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roger-that-cap · 4 years ago

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meet me in the gardens

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say no to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected your knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either.

knight!natasha x lady!reader

sort of royalty au (there’s social hierarchy and a king and queen and knights and commoners and all that so- yeah it’s a royalty au nvm lmao)

warnings: this is fluff, angst, uh, basically everything but smut and serious angst.

word count: 2.5k, starting off short before we get into this

part one!

also, to the very few people who look for fics up here- i promise i’m alive, sorry for being m.i.a! work and school are bodying me right now

A lot could change within a year.

In a year, one was expected to grow wiser and older, and for you, because you were a woman, prettier. And because you did all three of those things in one year, you were herded off like cattle from your small farm, where the old pig you would soon be forced to call “husband” had seen you in the first place, and carted away to his large estate. You were supposed to be his wife, bear his children, and love him unconditionally even though you knew nothing about him, and he was supposed to do not even half of that for you. He had chosen you purely because your father had an abundance of wheat and animals, and he thought you were nice looking. He would surely never go hungry if he had the owner of a relatively large farm’s daughter with him.

Regardless of his reasoning for wanting to make you his wife, it ended up happening. You cried yourself to sleep the night before, and when you were done consummating the horrid marriage, you cried after he fell asleep, unable to shut your own eyes. That was how you spent your first night at the female counterpart to your lord husband, and as Lady Mirellis.

The marriage was loveless. The only thing you got out of it was a nice roof over your head and some silky clothing that made you feel like you were betraying who you really were. He was a brute and a pig, and he hardly ever spoke to you other than to tell you to get on your back, your knees, or something else as equally vile. You were the lady of his large manor, considered a small castle, but that was all you were. You made friends with the staff around, and that made things just the tiniest bit better. He was still cruel and crude, still insanely aggravating, and getting more and more angry with each month that you weren’t carrying his child.

And then, all of a sudden, he grew ill. And, within a month after he fell ill, he died. And then you were a single woman who had a large estate to her name, and a growing line of suitors who wanted nothing more than to have their last names attached to the great patch of land. You were the lady of the house without a lord, still young and still capable of marriage. After a large fuss over whether or not a young woman from your background was fit to take over, you had inherited everything.

So, yes, a lot could change in a year. And you decided that the changes that took place in that year were ones that you could barely handle.

§§

You knew exactly what the letter with the King’s Seal on it was when it was put into your hand, and you very easily guessed the contents of it.

You supposed that you should have seen it coming. Miraculously, your late husband and lord had gotten out of the Hosting, which could have been seen as treasonous or dishonorable if he had been any less careful. You grew up on a farm, and you had no idea how to go about denying or questioning royal decree, so you weren’t going to. You were going to have to Host, for the first time in your life.

Your family was never important enough to have to do it, so you had no experience with it, other than knowing that a high up lord of a small castle, or big estate, whatever one wanted to call it, was in charge of having a knight in their home while the knight completed his year long training. The training was said to come from within, and the job of the knight was to be a good, honorable guest, and to come back to the castle after their year expired as a new and improved person.

But it was rare that they truly soul searched, you had heard. Mainly because they were ninety nine percent male and thought with their penises more than their brains and hearts. The Hosting was a knight’s last stop before true knighthood, more or less a time that humbled young knights. It was a test of the true intentions of a knight, the true desires of a man who wished for glory and authority.

“For you, Milady.” You grimaced inwardly at the title, the title that you used to have to call the lady that you used to bring barrels of hay to on Sunday mornings. You nodded at the young boy, a smile on your face. He was new, and it was clear that this was his first task that involved him to speak to a “higher up” person.

You patted his head. “Thank you,” you said, and his eyes widened comically before he laughed and ran away, obviously shocked by the way you spoke to him back.

It wasn’t against the law, but it was frowned upon for nobles to speak to servants more than necessary. A noble person was not required to have manners or ask kindly for things, and when they did, it was certainly an out of the ordinary experience. You knew that well enough.

You broke the red seal and took in a deep breath, going to sit at your late husband’s desk (that you of course inherited, as you inherited everything the man had) and finding your name in perfect and Royal handwriting.

Lady Mirellis,

As you know, the time for the selection of The Hosting has come. Your house was not a host during the previous Hosting, therefore, you will be required to sponsor a knight this year. Out of respect for your late husband and all he has done for me, I will choose a knight for you, a knight that I trust. You will be safe with my choice, and the year will flow smoothly. Once again, I am sorry for your loss.

Please expect your knight within the fortnight, Lady Mirellis.

With respect, King Anthony Stark.

§§

Two weeks later, your keep was buzzing. You hated hosting things, even if they were short dinners. And you knew that you were going to hate hosting a person for an entire year. A brand new knight who was full of himself, no less.

King Anthony had given you what he thought was going to be an easy charge for a reason. New knights were known for being rowdy, disgusting, perverted, and authoritative when they shouldn’t have been. No lady should ever have to deal with the crude words or behavior of a man—certainly not. And with you and your poor husband gone, that meant that no one was there to help you.

You appreciated the kindness, but it was obvious that every man thought that women were only an extension of their husbands. If you weren’t able to handle the loud voices and taunting shouts of men and boys, you would have melted or turned to dust by the time you were thirteen years old. If you had survived a man who carted you off and away from your family like you were cattle, you could handle a boy who was staying under your roof.

Nonetheless, your people were busy, and so were you. They were making accommodations to the largest guest room, because it was to be someone’s for an entire year. They were cleaning things that you never thought would be cleaned, washing random sheets and hanging them to dry. And you? You were making the welcoming package.

You had never made one before, but you were trying your hardest. It was more or less a care package to make the knight feel comfortable. It was a starter kit, so that they wouldn’t have to ask for much or seem unfit for knighthood, because it was all about pride. So help anyone above, you wouldn’t be dealing with a knight with a bruised ego.

“Men,” you scoffed out, rolling your eyes as you fluffed the silk pillowcase and folded the top of the woven basket over, closing in everything and tying the top with a bow.

“Y/N,” a woman’s voice called out, and you turned to it with a gentle smile.

Of course it was Wanda. Her and her brother were always by your side, ever since you had arrived at the keep. Pietro was the messenger boy for Lord Mirellis, because he was so fast on his feet. He delivered a message meant to go hundreds of leagues away and came back within days, when it would take others weeks. You liked Pietro a lot. He was a funny man, cheeky, but he knew his boundaries with people, whether they were lowborn or highborn. He had the same amount of respect for everything, and you admired that about him.

Wanda however, was your favorite person in the castle. She was the first kind face that you saw when you walked into the keep. She was the first person to actually ask you if you wanted help being dressed or brushing your hair. She was able to see that you needed help with your corset before you even asked. There were so many trivial things that Wanda did for you that made you so loyal to the friendship you shared, but there was one thing you were sure to never forget.

She had been the one to help you out of bed after a rough consummation night. She was also the only woman who had offered you even a sliver of sympathy, and for that, she was your greatest ally, and on a deeper level, a true friend.

You had barely even seen her for more than five minutes before you woke up in bed by yourself the morning after that horrid night, crying silent tears and feeling sore between your legs. A knock sounded on the door, and instead of her turning away and apologizing for coming in on such an improper moment, she shut the door and asked you if you needed help, without any fear of being scolded. Wanda Maximoff was different. That’s why you liked her so much.

She was standing beside you as you waited, even though waiting for a knight was somewhat improper. You were supposed to wait inside and have them knock on your castle door, and you were to welcome them inside and have a warm dinner ready. That was how it was always supposed to go, but you decided not to do that.

You were standing outside, like the lady you had been forced to become. Your chin was slightly lifted and your hands were at your sides, even though you were desperate to fiddle with your thumbs. You took in a deep breath as you heard the sound of a carriage coming, horses and the chatter of men getting louder with each passing moment.

You would be a liar if you said that you weren’t scared to have a man in your house that you didn’t know. Not only would he be a man, but he would be a man that knew how to do things that most didn’t, such as how to properly wield a sword. You were a woman alone, a widow to a lord, and people had tried things with you before, ever since your husband had died. Most of the time, those things ended up with their hands being cut off as the legal and unyielding punishment for their attempted crimes.

“No one here is going to let a stupid knight hurt you, you know.” Pietro had come out of nowhere, chest puffed out as he looked to his sister for a moment, and then back at you. “Wanda is practically with you every second of every day, and I’m never too far.” It was true. There were guards around, as well, but you were still scared.

“If you don’t like it this year, you can always say no next year.” Wanda offered, but you whined under your breath when you remembered that this was no visit. The man would be living with you for an entire year. “And King Anthony said he would be giving you a man he trusted to sleep under your roof. I trust his word.”

“As do I,” you said quickly, ringing out your hands one last time before the carriage got closer. “I’ll be fine, you two. Thank you.” And they knew just how grateful you were for them.

The carriage was being pulled by two white horses, both looking around carelessly and cluelessly as the coachman pulled them to a stop. “Lady Mirellis,” he said, looking you up and down, clearly judging you for not yielding to tradition. “It is very kind of you to meet us outside.”

“I thought it may be easier to begin the tour early,” you said, remembering at the last moment to school your voice into sounding ladylike. The stark difference between your public voice and the one that you spoke to Wanda and Pietro with always made Wanda smile a bit, and you knew that you would have laughed if you were looking at her. “I don’t want to give my new guest too large of a culture shock. I am not quite sure if he would appreciate being hoarded inside a place he hasn’t seen before.”

The coachman gave you an odd look, almost like he wasn’t understanding what you were saying. Or maybe, why you were saying it. But, he knew that because of your status, your word outweighed his, and he would do as you said. Your heart was beating nearly out of your chest as you watched him climb out of his chair and walk around, and you saw his hand wrap around the handle of the white and gold carriage.

There was a flash of brilliant red. That was all you saw at first, and then you saw shiny armor, glinting in the sun. Your eyes trailed up from the shoes that you knew were crafted specifically for knights, up to the legs and then to the breastplate, which you noticed was curved outwards. Your brows furrowed as your eyes got stuck in that place, and you willed yourself to believe that it was a trick of the eyes. There was a pinch on your arm, and you realized that you had been staring without speaking for much too long. In your embarrassment, your eyes flickered up to meet the man’s, and then, you nearly choked.

The knight was no man at all.

*****

so this is a series! this idea has been cooking up in my head for a while now, and i figured it was finally time to go through with it! i’m really excited about this one, and i’ve already got most of it planned out. i hope you guys liked this!

also- if you would like to be tagged, you are free to ask! (bold of me to assume that any of y’all want a notif for this bye 😭) please interact with this if you liked it, it makes me so happy and motivated to hear from you guys!

#natasha x female reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanov fluff #natasha romanov x reader #knight au #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #my fics #natasha romanoff series #knight!natasha #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years ago

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Also saw you're doing requests so yay!!. Any chance of jercy bakery au? Love your work sm hope you have a great day ☺☺

My Darling Anon how dare you make me fall more in love with Jercy???????? I squealed when i saw this and then promptly started writing even though i should be studying for my (ironically) Greek Mythology test.

i hope you love it because if i fail at least i know it’ll be worth it :) Also this was honestly supposed to be a quick drabble and it somehow ended up as 1,5K+ words so??? #isanyonesurprisedthough

Masterlist

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

Jason Grace smiled as the birds beside his head chirped and then swiped his phone to cut off the amusing sound. His fiery friend, and co-worker thought it was hilarious to steal his phone and change his alarm tone every few weeks. Usually it was something inane and silly like a cartoon laugh track or just a repeating “It’s time to get up BakerBoi” that gets increasingly louder. He had arrived to work with a scowl on his face only to see the shit-eating grin of Leo Valdez waiting at the door.

Now Jason stumbles out of bed, letting his limbs loosen as he pads softly to the bathroom, feeling cool tile and a winter breeze on his exposed skin. He loves mornings like this, when the world isn’t quite awake, and the sky hasn’t decided what colour it wants to be for the day. He knows in is baker’s bones that it’ll be cold and rainy, but he has time for a morning jog before the world starts crying.

“Good morning boss,” A bright eyed, fidgeting Leo greets as he steps into the bakery.

Jason had been there at seven thirty, pulling down the café chairs and cleaning the counters. He already had a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies and about three different types of muffins in the oven. The bread was waiting for the busy hands of Leo and Hazel who somehow always seemed to make heavenly fluffed, soft rolls and the deliciously crusty baguettes. Hazel jokes that it’s the New Orleans blood that flows through her veins. They’re all half inclined to agree.

“Morning Valdez, I like the alarm this week.” He tosses a grin over his shoulder before going back to his icing ritual. Mix, taste, mix, ice.

“I figured you would old man. Even though i much prefer my ASMR food audio from last week. What’s the specialty today?”

“We need to get beignets out and the pain au chocolats before the breakfast crowd. Also the fruit stuffed pastry twists and the honey bread have to be prepped before we open so we can bring them out hot in time for the brunch crowd. Specialty today is a new thing I’ve been working on. Blue blondie doughnuts with Oreo cream filling and sugar glaze.”

“Gods boss, you tryna give people heart failure?”

“Just trying to insert some sweetness into the world,” He winked.

Before Leo could give an undoubted snarky reply a bubbly head of dark brown curls and glittering eyes popped around the door.

“Goooood morning everyone,”

Jason couldn’t help the smile that graced his face at her cheeriness, “Hello Miss Levesque, glad to see a prettier face around here,”

Leo made a strangled noise of indignation from the other side of the kitchen but didn’t get the chance to voice his offense before the last member of their little group walked in.

“Ah there you are Miss McLean, I do wonder how you arrive with Hazel and still manage to get in after her.”

She gave him an exasperated look, “I have to say goodbye to my girlfriend before I come in Boss. You’re the one who banned couple calls in the bakery.”

“Well maybe if we didn’t have to hear you and Annabeth explicitly planning your night’s activities I wouldn’t have had to do that.”

Piper just rolled her eyes and went to grab her apron and a cloth to wipe down the tables.

"Everyone ready?" He asked, from the door of the kitchen an hour later.

"Ready for the storm boss," They all yelled back, as they did each morning.

"Then let's roll like thunder," He grinned, flinging the doors to Ambrosia Bakery open.

"Oh thank the heavens, I could smell the goodness from here and it was a struggle to keep the drool in," One Reyna Avila Ramirez Arellano breathed in deep.

"Good morning my favourite customer," Leo smirked from behind the counter.

"Jason tell your bread boy to stand down before I make him,"

"Is that an invitation?" Dark eyebrows wiggled in amusement.

"That is a threat," She growled.

"Well mark me down as scared and h—"

"Valdez I swear if you finish that sentence I'm putting you on wash-up duty for the next week."

A faint "you got it boss" followed Jason into the kitchen, where he allowed himself to smile. It was an ongoing amusement that Leo flirted with Reyna and in return she came up with increasingly terrifying threats.

"Jason, your sister is here to see you" Hazel said, gently shoving him out the way so she could take over rolling the pastry.

"Get the doughnuts ready for the fryer I'll be back soon, thank you!"

He maneuvered around a blushing Leo who had icing on his nose and a suspicious lipstick stain on his cheek, finally making his way to the confectioners stand.

"What's up loser?" He said by way of greeting.

"Hey you're only allowed to call me that if you come baring nice things." Thalia Grace frowned.

"I am nice things," He pouted.

"Not even on your best day." She snorted, "I want to know if you're coming to the gala this weekend. I need a date to steal extra bread-sticks for me."

"Why can't I just make you bread-sticks and we can sit in your lounge and watch bad reality TV?" He groaned

"Because I have to show face or the sponsors aren't going to sponsor. Besides you need a night out. You're gonna start smelling like bread if you don't take a break."

"It's insulting that you think I wouldn't want to smell like breadsticks."

She laughed at, that ruffling his hair, "Just be ready by seven. You better be wearing a suit."

And with that his sister had grabbed her daily croissant and cappuccino and vanished into the drizzling day.

Before he could make it back to his safe haven beside the ovens and marbled counter-tops a flash of black hair caught his eye.

Turning around he couldn't contain the grin that tugged at his lips; standing by the counter already staring intently at the newest creation was Jason's favourite customer.

"Hello Percy Jackson,"

"Jason," A dazzling smile revealed pearl white teeth and the tiniest dimple on a cheek the color of rich toffee.

"I see you've already found Neptune's Tridoughnut,"

A bright laugh escaped a wickedly beautiful mouth, "Oh I love that. How'd you come up with that one?"

Jason smiled softly, debating whether to tell the owner of the 5-Oceans Conservation Company that he was the muse behind all of his latest creations, hence the variations of green and blue.

Instead, as he did every time Percy asked, he lied, "My sister went to an opening ceremony for a new exhibit at the Education center all about Mythology so I thought I’d offer my services and well, they were a hit."

Piper who was walking past at that exact moment coughed something that sounded suspiciously like "Liar" but with a pointed glare she disappeared behind the counter.

"That sounds great. Guess I'll have to recruit you for all my functions," He winked, a small smirk playing at his lips.

Jason cursed his pale cheeks and hoped the blush he now sported wasn't too noticeable, "What can I get you besides a specialty doughnut?"

"Can I get one banana and walnut muffin, a dozen chic chips, and I'm gonna go see mom this afternoon so maybe a couple of caramel pastry twists and some blueberry muffins?"

"Sure. I guess Estelle is off her carrot cake faze?" He laughed, remembering how Percy had to stop at the bakery twice a week to grab carrot and pecan mini cakes just for his little sister.

"Ugh she's onto wanting fruit in absolutely everything now so my mom has been frantically buying boxes of peaches, strawberries and apples to cut up and send with her for lunch at school." Green eyes rolled in fake annoyance.

"Well if she likes fruit things maybe she should try the raspberry and orange pastry twists?" He pointed to a display stand piled with various pastries coloured by blackberry jam, apricot pieces, kiwi slices and mango syrup.

"I could kiss you right now!" Percy exclaimed rushing towards the display, unaware that the baker was frozen to the spot.

I could kiss you, could kiss you, kiss you, kiss...

Jason's brain had short-circuited, his neurons too busy having a dance party with his hormones to process the world.

I could kiss you.

A lazy, unconscious smile took over his face as he stood there in the middle of his bakery, arms slack, head lolled, and eyes crinkled.

"Jason?" A faraway voice called.

"Jason? Hello?"

And suddenly a hand was waving in front of his vision trying to get his attention.

He pulled himself out of his reverie, blinking back into existence, "Right yes the pastries"

"Didn’t get enough sleep last night?" Percy teased, slugging him softly in the shoulder.

He snorted at the implication, "Unfortunately I'm a bit of a grandfather. Sleep early, rise early."

"Oh guess you like morning activities then,"

He sputtered, head snapping up to stare into twinkling eyes, "N-no, I just meant—"

"I'm kidding Mr BakerMan," That brilliant, bright laugh again, "I know you're a homebody. Your sister likes to tell me how boring you are."

He huffed at that, "We'll see if she gets her pear tarts this weekend."

"Speaking of this weekend," A sly grin played at Percy's mouth, "Are you coming to the gala?"

"Yea," He sighed, "Thalia says she needs me to steal bread-sticks ."

Sea green eyes widened before Percy burst out laughing. In a matter of moments tears were streaming down his face.

If Jason wasn't so smitten with that gorgeous smile and those mischievous eyes he may have been inclined to laugh too. But Percy Jackson was a vision he half believed only his dreams could conjure.

When the laughter had mostly seized Percy wiped his eyes and managed to gasp, "That sounds exactly like something Thalia would ask. When we worked on the marine life project together she always stole the mints from every CEO’s office because she said they had enough money to buy a mint factory, they could afford to replace a single bowl."

"Yep, her life goal is to end capitalism. I swear if it wasn't for Annabeth, Thalia would be walking into office buildings with a sack like some reverse Santa Claus where she steals the office supplies and fruit bowls."

"Well I can't wait to see you stuffing your pockets with bread-sticks on Saturday so I guess I'll see you then," He gave another dazzling smile.

"Yea, and say hello to little Estelle for me. Tell me how she likes the pastries."

"Don't worry I'm sure I'll be back soon with a long list of request."

"Can't wait." He grinned.

Percy chuckled, "Me neither, see you Friday." And then he was gone.

Oh gods, Jason thought, how am I ever gonna survive Percy in a suit?

***

Spoiler alert past-Jason: you didn't.

#Okay but i lowkey love baker jason and big boss percy #Thank you Anon #this ask was too cute #PJSSG asks #she speaks #jercy fic #baby fanfic #baby fanfic series #jercy fanfic #percy jackson #jason grace #jason #grace #percy #jackson #PJO #HOO

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staytruetonorthch · 5 years ago

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Perfect Ch. 1

A/N: I’m super anxious but here is my first official post. It’s just a single chapter around 4.5k. I plan on this being a pretty detailed, long-form story so if you like it, hang in there. I promise it’ll speed up once we get past exposition. I’m also highly aware of the switches from past/present tense, but I’m too tired to fix it and I’ve been so hesitant to post it’s either a now or never. I hope you guys enjoy <3

Football!Calum x Dancer!OC

-----

"Don't make me come over there!" It may have looked like I was yelling into the racks of clothing and shoes in my closet, and to be honest, I might as well be.

"You worry too much, Celley." I can hear the smile on my best friend, Brynn's face from my bed in the other room.

"I do, but only because you don't give a fuck, B and I know those boys don't," I said, counting each person out on my fingers. "That's four people in, and not a single fuck is being given. Someone's got to, or nothing would get done."

"You've got a point. The delivery was a little aggressive, but I'm moved nonetheless," Ash spoke up through Brynn's phone.

"I'm cleaning as we speak, Cel. It's gonna be fine," Luke chimed in from the boys' side of the phone.

"I can hear you lads playing FIFA," I said with an exasperated sigh.

We have a party planned at the boy's house tonight. A party I only had five hours to prepare, but that's the beauty of university, right? Spontaneity. All precautions to the wind. Everything that I never could be in high school and am still afraid to do today after a whole month of coursework. Don't ask me what I think might happen. Spontaneous combustion? Instantaneous death? A party that no one has fun at because I didn't have time to make an updated playlist or look up the actual rules for any drinking games?

"Brynn, are you ready to go?" I ask, peeking my head out of my closet to look at her sprawled out across my bed. I can hardly see her underneath the excessive number of decorative pillows and thick white down cover.

"I just got so comfortable. I was actually contemplating taking a nap."

"Please," I plead, batting my lashes over large dewy eyes. It’s a trick I picked up after so many lyrical dances over the years. Direct eye contact with these watery eyes always left judges speechless.

"Ugh… fine, but I'm getting wasted tonight and sleeping in this wonderful bed. Have your asses in gear by the time we get there," she said, hanging up on the boys and throwing pillows haphazardly across the floor. I cringed at every one as it landed in the thick white carpet. I don't bother telling her that I hadn't expected the night to end any other way. I pull myself back into the closet, eyeing my options once more. I could either go with a red gingham top, or I could tie my white vogue tee shirt in the front for a more casual look. Both require a bra sadly.

"The red is trying too hard," Brynn said, leaning against the doorframe. "You can't pull out picnic bitch chic at a party."

"I guess you're right." I pull the tee over my head careful to avoid touching the thin white fabric to my made-up face. Once I had a knot secured at the base of my rib cage, I fluffed my hair as if it could get any bigger and smoothed out my denim skirt. "Shoe's and I'm good. What about you?" I said eyeing her in the reflection of my full-length mirror. She wore a white hoodie underneath black overalls and black high-top converse. Splitting her hair in half, she tied it up into multicolored space buns on top of her head. Brynn is the kind of girl who could put on mascara and chapstick five minutes before she left, and she’s effortlessly beautiful. Her freckles do most of the work across her nose and cheeks, making her insanely adorable.

"Done. Let's hit the road, Jack," she said, walking towards the door to my studio flat. I quickly replace the pillows back on the bed and turned off all the lights before joining her. She grabbed the keys to my Jeep, knowing I’m too preoccupied to drive us.

"Are we stopping at the store on the way or coming back out?"

"Stopping on the way. We just need paper towels, red cups, more ping pong balls because Mikey lost three of the last four, and snacks. I also found this recipe for a cool looking pink drink, but the boys are all stocked on beer."

"I almost hate the fact that I can't use my fake here. I spent good money and almost got arrested for something that's legal here." I smile, scrolling through my checklist one more time to make sure I didn't forget anything.

"Well that's your fault for not doing a simple google search before you came to uni in Aus."

"I'm just saying, in America, I would be a plug." She turned wide out into the street, speeding past every car. She has a bit of a lead foot.

"That one's lost on me, love." I try to keep up with her American slang, but I wasn't able to watch a lot of American shows or anything growing up, so I'm a little behind to put it gently.

She said she has a southern accent, but I can't tell any difference. Everything she says just sounds brutal to me. Shit slams, anything can pop off apparently, and a lot of good things burn. At least that's what I gather when she uses 'fire' and 'flames' as adjectives.

I met Brynn at new student orientation. She seemed to be the only other one unamused by the school's welcoming parade meant to encourage school spirit, so as soon as our parents left, we left campus to explore the surrounding area locating the nearest shops and eating places. She was unlike any friend I had ever made swearing and speaking in riddles. I went to an all-girls catholic school filled to the brim with carbon copies of perfect people. We were second to none in both academics and clubs, which my parents loved, and Brynn was the absolute antithesis of that. She was a self- proclaimed 'thick' queen who was a pleasant deviance to the bird thin girls I was usually surrounded by. Her hair couldn't choose a color after multiple self- dye jobs. Even her mixed Mexican and Jamaican heritage were new to me. She said what she wanted and smiled wide at everything. I'm just happy she saw something in me to stick around even if it was the fact that I kidnapped her on the first day, keeping her from someone better.

I grab the frame of the car as she whips into the car park stopping short of a disgruntled gentleman in the crosswalk. She cursed loudly, causing my face to heat up. I contemplate jumping out of the car seeing as how the doors to the Jeep are safely kept in my garage. It’ll be a quick getaway, but I may need to make sure she makes it into a spot that isn't already occupied with this lovely gentlemen's car.

We soon found a spot and made quick work of the shopping, splitting the list I organized by section right down the middle. We’re back on the road in no time, heading closer to the edge of campus where the boys lived.

Ashton was actually the first person to befriend Brynn. They met at a summer fellowship program that put them in parts of Australia that don't have service for a hundred miles. They have that rugged woodsman thing in common. It kept them in touch through their final year in high school before she 'coincidentally' got accepted into the same university as him an entire ocean's length away. They were equally as smiley; she was just a little more… brash at times which is hard to believe. She didn't want to admit that she was nervous when he invited her to the house, he shared with two of his best mates, so I didn't mention anything when she asked me along. As the male version of Brynn, I immediately got on with Ashton. Mikey was chirpy and so sweet despite his punk persona. His other mate Luke was quiet only offering his very corny, yet intriguing commentary. He seems to be the closest thing I have to the friends I'm used to at home despite his lip ring. We formed a group of sorts meeting up in the library to study during the week and finding anything else but coursework to do on the weekends.

Our first kickback was just a barbeque featuring the five of us until Ash invited a few friends he made throughout the week with his open and boyish charm. Brynn had a few of her own, and Mikey wanted to join in on the fun, so he found a few friends to join. Luke and I were just fine meeting people as they were brought to us. Before we knew it, there was a group chat of about fifteen of us with more and more ideas of who to invite to the weekend shenanigans.

The boys had felt the pressure of expectation early this morning before Michael was a functioning human being. He shooed everyone off with a 'ya sure' before hanging up and going back to sleep. Brynn called me with our invite not only to attend the party but to host it at about 5:00 and of course, I freaked out. I plan everything, including some of the most successful events of my college career, if I do say so myself, so I took the praise for last week's party in stride. The difference is, I didn't spend my week planning out this event down to the second hand, so anything can happen. I wouldn't feel all the way like expelling my insides if it hadn't been confirmed that the first-year football players were going to be in attendance after today's match.

This confirmation came directly to Ash from another one of his mates from college, Calum Hood. Not only the best first year but the best player on the whole bloody team. He's also the hottest. The first time I saw him, he was leaving the classroom I was walking into. He opened the door just as I turned the handle, pushing me backward and almost to the floor.

"My fault, mate," he said distractedly, zipping his bag and flipping it over his shoulder. He was obviously sponsored by Nike dressed top to bottom in their slate grey gear, the school's emblem attached to every piece. The only thing I could tell wasn't sponsored was the gray beanie he had pulled down over his ears covering his hair. When he finally looked up a smirk graced his pink lips.

"You alright, doll?"

I couldn't tell if my reaction showed on my face because I didn't expect him to be so adorable with the brute force, he opened the door with. I just nodded my head taking deep breaths, trying to keep my face still. His tan skin was smooth and warm, complimenting the heat in his eyes that was slowly melting my resolve.

"Right. Well you're late, so you might want to…" he trailed off, nodding over his shoulder into the classroom.

"Right," I replied, hoping my hair was doing that cool thing it does when the wind pushes it back. It's either doing that, or the curls are fighting themselves on top of my head. It's so thick I can never really tell without a mirror, but let's be honest. My hair tells me what it wants to do, I rarely have any say in the matter. Instead of walking out of the door, he extended his arm, acting as a human door frame for me to walk under. When I turned my head to look again, he was gone.

I showed up a little earlier to class the next day to see if I could catch him again. Then I was late again and right on time before I decided to be outside the room before his class even ended. He was still nowhere to be found. I had practiced redeeming myself with a smile or maybe even words. Anything but how cringe-worthy I had been the first time, but to no avail. I didn't see him again until the boys dragged us to the first football game.

I don't mind sports at all. I grew up going to my older brother's rugby matches, so I'm not entirely clueless. Brynn, on the other hand, sat unmoving and quiet for the first time in our friendship. I think she concerned Ashton the most, as he asked her if she was ok every time the ball stopped moving.

"Someone tell me why I chose the guitar over football again," Luke said, pulling his hands down his face. "I was just as good as him, but now he's got fans and his face on posters."

"If that was true, I'm sure you'd be out there, dude," Mikey said, patting his shoulder. Michael wasn't interested in playing sports unless it was FIFA on the Xbox, but he was supportive nonetheless. Luke wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer, so he could point out the center forward dribbling through two defenders.

"That's my best mate, or at least he was before he got club offers," he said, taking a swig of his beer.

"I'm surprised he even came to university. He could've just gone pro," Ash said before he cursed the refs loudly. The boy Luke had been pointing out was quick with powerful legs and defined arms. His jaw was clenched, making it sharp enough to cut through glass. Thick curly hair was pushed out of his face with a thin gauzy headband, a gold streak shone prominently in the surrounding darkness of his curls. As he made quick work of the remaining defender, there was only himself and the goalkeeper who looked menacing. Making a sharp left jab, he caused the goalie's weight to shift, giving him the perfect opportunity to use his nondominant foot for a goal.

I jumped out of the way as the boys leaped up, hugging each other, and spilling beer. The entire crowd erupted in shouts, holding on to one another as if the world depended on it.

"CALUM! CALUM! CALUM!" the entire stadium roared. He smirked up at the crowd with a small wave. I gasped, grabbing onto Brynn's arm in surprise.

"Calum?" I asked incredulously. Oh boy what did I miss out on being dumbstruck? Not only is he incredibly attractive, but he's a football king? My parents would love him, I would literally win my family if I could've snagged him, but I'm stupid. So incredibly stupid.

This is why tonight is so stressful and important. If I can not only get a football player, but the best football player here and he looks that good, I can get my parents off my back. My mum went to university solely to get a husband, which she found in my dad. She worked as a primary school teacher until he could support them at his father's law firm, and before you know it, he was running the place. They pop out a few kids, dad runs for Parliament, and the rest is unfortunately history. Mum loved teaching, but she loved being a mum more. She just raised the 'perfect children' she liked to say to anyone who would listen. My too perfect to be true brother Cleo and her wannabe prima ballerina Celeste, me. So tonight, I have to look perfect, and everything has to be perfect, but I don't have time to bustle around and host. This party has to go on autopilot, so I can set my focus on Calum.

"It could be worse, Celley," Brynn shrugged as she set the grocery bags down on the counter of the boys' home. She's right, it could be. I didn't expect it to be this clean actually, but there were no discarded clothes in sight, no pizza boxes on the counters, and no beer cans all over the place. At first glance the place looks fine, I just have to get the dishes out of the sink and out of sight, so they're not broken. A quick vacuum run and the place would work out just fine. I relaxed a little letting my shoulders pull forward.

"Thank you, Lukey," I said, starting the water in the sink. I knew he was the only person who really did any cleaning around here. As much as they were all messy, he couldn't live in filth for too long.

"No problem," he replied sitting on the island watching me work.

"Hey, I picked up my own stuff," Michael complained looking through the bags we brought in pulling out various things.

"You picked up the underwear that your mum wrote your name in and sat back down." Ash always laughs when he chastises, never letting you know if he’s serious or not.

"Exactly. I picked up MY stuff. You guys never listen to me." He shook his head, disapprovingly.

"Thank you too, Mikey, but start throwing those balls around this kitchen, and I will cut yours off as a replacement," I said sweetly. His eyes went wide as he set the ping pong balls back in the bag he got them out of.

"So, what's the vibe going to be tonight?" Brynn asked, putting chips in bowls and swatting the boys’ hands away.

"Well I accidentally invited like twenty people this morning."

"And those people invited people," Ash added.

"And word got around so looks like we've got ourselves a rager," Luke said, rubbing his hands together with a devilish grin. "You've got to admit, we're becoming the best party house for first years."

"Calm down. We're just the only first-years who don't live in dorms where you can't party," Ashton said, punching Luke in the arm. Not many groups of friends stay together long enough or get into the same university for their parents to go in thirds on the house. It worked out to be less expensive than staying in dorms.

"We've got the fucking football team coming, Ash, I think we're doing pretty well." I listened to their banter silently as I cleaned and set things exactly where I had imagined them. The first guest started to arrive a few hours later after I had time to add a few extra touches and have my first glass of the wine Brynn and I had hidden in the fridge. Neither of us is too keen on liquor or beer.

Boys are scattered around the living room, passing around joints and playing FIFA. Girls talk around them, mingling on the patio. There’s a very competitive game of beer pong going on in the dining room that somehow consists of all four corners of the table instead of teams on halves. I was content for the first few hours refilling bowls and dancing with friends I had made at past parties. I even had time to play wingman for Michael and a blue-haired girl in the corner, but soon I got anxious. It was reaching the first hour of the new day. I found myself sitting on the floor between Luke's long legs watching him play Super Smash and stealing hits of the joint he had held between his fingers. I gave up on being cute at about two, smoking enough for my eyes to be as red as Luke's, and my shoes had long been discarded in one of the boy's rooms. I didn't know, nor did I care who's it was.

There were just about the maximum amount of people possible crammed into this small house, and I didn't bother saying excuse me as I got up to make my way to the bathroom. At one point there were so many people taller than me I felt I was walking through a forest. I tried slipping past one particularly muscular redhead boy caging a giggling blonde against the wall. I did my best to slip behind him, but he decided it was the perfect time to do the douche stretch and flex hitting me with the red cup in his hand. The pink sticky drink that was delicious if I do say so myself covered me from neck to foot. My skin went hot, and I'm pretty sure the blonde's giggles were going to cause me to evaporate the liquid from my skin with embarrassment alone. Where was my snarky American friend when I needed her to tongue-lash someone?

"I'm sorry, love," the boy said, failing to conceal his laughter. I tried to avoid his face at all costs burning a hole through his chest with my eyes. The school's emblem was stitched into his slate grey shirt, but I couldn't quite remember where I had seen this exact shirt before. I didn't have time to worry about it with my shirt becoming more see-through by the second and my head spinning in circles.

"Just let me by please," I said. Redhead stepped closer to the girl who was giving me a snarky look over his shoulder. "Stay in your lane, honey," I said, trying out one of Brynn's colloquialisms on my own tongue. My glare was enough to split the crowd like the red sea as I stormed past. Just as I reached the bathroom and twisted the handle, it swung open forcefully, revealing a disheveled brunette with smeared makeup and haunting blue eyes.

"What the fuck happened to you?" she said with an amused smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"I could ask you the same thing," I said, pushing my hair out of my face. "Are you finished in there, so I can get cleaned up or?" She just smirked sauntering out with a wink. I shook my head, entering the bathroom and shutting the door behind me. I looked in the mirror at my hair that was slowly but surely frizzing out, and my shirt may as well have been a window into my soul for how see-through it was. My mascara was smudged in the corners of my eyes and my lips had lost their shine ages ago.

"Are you alright?" I was startled by a voice coming from the toilet.

"Oh my goodness, I didn't know anyone was in here," I said, covering my eyes. "I thought that girl was the only one and she left and--"

"It's fine. I'm not doing anything but looking at my phone." I peeked through the cracks of my fingers to see a boy was sat on the toilet cover searching diligently through his phone. I scanned him from head to toe. Black Vans, faded black skinny jeans, a cut-up muscle shirt that was barely attached at his hips, exposing his defined torso and arms. His warm skin, his dark hair with a single gold streak running up the front. I gulped, hoping I would take my own advice and just spontaneously combust.

"I'm gonna just go," I said quietly, reaching for the door behind me. I had forgotten how quick he was on the field because he scared me shitless when his hand captured my shoulder stopping me from leaving.

"No, I'll go," he said quickly. "I don't think I'm going to find what I'm looking for anyways. Unless… do you happen to know whose party this is?"

"It's my mate's house actually," I said, quirking an eyebrow in confusion. He should know. He invited himself and the whole team this morning.

"So you know all the lads? Michael, Ashton…"

"And Luke," I finished for him.

"I've been trying to reach Ashton and I just barely caught Mikey before he went down to the beach with some girl. He let me in, but there's so much going on I never made it past the kitchen. Do you know where Luke is?"

"Uh… couch." I pushed my hair out of my face taking a deep breath. I may as well just give up at this point. I'm in no position to charm anyone, and I can see the remnants of that girl's lip gloss on his lips. It was kind of cute on his pink pout, but I shook my head to clear the thought. He's not looking at me like that, and he probably never will.

I turned the faucet on testing the temp before grabbing a washcloth from the cupboard and washing the stickiness from my neck and exposed stomach. I expected him to leave, but he just sat back on the toilet cover, fiddling with his thumbs. He looked forlorn, his eyes longing.

"You ok?" I asked undoing the tie at the front of my shirt and attempting to wring it out to no avail. I glanced at the sad boy in the mirror and shrugged before pulling the wet material over my head and rinsing it out underneath the water. It's not like anything was left to the imagination with it on.

"Have you ever heard Luke say anything about me?" he asked quietly.

"Kinda," I tilted my head slightly as if it would help me think harder. "He did say you used to be his best mate when we went to one of your matches."

"He did?" he asked, perking up like a puppy.

"Yeah, watches every match. About loses his mind with pride every time you score, which you do quite often, good on you," I said, fixated with the faint pink water swirling around the drain. Maybe it wouldn't be a lost cause to put this in the wash. I'm so high and sleepy it probably won't make it tonight. "Well, I'm gonna go. If you work it up in you to go see Lu, tell him I've gone back to my flat. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to see you."

"I'll do that," he said, standing up assuredly. "I'm Calum, by the way."

"I gathered that," I said with a small grin. "I'm Celeste." When I opened the door, I didn't imagine how bad it might look with me leaving sans shirt, with the school's football star following close behind me. I decided to start caring in the morning when I had Brynn to complain to. I'm a person who knows how to quit while they're ahead. My perfect night shouldn't be able to get any worse, and I'm not going to give the universe the time to try.

#5sos fanfic #5sos #Calum Hood #calum hood fanfiction #Calum Hood fanfic #Luke Hemmings #michael clifford #Ashton Irwin #First fic #Perfect Ch. 1 #five seconds of summer #football!Calum

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goldenoyster · 2 years ago

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[ID: Original post; a bewildered looking man holding two pillows, one with a large brownish-red stain on it, the caption reading "When your girlfriend stays the night but you only have two pillows..."; underneath a comment from mitchthorpe saying "pillow looks like a civil war bandage".

Underneath a screenshot of the tags from OP saying "#so real. mine has blood on it. #how often are you supposed to replace pillows #the ones at my parents house are like #40 years old #one on my bed is made of real down". End ID]

SO, I know this post is mostly a joke OP, but I thought I'd give some genuine advice about pillows to anyone who needs it because I have Knowledge TM and the desire to share it.

It's typically recommended that pillows be replaced every one to two years due to the accumulation of dander, dust, and allergens that they can build up. While I agree on this advice, I find it wasteful to throw away an otherwise perfectly good pillow.

The casing of the pillow can be replaced if there are issues with staining and discoloration (often due to sweat, or in this case blood). I recommend all pillows be covered in a waterproof, allergen proof cover that protects your pillow from accumulating issues with sweat, dust, or other detritus. The cover can be removed and washed as needed, protecting yourself from the health issues associated with dirty bedding, but saving your pillow from the landfill.

Otherwise, replace your pillow once it is no longer supportive or if your sleeping habits change.

As far as real down pillows go, it's recommended that all real down bedding (pillows, mattress pads, etc.) be fluffed and cleaned yearly. This is progressively becoming more difficult to do as our consumer culture does not promote longevity, but if you ask your local dry-cleaners, they may know where you can have this service done.

I would sincerely recommend that the pillows at your parents' house be replaced or at least cleaned and placed into waterproof covers. My preferred brand is Malouf (not sponsored, I just like their stuff). Their products are pricier, but they hold up well and are durable. (I also recommend you do the same with your mattress. You won't believe how nasty a mattress without a cover gets. Did you know the average human sweats one cup of fluid per night?)

Lastly, a cleaning tip for blood. Hydrogen peroxide is great for cleaning up fresh blood. It essentially breaks up the red blood cells, leaving a slightly yellow tinged spot behind, which is easily cleaned with a little soap and water. Older blood stains are not removed as effectively with this method, but I do like the Oxy-Clean Max Force Gel Stick (again, not sponsored) for follow up. I use it for most of the stains on my clothing, and I have no issues with them anymore.

Hope this helps, OP!

#cleaning tips #pillows #cleaning #stains #life advice

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hannahgrunberg-blog · 6 years ago

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Chapter 2: What Happened At The Manor

May 28, 1940

Hannah squirmed under the covers of her scratchy bed sheets. Fire danced wildly in her mind, growing to the point where she could almost feel it with her hands. The pain was sharp and hot. The eyes of her mother and father were paralyzed with fear. A man stood in front of them, his eyes blue with cruelty. When Hannah looked into them, her body tensed. His face was full of malice and murderous intent. The legs of the crooked cross adorned on the wrists looked animated, ready to snatch her as prey.

“Jews,” the soldier spoke in a commanding voice. “From this moment on, this is no longer your property. I ask you to cooperate-”

“I will not let you take our home,” her father said, firmly standing his ground. Both, the mother and child, huddled together behind him as he prepared himself for whatever may come. “You have taken away my job and the right for us to live peacefully. I am not going to give everything that I’ve worked for without a fight.”

“I’m afraid you shall not, Mr. Grunberg,” the soldier sneered. The girl gasped as her father was taken forcefully by the hand, a gun pointed to his back. The pain in his eyes was frightening. She watched the soldier pin him to the ground, tying his hands. “There is no place for you in Germany,” was the cold, ghostly response. “There would never be a place for Jews.”

That was when the family looked down in defeat. There was no way to deny it. They were just going to be pushed away. Would it be best to just put a stop to this sooner?

“That is what I thought,” the soldier saw the scared looks of the family, smirking to himself. “Let this be a reminder of what I am capable of.”

In a blink of an eye, her father and the soldier were both gone. The girl’s mother lost control of herself, falling onto her knees. In her dark pupils, she saw the reflection of the world. Bodies littered the streets. Shadows moved in and out of the bright lights. Piercing cries were heard. Glass showered the streets with ashes. Behind them, Germany burned.

Hannah gasped, lifting her head up in exasperation. She quickly looked around her dark room. The bed sheets have become uncomfortably scratchy, but they always seemed to be that way. Her eyes landed on a photograph of her mother and father. They looked like the picture perfect family. She took the picture and examined it closely. It was very clear that she looked more like her mother. She had her mother’s dark curly hair, while her father’s was bushier and untamed.

The memory of her parents made her feel sick. It had been nearly a year since Hannah last saw them. While her mother was trapped in Germany, she had no idea what the Nazis were doing to her father. All she knew was that he was sent to work and hasn’t heard from him since. Guilt overwhelmed her constantly. The journey to England was difficult for her, and it was all to keep her safe.

The light in the room flicked on. Hannah lifted her head, only to see a man with a small, pointed white beard, circular glasses perched on the tip of his nose, and dressed in a crimson and gold robe. It was no other than Professor Kirke. As soon as she saw him, the gentle sparkle of his grey eyes calmed her. He was the one who cared for her all these months, as she adjusted to living in England. If it wasn’t for him sponsoring her, Hannah knew she wouldn’t be there.

“Hannah dear, what is it with all this whimpering?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I’m starting to get worried about those nightmares-“

The Professor was interrupted by a sound of footsteps rushing towards them.

“Sir, you don’t have to get up and deal with the child. I could-"

A stern looking woman with brown hair streaked with grey walked into her room. Her cold brown eyes softened at the site of the Professor with the girl. Hannah tightened, hoping not to get into trouble with Ms.Macready. She knew how cross the woman could be. From the first glance the two shared at Liverpool Station over a year ago, Hannah knew that the woman did not like children.

“How many times have I told you not to disturb the Professor?” Ms. Macready asked, harshly.

“It wasn’t really my fault,” Hannah replied, avoiding her accusing stare. “It was the nightmare. I didn’t mean to wake the Professor up.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, Hannah,” the Professor reassured her, turning to Ms. Macready. “I’m sure that I’m not in need of any assistance.”

Reluctantly, Ms. Macready headed out the room, leaving the two be.

“I was really trying not to have any nightmares,” Hannah said sincerely. “I even avoided dairy as I read from the library.”

“You can’t just stop the nightmares from coming,” the Professor explained in a calm tone. “They’re creatures of the night, very unpredictable.”

“My nightmares are nothing more than predictable,” she replied, simply.

“They will disappear through time, like your accent.”

Hannah chuckled to herself, knowing that this was true. She noticed that her German accent wasn’t as sharp as it used to be, but there were those who still noticed that slight reminder of her past.

“There’s that smile,” the Professor said, “Hopefully you could think happy thoughts and sleep soundly. Think of how well you’re improving with your English.”

“That's not much of a happy memory,” Hannah laughed. “I can’t go to sleep because of that.”

The Professor rubbed his chin, exaggerating a thinking pose by cocking his eyebrow. “What about the summer holiday? Isn’t that something to look forward too?”

“I don’t think I’d be able to follow asleep while thinking of summer,” she replied, slightly cheerful. “It’ll make me hyper.”

“Then perhaps a story will do,” the Professor made his final decision. If any story was to put the girl to sleep, it would be The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. It was one of the first books she read in English. The pages were already torn because of the amount of times she read it.

With a hushed voice, he told her the story of the little girl named Dorothy who was whisked away by a tornado into the Land of Oz. He smiled with satisfaction as he saw the girl’s eyelids were starting to close.

“Professor?” the girl asked, weakly. “Every time I finish reading this book, I wonder about how it's possible for a place like Oz to exist."

“The logic in books is different than ours, Hannah,” the man spoke.

“But is it really possible for a magical world to exist?”

The Professor pursed his lips, looking down before answering her. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

“But-“she said, startled at his response. “That’s impossible, isn’t it?”

“You never know unless you believe that the impossible is possible,” the Professor said. “Now that is something schools don’t teach.”

Before the lamp was turned off, the Professor brushed Hannah’s hair from her long eyelashes. Her breaths were deep, and before he knew it she fell asleep.

The Professor locked the door behind him, rubbing his eyes as he entered his room. Ms. Macready was there, fixing his bed sheets and fluffing his pillow. She looked at the Professor with a concerned expression.

“This has been going on for the past few months now,” she whispered. “I’m starting to get worried that you’ll be up every night.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” the Professor said, reassuringly. “A traumatic experience isn’t something a child could easily forget.”

With that, Ms. Macready left him to sleep. The rest of the night was silent, unlike the following morning. Dozens of tourists from the city showed up. The once peaceful manor growing crowded by the minute. The sound of footsteps shuffling through the wooden floors could be heard. Professor Kirke’s manor was a landmark for tourists. The house was very old, and filled with antiques and paintings.

This was one thing Hannah liked about the manor. It looked like a house you could find in a fairy tale. It almost had a castle-like experience; grand with beautiful pavements. Decorating the manor was a garden surrounding the porch. Each item had a story to tell, and it was Hannah’s duty to give the tour today.

She wore a presentable beige color blouse and frilly green skirt. Her dark hair was tied into a braid with two curls left dangling. She quickly tied the shoelaces of her black shoes, her hands fiddling with nervousness. This tour was very important for her, as they paid money specifically to support the orphanages that held Kindertransport children- that was why she needed to be a good host.

“The guests are ready for you,” Ms. Macready told her.

Hannah lifted herself from her chair, leaving the room. As soon as the tourists saw her, she was greeted with looks of sympathy.

“It’s the little Jewish girl,” spoke a feminine voice.

“Welcome to Professor Kirke's Manor,” Hannah said, clearly. “My name is Hannah, and I am going to be the tour guide for today. As a warning, the artifacts are not to be touched.”

A few children that gathered around two paintings paused in their actions. The tourists’ eyes lit up in awe as they saw the fascinating objects that looked old and fragile. Hannah remembered each of their stories by heart, as she told them many times. She led them through the corridors and some of the Professor’s rooms. However, there was one room that Hannah loved showing off the most. There was a wardrobe that the Professor said he had made himself. Beautiful designs of dancing fairies and different creatures were carved on it.

“Be careful in this room,” she led them through the entrance. “The floors are usually wet and slippery.”

By the time Hannah made it there, her energy started to wear out. While the tourists were busy looking at thr pictures, Hannah leaned her back against the wall. She would have sat down on the floor if it wasn’t wet; she always wondered why the floors were usually slippery, and not only that, but cold. The windows were usually open to let it dry, but the shoes were always making squeaky noises.

"The wardrobe in this room was made by the Professor himself. As you can see, creatures of mythology are delicately carved. This gives the wardrobe a magical presence."

The guests stared at the wardrobe with fascination, examining all corners of it. The tours usually stretched out to the middle of the day, and Hannah always felt exhausted by the time. She leaned against the wall, trying to tune out the murmurs. Hannah noticed a boy and a girl look up at her with curious eyes. The little boy had neatly combed brown hair and wore a plaid shirt with dress pants, while the girl wore a frilly pink dress and her blonde hair were in pigtails. Both seemed innocent, looking no older than ten. The two glanced at each other warily, and then at Hannah. This was nothing new to her, as she was used to those types of stares.

"It's not polite to stare," said a woman, who must've been their mother. She sent her an apologetic look. The lovely blonde curls on her hair reminded Hannah of her own mother.

Before things could've got more awkward, the tour came to an end. After a bunch of "thank you's," the guests left with satisfied looks on their faces. Once again, the manor was silent. The Professor went on to read his newspaper in the study room.

Meanwhile, Hannah blissfully sat herself on the sofa, resting her head until she heard a harsh voice call to her. "Don't think you're free, young lady. You have chores to do."

Hannah sighed, knowing there was no way to get out of doing chores with The Macready. She always pictured her as "The Wicked Witch of the West" in some situations. It was obvious that she didn't like children, especially when they were brought along during the tours. There was this nasty look on her face, a roll of the eyes, and sharp sigh. Even when Hannah couldn't understand her years ago, The, was a good fit for a nickname.

Liverpool, February 4th, 1939

Just from the first glance of eye contact, little Hannah got a cold look from the woman standing in front of her. The woman had a strict disposition; her tall, poised stance made her feel intimidating.

"You may call me Ms. Macready," the woman said, sharply.

Hannah looked at her cluelessly. Her heart beat rate increased quickly. To this moment, she had limited interactions with the English people, only having arrived to this country just a few hours ago. What was she supposed to say? The woman looked at her with a smile that was clearly forced, causing even more tension in her body.

"The... Macready?" Hannah choked.

The woman furrowed her eyebrows at her, looking at the little girl crossly. "Excuse me?"

Hannah gulped, her eyes scattering around face. It didn't take her long to notice that what she said might have been incorrect. Foreigner or native, body language was a global language. The girl lowered her head in shame, avoiding her cold stare.

Hannah bent down on her knees, and started to whimper. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm sorry!"

Ms. Macready tried to avoid the questioning faces of others. Her face turned pale as men, women, and children looked at her with a raised eyebrow. The wailing echoed through the walls of the station, not to her surprise.

"Child? Child?" she asked, her voice filled with tension. Ms. Macready took the girl forcefully by the arm, helping her up. She smiled with satisfaction as the crying immediately stopped.

"It's alright, just stop crying please," she said. "Would you like it if I get you some sweets on our way?"

Even though this moment was quite nerve-wrecking to think about, Hannah couldn't help but giggle to herself at the memory. This was the origin of the nickname that she used as mockery. Ms. Macready shared a good resemblance to the green witch from Oz. If only she could use the bucket of water and melt her away.

The Macready believed that if Hannah was given a place at the Manor, then she should help take care of it. Even though that was fair, Hannah's strength was drained due to the tour. Talking to people and not being able to sit for hours was exhausting. The only thing she wanted to do now was lay down and sleep.

She hoped the squeaking noises the wet mop made didn't interrupt the Professor in his studies. He must've been tired as well, dealing with all the noise that disrupted his peace.

Just a few more inches, Hannah thought. She pushed her mop until it reached each corner of the kitchen. The fact that she was almost finished raised her adrenaline level. She reached a black surface, quickly scrubbing the dust until she realized that standing in front of her, was the Macready.

"There's some important mail from the orphanage that came for you," Ms. Macready informed her. "You're free to go."

With that news, Hannah picked up her speed until she was stopped by a scolding voice, "Don's run in these halls."

She continued on to her room, making sure not to step on the cracks. Ms. Macready had bat-like ears, and was able to hear even a soft giggle that would come from her room. Hannah passed the guest room until she made it to hers. A stack of letters were piled on her work desk. Those were mostly from the orphanage that were in the Kindertransport program. There was one in particular that she was looking forward to reading.

Her eyebrows raised at the sight of the scribbled name: Dinah Klein. She quickly teared the envelope open, looking closely at the words. Dinah wasn't the one for neat handwriting. The edges contained dried up ink stains. There were many spelling mistakes that were crossed out and corrected, but it was the message that was most important to her.

Dear Hannah,

When I heard you and your sponsor were holding a tour as a charity event for our orphanage, I immediately wanted to write to you. I'm happy to hear you're helping us. I'm miserable here. I have no idea what is going on with my mother, and she hasn't written back. I constantly feel lost. You're lucky you don't have to work in a factory, unlike Miriam and I. Aviva is living with Jewish a family in London. I knew no one would've wanted teenagers.

The pictures of the Manor are beautiful! I stole a newspaper, and the first thing I saw was that house. I was jealous, but you're incredibly lucky. Not to mention you're humble, which is something I admire.

Any news from your Mother? Have you been listening to the radio? Did you know that Germany attacked France? It doesn't seem like the war is turning in our favor. On a happier note, hopefully the small things in life are turning in yours.

Sincerely,

Dinah

The first thing Hannah would've done was to write back, but a thought made her stop in her tracks. Her mother really hasn't written anything back lately. The last letter she received was dated February 7th, 1940. The only thing Hannah knew was that she was in hiding, but very little details were given. It was very vague, as if her mother was trying to protect certain information from her.

Hannah brushed those thoughts away, focusing her attention to her response. She took a pen and dipped it in the ink that laid beside her. It seemed to take hours for Hannah to write back. Her eyes dropped and she wanted to rest her head against the hard, wooden desk. Hopefully, when she did, she wouldn't have any nightmares tonight.

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llantano · 4 years ago

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Turning Leaves, 16. Plans and Agendas

The morning sun was breaking up the clouds as it rose and the smell of warm bagels, French toast, nutmeg, cinnamon, and coffee wafted from the kitchen. The house even sounded wonderful as Dorian listened to her girls chatter in the other room.

Starr came into the sitting room, looking for one of Hope's toys, and stopped dead.

"Aunt Dorian! What is all this?"

"Starr, honey, whatever you have planned for today, drop it. I have the most glorious news!"

Starr's eyes widened as she surveyed the room. It was filled with gifts – a bouquet of flowers, a large cluster of helium balloons, what appeared to be a pastry or cake box tied in ribbon with a large bow, and a couple of gift baskets filled with goodies. "Is it someone's birthday that I forgot about?"

"No, Starr!" Dorian grinned, ear to ear. "Shaun is being released from the hospital today. I took the liberty of getting him gifts from each of us. Which would you like to give him? A gift basket? Champagne? Or maybe the cookies?"

Starr smiled back, happy to hear the good news. "Omigod! That's great, Aunt Dorian!" She paused to give Dorian a sideways glance. "… But … do you think you might be overdoing it?"

Dorian hesitated in the middle of fluffing a bow. "Overdoing it? For a man that risked his life to save my girls? How could you think that? As far as I am concerned, nothing could be enough."

Starr consented to that fact, but was still troubled. "Are you sure you're not just worried that Shaun is still mad at you for firing him?"

Dorian frowned. Starr's question warranted a thoughtful response. Her answer was solemn. "Perhaps Shaun still harbors a grudge for that little … incident … but what does it matter? He can harbor whatever ill feelings he likes toward me, but the fact remains that … I owe him so much; and I just want to show him how very glad I am that he's going to be okay."

Starr pondered her aunt's sincerity. "Aunt Dorian, you don't think it's your fault that Shaun got hurt, do you?"

Dorian pooched her lips out as she turned her attention back to making the bow look perfect. "Uhm … you know … I have given a lot of thought to that day – to the decisions I made that led up to that chain of events. I don't deny that I had a part in what happened. But you have to remember that if I hadn't played that role, someone else would have."

"You're right," Starr consented again. "It was inevitable. I just wish no one would have gotten hurt."

Dorian took a deep, cleansing breath; glad Starr was on her side. "But Shaun is better now," she encouraged, " and he's leaving the hospital today, and everything is going to be alright." She smiled. "I think you should give him the cookies. The balloons can be from Hope. I'll give the champagne. Let's see … we could have this one be from Blair and this one…."

Starr cut Dorian off. "You're not going to parade us all to Shaun's door in a herd, are you?"

Dorian blinked. "A parade maybe … not a herd."

"Okay, no. Shaun is just getting out of the hospital, and he needs to be with his own family. You can sign the cards with whoever's names you want, but just let me and mom take the gifts to him okay?"

Dorian was taken aback. "I just want to express my appreciation … my gratitude … my concern for him…."

"That's fine," Starr assured her, "but honestly," she tried to be gentle with her observation of her aunt, "sometimes your concern can be a little … overwhelming."

Dorian pulled her head back and blinked at her grown-up little niece again before gazing around at the gifts she had purchased. "You think this seems overwhelming?"

"Yeah, maybe a little, for someone who just got out of the hospital."

Dorian slumped her shoulders, relenting. "Alright, I'll sign the cards. But when you speak to Shaun, tell him how relieved I am that he's better."

Starr smiled. "Promise." She backed away to go tell her mother their new plans.

"Oh, and Starr?"

Starr froze. She had an urge to hold her breath; unsure of what else Dorian might ask of her.

"Let him know – there's a job waiting for him if he ever wants it."

Starr sighed. She wasn't sure Shaun was ready for a step like that, considering that Dorian had fired him and especially considering what he had last experienced in her house. Still, she couldn't discourage Dorian. "I'll tell him," she promised.

Dorian waited until Starr was gone and turned back to the gifts, still deciding whom each present would be from.

From the kitchen, a strange but not unfamiliar sound wafted toward her. Dorian paused to listen. A pang of sentimentality shot through her as she realized someone was playing piano music - but it sounded so far away … so small.

She continued to sort cards and gifts in thought as she considered how music should fill a room, a house, or a concert hall. The tune she heard now was as distant as the times in her life when music always surrounded her.

The room suddenly burst with noise and activity as Langston and Amelia entered the room, chatting. Amelia carried her laptop, which seemed to be where the music was originating, and David followed, sulking with a newspaper and his coffee still in hand. The man took a seat in a chair while Amelia and Langston sat side-by-side on the couch.

Amelia's voice interrupted her boss's thoughts. "Dorian, you look great. I'm glad to see you're feeling better."

David's head jerked up as he shot the women a glance. Dorian did look fabulous – put together, ready for whatever life would throw at her that day. He wondered when it became Amelia's job to say so, and made a mental note to be quicker on the draw next time.

Amelia was wearing a navy suit with light blue pinstripes and Dorian had on a short teal jacket with an ivory shell, and matching teal pants. Her belt was a modest flat gold, but her necklace and earrings shined and sparkled.

Dorian made Amelia look plain and boring. David wondered if that was part of Amelia's game plan. Good cop, bad cop. Boring politician, interesting one? He thought of it in acting terms. Amelia was Dorian's prop. He decided to stop over-analyzing and flipped through the newspaper in his hand, bored.

"Oh, thank you," Dorian chirped to Amelia as she patted her hair.

Dorian appreciated the moment with great intensity. It was one of those rare moments when everything was as it was supposed to be in La Boulaie – it looked, smelled, and sounded like a happy home, with Dorian at the center of the tiny universe like the sun peeking from behind the clouds outside.

She grinned at her daughter, who was distracted with Amelia's laptop, and fished for a greeting or some acknowledgement. "Good morning, Langston."

"Morning!" Langston cheered. "Amelia found this music on MyTunes. It's David Renaldi."

Dorian froze and tilted her head toward the two, her sudden interest in the music itself outweighing the dim suspicion that Amelia and Langston had formed a conspiracy to draw her past out into the present. A vision of another time played in Dorian's mind.

The room fell silent, save for the piano music, as they failed in their attempt to gauge Dorian's reaction.

Langston elaborated. "This song is from a piano compilation. There's also a concerto he played with the Slovakian Symphony Orchestra."

Dorian turned back and made a slow and deliberate effort to work on the gifts. "Hmm," she acknowledged, unable to form a well-thought response.

One end of her mind was attached to the present – to the day greeting her, the work to be completed, and the hope for the future. The other end of her mind was trying to spin her around to the past – to a comfortable room with books and music and love. Her first David had been so exceptional, so talented. It was unexpected to hear him play now, before her friends and family, after all the years and tragedies he – they – had faced, and it caused a momentary gush of memories to swirl before her. She had a bit of trouble finding her footing between the before and after until she sighed and forced herself to the present.

It was becoming more apparent that Amelia was adept at digging up long-past and even forgotten or obscure information by using the Internet.

Amelia looked at her counterpart and considered Dorian's intentional lack of response to the music. Dorian was in a particularly upbeat mood this morning, considering her dark mood just last night. Her lack of either a good or bad response to hearing her ex-lover's music was notable.

David cleared his throat. This time he knew his timing was right. "What's all this stuff, anyway?"

Dorian shot a sideways glance at him. She knew that he wasn't asking the question out of curiosity. "Shaun is being released from the hospital today so I'm sending over a few gifts."

Langston almost laughed. "A few?"

"How'd you get all this delivered so early?" David asked, eyeing the champagne.

"David, I know people. And, Amelia was kind enough to make a couple of stops on her way over this morning, while you were still sleeping."

David did not contain his frown, nor did Amelia hide her proud smirk.

Langston lifted her eyebrows and looked between the three adults as if she were about to break up a playpen brawl over who sat next to whom. Now it was her turn to have good timing. "He was pretty good, huh?"

They all turned to blink at her. Dorian's eyes met her daughters. "What, honey?"

Langston pointed at the computer screen, unsure if she had just committed a faux pas. "David … Reynolds … Renaldi."

Dorian sighed, following Langston's train of thought. "He was a genius." She snapped her fingers. "That reminds me. We should sponsor a concert."

"A concert?" Amelia asked.

Langston grinned. This was not the first time she had heard Dorian drop the thought into conversation. "She wants River to play here in Llanview."

Amelia looked at Dorian while Dorian distracted herself with signing cards and attaching them to gifts. "Your grandson?" She furrowed her brows. There was something odd about referring to a woman like Dorian Cramer Lord as a grandmother.

David eyed Dorian up and down. It was sexy – the way she didn't bat an eyelash. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll come up with a plan."

Amelia's eyes travelled from David to Dorian, considering his words. That seemed to be what it always was – in their relationships, in the campaign, and around Dorian in general. There was always a plan. She pulled out their agenda and offered it to Dorian. "If you'll excuse me, I need to step out and make a few calls."

Dorian nodded, not even looking at the schedule. "I need to make a couple of calls myself."

Amelia stepped out of the room and Langston took her queue, taking a moment to close Amelia's laptop, which silenced the music. "I'll be in the kitchen."

Dorian had already retrieved her address book and was flipping through it. David remained seated.

Dorian dialed and waited. David watched her push her way through several prompts before reaching whoever or whatever she was trying to call. "Yes, hello, this is…. Actually, I prefer to remain anonymous. I just wanted to let our fair police department know that I have close ties to Llanview Hospital and I know for a fact that Stanley Lowell is a close personal friend with the chief of staff there. Considering the … infamous former mayor's involvement in an illegal prescription drug operation, I thought this information might be prudent in inciting an investigation into the practices at the hospital – namely those of the chief of staff. I'm not saying there is any wrong-doing, but I thought this information might be critical." She hung up the phone and looked at David with innocence.

His eyes shined at her. "Needed a back up plan, did you?" he grinned.

She shook her head. "It isn't a back up plan, David. It just occurred to me that he was never investigated. I have the best interests of the hospital at heart."

"Yeah that's why you called the police instead of having the hospital do an internal investigation first," was his sarcastic reply. He stood and took a long drink of his cooling coffee. "You know I haven't said anything because I'm letting Amelia be the husband, but … god, you're hot."

"David…." Dorian muttered disapproval at him and turned her back, but grinned as he left the room. So he did notice. She flipped through her address book and dialed the phone again, following prompts like she had before.

"Uhm, yes, hello. This is Dorian Lord…."

Sam's teacher was on the line.

"Hello, Doctor Lord. They told me you were trying to get ahold of me."

"Yes. A situation has been brought to my attention concerning my nephew, Sam Manning?"

There was a pause, followed by a confused-sounding response. "Yes, I spoke with Sam's mother about that. She insisted that I not discuss it with anyone else."

"Well, it was Sam's mother Blair - my niece - that told me about the situation and I am afraid she did not convey to you the importance of urgency in handling it."

"Listen, Mrs. … Doctor Lord … it is all under control, I assure you. All concerned parties have been made aware of what happened and how we have chosen to handle this going forward. I cannot discuss it with you any more than to assure you that there is not anything further that can be done or anything else to concern yourself over at this time."

"Perhaps I should speak to an administrator instead," Dorian wondered, her tone as much threatening as worried.

There was another pause. "Dorian. May I call you Dorian? Your nephew is a bright, resilient young man and his soft-spoken method of observing the world before responding to it gives him a unique perspective on what happens around him. My suggestion would be that you take a lesson from Sam and set a good example for him. Otherwise your tactics will prove no better than those of a childish bully."

Dorian opened her mouth to answer but heard the buzz of a dial tone. She blinked at her phone, confirming that she had indeed been disconnected, and then growled. "Where does she get off?"

"Uh, what was that?" Starr asked, standing in the doorway with Hope on her hip.

Dorian offered a sweet smile. "Oh, nothing," she shrugged, crossing the room to take Hope in her arms and cuddle her. "…Starr? Do you think I'm a bully?"

Starr almost laughed, considering her answer as she watched Hope grasp Dorian's necklace in her tiny fist. "No, Aunt Dorian. In fact right now you look a little bit more like a push-over." She gave Dorian an encouraging smile as she pried Hope's hands off the necklace and replaced it with a doll, before taking her daughter back into her own arms. "And we have to get going if we're going to stop and visit Shaun, don't we?"

Dorian couldn't help but smile, the last phone call already forgotten. Blair came into the room and saw the pile of gifts for the first time. "God, Dorian, how'm I gonna fit all this in the car?"

Dorian grabbed her agenda. "Starr said you two could handle it on your own."

Blair grabbed a couple of boxes and motioned for Langston to pick up a basket. "Yeah, well, we're recruiting."

"I still don't understand why I shouldn't go," Dorian protested.

"Because, Dorian."

"Because what?"

"Just because."

"Blair!" Dorian stomped her foot.

"Because your intensity level is just a little bit high this morning, okay?" The girls moved to carry gifts out to Blair's vehicle.

Amelia stepped back into the room with a smirk. "And that is exactly as it should be."

Dorian relented, shooting an accusing look at Blair before reviewing her agenda for the day. "What is all this, Amelia, with David's name instead of yours?"

"I have a meeting for a few hours this afternoon."

Dorian paused to blink at her. "A meeting?" She wondered why Amelia was being vague. "Something to do with the campaign?"

Amelia was reluctant to answer, but decided it best to be frank. "I'm meeting with my lawyers. Actually, they are the LGLA's legal counsel but they've…."

Dorian cut her off. "Why do you need lawyers?"

Amelia looked at her would-be mayor and fiancée as if to ask if she was serious or kidding.

Dorian was as serious as a heart attack. "Amelia. Why do you need legal counsel?" She wanted to hear the answer.

Amelia did not know any other way to say it. "The same reason you do, and I hope you've talked to yours."

Dorian's frown was bitter. "What about those 'hot coals' we talked about walking over together?"

"Oh, we're walking over them," Amelia clarified. "But like you said, I'm also going to cover my butt in case I fall."

Dorian was not even sure why the realization that Amelia needed her own lawyers perturbed her so much, but it did. She glanced over the agenda again, distracted, incapable of even reading the words on it.

Amelia could tell Dorian was annoyed and though she couldn't explain why herself, Dorian's predictable reaction had been why she had not mentioned her behind-the-scenes plans before now.

Amelia was right to have legal representation and Dorian knew it. "I'm going to gather my things," she muttered to her campaign manager with an audible sigh as she left the room. She knew Amelia was not as concerned about a prenuptial agreement as she was about supporting and marrying a lesbian mayoral candidate who was not a lesbian.

#One Life to Live #OLTL #fanfic #A/U #Election Storyline #Mayoral Campaign #Dorian Lord #Shaun Evans #Turning Leaves #Amelia Bennett #Starr Manning #Hope Manning Thornhart #Blair Cramer #Langston Wilde #David Vickers #David Vickers Buchanan

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