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softagenda · 1 year ago

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pillow talk (multi)

rating: m+

drabble collection: moments with each LI in the sheets, told through intimate and vaguely sinister drabbles

originally posted on ao3

masterlist

Preview

You stared into the smoldering fire by the bed, amidst the sumptuous blankets and furs, from the prison of his arms, suddenly cold.

Leander

“And how does the magic happen,” you teased, now languorous and slightly drunk, your body aching pleasantly and cheek pressed to his bare chest.

“Give and take, beautiful.” His hand stroked along your back, tracing a swirling, winding pattern.The rings on his fingers brushed a cool kiss against your skin. “Sometimes, it’s a small thing: a free drink here, a favor there. For others, well… every debt must be repaid in equal measure.”

A handful of free drinks. A room at the inn.

Information, knowledge of the city, a personal guide.

Minutes - an hour now, altogether - holding your hand, resisting an ancient curse, a risk of incalculable value.

You stared into the smoldering fire by the bed, amidst the sumptuous blankets and furs, from the prison of his arms, suddenly cold.

The tip of a finger dipped in the valley of your spine and drew a line up your back. As though he felt the slight stiffening of your body, his hand settled against the nape of your neck, his palm a hot, firm weight holding you to him. His thumb sat below your jaw, stopping over your pulse.

Leander rested his cheek against your head and pressed a kiss to your hair, the words drifting across your ear like the mist enshrouding the city. “The only truth of this universe is this: nothing is free.”

_______________________________________

Kuras

Candlelight brought you from the shadows of your doze.

Blurrily, you nuzzled closer to the firm pillow by your face when the familiar scent of magnolia - sweet, slightly citrus, earthy - filtered through your senses, alerting you like smoke in a barn.

Your eyes opened.

The pillow was, in fact, a thick, muscled thigh covered in a layer of white cotton trousers. Following the leg upward, you took in the sight of Kuras in the dim, flickering light of a single candle by the bedside. He held a book in his lap, one hand idly turning a withered page. A thin trail of smoke drifted into the dark beyond his shoulder.

Gold eyes met yours after a moment. Even in the deep night, they glowed brighter than the flame at his hip.

He smiled indulgently. “Dawn will not break for a few hours more. Sleep.”

You stared at that smile, blinking heavily, clinging to wakefulness for just a little longer. A thought nudged at the fuzzy edges of your mind at the smile, the eyes - a thread of disquiet amidst the warm cocoon of blankets and his body.

Kuras lifted one hand and turned to the bedside table. A thin stick passed through the flame, the smoke blooming like petals from the stem, before magnolias perfumed into the air once more.

As the scent wrapped around you, filled your lungs, soothed the voice at the back of your mind, a large hand cupped your cheek. His thumb caressed the corner of your eye before coaxing the lid shut and lingering there, gently holding.

“Sleep. I am here with you. I will watch over you.”

You slipped back into the night.

________________________________________

Ais

The soft bubbling of water woke you.

Your hand sleepily tugged the kimono over the bared edge of your shoulder. You’re curled into a ball beneath the thin fabric, legs fully tucked under the hem, hands curled against your chest, a tortoise sheltering from the cool, humid air drifting from the water’s edge.

Peering through the folds, you stared at the empty sheets next to your eyes adjusted to the night. Then, turning on your other side, you looked for him.

Glowing red eyes caught yours instantly.

He leaned against the open door. Moonlight painted his chest and shoulders pale silver, glinting sharp on the necklace that hung by his navel, his rings, his horns. A cigarette lingered by his mouth. As he drew another puff, embers burned and flared at the end.

“Want a hit?”

You sighed and rolled over on the bed, cheek pressed to the cold sheets. “No. Could use a drink though.” Your mouth felt dry, your belly hollow.

Ais held your gaze for a moment before releasing the smoke in a soft grin. He flicked the cigarette outside the door and strode over, bare feet silent on the creaking wood of the old pier.

At the edge sat a chalice. With two fingers, he hooked the rim, knelt by the red waters, and dipped it beneath the Seaspring.

The chalice full to the brim, spilling over his fingers, Ais took a seat on the bed and braced his arm over you. Several drops fell to the sheets; they wicked into the fabric, not fading to a blush but thickening like blood.

You glanced up from the stain to his face cast in shadow, the red gleam of his eyes thickening too, swallowing up his pupil..

“Drink up, sparrow.”

_____________________________________________

Vere

A claw traced delicately over the crown of your head before sinking into the length of your hair. He stroked as though petting a cat - idly, indulgently, reclined against the mountain of pillows on his bed and curled above you with his chin braced on his palm and bent elbow.

You laid there on the sheets, sweaty and panting, every nerve in your body vibrating, aching with the ghost of pleasure and pain. A sickly feeling sapped the strength from your body. The gold veins across your hands and arms felt hollow as scorched earth.

“Can’t catch a breath?” His voice curled with smug satisfaction, the smirk evident without needing to see for yourself. “All that muscle and misery, with the stamina of a virgin.”

Craning your head back, you glared at Vere through the messy fringe of hair sticking to your face. His claws pricked the nape of your neck. You arched your back away from the bright points of pain and heat.

“Soon, I’ll have you trained to my tastes,” he mused, his gaze trailing down your bare body. “Enough to sate me, at the very least. It’d be troublesome to have you burn out too fast.”

Fur brushed against your thighs and stomach. His thick, russet tail flowed over your body in a fiery river, the soft pelt tickling over your skin. Heat radiated from it, the ancient magic humming in his veins, less volatile now that he’d taken the edge off.

After one last teasing prick of claw, Vere reached down and lifted the length of chain pooled on the sheets. He slipped the end around your neck and pulled through.

Then, with a rumbling sigh, he leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. “Wake me up before noon, and you’re lunch.”

With a flick of his hand, the candles extinguished.

You stare at the dark ceiling, cold steel brushing your throat with every breath.

______________________________________

Mhin

A chill settled over your skin, casting your dreams in shades of winter. Goosebumps rolled down your arms in a wave. Subtle, heavy breaths disturbed the peace of the night.

Your eyes shot open.

The window gaped open. An autumn breeze stole inside, undulating against the curtains. Clear moonlight spilled across the floor, illuminating the toe of a boot and a pool of blood. A ghostly figure sat beneath the sil.

Heart pounding, you held still, squinting through your lashes, trying to see the face hiding within shadow.

Thick leather pants and bracers. Flowing white shirt. Midnight blue hood, hooked to the collar with silver rings. The light caught the edges of messy hair beneath the hood, shining in the gloom like frost across a frozen pond.

Your hand released its taught grip on the dagger beneath your pillow.

Wrapping the blankets around your body, you sat up and leaned across the mattress. “.... Mhin?”

White eyes with red pupils appeared within the shadowed face.

You shuffled to the edge of the bed. Glancing at the blood, you asked, “are you injured?”

After a quiet moment, they slowly shook their head. Mhin folded one leg and braced their arm on their knee. In their hand was a silver dagger, twin to the one you’d hidden beneath your pillow. Fresh blood licked the edge of the blade.

“Are the bodies on the roof or the street?”

Finally, a spark appeared in their eyes. “Strung them up like gargoyles.”

You huffed a laugh. Fresh corpses lured Soulless like flies to honey. They’d never. “How thoughtful of you to help decorate for Leander’s party tomorrow.”

Mhin shot you a weary look that clearly spelled the fuck do you think, before their head dropped back on the wall with a soft thud. The bruises beneath their eyes were dark as plums. They’d never slept soundly, but since the attacks had started, a few good hours had dwindled into a half hour here and there at best.

You considered chiding them for a moment before sighing and rising from the bed. Scooping the quilt from the bed, you shuffled over and dropped down to the floor next to them.

“What are you doing,” they grumbled, frowning when you leaned into Mhin’s side.

Heedless of the blood wicking into the sheets, you spread the bedcovers across their lap and yours before gingerly resting your head on their shoulder.

Mhin sucked in a breath. “You’re not actually going to sleep like this?” When you only closed your eyes, they growled, “Ridiculous.”

Minutes passed. Then, “I’ll shove you off the second another wave hits. You realize that, right?”

You kept silent. Beneath the sheets, you found their hand and covered the back with your palm, fingers webbing through the gaps between theirs, hoping to warm them.

“Your back’s going to hurt like hell tomorrow.”

Then slowly, as the night and their body next to yours filled you with a sense of safety, their grip tightened on your fingers.

A smile slipped across your mouth as you drifted off to sleep once more.

_____________________________

a/n: ending on a fluffy note - comments and likes are appreciated!

#leander x mc #leander x reader #ais x reader #ais reader fic #touchstarved fanfic #kuras x reader #kuras x mc #vere x mc #vere x reader #mhin x reader #mhin x mc #ais x mc #touchstarved imagines

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jaebeomsbitch · 1 year ago

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Cherry Lips II (E.M)

Pt: I |Pt III: In progress

Summary: Being irrevocably in love with your best friend leads to love confessions in laundry rooms

Pairing: Bestfriend! Eddier x Single Mom! Reader

Warning: Kissing

A/N: I get too into my head about writing. Literally put this off for so long and then just finished 75% it in less than an hour. I need to get out of my head. Never edited as always lol

Taglist: sleepie-bunnie skrzydlak tlclick73 cuvntt twirls827 goth-cowgirl-03 manda-panda-monium ali-r3n gublerstylesobrien1238 antagonize-me-motherfucker veemoon witchwolflea ryanmxrie josephquinnsfreckles strangerfan3691 akiratoro420 babydollface1165 mygirlchaos eddiesguitarskills middle-of-the-earth bandaids-n-porcelain graciehams eddiemunsonslittlemetalhead

It had been months since that night on the kitchen counter with Eddie. Your maternal leave ran out a long time ago. Eddie insisted that you quit your job and stay home with the baby but you always promised you’d never be dependent on a man even though you were. You wanted the option to be able to leave if anything happened.

Wayne and your mom help you out with the baby. Wayne takes her on his days off. Eddie cooing as he leaves yelling “Have fun with your grandpa.” Eddie saw Wayne as a father figure more than his own deadbeat dad. Wayne was there to teach him about growing into a young man. He was there to give him dating advice and the rare baby advice. Wayne took to taking care of your baby naturally despite never having a kid of his own.

You could tell he’s going to be the best grandpa ever with the way he treats your daughter. Exactly like Eddie does, with fragility and care, their eyes sparkling with a deep love. Today Wayne took the baby despite it being your day off grumbling about having some time to yourself.

It isn’t until Wayne leaves that you notice the vase on the dining table, magnolias. You look at them confused, where’d they come from? You walk towards them, brushing the petals lightly between your fingers thinking of what Robin said. You were a magnolia.

“You like them?” Eddie says, startling you. You clutch your chest, heart pounding against your rib cage.

“Holy fuck Eds, scared the shit outta me” you say feeling your heart beat slow down when you know it’s Eddie.

“Well isn’t this a familiar sight?” He says with a smirk on his lips. Your face flushing remembering the kitchen incident. You tried to push the memory back but you always ended up in the shower, fingers knuckle deep inside you as you bite your arm trying not to moan. You let go of your chest lightly laughing trying to push past the awkwardness.

“Yeah I like them. Where’d you get ‘em?” You ask turning back towards the flowers, picking the one in your hand up and smelling it. Your face brightening, a big smile adorning your face. You were a big beautiful fucking magnolia and you’d never let anyone tell you otherwise.

“Just thought you’d appreciate something pretty in the house,” he shrugs.

“You know Robin said I was like a magnolia tree, full of love,” you murmur lost in thought, fingertip tracing the delicate petal.

“Oh I know,” he says, leaving you to yourself. It takes a second for you to realize what he just said.

Knew… he knew? How the fuck did he know? He had to have overheard the phone call or Rob told him. But she’d never tell him…right? Your best friend wouldn’t totally tell your other best friend that you were head over heels for him would she? Oh fuck you’re panicking… Maybe it meant nothing? Maybe he’s just agreeing with Robin? Okay it’s no big deal. Totally not anything, you try to convince yourself as you grab your hamper and walk downstairs to the basement to do laundry.

There’s no way he knows anything, Eddie was dead asleep and you’d never done anything obvious… besides the occasional ogle when he’s got his back turned to you. Fuck that back, you bite your lip as you separate the darks from light. No, No horny thoughts of Eddie especially not when it’s just the two of you in the house tonight. You swallow your spit, as you pour in the detergent and softener.

“Hey, I’ve been talking to you?” Eddie says louder than normal which startles you. You bang your knee on the washer, the lid slamming closed. You cradle your knee, hobbling around to look at Eddie with a pained look on your face.

“Mhm?” you hum in a high pitched tone, trying not to press too hard onto your aching knee cap.

“Shit, you all right?” He says, walking quickly across the basement towards you. Once again you find yourself being lifted by the waist but this time on the lid of the washer.

“Stop scaring me!” you groan, slapping his arm.

“Stop being so fucking jumpy then” he retorts, folding your pajama pants and inspecting your knee. His fingers gentle as they brush your kneecap but you can’t help the visceral reaction you have. Your face scrunching up, hands reaching for his shirt squeezing the fabric in your palms.

“Fuck,” you groan again.

“S’not bleeding, think you just need some ice and to rest it,” He murmurs looking up at your face, you can tell because his breath hits your chin. Why was he so God damn close? Your heart beat races in your chest, lump forming in your throat.

“Okay,” you breathe out, fluttering your eyes open. You thought he’d step back but he doesn’t move. For the first time since you were teens you can see the familiar spray of faint freckles on the bridge of his nose. You’d always scolded him for not wearing sunscreen which he always met with an eye roll.

“Oh, sorry,” You say, realizing you’re quite literally pulling him towards you. You let go of his shirt wiping your sweating palms on the soft fleece of your pajamas. The throbbing in your knee replaced by a different kind of throbbing as you inhale his scent. It’s changed slightly, now he smells like detergent and motor oil. He used to smell like weed and musk but he’d given it up since you got pregnant, always said he didn’t want to expose the baby to it.

“I know,” he says, voice deep and gravelly.

“Hmm?” you say, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, trying your best not to look down at those pink lips of his.

“I know,” he simply repeats, pressing himself forward, face centimeters from yours. You try to scoot back but hit your head on the cabinet.

“God you can’t fucking help it can you?” he says clearly amused by the way you’re always hurting yourself in front of him.

“You know?” you ask, trying to press him for more as you rub the back of your head but he swats your hand away, fingers finding the soft tresses of your hair gently massaging the area of impact until you relax in his hold.

“Mhm,” he hums. Clearly he was playing some sort of game. Eddie always liked to fuck with you, he’d play little prank on you. Like once in high school he’d convinced you that you’d forgotten an important day. You’d spent the entire day wracking your brain for the thing you forgot even asking all of hellfire who gave you the cold-shoulder. It was something stupid like a year from the first time you let him borrow your good pen.

“Okay… what do you know?” you ask, looking up at his chocolate brown eyes.

“Something,” he sing songs mischievously as he presses his hips into the side of the washing machine, your legs dangling on either side of his hips.

“God you’re annoying?” you roll your eyes but a small smile threatens to overtake your lips.

“You sure ‘bout that?” he asks, fingers moving from your scalp to hold onto the back of your head, his thumb brushing the underside of your jaw. Your breath hitches. It’s too much. If Eddie was fucking with you’d probably have a mental break down.

“You know?” you ask, trying to cross that barrier without saying it. You gulp, fingers reaching for his waist, softly pressing into his back as he presses closer and closer. Your faces a centimeter from each other, breaths mixing as you both practically pant for breath. He doesn’t respond and you don’t dare break the moment as his big doe eyes flick down to your lips and back to your eyes as if silently asking for permission. You nod ever so slightly, heart hammering in your chest. Was this real? Please God let this be real. You couldn't wake up to dream like this again, it broke a piece of your heart every time you dreamed of the press of his lips on yours…and so much more.

His lips press against the corner of your mouth, fingers dipping down to your waist pulling you impossibly closer until you feel the hardpress of his cock through his jeans. You gulp as he takes a moment as if giving you time to back out. Fuck no, you’d been dreaming of it for so long, pressing your fingers into your pussy wishing it was his length.

He presses a soft hiss to your lips, its gentle and sweet as you move against each other. Your fingers moving from his hips to tangle in his curls. You kiss him with a bigger sense of desperation and he matches your pace. Every year he’s held back pressing forward, every year he held back his jealousy making him slip his tongue into your mouth, every year you weren’t his, had him cradling your head tongue lapping against yours until you can’t breathe but you don’t dare to move away. Instead you wrap your legs around his lithe waist.

He pulls back panting, “Fuck.” His gentle fingers press into your scalp, lips pressing softly into the place between your jaw and neck, his other hand caressing your neck, thumb brushing your soft skin, his nose skirting the soft line of your jaw. It’s so tender and sweet just like Eddie has always been with you despite your earlier makeout session.

“Eds,” You say breathlessly. He hums against your skin in acknowledgement.

“I love you, so much,” you whisper, fingers gripping his shirt, as you choke up with emotion. All your longing spilling forward like a leak in a dam.

“I love you too,” He responds, eyelashes fluttering against your jaw. You can hear the imperceptible crack in his voice. Your hands immediately sliding towards his back pressing into it softly trying to comfort him, silently apologizing for being so stupid.

He takes a second to collect himself to look at your eyes again. His eyes wet with unshed tears, with silent longing love and adoration to match yours. You press a soft kiss to his lips, saying sorry over and over again. You’d always imagined this super passionate, rough, sexual encounter with Eddie just like the stories he’d described but… that wasn’t him now. He was always your kind hearted and sweet boy.

“I love you,” You murmur against his lips, tears dripping down your eyes as you hold his face. You can taste the saltiness on his lips as your tears mix together. He pulls back, thumbs brushing away your stray tears whispering an “I love you too.” You take a moment just to revel in the warmth of this moment, eyes searching each other as if they contained every secret of the universe.

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amywritesthings · 1 year ago

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silver underground. / chapter 16.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin)

Word Count: 5.4K

Summary: flashback six - also known as the day of the heist

Warnings: this chapter heavily explores and discusses themes of peril, thoughts of self harm and self destruction, hopelessness, death, violence, and torture. if you are triggered by these topics, i would suggest skipping this chapter.

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER 16 - FLASHBACK: SIX

note: the next couple of chapters will be heavily influenced by the ova 'no regrets'. they are my interpretations of the material. please watch those episode first, otherwise you will get spoiled on elements revolving around levi's backstory.

The silence of the Underground City spoke volumes.

At this rate, you’ve gone over the plan — and the potential ways it can go horribly wrong — at least a dozen times.

Only so many distress signals can be sent from three people outrunning an entire Military Police unit, so you've employed all of them.

First, there’s the stolen flares.

They’re sparingly used, if ever, when it’s the four of you on a job. Two teams of two has easily been your best formation tactic.

A slight change to a single team of three should not cause much difficulty, especially when it involves veterans like Church, Ackerman, and Magnolia.

(You've already waited a half hour. No flare ever ignites.)

Next, if someone loses their grip on a flare canister, then the pursued team resorts to high-altitude flying.

At the height you’re perched upon — the rooftop of a dilapidated apartment complex overlooking the northern half of the Underground — you’d be able to see at least one person flipping and weaving through even the tallest buildings.

(Another half hour passes. No one ever breaches the skyline.)

The last option, should any ODM gear jam and fail, is more human: eyesight.

With the B-team units ordered to be stationed around the Underground City, your three friends should be covered. If it looks like the Military Police have the upper hand, then you can quickly get the rest of the gang to safety.

You told Levi you wouldn't run after him, that you would keep your promise and stick to the plan, but now that it's been over an hour of radio silence?

You're not so sure.

Because there are no clouds in the Underground, your sightline is clear. Idly your ODM gear sits on either hips, hands occupied by the mechanism's handles that will boost you at a moment’s notice. Below you on the street stand your appointed security, both gang veterans, looking for any stray MPs roaming the area.

Every second waiting for Levi, Isabel, and Furlan to return from their heist route spans to eternity.

Over and over your eyes scan, checking between rooftops — nothing.

Your attention drops to the streets — nothing.

Silence creeps to a ninety-minute drag.

No flares sound.

No bodies fly.

“C’mon, Ackerman,” you mumble under your breath, flexing your left hand to give your body something to do — to avoid pulling the trigger too fast on a rescue operation.

He was explicit about not coming for him.

He was explicit and he was stupid to think you’d never come for him.

He was stupid to think—

“James!”

A panicked, shrill voice, however, sounds from the street.

You whip your attention to the east, taking your eyes off of the skyline for a belated beat.

The rogue voice screeches with urgency a second time.

“James!”

It's young and feminine and terrified.

You shift a boot towards the sound, squeezing the metal handles in your palms with your index fingers at the ready.

“Hey! Where is she? Please, tell me James is here.”

She seems out of breath, like she ran a great distance to get here.

You draw a line with your sight from where her footsteps originated: she came from the south.

Most of your units are pushed towards the north, where Levi stated the job would take place.

One of the seasoned lackeys, a younger man, grunts to her in response. “Who’s askin’?”

“I need to speak with James,” she urges, ignoring his question with a wavering tone. “Please—”

“She’s busy, kid,” the second man replies. “Spit it out if somethin’—”

“They caught Levi!”

Her shriek almost makes your foot slip, causing a roof shingle to dislodge.

Time ceases to exist.

Levi.

Below you hear the young men argue with her and the exchange of pleas that follow, but there is no distinction of sound to you. Their words are muddied as if your head has been dunked underwater.

You can't run to her. Anxiety grabs you by the scruff of your neck to hold you in place.

What's wrong with Levi?

Move.

Did something happen to Levi?

Move.

Without thinking, your hand ignites the ODM switch in your left hand to propel a spear into the stone wall from across the street.

You swiftly swing down from your perch, finally catching a glimpse of the girl in question:

The girl — you remember her first name being Lucy — is as pale as a ghost. Her entire body trembles like a decaying leaf, as though she’s witnessed something horrific that she can’t scrub from her line of sight.

(What the hell did she see?)

Her shoulders relax once she spies your face, but not enough to quell your concern when tears well into her eyes.

“James! Oh my god, you’re here,” Lucy breathes, taking a step forward like you’re willing to console her with a comforting arm. "I tried to get here as fast as I—"

“Repeat what you just said about Ackerman,” you demand without solace. “Now.”

You take one pace back, ignoring the spike in your heart rate as the scenario snowballs in your mind’s eye.

From your peripheral vision, you see several others from the gang join the fray.

The two other lookouts on Lucy’s team run down the tiny guarded street, equally out of breath and panicked.

“We saw it happen in the southeast corner!” one of the running girls exclaim.

You — and the rest of the gang — turn in that direction. You can feel your throat seize.

He said the job was going to be in the northern half of the city.

How the fuck did they end up in the south quadrant?

"We followed them when the job changed course," Lucy explains as if she can read your mind. "Levi ordered Furlan and Isabel to cut south. Too many MPs were waiting in the north."

"But the job was in the north," you numbly reason.

“It might have been a trap, we don't know!" she desperately chirps. "A bunch of MPs went after them on ODM gear so we followed by foot. They were chasing Furlan through the streets. A few of them fell back and we thought maybe they gave up, but then a bunch of new people came out of nowhere and they all had green cloaks with wings—”

“Wings?” you snap, unable to stop your eyes from widening.

You whip your attention back to the young girl. Lucy cowers at your unyielding gaze.

“...yeah,” she answers, meek and uncertain. “They didn’t have the same jackets as the MPs. They had wings on their backs, on the cloaks and the jackets.”

A cloud of fearful whispers spreads like wildfire through the small crowd, infecting the minds of the reconnaissance team under your command.

It isn’t uncommon anymore for the Military Police patrolling the Underground to show up with ODM gear. It used to be a rarity, but now? They know better than to show up empty-handed.

Years of embarrassment have taught the thick-headed MPs a valuable lesson.

But green cloaks — and wings?

You can’t be mistaken by their meaning:

The Scout Regiment.

The military branch where suckers with death wishes band together to expire. They seek to explore the unknown, taking off on brainless expeditions past the city walls and into whatever Hell awaits on the other side.

(Why the fuck would they send the goddamn suicide squad to the Underground?)

You don’t need to live on the surface to know the stories: a third of Scout recruits barely make it past their first mission. And by the end of their first service year, the death toll rises to half.

The only dumbasses left standing with the Wings of Freedom on their back are those who desperately want to die but can never find the right titan to eat them.

And, according to the stories, their missions beyond Wall Maria always come up empty-handed.

A thought passes through your mind like a papercut, stinging your blood cells with the very real possibility that they’ve turned their efforts inward — whether at the demand of the king or the disappointment of the people paying their salaries is unclear.

(Is the Underground City their new playground?)

If so, then Levi — this gang — could very well be their first dedicated target.

“Where?”

The word spills out of your mouth, starting in your mind as a demand but dissolving to a murmur.

Going, running, to wherever the Military Police — or God forbid, the Scout Regiment — have your friends is the only plan of action you can think of.

You’re supposed to make sure the people here are fine.

The need to run — go, go, go — far outweighs your logic.

“I…” The girl falters.

You hate how your voice erupts in the wake of your fear. “Where, Lucy?!”

“I don’t know! I lost track of them!” she yelps, squeezing her amber eyes shut. The hands at her sides are balled into tight, painful fists. “Isabel and Furlan got taken down by some MPs, but Levi kept going on ODM gear. He outran most of the MPs, but there was a man, a tall blonde guy, who—”

“Was he a Scout?” you press on, gritting your teeth. “Did you see the Wings of Freedom?”

“The fucking Scouts are here?” someone yelps behind you. “Oh, shit, dude. Oh, man…”

“What the hell are they doing down here?” another asks next to him. “They don’t fuck with the Underground!”

“Did the Wall missions fail?” an older girl asks under her breath. “Are they coming to wipe all of the Underground City out now?”

“Quiet,” you order, holding up a hand. It takes tensing your arm to keep the limb from shaking. “Lucy: where did you last see Levi?”

“The blonde man chased him out of the sky and into the streets. No one knows. We couldn’t see where they went, but it… I’m so sorry, James.”

Lucy’s voice is so small that you barely hear her.

All you can focus on is his voice ringing in your head, a whisper against the thin line of white noise filling your body.

Protect them.

You’re ready.

You’re so ready to fire up your ODM gear to chase after him, to fight off every single bastard who thinks about laying a finger on your friends.

We won’t get arrested. We’re too fast on ODM gear.

“What do we do, James?”

The MPs won’t stand a chance.

“Can she hear us? Is she freaking out?”

You want me to be the last person standing.

“James!”

Lucy shrieks in your face, breaking your delusion.

You blink back into your body to see a dozen faces staring back at you in various stages of grief.

Fear.

You focus on the way a tear streams down Lucy’s youthful face. It brings you back to when you picked her up off the streets. A kid, just like you, looking for food scraps and shelter — her mother had passed away at a young age, leaving her to fend for herself.

You knew what that was like, so you promised protection. A roof over her head. Food in her belly.

A chance at life.

Just like he once gave to you.

Now you’re the only leader left standing. The other three are either arrested — or worse.

You’re all that stands between dragging her back to the streets or pushing her to the gallows.

(You’re all anyone in this gang has.)

I need you to be safe.

Levi’s voice tickles the outer shell of your ear, whispering past despite the dead wind.

You want to hate him. You really do.

But you promised.

Lucy’s lower lip trembles as she takes a step forward.

This time you stay put, too frozen from the numbness in your body.

“James… please, tell us: what do we do?”

You don’t know.

You wish you did, but you don’t know.

You want to tell them to run, to run as fast as they can and never look back.

You want to tell them that you don’t know how to do this without Isabel or Furlan.

You want to tell them you’d rather die than know a life without Levi.

But you promised.

I’ll keep them safe.

I know you will. Echoing in your mind like an omen. I trust you.

“If they’re arrested, then the MPs will be storming the apartment at any minute.”

You finally answer without an ounce of emotion. You can’t stomach thinking past protocol.

“We don’t have time to get our stuff. Organize yourselves into teams of three. Find the safe houses and don't come out until you hear from me. Take a single runner out to Roxy’s. They owe me a few favors, so they should give you table scraps until this blows over.”

“Are you getting Ackerman?” An older girl holding onto her brother’s small shoulders pipes up from your right.

“And Church?” Another person asks. “Magnolia?”

Refusing to think further than the present crisis, you shake your head.

“They all knew the risks of this heist. Right now, my priority is keeping everyone here safe. So go — and avoid detection the best you can. Leave the rest to me, alright?"

You pause, making eye contact with those staring at you. In front of you is a gradient of nerves.

(Everyone knows the risks of running with a gang in the Underground, no matter the price.)

"I said go, goddamnit!”

At your shouted order, most don’t hesitate to run.

The crowd forms into smaller clusters of refugees as they run towards the emergency routes you’ve mapped a hundred times before.

You don’t have time to panic.

You don’t have time to mourn about what could have been.

(A house gleaming in the sunlight with its windows open. The scent of a fresh meal being cooked. The soft meow overlapping over pleasant conversation about nothing at all.)

After all, you made a promise —

And if three of the Underground’s most notorious gang leaders have been caught, then it’s only a matter of time until the manhunt ends with you.

Week after week, your numbers dwindle.

Day in and day out, houses are raided for anyone associated with Ackerman, Church, and Magnolia.

Bars, brothels, and drug dens are scoured for that missing puzzle piece.

Military Police, emboldened by their victory, are adamant to find anyone involved in their gang.

Most found are arrested.

Some offer information for a chance at immunity.

By the fourth week, the gang dissolves into half of its original number.

However, the rampant pursuit slows after the sixth week, and by the seventh, the Military Police stop searching.

The city becomes boisterous again for an entirely different reason, falling back to its routes of debauchery and strife.

Panic of those still in hiding twists into remorse, remorse into doubt, and soon the doubt creeps into what was once an impenetrable fortress.

And somewhere you failed.

Maybe it was because you kept your promise and never went after Levi, Isabel, and Furlan the day they disappeared.

Maybe it was because no one ever saw them again, creating a shroud of mystery in their disappearances. Most people assumed they were arrested and tortured for information. Others hoped they were able to at least die in a merciful way.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because you gave up.

The longer you fought without your three friends, the longer you ran around the Underground City hiding from authority, the harder it became to remember why you were trying so hard to be the last person standing.

Hiding with nothing to go back to — that was what waited for you at the end of all of this.

To make new headquarters on mere piles of rubble, alone.

People continue to get caught.

People continue to lose their lives.

You were ready—

Ready to give up.

Ready to join the fate of so many others.

Ready to lose.

(All things considered, you had a good run.)

Eight weeks.

It takes eight whole weeks for someone to finally rat you out.

In exchange for immunity, a scared newcomer snitched to the Military Police about the location of your hideout — and you can’t blame them.

The Underground City has always been a dog-eat-dog pit.

That, however, doesn’t mean you don’t still run.

The crisp, metallic zip of the pulley cuts the air every time you push through the alleyways, leaving the Military Police unit in the dust. Wind frays your hair, whipping pieces of it into your face as you run along brick walls and push for the a momentous swing.

It has been weeks of these chases, all evaded in the dust, but something feels different about this pursuit.

The officers feel confident this time.

Ready.

Another unit of MPs pursue on foot, shouting and taunting for your surrender, but they're no match for your swift escape.

The two officers following with ODM gear cannot match the sharpness of your turns.

You don’t know why you keep running.

Why can’t you just stop running?

In your lingering rage you almost want to turn back, take a knife, and attack.

To earn the heaviness of a murder charge on your shoulders.

You want to lash out—

To make someone hurt—

But you just keep running.

In your time of solitude, you've wondered how the end of all things went that day. Did those pigs take turns kicking Furlan with his hands tied behind his back? Did they drag Isabel through the street? Did they cut out Levi's tongue for back talk?

You hope they gave the MPs hell.

The imaginative injustices — the cruelty — fuels your fantasy of revenge.

Through another alleyway and into the streets, you latch onto another building and swing to your left to continue through the streets of—

Wait.

Skirting around a corner, you see something briefly whip around a corner in a cloud of exhaust.

(Was that emerald?)

Your attention turns to the distinct color that entered your line of sight before it disappears.

Your eyes widen with recognition, but it's too late.

You failed again.

One look to your side is all it takes for a solid, heavy object to slam straight into you from the opposite direction, knocking a spear clean out of the neighboring wall.

The ODM gear jolts, causing you to jerk and drop abruptly to the dirt beneath. Your forearms shield your face from the dirt and debris as your body skids across the dirt path.

Before you even realize what's happening, you're scrambling to your feet. Metal clangs from the jostled handles in your palms as you push yourself up.

Your right arm reels back, fist clenched, and flies in an attempt to connect — and it does.

The punch lands directly in someone's face. The bone crunches under you knuckles.

A person yells in pain and grabs their nose, giving you ample opportunity to attack further. Your leg swings, kicking your boot square into their abdomen. You recognize the way their breath squelches: the wind rips right out of their lungs.

You want them to feel pain, just as you’ve felt pain.

You want them to suffer, just as you've suffered.

It doesn't matter who they are.

When the attacker is incapacitated, you make a choice: you turn the opposite direction, taking off into a sprint.

And you run, if only for a few seconds.

Because that very same emerald flash appears in your peripheral vision.

In just one breath, your feet get tangled up and send you flying to the ground you'd just found yourself lying upon.

A pair of hands suddenly tug at the back of your shirt, pushing you further into the muddied street. A forceful forearm presses down harder, pinning you to the ground. A pebble digs into your cheekbone, its jagged edge slicing into your skin.

Trapped.

You grit your teeth, fighting the painful hold with everything you have. You shout and yell like a woman possessed, kicking your boots deeper into the Earth to propel forward, but you can't move.

(Give up — why can’t you just give up?)

Then a deep baritone voice pulls you from your erratic defenses, smooth like honey.

“James.”

Your last name on a stranger's tongue makes your stomach churn.

You continue fighting, digging the toe of your boot further for purchase.

Suddenly pain explodes in your scalp. Something pulls your chin high from the crown on your head, forcing your attention to the sky. What greets you is a tall, built figure above.

From the street lamp, you see it’s a man — early thirties, broad shouldered, with piercing blue eyes and neatly-combed blonde hair.

This mysterious man stares down at you, standing at full height. He doesn't acknowledge the person holding you down, knotting your hair in their balled fist.

One after the other, two more emerald cloaks drop down from the sky, their faces obscured by their hoods.

Blinking away from his face, you see it: his tan, cropped jacket, with white and blue wings outstretched against one another, pointing high with dignity.

The Wings of Freedom.

It's the Survey Corps, in the flesh.

“Four whole Scouts for little old me?” you chide.

The person holding you down rips your torso up higher, causing an immense strain in your spine.

You wince at the sensation of nearly being broken in half but refuse to make noise.

They don't get that satisfaction, not yet.

(You've felt worse.)

The blonde man above you does not react. He continues to stare, however, when he addresses another in his squadron.

“Get her up on her knees, Miche.”

The man behind you — presumably Miche — yanks you from the dirt to settle you on your calves. Without your arms to support you, you’re left floundering at his will.

“What?” you ask through clenched teeth. "Are the Scouts so bored of getting eaten alive that they've come to the Underground on a field trip?”

The man makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. His crystal blue eyes slide slowly from the crown of your head, past your face, then rest at your chest.

“Surface made?” he comments in a languid, baritone voice.

When you jostle against Miche's grip on your back, a feather-esque sensation brushes across your sternum.

Then you realize:

He’s staring at your necklace.

“Stolen?” the blonde man asks again, and venom poisons your tongue at his slander. Somehow you manage to hold a response.

You sneer instead, turning your attention to the side of a building.

A painful beat passes.

You hear the man’s boots near, crunching under packed dirt.

“My name is Commander Erwin Smith, of the Survey Corps," he introduces, not fazed by your lack of cooperation. "I was informed that you’re not only the muscle of this operation, but one of its four founding leaders. Is this true?”

He’s met with another stretch of silence.

“Handling operations for seven weeks without the help of your comrades is impressive.”

Another step.

“Or has it been closer to eight?”

“What do you want, surface scum?” you finally murmur, eyes locked on a particular patch of moss growing at the foundation of the building.

He exhales through his nose, contemplating. You continue to look away.

“Your protection is gone, James," Erwin begins. "Your gang, eradicated. Your people have fled — abandoned you, to save themselves.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell him.

Erwin evades your feigned ignorance. “A bounty has been on your head for two months. You’ve done all you can to avoid detection, but from where I stand, I see someone out of options.”

Your nostrils flare, unwilling to betray yourself in the face of the truth.

He isn’t wrong — it’s been the end of the line for weeks now.

You’ve run on borrowed time and a promise you barely believe in anymore.

You’re so tired.

“The Military Police would be glad to round out their gallows with someone responsible for embarrassing them so thoroughly.”

Is that where Levi ended up, in the gallows next to Isabel and Furlan?

(Are they no longer alive, just as everyone suspected?)

When you continue to stare at the adjacent wall, the man behind you tugs at your mangled hair and rips your focus back to the man in front of you.

The toe of the Commander’s boot is in line with your muddied knee.

From this angle, he's practically on top of you.

“However, I believe the finality of a noose is a great waste of potential talent.”

His eyes bore into yours when he slowly, carefully, drops to your height. His ivory-white knee plants gently into the dirt.

You blink up to his face, unable to suppress your confusion.

“Potential talent?” you hiss back, ignoring the searing pain in your scalp. “What is this, a pitch?”

The Commander hums. “I don’t pretend to know how extensive your crimes are, James. What I do know, however, is that you have an out.”

“Yeah?” you ask. “And what’s that, O' Golden One?”

Erwin’s eyes drop to the ground, so you follow suit without moving your head. From the edge of your vision you see it — the ODM gear still hooked around your hips.

“How long did it take you to properly handle ODM gear?” he asks with a genuine intrigue.

“Barely took me a week,” you lie under your breath.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he agrees. “Most of our recruits take months, sometimes even years, to masterfully scale the way you can.”

“Sounds shitty to me.”

“In a way.” A beat passes. Commander Erwin’s jaw sets. “Which is why I’m asking you to join the Scout Regiment under my command.”

You can’t help it — the anger disappears in a bark of a laugh.

It’s a request you never see coming, not a million years or a thousand lifetimes.

You’ve avoided the Military Police for weeks, only for a Scout to offer you… what? A twisted version of salvation in his army?

The words blurt out of your mouth faster than you can help it.

“Join the Scouts?” He nods once to your yelp of a question. “Are you fucking insane?”

“Are you?” Erwin challenges. “Both options lead to your death. The only difference is choosing to make your death matter.”

“A noose or being eaten alive,” you snidely respond. “Gosh, Commander, which sounds less painful?”

“What do you think your friends would have selected, if given a choice?”

The swiftly-timed question is a punch straight to your gut.

Unable to stop your eyes from widening, you hate how your blood chills with panic.

How you can see that glint in the commander’s eyes when he’s finally, finally, caught your weak spot.

Seeing the visceral reaction, he continues. "Before they expired, would they have chosen to die here? Or would they have chosen a new life."

Was he saying…?

Was he saying they were already dead?

Isabel. Furlan.

Le…

Your lower lip trembles as you hold back from thinking about that final name.

You barely recognize your own voice when you speak, low and dangerous.

“How dare you…”

Erwin’s gaze is unwavering. “I’m asking you—”

“Don’t talk about them.”

“—what would they have chosen.”

“I said don’t talk about them!” you shout in his face, losing your cool.

His chin tilts a fraction of an inch, expression stoic.

“Then what about your fellow comrades, the people who laid down their lives for your safety — would they have wanted a chance?”

Despite yourself, you push with your boot to propel towards the blonde. “You disgusting piece of sh— fuck!”

Miche rips your head back impossibly further, exposing your neck to the Commander. Erwin stands tall, pulling out a long sword from its metal sheath. The cool, sharp end of the blade rests against your throat.

If he wanted to, he could end your life right here in the streets.

If he wanted to, he could make this so much easier on you.

But he won’t.

This isn’t about ease.

It’s about power, control — total submission.

A part of you wants to push against the blade to make it easier.

No noose. No titans.

Just here.

But you promised.

Last one standing.

“...what happened to them?” you ask, unable to stop the crack in your voice.

If this is it, then you might as well know.

Commander Erwin keeps his blade held towards you. “I don’t know.”

“But it was you that day, wasn’t it?” You ease down to your knees again. Miche loosens his hold on your body. “You're the one that went after them two months ago. When there was a heist, it wasn’t just MPs chasing them. There were Scouts—”

“I don’t have all day, James.”

He interrupts the beginning of your emotional spiral with cutthroat apathy. His arm lowers when you do not retaliate.

“Your hand-to-hand combat expertise is needed within our regiment. Combine that with your unique ODM handling, and I see a formidable redemption in your future—”

He continues to speak, detailing your servitude should you accept his terms.

You can feel the fight, the fire, ebbing to dying ember.

You’re so tired.

You’re so done with running.

(I’m so sorry, Levi.)

“—and you would presume a title under my command, the rank of a Lieutenant—”

“Wait.”

He pauses when you speak up, catching the oddity of his words. Your lifeless vision connects with his.

“Lieutenants don’t exist in your shitty Scout Corps.”

Erwin nods. “That’s correct. Lieutenants do not."

"Then why..."

"A title will deter animosity. Those who look down at you cannot question your authority."

"Because I'm not from the surface," you reason.

"Yes," he says.

"You're willing to give me an edge on the rest of your people. Why?" You watch him, trying to figure him out before he tells you for himself. “Why not just make me regular front-line titan fodder?”

Erwin seems to consider this, if only for a beat.

Then he speaks with an unshakable certainty:

“Because you know what it means to survive. That, in itself, is vital.”

Your shoulders slump as your body shuts down from the eternal fight.

So this is a choice, but it’s no choice at all.

Your life will not matter in the Scouts. The commander is right: you will die, perhaps not today, but at least choosing the Scouts guarantees the sunrise one single time.

Just like you once promised you'd see with the three of your friends.

And in the moment you mourn — the loss of your friends, the loss of your life, what could have been if that job really had worked out.

(What does it matter when you die, so long as it's soon?)

You grip onto a sense of hopelessness like a vice.

Grief.

Then—

Rage.

As swift as a sudden earthquake, you feel it tremble from your shins to your knees, up your torso and through your heart, filling every red hot blood cell in your body.

It was him.

You’re so sure of it.

Commander Erwin would have been the one responsible for turning Levi, Furlan, and Isabel into the Military Police. He was the one who would have sent your friends to their deaths — or did he kill them himself?

And if he was the one to kill them, then why would he offer you a choice to escape?

(Was this the same choice he gave the others?)

Levi would have never agreed to the Scouts. Furlan, Isabel — they would have followed whatever he chose.

They must have died the very day the heist went wrong eight weeks ago.

It’s why Erwin won’t confirm or deny their fates.

Sickness floods your body, but you hold onto the one thing that will keep their spark with you.

That rage.

They really think you’ll comply.

They really think you won’t burn and take the Scout Regiment down with you.

You’ll kill him.

You’ll kill Commander Erwin Smith, then Miche, then every single Scout that steps into your path until someone’s smart enough to take you down themselves.

“Fine, then.”

You speak, knowing your word is as doomed as the fire in your veins.

“I’ll do it."

You meet Erwin's intense gaze, signing your fate with blood on the dotted line.

"I’ll join the Scouts.”

author's note: I'm glad we collectively giggled and screamed and kicked our feet in the last few chapters. It was a marvelous time. Now I'm out here ruining everything.

tag list: @lazylizzy3 @notgoodforlife @sad-darksoul @dailydoseof-love @maliakealoha @nube55 @kateastrophies @blinkingsuns @gomigami @voidszoro @tanyeonn @chishiyasan @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @vigilancio @nomi98 @urfavcelestialangel @milkersonmac @blossomedfloweroflove @carries-blenders-and-stuff @hurtcomfortwhore

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bratshaws · 1 year ago

Text

through the hourglass.311 brb x oc

a/n: OH BOY, stuff will be answered in the coming chapters (comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: none uwu

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

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/302/303/304/305/306/307/308/309/310

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! )

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @novastories @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix @lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2

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The soft glow of morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm embrace over the room. Beatrice relished these moments of quiet solitude before the demands of the day unfolded. She sat up in bed, the oversized shirt enveloping her like a comforting cocoon,a cocoon that smelled like Rooster.

A faint smile played on her lips as she surveyed the room, the remnants of Rooster's presence embedded in every corner: a framed photo captured a candid moment of them laughing on a lazy Sunday afternoon, one of the first pictures they took together after getting married.

A half-empty bottle of cologne stood proudly on top of the bathroom sink, its scent lingering in the air like a trace of his essence. Next to it was a small shaving cream and razor, she always made sure to check if it was standing still on the little stand.

Beatrice swung her legs off the bed, the cool floor meeting the warmth of her bare feet. She padded over to the bathroom, the door creaking softly as she pushed it open. The sight of Rooster's toothbrush next to hers brought a soft smile to her face. She reached for her toothpaste, and looked back at the shower stall.

The shower curtain hung loosely, the scent of his preferred body wash lingering in the air even with him being gone for almost a month now. A single towel on the hook, his favorite, was there, clean, of course because…he could come back earlier. She spits the toothpaste off and rubs her eyes before going back to the bedroom.

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees as she opened the curtains, the sky was that shade of pastel pink and baby lilac she adored so much.

As she stood by the window, a soft ping echoed through the room. Beatrice turned to see her phone lighting up with a message. She knew it was a text from Rooster, a simple "Good morning, love" accompanied by a heart emoji was seen when she picked it up. She couldn't help but smile, typing back a response, “Good night to you,handsome.”

Roos (06:01)

Wish me luck? We’ll leave in a few hours to do the mission.

Beatrice's fingers danced over the phone's screen as she crafted her response.

Bea (06:03)

Luck is on your side, always, Roos. Come back to me safely.

She hit send, her eyes lingering on the screen as if the words could magically reach him faster. The anticipation of each mission never lessened, and the distance between them during these times seemed to stretch indefinitely. She took a deep breath, reminding herself of the routine she'd cultivated to manage the ache of his absence.

With a glance at the clock, she realized she had a few hours before her own mission started. Soon the kids would wake up and she’d have t– there was someone downstairs. She pauses, going immediately still as she hears something falling on the ground. Beatrice headed downstairs, with Jolene right behind her, why wasn’t Eleanor barking if there was an intruder???

Oh my god.

What if they hurt Eleanor??

She grabs an umbrella on the way down, the sudden ‘i must protect my cubs’ feeling came strong and Beatrice chewed on her lower lip. Beatrice felt a knot forming in her stomach. The soft padding of her footsteps on the hardwood floor seemed to echo in the otherwise silent house. As she reached the bottom of the staircase, she hesitated for a moment, listening intently.

Another sound, a muffled clatter, reached her ears, and her instincts kicked in. She moved quietly, taking measured steps towards the kitchen. The familiar scent of coffee lingered in the air, but it was accompanied by an unfamiliar presence. Beatrice's mind raced through the possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last.

She hated being anxious.

Beatrice tightened her grip on the umbrella, her pulse quickening with each step. As she entered the kitchen, her eyes widened at the sight before her. Shells stood there, a sheepish grin on her face, holding a bag of spilled groceries.

"Shells! What the hell are you doing here?" Beatrice exclaimed, a mix of relief and irritation flooding her.

Shells looked up, eyes widening at the sight of Beatrice wielding an umbrella like a weapon. "Whoa, Bea, it's just me! Easy with the umbrella!"

Beatrice blinked, realizing the absurdity of her defensive stance. She lowered the umbrella,furrowing her brows "Shells, you scared the life out of me! Why didn't you just ring the doorbell?"

Shells chuckled nervously, scratching the back of her head. "Uh, I didn't want to wake the kids. You know how they nap."

“Yeah! Because it's six in the morning Shells!”

Shells flashed an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Bea. I didn't think you'd go all ninja warrior on me. I was just trying to surprise you."

Beatrice took a deep breath, the adrenaline slowly subsiding. "Surprise me? At six in the morning with an uninvited entrance? What happened to 'hey, I'm coming over'?"

Shells shrugged, still grinning. "I thought it'd be more fun this way. Besides, I brought breakfast."

Beatrice looked at the spilled groceries and sighed. "Breakfast is on the floor, Shells."

"Yeah, about that..." Shells crouched down to collect the fallen items, her sheepish expression turning into a grin again. "I may have tripped on your welcome mat. It's more of a trip hazard than I thought."

Beatrice rolled her eyes, her initial fear giving way to annoyance. "Breakfast is not supposed to be a surprise attack, Shells. And since when do you bring groceries?"

Shells straightened up, holding the bag triumphantly. "Since today! I figured I'd treat you to a surprise breakfast. You know, to lighten the mood with Rooster away on a mission."

Beatrice sighed, her irritation softening into a smile. Shells, despite her unconventional entrance, meant well. "Well, thanks for the thought, but I hope you brought more than what's on the floor."

Shells grinned, pointing at the bag. "Fear not, babes. I've got eggs, bacon, and all the essentials for a breakfast feast. I'll even clean up the mess. Consider it an apology for the unintentional scare."

Beatrice couldn't help but laugh at Shells' antics. "You're lucky I didn't hit you with the umbrella.” she says, nodding at the closed accessory, “Also,since when do you cook?"

Shells feigned offense, placing a hand over her heart. "Bea, I'm wounded! I'll have you know that I've been watching cooking shows lately. I'm practically a culinary genius now."

"Cooking shows make you a genius? Well, if you say so. Just don't burn down my kitchen."

Shells mock saluted. "No promises, but I'll do my best, Captain."

As they set about salvaging the groceries and preparing breakfast, the tension that had gripped Beatrice began to ease. The early morning scare morphed into a lighthearted exchange, and Shells' infectious energy had a way of melting away anxieties.

"So, spill it, Shells. What's the real reason for this surprise breakfast?" Beatrice asked, sitting on her chair with her eyes noticing Eleanor chewing on a nice treat outside, “Also,did you give Eleanor a treat so she didn’t bark?”

“Yep."

Beatrice raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Well, that’s fine–”

Shells nodded, her expression turning serious. "I also lost sleep and couldn’t really call aunt Penny so.”

“Oh."

“Yeah…”

“...You..never complained about nightmares.”

Shells sighed, her gaze dropping to the pan as she cooked. "It's just... I had a rough night. Couldn't shake them off, you know?"

“Care to share, or is it classified information?"

Shells chuckled, but it held a touch of vulnerability. "Maybe a bit classified, but you know how it is. The usual stuff."

Beatrice nodded, sympathy etched across her features. "Yeah, I get it. Is it…does it have to do with your m-."

“Nah I never dream about her.”Shells glanced up,lips pursed “She’s dead so, what do I care? No this one was…I guess it’s the overall stress, you know? With the bar and all.”

"I'm sorry you had a rough night. Stress does crazy things to our minds, especially when you're dealing with a lot."

"Yeah," Shells replied, the sizzle of bacon filling the air as she focused on the cooking. "I just needed a change of scenery, you know? And what better way to change things up than surprising you with breakfast?"

Beatrice smiled, appreciating Shells' attempt to lighten the mood. "Well, I appreciate the effort. And for the record, you're not allowed to lose sleep over nightmares without telling me. We're in this together, remember?"

Shells grinned, flipping the bacon with practiced ease. "Got it, babes. No more solo missions into the realm of bad dreams. I'll inform you in advance next time."

As the aroma of breakfast filled the kitchen, Shells set the table with a mismatched collection of plates and utensils. Beatrice couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for her friend's spontaneous gesture. In the midst of the chaos surrounding Rooster's mission and the uncertainties with Mark and Miranda, Shells' presence brought a much-needed moment of peace.

They sat down to eat, the bacon crispy, the eggs perfectly scrambled, and the toast buttered to perfection. Shells raised her fork in a mock salute. "To surprise breakfasts and conquering the nightmares."

Beatrice clinked her fork against Shells', a smile playing on her lips. "To unexpected rescues and facing the unknown together."

Was he surprised the mission was a success?

No.

Was he surprised that Mark was acting weird?

Also no.

The adrenaline that had fueled their dogfight began to ebb away, leaving them with the tangible weight of fatigue. Rooster, standing by his jet, surveyed the tarmac as ground crews worked efficiently to refuel and inspect the fighter planes.

Mark lingered nearby, his posture tense and shoulders squared. Rooster observed him discreetly, noting the way other pilots seemed to avoid direct interaction with him. It was as if an invisible barrier surrounded Mark, isolating him from the everyone else.

Rooster decided to approach, his steps deliberate and his expression neutral. As he neared, Mark glanced up, meeting Rooster's gaze with a guarded look.

"Good work out there, Mark," Rooster acknowledged, his tone even. "The mission was a success."

Mark's response was a curt nod, his eyes flitting away. "Just doing my part."

Rooster furrowed his brow. "Is there something on your mind, Mark?"

Mark hesitated, his jaw tight. "Nothing, sir. Just focused on the mission, that's all."

Rooster regarded him for a moment, weighing the words. "Mark, we're a team. If there's anything you need to talk about—"

"I appreciate the sentiment, Rooster, but I've got it under control," Mark interjected, his tone firm. "No need to worry."

Rooster's gaze lingered, a sense of unease settling in. He decided to press further, despite Mark's resistance. "I've noticed some tension among the recruits. Is everything okay on your end?"

Mark's eyes narrowed, a flicker of defensiveness crossing his face. "Recruits come and go. It's the nature of the job."

Oh.

Rooster’s eyes darkened immediately.

“...How so,Mark?”

Mark's jaw tightened, and a hint of frustration flashed in his eyes. "They're inexperienced. They slow us down. We have to pick up the slack, cover for their mistakes. It's like babysitting sometimes."

Rooster's expression remained steady, though the tension in the air thickened. "Well Mark, they're part of the squadron. We work as a team, and that means supporting each other, especially when someone is still learning the ropes."

Mark scoffed, a bitter edge to his voice. "Supporting them doesn't mean coddling them, Rooster. We have a standard to uphold, and if they can't meet it, they shouldn't be here."

"Training and mentoring are part of leadership, Mark. It's not about lowering standards but helping others rise to meet them. That's how we become a stronger, more cohesive unit."

Mark's gaze hardened, the resentment beneath the surface becoming more apparent. "Maybe some of us don't have the luxury of time for mentorship, Rooster. Maybe some of us have more pressing matters to attend to."

Rooster's eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you getting at, Mark?"

Mark hesitated, as if contemplating whether to reveal more. “I-I…” Roosted flicked his eyebrow and the other pilot gulped, all the bravado disappearing, “Just…the breach and all,we are all…o-on edge.”

Rooster regarded Mark with a scrutinizing gaze. The mention of the breach seemed to hang heavily between them, an unspoken understanding that there might be more beneath the surface.

Rooster decided to tread carefully, not wanting to escalate the tension further.

"The breach has everyone on edge, Mark. I get that," Rooster replied, his voice measured. "But we don’t go letting your anger out on the recruits." he knew it wasn’t that, he knew what McAllister told him was true.

Mark's shoulders tensed, and for a moment, it seemed like he might say something more. However, he bit back the words, his expression hardening once again. "Okay,uh, thank you, Rooster."

“Mhm.”

“A-Are you going to talk to Vice-Admiral Simpson?”

“I might.” Rooster whispered, “He has to know about the mission,right?”

Mark shifted uncomfortably, a glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. "I suppose. But I'm sure he's already aware of everything. We did accomplish the mission, after all."

"Accomplishing the mission is part of the job, Mark. But I'm also concerned about the internal dynamics within the squadron. We need trust and cohesion to operate effectively."

Mark's jaw clenched, the frustration evident. "I'm doing my job, Rooster. Don't question my dedication."

"I'm not questioning your dedication, Mark. I'm questioning your approach. We need unity, especially now with the breach. If there's something you're not telling me, I need to know."

Mark's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and reluctance. "I told you, Rooster. I've got it under control."

Rooster's expression remained steadfast. "I'll take that as a temporary answer. But if whatever you're dealing with starts affecting the squadron, it becomes my concern."

With that, Rooster turned away, leaving Mark standing with a storm of emotions brewing within him.

He had to figure this shit out.

Now.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x named reader #tgm oc #tgm fic #tgm fanfiction

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graymer · 4 months ago

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it’s almost definitely not the same magnolia tree considering. the mess that is paris. but it does look so similar.

and the Implications that that carries like. the luggage(literal) that both armand and louis carry from paris is still very much unresolved. and the tree in dubai is covered in flowers—not a single leaf in sight, or the part of the tree that actually gathers energy to sustain it. it’s covered top to bottom in performative, flowery gestures

#iwtv #interview with the vampire #IT STINKS FROM TOP TO BOTTOM GANG

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televinita · 3 months ago

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Highlights of my Half Price Books Labor Day sale store tour (sightings & purchases edition):

Things Of Interest I Saw & Didn't Get:

-Both Flawless and Heartless by Elsie Silver. flipped through one out of curiosity, and JESUS CHRIST no I will not be reading those ever, ew.

-Magnolia Parks (incredibly ugly what-in-the-generic-2000s-chick-lit newer/traditionally published edition)

Side note: I really appreciate that at least my local branch has committed to putting the smuttier romance novels, even the popular ones (ex. Anna Huang's Kings Of... series), into their "erotica" section. It doesn't mean the ones in regular Romance are necessarily better, but it does help confirm which ones are guaranteed eyeball poison. I hope it also gives some people enough pause to think about their life and choices, confront what they're actually into instead of tee-heeing about ~spice~.

-The Bright Side by Kim Holden, newer & prettier cover edition, a book on my TBR that I can only get through I.L.L., but alas, the spine was not only wrinkled but fully bent into a backwards C. No, we're not spending more than $2 on that condition. >:( (bonus, now that I've had a chance to flip through it...eh, maybe I'm not that interested after all, the writing style doesn't feel that polished)

-The paperback edition of Fangirl with green sprayed edges and 2 color illustrations...which I should have but didn't realize were new for this edition, along with a new introduction, and damn, now I'm kinda mad at myself.

-If one were so inclined, one could have bought nearly the entirety of Colleen Hoover's backlist, including novellas, at a single location. You could do that at one of two locations, in fact.

-The Once Upon a Book Club special edition of A Diamond in London, in the regular section so I think no more than $10, with all its paper ephemera tucked inside. (tempting, but I already turned down an option to buy the full box on eBay for $30, in part because while beautiful, I'm not that enthused by the story. btw, fascinating that it's not listed on their website -- unless it was bought in the last 6 hours, they only have the trade paperback listed, and then this edition at $40).

-Dorothy Lyons horse book! Midnight Moon, for $35. It IS rare, but that's still more than I paid for my copy, and this one had a bit of the top of the spine bitten or torn off, no dust jacket either.

-Young Warriors: Stories of Strength, ed. Tamora Pierce, even though it was under $4, because I practiced miraculous restraint and reminded myself that I can get this through interlibrary loan and I'm literally only interested in her story and her introduction. How I had the strength to do this and still lost my mind later on is unknown, but at least I showed ONE ounce of restraint today.

-The massive Harry Potter World of Stickers book (truly tempting. but even $11.20 (the price after discount), while a great deal objectively, is a lot for stickers I know i won't use / a thick, heavy hardcover)

THINGS I GOT: (might photograph later but absolutely cannot guarantee it)

-A Mimi Matthews book! (Gentleman Jim, regrettably in its uglier original cover rather than the series-matching Perfectly Proper Press one but I'll still take it for access reasons)

-TWO Betty Cavanna books! (ugly Berkley Highland mass-market photo cover editions, and not ones I know or or am that excited about -- A Time for Tenderness and Stars In Her Eyes -- but I will literally buy anything from her. Also they were $3 each and came in plastic sleeves and, if ugly, are at least in perfect condition).

-Speaking of mass market vintage children's paperbacks in plastic sleeves, The Ghost of Five Owl Farm by Wilson Gage because I read another one of her books earlier this year and liked it. Also it was only $2.

-Did You Hear About the Morgans on DVD (clearance) so now we shall never be parted. 🥰

-I did in fact get the $3 pink edition of Fangirl, even though its spine is sun-faded, because I have spent fully two years now looking at the regular price of $10 and continually saying no to it. I just wanted the interior art!

-The Once Upon a Book Club special edition of The Lost Melody by Joanna Davidson Politano, also with its paper ephemera tucked inside, because that one I was somewhat tempted by when it was new, just not enough to get the full box. And it's even prettier than The Diamond of London, and it was only $6, even before the sale.

-Book 3 in the Alanna quartet by Tamora Pierce, in the pretty Atheneum trade paperback editions I'm collecting, on clearance for $2! Just one more I need now, I think. But should probably double-check.

-The Princesses of Iowa which wasn't even on my want-to-own list, but I happened to randomly spot it while walking past, where it was misshelved in adult fiction, and that felt like...a sign? Tell me why I spent $4.20 + tax on this though, even if it IS a pristine paperback, just because I felt surprisingly fondly toward it when I read it. (and it's pretty i guess)

-Scripted Unscripted, a random young-end-of-YA novel on clearance because damn it the cover is so cute and also I simply could not walk away from a premise of "daughter who normally helps her dog-trainer father on Hollywood movie sets randomly gets pulled to work in front of the camera."

#congrats to me on my 4th month in a row of being hella restrained on book buying for WEEKS only to blow it in the last few days *sigh*#a day in the life of televinita

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icemde · 6 months ago

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❝ You don't have to worry. I'm not going anywhere, I promise.

❝ You can't keep a promise like that.

❝ Yes I can! Watch me!

A single pinky extended outwards as navy eyes held an intensity never seen before. The notion was ridiculous, childish in nature and they both knew it truly held no real magic, no real promise to bind these simple words as law. Yet despite all that, a chilled finger reached out and wrapped around the other tightly. A large smile broke onto the child's face as they tightened the hold the two digits had upon each other, eyes locked as a simple promise was formed in that moment.

I'm not leaving you. It's you and me, until the end of time. Nothing is taking me.

Most people would have said the dust had settled, that it was all over and it was time to rest. But Gray found himself restless, wandering through what remained of Magnolia. So... so much has happened, and so many people were still unaccounted for, but a single promise remained steadfast in his memory as he climbed through rubble, praying to whatever divine forces were willing to listen that the promise remained.

❝... I'm not going anywhere, I promise.

Hundreds of emotions flashed through his mind at the familiar sight of brunette amongst the rocks and wood, but fear took hold above all else. Injuries and exhaustion damned, Gray moved as quickly as he could, collapsing next to the other and quickly scooping the too limp form to rest their head in his lap. Her arm caught his attention first. Mangled and unrecognizable to the rest of her made the ice mage stomach's churn before attention being brought to the far too shallow breathing.

❝ Shit. Cana ?! Hey, are you awake ?? Cana !!

❝... I'm not going anywhere, I promise

The voice of their childhood returned as Gray summoned his magic to his palm, resting it upon the mangled limb ( who knew if it could even be saved in the state it was in ), panic coursing through him as he thought of the best course of action. Tightening his hold on the other, Gray swallowed the lump in his throat, willing himself not to cry.

❝ Wendy !! Wend-

❝ - so loud.

Sapphire eyes dropped to meet navy, a moment look of confusion dancing across Cana's expression as she processed what was happening. A broken laugh slipped from the ice mage as the tears he was holding back began to slip through is defenses, making the card mage's expression sour more than it already was.

❝ You're crying.

❝ Y-Yeah... for a second I thought you broke our promise.

Cana narrowed her eyes at Gray, moving to lift her dominant arm only for pain to flash over her expression ( Her arm was going to need to be addressed, but in that moment, she didn't deem it necessary ). Shifting ever so slightly, Cana raised her healthy arm in between their locked eyes, a single pinky sticking out.

❝ Last I checked, there's no breaking a pinky promise.

The weak laugh that managed to choke it's way out of Gray was anything but flattering as his perpetually frost bitten pinky locked with hers and tightened with an unspoken conviction.

❝ I guess you're right..

#❄*:·. « drabble. »#arcanaaa #this got away from me #but i... them.#fucking them.

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allthewriteplaces · 2 months ago

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A Magnolia in May - Chapter Twenty Three

Author's note: As promised, here is the 23rd chapter of my Peaky Blinders fanfiction. I know my posts have been sporadic as of late, but while I hope to remedy that soon, I don't want to push myself too far. Hopefully this makes up for my unforgiveable absence, though.

Chapter Summary: Just a fun day with the kids and their mums.

Chapter Warning(s): None

Word Count: 3822

Chapter Twenty-Three

Once again, the house was bustling with activity, not just because Miss Carleton was dropping by for a visit, much to Lizzie’s annoyance, but so was the veterinarian who was supposed to come and check on Grace’s Secret and then Charlie and Ruby had a music recital later on this afternoon and of course the rest of the family couldn’t very well leave without attending the recital so we agreed they could stay a little while longer.

Lizzie really didn’t like her, Miss Carleton, I mean, and it was pretty obvious as to why, but this morning while she and I were washing the dishes after breakfast, she told me the reason she didn’t like her was because she and Thomas had a short fling just before she married him and it was clear that the horse trainer still had feelings for her ex-husband and would do anything in her power to seduce him and have him in the palm of her hand.

Since it was a hot day and the sun was shining high overhead with not a single threatening cloud in sight, Ada, Lizzie, Esme and I decided to take the children down to the lake to swim while Thomas met with Miss Carleton and the veterinarian.

So here we were, walking barefoot down the winding dirt path to the lake with the hot sun blazing down the backs of our necks and the tops of our heads. We were all dressed in more light-weight clothes that we wouldn’t mind getting wet or dirty.

“Is the lake gonna be cold?” asked William.

“It’s a warm day, so it shouldn’t be too cold,” Ada answered.

“I’m more worried about it being dirty,” said Katie.

“I don’t want to swim in dirty water,” Queenie said with a shudder.

Cold and dirty water certainly wouldn’t be an ideal place to swim, that I could agree with. The lake was much bigger and much closer to the city than the pond behind our house back home and there were a few trees there so it was likely that there might have been some twigs and leaves scattered about in there.

Not to mention it wasn’t the sort of water you’d want to accidentally swallow.

“Anyone who doesn’t want to go in the water doesn’t have to go in,” I said, “You can play on the shore and use the water to make sand castles. That’s why we brought some pails and shovels with us.”

“As long as you stay in the shade,” said Ada, “We don’t want you to get sunburnt, even with the lotion on. “Trust me, sunburn is no picnic.”

Charlie, who was walking alongside me, looked up at her. “You got sunburnt?”

She nodded. “When I was a little girl. We didn’t have sunblock back then, so we had to use zinc ointment to protect ourselves.”

“Was it really bad?” asked Ruby, the tone of her voice climbing a little higher.

“No, it just made my arm really, really red, like a big tomato, but Aunt Polly fixed it right up and I got all better. All the pain and redness went away.”

“Oh,” she said. She was quiet for a moment and then added, “Aunt Polly always knows what to do, doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” said Ada, smiling, “she always knows what to do.”

When we got to the lake, the water looked cleaner than we thought, but still, we did a quick scan of the area, making sure there weren’t any shards of glass from wine or beer bottles or pieces of metal that they could step on and that would pierce their skin. Then we gave them the all clear, telling them it was safe to take off their shoes and walk.

Not surprisingly, not all of the kids were entirely keen on going in the water, except for Charlie. In the coming years, I’d learn that he was a bit of a daredevil, someone who wasn’t afraid to take a few small risks.

Of course Ruby did almost everything Charlie did, so she followed him.

“Stay in the shallows, okay?” I called, not wanting them to go too deep.

“We will!” Charlie called back. William, Henry, Billy, Mercedes, Finn, Matthew and Karl, decided to go in, too and I watched as they splashed each other in the clear water.

“I’m not going in,” said Alice, determinedly, her little hands on her hips.

“We could build a sandcastle instead,” Queenie piped up.

Marie grinned and clapped her hands. “Sandcastle!”

“I wanna help, too,” Birdie said.

“Okay.” Katie held Birdie and Marie’s hands, and they happily skipped alongside her as they all searched for the perfect spot to build their sandcastle. “It can’t be too close to the water or else the waves will wash it all away once the tide comes in.”

Queenie tilted her head to one side and looked over at me.

“Do lakes even have tides?” she asked.

“Tiny ones,” I answered, then pointed to a spot near the shade. “What about we build it over there? It’s nice and shady and it’s close enough to the water that you don’t have to lug your heavy buckets for long.”

Katie tapped her fingers against her chin. “Hmm.”

The girls walked over to the spot I was pointing to and they all knelt down on the sand. Katie took a handful of it and then sprinkled it back onto the ground.

“The sand texture is good,” she called, “but I think we need some water.”

“Come on,” said Alice, “Let’s go get some pails and shovels.”

The girls all stood up again and when Queenie rose to her feet, she told me to guard their land so no one would intrude on it before they could build their castle.

“Stay right there until we get back,” she instructed.

“I will,” I replied and sat down on the ground under the tree with my knees tucked under my chin. The ground underneath was sandy, and I moved my dress down so I wouldn’t get it in any uncomfortable places, feeling the wind blowing through my hair. I closed my eyes for a moment just appreciating the calm.

After they all got a bucket and a shovel, half of the girls returned and started filling their buckets with sand while the rest of them filled theirs with water. I could see Ruby and the boys swimming not that far ahead and Lizzie, Linda and Esme setting up the picnic blanket and making sure we had everything we needed for lunch in the basket.

Ada held Elizabeth’s hand as she stood on the shore, letting the waves crash over her feet. I could hear her adorable shriek as the cool water hit her little legs. I stood up momentarily and decided to put my feet in or go a little ways out and see how cold it actually was.

“How is it?” Esme called. I almost couldn’t hear her because of how loud the waves were as they threatened to knock me down more than once.

“Not too bad,” I answered. “It’s nice putting your feet in.”

“Are you going deeper?” Ada asked beside me as she walked with Lizzie until they were a little deeper into the water until it was up to her waist. Being only a few years old, she couldn’t exactly swim as far out as the other kids, but the girl was perfectly happy playing and splashing with her mum.

“I think I will,” I answered, and then walked out a little more. The waves threatened to knock me over a couple of times, but I remained flat-footed and kept going until it went up to my waist, too. It was chilly, but it was refreshing, perfect for a hot day like today.

I stayed in the water for a little bit, letting the cool rush of it settle the thoughts inside of me. It took me back to when I was a kid and we’d all go swim in the pond near our home and then lay on the grass and let the sun dry us off, except this water was shallower, or at least it seemed that way to a fully-grown adult woman.

After a little bit, I got out and as I stepped onto the shore, the sand stuck to the bottom of my feet. It wasn’t the best feeling in the world, having it stick to the bottom of my feet and get stuck between my toes, but it wasn’t unbearable, either, and besides that, it would only take a minute for them to dry off.

I brought a book along with me to read while I was here, one that I’d been meaning to read for quite some time, one that Thomas insisted I read, but until now, I’d never gotten around to reading it. I sat down with my feet sprawled out in front of me so the breeze could dry them off, opened the book to the first page and started reading.

Most readers could dive head first into a book and tune everything else out, but I had learned how to stay in the present and pay attention to my surroundings in case anyone needed me.

It was a detective novel about a wealthy old woman who was murdered and the twelve suspects who were either witnesses or potential perpetrators. It was all narrated by a Lieutenant on sick leave from the Western Front.

After a little bit, I was called away from my book by Ruby, whose hair and clothes were all soaked from swimming and who wrapped her little arms around herself, and who told me that lunch was ready.

We all sat down on the picnic blanket, crossing our legs and eating lunch as the waves crashed and the cool, summer air blew across our faces, talking about anything and everything under the sun.

The wind wasn’t too strong so we didn’t have to worry about our food blowing away, but those of us who had long hair had to tuck our hair back.

“How’s your sandcastle going?” asked Lizzie.

Katie set her sandwich down. “We’re a little bit done.”

“You’re building a sandcastle?” Ruby asked, her eyes wide. “Can I help, too?”

Queenie looked over at Katie, who nodded and then she looked back at Ruby.

“Sure. We’ll finish our lunch first.”

“I have an idea,” said Charlie. “Let’s all build one, boys versus girls.”

“The losers have to get a bucket of water poured on them,” said Karl with a grin.

Katie raised an eyebrow. “You sure you wanna risk getting dunked in water?”

“Yeah,” said Karl, “because we know that we’re gonna win.”

“No,” Marie answered. “We’re gonna win.”

“Our mums and Miss Bennet can be the judges,” said Ruby.

“What if we want to build our own?” asked Esme.

Ruby tapped her finger against her chin. “I suppose that would be alright.”

Lunch was finished and the rest of the afternoon was spent filling buckets of sand and water, trying to determine how much of each we would need so it wasn’t too dry or too muddy. It was like determining how much milk to put with our cereal in the morning. You don’t want it too dry, but you don’t want it to be too mushy or soggy, either.

Finally, we figured out the perfect ratio and all things considered, we were all doing pretty well, though admittedly, Lizzie and Birdie were more interested in playing in the water and doing their own little thing than actually helping with the castle.

“We’ll have to bring Violet here once she gets a little older,” I said, turning one of the buckets over and patting it down with the shovel. “Aunt Eliza says she wants to wait until Violet is old enough to sit up on her own and walk, or at least wait until she can crawl. She’ll be able to move around and explore more.”

Lizzie nodded, doing the same and then using her own shovel to make a little hole where a door would be. “Not to mention old enough to know that she can’t put sand in her mouth.”

“I think all babies do that,” said Esme. She made a circle around the castle and then poured a little water into it to make a moat.

Ada laughed. “Tell me about it. When Karl was a baby and we’d sit outside on the grass in the park, I had to make sure he didn’t eat the grass. Elizabeth is the same way. Ben saw her with a fistful in her hand the other day and when he took it from her, even though he was as gentle as he could possibly be, she still cried.”

“They all grow out of it eventually,” said Linda. “Billy wasn’t much of a grass eater, but when he was teething, he liked chewing on his stuffed bear because it was soft and he didn’t take a pacifier.”

“Mum!” Billy groaned, obviously having heard us.

Linda’s smile brightened. “Aww, am I embarrassing you, love?”

His expression changed to a grumpy one for a second or two, but then he shook his head, smiling as his mum made a funny face and then picking up his bucket, he took it down to the water to fill it up.

In truth, I’d thought a lot about what it would be like having children of my own and Thomas and I had talked about it a few times, but while we were both open to the possibility, we weren’t in any hurry. Besides, Ruby and Charlie were already like a son and daughter to me, even though they never called me ‘mum’ I didn’t want to put that pressure on them, I didn’t want them to feel as though they had to should Thomas and I ever decide to get married.

“Take it one day at a time,” Aunt Eliza told me last night as we all sat on the couch together after the kids had gone to bed. “There’s no rush to do anything, just live in the moment and enjoy the time you have together.”

“Mum!” Ruby said, running over to us. “We’re all finished!”

“We are, too,” said Henry, joining her.

“Well, let’s go see who made the best one,” Lizzie said, holding out her hand.

Ruby took it and then held her other hand out to me.

I and the other ladies stood up, and allowed her and Matthew to lead us to where their sandcastles were built.

“Look at that!” I said, looking at the boys’ handiwork first, seeing as how theirs was the first one in the row. “You did a moat, too, I see. And how did you make the door?”

“We found some bark from a tree on the ground over there,” said Finn. “We had to make the hole wider so the piece would fit. And we made windows using a stick since the shovel was too big and would make the whole thing crumble.”

“I wish I brought my toy soldiers,” said William. “Then we could use them as guards to protect the castle from invaders.”

“Who knows, maybe the castle will stay up for years to come,” I said, hoping to cheer him up a bit.

He looked up at me and his eyes lit up. “Really?”

I nodded. “Really. I’d say it’s a mighty fine fort you’ve built.”

They saluted me and I saluted them back before we went to see the girls’ castle.

“And what do we have here?” Lizzie asked, kneeling on the ground as Birdie put one last little rock on her side of the castle. It seemed her side of the castle was primarily built on rocks, which in my opinion, made it look more ancient, like the castles we’d see sometimes on our drives to London.

“She loves rocks,” Queenie explained. “Every time we go outside, she’s always picking up rocks and looking at them.”

“Yes, she does,” Esme said with a tiny shake of her head and an amused smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she collects enough to fill an entire room.”

“A whole room full of rocks?” Matthew asked, excitedly, “that would be fun.”

“Yeah, we can all climb them like the explorers in the books,” said Finn.

Both boys had overheard our conversation about rocks and whether it was pure coincidence, or not, Finn was holding a huge pile of rocks in his hand and showed them to Birdie, but when she looked for a little more room to put them on, she discovered that there was no more room left on the castle to put them on.

“Here,” said Alice, “give them to me and I’ll show you what we can do.”

Birdie handed the rocks to Alice and Alice arranged them into a little arch above the piece of driftwood that they’d used to make a door.

“Birdie found a pretty white rock once,” Katie said, watching Alice carefully sort through the rocks to see which ones would fit above the door and which ones they’d have to put somewhere else.

“It was really, really pretty,” said Queenie, “if you held it in the sunlight, it would sparkle, like someone put magic fairy dust on it.”

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t be surprised. There’ve been quite a few fairy sightings recently,” I said, making my voice sound overly mysterious, which made all of their eyes light up.

“Really?” Marie asked, her deep brown eyes sparkling with childlike wonder.

“Really,” I said, nodding my head slowly, emphatically.

“I thought fairies didn’t want to be seen,” said Ruby.

“In most cases, yes, they’ll try and stay as far away from humans as they possibly can, you know, to avoid being captured and all that, but sometimes, some of the braver fairies might come by to say hello.”

Alice leaned a little closer. “I think I saw a white, fluffy dandelion blowing in the wind the other day when we were playing outside. Do you think it was a fairy being born?”

“I very well think it might have been,” I answered and she grinned, as did the other girls. “They say that the first time that a baby laughs, a fairy’s life takes flight.”

“But if a baby laughs, does that mean when a baby cries, a fairy dies?” asked Charlie, overhearing our conversation about rocks and fairies. He knelt beside his mum on the ground and looked over at me and I could see he was worried.

“No, no, it’s only when someone says they don’t believe in fairies,” I answered.

“Oh, well, if I ever said that, or if I do say it, I don’t mean it,” he said.

I frowned. Charlie was a very sensitive boy, one whose heart was made of pure gold and who would do anything to protect those he cared about the most. And while most boys his age thought believing in fairy tales and playing make believe was beneath them, he had certainly never lost that sense of wonder, the sense that there were worlds far beyond this one, or worlds that we haven’t yet discovered.

He was the sort of boy who would grow up to be a selfless man, and trust me, we needed more of those in this world.

And what worried us the most was that it was like all the colour had drained from his face and was about to pour out of his eyes in tears. So, it was time for me to do what I did best, which was to ease that guilt that was inside of him, to make him feel less worried.

I leaned forward and placed my hand on top of his as it rested in the sand. It was still a bit damp and sandy from his handiwork, but that didn’t matter in the least to me, because this boy needed comfort and I wanted to be the one to ease that comfort.

“You know, they also say that if you say that you believe in fairies and truly mean it with all your heart, you can bring them back to life and it will be as if nothing happened.”

He smiled as his mum rubbed his back with the heel of her hand and looked into his eyes. He looked up at her and then leaned his head on her shoulder.

“Okay, who’s the winner of the competition?”

“Hmm,” Esme tapped her chin, thinking for a moment. “Well, it’s a very tough choice seeing as how you all have done such a wonderful job, therefore, I think you are all the winners.”

“So no one has to be dunked over the head with this bucket?” asked Matthew.

“Not if they don’t want to,” said Lizzie.

“Okay, then I guess I’ll just put it back,” he said, drawing the last vowel slowly and I turned my head just in time to feel the cold water come pouring down on me and hear all the kids laughing.

“I knew it! I should have known you were going to trick me!” I said, shaking my head and looking down at my now sopping wet dress and watching the water dripping from my hair.

“It was Henry’s idea,” he said, pointing to my younger cousin.

“Was not!” Henry argued, sounding almost genuinely shocked.

“Was to,” Billy put in. “I heard you telling Matthew to dunk her.”

“It’s alright,” I laughed. I wasn’t entirely displeased. “I feel like a soggy wet cat, but it’s alright.”

“You look like a soggy wet cat,” said William. He was laughing, too.

I stood up, squeezing the water from my dress and then pushing my hair back, thinking it would have been wiser to put it in a hair tie before we left, but I didn’t and that was my first mistake. My next mistake was thinking that none of the kids would try to splash me or dunk me over the head with a bucket of cold water.

At least it was clean.

But they’d made a little tiny mistake, too: thinking that I wouldn’t try and splash them back. I wouldn’t pour a bucket of it all over them, but as they dashed toward the water and as long as my hands were free, I could lightly splash them and watch them try to get away.

Even Elizabeth tried, and when I ever so gently used my hands to toss a little water her way, she giggled, which in turn, made me smile.

One of the best things about being part of a big family like this one, was that I knew that no matter how rough of a day I was having, these kids would always be here to cheer me up, to make me laugh and make me forget any struggles I was going through.

And it made me happy.

To Be Continued

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be-dazzled · 1 year ago

Text

The Art of Falling

CHAPTER V A WOMAN UNLIKE ANY OTHER

Gray Fullbuster, Juvia Lockser, Gajeel Redfox Alternative Historical Universe Genre: Old World Vibes, Period Romance All Chapters: Click here | Taglist

Writer’s Corner: I AM RESURRECTED!

Masterlist

Juvia walked around the room, intentionally keeping herself at a good distance from the gentleman in the middle of it, intent on engaging in no conversation with him. In preference, she busied herself quietly reading titles as she passed them. She counted those she recognized, which was, by her account, not as many as she would have liked. Others were written in script foreign to her. Hence, Juvia found no benefit in picking up one and pretending to read it.

Gray kept repeating the one line he couldn’t seem to move past. Ever since Juvia entered the room, he could not keep his mind on the passage he was earnestly reading. All the while, throwing surreptitious glances at her moving figure. Juvia did the same, stealing curious glances at him.

All at once, it dawned on the lady how she never has paid the gentleman much attention. All she could afford him was stubborn inconsequence. Juvia looked but never did see. Believing his stern eyes were trained on his book, Juvia took the opportunity to really consider Mr. Fullbuster. She took inventory of his features: reserved eyes, tall nose, pronounced jawline – all seemed to make Mr. Fullbuster a figure of distinction. The noble air about him said so.

“You have a rare collection, do you not, Mr. Fullbuster?” She did not even allow him to answer when she continued, “my father would have collapsed at the sight of them.”

“Is he not with you?”

“No.” Finding no more interest in her walking about the room, Juvia turned to finally address the gentleman directly. “His presence is much more required in the field,” offered she. “My apologies.”

“None required.”

They fell in silence once again, that which seemed to have stretched on for too long but one that allowed Juvia a moment to reconsider the order of things. The gentleman had made his intention to ask her hand in marriage yet she refused on account of his misguided view of it. To Juvia’s mind, there was only one person deserving of much consequence – Eliana Lockser. Her sister’s predicament took precedence over all thoughts. Of what it would do to her sister’s renown once the news traveled over all of Magnolia. The repercussions would be immeasurable. Besides, had not the eldest Lockser taken a liking towards Mr. Fullbuster? She wondered, then, what it would take to persuade the gentleman to reconsider his feelings toward marrying Eliana instead. His unexpected words interrupted her thoughts but caught only the tail-end of his inquiry.

“Pardon?”

“Are you fond of books, Miss Juvia?”

“Not as much as my father.” Juvia quickly reconsidered her answer and belatedly realized it was not conveying her truth. “Actually, not at all.” A soft, almost inaudible, chuckle tumbled out her lips. “I would rather the outdoors. Be entertained by nature. They are more engaging than simply staring at letterings on parchment.” Therefore, she felt the need to correct herself much to her own surprise.

“I see.”

There was a contemplative silence again until Gray voiced a contention.

“But books can take you places. It may even allow you to see and experience another person’s life.”

“I’d rather live it than read of it.”

There was an archness in the manner she refuted. An impertinence in the curve of her smile. A teasing gleam in her round blue eyes that Gray found a bit so amusing that all the response he could muster was a gentle smile. There was a single thought that crossed the gentleman’s mind.

Miss Juvia was not like any other.

They reached an impasse and Juvia belatedly noticed how close she had gotten to him. She pulled herself away much too suddenly, bewildered by the sudden rush of self-awareness. She reproached herself for being callous. She must now be weary as she might find herself a bit too close the next time. Then, she berated her own for even entertaining the idea that there was another time. With caution, she kept him, or rather herself, at bay; and chose to change the subject. Juvia started to allude to her suggestion, that he redirect his affections to Miss Lockser, when something entirely else caught her attention.

“What are you reading?” asked she.

“I have been studying the ways of hunting as I have been told it is one of the many activities you find enjoyable.”

The illustration on the page interested Juvia much more than his response. She failed to notice how strange it was for Mr. Fullbuster to know about her preferences and why would he exert himself to know them.

“And you find a crossbow to be the best instrument for it?” Crossbows were an obsolete, and therefore rare, tool for hunting. “Since they discontinued production half a decade ago. Interesting.” She mused to herself.

“I have wanted to build one of my own and so, I’ve been studying–”

“–Have you any death wish?” By now Juvia had placed a hand on the back of the chair and leaned into the book that he was reading. Her utter shock at his foolish ambition had taken precedence above others, even her sister’s concern and all the more, her earlier resolution to stand as far away from him as was recommended.

“If you as much as commit any slightest error, this tool may break and only the good heavens can tell your future.”

Within this proximity, Gray sensed a faint floral scent from her, a detail that he mentally jotted down in his little journal. The task occupied him so that he missed the question imposed upon him by the lady.

“Are you listening, Mr. Fullbuster?” Her frown confirmed her displeasure and Gray had to apologize for his ill manner.

“How then do you propose I move forward?”

A sense of mischief pulled the corners of Juvia’s mouth. It made her rise behind the unknowing gentleman and stand in an exultant posture, with her palm flattened on the curve of her waist. It was the first time that Gray ever saw a Magnolian woman do so.

“This house is a century old, Mr. Fullbuster. I am certain it holds many a treasure long forgotten by time.”

For the short while that their paths crossed, this was the first that Gray was fully captivated by her blue eyes. Not only by its beauty but by the fire that was flamed to life, burning anew on her ocean orbs. For once, there was neither hostility nor dismissiveness they permanently held. There was, in its stead, one which his own mother’s beautiful eyes often lacked when there was a speak of adventure. Yet, no matter how much they intrigued him, it was out of Gray’s nature to seek even the slightest idea of danger.

“Miss Juvia, I do not believe that would be–“ Gray started so certain of himself. So confident in his judgment. Yet, before he could finish his sentence, he found the subject of his concern already awaiting him at the door, one foot outside of the frame, “–safe.”

“Come on, now, Mr. Fullbuster. Daylight is wasting.”

Thereafter, they found themselves standing in the large expanse of the mansion’s garden. To the left of which was an elaborate labyrinth that courted Juvia’s curiosity. She had not thought of exploring it much, as the task at hand required primacy. But she did pay it to mind, stemming from irritation, the fact that Gray had invited a staff of over ten to oversee their pursuit.

“Do you often require yourself with such a number of help, Mr. Fullbuster?”

To Juvia’s mind, an activity such as this required the presence of no more than two persons. She was not too fond of having that many eyes observing.

“I can send them away if that is more to your liking, Miss Juvia.”

One would have found it endearing, that a gentleman would consider a lady’s comfort over his own. To Juvia, however, it was irresponsible for Mr. Fullbuster to pass onto her a burden she, by no means, had any say. For what right did she have to dismiss Mr. Fullbuster’s employees whose presence was due to contractual obligation?

“I was merely making a conversation. Please do not mistake it as my being uncomfortable.”

She made an effort to keep the irritation out of her voice; for it was no place to lose one’s temper. She could already hear Mrs. Lockser’s ringing voice: Losing one’s temper is unbecoming of a proper lady.

Rather, she focused on beginning the experiment – a wiser choice than being irked by things so nonsensical. Juvia expelled a breath to regain some of her composure. At the sight of the decade-old crossbow, which Lord Silver Fullbuster assured them was of safe use, Juvia regained her sense; only for it to quickly dissipate with the gentleman’s lack of urgency. She found her patience was tested when, instead of aiming the tool toward a target, Mr. Fullbuster set it on the ground in favor of the book he brought with him.

Juvia wanted to relieve him of the hunting tool as it was meant to be used rather than be left lying uselessly on the ground. As the now impatient lady was about to do so, Gray picked it up again and studied the same as his eyes bounced between his book and the crossbow.

“I was often told, experience is the best teacher, Mr. Fullbuster.”

“I am only being cautious, Miss Juvia. This is not a tool we can simply toy with as–” his explanation was cut short as Gray felt the weight of the crossbow leaves his hand. “Miss Juvia!” cried he to no avail.

Juvia settled the stirrup on the flat of the ground and pulled the string with all her might until it latched on the catch with a securing click. She opened her palm towards the troubled Mr. Fullbuster, to receive the quarrel from him, whilst his words of caution were received with adamancy. The gentleman was left with no other choice but to surrender what she asked for.

Juvia expertly laid the shaft on its place, aimed its tip at the sky, and in a breath or two, pronounced, “Fire!” She pulled the trigger and then watched the tossed apple slump down the grassy ground; the tip of the quarrel stuck at dead center, as pronounced by the help.

Juvia exclaimed in triumph. She then turned to the gentleman whose widened eyes were struck in awe.

“I have to say, Mr. Fullbuster. I find it a surprise that a gentleman such as yourself would even consider holding a hunting tool, much more practicing it.”

“Since Miss Juvia is fond of hunting, I figured I ought to prepare myself if I wish to come and explore the woods with you one of these days.”

The confession had taken Juvia by surprise. She searched his dark eyes for humor or any telling that might suggest he was only trying to impress her without sincerity. Yet, that was all there was to it – Gray’s sincerity. Finally realizing the insinuation of his confession – that Mr. Fullbuster paid consequence to her interests – and without knowing it, his words stirred her stomach funny.

She recovered hastily, masking her surprise with a challenge. “Then, Mr. Fullbuster,” Juvia shoved the crossbow against his chest as gently as her whimsy allowed. “If you may, please indulge me with your crossbow prowess.”

It was in the way her eyes challenged him that a rush of want gripped his being. An urge to impress the lady despite his insufficient knowledge of operating a crossbow. As he struggled through the simple act of drawing the string and locking it in place, his sudden want gradually dispersed.

“Are you in need of some assistance?”

“No!” cried he, rather too rudely for his own taste. When he gathered himself and recovered from his ungenteel outburst, he apologized at once. “Your assistance is very much appreciated, Miss Juvia.”

Once Gray secured the drawstring, he continued, “I can manage even this simple tool.”

Finding it hilarious to toy with mortal feelings, as fate always does, the heavens withheld its concurrence with the earnest gentleman, with the drawstring snapping back to its original state.

Juvia had to fold her lips, restraining the giggles about to erupt. When she was sure she kept her laughs locked down, she ambled towards the struggling gentleman. Without warning, she placed her hand beneath his and the other around his shoulder. Juvia aided Gray in guiding the tip of the bow toward the sky, oblivious of the sudden intimacy between them. But Gray was made very much aware of the thin air separating them as her warm breath fanned directly at his exposed skin. There was a ringing in his ear when the lady spoke into his ear at a decibel above a whisper. Her voice was so tamed and so darling that his mind failed to comprehend the words they formed. As if that was not enough, Juvia moved even closer, her chest now pressed against the back of Gray’s shoulders. All the cells in his body concentrated on one sensation – panic at the inappropriate closeness between them. Gray unceremoniously flung the hunting tool on the ground; the arrow separated from the crossbow upon impact.

Mr. Fullbuster could not run away from the lady any faster.

“Have you not any concept of propriety between a man and a woman?”

The subject of his berating paid him no heed. His words fell on deaf ears whilst the lady picked the tools off the ground.

“How can I assist you properly when you are that far away?”

Keeping his composure was never an endeavor to Gray. Not once in his life did he had to feel out-governed by his own emotions. Yet, here he was, exerting himself from recovering from his shock. One that helped ease his bearing was to remind himself that Miss Juvia was a woman unlike any other. Her unintentional dismissal or utter disregard of societal norms was to her second nature. Cautiously, he approached the woman who offered him back the dropped device, still convinced that this unsanctioned civility between them was indecorous. This time, however, Miss Juvia kept her distance since, as she composed, he was very much afraid of her.

“I am not,” defended Gray. “I am not afraid of you.”

For some reason, be it societal expectations or basic instinct as pride, the need to recover from his earlier embarrassment was Gray’s utmost priority. Therefore, he mustered all focus to send an arrow into the sky and hit his target.

“Fire!” barked Gray as he pulled on the string with all his might, only for his arrow to fall short.

No one in that household dared to laugh. After an assurance from his teacher that the arrow will not grow feet to climb back up to his crossbow, Gray marched to pick it up. Despite the heat that took over his whole body, Gray reloaded the arrow into his crossbow, now desperate, more than ever, to pin the sweet apple on the ground.

He made a second command and the arrow did fly into the sky and went straight to the group of attendants that gathered in one corner. They dispersed immediately after a collective cry of surprise.

It was the second time Juvia had to suppress a laugh. At this point, she had to turn away to afford herself room for a chuckle. Juvia was not the only one having a splendid time. Up at the balcony, overlooking the green expanse, was Lord Silver Fullbuster joined by little Ur, overseeing the affair.

“I was not aware that Mrs. Lockser could go on and on about various kinds of ribbons.”

Lord Silver tore his eyes away from the interesting bout and addressed his wife.

“I should have been warned,” lamented she when their eyes met.

“Mrs. Lockser is an entertaining guest.”

Lady Mika distractedly agreed in silence for her attention was much more required at the alarming scene unfolding on her lawn.

“Isn’t that your Great Grandfather’s crossbow?”

Lord Silver Fullbuster purposely delayed his response, hoping that in doing so, her Ladyship would pass on the fact that her clueless son was trying to operate a dangerous and obsolete hunting contraption.

Yet Lady Fullbuster was not to be misdirected.

“Lord Silver?” asked she, voice laced with warning. She took Lord Silver’s continued silence as proof of her suspicion. “How can you even allow this unsupervised,” the Lady was livid so that her words and thinking had been all rambled, “experiment?”

The Lady had always been protective of her young heir. Despite their difference of opinion, Lord Silver Fullbuster acquiesced to the Lady’s free reign over his household, which not only included the management of the Mansion’s affairs but, principally, the rearing of their only child – his education and upbringing. Lady Mika saw to it that Gray was raised to be a proper gentleman, fitting of the stature of the heir to the Fullbuster Estate. Not a single person had made a more wonderful job than the Mistress of his household. Yet, worry came to visit his Lordship that his son might have been bounded in his world to actually live it.

“Rest your worries, my love.” Lord Fullbuster took his Lady’s hand to keep her from breaking the party below them. “Oftentimes, I find it rewarding to sail with the tide and make do of wherever life may take us.”

Lady Mika hummed in answer without paying much mind. Her guarded eyes were still trained on the figures in the middle of the clearing. Although the coaxing of Lord Fullbuster swayed her resolve a tad, the Lady of House Fullbuster was yet to be convinced of the woman teaching her son one of the most dangerous tools for hunting.

“I suppose so.”

His words seemed to have their weight on Lady Mika as she let her protest die in her throat. Above everyone else, the Lady of the house knew the rewards of this disposition, for without it she could have never afforded to stand next to her beloved.

...

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lillslillslilly · 7 months ago

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CHAPTER TWO

Chapter two

She had spent the last fourteen hours kneading dough and mixing batter and rolling out mix until her hands locked, her head was light from dehydration and her stomach was practically screaming for something consumable. Though every millimetre of her five-foot-three self was monopolised in a dull ache from the uninterrupted production of baked goods, Maxine was glowing with relief, disbelief and reward at the milestone she had just accomplished. She was not phased by the agonising hunger and thirst that her body desperately called out for; instead, it brought a subtle sense of peace, of solidarity to her mind, in tandem to the playlist of soft songs levitating from the speaker in the corner of the bakery, like an energy or an aura.

Positioned above the checkout area, the glass display case exposed a heavenly stash of perfectly browned croissants, glazed cinnamon rolls, an array of stacked cookies and chocolate-chunked brownies, buns and a clique of other devastatingly beautiful pastries and doughs. Shelves encompassing the store accommodated sourdoughs, whole wheats, ciabattas, baguettes, paninis, ryes… individually wrapped in some sort of cellophane material, accompanied by a little red ribbon holding it in place. A freshly polished glass casing lined the centre of the back cherry-red wall, occupied by several fresh pies – cherry, blackberry, peach, pumpkin, apple – each one satisfyingly golden and crisp. Pies were always Maxine’s favourites to make; she enjoyed watching them bake, fruit bubbling, seeping through the flawlessly measured lattice on top, eventually settling, leaving a dye of colour around the pastry. Below the array of pie, still filling the casing, lay angelic looking, soft to the touch, heavenly tasting cakes (two teared with a generous layer of butter icing between tears and coating the top of the exterior): Victoria sponge, triple chocolate, red velvet (the greatest creation in the whole world in the eyes of Max) and coffee and walnut. Depending on which she believed would suit best to each specific cake, Max had dusted them with either silver or gold edible glitter – very lightly as if it was from a fairy. The interior of the bakery also looked as though Maxine had waved a magic wand over it: everything was pristine, perfect. The magnolia walls hung paintings of all sorts of baked goods – paintings her best friend had created for her throughout their friendship ready to store in the bakery she always dreamed of, and so she had kept every single one from over the years for this exact purpose. Crimson, cursive LED lights hung above the checkout counter read ‘welcome’ to match the single red wall hosting the pies and cakes. Earlier in the week, Maxine had purchased two small, rounded, metal tables with shiny, metal, basket-like chairs for customers to eat-in. A few cans of red spray paint and an afternoon of DIY later, she had a small seating area to compliment the red theme that she had been going for. And of course, weaved around the legs of the tables and chairs, and among the sides of the checkout counter were fairy lights.

She was finishing writing products and prices on the colossal chalk board that had earlier been fused to the wall, when a faint but familiar knock presented itself at the door. Behind it: her best friend with a face full of excitement. This was the first time that she had let Wrenn see the bakery; the finished result. She wanted it to be perfect before she let anybody else see, not even her best friend, and now it was.

“Holy shit,” Wrenn gasped as she bounced inside of the store, encouraging her roommate to move to the side. “You did it, like actually. God, it’s just how you described it when we were younger.”

She’s looking around now, spinning in circles, her eyes fixing onto all the different views of the room, occasionally humming with agreement. She giggled at the sight of the fairy-lights knowing that Maxine could not and would not resist incorporating them into the design somehow. Amused, she paced around, letting her eyes bring in all of it.

Then she paused, frozen, glaring up at the paintings on the magnolia walls. She was silent for a moment (which was an unheard-of event for ‘Miss talks-a lot’), as she processed the familiar artwork that lay before her eyes. Wrenn herself broke the silence after gathering her thoughts with a near whisper, “You kept them? ALL of them?”

“Of course I did.” Maxine chuckled in reply, gently caressing the signature, Wrenn’s signature, at the edge of one of the canvases with a chocolate cupcake painted onto it.

“I said I would put them in my bakery, so I have. Besides, I think they bring the whole look together, you know?”

After few soft smiles were exchanged between the pair, Maxine found herself being tackled into a bear-hug, both girls still giggling like teenagers at a sleepover.

“I am really, really, really proud of you Maxie.”

“You are?”

“I am.”

It was starting to get darker earlier, October in the UK and all, and colder too. The bitter air bit at the girls sharp forcing Max to wrap her wine-red scarf around her, covering her nose and mouth. She was aware that it would be a late finish and a cold evening, so she had worn her black trench coat too. Maxine had never really minded the cold weather because she argued that one could always layer up to stay warm or drink a hot drink or tuck yourself in bed, and instead hated the summer. Wrenn always gave the opposing argument that summer in the UK was pathetic: it was barely hot, rained a lot and only lasted a few weeks.

“You’ll love summer abroad. We could go to Spain! Or Los Angeles! Or Portugal!” She’d say.

“We could lay in the sun and get tans and drink martinis.” She’d say.

“We can cool off in the pool and wear our bikinis all of the time.” She’d say.

But Max did not want to go to Spain or Los Angeles or Portugal. She did not want to lay in the sun. She did not want to drink martinis. She did not want to cool off in the pool. She did not want to wear her bikini all the time. And she certainly did not want the summer, though she agreed with her because that’s what friends do. However, she’d rather be curled up by a fireplace with a blanket and a book, some fairy-lights and candles glowing, a coffee, and rain splatting the window: undisturbed. That was what she wanted.

They had been strolling back in the direction their apartment for a while discussing their plans for the rest of the evening. Eventually, the two decided that they’ll stop at the coffee house that resides just beside their apartment block and then they’ll order a pizza and watch a movie to end their day. ‘10 Things I Hate About You’ was their final decision for the movie after a pointless debate on what to watch – this settled right in the middle of their choices: romance and comedy. Perfect – it was also one of Maxine’s favourites, so she felt as though she had still won regarding deciding the film.

‘LIVE LOUNGE COFFEE’ was quite vintage, classical from the outside. The exterior was a deep brown with vines growing along the wood like veins. It seemed quite tiny, secluded and still from the outside. It seemed untouched. Why had it taken them both so long to investigate this coffee house? Maxine especially had become dependent on caffeine, so why has she not visited the coffee house that is quite literally attached to her apartment? In a way, it never really crossed her mind; she hadn’t even fathomed that there was a coffee house attached to her apartment until Wrenn’s mentioning of it on their walk home. Better late then never though, she thought.

Wrenn pushed the door open into the shop, which was rather heavy so this must have been an old shop as they figured, and stepped in, Maxine close behind. She was taken by surprise – this is not what she had thought the interior would look like: it was so… modern; unique? Sofas of mix and matched colours and sizes and an additional similar array of armchairs consumed a lot of the interior. Bar stools and taller tables were dotted around two large speakers which outlined a stage-like area towards the back right hand side of the room. Nothing matched except the walls which were all white, however they were plastered in a series of different quotes and posters. Max was a perfectionist: everything she ever worked on was thought about so particularly for it to be perfect. She needed that control. This was nothing like that. This was unorganised and randomised… so why did she like it?

“Hmm, comfy,” she whispered under her breath as she untangled herself from her scarf, to which her friend turned to her with a facial expression of a mix of surprise and satisfaction.

“Coffee, a beverage that smells like fresh ground heaven,” Maxine read from one of the quotes on the wall to her left. “Amen to that.” Her eyes took one last stroll around the interior of the coffee house until they locked with an unfamiliar pair across the counter. She’d been so caught up with the interior that she hadn’t realised how empty it was, except this pair of forest-brown eyes connected to hers.

“Good evening. How are you?” spoke a soft voice – a soft voice that she did not recognise as her own, nor her best friend’s. A beautiful voice. An angelic voice. A calm voice. It was like music to her ears: blissful and sweet, but soft like feathers.

She realised she was still maintaining eye contact with this person’s exquisite set of russet eyes, and she felt herself burning up, turning red. She swallowed and quickly looked down at her feet. ‘What the fuck is happening?’ she thought to herself. Taking a slow and quiet deep breath Max repositioned her eyes once more, desperate to see the owner of the eyes she had connected with. Her muscles tensed and her breathing fastened. Her once blistery cold skin was now forming beads of sweat as she warmed up against her coat.

She started at the bottom so she could avoid the trance those eyes put her in. They wore a clearly loved pair of Doc Marten boots (she could tell from the frays and the scratches that consumed them), shiny and laced all the way to the top of the ankle. They connected to a pair of black jeans pulled over a long pair of legs. Her eyes glided up to their hips, flawlessly curved, falling into a petite waist shaped by a small apron pulled around it and tied with a bow. Her breathing heavied again, falling irregular now. After a moment of trying to collect herself, she continued her eyes on their journey up, analysing this stranger. One of their hands sat dominantly on their waist while the other was twirling the end of one of two long, midnight black braids, which reached just above it. There was a smooth, shiny coat of amethyst purple painted across their nails without a single chip and each of their fingers had a ring, some even having multiple, except for their thumbs and their wedding finger which remained empty. Each ring was a different colour, shape, style to the last – they were mix-matched like the furniture; Maxine shocking liked it, like the furniture. Her eyes were fixed for a second, until eventually continuing their investigation to their arms and shoulder, which were covered by the cotton sleaves of their black long-sleeved t-shirt. Around their neck dangled one singular silver necklace connected to a small charm of the initial ‘V’, which hung in the centre of their chest. Her eyes continued searching, flowing up their goosebump-covered neck. Was she cold? Was she nervous? Max was nervous. Three silver hooped earrings were situated in each lobe and an industrial bar, also silver, positioned itself diagonally at the top of their left ear. Wrenn and Max always debated silver or gold jewellery and she was always team silver; she assumed they were too. Her eyes proceeded to progress down their jawline, to their lips, which were coated in a thin layer of clear lip-gloss, smiling a toothless smile in her direction. Their lips were so full, especially the bottom one – perfectly plump and a rich rose shade. Their lips were flawless, so her eyes fixed onto them longer. Her hands stated to grow sweaty now, and she could feel her skin turning a raspberry shade of red again. Slowly, she inhaled another silent breath hoping to slow her racing heart or at least somewhat cool her down as she started at their lips. Eventually, she pulled her eyes up once again, resuming their travel to a nose ring – also a silver hoop (assuming to match with the lobe hoops) though it is thinner and smaller. Circling around the eyes she once connected with to avoid it happening again, they analysed the arch in their eyebrows, the perfect shape and the bar of jewellery that ran through the one on the right-hand side. Eyebrow piercing? Hot. Those luscious set of brown eyes caught her attention once more and again she was completely monopolised by them. Her breathing was out of control this time and her heart almost jumped out of her chest. Why does this keep happening? She began to get flustered. Her coat was becoming a real issue – it was too hot in here. It was almost like she was out of her own body, like she had no control. She was captivated by those eyes. She inhaled one more time and led her eyes down the long wing of eyeliner running down their face and finally closed her eyes.

“Fine, thanks. How are you?” a voice answered. It wasn’t her voice. It continued, “Wait, are you guys open?” Once she finally had her breath back, Max opened her eyes to look at her friend, who was smiling softly at the stranger behind the counter with the capturing eyes.

“Yeah of course. What can I get you?” the stranger’s soft, feathery voice spoke again.

“A green tea, please and…” she turned to look at Maxine, who had not digested any of the words that had been spoken since they entered the coffee house. She flinched, snapping out of her thoughts.

“Hmm?” she mumbled to Wrenn.

“What do you want to order?” she questioned, nodding her head towards the stranger behind the counter.

“Oh, erm. A coffee, black,” she spoke under her breath, almost a whisper. Wrenn was looking at her again now but with an expression that she wasn’t familiar with. She broke eye contact and returned her eyes to her feet. She felt fidgety, pressing on the skin around her fingernails behind her back.

“Do you want some sugar with that, darling?” the feathery, angel voice sung out once more. Max froze, her eyes still fixed onto her Mary Jane black heels. Shit, do I want sugar? No.

“Erm, yes please.” She answered.

Shit.

“How many?”

None.

“Just one please.”

What the fuck.

The only sound in the room now was the stranger making the girls’ drinks, Maxine’s heavy breaths and pounding heart, although she hoped she was the only one that could hear those last two things.

After a couple of silent minutes, the stranger comes over with the drinks and hands them to the girls, reinforcing the uncomfortable eye contact that Maxine so desperately avoided, yet so desperately craved.

“Here you are,” she smiled as she handed Wrenn her tea, followed by, “there you go, sweetie.”

What the fuck.

Maxine nodded, still maintaining eye contact, however her breathing was becoming more regular now. She still felt like melting on the spot, but she was calmer and so now she just admired the face that she had analysed a few short minutes ago.

“Pretty quiet night for you I’m guessing,” Wrenn voiced.

The stranger hummed in agreement, and Max wasn’t the one to break the fixed eyes this time. The stranger let out a gentle chuckle. “Yeah, I suppose we don’t get many caffeine hungry people this time of night. They won’t sleep.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

Back at their apartment, Maxine released a slice of pepperoni pizza from her grip, flopping it back into the greasy inside of the box she had previously taken it out of. She thought that after having all but a croissant today would mean that she would have devoured more than two slices, however her mind was running and therefore her appetite was pretty low. Usually, she would be irritatingly reciting the script of the movie playing in front of her, however today it was merely background noise to her seamless thoughts. In a loop, her mind projected images of those piercing eyes from the coffee house, then to those lips; to the hands and then the waist; to each of the piercings; circulating back to those poisoning eyes – a never ending cycle. But why, why was this happening? Did she really care that much? Did she even care at all? Why would she care? She doesn’t care. Why is she so fixed to this?

An elbow interacted with her hip, sharp but not painful.

“Right, what’s wrong?” Wrenn said looking to her. “You’ve been radio silent since we got in.” It’s true, she had been, though she hadn’t realised; her mind had been on the loudest volume distracting her from noticing.

“Nothing,” she began, “Well, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just tired.”

“Right okay…” her friend spoke, holding onto the tune of the last word, followed by a short hum of thought. “So, I take it that this has something to do with what happened downstairs?” And she could read her like a book, apparently. Maxine didn’t even bother to deny her behaviour – her friend saw right through her, and she knew that from the second she asked what was wrong.

“How bad was it? God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I mean, you were bright red, fidgety and protruding Darth Vader breaths when she called you ‘darling’ so…” Wrenn went quiet, trying to decide carefully her next words to not stress Maxine out any further. She did eventually chime back up, “I don’t think she noticed though, maybe I just did because I know you so well. It wasn’t so bad. Actually, I think it’s rather sweet.”

That did not offer Max any clarity whatsoever. She swallowed down the last of her coffee and nodded in agreement, though Wrenn knew she wasn’t convinced.

#wlw #original work #original writing #sapphic #romance #slow burn #lgbtq

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