#still… what kind of mother even does something like that. knowing full well she’d be yelled at too for raising such a useless daughter

[rivalsispunk]

The Interview (Chapter 1 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), more warnings added per chapter

Word count: 3.1k

Author’s note: Hello! Long time reader, first time poster! Please be kind but also let me know what you think! Proof read but probs still some mistakes. Not entirely canon, Declan still works for Corinium, Maud has disappeared to god knows where and the rest, well, you’ll have to read to find out :)

Chapter One: The Interview

You were going to positively kill Taggie once you returned to the Cotswolds. Only she, your closest friend since you relocated to the country after finishing your university degree six months ago, could convince you to cut your gap year short in favour of interviewing for a personal assistant job at Corinium. And, for her father, Declan O’Hara, no less.

“Oh, go on!” Taggie had pleaded with you over The Priory’s kitchen counter. “I know you’re getting bored out here. You can’t spend all of your days sitting around here, helping me peel the shite out of prawns for dinner parties.”

“Why not?” You plucked a grape from the fruit platter she’d just finished assembling for an event at Freddie and Valerie Jones’ that evening. “I happen to like spending all my time with you. Even if it does mean peeling shite out of crustaceans.” You eyed your friend with faux suspicion. “Are you getting sick of me already?”

“Of course not! I just think you’d be grand at it, that’s all, what with your journalism degree and all,” Taggie explained. “You’ve heard Daddy when he comes home. Always complaining about the sorts he’s had to interview. Plus, he already knows you. That’s ought to win you some points right there.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be all bad,” you confessed, mulling the opportunity over as you chewed through another handful of grapes. It would look amazing on your resume and you’d have a foot in the door at one of the biggest TV networks in the United Kingdom. Plus, it wouldn’t kill you to have a front row seat to Declan in all his glory every single day. You would never mention it to Taggie, but you fancied her dad a rather handsome sod.

“Say you’ll do it. At the very least, for me?” Taggie bat her thick eyelashes at you.

“Fine,” you eventually relented, a smile cracking over your face at the new possibility. “I’ll go in for an interview, but no promises. And I don’t want you convincing him of me either! I want to get this job on my own merit, okay?”

“Convince Daddy of you? Please, he already adores you.” The sentiment spread fire through your chest. Tag rounded the kitchen bench and grabbed you by the hand. “Now let’s find you an outfit! Mummy ought to have left something halfway suitable behind.”

Taggie nor Declan had said much about their absentee matriarch Maud in the recent weeks since she fled the countryside after yet another explosive argument between her and her husband. You knew better than to ask, but you could tell by the way Taggie’s shoulders sagged at the sight of her mother’s partially empty closet that her absence had a somber affect on her.

You’d only been into the main bedroom of The Priory once before, when the room was overtaken by Maud’s florally perfumes and extravagant evening gowns. This time, however, the space was so intrinsically Declan; all heady cedarwood and whisky and smoke. Shirts with patterns of plaid and tartan as well as numerous odd, natural-coloured socks were peppered across armchairs and vanities, while a stack of memoirs sat on his bedside with a full ashtray perched atop. Your heart swelled, and sunk simultaneously, at the thought of Declan being sat up here alone at night, or early of a morning, thumbing through a book while taking slow drags of his cigarette as he let himself be consumed by a life far different to the one he was currently living.

“How about this?” Taggie’s voice ripped through your daydream, forcing you away from thoughts of her father. You peered at the oatmeal-coloured dress she had retrieved from the closet, surprised that Maud owned something so…brown. You’d always known her to wear jewel tones that complimented her flaming red hair. You shook your head, and thus began a cycle of Taggie suggesting an outfit and you shooting it down. Eventually, you agreed to Taggie swapping out your creature comfort jeans and Wham! T-shirt for an old black pencil skirt that you were convinced had given you hives from the way your legs hadn’t stopped itching since you put it on, as well as a silky fuchsia blouse that stretched a little too tight over your breasts. While your friend had done a good job at assuring you that you’d fit right in at the Corinium offices, you weren’t as convinced.

The receptionists, all in latest season fashion with not a hair out of place, had looked you up and down as soon as you stepped foot in the marble foyer, snickering behind your back about your fashion fauxpas once you’d checked in. Sarah Stratton wasn’t as covert with her judgement. As you sat outside Declan’s office, waiting to be called in, Sarah outwardly guffawed when she spotted you across the floor. You’d met her several times in passing at parties and Corinium events you’d previously attended as Taggie’s plus one, and for the most part, she’d kept her observations to herself. But now, as her red heels clip across the carpet, her gaze set right on you with her matching rouge lips upturned. “I would never have expected to see you here, darling!” she coos down at you, reaching for a strand of hair that has slipped in front of your shoulder. “And playing dress ups, no less!” Another laugh tinkers out of her as she twirls your hair around her finger. “Interviewing for the assistant job with Declan, hm?”

You nod with a taut smile and try not to let her comment about you looking god-awfully out of place get to you. Sarah’s eyes shift to Declan’s closed mahogany door and tuts. “Well, good luck, sweetheart. Seems like you’ll need it with the way the rest of those interviews have panned out.”

“Oh, hop off it, Sarah!” an unmistakingly Irish voice barks from your left. Sarah jolts upright and despite the embarrassment that tinges her cheeks pink, still manages throw a sultry smile in Declan’s direction. Your posture matches her pin-straight stature as you side-eye his office. It hadn’t occurred to you that he wasn’t inside, preparing for your interview the way you had been all morning. You’d crafted your pitch of yourself perfectly, complete with ideas and suggestions for potential guests for Declan’s show, anything to set you apart, make you seem even a fraction less useless that the interviewees that came before you. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Where’s James?” he questions Sarah, alluding to the very common knowledge that she and her co-host James Vereker are having an affair. Declan makes a show of raking through his moustache - god, that moustache - then adds with a smirk, “James and better. Probably not two words that should be in the same sentence, eh?” Sarah’s smile plateaus at that, and that stiff upper-lip culture she was dying to marry into takes its place.

“I’m sure I can make myself busy, Declan. Got a show to prepare and all that. Ciao!” She doesn’t look at you again and you’re grateful that Declan starts to speak before you bumblefuck your way through the silence.

“Ciao,” he repeats once Sarah’s out of earshot . “Doubt that leech of a woman’s ever had a decent carbonara, let alone stepped foot in Italy.” he says, offering you the first genuine smile you’ve received all day. “Let’s get to it, shall we?” He swings open his office door and holds an arm out. “After you, love.”

“Thanks.”

You shuffle into the room ahead of him, completely oblivious to the way Declan’s eyes are trained on your arse in a skirt that’s familiar to him, but he’s unsure how. Right now, however, he doesn’t care, because it fits your body so magnificently, as if it were made for you. He fights to ignore the dull throb beneath his trousers while he watches you sit, the black fabric pushed to its limits as it stretches across the globes of your arse.

God, has she always been so… womanly? Declan wonders, then immediately chastises himself for leering so openly at his daughter’s best friend. Yes, she was a few good years older than Taggie, and always a beautiful girl, but he was glad his middle child had finally made a friend amid the shitshow that was the move to the country and his crumbling marriage to Maud. He didn’t need to muddy the waters with pervacious thoughts about the young lass’ curves. If only she’d shown up to his office in her usual ripped jeans and George Michael-adorned tees.

“Everything okay, Mr O’Hara? Should I sit somewhere else?” you ask when you notice Declan frozen in the doorway with a furrow etched in his brow. You immediately start second-guessing yourself and wonder if this was a bad idea after all. You can only imagine everyone else who lost out on this job before you faced that same expression. He shakes his head at you, at himself, then busies himself with straightening his maroon tie as he moves to sit behind his desk. You shift in your seat, trying to thwart of the lingering itch Maud’s skirt has buried into the back of your thigh. You think if you can wriggle just so, you can ward it off for at least the main portion of the interview. While you think your subtle movements go unnoticed by Declan because he’s perusing your resume - impressive, he’d earlier noted in black pen beside details of your internship at The Times - he’s been clocked onto your behaviour since he’d laid eyes on you across the office. Scared shitless, and he doesn’t half know that Sarah’s sneaky comments only added to it, thanks to the way you’re fidgeting with that damned skirt mere metres away from him. If Declan had any less sense in him, any less dignity, he’d have half the mind to tear it straight from your body. Of course, he decides against it and tries a less barbaric approach to settle your nerves.

“No band t-shirt today?”

Now it’s your turn for your brows to knit together. “I’m sorry?” Declan nudges his head in the general direction of your chest and your chin dips in response to see what he’s referring to. There, your vision is flanked with fluorescent pink and a tinge of flesh where the silky material doesn’t quite stretch to cover your breasts between buttons, and you silently curse Taggie for allowing you to wear something so borderline revealing at her father’s workplace. Plus, you were surprised he’d even noticed your usual attire.

“I thought it was best I grow up a bit in the clothing department if I were to go for a job at Corinium,” you confess. Declan doesn’t miss the way the swell of your breasts arch against your shirt when you take a deep breath and fold your arms across yourself. “But now I’m thinking the bright pink was a mistake.”

You peer across the expansive wooden desk expectantly, and Declan pitches his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t ask me! Fashion, clearly, is not my strong suit. All I know is, according to my girls, leaving the house with ladders in your tights is a big no-no unless you’re a gothic or Winona Ryder.”

You chuckle at that, even more so for knowing that his youngest daughter, Caitlin, would be all for half-shredded tights.

Declan looks coy as he sips from his tea. “But if it counts for anything, you look lovely.”

“Well, I should hope you think so. These are your wife’s clothes, after all.” Your confession elicits a splutter from the otherwise put together man in front of you. Tea spouts from his lips across the desk, marring your resume and any other papers with brown stains. You immediately spring into action, scanning the room for a towel, handkerchief, anything that could mop up the mess.

“Sorry, love,” Declan says quietly, thumping a fist against his chest. “Wrong pipe.”

That’s when you see it, a pocket square the same colour as his tie poking from his breast pocket. Without thinking, you lurch across Declan’s desk and pluck it from its resting place, and begin soaking up the liquid. Declan ought to help you, it’s his mess after all, but he’s frozen at the view you’ve awarded him as you lean over. Your cleavage fights against the V cut of Maud’s blouse and Declan can just make out the ripple of a black lace bra below the neckline. He can’t even imagine Maud in that outfit. Right now it’s all so you. His cock stirs at the sight and he can’t help the pained groan that bubbles up his throat.

“Stop,” he breathes in barely a whisper. You don’t, of course, you can’t hear him, and you keep wiping at the desk, your breasts bouncing with every swipe up and down.

“Christ, girl, stop it!” Declan explodes, bolting up from his chair. Thankfully, the height of his desk hides his growing bulge, but it doesn’t matter. The look of pure fear painting your face has the same effect as a cold shower. You sink back into your seat and begin spluttering apologies, that you shouldn’t have used his pocket square, that you were out of line and another dozen variations of sorry, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Declan mirrors you by returning to his chair, raking a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he states eventually. “I don’t give a dying rats arse about the pocket square. It’s just… I’m a bloody fool just standing here while you clean up after me. I can’t have you doing that. You don’t even work for me.”

Despite the shock of Declan’s outburst, you manage to muster up a bit of cheek in response. “I don’t even work for you yet,” you correct him.

Your confidence juts Declan’s eyebrows to his curly hairline and a grin cracks across his face. “Cocky little thing, aren’t ya? Go on then.. tell me why I should hire you.”

You spend the next twenty minutes talking Declan through your university studies and experience, the tension from earlier already forgotten. When Declan mentions he once worked with your media law professor, the conversation detours into the pair of you sharing stories about your experiences with the man, far too senile and set in his ways to do the younger generation any good. The rest of the interview carries on like that, you and Declan laughing and exchanging anecdotes like two friends in the pub rather than an employer vetting a potential employee. You’re about to pitch the idea of getting Farah Fawcett on Declan’s show when the office door thumps open to reveal Corinium’s managing director, Tony Baddingham, at its entryway.

“O’Hara! If you’re done with giggling like a little schoolgirl down here, we’ve got a production meeting to get to,” he bites, barely glancing in your direction. You don’t miss the roll of Declan’s tawny eyes as he waves Tony off.

“Alright, Tony. Give me five, I’m just finishing up here,” he says before introducing you by name.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Baddingham,” you tell him, standing to shake his hand. He doesn’t properly look at you until your palms meet, and your spine stiffens when his beady eyes rake over you.

“One of Declan’s assistant candidates, I presume?” he wonders aloud.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you’re far prettier than some of the other trolls we’ve had roll through here recently.”

“Tony,” Declan warns. The last thing he wants is another man leering at you like you’re a rite of passage for them.

“Right, well, lovely to meet you,” Tony clasps his other hand over the top of yours, careening his neck so he’s at your eye level. “Hope to see you around here. You’ll definitely be a much-appreciated addition.”

Offering a tight-lipped smile, you reserve the urge bawk in his face. You’ve worked with enough Tony Baddinghams to know his interest in you has nothing to do with your professional ability and everything to do with aesthetics. Fucking men.

For the most part, they sickened you and Declan all the same, but for the latter, he was mainly sickened with himself for wanting to pummel Baddingham for the way he was eye-fucking you. But who was he to talk? He’d been doing the exact same thing just minutes earlier.

When Tony leaves the office, he leaves the door ajar, a reminder that Declan is expected elsewhere. You’re about to ask Declan if Tony is always so…Tony, but he’s already got his briefcase in hand and is ushering you towards the door. “I have to admit, I was surprised when Taggie said you wanted to interview for this position, with you being on a gap year and all,” he confessed as you strolled out onto the office floor. “But you know your stuff. You’re bloody intelligent. Passionate. That’s rare these days.”

“Thank you, Mr O’Hara.”

“Please, call me Declan. Here, and at The Priory. Just Declan,” he smiles and you return it.

“Alright, then. Declan.”

“I’ve got to get going, but I’ll let you know about the job. There’s a couple more interviews on the books in the next few days, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.”

Declan gives you a curt nod, and you start for the elevator, but you barely make it five steps before he calls you back.

“For what it’s worth, I’d be lucky to have ya here. And like I said, you look great, but I prefer the jeans and t-shirts. They’re much more…you.”

His admission sends your heart thrumming against your ribcage, and red creeps up your neck and onto your cheeks. “Thank you, Mr O’Ha- Declan,” you correct yourself. “Thank you, Declan. See you around.” You turn on your patent black heel, leaving Declan standing there with an image that’s bound to haunt him for nights to come: you in that fucking skirt.

Please let me know if you enjoyed this, and if you’re feeling generous, a lil’ reblog won’t go astray <3

[vxsellie]

okay so i talk abt loving hozier all the time but i never rlly delve into how fucking significant his music is. and i think, in light of the recent election, it’s time to do so

so here’s my analysis on hozier’s song “swan upon leda”

(ignore if some things are worded weirdly, this was initially written for my sister & my sister only. so it might seem like i’m talking to u as a friend, that’s why!) also if there are any inaccuracies in the myths' interpretations, PLEASE lmk!

anyway here it is!!!

So, before we get into the lyrics themselves let’s take a little peeksie at the song’s background!

Not only is this one of his most political works, but it was also published three years after he literally ghosted the world. And that only makes its debut so much more significant seeing as he’d taken the time to make sure he’d have everyone’s attention when releasing it.

Also, the title is so so so fucking important to take into account when studying this piece of fucking ART. It’s based off of the Greek myth ‘Leda and the Swan’. In this tale, Zeus is heavily attracted to a woman named Leda and transforms her into a swan before raping and impregnating her.

In turn, Hozier connects this story (and also the overarching theme of Zeus being the most powerful god despite being a rapist and child predator COUGHTRUMPCOUGH) to the way women are denied their reproductive rights & how these horrid occurrences effect all of those involved, not just the woman who bears the burden.

A husband waits outside A crying child pushes a child Into the night She was told he would come this time

He paints a picture here, putting an unnamed protagonist into a modern-day tale of patriarchally inflicted torment. The waiting husband symbolizes Zeus in the ancient context as well as an unnamed rapist in modern context. He waits and waits, never acting. He stands outside, so very close to where the problem lies and yet does nothing.

The crying child is inspired by Leda & made into the song’s protagonist, depicted as underage and therefore not able to give her full consent to this outcome. The child she pushes is the one that had been forced upon her, it going into the night symbolizing an untold future. Something she hadn’t asked for and yet is thrusted into doing. Her fear means nothing to the waiting husband & means even less to society as a whole. So, she does it scared. She does it with tears streaming down her face because deep, deep down she knows she has nobody to aid her in this despite having been promised to have help; having been promised that he would come this time.

Without leaving so much as a feather behind To enact, at last, the perfect plan

This illustrates the parallelism of Leda having been turned to a swan and the unnamed child having been forced into the life of a mother. Not leaving a feather behind, to Leda, represents the lack of proof she’d had to Zeus’s cruelty. He’d simply found her, transformed her, impregnated, transformed her back, and left. Now, had a feather been left, she’d have had proof. She’d have been believed. But that kind of miracle never happens for rape victims, now does it? No, instead she was forced to carry a ton more children by a husband that didn’t believe that she’d been raped by Zeus. This, in many ways, connects to real day occurrences that I don’t believe I need to digress on each individually. Though, I happily would if it proves my point mores.

The perfect plan he speaks of is the men getting away with it. In every tale, in every real-time situation, the men get away. They get what they want from the woman, leave her (and their newly formed fetus) to rot, and leave to return to their wives. The perfect plan, is it not?

The gateway to the world Was still outside of reach of him Would never belong to angels, Had never belonged to men.

This. This is why I love Andrew Hozier-Byrne, ladies and gentlemen.

As he speaks of a “gateway to the world”, he’s referring to childbirth. To bring a child into the world is a gateway, correct? It’s a bit of inexplicable divinity, pregnancy. To create an entire being with naught but your own bodily organs and cells? Those of which had been made by a woman before you? Yeah, it’s pretty fucking insane to me. Anyway.

Okay back on topic. The point is, this amazing occurrence he discusses is said to still out of reach to “him”. This unnamed male figure can be both Zeus in the myth or the husband in the modern altercation. This means that, despite them having forced themselves upon these beautiful souls, they haven’t a say in gateway. They don’t have a single fucking important role to play in the birth itself. They’re just the sperm.

And then Hozier goes even further. Not only does he say that the rapists are unfit for the sanctitude of childbirth, but heaven itself is unfit. The angels up above. Zeus. God. Whatever religious aspect you want to praise; it doesn’t hold a candle to the divinity that is a woman. As are the men. All men. Mankind itself, if you will. Regardless of your role or title or holiness, you’re all fucking useless when it comes to the sacred act of conceiving, creating, then bearing another human.

After the first chorus, the image alters to another scenario:

A grandmother smuggling meds Past where the god-child soldier, Setanta, stood dead Our graceful turner of heads Weaves through the checkpoints like a needle and thread

This shows a grandmother stealing medicine for an abortion, likely for a daughter or granddaughter. This shows the generational struggle to make the right choice. As it feels both revolutionary and also something she’d been doing her whole life. Fighting for rights.

Now, Setanta, as referred to in the song, is based off of an Irish myth. In this myth, Setanta is the name of a child who had killed Culann’s guard dog in self-defense and therefore felt guilty. In a fit of grief for the life he’d stolen, Setanta offered to take its place and thereby became known as the “Hound of Culann”. His story is actually really interesting to read about, but I won’t go into too much detail on every depicted myth. As Hozier refers to the checkpoint soldiers as Setanta, he claims they’d “stood dead” at their watch — which goes to show that these soldiers are young (as Setanta had been) and he therefore protests against the way they’re surrendering their full lives to this ruined system of oppression that they enforce.

Someone’s frightened boy waves her on She offers a mother’s smile, and soon she’s gone. The gateway to the world The gun in a trembling hand

This right here is absolutely fucking amazing. Hozier connects both oppressor and oppressed, humanizing the grandmother to be retrieving meds for an unplanned pregnancy & also personifying the young boy as someone’s child who needed something so simple as a mother’s kindness to keep him going.

The way he does this goes to show what a talented person he is. Being able to make your audience sympathize with both the boy and the grandma is fucking magic. Rather than making the soldiers wholly evil and merciless, he made them children. The same children the lady is trying to prevent bringing into this world.

When nature unmakes the boundary The pillar of myth still stands The swan upon Leda Occupier upon ancient land

While the first chorus is a reminder of childbirth’s right to be protected and not put in the hands of religion or men, the second chorus ties it all together by showing the repetition in history and how it’s bound to repeat itself so long as man remains lustful for power. This shows that greed and brutality is an undeniable way to keep this horrid pattern living on. He laments that nature did not intend to have one rule over another (men over women; society over youth). And yet, somehow, it’ll forever remain unavoidable.

The pillar of myth still stands. That crumbling foundation it had been built o remains, standing tall as more and more men come to repeat it. And, in all honesty, I doubt it’ll ever end. The child will continue to push the child. The husband will continue to wait. The grandmother will continue to smuggle her rights. The boy will continue to tremble. And mother nature will continue to watch with a frown on her face as mankind sets more pillars atop her divinity.

All in all, Hozier is awesome sauce!!!

[inkluvs]

sunburnt

cowboy!steve harrington x reader

content warnings: super fast paced ; fake dating ; they r exes ; uhhh forced proximity i think ; most likely inaccurate southern slang ; (2.0k)

summary: steve and you broke up a few years ago. but you live in a small town, and when you bump into him this time round, you’re told to go for it, or him, perhaps

a/n: ok this is v short just a baby one shot that i’ve been hoarding in my drafts for way too long <3 thank u for reading xoxo

masterlist / taglist

Steve’s nose is dusted pink, the freckled skin sunburnt from one too many times in the heat without protection. His lips are twisted into a smile. The kind that feels rare. The kind that has the same effect on you as a shooting star or an eclipse. You have to stop and stare for just a moment, turning the smile on his face from one of joy to the teasing kind. 

The way you’re staring isn’t rude in any way, just more intense, full of the need to pull at the seams of his very being to figure out how he is who he is; To figure out how the same person, who’d been cooing at a puppy a moment ago, a furry tiny thing, can now be staring back at you with the same intensity, his mouth opening, and closing as he does so. 

The leather hat on his head is a faded brown, clearly well-loved over the years. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, taking with it any hope that he’ll say something — anything.

It’s laughable really, the way that even after all these years you still find yourself staring. That you stayed there. In that fancy restaurant with the fizzy drink you ordered on your left-hand side and the boy, you’d just been staring at in front of you. He was younger, his hair darker and his skin lacking the freckles he’d gain in the years to come.

You stayed there.

In the way Steve put his hand on yours when the words left his lips. The same lips that’d kissed you so many times you’d lost count. The same lips that’d mouthed at the slope of your cheek every time you smiled because he thought it was endearing. 

Your memory isn’t that great really, but somehow you’d managed to engrave every detail of that moment into your mind, down to how Steve’s voice had lifted at the end of each sentence. Like he was asking you a question rather than informing you of something. Like if you’d begged he would’ve listened. 

You thought about it — about pleading with him to stay and asking him what went wrong, convincing yourself for a while that closure was what you needed. But it didn’t seem to matter now. 

No amount of closure could truly satisfy you and time had taught you that. No amount of closure would prevent bumping into him at the grocery store or the way heat still blossomed in your chest when he looked at you. No amount, you’d decided, would fill the gap he’d left in his wake.

“You’re starin’,” the voice comes from beside you, a little boy whose face you only half recognize, “my Ma says it isn’t nice to stare.”

“Yeah?” he nods, “tell your Ma it’s only rude if they catch you.” The boy grins and turns around, no doubt running home to tell his mother what you had said. You imagine she’d laugh at that, shuddering and failing to hide a smile as she tells off the boy for believing such things. The boy would then nod in confusion. Perplexed as to the way his mother’s words and expression contradicted each other, and that would be the end of that. You assume so at least.

What you don’t expect, however, is the boy coming back a few minutes later, this time tapping the man you’d just been staring at on the shoulder. A part of you wants to call out, to stop the boy from saying something he doesn’t know the consequences of, but one small foreign part of you tells you that he knows exactly what he’s doing. The boy points at you and there’s that smile again splitting Steve’s cheeks, the kind that lights a fire underneath your skin, slowly melting you like wax from the inside out. Steve pushes his hand down quickly, checking to see if you’d noticed before turning back.

“Your Ma ever told you that pointing is rude?”

“She says it’s only rude if they catch you.” Laughter bubbles in your chest like water in a tea kettle and you try your best to suppress it, a huff of laughter making its way from your throat instead. 

“Think this one already has,” Steve gently lifts the boy's hand with his index finger until he was pointing to you again, “Look.”

“Talk to her then.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, though to anyone else it might have been. The concept seems foreign to Steve – you haven’t been in his life for years now so why would he bother changing it now?

“What?” 

“She was just starin’ at you, it only makes sense.” 

“Guess it does,” he lets go of the hand in his, his eyes flitting from yours, now looking back at him, to the encouraging ones of the boy in front of him.

“You’re stalling,” he observes, “why are you stalling?’

“I am not stalling,”

“Why are you here,” Steve tilts his head, as if to say, fair point, before turning back to you. A shiver ripples through his spine, distributing all of his nervous energy to the tips of his fingers and toes. 

One foot in front of the other, he decides. He stepped forward, his right foot now an inch closer to you, then his left, and before he knows it he was tapping on your shoulder.

“Long time,” 

“Wonder why that is,” he almost smiled at that. After all these years, you’re the same. The same tendency to speak before thinking that he had adored at some point, the same crinkle in your nose he’d grown fond of years ago. 

“Sorry,” 

“Don’t go ‘round saying things you don’t mean”

“I do—“

“You don’t.” There is a sort of weary resignation in your voice, the kind that showcases the years you spent wondering what you’d done wrong. He isn’t sorry, and he would make the same decision over and over if he was given the same options today.

His lips part ever so slightly, heart-shaped and pink, “you see the boy over there,” his words topple on top of one another as he rushes to change the topic, “little shit pushed me in this direction, something about it only making sense.”

“Figured,” you pause, considering your next words, “did the same to me.”

“D’you think he’ll notice if we go our separate ways?”

“I think he’d grab us by our ears and push us together like dolls.”

“Doubt he’d be able to reach our ears.” He says, his voice lifting with a crack of humor.

You’re laughing now, a lovely sound he doesn’t realize he missed until he heard it. “Our ankles then.” 

“So we're stuck?”

“Don’t act like this is the worst thing in the world,” you smile. “There were times when you’d pay to be near me.”

“Still would peach,” he murmurs. “S’just an observation.”

“An observation hm?” Steve nods. “What else is an observation?”

He ponders the question for a moment. “You haven’t changed at all, same attitude and tongue like a whip.” That he’d always adored, he wanted to add, but he didn’t, no point in telling you things he’d told you multiple times before. No point in reminding you of things he’d rather not think about. 

“Yeah?” Steve hums in agreement, “And what gives you that impression?”

“The boy,” his voice is low, both rough and smooth in a way that made your skin burn, “when he pointed to you, I asked him if he’d ever been told by his Ma pointing is rude, y’know what he said?” 

You do. “No.”

“He said ‘s only rude if they catch you,” his breath is warm against your neck and suddenly you realize he’s gotten closer to you, “and something tells me his Ma isn’t the one who taught him that.”

“Why would you think that?” 

The corners of his mouth twitch and you mirror him, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. He swallows in a desperate attempt to stifle his laughter, failing a moment later. He’s right. You haven’t changed and you haven’t yet decided if you like that or not. 

He looks at his wrist, as if to check his watch, only to find the skin bare, a slight tan line apparent from hours spent in the sun. His face falls.

“Lost your watch?” you inquire. Steve adores that watch more than anything, though you can never figure out why. You just assume it was a gift of some sort.

“Stolen,” he mutters.

Your lips form an ‘o’ shape for a moment before breaking eye contact, “‘s about to be dark anyways,”

“I’ll see ya later then? Tomorrow?” You can hear the grin in his voice. You can hear it in the way his voice twisted into a pretty breathy noise at the end of his question, hope tainting his tone.

“You askin’ me out Harrington?”

“Depends,” he tapped his chin and you bit your tongue to hold back any remark you’d later regret, instead taking his bait.

“On what?” You wouldn’t ever tell him but you had the incomprehensible urge to squeeze him then, when his grin got wider and his cheeks split with the force of it. To make sure that this moment has substance and it isn’t something you conjured up in your free time.

“D’you want me to?” 

“Think the kid’s boutta answer for me,” his brows pucker, “So yes, for the boy.” You decide.

“For the boy.” He agrees.

“Till tomorrow then?” 

“Till tomorrow.” He agrees. There’s a sort of unspoken agreement between the two of you. Treat whatever it is that there still is between you like it doesn’t exist. Assume that every interaction from now on would be for the boy. No matter how much you enjoy it, it couldn’t possibly be because you want it. Ridiculous.

-

He follows through the next day, though you half didn’t expect him to, opening the door to find Steve all dressed up with lavender in a bouquet. You tell him you’re just finishing your hair—you hadn’t even started. Steve can tell, noticing the familiar frantic note in your voice.

“Take as long as you want, yeah? I’ll be right here.” 

The sweet smell of flowers travels down the hallway and reaches the bathroom. Heat blossoms in your chest and rolls over your skin, filling you until your cheeks are full of warmth. You’re out about 30 minutes later, haphazardly pulling a confused Steve into the bathroom to help you pick a necklace.

“Honey, couldn't you have shown me this out there?” He whispers after pointing to a piece of jewelry. 

“Didn’t think of that then,” you turn around and hand both ends of the chain to him before continuing.

“D’you get here okay?”

It’s a dumb question and you know it. He loves less than 10 minutes from you and he’s been to yours more times than you can count. But he indulges you.

“For the most part yeah, rode through a storm or two though.” You can feel a huff of his laughter against your neck as he fiddles with the clasp. Steve had never been good with chains and clasps smaller than his fingers, having grown accustomed to thick ropes and metal and leather reins.

“Oh?” Your lips quirk at the corners. “D’you dry off before you came in?”

“Of course, wouldn’t wanna get mud all on your floor now would I darlin’.” His tongue pokes out of the corner of his lips as he focuses, exhaling suddenly as he finally connects the clasps. “S’that it?”

Your thumb and index feel at the little chain links, searching for the clasp. “You know what?” You smile.

He mirrors it. “What?”

“I think you might’ve done it. Well done, Steve.”

“Did I?” He adjusts the necklace. “Maybe I did.”

“That’s what I like to call growth Harrington.”

“Yeah?” His voice is warm with affection. Positive reinforcement always did wonders for the boy.

You hum your approval, “Last time I asked you couldn’t even undo the latch when I handed it to you.”

“Last time you asked I was 17 and dumb.” His tone is flat like you’d struck a nerve. You aren’t exactly sure why—he’d brought your separation on himself. 

“‘m not exactly sure being able to successfully put on a necklace is what measures intelligence.” He smiles, your attempt to lighten the air having been successful. One day you’ll tell him that you only ask him to help with your clasps because the fire it lit under the skin of your neck was an addictive one. No matter how much time apart you’d spent and how bad he is at it you couldn’t help but crave it. But today isn’t that day.

“Couldn’t tell the difference between a stallion and a mare.”

“Steve, I still can’t do that.”

“Shit like that is part of my job peach.” His voice drops to a dramatic whisper. “Though if you really need to know you could always look at the underside. ‘s pretty foolproof.”

A puff of laughter erupts from your throat. “Steve ‘m gonna ask you somethin’ and you gotta be honest.”

“Shoot.” He seems to know what you’re planning on asking him, warmth flushing his cheeks even before your lips part

“How many times have you done that?”

“Oh come on darlin’ now you’re just tryin’ to embarrass me.”

You smile and his cheeks flush with warmth

“You need humblin’ every so often, I'm just taking it into my own hands.”

“You want me to be honest?” You nod and his voice drops to a whisper, “A lot. More than you would believe.”

“Makes sense. You were always real good at limbo.”

He laughs at that. “You think I’m good at limbo all ‘cause of looking at a horse's underside?”

“You said it, not me.” 

His heart is filled with sticky sweet adoration, the feeling running through his veins and under his skin. “I’ve missed you, peach.”

“You gonna take me out first or not Harrington?”

“How could I possibly forget with you lookin’ like that? You all dolled up just for me?” He tips his head forward, the brim of his hat eye level with you as he takes your hand in his.

You press your hand to your chest, a little dramatic but that’s the point. “Who else would I look like this for, hm?”

Steve grins, the kind that’s gorgeous and just a bit too cocky and you love it. He tugs you out the door with that, unlocking his car and opening the passenger side door before getting in himself.

“Say, the storm you rode through, which horse got stuck in it with you.”

“Think it’s the one you named, Cinnamon.”

“You went through with naming that poor horse, Cinnamon? Steven, it was a drunken suggestion.” He laughs, warm and low.

“Cinnamon doesn’t mind it, I’ll tell ya a secret though,” his voice lowers to a whisper, “I think Nutmeg despises her for it. The whole spice thing.”

“Stole Nutmeg’s thing hm?”

“‘s what she says.”

Your finger trails up the length of his arm, connecting freckles on tanned skin. “‘s romantic y’know, riding the horse I named to my house.”

“Of course it is, I came up with it.” You tilt your head and lift a brow. He laughs. “Not without your help of course.”

You hate how much you perk up when he says that. You hate how much you want yourself to hate him but you can’t bring yourself to, because no matter how many times you thought over the way Steve left you however many years ago, he still has you. And you still have him. And neither of you want to say it, but in this moment the boy that's brought you together couldn’t be further from your mind.

[sequinsmile-x]

Casually Cruel in the Name of Being Honest

Suddenly, she’s 6 again. And 16. And desperate for her mother’s attention as she stood on the other side of her desk in her office. She can’t help but wonder when she’ll learn that things will never change. When that last bit of hope that her relationship with her mother could be different will eventually die out.

Five times Emily doesn't yell at Elizabeth, and one time she does.

-x-

Hi friends,

It's been a little while since I got all up in Emily's mommy issues, so here are are.

Like all these 5+1 fics do this got away from me.

As always, please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: pregnancy

Words: 7.5k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

One

“Last chance to back out.” 

Aaron looks at his girlfriend as they step into the hotel lobby, and his heart aches at the look on her face, the barely contained tension he can see in the set of her jaw. The tightness of it spreads down her neck and across her shoulders, her posture so stiff and rigid he’s surprised her collarbone doesn’t crack with the pressure of it. He reaches for her hand and links their fingers together, his smile soft and full of love as he raises their joint hands to kiss her knuckles. 

“I have met your mom before, sweetheart,” he says in an attempt to calm her down, something he knows he’s failed at when she sighs, the sound drawn from the depths of her soul, pushing past years of repression and pain over the relationship with her mother that had never been what she’d wanted. 

“Not as my boyfriend, Aaron,” she replies, huffing as he tugs her out of the way of the flow of people walking into the hotel, all dressed up like they were. A lobby full of tuxedos, beautiful dresses, and faces she vaguely recognises all here to take part in the charity event her mother was hosting, “She’s…” she swallows thickly, “She’s hard work and full of opinions. Especially when it comes to my life. I don’t want her to…” 

He frowns as she drifts off, her eyes shining, the lights from the high ceilings reflecting in them. He squeezes her hand again and uses his other to cup her chin, encouraging her to look at him. He makes sure he’s firm but kind as he speaks, not wanting her to doubt him or his feelings for her in any way. 

“There is nothing your mother could do or say that would make me change my mind about being with you, sweetheart,” he says, leaning in to kiss her cheek, her reprimand about her lipstick when he tried to kiss her properly in the car still floating around in his mind, “Nothing.” 

She chokes on a laugh, “I don’t know how to feel about the fact you can already read my mind 6 months into our relationship.” She squeezes his hand, makes sure to press everything she won’t say here into his skin, her love for him, the way she treasured him, something she considered to be just for them. 

He leans in to kiss her cheek again, “You say that like you can’t read mine.” 

She hums, “One of the downsides of dating a profiler I guess. Or an upside. Depending on how you look at it.” she smiles, unable to stop herself, the corners of her lips turning upwards despite how she’d felt just moments ago, “We should go in.” 

He nods and lets go of her hand, offering her his arm instead, and he smiles when she hooks hers through it and wraps her other hand around his tricep, desperate to be as close as possible. “I’ll be by your side the whole time.” 

“You’re so getting lucky when we get home later.” 

They manage to dodge her mother at first. It’s a dance Emily had learnt at a young age, her mother’s patterns and habits ones she’d learnt as a defence mechanism. It would never last all evening, because her mother knew her just as well, but it often lasted long enough to have a couple of glasses of champagne. The tension in her chest and shoulders loosened by the bubbles as well as Aaron’s touch, his hand a constant reassurance on her back as he kept his promise to not leave her side. 

Emily blows out a breath when she spots her mother walking towards them, a man Emily knew to be the son of one of her fellow ambassadors in tow, “Incoming.” 

Aaron doesn’t have a chance to respond before Elizabeth is next to them, leaning in to kiss Emily on each of her cheeks, the same greeting he’d watched her give everyone she’d spoken to that evening. 

“Emily,” she says, smiling as she steps back, “It’s lovely to see you,” she looks at Aaron, “Agent Hotchner, lovely to see you too,” she turns to look at the man next to her, “Emily I’m sure you remember Anthony, Ambassador Collin’s son,” she waits for Emily to nod, “Anthony, this is my daughter Emily and her boss, Agent Hotchner.”

She knows it’s purposeful. That her mother’s use of Agent Hotchner instead of his name is an attempt to make him feel small, to try and implement some kind of hierarchy that only she cared about. Emily also knew it was no coincidence that she’d walked over with Anthony, a man she had tried to set Emily up with close to 20 years ago. A man she knew had recently, very publicly, got divorced. 

“Aaron,” she corrects, her smile sweet, the fake one Aaron had watched her use with unsubs and police officers who got a little too close for comfort, “His name is Aaron, and he’s also my boyfriend.” 

The flash of annoyance across her mother’s face is something she enjoys more than she should, but she keeps her smile fixed in place, desperate to maintain the polite niceness that they had always existed in. She’d learnt a long time ago it was best to not bite at anything her mother dangled in front of her, that Elizabeth would always end up turning it on her. So instead she played the game her mother had invented, the pieces of it were ones she’d learnt to use when she was young. 

“Nice to meet you,” Anthony says to Aaron, offering his hand out, his smile a kind of smug Emily hates, “You’re an Agent?” 

“At the FBI,” Aaron answers, reaching out to shake his hand. He squeezes tighter than necessary, something Emily can see in the way Anthony’s eyes briefly flash when his knuckles knock together, but his smile never shifts. It’s proof she didn’t know she needed that he could slot into this part of her life easily, “What is it you do?” 

Anthony clears his throat as he pulls his hand away, subtly shaking it to relieve the ache as it falls back to his side, “I’m currently…in between positions.” 

Aaron hums, an edge of sympathy to it that Emily knows is fake, and she has to press her lips together to stop herself from smiling, “Well,” she says, looking at her mother, her eyes fierce as they meet briefly, “We were about to go dance, right honey?” 

He nods and reaches for her hand, his touch soft as he links their fingers together, “Yes, we were,” he replies, “Lovely to see you again Ambassador Prentiss.” 

By the time they make it to the dance floor, Emily is furious, her anger simmering under her skin as Aaron pulls her closer, his arm banding around her back, “She is unbelievable,” she grumbles, her breath skipping across Aaron’s cheek, “Trying to set me up with that guy right in front of you.” 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he assures her, squeezing her hand to encourage her to look at him, “It’s not your fault,” he leans in to kiss her, his lips catching hers, “Do you want me to say something to her?”

She shakes her head, “No, it’s…it’s just easier to not say anything,” she says, “I learnt that a long time ago.”

“Do you want to leave?” 

She sighs sadly, “It’s easier to stay too,” she says, leaning in to kiss him, “You held your own though,” she says, smiling as she pulls back, “It’s almost like you were born for this.” 

He smiles, “I was born to be with you,” he replies, and it has the reaction he’d hoped for. A surprised laugh pulled from her chest that is followed by her rolling her eyes and shaking her head. 

She kisses him, not a quick thing this time but a kiss that leaves her having to wipe her lipstick from his lips afterwards, her touch and the way she looks at him tender, their future swimming in the depths of them. “I think I was born to be with you too.”

___

Two

She hums contentedly as she rests her head against Aaron’s shoulder, her smile impossibly wider when he turns his head to kiss her forehead. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” He mumbles against her skin and she nods, tilting her head upwards to capture her fiance’s lips in a kiss, her hand on his cheek as she ignores the playful jeers from some of their friends. 

“I’m more than okay,” she says, kissing him again, “This has been…” she shakes her head at herself as she drifts off, looking around the room, their nearest and dearest spread out at all the other tables around them, empty plates and half-empty glasses around them, “It’s been more fun than I thought it would be.” 

The party had been Penelope’s idea at first. Her delight at their engagement immediately shifting her into party planning mode, her eyes wide and full of excitement as all of Emily and Aaron’s attempts at saying they didn’t need a party were ignored. In the end, they’d relented, both of them more excited than they’d admit at the idea of celebrating their love for each other as much as they could. Elizabeth had largely overtaken everything the moment she found out, seemingly almost more excited at the idea of an engagement party than she was at the engagement itself. 

“Your mother and Garcia should open a party planning business,” he says dryly, tasting her laugh as he stamps a kiss against hers. 

“Don’t give them any ideas,” she quips, looking over at her mother, “Not before the wedding anyway.” 

She’d decided not to argue with any of the plans about the engagement party, largely just happy to be told by her mom and Penelope where to go and when to go there. She was saving her strength to keep the wedding itself as she wanted it to be, absolutely insistent that it would be much simpler than this had been. That the only guests would be people she cared about, not a room full of her mother’s friends and colleagues like this had turned into. 

“Good point,” he mumbles, his lips against her temple as their attention is pulled away from each other by the sound of a piece of cutlery gently tapping against a glass. They look over to find Elizabeth standing up, her glass of champagne in hand as the room falls into silence. 

Emily muffles a groan against Aaron’s shoulder, “Here we go,” she grumbles so only he can hear her. He places his hand on her thigh and squeezes. She links their fingers together, reaches for her wine, “$50 she makes a comment about my age.” 

He doesn’t have time to respond before Elizabeth starts her speech, so he simply squeezes Emily’s thigh again, putting as much love into the touch as he can. He’d promised a long time that he wouldn’t get involved in her relationship with her mother, that he’d leave it to her, but it was hard at times. Almost impossible to keep himself in check as he watched Elizabeth chip away at Emily’s self-confidence, her fingers pressed against buttons she’d sewed on herself when her daughter was young. 

“I wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for coming,” Elizabeth says, “I lost hope years ago that I’d ever get to throw an engagement party for Emily,-”

“In the first sentence,” Emily mumbles to Aaron, her words drowned out by polite laughter, before she takes a large gulp of her wine, “Easiest $50 I’ve ever made.” 

“- Despite all of that, I am so pleased that Emily has found someone who makes her happy,” Elizabeth carries on, a rare flash of genuine sincerity in her eyes as Emily looks up, “So, let’s raise a glass to Emily and Aaron.” 

“To Emily and Aaron.” 

They both smile as they raise their glasses too, and the room falls back into the loud chatter that had been there all evening. 

“To us,” Aaron says, his smile soft when she looks at him, and she clinks her glass against his.

“To us,” she replies, her tone lacklustre as she takes a sip of her wine before she sets the glass down. 

Aaron turns slightly so his knees knock against her leg, “Sweetheart-”

“It’s okay,” she says, cutting off his attempt to comfort her, not wanting anyone to be witness to it, his gentle love for her one of the few things that could make her fall apart, “It’s not like she was ever going to do a gushing, loving speech about me,” she shrugs, “It’s what I expected.” 

“That doesn’t make it right, Em.”

She nods, her lips pressed together as she cups his cheek, “I know,” she says, smiling tightly before she stamps her lips against his, “Later.” 

He tightens his hold on her leg but relents, knowing she won’t talk about it until they are alone, their house a sanctuary for both of them, “Later.” 

She smiles gratefully and rests her cheek briefly against his shoulder before she sits up, “You’d better be good for that $50,” she says, easily slipping into the role she had to play here in a way that makes him ache, “I know where you live after all.” 

He chuckles and tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “I’m good for it,” he says, winking at her, “I’m about to marry rich.” 

She scoffs, the laugh that pushes past it genuine, her smile wide and sparkling as she lightly slaps his chest, “Aaron.” 

___

Three  

She turns so she’s briefly side on to the mirror, her heart swelling in her chest at her reflection as she turns head on again, her hands smoothing down the white satin, “I love this one.” 

“It’s a little simple, don’t you think.” 

Emily closes her eyes and blows out a breath to centre herself before she turns to face the plush couch behind her. Penelope, JJ, Elizabeth and Jack were all lined up looking at her, looks of delight on all of their faces except her mother’s who was looking at her with a critical eye she hadn’t seen since they bought her dress for her confirmation. 

It was a simple dress. Or as simple as a wedding dress could be. The neckline was scooped across her collarbone, ensuring that the scar on her chest was covered, not wanting Ian to have any involvement in this, and the dress was well fitted around her bust and waist, falling into a simple slip silhouette from there. The back of the dress was low, two straps that were an inch thick that came to just above her waist, and there were a series of small buttons that trailed down just past her lower back. It was beautiful and simple and it felt like it symbolised her and Aaron’s love for each other because of that. 

“You’ve said that about every dress I’ve tried on,” she scrunches her nose up a little and sees her mother raise her eyebrows. Elizabeth doesn’t have to say anything for Emily to know what she’s thinking, oh you do look like your father when you do that, so she stops, exhaling slowly as she looks at herself in the mirror. 

“That’s because every dress you’ve tried on is simple.”

“I think it’s nice,” JJ says, ever the person to try and mediate, “It suits you.” 

Penelope nods and dabs at her eyes with a bright pink handkerchief, “You look beautiful.” 

She smiles at her friends, their love for her, for her family, something she doesn’t think she could live without. Their friendship the very thing she once thought she’d never have, female companionship she’d somehow lived without in the 37 years before she’d met them. 

“Thank you,” she says before she turns to her mother,  “I like that it’s simple, I don’t think I’m a ruffles and taffeta kind of bride,” she says, stepping off the small platform in front of the mirror as she looks down at herself, smiling when she hears JJ and Penelope stifle a laugh. “I’m getting married in Dave’s backyard, I don’t exactly need a gown” 

Elizabeth hums, “Yes, we all know where you’re getting married, Emily.” 

She smiles, her jaw tight as she clears her throat, pushing away the instinct to argue with her mother. She’d made her distaste for Emily and Aaron’s wedding plans clear from the start. An almost constant barrage of passive aggressive comments about its simplicity, as if that was a dirty word, whenever the wedding was mentioned. Emily hated it, hated that she didn’t have a relationship with her mother where this was something they could bond over. 

Most of all, she hated that she still expected anything different to what they had, that she consistently expected more from a woman who had never been what she’d wanted. 

“I think you look really pretty, Emmy.”

Emily smiles at Jack and she walks over to him. She leans down and kisses the top of his head, trailing her fingers through his hair as she pulls back, “Thanks, sweet boy. Do you think Daddy will like it?” 

“He’ll love it,” Jack says innocently, unaware of the slight tension around him that all of the adults were ignoring, “He always says you’re pretty in everything.” 

She blushes at that and looks over Jack’s head at her mother, the tight smile that was always reserved for her painted across her face, “That settles it then. I’m getting this one.” 

Penelope makes her pose with a sign from the bridal shop with ‘I said yes to the dress’ printed on the front of it. Emily pulls Jack into the picture, his smile as wide as hers, and she texts it to Aaron as they all head out for a celebratory dinner. By the time they get home, she’s exhausted in just about every way possible. She slumps down onto the couch and covers her face with her hands, the cool press of her engagement ring against her cheek a comfort to her weary soul. 

“Are you okay sweetheart?”

She groans as she pulls her hands off her face and looks up at Aaron, “I’m tired.” 

He smiles at her and joins her on the couch, his arm around her shoulders as he encourages her to lean on him, “Jack just said the same thing,” he kisses her forehead, “I think if I went upstairs in about 10 minutes I’d find him and Sergio curled up asleep on his bed,” he smiles as she chuckles against him, “He also said that, and I quote ‘Miss Lizzie was being mean to Emmy.’”

She sighs and pulls back to look at him, “I’m sorry, I should have protected him from it a little better. She was driving me crazy all day. She had an issue with every dress I tried on,” she smiles sadly and shrugs, “She didn’t like the one I chose in the end.” 

“You don’t have to apologise for anything, Em,” he says, running his hand up and down her arm, “Do you like the dress?” 

She nods, her lips pressed together as she tries to contain her smile, the same feeling she’d had when she saw herself in the dress for the first time blooming in her chest, “I love it.” 

“Then that is all that matters,” he assures her, kissing the tip of her nose and smiling when she scrunches it up, “You look cute when you do that.”

She furrows her brow, “Do what?” 

“Scrunch your nose up when I kiss it,” he does it again for good measure, his smile wide when it happens by reflex, “It’s cute.” 

He was always doing that. Unknowingly undoing the damage her mother had done over the years. Her comments and criticisms so vast she could never tell him about them all. It warms her from the inside out. Makes it hard to breathe as she gets overwhelmed by it all, unsure what she’d done to deserve the love of a man like him. 

“You’re cute,” she replies, kissing his cheek and then the corner of his mouth, smiling when he hums in response. 

“You can’t tell anyone else, I’ve got a reputation as a hardass to uphold.” 

She smiles and nods, happy to keep this version of him as hers. His softness for her and Jack something she wanted to protect, precious and rare and a privilege to see. 

“Your secret is safe with me.”

___

Four

She sings along with the music as she dances with her new husband, her cheek skimming against Aaron’s as they sway back and forth.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” He asks, turning his head so his lips catch the corner of hers, his hand on her back - half on her bare skin and half on the soft material of her dress. 

“I’m more than okay,” she says as she leans in, her nose skimming his as she makes sure she’s quiet, keen to make sure none of the people watching them hear her, “I think this might be one of the best days of my life.” 

He beams at her, his dimples carved out in his cheeks as he pulls her closer, “I know it’s one of the best days of mine.” 

It had been everything she’d wanted it to be. Simple and intimate. Just the people that they cared about around them as they said their vows and made promises to each other she knew they’d keep, both of their voices shaking as they saw forever in each other's eyes. 

She kisses him as the music comes to an end, her hands on his cheeks to hold him in place when she hears a playful jeer from Derek and some applause from the small crowd. She pulls back just barely enough to speak, “I love you so fucking much.”

Aaron chuckles and stamps his lips against hers, “I love you too,” he kisses her again, “So fucking much,” he looks up at Dave calling his name, the older man beckoning him over to the temporary bar set up in his back yard, “Apparently I’m needed at the bar.” 

She hums and looks over her shoulder at their friend before she turns back to Aaron, “Don’t drink too much,” she murmurs, running her hands down his chest to play with his tie, tugging lightly at the pure silk, “I have plans for you later that won’t work out if you drink too much of Dave’s expensive scotch.” 

He smiles and squeezes her waist with both hands, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “You’ve been my wife a matter of hours and you’re already in charge.” 

“Oh honey,” she says, tapping his cheek lovingly, “I’ve been in charge a long long time.” 

He captures her hand and kisses her knuckles before he walks away, his fingers only slipping past hers when he’s too far away to hold her hand anymore, neither one of them wanting to be apart for long. 

Emily sighs contentedly as she walks back towards the head table, seeking out her glass of champagne and a brief moment of solitude, the emotions of the day making her as overwhelmed as she was happy. She’s barely sat down before she smells her mother’s perfume. A mix of Chanel and judgement in the air signals her arrival before she can sit down next to her, a calling card Emily used to avoid wherever possible in the hallways of their home. 

“Hello Emily,” she says as she joins her, “How are you doing?”

Her mother’s tone doesn’t pass her by, the way she asks it makes it sound like they were just passing the time of day, not that it was her only child’s wedding day. 

“I’m good, Mom,” she replies, smiling when she looks over at Aaron and Dave at the bar, Jack just a few feet away from them as he dances with Will, “More than good. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier,” She looks at Elizabeth, “Today was…perfect.” 

Elizabeth hums, “It was certainly…simpler than what I’d imagined for you when you were a little girl, but I guess it makes sense because you’re not exactly a blushing bride, and Aaron’s been married before. I’m glad you had a nice day.” 

Emily presses her lips together and takes a calming breath. She’d promised herself, and Aaron, that she wouldn’t let her mother taint this, that she’d enjoy every second no matter what Elizabeth said. She’d kept that promise, let her mother’s comments about her dress, the food, the venue, all pass her by. Her enjoyment of the day, of the celebration of her love for Aaron and the future they were promising each other far more important than her mother’s attempts to get under her skin. 

“Well,” she says, taking a sip of her champagne, “Given that I’m the bride that’s the aim.” 

Elizabeth sighs, “Really, Emily, you do like to pick at everything I say. I was trying to say I’m glad you had fun.” 

It’s a backhanded compliment and she knows it, as well as an attempt to place all of the blame for their fractured relationship on her shoulders, but she still doesn’t bite. Doesn’t want to trip and fall into an argument with her mother, knowing it wasn’t worth it on even a normal day. That she’d never truly win an argument she’d been born to lose. 

“Thank you,” she replies, smiling sweetly as she finishes her champagne, “I’m going to go find my husband.” They both know it’s an excuse, Aaron had never left her line of sight, but Elizabeth doesn’t say anything, she simply nods and lets Emily go. 

When she makes it to the bar Aaron wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her into his side, “I was just about to come rescue you.” 

She cups his chin and holds him in place to kiss him, “You’re the best husband ever.” 

He smiles and kisses her, and it makes her shiver. He steps back to shrug off his jacket and he places it around her shoulders, his voice low so only she hears him as he whispers against her ear, “You okay?” 

She nods and looks back at him over her shoulder, “I’m perfect.” 

His smile turns into a grin and he winks at her, “You’re finally coming round to my way of thinking, I’ve been telling you you’re perfect since our first date.” 

___

Five 

Having dinner at their house had been Aaron’s idea, his smile soft as he said it would make her feel more comfortable than going to her mother’s. She was nervous, anxiety thrumming under her skin over telling her mother their news, her stomach twisting with something other than the morning sickness that had been plaguing her for weeks. 

They’d been trying since just before they got married, both of them aware that if they wanted a baby or two their time was starting to run out. Emily had started to lose hope, each negative pregnancy test hollowing out a little bit more of her chest each month. When she finally found herself staring at a positive test, two pink lines bright and unmistakable as they stared up at her, it took a moment for it to register. She hadn’t realised she was crying until Aaron stepped into the bathroom, ready to comfort her as per the routine they’d fallen into. It was only when she’d made him look at the test, too overwhelmed to say it outloud herself, that he realised they were tears of joy. 

She was 16 weeks along now and her mother was the last person they had to tell. Jack was excited to be a big brother, his immediate demand for a little sister something that had made both Emily and Aaron laugh. The team had been delighted for them, as had Jessica when they told her, a glint in her eyes as she told Aaron that Haley would be happy for him. A part of Emily that she was never quite able to control hoped her mother would be happy for them too, that she’d break the habit of a lifetime and only have good things to say. 

Dinner itself had been fine. Aaron cooked a meal that Emily could still stomach, a lot of her favourite foods apparently not favourites of the baby. After they finished eating, polite conversation floating in the air around them along with the smell of the chocolate dessert in the oven, Emily knows she can’t put it off any longer. 

“Mom, we have something to tell you,” she says, her smile fading when her mother barely reacts, her gaze fixed on her cell phone in her hands. She’d been checking it on and off all night, seemingly too busy to be able to put her work aside for even one evening with her daughter, “Mom,” she repeats, an all too familiar feeling of disappointment washing over her, “Can you put your phone down for just a few minutes? I’m trying to talk to you.” 

Elizabeth hums, still not looking up from the screen of her phone, typing furiously as she responds to whatever email she was replying to, “Emily, my job is important - you know that - and I can focus on two things at once.” 

Suddenly, she’s 6 again. And 16. And desperate for her mother’s attention as she stood on the other side of her desk in her office. She can’t help but wonder when she’ll learn that things will never change. When that last bit of hope that her relationship with her mother could be different will eventually die out. Aaron links his hand through hers under the dining room table and it brings her back to herself, reminds her that she’s married now, that she’s sat in her home and that Jack is asleep upstairs. It doesn’t make the pain caused by her mother’s indifference go away, but it dulls it. Makes it bearable because she isn’t alone any more and she never will be again. She blows out a breath as she places her other hand on her mostly still flat stomach, the bump only really noticeable to her and Aaron when they looked for it. 

“I’m pregnant,” she says, her hand tight around Aaron’s as she watches her mother carefully. She waits a few seconds for a response, for any kind of indication that she’d heard her, and she blows out a slow breath before she tries again, “Mom, did you hear me? I said-”

“Yes, you’re pregnant,” she says, cutting her off, finally looking over the top of her phone at Emily, “Did you really think I didn’t notice the moment I arrived? You’re not drinking wine and you look…healthier than when I last saw you.” 

“You can’t-”

She cuts off Aaron’s attempt to defend her with nothing but a squeeze of his hand, her blunt nails briefly digging into the gaps between his fingers. She clenches her teeth, her jaw so tight she’s surprised it doesn’t fracture, and she swallows thickly to push down everything she doesn’t have the energy to say, “Is that all you’ve got to say?” 

Elizabeth raises an eyebrow at her, “Do you want me to say something else?” 

She mumbles under her breath, “Most people start with congratulations.” 

“What was that, Emily?” 

“Nothing,” she replies as she stands up, the scrape of her chair against the hardwood floor echoing throughout the room, “I said I’ll go check on dessert.” 

She’s in the kitchen for all of a few seconds before Aaron is with her, his jaw set in a firm line as he barely hides his irritation, “Em-”

“Honey, can we not do this,” she says, casting a glance at him as she gets the dessert out of the oven, her entire body tense as she places it down on the counter, “I don’t need you to tell me I deserve better, or that she shouldn’t speak to me that way. Because I know that okay?” Despite her irritation, despite the sadness turning over in her gut, she keeps her voice low, not wanting her mother to overhear or to wake up Jack, “I know this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. But it’s how it is and nothing is going to change that,” she turns to get some bowls out of the cabinet, sure if she looked at him too long she’d fall apart despite what she’s saying, “I really can’t deal with this right now. We just…can we just see it through until she goes home? Please?” 

It takes everything in him to nod in agreement. To not go into the dining room and tell his mother-in-law exactly what he thought of her, and that she wasn’t welcome in his home until she treated his wife with the respect she deserved. It goes against all of his instincts, his desire to protect her, even though she’d spent all her life protecting himself, so habitual to him it felt like breathing. He knows this is what she wants though, that he has to follow her lead when it comes to her mother and her relationship with her, so he steps forward, his hand skirting her lower back as he slips past her to grab the serving spoon. 

“I’ll serve dessert, sweetheart,” he says, smiling softly at her, “Why don’t you go have a minute or two alone? I think I saw Sergio in the living room. I’m sure he’ll appreciate some attention.” 

She sighs gratefully, resting her head against his shoulder as he wraps one arm around her, allowing herself a brief moment of comfort before she pulls away, a taster of what she’d get to have later when her mother was gone, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he replies, kissing her forehead as she steps past him and disappears from view. He blows out a frustrated breath the moment he’s alone, irritation aimed at Elizabether burning in his veins, and then hears his wife clear her throat from the doorway, “Yes baby?” 

“Can I have the end piece please?” 

He smiles and nods, “You’re having my baby - you can have the end piece for the rest of our lives. 

She smiles at him, the ache in her cheeks caused by him at odds with the churning caused in her gut by her mother, “Correct answer.” 

___

+ One 

Emily rocks herself back and forth on the porch swing, her cheek pressed against the top of her daughter’s head as she hums, letting Ivy feel the vibrations of her chest as she eases her back to sleep. She looks up sharply at a loud laugh, smiling when she sees Jack pushing Hazel on the swing set, the three-year-old always at her happiest when she is the centre of her brother’s attention. 

Ivy gristles against her, rubbing her face against Emily’s collarbone, and she looks down to soothe her, her lips against the top of her head as she rubs a hand up and down her back, “You’re okay, sweet girl,” she kisses her head again, “One day, far too soon for my liking, you’ll be out there playing with them too.”

The 6-week-old grunts as if in response and Emily chuckles, the sound drowned out by the door leading out from the kitchen to the porch. She smiles at her husband as he pops his head around the door, his lips pressed together. 

“Your mother’s car just pulled up.” 

She nods, grateful for the warning, and he steps back into the house to let her mother in. Elizabeth had been away on assignment and had only been back in the US for a couple of days, so this was the first time she’d be meeting Ivy. 

“Are you ready to meet grandma, Ivy?” She asks, smiling down at the sleeping newborn, “Don’t worry if she looks angry, that’s just her face.” 

She waits as she hears muffled conversation get louder as Aaron and her mother walk through the house and her breath catches in her chest when the door opens again, a type of anxiety only her mother could draw out of her filling her lungs. 

Despite her initial disappointing reaction to finding out Emily was pregnant with Hazel, Elizabeth had been an excellent grandmother. She doted on the little girl and Jack, buying them extravagant gifts from wherever she went in the world, always ignoring Emily’s subtle attempts at trying to say it was too much. She’d love Ivy too, Emily knew that, but she also knew her limit for her mother’s comments, well meaning or not, ended with her children. She could accept whatever her mother wanted to say about her, but never them. They would grow up free of the shackles of expectation that she’d never quite been fully held down by, and the halls of their home were full of love and affection, not disappointment and conversations that didn’t mean anything. 

“Oh look at her,” Elizabeth says as she joins them on the swing, peering down at the baby fast asleep against Emily’s chest, “She’s precious.” 

“Thanks, Mom,” Emily says, “Do you want to hold her? I just fed her so she’ll be settled for a while.” 

Elizabeth subtly shakes her head, “I’m happy to just look, this suit is Chanel, I can’t risk any baby related projectiles.” 

Emily casts a glance at Aaron, who was not so subtly glaring at the back of Elizabeth’s head, but any conversation is cut off as Jack and Hazel run up to the porch, both delighted to see their grandmother. Aaron eventually takes Ivy from Emily to put her down in her bassinet, and as Jack and Hazel tire of listening to the adults talk and run back into the backyard, Emily finds herself alone with her mother. 

“Aaron said you had to have a c-section?” 

She nods at her mother, ignoring the ache in her arms now her baby is no longer in them, instead focusing on Jack and Hazel running around the backyard, “Yes,” she replies, “Ivy was being a little stubborn and my labour stalled. It was the safest thing for both of us.” 

It hadn’t been what she’d wanted. Her memories of her labour with Hazel were fond ones, the pain of it blurry now, the only sharp memories the ones of being handed her daughter for the first time, that first press of her skin against hers. Her labour with Ivy had become very scary very quickly, and she still felt like she’d been robbed of some of the joy of what she knew was her last baby’s birth. 

“They used to call it the easy way out back in my day.” 

Emily scoffs, the sound escaping before she can stop it, “As someone who’s done it both ways, I can assure you there is no such thing as the easy way out, Mother.” 

Hazel laughs loudly from the swing set, drawing their attention towards her as she tries to run up the slide attached to it, the multicoloured tutu she’d insisted on wearing and her stripy tights, her feet bare other than them after she’d won the battle over shoes that morning, hindering her ever so slightly. Emily is about to call out to tell her to be careful when Jack beats her to it, his hands on his little sister’s back as he guides her upwards, his smile shy as he looks over at Emily. 

“She really is wild,” Elizabeth says, as if she’d only vocalised half a thought, “You’re going to have to get her under control at some point.” 

She can feel her control fraying, the edges of it giving way as she swallows thickly, desperate to make sure she doesn’t snap, “She’s three. And she’s acting like a three-year-old. I see nothing that needs controlling.” 

Elizabeth rolls her eyes, “Oh please Emily, if you don’t tamper all of that down soon she’s going to end up just like you.” 

Snap. 

“And what’s wrong with that, Mom?” She asks, not able to keep it in, her anger breaking free of where she’d kept it locked away all these years, “What would be so awful about my little girl being just like me?” 

“Emily, you’re over-”

“Don’t tell me I’m overreacting,” she says, standing up and throwing a glance at the kids, forcing a smile when Jack looks at her with concern pressed into his eyes. She calms down for a moment, never wanting him to think she was angry with him, “Look after your sister for me, we’ll just be inside.” 

“Yes, Mom,” he replies with a nod and Emily walks in, grateful that she doesn’t have to explain to her mother that she expects her to follow her. The moment they are inside she turns to look at Elizabeth, the confusion painted across her face doing nothing to calm her down. 

“I think you misunderstood me, Emily,” she says, her hands folded in front of her, “I was simply saying-”

“That if I don’t teach my little girl, my fucking three-year-old, to be quieter, to make herself smaller, that she’ll have the misfortune of turning into me,” she scoffs, shaking her head as tears fill her eyes, still at the mercy of her hormones and a lack of sleep, “Which, apparently is a fate so awful you feel the need to mention it.” 

She hears Aaron’s footsteps behind her as he joins them, feels his palm on her lower back, “Is everything okay, sweetheart?” 

Before she can say anything, before she can do anything other than look up at him through shining eyes, her mother cuts over her. 

“Aaron, please speak to your wife - she’s being ridiculous.” 

Aaron wraps his arm around Emily’s waist, his grip firm and reassuring as a disbelieving sob catches in her chest, “I think it’s best you leave, Elizabeth.” 

In any other circumstance, Emily is sure she’d find the look of shock that passes over her mother’s face funny, but it simply makes her angrier, the fact that she didn’t get it, and likely never would, more painful than she could admit even to herself. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You need to leave,” he says, squeezing Emily’s hip one more time before he steps away to lead Elizabeth towards the front door, “I won’t have you come here and upset her. Not when I’ve already let so much slide in the past.”

Elizabeth scoffs, “She’s my daughter-”

“And she’s my wife,” he says, opening the front door, “You should go.” 

Elizabeth sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly, “I didn’t mean to cause any upset.” 

“I think that’s the problem,” he says, standing so he’s blocking her view of Emily as she steps outside, “You never mean to, but you always manage to anyway.” 

He closes the door and gives himself a moment to breathe through his anger, his grip on the door handle tight as he lets it pass. Emily didn’t need his anger, she needed his love - and that was something he had in abundance. 

When he walks back into the kitchen, she’s still standing in the same spot, the sleeves of his sweater she’s wearing pulled down over her fists, visible wet streaks on them that he knows are her tears, her face also covered in them. 

“So,” she chokes out, her smile shaking as she forces it, “How long have you wanted to throw my mother out?” 

They both know what she’s doing, that it’s easier for her to try and use humour to get past this, the world unsteady beneath her feet after she’d said some things she thought she’d never say. 

“Longer than I care to admit,” he says as he walks towards her, tugging her gently into his embrace, something she willingly sinks into. He kisses the top of her head and runs his hands up and down her back.

“How much did you hear?” She asks, her question muffled against his t-shirt.

“Enough to know it was something about Haze,” he says, smiling as he encourages her to look up at him, “I always knew if you were to snap at her it would be about the kids,” he wipes a tear from her cheek, “You never would if it was just about you.” 

She hums, leaning into his palm as he cups her cheek, “I’m not sure what good it would have done. She’s never been one to self-reflect.” 

 “When you’re ready to talk to her about it,” he says, smiling when she kisses his palm, “I’ll be right there with you. And I’ll throw her out again if I need to.” 

She smiles, the corners of her lips twitching upwards as she gives him a quick peek of her dimples, “My hero.” 

He shakes his head, “No sweetheart,” he says, pulling her back against his chest, “You’ve always been your own hero. Just think of me as your live in bouncer.” 

She laughs, loud and beautiful, and she shakes her head at him, “My very sexy live in bouncer.” 

He stamps his lips against hers, “It’s the role of a lifetime.” 

[faneliansficaloh]

A Lifetime of Happiness

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3) (Chapter 4)

This is Chapter 5

----------

11 November, 1817

Dear Penelope,

It is so odd to have such warm rain in the middle of November, I find myself missing the cold, even though the warmth is much easier on my fingers as I write all day every day now, as I have for the last two years. The letter writing has increased for obvious reasons.

I know my first letters might just be arriving to their destinations about now, but I haven’t been able to wait for the responses to some of them. I am compelled to write as I think, I write letters or in my journal, when I am not working on documents and translations for work. I do not mind it, but I have developed a little dent on my index finger and what seems to be permanent stains on my finger tips. Mother would be appalled, for along with the way the sun has darkened my complexion, I must not convey a very aristocratic figure at all, if I ever did.

I swear even the sound of the rain is different here. Even when it’s pouring in full force, it still sounds softer than English rain. It is very peaceful. It makes me think I could fall asleep outside without minding it at all, as if the drops would fall gently like soft caresses, like the fingers of a beloved person running through the features of a darling face.

Has it started snowing yet? I do not believe it ever does here.

Yours, Colin.

1814 – New Acquaintances

The Featherington dinning room was perhaps the less affected by Lady Featherington’s tastes. It was a rather sober room in comparison to the rest of the house with its citrus coloured walls. It was almost tasteful, although a little on the lived-in side, which might betray that it had indeed not gone through a renovation at the hand of the current Lady of the house.

“Mrs. Bridgerton, will you and Mr. Bridgerton be travelling to Aubrey Hall earlier with the rest of the family or are you planning to arrive with the rest of the guests for the main event?”

“We will be travelling earlier, with the rest of the Bridgertons, Lord Featherington”

“Ah, what a wonderful opportunity to get better acquainted with your new family”, Lady Featherington interjected.

It was no secret that the new Mrs. Bridgerton did not spend much time at Bridgerton House, even though it had nearly been a year since the marriage took place. Marina had simply not shown much interest, she had become very reserved and kept mostly to her home and the occasional dinner at the Featherington house, making extremely short appearances at social events. Portia assumed at first that she was simply very dedicated to her babies, but there was something in her air that did not sit well with her. She did feel sympathy for her, of course, but there was nothing to be done if the marriage had not turned out a happy one. Besides, there was no use having such a connection if it was this feeble, Portia thought, so she was glad there was an opportunity to strengthen it and maybe even lift the girl’s spirits.

She did not think that their situations might be exactly the same, for Mr. Bridgerton did not seem to be a cruel man as her late husband had been, no. Mr. Bridgerton had indeed endured the situation with much more kindness than Portia had ever expected from a man, but in her own experience, when there was no love to be found in one’s marriage, one could always pour themselves into their children and find diversion in society. The one thing they could do was to secure the best opportunities for their children, make sure they had all the possible advantages, so that their futures would be brighter than their own and here Marina, unlike her, had the advantage of not having to actively work against her husband to achieve it.

“Indeed, it is a good opportunity. But I must confess I find it a bit daunting, and was actually intending to ask if you would do me the favour to allow Penelope to travel with us, if she’d agree, of course. It would mean a lot to me to have her support and I know how dear she is to Eloise and the rest of the family so her presence would be invaluable to me”

“I wouldn’t want to impose on the Viscount and Lady Bridgerton, have you talked to them about this?” Penelope couldn’t think of a single other reason why she wouldn’t accept without making it obvious she just didn’t cherish the prospect of enduring the trip in such close quarters with the couple. Besides she still felt guilty for not having told Lady Bridgerton about Marina much earlier. Maybe Anthony would oppose her coming, since Penelope knew the true purpose of the advance trip and she imagined he might not be pleased by the increase in attendance once the Sharmas’ party joined them.

“Colin will ask Violet, won’t you?” Marina turned to her husband, to ask.

“I will, but it almost seems unnecessary. My mother adores Penelope, she will be happy to have her, she is always welcome”

Marina might not have known the family as long or as well as Penelope had, but she had this one thing right. If Colin asked Anthony directly, there was a chance for denial, but if he went through his mother, it was as well as a done thing. Colin had a way of getting whatever he wanted from Violet and well, she had just been deluding herself earlier if she thought Anthony would deny his mother a fairly simple request like this.

“Seems I should start packing, then” She said with a tight smile.

“Wonderful!” Marina’s smile seemed genuine, so Penelope felt a little hopeful it would be a good thing after all. “I’m looking forward to it. I miss the country so much.”

“It is settled then” Lady Featherington said cheerfully.

“I look forward to joining you later and making your family’s acquaintance, Mr. Bridgerton” Lord Featherington raised his glass and Colin followed suit.

***

The advance party had barely set foot at Aubrey Hall when Benedict was notified that he had a visitor and so he went into the study without any idea why this man would be calling on him.

“Good afternoon” Benedict greeted the man that had come to Aubrey Hall asking to see him. He did not know this man “Sir Phillip Crane, is it? I do not believe we have met. Benedict Bridgerton”

“Oh” Sir Phillip then produced a wrinkled piece of paper, a letter, from the pocket on his waistcoat. He opened it and looked for a detail on it. “Forgive me, Mr. Bridgerton, I was hoping I could talk to Mr. ColinBridgerton. I’ve been corresponding with him on a rather important… business, so as I learned your family was coming to the country, I thought to seize the opportunity to have the conversation in person”

“Ah, I see. Please have a seat” He motioned to the footman who immediately went out to look for the aforementioned Mr. Colin Bridgerton “Is your home nearby?”

“Yes, Romney Hall. I much rather the country. I am seldom to be found in London, avoid going there as much as possible, so you see this was a perfect opportunity for me as it is but a short ride away” He was fidgeting with the letter in his hand, which he had promptly re-folded many times into a tiny square.

“You rode here?” Benedict looked at the window. It was a grey, cloudy afternoon with every indication that a storm might fall at any moment.

“I did” And as Sir Phillip followed Benedict’s line of sight he became embarrassed “I believe I might have overestimated the speed of my steed and underestimated that of the clouds”

Colin entered the study a moment after

“Good afternoon. Did you call for me?” Benedict nodded and indicated towards Phillip.

“You have a guest”

“Sir Phillip Crane, at your service”

“Well, I will leave you to discuss your business in private” Benedict left the room.

“Please” Colin motioned to the other man to get back to his seat and took one opposite him.

“I’ve come in the hopes I can persuade you to reconsider the matter we’ve been corresponding about. I do understand and appreciate you taking care of the children as if they were your own--” He paused as he saw Colin get affronted by his choice of words “All I mean is, they deserve – My brother wanted them to have the Crane inheritance that is rightfully theirs. I cannot in good conscience ignore this.”

“That is very honourable of you but --”

“Please. I must do this. You have many siblings, brothers and sisters? George was my only brother, and he always supported me when others wouldn’t. I couldn’t-- I won’t – I just rather their legal guardians are aware that arrangements have been made for their future. I unfortunately cannot pass on the title to the boy, as you understand.”

“Do you not intend to marry, have your own children?” Colin felt he needed to protest, as it seemed that once more decisions were being made on his behalf and he was just being informed. At what point in life had he lost agency over his destiny so completely?

“Adjustments will be made, proportionally as necessary, if such a thing were to happen, but it won’t be any time soon, I can assure you. There is just one thing. I just-- I would like to meet them” He didn’t know this man, but so far he had come through in his letters as a proud individual, so he was prepared to fight a refusal.

Colin could see the hope on this man���s eyes. And he thought how terrible it would be if they were to lose Daphne and then be denied to see Augie again and the thought made him shudder. It was also rare to have a gentleman so concerned with the well-being of children that were on all accounts, not his burden. He would have to deal with Marina later, as he was sure she would not be happy at this.

“Very well” he nodded and rang the bell, instructing the footman as he entered the room “Please ask miss Carrigan to bring the children to the drawing room, and have tea and some sandwiches sent there as well for Sir Phillip and myself.” He stood up and motioned for Phillip to follow him. “No time like the present”

The drawing room was full of people, as it turned out.

Hyacinth and Gregory were playing chess by the window and Eloise was reading a book in a sofa, next to Benedict, who was talking with Anthony. Lady Bridgerton and Francesca were working on some embroidery in the opposite sofa. Marina he knew was in their room with Penelope.

“I suddenly realize why it isn’t a good idea to show up unannounced” Phillip said a little embarrassed.

Lady Bridgerton stood up as she noticed they had an unexpected visitor.

“I take it business has gone well?” Benedict asked from his place standing near the chimney, with a smile as his eyes surveyed both men.

“It has. Mother, Anthony, allow me to introduce Sir Phillip Crane, our neighbour from Romney Hall”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. Please take a seat, would you like some tea?” Violet gestured to the seat opposite Eloise, who made for a hasty retreat fearing one of her mother’s schemes and moved to inspect the game of chess closely, but her brother and sister had already stood up to acknowledge the unexpected guest.

A wave of curtsies and bows rose and fell through the room, as pleasantries were exchanged before he was finally seated, in the place where Eloise had been before fleeing. He shifted rather awkwardly, removing the book Eloise had left behind between the seat cushions. He seemed intrigued by the title and opened it, idly perusing the pages, waiting for the babies to be brought in, absent-mindedly ignoring the company. Eloise cringed at discovering her carelessness, but then she noticed he had apparently found something interesting as he had stopped turning pages and was actually reading. She found herself curious at what part could it have been.

“Sir Phillip, it seems you have arrived just in time to avoid the coming storm” Said Violet after too long a moment, to try and ease the awkward silence that had befallen the room. It had already started raining, but it was still a gentle rain. The more ominous clouds were still at a distance, but the wind had started picking up.

“It appears so” He said as he stopped his reading to look through the window behind him, while carefully marking his place with his index finger. “Hopefully it will pass soon before I am to make my way back home”

“I certainly hope so, too. If it doesn’t, We will gladly arrange for you to spend the night, we cannot have you on horseback in such weather.” Offered Anthony.

“Heavens! Not on horseback, no” Violet said with a gentle laugh.

“I don’t think the storm will pass soon” Eloise muttered.

The doors opened, Penelope was carrying Amanda while Miss Carrigan, the nurse, carried Oliver. Violet seemed to then fully understand what Sir Phillip was there for.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have so much work to do in preparation for our ball! Sir Phillip, I hope you will be able to join us this year, I believe you have gotten your invitation already?”

“Ah, yes, Th-- thank you” He said, rather surprised and evidently not knowing the appropriate way to respond. Violet had indeed made sure an invitation was sent to Sir Phillip, as even though the Cranes had rarely-if ever- attended any such events, it was the neighbourly thing to do, especially because he was now on all the lists of eligible bachelors in the county.

“If you’ll excuse me I have to… go” Benedict said, unable to come up with an acceptable excuse and completely giving up on pretending to have one.

“Wait for me” said Eloise who made a stop in front of Phillip “May I please have my book, sir”

“Oh, Of course!” He said with a little embarrassment, as evidently he had forgotten that the book was in his hand, with his finger still keeping his place.

“Thank you” She said, curtsied and quickly caught up with Benedict at the door, exchanging a puzzled glance with Penelope as she passed by her. “I’ll tell you later” Penelope muttered, as she shifted Amanda on her arms.

Benedict then summoned the youngest siblings “Gregory, Hyacinth, come with us, we’ll play cards in the game room” Both children exchanged glances and reluctantly followed their older brother and sister. “Anthony, you’re welcome to join us, if you are not too busy”

“As a matter of fact I have business to attend to, if you’ll excuse me, Sir Phillip.” Anthony left the room at a brisk pace.

Colin finally said, after patiently waiting for everyone to make their graceful exits “Alright. Miss Carrigan, could you please give us a moment”

The nurse exchanged a quick glance with Penelope as she knew it would now be up to her to handle both children.

“It’s alright” Penelope assured her and miss Carrigan was out the door after having set up a blanket and toys and gently placing Oliver on it.

“This little lady” Said Collin as he took the girl from Penelope’s arms “is Amanda”. His face was immediately softened, it made Phillip wonder if it truly was the same man he had been talking to earlier in that study downstairs.

“And the lady?” Judging by her dress and how she had not been dismissed with the other, the woman that had been holding the girl was clearly not a servant.

“Oh, Pen, I’m terribly sorry! Sir Phillip, this is Miss Penelope Featherington”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance” She said and upon seeing Sir Phillip sporting a mildly confused semblance she added “Mrs. Bridgerton sends her apologies, she won’t be able to join us”

“Miss Penelope is Marina’s cousin” Colin then went down on one knee to gently place Amanda down beside his brother “And this little fellow is Oliver”

“May I?” Phillip asked hesitantly.

“Of course” Colin said the words but he was rather unsure that this man would know how to properly handle a baby.

“Hi Oliver!” Phillip sat on the floor and greeted the child, who made babbling noises at the mention of his name “I’m your uncle Phillip!” His voice was very soft and there was some pain in it as his eyes filled with tears as he recognized his brother in his children’s faces. “Hi Amanda!” he seemed enthralled for a long moment, and then he looked up at Colin who was sitting on the chair opposite. “Thank you!”

Penelope smiled at Colin approvingly and it made him feel he had finally done the right thing. None of them had really noticed how dark the day had turned, until they were snapped to attention by rumbling thunder and the crack of a tree branch fighting the wind.

“You’ll have to join us for dinner” said Colin.

“If it is not too much of an imposition”

“Not at all. Pen, would you mind?”

“I will take care of it” Penelope then left the drawing room. She intercepted a maid that was walking down the corridor and asked her to let Lady Bridgerton know that Sir Phillip would be staying for dinner and then returned to Marina’s room.

“Marina?” She asked, before entering the room

“Has that man left yet?” was her answer.

“No. He will be staying for dinner, actually, because of the storm”

“I cannot believe this.” Marina was clearly exasperated.

“Marina, what is the matter? He seems perfectly agreeable and for all we know he just wants to know his brother’s children. Is that so terrible?”

“I do not trust him, Penelope. I never met him because he was always off somewhere while George had to take the blunt of his father’s temper. His father was an awful man, If Sir Phillip is anything at all like their father, I want him nothing to do with my children”

“But isn’t that more reason to try to asses him in person?”

“Absolutely not. I do not have any reason to bend to the will of that man at all. If it were for me he would have been sent away immediately, but Colin is just so easily persuaded” Penelope highly resented her tone.

“I do not think either of them is being unreasonable, Marina. Will you be joining us for dinner or not?”

“Will you stay here with me, please?” She pleaded.

“I’m sorry, but I will not. You may stay here if you wish, I will ask for a tray to be sent up, but I fully intend to join our hosts at the dinner table”

“I see” Marina was clearly displeased with her answer, but Penelope was not about to, as she had put it ‘bend’ to her will, as she thought she was being unreasonable. If she had an objection to Sir Phillip’s character, she would make sure to make the most of the time they had together to make an assessment.

“If you’ll excuse me” She responded curtly, and left Marina alone.

Colin approached her outside the room, after the children had been returned to the nursery and Sir Phillip escorted to the game room by a footman. “Did you tell Marina about dinner?”

“I did. She refuses to accompany us, I will ask for a tray to be brought up to her” She started walking and he followed her, going downstairs.

“Thank you, Pen. I really do not understand what her objection is.” He seemed to be worn off by the topic “I’ve given this a great deal of thought and I do not see an outcome that is not beneficial for the children, as much as it hurts my own pride.”

“I believe he has a right to know his brother’s children, it seems fair and not at all unreasonable. But Marina seems to have some concerns about his character, based on undesirable traits from his father. She admits to never have met Sir Phillip himself, though, so I do not see any reason why he shouldn’t be allowed to meet the children while supervised.”

“And I think the fact that he is setting aside some assurances for their future should be something to be grateful for, but I have not been able to convince her otherwise. They do have the full support of the Bridgerton name, of course, but I am merely a third son, after all.”

“Assurances? I thought he was here just to meet the children.” She seemed surprised and he reflected that he had not told her about the letter and the details of Sir Phillip’s request. They had in fact not talked in a while, but it had seemed natural to him to assume that she knew everything.

They stopped at the end of the stairs “No, he came here to inform us that he will be setting aside part of the Crane inheritance for them. He seems genuinely regretful that he cannot pass on the title to Oliver. Marina had tried to refuse this offer but he said he would do it, regardless of our opinions, out of respect for the memory of his brother and his last wishes”

It seemed like a very generous offer, to her. “Well, let us take the opportunity to make more of his character, then.”

They both nodded in agreement and went to join the visitor and his siblings.

***

“You must excuse me, Miss Featherington for any ill-manners that might come across, I am not accustomed to high society dinners and events” Sir Phillip privately warned Penelope as they were seated, which she found extremely unusual but his delivery made it endearing.

She responded in the same private manner “Do not worry, sir Phillip, the Bridgertons are not very concerned with etiquette on these small family gatherings. As you can see we are to be joined by the children, which is altogether unusual”

“I see you are very close with the Bridgertons, Miss Featherington” He said, more openly as to invite conversation.

She shyly responded “We are close neighbours in Mayfair, so our families have known each other for many years and I am very good friends with Miss Eloise.”

“We do consider you family, Penelope” Lady Bridgerton said with a warm smile, which Penelope returned with great relief. Violet had already talked to her about the discussion they had when she told them about the elopement. That night Violet had been understandably harsh with her but had later apologized. This was the first time, however, that Penelope felt she had been truly forgiven for her part of the mess.

“Indeed, but I think of you more like an annoying little sister” Eloise responded “But with the advantage of always having the best book recommendations for me, unlike some other siblings of mine.” She directed a mocking face towards Hyacinth and Francesca, both of whom made unladylike faces at her in response.

“I take that as a very high compliment, Eloise” Penelope smiled, appreciatively.

“It was your book, the Conversations d'Emilie.” Sir Phillip said looking at Eloise, but then quickly turned to Penelope “Was that your recommendation, Miss Featherington?” For some reason he seemed to feel more at ease talking to her.

“No, not at all. I’m afraid Eloise has more elevated intellectual pursuits than I do”

“Oh, well, it reminded me of something else I had read, but I am sure the author was English, not French”

“So, not Rousseau, then?” Said Eloise, with the air of one setting up a trap.

“Though I didn’t get to read much, your book seemed to be a sort of response to his Emile, but I might have formed an entirely wrong idea, forgive me.”

“Have you read Wollstonecraft?” She said with a suspecting glance.

“Oh, yes, I believe that is what I’m thinking of. Mrs. Gardiner gifted me that when I visited her school at Elsham Hall. They have a most extensive library, for the benefit of the young ladies attending. Miss Featherington, I could send you my copy if you’re interested in reading it”

“Would you give up such a gift?” Penelope said, surprised. She could not think of parting with a book if it was not for the benefit of a very good friend and she had known this man for no more than a couple of hours, at most.

Colin felt Penelope made a very good point. What was this man attempting, talking about giving a gift to a lady he had just met?

“I believe such works are not meant to be collected, but shared with as many people as would be interested in them. I would not part with my Flora Graeca, though.” Sir Phillip smiled, thinking of one of his most beloved volumes.

“Are you a naturalist?” Eloise said, assuming this was the case from his mention of flora greca.

“Indeed I am! Cambridge trained botanist. I carry my own experiments at Romney Hall” He seemed to be rather proud of both these facts and smiled as he looked around the table.

“How interesting! --” And before Penelope could form a question to continue the conversation in that vein, Colin interrupted with his own.

“Have you been to Greece then, Sir Phillip?” Colin had always wanted to visit and had read extensively about the Country, but had not had a chance to venture there yet.

“I have not, unfortunately. I’ve always wanted to visit the olive orchards in Lesvos, they must be a wonder to behold” His face was even more animated now.

“I believe they are very ancient, are they not?” Colin was excited to be able to share some of the facts he had learned in his self-conducted studies, as the opportunities seldom presented themselves within his family, who thought him a bore whenever he tried to share a new fact he had found interesting.

“They have been there since the third century B.C.” He said this as if he were proud of the trees for such an accomplishment.

“Can they really be that old?” Eloise asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, Olive trees have adapted to resist threats that would normally destroy them. For example, they are shorter, so they are less prone to being struck by lightning or unrooted by high winds, and then they develop saplings from the same root, so even if the larger part of the tree suffers from some issue, it can continue living from the offspring”

“I knew there had to be an advantage to being short!” Penelope directed the jest to Eloise, but everyone chuckled.

“There must surely be others?” Benedict asked, teasingly. Colin directed a frown at him and he simply dismissed it.

“I will let you know if any come up” she responded and he bowed with a grin.

“You are so down to earth, Pen!” said Eloise, making her laugh.

“And yet I look up to you, El” This opened up the floodgates and everyone started laughing.

“Well, you can’t look down on anyone, Pen” Colin noted.

“I’ve gotta hand it to you, Penelope, because you probably cannot reach it” said Benedict

“Family, please. You’re all above this!” Said Anthony, hiding his laughter behind a soft fist. But they were all laughing, including Sir Phillip who had at first been very confused by the exchanges at the expense of Miss Featherington, but she seemed to be enjoying the light hearted abuse.

Lady Bridgerton was slightly embarrassed by the display but really she was simply too delighted that Eloise had actually engaged in conversation with a --very eligible – man. Although he seemed to be more at ease talking to Penelope, which could also be a very good match. She had never been so grateful for a raging storm to occur so close to a ball. They would have to deal with the state of the roads and clean up the grounds, but that would be a matter for tomorrow. For now they could let themselves enjoy the evening.

The storm had decreased in intensity, the heavy wind had ceased but the rain was still pouring relentlessly.

After dinner the children were sent up to bed, the ladies retired to the drawing room and the gentlemen stayed behind to have a drink. Colin excused himself as he needed to check on his family upstairs.

When he got into their room, he found Marina packing.

“What is this?” He said, alarmed

“I’m leaving and I’m taking my children with me!”

“You will not do such a thing! First of all there is a damn storm outside, it would be incredibly dangerous! Second of all you are being completely irrational!”

“You do not own me, and you certainly cannot make decisions on my children for me!” She was furious and He could not believe what he was hearing.

“I would never do anything to harm them, Marina, I love them!”

“But you are not their --!” She stopped just short. She had never seen Colin so angry before, it was frightful. He came towards her, towering above her, and grabbed her arm, seething.

“They have my name, do they not? Was that the only thing you wanted from me? To just give you my name and let you live on your own without having a say?” He let go and turned away from her, but looked back to say “We are supposed to be a family!”

“I told you I didn’t want anything to do with that man, and you still went and took my babies to him, and here he is, having dinner with your family! Even Penelope has chosen him over me. I will not let anyone take my children from me”

“Nobody is taking them from you! Were is this coming from?” Her reasoning escaped his comprehension completely. She seemed to be making up scenarios out of thin air. How could he fight her imagination?

She suddenly looked more afraid than angry “How can I trust you will not one day change your mind, if you haven’t even respected my decision on this?”

“Change my mind?” He was confused for a second.

“About me. About staying together” It seemed like an accusation.

“And you thought taking the children in the middle of a stormy night and throwing it in my face that I am not their father would prevent that?” She had no response. He knew she would not concede, she never did, never apologized for she thought anything she did for her children was the right thing. But she had stopped packing and was now sitting still. “It pains me that you do not trust me, but I am a man of my word. For what is worth, Sir Phillip only came to communicate us his plans, not to ask for any kind of approval or permission. And there was absolutely no harm in letting him see the children of his deceased brother, the closest family he has left, while Pen and I were in the room watching over them. Maybe if you share with me the reason of your hatred towards the man I could understand”

“I do not need a reason!” she bellowed.

“Well, I do! He seems honourable and decent and he has made no unreasonable requests.” He waited for a response and got nothing back. He felt drained “You will not leave this house without me, is that understood?” Again a maddening silence “Is that understood!” He raised his voice and Marina nodded this time, a little frightened again. He hated that, but he felt it necessary, given the circumstances. “Good. I will be downstairs. You should go to sleep, do not wait for me.”

He raced downstairs, unsure of where to go, he was still filled with unvented rage. He decided to go outside, even if it was raining, he needed to keep moving, it felt as if the ground may give beneath him and swallow him if he stayed in a single spot. He only made it out onto the terrace, as he found Benedict was there, sitting in peaceful contemplation. He went to lean on the baluster, looking out into the darkness.

“Do you want me to ask, or --” Colin turned his head to face him.

“What are you doing here?”

“They’re playing charades now, it got way too competitive”

“I would think you would enjoy that”

“Too much noise, I am already too anxious about the Academy. I rather enjoy the rain, now that it’s quieted down” He searched his younger brother’s face with concern. “What is it now?”

“Is our visitor still here?”

“He is. Mother wouldn’t let him go since she is so very concerned by his safety” Colin rolled his eyes “Admittedly, we don’t know the state of the terrain and it would be dangerous in the dark, but you know our dear mama is all too pleased with the turn of events”

“If she knew the trouble it has caused me she would not be so happy about it” Colin sounded listless.

“Oh?”

“I will not go into details but Marina has it now in her head that I will leave her and take the children from her” He rolled his eyes.

“Because of Sir Phillip?” That seemed like a very strange leap.

“She does not like the man.”

“I’ll say!” Benedict scoffed “So, will you?”

“Leave her? Of course not!”

Benedict had stood up to stand beside him “I mean, you appear miserable together, Colin. I understand it would be a very scandalous thing, but wouldn’t that be preferable to living like this forever?”

“Benedict, even if Marina doesn’t think so, I became their father the moment I held them in my arms. I would never leave them, and I will certainly not take them from her, nor do I wish to publicly humiliate Marina and send her to live in ignominy. We’ll have to figure out something else.” Benedict gave him a half hug and a kiss on the head.

“I’m coming in now, are you coming along?”

He shook his head “I need another moment”

“Very well”

Colin was left alone to wonder why did he feel he needed to try so damn hard. The woman hadn’t even tried to apologize to him once. She did what she had to for her babies, she would say, as if what she had to do hadn’t been a cruel thing against him, regardless of how necessary she thought it. And he still kept trying every approach possible to make the best of a life together, instead of doing the usual manly thing and leave. Not even divorce, just live his own, separate life, alone – maybe take up a mistress, if he could really want a woman who would accept that sort of sordid arrangement. Were those really the only options? There surely had to be something else to life.

The rain kept falling and he let the sound take over his mind, washing away his thoughts.

When he finally decided to go back inside, he was lured by the sound of laughter coming from the game room. He stood in the doorway, profoundly appreciative of his family. This was all he had wanted.

Sir Phillip was standing next to the fireplace talking to Anthony and Benedict. Colin could not make out what they were discussing, but he caught him glancing at the ladies’ table and he could swear, the man had blushed.

“Eloise, you’re clearly cheating!” Accused Francesca

“I am certainly not! You are such a sore loser, just like Anthony and Gregory” she said that last part loudly for all the room to hear.

“I beg your pardon?” Anthony tried to defend himself.

“Everybody knows it, Anthony. You hate losing! You’re the sorest loser to ever grace this earth” He scoffed.

“Eloise! You will have to excuse my children, Sir Phillip, they seem to have forgotten their manners today”

“I do not mind at all, Lady Bridgerton. Only a loving family could be so bold, it is refreshing and an honour to witness” Violet returned his smile, pleased with his response.

“You cannot be this good at cards, Eloise, it’s preternatural” complained Penelope, with a laugh

“Now, girls, let’s be more observant this next round and we shall see” Violet started shuffling the cards.

“Ah, I think you two are in cahoots!” Francesca accused again.

“How dare you accuse your own mother of such a thing!” Violet asked in a fake offended tone.

“Well, you will have to get to the bottom of this mystery of Eloise’s prowess with cards for me, I must go to bed now.” Penelope got up against the ladies’ protests.

“But we need four to keep playing, you’re just ruining it for everybody, Pen”

“I am sorry to put a damper on your winning streak, El, but I am too tired to be any good at it” But then she noticed Colin standing at the doorway and said with a bright smile “Maybe Colin can join you instead?”

“I must disappoint you, I am in no state for cards at present”

Penelope made her way to the door, which he was still blocking.

“I too, shall retire for the evening, if you’ll excuse me. Good night. Sir Phillip” He said with a nod and moved so Penelope could go through the door, following her.

Once they were at a safe distance, Penelope said “I may not be the best judge of character, but I could not find anything wrong with him this evening” They continued talking as they made their way upstairs.”I think you did well, letting him meet his brother’s children.”

“Thank you. I trust your judgement very much, Pen” He did seem exhausted as he said this.

“I’m not sure you should. I’ve been known to make some mistakes in the past, you know?” She still did not fully believe that he held no resentment against her for her part on Marina’s deception.

“Oh, I’m fully aware that you decided to be friends with Eloise. But she grows on people, so I don’t hold it against you” She laughed.

“Oh, thank you! It’s so very gracious of you to let my one transgression slide!”

He smiled softly “Be careful, though, you only get two more and then you will fall to Benedict’s rung”

“I shall do my best, then” They were both smiling broadly now.

“Good night, Pen”

“Good night Colin”

She couldn’t help but notice that he walked past his family’s rooms, clearly he was not going in there with Marina.

Chapter 6

[fruit-salad-ship]

@ that mafia au: don't u fucking dare hurt the girls. They're too damn precious. You better save them somehow in the end. 😭😭😭😭

Oh precious one, this is the AU they both die in :’)

Peach gets taken out by a jilted lover, tells her cousins to get plum out of the building they’ve been lured too, she’ll handle this, but fails. they have to dig her out of the building that collapsed on her, plum cries so loudly the whole town can hear. Days it takes them to pry her away. She does not eat, she does not sleep, and she never sings again. She is left in a home that she built with her lover, and sits alone in the confides, surrounded by loss. No one can console her not even grey. She loses all desire to continue.

Plum eventually goes on a revenge driven rampage to kill the woman who took everything from her. She spends days in the house with only one of peach’s revolvers, they’re part of a set, two of a kind, and one was never recovered. She knows who has the other, there’s no one else who would keep it. With peach’s wedding ring on a chain round her neck, and hers still on her hand, she finally makes a direct move forward.

Plum uses that revolver to find the woman with the other half, the missing gun, taken as a souvenir, proof she felled a monster of a woman, plums wife, the only person she’s ever felt true unbridled, immeasurable love from.

In killing the woman who robbed her of her life, she too is shot down, and upon lying on the floor, gets to drift away from reality to a place peach is sat and waiting for her in. The line between life and death, a waiting room. She gets to see her wife once more, not the vision she last had, a cold lifeless body void of anything recognisable, but peach, as she was prior, healthy and well, warm to touch, just as sturdy as she remembered.

THERE IS HOWEVER AN ALTERNATIVE

Because I too couldn’t stand the tragedy of that ending. Every time I try to write it I end up just crying haha!

Peach goes to face the angry ex and the building comes down, plum thinks her dead and is the first one after fighting to get free, sprinting to start digging through the rubble, hurting her hands and not even thinking to stop. And there under a table, unconscious but alive is peach. She’s been shot, but she’s breathing.

The big woman wakes up in a hospital with plum asleep by her side, right there next to her in bed. Her hands in a cast, her arms feel like she’s torn every muscle in them, but she didn’t expect to wake up. Peach lets plum sleep, she’s got a bag there, clearly she’s been here a while based on what’s around the space. Eventually her wife wakes up and sees her just there, looking at her gently. There’s a lot of tears, both of them crack, the singer was so worried, and the mob boss thought she’d met her end. Both just cry, laugh, a euphoria of the reunion. Plum of course hugs her too tight, forgets she’s broken, the recoil and apology that follows something peach just laughs at.

Peach’s family are relieved, they love her to death (mostly), and with her mother standing down after such a display, once healed peach takes up control with plum by her side, criminals in control, both powerful women.

Plum is this overly doting woman who takes up the leg work of the family jobs, she’s the power behind the power, she becomes fury to make sure her wife, dear precious peach has time to recover without the huge stress of her work.

They live a wonderful life full of travel and love, mornings making pancakes, nights sat by the fire, jobs where they’re making deals, killing rivals and sharing the burdens handed to them. It is hard work, but they’d change nothing, they can do this together. Plum carries on with her singing career, the pub is sold, and peach moves her business to the city so that plum can chase her dream and find her fame.

It is a given, she’s got talent, and within a matter of time she sees her name in lights adorning a huge venue, her wife, forever supportive and beside her just smiling. She had no doubt plum would get here, she commands a room, she is a stone cold killer and knows it. Oozing confidence, there was no surprise when the woman got to start recording songs of her own. They truly are perfect for each other, highs and lows, nothing stops them. Despite peach being crime family royalty it is plum, a humble woman from a normal family that is held above everyone, she deserves a crown, a throne, the entire world, and peach would face an army to give it to her if plum asked.

Trust me when I say I don’t know which one to do, both perhaps, one tragic, one happy. Let everyone decide on their favourite outcome.

Heartbreak though hard to stomach makes a story that tugs at the heart, and that’s why I’m leaning towards the tragic ending, but I hate it. This the the AU where they fall madly in love, perfect pair, completely devoted despite the odds going against them. They don’t care. They get it all, the house together, the quiet beautiful wedding, the drama of family, the love of friends, trips to distant towns to enjoy hotels and sight seeing. Peach has her cousins beside her as her best friends, they’re thick as thieves, and there’s even space for the emotional repair, plum never found her people until now, and peach though herself unlovable thanks to her mom. It is all fixed with them finding each other. SO many sweet moments, painfully beautiful little memories made between two women who just couldn’t find their place in the world, when no one really liked who they were, and wanted them to change to fit the mould, they refused and did things their way, and it worked for them.

I think about mafia way WAY too much.

[kindheart525]

Snowcone’s mom had been a lot more supportive of her after the Gala debacle. It was like a dial had turned in Twilight Sparkle, like she was actually trying a little harder now. It seemed especially so after they met Snowcone’s Nana and saw what could happen if somepony like her didn’t have the right support.

But of course things weren’t entirely perfect.

Twilight still said the wrong thing sometimes, more than she should. She was quicker to own up to it but it didn’t stop Snowcone’s trauma from being set off. There was a lot of work left to do.

Snowcone loved her mom, she really did. But still there was that fear, that she’d never truly understand her. That one or both of them would say something, do something, that would ruin anything good that they had. That she’d end up alone just like her Nana did.

“Your Nana seems to be settling in really well!”

Twilight seemed to be reading her daughter’s mind as she brought this up, casually making conversation as she organized her library for the umpteenth time.

“I bet you’re glad to have somepony who gets what you’re going through.”

Snowcone was glad to have her Nana around, but just because she had the same condition didn’t mean they got each other all the time. They were individual ponies with different experiences after all. Not to mention her Nana had six or so decades on her. They weren’t a monolith.

“Yeah, I am.”

She answered simply. But she still had some worries.

“Though I guess it’s taking Mother some getting used to. A lot’s happened to both of them, they really don’t get each other at all. Mental illness does that to you.”

Snow quipped, trying to laugh off her worries with a joke. She really wasn’t sure if she wanted to get into this with her mom.

“You’re probably right, they’ll have a lot to work through. I think they can do it though!”

Twilight didn’t completely take the dismissive “all you have to do is try” stance but she still didn’t really grasp it. She was naive in her confidence that everything would definitely be solved; no amount of willpower could cure a mental illness. 

“Not how that works Mom...”

Snow grumbled through her teeth, feeling like she would snap if her mom said anything more. But she stopped and tried to calm herself down. She just wanted to be honest.

“They’ve drifted apart so much, it’s not gonna be easy at all. Mother has no idea what Nana went through. You have no idea how I feel! Sometimes you say things that make me wanna rip my mane out!”

She stopped before she could get ahead of herself.

“But I don’t want you and me to end up like Mother and Nana. I don’t wanna end up like strangers. I just...want you to understand me.”

This was the most emotionally honest Snow had been with her mom in a long time, she was surprised at herself.

Twilight had stopped organizing by now. Books were still scattered all over but she ignored them, turning towards her daughter and giving her her full attention. She gazed at her sincerely, guiltily even, as she listened.

“You’re right Snowy...I really don’t get it at all. I’m so sorry I make you feel that way. I need to be better about that.”

Snow was almost shocked as the words came out of her mom’s mouth. Never in a thousand years did she imagine she would own up to her mistakes so explicitly. She wasn’t meandering, she wasn’t making excuses, she was just straight up admitting it. Actually apologizing.

“Well...thank you.”

Was all she could utter out.

“You know me, I’ve always been so focused on the little details. So obsessed with being perfect, with my studies, my friends, you name it. It’s like anxiety. How I became the Queen of Equestria, I don’t know!”

Twilight laughed, but then scooched closer to Snowcone as she became heartfelt again.

“I keep myself up at night worrying about the kind of pony I am, if I’m a good friend or ruler. I’ve never been very good at talking to other ponies, I have to check myself all the time. But I haven’t been thinking enough about how I am as a mom. And because of that...”

Twilight began to tear up, her voice quavering with emotion.

“I’ve failed you, Snowcone. I should be putting the same work—no, more—into making you feel loved as I do everything else in my life. I would always tell you you needed to try harder but honestly...I’m the one who should be doing that.”

Snow could see how broken up her mom was about this, more than she’d ever seen her really. She wasn’t about to coddle her and tell her it was all okay when she had said some messed up stuff, but she did have some advice to help her.

“Maybe you should get a therapist.”

Twilight couldn’t help but chuckle at just how blunt Snowcone was. She didn’t beat around the bush at all. But she was absolutely right.

“Yes I should, and I will. I promise. I want to be a better mom to you and I’ll do whatever it takes. Anything at all. I want you to know that I really do mean it.”

Snowcone didn’t say anything, there was nothing else to say. So she just leaned into her mother’s chest contently, soaking in the feeling. Her mother wasn’t perfect but if she knew anything, it was that she was loved.

“Thank you, Mom. That really means a lot to me. I love you.”

She felt her mom’s wings wrap around her as she leaned in as well, into a secure embrace.

“I love you too, Snowcone. I hope you always know that.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Previous: Follies Next: Steep Valley

Background and Books by EStories

[amazinggraciegurl]

Expect the Unexpected (Chapter 35: Love Like You)

Thursday October 12, 2017 (senior year of high school) 6:32 pm

Faybelle’s POV

“What are you talking about, Fay?!” Briar exclaims. “You’re going to do amazing! You are amazing!” They’re sitting side by side on Briar’s bed, shoulders touching. Ashlynn is out with Hunter, probably going for a walk in the Enchanted Forest or some boring crap like that. Faybelle shrugs. She both loves and hates when Briar encourages her like this. She loves it because of the warm, fuzzy feeling the praise (and truthfully just Briar herself) gives her. She hates it because nothing Briar is saying is true. Faybelle is not going to do amazing. And she most certainly is not amazing. She may act like she is, but truthfully it’s all an act. All she’s been told her entire life is that she’s bad--by her mom, teachers, peers. Briar has somehow always known this, the girl’s emotional intuitiveness as always shining through. And even before they became girlfriends, when she sensed Faybelle was upset about something, she’d go after her and give her one of her famous pep talks. Now that they’re together, the pep talks are ceaseless. Faybelle acts like she hates them, but in reality they fill her with an all-encompassing warmth, the love and gratitude she has for her girlfriend welling in her chest. But as always she acts nonchalant, keeping her act up, even if she knows Briar sees right through it. Briar always does.

She scoffs. “No I will not do amazing, Briar! I’m going to not hit a full split in my straddle leap, just like last time! I just know it!” Briar sighs and shakes her head. “You’ve been working so hard on perfecting it, Fay. I doubt you’ll mess up again. And even if you do, nobody is going to even notice or care.” Faybelle groans. “But I’ll notice! And I care!” She clenches her fists, anxiety buzzing through her. Briar’s eyes soften. Faybelle flinches slightly as the girl takes her hands, giving them a squeeze. “I know you do,” Briar murmurs. “And what you care about, I care about too. But I just want you to know that you’re amazing either way. Your performance doesn’t determine your worth.” Faybelle scoffs again. “Tell that to my mother.” Briar’s mouth opens, but promptly closes. Like always, when Faybelle says a remark about her mother, it’s clear that the girl wants to know more, but also doesn’t want to pry. That’s one of the things Faybelle loves about her girlfriend. She’s caring but not invasive. She’s a source of unconditional support for Faybelle, but also knows when to back off. A thought that often occurs to Faybelle pops into her mind for the hundredth time: what did a person like her do to deserve a girl like Briar? A girl so unfailingly kind and empathetic, so effortlessly humorous and fun, so beautiful inside and out? Why in the world does she want to date a girl like Faybelle? An inconsiderate, overly competitive, even hateful individual? Faybelle would never voice these thoughts of course, but they’re often there, rising into her mind at the worst possible times. When she just wants to relax with Briar or kiss her or joke around with her, there come the thoughts.

Right now, as always, she does her best to push them to the back of her mind. She softens, giving Briar a small smile. “Thank you,” she says, her voice uncharacteristically soft. The words feel strange on her tongue. It’s rarely a term she used prior to dating Briar. But in the few months they’ve dated, Briar’s presence has caused her to change for the better. She knows she has a long way to go and she still messes up a lot, but she’s trying to be a better person for Briar. For the girl that's so effortlessly sweet and nurturing and just plain good. It weirds Faybelle out sometimes how good Briar is. Briar smiles softly before kissing her. Like every time the girl kisses her, the rest of the world melts away and all Faybelle registers is the warmth and softness of Briar’s lips on hers, the surge of adrenaline it sends through her, the butterflies that erupt in her stomach. It’s the good kind of adrenaline, like the kind she feels when she’s being tossed into the air during cheer routines, but even better. Much, much better. When they pull apart a moment later, too soon for Faybelle’s liking, a goofy grin is on Briar’s face, the expression the girl gets every time they kiss. It’s quickly replaced by another soft smile. “Anytime, baby,” she whispers, stroking her thumb over Faybelle’s face. It sends pleasant shivers down Faybelle’s spine. “I know your cheer routine will be incredible. I just know it.” Faybelle smiles back. “I hope you’re right.”

XXX Friday October 13, 2017

Faybelle and Briar are both so busy today, both having to rush after classes end to prepare for tonight, that they don’t get a chance to see each other. Faybelle and the rest of the cheer team are running through their routine over and over again, while Briar is off setting up the bookball game afterparty. This one is going to be a page ripper, as everybody is stoked for Thronecoming tomorrow night. Still, Briar finds the time to shoot Faybelle a text: “Good luck baby, I know you’ll do great!” Faybelle can’t wait to go to Thronecoming with Briar as her date. The thought sends a rush of pure adrenaline through her. The excitement even distracts her so much at one point that she misses a whole eight count of the performance during rehearsal. Her teammates look at her, shocked expressions on each of their faces. She never gets distracted! Her cheeks flush, shame flooding every inch of her body. “Get back to work!” she barks out. She clenches her fists. She can’t mess up again. If she does, she’ll never forgive herself.

XXX 6:00 pm

As Faybelle walks out onto the field with the rest of the cheer team (Holly and Farrah also seem awfully nervous, though Nina is as confident as always) and sees the hundreds of students in the bleachers looking at her, her heart pounds even faster than it has been all day. Her hands are trembling. She’s usually never this nervous before a performance, but after messing up her straddle leap last time, she’s petrified at the idea of screwing up again. It’s not just a reflection of her if she does. It’s a reflection of the whole team. The team that she’s worked tirelessly at training (sometimes far too harshly) to be better every performance, to take things to the next level every time. So as she takes the stage (well, bookball field), she puts her game face on, doing her best to shove all her anxiety down. She does what Briar instructed her to do. She locates her in the crowd. The girl is sitting in the center of the front row, looking beautiful (and festive) as ever in a sparkly magenta mini dress, the streaks of pink in her hair glowing under the glare of the floodlights. She’s standing up, clapping wildly, a bright grin on her face. She really is a sight to see. Faybelle almost loses her focus, but she catches herself before she does. No matter how drop dead gorgeous her girlfriend is, she can’t let this fact ruin the performance. Nothing can ruin it. As Faybelle gets into position, she takes a deep, shaky breath. “Come on, Faybelle,” she whispers to herself. “Don’t fuck this up.”

As the catchy pop song begins playing, she leaps into action. The routine starts off better than she’d expected it to. She and her teammates are perfectly in sync, and the first lift (Faybelle at the top) goes without a hitch. In no time the routine is almost over, and Faybelle finally feels like she can relax. Everything is actually going to be okay. It’s time for the final lift, this time featuring her being tossed twice. Her positioning is flawless as she’s lifted. The tosses are seamless. Then, she doesn’t know what goes wrong, but as she’s dismounting she slips. She tumbles to the ground, landing on the grass in a heap. A sharp pain rushes through her shoulder. “Ow!” she shrieks. Her teammates rush to her side. “Oh kingdoms!” Farrah exclaims, voice shaking with fear. “Are you alright?!” As burning waves of humiliation surge through Faybelle’s entire body, she thinks about staying there forever, simply sinking into the ground and ceasing to exist. That way she’d never have to face the hundreds of people who just saw her ruin that performance. But she knows she’s only attracting more attention by staying there. So, with great effort she sits up, and lets Farrah and Holly help her to her feet. Apparently she injured her ankle too, as a stabbing pain rushes through it as she stands.

The crowd is cheering for her, but why? She ruined everything. She can’t even bear to look at them. So, body shaking, pain and mortification rushing through her, she limps off the field. Holly and Farrah try to help her, but she shoves them away. She almost feels bad for how hard she pushed, as they're wincing, but she’s too focused on the sweltering shame storming within her. As she limps as quickly as she can toward the locker room (she doesn’t know where else to go), her teammates stay back, clearly knowing to give her space. She despises locker rooms. They smell overwhelmingly of sweat and are disgustingly humid. But right now there’s nowhere else she can be. She collapses onto the bench. The pain in her ankle lessens as the weight is taken off it, but the pain in her shoulder is still sharp. “Fuck!” she hisses. A thousand different emotions are spinning like a cyclone through her right now--embarrassment, guilt, anger, sadness. They battle for dominance as she buries her face in her hands, trying to breathe through all the physical and mental pain. Nothing but the crashing of her heartbeat and the torrent of degrading words swirling through her mind is registered until a voice breaks through her consciousness.

"Faybelle!" Briar calls. "Are you in here?!" Faybelle immediately stiffens as she hears the sound of Briar's high heels clacking on the cement floor. Her body tenses more and more as she hears her coming closer. For a second, she considers bolting, but quickly remembers her hurt ankle. Plus, all it would do if she tried is hurt Briar and… Wow, when did she start caring about anyone's feelings? Briar must be rubbing off on her. She pretends to despise the idea, but she realizes that really it doesn't bother her. In fact, it just might please her? She starts as Briar turns the corner and is suddenly standing before her. The girl's eyes widen before she rushes over to Faybelle. "Are you okay?!" she exclaims. "Are you hurt?! Do you need to go to the nurse's office?!" Briar places her hands on Faybelle's shoulders, her forehead creased with concern. Faybelle winces at the pressure on her injured shoulder. Briar quickly lets go. Her eyes are wide. “I’m so sorry!” the girl exclaims. “I shouldn’t have touched you! What hurts other than your shoulder? Anything?”

Garnering the little bit of resolve left within her, Faybelle lets out a halfhearted scoff. "No, I'm fine," she snaps. "Just some bruises." The words came out harsher than she intended. She struggles not to wince. Briar raises an eyebrow. Faybelle is afraid for a second that she upset her girlfriend and is about to get a lecture, but then loving concern overtakes the slightly disgruntled expression that had been on Briar's face. Briar sighs gently. "Can I sit?" she asks, her voice soft. Faybelle opens her mouth, about to make more of a fuss, the walls she's built up within her screaming at her to push Briar away. But then her mouth snaps shut and she suddenly realizes it may be wisest to not speak if the stinging in her eyes are any indication. The thought of her voice trembling, tears spilling, is enough to send a surge of fear through her.

But looking at her girlfriend, the tears that are beginning to sparkle in Briar's eyes, she slowly nods. Curse Briar's empathy. Seeing the pain in the girl's eyes, the pain she feels expressly for Faybelle, only makes the burning in her own eyes increase. Briar leaves about a foot of space between them as she sits, which Faybelle appreciates. They sit in silence for a minute, Faybelle focusing on keeping those treacherous tears at bay, biting the inside of her cheek until the metallic taste of blood pervades her mouth. She knows Briar can sense that she's on the verge of tears, and in this moment she hates how perceptive her girlfriend is. "It might be good for you to talk about what you're feeling right now," Briar says, her voice soft and tentative. "I know it can be hard for us to express our emotions, but holding them in only makes us feel worse." The hot, prickly sensation of anger suddenly rises in Faybelle's chest. She scoffs. "Us to express our emotions?" she says, her voice seeping with bitterness. "Easy for you to say. You always get to say what you feel. You always get somebody to kiss your wounds." More and more resentment laces her words as she goes on. "But you know what I was told when I was little and dared to shed a tear? Suck it up. Pathetic–" Her voice hitches, and she hates herself for it. She swallows before continuing. She can't stop now–"child. I don't want to see those tears. You're weak. You don't have a brain in your head. You–you–" Shit, she can't get the words out. And–oh shit, is she–crying?

Before she can fully comprehend what's happening, tears are rolling down her cheeks, hot against her skin. And she's sniffling. And whimpering. And hiccuping. And then a sob rips from her throat. And she hates herself more than ever. She can't see Briar through the veil of moisture in her eyes, and she doesn't want to. But she hears the girl's voice, softer and more concerned than she's ever heard it. "Is it okay if I hug you? I’ll be gentle." Before Faybelle even considers what she's saying she squeaks, "Yes." And she sounds so pathetic, she wishes she couldn't even hear herself. Couldn't hear the sound of the rattling air conditioner. Couldn't hear the pounding of her heart in her ears. Then Briar's arms carefully surround her, gently pulling her close. And despite all her learned instincts, Faybelle is glad that she can hear Briar's voice, can feel the girl's warm breath against her ear. "It's okay, honey," Briar murmurs. "Everything is okay. I'm right here. Just let it all out." Faybelle's body moves of its own accord, melting into the embrace, her face burying itself in Briar's chest. Then she feels Briar's warm lips on her head, softly kissing her scalp, and she sags even deeper into the girl's arms.

Secure in Briar's embrace, Faybelle, for the first time in years, allows herself to fully break down. She grips her girlfriend tighter and tighter as the tears won't stop coming. Briar holds her so close, Faybelle can't tell where her body ends and Briar's begins. They are one in this moment, this moment of vulnerability that Faybelle, despite her overwhelming grief, cherishes in a way. She cherishes the release she can physically feel, like a dam has broken in her chest, water that has been contained for so long gushing out. She cherishes the soothing sensation of Briar's hand smoothing over her back, the other threading through her damp tresses. Her cheek is warm on Faybelle’s head. Her lips are soft as she plants them against her scalp again. Her breath is warm as she whispers reassurances into her hair. Her arms are so strong, yet so gentle. So much like the girl herself. Faybelle feels safer than she can ever remember feeling. She exhales through her sobs, cherishing it all.

Briar holds her long after Faybelle's sobs have petered out. She continues to whisper words of comfort as her hiccups and sniffles gradually come to a stop. When Faybelle has finally calmed, it takes her a while to find the strength to pull away. She hates the idea of being some kind of charity case, but all she can think is that she's never in her life been held like this. She's never had somebody speak to her with such warmth in their voice, handle her with such care and concern. The thought she gets so often infiltrates her mind against her will: what did she ever do to deserve a girl like Briar? Somebody who doesn't judge her for her many flaws, who forgives her when she constantly fucks up, who brings her flowers for no occasion at all, who cuddled her to sleep when she had insomnia, who brings her an iced coffee after every cheer practice. Faybelle wishes she could be half the girlfriend Briar is. She winces when she realizes the truth of what she's thinking.

As Faybelle pulls away Briar, eyes still wide with concern, gently wipes her tears away with her thumbs. The feather-light touch sends shivers of pleasure down Faybelle’s spine. Briar softly kisses her cheek. Faybelle closes her eyes, savoring the warmth and security of Briar’s lips against her damp skin. As Briar pulls away though, Faybelle becomes aware of what a gooey mess she is. Her face burns with embarrassment when she notices the trails of snot on Briar’s shirt. This is beyond humiliating. Briar begins to rummage through her purse. "Here, I've got to have some tissues in here somewhere." "No, I'm fine," Faybelle insists. Her nose is so stuffed up that it's making her voice sound strange, like she has a cold, but the thought of blowing her nose in front of Briar is almost as embarrassing as crying in front of her. Which she just did. She winces, still reeling from what she'd just done. Sobbing in Briar's arms, confessing her deepest insecurities, getting snot all over her shirt. Oh God. She buries her face in her hands.

Briar gently places her hand on Faybelle's uninjured shoulder. “It’s alright, baby. Everything is alright.” Faybelle lifts her head, chuckling nervously. "I'm fine. I'm just–" Her voice dies off. She needs to stop talking. She's just humiliating herself more and more. "Just what?" Briar questions, her brow creased with concern. "You can talk to me, love.” Her hand never leaves Faybelle's shoulder. Faybelle groans, her cheeks suddenly burning. She looks at the floor, too embarrassed to meet Briar's gaze. "It's just–I cried all over you and got snot on your shirt and it's gross and–I don't know–I guess I feel–well, bad?" She's surprised to hear a giggle come from the girl. She raises her head, finally looking at Briar. The girl's eyes are bright with amusement. "You really think I care about that?" She grins at Faybelle. "I can just wash my shirt. Which I always do anyways, by the way. It's really not a big deal! And as for the crying all over me–I'm glad you let it out. It seems like you've been holding a lot of emotions in for a while. And I'm–" Her gaze softens. She gives Faybelle a tender smile. "I'm honored you trusted me with those emotions. That you let me be there for you. Because Faybelle–" She reaches out, taking her hand, gently squeezing her fingers. "I want to be there for you. You're my girlfriend. And I care about you. A lot.”

Faybelle doesn’t know how to respond. All these beautiful words Briar is saying and Faybelle is speechless. She wants more than anything to convey to her girlfriend how much all this means to her, but all she can do is stare vacantly at her. Briar, understanding that the girl is absolutely exhausted, doesn’t expect a response. She just pulls her into her arms again and holds her close.

XXX Instead of going to the party, they relax in Briar’s dorm, watching a movie before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

XXX Sunday October 14, 2023 5:41 pm

Butterflies swarm through Faybelle's stomach as she approaches Briar’s dorm room door. Hunter is at her side, trying to make conversation. She gives short replies when necessary, but in addition to not wanting to talk to the boy in the first place, her nerves are through the roof. What's going to happen at the dance? Is everybody going to be staring at her and Briar, silently judging them? Or are they even going to go so far as to openly mock them? They've gotten strange looks from some students when they walk down the halls holding hands, but have yet to deal with a confrontation. Faybelle worries that this might just be the day.

When Briar opens the door and walks out with Ashlynn, the breath is sucked from Faybelle's chest. Everything about Briar is stunning from her shiny hair flowing down her back in waves, to the shimmering black dress with red rose designs, to the way her makeup accentuates her beautiful brown eyes. Ashlynn skips over to Hunter, exclaiming “Ooh, you're so handsome, honey!” Faybelle suppresses an eye roll.

As Briar approaches her, Faybelle's heart is pounding. What does she say? She takes a deep breath and for once lets her heart be her guide. “You're so beautiful.” The awe in her voice is prominent. The dazzling smile that appears on Briar’s face makes Faybelle's heart skip a beat. “Thank you!” the girl exclaims. “You're so beautiful too!” Faybelle's cheeks burn. She knows her beauty is nowhere near the league of Briar’s gorgeousness. Not to mention her ice blue dress, embroidered with sapphires, no matter how gorgeous, still doesn't hold a candle to Briar’s dress. Still, she smiles and thanks her girlfriend. She knows Briar thinks she's beautiful. And right now that is enough.

XXX 6:00 pm

As she and Briar enter the auditorium, hand in hand, just as Faybelle expected, at least a dozen students are staring at them. But as Briar squeezes her hand and gives her an encouraging smile, her stress melts away. Who cares what these idiots think? She and Briar are in love, and the same probably can't be said for these dolts gawking at them. She continues to reassure herself with this thought as she and Briar enter the dance floor. An upbeat pop song is playing. Briar begins to dance, swaying to the beat. Faybelle can't help but stare, admiring her girlfriend's curves, the way her hips move, the way her hair cascades like a river behind her.

She's pulled from her reverie by Briar taking her hand and drawing her forward. “Come on, Fay! Dance with me!” The look of pure exhilaration on Briar's face sends a wave of mutual excitement through Faybelle. “You asked for it!” she exclaims, before picking Briar up with ease and spinning around with her. Briar shrieks before descending into a fit of giggles. Faybelle laughs along with her. Who cares if people are looking? What matters is that Briar is happy. And that makes Faybelle happy.

XXX When it comes time for the slow dance, Faybelle's heart is pounding again. Shivers dance down her spine as Briar takes her hand. They slowly walk onto the dance floor. They're amongst at least a dozen other dancing couples. She makes out Ashlynn and Hunter, Blondie and Cupid, and Raven and Dexter before her attention is diverted back to Briar who is pulling her close.

As they begin to sway side to side, Faybelle becomes aware of how close they are. She can feel the warmth of Briar’s breath on her face. Her hands are soft as petals. Her heart comes to a standstill as she looks into the girl's eyes and sees nothing but adoration in them. And when the song ends and Briar pulls her into a deep kiss, Faybelle's chest erupts with warmth. For once not a single other person crosses her mind.

XXX 10:38 pm

Bunny decides to have a sleepover with Maddie, Kitty, and Lizzie, and due to this fortunate turn of events, Faybelle and Briar are currently on Faybelle’s bed, embroiled in the most intense makeout session they’ve had so far in their relationship. Briar is on top of Faybelle, kissing her with a fierceness Faybelle has never seen from the girl. Faybelle rakes her fingers through Briar’s hair as they continue to kiss, each one deeper than the last. When Briar lets out a moan, Faybelle’s chest feels like it’s being swallowed whole by the searing heat within her. She desperately wants to do more, and when Briar pulls back from the kiss and looks at her, eyes bright with pleasure, Faybelle thinks the girl is thinking the same thing as her--that it’s time to take this to the next level. But as the fire within Faybelle becomes so white hot, she feels she might explode, Briar is suddenly back to kissing her, making no further indication that she wants to do anything else. The crushing disappointment Faybelle feels dims the flame inside her until it’s only embers, smoldering in her chest.

XXX Saturday October 20, 2017 6:07 pm

It takes Briar longer than usual to open her dorm room door after Faybelle knocks. When Faybelle sees the slight paleness of the girl’s face and her messy hair, her eyes widen. “Are you alright?” she asks, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “Are you sick?” Briar shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. I just decided to get my flu shot last minute this afternoon, so I’m feeling kind of bleh. I just took Advil though, so that should kick in soon. Here, come on in.”

They sit side by side on Briar’s bed like they do so often. Briar yawns before resting her head on Faybelle’s shoulder. Faybelle wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Briar sighs contentedly. “Is it alright if we just order some food in? I don’t really feel up to going out for dinner.” “Of course,” Faybelle assures her. “That’s no problem. We can order anything you want and watch a movie of your choice. Sick person privileges.” Briar chuckles. “I’m not sick though.” “Well, you feel sick,” Faybelle reasons. “True. I took a nap before you came, but kingdoms I’m still so tired.” “I can go if you just need to sleep,” says Faybelle, her voice soft. “No, of course you don’t have to go!” Briar exclaims, suddenly alert. She lifts her head from Faybelle’s shoulder and looks at her with pleading eyes. “Please stay.” “Okay okay, I will! I just didn’t want to keep you up is all.” Briar shakes her head before resting it on Faybelle’s shoulder again. “No, I want to hang out with you.” Faybelle smiles, her chest filling with warmth at Briar’s words. She plants a soft kiss on the girl’s head. “Well, good news–I want to hang out with you too.” Briar giggles. “It’s a win win situation then.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a minute before Briar asks, “What do you want to order?” “I already said it’s your choice.” “But I hate choosing what to eat!” Briar whines. Faybelle chuckles. “Why?” Briar sighs. “Because I don’t want to disappoint anybody.” “You’re not going to disappoint me,” Faybelle assures her. “Here, how about I promise to tell you if I don’t want what you suggest?” Briar lifts her head, a comically serious expression on her face. “Pinkie promise?” Faybelle laughs, twisting their pinkies together. “Pinkie promise.” Briar giggles before picking up her phone from her nightstand and bringing up the Doordash app.

XXX They end up ordering Chinese, honey walnut shrimp for Briar and chow mein for Faybelle. While they wait for the food to arrive, Briar tries to pick out a movie, which turns out to be a longer process than Faybelle thought it would be. Briar is lying down, her head in Faybelle’s lap as she scrolls through “Best Movies” articles on her phone. Apparently Ashlynn is having a sleepover with Farrah, so they have the room to themselves. “Ughhh, I don’t know,” she groans. “I think Ashlynn is rubbing off on me. I can’t decide.” As usual, when Ashlynn is brought up, a wave of jealousy surges through Faybelle. Why is Briar always talking about her? What’s so great about that weirdo anyways? She wants to say something, to tell Briar to not obsess over the girl so much, but she knows how much that will anger her girlfriend (one time she called Ashlynn weird and she’d never seen Briar so mad), so she keeps her mouth shut and stews quietly. She’s pulled from her angry haze by Briar’s soft voice. “Is something wrong?” Faybelle blinks. “Huh?” Briar is looking up at her, brow furrowed with concern. “I asked you a question and you didn’t answer. Is everything alright? You look kinda out of it.” Faybelle shrugs, trying her best to act nonchalant. “Oh, I’m fine. Just thinking about that hexam we have next week.”

It’s not exactly a lie. Faybelle has been more stressed than usual about school lately. It doesn’t help that her mother has been on her back about the B she got on her last Home Evilnomics exam. When her mother had chewed her out over the phone, Faybelle had neglected to mention that instead of studying, she’d been making out with Briar the night before. She hasn’t told her mother about their relationship, and she intends to keep it that way for as long as she can. Briar groans. “I know, right?! Ugh, I’m so nervous for it! I’m going to have to throw a study party for this one for sure!” “Yeah,” Faybelle agrees. “If even you are struggling, I bet other people are absolutely clueless.” Briar blushes. “Well, I don’t know about that. I’m not that smart, Fay.” Faybelle leans down, smiling mischievously. “Yes you are,” she whispers before pressing her lips to Briar’s. Briar eagerly kisses her back. She has the sofest pair of lips Faybelle has ever felt. No matter how many girls she’s kissed in the past (always at the clubs she sneaks into), not a single kiss has meant as much to her as Briar’s do.

Briar is just sticking her tongue into Faybelle’s mouth when there’s a knock on the door. ‘Damn it!’ Faybelle’s mind hisses. Briar is breathing heavily, face flushed. The sight sends waves of pleasure coursing through Faybelle. When the girl licks her lips, the pleasure increases tenfold. “That must be our food,” Briar says. “I’ll get it.” As Briar walks toward the door, Faybelle’s eyes can’t help but travel to the girl’s butt. In that moment she wants Briar so desperately, she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to contain herself. She wants all of her, every inch of her breathtaking body. The question is how much of Faybelle Briar wants.

XXX They end up watching the first “Pirates of the Caribbean” movie. It’s one of Briar’s favorites. Faybelle can’t say she loves it, but it’s not bad. Especially not when she gets to watch Briar, see the way her face lights up at the funny parts and the intense furrow of her brow at the dramatic parts. Faybelle is not known for having a great attention span, but when it comes to watching Briar, she could do it all day.

When they’re done with their food, Briar lies down, resting her head in Faybelle’s lap again. Faybelle plays with her hair. It’s soft and thick and smells like roses. As she threads the silky strands between her fingers, hears Briar’s soft sigh of contentment, not one bit of her attention is on the movie. It’s completely on Briar, on memorizing everything about her: every delicate feature of her face, the sensation of her hair in her hands, her scent, her smile, her laugh. Faybelle never wants to forget this moment. She wants to feel like this forever. If only that were possible… They fall asleep curled up together shortly after the movie ends.

XXX Sunday October 21, 2017 9:19 am

When Faybelle wakes up the next morning, the first thing she registers is Briar’s arms wrapped snugly around her. She basks in the warmth and security, wishing they could stay like this the rest of the day. As Briar begins to stir and her eyes open, beautiful brown irises staring into hers, Faybelle has never felt so much adoration for another person. The feeling nearly overwhelms her. “Good morning,” Briar whispers. She snuggles closer, nuzzling her face against Faybelle’s chest. Faybelle holds her close, relishing in the fact that they fit so perfectly in each other’s arms, like two matching pieces of a puzzle. “Good morning,” she replies, her voice hoarse with sleep. “How you doing?” Briar asks, voice muffled against Faybelle’s shirt. Faybelle couldn't have stopped the goofy grin from forming on her face even if she tried. “Never better.”

XXX

The study party is thrown in Briar and Ashlynn's dorm that evening. All through the party, Faybelle can’t focus on anything but Briar. On the brightness of her eyes as she explains equations, the way the light of the projector casts a glow on her perfect face, the sway of her hips as she walks from student to student to help them with their worksheets. And when she reaches over Farrah to write down a helpful note on the girl’s paper, Faybelle’s gaze may linger a little too long on Briar’s cleavage.

After the students leave and only Ashlynn is left, Faybelle wishes with every fiber of her being that the girl would just leave too and go off with her stupid boyfriend. But unfortunately this is Ashlynn’s dorm too and it’s already past ten o’ clock, so she’s not going anywhere. So Faybelle has to resign herself to the fact that she’ll only be able to give Briar a quick goodbye kiss, not the makeout session that every inch of her body is so desperately craving.

When Briar offers to walk her out and shoots her a suggestive look, a surge of excitement races through Faybelle. Her whole body buzzes as they walk hand in hand out the door. As soon as Briar closes the door behind them and a quick survey of the hallway proves that nobody is there to watch, Faybelle launches herself into Briar’s arms. They kiss until they can kiss no more, until they’re breathless and dizzy with adrenaline. “I love you!” Faybelle blurts out. Panic immediately courses through her as she registers the gravity of what she just said. As she looks at Briar though, nothing but pure adoration is on her face. Her eyes shine with tears as she exclaims, voice trembling with emotion, “I love you too!” They kiss again and Faybelle didn’t know this was possible, but it’s even better this time. Briar loves her. A girl like Briar really, truly loves her. Faybelle has never felt so elated. So she kisses Briar with a fervor unlike any she ever has and the girl kisses her back just as passionately. Faybelle has never felt so complete. And she hopes Briar feels the same way.

XXX Tuesday October 23, 2017 4:04 pm

“I can’t believe this!” Briar exclaims, as soon as Faybelle opens her dorm room door. She storms in and begins pacing around Faybelle’s room. Faybelle watches her, chest heavy with concern, but clueless as to what she should do. Briar had sounded so panicked over the phone. Now that the girl is here, Faybelle can tell by the redness of her eyes that she’s been crying. She’s muttering under her breath as she circles around. Faybelle stands there awkwardly. She knows if their roles were reversed, Briar would already have wrapped her in her arms. But Faybelle is terrible with emotions. She doesn’t even know how to handle her own, let alone anybody else’s. Briar walks around mumbling for another minute before turning to Faybelle. Faybelle’s heart drops as she sees the tears streaming down the girl’s cheeks. “A C, Faybelle! I got a C!” Her voice is hysterical. “How did this happen?! How could I let this happen?!” Faybelle opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. The last thing she wants to do is say something wrong, to make things worse than they already are. Knowing herself, that is very likely. So she just stands there, eyes wide, as Briar continues to ramble.

Then Briar bursts into tears, shaking with sobs, and fear surges through Faybelle. What does she do?! Oh kingdoms, what does she do?! Briar is her girlfriend. She can’t just stand here! Hesitantly, heart pounding, she approaches the girl. She places a tentative hand on her shoulder. Briar’s muscles are clenched, hands curled into fists at her side. Faybelle takes a deep breath before speaking, making her voice as soft as she can possibly make it. “Here babe, let’s go sit down, okay?” She wraps her arm around her girlfriend’s shoulders, slowly guiding her to the bed. As soon as they sit down, Briar throws her arms around her, burying her face in her chest. Faybelle stiffens, heart pounding. But she quickly shoves the anxiety down and does what a good girlfriend should do. She wraps her arms around Briar, pulling her closer. She rests her cheek on the girl’s head, planting gentle kisses to her scalp, just like the girl did for her when she was upset. “I’m so embarrassed!” Briar sobs, barely able to get the words out. “I’m always the one throwing those stupid study parties and then my stupid ass goes and gets a C! And my dad–he’s going to be so disappointed in me!” The surge of anger that rushes through Faybelle surprises her, but she can’t stand to hear her girlfriend talk about herself this way. “The parties aren't stupid!” she insists. “And you’re not stupid either! You’re perfect!” “No I’m not!” Faybelle’s voice softens. “Nobody’s perfect, but you’re one of the good ones, Briar. One of the best. You’re kind and resilient and caring and intelligent and beautiful…so beautiful inside and out.”

Faybelle winces as Briar starts crying harder. Shit, she knew she’d make things worse! But her fear quickly subsides as Briar speaks again, struggling to get the words out between her sobs. “Thank you. I love you so much!” Joy bursts through Faybelle’s chest. She did it! She made Briar happy! Well, happier than she was at least. Smiling, she gives the girl a squeeze. “I love you so much too, baby. So much. Everything will be okay.”

XXX Friday November 3, 2017 9:32 pm

Briar’s P.O.V.

The pop song blaring through the speakers is vibrating through Briar’s head, adding to her building headache, as she storms across the club dance floor toward Faybelle. The girl, clad in a sparkly black short dress, is in the middle of the crowd, dancing so wildly Briar wouldn't be surprised if she crashed into somebody. Hot tendrils of anger are pulsing through Briar’s chest as she marches toward her girlfriend, ready to chew her out. When she reaches the girl though and starts yelling (both to be heard over the music and because of her rage), she isn’t nearly as articulate as she’d hoped to be. The alcohol is clearly having a bit of an effect. “Why the fuck did-did you give me this drink, Faybelle?! I said that I-that I didn’t want to drink alcohol! And you-you give me this?! You said it was a virgin!” The smirk on Faybelle’s face adds to the tower of anger growing taller and taller in Briar’s chest. “Chill out, Beauty!” Faybelle’s voice is more slurred than hers, as she’s had three margaritas rather than one. “You needed it! Damn you’re uptight!” Briar very rarely completely snaps, but she is so furious right now, and with the addition of the alcohol lowering her impulse control, nothing is stopping her from going off. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Faybelle?! You roofied me! You fucking roofied me! Your own girlfriend!” Faybelle snorts. The bemused look on her face only makes Briar angrier. “That is not what roofieing is, Briar! You clearlyyy don’t know what that means, girl!” “Ughhh! You’re impossible!” Briar doesn’t even care if people are watching. Faybelle is the one at fault here after all. Briar is clenching her fists so hard, her hands are starting to cramp up. The only other thing she can get out is a weak, “Fuck you, Faybelle!” before bursting into tears and running as well as she can to the bathroom.

When she comes back to her dorm room an hour later after the tipsiness wears off, eyes red from crying, she lies to a very concerned Ashlynn. “Nothing happened. I just got overstimulated. Don’t worry, I didn’t drink. I know better…”

XXX Friday November 17, 2017 4:07 pm

“So it seems like you and Faybelle are getting pretty serious, huh?” Briar turns to look at Ashlynn. They’re currently packing for fall break, which starts tomorrow. They’ll be going to their respective homes for the next week. Ashlynn’s eyes are bright with mischief as she grins at Briar. She knows what she’s doing. She knows how easily flustered Briar gets when it comes to Faybelle. Briar’s face immediately flushes. Ashlynn giggles. “Damn it, Ashlynn!” Briar exclaims, though it’s clear by her humorous tone that she’s joking. Ashlynn laughs before continuing the banter. “Language, Briar. I was just asking you a simple question. You and Faybelle were getting pretty cozy with each other during the movie last night.” She gives an exaggerated wink. Briar rolls her eyes. She can tell by the heat of her cheeks that her face must be beet red now. Last night Briar, Ashlynn, Hunter, Faybelle, Raven, Dexter, Apple, Darling, Blondie, Cupid, and the Wonderlandians had all gotten together in the commons room to watch a movie. Briar and Faybelle hadn’t been the only couple there wrapped in each other’s arms during the movie, but of course it stood out to Ashlynn, as Briar used to be rather shy about PDA. Briar scoffs playfully. “Talk to the wall, Ash. You and Hunter kissed about a gazillion times! And we were watching “Silence of the Lambs,” for kingdom’s sake!” Ashlynn bursts into laughter and Briar quickly follows suit.

When their laughter dies down, Ashlynn turns to Briar again, the smile on her face entirely genuine this time. “But things seem to be going really well, yeah?” Her voice is soft. Butterflies surge through Briar’s stomach, as they always do when she thinks about Faybelle and how much she loves the girl. “Yeah,” she says, her voice just as soft. “Very well. She’s amazing.” A thought pops into her head. How amazing is tricking your girlfriend into drinking? She quickly tries to shove the intrusive thought down. Everybody makes mistakes, she reasons to herself. Even big mistakes. They’re just mistakes. She didn’t mean any harm…right?

XXX Saturday December 2, 2017 12:07 am

As soon as Briar tiptoes into her dorm room and shuts the door quietly behind her, the lights flick on. She yelps at the sudden motion, followed by another yelp as Ashlynn begins talking. “You said you’d be back over an hour ago. Why didn’t you answer my calls? I was worried about you, Briar!” The girl’s voice is cold and accusatory, no trace of its usual warmth or softness to be found. Briar stiffens, shame immediately replacing the euphoria she’d just felt from several minutes spent kissing Faybelle. Her mouth opens, but no words come out. She hadn’t noticed Ashlynn’s calls, but still…she should’ve checked her phone more. She’d actually had no idea it was past 11:00 until just now. It was beyond stupid of her to not check the time. Clenching her jaw, she forces herself to address Ashlynn. The girl is sitting in her bed, arms crossed. The angry furrow of her brow honestly frightens Briar. Her friend rarely gets angry, and she can’t even remember a time where it was directed at her. “I’m so sorry, Ashlynn! I didn’t notice the time until now, and I didn’t notice your calls either. I didn’t have my phone out and I guess I turned the sound off by accident. I should’ve checked my phone more. I’m…I’m really sorry.” The furrow of Ashlynn’s brow doesn’t fade. She scoffs before lying down, back turned to Briar. “I find that hard to believe,” she mumbles.

A flash of indignation sparks in Briar’s chest, but she doesn’t let it consume her. Ashlynn has every right to be upset and the dig is well-deserved. Briar twists her fingers together, eyes stinging as the shame burns hotter, quickly overpowering any irritation she’d felt. “I’m really not lying. I promise. But…I get it if you don’t believe me right now. I was stupid and irresponsible. I’m really, really sorry.” She’s starting to get frantic, her voice shaking slightly, fists clenched at her sides. “It’s fine, Briar,” Ashlynn says, voice softening. “Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have gotten angry. I’m sorry I was harsh. Let’s just go to bed and forget about it, okay?” The anger is gone from her voice, but it still doesn’t contain its usual warmth. Briar swallows, clenching her teeth harder and harder as tears threaten to overwhelm her. “Okay,” she whispers, knowing if she talks any louder she’ll start crying. She hates upsetting people, especially her friends. And Ashlynn, a girl who isn’t at all easy to upset? Briar really screwed up this time.

All she can think about as she lies in bed and tries to fall asleep is how stupid and irresponsible she is, and how angry she is with herself for upsetting somebody so dear to her. Faybelle means the world to her, but Ashlynn…this is a terrible thing to even think about, but Ashlynn might mean even more to her.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Seven

“…The Lord be with you”

“And with your spirit.”

“May Almighty God Bless you, the father, the son and the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen.”

“Now mass has ended, go in peace to love and serve the lord.”

I turn to my mother next to me in the church pew and mutter the next part with intention. “Thanks be to God.” She leans in to me and hisses “Stop that.” and bends to pick her bag up from the floor as everyone begins to shuffle out of the church at that specific snail’s pace that people only seem to move at while in a Catholic church. It’s the slowest place on earth, and I feel like groaning out loud when my parents get stopped by a neighbour who wants to wish us a happy Christmas, and in doing so blocks our exit from the pew. 

They talk to Ms. McCarthy for what seems like forever as I glance across the church to where the Healy’s are moving through the crowds towards us. I’ve been watching the backs of their heads since we came in, but I don’t think they’ve seen us yet, something I’m glad of because I don’t really feel attempting some excruciating exchange with Kelly, who gives me anxious heart palpitations at the mere sight of the side of her face across a building. I watch them as they come closer, waving here and there, smiling, giving Christmas wishes, especially Shane, who everyone wants a piece of since he scored a winning point in the last county final match, or something like that. 

I have to take my eyes off them when Ms. McCarthy grabs my hand with that iron grip that only old ladies possess and pulls me into her so she can ask me if Santy came, with this humorous glint in her eye, as if we don’t have this exact exchange every Christmas. I laugh and tell her that he did, and yes, he was good, and yes, he even ate the biscuits we left out for him, and yes, I got everything on my list, and I’m still talking to her when the Healy’s reach us. I’m glad of it because it means I look too distracted to talk to them. 

“Hello Marian.” I hear Shane say as he gives my mam a hug, and she looks delighted. She loves him, but not the same way that everyone else does, she extra loves him. In a she-wishes-she’d-given-birth-to-him kind of way. I think that’s why she wants us to go out with each other, so that one day we’ll get married and she can say that he’s her son in law. I want to present her with side by side photos of Claire and me and ask her, really, honestly, which one is he more likely to fancy, but even aside from that, the idea of dating him makes me feel truly unwell but no matter how much I tell her this she’s never really given up hoping. 

He comes over to me and interrupts mine and Ms. McCarthy’s conversation about the best biscuit selection boxes and gives me his signature stiff hug. “Well.” He says in his usual stilted, Irish country boy way, “Happy Christmas, Evie.”

“Same to you.” I glance over his shoulder at his sister who is making a point of not speaking to anyone in my family, standing there with her best bored face on, looking around like she’s hoping there’s somebody better to talk to. Acting like she’s in a trendy bar instead of a draughty catholic church full of pensioners. 

“Are you coming out tomorrow night to the pub?” Shane wants to know, and my eyes snap back to him.

“Which pub?”

“Dunno yet. Whichever.”

“Ah, okay.”

“I’ll get Claire to text you where we’re going.”

“Sounds good.”

“Have a good Christmas, right?”

“Yep, you too.”

He gives me a nod and then heads towards the exit with his family, and when they’re still in earshot I hear Kelly scolding him. “Why did you just invite her to come to the pub?” 

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re so annoying, like. It would be grand if it was only Claire but I don’t want her there.”

They’re out of earshot then, so I can’t hear what he says in response, but it doesn’t really matter. The damage is already done, and as we’re finally released from Ms. McCarthy’s grasp and go back out to the car I feel awful, defective, irredeemable. Kelly can handle being around Claire, but not me? Why? I’m not the one who started fights, I’m not the one who slept with her brother, all I ever tried to do was be the peacemaker, and still, to her I’m the worst one. 

God. I think to myself as I clamber into the backseat of my dad’s little car. After all this time, why does it still feel so bad? Why do I still care about what she thinks of me? I rest my head against the car window and it wets my forehead with condensation. With the sleeve of my coat I wipe the droplets from the glass and look out, the sky the kind of grey that makes you claustrophobic, this dense, ash coloured blanket wound around the town, colour leached from the landscape making everything look the same, in shades of brown and grey and grey and brown. 

Perhaps, I think, as I regard the gloomy, miserable sights, perhaps one day I will learn to let go of things. One day I won’t hold on to everything so tightly, and I’ll stop caring about all of this stupid stuff.

Prev // Next

[ofbrokendreams]

Part two of Everything, Everywhere, All at Once.

Part One

Hit up AO3 for the full fic.

TW: cursing, discussions of sex, discussions of abuse, discussions of mental health, discussions of drug use, discussion of suicide, depiction panic attack, pregnancy (let me know if I missed anything)

WITH OR WITHOUT 

He thinks about trying to cover the new tattoo some how but the idea is ludicrous. The fucking thing is huge, well big, it’s noticeable is the point. And Richie is the first the point it out, like it’s fucking news to him, the jackass. “The fucks on your neck, Cousin?” He giggles, fucking giggles. 

The whole crew clowns on him for a week or so before moving on. 

Carmy expects to feel more self conscious then he does. Terri smiles and nods when he tries to explain it. “It was kind of nice, comfortable almost. It was just jokes and it…it was funny. I don’t know.” “I think maybe it was nice to have your staff feel so comfortable around you. Especially with your own bad experiences.” Carmy nods in agreement. “What was Sydney’s reaction? To the uh ribbing.” Terri asks. “She laughed, a lot, I think she thinks I deserve it for getting the dumb thing in the first place.”

“Ahh yes, a just punishment for foolishness.” Terri laughs softly and Carmy smiles a little. “Yes sometimes consequences can be…good. They aren’t always harsh or terrible. For example, joy is often a consequence of loving someone.” Terri says writing something down. 

Carmy thinks about it. Consequences. They’ve always been bad, punishment. That’s what he always thought they were. But maybe it’s just the reaction to an action. 

He thinks he’s staring at Syd to much. To often. To long. 

She corners him in the office one night just before service. “The fuck is going on with you?” “What? What I do?” “You’re just being like…so chill but you keep…like is there something wrong with me?”

Carmy blinks at her and laughs, a full belly laugh leaning over in his chair. Holding a hand up for her. “No no nothing is wrong with you. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more…I’m sorry.” “It’s fine. I didn’t-it’s fine.” Sydney says but she’s looking at him like he’s grown an extra head. 

They’re still packed every night. Still a waiting list weeks out. There’s reviews every month and they’re all glowing. And Carmy’s nervous. All the time. He feels like it’s all going to come crashing down. 

All Nat’s hard work could be gone and all their new family memories. Mikey took his first fucking steps in this place, one early morning toddling from his mother sitting in the office chair to Carmen standing in the office door way, the goofiest grin on his chubby face. And he cradles the little boy close and thinks how much he loves this kid and how much he misses his brother. How unfair it is that he has to be the favorite uncle when it should be Michael. But Sugar looks at him with this like…love in her eyes and he thinks maybe not. Maybe this is his place. 

And he thinks of Richie’s wisdom back when Carmy and Syd first broke up. The limited amount of time they have with her.  And Marcus, he’s so fucking talented. Carmy thinks he’s like a doctor, all “See one, do one, teach one.” And the things he creates are incredible, even when it’s not right his effort is astounding to Carmy. He just dusts himself off and tries again never afraid to scrap something or change it. The two chefs under him are getting as good as he is and for however long they have Marcus they’ll only get better. 

But Sydney. Carmy has kind of…this is her place too. And he’s always known she might venture out but this is her place too. He doesn’t think she’d leave. But now he’s thinking that was more of his selfishness. He doesn’t want her to leave as much as he does want her to thrive, to flourish. 

A couple magazines want interviews. Local Chicago things just spotlighting a hometown place. And they do a photo shoot with Carmy and Syd calls him a fucking slut when she sees it giggling like he’s never heard. Laying on her stomach on his bed while he sits at the window smoking. He remembers the tank top they’d had him wear and how excited the wardrobe lady got when he’d shown up in his vintage denim. He rolls his eyes but when Sydney reads the interview she doesn’t laugh. 

It’s all Sydney, Sydney, Sydney, Sydney. 

And she’s looking at him like he’s…like he’s the one who’s special. But it’s all her.

It’s a Monday when the other magazine interviews Syd. Its weird but it gets Carmy’s thinking it’s been longer that they’ve been apart then they were ever together and it’s horrifying. And he thinks of Michael and Syd’s mom, how Syd’s older then she ever got to be and how someday he’ll be older then his brother could stand to be. 

He’s along for the ride since the reporter wanted an in real life kind of thing. 

Instead of their usual Monday routine of nothing. They do their other less routine of recipe testing. The new Fall menu is changing. And they hit up the Farmer’s Market before it gets to cold and closes for the season. And there’s a camera man with them and he directs them a little bit but mostly let’s them do their thing taking a lot of candid shots. And Syd talks food, and their staff and The Beef and the CIA and Nat and little Mikey, and how they’re a family run restaurant. 

And the reporter at some point calls Sydney Carmy’s wife, like to his face, asks something like “Is your wife always this excited over tomatoes?” With this laugh and Carmy nods and says “Always.” And doesn’t correct him. 

And when he reads the interview he kind of thinks maybe her feelings have changed. It’s a little selfish but he thinks about how much he talked about her and how little she talked about him. And maybe she’s not…she’s not in love with him anymore. Like he is her. 

But then he looks at the pictures. 

And for every one of him standing holding her flowers and produce is one of Syd looking at him. And her smile, her eyes, the way she softly grabbed his wrist when she noticed the local honey stand that only comes once a month (and she fucking loves it but he keeps missing it and she was so delighted she’d get to show him finally, “Finally” she’d said grinning back at him.) and they’d caught that moment. 

So it’s weird and they’re so out of order. And they haven’t talked about it. But it feels right. 

When she comes over a few days later and she’s talking mousse and some kind of greens, “Like kale or chard, you know robust”. He just interrupts and asks if she can help him with something. And she nods of course. And he holds out her ring on its delicate chain. 

“Can you uh-can you hang onto this for me…again?”

And she stares at him for a while before turning her back to him and lifting her hair. And he puts the necklace on her. Buries his face in the place where her neck and shoulder meet. 

“I’m trying Syd. I’m trying and I just I need time and your patience and I need you.” “You’ve got me Carmy, I’m not-you’re good. I’m right here.”

When Carmy asked for her patience Syd’s not really sure what he meant. Cause a couple days later he’s giving her back her key, and asking if she want’s to just move in, full time, permanently. Or like maybe they should look at other places. He wants to stay in the city but like maybe find something a little bigger. Closer to her dad maybe?

Syd just nods and laughs and tackles him to the bed and they’re almost late for work. (For them at least, they come in with every one else instead of early).

And living together is fucking bliss. 

It shouldn’t be. 

It’s not all that different then what they’ve been doing. But just knowing Syd is coming home with him every night. Every Monday, she’s there and when she leaves she’s coming home, when he leaves he comes home to her. It erases all his anxiety about them living together. About making things to permanent. Cause for him concrete crumbles but not for Syd and he’s trusting her. 

He’s trusting her luck rather then his own. 

Being around each other so much now is how he first notices the changes. Sydney’s attitude is different, she’s more on edge, she’s not eating (she tastes as she cooks but she’s picking at family or skipping it in the office and she’s picking at her food at home too. Barely eating now that he thinks of it).

“Hey are you…you’re not still throwing up after service are you?” He asks one night as they’re walking home. And Syd stares at him, rolls her eyes and shakes her head. It’s been almost two years since The Bear opened. She shoves his arm playfully then wraps her arms around his bicep holding him as they walk. “I’m good. Just…a little off. Thank you for checking.” And she’s so sweet about it smiling at him adorably and humming Frank Ocean softly but he knows its a dismissal. She doesn’t want to talk about it. 

Should he push? He think about asking for her patience and knows he needs to give his. And fuck he owes Terri a million fucking dollars, for getting him to a place where he’s emotionally capable of this kind of rational thinking.

“Have you noticed Syd being weird?” He asks Sugar a few days later. Cause he’s more emotional mature sure but his sister is his sister. Sugar’s fingers stop where they’re typing on her phone. She looks at him on the floor of her living room with Mikey and sighs. “I can’t-I uh-“ Carmy nods and waves her off. 

He’s the king of avoidance. So knowing that Syd is talking to someone is good. And it being Sugar, seeing how close they are it’s…it’s nice. It feels comfortable. 

He waits. And waits. And waits. 

He’s about to fall sleep on the couch, new couch, watching Julia Child reruns on a local access channel when Sydney comes out of the bedroom. She’s wearing one of his white tees and an older pair of his plaid boxers and she’s so fucking cute and gorgeous. And sad. And anxious. “Syd?”

She takes his hand and bites her lip and he wants to pull it out, kiss her until everything is okay. 

“I’m pregnant.”

Carmy knows he heard her correctly but he blinks, shakes his head and clears his throat. 

He’s gonna have a panic attack. He’s gonna fucking lose it. 

Carmy thinks of the techniques Terri’s taught him. The shit he uses in the kitchen so he doesn’t yell and scream and scare every new chef. But it’s all-it’s gone. 

All he’s got is his father leaving before he ever got to know him. 

His mother going full psycho. Every other day. Hiding in his bedroom and stuffing his drawings under the bed. Watching her abuse his sister and traumatize his brother. 

He’s got Michael and his drug use and his avoidance and his pain and his gun and it’s all on the tip of his tongue. 

He can’t do this. He can’t do this. He can’t do this. 

Then he looks at Sydney and she looks so resigned. 

She’s his soulmate, she’s stitched into his heart and literally written on his skin. 

“At times you’re going to be overwhelmed and taking five minutes to yourself to regulate and get back to calm might feel silly or uncomfortable or rude but it maybe your best choice in the moment,” Terri’s kind voice is in his ear and he stands. 

“I just…five-five minutes.” And he goes into the bathroom and sits on the rim of the bathtub like he likes to do when Syd takes baths. 

His hands are shaking. Thoughts racing. 

Michael. Mikey. Sugar. Nat. Donna. Mom. The Beef. The Bear. Chef Terry. New York Chef. New York. Copenhagen. Malibu. Napa. Iceland. Paris. London. Puerto Rico. Chicago. Cousin. Eva. Mikey. Sydney-Sydney-Sydney. Forgiveness and love and grace and death and fear and abandonment and avoidance and patience and love and love and Sydney. Family. 

His hands stops shaking and he can breathe as he stands, looks in the mirror. And goes back out to the love of his life. 

“I’m sorry-“ “It’s okay, I’m proud of you.” She interrupts. Carmy blushes, nods and sits down next to her. 

He takes her hands in his, kisses her knuckles and smiles at her. Grins at her. 

“You’re going to be so fucking good at this.” He says, Syd laughs shaking her head. “No you are. And I’m just…thank you. For trusting me and giving me time. And this,” he glances at her stomach then back at her dark eyes, the brown of the soil and of her skin especially when she’s just put on her cacao butter and morning coffee and the warmth of firewood and all good things. “This is amazing and I never- you know I never but I think we can-together maybe, I think it’ll be okay. It’ll be great you know?”

“Yeah, Carm,” Syd says wrapping one hand around the side of his neck where her name is, color fading likes it supposed to and just part of his skin like all his other tattoos like all the other parts of him, and cupping his jaw with the other. “It’s us you know?”

“Yeah, its ours.”

“Exactly.”

[leia-organaa]

Okay so I’m back and only a really spectacular piece of media could bring me back to fandom life. I’m talking about Moving (무빙) (2023). Warning: spoilers ahead.

Wow, this show. So, so, so good. I know the whole teenagers with superpowers and protective parents vs evil shady government/bad guys thing has been done before in different ways, but this one still felt so refreshing in its approach. Why? I don’t know. Maybe I’m biased towards kdramas, but there’s something about this show that its western predecessors like Heroes and Stranger Things etc. don’t have, and I think it is its distinct cultural and political identity that makes it unique.

To be honest, I didn’t catch the show when it was initially released last year because life caught up to me, and I regret not being there during its height of popularity. I just binged it in two days during a holiday break because the Baeksang nominees came out recently, and got curious because of the list. I have no regrets losing sleep over it. It was genuinely exciting and heart-wrenching, and so beautifully made. Thank you, Disney+, for the big budget, and for letting Kang Full adapt his work.

Anyway, I don’t really want to make a whole essay about how good the show was so I’ll just list down my thoughts and ramblings.

Jo In Sung is gorgeous. I already knew that prior to this show but he makes such an excellent Doosik, a smooth and dangerous spy with superpowers, who can be tender and romantic at the same time.

Han Hyo Joo — love her. So pretty as a spy, and to see her transform into a mousy single mother who is simply trying her best? Amazing.

Doosik and Mihyun’s storyline is my favorite. Spies who fall in love, and in the nineties? Omg. Mulder and Scully, seriously. The retro styling and production design was well done, too. Not cartoonish or obviously fake like they do in some kdramas. You can see there was genuine effort made to make it look somewhat realistic and believable to have been set during that time period. Maybe the shoulder pads and women’s blazers could have been slightly bigger, but the hair and unflattering trousers on Mihyun and Doosik’s and Juwon’s oversized coats? The filters? Excellent.

Back to their storyline. The set up was so good. The way it developed was so natural. The cutlets! Those trees! Their life together! All the tender feelings! God. What a beautiful couple. I love them. I want them to be happy. It broke my heart that their lives were stolen away from them.

There is a reason why Ryu Seung Ryong was nominated and why he is a legend. That man is a force. He is a beast. Juwon is their Wolverine. But my favorite parts are when he is being an awkward suitor then husband to Jihee and loving dad to Huisoo.

Lee Jung Ha’s smile as Bongseok can light up the world. What a sweetheart. I’m excited to see what happens next for him in the sequel (there will be a sequel, right?).

Cannot wait for Huisoo to become even more badass than she already is. If she takes after both her parents, she’d be terrifying.

Ganghoon is definitely the kind of guy I would have had a crush on at that age. Handsome, mysterious, a good son. Kind of sucks to see him turn into the very thing all the parents wanted their kids to avoid, but seems like he has the potential to be the new Doosik.

Now that I’ve read the story behind Hyewon, okay, I’m really intrigued to see where this goes.

Kim Sung Kyun as Ganghoon appa! My Reply 1988 heart.

The North-South conflict really gives the show its distinct flavor. The espionage is cool and all, but the traces of commonality give the show a lot of heart and humanity. I like how a lot of South Korean media humanize the enemy. It’s a reminder that they were one people a long time ago.

How does this have only 40-something fics on AO3????? Please, people, this deserves everything.

I had a lot more thoughts on this as I was watching but these are what stuck. I really hope to see more of these characters, hopefully soon, but I’m also interested to explore the other stories in this same universe that Kang Full has created.

[your-mom-friend]

The past few months have felt like I’m drowning. My workload is so much and there’s so many things I haven’t done but that’s not what’s drowning me oddly enough. I feel like I’m drowning in the thoughts of the life I might end up with, the life I could have, the life I could’ve ended up with, and the life I want all at the same time.

Yes, drowning is the right word. My hand reaches up to grab something, anything, a rope, a board, a hand, just to get a hold on something that will pull me out of the water that’s blurring my vision and constricting my chest and filling my lungs and weighing down my every movement. Drowning is a word people use often to describe these feelings but for the first time I feel like I truly understand what it means.

Drowning is the right word

There is a small, but not insignificant, part of me that is dark and twisted and manipulative and all the things I swore I won’t be and it pushes me to be kinder for all the wrong reasons.

I am still kind. I mean well. I want my enemy to eat even if not at my table. I want to see my family prosper even if they cast me out one day. I want them all to be happy.

But somewhere inside, one of the reasons I do it is because I want it to hurt.

If I am to one day be gone from their lives I want it to hurt them. I want my laughter to echo in their ears knowing they cast me out. I want my former homes to be so full of my essence, so infused with me that no corner would exist where they could see and not see the person they got rid of. I want my sister to look at the penguin plushie I gave her and wish she’d done different. I want my mother to go in the kitchen and know she’ll never see me excitedly try a new recipe to show her. I want my father to look at the shelves and remember how delightedly I’d tell him about each new book I’d bought, each new thing I’d studied in school.

I want them all to live with the fact that they’d never see me laugh or smile or pronounce things wrong or make the face I always make when I want to ask for something or have long conversations stretching hours into the night, sat upside down on sofas or laid up in bed with blankets in lamp light or leaning against the kitchen counters, ever again.

I think one day I will tell my family who I am and they will get rid of me and I want it to hurt. I want them to never forget who I was to them and who the child they’d loved would never be to them again. I want the kindness and understanding and generosity I am so known for to become a gaping wound in their chests when I’m gone so that not a single day could pass where they are not reminded that that is the person they got rid of for something so simple as a difference in faith, for a difference in love.

I hate this side of me. She wants to protect me from the hurt that will come from being cast away, I think. I do not think she can. I think she hopes that I will accept my fate and move on before it happens so that I don’t need to feel it when it does. She’ll take my pain and turn it into rage for me to propel me further. She holds my hands so, so gently in hers to take the pain away and I don’t want her to touch me.

I hate that she exists. I hope she knows what she’s doing.

I wonder sometimes if all this fear and distrust and anxiety is for nothing. What if everything works out? What if I come out to my parents, about my sexuality and my religion or lack thereof and they accept me? What if I’ve spent so long preparing myself for the worst that when the best happens it will devastate me more? When I’ve spent so many years building this preparatory rage and indifference and now it was all for nothing? What if I’m putting myself through the grief of loss when there was nothing to lose?

This is what I fear more, I think. That it was truly all in my head, that I’d misconstrued everything I’d ever thought was true and that my family is good, and the only evil is me, preparing myself the victim when there’s no crime perpetrated.

I think back to my older sister. She’s been my idol since I was a child. I’ve never not looked up to her. To her strength and drive and resilience and patience. I tell her I fear that one day I’ll lose her. That she’ll get tired of keeping my secret and that she’ll tell our parents in a misguided attempt to help me. She does not tell me she hopes that day never comes, cannot promise me it never will. She apologises in advance for when it happens. We both know it will. This conversation has looped in my head, made itself the star of my every waking nightmare since it’s happened. Not one night passes where I do not picture the scene play out in front of my eyes. A thousand times the scene plays, with a thousand different variables. There is only one ending to the story. There is no other version of this story.

It is hard to think now. I kick my legs. I try to stay above the water. My head goes under and comes up repeatedly. I see the sky before I’m submerged and the dark water before I come up again. My legs grow weaker. My breaths, shallower. I try to keep my hands out, hoping that they’ll grab onto something, anything, to give me a moments respite and expel the water that’s slowly entering my lungs. There is not enough of me left to find a new solution. I’m not sure how long I can keep it going. I can only do it until I can’t. Either I will escape or I will drown. Till then I can only keep going.

[folkloristico]

🥀 favorite angst quote from a published work

🌻 favorite funny quote from a published work

🍒 favorite sweet quote from a wip

tysm for the ask mari! 🫶

🥀 favorite angst quote from a published work

Shiho doesn’t retort—she feels close to Shinichi but feels even closer to the client. Her heart aches at the thought of the mother who’s still looking for a culprit who doesn’t exist and of the father whom Shinichi has never even spoken of. She will never be able to fully understand Shinichi, but if there’s one thing she knows is that he will never give up on living. Where she would’ve just let herself drawn, he’s fought with dirty nails and cracked teeth just to keep going—breathing is exhausting but doesn’t scrape his throat like sharp breaches. He doesn’t sense the hollow at their feet—and Shiho, with her soul black as night screaming at her, envies him. Because ignoring is a more acceptable fate than knowing and not being able to do anything about it. The idea of erasing the past scares her because letting go of her memories means changing herself, losing her persona to create a new self. Shiho believes she would if she only could—to get rid of the hollow emptiness expanding beside her feet, she would give up everything she has been and be twenty years old, for real. Not even the drug she created could do this much. Whether it’s Sherry, Shiho Miyano or Ai Haibara it does not matter, she remains the same wretched, little girl who’s afraid of the monsters under her bed, and no fake name on Earth can change that.

From if it’s hollow on the inside. 

Sorry it’s so long, lol, but I feel like sharing all of it. I still prefer the Italian version because, well, it’s the original, and not being a translator myself, I’m sure there are some things that could be fixed. Still, despite the fact that it’s been almost two years since I originally wrote the story, and I usually come to loathe my stories after, like, two months, I still like it very much. As for now, it’s the closest I could get to depicting Shiho and Shinichi as I see them.

🌻 favorite funny quote from a published work

“Chloé, are you alright?” he asked. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” “We?” Chloé echoed, glaring over Adrien’s shoulders. “Don’t look at me,” Alya said, her arms crossed over her chest. “I was fine with thinking of you dead somewhere—no, wait, actually, I wasn’t thinking of you.” Chloé shot her a nasty glare, but didn’t respond. It was something, right? “Funny you’d say that. I thought a car had run over you while you were trying to get a picture of Ladybug and Chat Noir.” “At least I was able to get out.” … Anyway. Progress takes time.

From fire meet gasoline.

Sadly, I don’t care about Miraculous Ladybug anymore, but I’m SO HYPED for the movie and I had a lot of fun writing this story. Sassy!Chloé is what I live for.

🍒 favorite sweet quote from a wip

I had a hard time choosing the snippet because I’ve been writing a lot of Winx stuff in the last few that I didn’t even remember what my other WIPs were about lol

“You look…” Matt tilted his head a little to the left. “Older?” “I was gonna say, different. Better.” To be fair, he hardly looked any day older than last time she’d seen him. “I wish I could say the same about you, but, you know…” He left the rest of the sentence hanging in the air on purpose, pointing at his face, and there was something so genuine about the way he did it that Claire couldn’t help cracking to a laugh. Matt Murdock had her wonder how could a body be so full. How could a person contain multitudes without exploding from the paradox of it—the same man being the kind lawyer and the tormented hero. Last time, the vigilante seemed to have prevailed, and at that very moment Claire knew she couldn’t do it. Not with Matt, not with Luke. Not with anyone. But seeing him now, so changed to his very core as if he were a different man, but, in a way she couldn’t put her finger on, still the same man—seeing him now, her feelings of distrust and fear couldn’t be renewed. “Not to brag,” Claire said, “but judging from the men asking me out, I think I’m still a good match.” Matt smiled again, wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes as if to confirm that time had passed for him. But to Claire, he had never looked better. “I am sure you are.” Her heart skipped a beat or two, then raced faster, and Claire wondered if he hadn’t been aware of it because he added playfully, “Just to be sure, I’m not hitting on you.” Would it be so bad, Claire wondered, if he did?

From the same Clairedevil fic I talked about here, which doesn’t have a title yet because I suck at choosing titles.

[dearlymrme]

Gotta Catch Them...(Nihil)

Summary: The headcanons nobody asked for that I'm gonna do anyway. What are the Papa's Pokémon? I did say all the Papa’s.

I threw in this little bit. Every Papa has what can be called their 'mascot' Pokémon. The one present in all the interviews and magazine covers, and making stage appearances. Their starters are not necessarily their mascots, simply which on their team best represents them.

Also, every Papa has become a Papa in more way than one. In an effort to better prepare them for progeny, they are given an egg that hatches into a pre-evolved form. Can't let his Prime Mover do all the work. It's also to instill this idea of paternity as more than just status to the members of the church.

What happened to Papa's Pokémon after their death? The rumors are they were donated to the Clergy or simply just released. They could be sitting on a shelf in the crypt with their respective Papa's bodies. I can tell you one thing. They all put up a fight.

Nihil did some battling as a child. His Oricorio remains out and frequent the garden for nectar. Indeedee remains out to help him move around, acting as his eyes and general aid. He no longer has a full team. He has outlived most of most of them.

Starter. This man was alive for KISS, and they're what made him fall in love with music. When he saw the patterning on Zigzagoon and then learned what she evolved into, he instantly snatched her up. She's very vocal and was even before evolving. She's still vocal, but her voice has gone weak over the years. She could be seen often in the garden with Secondo's Toxtricity and nodding along to his strumming.

This smooth suave of a man learned to tango from her. He wanted to impress the ladies, and he and Imperator had still danced on occasion. Very old in her years, she doesn't dance anymore. Even after Nihil’s passing, she remains in the garden, one of the few of Papa’s Pokémon that had escaped ‘doom’. it’s possibly because Imperator wanted something to remind her of good days gone by.

Not for reasons you think. It was a cute Bunnery when he found it. He was too young to know what she’d evolve into. Not that he was complaining when he was old enough to understand what kind of icon she would symbolize. Unfortunately, they had to part as he outlived her. Her ashes sit on his mantle , and they have since disappeared along with the others after his death.

He was very showy and liked to party. Loved to sing and had his own solo in one of Nihil's songs from back in the day. Was Nihil’s mascot as Papa and long since he has retired to the afterlife. His ashes had remained with Lopunny's on the mantle.

Rough and tough, but in actuality, it was a big puppy. She had this one spot under her neck that when scratched, she would gurgle. She was a fighter, and Nihil knew that life at the Abbey wouldn't suit her, so he released her shortly after he and the Clergy moved in. It was a very heartfelt parting, and he missed her dearly and often wondered if he out-lived her as well.

Caught in his rising stardom to help him with the little things, like remembering to eat and not to go too heavy on the drugs. She still does that but also helps him with menial tasks that he was simply too old for. A big mother hen and loved him dearly. His death impacted her very hard, and now she acts as Imperator's secretary assistant.

[ecargmura]

Witch Hat Atelier Volume 3 Review

Between the reviews of volumes 2 and 3, I took a break from reviewing this manga. I fortunately got Volume 3 as a birthday present from my brother back in March! Thanks, bro!

I can’t help but to let out yelps every time I turn the page because this manga’s art is GORGEOUS! Like the cover page for Chapter 14? *chef’s kiss*. The cover of this volume? *chef’s kiss* Immaculate.

Chapter 12 is where Chapter 11 left off. Coco was about to get her memories erased but Tetia and Riche swoop in to save the day as well as Qifrey. They tell off the witch for being too rash with his actions. The witch examined Coco’s hands and realized that she didn’t use any forbidden magic, so they let her go while warning that there will be bigger consequences in the future.

Qifrey was proud for the girls. He even told Agott that she can take a test to rank up. Coco then tells Qifrey about the little vial of ink that she has. He noticed something off about it and holds onto it.

I really like how this chapter was written in the way that it wasn’t just Qifrey swooping in to save the day, but it was him, Tetia and Riche. You’d expect the child characters to be left out, but Shirahama gets them involved and I love that. It doesn’t make it look like they’re sidelined. I also like how Qifrey does his best to not make anyone erase Coco’s memories because he still needs clues to find the Brimhats and she’s his only lead. Coco was anxious about losing her memories because that means she’d lose her memories about her mom and the reason why she is studying magic.

I love that there is serious possible consequences for certain actions and they talked it out with reason instead of resorting to violence or magic.

Chapter 13 has Coco and Qifrey going to Kahln to meet with Mr. Nolnoa as he was the one who gave that little jar to Coco back in the first volume. His grandson Tartah brings them in. As Qifrey speaks with Nolnoa, Coco and Tartah develop a friendship as Tartah treats her wounds. However, it seems as if Tartah has issues of his own. While he is good at organizing magic material, he’s unable to differentiate color. He has silverwash, a type of colorblindness that makes a person’s vision all sorts of shades of silver. Because of this, he cannot become a full-fledged witch. Also, Qifrey did something that caused a bright light and when Tartah questioned Nolnoa, he feigns it.

I’ve always liked the Stationery shop in this story, so to return to it made me happy. I also like learning more of the world and people. Silverwash is an interesting concept and knowing that magic heavily relies on visuals does make one wonder how someone with a condition like Tartah become a witch, if it is possible.

Chapter 14 has the atelier go on a picnic. Coco learns about the five different tests in order to become a full-fledged witch; she took the first one, so she needs to take four more. The apprentices reveal about their goals with magic. Tetia wants to travel the world and help people. Riche wants to make her own magic. Agott wants to be a librarian. Coco just wants to learn more magic. It turns out that Coco’s having nightmares and it’s making her have trouble sleeping.

The picnic was nice and learning about the magic system and the girls’ goals made me feel more attached to them. Coco having nightmares about her mother’s death shows the insecurities that Coco hides within her kindness. She’s working herself so hard because she feels guilty for what happened to her mother.

Chapter 15 has Qifrey tries to uncover the mysteries of the mysterious ink in the vial that he made a mistake, causing him to get entangled in a sudden watery vortex. A Brimhat appears before him. It turns out that the mysterious ink was given to Coco by the same Brimhat watching over her.

In the morning, both Coco and Qifrey are tired. Qifrey wasted some tea leaves, so he goes out to pick some tea leaves. While the girls wait, Coco returns the Sylph Shoes back to Agott. Agott wonders why Coco’s so nice to her despite being mean to her in the beginning. Coco has no mean bone in her soul and just tells her that she didn’t want to give up.

She then faints as she’s sick! Qifrey takes her to the nearby hospital after receiving some help from Tartah.

This chapter was really interesting. Time and time again, we know that Brimhats are Qifrey’s goal because they took something from him. The fact that he missed an opportunity to confront the Brimhat caused him anguish. Qifrey’s not a good person. We’re not sure why he wants his missing item back, but we do know how dangerous these Brimhats are.

Coco and Agott’s conversation was heartwarming in a way. Agott really was mean to her in the beginning, but Coco never tattled towards her. Coco being a kind soul always moved my heart in a way. She’s super nice and all she wants is to learn magic in order to cure her mother. She can’t afford to wallow in petty rivalries and such.

Chapter 16 focuses on Coco and Tartah again. Tartah tries to help Coco after the doctors all ran off to check up on injured people from a nearby fire and they dragged Qifrey to help out. He is also an apprentice witch, but his future’s dark because of his inability to see colors. Despite this, he does his best to do things in ways he knows how. Coco, in her feverish state helps out.

Learning about how strict and prejudiced the Witch world is interesting. Just like in real life, society prefers the able-bodied, “normal” people while people who lack what is perceived as normal would be ostracized. Seeing Tartah working hard despite his disadvantages makes he hope he can become a witch someday.

Chapter 17 continues where the previous chapter left off. Coco and Tartah find the herb the latter was looking for and it helped Coco’s fever go down once a medic was able to come into the clinic wondering where her colleagues went. After Qifrey returns, Tartah asks him about the bright light, but they don’t seem to remember. In the morning, Tartah leaves for witch training, but tells Coco that she’ll become the greatest witch ever, encouraging her to keep going.

The friendship between Coco and Tartah is sweet. Coco made a friend outside out of the atelier. However, it’s not a pointless friendship as Tartah gives insight to what Coco’s missing with her glyph drawings while Coco gives insight to what he’s lacking. They work well together and it shows potential just in case there will be a time where Coco has to train outside the atelier.

It feels as if Tartah is implied to be her love interest, but it probably won’t happen. Tartah is more than just being a love interest with his silverwash storyline. He even promised to make a pen for her, so I’m sure that this pen will be her ultimate weapon. He will be important later on, I can feel it.

Overall, this entire volume was a bit slower. It’s more of a break before the big plot happens as seen at the end of chapter 17. I think this volume was necessary as it gives more insight to the world of Witch Hat Atelier and the concepts and customs. It got me engaged learning more about the lore.

The characters feel more fleshed out too, especially Coco with her inner guilt that’s causing her to have nightmares and tire her out to the point of not sleeping well. I commend Shirahama’s particular way of being very detailed, but also bringing out the whole picture. She gave Tetia some insight. She gave Riche some insight. She gave Tartah some insight. None of these characters feel sidelined and that’s a good thing. She’s giving characters as much spotlight as she can when they are in the story. I just hope she keeps this up when the story keeps going.

I can’t wait to read Volume 4. I hope we jump back into action soon!

[emiracelik]

[ melisa asli pamuk, cis woman, she/her ] - was that EMIRA CELIK i saw by the lighthouse today? i heard that the THIRTY-FOUR year old who has been in nightrest for TWENTY YEARS and works  as a/an OWNER OF PERMANENT RECORD has a reputation of being LOYAL, but also GUARDED. they reside in LOW POINT & people in town usually associate them with TATTERED NOTEBOOKS FILLED WITH DRAWINGS, LATE NIGHTS IN A STRANGERS BED, & THE SMELL OF BLACK OPIUM. let’s hope the killer doesn’t go after them next.

BASIC INFORMATION:

FULL NAME: Emira Celik

NICKNAMES: Emi, Em

DATE OF BIRTH: October 31st, 1988 (34)

ETHNICITY: Turkish-American

FACE CLAIM: Melisa Asli Pamuk

HAIR & EYE COLOR: Dark Brown

HEIGHT: 5’9”

TATTOOS & PIERCINGS: a few tattoos, multiple piercings

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual

OCCUPTATION: owner of permanent record

LANGUAGES SPOKEN: english 

BACKGROUND:

Born in New York to a single father, Emira lived in the Bronx until she was fourteen, when her father moved the small family to Nightrest, closer to family. Her father was a firefighter in both cities, which meant Emira didn’t always see her dad the most. 

She grew up being a very outgoing, friendly person. Making friends very easily and always doing well in her studies. She moved to Nightrest right before starting high school, attending the town’s public school. She’d always found school easy, excelling in her classes and also doing cheer, but beyond that, Emira had never been the person that knew what she wanted to do. The only thing she’d really ever loved was art, always the type to doodle or draw in her free time, but never pursue it any further.

In her junior year of high school, she decided to give it a try and dedicate herself to becoming an artist, applying to art school back in New York for college. Doing so distanced her from her typical crowd of friends, jocks and cheerleaders. Despite being the same, they saw her as different and an outcast, Emira not leaving town on a good note.

During her time in college, she started branching out, getting involved with the wrong kind of guys, going out to parties, and slacking in school. She’d graduate with average grades, no job or future lined up for her. So, she returned home and mainly worked odd jobs while she tried to figure her life out. Emira got a job at a tattoo shop in Salem, her art degree coming to use and her finally doing something she liked. She’d grow to love what she did, putting art on people’s bodies, and decided to save up to buy a shop of her own. 

The Permanent Record is the one thing she truly cares about, doing everything she could to have the business succeed, even moving locations to somewhere where she knew she’d have more business. Though it’s been years since shop opened up, she still does tattoos, mainly for people willing to pay a bigger price for her work.

HEADCANONS

kind of a bitch ngl. definitely very loyal and kind to those she cares about, but if you fuck with her or anyone she loves she will personally ruin your life

has a slight new york accent even after living away from there all these years. if you bring it up she will fight you

very guarded individual. has definitely been in relationships and knows she can get close with people, but in terms of sharing her feelings, she’s not the best at it and often lets things build up before exploding

though she has the tattoo shop, she still loves to draw and paint in her free time. she does a variety of work, from self-portraits to abstract art. she usually draws from memory, and if she finds someone she cares about chances are she’s probably drawn them before

she would definitely say shes both book smart and street smart. emira is intelligent but not always the most level-headed. she loses her temper easily and let’s her emotions control her at times

will beat ass if needed

does not believe in having children. especially at her grown ass age no thanks (but she will mother all of the dumb bitches in this town)

a little slutty but only when shes bored you know

loves to cook, especially for other people. she has fun trying out new recipes and is the kind of friend to invite you over for dinner 

has a bunch of tattoos (arms, chest, side) as well as a few piercings. it’s a big difference to the girly image she had in high school, but after going away for a couple years for college, she found herself adopting more of a darker aesthetic

is secretly a big softie but will never show you that

WANTED CONNECTIONS

ummm u know like all the stuff (besties, exes, flings/hookups, childhood friends, etc)