lashed out at me for no reason.

What? “Whoa. Don’t make this about me.”

“Then don’t tell me that it’s ‘my choice’ then.”

“Hey, asshole, I’m just trying to help here. Sorry you have to deal with a setback for once.” I crossed my arms.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re always so damn confident!” I was shouting now, my hands thrown into the air at my sides. “I bet it sucks to have to deal with something that rattles your perfect, confident, sexy world!”

He smirked. I hated that smirk. “Sexy?” 

Oh fuck. 

“Nevermind that. You know what I mean! Welcome to my world. Shit happens. It sucks. You should have to deal with it for once in your life.”

“Let me tell you something, Feyre. I’ve been through some extremely difficult times so don’t act as though my life has been all rainbows and unicorns for the past twenty-one years. You don’t know me. And that’s a bullshit attitude to have and you know it. You just don’t want to have to deal with the fact that you wasted a year of your life on Tamlin Spring.” Even as the words left his mouth I could see that he regretted them. Nevertheless--

My mouth fell open. “Fuck you, Rhys.” 

He cringed. “Feyre, I’m so sorry. I didn’t--”

I held up my hands. “I’m leaving. I’ll pick you up tomorrow before practice. Don’t be late.” 

“Feyre--”

I slammed the car door behind me. How had I just messed this up? Not twenty minutes ago I’d been bidding Mor, Cassian, Az, and Amren farewell, overjoyed at the fact that they had welcomed me into their group. Now here I was shouting a bunch of bullshit that was really about myself at the person who had made joining that group possible in the first place.

I pulled my car up in front of my house and made a beeline for the door. Why’d I always have to go and mess things up? Everything Rhys had said was true, and everything I’d accused him of was true-- but not about him. About me. 

I’d be lucky if he forgave me. We’d only been friends for three weeks--probably not long enough to save our friendship.

Alone again. Couldn’t say I was surprised. 

-----------------------------

Rhys and I managed to go all day Friday without speaking. I picked him up, dropped him off, didn’t see him throughout practice since he was just there for moral support, then dropped him at his place at the end of the day. A few times, it looked like he was going to say something, anything, to me.

But he always seemed to think better of it. By Saturday afternoon, though, after a particularly nasty three hour morning practice, made worse by the fact that only about ten people were left behind from the travel meet, I was sick of not talking to anyone. I’d spent several weeks moping about Tamlin and my life and the few days I’d spent with Rhy’s friends had made me realize how much better life was with friends who weren’t masquerading as assholes. I was willing to forgive him for what he’d said to me. He’d been in a bad place mentally, had lashed out. Shouldn’t I, of all people, understand what being in a bad mental state can do to your social life? I was the poster child for internalizing everything. Shutting people out. 

So I grabbed the only alcohol I had left in my place--a bottle of wine--and traipsed over to Rhys’s. I rang the doorbell. Why was I so damn nervous? 

The door swung open and I was met with the surprising sight of the most disheveled Rhys I’d ever seen. Sweatpants hung low on his hips, a grey undershirt stretched across his extremely muscular chest. How did he make pajamas look so hot?

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.” He looked wary.

“I’m sick of having a. . . what did you call it? ‘Bullshit attitude’? Can we make up and drink already?” 

He breathed a sigh of relief. “If I could get on my knees right now, I would, Feyre. I am so, so sorry for everything I said. I wasn’t thinking. I was upset and took it out on you and that was wrong--I don’t have a valid excuse.”

“Everything you said was accurate. How can I be mad about that? You’re the first person to ever call me out on something I need to recognize about myself and work to change. So let’s forget about it. We’re both off the travel team this weekend--let’s commiserate.”

He grinned, and it might have been the cutest/hottest grin I’d ever see a male human being make. I followed him through the townhouse to his living room, where he provided me with a mug and we slumped down onto the couch together.  

“So. . . how are you doing, considering the broken foot and all?”

---

We finished the bottle in an hour and I was feeling relaxed, to say the least. 

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving Break?” I asked him. He was sitting on one side of the couch, legs on the floor. My own legs were thrown over the arm of the couch, my head on the couch cushion, almost close enough to touch his thigh. 

“No plans. Mor got an internship (she’s crazy, I know) for the week and is flying halfway across the country to be there. Cas and Az and I usually just get really drunk Thanksgiving Day. None of us really have. . . parents.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t say that for you to pity me.”

I swatted his thigh. “I wasn’t pitying you.

He sighed.

“You could...

“You could come home for Thanksgiving with me. Elain’s already left for home. Nesta’s flying in directly from her last job. I’ll have to take the road trip by myself once they release us from training on Tuesday morning. . .” 

What was I saying? I’d been friends with this guy for three weeks. And yet even though a voice of reason was telling me I shouldn’t be inviting him to my family Thanksgiving, after our short-lived friendship, I couldn’t, wouldn’t stop myself. No matter that my relationship with my dad was poor and Nesta didn’t deal well with strangers. I wanted him there. The past day and a half we’d spent apart after seeing him every day for a week had been unbearable. Not only had my guilt eaten me up about the things I’d said to him. No. I’d missed him. His comforting, playful presence. His ability to tease me or call me out when I was being too dramatic about my situation. I wanted that around me. 

Admitting those thoughts scared the shit out of me. And yet apparently the wine dulled that terror enough that I felt brave enough to ask him to come to my childhood home and dine with my mess of a family. 

“Are you serious? You want me to come home with you for Thanksgiving.”

“Don’t make me rethink my offer.” I did my best to sound playful, sarcastic.

He laughed for my benefit. “Um, okay.”

“Cool.”

I ended up sleeping in Mor’s bed that night. And when I woke up the next morning I didn’t feel any regret at spending time with someone who had treated me more kindly than I thought I’d ever deserve. Rhys didn’t expect or demand anything from me other than friendship. He’d gotten me out of danger several times now and had never made himself unavailable if I needed to talk. He’d forgiven me when I’d said some unwarranted, mean things to him instead of holding it over my head for weeks to make me feel guilty. He’d let me sleep over at his place when I’d been so tired from the wine and the day’s training that I didn’t want to walk home. 

So this was what a genuinely nice guy was like.

And in that moment I decided to stop comparing him, or any other male I came across, to Tamlin.

----------------

The next few days passed without event. Everyone returned from the dual meet after an enormous victory, so spirits were high throughout the three days of Thanksgiving Break training we had. I actually enjoyed the brutal practices while swimming in a lane with Cassian and Mor. No matter how much pain we were in, Mor was always one of the girls shouting encouragement across the pool and Cassian never failed to have some sort of joke prepared for the worst moment of the main set.  Tuesday morning after practice I said farewell to my new friends (Mor threatened to kill me if I didn’t text her over the break) and was left alone with Rhys, in my driveway. 

It was a four hour drive to my hometown. Shouldn't be too awful, right?  

Rhys took his spot in the passenger side, I took the driver’s seat, and we were off.

Almost immediately, we got into an argument about the music selection.

“I want classic rock,” he insisted.

“I’m the driver and I want to listen to my November playlist, thank you very much.” I batted his hand away from my phone, which he was trying to steal from my lap while I was driving. 

“Well I’m the one with the crippled leg so I should be the one picking the music. You get to drive.”

“First of all, you are not crippled. Your foot is broken because you and Cassian were too busy being idiots to lift weights properly. Second of all, that is so not how it works and you know--hey!” 

He’d stolen my phone from my lap, his fingers brushing my thighs ever so slightly. His touch surprised me so much that I stopped arguing. That and the fact that he’d chosen to take it right as I merged onto a four lane highway, full of Thanksgiving travelers. I couldn’t steal it back.

“You don’t know my password,” I said through gritted teeth. Whether they were gritted because of how his touch made me feel or anger at my stolen phone, I didn’t want to puzzle out.

“Please. It’s probably your birthday.”

“Well you don’t know my birthday.”

“Please,” he said again.

A moment later and Metallica music issued from my speakers. “Dammit, Rhys! How do you know my birthday?” 

“How do you not like Metallica.”

“I don’t listen to Metallica and I prefer other things. Don’t judge my taste in music. Everyone has a weird taste in music.”

He shrugged and reclined his chair. 

“Can I have my phone back, please?” I changed my tone. Flirty usually got me somewhere, with Rhys.

He took the bait. Boys. So predictable. “What will you give me for it?”

I glanced at him, traffic too busy for me to take my eyes off the road for long. He looked at me, his gaze unwavering. 

I couldn’t hear the music anymore. “What is it you want, Rhys?” I asked quietly. 

He sat up at that. “I’m the one asking the questions here. I have all the power, Feyre Archeron. I control the MUSIC.”

The sounds of his rock music came flooding back in. “You’re a drama queen.” Yes, easy flirting was much easier than discovering what his answer to my question might be.

“If I’m the queen, you’re the king. I bet you’re milking that broken foot for all it’s worth: time off practice, personal chauffeurs to drive you everywhere, a free invite to Elain’s amazing Thanksgiving dinner.” I clicked my tongue. “I should leave you on the side of the road right now.” 

He changed his tone pretty quickly at that. “No, no, please.” He whined. It was kind of adorable.  “I’m sick of Thanksgiving with Cass and Az. We get takeout and drink beer. It’s not the same.” 

“Alright. You may now alternate the genre of music we listen to.” 

“Thank you, O Queen of Drama.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re welcome, prick.” 

His returning grin was one to rival every grin of every decent looking male in the history of all males. And I was pretty sure I was grinning right back. 

Approximately three and a half hours later, a mere thirty minutes from my childhood home, my car started sputtering. 

The drive had been fun, had gone by faster than any of my previous trips home ever had. Rhys had kept up a constant stream of entertainment. We’d discussed politics, books, art, team drama (of which there was plenty), our families. I’d tentatively asked Rhys about his parents and sister after I’d found myself explaining all of my family drama--Elain’s nasty breakup with Greyson, Nesta’s ice-cold exterior, and my father’s initial business success, followed by a period of failure, which had lasted most of my childhood, and his newfound riches. It had taken me months to explain everything to Tamlin. With Rhys, though, it all came spilling out.

“My mom died when I was a kid. Car accident. Drunk driver. My dad lives halfway across the world, in Hybern. I haven’t seen him in years.”

I knew he’d had a sister. I waited, unwilling to press.

“My sister… was diagnosed with cancer when I was sixteen. She was only twelve.” 

I’d had no idea.

His voice quieted. “It went pretty quick, actually. She was diagnosed, went straight into treatments, and. . .” He shook his head. “That was the worst thing to watch her go through. I couldn’t do anything except be there for her as she got sicker and sicker. It only took about six months before she. . . she passed away. Only about three months before I left for college. That’s when my dad moved away. There wasn’t anything holding us together after she died.” 

Only the music of my playlist issued softly from the speakers. 

“Tell me about her,” I had said softly. 

He blew out a breath. And he had. He’d told me about her love for volleyball and how she was so impossibly kind to everyone she’d ever met, including the doctors and nurses who’d cared for her during the worst of her sickness. He’d told me about how he’d been the one to teach her to ride a bike, and taken her for Friday night ice cream runs ever since he’d gotten his license. 

He was actually smiling at her memory when my car started making noises akin to the sound a drowning cat might make. 

“Shit,” I muttered. 

“I’m no mechanic, but I feel like you should pull over. How old is this hunk of junk, anyways?” 

“Shut up, we can’t all drive a Mercedes.” He held up his hands and followed me out of the car, despite my insistence that he should stay off his foot. In the end, I gave up on protesting because I didn’t know the first thing about cars, either.

We stood next to each other in front of the open hood a moment later.  

“Do you think it’s bad?” I asked a bit stupidly.

“Typically, Feyre darling, when smoke is billowing out of your car, it’s bad.”

I whacked his arm. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

He tugged on my ponytail. “You’re welcome, O Queen of the Stupid Question.” 

“I guess I’ll call Elain. Are you ready to meet my family?”

“I’m sure they’re less crazy than you. Can’t be that bad.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Elain told me she’d be there in thirty minutes and I ventured into the gas station to buy pretzels for the thirty minute wait. I found Rhys sitting on a bench in the shadows around a corner of the building. 

“Sorry this is happening,” I said, offering him the bag of pretzels. 

He took a few. “No need to apologize. This is already probably one of the best Thanksgiving breaks of my life.” 

I cocked an eyebrow. “Because you’re spending it with me, hmm?”

I’d expected an equally flirtatious answer. 

Instead, he looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Yes.”

I blinked. And blinked again.

“Can I have some more pretzels?” He asked as though he hadn’t just made the word “yes” sound more romantic than any declaration of love in any romantic comedy ever had.

A bit stunned, I brandished the bag of pretzels in his general direction. 

“Don’t go getting a big head, Feyre darling. Your company could become insufferable at any moment.”

I kept staring at him. That one word has surprised me so much, considering it didn’t mean much. Didn’t it? 

He reached up and brushed a strand of my hair out of my eyes. “I am serious, you know.”

Okay so he definitely liked me. That was the conclusion my brain had drawn. It had only been a month since Tamlin. . . But Rhys was. . . Amazingly kind. And funny. And fun to be around. And he’d been there for me. I wasn’t ready for anything. I couldn’t be. A month? I could hear the team whispering “slut” and “whore” and “cheater” if word got out that I’d jumped from Tamlin to Rhys in such a short period of time. Not to mention the added drama when Rhys and Tamlin’s rivalry factored into it. 

And despite the drama it could create, the fact remained that I did not want to shut Rhys down. 

So I nodded. And decided to be vague. Friends first, right? “Well I don’t know if I can say that to you. . . yet.” I hoped he’d understand my meaning. “But stick with me and I promise my presence won’t become insufferable any time soon.” 

His face was solemn even as he mustered up a weakly flirtatious tone. “If you say so,” he breathed. 

I nodded, unable to remove my gaze from his violet eyes. 

“I do,” I whispered. 

The sudden honk of a very high-pitched horn made me jump. 

“That’ll be Elain,” I said, still looking at him. 

“Okay.” He didn’t move. Only reached up to run a finger down my cheek.

“We should go,” I said, my voice barely audible.

“Okay.” 

Finally, Elain’s shout forced us to get up, throw the bag of pretzels away, and pile into the car. 

I was screwed. Immensely, impossibly, royally, screwed.

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Unraveling at the Seams Pt 4

Genre: Fan Fiction Pairing: Alex Høgh Andersen/OFC, Henry Cavill/OFC Warnings: Language, Sexual Innuendo, Possible NSFW Rating: M Length: Multi Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: so far this is my favourite part. Also thank you all for the feedback, it is massively appreciated 

thank you @flowers-in-your-hayr​​ for the header :D

Catch Up Here

The iPad was on its side, the stand holding it in position as Nell moved around the kitchen. She had an hour before meeting Alex, which may or may not have been giving her second thoughts and butterflies. Not the good kind. Why had she agreed to this? Why was she feeling stressed about this? What she wanted more than anything was someone to hug her and tell her that this would be fun. A night out, with somebody other than Ivan. It was a new experience and if she didn't have fun, she never had to go again.

A call from mom always helped, right?

“Where's Ivan?” Evelyn asked, her daughter had called her in the middle of her work day. At first she had assumed something was dire, when the nerves seized, the Stewart Matriarch relaxed.

“He's next door, Jordan and Sophie are letting him hang out there tonight.” Bridie had a family party and Nell was hell bent that she was not missing it, because of her plans to have a drink with Alex. Ivan would welcome the change of pace, Jordan would surely engage Ivan's imagination with his skills as an actor.

The last time Ivan had gone there for a few hours, Nell had returned to find Jordan and Marco had built a full on fort in the middle of the living room, they'd had makeshift costumes, an imaginary dragon, and some sort of new language. Ivan had a way of charming people into doing whatever it was he wanted. A dangerous power for an almost eight year old to wield. These were the sort of fantasy games Henry would go along with, creating whatever world his son wanted to live in for the moment. Jordan had happily gone along with it, no questions asked and Nell would remain grateful.

“Have you told him that Henry is coming to  visit?”

“No, why? Wait?” Nell turned to face the iPad. “How?”

“Henry told me.” Evelyn answered in a painfully obvious manner. Nell wrinkled her nose, her stunned look told her mother all she needed to know. “We talk almost weekly, you know. Just because it's rocky with the two of you, he's still the father of my only grandson.”

Nell's older brother Michael had two children, daughters. Her older sister, Michael's twin, Sadie also had a daughter. Ivan being the only boy took the title proudly.

“I'm glad Henry finds the time.” Nell snorted. Evelyn rolled her eyes and shook her head, avoiding a lecture, Nell derailed her mother. “I'm glad that he's comfortable talking to you.”

“You still talk with his family, do you not?”

“I suppose.” Nell accepted. “What else did he have to say?”

“He's busy working, he's excited to take some time off for Ivan, he's looking forward to seeing your brother next weekend. He said you didn't sign up?”

“I don't have time to run this year. I'll send a donation.” Nell shouldn't have been annoyed that he brother was running a marathon with her ex, yet she was. Less annoyed that Michael was doing a charity run and more annoyed that she hadn't been asked.

“Your father and I have sent ours. Other than that, there isn't much going on. Something about a new job in Hamburg? Hungary? Somewhere with an H in Europe.”

Nell frowned, Henry hadn't mentioned anything to her about a new job. Not that he had to, it was his right to take whatever jobs he wanted. In the past he had told her the second he was allowed to talk about them. Aside from his agent, Nell had been the first person to know that he'd been cast for Man of Steel, The Man from U.N.C.L.E, even the film nobody had ever heard of called The Cold Light of Day.

Again, Henry had a right not to tell her every detail of his left. Nell wasn't always forth coming with every detail in hers. Outside of Ivan, they didn't have to ever speak, if they chose that route.

Lord knows that there were many things that Nell never told Henry. Her date with Alex for example. She had spoke with Henry last evening, yet hadn't said a word about going out. A pang of guilt rose. Henry always told her when he'd gone out with somebody new, his reason was that – if this woman should become something more, he wanted Nell prepared as the woman he shared a child with. Transparency was the key to keeping their life mess free. Plus, it was better she heard it from him and not some trashy newspaper.

“Whatever it is, I'm sure he'll do well.”

“I'm sure he will. Did you remember to send that parcel? Tomorrow is his birthday.” Evelyn could remember Henry's birthday, yet had forgotten her Husband's birthday for the last three years.

“Yes, mom, I sent it two weeks ago. Ivan will call him tomorrow, talk to him, and then we probably won't hear from him until he gets here.”

“Why are you always like that, Nelly? He's trying. You know that he's trying and it's not easy, being...”

“Mom.” Nell was firm. She didn't need to listen to her mother explain everything she did wrong, when it came to Henry Cavill. “It's not that, it's...you know what, mom. I'm not doing this. Not tonight. I called, because I just needed to talk.”

“Okay, so let's talk. How is work?”

“That's the thing, you see, there's the guy at work who...” Nell paused, her doorbell ringing. “Shit. Mom, I have to go. That's Alex.”

“Alex? Male or female, Alex?” Evelyn smirked.

“Male. I will talk to you later, love you bye.” Nell hurried to turn off the call.

She didn't want to look desperate rushing to the door out of breath, nor did she want Alex standing there waiting. Taking a few calming breaths, she straightened herself out and coolly approached the door.

On the other side, Alex stood shaking like a leaf. He was probably sweating through his button down as well. Great! He was going to show up looking like a hot mess, asking a woman who already barely tolerated him to be seen in public with him.

This was a mistake! Why had he listened to Sophie?

“Alex, hey.” Nell opened the door in the nick of time. Alex had briefly thought of turning around and running away. Why did this woman do this to him? He'd never been intimidated by a woman before. “Come in, please.”

Stepping inside the first thing Alex noticed was the smell. An odd thing to notice, perhaps? It wasn't an unpleasant smell. The opposite, actually. The townhouse had a – homely smell. Warm and welcoming, fresh and light. It reminded him of summer and gingersnap cookies. Funny, summer and cookies is what Nell reminded him of.

“I brought you this, I didn't know what else to bring, but I wanted to give you something and here.” He held out the framed photo. It was the best way to begin, scared of what he'd say if he didn't lead with the gift.  “It's one of the photos I took, early on. I remembered it was your first solo design and...”

“Alex.” Nell cooed, gently taking the framed photo of Judith, played by Jennie Jacques in the lavish dress. “I don't know what to say. Obviously, thank you. I'm speechless. This is amazing.” She leaned in giving him a fast peck on the cheek.

The photo had to be one of the sweetest gifts she'd ever received from a guy, on a first date, not that Nell thought of this as a date.

“That dress is one of my favourite costumes.” Alex blushed. “I was in awe every time I saw it. You did amazing.” It was Nell's turn to blush. “And this is for Ivan. I thought he may like it.” He passed over a book of 1,001 Brain Teasers for Ages 8+.

“He's going to love this. Thank you.” Nell accepted the book, still lost in the beauty of the photo. Alex was talented with a camera, Nell had saw some of his other works and they blew her away every time.

“No problem, I loved things like that when I was his age. He's so smart.”

“Too smart.” In more than one way. Intellect was one thing, being smart ass was another. The boy had mastered both swimmingly. Nell dreaded the day he turned into a teenager. “Would you like a drink?” She stood holding the photo and book.

“I thought we were going out for a drink, but we can have one here. If you want. I don't mind.” Alex felt like a helpless fool. Damn it. Why was he such a blundering idiot tonight?

Oh right, because he was in over his head with a positively impressive and attractive woman. He'd dated attractive women before, most ended up being superficial.  A disappointment to say the very least. Nell was not going to disappoint. If either of them were a disappointment, it was Alex.

Damn it. He needed to be more confident. Marco had warned him about this. Not to let his doubt in or this would be a disaster of epic proportions.

“You know what,” Nell took a final look at the photo before setting it on the kitchen table, it would be safe until she arrived home. “Let's go for that drink. Should I call a car?”

“Please.” Alex nodded.

“I am going to call and grab my purse, feel free to make yourself comfortable.” Nell smiled, before disappearing.

She was hardly gone long enough for Alex to make himself at home, so to speak,  he didn't mind. If he was alone too long, his thoughts would get the best of him and this not-a-date-date would be over before they left the house.

Leaving the townhouse, Alex caught sight of the two shadows in the window across the courtyard. Nudging Nell, they both waved, laughing when Jordan and Ivan ducked disappearing from sight. They were having too much fun spying and Nell would hear about it in the morning. No doubt Alex would be teased as well.

Safely in the black taxi, Alex was being the perfect gentleman. Holding doors, helping Nell in an out of the car. He was doing what his mother would expect of him, nothing more. Being polite was costing him nothing and he enjoyed seeing Nell smile each time he did something chivalrous.

“I hope you don't mind, but I thought we could go somewhere a little more low key?” Nell watched the outside pass, the taxi navigating the streets effortlessly.

“I don't mind low key at all.” Alex replied casually watching Nell watch the outside world.

“It's a nice place, I promise.”

The driver was cordial when Alex slipped him his payment, insisting that he get it, after all it was his idea to come out. The least he could do was pay for their cabs, secretly he planned to grab the tab too, despite Nell telling him he really didn't have to get the cab and she would get the drinks.

Helping Nell from the car, Alex stood aside happy to follow wherever she led. Strolling down the street, Nell nudged her chin forward to indicate that this was their destination. A quiet bar front, if there was such a thing, with a small sign on the front advertising their establishment.

“Here we are.” Nell announced, bumping into Alex when they both reached for the door. “Sorry.” Her voice was a whisper when his hand found her lower back. Guiding her through the door, Alex's gaze was telling her more than his words could have.

“Shocking, but I don't think I have ever been here.” Alex glanced around the front entrance of the bar. He'd been to nearly every bar in Dublin and the surrounding area, but never this particular one.

“I used to come here, a lot, when I lived here before.” Nell led the way to the back of the building. Alex took note, it was certainly nicer and quieter than the other bars he frequented. A large bar in the front, which seemed to serve the larger part and in the back, where Nell had immediately bee lined, was a smaller area complete with a smaller bar.

“Cozy.” He noted pulling out the high bar chair for Nell to sit.

“It's nice. I like it here.” She slid onto the stool with ease. Catching the bar tender's attention. “Lagavulin, neat please.” Nell ordered without thought.

Alex took a beat to decide. “Ardberg, on the rocks with a twist, please.”

Nell grinned.

“What?”

“Nothing. I like that you just went for it. I enjoy when a guy knows what he wants.” Nell shrugged lightly.

“Laugh it up, I know the whole adding ice and all that ruins the flavour blah blah blah.” Alex took the teasing with grace. “I can't do it neat, bad things happen if I do for it straight up.”

“Oh, no. I have witnessed far worse than asking for ice.” Nell looked as though she was processing some sort of horrid memory. Alex waited, she would either tell him or move on. The bar tender slid their drinks to them, giving Nell a few seconds to decide on her story.

“Ivan's father was given a bottle of Chivas Regal once for a birthday present, my brother got the idea to mix it with chocolate milk. I have never saw something so disrespectful.” Nell cringed. Alex involuntarily made a disgusted face. Who mixed chocolate milk with scotch? Further more, why disrespect a perfectly good bottle that way.

“Was it even good?”

“By itself, I swear there were angels singing, whenever you took a sip. With the milk, I don't know. I contemplated disowning them both on the spot.”

“Blasphemy.” Alex smirked, taking a sip of his drink.

“But that's enough about Henry and Michael. I will add, they're lucky I still speak to them both.” Nell sipped her drink. Licking her lips, she sighed happily. It had been a while since she'd gone out for a proper drink. Pouring herself a glass here and there, after a long day wasn't the same as sharing a drink with somebody in a pub or a bar.

“I would say so.” Alex held his glass, “I will say a cheers to you and your forgiving ways. May Henry and Michael know how blessed they are.”

“Here, here!” Nell raised her glass, gently tapping it to Alex's. “This is nice.”

“Lagavulin, is one of the best you can get I mean...”

“No, no. Not the Lagavulin,” Nell blushed, her eyes casting down. “I meant having somebody to talk to, to share a drink with. It's been forever since I have left my house after 8pm, to do something other than work. I'm going to risk sounding like one of those people, but I am usually in bed by now.”

“Me too.”

“Really? Wow, when I was your age, I was never home on a Friday night.” Nell winced. “Sorry, I didn't mean...Oh fuck that came out wrong.”

Alex laughed at her earnest. “I know what you meant.”

“Sometimes my mind and mouth don't engage. My mother says it's one of my biggest downfalls. I'm working on it.” Nell passed it off playfully.

“My mom says my downfall is that I am too stubborn and I don't know when to give up.” Alex revealed.

Nell tried to hide her chuckle. “A lesson, between us, moms know their sons better than anyone.”

“I'll remember that.” Alex's smile was full of mischief. “Any other secret mom tips that you're allowed to reveal?”

“Uh,” Nell tapped her chin, “Mom's really do have eyes in the back of their head. They're the hardest working people on this planet, and we have an excellent bullshit detector.”

“All useful.” Alex played into it. Leaning closer, his eyes dropped to watch her lips as she spoke. Licking his lips, he took less than a breath to snap back. Nell wasn't the type you hit on just because. “And what else can you tell me? This time about you, not as a mom.”

“Oh.” Nell shifted in her seat, adjusting her skirt, smoothing it over her calves. “I have two siblings, they're twins. I hate cake, as you know.” She smirked. Alex nodded. “And I have never dated somebody younger than me. Now you.”

“I have a sister. I play guitar, not well,  it's a budding hobby. And I only ever date older women.” Alex shrugged, swirling his scotch in the glass, taking a drink. Smooth. What a way to sound like a moron.

He'd really felt this was going somewhere, until two seconds ago.

“Alex, so you know, I don't really think that this is going to go beyond tonight.” Nell's gaze fell uncomfortably. “I like your company, as a friend.”

That was a fair answer. Alex was a tiny bit disappointed, not that he had a right to be. He was lucky that Nell had agreed to come at all.

“Can I ask you something? If you are uncomfortable, don't bother. You can also tell me to fuck off, but why did you agree to come out with me?” He pushed his hair behind his ears, his eyes locked on hers. “I'm happy you did, but I don't understand. Maybe I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Alex, it's not that I don't like you.” Nell felt the weight of the world suddenly on her shoulders for making him feel this way. “I think you're lovely. You are very kind and a great person.”

“But?” Alex knew it was coming. This kind of statement always had a but.

“But, it's complicated. I love working with you, but I know what happens next, because I've been there. So, if I stay guarded, you eventually go away, and nobody gets hurt.” Nell waved to the bartender, ordering another drink. This time a double.

Ordering another drink, Alex mustered up the courage to ask his next question. It lingered on his mind, but he'd never had the balls to come out with it. “Is it because of your ex?”

Nell accepted her new drink, draining half the glass in one gulp, before nodding. “And it's a stupid excuse. I know that.”

“No, I've heard worse.” Alex thanked the bar tender for his fresh drink. “You loved him? It had to have hurt when that ended. I get it.”

“We were together for almost three years.” Nell took the time to explain her behaviour a little. Alex had been the brunt of her rash and unfair treatment, all because of something that had absolutely nothing to do with him.

“So, it was serious?” Beyond having a son with the guy, of course. He didn't have to say it, Nell had figured out how to read between those lines.

“Not in the way I saw a future, but in the way that I knew we were comfortable.”

“You worked together?”

“We did. I mean, in a way. Yes. I was an intern.” Nell tipped the glass up to her lips. “We met while he was on The Tudors.” Nell shrugged picking at her drink napkin. “It's partly why I have this job. They loved what I was capable of and hired me back, when Janet had to leave.”

“I'm glad they hired you.” Alex offered, tipping his drink. “I don't plan on having a kid with you, but I am glad they hired you.” He smirked trying to break the tension.

“Happily I will accept that.” Nell smiled. “I didn't want to think about being married  or having a kid at 22, but you know.”

Alex could relate, he couldn't imagine being married. Or having a kid. Not right now. His life was going great and there was no need to complicate things. Not that he assumed Nell found Ivan a complication or a regret.

“I think it's pretty brave of you to raise Ivan, the way you have been.”

“It wasn't all me. His dad helps a lot.” Nell bit her bottom lip, she wasn't entirely alone. “We lived together for the first year after Ivan was born. Henry adores Ivan, you know.” She wanted to make that clear.

“I didn't doubt he would. I'm sorry if this feels like me prying, but why did you split?”

What kind of man would leave someone as fantastic as Nell? How stupid was he? Alex had to know. If she became uncomfortable she would tell him, surely. No, Alex was confident that Nell would tell him to shut up if he was going too far. If he left here alone, covered in scotch, then he had deserved it.

“It was too much, having a baby and trying to bolster a career. You know how it is, appearing to the public in one way, while living another. It was too much, he was gone all the time and I was alone anyway, so I moved back home.”

Fleeing London to take refuge in St. John's had only lasted a year. Nell loved being close to her parents and sister, but needed something more. She'd been used to the lifestyle in London and soon found herself heading back. Before too long, she was back in Britain, living there until getting the call to move back to Dublin.  

“Oh.” The word formed on Alex's lips without breath.

“It's complicated.”

In other words, Nell was often left angry with herself, over the situation. Blaming Henry had become easier, along the way, it was a go to when she needed it.

“Most relationships are.” Alex scoffed. “But we get back on the horse and keep trying. Isn't that what we're taught?”

“It's hard finding a guy who wants to date a woman, who has a kid.” Nell shrugged. She hadn't had much luck dating in the last few years. There had been one or two guys who had stayed around for a month, maybe two, then it always ended once they found someone better. “It's harder finding someone to date, once they find out your son's father is Superman.”

And that is how she knew she'd had possibly gone too far. Here they were now, might as well keep going. Get it all out on the table. This was the part where Nell over shared and Alex never spoke to her beyond tonight.

“Every man thinks he's Superman, at some point.” Alex laughed lightly. Seeing Nell in a new light, he couldn't imagine somebody not wanting to know her or Ivan. She was an excellent mom.

“No,” Nell's brow creased. “He's literally Superman.”

“I don't follow.” Alex's brow creased in confusion. How drunk was she?

“His father,” Nell swallowed the last of her drink. “My ex is legit Superman. Clark Kent, Man of Steel. Kal-El?   Henry Cavill is my ex.”

The look on Alex's face as he tried to piece all of this together was becoming comical. This was generally the part where the date would ask some stupid, mundane question and then leave. Or he would attempt to try and impress her with a pointless show of masculinity. Alex was going to be neither of those. She could tell with the way his face contorted and his eyes softened.

“I had no idea.” Surely he wasn't the only one to not know this. The man's name was Henry, it was the only detail he'd ever had to go on. Nell had met him working, okay? There were thousands of Henrys in the world.

“You didn't know?” Nell began to chuckle. “Seriously? I thought everybody at work knew. Ivan's last name is Cavill.”

“There are more than one family of Cavills in the world.” Alex defended his ignorance. Until right now, he had never heard anybody use Ivan's last name and had always assumed it was Stewart. “Henry Cavill.”

Alex mulled it over for a second, having to say the name to somehow make it real. “Hmm. Well, at least he's not some sort of crazed inmate, who is hell bent on revenge on any man who talks to you.” He smirked, side eyeing Nell. “He not crazed and hell bent on revenge, is he?”

“No, probably not. You can ask him, when he's here in a few weeks.” Nell waved the bar tender over to pay. “Although, I think you will be safe. Start running, he's big, but slow.”

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[wicked-game-black-butler]

I've really come to love your OC Sarah - I was wondering, how would Sarah fair in our modern era? What kind of job would she have? What kind of style and hobbies would she have? ❤

Oooh, this is an interesting question! I’ve actually been mulling over it all morning, as I’ve not really considered her outside of the canon Kuro timeline. 

That being said, I approached this ask from the perspective of just dropping her into our modern era as opposed to continuing her narrative from the Victorian timeline (that would provide a very different set of answers).

As far as how she would fair, I believe Sarah would do rather well to our modern world. I’ve always seen her as being somewhat of a chameleon of sorts, always flexible and able to adapt to new surroundings and situations with short notice. Though, deep down, I believe that she would dislike the fast pace of the world around her and would often seek refuge in quieter places, whether that is a local cafe Agni owns, visiting her friends Mey-Rin and Bard at their country farm, or taking a holiday somewhere out in the more secluded areas of English countryside. She would appreciate technology, but it wouldn’t become an integral part of her life, streaming her entertainment and having a few social media accounts (which she rarely posts on) being the most involved she has become. Her friend Othello is always trying to convince her to buy and Alexa or some other smart home device, but she refuses, finding the antique housewares that furnish her and Angelina’s flat more suiting to her taste.   

The type of job she would have would depend heavily on whether or not she endured something similar to the events of Italy or not. If she had experienced a similar event, she would be heavily involved in advocacy in human rights. She would probably work for an organization such as UNICEF, with a particular interest in helping those who were victims of human trafficking. This would be her day job, of course. By nights she would work with her hacker friend, Sieglinde (and also with Othello’s IT expertise), to track down and expose those in political positions who are supporting the sex slave and human trafficking trades. If she had not experienced an event like Italy, I envision her living in a more quiet area, such as Bath (something about the historic architecture appeals to her in an almost ethereal way) where she would work as an artist. She would live in a townhouse in The Circus with Angelina, along with Angelina’s girlfriend, Nina (who would be a world renowned fashion designer). She would be the one to care for the townhouse, given that Angelina’s busy schedule as a surgeon and the fact that Nina’s shows take her all around the world, sometimes months at a time, so neither one of them can be relied on to keep the home in a livable condition.

As far as her style goes, I envision it being somewhere between boho and punk. She has a leather jacket that she wears all the time, so long as weather permits it, even though it is worn and tattered in some places. It was one of the graduation presents Vincent and Rachel had given her before they died in a car crash and she can’t bear to part with it. Her style is unique and she doesn’t necessarily conform to any strict fashion rules, anything that she likes and is comfortable is added to her wardrobe. This is what I envision for her daily look...

Also, when her art muses grip her and she’s thrown into a flurry of creativity, she can be seen occasionally wandering from the bedroom Angelina and her converted into a makeshift studio to the kitchen for a light snack or some tea, her face colored with paint smudges and charcoal, sporting a comfortable style like this...

Though, with Angelina and Nina’s help, she can clean up as well and often requests their help in preparing her for her art shows. Her style is simple, but elegant. Her attire preference hinting back to a more classical era...

Her greatest hobby is her artwork, which takes up most of her creative time and energy. And she appreciates and dabbles in all styles, techniques, and mediums, though her favorite is painting and charcoal sketches. She also enjoys reading, the classics from the 1800′s being her favorite. Gardening is a new hobby she has begun dabbling in, as she enjoys how various flowers and herbs brighten the townhouse when Angelina and Nina are away. Finny, a friend who works at a local florist, has been helping her with that endeavor, even if he can be a touch too exuberant in flower selection. 

And a bonus anecdotal note that you didn’t ask for, lol...much like in Wicked Game, for the longest time Sarah believed herself to be asexual. She had tried dating, going out with people of various different races, sexual orientations, and gender. Things would progress well for some time, until her partner wanted things to progress physically. She would do what she could to please her partner, even though such relations didn’t hold the same appeal to her as it did them, but she would ultimately end up ending things because she felt guilty and didn’t want her partner to feel as if she couldn’t give them what they needed. The breakups had been difficult, though some of them had ended well, Agni and Grell still dear friends. She had signed off romantic relationships in general until, one night when she Angelina, Nina, Agni, Soma, Ciel, Ronald, and Sieglinde went to a local pub to celebrate Ciel’s successful launch of a start up toy company, she had bumped into a man named Sebastian, and that all changed in an instant. (though I don’t know what you would call someone’s orientation if they are only attracted to demons, lol)

Thank you so much for this question! As you can tell I put an embarrassingly amount of consideration into this, but I can’t help myself. When someone asks me about my stories, I start answering and then WOOSH, a long dissertation later, I finally come down and realize the person I’m talking to got more information than they were bargaining for, lol. But thank you again for your question. I’m so humbled by the fact that you like Sarah and my story in general, especially since I have so much respect for your skillful writing. It honestly made my day to wake up to this question. So, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, thank you, thank you, thank you! 

[anasatsia98]

The Devil and The Daughter Chapter One

Over the course of the past year, Cora had grown accustomed to seeing a stark, white envelope underneath the bakery door when she walked downstairs.

At first, she wondered if someone placed it under there as a trick or they had mistaken her shop for somewhere else—in the dimly lit streets, the townhouses of Small Heath seemed to blend together into one. But after picking it up and seeing her name scrawled in messy handwriting—barely legible at first glance—a small smile had crossed her face.

So, it was no surprise to Cora when she was, once again, greeted with an envelope as she walked towards the door to open it. Bending down, a smile flickered across her face and she stood up before making her way behind the counter. Her thin finger eagerly ripped the paper—she was careful not to accidentally cut herself, though—and her eyes were quick to devour the words that were scribbled on a small slice of paper.

Cora let out a scoff of a laugh and rolled her eyes, her fingers folding up the slip of paper and shoving it in the pocket of her black skirt. She knew that if he saw her reaction it would've probably made him laugh harder than the joke itself. Cora stalked over towards the coat rack behind the door and grabbed her coat, slipping it on but not buttoning it. While the weather was considerably warmer than the day before, Cora loathed the cold.

She had forgotten to ask Harry for two bottles of dark rum, a key ingredient in the rum cakes she was asked to make for Mrs. Williams—who was a new mother—husband's birthday. After locking the bakery door and twisting the knob twice, Cora set off on her sort track to the Garrison. Young children hurried past her and shouted a quick hello while the men tipped their hats when she walked by and women smiled or said hello.

Pushing open the Garrison door, Cora stumbled back as her small frame crashed into a rather large one. Her back bumped against the closing door as she regained her foot and muttered a quick apology to the person she had run into to. When the person didn't respond, Cora looked up, worried that something was wrong or that she had—somehow—injured the person.

"Danny?" Cora breathed, her brows furrowing in confusion as a close friend of Thomas's shoved the door open and rushed out of the Garrison. Looking up in hopes of understanding what had just happened, though she didn't doubt Danny had another one of his episodes, she felt her heart stutter as her eyes met ice blue ones.

The meeting was quick, more a flicker than a glance, before Tommy turned his back and headed towards the bar's counter. Cora followed slowly as she observed who was in the room and what might happen next. Small Heath, Birmingham was exactly what it's said—it was small. Therefore, it was easy to know everyone and everything, and it was easy to know who the instigators were and who the peacekeepers were. Cora stopped at the counter but kept her body a foot away from Tommy's. By the glance he gave her, she knew that it was going to be a while before she would be able to bake that cake.

"Mr. Shelby, you have to do something about him," Harry said as he lifted a table and placed it in its upright position before setting the chairs back around it. Cora waited for him to walk back behind the counter before muttering her order to him.

"Damn right, Harry." Freddie Thorne agreed, cockily walking behind Tommy, and Cora watched him closely. Freddie Thorne was a well know instigator in Small Heath and Cora had grown up with him and the Shelby's. She knew that Freddie would do anything in his power to get under Tommy's skin, and given the fact that Freddie had never feared Tommy—not in childhood and not now—she didn't know how far he'd go to get Tommy to give him the reaction he craved.

"You pay the Peaky Blinders a lot of money for protection," Tommy swung his head back as he finished his shot, his face passive as Freddie pressed on, "You're the law around here now, Tommy, aren't you? Maybe you should put a bullet in Danny Whizz-Bang's head like they do with mad horses."

Cora locked eyes Tommy, their faces blank. Cora had to hand it to Freddie. He certainly knew what he was doing and exactly what topics to touch on. It was no secret that Tommy valued horses and Cora had heard that when his mother was still alive and when he was younger, she would take them horseback riding and taught them how to horses. She wondered if it was Gypsy blood that made him so affectionate towards horses.

"Maybe you'll have to put a bullet in my head someday, too," Freddie muttered, just loud enough for Tommy and Cora to hear, as he brushed past them.

Cora watched as Tommy's eyes darkened at the words and she shook her head ever so slightly—a movement only Tommy saw—as she grabbed the two bottles of rum from the counter. She walked towards before stopping and waiting for Tommy to pull his cap on and join her.

"Bring the bill to the Peaky Blinders. We'll take care of it," Tommy called as walked towards the door and pulled it open, allowing Cora to slip out and onto the windy streets.

Cora swore aloud as the wind ruffled her hair and pulled strands of hair out of the bun she had placed her hair in. Feeling Tommy's brooding presence beside her, she held out one of the rum bottles for him to grab, which he didn't hesitate to grab.

"Meeting?" Cora questioned, tucking a long strand of her sun-kissed hair behind her ear but not looking at Tommy. Tommy didn't respond; instead, he picked up his pace and she followed to the dark grey building, slipping through the door when Tommy opened it.

"Hello, Finn" Cora greeted the young boy as she walked through the kitchen and placed the bottle of rum on the table.

"Ello, Cora." Finn smiled at the young woman who he had known all his life, "Did you bring any cookies?"

Cora frowned before ruffling his hair, "No, not today. But maybe if you stop by later, I can probably slip you something."

Giving Finn one last smile, Cora pulled open the nary blue doors that were hidden behind two thick, dark green curtains. She ignored the sharp glare Arthur shot her, obviously displeased with her lateness, and slipped past him so that she was sat towards the end of the large table that was placed in the center of the room, Tommy leaning against the cabinet near her.

"Right," Arthur began, his voice gruff and low as he glared at the occupants of the room, "I've called this family meeting because I've got some very important news. Scudboat and Lovelock got back from Belfast last night. They were buying a stallion to cover their mares. They were in a pub on the Shankhill Road yesterday, and in that pub, was a copper handing out these."

Cora reached forward to take a flyer from Scudboat, thanking him quietly as her eyes trailed over the tea-stained paper. Cora held up the paper for Tommy to take and retracted her hand the moment she felt him grab it, her eyes focusing on the different reactions the members were having.

"If you're over five feet and can fight, come to Birmingham." John read before looking up at Arthur.

"They're recruiting Protestant Irishmen to come over here as Specials," Arthur said, crossing his arms—something Cora noticed he did to feel as though he held more power than he actually did—and she furrowed her brows in confusion at the word.

"To do what?" Ada's soft voice floated, voicing the question that Cora was about to ask.

"To clean up the city, Ada." Tommy explained, his words gaining him the attention of the room, "He's a chief inspector. The last four years, he's been clearing the IRA out of Belfast."

"How do you know so bloody much?" Arthur glowered, his hand clenching and Cora felt the aura in the room take a violent turn.

Tommy and Arthur had been having a power struggle ever since they arrived home from war. While all the brothers had their own demons, they each handled them in different ways. John gained the habit of drinking, Tommy shut himself up and built walls around him, and Arthur drank and was known for violent and suicide attempts.

In the eye of the business, Tommy was the only one who was the most prepared to take over. He didn't have to worry about children like John did, nor did anyone have to fear an outburst from him, like Arthur.

Arthur was aware of this but refused to give up his spot. It didn't bother Tommy because he knew that their workers were more than willing to listen to him.

"Cause I asked the coppers on our payroll," Tommy stated, his face remaining passive—but Cora could see a shadow of a smirk on his lips—while his brother's turned red.

"And why didn't you tell me?" Arthur growled and Tommy shifted lazily on his feet.

"I'm telling you."

Cora watched uneasily as an unsettling silence fell over the room. Her eyes flickered from Tommy to Arthur and she watched as Arthur took a large swig from his flask, his eyes never leaving Tommy's.

"So why are they sending him to Birmingham?" Pol cut in, looking up from the paper and staring at Tommy, waiting for an answer.

"There's been all these bloody strikes at the BSA, and the Austin works lately." Tommy said, "Now the papers are talking about sedition." Cora could almost see him rolling his eyes at the word, "And revolution. I reckon it's the communists he's after."

It was Ada's expression that caused Cora to pause for a moment. Her eyes widening for a fraction of a second as she bit her lip, and Cora could see her mind drifting from the meeting. If what Cora was thinking was true, then Ada had done an impressive job keeping it in the dark.

"So this copper's gonna leave us alone, right?" Pol pressed, and Cora's attention turned back to the older woman.

"There are Irishmen in Green Lanes who left Belfast to get away from him. They say Catholic men who crossed him used to disappear in the night." Tommy informed and Pol let out a scoff, turning her head back towards the paper.

"Yeah, but we ain't IRA." John said, his voice impatient and frustrated, "We bloody fought for the king. Anyway, we're Peaky Blinders. We're not scared of coppers

"He's right," Arthur grumbled.

"If they come for us, We'll cut them a smile each." John finished and Cora bit her lip as her mind reeled with all the new information. Something just wasn't making sense to her, but she wasn't sure what it was… it was like an annoying itch she couldn't reach to scratch.

"So, Arthur, is that it?" Tommy asked, his tone bored and relaxed despite the new threat in Small Heath.

"What do you think, Aunt Pol?" Arthur asked as he turned to look at his Aunt.

"This family does everything open. You have nothing more to say to this meeting, Thomas?" Auntie Pol said, and Cora watched as Arthur's eyes flashed with fury. His aunt had blatantly chosen Tommy as a high position.

"No. Nothing that's women's business."

Cora's eyes widened at the jab that was thrown and she clenched her fists. Tommy had gotten colder since the war in many ways. The most important one, however, was the fact that he now seemed to want to keep the women who ran the business while they were away, out of the business.

"This whole bloody enterprise was a women's business while you boys were away at war. We even started a whole new business," Auntie Pol stated calmly, but the chilling smirk on her face showing her anger towards Tommy's words, "What's changed."

"We came back."

"Thank you, sir." Cora gave a tight smile to the man seated in front of her as she placed the muffin on the table. Ignoring his swipe for her ass the moment she turned around, Cora was quick to deposit the money in the box on the counter before locking it and shoving it in the drawer underneath.

Her mind was drifting back to the meeting that occurred yesterday and even though the bells sounded, alerting her that someone had entered, she didn't turn to see who. It was only when the cheerful chatter of the bakery died down she looked up, blowing a strand of hair that had fallen out of her bun out of her face.

Tommy Shelby stood in front of the door, his cold eyes surveying those who were in the shop. Cora raised an eyebrow at the man in front of her before quickly slipping a glance at the man who had made a grab for her, inwardly rejoicing at how pale his face had gone. If Tommy had seen her glance, he made no comment.

"Everybody, out." They were gone in an instant.

Cora smiled as the tall male approached her, resting her elbow on the counter before resting her head in her hand. While her smile was polite, her eyes were mischievous as she thought of the many reasons why Tommy was in her shop.

"What brings you 'ere, Tommy? I never imagined you'd set foot in my shop?" She teased. Tommy ignored her as he looked around the small bakery, taking in the details of the small shop.

"You're closing early," Tommy stated, and a look of concern took over her features as she quickly slipped off her apron and grabbed her coat. Following him outside, she locked the door and twisted the handle twice before the two set off down the street.

"What happened now?" Cora asked as they made their way to Pol's house, her eyes catching the large bottle of whiskey in Tommy's hand and taking note of Tommy's brisk pace.

"Arthur got himself in trouble with some coppers," Tommy said, opening the door for Cora and following her inside. Cora silently entered the house, her footsteps soft and quiet in contrast to Tommy's loud, stomping ones. Shoving the kitchen door open, Tommy flung off his had, "Let me see him."

Cora would've winced at the state of Arthur's face, but it wasn't as though she hadn't seen this before. His face was covered in dried blood, the bleeding coming from two large cuts—one on his cheek and the other on his forehead. Her eyes trailed over his form as she examined the rest of him, taking note of the two fingers that Pol was taking care of. Both of them stuck out at odd angles and she knew that they were always going to be crooked.

When Tommy was drafted, she took it upon herself to go to the nursing classes that were held at the church. It was a constant debate in her mind if she wanted to join the army as a nurse or to help the family's business. In the end, taking care of the family business won. Her mother had grown sick as the war raged on and Cora didn't want to leave her alone to die.

"Move, Tommy," Cora ordered, bumping him with her hip as she snatched the lukewarm cloth from his hand and poured whiskey on it. A sharp hiss left Arthur's lips as she pressed the cloth on his wound, making sure to disinfect it.

Cora repeated the process with the wound on his forehead before dipping the cloth in the warm water next to her. Gently, she began to clean off his face to see if he had any smaller cuts that needed tending to.

"He said that Mr. Churchill sent him to Birmingham." Arthur began, trying to tilt his head to look at Tommy and hissing when Cora grabbed his chin to set it straight, "National interest, he said. Something about a robbery."

Cora's hand froze for a moment as she turned to look at Tommy. Everybody in the room was a way of the small mishap that had occurred, the guns were hidden by Uncle Charlie until Tommy could figure something out. Blinking, Cora refocused and grabbed the needle, pouring whiskey over it before lacing it with thread.

"This is going to hurt," Cora murmured in Arthur's ear before she pinched the split skin on his forehead and slid the needle through it, a low grunt coming from Arthur.

"He said he wants to help us to help him," Arthur bit out, his teeth clenching as Cora wove the needle in and out.

"We don't help copper," John stated with a raised brown, but Arthur continued as if he hadn't head him.

"He knew all about our war records. He said we're patriots, like him. He wants us to be his eyes and ears."

Cora tied the thread before sipping it with a pair of scissors. Pulling the excess thread out of the loop, she poured whiskey over the needle once more and rethreaded it. Using the stained cloth, she brushed the fresh blood out of the way of the cut.

"This is going to hurt," Cora muttered, once again. It was in her nurses' training to alert the patient before proceeding with treatment in case they might feel pain.

"I fucking know that," Arthur hissed and Cora pulled away, an annoyed look on her face. Letting out a shaky sigh, Arthur shook his head, "Sorry."

Cora muttered under her breath before she leaned forward and pinched the split skin on his cheek together, jabbing the need through it.

"I said—" Arthur groaned as Cora stitched his cheek together and Pol set his thumb, "I said that'd we'd have a family meeting and take a vote."

Cora looked over her shoulder when Tommy didn't respond, his face turned away from the family. Sharing a look with Pol, Cora finished the stitch and began to wipe off the rest of the blood from Arthur's face.

"Why not? We have no truck with Fenians or communists." Tommy remained silent.

"What is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with him lately?" Arthur finally snapped, looking at Cora for an answer. Cora glanced up at Tommy before looking down at the bowl of tinted water next to her.

"I should dump this out," She muttered and grabbed the wooden bowl before hurrying out of the room.

"If I knew, I'd buy the cure form Compton's chemist." She heard Pol say, and Cora swallowed harshly.

[healisms-blog1]

❝ the good girl is always a ghost, the body is always a wound. ❞

( katherine mcnamara. 23. she/her. ) we spotted MARIELLA CAULFIELD around toledo today, just another gear in the machine of the apocalypse. i heard she is a MEDIC for CAMP SEROTONIN. i guess it fits, seeing as she is known to be + resilient & + charitable, as well as - impatient & - naïve. they often have fade by lewis capaldi in their head while they work. i wonder if they’re prepared for what’s coming ? ( faye. 22. est. she/her. n/a. )

life as she knew it,

Born to Louise Brodeur and Darby Caulfield in the midst of a very cold winder night in Leavenworth, Washinton, Mariella Caulfield was the product of a unconventional relationship. Despite their new addition, both refused to settle down into an indifferent, loveless marriage and instead agreed they would work to raise their daughter separately. Once she was able to walk she would spend time split equally between Washintong and New Orleans, Louisiana. It was often that her parents fought on what values to instill into her, their core values and expectations never quite lining up.

Her father wanted her to be raised to live life as she pleased, whereas her mother would have preferred she was brought up in a more traditional sense. As a result, Mariella had very different relationships with her parents. To her dad, who she mirrored in more ways than one, she could do no wrong. Her mom on the other hand, she had grown to detest her daughter more and more with every visit. She reminded her too much of her father, a man she loved more than anything to hate.

The friction between she and her mother eventually came to a boiling point at age ten when child protective services were called to their townhouse by a neighbor. The elderly women next door often overheard screaming between the two of them and worried she might be abusing her child. The charges were investigated and eventually dropped, but the memory of being ripped from everything she knew and ( while briefly ) shoved into foster care has always stuck with her. While Louise was technically not guilty of anything, she did very little to prove otherwise once her parental rights were restored.

Even as a young child Mariella was the type who wanted to get out and explore, to meet as many people as possible and learn from them as she went. Being raised by two teachers really set her love for learning into motion. Knowledge above all else was something her childhood was rooted in, and the fever to learn stuck with her well into her time in school. There was no one subject she enjoyed more than the other, but she had a particular penchant for STEM classes. She went through all the changes in potential career growing up; from wanting to be a ballerina, an astronaut, to even considering following in her parents footsteps and becoming a teacher; which is how they met.

On a particularly hot afternoon in the middle of summer, her father began complaining of chest pain and shortness of breath. At first he assured her that it would go away, he would be fine. But as the night persisted and he wasn’t getting any better, she dialed 911 in the hopes that emergency response would make it on time. From the minute she arrived at the hospital she was captivated by the process and found herself asking questions to anyone who would speak to her. Mariella was thirteen then, and everything seemed to have fallen into place. Funny as it was, she found her calling through her father’s heart attack.

It wasn’t until she reached university that she really started experiencing the world for what it was, and she quickly felt like a fish out of water among the masses. As such it was rare you’d find her without at least two books tucked under her arm. Being a medical student took up the majority of her life, the courses work-heavy and requiring immense concentration, but she tried to be as social as she was dedicated to her education. Given she graduated high school at fifteen, the girl pushed herself to mingle with people across the board rather sticking to one fixed set of friends. At her core she believed all people had something more to discover beyond what was shown at face value, thus she made connections wherever she was able.

Graduation from Med school arrived in a whirlwind of emotion, mostly exhaustion and relief. While as happy as she was to be finished with the bulk of her studies and onto the next stage of her impending career, Mariella knew this was one of the last times she’d have to well and truly enjoy being young before fully engulfing herself into the workforce. So, rather than sticking to her typical plan, she decided to celebrate on an impromptu trip to Ireland, setting off with nothing but a quickly packed suitcase and whatever money was left in her bank account.

the start of the outbreak & onward,

September 25th, 2015. Crowded among a group of strangers underneath an airport television, word of the outbreak begins spreading on television. Everyone within the confines of the Louis Armstrong airport in New Orleans were on edge following the story dropping, numerous people began panicking. Rather than feeding into outcry, as nothing around her seemed to be out of the ordinary, she pushed it from her mind as she boarded her connecting flight to Europe. Only, the plane never left the ground.

Ten minutes after their plane finishes boarding, all of the passengers find themselves face-to-face with one of the creatures. Being small and quick on her feet played in her favour as she quickly maneuvered through the plane, narrowly escaping the bloodbath with her life. A good few of them survived the ordeal and decided to stick together, spending the initial night of the outbreak holed up in a supply closet. The group separates the next morning, each hoping to return to their respective families. She, however, blindly decides to make a run for it.

Alone, unarmed, and terrified, she did the best she could for someone in her situation. They—whatever they were—began surrounding the gas station she holed herself up in, making any chance at escape very slim. Convinced she’d die there, whether by starvation or from being attacked when the reinforcements on her door gave way, Mariella began plotting an escape route. She knew very little about the outbreak as it stood, but was observant enough to notice that if they were distracted by a loud noise, she could make her way around without much trouble.

The next week or so is spent coming in and out of abandoned houses and scavenging whatever she can carry. Mostly everything she took was medical supplies, building herself quite the kit should she need to help someone in need. By that point her initial adjustment to the new world went by quite horribly. As time passed she quickly found that the more ‘savage’ way of living was not the one for her.

At first of the mind that the creatures were still people underneath the dirt and decay, Mary refused to kill them. To her, they could still be saved. There would be a cure. There had to be, right? Before she joins a group or finds a solid place to call home, a close encounter with a hoard is what changes her mind. Someone steps in to save her, and she’s felt indebted to them ever since. The near-death experience acted as a wake up call, and from that point on she stopped avoiding the inevitable; to survive, the undead had to be exterminated. The possibility of a cure ( or at the very least a vaccine to help the remaining humans ) still plays in the back of her mind.

The person that rescued her disappeared as quickly as they swooped in to aid her, but she got lucky shortly after and found a few people to travel with. Everyone within her group seemed to be handling the transition with relative ease — whereas she found herself keenly aware that she would not survive long if not for having capable people surrounding her. Though she may not be the greatest in combat or of much use when it comes to scavenging, she knows she’s a valuable asset in other ways, happily putting her medical knowledge to good use.

January 14th, 2016. Catching wind of a camp called Serotonin beginning a slow recruit of people with varying abilities, Mariella is among the first to offer her expertise. Thankfully she’s welcomed with open arms and feels she may have found herself somewhere much more permanent to call home. Trust doesn’t come so easily in their new world, though she’d certainly lay her life on the line if it came to down to protecting her people. Any people, actually, because prioritizing human life above all else is her number one goal. When she’s not tending to the ill or injured, the young woman proudly acts as a morale boost, doing whatever she can to keep everyone around her going. Where most people have seemingly given up hope on there ever being a way out, let alone a real chance of survival to the end, she remains fixed in her belief that there are better days ahead of them.

misc,

Basically, she’s kind, gentle, soft, dedicated, passionate, thoughtful, stubborn.

She’s a certified Mom Friend™ and proud of it.

Would literally go to any length necessary if it means keeping those she cares about safe. She honestly just wants to save people in general !!!

She tends to see the best in people, even those who don’t deserve a moment of her time, and tbh, she’s not to be trusted when it comes to making allies; she’s liable to take in the wrong people and get herself killed.

She’s not helpless, she can get things done when needed, but she can’t fully defend herself. Aka, she ABSOLUTELY needs training.

wanted connections,

I’m not very picky, I’d love any and everything under the sun, but here are a few potential ideas:

Maybe someone she met travelling between baton rouge and the reservoir, who helped keep her alive and she aided them medically

Friends and/or a close/best friend

A good influence, someone who brings out the less tense, more relaxed version of herself

Maybe an ex or a past fling??? idk

Someone to help train her!! homegirl really needs to learn how to use a gun and fight (honestly, bc Kat has good content from Shadowhunters and Arrow and I rly want to use it)

People outside of her camp that she helps, bc honestly she wouldn’t be able to resist doing whatever she can to  aid people, especially helping a rouge if they came to her

idk just pls gimmie all the connections/plots AhH!

[mldrgrl]

Full Circle

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Pairing: Hank/Stella Summary: Preparing for the big move

Leaving a job after more than twenty years was difficult.  Stella thought she could be an exception to the rule.  She’d kept her colleagues at a distance for most of her time on the force, which allowed her the detachment necessary to do her job effectively.  Whereas others might have felt isolated, she felt comfortable.

It came as a surprise to her that packing her office came with unexpected melancholy.  Hank had come with her to carry heavy boxes, according to him, but she knew it was only because he’d been curious about what her life in Scotland Yard was like and he’d never been inside.  If he didn’t tag along now, there’d never be another opportunity.  He rescued an anti-stress ball that had been in a gift bag from some conference somewhere that she’d just thrown in the rubbish bin and flopped down on the couch in her office to toss it around.

“I expected more funny hats,” he said.  “I never asked, why are your cops called Bobbies?”

“The home minister that created the police force was named Sir Robert Peel,” she answered, wrapping an elastic band around a folder of personal files to take with her.  “The public referred to them as Peelers for some time, and then Bobbies.”

“Do you think Emma Peel was named in honor of Robert Peel?  God, she was hot.”

“I’m not up to speed on my Avengers trivia, I’m afraid.”

There was a light knock on the open door of her office and she looked up from packing her files.  Jim Burns gave her a half-smile and gave a nervous glance around the room.

“You’re needed, Mrs. Peel,” Hank said in a posh British accent.

“Jim,” Stella acknowledged.  “This is my husband, Hank.  Hank, this is Jim Burns.  He was my supervisor once upon a time.”

“What’s up?”  Hank waved his fingers and then tossed his ball in the air again.

“Uh.”  Jim cleared his throat and began to stammer over a goodbye.  “I know today is...well, I thought I would just come down...you know, uh, wish you luck and everything.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, I’ll uh...I should let you…it was nice to meet you.  Hank.”

Hank waved his fingers again and Jim patted his hand against the door frame before making an awkward exit.  As soon as he was gone, Hank whistled low like a bomb dropping and raised his brows at Stella.

“What?” she asked.

“You must’ve done some kind of number on that guy.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You want me to believe you never fucked that guy?”

She glanced at the empty doorway and then raised her brow back at him.  “I’m merely denying that I did any type of number on him.”

Hank threw the ball up again and caught it mid-air.  “I’d be jealous, but I just feel sorry for him.”

Stella put the lid on the banker’s box she was using to pack her personal items and placed her hands on the top.  Twenty years in one small box.  She breathed in deep through her nose and then collected her jacket from the coat rack.

It’s just a job, she told herself, watching Hank pocket the anti-stress ball and then grab the box from her desk.  Just a job.

*****

The house was empty, save for a few select pieces of furniture the new buyers had requested as part of the sale.  The barstools remained, the slender end table in the hallway remained, and the pair of chairs in front of the bay window also remained.  They had asked for the glass bookcase in the bedroom, but it was one item Stella wouldn’t part with, and wouldn’t send to storage.  It was costly to ship, but she was attached to it and so it was making the journey to New York as well.

Stella stood in her empty bedroom and took a final look around.  In less than an hour she would be signing the final papers to complete the sale of her home and then in the morning she and Hank would be on a plane to New York where they would remain.  Permanently.  No traveling back and forth across the Atlantic anymore.  They were no longer Londoners and she was no longer on the police force.

“Hey,” Hank said, stepping up behind her and hooking an arm around her chest.

“Just taking a last look,” she said.

“Fond memories of this room.  Very fond.”  He pressed his hips up against her back and she took hold of his arm across her chest and smiled.

“You’re the only man that’s been with me in this room.  Have I ever told you that?”

“I took your bedroom virginity?  Humbled and honored.  You should’ve told me earlier, I’d have written an acceptance speech.”

“Do you know, when I looked at this house, these walls were blue.”

“Blue?  How blue are we talking?  Ocean blue, Smurf blue, or Stella blue?”

“Like a hazy sky.”

“I can see why you’d paint over it.”

“I wonder if the new owners will paint.  I wonder if by next week these walls will be buttercream or lilac.”

“You can pull out, you know,” he said, opening up his arm to step in a half-circle to face her.  “You don’t have to sell if you don’t want to.”

She put her hands on his chest and patted very lightly.  “I want to,” she said, her eyes drifting over the bare walls for another look.

“I’ll be downstairs.”

She nodded and her eyes fluttered shut as he cupped her cheeks and caught her lips with a few short pecks.  On his last kiss, he lingered and she captured his wrist to tug his hand away.  He got in one more peck to the corner of her mouth and then brushed past her and out the door.  Before she joined him, she gave herself one last walk around the perimeter of the room, feeling unexpectedly sentimental to the point that she found herself caressing the closet doorknob almost reverently.  Suddenly feeling foolish, she jerked her hand away and held her wrist near her chest.  

It’s only a house, she thought.  Nothing more.

Adjusting her blazer by tugging on the lapels, she turned on her heel and joined Hank downstairs.  He was on his cell phone, leaning against the wall.  Their bags were in front of the door.  He nodded at her and pushed away from the wall.

“Gotta go,” he said.  “Becca says hi.”

“Hello to Becca,” she answered.

“Stella says hi back, we’ll see you soon.”  He hung up the phone and put it in the pocket of his leather jacket.  “Ready?”

“Yes.”

*****

Papers were signed, checks were distributed, and keys were turned over.  The townhouse was no longer hers.  On the one hand, she was relieved of the burden of a mortgage, on the other, she felt bereft and untethered, even if she had a home in New York.  The house was the first move towards something permanent she’d ever made in her life.  Marrying Hank was the second.  Moving to New York, well that was almost like making the permanent officially permanent.

Hank had waited with the car while she went into the realtor’s office to sign the papers.  When she came out, he was chatting up the driver as they both leaned against the hood of the black towncar.  For one last time, she’d called her favorite car service and her favorite driver, Nicolá, had shown up promptly on time, as effusive as always.  He and Hank had met on several occasions, but she couldn’t recall if they’d ever had a conversation.  As soon as he saw Stella, he put his hat back on and opened the back door for her.

“To the bank now, signora?” he asked.

“Please,” she answered.  

After the banking was done, there was officially nothing left to be done except check in to their hotel for the night.  She’d left those arrangements to Hank and didn’t know where they’d be staying, but she hoped they had room service.  She didn’t feel much like going out.

“Signora, may I say it’s been a pleasure driving you,” Nicolá said as he set their suitcases at the curb in front of their hotel.  “If you return to London at any time, please allow me to drive for you, it would be my honor.”

Stella smiled and on impulse, embraced the older man.  He’d been a constant in her life for the past few years and she would actually miss him.  Her eyes grew a bit misty, but she blinked away any sign of emotion before she stepped back.

“My wife is going to call me a silly old goat when I tell her the most remarkable woman in London next to her majesty embraced me today.”

“Take care, Nicolá.”

“You as well, signora.”

Stella managed to draw out the process of gathering their bags together to enter the hotel just long enough to watch Nicolá drive away.  She felt a little foolish for wanting to see him off and she reminded herself that drivers come and go.  He was just a man who got her from place to place, nothing more.

*****

The hotel was familiar to Stella in a way she didn’t pinpoint until they walked into the room.  She paused by the bed, looked out the window, and then turned back to Hank who was still in the entryway.

“This is…” she started.

“Where we met,” he finished, and then drew a line beneath the brass 908 above the peephole with his fingertip.

“Same room.”

“Your room.  I was in 523.”

Stella stepped out of her heels and untucked her blouse as she walked to the window.  It wasn’t dark yet, like it was the night she went to bed with him.  Hyde Park bustled below.  She heard the door snick shut and a few moments later Hank was beside her.

“Nice view,” he said.

“It is,” she agreed.  She’d never really appreciated it before and now she didn’t know when she’d be back.

“I know it’s not easy, Sherlock.”

“It’s just a city.”

“Nothing is ever just anything.”

She wanted to nod in agreement, but there was a lump in her throat that caused her to remain still.  She stared out over treetops and rooftops that she’d seen her whole life, but never taken a good look at.

“Why here?” she asked.

“Because when I walked out the door that night, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, even if I wanted to.  Tomorrow morning we’ll walk out of here together and I won’t have to wonder where you are, I’ll know.  You’re with me.”

She turned from the window and put her hands on Hank’s chest.  His jacket was in her way so she pushed it off his shoulders and he shrugged it to the floor.  “I am with you,” she said.

“I thought that, you know technically, we began here.  And we can begin again here with something new.”

Stella nodded once and took a step closer to rest her head against Hank’s chest.  She put her arms around him and he wrapped his around her, swaying back and forth a little.

“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” she admitted.

“I know.”

“I want it though.”

“Stella, did you ever imagine that one night would lead us here?  Or even that weekend in LA.  Did you ever think, even for a second, that we’d end up where we are in this moment?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“You know, if we weren’t already married, I’d propose to you right now.”

“I would say yes.”

“What do you want to do now, Sherlock?  On our last night?”

“Mm.”  She breathed deeply and closed her eyes.  “Hot shower.  Room service.”

“Cheeseburger?”

“God, yes.”

“Fries?”

“I knew I married you for a reason.”

Hank gave her a squeeze and then let go.  “Take your shower.  I’ll place an order.”

Stella went one way towards the bathroom and Hank went the other towards the phone.  She pivoted when she was halfway, unbuttoning her blouse as she walked backwards.  “As I recall, the shower is large enough for two,” she said.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” he answered, the hotel service guide on the end table in his hand.  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Don’t make me wait.”  She turned and shed her shirt just before the door to the bathroom.

“Hey, Sherlock,” he called to her, the phone at his ear.  “Think of this new life as an adventure.”

“It already has been, Watson.  A very lovely adventure.”

The End

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

Red Right Hand IIX

—

She had been stuck in that filthy building for sixteen hours before she was finally released. It had been a long day, a long night and a frustrating morning before she was able to get out and head home.

As she arrived home, there was a coldness that was wrapped around the house - a shroud of silence and simmering anger - that she could not place. It had been quiet and uncomfortable when she’d last left, but now it was unbearable.

By the time Monday rolled around, Shada found it oppressive to simply exist in the home, spending her morning in the workroom instead. It was there that her eldest brother found and approached her with a grim look.

“Good morning brother.” “Shada. How are the books looking this morning?” “There’s been an increase of new takers - seems my horse is doing well.” “Whitewater is not your horse Shada-” “Then why have I been asked for odds for my horse?”

Shada quipped back, flipping back and forth between the last two weeks of takings as she spoke, double checking her figures and frowning slightly at the growing numbers of bets in the last month. Since Cheltenham, the Shadows takings had trebbled between their own workers and the percentage of the Catholics. As she looked at the numbers, the brunette could imagine the beautiful dresses she would be able to buy that year.

“Regardless, I am glad to hear business is well. I wanted to also speak with you about your experience last week-” “You mean my getting dragged and held against by will in the station?” “Yes, that, Shada. While we are all proud of your composure during that time, that was unnecessary and steps have been decided to be put in place to avoid it again.” “Excuse me?” “Ma has packed your steamer trunk, and you have five minutes to complete your work for the day before we go.”

Michael gave a sharp nod, his expression not changing from the determined and impassive set that Shada had never quite been able to duplicate, the tall blond turned and left through to the family section of the house without awaiting her response. Shada blinked several times, before shouting, “Go where?!”

Determined not to blindly follow instructions any further - she had had enough of being told what to do, how much or little to be involved, and almost overlooked for her younger nephew - Shada dropped into her chair and refused to continue any of her remaining work. This was the last straw, she had been ignored, she had been dictated to, and she was not going to do so any further.

The five minutes passed her in two cigarettes, eyes firmly set across her desk at the doors to the family kitchen, preparing to stare down her brother when he finally returned, keys in hand to the new vehicle they had bought in addition to the previous one. Michael stared back at her before she could see his shoulders slump in a sigh.

He approached her desk quickly, and surveying the unmoved documents with distaste, Shada let out a surprised gasp when she was pulled roughly from her chair. “Michael! What-” Her cries were cut off as he gang pressed her through the workroom, passed the few bookies working that day, into the kitchen and then out onto the street. His hands were tight on her shouldes as he pushed her into the vehicle before swinging around into the drivers seat.

Shada had tried to stick her heels in as she was pushed and forcefully moved, though the scuffing noises made her want to weep thinking over the eventual condition of her shoes from the act. “Michael, you God-damned asshole - what are you doing? Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere safe, hidden and for your own good.” “I can take care of my fucking self! You all think I’m a child but-” “-You are a child still, Shada-” “-but I can take care of myself!”

Shada practicially yelled the words as she fumbled in the purse she’d managed to bring with her, withdrawing a small, delicate pistol designed for a lady’s hand, and pointing the barrel at her brother’s head as he began driving along the streets out of the city. Michael turned his head slightly to look along it’s cold metal surface towards her eyes, before looking back at the road and continuing the drive unphased. She could point a gun at his head, but he still would not believe her hard enough.

A part of her imagined what would happen if she were to squeeze the trigger, to fire the chambered round into his skull as they drove. The car would glide to a stop, potentially crashing into something. But none of her siblings would underestimate her again. Nor would they likely speak with her again. She would be ostracised for the act, and her access to her beautiful dresses and cash flows would be gone.

With a sigh, the girl lowered the weapon and returned it to her bag as the miles passed by them. Michael drove them for almost two hours in silence before they reached the outskirts of London. He rarely indulged her desires to go to the capital, and Shada fumbled with the lace on her dress hem as they made their way towards a somewhat quiet part of town.

The car pulled to a stop outside a townhouse before Michael got from the vehicle and walked about to help her down from her seat. Shada looked up at the red brick townhouse, identical to it’s neighbours to either side, but nicer than the black brick look of her hometown.

“Where am I, Michael?” “You are at our newest safehouse. You are to remain here until someone comes to collect you.” “Remain here?” “Yes, Shada. No one will bother you, and you will be expected to behave yourself until the situation quiets down in Birmingham.”

Shada looked between Michael’s stony face and the cracked red bricks, teeth worrying her lip as she thought over the idea. She did not want to run, she did not want to hide, but she would never be taken seriously - and if the copper was to be believed, she would be used to manipulate her brothers into forfeiting their plans or endangering the Faceless Shadows as a whole. She was a weakness for them, but she was not weak.

It was with a frustrated sigh that she nodded back at the other as the blond turned and retrieved her trunk for her. As she turned back to the building that she would call home for the forseeable future, Shada found her eyes widening as she saw the door creak open. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

—

It had been a hellish learning curve in the last three weeks.

First there had been the funeral to plan, guest lists to develop and connections to maintain or create. Where Zachariah had been able to deal with anyone due to his inability to form true connections, Gabriel found himself gritting his teeth and biting back a scathing comment to some of those that he would have to work with moving forward on more than one occasion. Being a being driven by his emotions and charm did not mean success in the cut throat business of the northern horse racing circuits.

Then there had been the twisted coils of Zachariah’s planning and strategy, of his coding methods, of his investment portfolio, to get a handle on. Where Gabriel saw money and power as one and the same asset, Zachariah had clearly cultivated a divide between the two strengths for the Catholics to control and dominate those around them. It took the careful explanation and soothing support of Kali for Gabriel to climb to the top of that pile of Zachariah’s work.

And then there were the complications that came from the circumstances of the other’s passing. The police investigations which took many handshakes and palms slippery with pounds to be concluded as a tragic accident down the stairs. The quickly confirmed arrangement with the eldest of the Shafows, who simply dictated the agreement Zachariah had agreed to before the uncomfortable situation. The concealment of the exact method of death to the remaining Catholics who came to visit and questioned the closed casket.

It was almost too much for him.

And now came the next array of torments left to him by Zachariah - dealing with the dark haired Scot sitting across from him, hands on a crossed knee and an infuriating smirk upon his face. However annoying the man seemed to Gabriel however, at least this meeting was conducted over a glass of whiskey compared to some others.

“So, what was your poposition again?” Gabriel asked, genuine forgetfulness creeping upon him again as the sleepless nights had drew upon him again. He smothered a yawn with the raising of his glass and eyebrow across at the other.

“Well, firstly it was to sympathise with you on the recent… passing of your cousin.” “Yes, I believe we covered how much sympathy you have for this.” “Indeed. And secondly, it was to discuss the shared little problem we have-” “Which was?” “The Faceless Shadows and their unrestricted ambition.”

The smug look did not shift from the other’s face as he drank his whiskey, and Gabriel found himself running a hand across his. His wife had said much the same thing the morning after the funeral.

“Ah, that problem.” “Indeed, that little problem. The problem we both happen to share at this point in time.” “How do you figure that?” “At present, there is the vice hold upon your cock and balls at the pony shows-” “Horse races.” “- as well as that little whore of there’s takin’ out your brother at such a… delicate timing, wouldn’t you say?” “You accusing the lot of them of orchestrating a hit?”

Crowley’s eyebrow raised in response to his question, smirk very much in place on his face still. It was not as far fetched an idea as it could have been, had it been made the week before. Zachariah had many enemies, both personally and professionally, and using a pretty girl was possibly a cleverer method than direct force.

“From my sources, it may have been unplanned but it still happened to their benefit.” Crowley swirled the contents of his glass as his face morphed into contrmplative. “From my sources, there’s word they’re breakin’ into our are of expertise as well. And if that was the case, how long do you think either of us will be able to maintain any grasps on power?”

Gabriel thought the words over, draining his own glass before standing to refill both. It was a concerning thought - if the Shadows gained a foothold against the Black Eyes as well as themselves, the situation would become untenable to continue working the race circuits near Birmingham, London and even so far as Liverpool.

Holding the glass out to the other man, Gabriel clinked the drinks together. “To grasps on power?” “Grasps on power.”

—

His brother had thrown the keys at him - growled something tiredly about a Wednesday appointment he wouldn’t miss again as they had passed on the stairs as Jeffrey had rolled in from the pub in the early hours of the morning - already attempting to relegate his responsibilities within three weeks.

Jackson had accepted with a roll of his eyes, already predicting the inevitable shift of responsibility sometime in the next month should Michael hear about it. The thought of following an instruction from either brother at the moment made his stomach twist, however the benefit of helping that morning outweighed the feeling considerably.

“Jeff owes me five pounds!”

The cheery call from the girl as Jackson let himself into the building, throwing his coat and jacket over the end of the bar. He returned the bright looking smile he was faced with with his own, considerably smaller and less unrestricted than hers.

“Why would he? He hasn’t been underpaying you has he?” “He wouldn'ta know how much ‘e’s payin’ me!” “That sounds like the asshole. How come he owes you then?” “Bet him a fiver he wouldn’t be up to open this mornin’.”

Her laughter at his concerns about her wages broke through the warm morning light filtering through the warped glass as the pair equally moved around the space preparing the area for the day. Jackson had watched Harry and then Harry and Beth set up for trading enough to know the general process, falling into line with the other easily.

“I possibly also thought that he might palmit off to you.” Beth’s voice broke his concentration as they worked together to shuffle one of the tables back into position. He looked up to see a smaller smile flash across her face before she shook her head.

As he opened his mouth to respond - whether to curse her for dropping the suggestion to the other, or to express his slight happiness to spend some time alone together since the disaster of the races - the doors were pushed open.

Beth jerked upwards, dropping her end of the table with a clatter as she looked towards the door. Turning, Jackson waved a hand behind his back at her to make herself scarce as the officer strode into the building.

“Jackson Visyak, you are a hard man to pin down.” Gordon Walker entered the building and slid the internal locks into place behind him. This was clearly not a visit for a pint or a whisky. “I thought I may have had the pleasure of your company, or at least a response regarding the message I sent home with your sister last week."

Jackson found himself frowning at that comment, arms crossed across his chest and leaning back against the table behind him.

"Sorry to disappoint. My sister has told me nothing regarding you, Mr Walker." "That's a pity. Guess she was a little too terrified to deliver then." "What has my sister got to do with your and my agreement?" "Nothing. Except as leverage."

The phrasing would have sent a shiver down his spine before the war. Before the war, Jackson was softer. He was easier to push around and threatened. It had been why his brother had given him the name he had. It had been why he'd been engaged to that Romani gypsy girl with the magic cards. It had been why he had planned to leave the city.

That softness died in the mud of the trenches. It had died when he received the letter she'd died of consumption. It had died when the knife had stuck through his side and he'd felt the slip from the world start.

"It seems you underestimated her own tenacity then, Mr Walker. My sister is not so easy to push around." "Perhaps, but what about your mother?" "You will find that my family may be stronger than you expected." "That may be so, however should her sons be facing treason charges and the death penalty, or her daughter be facing prostitution charges - do you believe she would be so strong?"

He felt like he was burning, like his very blood was boiling and rising through him in reaction to the words. He could taste the metalic rust in his mouth as he gritted his teeth together, and knuckles cracked as he opened and closed his fists. Jackson found himself staring down the taller man with murder running through his veins, a drive pushing him to grab and strangle and rip, tear and claw, pull the tongue from the throat and silence such threats forever.

With a relax of his hand, Jackson swallowed down the feelings and blood from his bitten cheeks. “Is this visit complete, Mr Walker?”

“It could be sooner, Mr Visyak.” Gordon Walker raised a brow, before he sighed. “However, until you provide the necessary items required of you by the Crown - we will need to share these little visits.”

There was a moment where both men stared down one another, a long drawn out silence as the pair spoke through body language and the quiet itself - one threatening and one resisting - before it was broken by the officer turning to leave. The sardonic gesture of farewell flooded Jackson with the red hot anger again as he turned his back and stalked towards the store room.

He shoved the door inwards harshly, not caring for the slight jump from the blonde as she wrenched herself back from where she had been listening.

“Jackson..” “Don’t, Beth. This is not for you to worry about.” “Why? Because I’m supposed’ta not know about those guns of yours?” “Exactly that.”

Jackson barely kept the venom out of his voice as he snapped back at her question, not shifting back from the doorway as the blonde approached him. Beth’s eyes - usually brown and warm were instead dark and conflicted - stare up at him as she drew near, closer than they should be where anyone may enter The Fort and spot them.

It would not do for her, or for him, to be found so close, so near, so enwrapped as he stepped into her, crowding the short woman back against the storage shelves. It would not do for them to be spotted together, hands in hair and bodies flush as he leant in to kiss her. It would not do, but it took the edge off. It washed over his anger like a wave, running up against the shore line with each shift between them, drawing away his fury as the wave receeded with her lips.

Pulling her head back, Beth’s hands grasped his face as she looked at him cautiously. “What if they disappeared? What if there was no sign you ever had ‘em? What if he couldn’t connect ‘em to you and you could go back ta life... life like normal?” Her voice cracked a little, the pleading tone as she stared straight into his eyes made him want to agree. That little part of him, the softer, younger him that had wanted to run away from the noise and the fighting and the struggle of being in the Shadows, wanted to tell her he’d dump them somewhere. Would throw them away and not look back. Would put all the darkness that had swallowed him whole in the last six years behind him. “Would it.. would it be so bad if things stayed as they were?”

He pressed his forehead against hers, leaning down and into her with a heavy sigh. It was too late for that. It was too late to turn back the clock, turn back the choices he had made that had brought him to this point. It was too late to change his mind.

“Nothing ever stays the same, Beth. Nothing.”

---

[married-world-blog]

The Beginning...

I am three weeks behind with this assignment. I have honestly been struggling with it, to tell you the truth. The assignment is that we find a story worth telling about our lives and find a way to brand it. There is absolutely nothing interesting about my life and this is why I had no idea where to start.

  If you come across this blog, please refer it to your friends. It is an assignment and I need the marks. I need to graduate and be something a whole lot more than just a wife who is expected to have a baby sometime soon.

  I thought about blogging about my new found love for the pain of exercising, but that wouldn’t really be the beginning. I thought about blogging about my dreams, but everyone in my class is doing that. I have been following each of their blogs and they all kind of look the same: it is becoming boring actually.

So perhaps, an introduction will do and then we will see where that leads us.

  Disclaimer:

The names used in this blog are not real. In the spirit of protecting mine and my family’s identity, I would like to just blog and not have any added vested interest in my life that is beyond what I am willing to share. Your respect and understanding is highly appreciated J

  My name is Thandeka Buthelezi. I was Thandeka Zulu before I met my husband, Nkosinathi Buthelezi. My husband is from a royal family in KZN, eShowe. I am from a royal family in KZN, eMnambithi. When one is born from a family that prides itself in being difficult and not leaving you with much choice when it comes to your life, you get used to not having dreams of your own because somewhere along the line, you will suffer the chest pains of having to alter your dreams to accommodate expectation.

I matriculated at the age of 16. I was in boarding school in Maritzburg from grade one. At 17, I went to university, UKZN to study public relations. I do not know why. I have always been a good writer and a good image consultant; that is how I made some extra money in boarding school. My teachers always said that I would make a good journalist or a great PR. I heard “great PR” and chose that over being a “good” journalist. I was good at PR. But still, I was very careful not to date anyone. To date someone would mean to start investing into something that would have to be altered to accommodate expectations. I did not even have many friends. I was friendly with many people but I did not have any friends. I was the only child to Lindiwe and Tom Zulu. What they had in store for me was not up for negotiation. And honestly, I never had it in me to disappoint them.

  I did good by making this decision because at 18, I came home for the school holidays and my dad returned from a business trip to tell me that it was time that I met my husband. Even though I knew that this day was coming, it still shook me. I was scared. I had a matric. I had one year left to get a degree and my dad would not even let me finish that. He told me on a Tuesday, that on the Saturday, my lobola negotiations would begin. I spent two weeks preparing for my umembeso and umabo. My dad sent his workers to go and fetch my stuff in res at UKZN because I was not going back. My very being got lost in the ululating and singing of my wedding. Everything else that happened is still a blur. But I have pictures to jog down a memory or two. I don’t like looking at my wedding pictures though… I look so young, naïve and unknowing of what will be.

After the umabo, my husband had to come back to Joburg and he brought me back with him. I knew that he did not want me so I was not even going to throw myself at him in the slightest bit. He is a medical physician: Dr N.N. Buthelezi. Good for him. He moved me in with him in a 3 bedroom townhouse in Paulshoff. He let me have the master bedroom and he sleeps in one of the other rooms. I know that he has a girlfriend and I am preparing myself for the day he tells me that he will make her his second wife. All I asked of him was to go to school. I told him that I will still cook and clean for him. I will be the wife that I am expected to be. I just need to go to school. I even told him that I would apply for bursaries. He told me that it is okay, he will pay for me to go school. He listened to what I would be interested in studying and I told him my interests. He said I should go to VEGA. He said they have the best programmes for my kind of interests. So here I am, credited and in my third year of Brand Management. Last week, he bought me car to drive to school with. He told me that an uber was not safe. He bought me a white Mercedes Benz A250. I think he did it because my dad asked him how he was treating me and he lied and said we were good. We are not good, we are the same as we were two years ago when we first got married. He is my housemate. I am still a virgin. And every time we go home, I am always asked when I am having a baby. Holy Spirit please intervene.

…

I have started taking care of myself. I enjoy running now. I am a reality-show junkie. And these women whose lives I follow out of interest of how one makes millions out of just living one’s life on camera, I have developed a crush on exercise. I asked Nathi to turn the extra room into a gym and he let me. I gym in there when I cannot hit the road and run, but sometimes, running is the only way I get to just get out of the house.

So I went for my run today. My body has become more in shape then when I started so I have confidence in running in tight gym clothes. At home, I gym in a sports bra and workout tight or workout leggings. I get home and take a shower. I get breakfast started while still wrapped in a towel. I bought some make-up and I am about to watch a Seenqo or Mihlali youtube make-up video to help me apply it. But first, ubaba wasekhaya must eat. My thin twist braids are tied up into a bun. A yellow towel is wrapped around my body, and I have my slipper flip flops on.

  “Hey”, he says as he walks into the kitchen. Nathi and I are generally nice to one another. The chemistry is just not there.

“Good morning”, I reply. Please note that on our wedding night when the elders locked us up in his rondel, he let me sleep on the bed while he slept on the floor. And this is what we do every time we go visit our parents.    

He stares at me while I dish up for him. It is a stare that he has never really given me since we got married.

“Ukahle?” I ask him.

“Hai cha, ngiyaphila ntokazi. Ukuthi nje, ngifuna ukuk’tshela ukuthi umuhle”, he says. He tells me that I am pretty every day. And just like I respond to all the compliments he gives me about my food, my looks, and my manners, I say “Ngiyabonga”.

I walk out of the kitchen. He gently holds my wrist and says, “Please join me for breakfast today”. I am shocked. We have never had meals together unless we are in KZN. He sees my shock.

“Please”, he insists.

I dish up for myself and sit across him. I start eating.

“Everything okay?” I ask him. I have lived with him long enough to know that he is not okay.

He shrugs his shoulders.

“Is it Patience?” I ask him. His eyes almost pop out of his eye-socket.

“Come on Nathi. It’s not like we are in love. We can at least be friends right? This life of ours is almost un-relatable to a lot of people and it is difficult to talk about. So at the very least, we can talk to each other about it right?” I try again.

“It just feels weird talking about my girlfriend with my wife”, he says.

“Then you should tell her to stop writing you letters and putting them in your lunchbox. She knows I make your lunchbox so she clearly wants me to know her and about her”, I say.

He looks at me – speechless.

“Nathi, chill. I am good.” I say.

He chuckles.

“You really are something else Mrs Buthelezi”, he says.

I smile.

“So? What’s up?” I ask.

“Patience wants her and I to get married. Last night, we went out with friends and colleagues, she went down on one knee and asked me to marry her”, he tells me.

I keep eating my food like what he is telling me means nothing to me. But in all honesty, this Patience girl is disrespecting me. She is showing me that she will never respect me like I respect her – enough to not shake things up for her and Nathi. I just stay away. But her type doesn’t scare me. I hope Nathi said yes so that her ass can be taken to eShowe and my in-laws can deal with her and show her the position of the second wife.

“So what did you say?” I ask him, drinking my juice.

“I walked out”, he says.

“Do you want to marry her?” I ask him.

“I used to think that I do, but honestly, there are little things about her that make me realise that she will never be a good wife. Some women make good girlfriends, but they would never make good wives”, he says.

“Not everyone is trained like us for marriage Nathi. You need to be fair. Not every parent births a child for marriage like our parents did”, I tell him.

“It’s not about the training. It is the basic respect for the next person. With respect, everything else grows and can be fixed or groomed. Patience is not a respectful woman. She is into status and she treats people according to their status or positions in life. It is a genuine turn-off”, he says.

I did say I know her type. There are squads of them on social media.

“How are they different to our parents? Our parents thought we were suited for each other because of our positions right? Would they have let you marry a woman who was not from a royal home? Would my parents have let me marry a regular Joe? No. It is human to recognise position before heart. We are no better than her”, I say.

“Do you actually want me to marry Patience?” He asks me.

“I don’t care what you do with Patience. I just want you to be honest enough to say that you are just simply not into her. Making up excuses for your feelings will drive you crazy. If the butterflies are not there, don’t force them and don’t try to make it seem like it’s on her. Patience has probably always been like this since the day you met her. What is making it an issue now? How are you different from the women who believe they can change a man after marriage? Just own your truth”, I say.

He is quiet.

  The intercom goes off. Nathi stands up and gets it while I continue eating.

“Nathi, open the gate we need to talk”, a woman demands.

“Patience, my wife is home. What are you doing here?” Nathi calmly says. I am glad to know that when he talks about me, I am referred to as “my wife”.

“Nathi, I said open this damn gate. Don’t tell me about that village bitch”, she says.

I stop eating. I look at Nathi. He looks at me. He turns off the intercom.

“Nathi, I don’t ask you for much. But I will ask that isthunzi sami sihlonishwe. Don’t bring your girlfriends here”, I say.

I walk into my bedroom to get dressed.

  Good morning bloggers.    

[sophiehadder-blog]

In Which Sophie Talks To Hats || (Sophink)

[plans gone wrong, familiar faces, owning up, and knowing what you can do] 

This makes no sense! Part 1: In which Sophie leaves Swynlake in several directions at once Part 2: In which Tink goes to a meeting in disguise

[Recommended listening: I Go Crazy, Running up that Hill/Time after Time]

[tws: mentions of death, lil bit of violence, nm tbh]

@tink-bell

Grandma hadn’t done much sleeping the night before.

Whereas Sophie would’ve at least curled up around Tink, watched her breathe, Grandma contented herself to the chair in the far corner of the room, too all-consumed by her worry for the day to come.

(Sophie’s thoughts had snuck their way into her brain too) (far too long she had spent tucked away) (far weaker she had grown) (she couldn’t take control like she used to) (and now Sophie worried aloud) (reverberating along the insides of her own skull)

(what if the Witch caught on?) (what if this was an unnecessary risk they were taking?) (what if she recognized where Tink was from?) (what if she was sending Tink to her unfortunate demise?)

And the worst part about these awful thoughts, was that they weren’t unfounded. This was stupid, what they were doing--but if they could play this game quickly, they could be out of the city before the sun set again. It was a measured risk, you see, and one that Tink was willing to make for Sophie’s sake.

Grandma didn’t know what the girl had done to deserve someone like her. It was amazing, truly.

When the sun rose over the rooftops of Ingary, Grandma pretending that she had gotten up from bed early, busying herself in the bathroom. She made herself up, chose her finest dress, and skirted out of the way when Tink went in to get ready as well. Time seemed to pass by so quickly, their last couple moments together fleeting. Suddenly Grandma was seeing Tink off with a kiss on the cheek.

There was lingering dread in her stomach as she watched the other girl walk down the street until swallowed up by the buildings.

She tried not to think about it.

(she did anyway) (in that terrible selfish way)

One by one, she collected their articles from around the room, packing them up in their minimal luggage. She’d go down and check out at quarter past eleven, making sure to make it obvious that she wasn’t in a rush, and then the plan was to drop off the luggage at a lock box at the train station and wait for Tink at their designated spot.

If all went well, Tink would meet her there, they’d run to the station, and buy tickets for the next train out of town. It didn’t matter where it went--the goal was to lay low for a bit. Not get right back to Swynlake. Maybe, finally, they could vacation. Maybe knowing that things were going to get better would let Sophie relax.

Only time could tell.

Just as she collected the key from the mantel, the bags rose from the floor and floated lazily towards the door, bumping into it and floating a couple inches back in waiting. Her lips pressed into a thin smile. Right. Time to go.

Mrs. Bell! Good morning! Read the letters at the bottom of the stairs. Out of curtesy, Grandma ducked underneath them as she made her way over to the counter and a smiling Winthrop.

Good morning, yes, of course. She thought.

And it was a good morning--far too lovely out for the feeling she carried in her chest, but that wasn’t up to her. Winthrop smiled all the way through their brief conversation, and then she was left to carry her bags out. See that, now, was up to her.

It was a fairly short walk to the train station, where she paid two euro for a box, stashing both their cases, and then made her way out.

The rendez-vous point was in the main square. There were already decorations out in preparation for the fall festival, and so among the tourists milling about and the locals trying to go about their Tuesdays, Grandma was just another face in the crowd.

She couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t just wanted to be a face in the crowd, let alone the last time she had gone somewhere and willingly announced herself. Maude would--Maude had grand entrances like that. She’d burst in with a grin and a plan, and Sophie had just never ever inherited any of that. It had to be a trait of her mother’s. She couldn’t really remember those, and her father was too quiet of a man for it to be from him. It was easy to see, but painful to think about. Especially when she was this close to the shop.

It’d be easy to slip away from the little cafe where she sat and go visit. Pretend she wasn’t anyone. Maybe wordlessly buy a hat.

But she had to wait in case Tink came back.

When the wait got long, she bought herself a second tea.

When the lunch crowd rolled in, she was grateful for her older appearance, giving her something of the clueless look.

“Everything alright?” Asked the waiter.

Grandma barely raised her eyebrows, nodding. “Though--could I get another tea, please, thank you.”

And that was that.

(meanwhile Sophie ran rampant inside her brain) (this was too long) (there was no reason Tink should be gone this long) (something had to have happened) (the Witch was cunning) (she should’ve never let her go alone) (Howl had told them to stick together and she was too fucking stupid to listen) (Tink was going to get hurt, and it was all her fault) (this curse would never be broken) (and she’d lose the person she cared most about in the process) (she wouldn’t even be able to show her face in Swynlake again after this) (people would wonder) (Sophie would have to lay low) (she could never be herself again) (Grandma would be a permanent fixture) (goodbye Sophie Hadder) (and goodnight)

As the afternoon ticked forwards, and the lunch crowd petered out, Grandma became acutely aware of the looks she was getting from the staff. An old lady spending her mornings in a little cafe wasn’t unheard of, but four hours was a long time, wasn’t it? And she hadn’t even thought to bring a book. Was she ill? Lost? Confused? It wasn’t the kind of impression Grandma wanted to be leaving, considering the plan had be to leave no impression at all.

Leave--was the obvious answer. It built in obviousness like the sweat on her brow. Leave, Sophie said. Something’s wrong, can’t you feel that something’s wrong?

She could. It felt like a stiff wind blowing through the door of the cafe as someone entered. Grandma looked back over her shoulder, prepared for the worst, ready to run if the Witch came in, hunting her down, but it was just--Maude.

Maude, looking older than she ever had, looking wiser, too, a single streak of grey running down the front of her hair. Just like dad. It was still short, short like it always had been, and she looked--god, so tired.

Grandma’s heart ached, at how close she was. How easy it’d be to reach out, to say hello, and how all at once, impossible it was.

They were so close to the ending that she could see the finish line standing right in front of her, waiting in line to order a coffee, and yet there was still so much in her way.

She was gonna go find Tink.

Her chair creaked backwards, and she finally stood, barely noticing the sitting aches as she nodded her thanks to the waitress and made her way out the door without so much as a second look back at Maude. Her confidence could not waiver. Not right now.

By the time she found herself in front of the Witch’s shop, the sun had started to descend as if a counterpoint to Grandma’s own rising anxieties. It was a terrible balancing game, is what it was. The longer she waited, the worst it would get.

Her shoe made a hollow sound on the first step, and the door swung open.

(this was a bad idea) (her stupidity had gotten her in this mess) (if she had just listened) (if she had just been brave enough to go herself the first time) (if she hadn’t been so willing to put Tink in harm’s way) (stupid) (stupid) (stupid) (stupid)

Even from the sidewalk, Grandma could see that the interior of the townhouse extended far beyond the physical restraints of the building it was supposed to encompass. A sorcerer’s trick--like Howl’s. It meant even if she tried to get out once she was in, there’d be no saying where that door would spit her back out.

(stupid) (stupid) (stupid) (stupid) (stupid)

Grandma walked up, and, as expected, the moment she stepped past the threshold, the door closed behind her. Not loudly with a bang, but rather a slow, mocking creak.

“Tink?” She called out, hovering in the doorway just a moment before pressing on. The hall was dark, light only by the sun filtering through the curtains. Dust hung in the air, speckling the way forwards. The house was quiet save for Grandma’s own footsteps and a--ringing somewhere off in the distance.

Seeing as she had apparently thrown subtlety out the window, it was as good of a place as any to start.

Continuing down the hall, rooms opened up along the side with every door she passed. A library as tall as the sky was high, a dining room with tables set for forty, a grand atrium, with windows letting in all the afternoon light, all of them empty and covered in the same layer of dust as everything else.

Looked like the Witch hadn’t entertained company in a long time. No surprise with her manners, Grandma thought. Though she made sure not to think it too loud. Witches, you know?

As Grandma approached the last set of doors at the end of the hallway, it was clear it was the only place the ringing could be coming from.

Stopping, she peered as best as she could through the crack in the door.

It swung open as soon as she got her nose near it. Should’ve seen that one coming.

(stupid) (stupid) (stupid) (stupid) (stupid)

“Sophie, dear. Why don’t you come have a drink?” Said the Witch, though Grandma couldn’t make her out amongst the chairs. A full bar had opened up in front of her, great hearths on either end, decorated in dark woods and brass embellishments. Any darker and she would’ve sworn she was in the Deer.

She stepped in, the door closed behind her, this time with a mighty bam.

“I’ve no interest in a drink.” Grandma replied, cautious as ever.

“Well that’s rude, what are you doing in a bar, then?”

“I’ve come to--to collect my fairy.”

“Your fairy?” Cackled the Witch, Grandma whipped her head around in an attempt to make out where the sound was coming from. “She seems to be quite enjoying herself here, I dare to say you don’t have any authority.”

The Witch stood, creaking the chair she had been sitting on and drawing Grandma’s attention to one of the hearth’s on the far side of the room. The ringing seemed to be coming from there as well, but she couldn’t make out what it was.

“Good god. Look at you. I really--wow, I really did a good job there, didn’t I? You don’t look a day over a hundred.” Said the Witch as she paced towards Grandma. Instead of skirting around chairs, the chairs made room for her, clearing a straight path right to Grandma, who didn’t budge. “No wonder you went to Howl to clear this up, not that it worked, did it?”

“You know what happened--”

“Yes! Oh yes! I do! It was wonderful, truly, I had a good laugh afterwards.” She brought a hand to her chest, as if mimicking sincerity. “Going to Howl to break a curse, I love it. It’s novel really. I was nearly certain you’d never come back, actually. Why are you here?”

In a flash, the Witch held up a finger.

“Another rhetorical. I know why. You were counting on this, weren’t you?”

Grandma didn’t even need to look at the form in her hand to know that the amulet was there.

“I was, and I will be needing it back.” Grandma replied.

The Witch’s face twisted in confusion, if only for a brief moment.

“You’re no fun. But, see, I have something to fix that.” The Witch said.

Grandma shivered, though the room was unbearably hot, and by the time she had begun to realize what was going on, the Witch smiled.

“Now that’s much better! She giveth and she taketh away--now, girl, why don’t you tell me what you want with that lovely stutter of yours, and we’ll see how easy it is to go around demanding things.”

Sophie clutched at her skirt, hands curling into the fabric on instinct to stop her from looking so visibly shaken. It was a little tactic--in fact the only one she had left now that their plan had been blown wide open.

“I-I-I- u-um… Y-You-- you-- you-- you-- y-you’re g-going t-to g-give m-me the-- the-- the-- the--”

The Witch grimaced.

“I give you the amulet and then what? You take it back to your little Howl, and he breaks the curse, and you live happily ever after? Move back in with your sisters?” She scoffed. “You think everything’s well and good now? That if you were to stay I’d just leave you alone?”

(stupid) (she was stupid) (she had been thinking exactly that) (cause she was an optimistic fool) (if she tricked the Witch there’d be a bounty on her head) (as if there hadn’t already been one there) (all she was doing was putting her family in more danger) (wasn’t she?)

The Witch could see these thoughts writhing around in Sophie’s head, they peeked out of ears like a black fog, dampened the brightness of the room, all the while thrilling the Witch where she stood. Self-doubt was a beautiful thing, you see, and powerful no less.

Sophie watched as she swung the amulet in her hand lazily, flaunting her comfort, her control.

It stopped--all of a sudden, and when Sophie looked away from it, the Witch’s eyes were piercing right into her, staring her down with the fury of a centuries old grudge. It was nearly enough to make her turn around right then and there, but she found that she couldn’t move.

“Do you even know why I cursed you in the first place?” Crowed the Witch.

That was another way to undo a curse. Not any curse, mind you, curses of passion couldn’t be undone this way, especially if the motives were obvious, but it was good insight all the same. Insight that Sophie did not have.

She thought back to that dreadful night. She tried to piece together something, anything the Witch had been saying, but it had been buried too far down for her to know.

(she had waited too long) (she hadn’t written anything down) (she had a plan for this) (but she hadn’t taken into account the last two years) (what she might’ve lost in that time)

Sophie didn’t know, and by the look in her eyes, the Witch could tell. She closed her hand around the amulet, scowling.

“Of course you don’t.”

“I-It d-doesn’t m-matter if-- if-- if-- if-- what’s d-done is d-do--”

“It doesn’t matter?” Barked the Witch. “I wish it didn’t matter. I wish what was done is done--but it’s not. And it does. Which is why I can’t let you leave with this.” She opened her hand once more, the amulet glinting in the light. She took a step forwards then, turning her head slightly as if to peer at Sophie from another angle, taking her all in. “I have a job to do. And clearly you don’t understand that for as long as you’re here, I am not doing my job.”

She paused then, shaking her head.

“Do you know why your mother died?”

Sophie didn’t move.

(childbirth) (she had gotten sick) (and died because of childbirth) (hadn’t she?) (Maude had taken a toll on her body) (she was sick) (she had just gotten sick) (right?)

“Magic is a… Sensitive thing, here in Ingary, girl, and this town does a fine job of hiding it, but maintaining a balance is a difficult thing. No one family can be too powerful. No one person can have too much control. The Hadders had been a blip on our radar for a long time--and with the birth of your sister, that blip suddenly grew tenfold. Your mother wasn’t meant to die, that’s never the goal, she was just standing in the way of balance. ”

Now imagine a mother, a sorceress by trade with two beautiful girls. Two daughters is a dangerous thing in itself, but grant them the abilities of their family line, and suddenly they’re not just a family. For a town like Ingary, power like that is a danger. It can lead to unfortunate thins, and in the end, sometimes it’s just better to nip things at the bud before they can devolve.

On the third day of Maude’s little life, the Witch of the Waste paid a visit to Angele Hadder in the hospital.

“Your child.” She’d said. “The council sent me about your child.”

“No.” Angele replied. “You won’t take her from me--I won’t let you.”

“Not her.” The Witch had corrected. “I don’t want her. Just her magic.”

“Take mine instead.”

Whether the outcome was planned or not, balanced had been achieved. With Maude and Sophie left, the Hadder blip had been brought back down to size.

“Y-You k-killed h-her.” Sophie bit out.

“I took her magic.” The Witch replied. “If she had listened, she’d still be here.”

(Angele was like Maude) (they both had a bite) (a ferociousness) (they could take the Witch) (why was Sophie the one standing here) (attempting this of all things)

“S-so-- so-- so-- w-why c-come after me?”

“It was never my plan.” The Witch continued, taking another step forwards. “That sister of yours was always too big for her britches. She was fine for a while, but now more so than ever, she’s progressing at an alarming rate. I needed to knock her down a peg before your family became dangerous. As it happened--the magic was shared. A Hadder’s a Hadder. If I can’t take hers, there’s always yours. And that’s just what I plan to do once i rid myself of this amulet, do you understand that, girl? Or must I repeat myself? I’m not looking for a fight, but if you are, know that you won’t win.”

(she wouldn’t) (it was true) (Sophie was weak) (and she wa pathetic) (and most of all, she was scared) (scared of what the Witch would do to finish her job) (scared of what this would mean for her) (for her sister)

(at the end of the day) (Sophie could never do much) (it was why she made hats) (it was why she had run away)

(it was why she was always destined to fail)

The Witch would do as she pleased no matter what Sophie tried.

The Witch is set in her ways, dear, said Grandma, deep down in the recesses of her mind. Then again--maybe it was just Sophie. That’s not a bad thing.

Sophie blinked.

“You-- you-- you d-don’t want t-to destroy t-that amulet.” She said.

“And why not?” Replied the Witch, raising one perfectly manicured eyebrow.

“B-Because it’s-- it’s-- it’s--d-dangerous. Volatile. It’ll--it’ll-- h-hurt you.”

The Witch rolled her eyes, turning away from Sophie completely then, and moving towards the bar. One of the ashtrays slid from the far end towards her.

“It’s-- it’s-- it’s-- t-terribly powerful!” Continued Sophie. “It’ll turn you-- you-- you-- you-- straight to d-dust if you l-let all of that p-power o-out.”

“Shut up, girl.” Said the Witch, setting the amulet down on the bar and reaching for the ashtray.

“D-Dangerous.” Sophie repeated. “Powerful. Volatile. Explosive. Dangerous. Powerful. Volatile. Explosive.”

The Witch brought the ashtray down on the amulet and it shattered, sending out a shockwave of energy.

Thrown backwards, Sophie hit the wall with a heavy thud--and she lay pinned there for one, two, three, four moments until the last of the blast had passed.

At first, she couldn’t see. Her eyes at first closed, and then obscured with such heavy watering that the room was blurry into a mist-like cloud. All she could see was the light coming in through the now-open window.

I’ve died, she thought, this is it.

And then she sucked in a ragged breath, both of her lungs screaming, aching for air. It was mostly dust, at first, but it cleared after dragging a sleeve over her face. Some parts were raw with cuts, but she was most certainly, most definitely alive.

And if her eyes were still any good at all--the Witch was not.

The whole room was covered in greyish, brownish dust, from the bartop, to the chairs, to the crumpled pile of clothes on the floor.

The room was deadly quiet now as Sophie rose to her feet, the blast having stopped all of the clocks on the walls, and seemingly stunned any noise coming from outside. It was quiet in her head, too. No elderly cheering to be found. Not a single syllable of congratulations. It was still, save for Sophie’s own breathing, and that… Ringing from before. It was clear that it was coming from where the Witch had once sat.

In front of the fireplace was a nook meant for conversations-- a couple chairs, a table in the middle, and a glass with a slowly spinning spoon, keeping pace to all of the madness. Next to it: a fairy, transfixed.

Tink was dusty, but she was live. Sophie could see her breathing. Tink was alive. Sophie was alive. The Witch was dead. She was dead, and neither of them were and she had done it. It was done. They were done.

Sophie moved forwards, and carefully plucked the spoon from the glass. Nothing natural moved on it’s own like that, and frankly, Sophie didn’t want anything to do with it. The effect was almost immediate.

“Tink?” She said. “A-Are you-- you-- you-- you okay? I-It’s done-- i-it’s over.”

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Red Rose - Chapter 13

Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch. 10 Ch. 11 Ch. 12 CH. 13 Ch. 14  Ch. 15  Ch. 16

Summary: The second day of the Presentation comes, and the girls are submitted to a culinary test. Riley and Olivia find some common ground. Charlotte hides witnesses in Greece.

Rating: M -  Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Notes: Hello, everyone! Missed me much last week? I noticed that I’m now past the hundred followers, and I didn’t mentioned it because I didn’t know how without having to come up with a giveaway. Since I’m poor and overworked, I won’t be able to host one, perhaps when I’m 200 in...

BUT, I’d like to personally thank my hundreth follower, @mythup, and all other 99+ who have graced my tally.

The submissions for the taglist are open! Just hit me up and I’ll add y’all to it!

Athens, Greece, Fall 2015

Charlotte locked the door behind her. She, the two girls, a maid and her driver gathered on the narrow entry hall of the old house.

“This is where you’ll be staying for a while.” The young noblewoman told the two girls in Russian. “While it isn’t safe for you in Cordonia, think of this house as a haven. No-one aside from Ms. Flowers, you and I know of it, much less that you’re here. I expect for you to follow Ms. Flowers instructions to the letter and to dedicate yourselves to your studies. A tutor will be provided for you in the morning.”

“Of course, Ms. Charlotte.” Katya bowed appropriately. “We’re very thankful for your help.”

They moved to the living room, and the girls sat on the couch, backs aching from too many hours hidden inside a car trunk.

“Can we leave the house?” Katya asked.

“No.” Charlotte was blatant. “Not only we do not know whether your former boss has connections in Greece, you were smuggled into European territory. If a police officer asks for your papers, you’ll be deported back to Belarus. Better safe than sorry.

She pointed to the maid and continued: “The cook will make sure you’re fed and clothed, while the tutor will keep you busy starting tomorrow. There’s a small yard in the back, where you can sunbathe if you ever feel the need.”

Zarina looked over the window, restlessly. “When will we be able to go back?”

Charlotte pursed her lips. “I don’t know for sure. Soon enough. We’ll send for you as soon as it happens.”

“Ms. Charlotte?” Katya calls upon her attention.

“Yes?” The oldest respond, facing her.

She handed her a manila file. “The last time I’ve been to the brothel I stole this from the safe. I thought I could use it as leverage to escape, but it’s in Greek, and I have no clue what’s on it. I think it must be important. All the others were stored somewhere else.”

“I don’t speak Greek either, but I’ll take it to Riley. She should know what to do with those.”

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

Early in the morning, Riley sat on the dresser, finishing the last tints of her make-up for the day. It was exhausting to wake up early every day, just so Maxwell and Bertrand wouldn’t see her without it in the morning, but it was necessary.

Back in New York, she made sure to only have night employment, so her looks would be less recognizable, but Cordonia’s social season, contrary to expectations, played out mostly in the mornings.

She was reminded amusingly of Penelope’s complaints, “My advisors said I only needed to look pretty at the balls and flirt with the Prince, but it hasn’t been going that way at all”. It seemed them all were misled about the nature of the tests to become the next Queen of Cordonia.

While putting on the mascara, she received a message from Charlotte, saying Katya and Zarina were safe in Athens. Smiling, she deleted the message, as a security measure.

A knock followed it. “Rise and shine, little blossom!” It was Maxwell.

“Day two of the Feast.” Bertrand announced. “I hope you’re prepared to fight for your time with the Prince, Riley.”

“And all the apples! You’ve made an apple pie before, right? And you’re pretty good at planting apple trees?” Maxwell asked.

“I guess we’re all finding out today.” She opened the door for them to enter. “Good morning, Maxwell, Bertrand.”

“Good morning.” Bertrand said, gruffly. “We’re here to prepare you for today’s events.”

“Very well. What am I supposed to be doing?” She asked, sitting back at the dresser and crossing her legs. Before Bertrand could open his mouth, she interrupted. “No, wait, am I supposed to be dressed differently for some inane reason?”

He narrowed his eyes. “As a matter of fact, yes. The best dressed lady will be crowned the Apple Queen.”

“Which means?” She raised one of her inquisitive eyebrows at him.

“It’s a fun tradition!” Maxwell said. “The people vote on who will run the Apple Court.”

“Yes, you’d get extra publicity, the favor of the actual Queen and the power to boss people around for an hour.” Bertrand amended.

“Interesting.” She said, with a contemplative smile. “What do you have in mind?”

He threw her a dress bag. “Change. There’s no time to lose. Through a series of promises and threats, I was able to procure a historically accurate rendition of a Cordonian peasant’s best gown from the realm’s most prestigious stage production company, available on consignment.”

She shook her head at him. “I’ll write you a check.”

“Cash only.” He smiled wolfishly.

Riley grumbled and took the dress to the bathroom and changed. “How’s this?”

“It’s perfect!” Maxwell whistled.

“You can thank me later.” Bertrand said, arrogantly.

She opened her jewel box, took a stack of hundred Euro notes and threw them at the Duke. “Thank you, Your Grace. You honor me so.” She said, sarcastically.

Vienna, Austria, Fall 2015

“You summoned me, Your Honor?” The slightly-chubby man said, fearfully.

“Good evening, mister Brandl.” Karen greeted with a smile. “Please, come in.”

She was sat on a divan on the sides of a rich and tastefully decorated living room. The windows, with frames typical for townhouses such as that one, opened to the Danube canal just on the other side of the street.

The house was deathly silent, to the point the clacking of porcelain of Karen’s cup and saucer was deafening.

“Sit down.” She motioned to the divan next to hers, in a polite, if commanding, tone.

Brandl obeyed wordlessly.

She put down her chamomile tea on the coffee table in front of her and picked up a paper portfolio laying on that same table.

“This, mister Brandl,” She showed him the portfolio. “Is an invoice from one of my accountants.”

He gulped. “I hope everything is going well with your investments, ma’am.”

“Oh, they are. Exceptionally well, in fact. For every breath I take, I grow wealthier.” She said, dismissively. “Nothing new, but there was a development that concerned, if not pleasantly surprised, my accountant.”

“What was it, ma’am?” He asked, tentatively.

She opened the file and placed on her lap. “Yesternight, an auction was held at the London branch of Christie’s. A painting by miss Valois reached a very high sum. You see, miss Valois always arose fair prices for her works, but never have a painting by her reached one hundred thousand pounds, and yet, this particular work was sold by two hundred fifty pounds.

“I am sure you know I and my children own collectively the most extensive collection of miss Valois works, and if each of them reaches a fraction of that price at any given auction, we would be over thirteen million Euros wealthier.”

“And all that without lifting a single finger. Some would call you very fortunate, ma’am.” Brandl amended.

“Indeed they would, but what concerns me is why that particular painting sold for so much.” Karen pondered.

“The pound is at a bad exchange rate these times, ma’am, and the economic uncertainties favor us at the art market.” Brandl offered.

She hummed. “Yes, yes, all good points, mister Brandl. Yet, I am unconvinced.”

“Why so?” He stuttered.

“Call it a hunch.” She dismissed with a hand movement. “It was enough, however, for me to issue an inquiry. Can you guess what I have found out?”

He turned blank. “No, ma’am.”

“I assure you it will be most entertaining, but I digress. The seller was kept secret by Christie’s, and you know how protective they are of such information. However, I knew that particular piece, and I knew it had been gifted to a very kind, if simple, lady.

“Regrettably, that woman passed away a few years past, God bless her soul. That painting, then, fell to the hands of her children, whom, without the artistic sensibility nor the emotional attachment to the piece, found it to be a hideous heirloom.

“Imagine their joy when someone offered to purchase that ridiculous painting for a sum of 2.500 Euros. They sold it right away, of course. That person, opportunistic, was purchasing miss Valois paintings scattered through galleries at artificially low prices. They were, after all, works by a moderately unknown artist.

“After he collected a sizeable amount of works, he accidently let out a certain princely family was looking for purchase of miss Valois works, which explained the mysterious surge of demand for her paintings. He, then, offered one of his collected paintings, exactly that one he purchased from those naïve heirs, for auction, believing that would be the one least likely to be traced back to him.”

At every word uttered at a sickly, scary calm by Karen, Brandl shrunk further into the divan.

“You will ruin your back if you keep contorting it like that, mister Brandl.” She pointed out, thin as a knife. “Anything comes to mind with that tale?”

“No, ma’am.” He manages to let out.

“You see, mister Brandl, people look at me and they see just some bored wife of some inbred, aristocratic family that should have gone extinct a long time ago. However, both you and I know that this could not be further from the truth. I am a cruel and ruthless woman. And as such, I don’t leave debts undisputed. You lied to me, mister Brandl, and I do not take lies kindly.” She snapped her fingers.

Her head bodyguard appeared at the door, looking as menacing as always.

“Wh-what are you going to do?” He stuttered, jumping to his feet.

“Restitution, mister Brandl, restitution. You caused me great disservice, running your mouth like that, aside from cheating a poor family out of an opportunity. I will have the money you earned from your pathetic maneuver to its rightful owners, I will have the paintings you bought at my disposition, and you’ll have only the debts you contracted for purchasing them.”

“You cannot do this!” He shouted.

“I can, I want, I did.” Karen was taxactive. Then, turning to her employee: “Now, if you may, escort mister Brandl out, he is becoming an inconvenience.”

The man was forcibly taken out of the living room, and the silence reigned once more.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

A short walk later, they arrive to the orchard, where the nobles were congregated for the festival.

“Now, Riley,” Maxwell said. “Are you ready to show off your baking skills?”

“No time like now.” She responded, determined.

Maxwell grinned. “Good, ‘cause you’re baking a pie for the Queen!”

“Today’s all about gaining the Queen’s favor. As we draw closer to the Theophany, she’ll be testing all the potential candidates.” Bertrand instructed. “Be careful what you say around her.”

“It’d also help if you won the pie-baking contest.” Maxwell said. “But you won’t be doing this alone! It’s a team event, so you can rely on the other ladies if you need to.”

Riley pursed her lips. “Now, that’s concerning. How can I trust some girl that never even came close to an oven in her life?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Some of them are absolutely amazing bakers!” Maxwell praised.

“I’ll pretend I don’t care how you know that and say it must be some other cutting-edge husband-catching technique.” Riley rolled her eyes. “Speaking of parents in desperation for noble in-laws, where’s Hana? She’d be a mighty asset for this, I’m sure she’d be able to do it blindfolded.”

“Dunno,” Maxwell shrugged. “But maybe you can get her on your team!”

“Okay, let’s do this!” Riley threw her nose to the air and joined the other girls.

“Make House Beaumont proud!” Bertrand commanded.

The two men walk off, leaving Riley with the other women. A minute later, Queen Regina join them.

“Greetings ladies.” She said. “I’m glad to see everyone here again. We will soon be dividing into two teams to partake in the apple pie baking contest. I’ve decided that Olivia will captain one team and Madeleine the other.” Of course she did. “Ladies, please select your teams.”

Again, with no surprise, Madeleine had the first pick. “I choose Lady Penelope.”

The black-haired woman walked cheerfully to Madeleine’s side. “We’ll bake poodle-shaped pie crumpets!”

“No.” Madeleine quickly shut Penelope down.

“Okay…” She retreated into submission.

“Lady Kiara.” Olivia selects, and the tanned-skin woman walks over to her side.

Also unsurprisingly, Hana and Riley were the last pick of the crop. The black-haired controlled an urge to roll her eyes, it was such a pathetic, puerile power play that even teenagers considered it childish.

“Look at the two strays!” Olivia laughed, wickedly. “Come on, Riley, I’ll adopt you. You’re not as mangy as Hana.”

“Oh, no, Olivia.” Riley linked her arms with Hana’s. “We’re a pair.”

“Two undesirables on one team? That’s just vile.” Olivia demeaned.

Riley shrugged. “I respectfully disagree.”

Madeleine resolved the dispute. “I don’t really care. You can have both of them.”

Hana and Riley smiled at each other and marched haughtily to Olivia’s side. As they walked towards the outdoor baking setup, the Queen approaches the black-haired.

“Lady Riley, I hope you’ll exceed expectations like last time.” She said, offhandedly.

“I wouldn’t worry, ma’am. Apple pie, after all, is America’s national dessert.” The younger woman smiled, with a side note of defiance.

Regina did not back down. “I imagine you’ve had some decent apple pies from your homeland. Though I expect that after today, you’ll be saying ‘as Cordonian as apple pie’.”

And with that, she left.

With the arrival of the girls, Olivia and Madeleine organize their teams.

“Riley, Hana, cut the apples.” The redhead commanded. “That should be a simple enough task that even you can handle.” And she walks away before either of them could utter a word.

Riley hugged Hana’s shoulders. “If mise-en-place is what we were given, it is on the mise-en-place we’re going to shine.”

With all the ladies positioned, Queen Regina addresses the crowd. “Let the bake-off begin!”

The ladies jump into a flurry of activity. Olivia slams a basket of apples in front of Riley and Hana.

“Get to work.” She ordered.

They quickly peel and slice the apples.

“Okay, done.” Riley dropped the knife. “The recipe says we should add two cups of sliced apples.”

“But we’re doubling the size of the pie, so we should add four cups.” Hana warned.

“Great, I’ll do the measuring.” She picked up the cup.

“I’ll start getting the spices together.” Hana said and left for the spice cupboard.

Riley takes the four cups of apples and set it aside for the cinnamon mix. “Hey, Olivia!” She called the redhead over.

With no response, she walked over where the Duchess was. When she came closer, the redhead hid two identical shakers behind her back.

“The apples are ready.” Riley informed.

“Uh… good.” Olivia dismissed.

The black-haired rolled her eyes. “Is this the best you can do, Olivia? Y’know, for all that I’ve heard from the Nevrakis, I expected a more seasoned conspirateuse.”

Olivia seems ready to bark, but then sights, checks around for eavesdroppers, and starts whispering: “I’m switching the salt and sugar labels for the other team. Now that you know, you can spare me your moralizing and leave. I don’t have much time.”

“I would, if I didn’t think Madeleine is probably thinking of ways to do the exact same thing.” Riley shrugged.

Olivia seemed shocked. “You want to help?”

“I want to slap that smug smile off Regina’s face.” Riley said.

“That I can agree to.” Olivia nodded. “How about you distract Penelope for me? She’s their guard dog.”

“On it.” Riley said and stealthily walked over to Penelope.

“Hey, Penelope.” She smiled sweetly. “How’s the pie baking?”

The other woman sighed. “Madeleine doesn’t trust me, so I’m ‘standing around and looking pretty’. But, you know, at least that means she thinks I’m pretty.”

“But you’re a noblewoman!” Riley argued. “How many centuries you could trace your lineage back again? Four?”

“Six.” She blushed, self-conscious.

“Six hundred years of high-birth.” Riley emphasizes. “Certainly you can bake a measly pie.”

“If only.” She lamented. “I’ve never even boiled water! Right now I wish I could just snuggle up with my poodle.”

“That I can understand.” The American used a low, emphatic tone of voice.

“Do you have poodles?” Penelope asks, excitedly. “They’re my favorite breed of dog. Did I tell you about the golden poodle statues around my family’s estate? We have one in the atrium, the gardens, the bathhouse…”

Before she could continue, though, a hand patted Riley’s shoulder. “Penelope, darling, excuse me for butting in, but this little sheep has wandered from the herd. I’ll be taking her back now.” Olivia came for her rescue.

“Of course.” She responded, cheerily. “Goodbye!”

Olivia leads Riley back to their team’s kitchen. “Not bad for a beginner.” If only the redhead knew. “But now I need you over by the oven.”

Riley walks over by a wood-fired oven. Hana waves and comes over. “The pie is almost ready to be baked. Want to help me decorate it before it goes in the oven?”

“Only if I can steal some batter.” Riley said, smiling.

“There is leftover filling.” Hana offered.

“Good enough. Let’s go.” She took the Asian’s arm and went over to the table.

Hana presented the pie to be baked. “I want to add a little flair to the pie, so it’ll bake with a pretty design. Though I’m not sure what the design should be. What do you think the Queen would like?”

The first two images that came through Riley’s head was a penis and a red rose. A penis was self-explanatory, but the rose, well, it was a finer print of cruel. Today, however, wasn’t the day for pettiness. She had a contest to win.

“We should add a Cordonian Royal Seal.” She decided, to stroke Regina’s ego. “It’s a pie fit for a Queen after all.”

“The seal is a bit complicated, but I love a challenge!” Hana said, excitedly.

Riley supposed she should volunteer to help, but decided against. Observing the Asian, she felt she had to comment: “You’re really good at this.”

“You sound so surprised.” Hana laughed.

“As I said to Maxwell earlier, I’m surprised you were taught this. It seems so… middle class, I guess.”

The Asian shrugged. “I never had to cook, and if my parents have their way, I never will. But it’s artistic, refined work.”

Before Riley could answer, Kiara appears from behind them and complains: “Hey! You’re not supposed to…” She takes a look into the work and stops on her tracks. “Whoa… Very nice.”

“You think the Queen will like it?” Hana asks.

Kiara smirked. “She’d be a fool not to.” And then takes the freshly-decorated pie and puts it in the oven.

As they waited for the pie to cook, Riley and Hana take a break. Some ice-cold water was served by the maids of the manor, and the girls had the opportunity to enjoy the late-Fall sunlight filtered through the apple trees.

“So, Hana,” Riley said. “As we were saying, if I was to guess, I’d say baking is yet another thing you’ve learned and don’t really like.”

“It was alright. At least I got to taste test all of my creations, including sneaking in some uncooked batter every now and then.” She smiled.

The black-haired snickered. “What would be the point otherwise?”

The timer went off. Riley put it carefully out of the oven and handles it to Olivia. The redhead snickers, smoothly takes the pie and presents it to Queen Regina, almost simultaneously to Madeleine presenting hers.

“Thank you both.” Regina said, ceremonially. “We’ll begin the judging with Madeleine’s pie.”

The woman looks carefully at the dessert, evaluating its presentation.

“This is very well done. Good work, Madeleine.” Regina appraised.

Riley contained a smirk. “Wait until you taste it.” She thought, meanly.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Madeleine bowed.

Regina then takes a knife, cuts out a piece and places it on a Portuguese ceramic dish. With silver cutlery, she carves the smallest of the pieces and puts into her mouth.

“Oh, my!” She quickly places her napkin to her mouth. “That’s a bit heavy on the salt.”

It was probably as salty as the Dead Sea, but Regina would eat the entire pie with a smile, just so she wouldn’t have to admit it.

“What?” Madeleine vociferate, surprised. And then her fists ever so clench, as she glowers at Penelope. Said young noblewoman shrunk, fearfully. “My apologies, Your Majesty.”

Knowing nothing she said could savage Madeleine, Regina began appraising Olivia, Riley, Kiara and Hana’s pie.

“The design is superb.” She commented. “Who did this?”

“I did, Your Majesty.” Hana said, overjoyed.

Her soft scowl dissipates, as it turned out it wasn’t the handiwork of Riley’s. “You’re exceptionally talented, Lady Hana.”

The young woman bowed her graces.

Regina followed the protocol for tasting once again the pie. She bites and tastes it at length. Finally, she declared: “The perfect amount of apples with exquisite flavoring.” The Queen dabs her moth with a napkin. “After weighting the strengths and weaknesses of each side, I declare Olivia’s team the winner.”

With a barely-noticeable smug smirk in her face, Riley celebrated the victory with her teammates. The girls from both sides of the competition applauded, signaling the end of the event.

“Ladies, if you’ll proceed across the ground for our next event.” Regina oriented, as the cleaning staff swarmed to unassemble the outdoor kitchen.

Riley was walking over the signaled area but felt a small nudge to her shoulder. She turned to see who was it, and it was the Queen. “Lady Riley,” She says. “May I have a word?”

“Of course, ma’am.” She assented, politely.

Regina leads her away from the ladies for a stroll through the apple orchard. When they were far enough for anyone to overhear them, Riley asked: “Pardon my rudeness, ma’am, but what is it that you wish to speak with me?”

“I wanted us to get to know one another better.” She said, with an inviting smile. Riley thought she’d feel more at ease with a sneer. “I’ve been impressed with how you’ve comported yourself so far. You’ve demonstrated grace and composure unlike most.”

“You flatter me, ma’am.” She thanked, gracefully, all in the while she braced herself for the slash.

“But a queen, no matter how graceful and composed, cannot be everywhere at once. You’ll need to appoint advisors and ambassadors to act in your stead.” She said, seriously. “Which is why I’d like to hear your opinion on some of those around you.”

Regina was baiting her, Riley was sure. She remembered Bertrand’s words about being diplomatic, and she was going to take them to heart. “Of course, ma’am. I’m happy to be of service.”

“Madeleine is one of your strongest competitors. What is your opinion of her?” Regina asked.

She forced a snicker away. Regina couldn’t help herself. “Madeleine’s an asset.” Riley answered. “She has the pedigree and the skills to thrive at court, and she uses it to her advantage. She has the potential to be a decisive ally. Or a difficult enemy.”

“Interesting assessment.” Regina considered her words. “Hana has been a competitor since the beginning, and you seem closer than the others. What do you see in her?”

Now that’s a low blow. She’s pulling her friends into her intrigue. “Hana is extraordinarily talented, ma’am. And very kind, as well, she’s helped me find my footing here when I didn’t know where to step.”

“She’s someone you’d like to keep in your inner circle, I assume.” She insinuated.

“Of course.” The black-haired smiled.

“I concur with your evaluation.” Regina said. “What you say about your friends can reveal more about you than about them. And Liam’s commoner friend, Drake?” Riley noticed she could barely dissimulate her contempt. “You’re by his side quite often despite him having very little to do with the competition.”

“Despite his sour disposition, ma’am, Drake’s very reliable. He’s exceedingly loyal, and I cannot help but understand why Prince Liam trusts him. So do I, as a matter of fact.”

“It’s good to surround yourself with people you can trust.” Regina said, somewhat demeaning. “A true queen must have a network of allies she can call upon. It’s clear you’ve been assessing how those around you may help you someday.”

“I try my best, ma’am.”

“You may return to the other suitors, Lady Riley. It’s time I announce the next event.” Regina dismissed.

“Of course, ma’am.” She said, with a smile. “And if I may say so, I quite enjoyed our conversation. If you ever wish to know about me, I’ll be happy to provide the information. You needn’t to corner my aunt for it.”

Regina blanched. “How do you know of it?”

“Aunt Isabel is hardly a simpleton, ma’am. She found most strange for a man with an accent to ask with such determination about her niece she hadn’t seen for so long.” Riley informed, smirking wickedly. “Excuse me.” She bowed and left a somewhat-gaping Regina behind.

At the edge of the orchard, the people of the village congregated once more.

Shortly after, Regina addressed all the girls, completely recomposed. “The festival we throw during the Presentation serves to remind us the growth vital to keeping our nation thriving. Now, as is tradition, we will honor one distinguished, best dressed lady as this year’s Apple Queen. This is a ceremonial position for the people to decide. Last year, it was our very own, Lady Madeleine.”

Riley’s eyes moved round ever so slightly, while Madeleine bowed. “I very much appreciated the honor.”

“As for this year, people of Applewood,” The Queen addressed. “Who do you wish to honor with this title?”

A strong, quasi-unanimous chant of Kókkini Prinkípissa took the crowd by strike. The French-bred ladies looked at one another, wondering about whom were the villagers referring to. Riley knew whom, and Regina’s face showed she did too.

Kókkini Prinkípissa. Red Princess.

“I think we have a clear winner.” Regina said, unable to keep her contempt away from her tone. “Lady Riley will be this year’s Apple Queen.”

“Woo!” Riley heard Maxwell celebrate on the distance. “Go, Riley! Party like it’s 1299! All hail the Apple Queen from the Big Apple!”

Regina rolled her eyes. “Lady Riley, please join me for your ‘Coronation’.”

Riley kneels in front of the actual Queen. She hands her an apple-shaped scepter. “I pronounce you Queen of the Apples. Long live the Apple Queen!”

“Thank you all for electing me to represent you as the Apple Queen.” Riley addressed the crowd in Greek, arousing cheers from the peasantry, usually kept at large from those events. “I’m happy to accept this esteemed position, and I will treat it with the utmost respect.”

“My Queen,” Regina said in a low baritone. “I will serve as your acting seneschal and guide you through the ceremony.”

Riley forced a smirk away. Regina must be loving this, she thought, meanly.

Regina continued: “Before we proceed, we must fill out the Apple Court. These are the courtiers who will parade behind you. Who will be your cup-bearer? This person should be a close confidant you would trust with your life.”

Her eyes fluttered through the crowd. To her right-hand side, in a discreet position behind Regina, stood Liam. It was aligned to the objectives of the afternoon, choosing him, but at the same time, such a choice would come across as aggressive, especially to Kiara and Penelope. Their new allegiance would suffer if she was too conspicuous.

Her eyes fluttered to the crowd. At the forefront, Hana smiled, supporting. Now there’s a trustworthy person, as much as she was valuable strategy-wise. Her counsel was to be taken into serious consideration, not to mention a position in that travesty of a Court would be exceedingly beneficial to her own interests, if nothing else to appease her overbearing parents. However, Hana was also the obvious choice, and that’s neither strategic nor interesting.

Her mind branched to the other girls, she could choose a random girl, but that would bode as mocking the ceremony, and as skeptical she was to the whole ordeal, there was something inherently wrong about picking Madeleine or Olivia. Riley wouldn’t put behind them craving a literal knife to her back halfway through the event.

A solution came from the far back, though. A wicked smile spread through Riley’s face.

“Drake. I pick Drake.” Riley announced.

He came, smiling, trying to fowl her plan to make him miserable. “You know the cup-bearer tastes drinks for poison, right?”

“Yet, this is an apple festival. We’ll be drinking nothing but apple martinis.” She smiled, sweetly.

He grumbled. “I am blessed to carry out your agenda, my queen.”

Drake takes his place at her right-hand side, between Riley and Regina, who was also so very glad to be behind the order of precedence of not one, but two commoners, as fanciful as it was.

The blonde woman takes out a goofy-looking fool’s cap. “My queen, if you’ll name your court jester.”

Madeleine or Olivia? Choices, choices, choices. Riley laughed at her own evil. The reality, however, was less amusing. If she chose either of the girls, it would be an act of open warfare, and she preferred to keep the façade of naïve outsider, if only to an untrained eye.

There was someone, however, who would appreciate the position. “I pick Maxwell.”

Said man pushed his way to the front. “Step aside, plebeians! Three-time jester MVP, coming through.”

“You’re not supposed to enjoy this.” Drake pointed out.

Maxwell, however, was undeterred. “I’m sensing jealousy.”

“Forget I said anything.” Drake aggravated.

The Beaumont spare plopped the jester cap on his head. The bells jingle as they fall down on his face.

“My queen,” Regina said to Riley. “With your court assembled, it is your right to issue an edict before your people.”

“My people,” Riley addressed the crowd, in Greek once more. “Love bind us together. Whether is love of country, love of citizen, love of self. These bonds hold us together. Our differences are insignificant compared to the power of love we share with one another.”

Regina cuts her speech short, summoning a horse and a carriage. “Magnanimous queen, show your generosity and share with us the products of your bountiful harvest!”

Riley got into the carriage and started handing delicately apples to every attendee with a blessing and a smile.

When the apples ran out, Regina led her to an area where Madeleine stood beside an apple seedling. “Your majesty, please honor your ancestor, the previous year’s Apple Queen, and plant a tree for the next generation.”

Madeleine curtsies. “My queen. Happy wishes for you.”

“Thank you, my ancestor.” Riley smiled, diplomatically.

“The labor of your forebears will help you build a better world.” She responded, in a tone of ceremonial neutrality. Lowering her voice, she whispers to Riley: “Not many get the pleasure of being addressed as ‘my queen’. Savor this moments. You may never hear the phrase again.”

“I thought we were beyond petty threats, Madeleine.” Riley smiled at her. “If you want to scare me so, you will have to do better.”

“As you wish, Lady Riley.” Madeleine responds, and step aside showing a hole in the ground for the sapling. “The ground is yours, my queen.”

Riley takes the seedling and place it into the hole and scoop the dirt in around it. She then turns to the crowd and addresses the masses: “The work we do today will benefit future generations. Our children deserve a better world then that we have it today.”

“Thank you, gracious Apple Queen.” Regina said. “As your final honor…” She motioned for Liam to approach.

He comes closer in a confident march, but averting, shyly, his eyes from her. “You are entitled to a kiss, my queen.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “I humbly accept your offer.”

He beamed. “As my queen desires.”

Prince Liam rises. He tenderly leans in and kisses Riley on the cheek.

With that, the festival wraps up and the cheering crowd disperses. Before Riley could walk very far, however, Maxwell comes after her, breaking through the crowd and waving over.

“There’s our glorious Apple Queen!” Maxwell greeted.

“Hey, lord jester.” Riley smiled back. “Thanks for your vote, I heard you cheering out there.”

He turned bashful. “Well, somebody had to do it. Anyways, that’s not why I’m here.”

“What do I owe the pleasure, then?” Riley asks.

“I might be able to get you some alone time today with Prince Liam!” He exclaimed, merrily. “I happen to know he’s in the manor’s conservatory right now waiting for some nobles. I could distract them long enough with offers to donate to their favorite causes.”

“Let’s do it, then!” Riley responded, excitedly.

“The conservatory’s on the other side of the estate grounds.” He pointed her. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

She kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Maxwell. You’re the best.”

He smirked. “Someone needs to think I’m the best to make up for Bertrand thinking I’m the worst.”

Applewood Conservatory, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

Riley walked into the Victorian-style conservatory, and as soon she stepped into it, she was hit with a distinctive citric smell. She couldn’t pass on the irony, apples and oranges.

Liam, expecting company, perked at the sound of the door, bracing himself to an unamusing exchange. The prospect only furthered his joy when he saw who was waiting for him.

“Lady Riley, what a surprise.” He beamed. “And wearing a costume?”

She smiled, self-conscious. “Bertrand says it’s historically accurate.”

“Well, you look fantastic.” He praised.

“You’re too kind.” She says, and on another note, she continued. “I hope I’m not disturbing.”

“I am supposed to meet some of my mother’s friends to discuss the flowers, but I’m very excited to see you instead.” He grinned.

His mother’s friends. Lady Carmela’s friends. The significance did not go unnoticed by Riley.

She knew; however, it wasn’t the time to discuss such matters. Instead, she smirked and said: “Yes, I might have asked Maxwell to entertain them for a while.”

“How courteous of him to have complied.” Liam concurred, with a smirk of his own.

“You’ve been busier than usual lately.” Riley commented.

He sighed. “Yes. Since my father has announced his abdication at the Regatta, I’ve been suddenly overrun by nobles wanting to…” He struggled with the concept he was trying to convey.

“Congratulate you in such fortuitous occasion, all in the while securing their position in the new regime?” Riley offered, in an ironic tone.

“Yes, that’s about right. My ascension seemed like a distant event, but now it’s actually happening. In a matter of weeks, I’ll be King of Cordonia.” He sighed again. “I thought I had more time.”

“Oh, Liam.” She came closer to him and placed her hands on each of his arms. “I trust you are more than ready to take upon this responsibility. Besides, if everything goes as smoothly as they’re going, you’ll have me by your side every step of the way.”

That statement has a dimension Liam had no clue of, but still rung true.

He smiled bashfully. “You make me believe you. We are a good team.”

“The greatest.” She laughed softly.

“It’s just so strange to think that so many people would be counting on me, depending on me.” He confessed.

“Well, even if you were a random man on the streets, people would still count on you. If you were a doctor, many patients’ lives would be at your hands. If you were a lawyer, your clients’ liberties would be on you.” She augmented. “Even if you were a househusband, your family’s life would be dependent on you. Responsibility is a side product of societal life, yours just happen to be… unusual.

“Besides, I know you. You’re kind, responsible, and noble, frightening so. And, perhaps most importantly, you’re always thinking of others. I am sure the realm will thrive under you. Or do you think I’m that off-mark?”

He smiled in modesty. “You say you see me so clearly, but how about yourself?”

“What about me?” She wondered.

He sighed. “I know there’s much undecided, but let’s say you were my selection. You’re such a free spirit, Riley, and I love that about you. But there are expectations that come with being queen. Royal events, palatial life, children. Can you really see yourself by my side as your place?”

“I left home very young, Liam.” She breathed. “I left for college at seventeen, and I never really looked back. There didn’t seem to be my place, it never seemed to be a place to go back to. Nowhere did, really. But now I’m going on thirty, and I’ve seen lots of great things and others not-so-good, and the truth is that I’m tired.

“I want to build something, I want to have something to look at fondly, I want to have a reason to stay. It all begins with finding someone I want to be with, and I want to be with you. So, it doesn’t matter if we’re going to live at the Brigades or at a shack in Montana, or if you’re the King, a high school teacher or a homeless guy, I’m sticking with you.”

He hugged her. “This means a lot to me, Riley.”

“Well, I mean it.” She said, earnestly.

“Meeting you in New York was one of the greatest things that ever happened to me.” He confessed. “You changed my life.”

She laughed. “I’m not even going to mention in how many ways my life changed because of you.”

“For better, I hope.”

“Certainly beats my old gig.” She laughed and kissed his cheek.

“Riley, whatever it happens, know that I am grateful for the time we spent together.” Liam said, feverishly. He pauses in front of a rose bush, picks one out and hands it to her. “I know you don’t like roses, but have you ever seen a Juliet?”

“Only at a public garden.” She said, while admiring the flower. “The five-million-dollar rose.”

He smirked. “It’s rumored that the man who created this breed spent five million dollars and fifteen years on it. It must have been a labor of love.”

“And yet, so less dramatic than a black tulip.” She smiled. “Thank you for giving it to me, my mother would love a picture of it.”

A rose. It seemed so ominous for Liam to seal his promise with a rose, just like hers to Charlotte is also sealed with a rose.

And, yet, it seemed so very appropriate. Sub rosa, she believed she had heard, no light shall ever shed over the secrets sworn by the rose.

Liam, sensing her discomfort, even if he was mistaken about its cause, decided to change subjects: “How did you find the Presentation?”

She smirked. “Lord, you people really love your apples! It was all fine and good, but I swear I could kill for a banana.”

“In the future, I’ll make sure you get a reprieve from all the apples.” He smiled back. His gaze lingered at the girl, and his smile fell only so slightly. “I don’t know how much longer Maxwell is going to be able to stall the nobles. He cannot entertain all of my appointments.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Have you even met Maxwell? He would at least try, if nothing else.”

Liam scoffed, good-naturedly, and wrapped the girl on his arms. She could smell his perfume, fougère, oakmoss and coumarin. His fingers delicately traced a line through her cheekbones, while the other hand, allotted on the back of her head, brought her face closer to his, finishing on a deep kiss.

As they break apart, Liam said, breathlessly: “We’d better stop, or I’ll never leave you.”

“I thought that was the point.” She raised a defiant eyebrow.

He captures her lips in another long, lingering kiss, then reluctantly pulls away, tucking a rebellious strand of black hair back into its rightful place behind her ear.

“Until next time.” He said goodbye.

She recomposes herself and leaves the conservatory in a haughty fashion. By the door of the manor, there waits Maxwell.

Before she could say anything, Maxwell jumped the mark. “I hope everything went well with Liam, but we’re switching gears for the next event.”

“Good afternoon to you too, Bertrand.” She looked pointedly at him.

“Sorry…” He smiled sheepishly. “It’s just that we’re kind of late, and we’re clearing the ground for the ‘fox hunt’ tomorrow morning.” He made air quotes.

“We are hunting now?” She admonished.

“No, not really. It’s more like a race that takes place at the Royal hunting grounds. Which means horseback riding through the woods!”

“Lord help me.” She aggravated.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

The knock of the dress shoes to the polished wooden floor sounded like a thunderstorm over at the empty, silent hallway, for its feverish pace. From the windows, the light of the setting sun heats the late-autumnal waft running through the old building.

A knock to the grand, engraved door reflected the pace so-far, in a desperate plea for access. When the order was shouted, in mild irritancy, the man barreled into the bedroom.

“Your Majesties,” He bowed. “There is an emergency.”

“That much we’ve gathered, for how desperately you punched against that door.” Regina snapped.

“I am most sorry, ma’am.” He apologized and kept to himself by the entrance.

“Well, boy, now say what you have to say and don’t waste my time!” She berated.

“Regina, please.” The moaning voice of the King came from the bed. “Keep quiet. And you, secretary, come closer and tell me what brings you here.”

“Excuse me, sir, but I’ve brought the newspapers that will be published in the morning, and that is what they’ll be headlining.” He handed the man an issue.

His eyes popped. “Is this real? Is this the truth?”

“The Security Department is looking into it, but they said that, preliminarily, the newspapers have a very strong case.” He answered, regretful.

“Is there anything we can do?” He asked, grave.

“No, sir. It is too late.”

“There is nothing else but to brace ourselves, then.” The King said. “You are dismissed.”

He bowed and left.

“What is it, Constantine?” Regina asked.

The man said nothing but handed her the issue.

“What?!” She screamed. “That is outrageous!”

“It’s the truth, Regina, and you know it.” He bellowed. “Thank the Heavens they did not mention us.”

“Not they, her.” She snapped. “I told you that girl was problem. And yet, you did not listen to me.”

“I have it under control, woman.” He demeaned.

“You better have, you better have.” She said, and also left the room.

Red Rose - Masterlist

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Taglist: @boneandfur; @mfackenthal

[unusuallyzealousburgette]

Just The Four of Us Chap. 3

Ship: Harry x Draco x Blaise x Luna

Summary: Blaise and Luna both agree, their little family could stretch to include one more, but Draco’s not so sure about their choice. Being nice to Potter is one thing, but dating him is a whole other. Link to AO3

“Ready?” Draco asked as he and Harry stood side-by-side leaning drunkenly against each other in preparation to disapparate, the party winding down behind them.

Harry giggled and burped into Draco’s ear.

“Oh dear Merlin that’s disgusting, Potter! Would you –” the blond stopped mid-sentence and began laughing wildly as a fuzzy thought occurred to him. He leaned himself onto the other, equally wobbly man.

“Wha-what –” Harry couldn’t stop giggling, “What’s so funny?”

Draco continually slapped Harry’s upper arm, and said between outbursts of laughter, “We’re going to get splinched so bad!”

They both went quiet for a moment at what would normall be a sobering thought, then burst out laughing again.

“Oh- oh- oh!” Draco gasped for breath. He thought hard through the fog of his brain for a moment, then flicked his wand. They landed – surprisingly unharmed – on Draco’s doormat and promptly fell down, utterly disoriented.

“Potter shhh!” The blond whisper-shouted, trying without much success to shove the other off him.

Harry hiccupped. “Why?” He managed to get a couple limbs in contact with the ground long enough to heave himself up. The cold pricked at his numb skin like dull needles.

“You’ll get me in trouble, you prat!”

“What the hell, Malloy?” Harry chuckled, not even noticing his mistake, “With who?”

“I dunno. Blaise probably.”

Shushing his amused companion, Draco unlocked the door as quietly as he could, and the two men stumbled inside. Watching Draco’s attempt at tiptoeing in his drunken state, Harry broke out in another fit of giggles and promptly fell onto the couch, a warmth filling him up. Vaguely, he saw Malfoy grab a blanket and pair of pajamas out of thin air – like magic!

“You can stay here tonight, Potter, just don’t go breaking things or something or other,” he said as he yawned and threw a comforter over Harry’s head. Harry fell backwards, giving a barely visible two-fingered salute. “Night, Malkoy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Draco said sleepily and wandered off toward bed.

_________________________________

Harry woke the next morning with the worst damned headache he’d ever felt – though, of course, they all felt that way. He was almost tempted to raise his wand to hex away he sun.

His glasses had fallen to the floor sometime during the night, and when he put them on he spotted a blue flask, the lid a dull gold, sitting on the end table. Harry quickly fumbled it open and downed the contents before sitting back with a happy sigh, closing his eyes. As the icy-cold potion filled him up, he felt his sanity returning to him, along with his will to live.

He ran his hand down the soft fabric of the couch and his eyes flew open. Where the bloody fuck was he?

I didn’t go home with someone, did I? Harry thought. Well, he was sleeping on a couch, so unless he’d gotten into a quarrel with his one-night stand, that didn’t seem plausible.

Harry stood up, deciding to take a look around. The room he was in now very clearly was a living room. If he had to guess he was in a condo or townhouse, or something like that. The lone couch was a large grey compact that spread across the southeast corner of the room covered in mismatched pillows and throws, and by front door, true west, there was a key rack with several hooks, and all kinds of photos hung on the wall. The opposite corner of the room opened onto a small kitchen and dining room complete with a delicately ornate kitchen table that looked old enough that it couldn’t possibly stand on its own, yet it did.

Harry placed a finger on the first picture frame, squinting through the awful morning light’s glare. The first person he saw strangely seemed to resemble Malfoy, and they were hugging what looked to be Luna– Wait. Was he at Luna, Malfoy, and Zabini’s place? The next photo showed Malfoy and Zabini building castles at the beach. Yep, this was the trio’s house. However fuzzy, Harry could now vaguely recall talking, dancing, and most importantly, drinking with Draco Malfoy at his birthday party and apparrating back here together.

Okay, so if this was the trio’s place, as Harry had so creatively dubbed them, then that would mean that they were around here somewhere? He thought to go look for them, but paused a moment, unsure if doing so would violate their privacy. But, he soon pushed that thought from his head in order to satisfy his acute curiosity.

Harry took the first doorway he found, on the south wall beside the couch, which opened onto a short hallway. The first open door was, sure enough, to their shared room. Tangled up on a king-size bed were the three of them all in their own pajamas, Blaise and Luna huddled together, and Draco spread out over the two of them.

An odd feeling rose in his chest at the sight, and Harry turned away, pushing that feeling away as well. He felt that he’d better thank them in some way for their unknowing hospitality instead of just taking off. Harry quickly cast a thorough cleaning spell over himself, and walked into the kitchen.

Now, when was the last time he’d cooked?

__________________________________

Blaise was the first to get up after Harry, awakening to the heavy scent burning. Without saying a word to the others, he hopped out of bed and ran into the next room bare-footed only to find it was merely Harry, dressed in a pair of Draco’s old Hogwarts sweats, setting their bacon ablaze.

Blaise held back a laugh and rubbed a hand down his face. He propped himself against the dining room table, amusement holding his tongue, content to watch the wild-hairded man and wait to be noticed. As Harry reached for a spatula behind him, he caught sight of the wizard and jumped, nearly dropping a pan on his foot. Now that was a priceless look.

“Looks like Draco’s brought a boy home,” Blaise said in an intentionally deep and sultry voice.

“Zabini! I’m sorry– I was trying to make breakfast because Dra-Malfoy let me stay– And I wanted to say thank you but– I didn’t mean to burn all your bacon,” he finished weakly.

Blaise’s head dropped forward into his hands as his shoulders shook with laughter. Eventually he got enough control of himself to walk over put what Harry was “cooking” under a stasis charm.

“It’s perfectly fine, Harry, and much appreciated, really, but I’m not going to allow you to finish this.”

Harry blushed and stepped back from the stove with his hands buried hands buried in his hair. “Fair enough.”

Realizing the meat was beyond salvaging, Blaise threw it out. He cleaned the pan with a quick charm, and began grabbing what bacon was left in the package to grill. Potter had taken out enough supplies to create a small feast – good thing he’d woken up so soon.

“So tell me, Potter,” Blaise began casually as he poked at the popping bacon with a set of tongs, “what are your intentions with my boyfriend?”

Harry jumped again. “B– What?”

Blaise chuckled deeply, “Merlin, you’re easy to rile up. You know, I don’t know how you messed this up. It’s really quite easy.”

Harry shook his head, a veritable bird’s nest it was. “I couldn’t get it off the pan to flip it,” he explained.

“Well that’s easy to do. Here,” Blaise motioned Harry closer and placed his arms around Harry’s waist, taking hold of his wrists. “Just take the tongs…Harry, that’s a fork.”

“Er, oh. Sorry,” Harry could feel every inch of his face burning red, and was glad his face couldn’t be seen from where Blaise stood.

“It’s fine,” Blaise kept chuckling in that deep, rich way of his. “Okay, now take the tongs and ease one edge under the end of a slice of bacon– no you’re pushing it down. Just jiggle it up… and lay it down on the other side! See, that’s not so hard, Harry. Just be careful of the hot oil.”

Silently, Harry disagreed about how easy it was, especially with the distraction of Blaise’s hands on his hips and the heat rising up from the stove. With Blaise’s help, he finished flipping the rest of the bacon before gratefully stepping away from the stove. He wiped a bead of sweat from his face with his forearm and took a seat at the table. “I used to cook quite a bit, you know.”

“Can’t say I believe that,” Blaise teased, lighting a second burner and placing a pan on it with a slab of butter already in the pan.

“Well it’s true either way. When I was younger, I was the cook of the family.”

“Seems like an interesting story?” Blaise said, a question in his voice.

“Maybe I’ll tell it to you one day.”

The man shook his head and cracked a couple of eggs into the pan. “Can you put some bread into the toaster? And try not to burn anything please, Master Chef.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” By the time the bread popped up from the toaster and Blaise had put all of the food onto plates, Draco and Luna had wandered their way into the kitchen. After piling the toast onto a plate, Harry cast a quick glance towards Draco and Luna as they entered the dining area, and then did a double-take. Luna had a bed sheet wrapped around herself, the end trailing behind her, and Draco wore only a pair of trousers. Harry couldn’t help but notice the love marks trailing up and down what was visible of both of their upper bodies, Draco’s most especially, the bruises stark against pale skin.

Read the rest on AO3