#they corrected the spain bit and said it was meant to be or could be mexico instead

[torgawl]

they're really doing it again :/

[archduchessofnowhere]

What the tea on Maria Carolina? You said in one of your posts: “Maria Carolina truthers know she's the most interesting daughter and the one there should be hundreds of books and movies about, but the general audiences haven't seen the light yet.” I’m intrigued

Hi! Sorry it took me so long; I was reading a book about the Bourbons in Naples and I wanted to finish it to be able to give a more complete answer… but it ended up taking me MONTHS to be done with it.

This answer was a bit difficult to put together because Maria Carolina’s life was very eventful, so I’ll just mention some facts about her life, focusing more on the Napoleonic era and Napoleon specifically because I think you’ll be more interested in that. Also please feel free to correct me If I got something wrong, since this is a time period I’ve only started to learn about recently. So what was the tea?

Born in 1752 Maria Carolina was the thirteenth child of Empress Maria Theresia and Franz I, Holy Roman Emperor. As part of her mother’s policies of rapprochement to the Bourbons, she and her siblings were engaged to different members of the houses of Spain, France, Parma and Naples. Maria Carolina was promised to the Dauphin of France, but when her elder sister, promised to the King of Naples, died of smallpox, she took her place.

Ferdinando of Naples had been a child king, and he remained so for the rest of his life. His only diversions were hunting and pulling pranks on his courtiers, and he had a terrible reputation across the courts of Europe as an uneducated, bad mannered, spoiled man, kept in ignorance by his Ministers so they could control him. Everyone pitied the young Archduchess’ fate, her mother Maria Theresia wrote around the time of Maria Carolina’s wedding that she “trembled in fear for her”. But duty came first, and so she went to Naples, aged only sixteen.

Maria Carolina did not had it easy at first. She was terribly homesick and found herself in a court that could not have been more different to the one she grew up in. When her sister Maria Antonia married the Dauphin of France, she wrote to her former aya:

When I imagine that her fate will perhaps be the same as mine, I want to write volumes to her on the subject, and I very much hope that she has someone like me [to advise her] at the beginning. If not, to be frank, she may succumb to despair. One suffers real martyrdom, which is all the greater because one must pretend outwardly to be happy. I know what it is like, and I pity those who have yet to face it… I would rather die than endure again what I went through at the beginning. Now all is well, which is why I can say—and this is no exaggeration—that if my faith had not told me, ‘Set your mind on God,’ I would have killed myself.

Unsurprisingly Maria Carolina didn’t fall head over heels for her husband, but she did convince him that she had, and eventually won his affection. After she bore a son in 1775 she earned a seat in the State Council (as her marriage contract established), and from that point onward she became an active player in Neapolitan politics. One of her firsts moves was to remove the Secretary of State, Marchese Tanucci, who had been Regent during her husband’s minority and still held a huge influence over him.

After Tanucci’s dismissal she became the person with the most influence over Ferdinando, and she pretty much had him wrapped around her finger for most of their marriage, acting as the de facto ruler of Naples. Every decision the king took was only after consulting his wife, and she often had the final say. However, this didn’t meant Maria Carolina held absolute power: Ferdinando was still a very unpredictable person, and as soon as his wife was out of his favor he stopped listening to her.

Maria Carolina was enthusiastic about the ideas of the Enlightenment, as many other royals were at first, and even protected and encouraged the Masons in Naples during her early years as queen. But she was still the consort of an absolute monarch that believed they were chosen by God to rule, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that she was horrified by the French Revolution and fervently opposed it. If it were for her, she would've declared war on France immediately, but this was not possible. On the execution of her brother-in-law Louis XVI she wrote:

Knowing your upright mind, I can imagine your emotion on hearing of the appalling crime perpetrated against the unfortunate King of France in all solemnity, tranquillity and illegality (…) He was the head of our family, our kinsman, cousin and brother-in-law. What an atrocious example! What an execrable nation! I know nothing about the other wretched victims in the Temple. If sorrow does not kill them, other horrors may be expected from this horde of assassins. I hope that the ashes of this good Prince, of this too good Prince who has suffered shame and infamy for four years culminating in execution, will implore a striking and visible vengeance from divine Justice, and that on this account the Powers of Europe will have no more than a single united will, since it is a matter in which they are all involved.

She was growing increasingly anxious about her sister, Queen Marie Antoinette, and her hatred for France became an obsession:

I hear horrible details from that infernal Paris. At every moment, at every noise and cry, every time they enter her room, my unfortunate sister kneels, prays and prepares for death. The inhuman brutes that surround her amuse themselves in this manner: day and night they bellow on purpose to terrorize her and make her fear death a thousand times. Death is what one may wish for the poor soul, and it is what I pray God to send her that she may cease to suffer. . . . I should like this infamous nation to be cut to pieces, annihilated, dishonoured, reduced to nothing for at least fifty years. I hope that divine chastisement will fall visibly on France, destroyed by the glorious arms of Austria.

At this point she had lost all hopes of her being rescued, and wished her “a natural death as the best thing that could happen to her”. But even though she had been waiting for it, the news of Marie Antoinette’s execution still shocked her. She wept and prayed with her children for “her wretched sister”.

Naples fell into a social crisis during these years, paranoia, fear and suspicion of the revolution in every corner. There was an active persecution of everyone thought to be a “jacobin”, arrests, trials and executions. But the country couldn’t wage war against France, and eventually they had to sign a peace treaty, which the Queen disapproved: “I am not and never shall be on good terms with the French… I shall always regard them as the murderers of my sister and the royal family”.

It was also during this time that the star of a certain Bonaparte started to rise, and Maria Carolina followed his career with interest and admiration. Before the treaty of Campo Fornio in October 17, 1797, she wrote about Napoleon:

I admire him, and my sole regret is that he serves so detestable cause. I should like the fall of the Republic, but the preservation of Bonaparte. For he is really a great man; and when one can only see ministries and sovereigns with petty and narrow views, one is all the more pleased and astonished to watch such a man rise and increase in power, while deploring that his grandeur is attached to so infernal a cause. This may seem strange to you. But while I loathe his operations, I admire the man. I hope that his plans will miscarry and his enterprises fail; at the same time I wish for his personal happiness and glory so long as it is not at our expense… If he dies they should reduce him to powder and give a dose of it to each ruling sovereign, and two to each of their ministers, then things would go better.

Soon she would have less nicer things to say about Naps, but she never lost that original admiration and astonishment.

In 1798 Ferdinando, encouraged by his wife and the British, led a expedition in December to try to expel the French from Rome. Not only the Neapolitan troops weren’t prepared to defeat the French Army, they were also technically still at peace with France, so this wasn’t a good move at all, and only two days after entering Rome Ferdinando had to retreat. Expectedly, Napoleon’s reaction to such a break of peace was marching over Naples. The royal family had to flee to Sicily, a tragic journey in which Maria Carolina’s six-years-old son Alberto died after a series of convulsions.

This ask is already too long to unpack all the political mess around the short-lived Parthenopean Republic, so to summ it up: it didn’t work out, and by 1799 the Bourbons were back in power. They were unforgiving of the republicans: during the following months there were thousands of arrest and hundreds of executions and deportations. Maria Carolina felt no mercy for them: “Death for the ringleaders, deportation for the rest... Our country must be purged of this infection”.

The Queen returned to Naples in August 1802, after more than three years of absence. She had never been a liked queen, but her unpopularity reached a new low since she was blamed for all the misfortunes of the last years. Having lost the influence she had on her husband, who held her responsible for the Rome expedition fiasco, she meddled a little less in politics now, dedicating mainly to her children and grandchildren, particularly to her unmarried daughters.

Speaking of her children, she had seventeen (!!!) but she would outlive fourteen of them. Part of her masterplan for them was to marry them all to her Habsburg nephews and nieces, and in many cases she succeeded. Just to name one exemple her eldest daughter Maria Theresa married Emperor Franz II/I of Austria. Maria Carolina’s relationship with this son-in-law ended up being a bit tense, since Franz found her mostly meddlesome and never aligned with her plans. On top of that, she was quite hurt when Franz remarried only months after her daughter’s death; after he announced his engagement she stopped adressing him as her son and resorted only to “Your Majesty” instead.

In 1804 Napoleon became Emperor, and we have a letter she wrote to Minister Gallo on this. Buckle up because whatever you imagine her reaction was, you aren’t ready for it:

It was not worth the trouble to condemn and slaughter the best of kings [Louis XVI], dishonour and revile a woman, a daughter of Maria Theresa, a holy princess [Marie Antoinette], to wallow in massacres, shootings, drownings, and kill six hundred prelates in a church, perpetrating horrors of the most barbarous ages at home and abroad, writing whole libraries on liberty, happiness, etc., and at the end of fourteen years become the abject slaves of a little Corsican whom an incredible fortune enabled to exploit all means to succeed, marrying without honour or decency the cast-off strumpet of whom the murderer Barras was surfeited, Turkish or Mohammedan in Egypt, atheist at the start, dragging the Pope after him and letting him die in prison, a devout Catholic after that, practising every deceit, shortening the lives and normal careers of sovereigns who might assert themselves, only allowing the dummies to vegetate, then atrociously, without a shadow of justice, assassinating the Duc d'Enghien, plotting himself (and he did not blush to admit it, so blinded is he by passion) a conspiracy to victimize the rulers he still feared, and on top of all these abominations he is acclaimed as Emperor: he and his race of Corsican bastards are to dominate almost half Europe, yet every thinking person is not revolted. Far from it, their egoism and weakness are such that they study how low they can prostrate themselves before the new idol… Send me word of the august Emperor’s intentions regarding Italy: whether he will deign to accept us as his slaves or will leave us in our obscurity… Tell me what the other Powers are saying. I imagine a Gloria in Excelsis Demonio will be the general refrain…

She took it pretty well right?

The future of the Bourbons of Naples once again seemed bleak, and this time Maria Carolina resorted to directly appealing to Napoleon. This was the beginning of a very passive-agressive epistolary relationship, both of them trying to be civil but still borderline insulting each other. I honestly find this funny, because you have Maria Carolina swearing to Napoleon that she had nothing against him or France and then she would write this to one of her ministers: “You will never imagine the rage and despair which the extremely insolent screed of the scoundrelly but too lucky Corsican has caused me.”

Despite the passive-agressiveness, when Napoleon was looking for a princess bride for his stepson Eugène he actually considered one of Maria Carolina’s daughters, Maria Amelia, as a possible candidate. But when the Minister of Foreign Affairs Gallo told Maria Carolina of Napoleon’s inquiries about her daughter she was so utterly horrified at the idea of marrying into the Corsican’s family that the project was immediately dropped (eventually Maria Amelia would go on to marry the Duke of Orléans, later King Louis Philippe I, and became the last queen of the French).

After Austerlitz Napoleon pretty much had all of Europe eating from his hand, and the Neapolitan sovereigns felt abandoned by every other power. Maria Carolina tried one last futil attempt to plead to Napoleon, but he had already decided to take Naples. The King was the first to Sicily flee this time, the Queen stayed behind and tried to organize a resistance, but eventually she realized there was nothing they could and also fled with her daughters. Before sailing she wrote to her daughter Empress Maria Theresa of Austria: “I fear we shall never see Naples again”. She was right.

The royal couple spent their second exile the same way they spent their first: Ferdinando living his best life enjoying the freedom he had in Sicily and Maria Carolina being utterly miserable. Her health worsened and she often was in pain, but recovering Naples from the Bonapartes became her obsession. She was the leading force behind every attempt to get the kingdom back, but soon she started to crash with their only allies left, the British. They wanted to keep the Bourbons in Sicily, getting back Naples was not a priority for them.

So remember Maria Carolina’s her reaction when Napoleon suggested to marry her daughter to Eugène? Well she didn’t took her granddaughter’s marriage to Napoleon himself any better: “Only this calamity was held in reserve. To become the Devil’s grandmother”.

But at the end, the final boss in Maria Carolina’s life wasn’t Napoleon, but the British. The Queen was too meddlesome and hindered their plans, and made a personal enemy of the British representative Lord Bentinck. Maria Carolina was accused of conspiring and being a threat to Sicily, and eventually the King was forced by the British to send her away. Exiled in exile, having nowhere else to go, she returned to Vienna in an eight-months-journey. While her son-in-law had no desire to receive her, he couldn’t turned her away either. She got in a better mood once she was once back at her childhood home, spending time with her Austrian grandchildren. It was there that she heard of the French defeats and Napoleon’s abdication.

Even though Maria Carolina made her hatred of Napoleon her personality for fifteen years she felt sympathetic towards him after he was defeated, reproached Marie Louise for not going to Elba with her husband, and told her that if she wasn’t allowed to reunite with him she should tie her bed-sheets to her window and escape, because marriage was for life. She also showed a lot of interest in her great-grandson, little Napoleon II, whom she called “mon petit monsieur”; in a letter to Marie Louise she described him as “very charming, quiet and well behaved” and told her that “may God give you in him every consolation a mother can receive.”

Maria Carolina was not to see the Bourbons restored in Naples. She died of a stroke in September 8, 1814, aged sixty-two-years old. At the time of her death Murat was still King of Naples, and the allies were happy to leave Ferdinando in Sicily. She was buried in the Capuchin Crypt, her death being only a small incident in the Congress of Vienna’s dance.

Overall, I personally find Maria Carolina the most fascinating because of everything she represented: she was a healthy daughter of the ancien régime that saw how the world as she knew it crumbled down and changed forever, to the point that by the time of her death she, the last surviving child of Maria Theresia, was a living relique (and she wasn’t even that old - a testament of how fast everything had changed). And she didn't got there sitting by idly: she fought against this new world every step of the way, made it out alive, but lost the battle still. And I don't know about you, but to me this is just a more interesting story to tell than Unoriginal Marie Antoinette Adaptation Number 7383.

Sources:

Acton, Harold (1998). The Bourbons of Naples (1734-1825)

Castelot, André (1974). King of Rome; a biography of Napoleon's tragic son

Stollberg-Rilinger, Barbara (2020). Maria Theresa: The Habsburg Empress in her Time

[moldisgoodforyou]

without you by my side

i thought i posted this already APOLOGIES !!! 

wordcount: 2.4k

_____

Sophie had barely talked to Rafe in the first two weeks she was in Spain, suddenly being consumed with a week-long orientation and then going straight into her internship, juggling her Spanish lessons and trying to just get by in an unfamiliar city. She’d texted him a few updates here and there, and had FaceTimed him briefly in her first week, but most of her spare time was spent getting to know her roommates and checking off random errands.

The time difference made things extra tricky, but Rafe made it a priority to talk with her, no matter where he was. When they finally got a chance to talk, she called him, grinning when the call connected. “Hi!”

He grinned to himself too, feeling warm just from the sound of her voice. “Hi, you. It’s good to hear from you.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I’d be so busy.” She worried her lip between her teeth and he shook his head quickly, although she couldn’t see him. “It’s alright, I knew you had things to do. Don’t stress about it. I want to hear about Barcelona, tell me what you’ve done!”

Sophie beamed and launched into an excited description of everything - her students in her classes, her new coworkers, how she got assigned to a cool project and how she got drunk on a two dollar bottle of wine that was ‘the best she’d ever had.’ Once she told him everything, she paused, letting silence fill the air.

“That sounds awesome, Soph.” He smiled, then frowned hearing her pause. “All good?”

“Yeah, just. I wish you were here. Um, I wear one of the shirts you let me take to bed, and I just realized it doesn’t really smell like you anymore. Washed it too soon, I think.”

Rafe let out a small sigh and clutched his phone a little tighter. “I can send you another one.” His voice had a teasing lilt to it, but he was dead serious.

“No, I’m sorry, it’s stupid.” She spoke quickly and he could distantly hear a few sniffles, then when she brought her phone back to her ear, voice nearly cracking. “I’m okay.”

“Wait, are you crying? Sophie...” He trailed off and she could hear the frown in his voice. He closed his office door so he could talk to her more freely, without having to keep his voice so quiet.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m fine. I just miss you a lot more than I thought I would.”

He immediately pressed the button to facetime her, smiling when she picked up, then instantly dropping it once he saw her teary cheeks. “I can change my flight and come visit sooner. I’ll do it, angel, you know I will.”

She smiled a little at the pet name, swiping her sleeve over her cheeks. “I know, but it’s fine. Once I get into a routine I’ll be okay, everything’s just a little jarring.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. “I thought I knew Spanish and turns out all I can really manage is where’s the bathroom and hello. Everyone speaks so quickly, I feel like an idiot.”

He grinned. “You’re not an idiot, baby, you’ve been practicing for this for months. Just don’t go around telling anyone else te amo.”

She sniffled a little as she laughed. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Hey, how’s home? Have you gone surfing or something yet? Any big parties?”

He shrugged. “It’s alright. I think there’s a party this weekend, but.”

“But what?”

“I don’t know. Feels kind of strange without you by my side.”

“Aw, Rafe, you miss me.” She teased, fully aware she was in no position to poke fun, as she’d just cried over missing him two seconds ago.

He paused and glanced away for a second, not wanting to guilt trip her in the slightest. He just wanted to be sure she enjoyed her trip without having to worry about him. “You know I do.”

“I miss you too.” Her face dropped a little and she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to stop herself from crying again.

“I want you to have fun though, okay? I’m only a call away, and I’ll see you soon enough. Three months will fly by. Easy.” He told her, almost trying to convince himself. Just the last two weeks alone had dragged by for him, especially with how quickly he’d had to leave all his friends in Columbus once the frat house closed for the summer.

“Two months and two weeks,” she corrected. “We’ve made it half a month already.”

He laughed and flipped the camera briefly to show his calendar pinned up behind his desk, little numbers scribbled onto each square. “I know, I’ve been counting down the days.”

“That’s sweet.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and he frowned, narrowing his eyes. “Hey, where’s your ring?”

Sophie instantly blushed and grabbed her backpack, fumbling through it until she found the ring box lying haphazardly at the bottom (and brushed off a few crumbs before showing him). “Here! It’s right here, I have it, promise.” She quickly flipped open the box and slid it on her finger to show him.

“Do you not like it? I should have asked you before, I -”

“No! I love it, no, it’s not that.” She reassured him quickly. “I’m just really worried I’m going to lose it, like on the metro or walking to work, and I can’t have that happen. So I carry the box with me.”

“Oh.” Rafe sat back in his chair, thinking. “How about I get you a chain?”

“A chain?”

“Yeah. You can wear the ring on the chain, like a necklace, when you’re not wearing it on your finger. And when I come visit, we can take it in to Cartier and get it resized, if you need to.”

“No, it fits perfectly, I’m just nervous.” She smiled. “A chain sounds like a good solution.”

He nodded and wrote himself a reminder to order one and have it shipped to her apartment in Spain the second they were off the call. “You got it.” At a knocking on his door, he hesitated before glancing over for the source. “Hold on one second, okay?”

“Okay.”

Rafe stood and opened the door, letting his dad in. Ward strode in and dropped a stack of papers on Rafe’s desk, regarding him with annoyance. “You need to go to the printing company right now and get these flyers fixed. Half of them have the ink fucked up and the phone number’s wrong on all of them.”

“You said I got a half hour lunch break.” Rafe replied evenly, not glancing at the papers - that were the secretary’s responsibility, not his.

“You can get a lunch break when you pay closer attention to the details.” Ward fished his card out of his wallet and slapped it on top of the stack. “Grab me lunch while you’re out. Don’t be long.” He turned to leave, but paused upon seeing Sophie waiting on the facetime call, Rafe’s phone on the desk. “Who is that?”

She froze, hair hiding her face a little, and wasn’t sure if she should hang up or not. Rafe made the first move and flipped the screen over so his phone was facedown on the desk. “I was talking to Sophie. Remember, I told you she’s in Spain, so the time difference -”

“I don’t care.” Ward interrupted. “Don’t let some girl distract you from work.” (Rafe swore he hadn’t acknowledged that Sophie was his girlfriend once.) He left abruptly and kicked out the door stopper as he went, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Rafe winced and took a breath before flipping the phone back over. He looked defeated, “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“S’alright.” Sophie gave him a small smile but her heart was racing, embarrassed about how easily Ward was able to dismiss her. “Call me later, if you want? I’m staying in tonight.”

He glanced at the door again and cocked his head a little to catch the sounds out on the hallway, just giving her a nod and a forced smile before ending the call.

___

Rafe only had a week back in Columbus before he had to pack up and head back to the Outer Banks for one last summer. He had resigned himself to the fact he’d be going home, but was mainly fine with it until he learned Sophie wouldn’t be coming home too. Ever since then, he’d been dreading it - the beach days, country club and even his friends at home weren’t worth the amount of time he’d have to spend with his dad at work.

His dad had been preparing him over the last few years to take a high position in the company, and Rafe had never protested it, just figuring he wasn’t meant for anything else. It wasn’t until Sophie sent him a few links for internships in downtown Columbus that he began to consider that maybe, just maybe, he was capable of more. He ended up applying to five internships in whole, not sure if he could handle too many rejections. Other kids in his major already had at least one, sometimes two internships under their belt, and Rafe’s resume with work at his dad’s company and a couple leadership positions in his frat didn’t exactly measure up.

He was rejected almost immediately from a couple internships, but interviewed for the three others based on a few strong recommendations from his professors. No matter what, he had to return to the Outer Banks and get some extra clothes and furniture to haul back with him for his senior house, so he settled on going back for a little while he waited to hear back from the other companies.

Later that night, he called her back after getting berated by his dad at work and taking the blame for two other interns’ mistakes. It was late, nearly one am for her on a Tuesday, but she picked up anyways, anticipating the call. “H’lo?” Sophie mumbled into the phone, half-asleep. 

“I can’t deal with this anymore. I’m sick of it.” He confessed immediately and she sat up in bed, concerned. “What? What’s wrong, baby?” 

“It’s my dad, I swear to fucking god. I have to get this internship, Soph, it’s the one excuse he’ll take for me not working for him.” Rafe huffed, trying his best to calm himself down, shaky fingers pressing the Facetime button. 

She picked up right away, the lag in wifi barely interrupting their call. “Breathe, Rafe.” 

He nodded quickly, taking a few shallow breaths, then frowned as he saw the pillow marks pressed into her cheek. “Fuck, did I wake you up? This fucking time zone shit -” He cut himself off, knowing he was just angry with his dad, not her. 

Sophie shook her head. “No, um, was just scrolling through social media and laying down.” 

It was a blatant lie, but Rafe accepted it anyways. “You need to sleep earlier.” 

She shrugged, not wanting to share that she couldn’t sleep that well without him sometimes. “I’m fine. Tell me what’s going on.” 

“It’s just.” He paused and propped the phone up, then pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “He puts so much pressure on me, all the time. I’m supposed to take over this company and I don’t even know if that’s what I want to do, I’m a business major just because he told me that’d be a good idea, it’s just -” Rafe took a breath, trying not to get himself more worked up. “It’s a lot.” 

Sophie frowned, catching herself reaching toward the screen for a moment in an attempt to comfort him. “You’ll get the internship in Columbus, I know you will.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I do know that. You need to think more highly of yourself, Rafe.” 

He sighed, chewing on his bottom lip. “Kinda hard when no one else is thinking highly of me.” 

“Rafe.” She caught his attention with a stern tone, frowning. “That’s not true, not in the slightest.” 

“A little bit.” 

“You’re a loyal friend, you’re generous, you’re smart. I know I can always count on you. You just need to be nicer to yourself.” Sophie encouraged, smiling when he gave her the tiniest hint of a shy smile. 

“You don’t need to say all that.” He countered, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I know. But I mean all of it.” She got up from her bed, taking the phone with her. “Hey, go look outside.” 

“Why?” 

“Just go look outside.” 

He furrowed his brow but followed along, bringing his phone to his bedroom window and walking out to his balcony. “What am I supposed to be seeing?” 

“You see the moon?” 

“Yeah.” 

She flipped her camera briefly, showing the glow of the moon in the sky over the city. “It’s the same moon, okay? We’re seeing the exact same thing.” 

“Okay...” He trailed off, confused. 

“It’s almost like I’m there with you.” She paused. “Kind of. We’re not that far apart.” 

“Four thousand miles.” He argued, getting more miserable. “God, I miss you.” 

Sophie nodded with a frown, biting the inside of her cheek. “I know. I miss you too, baby. I’m sorry your dad is being so shitty.” 

“He’ll hear you.” Rafe half-teased, glancing around just to make sure he wasn’t down below on the deck or nearby. 

Her jaw set, stubborn. “Good. When do you hear back about the internship?” 

“In a couple days, probably. I had the final interview yesterday and they’ll give me a few weeks’ notice before I need to move back.” He opened his mouth, about to add another self-deprecating comment, but stopped himself. “It went okay.” 

“I’m sure you were fantastic. Model candidate.” She grinned and he just ached for her even more. “It’s late for you, isn’t it.” 

“Um...a little. But I can keep talking if you want. Any time.” She promised, hiding a yawn behind her hand. 

He shook his head, smiling. “Go back to bed, angel. I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

“Don’t be, I’m glad I got to talk with you again.” Sophie paused. “It’ll be okay, Rafe. I know it.” 

“Yeah.” He agreed just to appease her. The last thing he wanted her to be doing when she was in Barcelona was worrying about him. “Love you. Sweet dreams, Soph.” 

“Love you too.” 

taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @sunshineitsfine44 @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23 @babygal-babygal

[keanureevesisbae]

The alluring charm of Henry Cavill - Chapter 1

Summary: Adelaide Park meets Henry Cavill for the first time and she is obviously very nervous. 

Henry Cavill x Adelaide Park (ofc)

Wordcount: 3.5k

A/N: If you want to be on the taglist, just let me know. And please let me know what you guys think. I’d love to hear your thoughts about it 😘 

Masterlist // Introduction // Next chapter

I’ve never been to Italy before. Actually, before I was a renowned actress, I never came outside of LA. Growing up, my parents never had the money to go to a different city, let alone other countries. My vacations were spend solely in our small one room apartment back in Los Angeles by myself.

My parents were never rich. My dad worked long hours in a factory every single day, but earning just enough money to pay the rent and for me and mom to eat. One night, I saw him scraping the packages or our plats clean, so he had something to eat as well. After I saw that, I never ate all the food off my plate, because I realized that my dad was working the hardest, but was eating the least.

It always broke my heart to see both of them struggle. My mom used to be a cleaning lady, but after she got fired, she became a live-in nanny, which basically meant that from my sixth birthday, she was barely home anymore and I had to raise myself.

Hours on end I was alone. Back in school I barely had any friends—correction: I had no friends at all—and when I came home from school, I’d sit outside to do my homework, because dad didn’t have enough money to get a second set of keys.

I never complained about it, because I knew they were trying and I learned all too well from that one time when I asked for a Barbie doll back when I was five and I kept crying about it, because other kids had Barbie dolls and I was the only one who didn’t. My mom got so mad, that she grabbed my empty plate and threw it against the wall, while she was screaming something about how ungrateful I was. Mom never got mad, she was always admirably calm and collected, even when life got in the way like it did with us. Seeing her like this, meant she was serious and I never said anything about something like that anymore. I never asked for anything, at all.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents and I am so thankful for everything they taught me and did for me. It may have been a hard time, but every year for my birthday, they gave me something. It was always something I really needed, but I always appreciated how they went out of their way for me, wondering how many meals they skipped for this present.

It all became worse when I finished high school at the age of nineteen. I was older than everyone else, since I read so slowly and didn’t even understand it most of the time, causing me to get behind on many classes over the course of the years. Besides, our school wasn’t known for having the best results overall, so the fact that I didn’t score well, meant I was blending in with the rest.

I was working in a diner, because I wasn’t smart enough at all for a scholarship, when my mom got in a terrible accident, when she walked back home and she was hit by a car who ran through a red light. She was paralyzed from her waist down and besides the high hospital bills, she also needed psychical therapy, something that unfortunately isn’t free.

With what my dad and I were earning together, we couldn’t even pay two percent of those costs. I was thinking about putting myself up on a sugar daddy website, but I know I couldn’t lie to them, when I would come back with a lot of money. Besides, my dad was always very strict about what mom and I could and couldn’t do to make money and sugar daddies were off limits. He told me multiple times—even after mom’s accident—that we had nothing to worry about. That he would take care of it.

But I had something to worry about, because my father wasn’t getting any younger. He had been working too hard for too long and all he wanted, was staying with his wife, who he still loved so so much, despite everything they had gone through. I took up more shifts at the diner, only slowly coming to terms that, even with the tips I was receiving, it was never enough to cover the bills.

In about two months, my mom would be discharged from the facility, if we hadn’t paid at least something significant.

One day, I was walking back home from work, when I saw a huge billboard, with a message that a studio was looking for someone to star in one of the biggest sitcoms of that time: Remembering High School. Apparently, one of the new main characters (who was an adult) was having a flashback from when they were in high school—the main premise of the show. And that character happened to be an Asian lady.

I went in and decided I would try it out. I mean, I had no acting experience and solely did it to earn some money, but being Asian American was apparently enough and that was the beginning of my acting career.

At first the amounts of money I made were not enough to cover the medical costs, but it was enough to delay further payment and my mom could stay in the facility.

For years I had difficulty with reading, let alone reading out loud, with an audience, but somehow on the set, I could forget about that. I could finally be someone I really wanted to be. For a few moments I could forget all the sorrows and worries I had resting on my shoulders.

The first five weeks, I’d combine my new acting career with my job in the diner, but after awhile I became a recurring character and for a whole year, I was part of the cast. I remember walking into my mom’s room, showing both her and my dad the first episode I was going to star in. ‘I’m from Minnesota,’ was my first line and the beginning of a very promising career.

My parents were so proud of me. My dad didn’t even care about the money I made at first, because he was so happy that I was doing something that from the looks of it, I actually enjoyed.

Over the years, I’ve come to love acting, but no one knows I do it because of my family. Actually no one knew about my family situation and since I have zero friends, even in the industry (because I barely talk about my personal life and I never budge, even when the try to pry information about it. My co-stars are acquaintances, almost like neighbors: you know one another, but you don’t know them), no one is aware that every penny I earn, goes directly to my family.

Nowadays I make millions, but I’m mainly spending it on my mom, but also on other people who are paralyzed and need psychical therapy, but were in the same boat as my family and my parents met over time in the facility. Money doesn’t mean a lot to me and these people can use it a lot better than I can.

Besides, my parents worked so hard for me growing up, this is the only way for me to pay them back. Despite not having any money themselves, nor stuff, they always taught me to share, to make sure that other people are well taken care off.

The flight from Japan to Italy moved along pretty quick, but maybe that’s because I was traveling first class. My latest movie took place in Japan and though I loved it there, I really want to see what Italy is like, after spending eight months in a lousy hotel in Japan.

After becoming an actress, I went to a lot of great places for shooting movies. I went to Suriname, Canada, Spain, Australia and this time it was Japan. I’m so blessed that I get to travel, knowing really well that other people are still struggling with what I used to struggle with. Sometimes I donate the earnings of a movie to movements that catch my eye, that help kids in certain areas of California with their school work, and with access of clothes and food. I always donate anonymously, not wanting to seem like a philanthropist who is doing this solely for her own image.

I always think that if you really care about something, you would do it without earning praises.

Participating on ‘The Celebrity Project’ wasn’t something I would normally do, but when they reached out to me, I was actually delighted that I was going to be part of this. Maybe I could finally show the world that I’m not as stupid as I appear in interviews.

Being a loner, a slow reader and probably has multiple learning disabilities (if I actually got tested, but the tests were too expensive and no one at school seemed to care and I’m actually too embarrassed to get myself tested now I’m a twenty-five year old), I often come off as an airhead and it’s my own fault really. I do give them enough stupid material to go on about that accusation.

However, I’m really nervous. I mean, I’m going to work together with Henry Cavill. He is charming and sounds so intelligent. When I was done filming and back at my hotel room, I’d watch his interviews, because I wanted to know what I was going to work with. The way he is so articulate and he obviously knows what he is doing, makes me feel even worse about myself. I’m a total disaster and already a burden to him I presume.

I’m sitting in a taxi, waiting for traffic to calm down a bit. It’s early in the mornings and thankfully I got to make myself a bit more presentable in the plane already. I notice the tiny camera’s being strategically placed in the car. It really begun, I think to myself. I’m part of a reality show now. ‘How are you feeling, miss Park?’ the taxi driver asks. ‘I recently heard about this program.’

‘I’m a bit nervous,’ I say, wondering whether or not he is payed to to talk to me about this. I rummage through my purse, hoping I can find my lip balm.

‘Are you looking forward to work with Henry Cavill?’

That name alone makes me nearly make me shit my pants already. ‘Yeah, he seems like a nice man, so I really look forward to work with him.’ And I sure as hell hope that I won’t let him down.

The drive to the hotel is about an hour, but it feels like time is going by a whole lot faster.  The chauffeur talks about his family and how his wife is actually a fan of my movies and has watched every single one of them. I took a few pictures with him and signed the inside of the cracker box, because that was all he got with him for me to write something on.

After I said goodbye to him, I’m told that I should go to room 346. With my suitcases with me, I step into the elevator, a cameraman close by. They told me that at one point, these cameramen would just be invisible to me, but I highly doubt it. They are only with us during the assignments. In the cars and at the place where we’re staying, the camera’s are hidden.

When I’m in front of the door, I take a deep breath.

I can do this I think to myself. I have starred alongside other talented people. My first real role was playing Keanu Reeves’ daughter, I was Angela Bassett’s assistant and I also had some pretty steamy scenes with David Castañeda, after his Umbrella Academy days. I can handle being around Henry Cavill, right? I knock on the door three times and I open it a bit, peeking my head around the door.

I can conclude that I’m severely underdressed. I’m wearing a simply jean short, white crop top with some lace on the borders and socks with the same lace details as my top, paired with white sneakers.

I look like a slob, compared to Henry, who seems like he stepped out of a Disney movie.  His white blouse, off-white pants and those loafers. The only thing that is missing, is his yacht with the name Serenity.

A smile creeps up on my face, as I step into the room, rolling my pink suitcases with me, because he actually looks approachable.

‘Hi there,’ he says with a small smile on his face. He walks up to me, holding out his hand. ‘I’m Henry, nice to meet you.’

I can’t help but blush. He is so charming and his accent makes him so posh. I place my hand in his and it almost disappears. Not to be that girl, but my size kink is activated right here and now. ‘Adelaide,’ I say. ‘Uhm, it’s nice to meet you… Too.’

I curse my tongue.

‘How was your flight?’ he asks, as he gestures to the couch for us to sit on.

I take place right next to him and I feel like a child sitting next to her dad. Why is he so massive? ‘It was okay. Yours?’

‘It flew by.’

I raise my eyebrows. ‘Was that… a pun?’

Henry chuckles nervously. ‘Maybe, I’m sorry.’

I look around me. The hotel room seems okay, but I bet we’re not going to stay here for long. I stare at the silver tray in front of us, with a set of keys and an envelope with our names on it.

Henry takes the envelope from the tray and holds it in front of me. ‘You want to read it?’

I shake my head. ‘No, you go.’ The whole idea of reading out loud without practice, makes me want to vomit. Before the table reads, I use this program that will read everything for me, even using the right intonation. I stay up for way too many hours for that, because once I’ve heard it, I made notes, I can better read it.

Back when I was doing ‘Remembering High School’ I had the woman who played the adult version of me read it to me, because I had to portray the young her and keep her character in mind. Since she was an established character on the show, she had certain ways of saying things I had to copy. She never knew the real reason I wanted her to read it out loud for me.

He cocks an eyebrow, but then opens the envelope. He clears his throat, before a dramatic reading of our first assignment rolls out of his mouth. How can he make a simple note sound so… Sensual, almost? His deep and dark voice, making it sound way more intense than it actually is. I wouldn’t mind if he read my scripts out loud for me.

‘Dear Adelaide and Henry, the adventure of ‘The Celebrity Project’ has officially started,’ he says, tilting the card a little, so I can read a little bit with him. It’s a nice gesture really and I appreciate the thought. ‘We have provided you with a nice car, to drive to the little cottage, specially arranged for the two of you. Tomorrow will be a nice day for you to relax (because you two are both severely jet lagged we presume) and the day after that, you’ll be expected for your first assignment. Enjoy the car ride and remember: look out of your window every now and then. We are aware that Henry is really handsome, Adelaide and you’ll be forced to only look at him, but nature can be beautiful too.’

I scrunch up my nose. That last sentence seemed so forced and this is exactly the reason why I don’t like these types of survival, borderline reality shows. It’s not reality. It’s this forced setting, hoping to get people to believe that this is how real life should look like.

And I don’t like deceiving people like that. I almost regret participating.

‘Right, well, we might as well just go,’ he says, his tone flat, maybe just as annoyed with that last sentence as I am. Probably even more so.

◎ ◎ ◎

Why is there a pink carseat in the passengers seat? I mean, I’m not the tallest, but I’m definitely not that tiny. I look around us, only to see no member of the crew around. This is great. I want to take the seat out, because I don’t want to sit on it, but it’s securely fastened and only with a different set of keys, I can undo it.

And of course I don’t have that.

I really regret being here.

However, I still sit on the carseat, because I don’t want to sit in the back because I’ll get carsick and when I see Henry’s cocked eyebrows and a poorly hidden smirk, I simply say: ‘Don’t.’

Okay, maybe I do understand why they put me on a carseat, because this man looks so enormous and otherwise I’m simply non existent. He starts the car and simply drives off. I don’t know whether or not I should say something to him, because I feel like we should talk.  I mean, that’s why the camera’s are here right?

‘What is your newest movie about?’ Henry asks.

‘About a woman escaping from her past and she moves to Japan, when one day an old friend becomes her new manager,’ I say.

‘Romantic comedy?’

‘Of course.’

He nods. ‘You don’t get tired of doing those?’ he asks.

Yes, I do get a bit tired of them, but there are two things: for starters, just like those romance books (that I would buy my mom one for her birthday every year, because I knew how much she loved those), romantic comedies sell really good. And no one wants me for something else. I feel like directors don’t trust me with big roles, like Rose in Titanic or someone else major. Besides, I’m Asian American, when was the last time one of us got a major part in a movie that’s not a romantic comedy?

But I don’t want to seem ungrateful and it’s a nice stream of money coming in every time and that’s basically all I want.

‘No,’ I say. ‘It’s okay. You shot something new… new movie… Right?’ For fuck sake, Adelaide, you were doing so well.

‘I did, actually,’ he says. ‘It’s something I’m very excited for. It’s more of a dramatical part.’ I listen to Henry, as he is talking about this movie. How he plays a single dad, trying to figure out this parenting part with his daughter, when his brother and sister-in-law pass away and he has to take in four monsters of boys in his house. The way he talks about this, I notice a shimmer in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologizes. ‘I let myself go there for a second. It’s just I’m really excited about this movie.’

‘No, I get it,’ I say, as I look out of the window. I let out a deep sigh, as we drive over the sandy roads. Before I can say something else (as if I knew what), Henry hits the break and like the cliches in the movies, he holds out his arm in front of me, as the car comes to a halt.

There are four dogs and one owner on the road and the man screams something in Italian to us. Clearly we were supposed to stop for him. ‘Shit, sorry,’ Henry mumbles, as if the man could hear that.

His warm hand dropped to my bare thigh and with my pointer finger I tap him on the back of his hand. ‘Excuse me,’ I say.

‘Oh no, terrible sorry,’ he says quickly, retracting his hand. ‘What do you think the cottage will look like?’ Henry asks, when he pulled up again, not driving as fast as he did before.

Shrugging I play with my water bottle. ‘I don’t know, but I think I know one thing.’

It takes me a while before I can get the words out of my mouth, but Henry doesn’t force me to say anything, by asking something like: ‘Care to let me in?’ He actually lets me find the words and it feels nice not to be rushed into saying something.

‘I bet there is one bed that is large and comfortable. However, there is also one uncomfortable couch, too small for you. So people want to see whether or not you are a… gentleman and offer to sleep on the couch.’

‘You think?’ he asks frowning. ‘A bit far fetched, don’t you think?’

When we arrive at the tiny cottage, we walk inside. It’s nice decorated, warm colors mixed with nice hints of different pastel colors. My eye falls on the very uncomfortable looking couch that is pretty tiny if Henry is supposed to be sprawled out on that, but we don’t know what the rest looks like.

After a small tour through the house, we have come to the conclusion that there is indeed only one bed. I look over my shoulder, my eyes meeting Henry’s. ‘See?’

Taglist: @thelastsock​ // @jolly-polly​ // @henrythickcavill​ // @maan24​ // @diegos-butt​ / @agniavateira​ // 

[rambling-addict]

(The gang has a rare day off and Ava insisted that they go to the beach. There, they encounter someone from Beatrice’s past. Beatrice comes to a realisation.)

Lilith: Ha! *smirks as Ava failed to catch the volleyball and falls to her face on the sand* Even with 2 versus 3, we still beat you!

Mary: You have Beatrice!

Camila: *helps Ava stand up*

Ava: Yeah! Bea is good at everything!

Beatrice: *flushes*

(Before Lilith could reply, a girl’s voice piped up in response.)

Girl: I see you’re still a master of all trades, wherever you go.

(Everyone turns to look at the girl with the same British accent as Beatrice.)

Ava: *about to speak up, but Mary grabs her wrist and shakes her head*

Beatrice: Amelia...

Amelia: Hey, Tris. I’m sorry for interrupting your game. I just couldn’t believe my eyes.

Beatrice: It’s alright. Um... *turns to the others and briefly introduces Amelia*

Amelia: Would you care to walk with me for a bit?

Beatrice: Oh... *eyes briefly meeting Ava’s, and they subtly nodded at each other* Of course.

...

Amelia: You look good.

Beatrice: *looks down at her plain black shirt and shorts, and chuckles* I would hardly describe myself as anything but plain.

Amelia: *laughs* You always were too clueless on how good-looking you are...but that’s not what I meant. You look happy.

Beatrice: *half-smiles* I am, for the most part. I can’t say it’s all dandy, but after my family basically casted me away, I found a new family in this vocation I’ve chosen. *pauses, not wanting to divulge more* You look happy, too.

Amelia: *beams back* I am happy. I’m engaged. I’m actually here in Spain to celebrate.

Beatrice: *genuinely smiles* Congratulations, Mia. Whoever he is, he’s lucky to have you.

Amelia: I’m the lucky one...having her in my life.

Beatrice: *eyes wide* Oh... you—

Amelia: Yes, I chose my happiness, so my parents disowned me and I never got to go to the art school of my dreams.

Beatrice:*ducks her head* I’m sorry, Mia.

Amelia: *chuckles* Don’t be. Like I said, I’m happy.

Beatrice: But you could’ve had so many opportunities if the world wasn’t so unfair.

Amelia: That’s what I used to think, too... but then, I met her and she taught me not to dwell on the pain and the things that could’ve been because I have the rest of my life to move forward and be happy.

Beatrice: *nods, still mulling over the words*

Amelia: "Make peace with your unlived life." That’s what she told me. And I did. Everything happens for a reason. We just have to go with it and trust that better things are yet to come.

Beatrice: *nods again and grins* Your fiancée must be a monk or some philosopher.

Amelia: *laughs* I’ll totally tell her you said that when I tell her about this. *nudges her playfully* Well, I better let you go back to your friends. I can tell that girl of yours is itching to get you back. *gestures to Ava, who had been watching from afar*

Beatrice: *flushes at the assumption, but didn’t correct her*

Amelia: It’s good to see you, Tris. *gives her a friendly hug*

Beatrice: You, too. *watches her walk away*

...

Ava: You ok, Bea? *sits down on the sand next to her*

Beatrice: Yeah... it was an interesting encounter.

Ava: Hmm. *curiously glances* How do you feel?

Beatrice: Honestly? I feel... good. It’s like an old weight had just been lifted off my chest.

Ava: That’s good. So... what did you talk about?

Beatrice: *smiles knowingly* Just catching up, really. She made me realise something, too.

Ava: What’s that?

Beatrice: We only have one life, so we have to live it. I don’t want to think about the what ifs anymore. My past is my past, and it led me to be in this moment... with you. *bravely holds Ava’s hand*

Ava: *softly smiles and squeezes back* I wouldn’t mind being murdered by a nun again and again in the next lives, if that meant I’d always meet you in the end.

Beatrice: *says no more and leans closer to kiss her*

Ava: *keeps her forehead against Beatrice’s, not wanting to lose contact just yet after that long awaited kiss* So what happens next?

Beatrice: We move forward and take it one day at a time.

Ava: I like the sound of that. *steals another kiss*

So... that was that. I do think Beatrice’s biggest hurdle would be on how she can make peace with her past pain and the memories that still haunt her. And I hope Ava is the one to help her, like how Beatrice helped her be more of a team player. I know Ava already started by telling Beatrice not to hate herself and that she’s beautiful as she is. But I do want to see this explored more in season 2. Fuck, I can’t wait! Bring on the slow burn!

Still sappy, I know. Lol. Oh, and feel free to attach a face to “Amelia”. I honestly couldn’t immediately think of anyone British to be Beatrice’s old flame...haha. I just liked the name Amelia.:p

This was inspired by KTY’s post, btw.

Other WN incorrect quotes/ dialogue fics: 19 | 20 | 21

[mamabear-elinor]

The Forging of Bitter Bonds

III. A Shining Light September 07, 1992; September 14, 1992

[cw for a small instance of ~~casual racism]

The first day of the semester at the University of Edinburgh was insignificant to most. The weather was average; overcast and cool, the wind sweeping in off the ocean and chilling the bone if one was not careful. Elinor found it invigorating as she walked over the uneven cobblestones through the stone corridor that led out onto the street in Old Town. She checked the map that the student’s union had passed out at orientation and then crossed the street and into the warm little pub. 

“Ellie!” A pretty, redheaded girl stood up in her seat and waved rambunctiously, garnering the attention of a few other patrons of the quaint pub. 

Quickly, Elinor headed toward the table and slipped into the seat across from her. “Goldie, crivvens, you’re going to get us kicked out.” 

“Oh, psh. It’s fine. I already made friends with ol’ Tommy.” She wiggled the whiskey in her hand. 

“You’re underage,” Elinor pointed out, torn between disapproving and impressed.

“That’s such a nice name, don’t you think?” Marigold DunBroch ignored her. 

Elinor turned and looked over her shoulder at the bartender, who was nothing to look at. Old and balding, with a red nose and a missing front tooth. “No,” she replied primly after her assessment.

Marigold made a face but just sat back in her seat. “How was it then? I don’t have class until tomorrow, thank God.” 

Finally, Elinor smiled. “Wonderful! My professor for Art History 101 is a woman, Professor Howell. She’s amazing. I want to be just like her.” 

“You got all that from one class?” Marigold curled her fingers in a wave at a strapping young lad a few tables away, not looking in her friend’s direction. 

“Have you ever heard of Artemisia?” 

“Bless you.”

“Hilarious. Listen.” Elinor tugged her friend’s arm. “She was this woman painter in the seventeenth century. She was the first woman to be a member of the Accademia di Arte del Disegno. I didn’t even know women were painters then! It’s only my first day and I’ve already learned so much. Oh, there was another one. I can’t remember her name, shoot.” 

Elinor dove for her notebook in her satchel, which was made from fine leather. Her father had given it to her as a gift. She pulled out her notebook and sat back up. 

There was a girl standing in front of their table. 

“Oh, hello,” Elinor said with a tight smile, her brow furrowed slightly. “Can I help you?” 

Marigold had turned her focus on the newcomer as well. 

“You’re in Professor Howell’s class.” Her accent was Scottish, but there was something strange about it. Elinor could not place it.  

“Yes?” Elinor had a feeling it was not a question. 

“Me too,” the girl smiled. “I’m Sorcha. Can I sit with you? All the other tables are full and it’s started raining.” 

Elinor glanced over her shoulder to the rain, then over at Marigold, who shrugged a little and moved her stuff over to make room. “Yeah, sure, sit. Please.”

“Fabulous.” Sorcha did not need telling twice. She plopped down in the spare seat as soon as the table was clear. Her gold jewelry glinted in the low light, almost too bright for the dim pub. There were raindrops in the tight curls of her black hair. They caught the light too, twinkling like stars. She reached up and shook out her hair. A few droplets fell onto the table. “Sorry. I forgot my scarf at home today. It wasn’t supposed to rain.”

“That--that’s alright,” Elinor said after a moment. 

Sorcha smiled at her. “You’re sweet. I didn’t get your names--?” 

“I’m Marigold DunBroch.” Marigold held out her hand. “And that’s Elinor Briar. We call her Ellie, though.” 

“No, no we don’t,” Elinor corrected, feeling the tips of her ears heat slightly. 

“No worries,” Sorcha said, leaning back in her chair and spreading her legs so that one of her knees bumped the table, making Elinor jump slightly. Her posture was horrid. It was alarming. “I like Elinor better. It’s pretty. Do you know what it means?” 

Elinor furrowed her brow, her eyes jumping up from Sorcha’s thigh which was encroaching into her space. “What? No, uh--I think it was my grandmother’s name or...something like that.” 

“Shame. You know, a name can tell a lot about a person.” 

“How’s that?” This was Marigold, her eyes sparking bright as she leaned forward slightly.

“Well, you were named after your grandmother or something?” Sorcha was still looking at Elinor, her dark eyes assessing. 

Elinor couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “Do Marigold,” she mumbled, but cleared her throat and laughed once. 

“Yes, tell me about my name.” 

“Alright.” Sorcha’s eyes lingered for another moment on Elinor and then turned to Marigold, who was sitting primly, shoulders back, and wide, dazzling smile. Ever since they had been young, Marigold commanded every conversation her and Elinor were in. They did not see each other often, but if anyone asked, Marigold DunBroch was Elinor’s best friend in the whole world. 

“Well, from what I know marigolds are used for Día de los muertos.” 

“What’s that?” Marigold asked, grinning like a loon now at the attention being lavished on her.

Outside, thunder rumbled and the rain began to come down more steadily against the window pane. Elinor realized she was still clutching her notebook. She wondered, if she just took a peak, if she would be able to remember the name of the artist they’d learned about in class. Maybe the artist had a name that meant something important. 

“It translates to the Day of the Dead. A day when the veil between worlds is thinnest and the deceased walk amongst the living.” 

Elinor shivered as if one of the cool raindrops from the windowpane had slipped down her spine. 

Marigold deflated slightly, her blue eyes a bit more cautious. “Oh. Well! Do Elinor’s. I bet it means something lame like--dark-haired. Her parents are so unoriginal.”

“I--don’t know, actually,” Sorcha admitted with a little shrug, but when she looked at Elinor again, she had the sense that Sorcha knew more than she was letting on. “At least you have a family name. That’s nice. To have a legacy like that.” 

“Yes, I suppose.” Elinor took a sip of her water. 

A legacy. That was certainly something her family had given her. Or, more accurately, placed on her shoulders without her consent. She felt it heavy now, her first day of classes behind her and now a countdown until her new first day of classes. Elinor had yet to tell Marigold that she would be transferring to Oxford. In fact, she had yet to tell her that she was no longer seeing Francis Smith. She didn’t want to think about any of that. She wanted to enjoy her semester. To learn what she could. The comment had brought her back down again, though, as she was reminded that this was not permanent. Professor Howell would not be her teacher next year. Nor even next semester. She couldn’t write her thesis with the woman. It was silly of Elinor to have even been thinking of it. 

“What does your name mean then, Sorcha?” Marigold asked, not sensing her friend’s withdrawal. She put an elbow on the table (unladylike.) 

“It means brightness,” Sorcha said and those dark eyes of hers sparked, her white teeth stark against the dark lipstick and her dark skin.

“I have an Aunt Sorcha and she is not bright at all.” Marigold laughed loud enough that she snorted. 

“I think you’re very bright,” Elinor blurted without thinking and then felt her ears burn.

The look that Sorcha fixed her with made Elinor’s stomach churn. She felt as if somehow Sorcha had looked right through her. Or, perhaps, more accurately, directly into her, like she could see Elinor’s soul. This time, though, Elinor couldn’t look away. Their eyes locked. 

Then, Sorcha’s face broke out into another grin. “Aw, thanks, sweetie pie,” she said, reaching out to squeeze Elinor’s forearm. Her nails were long and bright red. (Garish, Elinor’s mother said in her head. Only women of certain proclivities paint their nails bright like that, pale colours only or don’t paint your nails at all.) “You’re not so bad yourself.” She winked.

“Oh, uh--I just meant--”

“I know what you meant.” Sorcha patted her arm. “Now, what’s in that notebook? I saw you pulling it out when I came over.”

“I was just--we can talk about something else.”

“Well, how am I gonna say if I wanna talk about it or something else unless you tell me what it is?”

“It was just some artist she was trying to remember,” Marigold waved. “I’d much rather know more about you, Sorcha. Where are you from?” 

“Spain,” Sorcha replied offhand. She was still looking at Elinor. “What is the work from the artist? Was it one of the ones we were shown in class?”

“Spain? But you sound like a Scot!” Marigold said, looking like a dog with a bone. She was even more curious now.

“That’s because I grew up here. Now, what artist is it?” 

“It’s really--I can’t remember at this point,” Elinor said, leaning over to slide her notebook back into her bag. “It’s not important.” 

“You’ll just have to tell me next class. Looks like the rain has cleared, so I’m going to head out.” She stood up, the chair scraping behind her. 

Elinor blinked rapidly. “Oh, well. It was nice to meet you.” 

“You too.” She gave a little salute and then sauntered off.

“That was...odd,” Elinor commented, shifting in her seat slightly, crossing her ankles. 

“I liked her,” Marigold replied with a grin. 

→ → → 

The next week, after classes, as Elinor headed back out into the misty evening. Someone called her name.

“Elinor!” 

Turning, she saw Sorcha waving at her, then jogging down the steps to meet her. She had a bright yellow scarf tied around her thick hair this time. 

“Did you remember the artist?” 

“Oh, uhm, yes,” Elinor said as she began walking back toward her dorm. “It was Leonora Carrington.” It was a good thing the wind was brisk, for it hid the warmth of her cheeks. 

“You would totally like Carrington,” Sorcha agreed with a sage nod of her head.

“What? What is that supposed to mean?” 

“I just figured she’d be your style.” 

“How?” 

“I don’t know. Just a hunch.” 

They walked silently for a few steps. Elinor had assumed that Sorcha would peel off again, but instead she stayed right next to Elinor, her wide hips occasionally bumping Elinor’s own. 

“I looked up what my name means,” Elinor admitted after a few more moments. 

The smile Sorcha gave her made Elinor think that she had somehow known this too. “And?” Sorcha prompted. 

“Light of God, I suppose. There were a few other meanings but--”

“That was the one that stood out to you?” 

“No, I mean...that is probably what my parents intended anyhow.” 

“Who cares what they think? That’s not what I asked.” 

Elinor, if she was not so well-schooled in walking gracefully, might have tripped over a cobblestone. She clutched her books tight to her chest. Who cares what they think? What an absurd thing to say. 

“Well--it also means shining light or...the bright one.” Elinor’s heart felt like it was beating extremely fast for a casual, brisk autumn stroll across campus.

“We match!” Sorcha sounded extraordinarily pleased with herself. “That’s brilliant. Would you like to join my study group?” 

“Oh, I--” Elinor had a feeling saying no would be rude. She didn’t want to say no. Or...did she? There was a part of her that did. She was only going to be here for one semester. Gone before the snow melted and the spring bloomed again. Making friends had never been a priority for her anyway. She wanted to do well in school, so that her parents would give her freedom. If she failed, they would drag her back to the castle kicking and screaming. 

Education for women was a privilege, after all. 

“It’ll be fun, I promise.” 

“Very well,” Elinor agreed stiffly. 

“Perfect, we meet in classroom 124B on Wednesdays from 6pm to 7pm. I will see you there!” Abruptly, Sorcha turned on her heel and struck off straight across the quad. As she went, she removed the scarf from her head, allowing her hair to spring free, even though the rain had just begun in earnest. 

[csnews]

'I've never seen or heard of attacks': scientists baffled by orcas harassing boats

Susan Smillie - September 13, 2020

Reports of orcas striking sailing boats in the Straits of Gibraltar have left sailors and scientists confused. Just what is causing such unusually aggressive behaviour?  

When nine killer whales surrounded the 46ft boat that Victoria Morris was crewing in Spain on the afternoon of 29 July, she was elated. The biology graduate taught sailing in New Zealand and is used to friendly orca encounters. But the atmosphere quickly changed when they started ramming the hull, spinning the boat 180 degrees, disabling the autohelm and engine. The 23-year-old watched broken bits of the rudder float off, leaving the four-person crew without steering, drifting into the Gibraltar Straits shipping lane between Cape Trafalgar and the small town of Barbate.

The pod rammed the boat for more than an hour, during which time the crew were too busy getting the sails in, readying the life raft and radioing a mayday – “Orca attack!” – to feel fear. The moment fear kicked in, Morris says, was when she went below deck to prepare a grab bag – the stuff you take when abandoning ship. “The noise was really scary. They were ramming the keel, there was this horrible echo, I thought they could capsize the boat. And this deafening noise as they communicated, whistling to each other. It was so loud that we had to shout.” It felt, she says, “totally orchestrated”.

The crew waited a tense hour and a half for rescue – perhaps understandably, the coastguard took time to comprehend (“You are saying you are under attack from orca?”). To say this is unusual is to massively understate it. By the time help arrived, the orcas were gone. The boat was towed to Barbate, where it was lifted to reveal the rudder missing its bottom third and outer layer, and teeth marks along the underside.

Rocío Espada works with the marine biology laboratory at the University of Seville and has observed this migratory population of orca in the Gibraltar Straits for years. She was astonished. “For killer whales to take out a piece of a fibreglass rudder is crazy,” she says. “I’ve seen these orcas grow from babies, I know their life stories, I’ve never seen or heard of attacks.”

Highly intelligent, social mammals, orcas are the largest of the dolphin family, and behave in a similar way. It is normal, she says, that orcas will follow close to the propeller. Even holding the rudder is not unheard of: “Sometimes they will bite the rudder, get dragged behind as a game.” But never with enough force to break it. This ramming, Espada says, indicates stress. The Straits is full of nets and long lines; perhaps a calf got caught.

But Morris’s was only one of several encounters between late July and August. Six days earlier, Alfonso Gomez-Jordana Martin, a 31-year-old from Alicante, was crewing a delivery boat near Barbate for the same company, Reliance Yacht Management. They were proceeding under engine when a pod of four orcas brought their 40ft Beneteau to a halt. He filmed them – it looks more like excitement and curiosity than aggression – but even this bumping damaged the rudder. And the force increased, he says, over 50 minutes. “Once we were stopped, they came in faster: 10-15 knots, from a distance of about 25m,” he remembers. “The impact tipped the boat sideways.”

The skipper’s report to the port authority said the force “nearly dislocated the helmsman’s shoulder and spun the whole yacht through 120 degrees”.

At 11.30pm the previous night, 22 July, Beverly Harris, a retired nurse from Derbyshire, and her partner, Kevin Large, were motor-sailing their 50ft boat, Kailani, just off Barbate at eight knots, when they came to a sudden standstill. It was flat calm, pitch black. They thought they’d hit a net. “I scrambled for a torch and was like, ‘Bloody hell, they’re orcas,’” says Harris. The couple checked their position and found the boat pointing the opposite way. They tried to correct several times, but the orcas kept spinning them back. “I had this weird sensation,” Harris says, “like they were trying to lift the boat.” It lasted about 20 minutes, but felt longer. “We thought, ‘We’ve sailed across the Atlantic, surely we’re not going to sink now!’” Their rudder was damaged but got them to La Línea. It was a long night. “Kevin said I should get some sleep. I said, ‘Are you joking? I’m having a gin and tonic,’” recalls Harris.

While enjoying her drink, Harris could have spared a thought for Nick Giles, having a sleepless night alone after an almost identical encounter off Barbate just two and a half hours earlier. He was motor-sailing, and playing music when he heard a sudden bang “like a sledgehammer”. The wheel was “turning with incredible force” as the vessel spun 180 degrees, dislodging the autohelm and steering cables. “The boat lifted up half a foot and I was pushed by a second whale from behind,” he says. While resetting the cables, the orca hit again, “nearly chopping off my fingers in the mechanism”. He was pushed around without steering for about 15 minutes before they left him.

Catastrophic encounters between whales and boats are not unknown – the best-known events all took place in the Pacific. In 1972 the Robertson family from Staffordshire were shipwrecked off the Galapagos Islands after an orca strike (their book, Survive the Savage Sea became a classic). The following year, also on the way to those islands, Maurice and Maralyn Bailey’s 31ft boat was holed by a sperm whale. In 1989 William and Simone Butler lost their boat as a huge pod of pilot whales rammed them. In these and all other known cases, the mammals ignored the humans who took to life rafts; it was the boats that attracted their ire. More usually in encounters, the whale is left dead or injured. The International Whaling Commission records these strikes – more collisions are occurring with private boats as technological advances increase performance speeds.

The encounters described around Barbate were certainly frightening for the crew, who understandably felt targeted, but it’s unlikely they were meant as aggressive attacks. At least two other boats had harmless encounters. On 20 July Martin Chambers, a yacht master for Allabroad Sailing Academy, was unconcerned when they were joined by a pod near Barbate. One individual “had hold of the rudder and stopped us moving the boat”, he says. “That’s the first time I’ve seen them do that.” It seems the encounters increased in intensity, but it’s also worth considering that different boat constructions can suffer different outcomes – rudders on some modern boats can be quite fragile.

“These are very strange events,” says Ezequiel Andréu Cazalla, a cetacean researcher who talked to Morris. “But I don’t think they’re attacks.” Orca specialists around the world are equally surprised, agreeing the behaviour is “highly unusual”, but are cautious, given that the accounts are not from trained researchers. Most agree that something is stressing the orcas. And when it comes to sources of stress, there are plenty to choose from.

“The lack of tuna has led these orca to the very edge with only 30 adults left”

The Gibraltar orcas are endangered – there are fewer than 50 individuals left, with a continuing decline projected – adults and juveniles are sustaining injuries, suffering food scarcity and pollution. Their calves rarely survive. The Gibraltar Straits is, Cazalla points out, “the worst place for orcas to live”. This narrow stretch of water is a major shipping route. And the presence of orcas attracts more marine traffic – highly profitable whale-watching. Theoretically, it is regulated, but some operators flout rules about speed and distance to chase the animals. Constant harassment by boats affects the orcas’ ability to hunt. Which brings us to the biggest stress of all: fishing.

The orcas return to this noisy, polluted stretch of water for one reason – to feed. They specialise in hunting bluefin tuna, also highly prized by humans. The near collapse of bluefin tuna between 2005 and 2010 “has led this orca population to the very edge, with about 30 adults left”, says Pauline Gauffier, who has studied them.

The Straits is an important migratory route for the tuna. It has been economically crucial to this region for thousands of years – the Romans produced coins in Cadiz depicting the once bountiful fish. Local fisheries still use an ancient technique – almadraba, a complex system of trap nets. Each spring, the bluefin arrive to spawn in the Med; many find their way into the nets instead. In July and August, as the tuna leave for the Atlantic, the fishermen switch to drop lines – baited with fish and lowered with rocks. These artisanal techniques are far less harmful than trawling, purse seining or driftnets – and than the reckless sport-fishing boats speeding at 10 knots, trailing long lines.

“They target the orca, because they think there must be tuna under the pods,” says Jörn Selling, a marine biologist for Firmm whale watching and research foundation with 17 years’ experience in the Straits. “They go right through the pods, their hooks cutting the dorsal fins”.

In the past, the orca chased the bluefin to exhaustion, but with fewer and smaller fish available, and the pressures from human activity, some have adapted. As a result, there now exists what biologists call “depradation” – a complex balance between the orca, tuna, and humans – and what the fishermen call “stealing”.

Since 1999, two of the Straits’ five pods have learned to take tuna from the drop lines, leaving the fishermen pulling up the tuna head alone. It’s infuriating for the fishermen, but for the orca, this is high risk. Several have sustained serious injuries. “We see marks caused by fishing lines,” says Selling. “We hear about young orca getting hooked.” There are two females with severed flippers – “Lucia”, Selling says “lost her baby together with her flipper, due to the interaction with tuna fishermen”. Gauffier points out that “there is little the fishermen can do to avoid line or hook injuries” when orca interact; and it’s not known what caused the injuries. But many conservationists suspect some fishermen retaliate violently.

“The fishermen hate the killer whales,” says Selling. The orca are protected, but “unobserved, the fishermen do what they want. They see them as competitors.”

Stories persist of fishermen stunning orca with electric prods, throwing lit petrol cans, cutting dorsal fins. Cazalla has seen two orca with recent injuries (Morris thinks there was an injured individual at her boat). “One has a significant scar – you can see white tissue so it’s deep.” This, he thinks, is unlikely to be from a propeller, which would cause multiple scars.

Selling points out that the orca interact with the almadraba as well as drop-line fishing, and talks of a male which worked out how to navigate the labyrinth of submarine nets to take tuna in Barbate years ago. This orca was later observed with serious injury to its dorsal fin. It hasn’t been seen since.

But the orca have endured harassment for decades. What explains the new behaviour? Was there reduced noise during the Covid lockdown? Selling says yes. “No big game fishing, no whale watching or sailing boats, no fast ferries, fewer merchant ships.” He’s intrigued by the idea that the orca had two months with reduced noise – “Something most of them probably never experienced before” – and considers the possibility they felt angry as the noise restarted (Gauffier thinks this unlikely, but notes that the Barbate pod still actively chases tuna, “for which they need a quieter environment”).

There is one very unscientific phrase I hear repeatedly from several researchers: “Pissed off”. Some speculate that the multitude of stresses these highly sentient cetaceans have endured – years of grieving lost calves, injuries, competition for fish, coupled with a pause and reintroduction of human activity, could have affected their behaviour. There is a great deal we don’t yet know about orca, which, like us, have evolved complex cultures and different languages around the world. A couple of years ago Ken Balcomb from the Center for Whale Research talked about endangered orca being dependent on scarce chinook salmon in the Pacific Northwest. “I’ve seen them look at boats hauling fish. I think they know that humans are somehow related to the scarcity of food. And I think they know that the scarcity of food is causing them physical distress, and also causing them to lose babies.”

Sounds like anthropomorphising? Lori Marino, neuroscientist and president of the Whale Sanctuary Project found in orca brains an astounding capacity for intelligence. “If we are talking about whether killer whales have the wherewithal and the cognitive capacity to intentionally strike out at someone, or to be angry, or to really know what they are doing, I would have to say the answer is yes. They are likely defending a territory or resources.”

Meanwhile, Nick Irving from Reliance is wondering if he should send clients’ boats out after the last three sustained damage: “Is it reckless?” Neither of us say it, but we’re both thinking he doesn’t want to be the mayor in Jaws – the obvious, if lazy stereotype that comes to mind. Word is starting to get out, frustrating Espada. Friends call, asking about the “attacks”, if it’s safe to swim. “Are you mad?” she asks. “Of course it’s safe!” As shark conservationists know all too well, it’s difficult to protect endangered animals with a bad image.

This tiny population’s presence is of huge importance, and if human activity is affecting their behaviour, human activity must be regulated. Gauffier has presented the Spanish Environment Agency with a conservation plan proposing that in the Barbate area, “activities producing underwater noise should be reduced to a minimum”. This is the very least that should happen. Each sailor I spoke to was concerned that their activities had stressed the orca. Victoria Morris, who has been searching for a specialist subject when she returns to study marine biology in autumn has found her topic. The Gibraltar orca has one more ally – which is good because these majestic, beleaguered mammals need all the help they can get.

[the-great-imagines-of-1812]

Through The Years pt. 5 (Bucky Barnes x fem!Stark! Reader)

A/N: feedback is appreciated, as always!

the tags: @the-romanian-is-bae @a-girl-who-loves-disney

the warnings: torture (nothing too intense, but still.), explosions, wounds, captivity, angst, fluff at the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOVEMBER 3RD, 1943.

KRAUSBERG, AUSTRIA. A HYDRA BASE. 

4:00  HOURS. 

“Vake up! Vake up!” Was the first thing you heard when you woke up, laying strapped down on a cold metal table, in a dark room, with a light shoved right in your face. A thick German accent. 

Oh no. 

You tried to open your eyes to the best of your ability, albeit they still hurt and your whole body stung with pain beyond imaginable. “Hurry up!”

A harsh slap to your face.

If this didn’t make you open your eyes, you feared what was next. As you opened them, the light which was once harsh on your face now illuminated a good part of the room. Despite the pain in your neck, you were able to turn your head and see-

Bucky. 

No. You wouldn’t let them hurt him. “Bucky, baby please- are you okay?” you were able to say through tears, feeling a sob on it’s way. He doesn’t seem to hear you at first. It’s as if he’s blanked out on reality, in another world. He then proceeds to snap out of it, turning his head to you. He too is strapped to the table.

He lets out a cough before letting out a relieved breath. “Doll, hey.” he seems to lose his breath for a second. “I won’t let them hurt you, darlin’. I promise.”

“I should be saying that Barne-”

“SILENCE! Project Survival has begun.” the man said. Turning your head as much as the pain allowed you to, you were able to catch a glimpse of him. He was an average height, with some hair on his head and round glasses.

Arnim Zola. The one and only right hand man to Johann Schmidt. You had heard about him before, while in several briefings with Erksine. That was now in the past. He was no longer a name and a photograph. He was a reality. 

Laying your head back once again, you thought of Howard. What would he do without you? Would he be able to rest at night knowing this is how you met your end?

No. You couldn’t. As he said, many more birthdays to celebrate. 

Shifting uncomfortably under your armor and clothes, your breathing picked up and went short as Zola rolled a table between you and Bucky, full of bottles and syringes, scissors and scalpels.

He fills a syringe up with a blue liquid from a bottle. He then proceeds to shine it in the light. “Who shall go virst, hmm? The lady-” he looks at you. “Or ze gentleman?” 

“NO! i won’t let you hurt her. Give it to-” Bucky said, desperately; his eyes darting between you and Zola.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Barnes, I thought you knew better. Ladies first, is that not correct?”

Zola then proceeds to walk over to the end of your table with your head on it, grabbing it by the chin and setting it straight so it won’t move.

“Just a little zomehting, hmm?” a pause. “To enhance that little ability of yours.” 

Bucky’s eyes widen. “W-What ability, sweetheart? What’s he talking about?”

There are no more words from any three of you and Zola plunges the needle into your neck in such a harsh manner, making you scream and causing your whole body to thrash. It causes your whole body to go numb and a pounding headache to arise. 

The last thing you hear before you black out is Bucky yelling a “NO!” and Zola laughing. 

This was going to be a long day. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOVEMBER 3RD, 1943.

KRAUSBERG, AUSTRIA. A HYDRA BASE.

12:00 HOURS. 

You wake up slowly and easily this time, the sunshine on your face. The room was quiet this time. No Zola, no harsh light in your face. Just a numb body and a migraine. 

The straps didn’t hurt anymore, for some reason. 

You turned your head to see Bucky, also waking up from his -chemical- induced sleep. “What’d they do to you, Buck?” He turns his head. The tear marks are evident on his face. He sighs. 

“More like what didn’t they do? I feel awful.”

This brought tears to your eyes. “My feet hurt so much. I can’t feel much else. It’s pretty numb.  Buck. I’m scared.” He stares back at you, tears welling up in his eyes. All he wanted was to keep you safe. If it were up to him, he’d whisk you off to Brooklyn, right now. Maybe you could meet his Ma, Rebecca too. You could be the best of friends.

He would take you dancing, after you’d both reveal the relationship to Howard. He’d be mad at first, but then able to see eye to eye with you. he would dress in his tailored  navy blue suit, only one he had. Oh, and you’d be wearing that stunning sky blue dress you told him about once, with a red lip and victory curls. Absolutely beautiful. 

He thought about it more. He’d pick you up exactly at 9′o’clock, your brother greets him at the door. You’re still getting ready, and Howard reluctantly invites him in. You’d eventually come down the stairs, a little bit out of breath, but stunning nonetheless. Howard is happy, but he’d never show it in front of Bucky.

You’d dance cheek to cheek. He brings you home exactly at 10:30, like Howard instructed demanded. He’d kiss just your cheek, knowing Howard is probably watching, probably holding a bat. Made of wood. Or maybe metal. Or maybe both. You’d go up to your room after saying goodnight. You’d put on a nightgown, and just before putting your hair in rollers you’d hear him climbing up the fire escape to give you a proper kiss, just as Howard walks in with the bat in hand, ready to shoo him off.

It would be perfect, albeit a bit chaotic. But there be peace and no pain, and that’s what mattered. 

The tears stream down his face. “Darlin’, what was he talking about? What ability? Enhance what?”

Your eyes start to tear up as well. “I’m sorry! I was so scared!” You break and before you know it, you’re crying so much it shakes the table. 

“Doll, you don’t have to tell me now-”

“I want to. I should’ve a long time ago. It’s called Telekinesis. I can move objects with my mind, if I focus. But it’s still hard sometimes. I don’t know what he did to me!” 

“Hey, sugar. Oh, my love. It’s alright. We’re going to be just fine, I promise ya. Just close those eyes for me. I’ll still be here when you wake up, alright?”

Nodding, you laid your head back and relaxed, as much as you possibly could. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOVEMBER 3RD, 1943

THE ALLIED POWERS’ BASE, ITALY.

19:00 HOURS. 

The thunder was as loud as gunshots and could probably be heard all the way in Spain. But the rain made the mood all the more bitter as Steve sat drawing in a little sketchbook. 

“Hello Steve.”

Steve, hearing Peggy, turns around. She seems sad, tear marks on her face. “Hi. What are you doing here? Is everything okay, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She quickly wipes her face with her hands. “Officially, I’m not here at all.That was quite the performannce.”

Dodging his head back to the ground, “Yeah. I had to improvise a bit. Most of the crowds are a bit - are a bit more.. twelve-.” He looks back up at her. “But you’re dodging the question. Are you ok?”

“Schmidt sent forces out to Azzano. There were two-hundred men went up against him, led by newly appointed Lieutenant General Y/N Stark. Less than fifty returned. Your audience contained what was left of the 107th. The rest where either killed or captured, we don’t know.”

Steve’s heard perks up. “The 107th?”

Both hiding under Peggy’s coat, they ran to General Phillip's tent under the rain. They walk in to a frantic man, talking to the General so fast, he might just run out of words. 

“Captain Andrews, I’ll need you to calm down.” he turns to Peggy and Steve “Ah, the Star-Spangled man with a plan. What’re you up to?”

“I need the casualty list from Azzano. I just need one name-”

“You’re not one to give me orders, son.”

Both men are interrupted by Captain Andrews. “Excuse me sir, my name is Tommy Andrews. I-I’m a Captain, I serve in Lieutenant General Stark’s Company.”

Steve looks at him with a range of emotion on his face. “Hello, Captain. What can you tell me?”

Tommy takes a deep breath to calm himself before continuing. “We had just set up camp in Bordeaux, resting up before invading Azzano. It wasn’t time yet. but we were too late, and we were ambushed. The Lieutenant General told me to run away with as many men as I could. Told me to contact General Philips. Both the Lieutenant General and your friend, Sergeant Barnes were captured. I’m sorry.”

Steve shook his head. “There’s no need to be sorry, Captain. You did what was right, following your orders.” he turns to General Phillips. 

“Since when is Stark a Lieutenant General? When did he-”

“She. His sister. Not him, Rogers.”  General Phillips cut him off. 

“But how-. Look. just give me their names. Tell me their alive. B-A-R-N-E-S and S-T-A-R-”

“I’ve signed more condolence letters than I care to count. Her brother is devastated. But Barnes does sound familiar. I’m sorry, son.” 

“General, but what about a rescue mission?”

“They are 30 miles behind enemy lines. In some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. Possibly in the world. We’d lose more men than we’d save. You wouldn’t understand, chorus girl.”

“I understand just fine.”

“Then go understand somewhere else. From what I know, you’ve got somewhere to be in 30 minutes.”

“I do.”

Phillips starts to say something, but Steve already took off, Peggy behind him.

 While he’s putting on a jacket and helmet, Peggy asks “Are you insane?! What’re are you going to do, walk to Austria? And as the General said, they’re probably dead!”

“These are my friends, Peggy!”

“You don’t think I- Y/N’s been my best friend since secondary school. She’s the older sister I always wished I had! It like losing family, Steve!”

Steve walks out of the tent, loading his stuff in the car. “You told me before I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?”

There’s a silence as the pair stare into each others eyes. “Every word, Steve. But let me help you.”

~~~~~~~

On the plane, Peggy is showing Steve a map, where he’s supposed to be headed. “The HYDRA camp is in Krausberg, between these two mountains.”

“We should be able to drop you off right at their doorstep.” Howard said from the cockpit, in a cold tone. 

“Just get me as close as you can. Howard, how are you holding up?”

“Listen here Rogers. You don’t talk about her, don’t think about her. You didn’t know her like I did.” 

“Sir, with all due respect, she was my friend-”

“WELL SHE WAS MY SISTER! She was all I had left. Now if you don’t bring back her Company and ease that poor Captain Andrews’s soul, I will make sure the rest of your life is miserable.”

There’s a sad silence throughout the plane. Peggy speaks up. “Stark is the best civilian pilot I’ve ever seen. He’s brave enough to man this airspace. We’re lucky to have him.”

Gunshots are heard, and the trio knows they’ve arrived at the destination. Steve approaches the door, ready to jump out. “When I land, you turn this thing around and go back, understood?”

“You can’t give me orders!”

“Like hell I can, I’m Captain!”

~~~~~~~~

NOVEMBER 3RD, 1943.

KRAUSBERG, AUSTRIA. A HYDRA BASE.

20:00 HOURS. 

“Bucky-Bucky, wake up!” you say, trying to get him to open his eyes. He does, but once again stares off into space. Once he hears you crying, he turns his head. “Hi. Are you okay? How much does it hurt, sweetheart?” 

“It’s almost nothing. Something is different, although. I can feel it.” you said, through sobs.

“We’re gonna be alright. You know that, right?”

You take a deep breath and nod. “You think we’re gettin’ out of here?”

“We can only hope.”

You close your eyes and tilt your head back as gunshots are heard outside, and someone running down the corridor. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the narrow corridor, Steve hears a groan and cries from the ‘operating’ room the soldiers had told him about. Looking both ways before going in, he enters the room slowly, with caution. As he pears in further, he sees to people strapped to tables. He make his way closer to them, and there laying there- 

Bucky, Bucky and you.

He walks over to undo the straps on Bucky’s body. “Hey, Hey Buck, it’s me.”

Bucky is able to focus his eyes on Steve “Hey. Steve”. Laying a hand on his shoulder, Steve whispered “I thought you were dead.”

“And I thought you were smaller. Please, I need to help her, Stevie. She’s hurting.”

Realizing who he’s talking about, he walks over to you, laying conscious on the table and undoing the straps. You come to and turn to see Steve and Bucky. 

The crackle on gunshots is heard outside. The three of you flinch.

You are able to support yourself a bit better now. “Steve, hi. How are you doing? You ok?”

“Stark, I should be the one asking you that. Let’s get out of here.”

“Stevie, how do you two know each other? What happened to you?”

“I joined the army, all thanks to her and her Howard Stark.”

 “You’ll have to tell me about it later.. Did it hurt? Is it permanent?”

“Only a little Buck. And yes, permanent so far. I hope it is.”

Coming from outside, the three of you hear an explosion, causing the three of you two walk down the hallway as quick as possible. You make it to the bridge above the power plants, and the three of you climb to the top, hoping to find an escape route, and quickly. 

But like everything else today, it didn’t go as planned, as a thick German accent cut through the air. “Captain America! How exciting! I am a great fan of your films!” Schmidt said, being followed by Zola. 

You whimper in fear, and as Bucky hears this, quickly tucks you into his side, stroking your hair in an attempt to calm you down.  “Y/N Stark! I am a very very big fan of your work! Hydra would be blessed to have someone like you.”

Schmidt turns to Steve again. “So, looks like Dr. Erksine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement, but impressive. I have to give it to him.”

Steve then proceeds to wack Schmidt across the face with his shield, which results in him knocking Steve back with a swift punch. Now on opposite sides of the bridge, Zola pushed a button that made both sides seperate from one another. 

“You see, no matter what lies Erksine told you-”

You cling to Bucky in fear. 

“I was his greatest success!” Schmidt then proceeds to take the skin off his face, to reveal a new, bald, red skull. “You pretend to be a simple soldier, Captain. But you refuse to admit that we’ve left humanity behind! Unlike you, I choose to embrace it proudly. Without fear!” Zola and Schmidt then proceed to go into an elevator, that carried them far away from the two of you. 

There are more explosions from below, and Steve leads you both to climb another set of stairs. On this bridge, you encounter a narrow beam made of iron. The only thing separating you from the other side. “Okay one at a time.” 

Steve looks between the two of you. “Y/N you first, please.” You shake your head. “I’ll be able to make it anyways. I have the serum. It’s in my blood.”

“That’s a story for another time. Bucky, i guess it’s you then.”

“No! I can’t just cross to the other side and leave here here!”

“Bucky, please just do it! I’ll be fine.” He proceeds to give you a quick peck on the lips and Steve helps him mount the beam. The beam creaks and falls down as he walks, but luckily he jumps just in time. 

“Go on Buck! Get out of here!” you yell.

“No! Not without you guys!”

You back up to the side as Steve makes a brave jump across the bridge. That only leaves you on the platform. “C’mon! You can do it! I Know you can!” 

Taking a deep breath, you unbutton your uniform coat, revealing the chest plate of your armor. Whipping out  a sword, you throw it to the other side and jump.

The sword catches you in mid air, as one hand stuck to the railing. Steve and Bucky help you up.

“Let’s get out of here, boys.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOVEMBER 4TH, 1943

THE ALLIED POWERS’ BASE, ITALY. 

9:00 HOURS.

“I took a chance on you, Agent Carter. Now not only is America’s golden boy dead, but my Lieutenant General too. All because you had a crush.” General Phillips said. 

“It wasn’t that, General. I believed in him.”

“I hope it’s a comfort to you when they shut this division down, Agent.” 

Outside, there were a bunch of soldiers running. Not from, but to. “What in the hell is going on out there?” General Philips seemed to ask himself, as he made his way outside, Peggy following him. 

There marching right beside Steve, were you and Bucky. The 107th had gone through hell, and made it back alive. Soldiers started cheering and clapping, approaching the group. There was even one who exclaimed “Look who it is!”

Howard hears all the commotion from his tent and goes outside to see what’s going on. He stands behind Peggy, hoping to catch a glimpse of what caused so much ruckus in the once silent base. It couldn’t be. You were supposed to be dead. 

“General Philips, these men need medical attention.” said Steve, as you and Bucky stood at his side. Your turn to Bucky. “Told you we’d make it out, darlin’?” 

“Maybe I should trust you more, Buck. Thank you.” You said as he locked his eyes with your own, wrapping his arm around you. “You better. I plan on having you around for a long time, sweetheart.”

“Really, now? I sure hope so, Buck. You’re my person.”

A smirk makes it’s way onto his face. “I’m your person? Well, then. I ain’t planning to let you go forever plus a day. I’m so happy to have you.”

“You better do something about it, wise-guy. I see Colonel Johnson eyeing me from the tactical tent-”

Before you can finish your sentence, he swoops you up, pulling you into a deep kiss as he lifts you off the ground and gives you a small spin. 

“Barnes you are someth-” 

“Y/N!” you and Bucky immediately pulled away from each other, and you turned to see Howard right in front of you. “Y/N! oh my god!”

You start to fiddle with the buttons on your uniform. “Howard! I’m sorry you had to find out like this-”

“Nonsense! I’m just glad your home. Even if it involved getting with- him” Howard said, making a hand gesture towards Bucky, who was behind you, cowering in fear. You wrapped your arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry, Howwie. I hate to make  you worry.”

“Well, I also hate that you make me worried, but it isin’t your fault” You pull away from Howard’s hug and Bucky holds out his hand.

“I’d like to formally introduce myself, Mr. Stark. You haven’t let me introduce myself. My names James Buchanan Barnes, sir. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, without you threatening to fight me.”

Howard, hesitantly holding his hand out, “The pleasure is all mine, James. I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. All I want is to see my sister happy. Which, you obviously do so- maybe I won’t chase you with a bat.”

“Howard!”

He lets out a laugh. “I only want the best for you, you know that. Now, I’m pretty sure Phillips wants you to give a debriefing.”

You nod. “See you later, Buck?”

“You know it, darlin’” he walks off.

“He loves you, you know. You can tell from his eyes. You’ll always be able to tell from someone’s eyes, sis.”

“What would you know? I be t you don’t even remember that one girl’s name!” you said, crossing your arms. 

“Of course I remember. Maria, from New Haven. moved here to learn how to play piano. You’ve got to meet her sometime.” 

“I hope so. Give her the sibling talk?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Watch me.” you said, walking away. 

“Wait-wait. This conversation isn't over!” he chases after you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

This was a long one, good god. anyways i spent an entire day on it so please show it some love. <3

- Talya

[cafedanslanuit]

I always wanted to marry rich || Jumin x MC (2/2)

genre; angst pairing; Jumin Han x MC notes; part two of two. read part one here. I finally wrote the last part! Honestly I had to rewrite it a couple of times because I wasn’t happy with how it ended. Now I finally do. Hope you like it! <3

~ ~ ~

“check your email”

Jumin didn’t even bother opening Seven’s text. He just read it on the notifications bar and opened his email app. He found a file with her future wife’s name and opened it. Two seconds later, his battery died out of the blue. Jumin sighed. The phone was charged, maybe it was starting to malfunction. He opened his laptop and his email. He printed the document Seven had sent so he could look over them more comfortably. Jumin poured himself a glass of wine and sat on the kitchen table.

MC’s bank account was rather small and the incomes where what he expected, savings from her last job she had told him about. She purchased small amounts in makeup stores, coffee places and other things. She had graduated top of her class at university in her homeland with a scholarship.

There were some pages about her estranged father. He was living in Spain and had remarried. He had two kids, ten and twelve. He hadn’t been in touch with MC or her mother apparently. There was a file about her mother. She was a teacher in South America and worked at a school. Jumin didn’t want to know how Seven got access to her bank account, but he had. She didn’t have much either and the purchases weren’t suspicious at all, MC seemed to send her money every chance she could.

Seven had even traced MC’s tweets back in her uni years. She had made some light-hearted jokes about being broke but nothing that made it seemed like she was planning something. Seven had been kind enough to write down some notes about those tweets not meaning a thing.

The last page was a message with Seven’s messy handwriting.

“Stop stressing! There’s nothing fishy about her”. There was a small drawing of a fish. Of course. “Happy wedding!”

Jumin sighed and crumpled the documents in his hand. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe it was an inside joke? Tons of possibilities were roaming around his head when he heard the door opening and MC’s heels making their way into the penthouse.

She quickly appeared in the kitchen and smiled at him.

“Buenas noches, amor” she teased him with a grin.

“Why did you say you always wanted to marry rich?” Jumin blurted.

MC’s smile fell abruptly.

“What? When did I--” her eyes went sideways, trying to remember. Then she opened her mouth in realisation. “Oh, okay. You listened to me and my mom. Okay” she sighed.

She left her purse on the kitchen table and sat in front of her fiancé, who was looking at her sternly. Never before had he looked at her that way and it made her feel really small. Like she had gotten herself in trouble. She took a deep breath before she could start explaining.

“Okay. You know my mom had serious money issues when I was growing up. So, since I was little she would always tell me to find a wealthy man, seduce him and marry him. That she didn’t want me to live poor all my life, not knowing what it was to not worry about not having enough money to pay all the bills at the end of the month.”

“So, that’s what you did” grunted Jumin, crossing his arms.

“Let me finish, please” MC asked. “Jumin, I’m not marrying you for your money. Let me finish my story, but you need to understand this more than anything. That’s not why I’m marrying you. I didn’t even want to get married in the first place!”

Jumin raised his eyebrows in surprise. MC covered her face with her hands.

“Shit, I’m only making it worse. I’m sorry, I-”

“There’s nothing to discuss here, then” he said, picking up the documents from the table and getting up. MC stood up in front of him quickly, preventing him to leave the kitchen.

“No. No! You’re going to listen to me. You owe me that, at least”.

“I don’t owe you anything”.

“Listen to me!” she pleaded, raising her voice, her eyes filling with tears. “Listen to me. Yes, that was her plan for me but I turned fifteen and decided I didn’t want to become anyone’s wife or depend on anyone. I didn’t want anyone to leave me like they left my mom! So I started studying, got a scholarship to a good university, graduated with honors. I was in between jobs when I joined the RFA. I wasn’t looking for anything. So yes, I didn’t want to get married and then I met you!” she cried.

MC’s face was now full with tears, messing up her make-up. She took another deep breath and wiped her face with the back of her hand. Jumin’s expression softened and embraced her, burying his face on her hair. The soft strawberry aroma broke his heart, how could have he thought this woman, who had shown nothing but love to him was capable to feign that love because she only wanted money?

“But you changed my mind” MC kept talking, her face against his suit. “You changed my mind about wanting to spend the rest of my life with someone. It was not about they money, it was never about the money” she softly pushed Jumin away and looked up at him. “I don’t care. It’s okay, I’ll sign anything”.

“Sign?” Jumin asked, confused.

“Yes, those are from a prenup agreement, right?” she said, looking at the documents Jumin still had in his hand. “C’mon, it’s okay. I’ll sign them right now, I don’t care”.

She took the documents from Jumin before he could stop her. Right when he was about to take them back from his fiancée, her face changed drastically.

“Is this… my bank account?” she asked softly.

“MC, give them back” Jumin said, taking a step forward, but she took a step back.

Her eyes went back and forth the documents, searching through the pages she had in hand. She noticed Jumin trying to get them back, so she quickly walked to the living room. The information on them was correct, but why on Earth did he need to see all of this information? Was this about the comment he had overhead? Why did he-- Before she could comprehend what was happening, she saw a face she hadn’t seen in a long time. She didn’t recognize him at first, but after reading his first and last name -her last name-, there was no mistake.

She stopped, letting Jumin take the documents back from her. If Jumin was talking she couldn’t hear him anymore. Everything had gone silent in her head.

She startled a bit when she felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her softly.

“MC, my love. Say something, I’m sorry, I--...”

“My dad had more kids?” she asked, in a broken voice. Jumin looked at her, furrowing his eyebrows.

“You didn’t know?”

“No, I… I haven’t heard from him since he left us. I didn’t know… He had more kids?”

MC walked to the sofa and sat down, still trying to process what she had learnt, tears falling down her cheeks in silence. Jumin sat by her side and put an arm around her shoulders, not knowing what to do. He hated himself for making herself feel like that. Her face showed how broken she was, how much weight the news had had for her.

Jumin hugged her, putting her small frame against his chest. He muttered countless apologies. Seven was right. He shouldn’t have dug up information that wasn’t his. He had hurt her more than he thought he could. MC cried in silence for a couple more minutes before she raised her head again to look at him.

“Why do you have this?” she asked, her hand grabbing his shirt and looking at him confused. “Why do you even have this information, I-- I don’t--... Was it too hard to just ask me? Would you have believed what I just said if it didn’t match up with these things?” she looked at the documents Jumin had left on the couch.

“I’m sorry” Jumin said, not counting how many times he had said that already. “I panicked. You know how many times my father has wanted me to marry someone that only wanted me for my money or my position at C&R. I… I certainly didn’t think this through. I’m sorry, I really am. There’s no excuse. I was scared, but I didn’t act like a man. I had no excuse to look into your family history, none”.

MC looked at the dark eyes of his fiancé and sighed. She pursed her lips and took his hand in hers, squeezing it softly. 

“I’m still mad at you” she said, her voice a little hoarse from crying. “And hurt. But I’ve already talked to my therapist about this thing with my dad so… I’m hurt, yes, but honestly… it’s water under the bridge, now. I don’t want to talk about him. What I really want… no, I really need my fiancé to bring me a cup of tea and stay with me tonight. You think you can do that?” she asked.

“Yes, I can” Jumin nodded and stood up quickly, grabbing the documents from Seven’s investigation and crumbling them in his hands.

“Wait, one more thing” she said and Jumin turned to her, expectantly. “You need to trust me, okay? I may not be always the best wife once we get married. But I will always tell you the truth. I meant what I said before, I will sign a prenup so please call your lawyers and tell them to prepare one for you, okay? Can we do this together?”

“No” Jumin said, turning around and making his way to the kitchen. MC felt a sharp pain on her chest.

“What do you mean no?”

“We’re not getting married with a prenup. I trust you. Even though tonight’s events may make you think otherwise, I do. And I want you and everyone to know that. So we’re not getting married with a prenup” Jumin explained from the kitchen. MC chuckled as she heard the sound of the electric water boiler starting.

“Okay” she muttered with a soft smile.

They were days away from the wedding. But somehow, instead of making her more anxious, it made her feel calmer. Jumin was going to mess up again. And someday, she would be the one to mess up. But if they could still find a way to love each other at the end of the day, maybe it was a good idea to get married after all. Honestly, she would have agreed to sign a prenup if Jumin had asked. She knew it wouldn’t have been for personal reasons, but mostly to protect C&R and all the years of work Chairman Han had given the company. But if he was willing to show her how much he trusted her by going against it and refusing the idea that she signed it, it definitely showed how much trust he was willing to show her.

MC saw Jumin coming back from the kitchen with a cup of tea and a bag of her favourite biscuits. She smiled and patted the spot next to her in the sofa.

They could do this. She knew they could.

[geeeooorrrge]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen Characters: Charles Leclerc, Max Verstappen, Pierre Gasly, Alexander Albon, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo, Sebastian Vettel Additional Tags: Organized Crime, Alternate Universe - Criminals, not your ordinary crime au, cyberpunk vibes, Escape, Angst with a Happy Ending

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hi everyone, am reposting this because i had itchy fingers and decided to write a vvv short followup to this fic below the cut ↓ if you guys do get to it i hope you’ll like it! askbox is always open :) ♥

Leonardo pulled him into the apartment by the hand and let the door shut behind him. One of his arms curled tightly around Elio’s waist, holding him close as the fingers of his other hand danced gently over Elio’s face. 

He looked so stunning, and Elio missed him so much, and his heart was bursting with so much joy that he didn’t know what to do with it, so much joy that Elio finally started to cry. 

Leonardo chuckled as Elio’s hand traced his brow in return, his own tears spilling down his cheeks. His skin was so soft under Elio’s touch. His laugh was so gentle. More tears rolled over his cheekbones even as Elio swept them away.

“I love you,” Elio said.

Leonardo was smiling again as he cupped the side of Elio’s neck, his dimples showing. “Still?” he asked.

“Always,” Elio whispered.

Leonardo leaned closer, slowly, until his lips were pressed on Elio’s and gently working on them as Elio desperately grasped the back of his t-shirt. He smelled – he smelled different, but at the same time so familiar, he smelled like trains and cooking grease and dish detergent and the summer, and kissing him felt like coming home after a year stranded in the wilderness.

“I love you more,” he breathed, and God. Elio missed his voice so much. “I’ve thought about you every day. Every single day. I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

“Me, neither,” Elio pulled away to press his forehead against Leonardo’s. “Max, I – Leo. I love you so much. I’ve missed you so much. It hurts. It hurts so much.”

“Shhh, okay,” Leonardo whispered. “I’m here. We’re here now. We have us. Okay? We’ll always have us.”

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Elio sobbed. “And it was the worst thing. It was the worst.”

“I know. I lived through that, too. I know everything.”

“I love you.”

Leonardo’s laugh was softer this time, more tender. “Already?” he asked. “You’ve only just met me.”

Elio couldn’t help but laugh then, the feeling so thick in his chest, so intimate, as if Leonardo was squeezing his heart with his own two hands. “Thank you for keeping me.”

“Charl – Elio. I was never free without you. I know I got away, but...without you, it meant nothing. I never felt free because you were never by my side.”

Elio pulled away for good, holding Leonardo by the shoulders. His eyes were shimmering with tears, shimmering blue in the dim lighting like two aquamarine crystals, and the sight of it just made Elio shiver with all the love he failed to contain.

“We’ll be together now?” he asked in a whisper. “We’ll be free together.”

Leonardo nodded. “It was always meant to be like this. It was always meant to be me and you. Only me and you. We’re meant to be together.”

Elio remembered – he remembered saying that, and the fact that Leonardo remembered it – 

Elio kissed him again, this time fuelled by a sudden hunger. He pressed his body up against Leonardo, smiling when he felt Leonardo’s hands wander south. 

They were a bundle of half-undone clothes and intertwined limbs by the time they got into the bedroom. The sheets murmured softly in protest under Elio as he was flung down on them, and suddenly they were all wet lips and starving hands, the friction of their bodies so familiar and so welcoming. 

Leonardo’s grasp was still soft, his wandering palms still gentle, as if it was their first time all over again, but the way he knew each part of Elio's body, the way his lips and his tongue moved, it was like they'd already known each other for years. His golden hair felt rougher under Elio's fingers than it looked. The kisses he planted on Elio’s neck, on his face, on his abdomen – they made Elio crave for more, they made him move his body in ways he’d forgotten how to move, just to get more of them. The way he gasped as they rocked against each other made Elio do the same, suddenly so breathless as he looked directly into those blue eyes that he loved more than anything. And the sounds he made, every little grunt, every murmur – all of it felt like coming home, all of it felt like the familiar sounds of home.

Elio sunk into the pillow as Leonardo collapsed on him, breathing loudly into Leonardo’s neck. He sucked on Leonardo’s earlobe as he shuddered, then planted even more wet kisses along Elio’s jaw. 

“I love you,” Leonardo whispered. “Elio. My love.”

“I love you, too.” Elio kissed him on his sweaty forehead. “So much. More than you’ll know.”

They lay across from each other, smiling softly. Elio just. He just wanted to live in that moment forever, he wanted to live in the cool lighting of the room, the warmth of the rosy curtains, the dim illumination from the streetlights below, and the softness of the eyes looking over lovingly at him. In the gentle grasp of his Leonardo. He wanted to live in it forever.

“Tell me how you’ve been.” Elio kept his voice as soft as possible, afraid to burst their bubble.

“I lived in a few places. I – back home...back in the US,” Leonardo quickly corrected himself. “I had to move around in a few cities before I managed to get enough money to come to Europe. I got here in February. I lived in Spain for a bit, in Madrid, then in Paris for a month. Places where it's easy to be invisible. I’ve only been in Rome a couple of months.”

His voice was like the most soothing music. Elio wished he would never stop talking. 

“Do you still…”

“Steal things?” There was a wry smile on Leonardo’s face. “No. I’ve been working. Just...little things. In a bookstore, or at restaurants or bars. Just enough to get by.”

“It must’ve been lonely,” Elio whispered. He remembered Leonardo telling him that he had no skills besides stealing, and to deal with that alone, to roam the world alone while dealing with what he could or couldn’t be… “It must’ve been horrible.”

Leonardo’s smile faltered a little, like even the memory of the feeling was enough to break his heart. 

“I thought about you every day,” he said again, softly. “And looked at that Polaroid of you. It got me by.”

His hair was smooth but sweaty when Elio ran his fingers through it, and he keened into Elio’s grasp. “That’s what got me by, too,” Elio said. “I just...I kept wondering if you were alive.”

“I am alive. I’m right here.”

“I just –” Elio tried his hardest not to start crying again. “When you left, it was...it seemed like it was for forever. I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”

“Because I knew that if I made you think I’d come back to look for you, and I didn’t, or I couldn’t, then it would kill you. I couldn’t do that to you. I had to make you think it was forever. But I always knew that I would. Some way or another, I’d always go back for you.”

“I waited so long. I know you told me not to, but I waited and I waited, and I worried about you so much, and I thought you would never...never come back for me again.”

"I would. I promised you, remember? I promised you I would take you."

Elio smiled. "And I promised I would let you."

“Were you ever angry? That I left?”

Elio shook his head. “I know it was something you had to do. I could’ve helped you. You know that. I know that. We could’ve easily helped you. We had connections. But...but it was what you wanted. And I just...I didn't know what was coming, but I figured I would just wait.”

“I knew I had to give you time.” Leonardo’s voice was but a whisper. “For everything. I didn’t want to...I didn’t want it to be wrong timing again. I knew if it was, then it would absolutely shatter me. If you didn’t come, and you couldn’t tell me. It would break me into pieces. It would break the both of us.”

“It was enough time.” Elio traced Leonardo’s hairline with his index finger. “Just enough time.”

“One year? Yeah?” The smile returned to Leonardo’s face, just like how automatic it seemed whenever he met Elio’s gaze. 

“It was the worst year of my life. And I’ve...I’ve been through some shit before this. Nothing tops it.”

“Is everything...everything’s alright back there? When you left?”

Elio remembered thinking about how he’d wanted to tell Leonardo everything.

But now that he was here, now that he’d seen Leonardo again, he realised – that was all just his old life.

His old, abandoned life.

Elio was free now.

Elio and Leonardo were free now. Free from all their past mistakes. From...what Leonardo had done.

They were free from Rosehurst. Free from everything and everyone they used to know.

As much as it hurt, Elio knew that it was something they’d chosen to do. Something they had to live with from now.

They had to be Leonardo and Elio, not Max and Charles. 

“You don’t want to tell me?” Leonardo asked when Elio didn’t answer for a while.

“I don’t think I should.”

Leonardo smiled like he understood. His fingers were gentle again on Elio’s cheeks. “Okay. We won't talk about it ever again.”

“Maybe just one little thing.”

“Yeah?”

"We can't go back," Elio said, hoping Leonardo would get the point. “We can never go back. But I fixed everything. Just before I received your postcard. I fixed everything, and Dan and Lando have a family now, and your uncle will be just fine with them, and I made sure everything was good before I came here.”

Leonardo’s smile, though it faltered at the start, grew bigger and prouder. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Elio moved closer and pressed his lips on Leonardo's nose. "I'm so – I'm so, so happy."

Leonardo's eyes fluttered shut. "Elio," he whispered. "Thank you. Thank you for...for dropping everything and running. I know your life was – you had everything. And you left it all to come here. I want this, but…it was hard, feeling like if I reached out to you, it meant you had to drop everything else. And I was scared that you’d changed your mind, that you wouldn’t want me anymore. So the fact that you want it too, I...it just means so much to me."

“You’re the only thing I want from that life.”

The room was almost completely silent as they lay there, breathing softly. Leonardo looked so...peaceful when he closed his eyes. Elio had never noticed. Their lives used to be so chaotic.

“I like your new name.” Leonardo’s eyes were earnest this time when they opened again.

Elio smiled. “I like yours, too.”

“You’re my sun,” Leonardo whispered.

“And you are my brave, invincible lion.”

Leonardo gazed after him as he got up and wandered the room. He said he lived alone, so Elio went outside and looked around; the apartment was not much bigger than the one Leonardo had back at Rosehurst, but there was a bigger kitchen this time, and it looked used, as if Leonardo was cooking for himself. The bathroom was small, but enough for Elio to clean himself up and wash his face of the fatigue that came with flying eleven hours. There were some clothes hanging over a chair in the living room, and they smelled just like Leonardo, so Elio couldn't resist putting them on, smiling as he basked in the scent.

It was windy out on the balcony when Elio stepped on it. The bench had a few grey cushions on it, so Elio sat down with a sigh, his body twisted to look at the street that had been pictured on the postcard.

Leonardo stepped out a while later, fully clothed again, his footsteps hesitant against the tile of the balcony. He sat down next to Elio and wrapped his arms around Elio’s waist, his chin tucked into Elio’s shoulder to nuzzle Elio’s cheek until he turned around to kiss him. 

And part of Elio had been so scared, he had been so terrified that he would land in Rome and Leonardo would be a completely different person, but now. Now he was here, and nothing had changed. Nothing. Leonardo hadn't changed one bit. He was still fun-loving, and caring, and gentle, and he still loved Elio the way Elio loved him. 

And it was everything that Elio would ever ask for. Everything he ever needed.

"You are the love of my life," he whispered. He felt the small movement of Leonardo's cheek against his as he smiled. "I've never found a love like this. And I won't try to."

"You are the best thing that's ever happened to me."

They sat there for a while, letting the breeze card through their hair. The door shutters rattled under the wind, and the little potted plant in the corner of the balcony whispered little secrets to them. The street below was eerily quiet, and it seemed to call out to them. 

"What do you usually do in the night?" he asked Leonardo. "Sleep?"

"I work the dinner shift at a restaurant sometimes and the closing shift at a bar other nights," Leonardo mumbled into Elio's ear. "I sleep during the day. At night...I go out. I don't do anything. I just walk the streets and think about you. Night time is – it’s my time with you. It’s our time."

Elio wished he could be like that one day. Working. Leading a normal life. He wished he could learn to be like Leonardo. Elio had always fended for himself, since he’d lost his parents, but – this time, he wanted it to be legitimate.

But that was why he was here – to learn from Leonardo. To learn with him. For as long as he would have him.

"It's a good thing you weren't out tonight then, isn't it?"

Leonardo chuckled. "Would you have waited? If I hadn't been home."

"I've waited twelve whole months. I would wait a lifetime." 

The clock on the front dresser read four am when Elio glanced back at it. Leonardo caught him doing so, and kissed him on the cheek. 

"What do you want to do now?" Elio asked. 

"Hmm." Leonardo pressed his lips on Elio's ear this time. "Let's go for a walk."

"Leo. Is it...is it going to be different between us now that we don't do...the things we used to do?"

“No. Never. We’ll find other things to do,” Leonardo said softly. “It doesn't matter what we do. I know the night will always be magical if I spend it with you.”

Elio was still tired from the long journey he’d made over here, and he was already sore from the way Leonardo had so mercilessly pounded him into the bed, but there was nothing more he wanted to do than to walk down the empty streets of Rome with Leonardo. Nothing. Not even sleep.

So they hit the streets again, hand in hand, strolling down Via Principe Amedeo. Rome was different in the night to Rosehurst; it was even quieter and even darker, and the buildings were gentler and friendlier. Elio got to see the restaurant Leonardo worked at in the daytime, its old wooden door displaying the ‘closed’ sign in the window. They crossed empty junction after empty junction. Occasionally, a car passed them, its tyres rumbling against the asphalt. The cobblestones jabbed against Elio’s tired feet as Leonardo pulled him along, just like old times, his laughter littering the otherwise boring air. 

And even though more than a year’s worth of nights had passed for Elio without him, that laughter was still young and free, and it still felt like home, and it still made Elio smile, and it still made him fall in love all over again.

Leonardo had been right – it was magical.

And once again, in the night, they were reborn; they were free, forever, as Leonardo and Elio.

[axwalker]

Tears in Heaven 4: Start Over

Synopsis: Alexis O’Brien is about to get married but memories of her old life are coming back to haunt her.

MASTERLIST

Pairings: Liam x MC, Drake x MC (TRR)

Warnings:  NO ONE UNDER 18 should read this story. This is an 18+ blog.

This story will deal with very dark subjects such as death, severe depression and suicide attempt (among others) if you’re triggered by any of those issues, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS STORY

A/N: The story will go back and forth between three different periods of time (2010 / 2015 / 2020)

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Word count: 5,010

Songs inspiration: Tears in heaven by Eric Clapton

THANKS TO:    @burnsoslow​  Thanks for beta reading and correcting so many mistakes. I love you!

And to    @pedudley​   your comments and feedback are the best. LOVE YOU BOTH! ❤️❤️❤️

March 2015

Bastien was extremely worried about Drake. He thought that some time and distance would help Drake heal, but he seemed to get more and more depressed every day. He spent his days on the couch or in the hammock looking at the sea with a bottle in his hand. His gaze was lost, empty.

The nights were even worse; he didn’t sleep, and the rare nights where he was able to close his eyes for more than a few hours, he woke up sweating with a nightmare - reliving that day, over and over again.

He had barely spoken since he had arrived in Spain. Andrea, Bastien’s wife, had convinced Bastien to try and reach Alexis in Cordonia, but Liam had told him that she was as destroyed as Drake was. Bastien suggested bringing them back together, maybe flying Alexis to Spain. He was convinced that seeing her would help Drake, and vice versa, but Liam had said that Alexis was too weak to travel.

“Son, you can’t keep going like this. You’re going to kill yourself,” Bastien said one night, tired of feeling useless.  

“What difference does it make?” Drake took a swig directly from the bottle. “Why should I live after … after what I did?” He felt empty; the guilt was eating him alive, and the only person that could have saved him hated him even more than he hated himself.

“Drake, I’m sure that if you reach out to her- “

“No! I told you already. Do not contact her! I’m not good for her.” He noticed that his bottle was empty, so he stood up and lurched into the kitchen. Bastien followed him. “I destroyed her life … I … destroyed everything ...” He opened the bottle and took a big gulp. “Everything I touch … it dies. My dad died, my mother left, and now T … T… Fuck! I can’t even say his name.”

Bastien placed his hand on his godson’s shoulder. “Son, it wasn’t your fault.”

Drake barked at him, “What the fuck do you know, Bastien? It was my fault, only my fault. I swore to her that I’d protect them. It was my job to keep them safe.” It hurt too much to even breathe. He laid on the hammock again. “Please leave me alone.” He closed his eyes, trying to remember them: his pure laughter and her beautiful face, his little hand gripping his or her soft body against his at night, all the Sunday mornings taking him to the forest and the spicy breakfast waiting for them at the cabin. Maybe if he focused hard enough, he could make time go back.

June 2010

Drake and Alexis had been living together for two days. After another horrible fight with her father, she had finally had enough, and, tired of the way he treated her, she had left to live with Drake at his cabin.

They spent their first 48 hours completely lost in each other. Their second night together, they were both wrapped under a blanket watching the stars on the terrace, when it hit him. All he wanted from life was already there in his arms. So he held her even tighter and, after only eight months since meeting her, he whispered the question in her ear. She couldn’t believe it at first - it was too soon, they were too young, there were a million reasons not to do it - but she was completely crazy about him, too. Her eyes watered before she screamed a loud “yes” into the night. He kissed her deeply and ran to get his grandmother’s emerald engagement ring. It suited her perfectly. It was meant to be.

The wedding preparations had been hectic. They didn’t see the point of a long engagement, so they had set the date for two months from then: the 18th of June, a Saturday.

“Are we completely crazy?” he asked her, grinning after they had gone to the town hall to register their marriage application.

She laughed. “Yeah, completely,” she said, snuggling against him as they walked, “but I love you so much.”

“Me too, baby.” He kissed the top of her head. He was the happiest man in the world.

They didn’t have a lot of money, so they were going to have a small wedding in the forest behind their cabin. All their friends had offered to cooperate, but Drake and Alexis were adamant: They were only going to accept manual labor as wedding gifts. Drake, Liam and Leo brought the tables and chairs for the ceremony and the reception. Bertrand helped them with all the wedding documents, Maxwell was in charge of the music, Savannah decorated the place with Alexis, and Olivia was paying her chef to make the wedding cake. Bastien was working on a special surprise in his woodshop and would be in charge of the BBQ for the big day.

One day before the wedding, Drake was preparing the salads for the BBQ while Alexis and Maxwell chose the songs for the party.

“Guys!” Maxwell said, panicked. “You don’t have a song?”

“Not really,” Alexis paused. “We danced for the first time to ‘She Will Be Loved,’ though.’”

Maxwell grimaced before speaking. “Really? Maroon 5, Blossom?”

“Hey! I love them!” She laughed.

“Don’t get me wrong, Lexie. Adam Levine is the sexiest man alive. But ‘She Will Be Loved’ is not a wedding song.”

Alexis was about to respond when Drake intervened, blushing. “I have one.”

Max and Alexis turned their heads in unison. “You have a wedding song?” Max arched his brows.

Drake shook his head, exasperated to be having this conversation with Maxwell. “It’s not a wedding song, Beaumont. It’s just a song I like.”

Alexis looked at Max meaningfully. “I think Bertrand was looking for you outside to help with the flower arrangements, Max.”

He winked. “Of course, Bertrand is looking for me, riiight.”

When he left, Alexis circled her arms around her future husband’s waist. “What’s the song, babe?”

He sighed, wondering when he had become such a damn softie. “Van Morrison, ‘Crazy Love.’ He looked into her bright eyes and smiled as he cupped her face. “Do you like it?”

“I love it; it’s one of the most romantic songs ever. Why do you like it?”

He smiled sheepishly. “One night after I dropped you off at your father’s house, I put the stereo on, and that song started playing. Listening to it I realized how well it suited you, us.”

That man was going to make her crazy. She crashed her lips against his as he grabbed the nape of her neck and deepened the kiss, letting his tongue meet hers. After a few seconds, he gripped her hips and lifted her to sit her on the counter. She straddled him, while his lips and teeth explored and bit her neck and her hands roamed over his back.

Max cleared his throat. “Fuck! Leo was right. I owe him $20.”

Leo entered the kitchen with a screwdriver in his hand. “Li and I set up the bar …” He stopped to see Alexis combing her hair with her hand. “I told you, Maxwell, you can’t leave these two alone - pay up.”

“Fuck off, Leo.” Drake exchanged a wink with Alexis and went with Leo to check on the improvised bar the brothers had set up in the garden.

The rehearsal was fast; after it, everyone went to sleep early as the preparations had left them exhausted.

The next day, Alexis woke up at Olivia’s apartment feeling giddy with happiness.

“I can’t believe I’m getting married today.”

“If you want to bail, I have the getaway car ready, darling.” Olivia was only half-joking.

Alexis shook her head before she warned her best friend, “You’ll understand one day, Liv. You’ll fall in love like we did, and all of this will make sense to you, I promise.”

“Shoot me if I ever get that sappy. You have my permission.”  Olivia opened the door and let a woman in. “This is Clara; she will do your hair and makeup.”

Alexis was about to protest, but Olivia raised her hand. “I know you said you didn’t want this kind of gift, but it’s your wedding day, and you deserve this, Alexis.” She looked at her friend through the mirror of the dresser as she talked. “I can’t cook a BBQ or build improvised bars, but please let me do this.”

Alexis understood what her friend was trying to say. “I love you too, Liv.”

Olivia waved her hand, smiling. “Shit, you’re going to be cheesier than usual today. God help us.” She squeezed Alexis’s shoulder. “Still no news about your father?”

Alexis shook her head. “Not yet. He said that if I married Drake, I was dead to him. He hates him only because he has no money. If he knew him better …” She sighed sadly. “Anyway, it'll all be okay; maybe he’ll show up at the cabin.”

Olivia disguised her sadness for her with a smile. “Maybe, darling. I’ll go change.” She called Drake the minute she left Alexis’ room. Olivia knew George O’Brien, and she was sure he wasn’t coming.

Alexis texted her father the address of the cabin; she was sure he’d regret his decision and would arrive at the last minute, or at least she hoped he would. She hadn’t asked anyone else to walk down the aisle with her.

Drake intercepted Bertrand when he arrived at the cabin.

“Alexis’s father won’t come; I know she was still hoping that he would, but that fucking asshole doesn’t give a damn about her.” Drake’s heart broke just thinking about her waiting for George. “Could you walk her down the aisle? Max is officiating the ceremony, but I know Lexie cares a lot about you, too.” Bertrand assured him that he was proud to accept.

Bastien had built a beautiful arch for the ceremony, and Liam and Leo had placed chairs all over the lawn for their 30 guests.

‘Here Comes the Sun' started to play. Drake waited at the end of the aisle with his heart beating as hard as it could without actually leaving his chest.

After what felt like an eternity, she appeared on Bertrand’s arm. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was; she was gorgeous. Her long white dress made her look like she was floating, her wide smile illuminated her whole face, her dark eyes were glistening with happy tears. Suddenly, he noticed his own eyes watering for the second time in his life, and he didn’t care. Her. All he cared about was her. He couldn’t wait to have her next to him.

Finally, they reached him, and he felt like his heart was going to burst with the smile she reserved only for him. He squeezed her hand, and they stood in front of Maxwell, who had gotten ordained on the internet for the ceremony.

Maxwell took his role very seriously. “As the great poet George Eliot once said:

What greater thing is there for two human souls

than to feel that they are joined together to strengthen

each other in all labor, to minister to each other in all sorrow,

to share with each other in all gladness,

to be one with each other in the

silent unspoken memories?”

Drake and Alexis exchanged a loving glance, as Maxwell proceeded with the ceremony until he reached the part where they had to share their vows.

“I think we’re all impatient to hear Drake’s vows, so let’s start with him.”

Drake turned to face Alexis, who was staring intently at him through her eyelashes. “Fuck, Lexie, stop looking at me like that or I won’t be able to say this.”

She beamed at him.

“I’m not good with words or feelings, so when you suggested that we should write our own vows, I almost choked.”

Their friends laughed.

Drake locked eyes with her. “But then I realized this wasn’t difficult at all. Because the truth is that I love you. I love your beautiful smile, your bright eyes, and the fire in them when you get angry.” Alexis shook her head, smiling through her tears. “I love how much you enjoy every single moment of your life.” He grinned at her. “I couldn’t live without smelling your cherry scent in our pillows or without you dancing all around the house.” He gently stroked her cheek. He was dying to kiss her, but he kept talking. “I love the light you have cast into my life since the second we met, and I swear I’ll always protect you, take care of you, and make sure that your beautiful light keeps on shining.” His voice betrayed his emotion, so he paused for a second. “I’m eager to start our lives together because I’m not sure about a lot of things, but I know without the shadow of a doubt that I’ll love you until the day I die.” He leaned and kissed her forehead.

“I love you too.” Alexis was crying. “Shit! I won’t be able to do this.” She took a deep breath as a grinning Drake gripped her hand reassuringly. “Every day I spend with you is the happiest day of my life. You’re strong, smart, and the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met, even when you try so hard to hide it. I love that smirk that is so you -” she caressed his face tenderly - “those crinkles around your eyes when you smile, your strong hands and your legendary stubbornness. I’ve never felt so safe and so loved before, and I want you to know that I love you with the same intensity, the same fierceness. I promise I’ll always be your partner, your best friend, your lover. I can’t wait to be your wife because I know I’ll love you until the day I die.” She smiled through her tears pronouncing the same words he had told her a few seconds ago.

Maxwell was crying, unable to proceed with the ceremony for a few minutes. “I don’t think I was the best person to do this. You’re so adorable, guys!”

Drake and Alexis laughed with the rest of the guests.

They exchanged their rings, visibly excited, promising to love and cherish each other for the rest of their lives. Finally, Maxwell declared them husband and wife.

“Drake, you may kiss the bride.”

He cupped her face and whispered so only she could hear him. “You have no idea how much I love you, baby.”

Before she could answer, he kissed her softly, slowly deepening the kiss until they heard Maxwell cheer with the rest of their friends.

“I’ve never been this happy, Drake.”

“Me neither, Lexie.”

The party was exactly what they wanted: stress-free and laid back. Bastien was in charge of the BBQ, and they had set up a salad buffet to go with it.  Fordessert, they would serve wedding cake and had set up a corner next to a bonfire where guests could prepare their own s’mores. Liv and Liam gave their toasts, and soon it was time for their first dance.  Maxwell gave Drake a knowing look before playing their song. Drake stood up and offered his hand to her; she grinned at him and followed him to the improvised dance floor Drake and Liam had set up.

I can hear her heart beat for a thousand miles

And the heavens open every time she smiles

And when I come to her that's where I belong

Yet I'm running to her like a river's song

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

He placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her against him, letting his eyes roam over her beautiful face as they danced. “You look so gorgeous, baby. I can’t wait to have you all to myself tonight.”

She bit her bottom lip, blushing. “You’re much better with words than you think, Drake.” She placed her head on his chest as he led her across the dance floor, the sandalwood invading her nostrils. “And me neither, I can’t wait.”

She's got a fine sense of humor when I'm feeling low down

And when I come to her when the sun goes down

Take away my trouble, take away my grief

Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief

He spun her around confidently. “Wow, I didn’t know you were such a smooth dancer, Walker.” She winked at him, making him laugh.

“I might’ve received a tip or two from Maxwell,” he admitted sheepishly.

He looked so adorable when he was flustered. “Fuck, Drake! I love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby.” He leaned down to her face and gave her a nose kiss before spinning her again.

Yes I want to throw my arms around her

Kiss her hug her kiss her hug her tight

And when I'm returning from so far away

She gives me some sweet lovin' brighten up my day

Yes it makes me righteous, yes it makes me feel whole

Yes it makes me mellow down in to my soul

With the last notes of the song, Drake asked h,er smirking, “Are you ready?”

She nodded, puzzled, and he elegantly dipped her at the end of the song, making her laugh with that throaty laugh he loved so much.

“I’m happy to see I can still surprise you, Mrs. Walker.”

She beamed at him. “I’ll never get tired of how good that sounds.”

April 2019

“Alexis.”

“Hello, Drake. We need to talk.”

He opened the door and gestured for her to come in.

When she entered the cabin, a hundred memories came flooding back: the day she had moved in, the nights they had spent stargazing, the day they had married, and so many others that she tried to avoid because they were too painful. She couldn’t avoid a quick glance to the floor upstairs, but turned her head fast, refusing to think about that room.

Drake watched her move around the cabin, without sitting, her eyes darting everywhere. She’s nervous.

Without a word, he went into the kitchen, took a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet, and poured two glasses.

He came back to the living room and saw Alexis still standing next to the door, like an uninvited guest in her own house. In her old house, Drake corrected himself. He gave her the glass and she gulped it.

“Thank you, I needed that.” She pointed upstairs. “Still the same?”

He took a sip of his whiskey and nodded, still silent. He fixed his piercing eyes on her; she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever met, but her beauty was different now, miles away from the lively, sunny girl he had met. Drake watched her bite her bottom lip as she always did when she was nervous. He knew that the next step would be to twist her ring … except it wasn’t his ring anymore. She was wearing a huge diamond engagement ring, and he immediately guessed the reason she was there. Savannah had warned him a few months back.

The faster they’d get to it, the faster she’d be out of his life again. For good this time. He gulped his own glass and asked her, “What are you doing here, Alexis?”

“Um …” Her heart was still racing; she didn’t want to cry, but being there brought back every painful memory she had in that cabin - every laugh, every look, every word. She swallowed hard and forced herself to talk. “I need the divorce papers; we never signed anything.”

“Of course,” he smiled bitterly; “you need to be divorced to get married again.”

She hugged herself, knowing how hard the situation was for both of them.

Drake poured himself another whiskey before adding contemptuously, “That’s a nice ring. I wonder when he bought it.” He downed the content of his glass in one gulp. “I wonder how long he had been waiting to make his move, to take you away from me.”

Alexis couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Do not speak of Liam like that! He was always a good, loyal friend to you and to me. He was the one here picking up the pieces when you left.” She hadn’t realized that she was almost yelling or that her eyes were full of tears. “You left and never once looked back!”

Her words infuriated him; he didn’t yell, but his voice was full of anger. “What the hell, Alexis? Did you just say that I left and didn’t come back? Me?”

She turned her back, angry - not only at him, at herself, too, at their damn fate that had played such a cruel, horrible joke on them.

He cut the distance between them and stood in front of her, making her face him. “I left?” he asked again. “And what about what you did?”

She recognized the pain in the eyes she had avoided looking at for so long, and the anger faded. “What if I say it’s my fault? What difference does it make? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Drake shook his head, frustrated; as much as it still hurt, as much as he hated to admit it, they didn’t belong together anymore. “You’re right, it doesn’t.” He sighed; he was eager to see her leave and take all the painful memories with her. “Did you bring the papers?”

She took a deep breath before speaking. “It’s more complicated than that. We never made our separation official, so as far as the law is concerned, we’re still together.” He kept staring at her with his arms folded over his chest. His gaze made her extremely nervous, but she forced herself to finish what she needed to say. “I spoke with Rashad, we need to file an application and set a date with a judge for a … meeting.” She put a strand of hair behind her ear.

Drake frowned. “What kind of meeting?”

“It’s called an “attempted conciliation” meeting. It’s mandatory in Cordonia if we want things to go faster. After the meeting, we only have to wait 15 days to sign the papers and everything will be over.”

She seemed cold and distant, talking about the life that they had shared together like it was a simple legal procedure. “Send me the date and I’ll be there, the sooner the better.” He watched her twist his ring again and couldn’t avoid the surge of anger. “This marriage was a fucking mistake anyway.” He regretted his words as soon as he said them, but it was too late.

She looked at him sadly; he had never shown her cruelty before. “Maybe it was a mistake for you.” She took her purse and walked to the door.

“Alexis!” he called before she left. “It might have been a huge mistake; I don’t know. But I don’t regret a single minute of it.” He fixed his chocolate eyes on hers; she seemed so vulnerable again that he had to actively stop himself from taking her into his arms.

She answered through her tears, “Me neither, Drake. I don’t regret anything.” She threw a last glance at the floor upstairs and left.

She drove for a few miles until she was forced to pull over. Her hands were shaking; she couldn’t drive anymore. Forcing herself to steady her voice, she immediately called Liam because she knew how worried he would be about her. She told him that she was all right and that he should go to his meeting with Bertrand and Francesco; she would see him later at her apartment.

When she hung up, she called Max. He arrived an hour later with Olivia, and they took her to Maxwell’s loft in the capital.

“Something to drink?” Maxwell asked.

“Whiskey, double.” She took off her coat, still shaking.

“Here, Blossom.” She gulped it fast.

“Now, tell us everything, Alexis,” Olivia said while she prepared a vodka martini.

“It was so surreal to see him again. He looked …” she sighed, “older, obviously, but still very handsome.” She couldn’t avoid the sorrow in her eyes. “He hates me.”

Olivia arched her brow and simply stated, “Liam.”

She nodded. “Yes, partly,” she shrugged, “but he’s also angry about the last time we saw each other.” Her eyes watered, but she rubbed them hard. “I’m not going to cry. Liam is in the middle of some intense negotiations for the duchy; he doesn’t need to worry about me, too.”

“You can be so fucking frustrating, Alexis.” Olivia looked at her, exasperated.

Maxwell shook his head. “Bravo, Olivia, subtle.”

“I don’t give a damn if I’m subtle or not. Alexis, you need to stop worrying about Liam, or Drake, or anyone else, for that matter. How do you feel? What did you feel when you saw Walker?”

She stared back at her best friend, twisting her ring. “Nothing. I mean, I felt sad for us, and going back to the cabin, to the last place I saw Tho- … him was extremely hard. But I feel absolutely nothing for Drake anymore.”

Olivia squinted at her. “Please, Alexis. You saw Drake again. The man that we know you loved like crazy, who you shared your life with for five years, and you pretend that you didn’t feel anything? You’re shaking, for Christ’s sake. You need to talk, darling.”

Alexis turned to Maxwell for support, but he shrugged. “I don’t approve of her brutal interrogation techniques, but I agree with her; you had to feel something, Lexie. That doesn’t mean you’re being disloyal to Li.”

She dropped the glass on the table and stood up, angrily looking for her coat and purse. “I have no feelings for him anymore. Nothing. He left me without a fucking regret.”

Maxwell shook his head. “You know that’s not exactly true, Blossom. You know why he left.”

Alexis was furious. “I can’t even believe what I’m hearing. If you’ll excuse me, the man that loves me, that I love, is worried sick waiting for me. Have a good night.”  

She left, slamming the door.

Liam spent the afternoon working in his office in Cordonia. He was very satisfied with the deal he had made with Francesco and the Italian government. He had already succeeded in making Valtoria the richest duchy in Cordonia, and his new goal was to transform it into the most successful business center on the Mediterranean coast.

While he was searching for the contracts, he came across the invitation Bertrand had given him for his fifth wedding anniversary party. He was in quite a conundrum; on the one hand, it would be inappropriate for them not to show up. Bertrand was his number two, his closest employee. On the other hand, Drake was back in Cordonia, and he was surely going to go too; after all, Savannah was his sister.

His memory drifted back to that day at the clinic. He had been so confident that it was the right thing to do that he hadn’t doubted his actions, but now he wasn’t so sure about it. Drake’s grief still haunted him. He wondered how their “reunion” had gone. He decided to cut his day short and go check on Alexis.

Her job as a freelance translator allowed her to work from wherever she wanted, but she spent most of her time in her city’s loft. Liam hoped she would easily accept her new role as the duchess of Valtoria when the time came, but he was aware that it was going to be a tough adjustment. As much as she tried to hide it, the weekly royal etiquette lessons she took with Regina were torture for her.

She was already in her room when he got home. He undressed and went to join her in bed. When she sensed his presence, she turned around and laid her head on his chest.  

He caressed her face with the back of his hand. “How did it go, my love?” he asked softly.

“As bad as expected, but I don’t want to talk about it, Li.” She looked for his lips, and he immediately kissed her back.

He needed to claim her as much as she needed to forget. He took off her silky robe and made love to her passionately and lovingly, trying to make her forget about everything else.

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

Drake sat in front of the fireplace with Savannah's invitation in his hand. He refused to go back to those days where alcohol was the only thing he used to numb the pain. He let himself get lost in the flames while he thought about them, about all the nights they had spent exploring each other in front of that same fireplace. About all the stories she had read to him while she snuggled on his lap. And now that life was gone, and she was with Liam.

With Liam.

When Savannah had called him all those months ago, he had refused to believe it, but then she had sent him their picture in an email, and everything had fallen into place. Especially that last day at her clinic.

Well, if she could move on, he could do it too. He had a new life, a new job, and was dating someone new.

He had come back to Cordonia determined to get a semblance of a life back. He knew himself well enough to realize that he would never love again, or at least never with the same force, with the same intensity,  but if he was going to fulfill the promise he had made at his grave, he needed a new life.

The job he had gotten at Ezequiel’s clinic was the first step; dating Kiara was step two. He wondered if he would truly forget her one day if one day he would wake up to realize she didn’t occupy his every thought. He certainly hoped so; she was marrying Liam soon.

A new family or kids weren’t even a possibility. He might forget Alexis one day, but he would never forget about Tom.

Tagging: @ao719​ @yukinagato2012​ @kingliam2019​ @texaskitten30​ @cordonia-gothqueen​ @bebepac​ @nomadics-stuff​ @hopefulmoonobject​ @gardeningourmet​

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[lampd-intheface]

vampire LAMP au

okay but like imagine a vampire au with polysanders except virgil is the only human???

roman got bitten by a vampire in italy just for kicks and then he was left to his own devices. he had to suffer through the shift alone with nobody to help him

for a little while, he was ravenous and accidentally killed a lot of people. in the end, tho, he snapped out of it and taught himself how to control his hunger

roman lived through the italian renaissance and moved between italy and spain (which is why he can speak really good spanish/italian) and even settled down a little in england for some time too

when roman settled down in england, he met patton who'd been a vampire for a while now

patton became a vampire becos he was hit with the plague and his mother was desperate to find a cure. this vampire they met ended up helping and then taking patton under his wing

roman and patton eventually find themselves in america (which was still a pretty new country at the time)

logan lived during the industrial era where everyone was just inventing things left and right and it was booming in terms of science and machinery

he was turned becos a vampire thought his genius was too valuable and death shouldn't put a stop to logan who had a lot of potential

the three then settled down in america

roman made some money writing fantasy books under pseudonyms. logan made money through patents or really any kind of intellectual work he could find. patton spent his time at home, just helping out and taking care of roman and logan

they had to move often, of course, becos people would be suspicious if they just stayed in the same place for too long. they couldn't get attached to people either becos getting attached to people meant people who would keep track of them

after all of their years being alive, patton and logan and roman have amassed enough money that they're just chilling and living comfortably

now, it's the modren era and, in this au, all of them either have online classes and/or night classes

virgil takes night classes and online classes because it limits his social interaction with other people and he's much more comfortable interacting with smaller groups of classmates (night classes)/not physically interacting with classmates at all (online classes)

the others because well duh they're vampires

it's not becos they dont like sunlight (they can be exposed to a little but too much gives them rashes). it's just that it's easier to keep a low profile if they interact with less people

logan is really the only one seriously taking classes and not for any other reason than because he loves learning. patton and roman will take classes here and there but only for their hobbies

insert virgil. i haven't thought this one through but logan probably meets him first because they share a class together.

anyway, LAMP have a meet cute or whatever

maybe like virgil is in an art history class and the prof says something wrong abt a certain part of history

logan is about to correct the prof but virgil beats him to it and logan is impressed with how accurate virgil was with his facts because logan lived that era and not a lot of people are so knowledgeable about it

that aside, their friendship takes time

logan has to introduce patton and roman separately and then the three of them have to keep attempting to get closer to virgil slowly and at virgil's pace

eventually, for their own reasons, they fall in love with virgil

logan falls in love with how much he relates to virgil. virgil is so smart and the two of them can talk and have debates and virgil just understands him so well

roman falls in love with how snarky virgil is becos he'll tease virgil and he knows virgil will serve it right back to him. virgil challenges him and its exhilarating and exciting

patton falls in love with how soft virgil is and how much he wants to protect virgil from all the bad things in the world. he loves how virgil has been through so much and yet virgil is still so strong

virgil is unaware of how smitten the three of them are tho and he falls in love with them too. he kind of just... plans to be with whoever asks him out first (if any of them ask him out at all)

because virgil struggles with his anxiety a lot, he can't really work at normal places. there's too many interactions, too many people.

he had thought that he'd eventually get used to it and then he'd be able go get a job but it's taking him a lot of time to get over his anxiety

precious time he can't really afford since he's putting himself through college

which is where his vamp boyfriends friends come in because hello, if they can't pay for their cute human crush's essential college classes, then what's the point of having all that money?

in any case, they find out abt virgil's financial problems and they're like omg... we're the solutions to his problem!!!

roman: i can finally actually slay what ails virgil!!!

logan: you won't be slaying anything--

roman: LET ME HAVE THIS ONE THING

before they establish that sort of relationship though, logan and roman and patton all agree that they want virgil to know the real them first so that virgil can decide whether or not he wants to be associated with them

the last thing they want to do is make virgil feel like he's obligated to stay with them even tho he fears them becos they're paying for his college and housing him and stuff

so, they plan get to know virgil more and then tell virgil they're kind of sort of creatures of the night

definitely easier said than done

when they tell virgil, he's like *phone error sound* ??? before realizing oh my God, they're serious

he then laughs about it a little and the other three are confused but he clarifies that the situation was very ironic

becos like omg, how hilarious is that??? the one goth guy who's super pale and avoids social contact and is practically the stereotypical vampire is actually the only one that's NOT a vampire??? that's irony at its finest

virgil then also assures them that the three of them being vampires doesn't bother him one bit

virgil, the epitome of tumblr humor: bold of you to assume i wouldn't f**k a supernatural being

jokes aside, he does reveal to them that he couldn't care less about what species they were, just that they loved him and he loved them

and damn did virgil love those three idiots

roman: woah there, you might pull a muscle from all the i love you's you're spouting

virgil, sweating up a storm after showing the most emotional vulnerability in his life: sh*t u rite

jokes aside, they do form a sort of weird relationship where the three of them happily provide for virgil because virgil doesnt have the means to do so

it takes virgil a while to really get used to it since he's not used to accepting things from other people without giving back

he struggles for a little while becos he keeps trying to find ways to repay them for what they do for him but there's only so much he can do

eventually they have a conversation abt it and they're like babe honey sweetie no

patton: you give us your love and that's the absolute most important and priceless thing in the world!!!

virgil, known pessimist who cringes away from romantic gestures out of habit: sounds fake but ok

but like eventually they work it out in like a slowly but surely kind of way.

virgil learns to see money the same way the other three do (replaceable and pretty much worthless to vampires who have a large abundance of it) and the other three learn to kind of tone it down on the expensive gifts

virgil: im so glad you guys dont buy me really expensive things now

roman, sweating profusely as he hides the golden apple he had commissioned to be made especially for virgil: oH YEAH OFC HAHAHA

(logan, when roman had suggested getting virgil the golden apple: first of all, no??? in what way is that even romantic--)

omg imagine if virgil does the thing where he coops himself up in his room??? and then someone tries to get him to get out by pulling the blinds open to let in light??? and virgil hisses???

patton, having just let sunlight in, looking absolutely offended: OKAY FIRST OF ALL, you're not a vampire so don't take that tone of hiss with me--

someone is like teasing or bullying virgil abt his aesthetic and virgil is obviously getting uncomfortable, esp when they call him twilight (in reference to the vampire romance novel)

so one of the boys, probably roman, steps up and he's like 'the person you should call twilight is me' and he scares the bullies by flashing his eyes red and showing them his fangs

omg!!! roman doesn't have a reflection so virgil helps him put on make up or smth!!!

maybe virgil in this au is an artist so he paints a picture of all three of them so they know what they look like becos they dont show up on pictures and reflections

patton, gazing down at the picture: this is what true love feels like

logan, also feeling the same way: really? how unpleasant

logan:

logan: give me more

omg also logan having only really kept up with the intellectual side of history so he doesn't know abt memes and like stuff like that so virgil teaches him and he has his Flashcards™

iDK MAN JUST VAMPIRE BOYS BEING SOFT FOR EACH OTHER AND FOR THIS SMALL LITTLE HUMAN THEYVE PULLED UNDER THEIR (bat) WINGS

[norgestan]

I’ve tried to have this discussion before, but the context of the fact that so many fans from Spain (and even the cast) say stuff like “pansexuality isn’t real” or make fun of/insult people who identify as pan and say “that’s not part of our culture” is exactly the reason WHY some fans take issue with skam espana’s “bisexuality vs pansexuality” scene more than other versions. Because you just can’t separate the intention of the scene and how +

I’m sure the creators knew it was going to be received by the home audience, from the dialogue and message of the scene. Does that make sense? I don’t know if I’m getting my point across. I just feel like so many people like to pretend that certain fans are just being hypocritical for being upset by that scene in skam espana more than the og/other remakes, but that added context IS there. (2/2)

i can totally agree with you on the first bit, i feel like there’s definitely people who have taken it too far. i myself agree with the spanish view of pansexuality yet i would never go out of my way to attack people for identifying as pan (in my ideal world everyone takes a look of what the debate should really be about so we can be civil in regards of this issue... but this is social media and stan circles we’re talking about, so LOL).

however, and at the cost of stirring this fully rotten issue one more time... how is the dialogue and framing of the scene in itself a form to validate the “pansexuality isn’t real” debate in spain??? like, let’s look at the facts. this is how the dialogue goes down like:

viri: so does this mean you’re a lesbian?

cris: no! i mean, no. i don’t know. i know i like joana, and that’s it.

eva: either way, you used to really like guys. a lot.

cris: yeah! fuck, i still like them, girl, i don’t know, i’ve always liked them.

nora: then, you can be bisexual, no?

cris: maybe. it’s just that i don’t know what the categories are, i mean, how am i supposed to know what’s mine?

viri: let’s see, there’s not that much confusion anyway? you’re either lesbian or bisexual, no? and now "pansexual” is there too, no?

nora: girl, that’s the same thing. bisexuals like the people of their same gender and the opposite gender... i think.

eva: well now, you guys are getting intense. the important thing is, [to cris] are you happy?

this is the point in which the conversation clearly deranges. when viri begins to talk about how cris could be a lesbian, bi or pan, amira is literally facepalming herself and eva is laughing in the background. when nora jumps in to correct viri, eva realizes that it has gone for too long and dismisses the two girls to shift the conversation back to cris. i actually really appreciate how awkward this entire scene feels lol, because it’s a realistic outcome and it really balances the girls’ love for cris vs their incapacity to handle this subject well, as they’re all (so far) cis and straight girls. and to an extent, that’s the intention of the scene, to show that they all have good intentions but can say the wrong things anyway (discussing cris’ sexuality when she had just told them she is not sure/doesn’t know enough, viri immediately asking if they have had sex, eva implying that cris can’t be attracted to girls because she was really into guys some months ago and then the comment about their sex life, etc). and it’s the same thing that happened with lucas’ coming out scene in s1: eva told lucas that she and jorge had discussed the possibility of him being gay, and then she fires back at him with the whole cristian drama. but in both scenes, the important thing is that despite their ignorance regarding conversations of LGBT+, they’re supportive of them and there for each other, and in the long run, willing to learn and create a safer space for them (see: lucas’ youtube video where eva and him discuss homophobic microaggressions). and of course there’s never gonna be a perfect reaction: skames did a really good job showing a realistic coming out that is positive for the protagonist and in line with its imperfect characters’ personalities and experiences.

so like, in what universe is this scene meant to discredit pansexuality and pansexuality alone, when the phrase happens in the context where the girls are discussing something that literally NO one in the room understands? and it’s not like you have to look reaaaaally hard into it to come out with the fact that 17 y/o cishet girls aren’t the most versed about the lgbt+ community, it’s LITERALLY explicitly stated that no one is sure about what they’re talking about (cris outright says she hasn’t done any research, viri is trying to be supportive all while having conflicted feelings about cris being with a girl lol, and nora’s straight to the point “...i think”). and even then, it’s not like nora says anything incorrect: i’m pretty sure pansexual people can agree that both pan and bi people are attracted to the same group of people. and when i was in high school, most people around me couldn’t tell the difference between the two either. (way better than saying matter of a fact that pan people are attracted to genders and bi people are atracted to sexes, cough cough)

anyone could watch the scene and understand what the intention was. when i watched the clip years ago, i had no idea of the spanish perception of pansexuality and didn’t until i entered the fandom (although i had heard the discussions about pansexuality in other circles) and the scene does NOTHING to educate you about LGBT+ culture and history in spain (how can they when it’s established that these girls aren’t well-versed on the subject?). the only thing you could come out from that scene, is that these girls... kinda don’t know shit about it.

i can totally see why people can have problems with the pansexuality discourse in the skames and skamverse fandom, as well as the comments that came from the cast. and as i’ve said multiple times now, you don’t have to justify yourself if you don’t wanna watch a remake, and no one can tell you what to do about it: the decision is entirely yours. however, i completely disagree that the showrunners’ intention was to make a statement on the validity of pansexuality because of spain’s culture. and i lack the knowledge to make this point, but i find it hard to believe that the pansexual issue in skames is the only example on the skamverse of creators, actors and fans sticking up to a plotline/comment that invalidates or harms a minority group.

[chilling-seavey]

Amoureux (c.s./d.s.) - Chapter Twenty-Four

A/N The song for this chapter is Kissing Other People by Lennon Stella x

It was shocking how normal the Royal Family was acting despite just getting rid of their son from the country for the rest of time. Louisa couldn’t calm down for the rest of the day, fighting back tears as she sat in the sitting room over tea with no one to look at instead of reading, or during supper with a lack of witty remarks from the empty chair on her right. Christian’s casual conversation starters made her angry, focusing her emotions on stabbing her supper with her fork and gripping out her frustration on the material of her dress. Anna was much quieter than normal too, holding her head up in her hand with her elbow on the table. No one even corrected her poor table manners.

Louisa didn’t know where she stood with Christian and she was almost afraid to ask. Every time she tried to confront him, she hesitated and walked the other way. She knew he still loved her since he still wanted to marry her, but it didn’t necessarily promise anything…it was an arranged marriage after all.  

24 hours after Daniel had left the palace for good, Louisa was just about losing her mind, there were only so many hallways to pace before you started to see the same things over and over again. It was after dinner and Christian was sat in the parlour by the fire, reading. Normally he would be in the garden for the afternoons or evenings, but the autumn weather meant days were spent indoors.

He looked up from his book when she stepped into the room. He didn’t smile at her. He looked back down to his book.

“May we talk?” Louisa asked softly, afraid of starting another fight…or being threatened to be executed herself.

Christian looked back up at her and nodded, closing his book to give her his full attention. Louisa walked slowly over to him, standing a few feet away, wringing her hands together in front of her, nervously. She was scared to look at him as he watched her with a straight-lined expression.

Louisa took a smell breath before speaking, “You know I love you with all my heart.”

“Do you?” Christian replied without missing a beat.

“Yes.” Louisa breathed, tears welling in her eyes. “It was all a stupid misunderstanding and-”

“So, it was a lie then? Everything Daniel said?”

Louisa opened her mouth but shut it again, dropping her shamed gaze to the ground, knowing better than to lie. He deserved more than that. Louisa clenched her eyes shut as she let out another small sob, knowing the truth was going to hurt him, although they both knew the truth, but she still shook her head.

His deep sigh made her whimper and press her hands to her face to muffle her tears.

“I am so sorry!” she cried.

“How could you lie to me like this, Louisa?” Christian scoffed tiredly. “You really hurt me.”

“I know.” Louisa sighed. “I feel so terrible. You do not deserve any of this. I want to marry you so badly and I tried to tell Daniel off, but he would not hear it and I did not know he was going to ruin our day.”

“He was always good at getting what he wanted; he had a way with words. I guess you were no different.” Christian waved his hand as if even the mention of his brother pained him and he shifted his gaze to the crackling fire. “Well he is gone now so…”

Louisa let the silence linger between them a moment.

“Would you actually have killed him?” she asked softly.

Christian looked back at her quickly. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes and he hated the way she was looking at him, like he was something to be feared.

“Come here.” Christian sighed, holding out his hand to her.

Louisa took the few steps over to him and set her hand in his and he pulled her onto his lap. She tensed up a little and he could feel it under his arms that wrapped around her gently.

“Are you scared of me?” he asked softly, using the gentlest tone she heard him use in days. Her hesitation made him sit up straighter and take her face in his hands to get her to look at him, his eyebrows furrowed in concern as he looked her in the eye, “I am not going to hurt you, okay? I was angry and hurt and I let it get the best of me. I am sorry for scaring you.”

Louisa nodded lightly, dropping her gaze. He leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek.

“You did not answer my question.” she whispered.

“Hm?”

“Would you have sent him to be killed?”

“It is the law. I would not be doing my role as future sovereign otherwise.” Christian said softly, as if it was a gentle topic to talk about.

“You would kill your brother for kissing me?”

“For trying to get between the Royal marriage and…and for committing adultery with the spouse of the heir to the throne. For breaking the law.”

“But we are not married.” Louisa mumbled, twisting the diamond ring around her finger.

She could feel Christian tense at that statement.

“It does not matter. We are engaged to be married which is nearly one in the same. You made a promise to me when you said yes that you would be faithful.”

“I did not say yes. My father said yes.”

“One in the same, Louisa.” Christian sighed, tiredly. Her smart remarks reminded him too much of Daniel.

“I suppose I was a bit too reckless and naïve.” Louisa mumbled, glancing back up at him shyly.

“Yeah.” Christian chuckled humourlessly, setting his hand in hers.

“You still want to marry me after all this?” she whispered.

“Yes.” Christian answered quickly like it was the easiest question in the world. He set his hand on her cheek to get her to look at him again. The firelight reflected in his light blue eyes and she sighed softly, welcoming his single kiss to her lips. “I cannot just stop loving you.”

Louisa pulled a tight smile and nodded. Christian tucked his arms around her and pulled her closer so she could rest her head against his. She stared at the flickering flames of the fire, warming the room from the cold outdoor air and sending a gentle glow over the scene.

“Saturday.” Louisa breathed, in thought with herself.

“Is that fine with you?” Christian asked, glancing at her.

“What is today?”

“Thursday.”

Louisa bit lightly on her bottom lip and leaned her head on his shoulder, feeling his hand rub soft circles over her back.

“I would marry you now if I could.” Christian whispered against her cheek before pressing a kiss to the same spot. Louisa set her hand over his and he tucked his fingers around hers. “We could get married tomorrow afternoon?”

Louisa glanced at him with surprise.

“The butlers would have to work overnight but…we could just get it out of the way.” Christian let a smile play at his lips as he stared at her. “Get married tomorrow. All of this behind us. A fresh start, hm?”

“Yes. That could work.” Louisa mumbled.

“You are in agreement?” Christian sat up straighter, making her shift a little on his lap, her hand resting against his shoulder. He couldn’t see through her hesitant smile or her weak nod. “Marvelous! I will alert the kitchen now!”

She stood up to let him get up himself and he tilted her chin up to dip down and kiss her lips once, twice, and three times, through his smile.

“I will see you tomorrow then.”

She couldn’t get a word in before he was rushing out of the room to share the news with the workers. Louisa let out a heavy sigh and ran her hands through her hair and down her face before starting to make her way to bed. Mary was already up there with the bed freshly made and the wash basin ready for the princess to clean herself up before bed. Their nightly routine had been much more silent since the original wedding, nothing really proper enough to say after all that had happened. Mary left Louisa with a gentle good night and a quick hug before leaving her to rest.

Louisa didn’t get into bed, instead, she climbed up onto her windowsill and stared out over the castle grounds in her nightgown, trying to stop the hurt in her heart. She knew she loved Christian and that she had an important responsibility to marry him, but then why did she keep thinking of Daniel? She felt nearly sick with worry, with uncertainty, and with a strange feeling of longing that even knowing Christian forgave her couldn’t fill. It was as if his drastic action to banish his brother from the country made her unsettled, unknowing when he would snap and sent her away too. She subconsciously set a hand around her throat as she imagined her own execution; it wasn’t unusual for Kings to simply dispose of their wives.

Louisa had a feeling of nausea since the morning of her wedding that had only grown worse with time. She wished she knew what would get rid of it and she only hoped sealing the deal on her marriage with Christian would bring some relief and normalcy to her nervous stomach.

It was a cold night, the autumn air leaking through the large paned windows and chilling her as she sat in her thin white nightgown and stared at the star-lit sky. She couldn’t help but wonder how cold Daniel would be, soon stuck in a foreign country with nothing to his name, no money, no title, no shelter. She couldn’t imagine him sleeping on the streets of Denmark or Spain, cold and alone and caked in dirt. How long would he survive out there? Maybe it would have been less torturous to execute him. Louisa made herself cry at the thought, wondering how she even had tears left.

Her head ached with dehydration and stress and she curled into her knees to smother her sobs from the rest of the palace. She would never feel his touch again, hear his youthful laughter, or those magical butterflies that filled her stomach by the fire of his kiss. At a moment like that, she only wished for Daniel to be knocking on her door and sneaking in to hold her and kiss her and warm her up on the cold night.

The very real knock at her door startled her, sending her heart racing, and she said an almost too quick, “Come in.”

The door creaked open and a nervous Anna poked her head in.

Louisa was unrealistically disappointed that her dream wasn’t a reality but she sent the young girl a smile and waved her in. Anna closed the door behind her, her blonde hair in curlers and she was wearing her pink nightdress as if she had snuck out of bed, and rushed over to the window where Louisa sat and joined her, holding a covered plate in her hand.

“What do you have there?” Louisa asked softly, trying to hide the fact that she had been crying.

Anna uncovered the plate, revealing the pastries and desserts hidden underneath. The girls shared cheeky grins.

“Dani said to me that you might want some when he left.” Anna whispered, carefully picking up a cake between her thumb and forefinger and took a small bite. “He showed me where to find them in case you were sad, but I just had to pretend to cry and Corbyn gave me a whole plate right away. Easy as pie.”

Louisa cracked a small smile, her heart swelling with warmth and a tinge of sadness, as she bit into a truffle. The girls sat in silence a moment, eating their desserts and staring out over the darkened palace grounds and night sky.

“I knew you and Dani were in love before he told everyone at the church.” Anna said suddenly as if it was a casual statement.

“I do not know about ‘in love’-”

“He thinks I am dumb, but I saw you sneaking off together often.” Anna glanced up at Louisa with a small smirk.

The older girl blushed furiously, not knowing what to say to the twelve-year-old.

“Why do you not want to marry Daniel?” Anna asked.

“I am not permitted to marry anyone other than Christian.” Louisa answered.

“But you want to marry Daniel if you could choose?”

Louisa scoffed nervously, shaking her head, “I do not know about that. I love Christian.”

Anna stared at her a moment.

Louisa looked over at her when she got no response.

Anna frowned, picking up another dessert to eat, “Daniel told me the other day that he is in love with you.”

“I know. He has told me so.” Louisa mumbled.

“And he wants to marry you.”

“Yes. He has told me that as well.”

“But you told him no?”

“You will understand when you are older, amoureuse.” Louisa whispered, reaching forward to tuck a stray piece of the young girl’s hair back into her curler. “Women do not get to choose who they love, we are told.”

“No.” Anna shook her head. “That is not true. Have you not been paying attention to my plays I made? The women always get the man of their dreams at the end and live happily ever after.”

“But sometimes you also make them die.” Louisa chuckled lightly.

“Yes, maybe,” Anna frowned a moment, staring at her half-eaten pastry in her hand, “but Daniel was not sent to die.”

[indiavolowetrust]

Matthew 7:7

SUMMARY:  "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you."

Satan tutors a particularly curious, chatty student.

Notes: This MC is based on various female saints. Prior to falling into the Devildom, this MC lived in Catholic rural Spain -- hence the name Maria Cruz (MC). This fic explores the possibility of demons having their own language outside of the MC's native language, as well as Satan's inner wrathful nature.

1

My head pulses with the reverberation of the rain, the battering against the windowpane a thunderous, steady march. While I can’t quite fathom how the Devildom has changes in weather -- outside of temperature changes, that is -- it is difficult to do anything but take the anomaly in stride. In a realm crowded with demons, angels, and beings dangerously akin to monsters, it would be only a headache to dwell on it. A waste of time.

But aside from that, it is comforting. A vague resemblance to a typical autumnal rain. If I close my eyes for a moment, I can almost imagine that I am in one of Sister Marta’s classes again: bored, tapping my pen against the wooden desk, and on the verge of sleep, the sound lulling me into a placid state. Sister Marta would drone on and on about the syntax and grammar of Latin, citing various points in scripture. My pen would scrawl doodles and notes alike, creating looping whorls on my paper. And the occasional running line for each time I nodded off, of course. The storm would rage on and on, drawing my eyes to the rivulets of droplets on the window, and my patience and attention would slowly slip into nothingness.

I regret doing so each and every day that I spend in the Devildom.

I take another glance at the two books strewn on the desk, attempting to focus again. A compilation of notes sits beneath my hand, the two tomes in Latin and Enoch flipped open to what should be the same page. My fingers cramp from writing so much, protesting the constant workload, but I wholly ignore the sensation. If I had paid more attention in Latin class, I would be able to translate Enoch better. If I hadn’t drifted off so much and ignored Sister Marta, I wouldn’t have such a noticeable accent when speaking to the demons of the Devildom. If I hadn’t spent so much time daydreaming about the end of the school day, I wouldn’t have embarrassed myself upon my first arrival in the Devildom. My skin still bristles at the memory: my complete bewilderment, combined with the Lord Diavolo’s lack of foresight to provide me with a translator, had only led to disaster.

A complete idiot, some part of me says, chiding me. You looked like a complete idiot, spouting off nonsensical phrases in Latin. 

Then again, it wasn’t as if I had really believed in demons or angels before. How was I supposed to know that the language of the demons was only a derivative of Latin?

Another clap of thunder nearly shakes the House of Lamentation’s foundation. I read the hands of the grandfather clock: it is only half past midnight. Plenty of time to finish the last five pages of translations and vocabulary practice. I will myself to understand the texts before me, gripping the pen tightly in my hands. I force my eyes to focus. If I am to survive the remainder of my exchange year at RAD, I would have to do a much better job at hiding my humanity -- starting with disguising my Spanish accent. But the words only blur in my vision again, the call of sleep urging my eyelids to close, and I feel myself sway unsteadily in the chair. The stress and fatigue from work hits me all at once. The lull of the storm sings to me, exacerbating my exhaustion. My pen begins to drift off the paper. My head nods forward.

“Maria?”

I blink, immediately forcing myself back to consciousness again. My eyes scan the library, drawing itself over rows of bookshelves and dark mahogany tables. The dim lamp on the desk is dim and flickering, casting long shadows across the room.

And Satan stands in the doorway, looking just as surprised as I am.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, hand still on the doorknob.

I glance down at my notes. I’ve drifted far enough into sleep that I’ve drawn a crooked line over the preexisting words, I realize with embarrassment. I quickly hide the ruined sheet. “Just studying,” I respond. “It’s -- it’s late, isn’t it? What are you doing here?”

Satan arches a brow. “Well, aren’t we curious?”

“Ah, I didn’t mean --”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he dismisses, throwing a smile my way. It does nothing to disarm me, nor does it ease my sense of embarrassment. He reaches one of the bookshelves in the corner of the room with long strides and pulls a book off the shelf, evidently acquainted with the contents and layout of the library. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I would read something to relax. I left one of my favorite novels here.”

I nod, trying to hide my discomfort. “I see.”

I look down on my notes again, reading over the newly written content, but I make sure to keep a wary watch over Satan out of the corner of my eye. While traveling to the human world with Satan, Lucifer, and Mammon had helped in forming the bonds between Satan and Lucifer, I cannot say the same for myself. Only a few weeks have passed since Satan’s outburst. Since his threats of, verbatim, slicing off my nose and ears, ripping off my arms and legs, and feeding me to the lower-level demons. While it is easy for someone like Lucifer to simply overlook the transgression, being a demon, it is much more difficult for a human like me to forget the terrifying experience. Satan had clearly meant to make good on his word. If Lucifer hadn’t stepped in, I would likely be nothing more than a pile of torn flesh and bone.

“You’ve gotten pretty proficient,” Satan’s voice says over my shoulder.

I nearly startle out of my chair, turning towards the source of the voice. Satan stands to the side of the desk, leaning as he regards my notes. His gaze draws itself over my notes and the tomes with interest. I shrink back instinctively from his presence, still caught in surprise. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice. The wrathful demon simply nods, as if satisfied by my work.

“So this is how you’ve become fluent so quickly,” Satan remarks, green eyes lighting up. “Tell me, are all humans like this?”

I shake my head. “Not really. It’s -- I just figured it would be a good idea if I learned more Enoch,” I explain hastily, my hands already working to close the tomes and collect my notes. “Didn’t want a repeat of the first few weeks of school.”

“Well, it was almost incomprehensible when you first started.”

My cheeks flush. “I --”

“And you’ve improved significantly,” he says. “You should be proud of yourself, human.”

There it is again: that brilliant, faux smile. I merely nod in acknowledgment and utter a small thank you as I gather the rest of my things, closing each tome with finality. Satan steps back as I stand from my seat, bearing various notes, notebooks, and a pen in my hands, and I do my best to offer him a smile in return. A goodbye gesture of sorts. If I am to have my choice in the situation, I will not spend another moment in Satan’s presence. Not alone, anyway. It is late, as it is. He probably wouldn’t be too offended if I made the excuse of exhaustion. I begin to make my way past him, the excuse falling from my lips.

Satan catches me by the arm. I flinch as I regard him, both the surprise and fear registering on my features before I can stop myself -- and Satan lets go immediately, the facade slipping almost imperceptibly. He draws his hand back to his side, the action creating distance between us once more. I stare awkwardly at him for a moment.

“I can tutor you, if you would like,” Satan finally says, breaking the silence. “Tomorrow, same place.”

Say no. Just outright refuse, my conscience advises, attempting to build my resolve. You can tutor yourself just as well as that demon can. Just say no and he’ll leave it alone.

* * *

The tip of the pen emerges from its casing with a gentle click, Satan’s fingers wrapped securely around its base. His eyes scour my written translation for a moment, peering over the frames of his reading glasses. He scratches corrections onto the paper after a moment, then pushes the notebook towards me. His pen taps on the various scrawlings.

Satan pushes his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose, “This word is pretty close, but there are too many connotations for it,” he explains. He writes out various characters in Enoch, pronouncing the syllables of each word. “It’s a bit more formal, but it’ll probably get your point across a little more clearly. Your professors will probably appreciate that.”

I take a look over Satan’s writings, comparing them to the text. As promised -- or mildly coerced, depending on how I regard the circumstances -- Satan had met me in a small library of the House of Lamentation, at least several high-grade novels and other books piled high before him. And, as expected, Satan is nothing but strict in his teachings. Each wrong stroke of an Enochian character leads to a quick, ruthless correction, Satan immediately scratching out the mistakes. Each wrong pronunciation of a word in Enoch incites a tsk from him, his typical gentlemanly countenance making way for his true nature. While it is somewhat reassuring that the demon no longer feels a need to hide his nature from me -- therefore making his outbursts more predictable if they do occur -- I still can’t quite shake the discomfort. The contrast between his outward and inward nature is unsettling.

I sigh inwardly, dispelling the thought. If I had really wanted to refuse, I should have done so right then and there. Because I was given a choice, wasn’t I? An implied choice. I could have said no. I could have refused. But then a memory had suddenly occurred to me, and I found myself completely stripped of my will.

Don’t you dare trifle with me, human, Satan’s voice echoes, the memory still fresh and palpable. If you dare say that you won’t make a pact with me again, you’ll pay for it with your -- 

“What’s wrong?” asks Satan, casting a glance at the space underneath my pen. Empty. “Is there something you don’t understand?”

I blink, then quickly shake my head. “No, I was -- I was just thinking about something.”

“Like what?”

My mind searches for an excuse, eyes inadvertently scrutinizing his appearance. While one would normally wear something more comfortable and casual for bed, Satan is dressed in an almost formal sweater and sweatpants that could be taken for slacks, his hair still perfectly mussed and styled from the school day. Nothing about him is undone. The meticulously thought-out details make me feel nearly out of place with my borrowed, oversized sweater, pyjama pants, and pineapple-like bun of curls sitting on top of my head. A slovenly effort when compared to Satan.

My eyes land on the reading glasses perched on top of his nose.

“Do you need those?” I ask, distracting myself from my own thoughts. “I always imagined demons were all-powerful. Did you have to go to a doctor in the human world to find your prescription?”

Satan looks surprised for a moment, as if he hadn’t expected me to comment. Or notice, depending on how low his expectations of humans are. “Well, no, but I thought they seemed appropriate.”

“You thought I would learn faster if you looked the part?”

“You like to ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” he counters, clearing his throat. “Curiosity killed the cat -- isn’t that what you humans always say?”

“‘Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back,” I recite, correcting him. I lean in closer to peer at his glasses, my curiosity overtaking my unease around the demon for a moment. The glass is thin, free of any curve in the glass. Moreover, they bear a plain yet distinctive design -- akin to what a gumshoe in a noir novel would wear. My mind flashes back to the book he had pulled off the shelf the other night. “They aren’t real.”

Satan gives me a withering look. “If you knew that, then why did you ask?”

“You’re wearing them because you want to look like Detective Vic Stone from Masking the Shadow,” I observe. Satan’s impassive facade falls for a moment, his flustered state suddenly apparent, and a sense of victory nearly quirks my lips into a smile. A strange sense of victory over the wrathful, figuratively masked demon -- but a victory nonetheless. “You can correct me if I’m wrong.”

Satan brings a hand to his face, partially obscuring the flush over his features. “You try my patience too much. If you have any other questions, I would suggest you ask them now.”

“Just one.”

“I’ll make sure to bind your mouth next time.”

“How much would you like to be paid per session?” I ask, ignoring his words. “I work part-time, so there isn’t really a --”

He cuts me off. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” I echo, confused. “If this is because you think me incapable of compensating you, you are sorely mistaken.”

He sighs, obscuring his face as he focuses his attention back on the Enochian tome. Adjusts his glasses again. “Why wouldn’t I?” Satan says matter-of-factly, as if I should be aware of the answer. “That would be like refusing to take home a kitten in the rain. There’s no reason why I wouldn’t help you.”

“But --”

My words die in my throat as Satan places his hand on my head, patting my pineapple-like bun of curls as if I were truly a pet. That fake, polite smile graces his features once more. “You ask too many questions,” he says, his tone halfway to a threat. “Work.”

part 2

[juliussneezerfics]

Seborga: One-Time Party Planner

No problemo, dude! Prompts are prompts, no matter who they’re from! Unfortunately, I had a limited amount of time to write this fic before midnight tonight, so I couldn’t take you up on that challenge. It’s also a lot longer than I thought! But whatever. Hope you enjoy!

Ao3

With his brothers' birthday coming up, Seborga wants to plan the ultimate surprise party for them. He then realizes he may be a little in over his head and enlists the help of some friends.

***********

Seborga’s feet slapped the tiles of his kitchen as he cooked. It was about lunch time and he was making something light to eat. Something light to eat that wasn’t a salad, anyway. He was unable to understand how his brothers ate salads regularly. On an ordinary day, he would be singing to himself and shuffling across the tiled floor. Today, however, his mind was occupied. His 

brothers’ birthday was about a month from that day and he was figuring out logistics. He finished his sandwich and carried it into the living room. His coffee table was strewn with assorted papers detailing guests and things he still needed to do to have the party set up within a month.

He knew that he had a month to get it all done. To conduct a surprise party with this many guests was already difficult, but Seborga knew that on the day of their birthday he would be invited over to spend the day with them. Birthdays in their family was all about family and spending time together. But, Italy liked to consider the world his family, right? Surely the two wouldn't be too mad at a surprise party.

He scanned the guest list, chewing a bite of his sandwich. The first few guests were obvious, but how big should the party be? Of course, whenever Seborga did anything, he did it with style. The invitations list ended up being a page and a half long. Perhaps he was guilty of inviting a couple of his own friends, but of course planning a surprise party of this magnitude earned its own reward. Seborga wouldn't say he dreaded this part, but he knew that the start of planning the party, all the work, all the well-meaning deceit would start with the first phone call. Steeling his reserve, he started with the top of the list.

“Sebby!” Spain’s voice greeted, tinny over the phone speaker. “How great of you to call! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well, as you know Feliciano and Lovino have an upcoming birthday-”

“On the seventeenth!” Spain interrupted. “I was just about to call you, actually! I wanted to take you three out to lunch to celebrate your brothers’ birthday.”

Seborga smiled. “Aww, Toni, that’s so kind of you! Actually, I was just about to invite you to a surprise party.”

“Ooh, seriously?” Spain sounded excited by the very prospect. “When?”

“I was thinking this evening.”

“Oh, so you won’t be able to make it for lunch.” Spain realized.

Seborga’s smile widened as he got an idea. “Actually, hang on. Can you occupy Feli and Lovi while we set up the party?”

“Of course! Hey, if you want you can host it at my house that way you three don't have to worry about cleaning up after the party.”

“Oh, that’s actually perfect!” Seborga was touched by Spain’s generosity. “Thank you so much, Toni!”

“No problem. So, how about I go over to pick them up around eleven. You can be sick or something so you can set up for the party at my house. When do I take them back to my house?”

“Um…” Seborga hadn’t thought that far. “Maybe around five thirty?”

"Sounds good. You can have everyone park behind the house that way they don't see all the cars before they head inside."

"Won't that mess up your lawn?"

"Eh." Spain said flippantly. "Grass is grass. It all grows back."

“I suppose so. Antonio, I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“Oh, anything for family!” Spain responded. “I’ll see you on the seventeenth!”

“See you then! Thanks, Toni! Oh, could you also invite…” Seborga leaned forward and went down his list. “France and Portugal?”

“Sure! Goodbye!”

“Bye!”

Seborga hanged up the phone, a weight lifted off his shoulders as he thought about what this meant for the setup of the party. Six and a half hours to set up. That would be fine, right? Then he happened to catch a glance of the guest list. How was he supposed to cook for all those people and decorate Spain’s house for the party? He would find a way. He had to. He leaned forward and crossed out Spain’s, France’s, and Prussia’s names. Okay. That was fine. Everyone he invited so far seemed to have good relationships with each other. Nothing to worry about. He hated to not invite certain people based on political circumstances and relationships between each other, but it was more important to have a friendly party than have a couple extra guests. Next on the list was Germany.

“Hello, Sebatian.” Germany’s curt voice greeted.

“Hi, Germany!” Seborga began. “Listen. I’m having a birthday party for my brothers on the seventeenth of March and I was wondering if that would work for you!”

“Of course. What time is it?”

“Five thirty at Spain’s house.”

“I can make it.” Germany said after a slight pause where he was likely checking his calendar. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Oh! Um…” Seborga hadn’t been expecting offers of help. “Actually, would you mind coming over a few hours early and helping me decorate? I’m sorry, I normally wouldn’t ask, but it’s just a lot for one person to do.”

“I’ll be over at two.” Germany answered.

“Wonderful! I can’t thank you enough, Germany.”

“No problem. I’m happy to help.”

Seborga smiled. Despite the joyful words Germany said, his words sounded monotone, as per his cadence of speaking. “Would you mind also inviting your brother, Liechtenstein, Switzerland, Austria, Hungary, and Russia and his siblings?”

"Hold on, would you mind repeating that? I have to write that down."

"Of course." Seborga laughed. "Sorry, I suppose that's a lot to remember." He slowly repeated the list.

“I can invite all of them, but I’m not exactly close to Russia and his family.” Germany said apologetically.

“But Hungary hangs out with Ukraine, right? So maybe she can make that happen?”

“I’ll ask her and see what she does.”

Seborga grinned. “Thank you so much! Could you also invite Japan, and tell him to invite his siblings?”

“If you want. I’ll also have Prussia come early with me. Japan will want to be there to help too, I’m sure.”

“Germany, you’re fantastic! My brother’s a lucky man!”

Germany cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yes, thank you. I’ll see you the night of the seventeenth.”

“See you then! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome. Goodbye.”

“Bye!”

Seborga hung up and smiled. He had a couple more calls to make, but everything was coming together. A weight lifted off his shoulders knowing that he was putting together a little committee. Suddenly, the prospect of planning the party seemed less like a chore and more like an opportunity.

The morning of the seventeenth, Seborga strode up to Italy and Romano’s house, coming in without ringing the doorbell. “Feliciano, Lovino, I’m here!”

From the distance, he could hear the sound of feet slapping the floor as Italy bolted down the hall and out into the foyer. “Seb!” He launched forward and wrapped up Seborga in a hug. “We’re so excited to see you!”

“I’m excited to see you guys, too. Happy birthday, Feli!” Seborga returned the hug.

Romano came into the foyer, holding a mug of steaming coffee, his mouth pulled into a relaxed smile. “Hi, Seb.”

“Hey, Lovino! Happy birthday!”

“Thanks.” Lovino came forward and hugged Seborga, not staying quite as long as Italy had. “How the hell are you?”

“Good, except for I think I’m coming down with something." Seborga couldn't help being nervous. He has always been a lousy liar.

“You are?! You think you could have told us before we hugged you!” Lovino exclaimed.

Italy frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“Bit of a fever. Little tired, back of my throat is sore, that kind of thing.”

“Oh, will you miss lunch?” Feliciano asked, concerned.

“May as well be safe. Don't want Toni to get sick.” Seborga said.

Lovino nodded, though he didn't appear to be delighted that Seborga was staying behind. “May as well. You look dead on your feet, Sebastian, did you get any sleep last night?”

Seborga had been up all night cooking the day before. He had gotten about half of it done, but there was still a lot to do. Not to mention delivering it all to Spain’s house in the dead of night. “No.”

“Well, you can sleep here.” Lovino said. “You can sleep in the guest room. We put fresh sheets there.”

“I put fresh sheets there.” Feliciano corrected. “We should probably stay back with Seb. We can’t leave him alone!”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” Seborga said, waving a hand dismissively as he toed off his shoes. “It’s your guys’ birthday! You should at least celebrate it. I’ll take a nap, I’ll probably be feeling better by the time you guys get back.”

“Are you sure?” Italy asked.

“Absolutely. You guys go enjoy your lunch!”

Lovino frowned. “It would be pretty rude to cancel on Spain this late in the game.”

“You guys have fun, I’ll be napping.” Seborga ruffled their hair as they passed, Feliciano frowning at the action. Romano scowled, but kept his mouth shut as he passed.

“We’ll have our phones on us. Text if you need anything!” Feliciano said.

“Will do.”

Almost as if on cue, someone knocked on the door.

Spain let himself in. “Hola! Happy birthday, boys!”

“Hi, Toni!” Feliciano greeted.

“Hi,” Romano greeted as Spain bent down to kiss his fiancé’s cheek.

Spain pulled away, his brow furrowed as he pushed his hands into his jean pockets. “Is something wrong, Lovi?”

“Seb has a cold and he can’t go to lunch.”

“Aww, really?” Spain stepped forward and pulled his right hand out of his pocket, slapping it against Seb’s outreached hand. “Sorry, Seb.”

Seb returned the handshake, blinking as he registered something small and metal being pushed into his hand. As Spain pulled his hand away, Seborga put his clenched hand into his pocket, smiling. He hoped his shock didn't register too prominently on his face. “It’s okay. It happens.”

“Get plenty of sleep, drink some fluids. I hope you feel better soon!” Spain said. His back turned to Italy and Romano, he subtly winked at Seborga.

Seborga nodded. “I will. You guys have fun!”

“We will!” Italy said.

Romano pulled on his jacket. “Take care of yourself. Of course you had to get sick on our birthday, bastard.” Despite his words, Romano's words were laden with pity.

“Sorry, Lovi.” Sebastian apologized. He knew that it was just part of the surprise, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“Don’t worry about it.” Romano zipped up his jacket. “Just get better. We don’t like it when you don’t feel good.”

“I’ll be fine. You guys better get out of here, or the restaurants are going to close before you even get lunch.”

“Okay. Bye, Sebby!” Italy waved, opening the door.

The three exchanged a few more goodbyes before they finally left. Seborga waited until he could hear the car leaving the driveway before he sprung up from the couch and pulled the key Spain had given him out of his pocket. He cringed. It was a good thing he hadn't made it upstairs before Spain had arrived. He'd forgotten all about the fact that Spain's door would be locked! He pulled on his leather jacket and fished his keys out of his pocket. “Okay. I have to hurry. Gotta’ cook, have to decorate, and Germany and the others will be at Spain’s in a couple hours.” He pushed open the front door and strode over to his motorcycle, pulling his helmet on. It was a short drive to Spain’s house, but regardless he couldn’t seem to get over there quickly enough. He hurriedly parked in front of the garage and unlocked the door. He then pushed through a few doors until he got to the garage and found the button to open the garage door. He ducked under the still-opening door and kicked up the kickstand to his motorcycle, pushing it into the garage. He then shut it and, pulling off his jacket, threw it onto the couch. He knew that in the kitchen fridge he would find several pasta dishes, a lasagna, salad ingredients, and a few beginnings to a cake he was making. Something light and delicate, with a coffee flavor. Enough to satiate Italy’s sweet tooth while also catering to Romano’s love of a balanced dessert. It would be difficult to navigate Spain’s kitchen, but he had plenty of time to figure out where everything was.

He had only been cooking for a couple hours when someone rang the doorbell. Seborga peeked over to the clock over the stove. Whoever it was, they were half an hour early. He rinsed his hands of flour and dried them on a towel as he hurried to the door to let whoever it was in. He opened the door. “Oh, Germany and Prussia! Thank you two so much for coming!”

Prussia was donned in a T-shirt that featured a crowd of chicks that read: ‘hanging with my peeps’ and a pair of black jeans paired with a pair of red converse. He grinned at Seborga. “We’re super excited to help. This will be the awesomest party in the world! Especially with me decorating.”

Germany was, of course, dressed far more reservedly in a pale blue button down shirt and navy blue work slacks. “We brought some beer and wine just in case. It’s in the trunk of my car, so we can get that whenever you want it in here.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet!” Seborga said. “We can actually bring it in now so it can get chilled before the guests arrive.”

The three stepped off the porch as Germany popped the trunk of his car.

“You look so formal, Germany, where’s your party outfit?” Seborga asked.

“I’m wearing it.” Germany answered, a slight smile on the corners of his lips. “My pants are blue. Not black.”

“Ooh, crazy!” Prussia joked. “I tried to get him to wear a party hat, but he refused.”

Germany opened up his trunk, revealing enough boxes of beer and wine to satisfy all the guests to the party. “Here we are.”

“Holy hell!” Seborga laughed. “How did you fit all this in your trunk?”

“Not just that.” Prussia rounded the back of the car with an impish grin and opened the back door of the car. “We have some in the back seat, too! Enough to get everyone hammered!”

“You guys are the best!” Seborga high-fived Prussia with a smile.

“You say that now.” Germany reached own and pulled out a case of beer without an issue. “We still have to take it all in.”

After they got all the drinks inside, Seborga straightened and clapped his hands once together.

Germany too straightened and flexed his hands to bring feeling back into them after bringing in so many boxes.

Prussia too stood up straight, a hand coming up to the small of his back as he grunted. “Ow.”

“Right!” Seborga took a look at the alcohol in the kitchen. “I’ll find some coolers and put the beers up. Germany and Prussia, Spain said he should have some decorations in several bags in the living room. You two go on ahead and start setting those up!”

Germany nodded, pleased to have a duty, and left.

Prussia waited until Germany was barely out of earshot. “Don’t be fooled by his cheerful disposition. He’s excited to be here helping out.”

“No, I know.” Seborga responded. “That’s just how he is.”

“I guess he’s just nervous.” Prussia said, a knowing smile on his face.

“Nervous about what? It’s just a party with people he knows. No big deal!”

For a moment, Seborga could recognize the tiniest flicker in Prussia’s eyes. A flicker of fear. A flicker that he realized he had said too much.

Prussia’s winning smile widened until it stretched awkwardly over his teeth. “Ah, you know him. Just so socially awkward. I bet he just wants things to be perfect for his boyfriend.”

Seborga mentally filed away Prussia’s reaction, but decided to leave it be. Prussia looked uncomfortable as it is. “As if you can tease Germany for wanting things to be perfect. Remember Canada’s birthday?”

“Eh, it’s whatever.” Prussia’s pale ears flushed pink, followed quickly by his cheeks and neck.

“The photos were really sweet!” Seborga teased, poking a finger into his ribs.

Prussia laughed, stepping away. “Ow! Hey!”

“Go help your brother. We’re going to be out of time before we know it.”

The doorbell rang, the two distracted by the noise.

Seborga smiled. “That has to be Japan! Go on in to help Germany.” He started to make his way toward the door.

“Sure! Little warning, France said he would show up a bit early to help out.” Prussia called to Seborga’s back.

“I’m glad!” Seborga responded as he reached forward to grab the doorknob. “We need the extra help!” He pulled open the door, confronted with the sight of Japan. “Good afternoon, Japan!”

“Hello.” Japan said with a polite smile. He bent at the waist. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Seborga too bowed. “Thank you for coming over early to help!”

“Of course.” Japan straightened. “I brought a gift for Italy and Romano, as well as a bottle of Saki.” Japan gestured toward a basket hanging on his arm.

“Aww, that’s so sweet! Here, let me get that for you!” Seborga reached forward and accepted the basket from Japan. “Come in, come in! Germany and Prussia are already here to help hang up decorations.”

“Thank you. Is there any way I can help you?”

“Nope, but thank you!” Seborga answered.

Japan stepped inside. “Then I will help Germany and Prussia with decorations.”

“Thank you!” Seborga said as Japan made his way to the living room. After Seborga had strode to the kitchen, he opened the basket and looked mournfully inside. “What am I supposed to do with all this booze?”

The rest of the day went by in a similar fashion, with Seborga baking and periodically interrupting his progress to answer the door. France first arrived early, followed by Hungary and Austria, and even Canada and America. The decorating got done sooner than Seborga had expected, and soon there was nothing more inside to be done. Seborga pulled the final layer of the cake out of the oven and glanced at the clock over the stove. Only two hours. That would be cutting it close for sure on the cake. He glanced outside into the back yard. Shit, he had forgotten about the tent!

He stepped out of the kitchen to the living room full of chatting people. He clapped his hands twice for everyone’s attention. “Are there any big, strong people here?”

“Hell yeah!” Prussia shouted, his open hand shooting up into the air.

Hungary reached over and pulled Prussia’s hand down. “Easy there, Prussia, I think Seborga was talking to me.”

“Cute, folks.” America added. “Sorry to say, but I think I have you beat.”

“Oh yeah?” Prussia challenged. He pushed the sleeve of his T-shirt up to his shoulder. “You. Me. Arm wrestling. Now.”

Seborga once again clapped his hands together for their attention. “It’s fine, you’ll all do. You three go down and get the canopy tent out of Spain’s basement.”

“I can still get it up quicker than you can.” America challenged, pulling his sleeves up his arms as he pushed past Prussia.

Prussia only took a moment to recover before Hungary too bumped into him as she bolted past America.

Seborga rolled his eyes, grinning. “Okay. France, Austria, and Canada. There are some lantern lights down in the basement. Can you take them up and string them in the branches of the backyard trees?”

“Of course. Anything for you, Seb!” France said. He was followed by Austria and Canada as they hustled down the steps.

“Anything you need me to do?” Germany asked.

Seborga snapped, turning around. “Actually, yes! I need your help decorating the birthday cake. I know you’re super good with that kind of thing.”

“I try to be.” Germany said bashfully, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m not good at the small details. My hands are too big.”

“That’s okay. All help is important!” Seborga affirmed, waving Germany toward the kitchen. He paused and shouted down into the basement. “Oh, before you guys start you have to park your cars in the back so the boys don’t see them before they come into the house!”

“Got it!” Canada shouted, his quiet voice only slightly amplified by the echo of the basement. “Thank you, Seborga!”

Seborga then joined Germany in the kitchen, where he was searching the cabinets for bowls and pulling them out systematically by size.

“I know you wanted me to help, but I didn’t know what I was supposed to do so I... got bowls.” Germany said, awkwardly waving to the assortment on the counter.

Seborga smiled. He’d always liked Germany. Though the man was intimidating on the outside, there was a kind of friendly awkward charm that made him impossible to dislike.

Twenty minutes later they had somehow stacked the three layers of cake and were frosting it with a crumb coat. Though Seborga knew that Germany's help would be instrumental to getting the cake done in time, but the two were actually ahead of schedule! With how well everything was going, Seborga had a difficult time thinking of anything that could make him any happier.

“So…” Germany began.

Seborga smiled as he frosted the outside of the second layer. “So?”

“I have… a question to ask you.”

Seborga looked over, alarmed by the nervous tone Germany had.

Germany was scooping more frosting onto his spatula, apparently avoiding Seborga’s gaze.

“Yes, of course!”

“So…” Germany began frosting he cake once again. “Your brother.”

“My brother.” Seborga repeated with an encouraging smile.

Germany lowered he spatula and finally met Seborga’s gaze. “I... love Feliciano very much. I have for a very long time. And maybe it’s a bad time, because I know Lovino and Spain are already engaged, but…”

Seborga’s mouth split into a joyful grin.

“I wanted to propose this evening.” Ludwig seemed to force it out, like keeping it in any longer would be painful. “If that was okay with you. I wanted your blessing.”

“Aww, Ludwig, that’s so sweet!” Seborga crooned. “Of course you have my blessing!”

Ludwig, relieved, let out a rare full smile. “That’s a relief. I already had Lovino’s blessing, but still…”

Seborga jumped up and down, clapping his hands. He already liked Ludwig, but he occasionally found himself still surprised by how sweet and considerate he could be. “Oh, this is fantastic! When are you planning on doing it?!”

Germany shrugged, scooping more frosting onto his spatula. “I thought I could do it late this evening, after most people had left. I figured the more private the better.”

“That’s perfect.” Seborga affirmed, resting a hand on Germany’s arm. “He’ll want to tell his family afterword, you know. He wouldn't be opposed to telling other people too, but I think he would prefer for it to just be a family moment."

“I know.” Germany’s lips pulled into a sentimental close-mouthed smile. “So I was hoping you and your brothers would stay here for a while after the party.”

“We can make that happen.” Seborga gave Germany a thumbs-up before he remembered they were working on a time limit. He continued to frost the cake. “Will Prussia be there?”

Germany shook his head. “No. We agreed to, if Feli says yes, go out for drinks and celebrate together this weekend. I imagine he will go home with France of Canada this evening.”

“This is perfect!” Seborga cheered, hardly able to contain himself. “Oh, and it’ll be perfect with all the lights in the trees, and the tent, and with how nice it is outside…”

“And that path Spain has around his yard, bordered by flowers.” Germany added. “It’s supposed to be a clear night.”

Seborga continued to frost the cake, smiling so wide that his cheeks began to hurt.

Ten minutes before Spain and his brothers were supposed to arrive, Seborga took one last lap around the house to check all the details. “Food warming in the oven, check. Cake in the fridge, check.” He peeked out the kitchen window. “Lanterns, tent, tables, decorations…” He then left the kitchen and made his way to the living room. “The decorations are up…”

Indeed, they were. Streamers were strung all across the room, balloons were weighed down and floating over top of the couch's side tables and a banner hung over the furniture that wished the two brothers a happy birthday.

Seborga’s gaze settled onto the coffee table, which had a vase of lilies proudly blooming. “Oh, those are gorgeous! Who brought those?”

“We did.” Austria answered, his chest puffed out with pride. “Hungary thought it would be nice to bring the boys some flowers.” His gaze settled adoringly on his wife.

Hungary smirked at Austria. “Making them their national flower was his idea.”

Austria uncomfortably cleared his throat as his cheeks flushed. “Yes, well… yes, it was.”

Seborga laughed at Austria’s discomfort. “Well, it was very sweet.” He peered around the room, the living room full of treasured friends. Invited to the party were all of the former allied powers standing around the room, with the exception of America who was sitting and leaning his elbows on the coffee table. China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, and South Korea were all crowded around the coffee table, South Korea laughing at a joke America had just made. Russia’s sisters were attending, Ukraine standing between Hungary and Liechtenstein and Belarus standing by her brother looking like she would rather not be there. Switzerland was perched on a chair muttering something to Portugal, Liechtenstein leaning against the back of the chair. All of the Nordics squeezed onto one couch. The micronations had also come, crowded at the edge of the room. “Everything appears to be in order!”

“It was very good of you to set all this up, Seborga.” England’s words were accompanied by a sincere smile.

Seborga rubbed the back of his neck bashfully as the sentiment was repeated by the guests. “Aww, it was good of you all to come and celebrate my brothers with me. I’m not sure how Romano will react, he doesn’t exactly love surprises.” He felt a buzz in his back pocket, pulling his phone out of his pocket, his eyes widening.

“Something wrong?” Finland asked from the couch.

Seborga slid his phone back in his pocket. “Spain texted. They’ll be here any minute!”

China brushed past Seborga. “Taiwan, come help me turn out all the lights!”

Taiwan sprang up from her place by the coffee table.

“We have to hide!” Monaco stepped forward, crouching behind the couch.

There was a sudden scrambling as everyone tried to find places to hide.

“How do you hide this many people?!” Sealand cried.

“Sealand!” Seborga barked. “You and Wy are small! Hide under the coffee table!”

“There isn’t enough room to hide everyone.” Germany said urgently.

Seborga licked his lips as he tried to think. “Everyone, try and hide behind the counters in the kitchen!”

All the Asian countries moved to the kitchen, followed closely by Norway and Sweden.

Seborga looked around urgently as the lights went out in the living room, eventually settling on just standing against the wall where the door would open. He would just have to pray that they didn’t shut the door to reveal him before everyone stood and surprised them.

As Seborga pressed himself against the wall, he watched America whip his head around in search of hiding spots in the seemingly empty living room. Eventually he sprinted over to a corner and moved a lamp that was standing in the corner. He did a handstand where it once stood. “Someone help me!” America shouted. “I need someone to put the lampshade over my feet!”

Seborga could hear France snicker from somewhere in the living room. “Are you being serious?”

“I can’t feel my face anymore! You think I’m not being serious?!” America whisper-yelled.

Belarus finally stood from behind the couch and jogged over to the corner, pulling the lampshade off the lamp and settling it on America’s foot. On her face was a rare smile. “This is idiotic.”

“Hey, this is genius.” America refuted.

“Flatten your feet.” Belarus ordered. “The lampshade will not be staying straight up.”

“Oh, sorry.” America began sarcastically. “Let me just bend my foot to lie against my frickin’ leg. I forgot I’m a contortionist.”

“If you continue your whining, I can be making your feet bend in that way.” Despite her words, Belarus’ words held no bite.

Japan peeked his head up over the back of the armchair, his brow furrowed into a worried frown. “Please, we are running out of time before they get here.”

Belarus finally just lifted her hands off the lampshade and retreated back to her hiding place.

Seborga shushed the muttering room as he strained to listen. “That’s Spain’s car! Everyone be quiet!” He listened to the car’s engine shut off. Listened to the doors of the car open and shut. Listened to the three converse as they walked from the car to the porch.

“We’d better hurry.” Italy’s voice was muffled by the door.

A key was pushed into the lock and turned. “I will.” Spain's voice promised. “I wanted to get him something before I dropped you off to your place. I borrowed a pair of jeans from him and forgot to give it back to him.”

There was a slight pause as the door opened.

“Hold on.” Romano’s voice said, tinged with suspiciousness.

The door swung open further. Seborga sucked in his gut. If the door bounced off him, his brothers would immediately know something was up. He withheld a sigh of relief as the door stopped an inch from his torso.

Romano stepped in.

Seborga was able to see Romano’s arm.

Romano’s arm was bent, apparently resting his hands on his hips. “You two aren’t even close to the same size in pants."

Spain reached forward and paused for a moment, scanning the room. His gaze apparently settled on America for only a moment before he laughed nervously. “Sure we are! At any rate, it’s not about he pants.” He extended his arm forward, flicking the living room light on.

Everyone sprung out from their hiding places, all shouting surprises and happy birthdays.

Italy sprung in shock for a moment before he started laughing.

Romano jumped backwards, screaming Italian profanity for a moment before he apparently realized what was going on and recovered. A rare belly laugh erupted from him as he saw everyone. “Oh my God."

“This is amazing!” Italy laughed, his eyes darting around to see everyone.

Seborga sprung out from behind the door, clamping his hands down onto Romano’s shoulders. “Surprise!”

Romano spun around, screaming once again. His mouth once again split into a rare smile. “You asshole!” He punched his shoulder. “You weren’t sick at all!”

“No, I wasn’t.” Seborga laughed at his reaction. “I needed to stay behind to set all this up!”

“You did all this?!” Feliciano asked.

“Well, I had a little bit of help.” Seborga admitted.

Romano turned to face Spain, who was still laughing at his reactions. “You were in on this, weren’t you?”

Spain looked down at his fiancé. “Yes, of course I was.”

Italy looked around the room, toeing off his shoes to go greet all the guests. “This is incredible! Thank you all so much!”

The guests gathered around Italy, giving him well-wishes and greetings.

Romano hung back, turning to face Seborga. “Sebastian, thank you.”

“Of course!” Seborga grinned. “I have great older brothers. Not as good of a brother as I am, of course, but…”

Romano lightly punched Seborga on the shoulder with a smirk. “You’re such a brat.”

“Go talk to all the guests! They’re excited to see you!” Seborga waved Romano further into the living room.

Romano smiled to Seborga briefly before he made his way through the ocean of people.

Spain watched his fiancé mingle with the crowd, wordlessly lifting his hand for a fist bump.

Seborga watched America collapse from his handstand, knocking his fist against Spain’s in victory.

“See?!” America cried victoriously, standing among the shocked concern and carefree laughter. “I told you all they wouldn’t notice!”

The party went on swimmingly. The alcohol Germany and Prussia brought was a huge success, the party moving outside as everyone mingled. The food was enjoyed immensely, Seborga growing slowly more and more bashful as people praised him on his cooking. The real showstopper, though, was when the cake was brought out. Three layers of cake, Seborga’s own recipe. Coffee flavored, yet somehow light. This was a huge success to everyone except for Sealand, who didn’t like coffee. Seborga, expecting this, secretly slipped him some candy under the table for later. Everything went without an issue. No fights, no arguments, no drunken shenanigans (Seborga had France to thank for keeping Spain and Prussia under control). As the night got darker, half the guests began to break away and head home. The small party moved indoors, easily chatting in the living room. They swapped stories about the birthday boys, Germany divulging the classic favorite story of how the brothers learned to use grenades. To Romano’s credit, he took the slight humiliation with grace, the alcohol and pure happiness within him appearing to make him more easygoing. Finally, the evening was winding down and people were finally heading home.

Seborga watched as Germany and Canada escorted Prussia to the door, who was now so tipsy that he could hardly walk.

“You’re a great brother, you know.” Prussia slurred, Germany catching him as he stumbled.

Germany righted him, apparently used to his antics. “Yes, I know.”

“And you!” Prussia whipped his gaze to Canada. “You’re, like, the awesomest boyfriend in the world.”

Canada smiled. “Yes, I know.”

“I’m super serious!” Prussia continued. He tried to slide his shoes on, laughing as he was unable to. “You’re so nice all the time. Especially to me. Which is especially nice since I sometimes forget how to be nice.” He successfully slid on a shoe. “Ha! Got it!” He went limp, as if his bones suddenly lost structural integrity.

Germany grunted in surprise, catching him.

Prussia cackled. “I love you guys, you know that?”

“Yes, yes, we know that.” Germany grunted, apparently growing tired of Prussia.

“Prussia,” Canada said. His voice was rather similar to a kindergarten teacher speaking to a tired toddler. “How about you get your other shoe on?”

Prussia tried to stand. “Yes, of course! Anything for my Birdie!” He slid the other shoe on, smiling dopily at Canada. “The ultimate act of love.”

Canada appeared to be biting back a laugh. “Yes. Thank you, Prussia.”

“Alright,” Germany rolled his eyes. “Let’s get you to Canada’s car.”

“Woohoo!” Prussia stuck his two fists in the air as if he were at a concert. “Hell yeah! I get to go to my Birdie’s house!” As he was escorted to Canada’s car, he continued to shout in German.

Even as the door shut, Seborga could hear Prussia shouting with elation.

Spain laughed, his cheeks flushed. “He’s great.”

“He’s entertaining, at any rate.” Romano said, leaning back against the couch. “Don’t get me wrong, that was a good party. But I’m happy it’s over.”

Seborga too relaxed back in his chair. “Me too.”

Italy grinned. “That was the perfect party, Sebby. You did a great job.”

“Thanks.”

Spain leaned forward. “Seb, I love you, but you look like you’re dead.”

Seborga let out a surprised laugh. “You’re a real charmer, Toni, I can see why Lovino wanted to marry you.”

“Part of my natural charm, I guess.” Spain rested his arms on the back of the couch.

“Whatever you say, bastard.” Romano rested his head against Spain’s arm.

Seborga heard the door open, turning his head to watch Germany step into the house with a tired sigh.

“That bad?” Italy asked with a grin.

“Everything was fine until he started singing.” Germany shuffled into the living room, collapsing on the couch next to Italy. “I knew it was all over when he started singing ‘The Model’ by Kraftwerk at the top of his lungs.”

Italy laughed, Seborga and Spain joining in. Romano was apparently so tired that all he could muster was a smile.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Germany asked Italy.

Italy smiled. “A walk sounds nice. It’s so gorgeous outside!”

Germany stood. “Good, good. Let’s go.” There was a practiced casualty to his movements. A practiced casualty that was not executed well. His movements were almost stiff, his expression awkward.

“Okay,” Italy smiled. “No need to be so stiff, sir. All the guests are gone.”

“Right.” Germany tried for a casual smile, but it looked almost as if the smile caused him pain.

Italy shook his head with a grin. “You’re going to need a week of isolation after today, aren’t you?”

Germany laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he went to go put his shoes on. “Guess so.”

Seborga determinedly faced forward as the two put on their jackets and, conversing, left the house. He didn’t want to give anything away.

Romano lifted his head slightly as the door shu. His brow was slightly furrowed. “Let’s see if the potato bastard can get the proposal out before he spontaneously combusts.”

Seborga laughed. “I’m sure he’ll be able to.”

Spain smiled lazily. “Remember when I proposed to you, Romano?”

“Of course.” Romano smiled. The grin was full. Unguarded. “The dinner, the fashion show, the gelato under the stars. All of it. The proposal in the gazebo.”

“Did he ever tell you what we did after I proposed, Sebastien?” Spain asked.

Romano groaned. “Stop.”

“We danced.” Spain smiled at the memory. “Your brother may not look it, but he’s a romantic.”

“Don’t know what else you would expect out of an Italian.” Seborga said.

“There wasn’t any music, you know.” Spain continued.

Romano cringed, covering his face with his hands. “Stop.” His words were muffled, but no less desperate.

“But he didn’t care. I just hummed for us and we danced.”

“You never told me that part, Lovi!” Seborga teased with an impish grin.

“Because I would rather die.” His hands still concealed his face.

The three of them conversed for a while, the passing of time causing the conversation to be stunted and awkward. awkward. The three of them were each distracted by thoughts both positive and negative. Of course, Seborga was almost certain that Italy would say ‘yes’. But as time passed longer and longer, Seborga couldn’t help but realize that if they were taking this long to return, then the outcome likely wasn’t positive. Ten minutes turned into twenty minutes, which turned into half an hour, which eventually became 45 minutes.

“What’s taking them so long?” Romano asked.

Seborga frowned. “You don’t think Feli didn’t accept the proposal, do you?”

“Of course not.” Romano shook his head. “He loves Ludwig too much to.” Regardless, he looked at his watch, his expression slightly unsettled.

Spain bounced his leg. A nervous habit of his. “Everything’s probably fine.”

Regardless, the forty five minutes turned into an hour. A few minutes after the hour passed, the door opened.

Seborga kept his eyes fixed pointedly ahead, despite the fact that both Spain and Romano watched the door swing open. He knew Italy probably accepted the proposal. But if he didn’t, he wanted to afford Germany and Italy some privacy.

Shoed feet slapped against the hardwood floor, someone bolting into the house. Italy popped into the living room, his face alight with happiness. “Guys, guys, guys!”

“What?” Spain asked, smiling. To those watching without context, the expression would be of pure curiosity. But to one who knew what the three knew, it was impossible to miss the mingling relief in the toothy grin.

Germany too walked through the door, his face alight in what could only be described as pure joy.

Seborga choked back a laugh as he noticed Germany’s hair was almost completely undone, the collar of his shirt was wrinkled, and his face was flushed. Even with his mouth stretched in a wide grin, his lips were red and very obviously swollen.

Italy bound into the room. Upon closer inspection, his face was equally flushed, his lips equally swollen. He held his hand out, displaying a gold engagement ring. “We’re engaged!”

“What?!” Seborga cried, standing and clutching Italy’s hand to look at the ring.

Italy laughed. “It’s okay, guys, Luddy told me you guys knew.”

“Of course he did.” Romano shook his head, but he was smiling. “Congratulations, Feli.”

“Thank you!” Italy rubbed his cheeks. “I’m smiling so hard my cheeks hurt!”

“What took you guys so long?” Romano asked. “We were starting to get worried!”

Germany stepped forward, still grinning. “I was so nervous, we rounded Spain’s yard several times before I actually asked him.”

“Then he asked me, I said yes, and we walked around the yard a few more times before we finally came back in to tell you!”

“Mm-hmm.” Seborga crossed his arms. “Just walking around the yard.”

Germany cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at Spain and Italy’s brothers.

“To be fair,” Italy said. “We did walk around the yard a few times to talk a bit.”

“Congratulations, you two.” Spain grinned, stepping forward to shake their hands.

“Lovi, we’re both engaged at the same time!” Feliciano cheered, springing forward and hugging his brother.

Romano stiffened at the hug, apparently being in a good enough mood not to immediately pry his brother off of him. “Yes, we are! But I’m having my wedding first.” The words held no bite.

“Now all you have to do is get engaged too, Sebastian.” Germany joked.

Seborga smiled to himself, looking down at his shoes. “I dunno’. Don’t think I’m the marrying type.”

“That’s what Romano said.” Italy reminded him. “Look at him now!”

Seborga laughed in agreement, though he internally rolled his eyes. He knew there was a certain pressure to be with someone as a romantic country. He did enjoy flirting every now and again, but the part he liked about it was how people's faces would light up at the attention. He had never been one for romance, and he doubted he ever would be. He was too elated about the new engagement, however, to pursue that conversation with his brothers. About half an hour later, Seborga was about ready to fall asleep in his chair.

“Getting a little tired, Sebby?” Spain asked.

Seborga opened his eyes, not realizing he had allowed them to close. “Hmm? I guess so.”

“Will you be okay to drive home?” Germany asked from the couch. “I can drive you, if you want.”

Seborga shook his head. “No. I’ll be fine. The wind will keep me awake. I should head out, though, before I get any more tired.”

“Bye, Seb!” Italy stood and wrapped his arms around Seborga. “Drive safely.”

“I will.”

Romano too stood. “Thank you for the party, Seb. It was wonderful.”

“Of course!” Seborga responded, smiling.

“Just promise me one thing.”

“Sure.”

Romano smirked. “Never do it again. You look exhausted.”

Seborga laughed, shaking his head. “If again, not for a long time.”

Spain stood, also hugging Seborga. “Sleep well tonight. You’ve earned it.”

“I plan on it.”

Germany also stood, stepping forward. He awkwardly raised his arms up for a hug.

Seborga smiled, sticking his hand out for a handshake. “It’s okay, Big guy. I know you’re not a hugger.”

Germany looked relieved as he shook Seborga’s hand, giving a close-mouthed smile. “Thank you. Drive safely.”

It took Seborga only ten more minutes to pull himself away from his siblings and future brothers-in-law, him rolling his motorcycle out of the garage with relief. He pulled on his helmet, starting up his motorcycle. He was glad it was a short drive to his house. While he normally would have parked it in his garage, the sky was completely clear. He settled to just park it in his driveway. He was exhausted. Seborga slipped out of his jacket, hanging it on a peg on the door. He walked into his hallway, past the living room and out to his white wooden deck. The moon was full, the beams reflecting on the waves as they lapped onto his white-sand beach. He finally let out a long, slow, exhausted sigh. “You killed it, Sebby.” He closed his eyes, relishing the lack of voices. The lack of phone calls, the sounds of crepe streamers, the smell of the ocean rather than the smell of baking cake. The sounds of the water moving against itself, mixing and mingling with grains of sand relaxed him and slowed his heartbeat. For a moment, he stood and relished the sound of being completely alone.

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